Death by Jury (Alo Nudger Series Book 9)

by John Lutz

  The kid looked about to cry as he paid for his dozen doughnuts and stalked out.

  Nudger figured there had to be a moral there but couldn’t come up with it.

  Danny watched the kid leave, then a concerned look dragged at his already droopy features and he motioned for Nudger to come to the center of the counter where the remaining two customers might not be able to overhear what he had to say.

  Nudger went over and sat on a stool. “Need a diet Coke,” he said, plucking at the material of his sweat-soaked shirt to demonstrate how hot he was.

  “Machine’s broke down, Nudge,” Danny said. “Ice water okay?”

  “Sure.”

  In less than a minute Danny had a plastic foam cup of water with a few oval ice cubes floating in it on the counter in front of Nudger.

  Nudger sipped. Wonderful! Now that his throat was open, he felt more like coping with whatever Danny had to say.

  “It’s Ray,” Danny said, leaning in close with his elbow on the counter. His tone of voice suggested that Ray had suffered some sort of grave mishap.

  “Ray?” Nudger said, peering into the sad brown eyes before him.

  “He’s been notified to report for work,” Danny said solemnly, as if Ray had just been drafted into the Marines prior to Iwo Jima.

  “Shag’s?”

  Danny nodded. “That Hydrant woman’s gonna be the death of Ray.”

  “Heidran,” Nudger said. “Her name’s Heidran. It’s German.”

  “It’s Nazi,” Danny said.

  “When is Ray supposed to report?”

  “Tomorrow morning. He’s awful disappointed in you, Nudge.”

  “I talked to Heidran,” Nudger said. “She was immovable.”

  “So was the Maginot Line.”

  Nudger sat back and stared at Danny. Was he a closet World War Two historian?

  “I was watching Victory at Sea last night,” Danny explained.

  “The Maginot Line wasn’t at sea.”

  “It was one of them other World War Two programs, then. Anyway, Ray figures you shoulda found a way around Hydrant. It’s the kind of work you do, and Ray says he thought you were good at it. He says now he thinks he’s misjudged you.”

  “Well,” Nudger said, fighting back his irritation, “he can think that while he’s mustarding up the buns.”

  “He’d like for you to try talking to Hy—the German woman one more time, see if you can come up with a way to make her change her mind.”

  “Her mind is on Ray,” Nudger said, “and she’s not about to change it.”

  “But you could try. Ray says he’d like to give you one more chance to make good on your promise.”

  “I never promised Ray anything,” Nudger said, feeling his stomach turn on itself. Conversation about Ray could do that. “I’m not talking to Heidran Kreb again. You can tell Ray that for me.”

  “If you won’t talk to the German woman,” Danny said, “Ray would like you to call him.”

  “I feel like calling him a number of things,” Nudger said.

  “He’ll be home the rest of the day and all evening, he said to tell you. Resting up and getting his back in as good a shape as possible.”

  “Hey!” the tall woman at the end of the counter said.

  Nudger and Danny stopped talking and turned. Their voices had risen to conversational volume and both the man and woman at the counter were staring at them, or perhaps past them at each other. Nudger thought the woman might have been addressing the man, who was now openly leering at her.

  “I’d like another of those Dunker Delites,” the woman said to Danny. “They’re delicious.”

  Nudger looked at her in disbelief as Danny got the Dunker Delite he’d taken from the teenager’s overfilled box and laid it on a white napkin before the woman.

  “Refill on the coffee?” Danny asked her.

  “You bet.”

  He topped off the woman’s cup then returned to where Nudger was seated. His elbow back on the counter, he leaned toward Nudger and kept his voice to a whisper. “Just give Ray a call, okay? For me, okay?”

  Nudger finished his ice water. “For you,” he said. “Not for Ray.”

  The creases in Danny’s face worked their way generally upward into a smile. “Thanks again, Nudge.”

