Goodnight had been nearby and rushed to the scene to see Conchita sobbing in her front yard as neighbors gathered around. He'd stayed long enough to watch her mother and sister taken away on stretchers and heard the surviving girl would be living on the other side of the river with relatives.
It had been a city police matter but as the weeks passed Goodnight heard they had no leads and had essentially dropped the investigation. One evening he took a stroll along his street and let it be known that if he was told the name of the shooter and where he could be found the person with the information would be in his debt. To be owed a favor by John Goodnight was money in the bank. Two days later a caller told him his man was Angelo Delgado.
Goodnight went to pick the punk up at his house. Though he did not know it until several minutes later, Angelo was sitting on a sofa on his front porch when Goodnight walked up the sidewalk to the house. The grass was dying in the yard and a junk Ford sat on blocks in the carport, cobwebs growing beneath it. A pit bull barked at the end of a rope tied to a tree. Angelo's cousin was lounging on the other side of the porch smoking marijuana. Both men eyed the ranger with a measured gaze. Goodnight knocked, displayed his star from under the lapel of his jacket and said he was here to arrest Angelo Delgado. The woman slammed the door in his face.
As Goodnight backed up to ask one of the two teenagers if either of them was his man he spotted the oversized eyes of a double barreled shotgun sticking out at him through the curtains of the window. In a single motion he pulled his .44 Special Smith and Wesson revolver and shot down the length of the shotgun, the heavy revolver thundering like an artillery piece.
As he did, Angelo to his left pulled an automatic handgun from between the cushions of the sofa. Goodnight shot him once square in the chest. His cousin was fumbling with a gun as well and Goodnight shot him dead. Just as he thought the fight was over a grown man, Angelo's father, came running around the side of the house with a deer rifle. Goodnight shouted for him to drop it but as the man raised the barrel the ranger shot him in the face, not wanting to risk a bullet to the chest where he held the rifle. He could hear a disagreement inside the house then the door suddenly jerked open and Angelo's older brother pointed a handgun at the ranger, fired once, missing. Goodnight's slug threw him 10 feet back into the room where his mother was already screaming.
Five shots in perhaps eight seconds, four dead men and, inside the house, behind the shotgun, was an 11 year old brother of Angelo, his head blown open by the first heavy slug from the ranger's gun. Goodnight had never so much as moved his feet.
It was the first time Goodnight had fired his weapon as a lawman. It was 1971 and a different era in his part of the country. The newspaper played it up big, comparing it to the famous Blevin gang shooting by lone sheriff Commodore Perry Owens during the Pleasant Valley range war of 1887, and the Rangers basked in the glory. “Five Shots in Five Seconds,” the first headline read. Not only was Angelo the killer of Conchita's mother and sister, but his cousin had been driving the car. The father had an outstanding warrant for his arrest for selling drugs and the older brother was a parole violator. Everyone pretty much forgot about the boy in all the hoopla.
Goodnight never spoke of it but he occasionally considered that evening had been the start of the legend.
He finished his second shot of Bourbon and refilled the glass. It was peculiar how life conspired sometimes to hand one man so many unwanted opportunities for notoriety. He had taken no pleasure in arresting eight fellow peace officers. And like most law enforcement house cleanings the one he did had only modest long term success.
Cluff and the other city detectives were indicted as the attorney general promised. The head of the Chiefs of Police Association was hired as a special investigator for his office, ensuring its continued endorsement. Cluff killed himself rather than face the consequences. Two of the others went to trial and were sent to prison. One was knifed to death there. The remaining five detectives copped pleas, were fired in disgrace and served short jail sentences.
Goodnight had never lost a moment's sleep over the two dead ex-city detectives any more than he had over the 11 year old brother of Angelo Delgado. He had no choice in that matter, and as for the cops, he figured if you weren't prepared to face the consequences for what you did, then you weren't much of a man.
The one who bothered him was Wiengart. The cop had been forced to testify against his brother officers. For that and for his cooperation he received repeated death threats. On the job no cop would cover him and his life was in danger every day. He took to drinking heavily, his wife left him. Six years ago he hung himself in his garage.
Marty Robbins was finished now. Flo wasn't ever going to walk out that door again, and his only son wasn't coming back from the grave. Goodnight poured another shot then took a long drag on his cigar.
EIGHT
Swensen Steel Company appeared deserted as Tom Kosack reached the front doors and knocked. Despite a breakfast of sausage, fried eggs, hash browns and several cups of coffee he still felt half asleep. Paula Dinelli, looking alert and cautious, opened the door and greeted the detective.
“There's a pot of coffee if you'd like any, officer,” she said as she led him to her small office. The building had the unnatural quiet Kosack had frequently noticed in places that were usually busy but lay empty over the weekend.
“Thanks, but I'm already swimming in it.” Kosack had not been surprised when Dinelli said she'd be working this morning. She struck him as someone who had little in her life beyond work.
At her desk she said, “A Mr. Goodnight came by the office yesterday. I thought you should know.”
Kosack's eyes narrowed. “What did he tell you?”
