Risky Undertaking

by Mark de Castrique

  “What happened?”

  “An expensive lawyer, a thousand-dollar fine, and a suspended sentence. One week later a witness was found dead in a wooded area outside of Boston.”

  “Shot?”

  “No. Poisoned.”

  The story rang a bell. “Cyanide, right? I thought they had someone for the crime and it was unrelated to Bulger.”

  “Of course they have someone for the crime. Conveniently served up with an outstanding debt motive. But I think there was another motive at play. Either off the witness or get a bullet to the head. Nothing’s unrelated in Boston. I think Tyrell carried that Walther with him because he was going to take care of the witness testifying against Bulger. Then he got pulled on the DUI with the potential murder weapon, and he went to plan B to distance himself.”

  “So, you’ve been staking him out?”

  Kevin nodded. “Whitey Bulger’s trial was like turning over a rock. Lots of things crawled out, except in this case, they turned on each other and turned in each other. Frankie Tyrell’s name started surfacing, and he might have been tying up his own loose ends as much as working for Bulger.”

  “And what does an Indian activist have to do with a Boston mobster?”

  “You got me, pal. But, Frankie flies in on Friday and your boy’s executed Sunday night.”

  “Then why would he kill Panther in that same manner? He’d have to know he risked drawing attention to himself.”

  Kevin held up his index finger. “One word. Arrogance. Tyrell is an arrogant son of a bitch, and like most arrogant crooks, he’s not as smart as he thinks. Whitey was the brains and no one else came close.”

  “Where’s Tyrell staying?”

  “At the casino in Cherokee. Allegedly for a poker tournament running this week.”

  “Have you got enough for a search warrant of his room?”

  “No. And I don’t think the tribal police are anxious to hassle casino guests without compelling evidence. Frankie’s probably dumped the gun. He wouldn’t have chanced bringing it through airport security from Boston, so he either has an accomplice or he shipped it to some drop box near here.”

  I knew if Panther had been cuffed and driven to the cemetery, then whoever killed him had an accomplice. But if Panther had arrived at the cemetery only to be surprised by his assassin, then an accomplice wasn’t necessary. That would make Kevin’s case for Francis Tyrell weaker. How would an outsider know his way well enough to find the cemetery? And Tyrell arrived before Eurleen Cransford’s funeral so Panther’s actions at the interment couldn’t have prompted his trip. What possible motive could he have?

  Kevin must have read the skepticism on my face. He threw up his hands. “I know. You’re looking at me like I’m nuts. Maybe I am. But I don’t believe in coincidences and when a hit man comes to Cherokee and a Cherokee is murdered, I’ve got to take a sober look at it.” He swallowed the last of his Bushmills and slid the glass away.

  He wasn’t exactly sober, but I could see that he was hell-bent on inserting himself in my case. I wondered what Tommy Lee thought of Kevin’s theory.

  “Why would Tyrell stay for a poker tournament?” I asked. “You think he’d be on the first plane out this morning.”

  “The only risks he takes are at the tables. If he came down for a job, he’d need a window of opportunity. Blowing in and out of town over the short interval of a murder does draw attention.”

  “Does he know you’re tailing him?”

  “I doubt it.” Kevin shrugged. “But who knows. He’s probably seen me testify against some of his fellow scumbags. I’ve tried to stay out of sight. Fortunately the casino is a big place.”

  “Were you on his plane?”

  “No. We’ve got a trace on his credit card. He bought the tickets a week ago. I came down earlier Friday morning.”

  The date Tyrell booked his flight further diminished the prospects that he was connected to Luther Cransford and the cemetery. Kevin was overreaching. “Did you tail him Sunday night?”

  “No. My damn bladder did me in. I went to the restroom and when I came back Tyrell had left the poker room.”

  “What time was this?”

  “About nine thirty. I’m pretty sure he was winning, although I couldn’t be sure from where I was watching. You know the casino?”

  “No. I saw it from the outside for the first time today.”

  “Well, the poker room is on the second level so it’s not real easy to see who’s playing without going inside. Tyrell had been sitting with his back to the main door so I could cruise by now and then. Most of the time I nursed a drink and kept an eye on the entrance.”

  “Maybe there’s a record of when he cashed out.”

  “When I lost him, I staked out the windows. I saw him cash out. Two a.m. But I’ll be damned if I know where he was for four and a half hours.”

  The front door opened and Democrat trotted in, a yellow tennis ball proudly clenched between his teeth. He stopped by Kevin and dropped his treasure at the man’s feet.

  “He wants you to play.” Susan closed the door with her free hand. The other held letters and a few catalogues. Only three months till Christmas and the deluge had started.

  Kevin picked up the ball. Democrat sat on his haunches and swept the floor with his tail.

  “No playing ball in the house,” Susan said. “He thinks you don’t know the rules and that he’s going to pull one over on us.”

  “Is that right?” Kevin asked Democrat. “Are you a rule breaker?” The tail moved faster. “Can I take him out for a few minutes?”

  “Sure,” Susan said. “Barry can help set the table and we’ll call you.”

  Kevin stood and Democrat scampered to the door, looking back to make certain he was being followed.

