by Deanna King
“It’s a cover-up then?”
“I think someone knew or hoped that someone was going to die that night and Judge Wolff’s in so deep he can’t get out, that’s what I think, and what we have to prove.”
In the back of Jack’s mind, he wanted to locate Celeste Mason. People changed their names and had plastic surgery…besides, if someone wanted to hide, it wasn’t that hard. Houston was a big crowded place to hide.
. . .
“Here it is, Jack. Says a Scott Buccella was found dead in ‘93, shot once in the head, and the case is unsolved.”
“Don’t tell me that the dicks working the case were Bullard and Simpson.”
“How did you know that?” Lucky answered sarcastically.
“What else does it say?” Jack leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head, propping one foot up on the edge of the desk.
“His body was found out on Southwest Freeway in an abandoned drive-in theater. Some kids went out there to drink and found him. He had been there for about a week or so, the body was pretty decomposed, but they had his prints from the steering wheel and dental records, so they were able to ID him.”
“How did they have his prints, did he have a record?”
“Arrested once for a DUI,” Lucky said as he scrolled through the screen. “Hey, he has some stuff from up Chicago way too. Ha. He was arrested for pandering, twice, illegal gaming, running numbers, and twice for the sale of illegal drugs, and a bar fight with a lethal weapon.”
“No kidding. What lethal weapon did he use?” Jack was back to typing.
“He used a broken beer bottle.”
“Do any time for any of it?” Jack was curious.
“He got three years for the bar fight and got out in one. He got the DUI in Texas, back in ‘83. He got his Texas driver’s license in ‘82, guessing that was when he moved here from Chicago.”
“Okay, Luck, listen to this. The Buccella family has connections to mob syndications in Chicago. Says here they were big back in the seventies and to the early nineties. Scottie was the nephew of one of the brothers, there were three. A rival family, the Zumpanos, killed the oldest brother and that started a war between the families. The Buccellas were forced out.”
“Then what, he moves up here and starts over? You know, Jack, those Italian families are close-knit. You think one of the Zumpanos whacked him for revenge?”
“Could be, but the case was never solved.”
“Okay, Jack, what’s next?”
“We go talk to Ian Simpson.”
. . .
The retirement home was on very nice grounds and rather small. It sat back off the road and was fenced in.
“It’s not a State home, it’s privately owned, caters to dementia patients, not too many others. Guess they fence the place in so patients don’t wander off. Place looks costly…think a detective’s pension was enough?” Lucky wondered who was footing the bill.
“Good question. I checked his files. Simpson had one son, wife died in a car accident when the boy was a teenager, about sixteen. He was on the job, the kid was on his own and got into trouble. He reported his second job as a part-time cop for that bar, the Silver Moon. Guess that’s how his kid, Randy, got the job bartending when he was old enough. He wanted to keep his eye on the kid. Then later he gets sucked in and can’t get out.”
“I can’t understand how an upstanding cop can be corrupted so easily. Being crooked is far from my thoughts and makes no sense to me. Corrupt people do get caught.”
“Money, Lucky, that’s the reason. Simpson had one kid and no wife bringing in a second income, hard to raise one kid when you are married to the job. Let’s go see if we can jog his memory.”
The candy-striped volunteer greeted them at the front.
“Hi, welcome to Wood Haven. Can I help you, gentlemen?” the cute, pert receptionist greeted them.
Jack badged her and asked if Ian Simpson was accepting visitors.
“He was on the force years ago, ma’am, and we want to discuss an old case he worked way back in the day.”
“You do know that the patients here have dementia and can’t remember their own names, what makes you think he’d remember the past?” Her voice took on an insulting tone, inferring he had to be stupid.
“Yes, ma’am, we are aware of that, but you know they are able to recall things sporadically, we’re going to take that chance.” Jack smiled, even though her tone was rude.
“Okay, suit yourself, but it’ll be a waste of time. I’ll go get the charge nurse that runs his section, she can help you.” She left in a huff, her blonde hair swinging.
“What a snotty brat.” Lucky didn’t care how cute she was, he didn’t like her attitude.
“May I help you?”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m Detective Jack West, this is my partner, Dawson Luck.” He badged her. “We’re here to speak with Ian Simpson. He used to be a detective long ago, and there’s a case we want to speak with him about.”
She smiled. “Well, my, this is a first. Ian never gets visitors, not a one. This might be the medicine he needs today. I’ll go get him and bring him to the sunroom.” She pointed to the room.
“Thank you, Nurse…”—Lucky looked at her name tag—“Nurse Theresa.”
In fifteen minutes, Nurse Theresa wheeled in Ian Simpson. He looked old and frail. Jack hoped this idea worked.
“Ian, this is Jack and Dawson, they’re detectives like you used to be, you remember that?” She spoke to him as one would speak to a child as she sat next to his wheelchair and patted his hand.
He looked at her, then at Jack and Dawson.
“I used to be a detective, you know that, boys?”
They nodded, and Nurse Theresa took charge again.
