by Mike Faricy
“Thanks all the same for going over them.”
He seemed to relax a bit then asked, “You learn anything?”
“Yeah, look out for forklifts.”
That earned a momentary smile.
“Still working it, we’ll see what develops. You learn anything or something doesn’t look right, let Andy know,” I said.
“That’s what I planned on doing,” he said.
“Thanks again, Milo I’m out of your hair.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
On the way home from Andy’s, I stopped and picked up some Prosecco from Solo Vino. I put the three bottles in the fridge to chill and decided it might be a good idea to do some laundry so I could show up at Heidi’s with a clean shirt.
I was stuffing the laundry into the washer, filling it once again to over capacity when I pulled out a shirt from the bottom of my laundry basket. It was a white golf shirt with a logo that read Copper Mountain Golf Course, Copper Mountain, Colorado. The last time I’d done laundry was two weeks ago, and even I could remember that far back. I hadn’t worn this shirt, but I knew who had. The question was how did Tommy Flaherty get it in the first place and then how did he get the shirt into my laundry.
I remembered thinking I smelled food earlier, just before I drove over to Royal’s Office. Was Tommy able to get in my house anytime he wanted? I turned the washer on, then went around and checked all the basement windows. They were locked and probably hadn’t been opened in years. The first floor windows were all secure. In my mind that left only one option, unfortunately Tommy had a set of keys.
The couple of nights he stayed with me he could have taken my keys and had copies made. I lived close enough to the hardware store it wouldn’t have taken more than fifteen minutes.
I started thinking back to the missing food, the sport coat I thought I’d left at some woman’s house. The shirts I couldn’t find and then just by chance the golf shirt I saw him wearing yesterday.
The moment Heidi answered her door I forgot about Tommy Flaherty. She was wearing very tight white shorts, a silky white top, apparently no bra, and white sandals with little colored flowers on the strap. I gave the sandals a peripheral glance and returned to the blouse.
“We’re eating Thai, with Dim Sum,” she said.
“That’ll be a nice change,” I said.
She looked at me strangely as she closed the door behind us, “I think it’s what we had the last time, in fact you brought it. Remember?”
“I was kidding. Here, let me put these in your fridge, Prosecco. How did your conference call go?” I asked and headed for her kitchen.
“Oh, thanks. The call? About what I expected, no surprises, just some hand holding. The way the market is right now everyone has the jitters, the best thing to do is just stay put. They just need to hear that, and they did. They’ll be fine until the next media-induced panic attack.”
“Maybe you should free up one of those hedge funds and the two of us could fly out to Vegas, double the money over the weekend and make everyone happy.”
“Occasionally, some fool tries that and guess what? It never, ever works. So, how’d things go with Royal?” she asked, then seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time bending over and placing two of the prosecco bottles in her almost empty fridge. Her very small black thong was visible through the white shorts. I just stood there and took in the view.
“Did you hear me?” she said standing up. “How did things go with Royal?”
“Well, I didn’t quit if that’s what you’re asking. How’d they go? I guess okay. He’s going to alter some procedure with his client having all the problems and we’ll see where it goes from there. How well do you know him?” I said then pushed a glass of Prosecco across the counter toward her as she sat down on a kitchen stool. There were a half dozen white takeout food containers with wire handles sitting on the end of the counter surrounded by about three dozen little plastic envelopes of soy sauce.
“How well do I know him? Not very, I mean I’ve studied his company, they’re very profitable. They do programming, websites, that sort of thing,” Heidi said.
“Yeah.”
“Personally, I mean I recognize him, we’ve talked, but largely about general business matters. I forget who introduced us at some fundraiser thing a year or two ago, might even be three by now. Why do you ask?” She said and took a healthy sip. “Oh, God, does that ever hit the spot. Thanks,” she said and blew me a little kiss.
I was beginning to wonder who needed tonight’s possibilities more, me or Heidi? “Why do I ask? Just trying to get a handle on the guy. He’s got a very difficult client, actually I’d say she’s a pain in the ass, but he’s smooth, I’ll give him that much, very smooth. I’m wondering if they maybe have some sort of relationship.”
“You mean like sex?” Heidi said and took another sip.
“Is there another kind?”
“God,” she groaned. “If I recall, he’s married and I think he told me his wife was super religious, some sort of born-again thingy,” she said, then drained her glass and pushed the empty toward me for a refill. I hadn’t touched mine, yet.
“I wouldn’t peg him as born again,” I said. Images of naked women from around the world and the vetting Royal’s various sites did before you could make an “appointment” with one of his clients flashed through my mind.
“I’ve never met her. I think they worked together at one point, she’s a techy, that was their common bond, at least initially.”
“Maybe I should give her my name and have her put me on her prayer list.”
“She’s probably not into doing the impossible, Dev.”
“Too bad,” I said.
“I guessing she’s pretty private. He’s at all sorts of functions, fundraisers, political events from both sides of the aisle, city, county, and even state, but I’ve never seen her with him.”
“I bet that was the photo on his desk, short hair, maybe kind of dull, certainly not what you’d call exciting.”
“And you can tell that from just one picture?”