  Nudger said nothing as he slid off his stool, taking in the woman at the counter as the stool swiveled. Tall, skinny, receding chin, stringy hair that looked as if it needed washing. Great digestive tract, though, Nudger had to concede. But he doubted if that was what interested the car salesman at the other end of the counter.

  After climbing the creaking wooden steps in the hot stairwell, he let himself into his office and sat at the desk where the breeze from the air conditioner blew directly on his back and arm. He felt the cold penetrate his damp shirt, watched the air flow ruffle the hair on his forearm.

  The only message on his machine was from Eileen. Something about puncturing Nudger’s lungs. He barely listened before pressing the erase button and sitting back again to bask in the cool air.

  After a few minutes, he reached out without moving his body, dragged the phone closer, and pecked out Fleck’s office number on the keypad.

  He was hoping Fleck wouldn’t be there and he could just leave a message. Unfortunately, court was in recess.

  “What is it, Nudger? Talk fast. I’m busy.”

  “Okay. What about this bloodstain?”

  “What bloodstain?”

  “The bloodstain on the garage floor, the one you didn’t tell me about.”

  “Oh, that. That’s Karen’s blood.”

  Nudger could hardly believe his ears. “Then why were you arguing with that detective that he hadn’t proved it was hers?”

  “ ‘Cause he hadn’t, that’s why. Besides, it gave me a chance to demonstrate my mastery of scientific evidence. Gotta let the bastards know early on, they can’t get away with anything when they find themselves up against Lawrence—”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this bloodstain?”

  “Scientific evidence, Nudger. Takes a specialist. Way beyond a poor dumb innocent like you. Anyway, it’s not important. Roger explained. Apparently it happened the week before Karen disappeared. She was sorting the cans in the recycling bin and she cut her hand.”

  Nudger nodded to himself. This was actually a lot more credible than most of Roger’s explanations.

  “So you were in court,” Fleck went on. “Saw me slaughter that cop.”

  “Um—yes,” said Nudger hesitantly.

  “How you think it’s going?”

  “Well, I think the prosecution is scoring some points.”

  “Of course they’re scoring!” Fleck shouted. “It’s their turn. I can’t slaughter every one of their witnesses. Not even Lawrence Fleck can do that. But when my turn comes to put on my case, I’ll turn the tables. I’ll have ’em on the run like roaches when the lights come on. Believe me.”

  Nudger didn’t. Fleck was straining to keep up his self-confidence. He couldn’t quite keep the desperation out of his voice when he asked, “You come up with anything I can use?”

  “Not yet. But I’m following up an interesting lead. I’ll let you know if it pans out.”

  “Take your time, Nudger. No hurry at all,” Fleck snarled, and slammed down the phone.

  Nudger held on to his receiver. Might as well get both unpleasant calls out of the way. He broke the connection and tapped out Ray’s number.

  Ray didn’t answer until the sixth ring.

  “Nudge,” he whined, when he’d found out who was calling, “you just gotta do something!”

  “I tried, Ray. The woman is determined to plum your depths and find something worthwhile.”

  “But I was counting on you to convince her that’s a waste of time. ”

  “I tried, I tried.” Nudger could hear a soap opera theme in the background.

  “Will you talk with her again?”

  “No, Ray. If I thought it would help, I
’d give it a try. But it won’t help. Probably it would only get her mad and she’d have you washing Shag’s windows.”

  “God, Nudge, I don’t—”

  “Stop, Ray! Why won’t you simply be a man and give this job a chance. You might learn to like it.”

  “That’s not what this is all about!” Ray sounded exasperated almost to the breaking point. “I had my fiscal year all planned out. My unemployment was gonna run out in November and I was gonna apply for an extension. This Shag’s thing not only messes up what I’m drawing now, it ruins any possibility of an extension.”

  “You’ll have a job, Ray. You won’t need an extension. You won’t even need unemployment checks.”

  Ray made a noise something like a growl. “You just won’t understand, will you?”

  “Maybe not, Ray.”

  “I didn’t think so. Which is why I got a suggestion, something you should maybe try with this Heidran.”