“Let me think. He said something about insurance. He said he wasn't with the police, but wanted to ask some questions. I told him none of us here were interested in talking to him and he didn't press the point. Was that all right?”
Kosack smiled grimly. “That was perfect. He's sleazing around for the insurance companies. Let me know if he bothers you or anyone else working here again.”
“All right. What can I do for you?” Her arms were crossed across her small breasts.
Kosack recalled her reluctance to speak frankly about the personal behavior of her co-workers earlier that week so he began by saying, “I'm not after dirt on anyone, Miss Dinelli. This is a murder investigation and I am asking my questions for a reason.”
Her eyelids fluttered momentarily. “I understand.”
“Let me start at the beginning. How do you know Jack and Leah Swensen?”
“It was about seven years ago. I had been out of school for two years and was working at Arizona Steel Company as an estimator and accountant. Mr. Swensen was working there as well then he stared his own company, Swensen Steel. I was his only office employee for more than a year as he got the company up and running.”
“Would you describe your relationship as friendly?”
“Oh, yes. Very. At first he had just four or five yard employees and everything except the actual construction of carports and covered parking fell to me. It was very pleasant, not really like work at all.”
“And what about Leah Swensen?”
“Mrs. Swensen started work at Arizona Steel a few months before I left. Mr. Swensen and she were friendly and he dated her for a time then she left them and went to work for us. Not long after that she and Mr. Swensen were married.”
“What did she do here?”
“The same as at Arizona. She was very bright, gifted even. She had handled the books, relations with customers, done some estimating and bidding, and was the office notary public. I know they were sorry to see her leave.”
“Would you say she was important in getting Swensen Steel up and running?”
“She was invaluable. She solicited business from Arizona's former customers and our accounts doubled twice that first year after she joined us. When Mr. Swensen told me they were getting married he said he didn't
think his business would ever have made it without Mrs. Swensen.”
“What did she do after they married?”
“She still worked in the office. She was like a manager. We grew very fast then three years ago she stopped working and I took over her job responsibilities. She was still on the board of course, and had her stock.”
“Do you have any reason to think that Mr. Swensen has ever had an affair with anyone in or out of this office since his marriage?”
Dinelli's tight mouth made a grimace. “You're certain this is necessary?”
Kosack nodded his head solemnly. “I am.”
Dinelli drew a deep breath. “I went to work for Mr. Swensen before he married and I would say he dated no more than most men. He married about a year after starting the company. I'd say things changed with him maybe a year after that. There was a receptionist, really just a girl right out of high school. Her name was Lynne Marnell. She was very infatuated with Mr. Swensen and he did everything he could to encourage it. She often stayed after work when the rest of us had left. They had long lunches together. Everyone believed they were having an affair.”
“Did you?”
“She told me they were. After she had been here several months she came to see me one afternoon when Mr. Swensen was on vacation with his wife. She said she loved him and that he had told her he was going to get divorced and marry her. She was crying, very hysterical. It was most disturbing.”
“Why did she talk to you?”
“I don't think the child had anyone else in her life she could turn to. She had been raised in a Christian family and was pregnant. It was sad, really, that she had no one else because we weren't close. She said Mr. Swensen had offered to pay for the abortion, but he told her he would not leave his wife. He said he would pay her salary for several months, but he thought it best that she find a job somewhere else as soon as possible. She was devastated.”
“How did it end?”
“She quit and had the baby. I don't know if she told Mr. Swensen or not. She called two years ago and said she was leaving the state and wanted to thank me for being her friend. I have no idea where she is today.”
“Does Jack Swensen know she had the baby?”
Dinelli sniffed. “I doubt it. It wouldn't be in his nature to pursue the matter.”
“What do you mean?”
“I doubt there is any point in my explaining this to you, but I'll try. As I said, I was Mr. Swensen's first employee. He was a most considerate man then even though he wanted to be a success to an extent I thought unhealthy. The two of us worked long hours together.”
“What happened?”
“A desire for status, Mr. Kosack. The status that money can make possible.”
“Was there anyone else he was involved with after his marriage?”
“I think he saw two of the temporaries we had after that. I recall that one of the permanent replacements he hired quit quite suddenly but I could only speculate as to why. She was blond and quite pretty – but happily married.”
“That leads us to Jodi Iverson I take it.”
“Yes, it certainly does. Miss Iverson was recommended for employment by Mr. Cushing. I discovered later they were seeing each other at the time.”
“Is he married?”
“I see you hold the same opinion about Miss Iverson I do, but no, he is single. I understand that they had been dating for several weeks before Mr. Swensen hired her.”
“What happened then?”
“If Mr. Cushing hadn't told me that he was seeing Miss Iverson you never would have known it from the way she behaved here. And of course Mr. Swensen was in pursuit. Within a week of her employment she was staying late with him.”
“How did Cushing take that?”
“He was... disturbed by it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I would see him at Miss Iverson's desk talking in a whisper, most emphatically. She would be smiling at him, shaking her head slowly, appearing quite amused. He would go away appearing defeated and would be most unpleasant to deal with the remainder of the day. I've watched her closely. I think she enjoyed it. Mr. Cushing is a very angry person now.”