“Well, he looked like he was having a good time and she sort of looked like the type who wanted to stop anyone and everyone from enjoying themselves.”
“Interesting, not. Hungry?”
“Yeah, let’s eat and let me give you a refill.”
Heidi snuggled up against me and gave me a kiss without waking up. I was content to stay just where I was. The sun was up and the digital on her dressing table said it was almost ten. Her empty Prosecco glass was next to the clock. She was going to need aspirin at some point and I figured I would be dispatched for caramel rolls or pastry while she showered. But, that was all somewhere in the future, for now Royal, Tony the jerk, and pain in the ass, Ashley were all far away. Then there was Tommy Flaherty….
Chapter Twenty-Six
Tommy Flaherty was going to have some explaining to do in the near future. On my way home from Heidi’s I called Leo, my locksmith and told him I needed new front and backdoor locks.
“Again? Dev, didn’t we just replace those things about six months ago?”
“Was it that long ago?”
“You know, if you stopped handing out house keys to every woman who let you buy her a drink you could maybe cut down on this. I ought to put you on some sort of monthly plan and just change the damn things every thirty days.”
“You have a monthly plan?”
“I was kidding, Dev. I suppose you expect this today?”
“That would be nice. Can you do it?”
“No, to answer your question.”
“No?”
“I’m up north, fishing and forgetting all about my pain in the butt clients, well until you called. Anyway, I’m out of town until tomorrow.”
“Just tell me a time, Leo, and I’ll be home.”
“I can’t be there until the end of the day, I won’t be getting back in town until around four.”
“I’ll call you back with the lock manufacture
so you can….”
“They’re Schlage, I’ve changed your locks so many times I’m probably their top customer in the five-state area.”
“I’ll be waiting for you, Leo.”
“Oh good,” he said not sounding all that sincere and hung up.
After leaving Heidi’s, I did a complete walk through my place, everything seemed fine. I couldn’t detect any signs that Tommy had been in this morning. Then again, until the golf shirt incident, I’d been completely clueless. Just to be on the safe side I figured I would work from home. I fired up my computer and went online to search for deals on coffins with carved lids. I could have better spent my time looking at nude beach sites, after almost two hours I hadn’t found anything resembling Andy’s missing coffin.
I watched the news while I ate a couple of hot dogs for dinner. It was “news” in name only, nothing seemed to change. The mid-East was a mess, Putin was backing the wrong guys, Congress was grid locked and the Twins lost. I had a couple of beers while surfing channels for three hours then went to bed about eleven.
The police officers pounding on the front door interrupted my breakfast, it wasn’t quite nine. I could see two of them standing on the front porch as I walked out of the kitchen. One appeared to be examining my porch ceiling and the other was peering through the window of the front door. The guy looking through the window said something to his partner, but I couldn’t hear what it was. They were both facing the door by the time I opened it.
“Hi, guys, what’s up?”
“Devlin Haskell?”
“Yeah, what’s this about?”
“Do you own a vehicle with Minnesota license number BAF479?”
“Yeah, that’s it right there in the driveway, the silver Sebring, that’s mine.”
They sort of looked at one another for a moment, something seemed to register between the two of them, but I couldn’t tell what.
“That Chrysler Sebring?” the guy who’d been studying my porch ceiling asked and indicated my car with his chin.
“Yeah, what’s all this about?” I was doing a quick mental rundown, my insurance was current, I didn’t have any outstanding tickets that I could remember. One of the taillights seemed to go out from time to time and the grill was smashed in from when I’d pulled too close to a bicycle rack I couldn’t see. There was a sizeable dent in the passenger door, of course the trunk was flat black, but I couldn’t believe things were so slow they’d send two guys out to ask me about that stuff.
“Do you own any other vehicles, Mr. Haskell?”
“No, I’ve got enough trouble with that damn thing. What’s the problem?”
“Seems to be a bit of a mix up, would you mind holding on for just a moment while we call in?” The guy who’d peered through the window didn’t wait for answer. He just stepped back and was on his radio, trying to reach someone.
“You guys want to come in for some coffee while you’re figuring things out? I got a fresh pot on.”
“Yeah, I’ll join you,” the officer who’d been looking at the ceiling said and left his partner out on the porch to sort things out.
“Come on, I’ve got it on in the kitchen. So, what seems to be the problem?” I said walking back toward the kitchen, he followed behind me.
“We’ve got a notice on your license number, apparently involved in some sort of an incident last night. But, the vehicle doesn’t seem to match the information we have.”
“Let me guess, it describes a nice car, instead of what I’m driving, right?”
The name Farrell was embroidered in gold thread just above the right pocket on his blue shirt. His silver badge was attached above his left pocket. He seemed to be studying me. I figured he was looking for some sort of nervous reaction or whatever amounted to a guilty look. Hopefully, I hadn’t given one.
“You want milk or sugar?” I asked and then remembered I didn’t have any milk.
“Black is fine.”
I heard footsteps coming in the front door. A moment later his partner stepped into the kitchen. “So?” Farrell asked and took the mug I handed him.
“It’s screwed up, but they still want us downtown.” The other cops name was Simpson and he sounded frustrated.
