The Holy City Hustle: A Duke Dempsey Mystery

by Ron Plante Jr

  “Listen, smart guy, I didn’t call anybody. They showed up just as I got on the scene. I had to play dumb and act like I’d heard the call come in on the radio,” Stampkin said, as he passed a Lucky through the bars.

  “Somebody said something, because you and my new friend were the only ones that knew I was there,” Duke said as he took the smoke and leaned over for a light from Johnny.

  “Anybody could’ve seen you sneaking around like a damn thief and called it in. Here’s the deal. When we showed up, all we saw was you taking a nap next to an open safe in the mayor’s office and his desk had shit all over it as if you ransacked it. Talk about caught red-handed.”

  Duke took a drag trying to ponder his situation. “Yeah it looks bad, but I had the guy. We need to get a description out to the public, pronto.”

  Duke was interrupted as the iron door that separated the cells from the rest of the station opened.

  “I give you a little rope and you manage to hang yourself,” Slate said to Duke as he walked in. He turned to Stampkin and said, “You two, in the interview room now, and he stays in bracelets!”

  “Yes, sir,” Stampkin said, knowing he didn’t have a leg to stand on for a rebuttal.

  As Duke and Johnny sat in the interview room waiting for Captain Slate, the tension between them was starting to build. Stampkin sat on one side of the table and Duke sat on the other in cuffs.

  “Remember what I said in there. Don’t say a word.”

  Duke just looked around at the tan, painted brick walls that boxed him in. He had been in this room many times before, making suspects crack, but this was the first time he’d had to sit on this side of the table.

  “Well, well, I knew eventually the real Duke Dempsey would show himself,” Slate said, as he walked in the room with a cup of coffee and sat next to Stampkin. “This is how it’s going to go. I’m going to talk, and you are going to listen. We’ve got a whole laundry list of charges with your name on it, which I’m sure your former partner has already explained to you. If you cooperate, maybe you won’t be spending the rest of your miserable life behind bars.”

  Duke took the last drag of his cigarette and put it out, his hands still cuffed on the table in front of Slate. “What can I do to help Charleston’s finest?”

  “Listen, smart ass, we’ll see how smug you are when you are doing 20 years upstate.”

  Johnny sat quietly looking at Duke from across the table, almost trying to speak to him through his eyes. He didn’t want Duke to say a word until representation showed up, but he couldn’t tip his hand to what side he was playing for.

  The tension between Duke and Slate was thicker than the day Slate had testified at Duke’s suspension hearing. The blood had been hot between them, but now it was coming to a boil.

  “What do you want to know that you don’t already know, Captain, or should I say, Commissioner?” Duke asked, as he leaned back in his chair, eyes deadlocked on Slate. Duke was the one being interviewed, but this was his arena, and he had questions that needed to be answered. He knew Slate was no match for him in a battle of wits, but being on the wrong side of the table, Duke would have to be a little cagey to get what he wanted.

  “You’ve got something to say, Dempsey? How about you start with why you broke into the recently deceased mayor’s office? Why did you clean out his private safe only days after his murder?”

  The cobwebs were still clearing up, but Duke instantly thought about the letters from the safe. He wasn’t sure what had happened once he hit the floor, but he would bet a nickel that his friend had taken them. “Use that brain of yours, Slate. You think I’d break into the mayor’s safe and just take a nap until you arrived? What did you find for me?”

  “I’m the one asking the questions here, Dempsey. Whoever you teamed up with took the evidence and doubled-crossed you. It doesn’t matter that you were empty-handed, I’m not into speculation, I’m into facts. The fact is you made yourself intimately involved in this case after the mayor was shot. The fact is you were found in the mayor’s ransacked office at 3 a.m. after his murder. The fact is you just happened to be in the same place dead bodies keep turning up.” Slate went into his pocket and threw a photograph on the table in front of Stampkin and Duke. They leaned in closer to get a better look when the shock hit them both. “With that reaction, I’ll take it that he’s a friend of yours.”

