"Not much. Just a murder you happened to witness yesterday. I've been expecting you down here to make a statement."
"Come on, Abe. I told you all I knew yesterday afternoon over the phone."
"You come on, buddy. You know how the game is played. The rules say you come down and give us a deposition, and that's what you do."
"Abe, is Hochman's death officially listed as a homicide?"
"You know it isn't. We've got it down as vehicular manslaughter right now, but that could change. I want that deposition on those guys you saw chasing him."
"But it isn't a murder yet?"
"No, not yet."
"Then screw it."
"Rock, goddammit—"
"Listen, Abe. I'm onto something. Something big. Hochman's death was only the tip of the iceberg and right now I'm in the iceberg."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
I skipped that for a moment. "Look, so the Hochman thing isn't officially a murder yet. But I know you, Abe, and I know that you aren't so tied up in red tape that you haven't at least kicked it around a bit."
"So?"
"So you've already hit the informers, the people on the street. Any line on those two guys yet?"
He sighed. "You know there isn't, Rock. And there probably won't be. You called it yourself. Those guys were pros. They covered themselves but good."
"Okay, now listen—" I began, and then I stopped.
I had to. It would have been sacrilegious right then for any healthy man to have kept on talking in the presence of the vision that walked in through the bathroom door.
Susan Court, in the nude, strolling across the room, was one of the most breathtaking sights imaginable. Take my word for it. But if she was aware of the profound effect she had on me, it didn't show. And of course that made her all the more attractive. Innocent sexuality is always the most stimulating sexuality, in my book at least.
She came over, her skin pink from having been rubbed down with a towel, her breasts bobbing free and easy, the dark, curly triangle between her legs a glistening patch of freshness. And the smile on her face as she leaned over to kiss me was as intimate and satisfied as only a woman's smile after love-making can be.
But by then Abe's voice was crackling over the wire and into my ear.
Susan heard it, made a comical lifted-eyebrows expression at me that seemed to say something like, sounds important! and turned her attention around to locating her clothes.
"Dugan, what the hell's going on?!"
"Nothing, Abe. Nothing. Now listen, like I started to say, we both know these two cats that chased Hochman in front of that cab aren't going to show up. And even if they did, so what? You damn well know the percentages for getting a conviction on a pro kill."
"We could still try, dammit, if you'd get your ass down here. Where are you anyway?"
So I told him.
Not all of it, mind you. In fact, I barely touched on Susan Court or even the death of her father. I just told him about Langdon Springs, and Chief Medwick, and Murray Zucco, and the way I sized things up between them.
"And that's where you come in," I finished. "Zucco had those boys waiting to get Hochman but, again, that's just the tip of things. He could be behind a lot more, but I've got to be sure, and I've got to know where I stand in this town before I make any big moves. I've got to know if this connection between Zucco and the Chief is just a casual thing, if I could still possibly rely on Medwick to pull me out if things got really heavy, or if they're really tight. See what I'm getting at?"
"I see where you're in a jam over your head, but I don't see what I can do about it."
"All right," I said. "The first thing you can do is let things slide on that deposition. I know you could make life miserable for me if you wanted to, with me dodging out of town like I did. And Medwick would be only too happy to help you out. There's been a killing down here and he's got everyone convinced it was a suicide. I know damn well it wasn't, and he's not too pleased about that."
"So you want some time to stick your nose in."
"It's already stuck," I corrected. "But yeah, that's the picture. And I want something else. I want anything you can give me on Zucco himself. I haven't met the guy and I'd like to know just how bad he is before I pay him a call. That'll have a lot to do with the way I call my shots. He didn't just pop up from anywhere. He's got to have a record someplace, and I'd like to know what it is, if I can. Can do?"
"Can do, I guess. Maybe. When do you need it?"
"Well, I was hoping to see the guy tonight. How about a half hour or so?"
"Fat chance."
