Death on the Mississippi

by Forrest, Richard;

  “He’s got to be kidding,” Bobby Douglas said as he lurched from his chair and rushed toward the door. Rocco grabbed his arm. “Let me go! I’m going to kill the son of a bitch!”

  “There goes the family homestead,” Bea said.

  “Keep this guy here,” Rocco ordered. “I’ve got to get down to the office and start the paperwork. It’s going to take a hell of a long time just to type up the warrants.”

  “Warrants for what?” Lyon asked.

  “I’m going to start with page one of the felony statutes and keep going until I have a fistful of charges against Dalton. It’s going to take me a while to sort it out,” Rocco said, “but all that I know is that Dalton didn’t just cross over the line, he obliterated it, and I’m going to crucify him.”

  Willey P. Lynch, attorney-at-law, had a physique constructed in concentric circles like the preliminary body sketches drawn by cartoonists. His head, torso, and lower body were, if not circular, at least elliptical in shape. Many years ago he had decided that his girth could not be camouflaged, and had discarded any pretense of dress that did not accentuate his proportions. His suits were dark, and he always wore a garish gold chain that looped down his vest and over the protrusion of his stomach. His complete lack of hair did not disturb the symmetry.

  He considered himself the Friar Tuck of litigators, except that his mission in life was not limited to cudgels with the Sheriff of Nottingham, but to battles with all the sheriffs in all the jurisdictions. “The great defense attorneys are leaving the field of battle, and therefore we must fight harder,” he periodically announced to new associates when they joined his firm. “The Percy Foremans and the Clarence Darrowes are gone, but we shall lift the banner and carry it forward.” Sometimes the younger lawyers smiled at these remarks, in which instance their tenure was short.

  Willey had never lost a criminal case in open court, although he would sometimes secretly admit to resorting to some creative plea bargaining prior to trial.

  He glanced at his newest client sitting across the table in the ballroom of the Pincus resort. Willey nodded appreciatively. It was going to be an interesting case with future legal skirmishes that could be savored in anticipation. “You understand that I guarantee nothing?” he said softly to Dalton. “However, there is one small matter …”

  Dalton smiled and handed the cashier’s check across the table. Willey made a tiny gesture at his young associate sitting by his side who immediately took the check. “I count on your reputation,” Dalton said.

  “Do you have the writs?” Willey asked his associate.

  Doris Lemming grimly patted the attaché case on the table in front of her. “All properly executed and signed,” she said.

  Willey nodded. He knew they would be. Doris was ruthlessly efficient. He sometimes thought she hated men, in fact she often appeared to hate everyone. She had many of the attributes of a shark or a large predatory cat. She was a ruthless, verbal killing machine. She would make a great litigator.

  Rocco Herbert was the first one through the wide doors that led to the ballroom. He did not break stride or glance to the right or left as he headed toward the table where Dalton sat with his lawyers. Handcuffs were in his right hand by the time he arrived at the table.

  Dalton reached out to shake Rocco’s hand and the cuffs were snapped over his wrist. Rocco deftly spun him and snapped a cuff on the other wrist. “Your manners are terrible, Rocco.”

  “Man, I’d put you in a net with leg irons if it wasn’t against regulations,” Rocco said.

  “We are not in your jurisdiction, Chief Herbert,” Willey said mildly.

  For the first time Rocco seemed to take note of Willey’s presence. “Oh, Christ, Lynch, are you involved in this?”

  “Of course. And we were talking of your powers to arrest in other areas.”

  “I have the powers necessary to arrest anywhere when I am in hot pursuit. And by God, I am in hot pursuit.” He turned to start dragging Dalton toward the door. “You have the right to remain silent. You have …”

  Willey slowly stood with his palm extended toward Doris. She immediately slapped a folded legal paper into his hand like a scrub nurse passing a surgical instrument. “Chief Herbert,” Willey called, “this is for you.” He handed the paper to Rocco.

  Rocco looked at it in astonishment. “A writ?”

  “You are hereby ordered to refrain from doing what you are presently doing, that is, arresting Dalton Turman.”

