Bullet From Dominic

by Giammatteo, Giacomo

  “Mollie’s right,” I said. “Why would you stab someone in the eyes? What the hell is with that?”

  “My guess is that somebody’s sending a sign,” Tip said.

  “But what? And who is it intended for?”

  “That’s Delgado’s job. We need to figure out who killed this lawyer, and why, and what he has to do with the dead guy in the hospital.”

  “Since we’ve got a real case now, I think I better get sleep.” I finished off my beer and dumped the empty bottle in the trash can. “I’m heading out, Tip. See you tomorrow. And thanks for dinner, Mollie. It was good.”

  “You take your time and get settled in your new house,” Mollie said. “We’ll have this solved before tomorrow.”

  I laughed as I walked out the door, certain that Tip was cursing me under his breath.

  Chapter 11

  Legalese

  Tip picked me up and we drove straight to Lipscomb’s office, which was downtown. It was in one of the tall buildings, at least forty stories. I hadn’t been here long enough to know which one, but it was shiny and new, like all of downtown Houston.

  We parked in a garage half a block away and walked to the lobby. Their main office was on the 25th floor. The receptionist was young and pretty—no surprise—and after we explained what we wanted, she said we’d have to talk to Mr. Griffin or Mr. Barnes, the two senior partners. Griffin wasn’t in, and Barnes was in a meeting for the next half hour. We opted to talk to Lipscomb’s secretary. The receptionist didn’t like us doing that, but she was naive enough to be afraid of a couple of homicide cops, especially Tip; he wore his mean look.

  We met the secretary in a conference room.

  “Do you know what he was doing in town at the hotel?” I asked.

  “He must have worked late and didn’t want to make the drive home,” she said.

  “Didn’t he have an apartment or condo down here?”

  She nodded. “A condo.”

  “If he had a condo, why would he go to the hotel?” Tip asked.

  Hesitation, then, “He sometimes did when he was…entertaining someone.”

  “You mean a woman?” I said.

  “Someone not his wife, yes.”

  “And usually a young someone, I’m guessing.”

  The secretary moved a few folders around, set her pen on a tablet in front of her, and then looked up at me. “How can I say this…Mr. Lipscomb would have considered me ancient.”

  I looked her over; she was no older than I was. “Ancient?”

  She nodded, and by the look she gave me, I could tell she was warming up to us.

  “Any place in particular he liked to meet these women?”

  “Any of the clubs downtown. He seldom strayed far from his turf. You might try the jazz club on Texas Avenue. And there’s one in Montrose he went to sometimes. He liked busy places where the young crowd hung out.”

  “What else can you tell us?”

  “Nothing to speak of.”

  “What about his wife?” Tip asked. “Did they get along?”

  She looked at Tip with eyebrows raised. It was obvious she was restraining a laugh. “I’m not speaking out of turn to say this, but Mr. Lipscomb’s wife hated him as much as he hated her, and she was never shy about letting people know it. If she’s not a suspect, I imagine it’s because she has a strong alibi.”

  “Seems like Lipscomb was loved by all,” I said.

  “Maybe his mother,” she said, “but I’m glad he’s gone.”

  “I guess you’ve got an alibi?” Tip said.

  She smiled. “Three kids and a mother-in-law.”

  We finished with the secretary and waited a few minutes for Barnes, the senior partner. He met us in the same room, rushing in as if he were late for an appointment.

  “I don’t have a lot of time,” he said, before the door closed.

  “Tell us what we need, and it won’t take long,” Tip said.

  “Was Mr. Lipscomb seeing anyone special?” I asked.

  “You mean a client?”

  Tip leaned close to him. “If you stick to answers like that, this is going to take a real long time.”

  Barnes nodded. “If you mean women, no one special that I know of.”

  “But he did see women other than his wife?” I said.

  He looked at me. “Yes. Quite often.”

  “Did you know any of them?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “They weren’t the kind of women he would introduce to people at the firm. Besides, most of them were young, from what I heard.”

