Dirty Devil

by Liliana Hart

  5

  I was surprised when Jack turned back toward the entrance gate rather than Dr. Park’s home on the other side of the lake.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “The Judge’s Chamber,” he said. “Kimmie said he’d head there after a big case. My guess is that’s where the booze and bar mix you found in his stomach originated. We need a timeline, and to find who the last person to see him alive was.”

  “I feel like I need a shower,” She was a real piece of…work,” I said. “I’ve never seen you intentionally try to make someone angry like that. Interesting tactic. Or is that part of your reelection strategy?”

  He grinned and accelerated into the turn. “Just wanted to push her buttons a little and see what kind of temperament she had. She’s too hot-headed, too impulsive. Her emotions rule her. Whoever killed John was cold and calculating. We’ll check with José to see if he knows if what she said about taking a sleeping pill is true, but my gut says it probably is. She’s selfish at heart. She wouldn’t think twice about worrying whether or not he was out in the storm, or maybe lost or stranded. Her main concern is herself.”

  “You think she’s right about the house and everything in it being hers?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “She wasn’t wearing an engagement ring.”

  “I noticed,” I said. “But she had plenty of other shiny baubles. All I know is that John Donnelly’s will reading should be very interesting. Maybe we could get tickets to attend.”

  “If you wanted to go to the circus you should’ve said so,” he said, cracking a smile. “You ever been to the Judge’s Chamber?”

  “Nah, it came along after my bar-hopping days,” I said. “It’s too far out, and word on the street is the cops like to set up checkpoints and bust people driving home.

  “This town is lousy with cops,” Jack said, laughing.

  “Not to mention there are people there,” I said. “And people generally want to strike up random conversations, most of which I care nothing about.”

  “You’re such a people person,” he said. “My wife, the Crypt-Keeper. Maybe that should be your Halloween costume.”

  “I narrowed my eyes. “I said I would go. You’re not putting me in a costume. There’s nothing in the wife handbook about dressing up.”

  “That’s not what you said the other night when you wore that red thing,” he said.

  “That wasn’t a costume,” I said, punching him in the shoulder. “That’s an…accessory. Besides, I barely wore it.”

  “I remember,” he said, clutching his hand to his heart. “You know if you dress in the right costume, no one will know who you are and they won’t talk to you.”

  “Hmm,” I said, thinking it over. He had a point. “Are you trying to trick me?”

  “That’s hurtful,” he said. “I’d never do that.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said, shifting things back on topic. “Tell me about the Judge’s Chamber.”

  “It’s a cop bar for the most part,” he said. “But anyone who works for Lady Justice shows up there sooner or later—lawyers, social workers, civil service—everyone but you, apparently.”

  “I don’t recall ever hearing you talk about hanging out there,” I said.

  “And me,” he agreed. “Not my scene. Mike Costello owns the place.”

  “Why does that name sound familiar? Is he from Bloody Mary?”

  “He was a cop,” Jack said. “Left the force a year before I took over as sheriff. But I got to inherit the mess he left. Costello decided to relieve himself in an alley while on duty and a mugger decided to take advantage of the situation. The guy used Costello’s weapon against him, and Costello ended up getting shot in the knee. Sheriff Drummond raked him over the coals and put him on leave, but Costello got to the media first and told his heroic side of the story. Guess who he told it to?”

  I growled low in my throat. “Let me guess. Floyd Parker.”

  “Bingo. Floyd’s article catches traction, and all of a sudden Costello’s name is splashed across every media outlet, and at that point it doesn’t matter what the truth is. The people have already decided Drummond screwed Costello over. Costello ends up suing the department for his own stupidity, and also played it up to the media how bad the crime is in King George for cops to get assaulted on the street. It wasn’t a good year for Donald Drummond. It’s the main reason why he lost the election against me.”

  “And the fact that Donald Drummond was an idiot,” I said.

