Julius Katz and Archie

by Dave Zeltserman

  “And why’s that?” one of the detectives asked.

  “Because he’s leading the homicide investigation for Kenneth Kingston,” Julius said. “When your crime scene specialists find the bullets and casings for this shooting, they’ll be thirty-two caliber, which I’m guessing was the same as was used in Kingston’s homicide. I’d further be willing to bet that when ballistics compares these bullets to the one taken from Kingston’s body, it will show that the same gun was used.”

  This same detective gave Julius a dubious look. “I think we can wait on calling Cramer,” he said.

  They didn’t wait long. All three bullets were found, as were the casings which were discovered around the bushes where I had told Julius the shooter must’ve hid. Thirty-two caliber bullets were used, which was what Julius was expecting, and which didn’t surprise me either, although I wasn’t sure that the gun would turn out to be the same one used to plug Kingston. There was a good chance of that but I also thought there was a chance that the shootings were unrelated. That maybe Bluddock had sent another thug to murder and rob Julius. At that point I checked Bluddock’s cell phone records but didn’t find anything suspicious, but that didn’t mean anything. He could’ve used a disposable cell phone if he was calling a thug to ambush and rob Julius at his home. Out of mild curiosity, I also checked to see if he had called an ambulance for his two thug associates, and found that he didn’t.

  After it was found that a thirty-two was used, the Boston police detectives continued questioning Julius about what he did that night and who might’ve known about his plans, but they did this halfheartedly, as if they knew they should be waiting for Cramer since all these questions would have to be repeated once he showed up. Julius put up with this, although from the way the fingers on his right hand drummed along the surface of his desk, he wasn’t happy about it. While this was going on I studied the outdoor webcam feed from that night, but found nothing useful and told Julius of that fact.

  At three-forty-two, a badly rumpled and worn-out looking Detective Cramer arrived, his eyes bleary, his complexion pastier than at any other time I’d seen him. He looked like he’d been woken up out of bed and was still half asleep.

  “From your presence here at this hour, I’m assuming a thirty-two was also used with Kingston,” Julius said.

  Of course, Julius already knew this since I’d told him about it after hacking into the Cambridge police’s computer system, but he had to play innocent. Cramer grunted out a guttural response that was probably affirming Julius’s question, but I couldn’t say for sure since it was indecipherable. He didn’t bother saying anything else since they were still waiting on ballistics.

  The Boston police detectives filled him in on what they knew and what Julius had told them so far. Cramer didn’t look particularly happy that he’d been pulled out of bed in the middle of the night, and he focused his bloodshot eyes on Julius as he listened to the Boston detectives. When they were done, with his voice little more than a raspy croak, he tried pushing Julius on the true nature of his weekly dinner with friends, as well as who else might’ve known that he was out that night. Julius stuck to his story, but Cramer didn’t give up easily.

  It was on their fourth go-around that Cramer laid his cards on the table, telling Julius that what he’d heard was that this wasn’t any weekly dinner party but a longstanding poker game. “And not some penny ante game, either,” Cramer added.

  Julius sighed. “If those are the rumors being spread, then that answers who else could’ve known about my plans tonight, which would be almost anybody.”

  Cramer looked annoyed but he held his temper in check. He told Julius, “The reason I’m pushing this is if the word’s out on the street about your poker game, then the motive for this shooting could’ve been robbery and not anything related to Kenneth Kingston.”

  “Ballistics will answer that,” Julius said, stubbornly.

  Cramer decided to let it drop. He didn’t even ask Julius to open his wallet and empty his pockets, which would’ve shown a thick roll of bills and put a lie to Julius’s claim of being out to dinner with friends. With his voice even more of a raspy croak than before, he said, “Alright, Julius, assuming ballistics match up like you’re saying they’re going to, you have any idea who tried to kill you tonight?”

  “I’m shocked,” I told Julius. “No excessive badgering, which under the circumstances is remarkable. And he’s still on a first-name basis with you, even after having his night’s sleep disturbed because of you! I think I know why. Look at the poor guy. He needs coffee badly, and he probably thinks he can worm a cup out of you if he buddies up enough.”

  Julius made a face for my benefit, not for Cramer or the other cops. Deep down he knew I was right; the problem was he was in too sour a mood to be hospitable, which I had never seen from him before. He gave Cramer a short nod.

  “Yes, Detective, I know who the person is, I just don’t know yet his or her name. It’s the same person who earlier killed my client, Kenneth Kingston.”

  Cramer grunted at that. He certainly wasn’t dismissing the idea of it, especially not with a thirty-two being used in both shootings. But he wasn’t about to give in to Julius that easily.

  “Yeah? Why does he want to kill you too?” he asked.

  “I’m assuming you’re using the pronoun he in the generic sense since the sex of Kingston’s murderer and my would-be assassin has yet to be determined,” Julius stated bluntly and somewhat petulantly. In case I haven’t made this clear enough yet, his being shot at did not leave him in a good mood. His drumming along his desk grew louder as he fixed his stare at Cramer. “As to why this attempt on my life? Simple. It was an act of desperation. This person doesn’t believe what’s been in the newspapers and TV reports regarding Kingston’s murder investigation, instead deciding that I have to be actively involved in solving this crime, even if all reports were saying otherwise. This person further must believe that he has a better chance of getting away with murder, or really two murders, if I am out of the picture. So he tried to make it so. And Detective, don’t make anything out of my use of the pronoun he. I too am using it in the generic sense.”

