Snowjob (31 page)

“Do you want me to call anybody for you?” she asked.

“Please. Call Mr. Garfield at Garfield and Wallace in town, could you. Ask him to come out and clear this thing up.”

“Will do,” she said. She glanced at me, a look of pure contempt, and picked up the phone. I stepped outside, still easing my neck. Doug Ford was jogging up the slope from the office. He had Sam at his heels and he was beaming a yard wide.

I went forward to meet him and he stuck out his hand, raised high. I slipped back a barrelful of years and gave him the dap we’d worked out in the platoon. High slap, low slap, clap hands, both hands clap the other man’s. We were like kids playing patty cake.

“Got the bastard. Got him,” he said.

“That’s good news. But he’s just phoning for Garfield. Wants to sue my ass.”

“Fear not,” Doug said. “I just been talking to Ms. Frazer. Our friend from last night had her checking the books for irregularities. She says the kid’s been squirreling money away like there’s no tomorrow. She’s found forty-seven grand already and that’s just this year.”

“Great. He’s playing innocent in there and I don’t have a hell of a lot to hold him on.”

“The chief says we can charge him with conspiracy to commit murder. The guy you brought in wants to testify, go on the witness protection program.”

“Has he spoken to a lawyer?”

“The lawyer set it up. Slippery Sam Garfield himself came in right away, talked to the guy in private and then begged the chief for the chance to let the guy talk.”

“That was bloody quick. The guy must’ve been busting a gut to roll over.”

“Could be. Could just be,” Doug said jovially. “But I get the feeling that Garfield knew what was going down. He didn’t want any of it getting on him, so he gave the guy a nudge to clear it up.”

“Sounds good to me.” I rubbed my neck again and Doug asked me what happened. When I told him he laughed.

“You wild sonofabitch. You coulda killed yourself.”

“I think maybe I hastened the process some. You wanna talk to Smilin’ Jack?”

“Sure. Why not?” Doug put his hand on my back, but gently. “Let’s go give him the glad tidings.”

We went back inside. The ski patroller was standing with the phone in her hand, looking at Huckmeyer who had his head down, defeated.

“Morning, Jennifer,” Doug said cheerfully. “Morning, Walter. If you’re calling Garfield, save your money. He’s at headquarters, giving singing lessons to Manatelli’s bodyguard. You wanna join him?”

“I’m not saying anything,” Huckmeyer said huskily.

“No problem,” Doug said. “The guy down there is doing enough talking for everybody. Come on now. Let’s go join them,”

Huckmeyer looked up. He was close to tears. “Do I have to wear handcuffs? Those people down there know me.”

I took the initiative. He was close to cracking. It was time to play good cop. “No. I’ll take them off if you’ll come with us nice and easy.”

Doug glanced at me but I ignored him. He had too much residual anger from the time he’d spent in the lockup. This was my call.

“Thanks,” Huckmeyer said. “I appreciate it.”

Doug took his cue from me. He unlocked the cuffs and opened his coat to put them back in the case on his belt. “Shall we go?”

We went out and walked down the slope with Sam behind us, at Doug’s left heel, as per his instructions, but glancing at me.

We didn’t speak and nobody paid much attention as we walked back to my car. The skiers were too busy getting ready for their day’s fun to take note of non-skiers.

When we got to the car I put Huckmeyer in the front. He seemed to appreciate the privilege. Doug and Sam got in the back, Doug still not speaking. I started the motor and let it idle for a few moments until warmth started spreading through the heat vents. Then I made my pitch. “Walter. You’re caught up in something nasty here. I know you’re not that kind of guy and I want to make it easy for you.”

He didn’t look: at me but I could see he was buying it. “Garfield is allowing Manatelli’s bodyguard to cop out. That means they’re after the big fish. Manatelli. I need to know where he is. If you tell me, Detective Ford and I will do everything we can to get you off lightly.”

Now he turned to me and his face was anguished. “It’s too late. He’s gone back to New York.”

