Mystery Writers of America Presents the Prosecution Rests

by Inc. Mystery Writers of America

  Jeff waved at him and headed for the door. “Sorry.”

  In the parking lot he transferred his milk crate to the trunk and drove straight through to Lansing.

  BY HOOK OR BY CROOK

  BY CHARLIE DREES

  Iset the compact tape recorder on the scarred table and watch Dexter Bass pace back and forth in the cramped room. He’s six-three—give or take an inch—with a sinewy build and long, sun-bleached blond hair. The police file indicates he’s been a guest of the state on two prior occasions, but his muscles appear to come from hard manual labor rather than from pumping iron on a prison bench. Watching Bass, I feel more like an audience than his court-appointed attorney. He catches me glancing at my watch and slides into the chair on the other side of the table.

  “Am I boring you?”

  “Mr. Bass, I’ve been appointed—”

  “I’ve had lawyers like you before,” he says, fixing me with his charcoal-colored eyes. “Just going through the motions—and I did the time.”

  I settle back in my chair. Due to a shortage of public defenders in our jurisdiction, judges pick from a rotating pool of defense attorneys and assign them to defendants who can’t afford legal counsel. And they frown on attorneys who do a less than stellar job with the assignment. As luck would have it, I’m at the top of the list this week. I can’t afford to annoy the judge, so I swallow my pride. I haven’t had much practice, and the words stick in my throat.

  “Mr. Bass, I apologize. I’m not bored. I’m just eager to get started.”

  Bass studies my face, checking for any sign of deceit. It’s hard to fool an ex-con, but he’s overmatched and he looks away after a few seconds. Hey, I’m a lawyer. I’ve had plenty of practice looking sincere.

  Bass brushes his blond hair off his forehead. “What do you want to know?”

  I click on the tape recorder and grab his file. “Let me go over what’s in the police report, then you can tell me your version, okay?”

  “Sure.” He glances at my briefcase. “You got any cigarettes?”

  “Sorry. It’s a no-smoking facility.”

  Bass snorts. “Figures. They want me healthy so they can stick a needle in my arm.”

  Like most cons, Bass knows the law. I open the case folder. “You were arrested early this morning at the Shamrock Bar following a fight with Cletus Rupp. Rupp died from injuries he sustained during this fight. Witnesses claim you two had been arguing.” I peer at Bass over the top of the file. He’s busy scrutinizing something trapped underneath his fingernails.

  “After your arrest, the police discovered a gym bag in your car containing ten thousand, three hundred dollars in cash. They also found a hammer covered with blood and strands of hair, a man’s Rolex watch, and a wallet containing sixty-three dollars. The driver’s license and credit cards were issued to Steven Toscar.”

  Everyone knows who Steven Toscar is. Was. Toscar made tons of money in real estate. Two years ago, he shut me out of one of his projects, costing me a chance for a big score. It upset me at the time, but I got over it. It appears not everyone is as forgiving as I am.

  “Toscar’s wife called nine-one-one at eleven thirty-eight p.m.” I rustle the pages until Bass looks at me. “The police are checking to see if your fingerprints match the ones found on the hammer. So what’s your story?”

  “Rupp was self-defense. He attacked me. But I swear I didn’t kill Toscar.”

  “The evidence suggests you did.”

  “Cops plant evidence all the time.”

  “Are you saying that’s what happened here?”

  “All I’m saying is I didn’t kill Toscar. Somebody must’ve planted that evidence.”

  A con’s typical defense. I lean back in my chair. “Why don’t you tell me what happened.”

  Bass rests his hands on the tabletop. They’re large hands, tanned and callused as though they’re used to hard manual labor. Like swinging a hammer.

  “Two months ago,” he begins, “I’m sitting in a bar, having a few drinks, minding my own business, when this guy grabs the stool next to me and orders a beer. I don’t pay any attention until he pays for it. That’s when I see the hook.”

  “A hook?”

  “Yeah, a hook.”

  I arch an eyebrow. “Like a pirate’s hook?”

  “Not exactly,” Bass says. “It had these pincers that were curved on the end. He didn’t have any problem digging the money outta his wallet.” Bass pinces his fingers together. “He was really…”

  “Adroit?”

