by Parnell Hall
Because nobody wanted me messing around in the murder. And with the demise of my chief suspect, Barry, I was really left with very little in the way to investigate.
See, I had to admit, as I bore right onto Flatbush Avenue, heading for the Manhattan Bridge, there certainly was something to what Alice said. That the only real reason I wanted to investigate was the thought of getting revenge. And to what end? So a stupid cop throws you in the drunk tank. What are you going to do? Spend the rest of your life getting even? No; you acknowledge the iniquity, put it behind you, and move on.
By the time I’d found a parking spot on 103rd Street and walked up West End Avenue to our home, I had come to the conclusion, not without some regrets, that it was time to let the whole thing go.
I knew Alice would be pleased, so I told her the minute I got in the door.
She looked at me with the look she has that tells me she knows she’s dealing with a total asshole.
“What, are you nuts?” she said. “You gotta solve this thing.”
26.
“THERE’S BEEN A SECOND MURDER.”
“No shit,” MacAullif said. “You come in here to tell me that?”
“I had a feeling you might have heard.”
“Your feeling was correct. Why are you here?”
“I got a problem with the case.”
“You got a problem with the case? You gotta be kidding. You don’t got no problem with the case. It ain’t your case.”
“That’s the problem.”
MacAullif took a deep breath. He blew it out again through clenched teeth. “Did I mention I’m not having a good day?”
“I don’t believe you did.”
“Yeah, well, bear it in mind. You also might consider that, compared to me, Sergeant Thurman could qualify as your best friend.”
“So noted. Now, about the case—”
“Fuck the case,” MacAullif said. “What are you, deaf? This is not your case. This is not my case. This is nothing we should be discussing.”
“Actually, I know that,” I said. “The problem is, my wife thinks I should.”
MacAullif gawked at me. “Your wife?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re tellin’ me you’re in here bothering me because your wife wants you to?”
“Is that really so hard to understand? You got a wife, don’t you? Don’t you ever do what she says?”
MacAullif glowered at me. “Yeah, I got a wife,” he said. “She tells me to bring home pot roast, I bring home pot roast. She tells me not to throw my clothes on the floor, I sometimes forget, but I try to remember. But if she told me how to run a murder investigation ...” MacAullif shook his head. “No way.”
I figured that was probably true. Still, I had made my point.
A while back, I had done MacAullif a favor, helped him out when he had had a personal problem. He’d since repaid it threefold. Still, mentioning family matters had to bring it to mind.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m sure that’s how you work, and I’m sure you’ve had better days. Me. I’ve had worse. I may be saddled with a completely unsolvable double homicide, but at least I’m not the prime suspect this time. Of course, if I were, you might stop being such a hard-ass and see fit to help me out.”
“Well, don’t fret about it,” MacAullif said. “Maybe you can implicate yourself in the next one.”
“You think there’s going to be a third killing?”
“I didn’t mean this case,” MacAullif said. “I meant the next homicide you’re involved in.”
“Then you think the killings are over?”
“I think there’s going to be another one right here, if you don’t get out of my office.”
“Damn,” I said. “And you know, I did what you always wanted me to do and interviewed the neighbors.”
“Neighbors?” MacAullif said.
“Yeah. Cliff McFadgen’s neighbors. First thing this morning I went by his apartment house and knocked on doors.”
“And?”
“Can’t say I got a lot. He’s described as a quiet type. A loner. Perfectly nice gentleman no one can imagine this ever happening to.”
MacAullif nodded. “Your typical serial-killer description.”
“Exactly.”
“Not that it helps much, since we’re talking about the victim.”
“Who was also a blackmailer. That’s the wrinkle. The problem is, it’s a bit hard to sort out without the facts. I had a nice talk with Patricia Connely’s bereaved husband.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. And he seemed a perfectly decent sort. Except the thought of hiring me to investigate his wife’s death never crossed his mind.”
“How disappointing.”
“I thought so. Particularly since this Cliff McFadgen was single, I don’t really know that much about him, and in his case I can’t even come up with a friend, acquaintance, or relative likely to give a shit.”
“All the more reason to butt the hell out.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Except for my wife.”
“Oh, sure,” MacAullif said. “Lay it all on the little woman. If you didn’t want to investigate this sucker, you wouldn’t be in here.”
“Before my wife said anything, I’d decided to give it up.”
MacAullif gave me a look. “I decided to give up cigars. You think that means I wouldn’t like to smoke one?”
“I’m sure you would.”
“Yeah. So don’t give, me this gave-it-up shit. Or any other explanation. The fact is, you’re in my office.”
“True.”
“What the fuck do I have to do to get you out?”
“How about a little information?”
“Shit.”
“You know what it’s like working in the dark?”
“No. Do you know what it’s like being a cop? Do you have the faintest fucking idea?”
“Probably not.”
“Yeah. Probably fucking not.” MacAullif jerked his thumb at the door. “There’s cops out there. And you know what? Some of them know you’re in here. Out of those, some of them probably know why. ’Cause you may not believe this, but they’re not all dumb. And even the dumb ones ain’t necessarily stupid.” MacAullif glowered at me, pointed his finger. “Take Sergeant Thurman.”
