Blue Goodness (Michael Kaplan Mysteries)

by David W. Cowles

  Over all hung a thick blue haze of tobacco smoke, despite efforts to reduce the pollution with costly filtration units installed on the air conditioners. It was a tossup whether management was concerned with the health and comfort of players and employees or installed the elaborate systems in the expectation that the ornate crystal chandeliers would require less frequent cleaning.

  It was lunchtime. About thirty people stood in line outside of the Aviary Coffee Shop impatiently awaiting their turn to be seated. Mark Caruso led Michael to the head of the line, whispered a few words to the hostess, and discreetly flashed his badge. She immediately escorted them to a booth near the rear of the room.

  The busboy brought water and took their drink orders. Mark wanted a cherry Coke; Michael, an iced tea. Their waitress, pen and pad in hand, arrived at the same time the busboy brought their beverages. Michael ordered only a dinner salad. He was not particularly hungry—partly because of the full breakfast prepared by Kimberly just a few hours earlier, partly because of the stress of the confession he was about to make.

  Mark, a bachelor, seldom cooked and dinner was often on a catch-as-catch-can basis. Lunch was his main meal of the day. He chose the hot turkey platter with mashed potatoes, dressing, gravy, and a small plastic cup of cranberry sauce. A dinner salad and hot rolls came with the entrée. He’d already decided he would have a slab of lemon meringue pie and coffee for dessert.

  After the waitress brought their salads, Michael opened the conversation. “Uh, Mark,” he began hesitantly. “I need to tell you something, and it’s terribly embarrassing.”

  “What’s the matter,” Mark retorted. “Did my deodorant stop working?”

  Michael shook his head negatively. “No, it isn’t about you. It’s about Soozie.”

  Mark put his fork down and met Michael’s eyes. “I’m glad you brought that up. I was going to ask you about Soozie, Michael. What’s wrong with you, anyway? Your wife Myra has everything—looks, personality, intelligence. She’s a great cook and homemaker, too. I know she loves you. Why would you jeopardize your marriage by cheating on her? With a hooker, no less. She is the same Soozie Snyder you asked me to look up in the police records, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, she’s the same person. But hold on just a damn minute, Mark. Cut Soozie some slack. You said she’d been picked up for alleged prostitution activities, but you also told me charges were never filed. So, no trials were ever held, and therefore she was never found guilty. Let’s remember that in this country there’s a presumption of innocence. You may believe Soozie’s a hooker—and that’s your prerogative—but, if you go around telling other people that, your defamatory statements can be actionable.”

  Michael surprised even himself. Why was he suddenly defending the woman who had caused him so much grief just a few days before? Was it because he had seen another side of her last night? Or, was it because of his legal training, coupled with his innate desire to defend the underdog?

  Mark’s eyes opened wide at Michael’s sudden outburst. “Jeez. Excuse the hell out of me, buddy. I’ve never heard you talk like that. You sound like you’re her lawyer. Why are you so defensive, Michael? If I recall correctly, it was you who called me and asked me to check the woman’s rap sheet in official Metro files—which I did, because you’re my friend. I guess I’ll have to be more careful what I tell you in the future. I thought I was doing you a favor, and now you’re turning the favor against me. What does Soozie have that makes you so protective over her—a golden pussy lined with mink?”

  Michael’s face reddened at Mark’s crude metaphor. “I barely know Soozie, Mark,” he protested vigorously. “I met her for the first time just a few days ago. She’s a real estate agent, and she took me out to look at houses. Myra and I have been thinking about selling the condo and getting a bigger place.”

  “You must have made quite an impression on the woman—and vice versa,” Mark stated flatly. “Soozie didn’t say anything about showing you property. Rather, she told my officers you were her boyfriend, and she was driving you around because you had a bad ankle.”

  Michael was becoming flustered. He took a sip of iced tea before replying. “It’s not that way at all, Mark. I don’t care what Soozie said, she’s not my girlfriend. And she wasn’t driving me around yesterday afternoon. Soozie didn’t take me to Dr. Lamb’s office. I took a cab there. She was next door getting her nails done. By happenstance, she looked out the window and spotted me walking by. When she was finished in the salon she came into the veterinary clinic to say hello. We didn’t go there together. It was just a coincidence we both happened to be in the same shopping center at the same time.

  “But that’s not what I wanted to tell you. Remember when you asked me where I was about five yesterday afternoon?”

  “Yes. Certainly.”

  “Well, before I could answer you, Soozie jumped into the conversation and told you she and I were together and had just finished having sex. That was a lie.”

  An eyebrow raised. “Oh? That wasn’t true? You haven’t had sex with her?”

  “No. Yes, damn it. We did have sex, but not yesterday.” Michael was becoming extremely frustrated.

  Mark shook his head. “Michael, I’m confused. You told me Soozie’s not your girlfriend and you barely know her. Yet, just now, you admitted you’ve screwed her. What about the kinky videotape she described—does that exist or not?”

