Caper (21 page)

“You can't spin this, Alice. I fucked up and a guy is dead.”

“I know. And all the poor schmuck wanted to do was bribe a congressman.”

“You saw him. At the memorial service. You think he deserved to die?”

“That's not the point. Things happen for different reasons. They're all intermeshed. Did what you said to his lawyer have anything to do with him getting killed? Maybe. But would he have gotten killed if he hadn't tried to bribe the congressman? No. So don't try to take all the blame.”

“I can't argue with you. You're too good with words. I grant you all the points you're trying to make. I still feel like shit.”

“I know.”

Alice made me some chicken soup. Funny. That's what you do for a person who's sick. In a way, I was.

She didn't talk while I ate, just saw I had napkins and a spoon. I sat at the kitchen table, ate it up.

“Want some more?”

“No.”

“Feel better?”

“No.”

“You have to let it alone.”

“I can't.”

“Yes, you can. The cops know everything you do. They don't need you. Between the ADA and the guy's lawyer, they know all they need to know.”

“Not really.”

“Didn't you say he filed a deposition?”

“Yes.”

“Well, there you are. The lawyer was investigating the guy. The lawyer's client knew that he was investigating the guy. Who are the cops going to want to talk to? You, or the guy?”

“You should have seen him, Alice.”

“No, I shouldn't. You shouldn't have, either. It's bad, but it's over. You have to leave it alone. Stay out of it, let the cops do their job.”

I sighed. “Yeah.”

It was on the evening news.
MURDER SUSPECT HANGED
. “Leslie Hanson, a suspect in the murder of Congressman Jason Blake, was found hanged in his apartment earlier this afternoon. Mr. Hanson, arrested at the scene of the crime, was currently out on bail. Hanson was discovered with a rope around his neck, hanging from a shower rod. While the police have not ruled out foul play, a note apparently in Mr. Hanson's own handwriting, found at the scene of the crime, would tend to indicate that the suspect had taken his own life in a fit of remorse.”

Alice muted the TV. “Don't.”

But she knew it was no use.

46

A
T LEAST
M
AC
A
ULLIF DIDN
'
T THROW THE PHONE.
H
E
snorted, said, “I was hoping it wasn't true.”

“MacAullif.”

He put up his hand. “Don't start with me. I'm sitting here, hoping he won't walk in the door, and sure enough, here he comes. I know what that means. It means he did something stupid I was hoping he hadn't. Fat chance, what with another anonymous tip.”

“So what could I do?”

“You could stay out of my office. You could stay out of crime scenes. You could stop treating every murder as if it had been perpetrated solely to aid in your personal psychotherapy.”

“I'm a bad boy. I got a lot of guilt.”

“No shit. Can I assume you found this asshole's body and have been beating yourself up ever since?”

“Hypothetically?”

MacAullif waved it away. “Oh, say whatever the fuck you want. I figure I'll lose my pension anyway, you decide to roll on me. Look, bad as you may feel, this one's over. So why don't you go home.”

“That was Alice's opinion.”

“Wives aren't always wrong.”

“Trouble at home?”

“Yeah. My wife expects me to reach retirement, not get suspended for acting dumb. It was a nice case, but it's over.”

“How can it be over? The contractor got killed.”

“Oh,
that
case. I'm talking about the congressman. Hanson was going to trial for that. Now he isn't. You can't prosecute a dead man. That's how ADA Reynolds sees it.”

“You're kidding.”

“I'm not. I spoke to him this morning. Just to head off any trouble. Turns out there isn't any. He's winding up the case, much as he hates it. Slam-dunk conviction up in smoke. You don't get one like that every day.”

“But that's not what happened.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hanson didn't kill himself.”

“Oh. That's another case. Still under investigation. Even if something comes of it, I doubt if Reynolds would handle it. He's fed up with the whole thing.”

“Wait a minute. The cops really are writing this off as a suicide?”

“Watch your tone. Cops don't do that. We investigate based on the evidence. That's all we can do.”

