Death by Jury (Alo Nudger Series Book 9)

by John Lutz

  At one o’clock they met as planned on the corner of Cherokee and Iowa to compare notes.

  They had no notes to compare. No one in any of the antique shops had heard of Vella Kling.

  “I did see a beautiful nineteenth-century cuckoo clock,” Claudia said. “I thought you might be interested in it.”

  Was she being snide? Nudger couldn’t be sure so he said nothing.

  “Maybe Vella Kling’s supposed occupation is a front,” she said.

  “For what?” Nudger asked. He’d almost reached the same conclusion, but he wanted to hear what Claudia had to say.

  “Who knows? She might make her money in some illegal way and need something to tell people if they ask about her occupation. Or maybe she fakes income to stay on the sunny side of the IRS.”

  Nudger began walking back toward where Claudia’s car was parked on Cherokee, and Claudia fell in beside him. His chest felt better but his head was pounding. Perspiration was stinging the wounds on his face.

  “Maybe the people in the shops are afraid of you,” Claudia suggested, “considering you look like a goon who isn’t too good at the protection racket.”

  “Not many antique shops pay protection money to goons,” Nudger said, but he really didn’t know that to be true.

  “Let’s get some White Castle hamburgers to go, then drive to your apartment,” Claudia said. “We can eat lunch, then you can rest. It’s what you need, remember? Dr. Fell said so.”

  “I need White Castle hamburgers?”

  “You need rest.”

  “You said Dr. Fell was a quack,” Nudger told her.

  “I did not.”

  “Implied, then.”

  “Only implied. After lunch, I can rub some of that ointment he prescribed on your chest.”

  Now that was tempting. But Nudger said, “No. Let’s stop someplace for lunch that isn’t carryout. I want to make a phone call, then we can drive out to St. Charles and check out those antique shops.”

  “You are hopelessly stubborn.”

  “Dogged. In my business, it’s called dogged.”

  “Not what I call it,” she muttered. But Nudger ignored her.

  They drove to a restaurant on Grand and ordered club sandwiches and iced tea. While they were waiting for the food, Nudger begged a quarter from Claudia, then went to the pay phone near the back of the restaurant and called Lawrence Fleck’s office.

  “Mr. Fleck’s in court today,” the temp said. He could tell by her voice it was the same one, the bewildered young blonde woman he’d seen during his visit to Fleck’s office. What was her name?

  “Court should have recessed for lunch by now,” Nudger said. “Will you call his car phone or page him and have him call . . .” He squinted and read her the number from the phone he was on. His head was really pulsing with pain, and his stomach was threatening to join it and gang up on him.

  “Mr. Fleck said I should just take messages today,” the temp said. Her name suddenly came to him: Wanda.

  “Tell him Nudger needs to talk with him. You remember me, don’t you, Wanda?

  “Sure, the guy who saluted when I said I worked for American Office Commandos.” Wanda tittered.

  Some people appreciated his sense of humor. He would have to tell Claudia. “It’s important. Have Mr. Fleck call me and he’ll thank you for it.”

  “Oh, I’m not so sure.”

  “He’ll be furious if we don’t talk. He might fire you.”

  “He hasn’t hired me yet. Anyway, I’m not sure—”

  “Not sure of what?”

  “If I want him to.”

  “To what?”

  “Hire me. I have other offers.”

  “Then what’s to lose if you call and give him my message?” She hesitated. “C’mon, Wanda, help me out here.

  “I’m just not sure. Mr. Fleck’s in a really, really bad mood today. I think I better not.”

  “How much worse than usual can he be?”

  “A lot worse. Sorry. Bye.”

  Trying to walk steadily under Claudia’s baleful gaze, Nudger returned to the table. The waiter, a bearded, intense young man who looked like a terrorist, had brought their iced tea. Nudger added artificial sweetener, stirred and sipped. Wonderful! Exactly what he needed. Iced tea was one of the few good things about fiercely hot St. Louis summers.

  “They say the caffeine in tea and coffee is bad for headaches,” Claudia told him.

