Carnival of Death (7 page)

“Oh, yes,” the information officer on duty said. “Mr. Daly and Mr. DuBoise. We’ve been expecting you.” He directed the two men to the closed door of an office three doors down the hall. “I’ll have the Laredos brought up from downstairs right away. But if you gentlemen don’t mind, Captain Franks, the watch commander, would like to talk to you before you talk to them.”

“Whatever you say,” Daly said.

He’d met Captain Franks. He didn’t know the man with him, nor had he ever met the plainly dressed young woman weeping silently into her handkerchief. Captain Franks introduced the man. “Tom Daly, Gene DuBoise, Assistant District Attorney Jack Carter.” He explained, “Jack is handling the case for the D.A.’s office.”

“Gentlemen,” Carter nodded.

“I assume you gave Lieutenant Schaeffer the tape,” Franks said.

“Yes,” Daly told him, “we did. We just came from the studio.” He added, “We went directly there from the airport.”

“Thanks a lot, Mr. Daly,” Carter smiled. “If we proceed on our current assumption, that tape could prove invaluable when we go to trial.” Carter continued to smile. “While I’ll be the first to admit we’re still floundering through a maze of evidence, or rather lack of it, we do feel it is fairly obvious that this wasn’t an on the spur of the moment robbery. We feel that it was well planned and that the razzle-dazzle on the parking lot of KAMPC-TV just before you went on the air Friday night was a puerile attempt to establish a preformulated supposition of innocence for Mickey Laredo, better known to his fellow members of the Cuban invasion brigade as Chico.”

Daly rested his hip on the edge of Captain Frank’s desk. “I’m afraid you’re not getting through to me, counselor.”

“Let me put it this way,” Carter said. “On what little we have been able to determine so far, the District Attorney’s office feels fairly certain that Laredo masterminded this deal. Our reasons are as follows. One, he was in desperate need of personal funds. Two, by his own admission, he still believes very strongly that the current regime in Cuba should be overthrown, by force if need be. And the still missing one hundred and sixty-eight thousand dollars would allow him to finance both needs.” Carter held up his hand when Daly tried to speak. “Let me finish. I was here with Captain Franks when Lieutenant Schaeffer called from Las Vegas and told us he’d located you and Mr. DuBoise and you had agreed to fly back with him. He also told us the reason why you gentlemen find it difficult to believe that either Laredo or his wife are guilty of this charge. May I ask how well you know Laredo, Mr. Daly?”

Daly admitted, “I don’t know him at all. I never met the man before we went on the air Friday night.”

“Then you don’t know his basic reason for joining the invasion brigade?”

“Yes. He said that much on the air. He said it was because he didn’t like the way things were going in Cuba. Because, while he hadn’t been born there, both his mother and his father had been and he felt obligated to do something about the situation.”

“But he didn’t say how deeply obligated?”

“No.”

“I thought he might have told you after you went off the air. But, since he didn’t, I will. As you undoubtedly know, The Flying Laredos, the aerial act in which he worked for years, was composed of his mother and father and one of his uncles.”

“Yes. That much I do know.”

“Do you know why the act broke up?”

“I imagine because he lost a leg at the Bay of Pigs.”

Carter shook his head. “No. The act broke up six months before that When his father and mother and uncle went back to Oriente Province for a visit and the local Castro
commandante
sent his father and uncle to the wall as suspected
agents provocateurs
for this country, and his mother died, literally, of a broken heart.”

“That explains a lot,” DuBoise said.

Carter made an apothecary scale of his hands. “One balances out the other. Laredo and his wife’s normal humane interests against a desire for revenge and enough money to set up another strike. He knows he can’t go back. But there are other members of the brigade who can, if and when they can finance another expedition. And that’s why we think he got into this thing. You can buy a lot of carbines and rifles and cartridges and machine guns for one hundred and sixty-eight thousand dollars.”

“Then you haven’t recovered the money?”

“Not the bulk of it.”

Daly got up from the desk and walked to the window and back. “I don’t know what to think.”

