by Parnell Hall
“So?”
“So she called 911. A cruiser responded. Unfortunately, one of the cops was green.”
“Green?”
“Yeah. Rookie cop. Rookie mistake. It was his first murder scene.”
“What did he do?”
“What he did was disturb the corpse. Not that unusual, really. Actually happens all the time. I mean, you gotta make sure the guys dead. Not that there was any doubt in this case. Anyway, the long and short of it is, the kid touched the body and there you are.”
“Where? Where the hell am I? You having fun dragging this out?”
“No, I’m not,” Frost said. “It might surprise you, but I’m not enjoying this at all. Anyway—and this is the part that doesn’t leave this room—it happens the rookie cop took something off the body.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were. But that’s a fact. His partner saw him do it, but by then it was too late.” Frost grimaced, raised his hand. “I’ll tell you something else off the record. Nine cops out of ten see that happen, wouldn’t say a word, they’d simply put it back. But, oh no, this cop’s a stickler, does everything by the numbers, and who’s to say he’s not right. Anyway, instead of replacing it, he bags it, marks it, and sends it in.”
“So what was it?”
“It was this,” Frost said. He picked up a plastic evidence bag from his desk. It was a small bag, about six by nine, with a white piece of paper in it. He held it up for a moment, then passed it over.
I took a look and gawked.
On the paper, in longhand, were two words.
Stanley Hastings.
36.
I STARED AT BABY FACE Frost. “This can’t be right.”
“Oh? Why not?”
“It makes no sense.”
“Oh, yeah? It makes sense to me. You call on people, and they die with your name in their hand.”
“That makes sense to you?”
“It establishes a pattern.”
“A pattern of what? I didn’t kill these people.”
“I never said you did.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Particularly after you advising me I didn’t need a lawyer.”
“I don’t think you do.”
“You don’t peg me for these crimes?”
“Give me a break. Even for the most dedicated private detective, that would seem overzealous.”
“I’m glad you can joke about it. It shows you’re a real fun guy. You mind telling me what the hell is going on?”
Frost shrugged. “What you see is what you get. The guy was holding that paper in his hand. You have any idea how it got there?”
“None at all. What’s more, I don’t think he wrote it.”
Frost raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”
“Handwriting should be able to tell that, shouldn’t they? Whether he wrote it?”
“What makes you think he didn’t?”
“Because I didn’t see it there. When I called on him. It’s a page from a notebook, right? Small spiral notebook. Torn off at the top. Well, I don’t remember seeing one around.” I put up my hands. “And that’s not even the point. The point is, the killer put this in the guy’s hand deliberately. That’s the only thing that makes sense. In which case, the killer either wrote it himself, or he got Doug Mark to write it. At least that’s how I figure it.”
“And why would the killer do that?”
“To frame me. Obviously.”
“Obviously? But it’s such a clumsy frame. It wouldn’t fool anyone.”
“I’m delighted to hear it. But you gotta remember. You know me. This is not our first case. The frame isn’t at all convincing because you know I didn’t do it. But the killer doesn’t know that. The killer thinks any evidence implicating me will be taken at face value. See what I mean?”
“Granted,” Frost said. “I’m perfectly willing to accept that theory, that the killer is trying to frame you. In fact, I practically have to accept it, since it happened twice. Once, you put down to coincidence. Twice is hard to ignore. So, if we accept the premise the killer is trying to frame you, the question is why?”
“Only one reason I can think of.”
“What’s that?”
“They want me off the case.”
Frost frowned. “Interesting. Interesting theory, that. What is it that you’re doing that’s dangerous to the killer? The obvious answer is the phone calls. You were hired to trace the phone calls. But the cops are working on that too. So what would be the point of eliminating you?”
“Well ...” I said.
“Well what?”
“Not to toot my own horn, but if you think about it, isn’t it slightly conceivable that the killer might be afraid I might be onto something, but wouldn’t consider Sergeant Thurman a threat?”
Thurman arrived just then, came crashing into Frost’s office without so much as a by-your-leave, and said, “The body’s on the way to the morgue. What’s his story?”
Frost shrugged. “Says he’s been framed.”
“Gee, that’s a new one,” Thurman said. “You discuss the paper?”
“Yes, we did.”
“How’s he explain that?”
“The killer put it in his hand.”
“How convenient,”
“I suppose it makes more sense that I would put it in his hand, in order to implicate myself?”
“Don’t talk wise,” Thurman said. “Why didn’t you tell me about this guy?”
“What?”
“Yesterday. When you called on him. Why didn’t you fill me in?”
“I had no idea he was important. I was merely running down leads.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, it’s my case, I’m in charge, I wanna know what those leads are.”
“I’ll tell you anything you wanna know.”
“I don’t mean now,” Thurman said. “I mean then. You have to tell me then.”
“That’s beyond my capabilities.”
Thurman’s face was getting redder by the minute. “Don’t crack wise. You know what I mean. This is a murder investigation. Anything you’ve got, I want.”
