“I tole you –” Bryant’s face turned red and he didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he rushed toward Bishop with his fists clinched. His face was contorted in rage. He poked his fists out in front of him as he did. He bumped into the small coffee table and kicked it out of the way. Some glass thing on top of it, fell to the floor and broke into pieces.
Bishop saw what was coming and immediately stood. But by that time, Bryant was all over him, swinging lefts and rights. The first barrage knocked Bishop back into his chair. He put his arms in front of him to block most of Bryant’s blows. After one round, he pushed himself out of the chair and managed to shove Bryant back.
That stopped the barrage for a second. Bryant reached out and grabbed Bishop’s shirt. He looked at him with a sneer on his face and said, “I’m gonna wipe the floor with you, you scumbag bastard!”
But Bishop was already reacting. Instinctively, when somebody was close enough to grab his shirt, he had an automatic counter and he used it. His left leg flew out and caught Bryant in that spot between his legs that men desperately always tried to protect.
Bryant’s face turned white, his mouth dropped open and he let out a loud bellow of pain. He released Bishop’s shirt. His hands dropped down to his crotch as if somehow that would stop the pain. When he did that, Bishop hit him in the face with a left hand and followed that with a right as hard as he could swing. It knocked Bryant down, doubled over and still in pain, but now his pain was in his jaw as well as his crotch.
Bishop grabbed him by the hair and dragged him to a chair. “Sit your ass there and answer my questions. Got it? If you try to get up, I’ll finish the job.”
He muttered something that sounded like “sucker punch.”
Bishop laughed. “Not a sucker punch. Just punching a sucker. That’d be you.”
Bryant tried to shake his head but his jaw was hurting so much, he could barely wiggle it.
“Now, why did you kill Stan Thomas? I know you did it! Why? He wouldn’t deal with you. Is that it?” Bishop was bluffing but figured with Bryant almost debilitated, he might let something slip.
He just stared at Bishop. “I … I didn’t. I didn’t kill him. I jes wanted him to sell me the stuff. Stuff I wus gittin’ from Orleans was kind uh bitter. His stuff was smooth.”
He flopped back in his chair and touched his throbbing jaw. He was able to move it up and down. From the grimace on his face, it hurt, but didn’t look like it was broken.
“Gonna tell ‘em, police attacked me.”
“Cuts both ways. You attacked a police officer.”
Bishop rubbed his face, and in particular the ridge above his left eye where Bryant had hit him the first time. His hand came away red. It was bleeding down the side of his face.
“So, you’ll get to explain how I got a cut eye out of it before they throw you in the cell.”
Bryant stared at it and shook his head.
“You’ll get five years hard time at Parchman for attacking a police officer. After two months in there, you’ll bend over when the lifers head in your direction. You’ll find out what it’s like to be in hell.”
Bryant cursed.
“Tell me why you shot him then.”
He just shook his head. “Can’t pin that on me. I didn’t do it. ‘N I ain’t gonna say I did, no matter how many times you hit me, or kick me in the balls. I didn’t shoot no body.”
Looking at the man’s face and listening to him, Bishop was convinced. He told him, “Thank you, Bryant for taking the time to see me. Sorry you fell down and hurt yourself. Ought to be more careful.”
He didn’t hear a reply from Bryant, just a groan when he made a move to stand up.
Bishop cursed to himself as he left. Another damn dead end. Son of a bitch.
*****
He drove to his cabin and called the chief. “Want a beer?” he asked. “I’ll tell you what happened when I met with Bryant. It’s not worth typing a report. Besides, my right hand needs a couple of days to limber up.”
“Yeah, no doubt,” the chief said, “I’m not surprised. He’s a hot-head and you don’t take shit. Bound to be an explosion. I guess there was. I’ll be out in fifteen.”
When the chief showed up, he paused to look Bishop up and down. With a grin, he said. “Looks like old Elmer got in a few licks. What does he look like, a train wreck?”