  Cramer let out an angry snort at that. “Okay. Us cops aren’t smart enough to catch this guy if you’re not around to help us, huh? And yeah, I’m using guy in the generic sense, so you don’t have to lecture me!”

  Julius showed no humor in his eyes as he smiled thinly at that. “Detective, if you feel slighted because of this person’s motive for trying to kill me, bring it up with him when he’s caught.”

  Cramer had no trouble picking up the implication there. That the killer was going to be caught. That this was a fact as far as Julius was concerned. Before he could ask Julius about it, a cell phone rang. Cramer and the two Boston police detectives all glanced down at their cell phones to see if theirs was the one ringing. One of the Boston police detectives—a tough-looking thick-bodied cop named Alex Johnson, complete with a shaved head and a bent nose—unhooked his cell phone from his belt and answered the call. Outside of an initial grunt for a greeting, he didn’t say anything until the call was finished. Then he informed the rest of us that ballistics came up with a match.

  “It’s the same gun that was used in your homicide, alright,” he told Cramer with a dull nod, his voice every bit as tough-sounding as he looked.

  Julius grimaced at the news. Not that it came as any surprise since he was expecting exactly that. I wasn’t surprised either, but a little disappointed. While Cramer might’ve speculated that robbery was the motive, I had taken it one step further as to who might’ve been behind the robbery. But this news left Bluddock in the clear, as well as my beating Julius to the punch as far as solving this shooting.

  “Gentlemen,” Julius said without a hint of sarcasm as he addressed the three motley detectives in his office, “the attempt on my life has left me in too much of a stupor to behave properly. I apologize for that. It’s the middle of the night and I’m guessing now
that you’ve confirmed this link to Kenneth Kingston’s murder that you’re going to need to spend several more hours with me. So let’s do so in greater comfort, shall we? If there are no objections, I’ll make coffee and sandwiches for you, as well as the other police officers outside.”

  None of them wanted to object. I could see from their faces that they all wanted coffee and food, especially Cramer. But Cramer still had his question he was dying to ask.

  “Okay, I’ll give you that you’re in too much of a stupor to think properly,” he grunted out. “But you still implied pretty damn strongly a minute ago that the guy who shot Kingston is going to get caught. No maybes about it. You know something I don’t?”

  Julius stopped his drumming with his right hand, and placed both hands on his desk and started making small circular motions as if he were trying to smooth out imaginary wrinkles within the wood surface.

  “As far as factual evidence regarding either shooting, no, I don’t know anything that you don’t know,” he said, his voice both calm and showing a deadly earnestness. “In fact, I’m sure I know far less. I was being forthright when I told you the last time you were here that I had no interest in investigating Kingston’s murder. With what happened here tonight, that has changed. I will not tolerate someone hiding in my bushes so that they can try to shoot me in the back. Whoever this person is, they may have made a fatal mistake. Maybe he or she would’ve gotten away with murder, or maybe you would’ve caught this person without my involvement. I can’t say. But now there’s no hope for him. It’s possible that by his actions tonight he has already revealed himself—that someone spotted him while he was hiding in my bushes, or maybe you’ll uncover him when you question your suspects about where they were earlier this morning. If you catch your murderer this way, fine. But if not, I promise you I’ll uncover him, or her, by midnight tonight. If you’d like to work together with me, fine, if not, it doesn’t matter. As far as I’m concerned his fate is already sealed.”

  Cramer was eyeing Julius carefully, almost as if he was trying to decide whether to scoff at him. The other two detectives took what Julius said at face value. As well they should. Both of them had seen Julius in action more times than Cramer had.

  “You think pretty highly of yourself, don’t you?” Cramer said at last.

  “No sir, but we can discuss how I think of myself and any other questions you might have while I’m making coffee and sandwiches.”

  With that Julius pushed his chair away from the desk and stood up. The two Boston detectives didn’t seem to mind having Julius lead the way to his kitchen. Even Cramer seemed okay with it, which made sense given how haggard he was looking. He had to be dying for a cup of coffee himself.

  Chapter 13

  Julius started a pot of coffee brewing and then went about carving up a roast beef for sandwiches. He had prepared the roast beef several days earlier so that he could make some sort of gourmet hash out of it using truffles and chestnuts and a host of other ingredients, but he needed less than half of the roast for that, so he was perfectly content with giving up the other half to his guests.

  After the meat was carved up, he sliced up a block of cheddar cheese, then put that out with a loaf of rye bread and mustard so the police officers could make themselves sandwiches. When one of the Boston police officers asked if he had any mayonnaise, Julius held his tongue and brought out a jar. If he had sliced up corned beef instead, he probably would’ve thrown the heathen out of his home!

