Ting-A-Ling (8 page)

“We tried to sneak off under the cover of darkness and were followed by a thousand different collection agencies and the IRS. What happened? I can tell you in two words, that bastard named Renee Paris.”

It grew very quiet. I heard her swallow. I noticed her face was flushed and her eyes had watered.

“What can you tell me about Renee Paris?”

“Oh, boy.” She sighed. “Well, nothing nice. He believes in Renee. At first he’s nice, in a smarmy sort of way, but he quickly changes into an arrogant, pushy, lying little son-of-a-bitch.”

I nodded. “That seems to be the consensus of opinion around town.”

“You don’t know the half of it, Dev. Those are his finer qualities.”

“Why’d Jimmy ever get involved with the guy? This wasn’t the first project Jimmy had done. He was an up-and-coming guy in the business. He’d been around the block a few times. He was going to count in this town. He must have read the press on Paris, known people who ended up on the wrong end of the stick.” Now I was getting upset.

“He got greedy. In fairness, we both did. I was more than happy to take the trips, drive the cars, accept the gifts, the jewelry and then one day you wake up knowing there is no possible way you can ever do anything wrong. Because, you’re way smarter, luckier and harder working than everyone else. You’ve got it all figured out. You know all the angles, you’re connected. And then…”

I waited for a long moment while she just sort of hung out there, somewhere seven or eight years back.

“And then?”

She shrugged. “Like I said before, two words. Renee Paris.” She sat there silently for a very long time and didn’t offer up anything else by way of explanation. She sniffled and blinked back some tears.

“Can you tell me about Jimmy’s death?”

She got that distant look again and she spoke in almost a monotone, like she’d gone into a sort of trance just to protect herself. She was somewhere else, speaking in emotionless, almost rehearsed lines. It sounded like she was reading them without the slightest bit of comprehension.

“It was following the bankruptcy, after we’d lost our condo and the lake place. Both our cars had been repossessed and we were sharing a used Geo Metro we got for seven hundred bucks without brake lights or insurance. We were getting notices in the mail every day and threatening phone calls until ten at night. The calls were coming all day, seven days a week from collection agencies, credit card companies and then the tax people. All our credit cards had been cancelled. What little we had left was attached.” She sort of came back to the present, sipped some tea and focused on me.

“I was working as a nurse’s aide. By that time my income was garnished. I think I was bringing in about two-fifty a week. I was desperately trying to get into nursing school. Jimmy was attempting to start a consulting business,” she scoffed. “Not that he had any clients willing to be consulted. We’d moved into a depressing, little efficiency apartment alongside the freeway near downtown. Then one day I guess it just got to be too much and he made the big leap.” She sort of half smiled and stared at me in a strange way.

“They never found him, his body. I had to wait all this time before they paid on his life insurance. It was just last spring before he was declared legally dead. Seven years,” she said and then she was somewhere else entirely. Certainly not in the same small, sparse living room with me.

“Mommy,” a little voice suddenly called from the kitchen.

“I’m coming, honey,” she answered, then quickly stood and left me sitting there alone.

I felt like I needed a drink after talking with Sue White, but not tea and just one wasn’t going to do the trick. I decided not to have any. I called Danielle and ended up leaving another message. Louie had already gone home or at least he wasn’t in the office. I just sat in the dark for a long while, staring out the window and onto the frozen street at nothing.

Chapter Eighteen

I hadn’t been in
the office for much longer than a first cup of coffee when my phone rang. The second I heard that gum snapping on the other end of the line, before he even said his first word the bottom fell out of my day. Detective Norris Manning, homicide.

“Haskell.”

“Detective Manning. How nice of you to call. Don’t tell me, you’re having a Christmas party and you’d like me to attend.”

“Yeah, that’s it, a celebration, sort of. You know you’re always one step ahead of me, Haskell. How do you do it?” he said and snapped his gum a few more times.

I waited.

“I’d appreciate you swinging by, oh say in the neighborhood of three-fifteen this afternoon, just to chat.”

“Chat. Should I have council present?”

“We’re just chatting, Haskell, it’s not like you’re being charged or anything.”

I waited, but he didn’t add the word
‘yet’
.

“Nothing we couldn’t handle over the phone?” I probably sounded a little too hopeful.

“And miss seeing your smiling face down here, again?”

“Well, I mean, I know you’re awfully busy.”

“Never too busy to make time for you, Haskell.”

“Well then, I wouldn’t miss the opportunity, Detective. Your office? Or, should we meet at a neutral location? Maybe someplace we could both relax and feel at ease, enjoy one another’s company?”

“No. Down here will suit me just fine. Three-fifteen,” he growled and hung up.

I drummed my fingers on the desk for two more cups of coffee, racking my brain trying to figure out what it was. I hadn’t done anything wrong on the insurance company applications. Holding Paris’ head under the faucet? That didn’t seem likely. Maybe the luke-warm pizza I brought over to Sue White last night.