“I don’t have anything,” I said. “Like I said, I’m just chasing leads.”
“What made you chase this one?”
“I told you. He had a reason to hate Winnington. That’s what I was looking for.”
“So why didn’t you bring it to me?”
“Are you kidding? You wouldn’t have listened. You’re so fixated on the guy from the book signing. Now that that’s over with, maybe you’ll listen to reason.”
“Over with?”
“Yeah. Doesn’t this murder exonerate him?”
“Not at all.”
I stared at Thurman. “You don’t think the murders and the phone calls are related?”
“Of course I do.”
“So if the guy didn’t kill Doug Mark, that lets him off the hook, doesn’t it?”
Thurman said nothing. Merely glared.
“Well, doesn’t it?”
“No, it doesn’t. The man is guilty.”
I blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“That’s the guy. He did it. No doubt in my mind.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “I don’t understand. The guy either went to Doug Mark’s or he didn’t. If he didn’t, he’s off the hook, right?”
Sergeant Thurman said nothing.
ADA Frost cleared his throat. “While the autopsy report is not yet in, it would appear Doug Mark was killed some time yesterday in the early evening.”
“Yeah. So?”
“The crank calls your client has been receiving all took place during the day. During normal business hours. Nine to five. There was no reason to assume the caller would make one at any other time.”
My eyes widened. I turned to Sergeant Thurman. “You lost him?”
“I didn’t lose him. He wasn’t under twenty-four-hour surveillance.”
That’s when I snapped, blew up, went off the deep
end.
“I don’t believe this. I absolutely don’t believe this. I’m sorry, but it’s too damn much.” I wheeled on Thurman. “Not only did you fuck up and let the guy go, but now you’re using that as an excuse to argue that the guy is guilty? I mean, of all the stupid, idiotic, numbnuts things I’ve ever heard, this takes the fucking cake!”
It occurred to me long about then that my honeymoon with Sergeant Thurman was probably over.
37.
MACAULLIF WAS AMUSED. That figured. MacAullif was in one of those contrary moods where anything that pissed me off probably made his day.
“It isn’t funny,” I told him.
“Depends on where you sit,” MacAullif said. “Now me, I’m not involved in this case at all, and I like it a lot.”
“I’m glad you’re having so much fun. It happens two people are dead.”
“Yeah, yeah, and it’s tragic and all that,” MacAullif said. “But, you know, I’m a homicide cop. Any case I get, someone’s likely to be dead. Some of them are sad, some of them are funny, and that’s how it is.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“Right. You led the killer to both victims, so you’re Typhoid Mary, and it’s all your fault. I know the way you think. You happen to be full of shit, but nothing I can say is gonna change that, so we skip over it and move on. Not counting that, what have you got, you’ve got Sergeant Thurman looking like a Keystone Kop again. And you expect me not to laugh.”
“He’s got the wrong man.”
“So? For Sergeant Thurman this is not a unique situation. I wouldn’t let it worry you. If he’s really the wrong man, eventually it will become obvious. I mean to the point where even Sergeant Thurman will see it. Meanwhile, it’s pretty damn funny.”
“Meanwhile, I need a course of action.”
MacAullif grimaced. “Jesus Christ, what a pain in the ass. What’sa matter, you been watchin' too much TV, you need a course of action?”
“I’m getting paid to do a job. I’d like to do it.”
“Aha, that’s different,” MacAullif said. “You want to justify your employment. And here I thought this was all motivated by guilt.”
“Never mind guilt. But if I’m leading the killer to these people, I’d rather not lead him to anyone else.”
“Except me.”
“That’s not funny.”
“Yeah, well, just between you and me, I’m not really worried. But let me see if I’ve got this straight. The reason you’re in here talkin’ to me now is because you’re afraid to talk to anybody else?”
“That’s not exactly true.”
“It’s close enough,” MacAullif said. “Okay, you wanna talk, talk, then let me get on with my life.”
“Let me ask you some questions.”
“Shoot.”
“Why is the killer framing me?”
“That’s your question?”
“It’s one of ’em.”
“It’s a pretty good one. If I were in your place, I’d probably want to know that too.”
“MacAullif.”
“What, you’re pissed off I don’t have an answer? All right, I got an answer. In fact, I got several. Which is the whole problem. I don’t have the answer. The right answer. The one you’re lookin’ for. But you want some answers, here goes. Why is the killer framing you? First off, to draw suspicion away from himself. That is generally the purpose of a frame. The killer frames someone to get himself off.”
MacAullif took out a cigar. He didn’t unwrap it, just drummed it on the desk. “Now we got a little problem here in that the frame is not very good. In fact, it’s bad, it’s terrible, it’s horrible, it stinks to high heaven, and why would anyone even bother to try?”
“Exactly my point,” I said.
“So we look for another reason.”
“Have you got one?”
Sure.”
“What’s that?”
