Manslaughter (Stanley Hastings Mystery, #15)

by Parnell Hall

  After a few minutes of farbling around, during which Thurman posed a number of questions, the answers to which none of the policeman knew, Mott was loaded into the police car and driven off. Thurman and the cop from the apartment followed along behind.

  The minute they were gone I crept out of my hiding place, hurried back to my parked car, and woke up Leroy Stanhope Williams.

  “Showtime,” I said.

  Leroy rubbed sleepy eyes. “Cops gone?”

  “Yup.”

  “All of them?”

  “I hope so.”

  Leroy snorted in disgust. “Couldn’t you have just said yes?”

  “Sorry. Yes, the cops are gone.”

  “That’s less than comforting.”

  “You’re a hard man to please.”

  We reached Grackle’s town house and went up the steps. The front door was still unlocked like we’d left it for Mr. Mott. We pushed it open, went inside.

  “Come on,” I whispered.

  I led Leroy up the stairs. He followed reluctantly. I marched straight to the door of Grackle’s apartment. Leroy gave me a look, whipped out a set of picks, and inserted them in the lock. Seconds later it clicked open.

  Without a word, Leroy turned and walked down the stairs.

  As we’d agreed, I waited until he was outside. Then I pushed the apartment door open and stepped in.

  I half expected to be handcuffed by cops, but, no, Sergeant Thurman was running true to form. His trap having worked, it hadn’t occurred to him to set it again. The apartment was empty.

  Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. I switched on the light, went to the file cabinet, pulled out the drawer. Lifted the false bottom.

  The money was still there.

  I set my briefcase on the floor, popped it open.

  I pulled out the documents I wanted, put them in the file cabinet on top of the money. I closed the false bottom, replaced the drawer.

  And got the hell out of there.

  47.

  SERGEANT MACAULLIF HAD HIS pill bottles lined up on the desk in front of him. “Which one should I take?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  MacAullif cocked his head. “There’s been some developments in the case.”

  “Oh, is that right?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. I thought you might be interested.”

  “Oh, absolutely. It’s got nothing to do with me anymore, but I’d still like to know. So what’s the big news?”

  “I think I’ll try the stomach pill,” MacAullif said. “I have a feeling I might need the stomach pill.”

  “How come?”

  MacAullif poured a glass of water, popped the pill in his mouth, swallowed it down. “The police have made an arrest.”

  “In the Grackle case?”

  “That’s right.”

  “They arrested someone else for killing Mr. Grackle?”

  “That they have.”

  “Who is it this time?”

  “A Mr. Darien Mott. The proprietor of Midnight Lace.”

  “Hmmm,” I said. “You know, I wouldn’t want to tell the police their business, but wouldn’t you think the more people they arrest for this crime, the harder it’s going to be to get a conviction?”

  “That’s undoubtedly how the ADA sees it. However, from Sergeant Thurman’s point of view, all arrests are good.”

  “What do they have on Mr. Mott?”

  “Quite a bit, actually. He was arrested trying to break into the apartment. Some incriminating documents turned up in Grackle’s files. Files concealed in a false compartment of the file cabinet, no less. The police theory is if he’d break in to get them, he’d kill to get them.”

  “Can they prove it?”

  “Yes and no. Thurman thought he was being smart putting a cop in the apartment. But as a result they nabbed our boy before he could ransack the file cabinet.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Yeah, but the guy had an instruction manual on him, showing how to get into it, which sort of cooks his ass.”

  “Where would he get that?”

  “I have no idea. But the point is, he had it.”

  “What a moron. He couldn’t remember the instructions?”

  “Evidently not. The other thing that nails him is that his prints were found in the cellar, right next to the doorbell wire that was cut.”

  “Now, that’s bad,” I said.

  “Yeah, terrible.” MacAullif waved the pill bottle at me. “Weren’t you the guy pushing that idea?”

  “I dislike the characterization pushing.”

  “I dislike a lot of things. But they keep walking into my office.”

  “Hey, low blow. This arrest helps you as much as me.”

  “Don’t be too sure,” MacAullif said. “Like I say, it’s an iffy case. All it really does is fuck up the case against the girl. Just like the girl fucks up the case against him. She’s his reasonable doubt and he’s hers. No jury’s gonna convict the one when there’s so much evidence against the other.”

  “Any chance of collusion?”

  “None. They didn’t like each other, and everybody knew it. Plus the cop who tagged her car knows she was alone. So the Grackle case has suddenly moved from nearly solved to wide open.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Which leaves me twisting in the wind.”

  “Not at all, MacAullif. Your only connection was the girl. If she’s out of it, you’re clear.”

  “Maybe,” MacAullif grumbled. He didn’t sound happy.

  “What’s your problem, MacAullif?”

  “It’s a little too pat. The guy breaks into the apartment, he’s got an instruction manual in his pocket—where the hell’d that come from?— the manual is to a false bottom in the file cabinet. Thurman tumbles to what the manual is, goes back and searches the hidden recess, and finds a fortune in small bills and this guy Mott’s alias and rap sheet.”

  “Anything else in the drawer?”