  Bass frowns. “Huh?”

  I dumb it down a notch. “Skillful?”

  “Yeah, skillful. I never met anyone with a hook. We had a few beers, got to talking. He said his name was Cletus Rupp and he owned a swimming pool business. He asked if I wanted a job.”

  “Rupp offered you a job?”

  Bass nods. “I told him I was an ex-con. He didn’t care. There aren’t that many jobs for ex-cons, so I said sure. The first contract he gave me was the Toscars’ pool. That’s how I met Eve.”

  I recall a picture from the society pages of a young, attractive woman thirty years younger than Toscar. “You got involved with Toscar’s wife?”

  Bass’s dark eyes look haunted. “Mr. Cleary, I didn’t stand a chance.”

  I watch the tape spin for a few moments. “What happened?”

  “I worked on the pool twice a week,” Bass says. “At first, Eve acted like I wasn’t there. Then one day she asked if I wanted a drink. I told her I wasn’t supposed to drink on the job. She said it was just lemonade—and she wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  “Were you nervous?”

  “Hell yes,” Bass says. “I’m not stupid. I figured she had something on her mind.”

  “And did she?”

  “Yeah. She wanted to know if I’d kill her husband.”

  The tape runs out. I fumble the little plastic cassette out of the tape recorder, flip it over, and shove it back in. Before I start the tape, Bass asks for something to drink. I step outside, talk to the guard, and he brings us two Pepsis. After he leaves, I push the Record button.

  “Mrs. Toscar asked you to kill her husband?”

  Bass unscrews the top on his drink. “Not in so many words. First, she told me she knew I was an ex-con. I asked if that mattered. She said no. And that’s when she told me to call her Eve.” Bass faces me. “Mr. Cleary, I’ve been in some nasty prison fights, but when she said that, she scared the hell outta me.”

  “What happened?”

  Bass sips some Pepsi before replying. “She told me how her husband didn’t pay any attention to her. How a woman like her had needs.” He takes a deep breath. “One thing led to another, and we ended up in bed.”

  My heart ratchets up a notch. “Go on.”

  “Afterward,” Bass says, “she kept telling me how much she hated her husband.” He rakes his fingers through his hair. “This went on for a month. Eve would say she wished we didn’t have to sneak around. I’d laugh and tell her she’d never settle for an ex-con. She’d pout until I’d say I was sorry. It was weird, but it felt kinda good too. It made me feel… special.”

  “So when did she ask you to kill her husband?”

  “Last week,” Bass says. “I showed up for work, and Eve was crying, said her husband accused her of having an affair. She denied it, but it didn’t matter. He wanted a divorce.”

  I lean forward. “So what’s the problem? In this state, she’d get half in a settlement.”

  Bass nods. “That’s what I told her. But Eve said there was a prenup and she wouldn’t get a dime. She said she deserved something for all she put up with over the years. She wanted him dead and asked if I’d do it. She told me he kept money in a safe in their bedroom. She said I could make it look like a robbery gone bad.”

  “What’d you tell her?”

  “That I had to think about it. That’s when she mentioned the life insurance policy.”

  This just gets better and better. “How much?”r />
  “Five million dollars.”

  I tent my fingers. “So once Toscar’s out of the picture, Eve’s a rich lady. And she wants you to come along for the ride. Sounds like a sweet deal.”

  Bass scans the cramped room. “You think?”

  I shrug. “A fortune and a fine-looking woman to share it with. What’s not to like?”

  “Murder, for one thing,” Bass says. “Look, I’ve made my share of mistakes, but I never killed anyone.”

  “What about the evidence?”

  “I told you. It was planted.”

  “You don’t seriously believe the cops planted it, do you?”

  “Doesn’t have to be the cops.”

  That gets my attention. “What do you mean?”

  “I think Eve got tired of waiting for me to make up my mind and found someone else. Cletus Rupp.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Bass nods. “When I saw Eve yesterday afternoon, she was hysterical. Her cheek was bruised. She said her husband hit her. She said if I loved her, I’d kill him, so we could get his money and be together.” Bass picks at a callus on his palm, avoiding my eyes. “I told her okay.”

