Murder in Mystic Grove

by S F Bose

  “It was,” he agreed.

  I looked out the window at the snow-covered fields. I felt envious. There was nothing that my parents, siblings, and I did together like Sam’s family.

  We lapsed into temporary silence. After five minutes of driving, he asked,

  “So how was dinner with your ex-boss?”

  I drank some coffee and wrapped my hands around the mug. “It was okay. He decided to keep me on leave of absence status for a while.”

  “Why?”

  Sam’s voice was sharp and I looked over at him. He wore his black storm parka, a black turtleneck, blue jeans, and his tweed Irish cap. His eyes focused straight ahead on the highway, but he looked tense.

  “It’s a paperwork thing, Sam,” I lied. “I might be eligible for an end of year bonus. So he’s going to keep me on the books.” Thinking Sam might ask I had come up with the story. I didn’t want to worry him with the truth.

  “Oh,” he said more quietly. “Well that makes sense. Is it a lot of money?”

  I nodded. “It’s enough. It doesn’t hurt to be practical.”

  “No, not at all,” he agreed and smiled.

  I smiled back and glanced out the passenger window at the passing countryside. I didn’t like lying to Sam.

  ***

  Eddie rented a small, ranch house surrounded by trees on a quiet, country road. He had neighbors about 300 feet on either side of his house. Another ranch house sat across the road from him.

  Sam parked the Jeep on the side of the road. Walking up the short driveway, we passed a white panel truck. There was a large, magnetic sign on the side that read, “Klein Electrical Services” in big, black letters on a white background. The second line had Klein’s telephone number. The third line read in script, “No Job Too Large or Too Small.” I checked the other side of the truck and found the same advertising.

  While Sam rang the doorbell, I quickly started up the recorder application on my phone. Before the doorbell tones faded away, Eddie Klein was at the front door. He looked at us with tired bluish gray eyes. From Mitch’s profile, I knew he was 42. Eddie was tall and thin and didn’t have much muscle mass. His reddish blond hair was thinning, but his red mustache was very thick. He wore a blue, plaid shirt and blue jeans.

  Eddie smiled and greeted us. “Nice to meet you. Call me Eddie. Mr. Klein is my dad.” He barked out a loud laugh. We smiled, introduced ourselves, and shook hands. Then Eddie waved us into the house. A beautiful red retriever ran back and forth between us.

  “That’s Flip. He’s not a year old yet so he has a lot of puppy in him. Don’t worry, he doesn’t bite,” Eddie said, leading us to a sparse home office.

  “What breed is he?” I asked.

  “They call it Golden Irish. It’s a mix between golden retrievers and Irish setters. He was my sister’s dog, but she moved to a place that doesn’t allow pets. So I took him.”

  “He’s a beautiful dog,” Sam said, petting Flip’s head. Flip had a red coat, floppy ears, beautiful eyes, and a big grin.

  Walking behind his desk, Eddie dropped into big, leather, executive chair. Sam and I sat on the guest chairs in front of the desk, while Flip stretched out on the floor near Eddie. I put my phone and travel mug on the edge of the desk.

  “Have you been an electrician long?” I asked to break the ice.

  “Over twenty years,” he replied with a smile. “My dad worked as a tool and die maker at Perkins-Mueller, a factory on the near eastside, for decades. He told me if I didn’t go to college, I had to learn a trade and work for myself. I ended up doing both.”

  “Where’d you go to college?” I asked.

  “UW-Madison. Got a business degree and worked in an office for exactly one year. Bored to tears. Ended up becoming an electrician. Best move I ever made.” Eddie’s grin was contagious.

  “So you’re from Madison?” Sam asked.

  “Yeah born and raised on the near east side. Schenk-Atwood, if you know it,” he said. Sam shook his head.

  As he spoke, Eddie glanced at my white hair but didn’t make any comments. I warmed up to him.

  “So you said on the phone you needed some electrical work done?” he asked Sam.

  “Actually, Eddie, I lied about that. I’m a private investigator out of Mystic Grove. Liz is my colleague,” Sam said. He got up and showed Klein his license. Eddie read the license closely and handed it back to Sam.