“No, but he wasn’t laughing either. And he couldn’t stand up when I left.”
He explained all that happened, including the questions and Bryant’s answerers.
“So, you got nothing for your trouble, your fight.”
“That’s about it. Not a damn thing. Except I think I can rule him out now, I doubt he did it.”
“Who do you have left … Freddie Meyers? You think he’s the one?”
“Well, he’s the only one I’ve got left. He has to be, or I’ll have to tuck tail and close my file. Admit defeat.”
“Not like you Bishop. To give up.” He finished off his beer and set the bottle down.
“I haven’t quit. I’ve just run out of suspects. Freddie’s my last. Could be somebody in the drug business shot Thomas. Hell, I don’t know. I hope Freddie did it and confesses.”
Bishop stared into space, then said, “I had another thought but can’t get it back. If Freddie’s a wash out, and I can get what it was back, I’ll run it past you. Might be another dead end. Everything else I’ve done so far has been.”
“Dead ends I can live without. Good luck with old Freddie. I hope he did it and signs a confession. I don’t like the guy,” the chief said.
“Nobody does.”
“He looks like a tough bastard, so watch yourself. Take a baseball bat.”
“Probably won’t need one. I’m an officer of the law and he’s a lawyer. He’ll know he can’t beat up on a policeman.” He was also thinking about what he had on Freddie, the use of confidential information on patients he’d tricked Shelly into giving him.
“Yeah. Hope you’re right. Well, I gotta get back to the office. Thanks for the beer. I’ll meet with the mayor too. Let him know where we stand.”
“As knee deep in a pile of shit,” Bishop said, frowning.
“Write me a report I can give him,”
“I will.”
“Be careful. For all of us,” Jenkins told him.
Bishop nodded.
*****
After the chief was out of sight, Bishop went to his computer to write up the report of his last two interviews and his conclusions; that he’d found out nothing worthwhile from either person. “I didn’t get the feeling that either one killed Thomas. I’m not saying they didn’t, just that it didn’t show when I questioned them. I’ll talk to Freddie Meyers. If I don’t get anything out of him, I’ll have to close my file.”
He also documented how Bryant lost his temper and attacked him. “You may get a complaint from him about how I hit him when he wasn’t looking. Tell him I took a cell phone picture of him charging me. I didn’t, but he was so mad, I doubt he took the time to see what I was doing before I hit him the first time.”
Within thirty minutes of emailing the report to the chief, the chief called him, laughing. “I got a call from Bryant about the same time that I got your email. After listening to him bitching about how you beat him up, I read him what you’d said about him attacking you. And I told him that if you showed up with cuts and bruises on your face I would assume that he’d attacked you, not the other way around, and I’d have to arrest him for attacking a police officer.”
“What’d he say?”
“Stopped him cold. He didn’t say another word, just hung up. You do create a stir when you get on a hunt. One of the guys tells me Bryant’s usually the one standing after he gets into it with anybody.”
“Maybe he had an off day,” Bishop said.
“I’ve noticed over the years how guys end up when you push ‘em. And you’re going after Meyers next, eh? Then, you’re throwing in the towel?”
“Well, I’m going to get a
decent night’s sleep and think about it. I’ll let you know if I come up with anything else.”
“I’ll be waiting. By the way, no drugs have shown up since Stan Thomas was killed.”
“Damn good news, chief. That means your task force can be dissolved and you can get back to regular police work, namely Stan’s murder.”
“I’ll let you know when that happens.”
“Don’t be timid about calling,” Bishop said.
The chief laughed as he hung up.
Bishop took a shower and got ready for the evening with Kathy.
When she drove up, the wine glasses were on the table with a platter of chips and dip.
She’d brought lasagna for dinner. Bishop thought it was great, and just being with her made him relax.
After dinner, they watched a murder mystery on the public television station and went to bed.
Kathy didn’t have to be at the library first thing, so they were able to have a leisurely morning.