I phoned Danielle and left another message. Then I phoned Louie and left a message for him, explaining Manning’s phone call. I phoned my pal Lieutenant Aaron LaZelle, Manning’s boss. Surprisingly, I got through.

“LaZelle.”

“Aaron, Dev. How’s it going?”

“You’ll have to direct your questions to Detective Manning.”

“Come on, man. I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas. Well, and maybe get a little heads up. I just wondered what Manning wanted to talk to me about?”

“Don’t you think he would be the best one to answer that?”

“Manning? I was hoping you might shed some light. You know Manning and I go back a ways and well, it hasn’t always been the most positive relationship. I was just thinking…”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t. Don’t think, Dev. Just do. Be down here for your interview with the man, answer whatever he plans to ask you truthfully and then things seem to sort of have a way of working themselves out.”

“Yeah, that’s just what I’m worried about. Manning’s on some case, any case and the first thing he thinks of is
‘how can he pin whatever happened on me?’
”

“A little paranoid, are we?”

“You know the history.”

“I know you’ve never been convicted of something you didn’t do.”

“That doesn’t really make me feel any better.”

“Which is something you should take up with Detective Manning. Sorry, I can’t help. Anything else?”

“Well, yeah, now that you mention it, I...”

“Nice to talk with you, Dev,” he said, then hung up. I didn’t think it would help to call back and suggest we’d been disconnected.

Chapter Nineteen

I was stylishly late
to my meeting with Detective Manning. The truth was, I didn’t want to face Manning alone and I’d been trying to get hold of Louie, but I hadn’t been able to reach him. I figured he was either still in court or drinking in some sleazy, tawdry dive and I wished I was with him. It was almost three-forty-five before I made it into the police station and announced myself to the Desk Sergeant.

“Oh yeah, Haskell, I thought that was you coming in. Yeah, Manning’s called down a couple of times to see if you even bothered to show up. You know how he gets. Let me just buzz him and let him know you finally decided to pull the thumb out of your ass.”

“Yeah, Detective Manning. Sergeant Gennaro. Yes, sir. Just now. I see. Well, I think that might be a little inappropriate, sir,” he said then glanced over and chuckled.

“I could come back at another time,” I said, nodding and trying to appear helpful.

Gennaro shook his head and sort of waved me off. “That would be best, Detective. You will? Okay, we’ll wait down here. Yes, not a problem. Thank you, sir.”

As Gennaro hung up the phone he shook his head again and mumbled, “Oh, boy.” Then he looked at me, smiled sweetly and pointed to a line of orange plastic chairs pushed up against the far wall. The wall was covered with a large black and white mural of the St. Paul Police Force taken in about 1890. About thirty really rough looking guys and two horse drawn paddy wagons. “Just have a seat over there. Someone will be here to escort you up in a few minutes, Mr. Haskell.”

Apparently, we had different perceptions of the term,
‘a few minutes’
.

As I waited I was entertained by a cast of characters. There was a skinny woman with sky blue hair wearing hot pants, seamed stockings and sporting what looked like a fresh black eye wishing to report an assault.

Some drunken guy with his hands cuffed behind his back and a large officer on either arm entered the lobby, singing, “I’ve got friends in low places. I’ve got friends in low places, I’ve got...”

A neurotic, middle-aged woman in a full length fur coat and holding a small white dog wearing a matching fur coat wanted to report an accident that
‘certainly wasn’t her fault’
.

A police officer carrying a large box of what sounded like live chickens walked up to the counter, shook the box and shouted at Gennaro, “Dinner is served.”

It was a few minutes after the second time I’d approached the counter and asked, “Do you think he forgot about me?” that a heavy set guy wearing a light colored sport coat and in need of a shave walked into the lobby.

“Mr. Haskell,” he called out, like he was searching the crowd for me. I was the only one other than Sergeant Gennaro sitting in the lobby. I sort of nodded and signaled with my index finger as I stood up.

He nodded back at me then walked over to a security door, punched in a code and waited for me to catch up. On the ride up in the elevator he didn’t say anything. I think he was trying to rub the sleep from his eyes, running his large hands up and down over his red face and sighing a couple of times. I could hear a bristling sound as his hands ran over his unshaved face.

Just before the elevator doors opened he took a deep breath, and then assumed a stance like he was about to walk into a pit full of howling Rottweilers. I followed him out into the empty hallway and through another security door labeled
‘Robbery/Homicide’
.

“Just grab a seat,” he instructed. “I’ll let Manning know you’re waiting.”

I saw no advantage to informing him Manning was aware I’d been waiting for the better part of the past hour, so I just sat down. I was going to joke with him about the lack of magazines in the little room, but figured now maybe wasn’t the best time.

I’d been studying my feet and counting the floor tiles in the tiny room for what seemed like days when the door suddenly flew open and Manning called, “Haskell, get in here,” like I’d been keeping him waiting.