“They want to talk to you about your work on the force, you up for that, Ian?”
“Sure. Did you tell them I used to be a detective?”
She looked at Jack and gave a tiny smile. “He repeats himself a lot. I have other patients to assist, but if you need me, here, this is a call button, press it, I’ll come running.” She pointed out a cord with a button on it attached to Simpson’s wheelchair.
“Thanks for the heads-up.”
“Oh, and before I forget, take it slow, get him talking first and comfortable with you. Some days all he talks about is his job, and some days,” she held her hands up, “he can’t recall how to feed himself. Although he’s had a few better days here lately…I hope it continues for you today, and you get the information you need.”
Nurse Theresa left them, and Jack began.
“Can I call you Ian?”
“Oh yeah, I’d like that. Don’t get many visitors, it’s nice you fellas came to visit.” There was a sincere smile on his withered old face. “Wife’s dead, I got a worthless son. Yup, glad to have visitors.”
“Your son, doesn’t he come by to see you?” Jack wondered if he remembered that Randy was dead.
“Hey, you fellas know I used to be on the police force? Boy, I loved my job.”
Jack saw a spark in the old man’s eyes, a spark that said he missed his heydays.
“So, your son, did he follow in your footsteps?” He fished again to see how his memory was.
“Nope, he was a pussy, and it didn’t suit him. I got him a job in a bar though. He mouthed off back then, got him in hot water. Randy’s gone now, did I tell you that?”
“No, you didn’t. Where did he go?” Jack kept his tone light and steady.
The old man began to cry, shaking his head. “It was bad, I should go to hell, I’m g
oing to hell, and I don’t wanna go to hell…please don’t let them take me to hell.”
“Okay, Ian, it’s okay, we’re not going to let them take you anywhere. Can you tell me what happened?”
“He did it. Said he was sorry, but he had to do it, he felt awful about it.”
“Who did, Ian, who did it?”
“Pete did. Hey, you fellas want to see pictures of me in uniform, I was a handsome guy once.” His face became happy, near animated.
“We can do that later, okay? What happened to Randy, do you remember?” He tried to keep the old detective focused.
“Was back in ‘87, or it was ‘88, I don’t remember much anymore, but they told me that Randy was causing some problems, said they were gonna have to do something.” A pained look crossed his face.
“Who said Randy was a problem?” Jack was certain that Ian’s own partner hadn’t wanted to kill Randy.
“The boss did, he was a mean bastard, he had us…” He stopped and clamped his mouth shut.
“What did he have you do, Ian?” Jack urged him on knowing that the memories he was asking him to dredge up were painful.
“You know, he could kill me for this, but guess since you fellers are the police, you can protect me, right?”
“Of course, it’ll be our secret.” Jack knew Scottie was dead too.
“What happened to Randy?”
“It was him or me, that’s what they said. Randy knew too much, and he was running his mouth. Wanted me to do it, but I couldn’t do it, hell, I was his old man.” He stopped, his face twisted up with anger. “Pisses me off that Randy left me, here and alone, you know?”
“Ian, Pete Bullard, was he a good partner?” Jack hated doing this to the old man, but if he gave them any clue, it was worth it.
“Pete was okay, I mean, he had to do what he had to do. You know, we made it look like an accident, and I had to help. Randy was a football player, my son was. Did I tell you boys that?”
“What accident, do you remember? Can you tell me about it?”
Ian Simpson closed his eyes and a single tear fell. “Uh-huh, it was in ‘87, end of the year. Pete had already done it, broke his neck, I tried not to cry too much. We took the car and we fixed things up, you know, like he had a wreck, and he broke his neck in the wreck. We made sure we got the callout, and I guess that was that.”
“Ian, do you remember a man named Scottie Buccella?”
“You’re Jack, ain’t that right?”
“That’s right, I’m Jack.”
“Let me tell you, Jack, that Italian son of a bitch was an asshole, never liked him at all. Oh, I did what he said to do because she told me I had to.”
“Who told you that you had to do what Scottie said?”
“Celeste did, who’d ya’ think did? She was still the boss, even if that son of a bitch wannabe Mafia boss thought he was.”
Okay, that confirmed Daphne’s story, she was still in the game.
“What happened to Scottie, Ian?”
“Hell, Jack, I happened to that bastard. When the order came down, I was happier’n shit to do the job. Like Dirty Harry said, that ‘fucking made my day.’ ” He sounded thirty years younger and pissed.
This shocked both Jack and Lucky; Ian Simpson had a fire in his belly. Before Jack found his tongue again, Lucky was already asking questions.
“What did ya do?” Lucky leaned in, looking at the old man who now had a definite spark in his old faded blue eyes.
“One shot in the head. I left him at the drive-in theater that had closed for business, wanted him to rot out there. Made it look like a mob hit, he was from a family of mobsters, thought it was a fittin’ way to do him. We had a boss, all he was, was a useless piece of chicken dung.”
He got quiet, and the anger ebbed from his face, replaced with regret, or was it shame? While they were absorbing this new information, Ian looked at them both with a steady gaze.
