5 Tutti Frutti

by Mike Faricy

  “And were you successful?”

  “Maybe. I sat there for a couple of hours. His car remained in the driveway. At no time did I see him. I finally concluded I was wasting my time and decided to return to my office.”

  “What time would that have been?”

  “I believe I returned to my office sometime after midmorning.”

  “So again, just for the record, other than sitting in your vehicle, a red, nineteen ninety five Fleetwood Cadillac, knocking on his front door, and possibly chatting with David Kenney on the sidewalk you were not in or around Mister Rockett’s house.”

  “That is correct.”

  “Detective, my client has been very clear on this matter, is there a point here?” Louie finally asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Manning said then directed an open hand toward crabby Clara. She handed him a manila file, which Manning dramatically placed on the table, turned round toward us and opened so both Louie and I could view the contents together. We stared at a grainy eight by ten photo.

  “Is this you, Mister Haskell?”

  It was a picture of me peeing against the corner of Rockett’s house.

  “Well, yes, I guess I sort of forgot about this, but I can explain.”

  “Please do,” Manning smiled, but his eyes remained icy blue.

  “See, I was sitting in my car a long time and drinking lots of coffee.” I looked over at crabby Clara. “A real lot of coffee,” hoping to play to her sympathetic side. “I probably drank at least five or six cups, large cups. Anyway, I knocked on Rockett’s door to see if I could use his bathroom.”

  “Really?” Manning said, sounding surprised like he genuinely couldn’t believe the sheer stupidity.

  “Yeah, and when he didn’t answer I sort of went around the corner to relieve myself. You know how it is,” I said in Clara’s direction. I’m not sure she did based on her total lack of reaction.

  “I’ll admit perhaps not the most proper thing to do, but other than drinking too much coffee and finding himself in an unfortunate situation is there anything else here?” Louie asked.

  Manning smiled coldly and this time crabby Clara had a manila file which she placed in front of him before he could even ask for it.

  “A bit of a delicate situation here, but I wonder if you might care to explain these?” Manning asked then once again dramatically turned the manila file around on the table to face us. He waited a very long moment then slowly opened the file.

  Crabby Clara suddenly had a slight gleam in her eye.

  “I believe this is you, Mister Haskell. We’d be interested in any comment you may have.”

  “Where in the hell did you get these?” I asked, stunned. The images, there were five, were me alright. I was handcuffed to a headboard with what looked like a strip of duct tape over my mouth while someone holding a riding crop issued punishment. If I was uncomfortable before, I was really beginning to feel the pain now. There was something else. While it was clearly me, the images appeared to have been doctored. The bed wasn’t Candi’s nor was the room, and it was impossible to tell who was on the business end of the riding crop. The images were blurry and grainy like they’d been shot through a cloud of fog.

  I was confused to say the least.

  Louie slowly pawed through the photos exhaling loudly each time he turned over an eight by ten and viewed the next one.

  “Jesus,” he said, giving me a side glance. “This would seem to indicate nothing other than that this is my client,” Louie stuttered. “These could have been taken anywhere at anytime.”

  “True, I grant you to a point, councilor. But they were found on a pay-as-you-go cell phone in Mister Rockett’s possession at the time of his death. The bed seems to be Mister Rockett’s or at least amazingly similar. We recovered a riding crop as well as a pair of handcuffs in Rockett’s house.”

  I was speechless.

  “These two photos were found on the same phone,” Manning said as Clara placed another manila file in front of him. He went through his dramatic routine once again, slowly opening the file and revealing two eight by ten images. He was beginning to get on my nerves.

  “Would you happen to know this woman, Mister Haskell?”

  “I’m not sure that I do, she looks vaguely familiar, but…”

  “Maybe focus a bit more on the face, Haskell,” Manning growled. He was in his element, enjoying himself.