  I followed Susan into the kitchen. She didn’t look back because I’d better be following.

  “So, what’s up?” She asked the question as she handed me three dinner plates.

  “Kevin says he’s got a suspect for me. A mob hit man out of Boston.”

  “For Jimmy Panther?”

  “Yeah. He’s in Cherokee at the casino and Kevin doesn’t know where he was Sunday night.”

  “His guy along with several hundred other people in the casino.”

  “I know. But I’m trying to have an open mind.” I gave her the replay of the conversation while she sliced the pizza and tossed the salad.

  “Can Kevin suggest a motive?” she asked.

  “No. And there’s not a lot I can do in the way of changing the direction of my investigation unless I get some evidence suggesting a link. I’ll talk to Tommy Lee in the morning, but I doubt he’ll think otherwise.”

  I carried the food to the table, refilled the wineglasses including Kevin’s, and called him and Democrat to supper.

  While the yellow lab gulped his food like it might disappear any second, Kevin picked up his glass before we sat. “I’d like to propose a toast.”

  Susan and I dutifully raised our wine.

  “An Irish toast to the newlyweds. Here’s to love, the only fire against which there is no insurance. And may the flower of love never be nipped by the frost of disappointment, nor shadow of grief fall among your family and friends. May you be poor in misfortune, rich in blessings, slow to make enemies and quick to make friends. And may you know nothing but happiness from this day forward.” He swept his arm in an arc across the room. “May your home always be too small to hold all your friends. And may I always be one of them.”

  We clinked glasses.

  “I’m sure you will be,” Susan said.

  We drank, still standing.

  “Good,” Kevin said. “Then I know you’ll accept my gift. Tomorrow night you’re my guests at Harrah’s in Cherokee. I’ve made a reservation for dinner and booked you a room.” He winked at me. “I’ll even s
take you to a couple of hands of poker.”

  I looked at Susan and she started laughing. We’d been had.

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning I went straight to Tommy Lee’s office and summarized Kevin’s proposal.

  “I don’t like it.” The sheriff stood from his desk and paced in a small circle. “Especially getting Susan involved.”

  “What’s going to happen? We sit in the poker room, play a few hands, and I watch Tyrell.”

  “Watch him do what?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe make contact with someone. Whoever killed Panther had an accomplice.”

  Tommy Lee dismissed my idea with a wave. “That won’t happen in a poker game. I get the fact Kevin can’t go near this guy and he wants someone to be his eyes and ears. But no offense, Barry, I’ve seen you play poker. Unless Kevin’s providing you a big stake, you won’t last twenty minutes. And I know Kevin. He’s like a damn dog with a bone. He won’t let go, and if he’s got it in for Tyrell, he’ll twist every coincidence or happenstance into proof of his case. I love the guy like a brother, but he can be a bull in a china shop.”

  “You told me he was Boston’s Detective of the Year.”

  “Yeah. And he’s broken some big investigations, but he’s also been reprimanded for harassing suspects where there was insufficient evidence. Kevin sees things as black and white and justifies his actions accordingly. Shoot first, ask questions later.”

  Tommy Lee’s last statement triggered a sobering memory. The first time I met Kevin he’d been on suspension pending an inquiry into a shooting, a crossfire in which Kevin had accidentally killed his partner. And there was Tommy Lee’s accurate assessment of me as a poker player.

  “How about Archie Donovan? He’s the best player I know.”

  Tommy Lee’s one eye widened in disbelief. “Did you hear what you said?”

  I laughed. “Yeah, go ahead and have me committed. But he is a good poker player. And I don’t want to disregard Kevin’s view totally.”

  Tommy Lee returned to his desk chair. “We’ve got more promising leads.”

  “I know. I’m following up on the employment discrepancy of Darren Cransford. I also want to question Eddie Wolfe. Jimmy might have shared concerns with Eddie that he wouldn’t tell his sister.”

  Tommy Lee nodded. “And you were going back to the reservation this afternoon and then stay over?”

  “Susan doesn’t have another surgery till Thursday and she’s covered her rounds.”

  Tommy Lee drummed his fingers on his desk. “Oh, what the hell. Go ahead and humor Kevin. I’ll cover your room. Kevin can stake Archie’s expenses, but I’ll be damned if I can see what Kevin hopes to accomplish.”

  “What’s the word on the ME report?”

  “Late today at the earliest. More likely tomorrow morning. I’ll call if there’s something unusual.” Tommy Lee glanced at his watch. “Anything else?”

  “Mack Collins came to see me yesterday evening.”

  “About Luther?”

  “Yeah.” I recapped the conversation with the state senator and the concern Panther’s murder would become a weapon in the current political fight over casino legislation.

  “I heard about the Catawba proposal,” Tommy Lee said. “Sheriff Tomlinson in Cleveland County said the business community ponied up a considerable lobby fund to push through a covenant with the tribe. He’s worried they’re so enamored with the increased revenue that they’re not accounting for increased costs. This so-called Catawba reservation annex doesn’t have the support systems of the Cherokee’s Qualla Boundary. It’s just sixteen acres of land to hold the casino and hotel. Tomlinson’s telling them they’d better be braced for a strain on basic services, road congestion, and law enforcement. He envisions the need to significantly expand his department.”