Captain Franks said, “Look, Tom, be reasonable. You’ve made a name for yourself as a sucker for the underdog. That’s commendable. But we have Laredo dead to rights. Look at it this way. Week after week his kiddy rides played shopping center parking lots for peanuts while he watched armored trucks pick up and deliver hundreds of thousands of dollars. The guy was in hock up to his eyes. He also wanted money for the cause so bad he could taste it. So he set up this thing with four or five guys who were in the invasion with him and yesterday morning they pulled the plug. Maybe they didn’t intend to kill anyone. They probably hoped they wouldn’t have to. All they intended to do was to create a diversion to get the inside guard out of the truck. But when, according to plan, Mrs. Laredo gave young Kelly the knockout drops, she made the dosage too strong and instead of just knocking him out, it killed him. Then they panicked. Oh, they got the money all right — how we don’t know yet, but they did. We do know that bit of having one of the clowns throw money to the crowd was merely part of the diversion. So far we’ve recovered less than ten thousand dollars. But we do have a hundred witnesses who are willing to testify in court that they saw Laredo, or a clown dressed in a costume identical with his, fire the three shots that killed the old roustabout and young Mrs. Wilson.”

“Proving what?” DuBoise asked.

Captain Franks told him. “If we can tie Laredo into this, murder in the commission of an armed robbery, which is murder in the first degree.”

Daly protested, “But as I understand it, the old man worked for Laredo. Why would he want him killed?”

“He probably didn’t,” Carter said. “It probably never entered his mind. But when the old man tried to stop the clown with the gun, the clown lost his head and shot him. And if the Laredos were in on the job, which we are certain they were, that makes them equally guilty, even if they didn’t pull the trigger of the gun.”

Daly said rather hotly, “I know the law. But tell me this. If they were in on the job, after the truck was robbed why didn’t Mickey keep on running instead of doubling back to the carousel?”

Carter pointed out. “Don’t you see? If he’d run, that would have been prima facie evidence of guilt. All he could do was stay and brazen it out.”

“But isn’t it possible they’re being framed?”

Carter spread his hands. “By whom, Mr. Daly? The two mysterious goons who so fortuitously appeared out of nowhere to work you over? One, or both, of the surviving guards? Both of them with spotless records, and one of them the dead guard’s brother?”

Daly tried another tack. “All right. What about someone at the armored truck company? According to the newspaper report the truck was carrying one hundred and seventy-eight thousand dollars. How do we know there was that much money on the truck when it reached the shopping plaza?”

“I can answer that,” Captain Franks said. He smiled at the young woman sitting in the straight back chair on the far side of his desk. “Miss Lindler, meet Mr. Daly and Mr. DuBoise.”

Daly couldn’t remember when he’d met a less attractive girl. Her nondescript mouse-brown hair was cut much too short for the almost Slavic planes of her face, her chest was as flat as a boy’s and the only makeup she was wearing was lipstick. Her horn-rimmed glasses didn’t do anything for her eyes. The only thing nice about her were her legs. She saw Daly looking at them and covered her knees with the hem of her skirt.

“How do you do.”

Captain Franks added, “You may have seen Mr. Daly before. He has his own show on Channel 15.”

“I watch it from time to time,” the girl said.

“Now will you please tell Mr. Daly where you work.”

“I work for the Ramsdale Armored Truck Company.”

“In what capacity?”

“I’m the garage division cashier and head tally clerk and have been for the past five years.”

“Just what do your duties entail?”

“Well, part of my job is to check the money into the trucks.”

“Did you check the money into the truck that was robbed?”

“I did.”

“Was it an unusually large amount?”

“No. Comparatively small. At times our trucks may carry up to several million dollars, but that particular run was more of a courtesy gesture to the new shopping plaza. Also to stock the bank with change.” Miss Lindler took a slip of paper from her purse and glanced at it to refresh her memory. “The exact figure was one hundred and seventy-eight thousand and eighty-nine. Five thousand, two hundred and forty of it in silver dollars, half dollars, quarters, dimes and nickles. Six hundred dollars in pennies. And the balance in one, five, ten, twenty, fifty and one hundred dollar bills.”

She laid the slip of paper on Captain Frank’s desk. He asked, “And how is this money handled, Miss Lindler? I mean from the vaults to the truck?”

