Bad Day in a Banana Hammock

by Stuart R. West

  Again, she laughed. “I had no idea he was even having an affair! Not until today. With the reporters saying he was murdered in his love nest!”

  “I don’t think it was really a love nest—”

  “Had you been getting along with your husband lately?”

  “Define ‘getting along.’ We’ve been married for twenty-seven years! Twenty-seven years! All of the magic goes out of long-term marriages, a sad fact of life. But…I thought things were fine. Hal always…worked long hours. As a senator…it’s expected. Foolish of me, really, not to have suspected anything, I suppose. For the last several years, we’d stopped sleeping together…”

  Next to Zora, Zach shuffled. Drew a finger around his collar. Clearly uncomfortable discussing anyone else’s sex life other than his own.

  “I just thought it par for the course. I knew Hal’s job could be…overwhelming at times. He took the burden of his constituents on as his own. Hal…oh, Hal…” She almost lost it again. But she rolled back her shoulders, took in a deep breath. Let it out. Grace under pressure. Or diverting Zora from her original question.

  “Sorry to keep bothering you with this…but can anyone verify your being home last night? Staff, maybe?”

  “Our staff is daytime only.”

  Must be nice.

  “But, yes…as I told the other detectives…Mr. Tufts can verify I was here. Asleep.”

  Weird.

  “Mr. Tufts, your husband’s advisor?” Mrs. Turlington nodded. “Um…does he sleep here often?”

  Mrs. Turlington dropped her shoulders, gave Zora an incredulous, less than graceful look: Were you born stupid or did practice get you there?

  “Of course Tufty doesn’t sleep here! Tufty couldn’t find Hal. He had to talk to him about the upcoming primaries. Something that couldn’t wait. So he waited downstairs for Hal while I went to bed.”

  “And how long was Mr. Tufts waiting last night?”

  “I don’t know…two, three in the morning before he gave up. I’m not sure. I was asleep. Ask him.”

  “We will. If you knew your husband was missing…weren’t you worried? Did you try to call him?”

  “Of course I did! Time and time again. So did Tufty. But Hal didn’t answer…too busy…well…”

  “I see. Sorry to bring it up again, Mrs. Turlington, but…and this is a prickly question, I know…but was the Senator spending time with a woman friend? Maybe someone he worked with? Anyone you suspect?”

  Zach swallowed, audible across the room. Mrs. Turlington raised an eyebrow, gave him a look before answering.

  “I already told you, and the detectives before you, I didn’t even have a clue he was having an affair.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t an affair, ma’am, not really. Just a misunderstanding or something. I think—”

  “Detective!” This time Zora didn’t bother chastising her brother with physical violence. Her glare did the trick. “Sorry, Mrs. Turlington. We just have to be thorough, as I’m sure you understand.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “We’re about wrapped up. One last question…do you have any idea who might’ve wanted to harm your husband? Did he have any enemies?”

  This time her laughter sounded quite amused. Her tittering lasted longer than the moment merited. “Naturally Hal had enemies, as you so melodramatically put it. Or at least people he butted heads with. But, if you really want to find his killer, I’d start with whoever he was screwing last night.”

  “Believe me, ma’am, we’re looking for her,” said Zach.

  One, two, three, four…

  “You said Senator Turlington had political enemies. Who might they be?”

  She crossed her arms, tapped a no-doubt designer shoe. One that Zora imagined she could never afford. “You really haven’t done your homework, have you, Detective Jones? As I said, the primaries are gearing up…” She pointed toward the muted TV. “There. Cleavon Smalls. Hal’s biggest competition in the upcoming election.”

  On-screen, a rotund black man was shaking his head. Serious sad eyes. Spouting something in front of a microphone. The ticker at the bottom of the screen recapped clearly enough: It’s a shame a once beyond reproach man of high morals would use his power in office to procure… A muck-raking opportunist. Welcome to the world of politics.

  “Mr. Cleavon Smalls…” Zora wrote the name below “pick up Phillip’s dry-cleaning.” “Got it. What can you tell me about Mr. Smalls?”

