Soft Case: (Book 1 in the John Keegan Mystery Series)

by John Misak

  “Very possible. What do you know about her situation?”

  I told Uncle Paulie about the terms of the will, where Sondra was at the time of the killing, and the deal with the insurance.

  “The insurance thing could just be something to throw you off. After all, what could she get from the insurance company? Five million, maybe? That’s nothing compared to what she’ll get from the buyout, which I am sure will happen. That malarkey about waiting to see what her son wants was just to throw you off too.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “Well, do you think she is capable?”

  “Anything’s possible,” I said, for lack of anything better to say. I found myself in that situation a lot.

  “That’s good, that you can see that. Anything is possible, and you better consider all options before coming to a conclusion about anything tied to this case. You are talking about people who have a lot of money, and who will use that money to get what they want and to keep themselves from going to prison.”

  “You think the people in the precinct were bought?” I asked.

  “Not the lower guys. But definitely the higher-ups.”

  Agnelli, I thought. “I believe that.”

  “Who do you think is setting you up?”

  I told him what I thought about Agnelli and Rick. I didn’t mention Geiger, only because I hadn’t come to any real conclusions about him.

  “It’s possible Agnelli is involved, but understand, he has the most to lose. Have you talked to him directly?”

  “Just when the case first began.”

  “Who is the one that fed you information about him?” Uncle Paulie asked.

  “My direct superior.”

  “Who is that?”

  “Deputy Inspector Geiger,” I said.

  “What do you know about him?”

  “Stand-up guy from what I can tell.”

  “Well, it’s possible, likely even, that they didn’t get to him. But he should have been able to sniff some of this out,” Uncle Paulie said.

  “He wants to talk to me.”

  “Do you trust him?”

  “Yeah.,” I said. I took another tug of my drink, and really wanted to get wasted right then, wash away the aggravation.

  “Why?”

  “Well, for one, he hates Agnelli. I’d have a hard time believing he was in cahoots with him.” I said. It didn’t sound like the best defense, but it made sense to me.

  “Okay. But remember money makes for strange partnerships.”

  “I’m beginning to see that.” I finished my drink.

  “You better take it easy on that stuff. It’ll cloud your mind,” Uncle Paulie said.

  “I think I need that. What I went through last night was humiliating.”

  “I can’t even imagine. They stripped you of your pride.”

  “They did. That’s exactly what they did.” I noticed I slurred my words a bit, and decided not to order any more drinks. Uncle Paulie was right, I needed my wits about me.

  “I know it was tough on you, Johnny, but you can’t go out and try and get back at them. The best thing you can do is get to the bottom of all of this, and clear your name. Anything else is unnecessary.”

  “I’d really like to hang this Chapman guy by his balls,” I said.

  “I’m sure you would. But guys like him are slippery. He’s a pro at this sort of thing.”

  “And I’m a pro at what I do. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

  “Only if you apply it correctly. You’ve got to gather evidence, and nail them. It’s all you can do.”

  The waiter came over with the oysters. They were slimy, and damn good. We ate for a few moments in silence, and I continued to seethe, thinking about how I got taken. I knew Uncle Paulie was right, but knowing that didn’t calm my temper. Not one bit.

  After we finished, Uncle Paulie ordered another drink, and I ordered a soda. The drinks came, and we both lit a cigarette.

  “I want to help you. I just need to know what you want me to do.”

  “Well, you say I should gather information and nail them, right? Use everything I can?” I asked.

  “That would be the best thing.”

  “Well, I need you to research deeper into the FBI files and see what they have on Chapman. That might prove useful to me. Then, I need to find out who Mullins’ opposition would be.”

  “That’s easy. The mayor was also planning on running for the vacant seat,” Uncle Paulie said.

  The mayor? I hadn’t even thought of him. He and Agnelli were tight, and it didn’t seem to be too much of a stretch to think that Agnelli wanted the case closed down to protect the Mayor.

  “You know Agnelli and the mayor are tight.”

  “I do.”

  “Then there is the link we were looking for,” I said. I looked around the restaurant and caught the eye of one of the women at the bar. She smiled at me but, for what had to be the first time in my life, I wasn’t interested in women. I made a mental note to go have my head checked.

  “Maybe.”

  “Okay. I’ll also need to do a bit of surveillance. I want to follow Agnelli and Chapman. If I find that either one is going to see the other, then I might have something.”

  “You might.”

  “Can you get me some equipment?”

  “I’ll try. I can’t promise anything, but I certainly will try.”

  “Do you think the FBI would be interested in what I am doing?”

  He smiled. “You are a smart kid. Of course they would be, and I’ll speak to Rob Milfin who heads that department in the city when I get back to the office. I can’t say that he’ll want to get involved directly, but you might just have something there.”

  “Okay.”

  The waiter came with the main courses. The steaks smelled great. I dug in. Of course, Rick would have had something to say about how bad steak was for you, but I didn’t care. I savored each forkful like a prisoner eating his first meal after being released. That analogy hit me right there, actually, because it was almost too appropriate.

  “Whatever you do, John, you have to cover your tracks,” Uncle Paulie said, seemingly out of nowhere.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you’re gonna have to make sure no one catches you. It could get the both of us in a lot of trouble.”

  “I understand.”

  “I know you do. I just wanted to remind of that one more time.” He motioned with his hand. “Let me see your cell phone.” I handed it to him. “Yup, no good. They most certainly are tracking you with this thing.” He reached into his coat pocket. “Take this one, just don’t lose it.”

  “Don’t you need it?”

  He shook his head. “I have two. And besides, I’m not the one that has to worry about being traced.”

  “What should I do with mine?”

