The Slowest Death

by Rick Reed

  “Were you with Sonny in Jasper?” Jack asked.

  “Jack. You can go through our books. You can search me. In fact, you’re close to doing a cavity search right now.”

  Jack waited.

  “Sure. We were in Jasper,” Jerry said. “We did the same house. There was money seized at every scene, but the money from every bust is accounted for.”

  “Who found the money?” Jack asked, and Jerry didn’t answer right away.

  “Before you go crazy…”

  “Jerry, who found the money?” Jack asked.

  Jerry reluctantly told him.

  When Jack finished the call, he told Liddell and Tunney, “Jerry said he didn’t actually count the money. Sonny seized it, transported it, and put it in the safe. Sonny was responsible for keeping the log. The log shows two hundred thousand, but Jerry heard one of the suspects say something about half a million or more.”

  “I thought the log was part of the audit. How come they didn’t report this?” Liddell asked.

  Jack said, “Jerry admitted there was a lot of to and fro during the bust. Officers coming and going. It was kind of an honor system of evidence collection due to the number of people found in the house and the cache of weapons they had available to them. I can understand how the process could get a little loose.”

  “We don’t have any accurate count on the money that was seized. That means we have no way of knowing what Sonny might have taken for himself,” Tunney said. “But according to Mr. Crispino, there is a large debt owed to his employer, who happens to be Big Bobby Touhey.”

  Jack pointed out, “They’re all from Boston. Sonny and Sully were detectives. Knight an Assistant D.A. They all change careers close to the same time. They seem to have the means to get their hands on large sums of money. Crispino came from Boston to collect from Sonny. Sonny is murdered and the killer leaves forty thousand at the scene and sixty thousand in Sonny’s truck. It looks like Sonny was skimming money from the drug busts; either for himself, or to pay the bill he owes Touhey. That still doesn’t get us any closer to identifying the killer except to say it’s not Big Bobby Touhey. He wouldn’t leave that kind of money behind.”

  Tunney said, “The personal nature of these killings points to organized crime. It’s possible that Sonny or Knight, or both, got on the wrong side of the mob via Touhey. Whatever he or they did, it would be something that involves all the players—Crispino and Sully are included. A criminal enterprise of some sort. I think honor is at stake.”

  “See No Evil. Hear No Evil,” Jack said. “That leaves Speak No Evil.”

  Tunney said, “The killer isn’t finished.”

  Chapter 27

  Vincent Sullis had settled a sometimes nervous, sometimes belligerent Mindy into a room at The Peaks Inn on the outskirts of town. The billboard advertising the place showed a ski chalet on the side of a snow-covered mountain. This wasn’t that. It was more of a hot-sheet motel for shift workers. The inn consisted of four rooms and none were occupied. Sully paid cash for all of them. The goth clerk was glad to take cash without requiring a name. Sully paid four times what the rooms were worth but he needed the privacy. He put Mindy in one of the rooms with strict instructions not to go anywhere, make any calls, order out, or open the door for anyone. Mindy was coming down from a drunk and alternately screaming threats or crying uncontrollably. Plus, he needed somewhere to bring those two kids.

  He had only gotten away from Mindy’s little bipolar tantrum by promising to go to the store and buy her a couple of bottles of wine and some snacks. At the rate she was drinking, he would have to buy a cask and a spigot.

  He’d picked up two bottles of wine and a bag of junk food at a mom-and-pop liquor store and drove back to the inn. While Mindy was unscrewing the top of one bottle he walked down the block to a pay phone in front of the American Legion Post. He’d done some thinking while he was trying to find a liquor store. He’d maybe figured a way out of this mess. At least for himself.

  He was in possession of most of the money that Big Bobby knew Sonny had skimmed from the drug busts. How Sonny could be that dumb he’d never understand. No one cheated Big Bobby and lived. But the money Sully found in the safe was shy more than a hundred thousand from what Big Bobby said there would be. He could make it up with his own money, but he wasn’t to blame for this mess. Screw that!

  He took the phone off the hook and saw the number pad was missing several keys. He punched zero on the phone and when the operator came on the line he gave her a phone number in Boston.