  “Watch the news,” she snapped. Then she held a hand over her eyes, shook her head. “I’m sorry, I must apologize for my outburst. It’s been a trying time.”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “But Hal and Smalls used to go head-to-head, using the media as their battle-ground. Things got nasty, accusations being flung left and right about teamsters, unions, crooked contracts…what have you. Politics.”

  “I see.”

  “If anyone had to gain anything from Hal’s…murder, look no further than Smalls.”

  Zora glanced at Cleavon Smalls’ image, raising a power fist and wearing a power tie, wondering if she was looking at a murderer.

  “Thank you very much, Mrs. Turlington. I’m sorry to have imposed upon you in your time of grief. My deepest condolences for your loss.”

  Slucccck. She finished her glass of wine and headed for the bedside bar. With her back to them, pouring another glass, she said, “Please…just let me grieve.”

  “We’ll see ourselves out, ma’am,” said Zach, looking like he was ready to give her one of his brawny, feel-good hugs. Zora grabbed him, dragged him out of the room.

  Suddenly appearing at the front door, Tufts gave Zora a start.

  “Mr. Tufts!”

  “Detective?” Eyes at half-mast, bored looking. Slip of a mouth, invisible lips.

  “Mrs. Turlington says you were here most of the night.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “What time did Mrs. Turlington go to bed?”

  Without hesitation, “12:20.”

  “Uh-huh. And how long did you stay?”

  “3:00 on the nose. Then I had to call it a night.”

  Which might explain his perpetually sleepy look. Or robotics could explain it.

  “During that time, did Mrs. Turlington get up? Leave?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Fine and dandy. We may have more questions for you later.”

  “I’ll be here, tending to matters of business.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Can I have one of your cards, Detective Jones?” A blip of a smile registered on his face. He held out an open palm, one that seemed void of lines. As smooth as his deadpan demeanor.

  Crap. “Sorry, Mr. Tufts. Department cutbacks. We’ll be in touch.”

  Zora turned, ready to hightail it to the van. She thought Zach was right behind her. Then she heard him talking to Tufts.

  “…you really should smile more often, you know? Smiles are good, keeps wrinkles away. And you really oughta consider moisturizing. It’s good—”

  “Detective Hassleberg!”

  *

  As soon as they got in the van, Zora smacked her brother upside his head. Priorities.

  “What the hell, sis? What was that for?”

  “For being stupid, that’s what! You almost said you were ‘David Hasselhoff!’ So dumb! Gah! Get over your stupid little juvenile infatuation, already!”

  “The Hoff isn’t stupid,” he muttered. “Good actor. Hey, all those Germans can’t be wrong.”

  “Oh, whatever.” Zora stared down her brother until he looked away, shamed. Like a good dog. “So…I take it Mrs. Turlington wasn’t your mystery woman.”

  “What? Hell no…I got better taste then that!”

  “Yeah, right. I’ve seen some of your bimbos.”

  “They’re not bimbos. Well…not all of them.”

  “Okay, so Mrs. Turlington and her man, Tufts, conveniently alibi one another.”

  “Well, duh. We already know who t
he killer is. We just gotta find her.”

  Zora held her hand up again, swatted the air. Zach flinched, hands up in protection mode.

  “Don’t make me hit you again.”

  “What? We know Mrs. Turlington didn’t kill her husband!”

  “We don’t know any such thing. You can’t even remember the night!”

  He shrugged. “Seems pretty much like common sense.”

  “Something you don’t have.”

  “So now what?”

  “Guess we go pay Cleavon Smalls a visit. Mrs. Turlington said he had a real mad-on for the senator. Maybe he can lead us to your mystery bimbo.”

  “Not a bimbo.”

  “Make yourself useful for a change, Mr. Bimbo. Find out where Smalls’ office is.”

  *

  The Olathe Courthouse, located on the other side of town, meant they hit the road again. Zora fumed behind the wheel as her minivan exhaust smoke cooked away. Any consoling words at this point would just instigate another head slap. Zach considered taking the gun from her, but then tossed the notion away. Why give Zora any ideas?

  Zora parked in front of the government office building, cursed at her seatbelt like a sailor and finally got out of the van.