  “He hasn’t even been booked yet.”

  “Please honor the judge’s order and release him immediately. You know me well enough to realize that I stand on firm legal ground.”

  Rocco slowly opened the handcuffs. “I will be at the prosecuting attorney’s office first thing in the morning to obtain warrants.”

  “We shall see,” Willey smiled. “Now sit down, Chief, and I will explain Mr. Turman’s position in detail when the others arrive.”

  Lyon and Bea had observed the confrontation from the doorway. They watched as André, the caterer, hovered deferentially over Dalton and Willey with an open order pad. Sam Idelweise and Randolph Dice were huddled at a small table in the corner engaged in a hushed and conspiratorial conversation. A bartender had appeared at the long bar, which now ran along one wall, and was making his final preparations for cocktail orders.

  “A pony of Dry Sack for Mr. Wentworth and a very dry vodka martini for Senator Wentworth,” Dalton told André, who scurried over to the bar with his orders.

  “What do you say at a time like this?” Bea whispered to Lyon. “Glad you’re back from the dead, when are your visiting days in prison, or how did you do it, you crumb?”

  “Some from column A and some from B,” Lyon said. They sat at a table with Rocco, two removed from Dalton and the lawyers.

  “Don’t turn around,” Rocco said, “but there are a couple of guys on the patio wearing combat fatigues and flak jackets. I do believe Norbie has arrived with his backup SWAT team. If he kicks in the door, I am going to throw up.”

  Captain Norbert of the State Police kicked in the door with the aid of two corporals who carried army assault weapons. Norbert advanced toward Dalton in a shooting crouch, while his backup took firing positions on either side.

  “Please don’t say freeze,” Rocco said under his breath.

  “Everyone freeze!” Norbert commanded.

  “I wish he hadn’t said that,” Rocco said as he clinked the ice in his empty glass until it was replenished by a hovering waiter.

  “We do have a writ for the State Police, do we not?” Willey asked.

  “Yes, sir.” Doris Lemming handed him the document.

  “Captain Norbert,” Willey said, “we have a paper for you executed by a sitting judge.”

  “What in the hell are you talking about, Lynch?” Norbert inched his hand toward the lawyer’s while pointing his service revolver at Dalton. He took the writ in one hand, shook it loose, and glanced down at it. “Who signed this garbage? What drunken, senile judge do you have on your payroll this time, Willey?”

  “My daddy,” Doris Lemming said with a smile. “I’ll tell him what a great fan you are next time we play golf with the major.”

  Willey P. Lynch looked at his associate with fresh awe. She had the instincts of a cobra and the social graces of a vulture. For the first time in his career, he had potential partnership material at hand. “Who else are we expecting this evening?”

  Doris examined her notes on a yellow legal pad. “The federal people are interested in Mr. Turman for a number of reasons, and other state agencies are still to be heard from.”

  “I’m representing all the state agencies,” Norbert said. “And the feds were going to piggyback on my arrest.” He held out his hand. “Hit me with the rest of the writs.”

  A man dressed in combat fatigues, with a belt of ammunition laced over his shoulders and carrying an M-60 machine gun, burst through the patio doors. He levered the bolt of the weapon and swept its barrel across
the room. “You a hostage, Captain?”

  “No, I’m not a goddamn hostage,” Norbert said. “Tell everyone to take five.”

  The machine gunner looked puzzled. “Take a break during an assault?”

  “Damn it! You heard me,” Norbert snapped. “How does a guy get a drink around here?”

  Dalton signaled André, who took the captain’s order. “See what the troops outside will have,” Dalton said.

  The machine gunner ejected the belt of ammunition from his weapon and draped it around his neck. He stood the gun in a corner and ambled over to the bar. “I’d like a wine spritz,” he said to the bartender.

  “That’s what I was telling you last week, Rocco,” Norbert said. “In the old days it was beer and a shot, not wimpy wine, for Chrissake.”

  “Now that everyone’s here, we can begin with Mr. Turman’s explanation of certain recent events,” Willey said.

