The Iniquitous Investigator (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 8)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  Fitzsimmons stood up, walked over close to me, and got in my face. He smiled. His breath smelled of peppermints. "I like you, Williams."

  I nodded, opened the door behind me, and slipped out while he stood there. I quickly glanced down at his mid-section and saw that he was definitely excited. I didn't know if it was me, the money, or both.

  . . .

  We were all seated at the table, eating lunch, and talking about the trial. Kenneth and Ben were going over their strategy. I was having a hard time listening because Carter was running his hand up and down my side. He had one hand on a sandwich and the other arm wrapped around me. I was getting warm inside and losing interest in food, the law, quack psychiatrists, and anything else but Carter Jones.

  Right then, Ben said, "Wildman's going to be the star witness. We already know that the judge buys the theory. How do we impeach?"

  As he was talking I had my eyes closed and was leaning against Carter.

  Kenneth said, "I've got some docs at Stanford who are available to testify in rebuttal. I have meetings in Palo Alto on Saturday morning. Why don't you come with me?"

  I heard something in Kenneth's voice, opened my eyes, and looked up. Before I could stop myself, I said, "Kenneth!"

  Both he and Ben looked up. Kenneth blushed and asked, "What?" He was obviously annoyed.

  Carter pinched me gently on my arm. I said, "Oh, nothing. I just, uh. Well, I guess I never thought you'd try the doctor versus doctor route." Trying to think of anything to say, I blurted out, "We need to get the dirt on Wildman and impeach him on his character." As I said the words, I realized I was right.

  Carter laughed. Ben looked at him. "What?"

  Shaking his head, Carter said, "Oh, that's just Nick being Nick."

  I looked over at Kenneth who, if looks could kill, would have been guilty of murder right at that moment. I smiled deprecatingly. He rolled his eyes and glanced at Ben, who was making notes on his pad. My lawyer was finally in love.

  . . .

  "So, how do we get the dirt?" asked Ben.

  I said to Kenneth, "Talk to Mike about this but I'd put Sam, Walter, and Dawson on this."

  Ben looked at his pages. "That's Sam Halversen, Walter Marcello, and Dawson Runson, correct?"

  I nodded.

  He looked at me. "Who's this Mike?"

  "Michael Robertson, President of Consolidated Security. He's their boss."

  Ben frowned. "I thought they worked for you?"

  "I have three employees, Mike, Greg Holland, and Carter. Everyone else reports to Mike. Works better that way."

  "Who's Greg Holland?"

  Carter said, "Mike's lover. That's why he works for Nick."

  I turned and asked, "Lover?"

  "Sure. I hear wedding bells."

  I smiled and said, "That'd be nice."

  Ben shook his head. "Are there any red-blooded males who work for you?"

  "Not a one. Everyone's in the life."

  "Everyone?"

  "Yeah."

  Ben sat there and then looked at Kenneth. "What about your firm?"

  "The same."

  Ben nodded thoughtfully for a long moment. Finally, he looked at me. "So, what are you thinking?"

  I said, "There is something about both O'Connor and Wildman that is off. To paraphrase the man himself, Wildman obviously has a father-figure complex that has him mixed up with O'Connor."

  Carter said, "But he's older than O'Connor."

  "I know. I thought about that. In this case, O'Connor being a cop is more important."

  Ben looked at Kenneth and then back at me. "Well, this is all very interesting, but how can it help us?"

  "Turn the team lose on them both and see what they find out. Dawson mentioned it when he told us about the work he did in Sausalito. He's the one who uncovered the friction between O'Connor and Mountanos. I trust that man's gut."

  Carter said, "Me, too. Last year, he helped us get a murderer to confess. He knew exactly how to play the guy." He paused for a moment. "How about if Dawson plays cop to Wildman?" He spoke slowly, as if he was afraid of saying the next bit out loud. "And is available?"

  Ben sat back and crossed his arms. "He can't impersonate a police officer."

  I said, "He knows how to skate that. He was a homicide detective in D.C. until last year."

  "Has he been in the papers?"

  I shrugged. Carter said, "No."