  The phone was answered after one ring but no one spoke.

  “This is Sully,” he said.

  “Go,” the man’s voice at the other end said.

  “I need to speak to him.”

  “Wait one.” The line went to some Muzak shit.

  Big Bobby Touhey came on the line. “Sully.” The voice sounded tired.

  Sully knew Big Bobby wasn’t thinking straight after the death of his kid. Normally he would never use names on the phone. Never.

  “I have some good news, sir.” Big Bobby didn’t respond. The silence said, “About damn time.”

  Sully recounted what he knew of Sonny’s murder, the two juveniles’ discovery of Sonny’s body, the $40K the police found on the boy, and the subsequent murder of Samuel Knight. He held back the fact that he’d found most of the five hundred thousand in Sonny’s safe.

  “You got a cop you can work with?” Big Bobby asked.

  “The two detectives here are hard-asses. I was hoping you had someone here,” Sully said, meaning a cop on the pad.

  “I did. He’s dead, you dummy. What am I paying you for? You’re an ex-cop. You should have some damn connections.”

  “These two won’t be a problem.”

  “You see to it that they aren’t. Listen to me, Sully. My kid was tortured. His dick was cut off and…he was left there…like garbage to humiliate him. And me. You’re gonna find this guy, or I’m gonna find him. You better hope you do it first.”

  Sully knew exactly what was done to the younger Touhey. He’d had a chat with the coroner right after the autopsy. Gone to the funeral. But he was surprised to hear Big Bobby talk like that over an open line. His son’s death had hit him hard. Big Bobby was in a murderous rage. Little Bobby’s bodyguards had dropped the ball on that one. They should have gone with his kid even over the kid’s objections. Big Bobby made them aware of their failure.

  The call had come in anonymous. Another dead body in Boston didn’t raise many eyebrows until they identified the victim. A homeless man was found sleeping in a box near the scene. The homeless guy was brought in for questioning by the police and released. Two of Big Bobby’s guys were waiting outside the police station and picked him up. He didn’t know anything. And because he didn’t know anything, Big Bobby decapitated him with a sledgehammer.

  Afterwards, Big Bobby had given orders to round up some people he thought had a grudge against him or his kid. Sully had brought in some of these unfortunate souls. Big Bobby interrogated them one by bloody one.

  To be truthful, Sully hadn’t felt bad over Little Bobby getting whacked. Little Bobby wasn’t particular whose wife or sister he slept with. Not that he himself wasn’t a sex addict. But at least he knew it. Little Bobby acted like having sex with whomever he wanted was his right. Big Bobby had been told about his son’s proclivities and only laughed at the tales of forcible conquest. Sully figured the little creep was a murder waiting to happen. He knew the kid’s dick would get him in trouble someday. He remembered Little Bobby shoving the barrel of a .44 Magnum revolver up one woman’s snatch and pulling the trigger. It had blown her pubic region to hell and back. Little Bobby had laughed and said, “Look. She’s on her period.”

  For that little shit, everything was fun and games, but Sully had to clean up the mess. Seems he was always cleaning up one mess or another for Little
or Big Bobby.

  “I want this guy, Sully,” Big Bobby said.

  “And the money?” Sully asked. “Do you want me to find it?”

  “Screw the money. You find those kids. And hold on to Sonny’s punch. What’s ’er name. She might have been behind Sonny stealing from me. You get them and squeeze hard. They know something. No one touches my family. You hear me?”

  “I understand,” Sully said. “If I come across the money I’ll bring it to you along with the guy’s head.”

  “Forget the money, I told you. Your first priority is to find this guy. He hurt me. Sonny getting hit was just a matter of time, but Knight was important to me.”

  “I’m working on it,” Sully said.

  “Work harder. I sent someone to help you. He should be there already. Get with him, Sully. This kind of stuff is his specialty. You do good work, but you ain’t a cop anymore. You lost your edge. I don’t want to hear any excuses. You work with Marty. Get this guy. You said you’d bring me his head. I’m holding you to that. You hear me?” The line went dead.