  “Yes, there was something else in the drawer.”

  “What was it?”

  “Why do I have a feeling you could tell me?”

  “You give me too much credit, MacAullif.”

  “I give you very little credit. I give you gall, moxie, and chutzpah, but little credit indeed.”

  “So what was in the drawer?”

  “Two things. Police report of an aggravated assault complaint stemming from a fight in a bar—where have I heard that before?—and a death certificate for a Mr. Headly on that same day, and a witness statement signed by a patron in the bar to the effect that he saw Balfour beat Headly to within an inch of his life.”

  “Interesting,” I said.

  “Somehow I knew you’d say that. You got the word interesting sort of filed away in a box of all-purpose words that piss me off.”

  “I can’t even follow that, MacAullif.”

  “You’re damn right, it’s interesting. Here’s the girl charged with murder, and the only things in the drawer are evidence pointing to the motives of two other men.”

  “Lucky there.”

  “Very.”

  “So they gonna dismiss the charges?”

  “I don’t know what they’re gonna do. All I know is nobody’s happy. Except maybe Thurman, ’cause he’s too dumb to know better.”

  “You say there was money in the drawer?”

  “There was a lot of money in the drawer. And your buddy Rosenberg’s already laid claim to it. On behalf of the quote ‘widow’ unquote.”

  “She is the widow, MacAullif.”

  “Who gives a shit? The point is Rosenberg claimed the money practically before anyone knew it was there.”

  “Richard has a nose for money.”

  “And a head for figures. He asked for the exact amount. Which the cops swear up and down they didn’t give out.”

  I nodded. “If the widow knew the right amount, it’s a pretty good indication the money’s hers.”

  MacAullif rolled his eyes. “Oh, sure. The woman
hasn’t seen him in six years, but she knows what’s in his cash drawer.”

  “So she loved his money. Is that so rare?”

  “Save it for someone who wants to hear it. All I care is the girl stays off the hook so no one gets to me. As for the rest of it, frankly I could care less.”

  “Yeah, I know, MacAullif. I’ll tell you anyway, when it’s all over.”

  I could hear MacAullif’s stomach erupt all the way across the room.

  “You don’t think it’s over yet?”

  “Not by a long shot.”

  48.

  RICHARD ROSENBERG WAS SMILING all over his face. “Two hundred seventy thousand dollars. I like that. You know what I like most about it? I like the way three goes into it. No small change. No decimal points. No rounding it off to the nearest penny. No, a third of two hundred and seventy thousand dollars is ninety thousand dollars. Which is a nice, round figure that I can deal with. My god, when I think of the amount I’ll save on bookkeeping costs alone.”

  “Yeah, you’ll almost be able to offset your finder’s fee,” I told him.”

  Richard sputtered into his coffee. “My what!? What are you talking about?”

  “My fee for finding the money. I was talking about that.”

  “You didn’t find the money. Sergeant Thurman found the money. I’m damned if I’m paying him.”

  “Right,” I said. “I didn’t find the money. I just pulled the figure two hundred seventy thousand out of a hat.”

  “And very nicely too,” Richard agreed. “You could work as a psychic.”

  “Great. I’ll be sure to give you as a reference. Richard, as far as this deal is concerned, I consider myself your agent. I found you the money, and I found you the client. If you manage to put the two together, I want ten percent.”

  Richard gagged. “Ten percent! You want twenty-seven thousand dollars!”

  “No, Richard. I said an agent’s fee. Ten percent of your end. Nine thousand dollars. If you think that’s excessive, I can tell you a dozen reasons why it isn’t.”

  “Tell me one.”

  “The woman’s claim to the cash will be predicated to a great deal on my recollection of events.”

  “I fail to see how that could be true.”

  “Okay, how about if I made you a party to the illegal steps I took in order for you to procure that money, you could go to jail?”

  “That’s pretty persuasive.”

  “Glad to hear it. If you get the dough, cut me in.”

  “I certainly will,” Richard said dryly. “Tell me, was that on your list of things to do today? Get the morning paper, take out the garbage, blackmail your employer?”

  “Absolutely. So what are the chances of our procuring this money?”

  “I was on the phone with ADA Kinsey today. I must say he’s not happy.”

  “How come?”

  “The Grackle case. He’d like to prosecute someone for it.”

  “Why doesn’t he?”

  “Too many suspects. All of them good. It’s hard to choose just one.”

  “Who’s his favorite?”

  “The strip club owner. By a wide margin. He’s convinced he did it. The fingerprints prove he cut the wire. The records prove he was paying the guy off. A copy of his rap sheet was in the file along with the cash. Plus he was caught postmortem, trying to remove the evidence and/or the money.”

  “Why didn’t he take it when he killed him?”

  “He didn’t know where it was. He went in there, stole a mess of papers from the file. He didn’t get what he wanted, but among the stuff he took was a manual telling him about the trick drawer.”

  “If they got that much on him, why don’t they prosecute him?”

