Mike Faricy - Devlin Haskell 07 - Ting-A-Ling

by Mike Faricy

  “God, I thought they were supposed to pave this damn thing,” he said just as the lid slipped off and strawberry shake dripped over the McRib sauce he’d spilled on his suit coat.

  “You’re dripping there, big boy.”

  “Huh? Oh, damn it,” he said, then bounced across two more potholes and pulled into a parking place. He crammed the cup back into the console then used his index finger to halt strawberry shake from running any further down his suit coat. He licked his finger clean, repositioned the lid on the shake and started sucking the straw in earnest.

  I placed my Filet of Fish back in the box. I’d lost my appetite and truth be told I wasn’t looking forward to heading back into the police station and talking with Manning.

  Louie released his grip on the straw long enough to ask, “You gonna finish that fish?”

  “You can have it if you want.”

  “God, I don’t know why anyone orders these things,” he said and crammed half the filet into his mouth. “Mmm-mmm,” he grunted, then sort of nodded and raised his eyebrows as if to suggest, ‘not half-bad’.

  “Should we go in there and get this over with?” I said a few minutes later.

  Louie sucked on his straw until it gurgled an empty reply. He dropped the cup into the back seat and looked over at me. “Just pay attention to my cues in there. Okay? We are here of our own free will. We’re here to help in their investigation. We’re here to take you off their list of suspects. Anytime Manning asks you a question I want you to look at me before you answer. I touch you on the leg like this,” he touched my thigh. “That means you shut the hell up. I don’t care if you’re in mid-sentence, Dev. You stop talking. Got it?”

  I nodded.

  “Say it,” Louie commanded.

  “Yeah, relax, I got it. Come on, Manning’s probably running a stop watch just to see if we show up on time.” I climbed out of the car. Louie did the same, scattering wrappers across the floor of the front seat as he did so. He sort of hiked his trousers up by pulling on his belt, not that it did anything to help his appearance. He strode off toward the building entrance across the street. I followed dutifully behind. I focused on the graveled parking lot, dodging potholes until we made it to the street. Louie stamped his feet on the pavement in an effort to knock off some of the snow and slush.

  “Just remember, we’re in charge on this deal. We’re here to set the record straight and get ahead of any bullshit ideas before they get carried away over the course of their investigation,” Louie said, then stepped off again once a car drove past.

  I noticed for the first time that his pinstriped coat had substantially thinner stripes than the stripes on his trousers. Somehow, he’d managed to mix up two different pinstriped suits. I figured that was the least of my problems as we entered the lobby and approached the Desk Sergeant.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  We weren’t incarcerated in the standard cinder block interview room with uncomfortable plastic chairs, whips, chains and torture devices hanging from the wall. Manning had us seated in a sort of conference room with padded carpet, a long polished wooden table, comfortable upholstered chairs and halfway decent coffee.

  Aaron LaZelle had poked his head in as we were getting seated. We’d exchanged one liners, he thanked us for coming down and then he fled the scene as fast as was prudently possible.

  Up until now, Manning hadn’t said a lot except to explain that we were being taped and filmed. He introduced the dour faced blonde woman seated next to him as, “One of our department consultants, Ms. Sinn.”

  “That’s S-I-N-N,” she interjected with a slight growl and without the trace of a smile.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Louie said. He extended his wrinkled coat arm with a drop or two of strawberry shake.

  “Nice to meet you.” I nodded from across the table.

  “So, let’s get started, shall we?” Manning said. He looked about as comfortable with Ms. Sinn as I felt. He listed off the usual time and place information, the names of everyone in the room. He stated that we had come of our own free will and that I was not facing any charges, and on and on. Then he asked, “Does everything I’ve said so far meet with your approval?”

  I nodded.

  Louie said, “Yes, it does.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Haskell you gave a nod, would you mind stating for the record that you’re in agreement thus far?”

  “Yes, I agree to the time, the date and the names of everyone in this room.” I half laughed.

  Louie’s hand gave me a warning shot beneath the table.

  “Very well. If you would care to proceed with your statement, please.”

  I looked over at Louie and he nodded, giving me the go ahead.

  “I was hired by a client to locate Mr. Renee Paris. Up until I spoke with my client I was only vaguely aware of Mr. Paris from local news reports. I had never met the man. To the best of my knowledge, I have never been involved in any business or social dealings with Renee Paris. I have never, to the best of my knowledge, been involved in a transaction of any sort with Renee Paris nor any organization he has been or is associated with.”

  I went on to describe how I searched the internet for information. How I reviewed his county tax records online. I stated that the real estate tax information is a matter of public record. Then I explained how I phoned him and set up an appointment to meet him. I stressed that Renee Paris suggested we meet at the Casey’s location. I met with him, left and did not learn about the fire until forty-eight hours after the event when I read about it in the newspaper. Once I read the newspaper article I phoned Detective Manning so I could make a statement. I finished and glanced over at Louie who gave me a brief nod.