EIGHTEEN

I glanced back at Doug who shook his head silently. He wanted me to go on. “When did he leave? I was talking to him around noon yesterday.”

“He went to the airport this morning,” Huckmeyer said and his voice faltered. “I drove him. He caught the seven-thirty flight.”

Doug opened the car door. I held up one finger to check him while Huckmeyer went on.

“It’s too late now to stop him,” Huckmeyer said grimly. He glanced at his wristwatch, a Rolex. “He’ll be there now, I guess.”

That didn’t sit right with me. “He’s not planning to stay in New York. I’ll bet he’s flying to some place to pick up the money he’s taking out of your bank here,” I said.

“I’ll call the chief, let him know what’s goin’ down. Maybe he can check the bank, find where they’re transferring the money an’ get the planes watched at New York. He’ll change planes there,” Doug said. He got out and ran for the office with Sam bounding after him.

“Why will you stop him?” Huckmeyer asked. “It’s a free country. He can go where he likes.”

“Not with a Murder One charge against him. He killed whoever it was in his car yesterday. We don’t have an ID yet but we will. We know it was a murder, that’s certain.”

Huckmeyer turned to look at me. “I didn’t know about the murder.” He sounded as if he was telling the truth. “Not until last night. That’s when Alfredo came to see me at Brewskis. He told me Manatelli was alive and needed a place to stay.”

“How much more did he tell you?”

“He said that it was all over. Everything was cleared up. I wouldn’t have to sell the credit card slips anymore. They were moving out of town.”

“You knew it was Manatelli’s money buying those slips?”

He nodded. “It wasn’t illegal, what I did. And I needed the money. I had debts.”

“What kind of debts? Gambling debts?”

He shrugged. “Does it matter now?”

“No, I guess not, Walter. But can you answer me one more question?”

He nodded, looking ahead again. “Okay.”

“Where were you going this morning? You weren’t going skiing, were you? You were going up that hill for a reason. Is the money hidden there? The fifty thousand you skimmed from what you planted on Doug Ford?”

“It’s under the floorboards in the lift house. That’s where I arranged for it to be put. Jack Grant put it there. I was going to get it out and pay back the company now that everything’s over.”

“We’ll go and get it once you’ve talked to the chief,” I said. “But he’s going to want to know where it came from. Like did you kill Ms. Laver and take it?”

“No.” He was shocked. “I’ve done some bad things this year. But I’ve never hurt anybody. Not anybody.”

He was jolted. I could see he wasn’t able to say anything more so I used the chance to be the good guy and closed the questioning down. “I believe you. Now just take it easy and we’ll wait for Officer Ford.” He took out a handkerchief and blew his nose, wiping his eyes when he thought I wasn’t looking. And we waited.

Doug was back a minute later. “The chief’s on the phone to New York. He’s got a warrant for Manatelli on Murder One. He’s getting them to check all flights out to tax havens.” He paused to take a breath. “He’s on the phone to the bank now, to find out if and where the money’s being moved.” He sat back and Sam jumped into the car and over him to sit on the vacant seat. Doug groaned. “Fer Crissakes, Reid. Can you take Sam back? I’m not used to havin’ a goddamn shadow.”

“Tell him, ‘Easy,’ then ‘Go with Reid,’ and tap me on the shoulder.”

“Shit. Like gettin’ an award,” Doug said. But he was laughing and he carried out the command and Sam relaxed while I fussed him.

“Good boy,” I told him. “Sit. Easy.”

He curled himself in the seat next to Doug and I drove back to the station.

We didn’t cuff Huckmeyer to walk him inside. It was a break for him because the first of the reporters had arrived and they were snapping pictures and hollering questions at us. We ignored them, Doug and I smiling politely, Huckmeyer stone-faced. We took him inside and straight through to an interrogation room. Doug sat him down and I asked him, “Anything you need, Walter? A cup of coffee? To use the men’s room?”

“No, thank you. I want to get this over.” He was under control but ready to talk. I sat with him while Doug went and notified the chief.