  Hitching up her pants, she said, “You’re Smith. Detective John Smith.”

  “Kinda boring, sis.”

  “Too bad I can’t make this more fun for you.”

  “Hey, no problem, Zor. I’ll just roll with it.”

  She groaned, stormed off ahead of him.

  Smalls’ secretary sat in the center of the large waiting room, looking at them over her glasses. When Zach approached her desk, she gave her hair a come-hither shake and nibbled on the end of a pen. He was already in.

  “Hello, I’m detective Laura Jones with the KCMO—”

  “And what’s your name, darling?”

  A smile, EZ Brite style. “Shannon.”

  “Well, now, Shannon, that’s a pretty name. Suits you well.”

  Zora glared at Zach, arms akimbo in a menacing gym teacher’s pose.

  “Thank you. How can I help you?”

  She only had eyes for Zach, the eight month pregnant woman invisible to her.

  “We need to see your boss, Alderman Smalls. Official police business, ma’am.”

  “I see…and may I ask what this is pertaining to?”

  “We’re investigating the murder of—”

  “Would you please tell Alderman Smalls we’re here?” said Zora. “Now?”

  “And how ‘bout when I come back, you give me your phone number, darlin’?”

  “Hmm. And why would I do that? Maybe—”

  “Oh for God’s sake! Please tell him we’re here! Now!”

  Shannon gave Zora a prissy look, the type his sister used to get from the mean girls in school. With a voice as cool as shaved ice, Shannon spoke into her phone. “Mr. Smalls, there are two detectives here who—”

  Behind them, a door cracked open. Alderman Cleavon Smalls came at them fast, nearly trotting, hand extended. Wearing a serious “call me Cleavon!” smile.

  “Detectives! I wondered when you might talk to me!”

  He moved with the odd grace big men carried well. Except for Burly Brian, of course. Smalls pumped Zach’s hand, gave Zora a petite, polite bare minimum shake.

  “Come in, come into my office!” He whirled, rolling back into his cubbyhole of an office. A big hand flourished over the two chairs across from his desk. He performed a little standing-in-place jig, closed the door for the finale. Every gesture he made looked podium-ready. Out of breath, he collapsed into his chair, mopping his head with a handkerchief. On his desk sat a tiny television dialed into the latest developments on Senator Turlington’s murder, everyone’s show of choice today. He grinned at them, happy as a lark. “A lovely day!”

  “Um, yeah. I’m detective Laura Jones and this is—”

  “Smith. John Smith.”

  “Heh. I like that…Smith and Jones.” He sat back, tugging on a low-hanging earlobe (too much tugging, thought Zach), apparently pondering their names. He snapped back to the present, pointed at Zora. “If you don’t mind my askin’, ma’am, how long ‘til your little voter drops?”

  “Feels like any minute now.”

  He shook his head, worked up sad puppy eyes. “Why…that’s just terrible. Simply terrible. I might have to have a word with the KCMO police superintendant, make sure you get full maternity leave.”

  “That’s not necessary, Alderman—”

  “Nonsense! I’m a firm believer in equality and women’s rights! Vote for me, Cleavon Smalls. The only thing small about me’s my name!” He leaned over his desk, waiting for applause. Zach stared at the TV, waiting for Smalls’ political advertisement to end. “So…let’s get started, Smith and Jones.”

  Zora pointed toward the TV. “As you well know, last night Senator Turlington was shot dead. We—”

  “Terrible. Absolutely terrible.” But his accompanying smile illustrated what he really thought. “Now…I’ve gotta say, it’s not so terrible for me. Looks like I’m a lock now for the senate.”

  “Yes, I can see you’re mourning.”

  “Hey, don’t get me wrong. Hal was a real nasty piece of work, a real—pardon my French—son-of-a-bitch. Frankly I’d like to buy his killer a fancy steak dinner.”

  “I see…” said Zora. “Care to elaborate, Alderman?”

  “The guy had no morals, no scruples. Anything he did—taking kickbacks, floating gimmicked city contracts—was to line his pockets. And the guy had the libido of a Kennedy, a blond in every pond, so to speak. Not like me, happily and faithfully married for thirty years! Cleavon Smalls, the only thing small about me—”

  “Is your name. Got it. Did the Senator have a special companion? Someone who he saw on a regular basis?”