“What
about
the evidence? Hanson's lawyer scheduled a deposition. With this guy who was friendly with the widow. Are the cops investigating that?”

“I would imagine the deposition's off.

“No kidding. What about the jock? Are the cops talking to him?”

“Cops talked to him this morning.”

“And?”

“Guy was out of town yesterday. Cleveland. Business trip. All day. Couldn't have done it.”

“Any corroboration?”

“Probably airline tickets and luncheon receipts.”

“No witnesses?”

“No one's going to Cleveland if they don't have to. They may have talked to witnesses on the phone.”

“So the guy was in Cleveland.”

“Yeah.”

“But he's back in town now.”

“That's right.”

“But he's not being deposed.”

“That would be my guess. You wanna talk to the lawyer, I can't stop you.”

“Which means I was wrong.”

“There's a shocker.”

“If the jock's not the killer, the killer's still out there.”

MacAullif grimaced, put up his hand. “Don't, don't, don't. Just because you had a bad theory proved wrong, doesn't mean you have to come up with something else convoluted. If anything, it should ease your conscience. Ratting out the jock didn't kill the contractor.”

“What if it did?”

MacAullif groaned. “Well, then the laws of reason have been suspended. Look. You ratted out the jock, the congressman got killed. You think it's cause and effect. It doesn't have to be.”

“You mean it's coincidence?”

“You know I hate the word. But this isn't it. It is not coincidence the guy got killed. He was involved in the murder, either as the perpetrator or the guy who got framed. In either case, there's a reason for him to die, and it doesn't have to have anything to do with you. Jesus Christ, what an egocentric asshole you are. You'd think you were the protagonist in some fucking book. Like those mysteries you read. Which is your whole problem. Real crime isn't like that, and you can't take it. But that's how it is. Someone killed the contractor. They chalk it up to suicide, they're wrong. Do yourself a favor.”

“What's that?”

“Don't tell them.”

47

I
WASN
'
T GOING TO, REALLY.
U
NLESS IT BECAME BLATANT,
flagrant, absofuckinlutely obvious, or some other superimperative that could not be ignored.

Mine came in the form of a cop inviting me downtown to talk to ADA Reynolds. I was tempted to decline, but it turned out attendance wasn't voluntary, and with Richard unwilling to intervene for anything less than a charge of murder, it seemed prudent to comply. I was also curious what the guy wanted. If he'd really washed his hands of the case, why bother?

I was in for a surprise. ADA Reynolds wasn't alone. ADA Fairfield was with him.

“Oh,” I said. “You guys ganging up on me?”

ADA Reynolds said, “Don't try to be cute. This isn't funny.”

“Why am I here? I thought the case was closed.”

ADA Reynolds shot a look in the direction of the attractive attorney, and the situation was instantly clear. I was there because his girlfriend wanted me there.

I couldn't wait to tell Alice.

“We have some loose ends to tie up. We were hoping you could help us out.”

“I don't see how. Your suspect is dead. Unless you have another suspect.”

“We don't yet.”

“Does that mean you're not buying into the suicide theory?”

“What suicide theory? You mean the one they're spouting on TV?”

“I thought you'd washed your hands of the case.”

“Who told you that?”

Oops.

“I guess I just assumed.”

“Yeah.”

ADA Fairfield smiled at me. “He's just pissy because his defendant's dead. It's an unfortunate situation. We're looking into it. So far you're the only unifying factor.”

“What are you talking about? I don't unify anything. I was connected to the congressman. I'm not connected to anything else.”

She cocked her head. “I thought you were the one pushing the theory about the widow's lover.”

“Right,” I said. “And how did that pan out?”

ADA Reynolds looked at me sharply. “You sound like you know.”

“Yeah, well I don't. They could be banging like bunnies or barely know each other. I have no idea which.”

“It was your theory.”

“Yeah. But I didn't have the resources to check it out, so I brought it to you. As you'll recall, that was before your suspect's untimely demise.” I settled back in my chair. “So, tell me, does that wind up the case or not?”

“What do you think?”

“I think it's pretty damn convenient.”

