He looked around the table. “Any more questions?”
“Why did Murphy frame Jorge for killing Franco?” asked Darcy Yankton.
“Revenge. Murphy thought that Jorge was having an affair with Jessica, Murphy’s wife. He murdered Franco and framed Jorge for it as revenge for the supposed affair.”
“And was Jorge having an affair with Murphy’s wife?”
“No, Abe, he wasn’t.”
“Then why would Murphy think so?”
“A tragic mistake. The next sections of your exhibits are copies of Murphy’s cellphone bills. When Murphy read his own phone bills, he discovered that Jessica called the same number several times a week. He checked the number and it was listed under Jorge Castellano. Murphy thought that Jessica was calling Jorge. In fact, Jessica was calling Jorge’s wife, Karen.”
Abe shook his head. “Surely Murphy knew the phone number of his own partner.”
“Not in this case. Murphy and Jorge always called each other on their police department cellphones. They never used their personal phones. Murphy didn’t realize that Karen’s phone was on the same family plan as Jorge’s. It didn’t occur to him that Jessica was a lesbian. He jumped to the wrong conclusion and killed two people as a result.”
Chapter 87
Jorge and Chuck piled into his Avanti and dropped into Barney’s, a cop bar near the North Shore Precinct. Chuck picked a table near the door.
He glanced at his watch. It was four thirty. “I believe it is after five o’clock in Halifax.”
Jorge laughed. “What and where is Halifax?”
“Either the capital of Nova Scotia or a city in Scotland. Take your pick. It’s after five o’clock in both places. It’s time to celebrate.” Chuck ordered a bottle of champagne. Jorge had an imported beer.
The two friends solved most of the problems of the world over drinks. “It’s amazing how much smarter we get when the consumption of alcohol increases.”
Jorge raised his glass in agreement.
A little after five o’clock, off-duty cops started to come in. Word had gotten out that a warrant had been issued for the arrest of Dan Murphy for the murders of Franco and Smoot.
A stream of arriving cops came over to shake hands with Jorge and Chuck and tell them that they always knew they were innocent. One was Barry Kleinschmidt, the sergeant who had brought Jorge into the visitation room the first time Chuck saw him in jail.
Chuck sipped his champagne and told them, “Thanks, it was good to have your support.”
Each time a cop came over, Jorge looked at Chuck with a pained expression and took another swallow of beer. Chuck just smiled backed serenely.
After three beers, Jorge leaned toward Chuck and lowered his voice. “Most of these guys thought I shot Franco and you shot Smoot. Now they say they never believed we did it.” He frowned and raised his beer again. “It chaps my ass to see guys I thought I knew lie right to my face.” He drank some more.
Chuck took a long swig of his fourth glass of champagne and belched. “Jorge, they’re not lying. Those cops truly believe that they always thought you and I were innocent.”
He gestured over his shoulder with the champagne glass. “Take Barry Kleinschmidt. The last thing he said to you when he brought you to visit me in jail that first time was something like ‘You did the city a favor. That bastard Franco deserved it.’”
“Yeah, he called Franco a ‘rat bastard.’ I remember everything about that meeting.”
“Whatever.” Chuck waved his champagne glass, almost spilled some. “But Barry won’t remember it that way. He’ll remember it as ‘I know you didn’t kill that bastard Franco, but even if you had, you’d have done the city a favor.’ See the difference? He changes his memory to fit subsequent events.” He had a little trouble saying subsequent.
“You really think people change their memories?” Jorge belched and signaled for another beer.
Barney came over to pick up Jorge’s empty.
Chuck said, “Barney, you better bring us a plate of Buffalo wings. And we’ll need a cab later.” He belched and winked.
“I asked you if you believe people change their memories,” said Jorge.
“Absolutely. I have a theory about why they do that.”
“You have a theory about everything.”
“Indubitably and indeed.” He had a hard time pronouncing the words. “I call it the McCrary’s convenient memory hypothesis. That has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”
“McCrary’s bullshit theory is more like it.” Jorge laughed. “Chuck, you’re blowing smoke up my ass again.” His next beer arrived and he took a long pull.
They each grabbed a chicken wing.