  “That didn’t help,” Jack agreed. “But if Drummond had done a press conference as soon as Costello was suspended it would’ve been a very different story. But Drummond liked to keep things close to the vest in the department. It’s why there was so much corruption to clean up when I got there.”

  “What’d you do with Costello?” I asked.

  “We ended up settling just to get Costello to shut up, and he took early retirement. He’d been on the job just long enough to be vested. But I’ve never had much use for cops who do a half-assed job just hoping to pull in a pension at the end of their thirty years. Those kinds of cops aren’t useful to anyone.”

  “And how does he feel about you?” I asked.

  “I have no idea,” he said. “I haven’t seen or thought about him in more than a decade.”

  It took almost half an hour to get to the Judge’s Chamber, and I was surprised to see so many cars in the parking lot.

  “He’s not doing a bad business,” I said.

  “He’s killing it. He bought this place and all the land around it with his settlement money, then he turned around and sold most of the land to a developer for millions. This place will be breaking fire codes in the next few hours. It’s Saturday night.”

  I groaned. I had no idea what day of the week it was. The days tended to blur from one to the next, especially when work was my focus. “I guess I can see why you wanted to do this now instead of waiting until after Dr. Park.”

  “I get a good idea every once in a while,” he said. “Just a heads up, this is probably going to be very awkward.”

  “That’s pretty much how my whole day has gone,” I said, getting my first real look at the Judge’s Chamber. It was built like a big barn with big timbers and a metal roof. “This place is huge.”

  I heard the music as soon as we got out of the Tahoe, and I was immediately thankful it was the canned kind and not a live band. I’d passed the age where I liked having my eardrums rung for no reason whatsoever.

  I knew what awkward meant the second we walked through the doors. Everyone knew Jack. But Jack didn’t spend his time in bars, especially bars where a group of his cops were sitting in a corner, and a group of defense attorneys those cops had most assuredly testified as expert witnesses against were sitting in the other.

  “Hey, Sheriff,” the cops called from the corner. I recognized everyone. I’d already seen Cole and Martinez that morning, and Durrant and Diaz were there as well.

  “Pull up a chair,” Cole said, tipping his beer in our direction. “We’re just getting started. These slackers all have tomorrow off, so my night is going to be cut short since we’re still working the scarecrow case we found this morning.”

  All the other officers worked four twelves since they were patrol cops, but Cole’s scheduling was different since he was a detective and we were in the middle of a murder investigation. Generally speaking, there was no such thing as getting weekends off when murder was involved.

  “I’m here to talk to Costello,” Jack said. “But thanks for the invite.”

  Cole made a face at the mention of Costello’s name. “I always hated that bastard ended up with this bar. But he serves cheap drinks.”

  “Amen for that,” Martinez said.

  “Any news on the ID of our vic yet?” Cole asked, tossing a couple of peanuts into his mouth.

  “That’s why I’m here to talk to Costello,” Jack said. “The vic was John Donnelly.”

  The surprise at th
e whole table was palpable, and Cole muttered an expletive. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

  “Why?” Jack asked.

  “Because he was here,” Durrant said. “Wednesday night. We saw him leave. He was drunk as two skunks. He couldn’t even walk a straight line out the door. We figured the guys running the checkpoint out by Broken Bow would catch him.”

  Durrant reminded me of a beanpole. He was tall and skinny, and his face was long and narrow. He had puppy-dog-brown eyes and hair that never quite managed to stay out of his face. He and Martinez had been closest to Lewis, and I’d heard the rumors that they’d both been frequenting the bars more often since their friend had died. They wouldn’t be the first cops who tried to ease their pain with alcohol, but it never led to anything but poor decisions, slower reaction times, and broken relationships.

  Jack nodded. “Notice anything unusual?”

  “The drinking was his usual,” Cole said. “He’s a regular. I don’t come here that often, but he’s almost always here somewhere between six and eight o’clock. Donnelly was a creature of habit. He always sat at that end seat of the bar, facing the door. He’d drink whiskey neat and talk to Costello until he could barely stay on his barstool. He gave us the stink eye on his way out, and that’s the last time we saw him.” Cole smiled grimly. “Hops and Chen were working the checkpoint that night. I’ll ask them if they saw him pass. He drives that fancy red Porsche. It’s kind of hard to miss.”

