Another Word for Murder

by Nero Blanc

  “How about five minutes before the accident?”

  “The only one who can pinpoint it that closely is the Man Upstairs. Even I’m not that good.”

  “So, anyway,” Lever said as he lit his third cigarette of the morning. “We’ve also been chasing down Jack Wagner’s five ‘shifty characters’ from his partner’s patient list. It seems—”

  “They all work at the Black Sheep,” Belle announced proudly.

  Al looked at her sideways. “Well, yeah, two of them do. One guy heads up a local rock band, and the other two are sometime residents of Father Tom’s St. Augustine mission.”

  “So that would mean that Terry Friend is a man?”

  “Right. We haven’t tracked any of them down yet, but we’ll be back on it this morning.”

  “I saw Ed Trawler and Carlos Quintero at the Black Sheep yesterday afternoon,” Belle offered.

  Lever glanced at Rosco and raised an eyebrow. “Your wife hangs out in some pretty classy joints, Poly—crates.” He then looked at Belle. “I had no idea you were a regular. Somehow a spot like that doesn’t seem the sort of place a renowned cruciverbalist like your honeybunch might frequent.”

  Belle ignored Al’s gibe. “I followed Bonnie O’Connell there yesterday. Here’s what I learned.” She counted the items off on her fingers as she spoke. “One: Ed Trawler and Rob Rossi work as bartenders. Two: Rob Rossi hasn’t shown up for work since Dan disappeared. Three: Carlos Quintero hangs out there—”

  Al snapped his fingers. “He’s the one in the rock band.”

  “That makes sense…. Four: There’s another guy named Frank; I gather he’s pulled some sort of disappearing act, too. From what I heard, he and Bonnie have some sort of relationship…. And five: Bonnie and Jack Wagner are having an affair.”

  “Okaaay …” Al said, dragging out the syllables. “That’s what I was picking up on, too. But what makes you so sure?”

  “Ed said that Bonnie was unavailable, date-wise, as long as ‘Mr. Big-Bucks’ was still in the picture.”

  “That title could refer to anyone though, Belle. Everything’s relative.”

  “I’m just following your lead, Al. You said Wagner insisted he could earn twenty-five thousand dollars from a single mouth. Who else could the guy be?”

  “Uh-huh …” Lever nodded. “You didn’t catch a last name on this Frank fella, did you?”

  Belle shook her head while Al noted the name on a slip of paper. He then added an offhanded “And, of course, we still have an APB out on that white Explorer Tacete was driving when he was nabbed. That baby seems to have dropped off the face of the earth.”

  Jones patted Lever on the back. “Al, it’s the getaway car. It’s probably in Topeka right now, out in front of an IHOP waiting for the perp to finish his cheese omelette and home fries.”

  “That sure seems like the logical explanation,” Al agreed. “Which is exactly why I don’t like it—it’s too easy.”

  “And my guess is we should be looking for Rob Rossi,” Abe replied with a shrug. “He’s the only person who’s skipped town.”

  “We’ve got this Frank character Belle just discovered—who also seems to have taken a powder. Plus, let’s not forget that your average criminal doesn’t strike and then run away. These guys are like pigeons. They’re afraid to leave their own neighborhoods. You know that, Abe. A guy robs a convenience store or a liquor store, and what happens? Three days later, he ends up spending the money in the men’s clothing shop around the corner…. The smart ones pull off a job and then amuse themselves by sitting around and watching the cops make fools of themselves. The dumb ones are their own worst enemies. Intuition tells me that the guy who killed Dan Tacete is still right here in Newcastle. I’ll put money on it.” Al then looked at Rosco. “You’re unusually quiet today, Poly—crates.”

  Rosco was leaning against the NPD sedan with his arms folded across his chest, watching Gabby wrestle with Buster in an emerald-green patch of overgrown grass. He didn’t turn to face Al. “I was thinking.”

  “Oh, boy, that’s always a bad sign.”

