by Ray Flynt
As far as Bennett McCurdy’s motivations, Brad didn’t even want to raise the subject with Greer just yet. He needed more information on the dead man’s history with the police department, how he acquired the nickname Bend, and whether the neighbor’s observations about McCurdy lined up with his career experience. The only man with that perspective was Brad’s friend and mentor, Nick Argostino.
* * *
Forsythia lined Ardleigh Street in the Mt. Airy section of Philadelphia, a sure sign of spring. An especially large bush bloomed at the end of Nick’s drive, and Brad spotted Ruth transplanting pink begonias from a garden-center tray to her window boxes.
She waved as Brad pulled his Mercedes into the driveway.
He gave her a big hug. “How’s the old man?”
“Cantankerous as ever.”
Brad turned. “Maybe I should leave.”
She laughed. “Honestly, he’s been muttering retirement quite a lot these days. If he does, I’ll have to get a job.”
“Why? His pension with the city should be good.”
“It’s not the money. If we’re both here all day long, one of us is going to commit murder.”
Brad’s turn to laugh.
“How’s Beth?”
“She’s good. Visiting Belgium for work meetings for a few days.” Brad tried to keep the anxiety out of his voice. He’d texted Beth before his trip to Nick’s place asking if he could give her a call. She demurred, saying it was late, and added, “Maybe tomorrow.”
Ruth eyed him with concern. “Everything okay with you two?”
Brad grinned. “We miss each other.”
Ruth smiled back. She’d bought his story, and Ruth pushed open the front door. “Come on in, he’s expecting you. Maybe you can take his mind off retirement.”
Brad followed her. “Something smells good.”
“I have a pot roast in the oven. Nothing fancy. You’re staying for dinner.”
An invitation and order wrapped into one.
“I’d be delighted.”
Ruth pointed toward the staircase. “He’s in his office. You know the way.”
Brad did, dating back to the days when the two of them first decided to form the detective agency. Nick would be the silent partner, helping out when his police duties didn’t overwhelm his time. Brad bounded up the stairs and found Nick sitting at his desk, wearing bifocals, and staring at a cruise brochure. “Planning a vacation?”
Nick gave him a sideways glance. “I wish. Ever since that Mediterranean trip you sent us on a few years ago, we keep getting offers in the mail.”
Brad slipped into a wooden chair opposite him. The stale aroma of rum-laced cheroots clung to the air even though an ashtray was missing from his desk. “Ruth tells me you’re thinking about retirement.”
Nick frowned at the office door, as if wishing his wife hadn’t said anything. “Nothing new there. I’ve been thinking about it for the last ten years.”
“For what it’s worth, I’ve heard you mention retirement more frequently over the last few months. I thought you loved your job.”
The castors squeaked on the wooden chair as Nick reclined. “Love police work; hate the bureaucracy. It’s a wonder any policing gets done when everything has to be documented in triplicate and then reviewed by desk jockeys who’d shit themselves if they ever had to confront a real suspect.”
Brad understood but wanted to draw Nick out of his funk before raising the subject of Bennett McCurdy. “You’ll be happy to know that Sharon’s making headway on her undercover assignment.”
“She’s a natural, just like her dad.”
Nick had brought Sharon to Brad’s attention after her father’s suicide. Sharon’s father had served with Nick on the police force. After his death, she needed a place to stay and a new career. Nick had insisted she’d be an asset to their fledgling detective agency, and he was right.
Brad briefed Nick on progress to date in the Attorney General office’s public corruption case against Councilman Parson. He also detailed their early morning meeting with Warren Tulverson.
Nick arched a brow. “I worked that part of the city where Parson wants to develop when I first joined the department. Tuttle was our boundary line. I don’t recall the strip mall. Must’ve been houses back then.” Nick sat upright. “Powerful men get greedy. After changing the rules in their favor and achieving a little success, they assume no one notices. That’s when their greed gets the best of them.”
Brad bobbed his head in agreement.
Nick gazed across the top of his bifocals. “What else you got? You didn’t come all this way to hear about my old patrol beats.”