  “That’s not what my doctor says.” Nudger sipped again. “Okay if we stop by the courthouse on the way home?”

  “You need rest, remember?”

  “I have to talk to Fleck before court resumes.”

  “That doesn’t sound very restful.”

  “No worse for me than caffeine,” Nudger lied.

  Had he been on his own, Nudger would have had to park blocks away from the County Government Center and hike across town in the dizzying sun. But Claudia drove him right to the entrance to the Courts Building. She’d wait for him here. Not bad, Nudger thought, as he rode the escalator up. He ought to consider hiring a chauffeur, if he ever got rich in the detective business.

  Seymour Wister, the prosecutor, was being interviewed by a TV crew just outside the door of the courtroom. The light mounted on the TV camera threw a brilliant glare on his severe, Old Testament prophet’s face, and cast a looming black shadow on the wall behind him. He might have been facing the burning bush. He didn’t look awed, though. He looked smug. The trial must still be going well for him. And badly for Fleck.

  Nudger entered the courtroom. Some spectators had returned to their seats, but the jury box was empty. In fact, the whole front of the courtroom was empty except for Fleck, who was sitting hunched over in his chair at the defense table. As Nudger got closer, he saw that the lawyer was studying the meaningless diagram he kept in his office to impress clients. Doubtless he was hoping it would have the same effect on the spectators.

  “Fleck?”

  He turned. “Nudger! You got anything I can use?”

  “I have a question.”

  “More questions I don’t need. You’re an investigator, right? So go investigate.”

  The presence of an audience made Fleck’s tirades more difficult to bear. Nudger sat down next to him, hoping to get him to lower his voice. “I tried to call, but your secretary said you weren’t to be disturbed. ”

  “Well, excuse me, Nudger, but I happen to be a bit busy. Who’s the one in court trying to save Dupont’s ass? Not you!” Fleck said, before Nudger had time to answer. “I gotta have strength to think and act and outsmart the judge and jury and dumb-ass prosecuting attorney. Think that’s easy, Nudger?”

  “Not for—”

  “Well, it’s not.”

  Nudger was getting more exasperated. “I only want you to do something for me to find out if a small error’s been committed.”

  “Napoleon said there are no small errors.”

  “Napoleon said that?”

  “Lajoie. Napoleon Lajoie the old-time baseball player. Also said, ‘Oh, those bases on balls.’ ”

  “No he didn’t, that was—”

  “So get to the point, Nudger! What is this so-called small error you want checked out?”

  “I’m not sure it is an error. I want you to ask Roger Dupont if he knows a woman named Vella Kling.”

  Silence for a few beats. “Who is this woman, Nudger?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out. One of the employees at Dupont’s bank thinks she saw him and Vella Kling necking downtown inside the Serra Sculpture shortly before Karen Dupont was—before she disappeared.”

  “Inside that thing? The employee’s gotta be kidding.”

  “She isn’t kidding,” Nudger said, “but she might have the wrong woman. I want to know Dupont’s reaction when you ask him about Vella.”

  “Whatever he says, I’ll be able to tell if he’s lying. Know how?”

  Nudger inhaled to ask how.

  “You wouldn’t know if he
lied to you, but you’re not me. I’ve seen more lying than undertakers, Nudger. I don’t even have to look at their eyes and I can tell. Know how? By the way their voices sound. Dumb innocent like you, you’d just listen to the words, listen but not hear. I do both. When people lie, they don’t exhale as much when they speak. Makes their voices sound different. You believe that?”

  “Sure.” He wondered if it were true.

  “Well, that’s because you’re a poor naive soul. It doesn’t happen all the time. But there are other symptoms. I can spot them and you can’t. Don’t feel bad; most people can’t. If you were a doctor, you’d see a pimple and tell the patient he had measles. Know why?”

  “I don’t care why,” Nudger said. “Will you ask Dupont about Vella Kling?”

  “Ask him yourself,” Fleck said. “here he comes.”