  “She’s tough, Ray. Nothing will move her. She’s a regular Maginot Line.”

  “Well, I ain’t talking about football here. And keep in mind this is a last resort kinda thing.”

  Nudger listened with trepidation.

  “A woman like that, Nudge, sorta on the hefty side and we gotta admit not the most attractive, usually she’s got some kinda secret kinky sex life. If you could find out what sorta action she’s been involved in ... Maybe with electrical or rubber gadgets or other women or something. We could use it to persuade her—”

  Nudger slammed the receiver down, hoping Heidran would hand Ray the bucket and squeegee first thing in the morning.

  He gave the laboring air conditioner time to cool him down some more, then he lifted the receiver again and dialed Hammersmith at the Third District station.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Hammersmith was in his office and picked up the phone immediately, but he told Nudger he didn’t have time to talk, he was on his way to testify in court about a multiple homicide case involving a teenage hit man.

  “Crime-fighting is a thriving industry,” Nudger said.

  “It’s the apprenticeship system,” Hammersmith said impatiently. “Best get to the point, Nudge.”

  “I need you to get me the owner of a vanity license plate, Missouri M-E-E-E-E.”

  “This have to do with Roger Dupont?”

  “It might, though it could be that even if it does, it isn’t important. It turns out Roger’s a bit of a skirt-chaser.”

  “We found that out right away, but it doesn’t mean he had to kill his wife. That’s why we have divorce laws, Nudge.”

  “It’s something I’d like to follow up on, though. Another woman might be a motive.”

  “The guy had plenty of other women without having to marry them. It’s the nineties, Nudge. And Karen Dupont’s big life insurance policy is motive enough for Roger.”

  “Still, will you indulge me and find out who owns the vanity plate?”

  “I’ll indulge you because I’m in too big a hurry to object. I don’t want to keep a teenybopper killer waiting.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Fifteen.”

  Nudger winced. “Is he being tried as an adult?”

  “Yes, and why not? He killed three adults. He’s impressionable and easily led, and well paid. It’s time he was taught a lesson.”

  “Death by lethal injection is a hard lesson.”

  “Tell it to Roger Dupont,” Hammersmith said, and hung up. He sure was in one of his moods.

  Nudger replaced the receiver, then spent a while doing paperwork, sending out past-due notices to former clients who hadn’t paid him, sending out excuses to creditors he hadn’t yet paid. It struck him that it was all a waste of effort; if only there were some way to have his creditors bill his former clients direct, there would be no need for middle man Nudger. Computers should be able to do that kind of thing. Life was supposed to be easier because of computers.

  The electric bill was so old that Nudger glanced up to make sure the second hand on his electric clock was still moving. He wrote out a check for the full amount, an astronomical figure brought about by the almost constant running of the air conditioner. Every summer, he was shocked anew by his electric bills.

  He worked another twenty minutes on his other bills, then sat back and stared at how tall the must-be-paid stack was when compared to the past-due pile. It was depressing.

  There was so much woe in the office that he decided to return to court and see how Roger Dupont was progressing with his dilemma. Sad to say, it was always a bit buoying to observe someone with even more problems than oneself.

  “... never liked him from the beginning,” Joleen Witt was saying on the witness stand as the elegant Seymour Wister conducted his examination.

  Nudger slipped quietly into the courtroom and sat almost exactly where he’d been this morning. But the heavyset woman who’d sat next to him was gone. The crowded courtroom was cooler than his office, but not so cool that the collective heat and body odor of the jury and gallery weren’t evident.

  “Was there a particular reason why you disliked the defendant?” Wister asked.

  “There were a lot of reasons,” Joleen said. “For one thing, he abused Karen even before their marriage.”

  “Abused her how?”

  “Verbally and physically. Karen would tell me about their arguments, the names he called her.”

  “Objection!” Fleck shouted from behind his stuffed cardboard accordion folder. “Hearsay.”

