A Richard L. Wren Mystery-Adventure Sampler

by Richard Wren

CHAPTER 18

  Josie and Casey were alone in the kitchen drying dishes. Casey was trying to lighten the conversation. “So what’s it like being an ex-District Attorney and now the lead defense attorney in a major case and at the same time chief cook and bottle washer for this bunch of miscreants?”

  Not that easily deterred, Josie stuck to her questioning. “You think that somebody from way back there reached out and killed your lady friend in Denver? Really?” Josie was still skeptical.

  “I didn’t think so until your Dad told me about how the Devils reach out to other branches in all parts of the country all the time to get something done. He said gang’s fingers spread out all around the world. Like the tentacles on an octopus.”

  “Maybe, but murder?”

  Casey hesitated. “How could he tell her what Smitty had inferred, without saying what Smitty had said?”

  He carefully worded his answer, “He said that way back when, there’d been some idiots in the gang that he was sure had murdered guys that’d crossed them.”

  “Okay. I get that. Mom always told me not to dig too deep into Dad’s connections with the gang. Like I said before, she was actually afraid of some of those guys. But here we’re talking about a time span of over forty years.”

  “All it takes is some guy that was influential then and was in his thirties. He’d only be in his seventies now and probably totally secure in what he did until he heard the case was being reopened. Or maybe it’s some guy’s son. Or, Smitty suggested it could be a gang. Like he said, gangs go on forever.”

  Slowly, Josie posed a question. “Originally you two were going to work for me, be my bird dogs. So far I don’t have diddly squat and the DA’s blocking me at every turn. So maybe the thing is to follow up on what you’re getting?”

  Smitty took that moment to join them. “Any more coffee?”

  Josie poured each of them a cup and Casey asked the next logical question. “What now? Where do we go from here?”

  Smitty was ready with a quick answer. “Shirl’s Bar for a beer. I figure if Elsie was pleased to find that Shirl’ remembered her she might be one of the one’s she called. It’s as good a place to start as anywhere, right?”

  The bar wasn’t exactly jumping, three guys playing pool, an old guy reading a newspaper and nursing a beer plus Shirl at the back door talking to a beer truck driver.

  Both Smitty and Casey paid more attention to Shirl than they had the previous visit. Casey decided that the word chunky fit her. He noticed that she was tall enough to handle being behind the bar, “five six or seven?” he thought. “And strong,” he added to himself as he saw her heft a case of beer.

  “You two again?” She greeted them in a friendly tone much different than the words themselves. “I got a phone call from Elsie thanks to you. She said she was coming down and might drop by. So I guess I owe you. How about a couple’a beers on the house,” she said as she drew and place two beers in front of them.

  Casey and Smitty glanced at each other.

  “So she did call you after we talked to her?” Smitty asked.

  “That’s what I said isn’t it?” She rested her hands on the back edge of the bar.

  Slowly Smitty reached out and covered her hand with his huge paw. “Shirl, we got some awfully bad news for you. Elsie’s dead. She was murdered.” He glanced at Casey. “We think she might have been murdered because of the call she made to you.”

  She yanked her hand out from under Smitty’s. “She’s dead? Murdered? And you think I’m involved?”

  “No, no.” Smitty reassured her. He went on to recount everything that had happened since they had last visited her bar.

  “So you think somebody from the past arranged to get her killed?” she said disbelievingly.

  “Nothing else makes sense.”

  She stepped back, turned and slowly walked to the bar’s end and stopped with her back to the two of them. After a moment she returned to them and asked. “So you’re saying that she might have been killed because I gabbed to somebody? And you want to know what and who we talked about and who I might have mentioned it to. right?”

  “That’s it in a nutshell.”

  Partly to herself she said. “Jesus that puts me in a bind.”

  “It’s for Gus.” Smitty quietly said.

  She leaned over the bar and whispered in a quick jumble of words.

  “The only name she mentioned was Carl Peterson. She said she had mentioned him to you and she wanted to know if he was still around. I told her hell yes he’s in here all the time but I don’t remember him being involved in that case. She said oh yes he was and was going to look him up with a lot of questions when she got here.”

  “And you mentioned the phone call to this guy Peterson?”