Chuck took another hit of the champagne. He belched again. “You want to hear my hypo—hypothewhatsis—theory or not?”
“Go for it, big guy.”
“People remember what is convenient for them to remember. Hell, we all do it. Right now I remember Terry as being a shallow person, ’cause she broke up with me.”
Jorge looked at his beer glass. “I think this better be my last one.”
Chuck poured the last of the champagne into his glass. “Me too.” He belched and tasted the champagne and chicken wings. “I hope I’m not gonna be sick later.”
Chuck looked up from the table just as Kelly and Bigs walked in. Bigs’ face lit up with a smile. The chair creaked as he sat at the table. “Kelly and I heard you all were over here. We wanted to come and congratulate you both.”
They shook hands all around.
“And we want to apologize for doubting you—either one of you,” Kelly added.
Jorge jumped to his feet. “Aha! See, Chuck, not everyone has a convenient memory. High fives all around.” He held his hands toward the two partners.
They each gave him a high five, but they looked at Chuck and Jorge like they were crazy.
Chuck and Jorge burst out laughing.
“Sorry, guys, you came in on the end of a long, philosophical discussion based on consuming copious quantities of alcohol,” Chuck explained. “We’re not crazy. We’re just a little drunk.”
Chapter 88
Kelly cancelled the cab and the two detectives gave Jorge and Chuck a ride home. “The least we can do, Chuck. We took you away from home in an unmarked car. We’ll bring you back the same way. Sort of an elegant symmetry there,” Bigs said.
Chuck’s grandparents were mad at him for coming home drunk.
Chuck grinned. “At least I didn’t get drunk when Terry left me, Grandma. I have a strict rule that I don’t drink when I’m sad. And not much when I’m happy.” Chuck could count on one hand the number of times he’d drunk too much to drive legally.
He looked at his grandfather. “But I’d never been charged with murder before, and neither had Jorge. Getting the charges dropped on both of us seemed pretty special, Grandpa. I figured Jorge needed to let off steam, and we both needed to give our cop friends the chance to see us and shake our hands. Barney’s bar was the perfect place for that. Otherwise, those guys might have felt guilty and taken their guilty consciences out on us.”
Grandpa smiled a little. “Are all your fences mended now?”
“Don’t know, but I’ve done what I could.”
Chuck slept it off and the next morning he convinced his grandparents that it was okay for them to go back to Texas.
After he and Clint took them to the airport, Chuck called Kelly. “Have you taken Murphy into custody?”
“No. He wasn’t at his house. Both cars were gone too. We don’t know where Jessica is, either.”
“With both cars gone, they may not be together. Did you search his house?”
“Is the Pope Catholic? We didn’t find any guns or ammo. Bigs thinks he’s going to do something stupid.”
“I do too.” Chuck told her about his conversation with Murphy. “And he told me he thought his life was pretty much over.”
“We’ve put out a BOLO for his car. It’ll turn up.”
>
“Yeah, but it might turn up with his and Jessica’s bodies in it. I tell you, Kelly, Murphy is at the end of his rope. And it’s starting to unravel.”
Chapter 89
Chuck’s phone rang. Karen Castellano’s name and number showed on the screen.
“Hey, Karen. What’s up?”
Chuck could hear Karen crying. “Jessica’s in trouble.”
“Why do you say that?”
“We were talking on the phone and I heard her doorbell. She looked in the peephole and said it was Dan. She told me she’d get rid of him and call me back.” She stifled a sob. “That was a half hour ago, Chuck. She hasn’t called.”
“Have you called her?”
“Of course I have, you idiot! Her phone goes straight to voicemail. I sent her a text and she hasn’t answered. I just know she’s in bad trouble with Dan.”
“Easy, Karen. Hold it together for a minute. Where’s Jessica’s new apartment?”
“She’s staying at an apartment in Gladesview until we find a place more convenient for both of us.”
“You two moving in together?”
“Don’t start with me, Chuck.”
“I wasn’t starting anything. I just wanted to know if you and Jessica were getting a place together. Friends like to know what’s going on in other friends’ lives. Just because you and Jorge are getting a divorce doesn’t mean we aren’t friends anymore.