After she left for the library, Bishop sat on the porch with a cup of coffee to ponder meeting Meyers. He couldn’t come up with anything else he could do. So he took the day off to recuperate from his meeting with Bryant, and worked in the yard around his cabin.
“Lot more fun than slugging it out with roughnecks like Bryant,” he said, enjoying doing something he found productive.
*****
The next day, Bishop got up and dressed in what
he called his working clothes, khaki pants and shirt with a light weight jacket. For good measure, he tucked his automatic into his belt at the back.
Don’t figure I’ll need it, but I didn’t figure I’d need it talking to Bryant either and I damn near did.
He called Freddie’s office. The secretary answered. Bishop identified himself and told her he needed to talk to Mr. Meyers about a case.
She put him on hold for a few seconds, came back and said, “Mr. Meyers is busy just now. He suggests you call back … well, next week. He’ll see if he can squeeze you in.”
“What I need to talk about is important. Can you tell him that?”
Once more she put him on hold. “He says he just can’t see you anytime soon. He says he’s sorry, but he’s busy.”
Bishop thanked her. Figures, he thought. “I’ll just have to barge in. Piss him off. Maybe rattle his cage.”
Chapter 15
Bishop could see Freddie in his office reading a file when he walked through the door. The secretary smiled, as they do when a new client walks in.
“Good morning,” she said. “How can I help you?”
Bishop showed her the card which identified him as a special investigator for the Lawton police department.
“I came to see Mr. Meyers,” he said.
The smile disappeared from her face. She turned to look at the open door to Freddie’s office.
“I’ll check to see if he can see you?” she said.
“Never mind. I see he’s in. I’ll just go on in,” he said and walked into the office.
Freddie looked up, clearly surprised. “You! I told my secretary I was too busy to see you. I am. I have a case I’m getting ready to take to trial. Maybe I can talk to you in a week or so. Not now! You understand?”
Bishop nodded. “Well, I’m here. I guess you’ll have to take a few minutes and talk to me now. Police business, you know.”
Freddie raised out of his chair angrily. “Damn you. Anybody ever tell you you’re a pushy asshole!”
“Frequently, but lots of people don’t know their asshole from their eating hole. I just ignore them. I came to ask you why you killed Stan Thomas. He got the better of you, didn’t he? Called your bluff about his fiancé.”
He decided to go straight for the jugular. The man obviously wasn’t in the mood for a smooth interview.
“What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t kill the man. I barely knew him. Played tennis against him. That’s it. I don’t know what you’re talking about. He never got the better of me.”
“I wouldn’t say that. He said he did. You exchanged telephone calls with him. You also had an affair with his fiancée, and pressured her into giving you confidential information. And then you used that information to file a suit, maybe more than one, using your associates. I only heard about the one, but I’ll be checking the others. Still, even one is something the bar association will frown on. Against the law, old buddy. Did Stan threaten to turn you in? Was that why you killed him?”
“You two bit shyster! That’s what I call lawyers like you. I know you. You live on the bottom. Damn bottom feeder! Shyster!” He raised out of his chair again.
“Shyster eh? Well, how does that stack up with being called an ambulance chaser? Or somebody who drugs young women and tells them you’ll marry them just to sleep with them and get them to tell you confidential information. Is that a better attorney than a shyster? I doubt the bar association would think so.”
“You’re a lying son of a bitch, Bone! A lying bastard.”
“Maybe I am. It hasn’t been adjudicated though. And right now, I’m investigating a murder authorized by the Lawton Police Department. A murder I think you committed. Want to tell me about it? Did Thomas say he was going to report you to the bar? Maybe he had. You kill him for revenge? I bet you did!” Bishop pointed a finger at him.
At that point, Freddie bolted around his desk heading toward Bishop. Bishop got to his feet and when Freddie was a stride away, he shoved the chair next to him into Freddie’s legs, sending him staggering backward. He fell into the office wall with a surprised and dazed look on his face.