  “The photos were crisp, sharp and looked studio perfect. It seemed obvious to me that the naked blonde with the glassy-eyed stare was completely out of it. She was seated on the edge of a bed holding a riding crop and giving the thumbs up. She had one of those intoxicated stares on her face that suggested she couldn’t remember her own name. The surgical implants and the sunburst tattoo around her navel eliminated any question. Drunk, coked up, or both it was none other than my worst nightmare, Swindle Lawless. Her upper lip looked swollen but there was no hint of the bloody nose or the black eye that would follow.

  “Like I said, she looks familiar, but I’m not sure I can place her at this time.”

  “Once again, I have to insist that these images could have been taken at any time in any place. Quite honestly, they could have been downloaded off the Internet for all we know.” Louie sounded a lot less than convincing.

  “I’d say she shows a remarkable resemblance to one of your clients, Haskell. I believe this could be Miss Lawless. You recall Miss Lawless, she recently filed a rape charge against you,” Manning said.

  “That charge is in the process of being withdrawn, a simple misunderstanding,” Louie replied.

  “Perhaps. She seems to have left her purse behind at Dudley Rockett’s home as well. We found it along with a pair of her shoes. I believe they were red weren’t they, Detective Gutnacht?”

  Gutnacht smiled and nodded, “Yes, red soles, Christian Louboutin.”

  “A virtual treasure trove of sexual deviance,” Manning said, patting the photos of Swindle.

  “I’d say it’s pretty obvious these were doctored, they’re grainy, blurry. I was never in that house,” I said then pushed the eight by tens staring up at me back across the table toward Manning.

  “Oh really, yet here you are along with your client, Miss Lawless. Maybe Mister Rockett was just a fan and wanted to start a collection,” Manning smiled.

  “I can’t explain that, these could have come from anywhere,” I said, genuinely confused.

  “They came from the pay-as-you-go phone found in Rockett’s possession. Did I mention that the phone was registered to Miss Lawless?”

  “What?”

  Manning abruptly changed direction. “Tell me, Mister Haskell, would you consent to us photographing you? It would just be a couple of photos.”

  “Photos? I’m not sure what you mean,” I said afraid I knew exactly what he meant.

  “Photos of you just standing. Nothing like your earlier sort of activity.” Manning looked down to indicate my images replete with duct tape and riding crop. His eyes sparkled, he cracked his ever-present wad of gum and smiled.

  “I don’t know I think it might not be…”

  “We can do it under the heading of full cooperation,” Manning said to Louie. “Or we can place Mister Haskell in custody and hold him overnight until we get the authorization to take the photos. Your choice how you want to do it, but in the end we’re going to have the photos taken.”

  “Look, if it will help set the record straight and exonerate my client, we’re all for it. Can we have a moment’s privacy to discuss?” Louie asked.

  “Certainly,” Manning smiled then he and Clara stood up and headed out of the room. Manning stopped at the door just before he stepped out of the room. “Just knock when you’re ready to proceed,” he said then pulled the door closed behind him.

  “Fuck,” Louie hissed. “Are you kidding me? I told you to ditch her, told you she was nothing but trouble, God damn it.”

  “Louie, I don’t have any recollection of this, honest, any of it. I
don’t want to take those photos for Manning.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’ve still got some marks on me from that beating with the riding crop. Only it was from Candi, at her place, at least I think it was.”

  “Oh, Jesus Christ, what the hell were you thinking.”

  “Hey, look, something’s not right here.”

  “Gee, really? You’re telling me! Okay, they’re going to get the photos one way or the other. I can fight it, but we’re talking holding them off no more than about twelve hours tops. Manning’s probably got the paperwork already signed and set to go. Are those marks going to disappear within the next twelve hours?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Are they going to look any better tomorrow morning than they do now?”

  “Not really.”

  “So why spend the night in jail, Dev? Christ, they’ll just lock you up overnight and be photographing you before breakfast tomorrow. Besides, need I remind you about your living room couch?”

  “No.” I could only hope Swindle was still passed out at my place.