  “Money talks,” I said.

  “Yeah, but at the end of the day there’s got to be more money than just what flows into private enterprise. Tomlinson’s department isn’t going to rake it in like some building or road contractor who’ll make a killing and move on to the next deal. He’ll need ongoing public funds and he knows it.”

  “Could Panther have been working against the Catawbas? Maybe he sees the casinos as a scourge across all the Native American tribes.”

  “Maybe. The Catawba PR connection to Darren Cransford certainly has me curious. Run that to ground, and stay close to Mack Collins. Find out who he sees applying the most pressure on this Catawba petition. It will be whoever has the most to gain, so follow the money.”

  “Follow the money.” The gospel I’d heard preached by every law enforcement investigator I’d ever known.

  “What about Luther?” I asked. “We’ve got that discrepancy between his account of where he was Sunday night and what the guard at the gatehouse said.”

  “Luther’s not going anywhere. Let’s see if we get some corroborating evidence that he went out. I’d like more than just Luther’s word against the guard’s.” Tommy Lee turned to a stack of papers on his desk. “Now, go on. Get out of here.”

  I headed for the door.

  “Barry.”

  I stopped. “What?”

  “If Archie can’t do it, let Susan play the hand. She’s gotta be better than you.”

  “Thanks for your confidence.”

  I returned to my desk and pulled Kevin Malone’s card from my wallet. He’d scribbled his cell on the back and told me to call any time. It was eight thirty in the morning and I didn’t feel guilty if I woke him.

  He answered on the first ring. “What?”

  “It’s Barry. Can you talk a minute?”

  “Yeah. I’m just grabbing a cup of coffee and a bagel. Tyrell’s eating a full breakfast far enough away that he won’t see me.”

  “Is he alone?”

  “So far. I expect he’ll go up to the poker room from here.”

  “Listen. I’d like to propose a change for tonight.”

  “Hey, man, don’t bail on me now.” Kevin’s urgent tone bordered on desperation. “I need you to be my eyes.”

  “Susan and I are still coming, but I don’t think the poker cover will work for me.”

  “You know how to play, don’t you?”

  “Sure. If the goal is losing, and losing quickly. I’ve never been in a casino before and my inexperience would stand out like a pig in a dog show. But I’ve got a guy who’s a good player and would probably fit right in.”

  “Yeah? Who’s that?”

  “Archie Donovan. He’s part owner of the cemetery where Panther was killed. You met him when you were here before.”

  There was a long pause, and then he said, “He was with the mayor, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He seems like a flake. They both do.”

  “They have their moments,” I conceded. “But Archie’s the best poker player I know. One other thing to consider is the chance someone might recognize me. If I’m called out as a deputy, it’ll spook Tyrell for sure.”

  Again, the phone was silent for a few seconds. “OK. Then you can meet me at six.”

  “Where?”

  “Better come to my room. You and Susan first. Have your friend arrive at six thirty so we’ll have a chance to talk ahead of time.” Kevin gave me his room number.

  “And if Archie can’t do it, I’ll give it my best shot.”

  “That’s all I’m asking,” he said. “I know you think it’s a dead end, but I know Tyrell. If he was looking to gamble, he’d be in Vegas.”

  “You said it’s a tournament.”

  “Yeah, but it doesn’t officially start till tomorrow. There was really no need for Tyrell to come in last week. I’ll get Archie Donovan signed up for Tyrell’s table. I’m pretty sure that won’t be a problem.”

  “OK. I’ll call Archie now so you can sub my
name if he can’t do it.”

  “What are you doing the rest of the day?”

  He asked the question in an offhanded manner, but I hesitated to give too many specifics to someone outside the department, even if he was Tommy Lee’s friend.

  “Some local follow up. We don’t expect the full report from the ME until tomorrow. First, I need to track down Archie.”

  “Then don’t let me keep you. See you tonight.”

  We hung up, and I was left with the feeling that Kevin hadn’t told me everything.

  Now that I had his blessing, my next challenge was enlisting Archie’s aid without sending him into some fantasy of being an undercover agent. I was counting on his competitive streak to keep him focused on poker and nothing more. The beauty of the game was that carefully scrutinizing fellow players wouldn’t be unusual. Archie could be hyperobservant as long as he kept his mouth shut.

  His insurance office was on a cross street about two blocks from the Sheriff’s Department. I decided against phoning him because Archie would start pummeling me with questions. Instead, the crisp fall morning offered the opportunity to walk. If Archie wasn’t in, I’d at least get a little exercise.

  DONOVAN INSURANCE AND INVESTMENTS was painted against the arc of a rainbow on the front window. Centered underneath, a leprechaun with a face bearing a striking resemblance to Archie’s held out a pot of gold. On the door, office hours were listed as nine to five. I entered.

  Joan Hitchcock sat behind a desk facing the entrance. She looked up from a stack of papers. “Good morning, Barry.”

  “Good morning. Is the wizard of Wall Street in yet?”

  She laughed. “Come and gone.”