I couldn’t help myself. Under my breath I muttered, “Please.”
MacAullif caught it. Which could have been an absolute disaster. It probably would have been, if he’d managed to keep a straight face.
But as it happened, I lucked out. Because his lip quivered, and before he could catch himself, he’d gone too far. He laughed out loud and said, “Shit. Henny Fucking Youngman. Right. Take Sergeant Thurman ... Please. Well, that’s the point I’m makin’. That’s the whole deal.” MacAullif jerked his thumb again. “The cops out there know this is Sergeant Thurman’s case. They’ve also heard about the drunk tank—these things get around. You know what that means? It means they close ranks. They might not like what Thurman did—they might not do that themselves—but once it happens, they draw the line. Right. The line in the sand. You’re either on one side or the other. Which side are you on? You side against Sergeant Thurman, you draw your bloody sword. See what I mean? See what I’m talking about?”
“Not exactly.”
“Jesus Christ,” MacAullif said. “Are you so fucking dumb? Thurman cut a corner. Threw you in the drunk tank. If you plan to nail him on it, you’re up against the whole fucking force. If that’s what you want, fine, only leave me out of it. You nail Thurman, and the guys out there think I had a hand in it, I’m suddenly the least popular cop on the force. And I’m not talkin’ snubs, I’m talkin’ ostracized. I’m talking getting into situations where the backup don’t arrive.”
“I told you. We cut a deal. I signed releases, for Christ’s sake.”
“Yeah. For your legal rights. So you can’t prosecute and you can’t sue. Big deal. There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”
So
n of a bitch.
“What the hell you smilin’ at?” MacAullif said.
“Nothing. I hear you.”
“I hope you do. Let me spell it out. If you nail Thurman and it looks like I helped you do it, what he did to you is gonna seem like a day at the beach.”
“I understand. Would you admit to a distinction between nailing him and showing him up?”
“Oh, absolutely. I’ve done that myself. In fact, some cops I know think it’s practically their duty.”
“Fine. So how about seeing your way clear to let loose with a few pertinent facts?”
MacAullif looked at me a moment. Then he sighed, shook his head, opened a desk drawer, took out two thick manila files, and flopped them down on his desk.
I looked at them and my eyes widened. How about that. And after being such a hard-ass too.
MacAullif had the case files all ready for me.
27.
“I DON’T EXPECT THIS WILL help you much,” MacAullif said. “The guns in both cases were stolen. One from a sporting-goods store, the other from a private home. In both cases a long time ago. We’re talkin’ years. Four in the one case, six in the other. Passing through many hands before reachin’ the dealer in question.”
“What dealer?”
“What dealer you think? The guy movin’ hot guns our killer bought these two from.”
“You figure it’s the same guy?”
“Or girl. I wouldn’t wanna be called a sexist for thinkin’ only men commit murder.”
“Keep calling ’em girls and they’ll get you anyway.”
“Huh?”
“Anyway, you think it’s the same person?”
“Stands to reason. Or persons. That’s the other wrinkle.”
“You thinking of the blackmail photos?”
“Yeah. Kind of a shame I never got to see !em.”
“I track ’em down, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Great. You can add trafficking in pornography to your list of charges.”
“I believe these things are legal.”
“Let’s not quibble. You come up with them, I’ll take a look, tell you if they’re legal or not.”
“Great,” I said. “Anyway, you were saying. About the gun.”
“Not much to say. There’s no prints on ’em, and their history isn’t helpful. On the other hand, ballistics confirms they are both the murder weapons. One is a thirty-two-caliber revolver. The other is a thirty-eight automatic. Not that that mattered much to the victims—they both did the job.”
“What about the time of death?”
MacAullif nodded. “Yeah. That’s a biggie. For the Connely broad, it’s pretty good. On account of you finding her so soon. Doc’s got her listed between eight and ten, probably close to nine. Now, the other guy you got a problem, ’cause he’d been dead for days. But It sure looks like he bought it the same night.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, but after that amount of time, the doc can’t be that accurate. Between six that night and six the next morning is the best he’ll do.”
“I know he was alive at nine. I talked to him.”
“But you can’t be sure It was him.”
“I’m virtually certain.”
“Virtually is a big if.”
“Yeah, but I’d been talking to him all night long.”
“All night long? Wasn’t it just twice?”
“Was it? Let me think. She sent me to the bridge. He called me there. Sent me to Queens. Called me there. Sent me to the motel. All right, only twice. But I’d talked to him before, when I met him.”
“Exactly. And can you be sure the guy you talked to on the phone was the same guy you met at the motel?”
“Not entirely.”
“There you are. And can you even be sure it was the same guy you talked to on the phone both times that night? I mean that the guy you talked to the first time was the same guy you talked to the second time?”
I took a breath. “I can’t be sure of anything. I have an opinion; I think it’s valid enough to act on. I’m not ruling out possibilities, but I’m taking this as a strong indication.”