  “Good call,” Jack said. “I want to talk to Costello before things get too crazy in here. Y’all be good.”

  “Always are,” Martinez said.

  Jack clapped him on the shoulder, and we turned toward the bar. I knew Jack was worried about Martinez. He and Lewis had been tight, and losing a partner is like losing a member of your family. Jack had required all the officers that had been involved in the incident with my parents to undergo mandatory counseling. Even with the counseling, it was something they’d live with and have nightmares about for the rest of their lives. I knew this from experience. I’d been having nightmares about my parents ever since my dad had come back from the dead.

  I’d noticed the man behind the bar hadn’t taken his eyes off us since we walked in. He’d tended to his customers and made small talk, but his attention was for us alone. I could only assume this was Mike Costello. He reminded me of a hairy garden gnome, and I couldn’t ever imagine him putting on the uniform. But his eyes told a different story. Cop eyes were always recognizable.

  “Costello,” Jack said, moving to the end of the bar where there were no people to overhear our conversation.

  “Sheriff,” Costello said. His tone wasn’t friendly or unfriendly, just matter of fact. “First time I’ve seen you in here.” He didn’t seem too excited by the idea

  “I’m here about John Donnelly,” Jack said. “He’s dead.”

  Costello tossed a wet rag onto the bar and said, “Aw, hell. I had a feeling something was wrong. Come on into the back where we can hear ourselves think.” Costello grabbed a beer from the ice and yelled, “Sheree! Come tend the bar for me.”

  We followed him into a small office area that smelled vaguely of lemons and old cigarettes. Costello plopped into a rolling chair with a squeaky wheel and gestured for us to sit in the two folding chairs against the wall. He took a long sip of the beer.

  “We haven’t met,” Costello said, eyeing me up and down rudely.

  “Dr. Graves,” I said, arching a brow. “County coroner.”

  “Sure,” he said, dismissing me. “Saw your wedding picture in the paper. Heard an awful lot about you.”

  Costello smirked and I knew whatever he’d heard had probably come from Floyd. I felt Jack tense beside me, but there was no change in his expression.

  “You knew Donnelly?” Jack asked.

  “Sure,” Costello said. “Closest thing to a friend that bastard probably ever had. It was rare I’d go more than two nights without seeing him unless he was out of town. I knew something was wrong when he didn’t show up last night. I think he was leaving on some trip today.”

  “Yeah, Aruba,” Jack said. “He was here Wednesday night?”

  Costello nodded. “He came in a little after five when he got done with court. Was raining cats and dogs out, so the crowd was light. Just my regulars. Stayed till a little after eight thirty. I shooed everyone home by nine and locked up because of the tornado warnings in the area. Barely made it home before things got real bad.”

  “Anything seem off about Donnelly?”

  “Nah, nothing much shook John. He was anxious to get home to his woman. Was in a celebratory mood if you get my drift. He’d won a big case that day. He bought a couple of bottles of bubbly to take home to that infant he’s seeing.” Costello shuddered. “Hell, I don’t even know if she’s old enough to drink.” Costello shuddered. “She’s younger than my daughter. But with John’s money, he never had problems getting tail. He’s probably got another lined up for when he decides to move this one out.”

  “I thought they were getting married?” I asked.

  Costello laughed so hard he had to wipe the tears from his eyes. “What in the Sam Hill gave you that idea? John would’ve slit his own wrists before he ever got married again.”

  “She seemed to think they were getting married,” I said. “She said she was his fiancée.”

  “In her dreams,” Costello said. “Literally. Because I can guarantee you John never brought up the word marriage to her. In fact, the more a woman starts hinting toward marriage, the faster he rushes them out the door.”

  “What about Julie Burkett?” Jack asked. “Know anything about her?”