  “Any idea where he met them?” Tip asked.

  Barnes thought a moment, then reached for the phone on the table and dialed an internal number, keeping it on speaker. “Bruce, I’m here with two detectives about Forrest. What was the name of the club he took us to that night?”

  “I don’t remember the name, but it’s the jazz club on Texas Avenue. He always went there.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Barnes hung up and looked at us. “That’s all I know, detectives.”

  “You don’t sound like you miss him much,” Tip said.

  Barnes looked at Tip and then me. “Forrest Lipscomb was a partner in our firm, but I never liked him. I don’t know anyone who did. I’ll miss the business he brought in and the hours he billed. Aside from that, his passing won’t cross my mind.” Barnes extended his hand to shake. “If you’ll excuse me, I have another meeting. Call me if you need anything else.”

  On the way out, we spoke to a group supervisor in the research department, a lady named Gretchen.

  “Did Mr. Lipscomb have a client named Martin?” I asked. “Edward Martin?”

  She looked around as if she wanted to make sure we were alone, and then she looked back to me. “I’m not supposed to do this, but I guess confirming a client list won’t hurt.” She searched the computer but came up empty. “No Edward Martin. I have a Martin listed, but it’s a woman, and she’s been a client for many years.”

  “How about the other lawyers?” I asked.

  “I searched all client files. No Edward Martin is in the system.”

  I made a note to check back with Delgado on that, and then we asked Gretchen more questions. She had even less flattering things to say about Lipscomb than his partner or secretary, but we did learn that Lipscomb had left work Tuesday night around 8:30, and we managed to get a good picture of Lipscomb from a Christmas party album. It was better than the shot we had. After that, Tip and I got in the elevator and headed back to the car.

  “What do you think?” I asked. “Even if it wasn’t a heart attack, this guy was an ass.”

  “You’re saying he deserved it?”

  “I’m not saying I’d have killed him myself, but from what we’ve learned so far, I’m not losing sleep about him being gone. Hell, neither are his partners or his wife.”

  “Can’t argue that,” Tip said, “but I’d still like to find that prostitute.”

  “We’ve got nothing else to do,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  “The clubs won’t be open for another few hours,” Tip said. “Let’s ask around a bit while we wait.”

  We cruised the streets looking for some of Tip’s eyes and ears, as he liked to call them. The eyes were street people who always kept watch on things. They had a knack for remembering details on anything that looked suspicious. The ears were also street people, but they were good for hearing things on the street. A lot of their information wasn’t first-hand knowledge; it was a conversation or a persistent rumor they’d heard. Technically information like that wasn’t any good, but a cop like Tip knew how to work that kind of lead and make it pan out.

  I lowered the window and enjoyed the cool breeze. “Who are we looking for?”

  “A guy named Buster. He walks hunched over, and he’s usually pushing a shopping cart or pulling a wagon.”

  “White? Black?”

  “Black,” Tip said. “With a shiny gold tooth on the bottom left.”

  A few blocks later
, he pulled to the side and leaned out the window. “Ricky, you seen Buster?”

  Ricky wore a long-sleeve flannel shirt rolled up past the elbows, and he had a face full of gray stubble set against rich dark skin. When Tip called his name, he squinted and moved closer. “That you, Tip?”

  “It was me when I got up this morning.”

  Ricky laughed. “Same old fuckin’ Tipster. Always full of shit.”

  “That’s me,” Tip said. “So what is it? Have you seen Buster?”

  Ricky leaned down, resting his elbows on Tip’s door and bringing his head level with Tip’s. “See you’re wearin’ a new suit.”

  “I moved back with HPD when John got his new job.”

  “John? You talkin’ about Renkin?”

  “That’s him. He’s the chief now.”

  Ricky cocked his head and squinted. “The chief? That slipped by me. Need to pay more attention.” He looked at me and smiled, then back at Tip. “Whatcha need Buster for? Maybe I got what you need.”

  “You know a working girl named Tiffany?”