He was in white shirtsleeves rolled half-way up his arm. A manila file was tucked under his left arm and he slurped from a coffee mug in his right hand. His head was red, redder than normal, whatever ‘normal’ was. Thankfully, not the crimson I’d seen it become a few times when he could grow apoplectic. He attacked the wad of gum in his mouth, causing it to snap every other second. The fringe of red hair running around the sides of his head looked to have been recently trimmed.

“I’ve got us right down here, in three,” he said. He was quickly a half-dozen steps ahead of me and I guessed he was referring to interview room three.

I wasn’t sure if ‘three’ meant that whatever my supposed offense was, it was more, or less serious than being in interview rooms one or two. I followed dutifully and he suddenly stepped into a room and held the door for me. The moment I was in the room he let go of the door and instructed me to, “have a seat there,” indicating one of only two chairs, pointing with his coffee mug just as the door slammed shut.

He stood there watching me, snapping his gum impatiently while I pulled out the chair and sat down.

“What’s this about, Detective?”

He seemed to ponder that for a bit before he ignored my question completely. He opened up his manila file and carefully positioned it in front of him. He took a moment and used both hands to line the edge of the file up squarely with the edge of the table.

The top sheet in the file had four images centered on the page. Each image was about two-and-a-half inches square. There was an eight digit number written in what looked like red marker on the upper right corner of the page and I took that to probably be a file or case number. There were multiple lines of copy printed below the images, but the print was too small to read, and well, it was upside down.

The images looked like building rubble from somewhere out of Syria. In one of the images the rear end of a car hung out from beneath a pile of bricks. Since I didn’t know about any car bombings anywhere in the universe I began to relax for just a second or two before Manning looked up.

He stared at me for a long moment without saying anything, suggesting he was in charge, not me and he was just weighing his options on the best way to blind side me.

“So, Haskell. What have you been up to lately?”

“You dragged me down here to learn about my social life?”

“You’re always up to something interesting, just a little curious, is all.”

“Do I need council present? My lawyer?” I asked.

He sort of pursed his lips like he was taking my question seriously. Then his stare seemed to increase in intensity, he lowered his voice an octave and said very matter-of-fact, “I don’t think so, we’re just having a friendly little chat, is all. Just the two of us, you and me. You’re not charged with anything, at least that I know of. I can check if you’d like?”

It wouldn’t make a difference even if he did check. In fact, about all it would do would be to extend the time I’d have to sit in the room. Manning would probably forget about me and just leave me locked in here while he went home for the night.

“I’ve got nothing to hide.”

He nodded, pretending he really believed me.

“Mind telling me where you’ve been the last few days?”

“Always in town. Let’s see, I was at The Spot a couple of nights back, then home. I’ve got witnesses. I had an early dinner with a friend last night, witnesses. Three nights back I was at a friend’s home until the following morning, maybe a little after the noon hour. Most days I’ve been in my office, you know, working.”

“What are you currently working on?”

“Client confidentiality, I’m afraid. I really don’t wish to discuss it any further than that, unless you have some sort of court order.”

He looked at me as if to say,
‘I can get a court order and a lot more, anytime I want.’

Mercifully, there was a knock on the door and the same exhausted guy in the sport coat who brought me up in the elevator partially stepped into the room.

“Sorry to interrupt, I’ve got Mr. Haskell’s attorney out here.”

Louie suddenly squeezed past the guy and waddled in. He was wearing a wrinkled blue suit today, just a hint of bourbon floated along with him.

“I’m Mr. Laufen. Mr. Haskell’s attorney. Detective Manning, I believe, correct?”

Manning nodded then flipped the file in front of him closed.

“We were just finishing up, here,” he said.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Louie said.

“No, not a problem. Just some general questions on Haskell’s whereabouts the past couple of days. I think we’ve got it sorted out, don’t we, Haskell?”

I could have ranted about wasting my time, about doing this over the phone, about keeping me waiting downstairs in the lobby. Instead, I just nodded and said, “Yes.” And left it at that.

“Can’t thank you enough for your time,” Manning said, then walked over and held the door for us as we exited the room.

Chapter Twenty

“I’ll have another,” Louie
said as he pushed his empty glass across the bar then turned back toward me. “You sure you don’t have any idea?”

“No, I don’t. Honest. Like I told you, I waited down in that stupid lobby for close to an hour, maybe longer. Manning had me in that interview room for all of two or three minutes before you came in. I’m telling you, that guy just has a hard-on for me. Any heinous crime that comes down the road his first thought is how in the hell he can tie it to me.”

“And those pictures you saw in his file?”

“Bombed out building from what I could tell. Looked like something out of Syria or Iraq. You know I’m not involved with anything or anyone even remotely associated with that sort of political shit. I’ve been checking employment dates on insurance company job applications for God’s sake.”

“What about Renee Paris?”

“That gig was just sort of for a friend. In fact, I told her she’d be better served getting a lawyer and going to court. Not that she has any sort of case to begin with. Last I checked, Paris was still ignoring any request to contact her and, well, that’s where it stands.”