“You want some coffee first?”
“No, I’m afraid we have to go downtown, if you want to lock up, we’ll give you a lift, but we better get going.” It was one of those polite sounding requests that cops make, “If you don’t mind,” or “would you mind stepping out of the car, please?” I’d been here before, experience taught me to be polite back and do whatever I had to do. I was going to, eventually, anyway.
“Am I under arrest?”
“Not at this stage, we’d like you to hopefully just cooperate and then the sooner they can get this cleared up, the sooner we can get you back here to enjoy the rest of your day.”
I debated calling Louie, but decided to wait and see what all this was about. “Let me just get my shoes and I’ll be right with you.”
“Mind if I go with you?” Farrell said then set his coffee mug on the counter not waiting for an answer.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I’d been in the homicide interview rooms up on sixth floor before, but this fourth floor room was different, smaller and therefore more intimate, if that was the word. Maybe it was the confined space, but the same drab color on the walls seemed somehow different. One thing remained the same, the interview room smelled of sweat, fear and bad decisions.
“Mr. Haskell, I want to thank you for voluntarily coming down here this morning. I’m Detective Denise Dondavitch.” She had probably been attractive at one time, maybe a high school cutie. But, whether it was her personal life, the profession she was in, or both, time had hardened her.
Her hair was colored a dark brown, and cut in a sort of nondescript style with a sharp part that looked more like a slit along the left side of her skull. Her eyes were a humorless grey with lots of crow’s feet wrinkles around the edges. The beginnings of permanent scowl lines were already set in on either side of her mouth. If she had any makeup on, it was very little. She wore a pant suit that had been out of style for the better part of a decade and sensible shoes. She looked to be in her early fifties, but I guessed she was probably closer to forty.
“I just have a couple of questions for you. Hopefully we’ll be able to get this cleared up and then you can be on your way.” It would have been the appropriate time to flash a quick smile, but she didn’t.
I nodded. I could feel myself beginning to sweat and felt my heart rate kicking up a notch and so far, all she’d done was introduce herself.
“Am I under arrest?”
“Not at this time,” she said which did nothing to ease my concern and in fact seemed to heighten my stress. “You apparently own a 2007 Chrysler Sebring, silver I believe, is that correct?”
“Yes, well except for the trunk, right now that’s flat black.”
“How long have you owned that vehicle?”
“Maybe since February of this year.”
“You don’t remember when you purchased your vehicle?”
“No, not the exact day. It’s on my title, in the glove compartment. DMV should have that information. I got it at the police auction,” I said hoping that might add a degree of credibility to the vehicle.
She flipped a page over in the rather thick file that lay open in front of her. She seemed to read her way down the top sheet, scanning information. “Do you own any other vehicles at this time, Mr. Haskell?”
“No, I do not.”
“When was the last time you owned another vehicle?”
“The last time? Well, it would have been up until the time I purchased the Sebring, last February. I owned an Aztek, prior to that, what a disaster. The thing was just a money pit. One time….”
There was a knock on the door interrupting me, then it opened and a guy stepped in. He sort of looked familiar, maybe, but I couldn’t place him.
Dondavitch half turned, but didn
’t seemed surprised. “Are we ready, Jerry?”
“Yeah, anytime.”
“Go ahead, then and bring it up,” she said then turned back toward me. “Mr. Haskell, we’re investigating a robbery that occurred two nights ago. I’ve got the security tape loaded. If you’d direct your attention to the screen in the corner,” she said and then moved her chair back so we could both watch a flat screen TV mounted up in the corner of the room. Even watching the Twins lose while sipping a beer down at The Spot was suddenly looking a lot better than this.
“Okay,” she said and the screen came to life a moment later. There was a yellow digital readout in the lower left hand corner ticking off seconds. As soon as the video started it began counting down; 1:59, 1:58, 1:57.
The black and white video was taken from inside some sort of store. From the angle of the film, I guessed the camera was mounted on the ceiling and maybe fifteen feet from the front door. The front door was actually two doors. The kind we’ve all been through millions of times. Metal frame doors, with full-glass panels and a horizontal bar halfway up the door that you’d push on your way out. The doors looked like they had the store hours painted on them, but since the camera was on the inside of the store the writing on the door was backwards.
It was clearly dark on the far side of the door and I guessed it was the middle of the night. Detective Dondavitch was studying me, probably looking for some sort of reaction.
A vehicle suddenly backed up to the door and a figure got out on the right side of the car, walked to the back and opened the rear door on the car. The door opened to the side rather than up toward the roof of the car. The guy tossed something out onto the sidewalk, reached into the back of the vehicle again then turned, took a step toward the door of the store and that’s when I saw the sledge hammer. He swung it twice. The first time he hit the glass on the left hand door it fractured from top to bottom. The second time he swung, the lower half of the glass shattered across the floor in a thousand little pieces.
The guy reached inside, unlocked the door then picked up whatever he’d thrown on the sidewalk a moment ago. The yellow digital readout had counted down to 1:48, just twelve seconds had passed. When he stepped inside the store he had a stocking cap pulled down over his face with eye holes cut in it so he could see.