  Judge MacMasters sustained the objection, and Fleck gazed smugly at Wister. Pure hate showed for a second even through Wister’s impassive, professional facade. Fleck was getting to him.

  You mentioned other reasons why you disliked your brother-in-law. What were those reasons?”

  “He was an Airedale.”

  “Pardon me?”

  Nudger knew from long-ago conversations with his grandmother that ‘Airedale’ was a very old term for a husband who ran around on his wife, from when the breed was popular and had a reputation for canine roaming and romance. According to Nudger’s grandmother, Nudger’s grandfather had been an Airedale.

  Joleen was as old-fashioned in appearance as in vocabulary. Her red hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and she was wearing a high-necked white blouse and a dark tailor-made suit that probably hadn’t been out of her closet since the last time she went to a funeral or job interview. She was almost Wister’s match in severity and rectitude.

  “He was a womanizer,” Joleen explained. It intrigued Nudger that she referred to Roger in the past tense, as if he were as dead as she thought Karen to be. Though he was sitting at the defense table twelve feet from her, she never looked at him. “I warned Karen he wasn’t going to be faithful to her if she married him.”

  “Why did you tell her that?”

  “Because it was true,” Joleen said smugly.

  “I mean, how did you know it was true?”

  “It was just a feeling then, but the feeling was borne out quickly enough. The week after he and Karen returned from their honeymoon, he made sexual advances to me. I rebuffed him.”

  “How did you rebuff him?”

  “I hit him with a tennis racquet.”

  A ripple of amusement passed through the spectators. Judge MacMasters didn’t gavel, but he glared.

  “Did you tell your sister about these sexual advances?”

  “Of course. Karen and I were very close. And as her marriage became harder and harder for her to endure, we became even closer. She told me everything.”

  Fleck leaned forward, preparing to make another hearsay objection. Wister glanced over his shoulder at him.

  “Ms. Witt, did you and your sister ever take any actions with regard to the marriage?”

  The question seemed to surprise Joleen. “Actions?”

  “Well, did you and your sister make any preparations to file for divorce?”

  “Oh. No. But I’m sure Karen would have divorced Roger if she had lived.
”

  “No further questions, your honor.”

  She’d recovered to finish strongly, but Joleen had been rattled by Wister’s last question. Nudger was sure of it. More had been going on between the sisters than she wanted to talk about. But Nudger dismissed the speculations from his mind, because Fleck was rising to cross-examine.

  The little attorney scratched his chin as if in deep thought as he stood up and walked forward.

  “Have you ever been married?” he asked Joleen.

  “No.”

  “Uh-huh. And do you not live alone?”

  “I do live alone.”

  “Uh-huh. Would it be safe to say, in light of your previous testimony that we’ve just heard, that you dislike the defendant.”

  “Oh, it would be safe to say that.”

  “Isn’t your sister Karen younger than you?”

  “Yes” Joleen looked with pure contempt at Fleck.

  “How much younger?”

  “Six years.”

  “Would you describe your social life as active, Ms. Witt?”

  “Objection,” Wister said calmly. “The line of questioning is completely irrelevant.”

  “Sustained,” MacMasters said, almost automatically.

  “Let me rephrase the question,” Fleck said. “Ms. Witt, are you seeing anyone?”

  “Objection!” Wister said with a little more heat. “Now it sounds as if counsel is making overtures to the witness.”

  Laughter rippled through the courtroom. Even Roger Dupont appeared amused. Nudger thought Dupont should have been embarrassed, and afraid.

  “Mr. Wister,” MacMasters said wearily, “please make your objections with more decorum and propriety. The objection is, however, sustained.” He gazed almost with horror at Fleck. “Where are you trying to go with your line of questioning, Mr. Fleck?”

  “I’m merely trying to establish, your honor, that the witness is a lonely and jealous sibling with a suspicious nature and active imagination and is operating under the misconception that her sister’s been murdered.”

  “Objection! ”

  “Sustained! I think it’s time to recess until tomorrow morning. And I’ll see both attorneys in my chambers.”