  “Little problem with the time of death. Guy was at the strip club all night. Confirmed by his bouncer and a bunch of the girls as well.” Richard made a face. “Now, you know what an alibi is like. Perfectly possible the guy snuck out long enough to do the deed. But you put the alibi witnesses together with the fact he’d be the third suspect charged, there isn’t an attorney fresh out of law school who couldn’t raise reasonable doubt. From my understanding, unless someone confesses or someone rolls over on him, this one ain’t getting solved.”

  “A shame,” I said. “How’s the ADA feel about that?”

  “Justifiably pissed. And looking for other game.”

  “Such as?”

  “The evidence in the file against Darien Mott was rather straightforward. He had a record, was paying to suppress it. The evidence against Joe Balfour, however, is a little different. It would tend to indicate he had something to do with the death of a Mr. Headly some years back.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yes, it is, and the guy thinks he can prove it. Balfour was arrested for a barroom brawl, the guy he fought with wound up dead, and a witness confirms the fight.”

  “Isn’t that over ten years old?”

  “Murder never outlaws. I understand the ADA’s looking for a grand jury indictment.”

  “What’s Balfour’s lawyer say?”

  “He says it’s a crock of shit. They’re proceeding out of spite, they haven’t got the evidence, it will never come to trial, they’re just going through the motions, et cetera, et cetera.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Well, the guy was caught by surprise. I’m sure he’ll come up with something better when he’s had a chance to think it over.”

  “Maybe. On the other hand, maybe he’ll plead him out.”

  Richard gawked. “What, are you nuts? The prosecution’s got no case. No lawyer in his right mind would plead it out.”

  I shrugged. “Wanna bet?”

  49.

  THE SENIOR MILLSAP WASN’T pleased to see me. He sat behind a mahogany desk covered with a confusion of papers, inbox, outbox, telephone, ashtray, cigar box, and various objects the function of which I could only guess at. It looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in twenty years.

  Millsap, on the other hand, looked like he’d just had a haircut. He was one of those guys who always looked like he’d just had a haircut. Today, he looked like he’d just had a haircut and swallowed a bottle of castor oil.

  “You’re a menace,” he said, putting as much authority as he could behind the word.

  “I’m certainly sorry to hear that,” I said. “I’d like to apologize for everything I’ve done. I’m here to offer any help I can.”

  “I’ve frankly had enough of your help.”

  “Hey, don’t be such a grouch. Your son’s client’s off the hook. Doesn’t that count for something?”

  “I don’t find that funny.”

  “Oh, sorry. I forgot the family infighting. You’re pissed off I helped your son out too.”

  “Don’t be dumb.”

  “Oh, am I in error? I’m sorry. Gee, I just can’t stop apologizing today. And I haven’t really done anything wrong.”

  “Will you get out of my office?”

  “Absolutely. But I have a few things to say first. I understand your client’s been indicted for the murder of Mr. Headly.”

  “Oh, you understand that, do you?”

  “Well, it was in the paper.”

  “I’m aware it was in the paper.” He said it through clenched teeth. “What wasn’t in the paper was the fact a great deal of this evidence was uncovered by you.”

  “Almost none of it,” I said. “The strip club owner who got arrested—”

  “Yeah, I know. He claims he was set up. He makes a fairly good case. So good they aren’t going to prosecute him. They’re coming after my client instead.”

  “Exactly. And that’s what I want to talk to you about.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I’d like to help you.”

  “You’ve uncovered some evidence that gets my client off?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Then how could you be of help?”

  “Actually, I was going to suggest a legal strategy.”

>   Millsap’s face purpled. One could practically see steam coming out his ears. “You are going to tell me a legal strategy?”

  “I didn’t say tell. I said suggest.”

  “I suppose you’re going to instruct me on the legal distinction of those words?” he said sarcastically.

  “That wasn’t what I had in mind.”

  The door opened and the younger Millsap came in. He saw me, stopped, and said, “Oh, should I come back later?”

  “Not on my account,” I said. “Come on in. We were just talking about you.”

  The elder Millsap sputtered indignantly.

  His son smiled. “No, no, Dad. I’m sure you weren’t. So what’s up?”

  “I was coming to see you next, but we might as well talk here.”

  “In front of my father?”

  “Why not? The cases seem to have diverged. Your dad’s defending a whole different homicide.”

  “Funny how that happened.”

  “You’re in a good mood. Charges dismissed yet?”

  “No, but it’s just a formality. What with this new arrest.”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. The ADA offered your client anything to roll over on the guy?”

  Young Millsap frowned. “That’s hardly likely. My client knows nothing about the activities of Mr. Mott.”

  I smiled. “Give me a break. Your client was in the apartment. If she’s willing to testify Grackle was dead when she got there, that would tie in with the theory Mott killed him earlier. Before his so-called alibi.”

  Millsap frowned. “Even if the police were pushing that theory, there’d be no reason for us to go along, since the cops have nothing to trade.”

  I thought that over. “I see. You’re telling me your client wants to make that deal, but you won’t let her.”

  He flushed. “That’s not what I said.”

  “I know. I find it interesting all the same. What does she say about this new murder charge against her father?”

  The elder Millsap waved his arms. “Hey! Hey! You’re not discussing the case in front of my son.”