by Buzz Harcus
"Lieutenant O'Toole, this is Harry Martin," Sergeant Cavitch said to one of the plainclothes detectives. "He arrived on the scene at the time an intruder was in Sandy's - the lady's apartment and exchanged shots with the person."
Lieutenant O'Toole nodded in recognition of Harry's presence. "You're acquainted with the deceased?"
"We, uh, dated regularly. Yes. I knew her well," he replied quietly.
"Tell me what happened from the time you arrived on the scene and how you found the deceased," O'Toole said scanning the room.
"And take the cuffs off him," he added.
"Her name is Sandy," Harry replied sharply as Frank unlocked the cuffs. She had been someone, a human being, not just a corpse She had been full of life, love, outgoing, caring, not simply "the deceased," as the Lieutenant had so coldly put it.
Harry repeated the story he'd told Frank earlier The Lieutenant's interest perked up when Harry described the bearded white man and the Oriental.
"Lieutenant!" came a voice from the bedroom "We found her gun."
Lieutenant O'Toole excused himself and hurried into the bedroom. Harry waited, glancing about at the activity in the room. Frank stood unmoved, also watching. O'Toole came out carrying a gun. "Is this her gun?" he asked holding the weapon up before Harry.
Harry nodded, recognizing the pearl-handled gun.
"It hasn't been fired. It was under her body."
Lieutenant O'Toole took Frank to one side speaking earnestly to him. Harry watched them but his attention was drawn to voices speaking in the bedroom. "Whoever did this was a sadist," one voice exclaimed "He broke every finger on both hands, then her arms."
"It's like something from a Chinese torture chamber," a second voice added. "She had to be in such pain that he probably strangled her to put her out of her misery."
Harry gritted his teeth. It had to be the Chink.
"Lieutenant," a plainclothes detective said, rising from where he had been digging into the far wall. "These are .45 caliber slugs we found in the wall. The guy was packing a heavy piece. You're man, there, is lucky he wasn't blown away."
Harry shuddered at the thought of being hit by a .45 slug, knowing the explosive power of a slug when it hit and when it exited, ripping out meat and bone with it.
"You're damned lucky," Frank said re-joining him. "Damned lucky."
Harry nodded. His eyes suddenly filled with tears as he saw a body bag being carried out on a stretcher from the bedroom. His body shook with pain, wracked with guilt that he'd ever got her involved in his crazy night. Tears streamed down his cheeks and he couldn't stop them. Frank put his arm around his shoulders consoling him. "I'm really sorry, Harry," he whispered. "You two made a great couple." But even his words couldn't stem the flow of tears or suppress the excruciating pain.
The medical examiner came out of the bedroom stopping momentarily to talk to Lieutenant O'Toole. "We'll do a complete autopsy on her. At first glance, it had to be strangulation, but we'll have to establish whether she was sexually assaulted as well."
O'Toole turned back to Harry and Cavitch. "We'll need a statement from Mister Martin. Sergeant Cavitch will take you down to the station. We'll also keep your weapon for evidence. You'll get it back after the trial of whoever committed the murder, and don't worry, we'll get the responsible party."
"Are you going to hold me or can I drive my car to the station?" Harry asked.
"No. You're not a suspect. Sergeant Cavitch can arrange for an officer to accompany you to headquarters."
As Harry and Frank stepped out of the apartment, Harry stopped and motioned Frank closer.
"What's up?" asked Frank.
"The autopsy. If they examine her body thoroughly, they'll find penetration, uh, well, we, we made love sometime after midnight and, uh -"
"Don't worry, Harry," Frank nodded "I'll explain it to the medical examiner."
Chapter 23
FINDING A PLACE FOR THE NIGHT
Harry dictated a statement to the trimly uniformed black female officer, and then watched as she finished typing. "If this is a true statement, then sign it," she said ripping off a copy and handing it to him along with a pen. Harry read the statement and then signed it. She took the statement to another office.
Harry leaned back, exhaustion sweeping over him. The night had turned into a nightmare. Sandy was dead. Joe was dead. He had to get out of town because he knew he was next.
