Crooked Numbers (Raymond Donne Mysteries)

by Tim O'Mara

  He smiled and looked back at his son. “Angel, come on down.”

  Angel did as he was told, and his father wrapped his arm around him.

  “Mr. Donne says you might wanna take the day off with me. Get some breakfast, maybe go into the city?”

  Angel looked at me like someone had just told him he’d won the lottery.

  “I can do that?” he asked, sounding exactly like his dad.

  “What am I going to do?” I said. “Call your father?”

  They both laughed and then thanked me again. I watched as the father and his son walked away. And just like that, I was glad I’d gotten out of bed that morning.

  * * *

  The first time I called Murcer, the call went directly to his voice mail. As instructed, I left a brief message with my name and number, and the time I had called. The second time I called, an hour later, I was informed by the mechanical voice that the subscriber I was trying to reach had a full mailbox and would not take any further messages. I decided to try again in a few hours. Maybe Dennis was too busy solving other crimes to answer his phone or even check his messages.

  I called Allison, expecting the same results, but was pleasantly surprised when she actually picked up.

  “How are you feeling this morning?” I asked.

  “Like I spent five hours drinking margaritas with a bunch of girlfriends I hadn’t seen in six months,” she said. “And how did you spend your evening?”

  “You want the full story or just the good parts?”

  “I’m hungover, Ray. Just gimme the good parts.”

  So I did. I told her about my visit to Jack’s doctor and pharmacist, and what the pharmacist had told me about the potential side effects of those capsules. Then I went into my conversation with China—Allison was impressed how Edgar and I had figured that part out—and about how China had a bartering deal with Jack and Paulie, and how she apparently had seen Dougie at the crime scene the night he had been murdered. I also told her about the mysterious, hooded kid bouncing around outside the tennis courts.

  “You went down there,” Allison said, “at that time of night all by yourself?”

  I figured I had missed out on getting lectured by Murcer, so maybe I deserved this. She was not going to like what she heard next.

  “I had protection,” I said.

  “What, you brought condoms with you? What do you mean ‘protection’?”

  “I’m an ex-cop, Allison.”

  “So, what? You called up some old cop buddies?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “‘Not exac—’? Oh, tell me you didn’t do what I think you did, please.”

  “Depends on what you think I did.”

  A long pause followed and then, “You brought a gun with you, didn’t you?”

  “I had to bring something.”

  “No, you didn’t, Ray. You didn’t have to go down there at all. Didn’t we agree that I would call Murcer?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “But that was for yesterday. This was last night.”

  “Don’t even. Do you realize the danger you put yourself in? I know at least part of you does. That’s why you brought the gun. What if you had to use it, Ray? Did you think that far ahead? How that could have completely fucked up your life?”

  I guess I hadn’t. I didn’t know what to say.

  “Damn it, Ray. You’re smarter than that. At least, I thought you were. I’m going to call Murcer again. Leaving out the part about the gun, of course.”

  “I already tried. Twice. I left a message and now his box is full.”

  “I’ll call the precinct then. Maybe they know where he is. You don’t have any plans for after school, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll try to set up a meeting with the three of us. We’ll tell him what we know and let him take it from there.”

  “He’s not going to be happy.”

  “At this point,” Allison said, “I don’t care. We’ve got enough for him to, at the very least, pick up the Quinn kid for questioning. I’m sure dear old dad will have a lawyer there quicker than—crap.”

  “What?”

  “That might be Dougie’s uncle.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said. “I almost forgot about that.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” she said. “Lemme see if I can reach Murcer. Keep your phone with you, okay?”

  “Yeah.” I said. “Okay.”

  She was silent for a little while. “Sorry I got all pissy with you, Ray. It’s just that … you made some decisions last night and didn’t think how they might affect … others.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at that. I was glad she couldn’t see my face.