  “Yes, it does. But it was made a few days ago—not yesterday afternoon. Mark, please. Listen to me.” Michael squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. When the waitress brought Mark’s turkey plate, Michael pushed away his salad. His stomach was churning and he could eat no more. “Why we had sex is a long story, and it isn’t relevant to what I’m trying to tell you. Soozie lied. I wasn’t with her at five yesterday. I hadn’t seen her since we had lunch—not until she walked into Lamb’s clinic.”

  “Oh, so you were with her before Lamb was attacked and after he was attacked, but not while he was being attacked. Is that it?”

  “Yeah. That’s it,” Michael acknowledged reluctantly.

  Mark dug into his turkey platter. He downed more than half of it before resuming their talk. “Michael, I know from my conversation with Myra that you weren’t home at all yesterday. I’ll ask you again—where were you about five?”

  “I was taking a shower.”

  “We’ve already been through this,” the detective snapped. “I didn’t ask you what you were doing, I asked you where you were doing it.”

  “I was at Kimberly’s house.”

  Mark finished his lunch and signaled for the waitress. She took his order for lemon meringue pie and coffee. He waited until she left, then continued. “I suppose Kimberly was there with you in the shower and she’ll be able to back up your story.”

  “It isn’t a story, Mark. I’m telling you the truth. And no, Kimberly wasn’t even at home. I let myself in. I have a key to her house.”

  “Are you telling me Soozie isn’t your girlfriend, but Kimberly is?”

  Michael’s arms thrashed wildly about in exasperation. “No! I don’t have a girlfriend! Myra and I had a little spat and she kicked me out of the condo. Temporarily. It’s nothing that can’t be resolved, I hope. I had to have a place to sleep, so I’ve been staying at Kimberly’s for the past three nights. In her guest bedroom.”

  Mark rolled his eyes. “What was the spat about, Michael?”

  Michael shrugged his shoulders. “It was just a misunderstanding, that’s all. Myra thinks Kimberly and I are having an affair.”

  Mark’s eyes narrowed and focused on the bridge of Michael’s nose. “Let me get this straight. Myra believes you’re having an affair with Kimberly, who happens to be her best friend. So, to prove you’re not, you move out of your condo and in with Kimberly. That makes a helluva lot of sense,” he said sarcastically.

  “Mark, we keep getting off the subject. It really isn’t important where I was or what I was doing yesterday afternoon. I just wanted you to know I w
asn’t having sex with Soozie. Not yesterday, anyway.”

  Mark stuffed a large piece of pie in his mouth. “I already knew that, Michael.”

  Michael’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “I went out to the house on Habanero Street with our forensic boys to check for fingerprints. We did find your prints all over the headboard, Michael, which confirmed Soozie’s story about the two of you having sex in the house. But then, the agent who listed the house happened to walk in. She told me she’d held a walk-through yesterday. There were at least a hundred real estate brokers and salespeople wandering through the house all afternoon. If you and Soozie had been there screwing you would have had a helluva big audience.”

  “If you already knew I wasn’t there yesterday, why did you make me go through the death march?”

  Mark put his arm on Michael’s shoulder as a gesture of friendship. “Michael, I’m worried about you. I first suspected something was wrong when I talked with Myra. She was very noncommittal, but I could sense the two of you were having marital problems. Then, when Soozie said she was your girlfriend, I figured the worst. Now that you’ve told me you’ve been living at Kimberly’s, I don’t know what to think. You’re not acting like yourself, buddy, and I’d like to know why.

  “Start by telling me—if you can—why Soozie lied to me about where you were yesterday afternoon.”

  “She thought you believed I had something to do with the assault on Dr. Lamb and were trying to trap me into saying something that would incriminate me. So, she took it upon herself to give me an alibi. I’ve come to the conclusion Soozie’s one mixed-up woman, Mark. I don’t believe she realizes the gravity of what she did. She was only trying to help me. For God’s sake, I can’t explain why.”

  “Then tell me this. Why didn’t you contradict her story immediately, while you were still in my office?”

  “I did try to tell you Soozie was lying, Mark. I really did,” Michael protested, with a wave of his arms. “But you changed the subject, as you have a habit of doing, and sent us on our way. I raised hell with Soozie over dinner last night—”

  “Wait a minute,” Mark interrupted. “Didn’t you just tell me you had lunch with her yesterday? And now, you’re telling me you took her to a restaurant again last night?”

  Michael resented the implication. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean we’re lovers. I took her to dinner to try to set her straight about our relationship.”

  “So, you admit there is a relationship. A sexual relationship, at least.”

  “Mark, please. Don’t rub it in,” Michael said disgustedly.

  Mark’s hand waved back and forth as he spoke. “Michael, something doesn’t smell right to me. I can’t put my finger on it yet, but I will. I always do. In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never acted the way you’ve been acting for the past several days.

  “You say you think Soozie’s mixed up. What about you? You’re married to one woman, having sex with a second, and living with a third. Something’s eating at you, Michael. My guess is it’s guilt—but, about what? Is it because you’re trying to juggle three women, or is there something else weighing on your mind?