  “No, I’m with you, Al; I don’t think Dan’s killer has left town either. Obviously Rob Rossi and this Frank guy need to be tracked down, but I’ll bet they’re still in the Newcastle area somewhere. What I’m wondering about is the Explorer. If the killer’s still here, then the Explorer’s still here…. Could it have been painted? Have the windows been tinted? Has the entire vehicle been given a new look—new tires, expensive detailing? Maybe what we’ve been looking for is right under our noses. Maybe it’s no longer white.”

  “Hey, you’re the newfound chop-shop pro,” Al said with a smile, “you tell me.”

  “I might just do that.”

  CHAPTER 24

  “Back so soon?” Sonny asked as Rosco stepped from his car. It almost seemed as if he’d been waiting for “Rick” to return. “I told you. My mom doesn’t like the idea of using the shop for Back Bay D.A.”

  “Did you tell her it was thirty-five hundred a day? Plus, we’ll pick up your electric tab for the month?”

  “Yeah, she still nixxed it. What can I say?” Sonny gave an apologetic smile, and again Rosco was struck by the incongruity of the man’s appearance with his surroundings. Sonny looked like he’d just missed a crucial putt on the country club green rather than a guy who needed to shout to be heard over the noise of half a dozen welding torches.

  “No big deal. I have a back up. We’ll probably go with Classic Autobody over on Airport Boulevard.”

  “Classic?” Sonny made no attempt to disguise his disapproval. “That’s the worst shop in town. Come on, Rick, you can do better than that. Those guys couldn’t repair a tricycle.”

  Rosco shrugged. “It’s the look we’re after. And the light. They’ve got a lot of north-facing windows. It works well for TV; it makes your actors look healthy.”

  “It’s your funeral, my friend.”

  Rosco looked around the front parking lot of Sonny’s Autobody. “That’s not why I came back, though. I’m not trying to twist your arm—or your mom’s arm. And I don’t intend to get into an argument over your competition…. What I want to ask about is that Explorer you said came in yesterday morning. I talked your suggestion over with my wife, and she said if I liked it, to go for it. She’s always been an SUV type of lady. The bigger the better, that’s her.” Rosco smiled, visualizing how much that last statement would have annoyed Belle.

  Sonny produced one of his own bright and gleaming smiles. “Now you’re talkin’, Rick. Stu’s working on it in the paint shop. Just needed a couple of dings buffed out, remember? Come on, let’s go take a peek at it.” But as they began to walk through the mechanic’s area Sonny stopped and placed his hand on Rosco’s forearm. “You know,” he said, “I was just thinking. Remember I told you I was asking nineteen five for the vehicle?”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, see, I haven’t even had a chance to flip the papers on this baby. I mean, it just came in yesterday morning, right? So, what I’m sayin’ is this: If you want it, we can make like you just bought it directly from the babe who owned it. Get it?”

  “Not really.”

  “I like to call it a quick-flip. I mean, it’s technically illegal, but it goes down all the time in this business. We’re just cutting me out of the picture, as far as the state of Massachusetts is concerned, that is. You know, it’s half the paperwork, taxes, and registration fees…. And I can knock a grand off the price for you.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that; let you have it for eighteen five … if you’re paying cash. And ready to roll on it today.”

  “Sure,” Rosco said with feigned enthusiasm for this possible bargain. “Can I take it for a test drive?”

  “As long as Stu’s done with it, you bet.”

  They continued through the shop, past the autobody crew, and stopped on the other side of one of the paint bays where Stu was on his knees working with an electric buffing tool on the Explorer’s passenger-side d
oor panel. He straightened when he saw Sonny approaching.

  Sonny said, “This is Rick Richards, Stu. He’s from ABC-TV up in Boston. He’s in the market for an Explorer just like this. How’s the work coming?”

  “I’ve got everything cleaned up, Sonny. Just need to give it a couple shots of lacquer, bake her up, and she’s as good as new.”

  Sonny leaned through the driver’s-side window. “Less than six thousand miles. You’re getting a real deal here, Rick.”

  Rosco kicked the front tire for no reason other than he assumed that was what one was supposed to do when examining a car. But when he glanced down at the tire he saw a few tiny flecks of red paint. He looked at Stu and said, “You haven’t done your touch-up, right? Does that mean I can’t take it for a test drive?”