  “Am I late?” Pan Turman, dressed in a black cocktail dress with a scooped bodice, rushed breathlessly into the room.

  “Show’s just about to start,” Dalton said as he pulled out a chair by his side.

  Willey detested interruptions. “If I might begin?” He scowled pointedly at Pan. Dalton opened his mouth preparatory to speaking, but Willey placed his hand over it. “You, Mr. Turman, on my advice, will not say anything. You will not utter a single word, syllable, or even grunt comprehensible sounds.” He stood and walked out in front of the tables. “As we all know, Mr. Turman has just returned from a harrowing experience. What all of you do not know, is that only through a magnificent display of great personal courage and a bit of luck was he able to escape from his abductor.”

  “I believe in the tooth fairy, too,” Rocco said in a stage whisper.

  “This prominent businessman, with no history of criminal activity except for some minor misdemeanors for mischievous mischief that we all laugh about …”

  “Yeah, I split a gut over that carnage we thought was a mass murder,” Norbert said and was the recipient of a glare from Willey.

  “To continue,” Willey said. “This entrepreneur who has contributed so much to this state and both political parties, was the victim of a heinous crime. He was asked by a friend in Rhode Island to provide employment for two recovering alcoholics. He was then kidnapped at gunpoint by the very men he had befriended.” Willey began to pace as he became caught up in his presentation.

  “Shakespeare said kill all the lawyers,” Bea whispered to Lyon.

  “One of the tasks Mr. Turman envisioned for the two men he hired was help in the preparation of one of his beloved practical jokes. It was only when the houseboat was disguised and on its way downstream that Mr. Turman was taken prisoner at gunpoint. At gunpoint, I say! His life placed in jeopardy by these criminal types. The boat was secreted on Red Deer Island, as we know, and Dalton was subjected to torture and mutilation.” Dalton held up one hand to reveal that a finger was missing. Willey’s voice dropped to a dramatic whisper. “You can see before your very eyes one of the more obvious results of that horrifying torture. They forced him to reveal where the company funds were secreted on the boat. Then, these killers, these villains, these psychopaths, turned on each other, and one was murdered by the hand of the other.”

  “What about those secreted funds, that’s what I’m interested in?” Randy Dice yelled out as his first contribution to the meeting.

  “I was going to …” Dalton started to say, but was silenced by Willey’s wagging finger.

  “Mr. Turman was in the process of moving the funds from one bank to another in order to provide protection from certain unethical creditors. Unfortunately, the cash happened to be on the boat at the time of his abduction.”

  “That was convenient,” Norbert said.

  “Mr. Turman was then held prisoner on an ancient cabin cruiser by the remaining fiend. This sociopath intended to extort additional money from Mrs. Pandora Turman at a future date, but this dastardly plan was foiled by Mr. Turman’s daring escape. A formal statement will be issued by my office in three days.”

  “You can’t do that!” Rocco bellowed.

  Willey Lynch resumed his seat and laced his hands together over his stomach. “But we can and we have,” he said.

  “What about the insurance money we were paid?” Sam asked.

  “We have already begun negotiating the details with the insurance carrier,” Willey responded. “They do, of course, have a right to lien this property, but I believe that we shall convince them that their best interests lie in the continuation of the project. They will become an unwilling joint venturer in the property along with the other partners.”

  “I don’t believe what I’m hearing,” Norbert said.

  Bea whispered in Lyon’s ear, “My God, what did you do with Bobby?”

  “I sent him on a short boat trip.”

  “Where, Cuba, Brazil, or wherever escaped people go?”

  “Where is this bad guy now?” Rocco asked.

  “We do not know,” Willey said. “By now he knows of Mr. Turman’s escape and has probably fled with the money.”

  “I say bust him and sort out the details later,” Norbert said as he looked morosely into his empty glass, which was quickly refilled.

  “Try it, buster,” Doris Lemming said, “and I’ll have your ass in triplicate.”

  “My sentiments exactly,” Willey said with a beatific smile. “I emphasize again that you have no probable cause and that the courts will treat you severely.”