  Kenneth started playing with his pencil. "What's the goal here?"

  I said, "The goal is to get dirt on the man."

  "This sounds more like blackmail than impeachment on cross-examination." Kenneth looked at Ben who nodded. They already had an unspoken language. That was fast. And sweet.

  Kenneth said, "I still want my doctors for expert impeachment. But, we'll go talk to Mike after we leave here."

  "Before you go, we need to talk about Sammy and Larry."

  "Who're they?" asked Ben.

  "They're a Negro couple who are in here for the same thing we are."

  Kenneth raised his eyebrows and made a note. "Really? Know their last names?"

  Carter said, "Samuel Johnson and Lawrence Roberts."

  I shook my head because, of course, Carter would know.

  "I'll look them up," said Ben, "While you go to the City."

  I shook my head. "That's fine. But that's not what I want you to do. Fitzsimmons warned me that we shouldn't race mix."

  Carter snorted in disgust.

  I nodded. "I know. But I promised we'd get them some things. They could use clothes and probably the same kind of essentials you brought us."

  Carter added, "Larry is a big reader."

  Kenneth was taking notes. He looked up. "How do we get this stuff in?"

  I smiled and said, "Geneva."

  Carter looked over at me. "That's genius, son."

  I smiled back at him.

  Ben cleared his throat. "Are we talking about the street, the city, or a person?"

  I looked over. "She works for my stepmother. And she's a Negro."

  Carter nodded. "She looks a bit like Larry. If you can get her to bring in a couple of cartons, I'll tell Larry to expect a visit tomorrow from his Aunt Geneva."

  Kenneth smiled. "What if she's not available?"

  Carter said, "You explain the situation to Lettie and she'll be available. Believe me."

  . . .

  We wrapped a few more details. Ben and Kenneth decided to go to the City together to talk to Mike at the office. I said, "You'll go in one car, right?" Carter pinched my arm again.

  Kenneth stood up. "Enough of that, Nick." He pulled out a small stack of folded-over bills from his trouser pocket. I took them and handed two to Carter, who pocketed them as I did the same.

  I stood up, put my arm around Kenneth, and walked him to the corner of the room. I said, "Thanks, Kenneth." Whispering, I said, "He's the one," and squeezed him.

  He shrugged me off. "I'll deal with you later. When we're on even ground."

  I raised my eyebrows, crossed my arms, and said, "You know I'm right."

  He just sighed.

  . . .

  After we were let back into the common room, I followed Carter back over to his cell. Row B was more crowded than Row A and Carter's cell was right in the middle of everything. Once we were inside, we leaned against the wall together. Without looking at me, Carter said, "You tell Sammy and I'll tell Larry."

  I said, "Sure."

  We stood there for a long moment. I slowly scooted over so we were touching. Carter leaned over me and, as he did, quickly turned his head and kissed me on the lips. For all the times we'd been intimate, for all the long showers that had eventually destroyed our old water heater, for all the meetings we'd missed because we were too busy necking and more, there was no sweeter thing he'd over done than that one kiss.

  . . .

  In that day's box, Marnie had sent over the last of Uncle Paul's diaries. I don't know how she'd known to do that, but it was perfect. Reading about tha
t time, the 20s, distracted my attention from our current situation. And, I was glad she'd sent the one that was less about his trysting and more about him.

  Carter had left to go back to his cell. I was reading Uncle Paul's thoughts about a trip to Shanghai in '24, when Sammy popped in. "What's buzzin', cuzzin?"

  I laughed, put down the diary, and walked over to the cell door. I looked down the row and didn't see Officer Krauss. I pulled Sammy in by the shirt and put my mouth to his ear.

  "Don't say anything. The super says he'll put you and Larry in the hole if you spend time with us. You understand?"

  He nodded. I could feel him tense up. I continued, "Larry now has an Aunt Geneva who's gonna pay him a visit tomorrow. Got that?"

  I pulled back and looked at his face. He was obviously confused. I put my mouth against his ear again. "She's a friend who's gonna bring some things in for you both. Larry just needs to play along. Carter has probably already told him. She can bring you whatever you want."