  “Like my mother?” I said. “And Rachel? Uncle Ray and…”

  “Screw you, Ray,” she said, but I could hear the smile in her voice. “I’ll call you after I talk to Murcer.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  “You better be,” she said, and hung up.

  Chapter 36

  THE REST OF THE DAY WENT by pretty quickly. I had to deal with a couple of kids cutting class and making out behind the curtain in the auditorium. I think I got there just in time, because the boy’s shirt was unbuttoned and the girl had kicked her shoes off. Two other geniuses figured that, since their regular math teacher was absent and the class was being covered by a sub, they might as well give themselves an extra gym period and snuck in after the phys ed teacher had taken attendance. The math sub realized they were cutting, got a message to me, and I caught the two playing basketball in the gym. They actually asked me if I could wait until the game was over before taking them back to math. This was the kind of stuff they didn’t go over in teacher school.

  After a last-period meeting with my principal and the two assistant principals regarding what would and would not be allowed during the holiday parties many teachers had planned for their classes, and then discussing the topic of how many school safety officers and how many parents were needed to chaperone the holiday dance, I had five minutes to run up to my office and get my jacket before dismissal. My cell phone rang on my way back down. I looked at it, hoping it was Murcer getting back to me. It was Allison.

  “You get in touch with Murcer?” I asked.

  “Nope. I did leave a message for him at the precinct, though. Said it was urgent.”

  “Good idea. You coming over tonight?”

  “That’s the plan, but I need to take it easy. Let’s just order in some Chinese and drink lots of tea and water.”

  “Sounds good,” I said. “I even have a full bottle of ibuprofen in the cabinet.”

  “I’m past that stage,” she said. “Now I’m onto the detox part of the program.”

  I laughed. “I’m gonna hang out here for a bit, do a little paperwork. I’ll be at my place at around five.”

  “I’ll try to make it by six. I’ve got to put the finishing touches on a piece about some Upper East Side lady’s poodle who got lost then found by some kids in the projects behind Lincoln Center.”

  “Maybe the dog just wanted some culture.”

  “Yeah, maybe. Anyway, I’m working it as ‘Rich Dog Found by Poor Kids.’” She paused. “I’ll call you when I’m on my way. You can order the food and I’ll pick it up.”

  I could get used to this. “Cool.”

  “Later.”

  A few minutes later, I was outside clearing the sidewalk of post-school stragglers, which didn’t take long because of the cold breeze picking up. Low temperatures and rain always got the kids moving faster. I could almost smell the snow that was headed our way. On my walk home, I got another call.

  “Hello?”

  “Raymond,” the now-familiar voice said. “This is Elliot.”

  “Hey, Elliot. How are you?”

  “I am fine. I need to talk to you.”

  “Okay.” I waited. Then I realized I’d have to ask for it. “Go ahead.”

  “No,” he said. “Not on the phone.”

  I decided to put on my
teacher voice. “Elliot, I’m just getting off work and have things to do tonight. If you need to talk to me, now’s the best time.”

  He paused for a few seconds. “Okay, then. Forget it.”

  “I don’t want to forget it.” I sighed. “Can you at least tell me what it’s about?”

  Another pause. “I have some information about Douglas,” he said. “And something about drugs from Jack.”

  “Drugs? Who told you this, Elliot?”

  Silence, then, “Douglas did. A few days before he…”

  “Okay, Elliot.” I didn’t like the hesitation in his voice. “Where are you now?”

  “No, not now,” he said. “Tonight. Seven o’clock.”

  “Elliot, I told you I have plans for tonight.”

  He waited a few beats. “Okay. Forget it.”

  “I don’t want to…” I took a breath. “Okay. Seven o’clock. Where do you live?”

  “No,” he said. “Not at my apartment. The Ramble.”

  “The Ramble?”

  “In Central Park. Where you were supposed to go bird-watching with us the other day.”

  “Why the Ramble? Your folks are okay with you going out there at night?”