  Stu removed his work gloves. He wore surgical-type latex gloves beneath them. “No, I haven’t done my paint work yet, so I’d rather it didn’t go out right now and pick up a bunch of road grime. Anything she picks up is bound to show in the new paint job. It’ll only take me twenty minutes to spray her up, and an hour to bake. It’d be better if you could swing back here this afternoon or tomorrow.”

  Rosco pointed to the paint on the front tire. “If you haven’t done any touch-up yet, how come there’s red flecks on this tire?”

  The two men walked around the front of the car and crouched by the tire.

  “Huh,” Sonny frowned, although the expression failed to convey a sense of surprise and confusion. “Beats me. No tellin’ where that came from. Any ideas, Stu?”

  Stu remained silent, so Rosco opted to cut to the chase and voice his suspicion. “The Explorer hasn’t been totally repainted has it? I mean, the entire car? Could it have been another color at one time?”

  Sonny laughed, although the sound was not a relaxed one. “Hey, Rick, it’s only got six thousand miles on it. Why would someone repaint it? Where’s the sense in that? I mean, red’s red. It’s not like the babe wanted some custom color to match a new outfit or anything …”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

  Sonny took Rosco by the arm and led him away from the Explorer. “Let’s go back to the office. We can work out a deal on this baby. You come back this afternoon with your cash, take your test drive, kick some more tires if you like, and you’ve got yourself a brand new car.”

  “I don’t know …”

  “Rick, Rick, I’m ready to talk turkey. I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do; I’m gonna let you have this car for seven hundred dollars more than I paid for it. That’s the best I can do. I’ve put some money into it. I’ve cleaned it up, but I’m not gonna rake you over the coals. How’s that?”

  Rosco laughed. “How do I know what you paid for it?”

  Sonny draped his arm over Rosco’s shoulder. “Let’s step into the office, Rick. These fumes and all … I prefer talking where the air is clean.”

  The office was broken into two rooms. The first had a large steel desk on one side, and facing it were two blue metal chairs with matching vinyl cushions. The opposite wall held a couch appointed in genuine leather. The walls were decorated with prints of European sports cars. A wood-veneered door and plate-glass window opened into the second office. On the far side of the glass, Rosco spotted another desk behind which sat a woman who appeared to be in her late sixties. Like Sonny, she was immaculately attired; and her chocolate-brown helmet of hair seemed to have come directly from the hair salon. She looked up from her paperwork when they entered and never took her eyes off Rosco the entire time he was there.

  “I guess that must be your mother.”

  “Yeah. Don’t let her bother you. She’s a worrier…. Probably thinks I’m gonna let you persuade me to let you use our shop for your shoot—or I’ll run off and become a full-time actor.”

  Rosco nodded. His own mother could have also been deemed a “worrier”—to say nothing of his two elder sisters.

  “But shouldn’t I say hello? That’s how things work in my family. My mom would consider it rude of visitors not to speak to her.”

  “Nah, she doesn’t like to be bothered.” Sonny sat behind the metal desk and pulled a file from a side drawer. “Have a seat, Rick.”

  Rosco sat, angling the chair so that his back faced the window and the scrutiny he could still feel being leveled at his shoulder blades. He had a strong sense that the brains behind the operation didn’t want her son revealing certain information. But Sonny seemed unaware of his mother’s watchful presence. He removed a stamped envelope from the file folder, opened it with a brass letter opener, then withdrew a check and placed it on the desk in front of Rosco.

  “Ya see, Rick … I’m bein’ one hundred percent above-board with you on this thing. Let’s just say I’m tryin’ to make up for not letting your people use the shop for their location.” He tapped the check with his index finger. “This is the check I was going to mail to the woman who owns that Explorer. Pick it up. Go ahead, I want you to look at it.”

  Rosco picked up the check. It was for fifteen thousand dollars and made out to a Karen Johnson.

  “Fifteen grand,” Sonny said as he retrieved the check from Rosco. He then ripped the check up into several small pieces and tossed them into the plastic trash basket by his desk. “So that’s what I was going to pay her. Now, I’m going to let you have the car for fifteen seven, just like I said would. You come back this afternoon with the cash, take your test drive, and we’re all set.”