Two damn fights in one week. I’m too old for this shit, Bishop thought. Hell, I think I’ll leave before I have to trade shots with that bastard. I’m not going to get anything out of him anyway.
“Have a good day. If I were you, I’d get ready to find another job,” he said as he turned to leave. “May end up being a security guard.” Bishop laughed.
When he was a couple of steps from the door, he heard a shot, and felt the heat of a bullet passing close to his right ear. He instinctively twisted to his left and began dropping to his knees. A second shot passed over his head and shattered a picture on the wall by the door. By then, Bishop had his gun out. His shot, fired a second earlier than Freddie’s third, hit the man in the stomach. That caused Freddie’s shot to miss hitting Bishop in the head.
Freddie dropped his gun and fell to the floor writhing and holding his stomach.
Bishop turned to the secretary who’d taken cover in the corner. “Call an ambulance! Now!”
She did as he’d said.
Bishop went inside the office, grabbed Freddie’s coat from the coat rack and threw it over his stomach. “Press that against the wound. May stop the bleeding long enough to get you to the hospital.”
*****
The ambulance came and took Freddie to the hospital. The wound was serious but he survived. The secretary was questioned. She said about the same thing as Bishop had said. Freddie fired first and Bishop, defending himself, fired in self-defense.
Initially, there was some excitement in the police department. Freddie’s automatic was the same caliber as the one that had killed Stan Thomas. But when it was tested, it proved not to be the one. So, they didn’t have anything to tie Freddie to the murder. All they had was a supposition that he’d done it in order to stop Thomas from reporting him to the bar. And that, the DA decided, wasn’t enough to convict, so they dropped it. And Bishop wasn’t interested in charging him with attempted murder, so that one was dropped also.
Chief Jenkins had driven out to see Bishop with the news about Freddie’s gun. It was hot that day, even on the back porch where they had a slight breeze.
“I figured I should tell you in person. I know what it meant to you. It sure looked like we had him. I thought he’d done it.”
“But he hadn’t. Be damned. Well, I guess that winds it up for me. I’ve done all I can do for you, chief. I’ll send you a final report.”
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So they had a beer each, and watched the creek roll past and the beavers frolicking in their pond until the chief announced that he had to get home.
“Sorry I couldn’t crack it for you.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything. I know you did your best. Almost got killed in the process. Nobody’s looking down on you, Bishop. There’ll be another day.”
“Yeah,” Bishop said, trying to fight off a depression that comes with a defeat or setback or failure, whatever it’s called.
The chief gave him a pat on the back as he left.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Yeah, me too,” Bishop mumbled.
And Bishop was faced with accepting the fact that he had failed to solve the murder of Stan Thomas. In his thoughts were a curse. Son of a bitch.
He sat down at his computer in the late evening to type his final report. Kathy hadn’t come out because she had library business that kept her in town. That also pissed him off. She had a calming effect on him.
He stared at the computer screen without a thought. Nothing came into his mind. He didn’t know where, or how, to start his final report. His depression didn’t help.
Well, I had that one thought. Damn, it just came back. I guess I’ll put a line under it. Not worth shit, but it’ll give the chief and everybody else something they can point to as an end to the case if they disagree.
He called the chief. “Chief,” he said, when Jenkins came on the line. “Remember I said I had a thought.”
“Yeah. You gonna spring it on me. Your thoughts usually give me stomach pains.”
“I don’t know about this one, probably won’t give you indigestion, but would you ask the Jackson chief of Police a question. Ask him how many men Perlin had with him for the shoot-out. And did one of them get away? My thinking, chief, is that Perlin’s men knew about Stan and the box of … I’m assuming coke. After the shoot-out, the survivor went to pick it up but Stan may not have known Perlin was dead. And he didn’t know the man asking for the box and refused to give it to him. Hell, maybe he did know Perlin was dead and wanted the box for himself. That’s why he refused. Either way, the man shot Stan, found the box, and took it.”
Death of the Weed Merchant Page 17