  “As far as the attempt on Lamb’s life is concerned, a considerable amount of circumstantial evidence points in your direction. Your whereabouts for the time of the crime can’t be verified. Evidence and opportunity—all that’s lacking is intent. If I thought you had a motive to kill Lamb, you’d be in deep shit right now. As it is, I’m going to suggest you hire an attorney. I’m telling you that as a friend, Michael, not in any official capacity. This whole mess is likely to go to the grand jury; and, from the facts, as I know them right now, I think there’s a damn good chance you might be indicted. Right now, the charge would be attempted murder. If Lamb dies, you’ll be looking at murder one.” Mark slammed his fist onto the table to emphasize his statement.

  Michael took a deep breath. So, Soozie was right. In Mark’s eyes, he was a suspect. “What about Gunther Hogg, Mark? You said you were going to question him.”

  “Yes, I said that and I did. The first thing this morning. That’s why I couldn’t take your call earlier.

  “Hogg said he was in his clinic all day, except for an hour or so when he went out for lunch and to give blood. I checked with the blood bank, and they confirmed he was there about one. He appears to be a regular donor.

  “He maintains he was back in his clinic by one-thirty and remained there until six last night, then picked up a pizza and a six-pack, took them to his motel room, and didn’t step outside again until this morning. The pizza parlor employees remember he was there about half past six. Hogg said no one brought patients in all afternoon, and he doesn’t remember talking to anyone on the phone after two-thirty or so. So, he doesn’t have an alibi that can be corroborated for the time when Lamb was assaulted, either.

  “All the time I was questioning him, Hogg was as nervous as a cat surrounded by a pack of rottweilers, though he freely admits he’s not at all sorry about what happened to Lamb. In my opinion, he had a strong motive for wanting Lamb dead. I really think Hogg’s my man, but I don’t have any solid evidence to back up my gut feelings.”

  Mark finished his coffee and signed the check. The casino has a policy of comping police officers for their meals, and, even though Caruso wasn’t in uniform, the hostess made certain the waitress was aware he was with Metro.

  “I also spoke with the kennel attendant at Lamb’s clinic. He remembers Lamb received a phone call about a quarter to four yesterday afternoon. The attendant wasn’t privy to both sides of the conversation, but he heard the gist of it. Someone was frantic about a dog that was having convulsions. Not one of Lamb’s regular patients, apparently, but he decided to make a house call anyway and see what he could do to help the animal.

  “Lamb received another phone call immediately afterwards—probably yours. As soon as he hung up, he left the clinic. The handler stayed there until five-thirty. Then he locked up, and, as Lamb had instructed, placed the front door key in the fuse box.

  “It appears Lamb was lured to a vacant house. When he went inside, someone injected him with a big dose of veterinary euthanasia fluid—Blue Goodness, the same stuff stolen from Dr. Royal’s clinic. Lamb was stabbed from behind. The needle was shoved into his back, right through his clothing. If the Blue Goodness had entered a vein or his chest cavity, Lamb would have died almost instantly. But instead, he was able to wander outside. A neighbor from a few doors away found Lamb in a stupor, lying in the middle of the man’s driveway.”

  “How did you know Lamb was even in the house?” Michael asked. “He could have been attacked outside.”

  “The address of the house was written on a slip of paper in his jacket pocket. The front door was ajar, and, when we went inside and looked around, we found Lamb’s medical kit. Unopened. Also, that’s where we found the empty syringe—wiped clean of prints.”

  “And the dog? The one having convulsions?”

  “There was no dog. That was just a ruse to get Lamb there.”

  “Who owned the house? The attacker must have had a key to get in.” Michael suggested helpfully.

  Mark frowned. “I told you. The house was vacant. There was a FOR SALE sign on the front lawn, but someone—probably the perp—had taken the sign down and tossed it in the back yard. The key had been in a real estate association lockbox hanging on the front door.”

  “So—anyone with access to the lockbox could have gone inside. Doesn’t that indicate the attacker might be a real estate agent?”

  Mark shook his head. “No. We found the lockbox tossed into some bushes. It had been broken into. If anything, the fact the box was not opened with a Realtor’s key would tend to eliminate real estate agents from my list of suspects.”

  Mark’s cell phone sounded. He’d received a text message. After reading it, he stood. “I’m wanted back at headquarters. Let’s get out of here, Michael. And don’t forget my advice—hire yourself a go
od attorney.”

  Twenty-Three

  WITHIN A MATTER OF DAYS, Gunther Hogg’s world had completely crumbled. After catching him with another woman, his wife threw him out of their house and threatened divorce. His new girlfriend turned out to be an underage runaway, and after the juvenile officers picked her up Hogg was arrested on morals charges. Stewart Lamb—the man he expected would be his new business partner—welched on their deal, and, moreover, put Hogg’s license to practice in jeopardy by filing a formal complaint against him with the Board of Veterinary Medical Examiners. His legal troubles were duly reported in the newspapers and on television, and the adverse publicity coated him with a thick veneer of slimy opprobrium. Hogg’s patients soon dwindled to a mere handful—only pet owners who didn’t keep up with current events in Las Vegas.

  And now, mere hours after Lamb was attacked and nearly killed—a pity the murder attempt failed, Hogg mused—the police were already hot on his tail, ready to pin the crime on him. Gunther couldn’t figure out how they made the connection between him and Lamb so quickly.