Slumping back in his chair, he closed his burning eyes, wondering if the money was worth it. Blackmarket money, dirty money, and it had caused two deaths already. Tears welled in his eyes. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket dabbing at his eyes, but the tears wouldn't stop. Sandy. So young, so vital, now she was dead. He couldn't bring her back. All his plans for them destroyed.
His attention was drawn to two police officers a short distance down the hallway having a lively discussion. "I mean it," one said. "I'll bet they'll find the slugs from the dame's apartment match those taken out of Johnson and Tillman's squad car. They're both damned lucky to be alive. Those ,45's blew the hell out of their car."
"Tillman's still critical," the other replied. "One slug still buried in his chest. But as far as the slugs, no way they were from the same gun. The shootings took place miles apart. There's more than one .45 caliber automatic in Saginaw."
"Five bucks says I'm right. Put up or shut up," the first officer demanded.
"Five bucks? Hell, you're on, like taking candy from a baby."
"Good," grinned the first officer shaking hands on the bet. "Oh,
I forgot to tell ya, a bearded white guy and an Oriental were involved in both shootings."
"Damn you!"
The first officer scurried off past Harry with the second officer in hot pursuit, swearing a blue streak after him as they raced down the corridor.
Stan and the Chink. Harry knew it had to be them.
"Mister Martin. You're free to leave now," the young black officer said offering a consoling smile. "We'll get in touch with you if we need to. The investigation will be continuing. Thank you for your cooperation."
Harry nodded as he wearily rose to his feet. "Oh, what about my vacation?" he asked, as the China trip suddenly popped into his mind. "I was getting ready to go on vacation. I planned to be gone for a month or so."
"You're not a suspect, so I see no problem. Just leave word where we can get in touch with you."
"You can get in touch with my son, Jeff," Harry said writing his name, address and phone number on a slip of paper.
"Okay, Mister Martin. Have a nice vacation." She stopped, covered her mouth. "I'm sorry, that sounded tacky, after what you've been through. Uhmm, rest assured, we'll catch the murderer."
Harry nodded, turned and walked away. Have a nice vacation? That was tacky.
Outside the police station, Harry stood in the crisp cold of the waning night trying to clear his mind, trying to figure out what to do next, where to go. His mind was muddled, cluttered with thoughts to the point of exhaustion, the same exhaustion that tugged at his tired body.
He had to stay out of sight. He couldn't go home. Not back to Sandy's place. He had to remember her as before, the good times. Yet, he had to stay hidden from Stan and the Chink, and he knew they'd be looking for him and his beat-up Pinto.
He jammed his fists into his jacket pocket. Damn! He'd have to rent a motel room for the next twenty-four hours. Even then, it would be risky. The two were probably driving around scouring the area for his car, checking motels. Jeff? Sissy? No. No sense in endangering their lives. He felt a piece of paper in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw it was a bar napkin. He opened it. Janie's address. He studied the napkin, and then shrugged his shoulders. Only a couple blocks away. What the hell, it was a place to flop, a place to catch a few winks.
Harry knocked on Janie's apartment door several times. There was no answer. He listened at the door. No stirring inside. She's probably not home anyways, he thought, probably shacking up with some young stu
d somewhere. He yawned. If he could just find a place to flop for a few hours. He felt physically exhausted, mentally drained, ready to drop. A couch, even a thick carpet would do just fine.
As he turned to leave, he heard the doorknob rattle. The door opened just a crack and an eye peered out at him from behind a security chain "Harry! What're you doing here?" Janie whispered, startled at seeing him.
Harry forced a smile. "I decided to take you up on your invitation," he lied, holding up the napkin.
"But it's so late," she said. She gave an exasperated sigh. "You're timing's lousy."
"I'm sorry. Like you said, my timing's lousy." He caught himself starting to yawn, clapped a hand to his mouth. "I got to partying, ran across your address, and decided to stop by -"
She gave him a sleepy smile. "That was eight hours ago."
"Yeah. Right. You probably got company, so, I'll leave." He yawned, stretching, his eyelids getting heavier.