  Duke looked over at Johnny for some answers, but he could tell that he was just as blindsided by the photo as he.

  “Listen Cap, Duke and I were…” Stampkin was instantly cut off by Slate.

  “NO! I want to hear it from him,” Slate said as he pounded his fist on the table with his gaze firmly locked on Duke.

  “We questioned this kid at the Francis Marion while we were investigating the murder. When we left him, he was alive and whistling Dixie behind the hotel desk. That was the last time Johnny or I saw the kid until now. There’s a whole hotel lobby that can alibi me, so if you think you're dropping a murder charge, you’d best think again. You know damn well I didn’t kill this kid or have anything to do with Swanson’s death. You’re just wasting precious time, or should I say buying time?”

  “You don’t want to talk, tough guy, that’s fine. I’ve got enough here to make sure next time you see your sweetheart she’ll be old enough to be walking with a cane.” Slate said as a knock on the door diverted his attention.

  A young cop poked his head into the interview room, “Captain, you’ve got a visitor.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me, Johnson! You can see I’m in the middle of an interrogation. Tell them to take a number, and you and I will be having a private discussion on procedure,” Slate said, obviously peeved at the intrusion.

  “But sir, you don’t understand, it’s important,” the kid whispered, in fear of Slate’s next outburst.

  “Damn it!” Slate got up reluctantly and slammed the door behind him.

  “You’re not going to stay quiet, are you? He’s been itching to find dirt on you since you got kicked off the force, and now you're just giving it to him on a silver platter.”

  “This is all bullshit, John. One thing Slate isn’t is stupid, and he’s pissing on my leg for a reason,” Duke said as he motioned to Stampkin’s pack of Luckys laying on the table.

  “He thinks you’re involved. You were caught red-handed.”

  “No, he doesn’t. He’s just stalling, and I need to find out why,” Duke said, shaking his head.

  “What now?”

  “The perp. Not only did he get the drop on me, but he also cleaned me out. He took the only clue that could’ve led us to the ledger.”

  “Well, he didn’t get everything. I swiped the stuff out of your jacket as they threw the bracelets on you,” Stampkin said as he lit the cigarette hanging out of Duke’s mouth.

  “Well, aren’t you a saint. Now you’ve got to get me out of here so we can end this,” Duke said as he took a long drag.

  “I’m not breaking you out of the clink. You're just going to have to let me do the leg work on this one and try and clear your name,” Stampkin said.

  The door to the interrogation room opened and Slate walked in with a look of confusion on his face. “Stampkin, get your boyfriend out of my face!”

  Stampkin looked over at Slate, who was still standing in the doorway. “Say again? You want me to take him back to holding?”

  “You’ve got a guardian angel, Dempsey. No evidence found on you, and the mayor’s office isn’t pressing charges,” Slate said with confusion still in his voice. He turned to Stampkin. “Get this piece of filth out of my station.”

  “What’s wrong, Lester, someone else calling the shots?” Duke mocked, knowing nobody ever called him by his first name for good reason. Slate hated the name, and addressing him as such would put you on a one-way ticket to traffic duty.

  Duke and Johnny left the station after Duke collected his belongings from the desk sergeant. The early morning sun was beaming down, giving Duke a massive
headache.

  “I’m not even sure the last time I slept,” he said to Stampkin.

  “Slept? When was the last time you took a shower?”

  Duke managed a smile as he took a smell test of his right armpit. “Yeah, I’m going to go home, clean up, and get a cat nap. My office at noon?”

  “Yeah, sounds good. I’m going to head down to the garage and see what they got from Jackson’s car, if anything,” Stampkin said. He handed Duke a file folder before walking to his car. “The stuff from your jacket didn’t look like much. No letters.”

  “Yeah, might be nothing. You know who drives that?” Duke asked pointing to a green sedan parked in front of the station.

  “That’s Slate’s car, and he will put you in for life if you touch it,” Stampkin said with a smile.

  Chapter 17 – Clock’s Ticking

  “Afternoon, doll,” Duke said to his trusty secretary as he walked into the office.