  “Tiffany? I might. What’s she look like?”

  “Young, skinny, blonde. She lives down by the bus station, and she might work the hotels.”

  “Tiffany…” Ricky looked desperate to come up with an answer, but it wasn’t happening. “I guess you’re gonna have to find Buster after all. Can’t help you this time. But I seen the B this morning, pullin’ a wagon down by the Center. He’s been workin’ the line lately.”

  “If you were looking for Buster right now, where would you start?”

  “Maybe halfway ’tween here and the zoo.”

  Tip pulled out a twenty and handed it to Ricky.

  “Well hello, Mr. Jackson,” Ricky said. “Ain’t seen you in a long time.”

  Tip laughed. “Keep your ears open. You hear the right thing, and you may earn yourself a Grant.”

  Ricky tapped the top of the car. “Come back and see me, Tip. I’ll have somethin’ for you.”

  Ten minutes later we found Buster right where Ricky said we would, making a slow march up Main Street, tugging a wagon loaded with junk. Tip turned on a side street, pulled to the curb, and got out. I followed.

  Buster stopped and looked at Tip, and then he smiled. “It’s been a long time.”

  Tip shook Buster’s hand. “I’m looking for a working girl named Tiffany.”

  “I know her. But I ain’t seen her since…” Buster raised his head and closed one eye. “Must’ve been last Saturday when I saw her last.”

  “Last Saturday? You’re sure about that?”

  “Why you askin’?”

  “She took a high-priced lawyer to a hotel. The next day we found the lawyer dead, but no sign of Tiffany. I doubt it’s her fault, but I’ve got to cover the bases.”

  Buster nodded. “You figure Tiff was too much for him, huh?”

  “Something like that,” Tip said. “Are you sure it was last Saturday?”

  “Sure as I can be. I was workin’ the bus station and saw her on the way out. I always work the station on Saturdays.”

  “Do you have any idea where she’d have gone?” Tip asked.

  “I’m sure you asked the girls in the house. If they didn’t know, I don’t.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Tip handed Buster a twenty and started for the car.

  “Don’t go runnin’ off,” Buster said. “I got some more for you.”

  Tip turned around. “What?”

  Buster looked down the street, then up the other way, and then he stared at me. “Somebody’s been movin’ a lot of ice in town.”

  “You’re talking about meth?” Tip asked.

  “Almost givin’ it away.”

  “Who’s behind it?”

  Buster shook his head. “Somebody new. That’s all I know.”

  “New? So he’s trying to carve out a territory?”

  “Don’t know about territory. But dealin’ ice is like printing money, Tip. Who can afford to give that away?”

  Tip peeled a fifty from his roll and handed it to Buster. “If you hear anything about Tiffany, call me, but I may be even more interested in who’s giving out ice.”

  “You’re still the man,” Buster said, and he continued his slow walk down the street.

  We got in the car, and Tip started it up. “I need to call Bobby. If anyone’s moving that quantity of meth, he’ll know.”

  “Is that the guy who helped us with Tony’s case last time?”

  “That’s him,” Tip said. “He’s been working Narcotics a long time.” As we drove, Tip dialed a number on his phone and put it on speaker.

  A guy answered right away. “Denton? Is that you?”

  “Sure as hell is, Bobby. How are you?”

  “It’s been a while, Tip. What can I do for you?”

  “Have you heard anything about a new player in town pushing meth?”

  Bobby laughed. “Somebody’s always pushing it, and there are plenty of crazy fucks lining up to get it.”

  “I know that, but I heard that a new guy is moving lots of it and almost giving it away.”

  A pause, followed by, “I haven’t heard anything, but I’ll keep an eye out.”

  “Okay, Bobby, you do that. And say hi to Janet.”

  “Will do, Tip. Take care.”

  Tip hung up and put the phone in his pocket.

  “That was bullshit,” I said.

  “He never asked who I heard it from,” Tip said.

  “A good cop would have had a lot of questions,” I added.

  Tip turned right, heading back toward the station. “An honest cop would have.”