They came back together and the chief stood in the doorway, looking stern. “It’s a sad day for me, seeing you in here on such terrible charges,” he said.

“I’m trying to help,” Huckmeyer said miserably. “I didn’t kill anybody. I admit I’ve been taking money from the company. I admit I’ve been doing business with Mr. Manatelli, but the business was legitimate.”

“It may be. He isn’t,” the chief said. “And we know that he’s the man behind the killing of Ms. Laver and the other people. But you’re still involved up to your neck.”

“What can I do, chief?” Huckmeyer was close to tears.

“You can tell us everything you know,” the chief said. “I’m going to have Detective Ford charge you with the theft of money from your employer. Then he’ll read you your rights. I know you work for your dad and probably that charge will be dropped, but it’s a criminal offense and we don’t want you to say later that we coerced you in any way.”

Huckmeyer nodded dumbly and Doug took out a card and read the charges formally, adding the Miranda message. The chief hooked his head at me and led me out of the room.

“I want to thank you for everything you’ve done. I think we can handle it now. The bank president says the money is being transferred to the Cayman Islands. I’ve got the New York police looking for Manatelli everywhere there’s a connecting flight.”

“What’s he charged with?”

“The murder of the John Doe in the car yesterday. In fact he’s not John Doe anymore. We have an ID.”

“Good work. From the FBI?”

“Yes.” The chief nodded briskly. “They sent us a mug shot. The man is a member of the Mucci family. His name is Romeo Ciulla. He worked with Manatelli, some kind of numbers man, bookkeeper, something like that. Captain Schmidt’s at the airport with his picture to see if he flew in yesterday. We figure that’s what happened. He came in, Manatelli offed him and left the note to make us think everything was closed up.”

“So what would you like me to do next?”

“Well, there isn’t very much. I’d rather keep you out of the interrogation if you don’t mind. I think the kid’ll be freer with me than he would with you.”

“That’s fine with me. But there is one thing. He says he’s got fifty grand squirreled away under the floor of his gondola lift, at the top of the slope.”

“Can you go out and bring it in?”

“Well, I could, but I’ve been thinking about that. If Manatelli knew where it was, there’s a good chance it’s been tampered with. Maybe the money’s gone. In which case, Huckmeyer himself should recover the box so he knows the department didn’t take it. And secondly, given Manatelli’s way of settling problems, maybe he’s booby-trapped it. That way he could count on Huckmeyer being out of the picture as well.”

The chief stroked his nose thoughtfully. “That makes sense. The guy’s got no more conscience than Eichmann. I’ll try to round up a bomb guy.”

“Do that. But if you need help, my dog is trained to sniff explosives.”

The chief puffed out a respectful sigh. “I’m going to have to seriously consider getting a K9 unit for the department,” he said. “Okay. When we’ve talked to Huckmeyer, maybe you and your dog will go with him to get his money back. Can you wait somewhere until then?”

“Will do. I’ll go across the street for some breakfast.”

“Good. Keep the receipt.” He smiled, dismissing me, and I headed out for pancakes and good Vermont maple syrup. Not the greatest. I’m from Ontario and my neighbors make the very best, but what the hell, it wasn’t corn syrup.

I was on my second cup of coffee when Doug came in. “Nice goin’,” he said. “I’m in there workin’, so goddamn hungry my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut, and you’re here with the knife and fork.”

“The chief’s paying. How’s that make you feel?”

He laughed and ordered toast and coffee to go and led me back to the station, munching. “The kid’s talked,” he said. “He didn’t arrange the killing, but he planned to charge Cindy Laver with theft. He’d shorted the cash deposit by forty-eight big ones. That’s why he didn’t make the deposit with her.”

“Nice guy. What’d he do with the money?”

“That’s where it gets kind of cute,” Doug said. He crammed the last of his toast into his mouth and couldn’t talk for a while. “He was paying for AIDS treatments for his brother. The brother’s gay an’ the father won’t speak to him or help him. So young Huckmeyer’s been skimming.”