  Eddie frowned and watched as Sam sat down again. “Are you working for my wife? Look, I don’t care what she says. I’m up to date on child support. Just because I have a new girlfriend doesn’t mean I’m not going to help support my kids.”

  Sam held up his right hand to stop Klein.

  “We’re here about Justin Church, Eddie,” I said loudly. “We’re looking into the case and hope you can help us.”

  Eddie stopped talking. His eyes bounced back and forth between us. “What about Justin? What case?”

  Sam and I exchanged a glance. “Eddie, Justin was killed a week ago at the Emporium,” Sam said.

  I watched Eddie’s face closely. His eyebrows soared toward his scalp line, his eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open. He started to say something and stopped. Then he shook his head. Either he was an excellent actor or he was truly surprised about the news.

  “Justin Church is dead? Killed? Killed how?” he demanded.

  “He was beaten and shot,” Sam replied.

  “You’re telling me someone murdered Justin Church? “ Eddie asked in a shocked voice. He was having trouble absorbing the bad news. “When did this happen again?”

  Sam nodded. “I’m afraid so, Eddie. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you. Someone murdered Justin a week ago.”

  “A week ago? Oh my God,” Eddie said, his voice rising. He shot to his feet and covered his mouth with his right hand. Then he turned in a circle and sat down again. Flip watched him and whined.

  “Do you want some water or something?” I asked.

  Eddie just looked at me in shock. “Who would do that to Justin? He didn’t have any enemies.”

  “You didn’t see it in the newspaper or elsewhere?” Sam asked.

  Eddie shook his head. “Who’s got time? When I’m not working or with the girlfriend, I’m sleeping. I can’t believe this. Who killed him?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Sam replied.

  Eddie’s eyebrows angled down into a frown, his face turned beat red, and his hands balled up into fists. He erupted. “Damn! I’ve known Justin since first grade. He was a decent guy and a great friend. I hope whoever killed him rots in hell!” When he slammed his right fist on his desk, I jumped.

  Flip whined again, jumped up, and ran to Eddie. Eddie put his left arm around the dog and lowered his voice, “It’s okay, buddy. It’s okay.” The anger drained from his face and Eddie looked sad.

  Sam nodded. “We want to see justice too, Eddie.”

  “Where did this happen?” Eddie asked. Sam quickly ran through the details of Justin’s murder at the Emporium.

  Eddie’s eyes widened again. “His parents are okay?”

  “They are. Peter and Martha were in Madison that day,” I said.

  “Thank God,” Eddie replied.

  “When’s the last time you saw Justin?” I asked.

  Eddie took a deep breath. He rubbed his face with both his hands and frowned. Then he leaned forward and flipped a page in the scheduler on the desk. “Three weeks ago at our poker game. December 19th. It was the only Friday we could all meet because of the holidays.”

  Flip barked and Eddie scratched his ears. “It’s okay, buddy,” he said and Flip stretched out again.

  “Where’d you play poker?” Sam asked.

  “Here,” said Eddie, waving a hand.

  Sam nodded. “Who all played?”

  “Me, Justin, Jimmy Dietz, and Einstein, a neighbor of mine.”

  “Einstein?” I asked.

  Eddie’s eyes slid to me. “Joel Poston. We call him Einstein. He look
s just like him. Wild hair, thick mustache.”

  “You’ve all been playing poker together for a while?” Sam asked.

  “What? Yeah, for years. We started back when Justin, Einstein, and I were all married.”

  “How’d you meet?” Sam asked.

  Eddie took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Well, like I said, I met Justin in grade school. We were buddies all the way through college, our marriages, and our divorces. I met Jimmy at a local gym and we hit it off. Back then, he was a personal trainer and a gym rat. Einstein was one of my neighbors and we became friends. I got divorced first and moved here. When Einstein got divorced, I recommended this area and he rented a house up the road. A few years ago, Justin divorced and moved back in with his folks. But we still all got together for poker.”

  “How did you all end up playing poker together?” I asked.