  Even though Julius had had his late dinner with Phil Weinstein only a couple of hours earlier, he joined the cops in making himself a healthy roast beef sandwich, and of course, used a thick coating of mustard instead of mayonnaise. Usually in the morning Julius only ate fresh fruit, sometimes a bagel and cream cheese, occasionally a croissant with imported jam that he got from Paris. I was guessing his being shot at had something to do with his increased appetite, and I found several medical journal articles which talked about the phenomenon of adrenaline surges depleting a person’s blood sugar. That must’ve been the case with Julius. Just as I had my version of an adrenaline rush because of that shooting, so must Julius have had. For some reason I thought he’d be impervious to such things. While they were eating their sandwiches and drinking their coffee, Julius apologized to his guests for not offering beer or wine with their meals.

  “At this hour and with all of us probably being somewhat sleep deprived it wouldn’t be appropriate,” he added.

  “What you’re serving us is fine,” Cramer said. His color and his general appearance had improved after polishing off a sandwich and two cups of coffee, and he was in the process of working diligently on his second sandwich. He’d been quiet while they’d been eating, but with the way he kept eyeing Julius he had plenty on his mind. Julius told him to go ahead and ask him what he wanted. That in this case Julius would be okay with talking murder and other such appetite-spoiling topics while eating.

  Cramer nodded as much to himself as to Julius. “I didn’t want to be ungracious,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth. “Not with this spread you put out for us.”

  “Incredible! He’s still trying to butter you up,” I told Julius, who ignored me.

  Cramer sat perched on one of the stools, and he adjusted himself in his seat as if he had a pain in his backside and was trying to get more comfortable.

  “Okay,” he said, “you claimed you’re going to catch this killer by midnight. No ifs, ands or buts about it.” He glanced at his watch, then turned his bleary-eyed stare back at Julius and added, “That’s only nineteen and a half hours from now. You mind telling me how you plan on doing that?”

  “Not at all. I’m going to question each of them,” Julius said plainly. “The six people who were in my office the other day on behalf of my murdered client.”

  Cramer didn’t snort then, at least not exactly. A noise escaped from his nose that sounded somewhat like a snort, but from the look on his face I don’t think it was intentional. Still, from the way he was frowning, it was clear he had plenty of doubts about what Julius had just said. “That’s it?” he asked, maybe more confused than incredulous. “You’re just going to talk to them and from that you’ll know which one of them did it?”

  “Yes,” Julius said, his facial muscles hardening, making it look almost as if his skin had turned to stone. “One of them fired three shots at me with the intent to kill. I’ll be questioning them less than twenty-four hours after that happened, and while I’m doing that I’ll be looking them directly in the eye. If I’m any good, which I believe I am, I’ll know which one of them did it.”

  He said this convincingly enough that I almost believed him. Julius was good at what he did, but he wasn’t that good where he could just look at someone and know whether they were guilty or not. Maybe if they had a tell that he could read then it would be possible, but if one of those six people were Kingston’s murderer then they had already sat in Julius’s office only hours after committing a murder without showing any sign of what they did. Julius was bluffing now. Maybe he had something up his sleeve, like he did earlier when he turned a full house into four tens, but he was still only bluffing. I watched with amazement the transformation in Cramer’s sleep-deprived red-rimmed eyes as he bought it. I had to hand it to Julius for not only convincingly selling this con job, but keeping a straight face throughout.

  “How do you know it was one of those six?” Cramer asked, but it wasn’t really much of a question as the look in his eyes already said that he had bought Julius’s act.

  “Because of the way this killer acted earlier,” Julius said, his lips tightening with disdain. “His attempt on my life was hasty and poorly thought out and showed panic on his part. This panic was the result of this creature sitting in my office and suspecting that I already knew him as Kingston’s murderer; possibly thinking that I knew this either by his body language or the tone of his voice, which in his mind would’ve exaggerated his guilt far more than it actually did. Or may
be something revealing was said, and he was afraid that given time I would pick up on his slip.”

  Cramer chewed on this for twenty-three seconds before accepting it. As I said, he had already bought Julius’s act and as far as he was concerned it had already been signed, sealed and delivered.

  “If you can really deliver the killer by midnight…” he started.

  “I already told you I’ll be doing exactly that.”

  A weak, almost embarrassed smile twisted Cramer’s lips. “Then Julius, maybe we should, uh, cooperate with each other,” he said.

  There it was. What Julius was after. I almost told him bravo while making a clapping sound, but I kept quiet. For the next hour they talked about how they’d be cooperating. The Boston police would be scouring the area for any witnesses while Cramer would be spending the morning getting alibis from the six suspects. If that got them their murderer, then great, but if they were still puzzled after that, Cramer would parade the six suspects in and out of Julius’s office and Julius would then divine the killer. Cramer’s ears did perk up when Julius asked about Zoe Chase’s status, about whether she was supposed to have headed back to New York.

  “Why?” Cramer asked. “You think she’s likely for this?”

  “No more than the others. But,” and Julius shrugged, adding, “if she was supposed to have left to go back to New York and it can be shown that she was here instead, or didn’t arrive back in New York until after four or later this morning, then that will make our job considerably easier.”