  “Then let’s get this over with so you can get home and deal with that problem before things get any worse.”

  Louie knocked on the door.

  Manning opened it a second later and smiled. “Any decision?”

  “We’ll agree to be photographed,” Louie said, sounding resigned to the situation.

  “Excellent. We’ll take the photos right in here and have you both on your merry way in no time flat.”

  He was sounding way too cheerful for my tastes. He strode back into the room followed by a crew-cut guy in jeans and a T-shirt carrying a camera. Manning picked up a small remote off a shelf and, after pushing a couple of buttons, adjusted the lighting to better illuminate a corner of the room. There were a number of lines taped on one of the walls about six inches apart, each one indicating different height.

  “Mister Haskell, if you would kindly step over into that corner,” Manning absently waved his hand like it was no big deal then went back to pushing buttons on the remote.

  I walked over to the corner, turned, and faced everyone.

  “Would you remove your shirt, please?” the cameraman asked.

  I gave a quick glance toward Louie who frowned and nodded back.

  The cameraman fired off one shot of me facing him then instructed, “Turn round, please.” I heard the camera click three times. “Lower your trousers, please.” Three more clicks. “Lower the boxers please. A little bit more. Some more.”

  I heard a gasp that sounded like it could only have come from Louie.

  “Good,” the cameraman said then followed with a half dozen more clicks of his camera.

  “All right, that should do it, Detective,” the cameraman said.

  “You got everything you need?” Manning asked.

  “More than enough,” he replied.

  I wasn’t thrilled with the sound of that.

  “Very well. Gentlemen, thank you for your cooperation. Mister Haskell, you remain as always a person of interest. I need you to sign this release form for the photos before you go. You are not, I stress not, at this time under arrest. I would request you plan on remaining in the area, and should anything come to light please let us know. Do either of you have any questions?”

  “No, Detective, we do not,” Louie said.

  Louie may not have had any questions, but I for one had a ton of them I wanted to ask. None of which I thought Manning would be able to answer. Besides, I had a little more pressing matter, hopefully still passed out at home on my living room couch.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “No, don’t even think of asking. Believe me, it’s best if I don’t come in,” Louie said cutting me off before I’d had a chance to even ask him. He had just pulled to the curb in front of my place after a silent drive from Manning’s little modeling session at the police station.

  “I wasn’t going to ask you in,” I lied. “I just wondered what you thought we should do next.”

  “Probably the best thing to do would be for you to sign a full confession and throw yourself on the mercy of the court.”

  “What?’

  “I think right now you better get Swindle at least semi-sober and straight so you can try and get a semblance of an answer from her.” The “Jaws” theme suddenly erupted from Louie’s coat pocket.

  “Is that…”

  “Shit, Cazzo,” Louie said. “I’m gonna have to take this, you better get inside and deal with Swindle.” He pulled the phone out of his pocket, motioned for me to get out of his car then half shouted, “This is Louie Laufen.”

  I opened the door, and waved good-bye, and watched as Louie drove off then took a deep breath of the still settling exhaust fumes and went in to deal with Swindle.

  No need to rush, she wasn’t there. I ran upstairs in the hope she might have adjourned to a bedroom or the bath tub, but there was no sign of her. I even checked the closets where I noticed a sawed-off twenty gauge I kept in my bedroom closet was missing. Her red heels were still under the coffee table. One of the cushions from my living room couch lay halfway on the floor. The door to my liquor cabinet was open and a kitchen stool was tipped over.

  About the only conclusion I could draw from these facts was that Swindle was apparently bare foot and armed when she left.

  I was thinking of the photos Manning had shown us. He said the photos had come from a cell phone in Dudley Rockett’s possession at the time of his death. The phone was registered to Swindle, but a pay-as-you-go didn’t seem to describe her sleazy leopard skin iPhone.