  “Don’t forget we’re working Homicide, not Narcotics or IA.”

  Tip gave me one of his sly looks. “Nothing says we can’t poke around a bit; besides, it’s still too early to go to the club. Let’s see what we can find out about this meth.”

  While Tip drove, I thought about how to say what I wanted to say. Finally I opted for blurting it out. “Tip, since we’re permanent partners now, there are a couple of things you need to know.”

  “I’m guessing that now you’re gonna tell me you love me.”

  I laughed. “Not hardly, but please shut the hell up and let me talk.” I half expected another smart-ass comment, but none came, so I continued. “First thing is, I’m Catholic. If anything happens to me, call a priest. And after you call the priest…” I took a deep breath before saying this, not knowing how Tip would react.

  “I’m waiting,” Tip said.

  “After the priest, call my Uncle Dominic. His number is in my phone.”

  “Are you talking about your mobster uncle?”

  “I don’t think of him that way.”

  Tip shot me one of his crooked-eye looks. “It doesn’t matter how you think of him; he’s a mobster. Admit it.”

  I knew this shit would happen. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t call him, but I like to get the facts straight.” Tip shook his head. “And I still can’t believe you associate with him.”

  I didn’t want to answer that. Didn’t want to start off our relationship this way. “Forget about it, Tip. Just forget it.”

  “I can’t forget it. Besides, you brought it up.”

  “Never mind. You wouldn’t understand. It’s about family. It’s…” I suddenly realized what I’d said, and wished I could take it back. Tip was silent. I was afraid to look at him. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean—”

  “You’re right. I wouldn’t understand. But don’t worry, if something happens, I’ll call him.”

  “Tip, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ve got a case to solve.”

  Chapter 12

  A Couple of Questions

  Julie was at her desk when we got in. “Connie, when do you want to come for dinner?”

  “Let me get settled in and get a jump on this case. Maybe next week.”

  “Anytime is good fo
r me, just let me know.”

  “If you ladies are done,” Tip said, “I’ve got work to discuss.”

  “What do you need?” Julie asked.

  Tip leaned closer to her. “I know this is stretching the boundaries, but can you pull me up the file on Bobby Stenson?”

  Julie looked around, then back at Tip. “I don’t mind stretching boundaries, but you know I can’t do that.”

  “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need it,” Tip said.

  She shook her head. “I can’t do it, Tip. I’m sorry.”

  “Can’t do it, my ass,” he said, and walked away.

  Julie’s face drooped. She looked as if she would cry.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “You did right, and he’ll get over it.”

  Tip passed Charlie without a word. “What’s wrong, Tip? Did I do something?”

  I followed close behind. “Nothing, Charlie. He’s just pissed off.”

  “Hey, partner,” I said. “You want to slow down?”

  He stopped about halfway down the hall. “I don’t want to hear it, Gianelli.”

  “You’re going to. You were out of line back there, and you’re pissed off because you know you were.”

  “She could’ve looked it up. She’s done worse.”

  I poked my finger in his chest and glared up at him. “We have no business messing with Narcotics. If you think Bobby’s crooked, report it to IA or tell Coop. Don’t take it out on Julie.”

  He was already pissed, and I felt sure he’d chew my ass out. He stared for a moment, and then he smiled. “You’re a feisty little thing, aren’t you?”

  “That’s why you love me.”

  “I guess so,” he said. “Let’s get coffee.”

  We took it slow drinking the coffee and then settled in our desks, killing time until the after-work crowd showed up at the clubs.

  Right about quitting time, Tip approached Julie. “I’m sorry about earlier. I was out of line.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said.

  He handed her a slip of paper with Forrest Lipscomb’s name on it, and the name of his firm. “This is the lawyer we found—”

  “I know who he is, and I’ve already run everything on him. He’s clean. Two parking tickets in seven years. Other than that, nothing. We’ve run all the phone logs, too. Nothing but business and the occasional call to his wife and a sister in Dallas.”