"No. No company, just -" She looked at the poor guy and shook her head. "You look beat, Harry, just a second." There was a rattle of the chain being unhooked, slapping against the wooden doorframe, and then the door swung wide for him. He stepped inside. Janie closed the door behind him. She stretched, her full breasts straining against the terrycloth robe pulling the material taut. "You're welcome to stay," she whispered. "It's just that I'm too beat right now, too pooped to participate, if ya' know what I mean. Maybe later, huh? D'ya' mind?"
"Naw. I understand." He felt sudden relief. If she had wanted sex he'd have been a loser. After all that had happened, he couldn't have risen to the challenge. "I'm tired, too," he said." Too much beer." He looked around the small living room spotting her sofa. "Maybe I could just flake out on your sofa for a while." He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the sofa, kicking off his boots as he unzipped his jacket. Balling the jacket, he stuffed it under his head like a pillow, and then laid back on the small sofa. "Just a couple of hours," he said with a weary smile.
At seeing his large frame stretched out on the small sofa, his feet dangling beyond the arm rest, Janie gave an exhausted sigh, shook her head and said, "C'mon, Harry, come sleep with me."
She pulled him to his feet, and then gently nudged him along a hallway toward her bedroom. In spite of the shades being pulled, the room was fairly well illuminated from an outside streetlight. Harry sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and raised a tired face toward her. "Go ahead and get in," she whispered. "I gotta take a pee."
Harry stripped to his shorts and crawled into the still warm bed pulling the covers over him. He vaguely heard the flushing of the toilet as sleep overcame him. Janie closed the bedroom door, stripped off her robe and, naked, crawled in next to him, cuddling her smooth, warm body tightly to his backside.
Chapter 24
CONFIRMING PASSAGE
Harry gasped for breath. He'd emptied his pistol at the speeding car and stood clutching the smoking weapon in his hand, watching as the bullet-riddled car disappeared in the darkness. He blinked his eyes open. It was a dream, part of the continuing nightmare. But where was he? He felt the pressure of a body against him. Sandy? No. She's dead. He'd seen her naked on her bed, the nightie tightly knotted around her neck.
Slowly he rolled over in order not to disturb whoever it was. A face came into view. Janie! Then it came back to him. Yeah. Janie. The napkin. Now he remembered. He was in Janie's bed in her apartment. Slowly the jumbled events of last night fell into place. He'd needed a place to stay, found the napkin in his pocket and came to her place.
She rolled over onto her back, still soundly asleep. Her flaxen blonde hair swept out across the pillow, an aura of innocence enveloping the soft features of her face. Glancing past her, Harry saw the clock on her nightstand. Almost 10 a.m. He had to call the ship.
Quietly, he slid from the bed and stood up. Stretching, he let his hands fall to his side, then glanced down and smiled. His shorts were still on. She must have been tired. Maybe all the stories he'd heard about her voracious sexual appetite were overly exaggerated. Anyways, she hadn't touched him.
He crossed into the living room where he spotted a phone next to the sofa. It was resting on top of the phone directory, a stroke of luck. In seconds, he found the number for Wickstrom grain elevators and dialed.
"Wickstrom Terminal. May I help you?" came a pleasant female voice.
"Yes. I wish to speak to the First Officer on board the ship loading grain for China, the -"
"Otto J. Nurad" she said sweetly, picking up on his momentary hesitation. "One moment, please. I'll connect you to the ship." There was a long pause, and then a deep voice with a foreign accent answered.
"Bridge. Vat is it?"
"First Officer, Peter Selham, please." Harry said.
"Von moment." There was a long pause, and then a familiar voice came on the line. "Yah. Peter Selham. May I help you?"
"Peter, it's me, Harry Martin," Harry said somewhat excitedly into the phone. "You remember me from last night down at the Pub?" Quickly he recounted their meeting and how they had discussed the possibility of his working on the ship as a replacement for the injured seaman. What the hell, the thought flashed through his mind, don't tell me the guy's forgotten me already. Christ! I spent enough on booze for him last night.