  Eddie frowned and shrugged. “Hard to remember. It happened over time. Justin and I played once a month with two other guys. This was back when we were both married. Then I invited Einstein into that group. At some point, I invited Jimmy, but I don’t remember when, exactly. Eventually, the other two guys dropped out and it was just the four of us.”

  “Okay, what was Justin’s mood the last time you played poker?” I asked.

  “Happy! Justin was in a good mood and joking around. Said he was working on something that would change everything for him and his folks.”

  “Did he share any details about what he was working on?” asked Sam.

  Eddie shook his head. “Not that I remember. Justin would sometimes talk about a great project that was going to pay off and then it never did, you know?”

  Sam and I both nodded.

  “But he was well-intentioned. He really thought those things would work out for him,” Eddie said sharply. “They just never did.”

  “But you could tell he was happy that night?” I asked.

  “Yeah, for sure. Justin is…was a very transparent guy. If he was happy, you knew it. If he was down, you knew it. He wasn’t good at putting up false fronts. That night he was very happy.”

  “Was he religious at all?” Sam asked.

  Eddie’s eyebrows jumped up again. “Justin? No. I don’t think so. If he was, he never talked about it around me.”

  “So you never saw Justin carrying a Bible around?” I asked.

  “Never. Are we talking about the same guy?” Eddie asked, looking confused.

  “It was just something we heard,” said Sam vaguely.

  “So Justin didn’t have any enemies?” I asked.

  Eddie shook his head and said firmly, “No. He was opinionated, but he didn’t have enemies. Definitely no one who would kill him.”

  Sam shifted gears. “Okay Eddie, was Justin into more serious gambling? Like through a bookie?”

  Eddie’s right eye started to twitch and his face reddened. He rubbed his eye with his hand and tightened his lips.

  “Look, Eddie, we’re not here to make trouble for you. We just want to find out who killed Justin. I’ll level with you,” said Sam, leaning forward. “The police think a friend of ours might be a good suspect for the killing. We don’t buy it. We’re trying to help this friend out. If we find the real killer, we’ll be helping our friend and also Justin's parents.”

  Eddie stared at Sam for a while.

  “Please help us,” I said and his eyes shifted to me. After what felt like an eternity, Eddie sat forward in his chair. The fingers of his right hand drummed the desk.

  “This can’t come back to me,” he said.

  Sam shook his head. “It won’t.”

  “I’m serious. If this tracks back to me, I’m a dead man. Literally.”

  “You have my word,” Sam said.

  Minutes passed as we watched Eddie struggle with himself.

  “Okay. Maybe it’ll help you catch whoever killed him. Justin was a halfway decent poker player. But he also liked to gamble on sports and he wasn’t very good at that. He had a couple of winning streaks. But mostly he lost,” Eddie said.

  “Where’d he place his bets?” asked Sam. Eddie placed the palms of his hands on the desk. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he kept swallowing nervously.

  “Eddie, this could help us catch Justin’s killer,” I reminded him. Eddie’s eyes darted between Sam and me. He looked scared again.

  “This information can never be tied to me,” said Eddie. “If they found out, they’d come after me in a heartbeat. I have kids, my mom and dad…” His voice trailed off.

  “It won’t come back to you,” Sam replied firmly.

  “Okay,” said Eddie. His voice dropped. “Paulie’s Pub and Pool Hall in Madison. Jimmy Dietz introduced us to the place.”

  “Jimmy Dietz, the gym rat?” asked Sam.

  “Jimmy got a job at Paulie’s about four or five years ago. We played pool there a couple of times but I never felt very comfortable, so I stopped going there. Then around a year ago, Jimmy told us they had gambling at Paulie’s.”

  “Did Justin place his bets with Jimmy?” I asked.

  “No, not Jimmy. A guy named Mr. B runs the betting. He has a whole system set up. He’s supposedly a made guy, which is why I don’t want this to connect back to me,” said Eddie.

  “Made guy?” I asked. Eddie looked exasperated.

  “He’s like old-school mafia.”

  “How do you know this?” asked Sam.

  Eddie paused. Then he said in a quiet voice, “Jimmy told me.”

  “What’s Mr. B’s full name?” I asked.

  “Benedetto. I don’t know his first name.”