  Nudger looked around. During the conversation, preparations for court to resume had been going forward. The court reporter was in her seat. The jury members were trooping into their box. And the bailiffs were bringing the defendant through the door in the wall of the courtroom that led to the cells.

  Roger Dupont looked as relaxed as he had the last time Nudger had seen him, poolside at his sister’s.

  Nudger rose: He was sitting in Dupont’s seat. A cleft appeared in the prisoner’s brow as he tried to remember who Nudger was.

  Fleck didn’t stand. “This is Nudger, my investigator. He’s got a question for you.”

  “Nudger. Yes.” Nodding to himself, Dupont stepped right up to Nudger. His eyes were on a level with Nudger’s. “What is it?”

  How to put it to him? Nudger wondered, distracted by the scrutiny of those eyes, so close and so remote. He decided on the direct approach. “Do you know a woman named Vella Kling?”

  Dupont’s eyes widened. His chin went up and his shoulders went back. He was like a man standing in ocean surf, trying to keep his head above water when a bigger than usual wave came along.

  It was only a moment, then he recovered. “Vella Kling?” he asked, then shook his head. “No. I’ve never heard of anyone by that name. ”

  Then, without asking who she was, or why Nudger had asked, he hitched up the pants legs of his impeccable banker’s suit and sat down. He turned away from Nudger, toward his attorney. “So, Lawrence, what do you expect from the rest of the day?”

  His languid tone suggested that if the proceedings didn’t pick up soon, he would ask to be taken back to his cell, where he could read a book. Fleck shot Nudger a baffled look before he replied.

  “Uh—it’ll be a tough session, Roger. The prosecutor’s planning to rest his case this evening, so you can be sure he’s saved his strongest witnesses for last. ”

  Dupont patted Fleck’s forearm reassuringly. “You’ll get your chance to put on your case tomorrow, Lawrence. You’ll pulverize ’em.”

  Fleck’s mouth was hanging open.

  Nudger glanced around. Everyone seemed to be in place, waiting for the judge to appear. He’d best be off.

  But as he turned away, Fleck called out, “Nudger!”

  The little lawyer scurried over to him. Grasping his arm, he whispered, “What do you think? Was he lying about the woman?”

  Nudger nodded. “I think so. What do you think?”

  “About what?”

  “Was Dupont lying?”

  “How should I know?”

  “But you told me you could know if somebody was lying by listening to their voice. The way they held their breath slightly when they lied. Remember?”

  “I said that?”

  Nudger was incredulous. “About five minutes ago.”

  Fleck didn’t say anything for a long time.

  Then: “This Dupont guy is different, Nudger. I thought at first he was lying, then . . .”

  “You don’t know,” Nudger said.

  “Did I say that?”

  “No, not exactly. Do you think he was lying?”

  “Think? Now that’s different, Nudger.”

  “Then what do you think?”

  Another stretch of silence.

  “Dammit, Nudger, I don’t know what to think? Isn’t that why I hired you?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then why are you asking me the questions you’re supposed to be answering?”

  “I have answered. I think he’s lying.”

  Fleck nodded. He seemed disposed to take Nudger’s word for it. “This Vella is his girlfriend, you say.”

  “Seems like.”

  “Nudger, you got to find her. Soon as possible.”

  “I’ll try, but—”

  “I need her bad.”

  “To testify? I doubt she can say anything to help your case.”

  “What case?” Fleck asked. For a moment, his despair was naked for Nudger to see. He got a grip with both hands on Nudger’s arm. “I don’t need her to testify. I need her to talk to Roger. If she’s his girlfriend maybe she can talk sense into him.”

  “Sense?”

  “The guy’s got to let me make a deal, or he’s going to get the needle for sure.”

  “Is there still time to make a deal?”

  “It’s running out. Find her, Nudger.”

  “All rise!” It was the call of the bailiff, as Judge MacMasters appeared in the doorway. Releasing Nudger, Fleck rushed back to the defense table.

  “Feeling okay, Nudger?” Claudia asked.

  Nudger settled himself painfully into the seat beside her. She had the car moving by the time he worked out a reply.