  I sit up. “Wait a minute. I thought you said—”

  “I was just gonna scare him,” he explains. “Get him to reconsider. Eve said she was going to stay with a friend, so Toscar would be home alone. She gave me the combination to his safe and said she’d unlock the patio doors. I got to their place around ten thirty. There was a light on in the study. That’s where I found him. He was already dead. I got the hell outta there.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police?”

  “With my record?”

  I nod. “I understand. Then what happened?”

  Bass drains the rest of his Pepsi. “I drove home. Around midnight, Rupp called and told me to meet him at the Shamrock. He said it was important, life or death. I got there about a quarter to one, but Rupp didn’t show up until one fifteen. The minute he got there, he said he’d followed me to Toscar’s place and he’d seen the body. He wanted ten grand to keep his mouth shut.”

  “The amount the cops found in the bag.”

  “Yeah,” Bass says. “I told him I didn’t know what he was talking about. He went ballistic. Said to pay up or he’d go to the cops. He wouldn’t shut up, so I left.”

  “But he followed you outside,” I say, imagining the events in my mind.

  Bass nods. “He pushed me. I told him to leave me alone, but he just wouldn’t back off. He swung at my head with his hook. I ducked and shoved him hard as I could. He slammed up against a pickup and dropped to the ground. He started jerking. I rolled him over and saw the hook stuck in his throat.

  “The cops showed up, and I told them it was self-defense,” Bass adds. “They arrested me anyway. They didn’t charge me with Toscar’s murder until later.” He leans back in his chair. “And here we are.”

  “What if they find your fingerprints on the hammer?”

  Bass shrugs. “It means I used that hammer for some reason, and Cletus took it. With his hook, he wouldn’t leave any prints.” Bass must notice the doubt on my face. “If I was gonna kill Toscar, don’t you think I’d be smart enough to wear gloves?”

  I sip some of my Pepsi. “Then explain how the gym bag got in your car.”

  Bass’s leg starts bouncing. “Cletus must’ve planted it there while I was waiting for him. That’s why he wanted me at the Shamrock by one. He would’ve had enough time to kill Toscar, clean up, and dump the bag in my car.”

  “But if he already had the money, why argue with you about it?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t figured that out yet.”

  “So you think Mrs. Toscar and Rupp set you up?”

  Bass stares into my eyes. “Mr. Cleary, I know they did, but I can’t prove it. With Cletus dead, it’s my word against hers. Who do you think a jury’ll believe?”

  My silence tells him all he needs to know.

  Bass slumps back in his chair. “That’s why you gotta help me. Look, I’m a two-time loser. If I’m convicted, I’m looking at a death sentence. I need you to fight for my life.”

  I stare into his dark eyes. “Mr. Bass, I’ll do all I can.”

  The guard pokes his head inside the room and tells me my time’s up. I shake hands with Bass and promise him I’ll be in touch. I exit the building into the early-afternoon heat and smile when I see the vanity license plate on my silver BMW: SHARK. Who says lawyers don’t have a sense of humor? I toss my suit coat in the back and sink into the soft leather seats. After loosening my tie, I crank up the air-conditioning. The interior is cool by the time I leave the parking lot.

  I turn on the radio. My fingers tap a rhythm on the steering wheel while I ponder Bass’s story. All in all, he has a good grasp of how he’s been set up. Just not of who set him up. But that’s the beauty of this plan. After all, why would he suspect his court-appointed lawyer?

  I take the exit for Channel Drive. A few cars pass me, but I’m not in any hurry. I know where I’m going and I know who’ll be there when I arrive.

  ____

  EVE TOSCAR STANDS in the front doorway clipping on a pearl earring. It matches the necklace around her neck. They contrast vividly with the sleeveless black dress she wears. The dress is demure enough for grieving, but it clings here and there, hinting at the lush body beneath it. Eve looks good. It’s something she takes for granted. Like breathing.

  I step inside and close the door. “Where’s Inez?”

  “I sent her home. She’s a wreck. She worked for Steven for a long time.” Eve brushes past me and heads toward the kitchen, leaving a hint of her perfume in the air. “What did Bass say?”