"Well, look, at least call around, okay? Hit whoever you think might have something. The dude's main trip is gambling and he must have sailed in with a pretty sizeable wad to establish himself the way he has. I'd say he was a big-shot somewhere who decided to pull up stakes. It shouldn't be that hard."
"If we're lucky. Okay, where are you staying?"
I gave him my number, thanked him, and told him I'd wait for his call. Then I hung up and looked back at Susan. She was sitting on the edge of the bed near me now, fully dressed looking the perfectly groomed young rich girl about town. Only the slight flush to her cheeks and the look in her eyes as she reached over and gently laid a hand on my bare shoulder, gave hint to what we'd just shared.
"Rock, I've got to be going. You sound like you have a lot to do."
"I do, baby. But it won't last long." I sat up, reached over and held her against me. "Then we'll be together again. When it's all over."
"Is it...nearly over?"
"We're getting there."
"You told that man that you were sure it wasn't suicide."
"I don't see how it could be," I said softly, and I told her about the hitch about the absence of prints on the knife handle.
Her head was on my shoulder by then and the caress of her sweet-smelling hair as she shook her head was exhilarating.
"But it doesn't make sense. How could he have been murdered?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "Yet. But sometimes the hardest, craziest puzzles are the ones that fall together the quickest, once you get the right slant."
"Rock...oh, Rock..."
I gripped her a little tighter by the shoulders and sat her up straight. "Hey," I smiled. "You were right the first time. Far be it from a Dugan to ever give a willing wench the boot from his boudoir, but there is a lot to be done. And I want to do it."
"And I want you to do it," she said. She came forward again but only our lips met this time, in a soft, feathery kiss of affection.
"I think I love you, Dugan."
I ran my fingers through her shag hairdo. "Then vamoose and let me get started, so we'll have time to find out for sure. Take care, angel."
"I will," she assured me, and we kissed again and then she was up from the bed and gone.
And I felt incredibly alone.
I fought the sensation by getting up, switching on the lights, turning on the TV and climbing into the shower. It was a good shower and it did the trick, and by the time I stepped out, my mind was buzzing again with all the variables of this crazy, whacked-out case.
I'd just finished dressing when the phone rang. It was Abe.
"Murray Zucco was a big-shot in Philly," he told me. "Same gig, gambling. He got run out during the Caputa-Lucci wars about five years ago. He was lucky. Most of his friends ended up bait for the fish, but this Murray of yours was astute enough to see which way the wind was blowing pretty early and managed to scram with both his balls and most of his finances still more or less intact."
"What about Medwick?"
"Also from Philly. He was Zucco's muscle."
"Then he still is. Shit."
"The way I got it, that's quite a setup they've got down there. Zucco kept undercover for awhile and let Medwick get established, then backed him for election. Medwick was supposed to be a cop back east, or so the campaign went. He got in and then Zucco set up shop. It's been that way fo
r about a year and a half now and the funny thing is that most of the folks down there still don't know what's going on. It's not like Denver or something. Most of them are having a tough enough time the way it is just keeping their crops alive or holding onto their jobs at the sugar plant to pay that much attention to local politics, and I guess you can't blame them."
"Yeah, I guess not. Well, we'll just have to help them out in spite of themselves."
"You still going to see Zucco tonight?"
"A little later, yeah. If you haven't heard from me by tomorrow, send the marines."
There was a beat of nothing then, and then his voice dropped a bit and took on a tone that said, in spite of all the crap, we were still friends.
"Rock, those guys are tough. Be careful."
"Careful's my middle name," I told him. "Thanks, Abe," and I hung up, strapped on my .44 just like they do in the books, and got back to work.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
George and Helen Bishop lived in a typical looking modern ranch-style home to the east of town. Not far east enough to be in Carlander Court's neighborhood, either financially or geographically, but far enough to know that at least they were on their way.