Karen sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry I called you an idiot. Will you help me?”
“Of course I will. That’s what friends do. Do you have a key to the apartment?”
“Yes.”
“Where was Jessica when you were talking?”
She told him.
“Okay. I’m heading over there. Bring the key to the bottom of the stairway that goes up to the unit. I don’t want Dan to see you through the window. As soon as you and I hang up, call 9-1-1 and tell them where Dan is.”
#
Jessica had rented Unit 3117 in the Gladesview Apartments, the same unit where Chuck had confronted her and Karen a few days before. How ironic, thought Chuck. At least I know the apartment layout.
Chuck picked up Snoop on his way to the apartment.
He stopped the van just inside the parking lot so they could prepare out of sight. Chuck handed Snoop a protective vest from the back of the van.
“You oughta give me hazardous duty pay for this, Chuck. Anytime a guy wears a bulletproof vest, it means he’s likely to get shot at.”
“If I get out of this alive, I’ll buy you a Heart Stopper hamburger and a beer at the Fat Tummy.”
“Close enough. Just don’t get yourself killed; I’m looking forward to that burger.” He held up the vest. “You’re bigger than me.” Snoop adjusted the straps. “I don’t know why I bother with this vest; you’re the guy that’s going in. I’m just hanging around as backup.”
“Better safe than sorry, Snoop.”
“And you may not need a vest either. As good a shot as Murphy is, he’ll probably shoot you between the eyes.”
“Maybe Murphy will have the hiccups. Or something.” Chuck put on a Gator sweatshirt over his vest.
“He’ll probably kill us both.”
“That’s what I like about you, Snoop. Always the incurable optimist.” Chuck strapped a Browning .380 in an ankle holster on his right leg and stuck a Glock 26 subcompact in his belt in the small of his back. His Glock 17 he put in a shoulder holster and slipped on a raw silk sport coat to cover it all.
Snoop appraised his friend. “Murphy will spot the 17 in a second, but maybe he’ll miss one of the other guns.”
“Or maybe I won’t need a gun, Snoop.”
Snoop scoffed. “Maybe the Federal government will balance the budget.”
They got back in the van. Chuck dropped Snoop off where he couldn’t be seen and parked the van where he’d parked before. He studied the front of Unit 3117. Venetian blinds covered the windows. They were closed.
He called Karen. “I’m in the parking lot. Did Jessica put up drapes in the living room?”
“No. Just the blinds. I’m at the bottom of the stairs. Snoop’s with me. Be careful.”
“That’s why I’m still alive.”
As he crossed the pavement, one slat of the blinds moved. Chuck knew that Murphy had spotted him. He waved at the window. The slat closed.
Chuck met Karen and Snoop at the bottom of the stairs. “Have you got the key?”
She thrust it at him. “Here. Be careful.”
Chuck forced a smile.
Chuck and Snoop climbed the stairs to the third floor instead of taking the elevator. Snoop stopped at the top of the stairs. Chuck walked to 3117 and stood beside the front door with his back against the concrete wall. As safe a place as any, he thought
He gave Snoop a thumbs-up and rang the doorbell. Nothing.
He knocked on the door. More nothing.
He knocked again. “Jessica. It’s Chuck McCrary. Are you in there?”
He heard a muffled scream from inside, quickly extinguished.
Chuck called Murphy’s cellphone. He heard a phone ring through the apartment door.
After four rings, it went to voicemail. Chuck spoke loud enough for Murphy to hear him through the door. “Dan, this is Chuck McCrary. I’m right outside the door. The cops are on the way. We can work this out so no one gets hurt. Let’s do that, okay? You let me in, and I’ll walk you out when the cops get here. No trigger-happy rooky will shoot you if you’re with me. How does that sound?” He put his phone away.
Two black-and-whites rounded the corner of the building, red and blue lights flashing.
Chuck hollered at the door. “Dan, the cops are here. I have a key. I’m about to unlock the door and come in. Let’s talk, okay. Don’t do anything you’ll regret. And don’t shoot. You can always shoot me later.”