  Sully hung up, trudged back to the car and got in. He had only agreed to come to Evansville because he was Sonny’s pal. He thought he had the best chance of getting the money without killing Sonny. He should have known Big Bobby had no intention of just getting the money back. It was getting dangerous to be around Big Bobby, friend or foe. Now Marty, known as “Uncle Marty,” was here too. Big Bobby had sent his version of mob RoboCop. To help. Right. Uncle Marty made things go away. Sully wasn’t going to get anywhere near the man.

  It had crossed Sully’s mind that he and Sonny were being set up. It might have been Marty that did Sonny and Knight. It made sense. Both he and Sonny had worked with Knight back in Boston, and Sonny continued working with Knight. Knight handled the cases that didn’t go federal. Sonny would discreetly dispose of any record or evidence that might tie Big Bobby to the distributor. Big Bobby was smart, and threw some of his own people to the wolves.

  Sully had suspected Sonny was siphoning off some of the money. Hell, Sonny’s house, boat and Mindy were worth a fortune. Sonny should have known Big Bobby had a long reach and even better hearing.

  Now Sonny is dead. Knight is dead. Marty is here. And Big Bobby isn’t concerned with half a million dollars. Not on your life.

  Sully cranked the heat up and positioned the vents to blow on his freezing hands. The damn steering wheel was like ice. He hated this shithole of a town. He hated Sonny and Mindy and Knight and especially Big Bobby. That man was more than crazy. Sully wouldn’t be surprised if Big Bobby himself whacked his own kid. It would give him the excuse he needed to go after anyone his paranoid brain felt threatened by. Maybe Big Bobby was rolling up the Evansville portion of the operation.

  Sully had a sick feeling that he was next. Big Bobby was a scorched-earth kind of guy. Sully knew some of what Sonny and Knight were doing, but he didn’t know who Sonny’s source was. He suspected whomever Big Bobby was using to feed drug info to Sonny was with the DEA. Maybe not a DEA agent, but someone close to them. A wife, a girlfriend, maybe even a kid. Whoever it was, they had to have access to the inner drug circle. He wondered if the person who was calling him, giving him tips and information concerning the murders, might not be the same source that was calling Sonny.

  He hadn’t told Big Bobby everything that happened since he arrived in E-ville. For instance, he hadn’t told Big Bobby he’d gotten an anonymous call the morning Sonny was killed. He was warned the police were on their way, and sure enough, Murphy and his big partner showed up at Mindy’s a half hour later. The number that showed on Sully’s phone wasn’t one he recognized. He’d almost not answered, but Mindy was snoring in his ear and her breath was disgusting.

  Whoever was calling knew his name. Knew his cell phone number. Sully had called a friend with Boston Police Department and asked them to see who the number belonged to. It was a pay phone in Evansville.

  Then the guy called him back after the detectives left and told him not to worry. The cops didn’t have squat connecting Sonny and Sully and Knight. The guy was right about the cops being clueless. Murphy and that other Neanderthal detective didn’t know shit. But Murphy could become a real problem. Sully had known a couple detectives like him on BPD. Murphy wouldn’t quit until someone cancelled his ticket. Maybe that was why Uncle Marty was here? Or maybe it was Uncle Marty who was calling him.

  Sully learned a proverb in law school. In Latin it goes, “Praemonitus, praemunitus.” Loosely translated it means, “forewarned is forearmed.” The caller had given him just enough information to stay on top of this. Unlike Sonny and Knight, he’d be ready to put an end to this asshole.

  One thing worried him. His caller hadn’t told him that Uncle Marty was in town. Of course, if it were Uncle Marty calling he wouldn’t have. Would he? Another thing that bothered him was the caller’s mention of a connection between him and Sonny and Knight. Only a handful of people knew about that. If this guy wasn’t working for Big Bobby, who was he working for? He only knew of Uncle Marty by reputation.

  There was no doubt in his mind that Sonny’s murder was connected to Little Bobby’s. The murders were retaliation for something they all had done. This was all connected to Big Bobby and Little Bobby.