“No need to get testy,” MacAullif said. “I’m only trying to help.”
“I appreciate it. For what it’s worth, my opinion is the guy was alive at nine that night.”
“He probably was. If the doctor says between six and six, the likelihood is near midnight, and the big spread is just the doc covering his ass.”
“Which allows for another wrinkle,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“He killed her, someone else killed him.”
MacAullif nodded. “Possible. I fail to see why.”
“I fail to see a reason for any of it.”
“True. But if he killed her, why send you there?”
“He was setting me up.”
“Obviously. But for what? I mean, as a murder frame, it’s clumsy as hell. It couldn’t even convince as stupid a cop as Sergeant Thurman. Plus, with her bein’ killed between eight and ten, and him callin’ you at nine, that would make him one busy individual. Plus, she’s killed way downtown in this loft, and he’s killed uptown in his apartment.”
“True. You don’t suppose ...?”
“What?”
“He called from there?”
“Called who?”
“Me. The calls we’re talking about. At the bridge and in Queens. Can they trace shit like that?”
“Sometimes they can, sometimes they can’t.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Hey, no system’s perfect. New York Telephone may have a record of the calls. On the other hand, they may not.”
“Anyone look for it?”
“If it’s in here, I didn’t see it. It’s not my case, and I just skimmed the file.”
“It’s a thought.”
“Sure, it’s a thought. But a clever blackmailer doesn’t use his own phone.”
“Or he might wind up dead,” I said dryly.
“You have a point. You expect me to dance up and down because you have a point?”
“No.”
“Good. I hope you don’t expect me to trace those calls either. I can drop a hint in the right direction, but that’s it.”
“I understand.”
“Just so’s you do. Now, where were we? Oh yeah. The theory he kills her, someone else kills him. I think we can agree that’s pretty bad. The blackmailer kills the blackmail victim. And even if we can stretch and find a reason for that, then he’s coincidentally killed hours later? No way I can make that fly. No, the way I see it, the whole thing smacks of a sting that went bad.”
“A sting?”
“Yeah.”
“A sting of who?”
“Of you, of course.”
“What?”
“Why is that such a surprise. You think you don’t fit the part?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“The way I see it, they gave you what—five hundred the first time and a thousand the second? Well, that’s way out of line. It’s too much for the job. A pickup and delivery. But it would make sense if they were buying a patsy. Uppin’ the ante and suckin’ you in.”
“Into what?”
“How the hell should I know? But most likely a blackmail scheme. That’s what they were conditioning you for. You’re payin’ blackmail, they’re uppin’ the ante, and before you know it you’re payin’ more.”
“You mind explaining that to me so it makes sense?”
“Sure,” MacAullif said. “If it’s a sting operation, the broad and the guy are working together and the blackmail is a charade. She comes to you with her problem, gives you the blackmail money. You pay it to the guy, get the pictures. She’s back with the bit about the negatives and they do it again. Once you’ve bought the negatives and they’ve got you conditioned to it, then they pull the hook.”
“Which is?”
“The broad comes to you, says the g
uy’s pulled the dirty again. There’s more negatives, more pictures. And he wants to sell. The wrinkle this time is he’s shakin’ down the woman in the pictures.”
I frowned. “What the hell.”
“You still haven’t got it, have you?” MacAullif said. “The broad says she’s workin’ for the woman in the pictures, tryin’ to help her out. And we’re talkin’ big-time stuff here, maybe twenty-five, fifty thousand dollars. Which is why they’re willin’ to pay you two grand. Maybe even twenty-five hundred.”
“For what?”
“What do you think? Pickup and delivery. Just like before. You pick up the blackmail money and deliver it.”
“What’s the point?”
“The point is, this time you pick it up from the woman in the pictures and you deliver it to them. To the guy, but of course they’re workin’ together.”
“So?”
“So, this woman’s never met the other two people. All she’s ever heard is the broad’s voice on the phone. But she don’t know her from Adam. This broad ain’t a friend of hers, and she ain’t helpin’ her. She just maybe sent her one of the pictures in the mail and then called her on the phone and said, ‘How’d you like to have these back?’ And the woman in the pictures is a rich, high-society woman with a lot to lose, who’d probably love to have them back. And she’s probably willing to pay a fancy price to do so.”
MacAullif held up one finger. “But on the off chance she’s gonna go to the cops and pull a double cross and turn ’em in and the whole bit, this woman’s never gonna meet ’em, never gonna know who they are. ’Cause the only one she’s ever gonna actually meet is you.”
I frowned. “So I’m really just a buffer for them.”
MacAullif shook his head. “Still don’t see how it works? Let me develop this for you a bit.
“The broad sets it up for you to handle the payoff for the woman in the pictures. You gotta meet her for her to give you the money. You don’t mind doin’ it, you’re bein’ the intermediary like you were before. But once you’ve agreed to that and you’re all set to do it, the broad tells you there’s a switch. The problem is, this woman don’t trust you. ’Cause it’s an awful lot of money. On the other hand, Barry does, ’cause you paid off before.”