Brad exhaled. “You know me too well. I’d like to talk with you about Bennett McCurdy.”
Nick scowled. “Next topic.”
“I’d like to stay on this one.”
“No way. I’m not giving you any ammunition Archie Greer can use to crucify my friend in front of a jury.”
“You’re implying that you have that kind of information.”
Nick popped a middle finger at him.
“How well did you know McCurdy?”
“A whole lot better than you know that scumbag Hernandez.”
Brad raised an open palm. “I’ll give you that. I’ve only spent a half hour with him, plus a visit with his mom. He doesn’t strike me as a killer though.”
“That’s what they said about Ted Bundy.”
“Let’s look at the evidence.”
“Exactly.” Nick spun in his chair and roared. “My detectives nailed Hernandez. His fingerprints are on the crowbar, with McCurdy’s DNA found in the suspect’s vehicle and on his pant leg. No amount of courtroom trickery from your buddy Greer is gonna save his ass.”
“Did you look at the crime scene photos?”
Nick glared at him. “Of course, don’t be an asshole.”
“According to the autopsy report, McCurdy was struck multiple times on the head with the murder weapon.”
“You mean Hernandez’s crowbar?”
“Well, actually, it’s the neighbor’s crowbar. Hernandez borrowed it for his fence-building project, but that’s not my point.”
“Get to it then,” Nick muttered impatiently.
“McCurdy’s injury would have resulted in blood spatter far more extensive than a single drop of blood on Hernandez’s pants.”
“My guys saw plenty of plastic drop cloths in the bed of his truck. They figured he covered himself with one of them and later ditched it.”
Brad stood as the squeal of wheels on the Chestnut Hill East Line drew him to the window where he watched a commuter train negotiate a curve ahead of a station stop. “You’re saying Hernandez planned his crime so well that he crossed through three back yards, covered in plastic, looking like Casper the Friendly Ghost, just so he wouldn’t be covered in blood. But then couldn’t manage to wipe his fingerprints off the murder weapon.”
Nick rolled his eyes. “Like a thousand other criminals, Hernandez must’ve got spooked, dropped the weapon, and ran like hell.”
Ruth called out. “Supper in ten minutes.”
Brad resumed his seat, while Nick moved papers on his desk from one pile to another.
He’d always been straight with Nick, and wasn’t about to stop now, even though Archie Greer wouldn’t be happy with him.
“Did you know that McCurdy had run-ins with Hernandez as a juvenile?”
Nick stared at him.
“McCurdy used to torment him, according to Denisa Hernandez. Her son served probation for shoplifting at age fourteen. When he was sixteen, he and a couple of his buddies broke into a warehouse and robbed a candy vending machine.”
Nick sneered. “Yeah, he’s the real innocent type.”
Brad exhaled. “Hernandez was a juvenile. We all make stupid mistakes when we’re young. Besides, the warehouse belonged to one of the other kid’s father. No charges were pressed. After that, anytime an incident happened in Hernandez’s neighborhood, McCurdy
dropped by to quiz him about it.”
Nick shrugged. “I don’t get your point. I’d call that prudent policing, but thanks for telling me. Seems like Hernandez had a long-standing grudge which led to him killing McCurdy.”
This conversation wasn’t going as Brad hoped. “Except Hernandez didn’t even recognize him during their backyard argument over too much noise on the construction site. He hadn’t seen him in more than fifteen years, and McCurdy didn’t have a beard back when Hernandez was a juvenile.”
“You’re telling me he lucked out on his choice of victims?”
Brad held up his hand. “Don’t twist my words. He had no motivation to kill McCurdy.”
Nick gave a disbelieving nod of his head. “Seems like you just outlined a pretty good MO.”
“The next-door neighbors had a similar story to tell about McCurdy going off on the least provocation and harassing them.” Brad detailed his visit with Lyle Grundin and Dennis Letty, recounting their tales of angry noise complaints from their neighbor, and friend’s cars being ticketed when they hosted parties. “It seems like your buddy McCurdy liked to be true to his nickname and bend the rules to suit himself.”