“Uh-huh. You know how we found the body?”

“Hanging from a shower rod.”

“I mean how we
came
to find the body.”

“An anonymous tip?”

“I don't recall releasing that to the media.”

“Well, if it wasn't, you wouldn't be asking the question in such an insinuating manner. How
did
you find the body?”

“Anonymous tip.”

“You're lucky you got it. Otherwise he might still be hanging there.”

“I doubt it. His lawyer would have checked him out.”

“Why? He owe him money?”

ADA Reynolds took a breath.

Once again, his girlfriend stepped in. “There's no reason to adopt an adversarial attitude. We have an unsatisfactory case. There's some things we could probably help each other with. Whaddya say?”

“I'm your man. Whaddya need?”

“For starters, what's your interest in this case? Because it's not apparently obvious. And, yet, you persist.”

I sighed. “I'm a second-rate detective doing a third-rate job. I chase ambulances. For the most part. Every now and then someone else hires me. I do my best to discourage them. Sometimes the money's so good I can't resist. I did the congressman a bad turn. I'd like to think it didn't get him killed. If the contractor's the answer, I'm delighted. But I'm not going to take it on face value.”

She frowned. “That's the same old song. It doesn't really fly. There's one thing that points to this not being a murder-suicide. The anonymous tip. If Hanson hung himself, who called? You say an innocent bystander who didn't want to get involved. That's all well and good. But then you go back to the killing of the congressman. And what do we find? An anonymous tip. What are the odds of
two
innocent bystanders who don't want to get involved?”

“In this city? Pretty damn high.”

“Yes, yes, that's very wry and cynical and patently untrue. The odds are pretty damn low. So low I can't see it happening.”

I said nothing, sat and waited. Cursed ADA Reynolds for having a girlfriend. If the guy hadn't had a sex drive, I'd have been home free.

The predatory female stretched like a cat, prepared to pounce.

I shuddered involuntarily.

“No,” she said. “It seems far more likely the same person made both phone calls.”

“You mean the killer?”

“No. That makes no sense. Why would the killer care?”

“The killer wants to make it look like a murder-suicide, to make you think Hanson's the killer.”

“Why? We
already
think Hanson's the killer. Nobody thinks anything else. Killing Hanson doesn't convince anyone he's the murderer. It just raises suspicions.”

“Some killers aren't very bright.”

“No, no. You can't have it both ways. The killer can't be smart enough to frame Hanson, and too dumb to think it through.” She smiled. “But you very cleverly changed the subject. We were talking about those anonymous calls. Who could have made them
besides
the killer?”

I opened my mouth.

She continued, “Or two shy innocent bystanders. No, it would have to be someone with a vested interest in the case. Someone with the motivation to go poking around where they shouldn't. Can you think of who that might be?”

“Have you tried the widow's lover?”

She shook her head. “No, no, no. That would be a choice for the killer.”

“Then I have no idea.”

“That's strange. You seem to have ideas about everything else.” She cocked her head. “So, you still think Hanson is innocent?”

“Yes, I do.”

“How can that be? According to the doorman, he's the only one who was there.”

“Aside from the obvious answer that the doorman is lying, let's assume he's telling the truth. Let's assume the congressman had a visitor who managed to get into the building despite the ironclad security of the world's best doorman. Let's assume that visitor killed the congressman. The objection is the phone call upstairs. If you reject the obvious answer that the doorman is lying, let's assume he called upstairs, the congressman answered the phone and said send him up. The congressman's visitor, whoever that is, decides what a dandy time this would be to kill the son of a bitch. He does the deed, goes out, hides in the hallway, and waits for the contractor to walk into the trap. He might even exit the building and make the anonymous phone call to make damn
sure
the contractor gets caught in the trap. How does he get out? Same way he got in. I don't know specifically, but that's not my job. I can give you a theory or two. For one thing, maybe he lives in the building, which would account for no one seeing him go in. As for making the phone call, he could just go out and make it, because a tenant leaving his own building is not something anyone is going to notice or mention.”