I parked on the blacktop driveway before the garage and passed neatly trimmed hedges of rosebushes on my way to the front door, where I pressed the button. A muted series of chimes sounded inside, and a moment later an overhead outdoor light went on, the door opened and I was again face to face with the red-headed Amazon from the night before.
Only she looked a bit more civilized now. She was dressed casually in jeans, apron and a faded print blouse, she hadn't bothered with her hair lately, and behind her, across the room and through a doorway, I could see a sink piled high with soapsuds and dishes.
She looked at me vacantly, almost through me.
"Yes?"
"Hello, Helen," I said easily. "My name's Rock Dugan. We met last night at the Court home, remember? I was with Susan."
She focused on me then with a faint glimmer of recognition, smiled apologetically. "Oh. Oh, yes. I'm sorry. There was so much...so much happening last night. I guess I forgot for a moment. I'm sorry."
"That's all right. Is your husband at home? I'd like to speak with him if I could."
"Of course. He's down in his study. Come in, won't you?" She stepped aside so I could pass and in so doing looked down and noticed a speck of soapsuds clinging to one of her fingers. Embarrassed, she wiped it off on her apron, hoping I hadn't noticed, and closed the door behind us. "Is it about what happened last night?" she asked slowly. "Are you...involved in that?"
I told her I was, and in what capacity. "As Mr. Court's attorney, your husband might have some information I could use," I added. "I won't take too much of his time."
"Oh. You think he might know why...Mr. Court just went out and committed suicide the way he did?"
"Something like that."
She looked at me, started to say something, then cut herself off.
"I'd better show you down to George," she began again. "He gets awfully upset if there's someone here to see him and he doesn't know about it."
She led the way across the living room to our left, down six steps and through a family recreation room. The house was a two level affair, and just beyond the recreation room was a closed panel door. She knocked on it timidly and opened it just enough to stick her head in.
"George, honey. It's—"
"Goddammit, Helen!" a voice boomed from inside. "Why the living hell can't you give me some peace and quiet around here?! If it's not you, it's those goddamned kids!"
She stepped back, letting the door sway open.
"George, please—"
He appeared in the doorway, flushed and angry. "It's not easy keeping four mouths fed, Helen. And it's harder when I can't get a moment's quiet to—" And then he saw me and stopped. His attention shifted. "Oh."
"This is Mr. Dugan, George," his wife told him. "You remember—"
"I remember," he snapped. Then he looked at me again and his manner warmed. He was dressed in tan loafers, a pair of brown slacks and a comfortable-looking white sweater. He extended his hand and we shook. "How are you, Dugan? Good to see you again."
Helen began, "It's about Mr. Court—"
"I'll find out what it's about," Bishop snarled. "Come on in, Dugan." Then, to Helen, "That'll be all."
He turned and stepped back into the room, leaving the woman and I momentarily face to face in the rec room. I looked at her and wanted to say something, but I didn't have a chance. She turned, avoiding my eyes, and rushed back up the stairs.
It wasn't pretty and I wished there was something I could do. You always wish there is at a time like that. You always wish there is but you usually end up deciding there isn't and leaving it alone because it's not your problem. At least I do. In my business I get paid to look into enough family squabbles the way it is without having to dig up trouble on the side.
So I took a deep breath and joined hubby. Talking with him in his wife's presence had been like interviewing Jekyll and Hyde, but now Hyde was gone and only the good Dr. Jekyll was left. He stood smiling beside his desk, waiting for me, and motioned to a chair.
"Have a seat, Dugan. Care for a drink?"
I eased myself into the chair he'd indicated and said no thanks as he circled around his desk. He leaned back in his swivel chair with his legs crossed and lit a cigarette, and when he spoke it was with the butt bobbing up and down from between his lips, squinting at me from behind a thin, grayish cloud.
There were no apologies for the scene I'd just been subjected to.
He nodded briefly to the clutter on the desk before him. "I've just spent most of the day sifting through Court's papers," he said. "It's going to be a bitch, but I knew it would be. You realize that you've been posthumously retained by him, don't you?"