  “Where have you been? You plan on doing any work this week?” Margo asked as she took her librarian-style glasses off her face.

  “It’s been a rough couple of days. I’m working Swanson’s murder and I’m not liking where the road is leading. I’m going to need you to take a few days off and lay low.”

  “Duke Dempsey, you do not tell me to lay low. Ever since this summer, you’ve treated me like I’m made of glass. I’ll have you know that I’m more than capable of handling myself,” Margo said as she picked up a file from her desk and started to read it.

  Margo was one of the toughest broads Duke knew. Their bond had grown tight over the years, and despite her disapproval of Duke’s morally challenged lifestyle, she still looked at him like a son. Duke thought the world of Margo, and when the job had almost become a hazard to her health this summer, he knew he had to be more careful in protecting the people close to him. The problem was that Margo was just as stubborn as he, and no heart-to-heart would get her to lay low while Duke was working a case.

  “Alright, alright. Coffee, and show Detective Stampkin in when he gets here.”

  Duke placed the appointment book and the birth certificates that Johnny had managed to save for him on his desk. He was pissed he’d let someone get the drop on him, and hadn’t been able to save the letters. Duke knew how to handle himself in a tussle, but he’d never seen that move coming. There would be another meeting and he looked forward to a re-match.

  In the daylight, Duke got a better look at the documents. He briefly stared at the birth certificates before he started to scan through the appointment book. Morris Swanson was a very busy and meticulous man who kept to a tight schedule, and his book was well organized. He had a particular system in which he used initials instead of names, which made it hard for Duke to decipher exactly who he was meeting with. The days leading up to the murder, he’d had the meeting with Isabella, some city budget stuff, and a few meetings with LS. The first LS in the address book had CA5 and 9233 underneath it but Duke wasn’t sure what that was.

  “Thanks, doll. Johnny should be here soon.”

  Once Margo left his office, he grabbed his bottle of Evan Williams from the bottom drawer and gave his coffee a little jolt. He looked over the deed and the birth certificates and thought that Celeste might want them. He was thinking about calling her and giving her thanks for getting him out of the slammer. He laughed at the thought of Slate taking orders from her, and being forced to cut Duke loose. He leaned back in his chair, put his feet on his desk, took a sip of his coffee, and tried to put the pieces together.

  “Morning, sweetheart,” Duke heard from the outer office area as the door closed. Johnny’s voice had a certain rasp to it that was unmistakable. Duke had always thought Margo and Johnny might make a good couple, but Stampkin’s life was his work. No way would he have time to give it a go with the old girl, but maybe one day when the battle-ax retired, he could focus his sights on a softer side of life.

  “You know the way,” Margo retorted.

  Stampkin walked into Duke’s office, threw his hat on the rack, and took a seat. “Not sure what connections you made but you’d better count your lucky stars.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know? Besides, Slate was barking up the wrong tree as usual. To think that guy may be commissioner one day,” Duke said as he took a pull off his coffee.

  “So, what have we got?” Stampkin said, trying to get back to business.

  “We don’t have the letters, the only evidence that might have shed some light onto who could be involved.” Duke opened his top drawer and threw the Shemara ticket on his desk next to the deed.

  Stampkin picked up the appointment book and started to quickly skim through the pages. “We’ve got a one-way ticket on a luxury cruise leaving tomorrow morning, the mayor’s appointment book, a deed to the Swanson’s home, and their birth certificates. It seems like a whole lot of nothing to me.”

  “Don’t forget our mystery man, making a late-night call to the mayor’s office,” Duke added. “There has got be something we’re missing here, and it’s got to be right in front of us.”

  “Well, I may have a little something,” Stampkin said as he pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. “It seems your girl Isabella was run off the road by Jackson’s car. The paint and damage match perfectly.”

  “I knew it. Jackson was in Bertucci’s pocket. We threw a wrench into the getaway, so Jackson cleans that up. He then takes care of Isabella, hoping to get his hands on the ledger and make this whole thing go away,” Dempsey said as he lit up a Lucky.