  He nodded again. I let go of his shirt and kissed him on the cheek. He sighed deeply and pulled back. It looked to me like he was blushing. He put his hand to his cheek and looked at me. I smiled and nodded. Backing up slowly, he loudly said, "No, I don't."

  He motioned at me. I replied, "But, Sammy..." I tried to put a lot of emotion in my voice.

  He smiled again and turned his head to the side. "And don't you ever touch me again, or I'll kick your lily white ass."

  I smiled as he blew me a kiss and then went running down the row while some of the other men began to hoot and holler.

  . . .

  Later that night, when Officer Krauss came by for the bed check and for his daily cut, he said, "I heard you blew off Sammy. That true?"

  I nodded. "I never ignore good advice." That wasn't particularly true but he didn't need to know that.

  He stood there for a long moment and looked at me. I looked down. Mostly because it reminded me of the Navy and the presence of officers. That put me in mind of what Wildman had said.

  "I know who you are, now. It's all over the papers, especially the Examiner. You know it's a frame, right?"

  I just nodded and didn't say anything.

  "My kid got polio back in 1951."

  I looked up and said, "I'm sorry about that."

  "Yeah, well, she's wearing those braces now. Pauline might be able to eventually walk on her own. It's all thanks to you."

  I was confused and tilted my head to the side.

  Officer Krauss said, "Your foundation. The W.J. Foundation. We got the braces through there. It was real easy. My Marybeth found out from the doctor. He called and someone came to us, to our house in Mill Valley, and got my baby fitted. No charge." His voice cracked. He wiped his face with the back of his hand. He stood for another long moment and then offered to shake.

  I couldn't refuse, even if meant trouble, so I grasped his hand. He pulled me in and gave me a big bear hug. He whispered in my ear, "You're a good man, Mr. Williams. I won't ever forget. And I been telling all my buddies about you. We'll help however we can."

  Pushing me back into the cell, he slammed the door closed and winked before turning to walk down the rest of the row.

  I took off everything but my undershirt and BVDs. I put my dungarees on the end of the cot in case I needed them quickly. I stretched out and looked at the light bulb overheard until it went out with the rest of lights in the jail.

  There were now two foundations operating out in the world that I had funded with my inheritance. Jefferey had started the Williams Benevolent Foundation for me back in '49. I had put half of what I had at the time into it. When my sister Janet died in '53, all of her inheritance, also from Uncle Paul, went into it as well. There was a lot of dough and the interest was plenty to spread around.

  After our split, when Jefferey had decided to get out of the life and got married to a nice girl from the temple named Rachel, he'd taken control of the foundation. It was now called something like "The American Liberty Foundation." That wasn't the name but I could never remember what it was. It was now devoted to promoting the American Way Of Life, which meant fighting Communism. I'd once heard an ad on the car radio that they had sponsored. It was all about looking for communists and reporting them to the F.B.I. They'd even set up a special San Francisco number for taking calls from concerned citizens. I thought the whole thing was ridiculous but I didn't care what they were doing. As long as my name wasn't on it, it didn't matter.

  The second one was called The W.J. Foundation, for Williams and Jones. Getting that organized and in place was the first task I'd given Kenneth when I hired him. At the time, I had said I would take more of an interest, but I didn't. Carter and I were too busy with other things. But maybe we needed to be more involved. I was happily surprised to hear about these braces. It sounded like something Marnie would do. I wondered if she was on the board. She probably was. I needed to find out and tell her about this Officer Krauss, his wife Marybeth, and their daughter Pauline. I was sure she would cry as much as I was doing right at that moment. I was pretty damn sure, in fact.

  Chapter 11

  Marin County Jail

  Saturday, July 17, 1954

  About 5 in the morning

  Once I'd realized that neither Carter nor I had been put on any work detail, I talked to him about it. I then asked Fitzsimmons to put me in the kitchen for breakfast and him in the laundry. The super had looked at me like I was crazy, but he'd nodded and said it was fine by him if I wanted to get up before dawn each morning.