"We discussed it. I'm also interested in helping out Susan."
"Yeah, well, I don't see much that you're going to be able to do. I spoke with the Chief of Police earlier today and according to him the thing is pretty well cut and dried."
"You talked to Medwick? Why?"
His voice got an edge. ''Why shouldn't I? I'm the executor of Court's estate. Why shouldn't I have an interest?"
"And that was all?"
He studied me for a moment, the cigarette still in his mouth. Then he took it out and tapped some ashes into a tray and gave me what was supposed to be a grin.
"Okay, Dugan. I can tell you're a detective. Yeah, there was a reason I called Medwick."
"Care to tell me about it?"
He shrugged. "Don't see why not. It was Tommy. He asked me to. He's been pestering me all day. He must have called here fifteen times at least. Maybe that's why I'm so edgy."
Maybe, I thought. But maybe not. It didn't take a Joyce Brothers to see that the tensions in the Bishop marriage ran a lot deeper than a few distracting phone calls. But I didn't say that.
I said, "What's on his mind?"
"You shouldn't have to ask that. You know why Court Senior hired you. He was pretty damn sure Tommy had it in for him, and that's a point Tommy's awful sensitive about right now."
"Did you talk to Medwick about Tommy?"
"No. Medwick is Zucco's man and I'm sure you're aware how Zucco and Tommy stand. A man convicted of murder cannot claim any inheritance resulting from the murder, and Zucco wants to make certain Tommy gets the money he's got coming to him because it's not going to stay with Tommy for long. Not with those gambling markers over his head."
"Quite a mess."
He gave a quick wave of annoyance. "Ah, it's ridiculous. The whole thing. Tommy's frantic. Susan's frantic. And look at old Court himself. Money to him was just a way of manipulating people. Of punishment and reward and showing love." He shook his head. "It's really something what that green stuff can do to people, Dugan. The Court family is filthy with it and look at them. Two screwed up kids and a suicide."
"Suicide, maybe."
His
eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
I shrugged. "A few people think the police might be wrong. What do you think?"
"I don't see how they could be, quite frankly. But if it wasn't suicide, the only alternative is..."
"Murder," I finished for him. "And that's why I'm here to see you. You helped Court pick out that glider, didn't you?"
He was suddenly very cautious. It must have been his law school training. He sensed that he was being led into something bigger and his body drew visibly taut.
"Now wait a minute—"
"Now don't get excited, counselor. Facts are facts, right?"
He nodded, "Sure, facts are facts. But don't try to tell a lawyer they can't be twisted any way you want them to be. Sure, I picked out that glider. Court had begun reading about sailplaning about six months ago and he decided it was the next thing he wanted to do. He wanted the best, of course, but, healthy as he looked, he was really in no shape to do any heavy traveling. So he had me familiarize myself with all of the brochures and catalogues, we narrowed it down to three or four models between us, and I was off to the plants back east to make the final selection." He picked up a pencil and began idly tapping the eraser end on the papers before him. "But if you think there's any way I could have tampered with that craft, I'll thank you to remember that the police from the State Crime Lab went over it from stem to stern, looking for some device that could have thrust that knife into Court, and came up with nothing. Not Medwick's hacks, mind you, but the state police. No one tampered with that glider."
I couldn't resist a smile. "Well done, counselor. Good save."
"There was nothing to save. Like you said, facts are facts." He stopped tapping the pencil and leaned forward, and there was an undercurrent of hardness in his voice that hadn't been there before. "Is that just about all, Dugan? This grilling of yours is kind of trying and," he nodded again to the desk, "I do have my work cut out for me."
I was finding it harder and harder to pretend I liked the guy, so I gave up trying.
"It's just about all, Bishop," I said, and there was metal in my voice too. "Just some opinions now, okay? You were Court's attorney. You know who he had dealings with. Anyone, outside of Tommy, who might want him dead?"
Some Die Hard Page 9