"Yah! Yah! Harry Martin! I remember!" Peter called into the phone interrupting Harry's rapid discourse of the previous evening. He laughed heartily. "Yah, my friend, Harry. I know you. Yah!" Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "Yah, ve haf a spot for you on board," Peter continued. "I haf spoken to Captain Andress about you. He vas impressed dat you are older und dat you haf served in der Orient before. He looks forward to meeting you."
"Great! Thank you, Peter," Harry said, an expansive grin spreading across his face. "I really appreciate all your help."
Suddenly he was excited at the thought of traveling, getting away, leaving last night behind, escaping. Work at sea, good hard work, would get his mind off the last night. Time might heal, but it'd never erase what he and Sandy had shared together.
"Harry. I'm sorry to say dat you must get down to der ship as qvickly as possible," Peter interrupted. "Ve leave Saginaw today, instead of tomorrow, as I had informed you last evening. Der icebreaker, Mackinaw, vill be clearing a path up der river for us und ve depart no later dan two o'clock. Can you make it?"
"Yes. Yes I can make it," Harry blurted. "I'm on my way now. I'll be there shortly!"
"Good. Ve vill be expecting you." The phone went dead. Harry jumped into the air and clicked his heels. "Yahoo! China here I come!" he called out in a hoarse whisper intended only for his ears. "Money be there!"
Restraining his enthusiasm, he picked up the phone again and dialed. After three rings the phone was answered. "Tom. Harry here," he said to his boss. "I, uh, I got some bad news this morning. My mom is real ill out in Phoenix. She needs my help. Uhm, would you mind my taking off for a while to help?"
"No problem, Harry," Tom replied. "I know how those things happen. My mom just had a mild stroke. She's better now, but I was really worried for a while. I know how you feel. Go ahead. Get back to me later, and say 'Hi' to your mom for me."
"Thanks. Will do. You know how you've been cutting back on crews because of the lack of work during this damned recession. If you don't mind, I'd like to take off a couple of months to help out, take some of the pressure off your budget, too."
"The only thing that'll help my budget is stronger people in the new administration in Washington getting the economy rolling, and getting the national budget under control!" Tom snorted. "Harry, you take off as long as you need to in order to care for your mother. Don't worry about your job. I'll always have a spot for you. Good help is hard to find."
Harry uncrossed his fingers as he hung up. All loose ends were taken care of. Now he could go to China. Even if he found the hidden cache of money, it would be a hollow victory: Joe and Sandy were dead. If only Sandy was alive the whole trip would be worth it.
It was time to get go
ing, to get down to the ship. He started back toward the bedroom, and then stopped when he caught sight of an open package of jelly rolls on the kitchen counter. Padding into the kitchen, he grabbed up a jellyroll wolfing it down in a couple of bites, then ate a second, then a third. In the refrigerator he found a half gallon of milk and took a couple of deep swallows. Feeling better, he headed back to the bedroom.
Janie slept on undisturbed, having rolled onto her side. As he watched her for several seconds, he was impressed by the serene, relaxed look on her face. There was no denying it; she was a very beautiful girl. As quietly as possible, he slipped into his clothes, and then headed for the door. He stopped, his hand on the doorknob, and glanced back at Janie. A devious smile crossed his face; he had to know. She was always bragging about what she had to offer, what the hell, why not check it out? Returning to the edge of the bed, he knelt down and gently raised the covers gazing at her nakedness.
"Whew," he breathed with a disbelieving shake of his head at the beautiful form before him. He lowered the covers. She's got it all - beautiful face, terrific body and brains, but just not my type.
Sitting on the sofa, he pulled on his boots, then shook out his jacket and slipped it on. He froze when he heard a moan coming from the room adjacent to Janie's. He listened. Was someone sick? Whoever it was might wake Janie. The moaning increased in tempo. That's all he'd need having someone wake her up and then what? He had no interest in her.
Crossing to the room, he eased the door open. His eyeballs popped wide. Petite, blonde, blue-eyed Tina, one of the other waitresses, was thrashing about under a muscular black guy, a stud he'd seen giving Tina the eye down at the bar. They were oblivious to his presence, pummeling at each other, her white breasts bouncing in tempo to his thrusting, her pale white legs wrapped around his black buttocks, gasping, moaning. The smell of marijuana permeated the air.