  “What did you hope to accomplish by meeting Mr. Paris?” Manning asked.

  “Exactly what I did accomplish. I merely reminded him that my client had provided him with a loan and that my client wished to be paid back. I suggested to Mr. Paris that he might contact my client and work out some sort of payment arrangement.”

  “And your client is?”

  Louie tapped me on the thigh and said, “I think we’ll assert out right to client confidentiality at this point. Perhaps, if we can receive prior approval, we would be more than willing to pass that name on to you, Detective.”

  The humorless Sinn woman scribbled a note and slid it over to Manning, then stared at Louie’s stained suit coat without blinking. I was beginning to think she might be more dangerous than Manning.

  “Could you describe your conversation with Mr. Paris in a little more detail?” Manning asked.

  “There really isn’t that much to describe. He was cooking his Bar-B-Que sauce, at least that’s what I think he was doing. LuSifer’s is or well, maybe was his brand name.”

  Louie touched my leg again. “I’d like to point out that at this stage that’s really just conjecture on the part of Mr. Haskell. He’s unaware of circumstances that would lead one to conclude Mr. Paris is anything other than fit and continuing with his Bar-B-Que sauce business. Let the record state that LuSifer’s is the brand name of Mr. Paris’ sauce.”

  Manning nodded. “So noted. You were saying?”

  Louie gave me a go ahead nod.

  “Well, I was saying Paris was cooking up all this sauce. The place smelled great, there was a table covered with onion skins, boxes that looked like they had tomatoes in them, jars of spice, garlic, wrappers from pounds of butter, brown sugar. You know, the normal sort of stuff you’d have around if you were cooking, just lots of it.”

  Manning nodded like we were just pals shooting the shit.

  “I think there were five or six large containers, maybe this big.” I indicated with my hands. “They were cooking on the stove. I remember you could just hear this soft sort of boiling sound and like I said, the place smelled pretty good.”
<
br />   “Were you aware of any other individuals present?”

  “No, to the best of my knowledge, it was just the two of us. I parked next to his car. At least I think it was his, a silver Mercedes. There were no other cars in the back lot. Only one set of footprints in the snow going up to the door. Like I said, I think we were alone, at least to the best of my knowledge.”

  The Sinn woman slid another note over to Manning.

  Manning’s face flushed slightly and looked like he was about to get mad. I couldn’t determine if it was me or the note passing Sinn he was going to be mad at.

  “Let’s go back to your discussion with Mr. Paris, shall we? You suggested to Mr. Paris that your client wished to be repaid?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did this seem to come as a surprise to Mr. Paris?”

  “No, as a matter of fact I don’t think he was surprised at all. I just…” Louie’s hand hit off my thigh.

  Manning looked from me to Louie, then back to me again.

  “So, he just nodded and said thank you?” Manning finally asked.

  “Not exactly, but I don’t believe he was surprised. He mentioned something about insurance benefits and I suggested my client might want to be repaid in a more timely manner. Beyond that, whatever arrangement he works out with my client is strictly between the two of them. I don’t believe my involvement would serve any purpose.”

  “Sounds like you’ve pretty much fulfilled whatever obligation you had to your client, fair comment?”

  I nodded. “Yes, I delivered the message to Mr. Paris.”

  “And then you just walked out?”

  Shit. “Pretty much, we may have said something else, exchanged pleasantries. I really can’t recall, but nothing of substance.”

  “Pleasantries?”

  Louie’s hand hit my leg.

  “Like I said, Detective, I told Mr. Paris my client wished to be repaid. I told him my client would consider payment arrangements and I pretty much left it at that.”

  Manning nodded. “Do you find it strange that the restaurant there, Casey’s had been closed for some time and apparently the utilities were still on?”

  “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

  “But the lights were on and Paris was cooking on the stove, you stated as much. Correct?”

  I nodded, not liking what I feared lurked just around the corner.

  “Do you recall, was that a gas stove?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Well, you said he had a number of pots on the boil, large containers, you said. About this big, five or six of them.” He indicated the size of the containers with his hands just like I had done earlier.

  “Yes.”

  “So, if they were on the boil, as you said, there must have been a gas flame or an electric burner. Correct?”

  I began to relax. “Yes, I think it was a gas burner, now that you mention it. It was one of those large industrial stoves. I mean, the place was a restaurant.” I half chuckled and looked at Manning and Sinn for a reaction. I didn’t get one.

  Manning nodded like he was processing new information, then he suddenly bore into me with icy blue eyes. “What about the kitchen sink?”

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Louie hit my leg, hard and said, “I think we’ve been fairly clear regarding what my client does or does not know, Detective. You have our statement. I think at this point it’s fairly obvious Mr. Haskell is willing to help in this investigation in any way he can. However, even Mr. Haskell has his limits. I would guess a simple call to Xcel energy would answer any questions you might have regarding the utility situation.”

  Manning focused on Louie for a moment. Sinn scribbled a note and slid it over to Manning. When he looked at the note his face grew just a little more red.