  “Then you pay this Karen Johnson her fifteen thousand in cash, keep seven hundred, and we have no record that the car was ever in your shop. Is that it?”

  “Hey, Rick, you make it sound like The Great Train Robbery. We save ourselves twelve hundred in sales tax. The car flips once instead of twice.”

  Rosco appeared to think for a moment then said, “Mind if I take a look at that envelope?”

  “What for?”

  “I just want to see if the stamp’s canceled. I figure if it’s a new stamp, then you really intended to mail it, and you’re not giving me the runaround on the price.”

  Sonny laughed, and pushed the envelope across the desk toward Rosco. “I like that, Rick. That’s a cool move. I’ll have to remember it. I guess that’s the kind of clever stuff you use on Back Bay D.A., isn’t it?”

  Rosco also laughed, but his eyes were focused on the envelope’s address. He recognized it immediately. It was the Tacete home. Rosco returned the envelope to the desktop and said, “Yeah, I see your point. Why give Massachusetts any more than we have to?” He glanced at his watch, thinking it would probably take Al Lever an hour or so to get a judge to sign an impound order on the Explorer.

  “I think we’ve got ourselves a deal, Sonny.”

  The two men stood and walked back outside to Rosco’s rental car.

  “How about I come back just before noon for my test drive? The Explorer should be ready by then, right?”

  Sonny smiled. “You got it…. And, Rick?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t forget the fifteen seven.”

  CHAPTER 25

  The only person more anxious than Rosco to locate Dan Tacete’s missing Ford Explorer was Al Lever. Rosco had called him from his cell phone less than twenty seconds after leaving Sonny’s lot. Al, in turn, had scrambled up an impound order, enabling the two of them to return to Sonny’s Autobody slightly before noon. They were in Al’s NPD sedan, which was the first vehicle to drive through the gate in Sonny’s high chain-link fence. Immediately behind Lever’s brown sedan was a blue and white police cruiser; on its tail was a flatbed traffic enforcement tow truck. The moment he saw the three vehicles grind to a halt and the officers—and Rosco—emerge, Sonny ran out of the shop like a New England Patriots’ linebacker on an all-out blitz.

  “What the hell is this, Rick? I thought I could trust you. You go to the cops? You turn me in for trying to skim a lousy twelve hundred bucks off the state?”

  Rosco said nothing as Al removed his gold shield from his belt
and held it up for Sonny to see. “My name is Lieutenant Lever, Newcastle Police Department. I’m impounding the red Explorer in your shop as criminal evidence. I’d like to ask a few questions while my boys load it up.”

  Sonny continued to bluster and roar. “Like I didn’t know you were a cop? Like that ‘unmarked’ heap of yours doesn’t scream law enforcement all over the place? You can’t do this to me. You can’t come barging in here. I’m calling my lawyer. This is a legitimate business I run here.” He looked back toward the shop entrance. His mother was now standing in the doorway with her hands resting belligerently on her hips. Her hairspray glinted in the sun and made her brown coiffure seem even more rigid and fierce. “You gotta read me my rights,” Sonny argued as he returned his attention to Al and pointed at Rosco. “You’re not getting away with this, Rick.”

  “Relax, nobody’s under arrest,” Al said. “Not yet, anyway…. I just want to ask some questions and take the car in for examination.”

  “Sonny! Get over here,” his mother demanded from the doorway. “Now!”

  Al held up his hand. “I need to talk to you alone, Sonny. I don’t want to have to go in there with a warrant, but I will if necessary. I’ll impound your books if need be.”

  “Let me go settle her down a bit first, okay? My mom gets a little tense sometimes.”

  Without waiting for an answer, Sonny trotted back to his mother. They spoke for three minutes in harsh and angry whispers, but what they said was impossible for Al or Rosco to make out. Eventually Sonny returned to Lever, but his mother maintained her ferocious stance by the shop door.

  “Okay, what do you want to know, Lieutenant?” Gone entirely was the adamant tone Sonny had used before.