Nick seethed as he gripped the arms of his chair. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. I’ve known Bennett McCurdy for forty years. He was my partner when I first became a detective. I’d trust him with my life.” Nick aimed a shaking finger at Brad, and his voice quivered. “I’ll tell you this, I’m not gonna let you ruin a man’s reputation and blame McCurdy for his own fate at Hernandez’s trial.”
“Supper’s on the table.” Ruth’s voice echoed up the stairwell.
Nick stood, shoved his chair noisily against the desk, and brushed past Brad, who followed through the office door staying two steps behind Nick on the stairs.
Ruth waited in the archway leading to the dining room. “Great. The food won’t get cold.”
Nick’s hand clamped on Brad’s shoulder before he announced, “There’s been a change in plans. Brad won’t be able to stay for dinner.”
19
Bryn Mawr was closer to Lancaster, PA, than Oliver’s apartment, and Saturday morning’s meeting with Tulverson barely caused a blip to our weekend plans. That afternoon, Oliver and I played tourists and visited the Amish Farm and House, the Lancaster Central Market, and toured Wheatland, home to James Buchanan, America’s only bachelor president. Oliver’s a history buff and insisted we go there. Honestly, I could’ve passed. Overnight, we stayed in a quaint B&B. Before returning to Philadelphia we took a Sunday ride on the Strasburg Railroad, powered by a restored steam engine.
Too exhausted to cook, we visited the bistro around the corner from Oliver’s apartment for a late supper.
As the hostess seated us, I caught a glimpse of rainbow-colored hair at a neighboring table and raised my voice. “Ellie?”
She swiveled in her chair. “Sharon,” she screamed, drawing the attention of other diners.
I rushed to her table and fired off questions. “How are you? What are you doing here? I’m with my boyfriend, would you like to join us?”
“I’m here on a date. At the moment, he’s visiting the gents.” She patted the empty chair next to her. “Sit for a minute.”
It had been only one workday but I missed Ellie’s British accent in the office, and the way she greeted everyone saying, “Cheerio.” I figured with his keen sense of hearing, Oliver had already tuned into our conversation, so I took her up on the offer and sat. “I felt so bad about what happened.”
“No worries. Actually, it’s a bit of a relief to be free of the Dragon Lady.”
It marked the first time I’d heard her use Carmen’s disparaging nickname. I smiled. “She’s still my problem. They gave me your old job.”
“I heard. Brilliant.”
How’d she hear?
“Have you had time to line up any new prospects?”
She fluttered her chestnut brows—probably her real hair color. “Working on it.” Ellie retrieved a compact from her purse and dabbed a fresh application of blush to her cheeks. As she finished, a man approached the table. When he sat next to her, I recognized Ron Needell.
“Good evening, Ms. Rojo. What brings you here?” His tone hinted at displeasure that anyone would deprive him of alone time with Ms. Rainbow Hair.
I pointed toward our table. “Oliver and I are about to have dinner.”
He waved in Oliver’s direction, as if he’d be able to see the gesture. “I’ve been wondering if you two are shacking up.”
Ron’s inappropriate comment reminded me of his creepiness factor. I rolled my eyes at Ellie and grinned. “Well, I should get back to him. It’s good to see you Ellie. Let’s catch up next week.” I shoved back my chair.
“Why don’t you both join us,” Ron announced, touching Ellie’s arm, after which she bobbed her head.
Before I could mutter, “No way, José,” Ron had retrieved Oliver from the next table and summoned the waitress for a round of drink orders. The next thing I knew, I was sipping a vodka and soda and making small talk. Following the second round, Ron announced, “Dinner’s on me. Order big or go home.”
Ellie laughed. “What’s the occasion?”
“Rescuing you from Carmen Castillo.” Ron clinked his tumbler against her screwdriver in a toast.
Oliver tapped my leg, no doubt to remind me of Needell’s prior dating history with Carmen—a fact that hadn’t escaped my attention. Until that point, having dinner with Ron and Ellie didn’t appeal to me. However, the chance to pick up dirt on Carmen Castillo whetted my appetite. “I’m the newbie and haven’t had much experience with Carmen.” I stared at Ron. “How long have you known her?”