  “Sure, I know Julie,” he said, the look in his eyes calculating. “She came in a few times with John. Nice lady. Too good for John, and he knew it. It’s why he ended things.”

  “Were they still sleeping together?”

  Costello shrugged. Who the hell cares? He’d crash at her place from time to time. Who knows if they were doing the nasty. That’s between them. I’m a bartender. Not a priest.”

  “He didn’t mention any trouble he was having?” Jack asked. “Anyone who was bothering him? Any threats?”

  “Not recently,” Costello said. “Not recently. Look, John wasn’t a likable fellow. In fact, he had a way of drawing out the worst in people. It was a gift. At least in the courtroom. He could make a Sunday school teacher want to stab him in the heart. He’s had plenty of threats. Had his tires slashed a couple of times, and a brick thrown through his office window. Things like that.”

  “So he’s not exactly on everyone’s Christmas card list,” I said, making Costello chuckle.

  “You got cameras in the parking lot?” Jack asked.

  “Sure,” he said. “You’re welcome to the feed. I don’t like the thought of someone doing this on my property. But the rain was so bad I’d be surprised if you could see anything. He parked right in front, over on the right side. I could see his headlights light up the window before he pulled out.”

  “His tox report came back with a blood alcohol level of .16,” I said.

  “Yeah, John liked the whiskey. But he’s John, so you can’t tell him what to do. He wouldn’t listen. He never worried much about DWIs because he could buy his way out of any situation. Or make the one giving him trouble wish they were dead. But I am surprised he never wrapped any of his fancy toys around a telephone pole.”

  “Anyone off the top of your head you can think of that caused him more trouble than others?” Jack asked.

  Costello thought for a minute. “Said he got a dead animal in the mail a couple of weeks ago, but didn’t have a name to go with it. The only person I can think of who’s been giving him real grief was the DA. Keeps trying to get him on ethics violations. And failing.”

  That was an interesting bit of information. And something I was hoping we wouldn’t have to get entangled in. Because pissing off the DA was the equivalent of shooting yourself in the foot. It would hurt like hell and lea
ve you with a permanent limp. Not something Jack needed with an election coming up.

  “Did Donnelly ever mention his health?” I asked. “Mention any doctors he was seeing?”

  “No, but I told him he needed to go and get a physical. He wasn’t looking good. Had that gray color to his face. I mentioned once that maybe he should cut back on the booze, but he just laughed it off and told me to pour him another drink. He said he was the kind of guy that both heaven and hell didn’t want, so he figured he was destined to live forever.”

  “Guess he was wrong,” I said. “He had lung cancer. Pretty advanced. And his heart and liver were both ticking time bombs. I would’ve been surprised if he’d lasted another six months.”

  “Doesn’t make him any less murdered,” Costello said.

  “No,” I agreed. “What about the plastic surgery?”

  Costello chuckled. “His body might have been shit on the inside, but he always made sure it was packaged well. Said appearances were everything.”

  “Thanks for your time,” Jack said. “If I can just get the camera feed.”

  “I’ll copy it to a disc for you,” Costello said. “Security feed is in here.” He opened a narrow door into what looked to be a large closet, but it was lined with TV monitors showing all the different camera feeds from around the property. I was surprised how good the quality was. Most businesses didn’t bother to go so high end, making it almost impossible to get a visual on suspects when there was trouble.

  “I heard Floyd Parker tossed his name in the ring for sheriff,” Costello said, making the copy, along with small talk.

  “That’s what I heard,” Jack said.

  “Should be an interesting race,” he continued. “I don’t think you’ve had any real competition since your first term. He might throw a real wrench in the works for you.”

  “Could be,” Jack said, not rising to the bait.

  “Heard you assaulted him a few months back,” he said, hoping to do the same to me. “I’m sure that’s going to come up during the election.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “There was no assault on my end. In fact, Floyd impeding an investigation is on record since there were news cameras there at the time. Guess you got bad information.”