  My first shift had been on Friday morning. There was a cook from outside, a no-nonsense Mexican lady named Mrs. Gonzalez, who came in and supervised the breakfast and lunch. She also got everything ready for the dinner but left at 2 each day. The rest was inmate labor. It wasn't hard. They only had to produce twenty or so meals per service and the kitchen was well provided for.

  The guards and the supervisor usually had their food brought in from a local restaurant. I could understand why. The food wasn't bad, but it had no flavor. After being in the kitchen, I could see what Ben had said about the facilities being in good shape. The county, in spite of their jail supervisor's claims to the contrary, was keeping things running smoothly.

  That first day, I'd been given the task of making the toast. It was easy enough. They didn't get sliced bread, so that was part of the job. I also had to make the pats of butter. There was a metal slicer with thin wires pulled tightly across and spaced about a quarter of an inch apart. When I pulled it down over a stick of butter, the wires cut through the fat and made uniform rectangular slices. I put each slice on a piece of white cardboard and covered it with a piece of wax paper that I'd cut in advance. The pats went into a bowl and sat in the icebox until needed. Again, easy enough.

  Officer Krauss let me out on Saturday morning at 5 on the dot. We walked down the row and then he stopped in the common room. He said, "I need to frisk you. Assume the position against that wall." He winked as he said it, so I did as I was told without asking why.

  As he was lightly patting me down, I could feel him slip something into the right front pocket of my dungarees. Once he was done, he stepped back and said, "You're clear."

  Once I was in the kitchen, I saw that the other two inmates were nervously discussing something. As I was washing my hands, I asked, "Where's Mrs. Gonzalez?"

  One of the inmates, Tiny, who, for a change, was actually short, said, "She's not here, Slim."

  I looked at the clock. It said ten minutes after. "Maybe she's running late."

  The other inmate, Johnny K., said, "I been here nearly sixty days and she's never been late once."

  I shrugged. "Well, we know what to do. Let's get started."

  Tiny said, "She has the key to the walk-in icebox. That's where everything is."

  I nodded and said, "Let's ask Officer Krauss."

  Tiny shook his head. "You can't leave the kitchen until the end of the shift. Everyone knows that."

  I said, "Since I
'm new here, lemme try."

  Johnny K. shook his head. "I don't know, man."

  "All I'm gonna do is beat on the door. We can't get out anyway."

  They both nodded cautiously.

  I walked over to the door that led back into the jail and began to beat on it. Finally, I called out, "Officer Krauss!"

  After a moment, I heard him hit the door with his stick. "What?"

  "The cook isn't here and we can't get into the walk-in icebox." I heard him insert his key. I stepped back a few steps so I wouldn't be right on him when he opened the door.

  As the door opened, he walked in and looked around. "Where is she?" he asked.

  I shrugged. "She's late, wherever she is."

  He nodded and pulled the door closed. It automatically locked behind him. He strolled over to the walk-in icebox, looked through the ring of keys he carried, found the right one, and unlocked the door.

  "Can you make breakfast without her?" He asked all of us that.

  Tiny shook his head. "No. She knows all the recipes." Johnny K. nodded in agreement. I rolled my eyes and said, "Anyone can cook eggs, bacon, and fried potatoes." I turned to Krauss and said, "We'll take care of it. Just make sure the other shift doesn't forget to come get us when it's time." I remembered where I was and added, "If you don't mind."

  He nodded and turned to leave. I thought of something else. "Officer Krauss?"

  He stopped and turned. "What?"

  "Is there a rule about not using salt and pepper in the food?"

  He frowned and looked at the other two. "Not that I've heard of, why?"

  "Well, all of the food is bland and, if it's OK, I'd like to spice things up a bit."

  He laughed. "Have at it. But be prepared to take the heat if the inmates don't like it."

  I nodded and said, "Yes, sir."

  . . .

  I put Tiny in charge of slicing potatoes and then cutting onions. Johnny K was in charge of cracking eggs. I sliced the bread and made the butter pats. Breakfast had to be on the table by 7. By that time it was a quarter until 6. I knew we had plenty of time, but I kept my eye on the clock.