  “Why don’t you drive me back to my apartment so I can lie down,” he said. “You can ask around at the antique shops in St. Charles without me, if you don’t mind.”

  She smiled. “Finally you’re being sensible, Nudger.” The smile wavered and disappeared. “You sure you’re going to be okay?”

  “I only need rest, and some of that ointment rubbed on my chest. Like Dr. Fell prescribed.”

  She asked about his chest and his head during the drive to his apartment. He was brave about it and made light of his injuries.

  It was only when she was rubbing the foul-smelling ointment on his chest and he tried to pull her close and kiss her that she seemed convinced there was nothing seriously wrong with him.

  She went into the other room and returned with a tattered paperback copy of Farewell, My Lovely, by Raymond Chandler. “Here, see if you can find that quote for me.”

  “ ‘She had a figure that could make a guy kick a hole in the wall?’ You’re sure that’s not it?”

  “I’m sure. See if you can find it.”

  Just like an English teacher to give him work when he was home sick.

  “But I’m not even sure it was in this book,” she admitted.

  Great! Leaving him to lie on the sofa, she went to the door and opened it.

  “Rest, Nudger,” she said, in a tone that carried a kind of command and threat. “Leave St. Charles to me.”

  “I intend to,” Nudger said.

  She gave him a rather stern and suspicious look, then closed the door behind her.

  Nudger lay still, thinking the ointment on his chest must have some kind of hot pepper ingredient, which was possible, as Dr. Fell prescribed a lot of medicine from Mexico. It felt like a thousand tiny needles pricking his skin. Well, if it hurt, it must be good for him.

  He counted to twenty, then he rose from the sofa and walked to the window.

  He watched Claudia emerge from the building, stride to her car, and get in, sitting down on the tiny bucket seat and swiveling gracefully on her bottom with her legs pressed together before closing the car door, the way women did if they were wearing skirts. She really did have beautiful ankles.

  As soon as she’d driven away and turned the corner, he went downstairs to where the Granada was parked.

  Thinking: liar, liar, chest on fire, he drove to Roger Dupont’s house.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Nudger didn’t want Alicia Van Moke to notice his car, so he parked aro
und the corner in the shade of a large sycamore tree then walked to the Dupont home on Devlon.

  To the right of the front porch was a small rock garden, now a bit weedy from neglect. He stood looking at it with his arms crossed, studying individual rocks.

  Alicia Van Moke had been right. The false rock was a cheap mail-order one with, on not-too-close inspection, a very obvious seam.

  Nudger picked it up from where it lay next to a geranium, opened it like a clam shell, and removed a brass door key. The whole thing hadn’t taken more than a few minutes, and he was reasonably sure he hadn’t been seen. Or if he had, it might be assumed he had business at the house and had been given instructions as to where to find the door key. A cop, maybe, still on the case. By now, the neighbors were no doubt used to seeing the police come and go.

  He replaced the rock, then stepped up on the porch and tried the key. Being kept outside had taken its toll on the key. It took some effort to force it into the lock, but after that it worked smoothly and he opened the door and stepped inside.

  The harsh sunlight was softened and diffused by sheer white curtains between green drapes. It revealed an inviting living room. As he walked into it he could feel the depth and softness of the carpet even through the soles of his shoes. There were sofas with plump cushions, covered in a rich, subdued floral pattern, and easy chairs in dark green leather, with matching ottomans. Nudger felt like sitting down and putting his feet up.

  It was strange that he, an intruder, should feel so welcome here. Several people had told him of Karen Dupont’s skills as a homemaker. Now he could see what they’d meant. Until now Karen had been the blank spot at the heart of the case to him; he realized that he had only the vaguest idea of what she looked like. Now, in her house, he got the sort of feeling that he sometimes got when reading a person’s letters, or studying her photograph. He felt that he was in touch with Karen Dupont.

  Her care and taste were evident everywhere in this room, even though it was dusty and neglected. He remembered what Alicia Van Moke had said, that Karen would never willingly have left her house. Nudger agreed. He had never been more convinced of Dupont’s guilt.