  “I didn’t see any harm in it. He’s kind of an old friend and a nice guy. No way he’d do anyone any harm. Hell, you can go over and talk to him if you want. He’s the tall guy playing pool over there.”

  Smitty had already noticed the guy intently staring at them. The light outside the cone of light over the pool table wasn’t very bright but Smitty had noticed a long scar from the guy’s forehead to below his ear.

  “That’s Carl Peterson and he was a policeman back then?”

  “Detective. He’s been retired for years.”

  “C’mon Casey, let’s talk to him.” They walked over as the three guys racked their cues and hoisted their rear ends on the edge of the pool table.

  “What’s goin’ on?” The one Shirl had identified as Peterson asked.

  “Nothin’. Why?”

  Peterson radiated a feeling of casualness but Smitty could feel tension in the air. “We couldn’t help but notice you kept lookin’ over here all the time you were talkin’ to Shirl. ‘You askin’ about us?”

  “Nope: not at all. Fact is we came over to give her some bad news. A good friend of hers got murdered in Denver. She said you might have known her too. Elsie Lancaster?”

  Whatever else Peterson might have been, he was a lousy actor. He did a slow double take while he obviously tried to formulate an answer. “Let’s see, Elsie Who?”

  “Lancaster. She was a police dispatcher way back when.”

  Smitty refreshed his memory. “Shirl said she talked to you about Elsie trying to locate you and you remembered her.”

  Peterson cast a nervous eye at his two playing partners. “Oh, that Elsie. Guess I just forgot about her, right guys?” They both nodded in unison.

  Smitty decided it was time to get out and decide their next step now that Peterson had aroused their suspicions.

  “Well if you don’t even remember her, I guess you can’t help us any.”

  “Help you?”

  “Yeah. We’re working for an attorney that’s investigating an old case. You’ve probably read about how they’re using DNA to re-open those old cases? We though Mrs. Lancaster might have some new evidence but now that she’s dead,” he paused for a moment then threw out a red herring. “I guess we’ll just go soldiering on and try to find out what really happened by ourselves.”

  Peterson suddenly developed itchy feet. “Hey I just remembered, I gotta’ make a phone call.”

  It was obviously apparent to both Casey and Smitty that Peterson thought he’d successfully pulled the wool over their eyes.

  “Let’s go,” Smitty said. Casey expected him to make a beeline for the front door but he lingered for a while talking to Shirl.

  Finally, as Casey opened the front door, Smitty whispered. “On your toes. I think Peterson might be waiting for us,” he reached in his pocket and pulled out two billiard balls, handing one to Casey. “Really good defensive weapon,” he chortled.

  As they reached their car, Peterson stepped out from the corner of the building holding a cue reversed in his right hand. His two friends backed him up. Smitty didn’t hesitate but threw the billiard ball with remarkable accura
cy at Peterson’s face, giving him no time to dodge. The ball glanced off the side of his mouth, taking all the fight out of him. His two friends ran.

  “Thought so,” Smitty remarked. “I think we struck a nerve. Is he conscious?”

  “Just barely,” Casey observed in a shocked tone. “Jesus his lips are squashed and there’s blood everywhere.” He glanced up at Smitty, “a little excessive?”

  Smitty looked at Casey a little derisively. “You ever been in a gang fight? Ever been clobbered by the butt end of a cue stick?” He paused. “Never mind, you’ll learn.”

  The guy was coughing, retching and spitting blood, making a lot of noise. Enough so that neither Smitty nor Casey heard approaching footsteps. The first inkling of company was when out of the corner of Casey’s eye he noticed the pointed end of a brightly polished cowboy boot just behind him. He whirled around prepared to call out and warn Smitty only to find himself facing two men, each armed with a gun pointing them.

  He reminded himself that discretion was better than valor when facing armed men and gently whispered. “Smitty”.

  “What?”

  “We got company.”

  Smitty, busy propping Peterson up against the side of the building slowly twisted his head around. Two men, each holding a gun trained on him. He immediately noticed how professional they were acting. The one behind Casey had kicked his feet apart and was standing about an arm’s length behind him while the other was a careful two yards behind him. Very professional, almost police like. Smitty slowly stood up letting Peterson slide back down to the ground.