Oliver pinched me under the table. I swatted his hand away.
“Too long.” Ron stared up at the ceiling. “Parson brought her into the firm three years ago. A mystery woman at the time who commanded everyone’s attention. Nobody could figure out how she cozied up to Parson. She showed off a five-carat diamond and matching wedding band but refused to disclose her spouse’s name. It caused quite the speculation. Hank in contract law offered a $500 reward, and one of our enterprising junior associates, like Oliver here, figured out she’d married local developer Scott McQuillen.”
“Never heard of him.” I lied. “What about you Ellie?”
She bobbed her head. “McQuillen showed up on my first day for a private meeting with the councilman and Carmen. They sure didn’t act like they were married.”
“No surprise, since the two had separated by then.” Ron draped a hand over Ellie’s shoulder, his fingers dangling close to the exposed cleavage spilling from her cocktail dress. “Nobody likes Carmen. What she did to you was unconscionable.”
Ellie batted her eyes.
I couldn’t tell between the two of them who was playing whom. She’d just lost her job and needed a patron to find the next one. Hard to imagine she didn’t detect the same creepiness factor in him that I did, as well as his being at least fifteen years older than her. Despite Ron’s nobody-likes-her comment, he revealed nothing of his own attempts to court Ms. Castillo.
When the waitress came to take our food orders, Ron requested his third old fashioned.
Loose lips sink ships.
I decided to fan the flames of his passion. “It can’t be that hard to find marriage records.”
Ron shook his head. “Normally, no. From what I heard, her marriage took place in Tijuana.”
“You said she’s separated. Do you think she and Parson are fooling around?”
Oliver brushed his foot against mine, but I was having too much fun.
Ron covered his mouth like he might be about to belch. “Don’t think so.” Then he glanced at Ellie to see if she agreed.
Ellie sighed. “This is so distasteful. Let’s not talk about Carmen anymore.”
Our food arrived, which slowed the conversation as we all dug in. Anxious to know more about the current state of affairs between Ron and Ell
ie, I quizzed her between bites of shrimp scampi. “So, you think you might have another job prospect?”
Ellie giggled and turned toward Needell. “Ron’s hoping to find me a spot in his office.”
Does he know it’s against office policy to screw subordinates?
Ron must’ve read my mind. “It’ll probably be arranged through a temp agency. Catalina, my administrative assistant, has an extended vacation scheduled.” He reached over and pinched Ellie’s cheek. “In the meantime, we’ll work on landing you a more permanent position.”
Ellie blushed.
Oliver bobbed his head at the news.
I skewered a shrimp with my fork. “That’s great. Actually, having you back working at the firm will take the heat off me.” When Ron and Ellie stared, I explained, “I’ve been taking guff at the office from people who blame me for getting rid of Ellie to advance my own career. Honestly, I had no idea.”
Ron leaned back in his seat. “Yeah, I’ve heard rumblings.”
It was his turn to draw glances from me and Ellie.
I dabbed my mouth with a napkin. “What do you mean, rumblings?”
Ron hiccupped. “He might be blowing hot air, but Barstow claims he’s gonna challenge Ellie’s firing at the next partners’ meeting. He says the firm’s getting a bad reputation for the revolving door in Parson’s office. Everybody knows it’s Carmen’s fault. Barstow wants to put Parson on notice.”
Bernice is Barstow’s secretary. She must’ve stirred him up on the issue.
Ellie barely reacted, a sign they’d already had this discussion.
I expected another under-table signal from Oliver as I asked, “How well do you get along with my boss?”
Ron initially ignored my question, hoisting his empty tumbler toward the waitress, signaling for a refill—his fourth of the night—but who’s counting.
Ellie gazed at him disapprovingly. She touched my arm, “For what it’s worth, I don’t blame you for my being fired.”
Ron sighed, pushed back his chair, and stood. He bent toward Ellie and whispered, “Little boy’s room.”
His second trip within forty-five minutes, Ellie and I watched as Ron lurched toward the restroom.