  “What about the escrow accounts he raped?” Sam asked.

  “If I must repeat myself. Mr. Turman was in the process of moving the money from one account to another when it was stolen.”

  “I can sum this all up in one word,” Rocco said.

  “Enough!” Willey said harshly. “I have briefly outlined Mr. Turman’s recent tribulations, but I must inform you that against my legal advice, he has chosen not to file civil and criminal charges against all of you, your organizations, your towns, and the State of Connecticut. It is only past army associations with two men here, and his strong sense of civic duty, that preclude him from embarrassing everyone concerned in this mishandled series of events.”

  “I don’t believe what I just heard,” Rocco said.

  “What charges?” Captain Norbert was finally able to ask.

  “Possible criminal charges could be bought against Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth working in concert with Chief Herbert for theft and misuse of two valuable electronic devices. Not only was this device stolen, but it was illegally installed in the telephone at Mr. Turman’s residence.” Caught up in his further revelations, Willey had begun to pace again.

  “Lyon is not an officer of the law,” Rocco said.

  “Oh, but how easily that transparent veil can be pierced, Chief Herbert. He was certainly acting under your orders. He was, sir, your agent. Then we come to Senator Wentworth’s attempt to extort Pan Turman’s last few dollars.”

  “She wanted to charge me rent,” Pan said. “Fifty thousand dollars’ worth.”

  “Your attempts to arrest Mr. Turman are a clear-cut violation of his civil rights. A federal charge, I might point out. The improper identification of the body as Mr. Turman not only caused untold anguish to his wife, but resulted in the cessation of further search efforts for the victim. A jury, in its deliberations of how much money to award for this extreme anguish, would certainly question as to why prudent autopsy procedures were not carried out. Why was there no scientific match attempted between the amputated finger and the finger joint on the cadaver?”

  “The body we found had the same missing finger,” Norbert said.

  “But, and the jury would be pointed in this direction during my summation, no attempt at a match was made.”

  “Lyon told me they did that and it didn’t match,” Pan said.

  “I have the records and I have spoken with the Medical Examiner,” Willey said. “It was not done.”

  “You lied!” Pan screamed at Lyon. />
  “Would you keep her quiet,” Willey said to Dalton. “Mr. Turman has temporarily forbidden me to bring these charges. However, any further harassment of my client will result in a veritable blizzard of lawsuits. Do we make ourselves clear?”

  “I’ve done the paperwork already,” Doris Lemming said, “and we have some other interesting babies waiting in the closet.”

  “Can they do that?” the machine gunner at the bar asked no one in particular.

  Captain Norbert lurched from his chair and hurried toward the door. “I’ve got to talk to the prosecuting attorneys.”

  Pan was still agitated, and she attempted to rush toward Lyon, but was restrained by Dalton. Willey pulled her into a huddled conversation.

  Lyon walked over to Randy Dice’s table. “I’ve got to ask it again, Randy. What did Dalton say to you that day on the boat?”

  “He threatened to tell the people I swing with that I had AIDS.”

  “Let’s talk,” Dalton interrupted as he guided Lyon by the arm toward the patio doors.

  “Wait!” Willey called after them. When Dalton continued leading Lyon outside, the lawyer lumbered after them. “You speak with no one,” he commanded.

  “I’m quite capable of handling Wentworth,” Dalton said.

  “You will speak to no one without my presence,” Willey said. “Not even in the dead of night or the height of passion will you speak with your own wife without calling me first. Those are my orders. Is that understood, Mr. Turman?”

  Dalton jauntily took Lyon’s arm. “I speak with whom I wish. Let us not forget who is the employer here, Mr. Lynch. Is that understood?”

  The resentment was obvious in the lawyer’s face. He looked after them a moment as if prepared to continue the confrontation, but then shrugged and returned to the ballroom. The two men continued down the winding walk to the water. The gas lamps were on and the sun had disappeared over the horizon. They stopped at the low seawall that separated the lawn from the narrow beach. Dalton ran his hands quickly over Lyon’s torso.