“I take the money from the vault and make up the amounts requested by the individual stores on the route. Then I give it to one or more of the guards who put it into the truck. Then when the truck is ready to roll, the inside guard gets into the money compartment and locks the door before the garage doors are opened.”

“Is this procedure supervised?”

“Very strictly.”

Daly asked, “You say the inside guard gets into the money compartment and locks the door. How does he lock it?”

“With a key.”

“Do all the guards on the truck have keys to the money compartment?”

“No. Just the inside guard.”

“Do you have a key?”

“No, I do not. The only other key is in the master vault and only the garage supervisor has access to it.”

“Thank you, Miss Lindler,” Captain Franks said. “Now, going back to yesterday morning.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Which of the guards carried the money into that particular truck?”

“Frankly, I don’t remember. I checked out twenty trucks yesterday morning. But I imagine it was Mike Kelly. Because of his seniority, he was chief of party.” She thought a moment. “No, I remember now — it was Tim. It had to be. At least he signed my receipt.”

The man from the District Attorney’s office asked, “And how are you protected, Miss Lindler? I mean how is it shown on the books that you have loaded X number of dollars on any particular truck?”

“We have a number of checks. The money I withdraw from the vault has to tally with my truck ledger. Then before I release a shipment, one of the guards has to sign a receipt verifying how much money I turned over to him.”

“Did you get such a receipt yesterday morning?”

“The truck couldn’t roll until I did.”

“Who signed it?”

“I just told you. Tim Kelly.”

The girl removed her glasses and wiped her eyes with a sodden wisp of linen and lace.

“You liked Kelly, didn’t you?” Daly asked.

“Very much,” the girl admitted. “He was the only one of the guards, the only man in the office for that matter, who didn’t treat me as if I was a computer with legs.” Tears rolled down her sallow cheeks faster than she could wipe them away. “He always had a smile for me and something friendly to say. Because I did him little favors, once he brought me a box of candy and another time he gave me some flowers.” She stopped trying to wipe away the tears. “And I hope that pretty spick bitch who gave him that chloral hydrate, and her husband, both go to the lethal chamber.”

Captain Franks looked back at Daly. “So now you know how we know how much money was in the truck.”

“Now I know,” Daly said. “Just one more question and Gene and I will get out of your hair. According to the story in the paper, shortly after he was stricken the dead guard was treated by an unnamed doctor who gave him an injection.”

“That’s right,” Captain Franks said. “A man who gave his name as Dr. Alveredo. He’s the one who sent Quinlan for the stomach pump.”

“You’ve questioned him, of course, and checked his findings against the autopsy report?”

“No. As a matter of fact we haven’t. He disappeared from the lot before the first police car reached the scene. And while we are looking for him, there is no M.D. by that name listed in the L.A. phone book.”

“Then you don’t mind if Gene and I try to find him. Just to keep the record straight.”

“Not at all.”

“Good,” Daly said. “Now I’ve kept my part of the bargain I made with Charlie Schaeffer in Vegas. You keep yours. I want to talk to Mickey and Paquita Laredo.”

W
HEN THE
detective who accompanied Laredo and the matron who escorted the girl to the interrogation room were gone and the door closed, Daly gave the youngsters time to kiss and cling to each other for a moment. They didn’t look like killers to him. All they looked was pathetically young.

The police had permitted Laredo to remove his makeup and change from his clown costume but the girl was still wearing the tight black capri pants and bare midriff bolero type blouse in which she’d dispensed pink lemonade.

Daly made his position clear. “I’m going to ask you kids some questions. If your answers satisfy me, I may go all out for you. The best lawyer in town. The whole bit. But if I find out that you’ve lied to me, I’ll make it so hot for you that you’ll wish you were doing twenty years on the Isle of Pines. Is that clear?”

Paquita bobbed her head.

“Perfectly clear,” Laredo said bitterly. “And thanks for asking to see us, Mr. Daly. But you’re just wasting your time.”

“Then you were in on the caper?”

“No. I’m just facing facts. This frame is so tight I can practically smell the cyanide fumes.”

DuBoise offered them cigarettes. “All right. You say you weren’t in on the job. For the time being, at least, we’ll assume you are telling the truth. Then who did loot the truck?”