  “I am not a baby, Ray.” Another pause. “I have a lot of homework to do. My parents sometimes let me go out and do a little night birding if I get my work done.”

  I thought of the Shermans letting Paulie skateboard after dark.

  “Okay, Elliot,” I said. “Seven o’clock at the Ramble.”

  “On the bridge,” he said. “When you enter the—”

  “I know the bridge. Seven o’clock.”

  It took him five seconds to say, “Thank you, Ray,” and he hung up.

  What the fuck? Now I had to call Allison and change our plans, because Elliot had something to tell me about Dougie and couldn’t do it over the phone. Maybe it was about the night Dougie was killed. Maybe Elliot was the mysterious bouncing kid.

  I called Allison back. She apparently recognized my number, because she answered. “This better be good, tough guy. I told you how busy I am.”

  I told her about my phone call from Elliot and my plans for seven o’clock in Central Park.

  “Why does he want to talk to you?”

  “He didn’t say. He didn’t say much, in fact. My guess is he needs a grown-up to talk to, and since Dougie trusted me…”

  “Jesus, Ray.”

  “He said Dougie told him something about some drugs at the Quinns’. I’m just not sure if he means Paulie’s prescription or those unidentified capsules Mrs. Lee found.”

  “You think Jack and the boys were trying to sell them?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, and something from the part of my brain that stored last week’s memory clicked in. “Remember when I had that conversation with Dougie’s father?”

  “At the bar, yeah.”

  “He told me Dougie had told him he was going to get him help. To make him better. Something about connections at school.”

  “You didn’t tell me that.”

  “I didn’t know what to make of it.”

  “And now?”

  “Part of the drug Ward Fullerton had their problems with was designed to treat the symptoms of dementia and stimulate a chemical in the brain that helps with memory retention and learning. If not for the side effects they experienced in Nigeria, they’d probably be doing clinical trials here in the States within the next year or so.”

  “But they did have side effects. Enough where they had to scramble to save the company’s ass.”

  “I know,” I said. “But that might explain what Dougie said to his dad. About getting better.”

  “That’s quite a stretch, Ray.”

  “I know, but think about what we know about the last weeks of these kids’ lives. Their parents said Dougie and Paulie were both experiencing abnormal mood changes and problems sleeping.”

  “Two side effects of donezepil. You think the kids were taking those clinical trial meds?”

  “Maybe. And Jack and Paulie were on ADHD medications. Stimulants.” Shit. “A side effect of some of those meds is suicidal thoughts.”

  Allison caught on. “Paulie Sherman. Holy fuck, Ray.”

  “All right,” I said. “We’re getting way ahead of ourselves. I’ll call you after I find out what Elliot has to tell me.”

  “Definitely,” she said. “Should you try Murcer again?”

  “Yeah, just to cover our asses.”

  “What if he’s still not picking up?”

  “Then, I guess we’ll have to cover each other’s asses,” I said.

  “Any other time, I’d have a smart answer for that, Ray. Call me later.”

  After we hung up, I called Murcer again. No luck, so I phoned the precinct. I was told he was still out, so I left my own ‘urgent’ message. I asked that he call me ASAP, but left out the part about meeting with Elliot Finch. I didn’t want to hear I was overstepping my bounds again. I already knew that.

  I went home to eat. Alone. I was hungry, and the night had the potential to be a long one. Another after-dark trip to a city park. I thought about my off-duty gun, now safely stored away in the back of my closet. I didn’t think I’d need it tonight. At least, I hoped not.

  Chapter 37

  AT SIX FORTY-FIVE, I was standing outside Central Park, hands in my pockets, watching my breath turn to mist and disappear into the night. Some flakes had started to fall and, if the local news was to be believed, we were still expecting up to six inches by the morning. Not enough to cancel school in the city, but more than enough to make getting around tomorrow a bit slower and a whole lot messier.