He stuck the key in the lock. If Murphy is going to shoot, he’ll shoot through the door when he hears me insert the key. But he’ll shoot through the center of the door to have the best chance of hitting me. Maybe my vest will protect me. He held his breath and turned the key.
He pushed the door open, held his hands at shoulder height, and walked in.
Chapter 90
Dan and Jessica sat at the dinner table at one end of the combination living/dining room. Dan was on the long side and Jessica at the far end. Dan had handcuffed Jessica’s right wrist to his own left.
Two dining room chairs lay on their side across the room. One of the chair backs had pulled loose from the frame. A jagged hole marred the sheetrock above where the broken chair lay.
An open bottle of cheap Scotch sat on the table. About four inches was gone. Dan’s left hand was wrapped around an old-fashioned glass that held an inch of amber liquid. A new Glock 17 lay an inch from his right hand.
Just like the one he killed Franco with, thought Chuck.
Murphy lifted the glass and took a drink, pulling Jessica’s arm along with it. He set the glass down heavily. “Hello, Chuck. Welcome to the party. Or maybe this is a wake. I haven’t decided. Close the door.”
Chuck had purposely left the door open when he entered. He ignored the command and instead took a step closer to the table.
“Close the goddamn door!” Dan picked up the Glock and waved it in Chuck’s direction.
“Okay, Dan. I’ll do it.” Chuck sidestepped to the door, pushed it gently. It closed but did not latch. He hoped Dan hadn’t noticed. “The cops are outside. How you want to do this, Dan?”
“How you want to do this, Dan?” Murphy mocked. “How do I want to do this? That depends on what you mean by ‘this.’”
“We can work out a peaceful way where no one gets hurt, Dan. That’s what I meant. I want to end this peacefully.”
“Peacefully. What a beautiful word. You know my world was peaceful before Jorge became my partner. Jessica and I had a good life, a good marriage. We wanted to have kids. At least I did. Real peaceful.” He took another drink.
>
“That’s gone down the toilet with this Karen crap.” He waved the pistol around the room aimlessly.
“Jessica, are you all right? Has he hurt you?”
Murphy pointed the gun at her. “Well, bitch? Why don’t you answer him? Tell him I haven’t laid a hand on you. In fact, I haven’t laid a hand on you in weeks. Ha, ha. That’s funny. I haven’t laid a hand on you in weeks.” He began to cry.
Chuck took a step closer. “Dan, why don’t you uncuff yourself and let’s you and I take a walk outside. I’ll make sure no one shoots you by mistake.”
Murphy laughed. It was not a happy sound. “Take a walk outside. Ha, ha! I’ve got a better idea. Let’s take a walk on the wild side instead.” He waggled the Glock in Chuck’s direction. Then he put it against Jessica’s throat. Then he put it to his own temple.
He hasn’t drunk enough liquid courage to do it yet. But if he keeps drinking, it won’t be long before he’ll reach that point. I’ll have to make a hard decision. Soon.
Murphy extended the empty glass toward Jessica with his left hand. Jessica’s right arm followed, tethered by the handcuffs.
She grabbed the bottle in her left hand. Her hand shook, rattling the bottle against the glass as she poured another inch of Scotch. Her lower lip trembled. Her breath was ragged.
Murphy took another drink, jerking Jessica’s right arm toward his mouth. “Good for what ails you.”
Tears streamed down Jessica’s cheeks. Her nose ran. She wiped it with her left forearm. Her whole body shook.
“Sit down, Chuck. This is a party—or a wake.” He laughed, but it was a raspy, unhappy sound. “You should make yourself comfortable at a party. Sit down.”
Chuck picked up the dining chair that wasn’t broken, placed it in the center of the room, and sat.
Murphy pointed the gun at Chuck’s forehead, his aim as steady as an anvil. Chuck felt his gut tighten.
“Remove the pistol with the fingertips of your left hand and toss it over here.”
Chuck shrugged out of his coat and dropped it on the floor to his right. He grasped the handle of the Glock 17 with his left thumb and first two fingers, lifting it from the shoulder holster, and dropped in on the floor.
Double Fake, Double Murder (A Carlos McCrary, Private Investigator, Mystery Thriller Series Book 2) Page 22