  “So Jimmy works for this Mr. B?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Eddie replied, nodding his head slowly.

  “Is Jimmy in the mafia?” I asked.

  Eddie laughed. “Jimmy? No, no way.”

  “What does Jimmy do for Mr. B?” asked Sam.

  “He manages the Pub and Pool Hall for him.”

  Sam lowered his voice. “Does he do anything else there?”

  Eddie grimaced. “He helps deal with the problem cases.”

  “Problem cases?” I asked.

  “Like if a guy keeps losing, sometimes Mr. B will lend him money to keep betting. If the guy doesn’t make his loan payments on time, they go talk to him. Eddie’s one of the guys Mr. B sends out to talk to gamblers.”

  “Mr. B is a loan shark?” asked Sam. “He charges interest?”

  “Oh yeah,” Eddie replied. “I never went down that road myself. But I heard the interest is high.”

  “And if a guy doesn’t pay on time, Jimmy persuades him to?” I asked.

  Eddie nodded. “That’s a good word for it. He’s a persuader. Jimmy hates that part of the job. He’s a really nice guy.” Some nice guy, I thought. He’s the enforcer for Mr. B, who’s running an illegal gambling operation and is a loan shark to boot.

  “So when you or Justin wanted to place a bet, you went to Paulie’s Pub and placed it there?” Sam asked.

  Eddie shook his head. “No, it doesn’t work like that. It’s a different kind of system. It’s like a club. First, Mr. B has to have an opening. There are only one hundred gamblers in the system at any one time. An existing customer has to vouch to Mr. B for a new member. Jimmy vouched for both Justin and me.” He paused and stared down at his desk.

  “Then what?” I prompted.

  “Well, the next step is you have to meet with Mr. B. He requires a two thousand dollar deposit.”

  “A new person pays that directly to Mr. B?” I asked.

  “Right. When you meet with Mr. B, you have to bring an envelope with the money in cash.”

  “That’s a lot of money,” Sam observed.

  Eddie smiled. “It is, but it keeps out the penny ante gamblers and that’s what Mr. B wants.”

  “Why does Mr. B meet with the gamblers first?” I asked.

  Eddie shrugged, his thin shoulders moving up and down. “He’s got this thing where he wants to see you and look into your eyes before he’ll le
t you in. Jimmy says Mr. B can spot a cop a mile away. If he accepts you, he takes the envelope with your two grand. Then you have to give him some personal information, like your name, birthday, address, telephone number, and email address.”

  “So once you hand over the money, you can bet?” I asked.

  Eddie shook his head. “No, you have to wait about a week for them to set up your account. When you give Mr. B your money, he gives you a card with an 8-digit number and a login name. Once your account is set up, they email you the website address.”

  “Then you can bet?” I pressed.

  “Right,” Eddie replied. “The first time you log in, you have to use the login name and enter the 8-digit number as the password. Then you have to pick a new password. Once you’re on, it’s like any online gambling site. They offer baseball, football, soccer and other sports in season. Then they have car racing, tennis, horseracing, and sports like that. You can look at different events, check the lines, and place different kinds of bets.”

  “When you win, they roll the money into your account and when you lose, they deduct the loss from your account,” I said.

  “Exactly. If you keep winning, you can leave the money in your online account. When you do take a payout, they make it look like it’s coming from an online shopping mall. So there’s no problem moving payouts to a bank or an online payment system, if you want. They also have a debit card,” said Eddie. “And you can always deposit more money into your account with a credit card, bank account, or online payment system. But the smart players give cash directly to Mr. B and he deposits it into your account with no trail back to your identity.”

  “Why use Mr. B’s system, though? There are a lot of online gambling sites,” Sam asked.

  “Look into it and you’ll find most of those sites are offshore. You don’t know who runs them or if you can get your money in and out easily. Mr. B is local and everyone trusts him. He only allows a limited number of players. Also, Mr. B runs gimmicks where you can get around five hundred dollars on your birthday, which the players love,” Eddie replied. “It’s very different. And the players are all very loyal to Mr. B.”

  “Wisconsin laws are pretty unforgiving when it comes to illegal gambling and online gambling,” said Sam.