  I was early, so I walked around to get my blood flowing. I used the old street cop’s trick of stamping my feet every thirty seconds to help stay warm. It may have looked weird and gotten me a few strange looks, but it worked. I don’t really mind the cold weather; it’s the standing around part that gets to me.

  Five minutes later, I called Allison again and got her voice mail. Since I already had the phone out, I tried Murcer. No luck. I looked at my watch and decided to head into the park. It’d take me a few minutes to get to the bridge by the Ramble, and I didn’t want to give Elliot any reason not to stick around.

  I arrived at the bridge just before seven o’clock. There was no one there to greet me. It was full-on nighttime in the city now, and the snowflakes were beginning to increase in size and number. There was light coming from both sides of the bridge. The vision of falling snow was straight out of a Hallmark card.

  “Mr. Donne?”

  I turned, expecting to see Elliot, but instead saw Jack Quinn walking toward me. His hands were in his pockets—didn’t anybody wear gloves anymore?—and he had on the same ski jacket he’d worn to Dougie’s wake, the lift ticket still hanging from the zipper. The ski hat he was wearing was white and pulled down over his ears. His long blond hair spilled out the sides.

  “Hello, Jack,” I said.

  He stepped toward me, looking behind me and then over his shoulder. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Where’s Elliot?”

  “He had to go home.” He turned around again, checking for something. At this hour, in this cold, I doubted we’d see anyone. Maybe that was the point.

  “What’s this about, Jack? Elliot told me he had information about Dougie.”

  “Elliot made the call for me. I told him what to say.”

  That explained all the pauses.

  “So you have information about Dougie? Couldn’t you have just told me over the phone? Or better yet, called the detective in charge?”

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It looked as if he were smoking an invisible cigarette. He closed his eyes, concentrating on his next words.

  “I killed him,” he said, like he was telling me he’d dropped an expensive vase.

  I let those words sink in before responding. Even after five years as a cop, I’d never heard that before. The most I’d gotten was someo
ne telling me he’d snatched a lady’s purse or decided to take a ride in a car that wasn’t his. Murder confessions were new territory for me.

  “You killed Dougie?” I said.

  “Yeah,” he said, then mumbled something I couldn’t hear.

  “What was that?”

  “I said, I think so,” he said louder.

  “You ‘think so’? Jack, you either did or you didn’t.”

  “I did. I killed him.”

  He sounded like he was trying to convince both of us.

  “All right, Jack,” I said. “Don’t say anything else. I’m going to reach into my pocket and take out my phone.”

  He looked nervous. “Why are you doing that? I didn’t say to do that.”

  “I didn’t ask,” I said, my phone still in my pocket. “I’m calling the police.”

  “No!” he screamed, and then backed away a few steps. “No police.” His voice got shaky and then he lowered it. “Please. Not yet.”

  “Jack,” I said as calmly as I could. “You just confessed to murder. I know the detective in charge. Tell him what you told me. He’ll help you get out in front of this. You’ll need a lawyer. Things’ll go a lot easier—”

  “Fucking lawyers!” he screamed. In a much calmer tone, he added, “His uncle’s one, you know? Dougie’s?”

  “I know. That’s not the one I would call, though.” I felt like moving closer to the kid, but had the feeling he’d jet out of there if I moved so much as an inch. I stayed where I was, put my hand in my pocket, and touched my phone. “Jack,” I said. “Tell me what you want to do about this.”

  I knew what I wanted: to get him out of the park, into a cab, and down to Murcer.

  “I don’t know,” he said, looking at me as if he were five years old. “Elliot said I could trust you. That you would know what to do.”

  “Then trust me, Jack, when I say we need to get you to the police.”

  He thought about that. “Are they going to tell my mom and dad?”

  Holy shit, I thought. You just confessed to murder, and you’re concerned about your parents finding out?

  “They’ll have to know, Jack. You’re under eighteen and—”

  “What if I sign something?” he asked. “Can’t I waive my rights or something and not get my parents involved?”