“Why stick around for the grief?
“He is very well paid. I suspect that has something to do with it. Maybe he is also hoping that Miss Iverson will change her mind about him.”
“You're saying Iverson dropped Cushing once she used him to get this job and took up with Swensen almost at once.”
Dinelli met Kosack's eyes. He found her dark eyes disconcerting as well as difficult to read. “Yes, I'm saying that. I don't want you to think that I am a wicked person, officer – someone willing to quickly assume the worst about people. I know that mankind is weak. It is our nature. God gave us the gift of lust so that we would channel it into marriage and procreation. It is not to be abused. But I know that it frequently is. I did not immediately assume Mr. Swensen and Miss Iverson were doing anything. After she had been working here a month I recalled one afternoon that I had left work laying on my desk that I intended to do that night. I came back into the office. I saw their cars outside so I slipped in quietly as not to disturb them. But it hardly mattered. Even from my desk I could hear them rutting like animals.” Dinelli wrinkled her nose. “It is not possible to miss the signs of sexual intercourse – especially with two persons who elect to be so vocal.”
“What were they saying?” Kosack had heard of a murder case that was solved because the killer had blurted certain words out during sex. It had struck him as a peculiar moment for self-incrimination but there it was. Unless he asked he wouldn't know what the two had said.
“Is that really necessary?”
“I'm afraid so.”
Dinelli sighed. “He kept repeating, 'Oh baby! Oh baby!.' I heard her saying... I'm sorry I can't use the word. It starts with an F. She was saying, 'F me, F me. F me.' That sounds as vulgar as the word itself, doesn't it?”
“I appreciate your candor. I know this is difficult for you. About how long ago would you say that was?”
“A year and half, just after Miss Iverson started work here.”
“And the two of them continued this affair?”
“Yes. Last Friday I worked later than usual. Both Miss Iverson and Mr. Swensen were still here. Finally he told me to go home. It is easy enough to decide why.”
“From what you know about Iverson, is it possible she could in some way be involved in Mrs. Swensen's death?”
“Possible, you ask? I'd think it likely.”
“What do you base that on?”
“I don't wish to sound tacky in saying this. It's simply how it is. Mrs. Swensen was in her way. It's no more complicated than that. I know nothing about her background but I'm certain a psychiatrist could write at least one book on it.” Her eyes glanced away from him like a ricochet.
“And?”
“That's all.” Her arms were back, crossed in front of her again.
“I think not. You're holding something back.”
“I can't be certain and I don't want to guess, not at something as important as this.”
“Just tell it to me.”
“It was two months ago, I think. I was working late again and I guess they didn't realize I was here. There were raised voices. I could hear it quite clearly through the door.”
“What did you hear?”
“I'm not certain, you understand. I thought... let me repeat that... I thought I heard Miss Iverson say something like, 'If you won't do it, leave it to me.' Something like that. But I have no idea in what context she said it. Until this week I had forgotten all about it. Sometimes Mr. Swensen had Miss Iverson do unpleasant business related tasks for him. I guess at the time I thought that was it.”
“And now?”
She hesitated. “Now I'm not so certain.”
“What time did Iverson come to work Monday?”
“Late. After ten. She looked very harried. But to be fair she often came to work
late on Monday. It wasn't all that unusual. For that matter I was gone myself later that morning.”
“How about Swensen himself? Could he have killed his wife?”
Dinelli seemed troubled for a moment, then said in a softer voice, “I doubt he'd act by himself, but I can't say for certain. If he was drunk or mad, I suppose it's possible. People often do things that you wouldn't normally think them capable of. Of the two, Miss Iverson has the most to gain from Mrs. Swensen's death, however.”
“Even with the insurance?”
Dinelli smiled tightly. “Anyone can be tempted by money. I believe he comes from a rather lower rung of society. I don't know if that helps or not.”
“And Iverson?”
“If she thought there was no other way to what she wants she'd have sliced Mrs. Swensen into little pieces and fed her into a Cuisinart.”
~
Jodi Iverson slid herself atop Jack Swensen, the bed sheet falling back from her body as she sat up, her shoulders thrown back so that her full breasts rose erect before her as if she were posing for a skin magazine. From where Swensen lay it was a view she knew he loved to see. With her right hand she positioned Swensen's erect shaft then lowered herself on him, sucking air as she did, making it seem more difficult to take him than it was because she so often told him he was too big for her. Beneath her, the half-asleep Swensen opened his eyes and fixed them on her breasts. He moaned, then pressed himself more deeply into her.
Iverson smiled and closed her eyes, setting her hips to a steady rhythm that pushed Swensen's penis in then out of her. He was lethargic at first but soon he groaned and matched her motion with his own. He reached up and cupped each of her breasts with his hands and massaged them as if kneading loaves of bread dough. He began moving with greater urgency. Iverson moved her hips more quickly now that he was fully aroused and squeezed his shaft tightly each time he went into her.
Swensen was approaching a frenzy now and jammed himself up at her, gripping her breasts so hard she gritted her teeth and knew there would be bruises later. “Oh baby!” he shouted. “Oh baby!”
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