  “Thank you for making time, Detective. Should you need any further cooperation on the part of Mr. Haskell I would appreciate it if you would contact me. With Mr. Haskell’s busy work schedule I think I’ll be able to serve as a more effective ‘first point of contact’.” As he rose to his feet Louie pulled a business card out of his mismatched suit coat and handed it to Manning.

  “Thank you for your time, nice to meet you Ms. Sinn, this concludes our statement. Thank you. Dev?” Louie gave me a ‘get your ass in gear’ look and we hurried out the door.

  “Jesus Christ,” I said in the elevator.

  Louie signaled with his hand and I stopped talking. We waited until we were in his car and a block away before either one of us spoke.

  “Where are you taking me for dinner?” Louie asked as he floored it and ran a yellow light.

  “You can’t possibly be hungry?”

  “Not really, but I need something.”

  “How about The Spot?”

  “Perfect,” he said.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Mike was bartending and Louie signaled him for another round before he turned back toward me. “The thing I don’t get is that woman.”

  “Sinn?”

  “Yeah, if she was acting as council for the department, and that’s unusual, she was sure going about it in a funny way.”

  “How so? She just seemed like another pain in the ass lawyer. No offense.”

  Louie shook his head, suggesting he took no offense. “That note passing nonsense, what the hell? Lawyers, we all like to hear ourselves talk. Even if it’s in a whisper. A little word or two scribbled on a note? That seems pretty strange to me. I’m going to check her out.”

  “Maybe she just needs to have her ashes hauled.”

  “That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it, Dev?”

  I shrugged and nodded, it seemed so simple. “Hey, I gotta hit the can, I’ll be back in a minute,” I said and slid off the stool.

  There was a drunk guy in the men’s room. Let me rephrase that, there was a fat, really drunk guy in the men’s room. He was standing in front of the urinal, the only urinal, weaving back and forth. Although there’d been a smoking ban in Minnesota since forever, this clown had a cigarette going with about a half inch ash hanging off the end of the thing. I’d been here before, dealing with drunks, and I decided to just keep quiet.

  He was weaving back and forth, which did nothing to help his aim. He placed a hand against the wall in front of him to steady himself. Then he looked down, at which point the ash fell and, judging from the way he jumped and screamed, he took a direct hit from the hot ash.

  “Ahhh-hhhh, Jesus, ouch, ouch, ouch. God that’s hot,” he screamed.

  “Careful,” I said.

  “Son-of-a-bitch, that hurts,” He yelled as he slapped at his crotch.

  The door flew open a moment later and Mike stepped in. “What the hell’s going on in here?” he said. He stood there, holding the door open and looked at the two of us.

  “He wasn’t following the smoking ban and he got burned.”

  The fat guy had staggered over to the sink and had just taken a handful of water and thrown it onto his jeans.

  “That it? You burned yourself?”

  “God, that hurts, son-of-a-bitch,” he groaned.

  Mike shook his head, muttered, “Dumb shit.” And left.

  People were still chuckling in the bar when I climbed back on the stool next to Louie. He was more than halfway through his drink.

  “What the hell was all that?”

  “Some idiot was sneaking a cigarette in the can and burned himself.”

  “Burned himself?”

  I gave Louie a look.

  “Oh, Jesus. You’re kidding.”

  “No. Let me ask you a question, Louie. I was thinking of this when I was in the can. When we left, I’m pretty sure Manning was going to ask about the sink at Casey’s. So I’m guessing he know
s about my little altercation with Paris and the hot water.”

  “Scalding hot water.”

  “Yeah, whatever. The question is how would he have that information? He either got it from Paris. Or, he got it from someone else who was there.”

  “Well, you can’t be a hundred percent sure he knew anything. It could have just been a lucky guess.”

  “You believe that?” I said and gave Louie a look.

  “No, not really. Probably about a one percent chance of that happening. One more option, Paris could have told someone and maybe they got in touch with Manning or vice-versa.”

  “Why would he tell anyone?”

  “Hey, who knows? Maybe he called your client, Denise…”

  “Danielle.”

  “…and yelled at her. Told her you assaulted him or something. It’s not that big a jump to see him trying to grovel and play the sympathy card so he can buy more time. Might be why you can’t reach her. Maybe she’s frightened or maybe she’s worried you’ll screw things up even more.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “Of course, it may be that he ran into someone and they asked him what the hell happened. Didn’t you say he was blistered? I’m guessing there would probably be some discoloration, pink skin, temporary scarring…that sort of thing. It’s not a big surprise to see him going into an emergency room somewhere, seeking treatment, maybe prescription burn ointments or something. The folks in the ER ask some questions, he tells the story, maybe drops your name, conveniently. I think they’re required to file a report. They’d obviously view the incident as an assault.”

  That sounded more plausible, Paris using the system to his advantage.

  “Course, that suggests he left the place, Casey’s at some point and then that sort of suggests it’s not him they found there.”

  “Well, unless he went back, maybe just made a phone call or someone else came to see him there.”