  Big Bobby’s hand-wringing grief and swearing of vengeance might be just another ploy. What if he was the one who ordered the hits? Big Bobby might be eliminating them for reasons known only to him. The only thing that came to mind was the murder of the girl a few years back. He, Sonny, Knight, and Little and Big Touhey had been involved in some way. Was Big Bobby getting rid of any connection between himself and that murder? It was a good question.

  Five years ago, Big Bobby had called him because Little Bobby had a problem. He and Sonny were in Big Bobby’s pocket, so they couldn’t say no. No one said no to Big Bobby. He and Sonny got to Little Bobby’s apartment and walked into a nightmare. Little Bobby had raped some young woman, sodomized her, and cut her female parts to shreds. Little Bobby said he’d picked her up on a train and took her home. Translation—he’d forced her into his car at a train station.

  They put her body in a Dumpster, poured in gasoline, and lit her up. Sully made an anonymous call reporting the fire. Big Bobby didn’t need the heat, so he arranged for a guy to take the rap. Sully and Sonny had to resign not long after to get IA’s attention off of them. Big Bobby used his influence to have Sonny relocated and get Sully admitted to law school. And Knight. Knight was the Assistant D.A. who helped with the cover-up. Now he was burned to death. Just like the girl. It was ancient history, but couldn’t be a coincidence.

  He dragged his thoughts back to the problems at hand. Mindy was safely stashed. He’d torch Sonny’s place when the cops left. If Sonny was stupid enough to steal from Big Bobby, who knows what was sitting around his house. There were lots of papers inside the safe. He kicked himself for not taking time to go through them.

  Right now, he needed a plan. He had to find those kids. From what his caller told him earlier, the kids didn’t have the money. The cops had taken forty thousand from the boy that he had stolen from Sonny’s body. The boy had balls. He might know something important. Sully was a detective long enough to know witnesses were unreliable, or they lied for all kinds of reasons. These two were running away together. To do that they would need money. Maybe they were smart enough to hide a nest egg before they got the cops involved.

  Chapter 28

  Jack and Liddell sat in the chief’s complex conference room with Captain Franklin, Chief Pope and Sergeant Walker. Deputy Chief Richard Dick was currently in the basement classroom giving a press conference. Chief Pope had given Double Dick a script to read from and admonished him to stick to the script. Pope was wise enough to know that if you didn’t give the media something to report, they would report what they thought were the facts, which occasionally put them at cross purposes with the police department’s effort
s. He was also wise enough to know that he had to feed Double Dick a spoonful of importance now and again.

  “Is Frank coming?” Liddell asked.

  “Present,” Tunney said, coming into the room. He took a seat next to Jack. “Sorry if I’m late. I was on the phone getting the run-down on the monkey carvings.”

  “We were just starting,” Captain Franklin said. “Thanks again for helping, Frank.”

  Tunney waved the comment away. “My people said the monkeys are very unique. Collector quality.” He took out a notebook and flipped through some pages. “Rio Kawara,” he said. “Anyone heard of him?”

  No one had.

  Tunney referred to the notes again. “The Japanese symbols on the bottoms of the two figurines are identifiers for an artist named Rio Kawara. He was one of a handful of Japanese artists during the Edo period—the 1500s—who became famous for netsuke carvings. Netsuke is typically small carvings of fish, peasants, and animals—like these monkeys, for instance. Kimonos, or robes, had no pockets to carry needed items, like money or tobacco or a pipe. Those things would be carried in a small pouch closed with a drawstring. The pouch was hooked to a sash with the netsuke. As time passed, the need for these diminished and they became valued collector’s items. Original carvings can sell for five hundred to fifty thousand dollars, depending on the creator and the material used.”

  “You are quite the expert, Frank,” Captain Franklin remarked.

  “My people are the experts,” Tunney said. He continued. “Some netsuke were carved from bone and some from wood, but the more expensive ones were carved from ivory. The most valued by collectors were carved from ivory that is ten to twenty-five thousand years old.”

  “Are these that old?” Chief Pope asked.

  “They would need to be carbon dated,” Tunney said. “There are a lot of fakes in circulation, as you can imagine. I emailed the pictures Sergeant Walker provided to Quantico and my researcher thinks they may be the real deal.”