“Because you’re there.” MacAullif shrugged. “Same reason they climb the mountain, right? But that’s basically it. You happen to be there. The killer knows that, so the killer underlines it. It may not frame you for the crime, but it certainly involves you in the case.”
“Why does the killer want to do that?”
“How the hell should I know? We don’t know if it’s convenient, or if it’s personal. Which is the flip side of because you’re there. You’re not framed because you’re there. you’re framed because you’re you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The killer hates you. It’s strictly personal, and the killer’s doin’ this because he hates your guts.” MacAullif looked at me. “Is there anyone whose toes you stepped on during this investigation?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Well, let me put it another way. Is there anyone involved in the case you don’t particularly like?” As I raised my eyebrows, he added, “Not counting Sergeant Thurman.”
“Oh.” I frowned. “Well ...”
“Well, what?”
“Well, there’s no one I actively dislike. On the other hand, I find Kenneth P. Winnington to be arrogant and condescending.”
“I’ll buy that.”
“But, even if he were aware of it, I can’t see him killing two people just to teach me a lesson.”
“Of course not. But if he were killing two people and didn’t like you, he might take advantage of the opportunity to tweak your nose.”
“Are you serious?”
“I’m offering you theories. What’s wrong with that one?”
“Then Winnington would have to be behind the whole thing.”
“Of course. It’s his wife who’s being harassed, isn’t it? The husband’s always the most likely suspect.”
“He’s not making the calls.”
“No, he would have an accomplice.”
“You really think so?”
“No,” MacAullif said irritably. “How many times do I have to say it? I’m talking theory. It’s just one theory, and it isn’t even the best one.”
“What’s the best one?”
“That you’re stepping on the killer’s toes. That you’re getting close, the killer sees you as a threat, and tries to head you off.”
“But I’m not getting close.”
“Yeah, but the killer doesn’t know you’re incompetent. He thinks a detective’s on his tail.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“That give you enough to go on?”
“That gives me nothing I didn’t already know.”
“What about your load of fish?”
“What about ’em?”
“You find out where they came from?”
“I haven’t had time.”
“You had time to get this editor killed.”
“That isn’t funny.”
“No, it’s not. So, you don’t know about the fish. But it must have occurred to you it goes along with the notes.”
“The notes?”
“The notes with your name on ’em the victims are clutching. It’s far-fetched, theatrical, larger than life. The type of thing you’d expect to find in a book.”
“Yes, of course. So what?”
“In one of Winnington’s books?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh? Have you read one?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Surely if there was a similarity, someone would have mentioned it.”
“Oh? Who’d you tell about the fish?”
“No one.”
“So how’d they know to mention it?”
“I didn’t mean the fish.”
“You mean the notes?”
“Yeah.”
“The notes are no big deal. It’s a fucking cliché. The victim dies with a clue in his hand. You could have the same thing in half a dozen books and no one would think a thing of it. It’s only when you throw in the fish.”
“All right, I get the point. I’ll find out if there’s anything simi
lar in any of his books.”
“Good,” MacAullif said. “Quite frankly, I doubt it. But I wouldn’t pass it up.”
“You have any more bad advice?”
MacAullif frowned, rattled the cigar back and forth between his fingers and his thumb. “You say this guy was shot?”
“That’s right.”
“And the other one was strangled?”
“Uh-huh. What do you make of that?”
“First off, you don’t have your typical serial killer. ’Cause he doesn’t change his MO. So, your first consideration is, did the same person commit both crimes?”
“Don’t you think so?”
“What I think’s not important. We’re examining possibilities here.”
“Don’t be a pain in the ass. I know we’re talking possibilities. What’s your opinion?”
MacAullif leveled the cigar at me. “You wanna hear what I have to say? Then don’t give me this cut-to-the-chase bullshit. I gotta lay out all the possibilities, see which ones I like. The problem is you like to jump to the conclusion without going through all the steps. Which is probably why you’re so often wrong.”
MacAullif leaned back in his chair, scratched his nose with the cigar. “Where was I. Oh, yeah, did the same person commit both crimes. Well, that’s one possibility. In its favor is the notes with your name on ’em. And the connection to Winnington. Is there any reasonable hypothesis that explains those facts without the same person committing both crimes? I would say there were two. First scenario, copycat crime. Second killer, familiar with details from first crime, recreates note in hand. However, killer is not true copycat in not mimicking means of death.
“Second scenario, conspiracy. Accomplice of first killer commits second crime. Uses own method of death while carrying out general theme.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “And do you think either of those are the case?”
“Not ready. My gut feeling is the same person killed them both.”
“Then why use different means?”
“Actually, that’s not so hard,” MacAullif said. “Because the first one was strangled and the second one was shot. Instead of the other way around,”
“What do you mean?”
“The first killing may not have been planned. The guy’s talkin’ to this woman, suddenly realizes he has to kill her. He has no weapon in hand, so he strangles her. After that, he’s upped the ante, it’s a no-limit game, he knows it, and he arms himself. So the second one he shoots.”