  “Now, that I can’t help you with, ma’am. We didn’t exactly run in the same social circles if you get what I mean.” He favored Zach with a wink. Zach winked back, immediately felt uncomfortable doing so. Men probably shouldn’t wink at one another. Not that Zach had anything to worry about, after all.

  “So no one you know of.”

  “It is what it is.” Smalls spread Zen-like hands.

  “Uh huh. Alderman, where were you last night between the hours of eleven and two in the morning?”

  “Burning the midnight oil, of course! Right here in my office. And before you ask, I was alone, last man standing. Because I’m a dedicated servant to the people. Cleavon Smalls! The only thing small about me—”

  “Surely there was someone who saw you coming or going.”

  His jowls got a wet-sounding work-out when he shook his head. “Not a soul. It’s lonely being a dedicated man in a not so dedicated business. I wish I could tell you I had an iron-clad alibi, have someone verify my whereabouts. I honestly do! But, like most nights, this is where I was. A believer in a solid work ethic and high moral standards.” Big-time politician smile, hands offering up nothing. “I can definitely tell you I didn’t kill the man if that sets your mind at ease.”

  “Not really.”

  “Hey, I might’ve despised the man, but I didn’t kill him. I’m not a killer. I’m afraid you’ll just have to take me at my word, and my word is good. As sure as my name is Cleavon Smalls, the only—”

  “I wish it was that easy, Alderman. Taking you at your word. But…my faith in politicians only takes me so far.”

  His smile dropped, changing his entire demeanor. “Detective, I assure you I didn’t kill the Senator.”

  “Mm-hm. If you can think of anything at all that could help validate your story—”

  “Not a story. I’m all about the truth. That’s what Cleavon Smalls stands for.”

  “And Detective Laura Jones would like to stand for an honest-to-God alibi.”

  “Look…I don’t know everything Hal was caught up in. Wish I could help you more. I just know he loved his prostitutes. It doesn’t really even surprise me he was fou
nd dead in his…love nest.”

  “Not a love nest,” muttered Zach.

  The Alderman stared at him, then went back to preaching. “But I’m an honest man. Unlike Hal. Just ask around. I’m incapable of taking kickbacks, let alone murdering a man.” He looked down at the TV, gave it a double-take.

  He wasn’t the only one. A sketch of Zach filled the screen. A crummy likeness, his eyes way too close together. Made him look stupid. But recognizable enough.

  Smalls jacked a thumb to the screen. “See? There’s your killer. White guy, full head of hair.” He squinted at Zach, his mind clearly working to make the connection. “Not like me at all.”

  Zach averted his eyes, looked behind him through the window. Two men stood in the waiting room, talking to Shannon. Suits. Good, fitting ones. With seriously furrowed brows.

  Crap.

  “You’re not helping me very much here, Alderman. You—”

  “Um, Detective?”

  “Give me something, Alderman, anything!”

  The voices from the waiting room rose, heated.

  “Hey, Detective?” Zach nudged her with an elbow.

  “What?”

  “I think…we’re needed back at headquarters.” He cocked his head toward the window. “Something’s come up.”

  Zora sucked in a breath. “Okay, Alderman, that’s all for now. We’ve gotta—”

  “How about a business card? In case I think of anything else.”

  “Sorry. We’re out.”

  And out of time.

  The chair groaned when Smalls shot up. Both hands out. “Before you go, can you say it?”

  “Say what?” Zora peeked out the window again. The two detectives were coming toward Small’s office, Shannon yammering behind them.

  “Don’t leave town.”

  “Oh, for God’s…Fine. Don’t leave town.”

  Smalls clapped. “Fantastic. Remember, Detectives…vote for me, Cleavon Smalls. The only thing small—”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Zora reached for the doorknob. The door swung open. The two detectives (indistinguishable in their frat boy haircuts) narrowed their eyes in unison. Part of their training, no doubt.

  “I’m sorry…excuse me.” Zora shot past them. Zach hurried after her with his head down, but his likeness still plastered on the TV.