  Hell, as far as I could remember I’d never even been inside the place. Based on her appearance in the photos, Swindle looked to be incapable of even leaving her name let alone taking photos. I didn’t take those photos. I was pretty sure Swindle didn’t take them. But I had a pretty good idea who did, the only person I was with that night.

  “Hi, Dev,” Candi cooed, “interested in a little giddy-up action after I get off work tonight?”

  “You at the Tutti Frutti now? I asked.

  “Working till close, honey. How’s my spank baby?”

  “Eager to see you, Candi. Feel like giving me some of your extra-personal attention if I come over?”

  “Ooo, you are so bad. I didn’t think you’d be ready to go so soon. I’ll be home about two thirty, maybe three this morning, is that too late for you?”

  “No, that’ll work, it gives me some time to rest up, can’t wait to see you,” I said.

  Actually I wasn’t kidding. I couldn’t wait to see her, but not for the reasons she thought. That, plus Swindle seemed to hold a key too, as frightening as that sounded and Candi was the closest chance I had to finding Swindle. I thought back to Heidi screaming at me about the flowers I’d left in her kitchen. What if she wasn’t having one of her lunatic moments? What if there really were flowers left in her kitchen?

  I attempted to call her and got a recording, “The subscriber you have attempted to reach has requested that no calls from this number be accepted.” Apparently she really did block my number. I walked down the street to a pay phone outside of Fern’s bar and phoned her.

  “This is Heidi,” she answered a few minutes later sounding very professional and relatively sane.

  “Heidi, please don’t hang up.”

  “I told you to never, ever call me again, Poopy,” she said, but she didn’t shout and she didn’t hang up.

  “Heidi, I’m in a bit of a mess and I’m hoping maybe you could help. I…”

  “I knew it. You need bail money again, don’t you? Well guess what? The First National Bank of Heidi is closed to you forever, do you hear me, forever!”

  “Will you quit screaming and just listen for a moment? It’s not about money, but this concerns you, too.”

  “If I picked up some STD from you and that Swindle slut, I’m going to cut off that little…”

  “Heidi.”

  “I’m telling you, Dev. So
help me…”

  “Heidi, this isn’t about STDs and Swindle. Well, it might be about Swindle.”

  “Oh, I can just hardly wait.”

  “Are you ready to listen?”

  “So help me, Dev.”

  “Heidi, remember when you phoned me about the flowers and then, I don’t know, there was a crash and you hung up.”

  “I threw them out onto the patio, along with that disgustingly cheap vase you low life little weasel. I didn’t want your shitty flowers anywhere in my home after what you and your slut, hooker girlfriend did to me.”

  “Okay, for the umpteenth time nothing happened, Heidi. Was it a good idea? Probably not my brightest, but nothing happened, besides I would never want to share you.”

  A long pause followed.

  “You really mean that?” she asked.

  “Absolutely. Of course I mean it, but tell me about the flowers.”

  “The ones you put on my kitchen counter? Totally bad idea, totally. I was pretty upset, and by the way, that shitty card you enclosed did nothing to help. I was gonna get the locks changed so you couldn’t get back in, but I haven’t had time and I guess I’ve sort of calmed down.”

  “Heidi, I didn’t leave any flowers on your kitchen counter,” I said.

  “Well if you didn’t who did?”

  “What did the card say?”

  “Some gross line about the three of us giving and getting or something. I was so pissed off I didn’t even finish reading it. What do you mean you didn’t leave the flowers? Unless… don’t tell me it was that slut Swindle, your pal?”

  “Swindle? I don’t think so, she’s got a number of problems she’s dealing with right now, and I don’t think she could actually find the time let alone your house. Where were they sent from?”

  “They weren’t sent. I told you they were on the kitchen counter. I came home from that stupid police interrogation, thanks for that by the way, and there they were sitting in my kitchen.”

  “On the counter?”

  “Are you listening? Yes, on the kitchen counter. The flowers, little roses by the way, cheap ones, in some dreadful glass vase. I just called you and tossed the whole thing out onto the patio so you could hear it crash.”