“Back then we had to do some bad stuff, but I was in too deep and knew too much, ya know?” He switched gears. “Hey, did you guys find Randy?”
He was stuck on his son, Jack knew the old detective was bothered about his son…remorse haunted him.
“No, sir, I’m sorry, we haven’t.” Lucky tried not to let Ian hear the exasperation he was feeling.
“Okay, fellars, what we working on today? We got a new case or what?” Ian’s eyes sparkled. He loved the job, even though he hadn’t been on the force in over thirty-plus years.
“Uh, Ian, do you recall a case about a young woman found in her car, her fingertips had been cut off and her face gone, she’d been shot in the head? It was a long time ago, if you don’t recall it, that’s okay.” Lucky was back to letting Jack lead the interview.
The old man closed his eyes, concentrating.
“Hmm, let’s see, back in ‘86, they found her on some land behind a motel, that the one you mean?”
“That’s the one. Can you tell me about it?”
“You know I got some memory problems, dontcha?”
“I do, but whatever you can remember might help us.”
“Hmm, you know, the Bull was with me back then, we were a great team once, ain’t no more though. That girl, she was a looker, and had spirit,” he cackled, “but then I used to too. You know I used to be a detective,” he repeated himself.
“Uh-huh, we know, and I bet you were one of the best back in your day.” Jack exhibited more patience than Lucky had.
“No, I wasn’t, I didn’t do my job like I should have.” A single tear fell from his tired old eyes.
Jack scooted his chair closer to the wheelchair, and he put his hand on Ian’s withered one.
“Ian, I hope you can help us with this case, make it right, and then we can say you did your job, you closed the case and helped the force out for old time’s sake. That’ll look good, your name on a closed file again, whatdaya say?”
The old retired detective looked up at both of them. “I’d like that, but,” he paused and looked around, “but you know it’s a secret, right?”
“We’re good at keeping secrets.” Lucky pulled his chair closer to the old man too.
“Ian, do you recall what happened to the girl in the car, do you remember that case?” Jack had his fingers crossed, figuratively speaking.
“It was an accident, that’s what they said, but then it kinda got messed up and got nasty. Those whores, boy, some of ‘em knew how to make a man crazy. You know, she was one of ‘em that did it all.” The old man’s laughter was bawdy. “I was with her many a nights.” Then he whispered, “Don’t tell my wife, keep that our secret.”
“What happened to her, Ian?”
Ian Simpson sat quietly. He had that look on his face, he was thinking, remembering.
“That night they told us not to work the case hard, let it lie and go with what info we had that was in the car. Bull and I did, we left it unfinished. We both got money to keep our mouths shut and for closing our eyes. I missed that whore. You know, you do what the boss wants, no matter what. Hey, have you guys seen my son Randy, he hasn’t been around, and I sure would like to see him.”
“No, sir, we haven’t,” Lucky replied, feeling quite sorry for the old man.
“Who was the boss, Ian, when the whore got whacked?” Jack asked him.
“She was, it was always her,” he told them.
Jack nodded, understanding that he meant Celeste; she was the “her.”
“Ian, this wom…uh, whore, what made her special?” Lucky joined the conversation, knowing that the girl in question might be his missing girl.
“You did. Tell us about the girl, can you do that?” Jack tried to keep him focused on the girl.
“You know, Randy liked JoAnn, and the reason was cuz she gave it to him free of charge, that skank. Made me pay for it, but heck, she never said no, she’d darn near let you do anything you wanted in the sack.”
“JoAnn was a busy girl then, right?” Jack stayed with it.
“Oh, hell, we all wanted her, she did it all, and I do mean she did it all. She liked them high dollar fellas more than us coppers. But you know, I know.”
“Know what, what do you know, Ian?” What Jack had so far was good, but he needed more. He had an overabundance of dead people, and they sure weren’t talking, and a high-ranking official he couldn’t approach, at least not yet.
“That whore did get carried away, was kinda scary. She told me once that she always made sure she was safe, never putting herself in any danger she couldn’t manage safely. Man, she was the best one of the lot. I think it was that young punk. I never liked him, but you can’t like everybody I guess. He did it, I know he did.”
“Now who on earth would be so bad that you wouldn’t like?” Jack searched the old man’s face.
“You know, them asshole attorney fellas. They thought they were better’n us cops. We were just lowlifes to them. Hey, I am hungry. How about we drive into town and get a steak, I’d like that. You fellas want to eat?”
“Tell you what, soon as we get done here, how about I go get you a big juicy burger with some fries? Right now let’s talk about the case, okay?”
“Oh yeah, yeah, yeah, sure, sure, what’cha wanna know?”
“This woman who did it all, did she have a street name she went by?” Jack asked him with an off chance, hoping he would remember. To his surprise, a hearty belly laugh emitted from the old man.
“Damn it to hell, hadn’t thought about that in over thirty years, but she did, she did at that. Hey, you guys know I was on the force once.”