  “That was until somebody decided Jackson was a mess that needed cleaning up,” Johnny added as he lit his smoke. “Better yet, your girl Isabella got that ride from none other than Mayor Morris Swanson himself. It wasn’t easy, but we tracked the car down and it was purchased by this office. Must have been one of the cars they used to run errands.”

  “Of course, where else would she get a car? So she meets with Morris, gets the car, and plans to bring him the ledger the next day.”

  Margo brought in a fresh cup of joe for Detective Stampkin. “You two are working together again, I see. If you need anything, I’ll be at my desk.”

  “Thanks, doll,” Stampkin said as he took the coffee and then focused back on Duke. “That’s the way I see it. So this mystery man takes out Jackson. What’s his end game?”

  “The ledger. He gets that ledger and it’s game over for us, but we beat him to it, and we bring this whole corrupt system crumbling to the ground,” Duke said as he started to look over the deed. “What we need to figure out is, who did Mayor Swanson tell about Isabella?”

  “What do you mean? How do we know he told anyone?” Stampkin asked as he finished off his coffee.

  “Well, there were two people who knew Isabella was here, Isabella and Swanson. Day after Isabella shows up, Morris and Isabella are both assassinated. Whoever the mayor told must be in cahoots with Bertucci and is in that damn ledger.”

  “The bottom line is, we still need the ledger.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Duke said as he held up the appointment book. “Maybe Mr. X is right in front of us.”

  Duke and Johnny looked through the appointment book ever so meticulously, both trying to decipher the initials and figure out who Swanson could have met with. They both concluded that a good bet would be whoever LS was.

  “So this LS guy could be the mole,” Stampkin said as he sucked down his third smoke.

  “I’ve got two names that keep swirling around in my head. Our buddy Lester Slate and the mayor’s right-hand man, Leo Scagnetti.”

  “Damn it! You constantly want to pin this on a cop. Not only a cop but the captain of Charleston PD.”

  “Take off your damn blinders. This thing has city-wide corruption written all over it. Somebody put Jackson backstage on purpose and Slate is in a position to do just that. His initials are LS and he isn’t exactly helping the investigation along.”

  “Slate was Swanson's favorite to take over for Derflinger. Why the hell woul
d he have his promotion whacked? You stay away from Slate and let me handle it. He’s just itching to put you back in the slammer and throw away the key.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way, partner. I wouldn’t want my bias to cloud my judgment. I got a rapport with Leo, so I’ll pay him a visit and see what I can dig up. Clock’s ticking, John.”

  Chapter 18 – What a Prince

  Johnny left Duke’s office with a knot in his stomach. He knew what he had to do but he didn’t have to like doing it. The next morning he headed down to the station, hoping Slate would be out of the office. As he walked up the stairs, he noticed Slate’s Oldsmobile was missing. He approached the desk sergeant and asked him when Slate had left the station.

  “Captain Slate never checked in this morning,” the old sergeant said.

  Stampkin just gave a nod and headed up the stairs to Slate’s office. It was the normal hustle and bustle in the station, and nobody was the wiser as Detective Stampkin made entry. He went right for Slate's desk and started looking for anything that might tie him to the mystery man and the murders.

  Slate’s desk was just as organized and in order as his uniforms. The office looked like it was cleaned daily, and there wasn’t much for personal effects except for a picture of him and his wife. Slate was a business-oriented guy and his workspace screamed order and functionality. Everything was filed away in a nice neat fashion, which made it easy for Johnny to skim through.

  He came across a bunch of case files that didn’t seem pertinent to what he was looking for. He finally opened the bottom drawer, hoping he would strike gold, but instead found one big file folder. It must have been at least 50 pages thick, and on the front read none other than ‘Duke Dempsey.’

  Johnny started going through the file on Duke and couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Slate had newspaper clippings and Duke’s training records, and even his suspension hearing notes were all in the file. He wasn’t sure where the bad blood started between the two, but Stampkin could see that Slate was trying hard to pin something on Duke. An assassination would be a hell of a start.