  “About what we figured.” I watch the way her hips twitch beneath the dress. Her jet-black hair is piled on top of her head, and a few loose wisps graze her neck. Her cheek is bruised from where I hit her, but her makeup hides most of it. “He knows he was set up—and that no jury will believe him.”

  “He’s right.” Eve fills a glass with ice from the dispenser on the refrigerator door. She adds a splash of vodka from the open bottle sitting on the granite-topped counter and takes a sip. She peers at me over the rim of her glass, her dark blue eyes locked onto mine. “Want one?”

  I drop my briefcase on the floor, pry the glass from her fingers, and set it on the counter. “I had something else in mind.”

  Eve turns her head, and my kiss lands awkwardly on her cheek. A tiny ember of worry sparks deep in my gut. “What’s wrong?”

  She smooths the front of her dress. “We don’t have time. The funeral director is coming by to talk about the memorial service.” She avoids my gaze. “Besides, I’ve been thinking maybe we should cool things for a while, at least until after the funeral.”

  The ember flares into a full-fledged blaze. When Eve showed up in my office six months ago, I confirmed the details of her husband’s will: she would never see a dime of his money if they divorced. She profited only if he died. When I didn’t hear from her, I thought that was the end of it. But two weeks later she called. During our follow-up appointment, I found myself plotting Steven Toscar’s death. In my defense, it should be noted that my trousers were bunched around my ankles at the time. Since then, I’d come to think of Eve as my personal 401(k).

  So I don’t like the idea of my retirement plans going up in smoke. I put on my sincere face—the one I used on Bass. “Don’t worry, everything’s under control.”

  She sips some of her drink. “That’s easy for you to say. You didn’t have to talk to the police.”

  “What’d you tell them?”

  Eve fidgets with the strand of pearls. “What we talked about. I was with my friend Anne. I came home and found Steven dead.”

  “Anne will back you up?”

  She nods. “Of course.”

  “Good. Stick with your story and the cops can’t touch you.”

  “They want to talk again. You said once they arrested Bass we’d be in the clear.�
��

  I brush a stray hair off her cheek. “And we are. Look, with Rupp dead, there’s no way the cops can link him to us. As for Bass, it’s his word against yours. And with his history, you’ll win every time. Just stick to our plan and you’ll be spending Steven’s money in no time.”

  She smiles. “I’m going to be rich. And I have you to thank for it.”

  The burning in my gut fades. “Glad I could help.”

  Eve inches closer. “You were so smart to use Rupp to find a loser like Bass.”

  I shrug. “He owed me a favor.”

  “Don’t be so modest,” she coos, molding herself against me.

  Eve’s good looks distract a lot of people—you’d have to be blind to be immune—but her matchless gift is how special she makes you feel. Bass nailed that right on the head. Pretty soon, you do whatever you can to hoard her for yourself. By then it’s too late. You’re hooked, and you’ll promise her anything. Addiction is an ugly thing.

  I smile. “It was clever.”

  Eve nips my earlobe. “Very clever. And making sure you were assigned as Dexter’s lawyer was pure genius.”

  My heart hammers against my ribs. We both know I’m going to give in, but my ego wants her to work for it. I untangle myself and step back. “You know, you may be right. Maybe we should cool it for a while. I don’t want to jinx anything.”

  She unbuckles my belt. “In that case, we should make this memorable.”

  I grip the countertop. “I thought you said we didn’t have time.”

  “Shhh,” she says, placing a finger over my lips. “This won’t take long.”

  ____

  FROM THE MOMENT we hatched our scheme, I planned to help Eve spend her fortune. That’s the main reason I sweated the details plotting Toscar’s murder. Sure, love entered into it—the love of money. So I’m not a romantic. Sue me. Now with Rupp dead and Bass in jail, all the pieces have fallen into place.

  So I’m stunned when a herd of cops shows up at my house three days after my meeting with Dexter Bass. The one in front is wearing an off-the-rack navy blazer and wrinkled khaki slacks, spotted with the remnants of his lunch. His thick-soled black shoes tell me he spends a lot of time on his feet, and the bags under his bloodshot brown eyes tell me he isn’t getting much sleep. He shows me his gold badge.