  “Keep it. Just don’t leave it turned on. This way, people will get your voice mail, and they won’t think that you aren’t using it. After a couple of days, they might catch on, but at least it will give you some freedom. And with mine, you’ll be able to make calls without being traced.” He took out a piece of paper and a pen and jotted two numbers down. “The top number is the number of that phone, the bottom is my other one. Be careful who you give that top number out to. Make sure it is only people you absolutely trust.” That meant no one. “Which probably means no one, right now.”

  I nodded.

  “Just be careful, okay? You know I have no trouble helping you, just don’t make me throw away my pension.”

  We laughed and finished our meal. There was really nothing important left to say. Uncle Paulie would try and get me some surveillance equipment and see if that Milfin guy could help me, possibly by taking up his own investigation. I didn’t count on that, but I hoped for it. I couldn’t do this alone.

  Seventeen

  I know I have made it clear about how I didn’t trust anyone. I was that way before this all came down, and I felt even more s
o afterward. They went after my soul, my reason for waking up in the morning. The real world, I mean, the one outside the force, was just too boring for me. I had been serious about trying heroin on that Tuesday. I had come dangerously close. Now, I had gone in the other direction. I was angry, not bored. Yeah, I was concerned that I would have to find a way to make a living in that real world if I didn’t get to keep my job, but I was slowly taking my focus off of that. I wanted revenge. I had a few people to confront, and the first person on my list was one Rick Calhill.

  Rick lived in the city also, in one of those fancy hi-rises in the 60's. His wife made a good salary, and combined with his, they could afford such a place. I thought they were living just a bit beyond their means, but that was how they were.

  I pulled the big Cadillac in front of their building. I couldn’t tell if Rick was home, because they parked their car in an attended garage. One of the benefits of living in the fancy part of town, I suppose.

  I walked into the lobby, my footsteps a little heavy because of the drinks I had. The security guard (I had been coming across a lot of these gentleman) dressed in a red blazer and rapidly approaching the grave, had his nose buried in the New York Times. I swear the man looked ninety, and I tried to figure out what he would do if I got physical with him. Not that I got a kick out of beating up old men.

  “Excuse me,” I said.

  No reply.

  “Excuse me.” A little louder this time.

  Still no reply.

  “Hello,” I said, in a near yell. It was then that I noticed the man was asleep. I nudged him on the shoulder and he slowly came to life.

  “What?” he muttered, almost incoherent.

  “I am here to see Mr. Calhill.”

  “Calhill? Hold on.” He moved a little better now, and he grabbed a clipboard. “I don’t have any visitors on my list for Calhill.”

  “It’s an unexpected visit,” I said. “We work together.”

  The man looked at me, and I noticed how thick the wrinkles in his skin were. You could lose a pen in them, or at least a pencil sharpened down about halfway. I tried to imagine who would hire someone like this for a security job. Probably the same guy who hired that Exxon Valdez captain. That guy will never live that one down.

  The man picked up a phone.

  “Hello, Mr. Calhill. You have a visitor.” The man looked at me. “What’s your name?”

  “John Keegan.” I had thought about giving a phony name, but decided it would be better to see if Rick would see me. If he wouldn’t, then I knew he and I had troubles. Big ones.

  “A Mr. Keegan to see you.” The old man nodded. “I’ll send him up.” The man looked at me again. “You can go on up,” he said. “Eleventh floor.”

  “Thank you.”

  I got into the small elevator, which looked as though it could barely hold three people, and pressed the button for the Eleventh floor.

  The elevator creaked, not exactly instilling confidence, and slowly made its way up to Rick’s floor. The elevator stopped with a jolt, and the doors creaked open, revealing Rick standing on the other side.

  “Hey John,” he said, smiling.

  “Nice elevator you got there,” I said, walking out.

  “Yeah, we’ve been petitioning to get a new one, but most of the people that live here don’t want to spring for the cash.” He seemed comfortable, not ill at ease to speak to me.

  “Guess you’ll have to wait until someone crashes in it.”

  “Yeah.”

  Rick started walking towards his apartment. I followed.

  “You know, I’m not sure what is older, the elevator, or the security guard downstairs.”

  “Who? George? He’s been here longer than I have.”

  “He looks like he’s been here longer than the building has.”

  Rick laughed. We stopped in front of his apartment, which was at the left comer of the hallway. Apartment 13G, for you detail oriented people.

  “Just do me a favor. We’ll have to be quiet. Chrissy is sleeping, and I’m trying to get the little one to do the same.” Rick’s kids were three and almost one, if I remembered correctly. I couldn’t imagine having to deal with that.

  “No problem.”

  We walked in to the apartment. It was fancy, with shiny ceramic tiles and plush carpeting. There were a few artsy paintings on the walls, one that I recognized as a Picasso, only because I had a girlfriend that was into that stuff. I sat down on the tan leather couch in the living room. Rick had about four large bookcases filled with archaeology and medical textbooks, as well as romance novels. I don’t think I’d want to be married to a woman who read such books. It was their way of telling you that they didn’t have enough romance in their lives. If a woman did that to me, I’d probably start leaving books like “The Art of the Blow Job” on the coffee table. I know how to send a message.

  “You feeling any better?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I am. I couldn’t stop throwing up yesterday, though.” Information I didn’t really need.

  “Wow.”

  “It was terrible.” He stopped for a second. “I’m really sorry about that. You know I wouldn’t have gone home if I wasn’t that sick.”

  “Hey, I understand. And I am sorry too. I took out everything on you. That wasn’t right.” Yeah, I was sorry. My ass.

  “It’s okay. You’ve been through Hell. I mean, Jesus Christ, they treated you like a common criminal.”

  “They did.”

  “You okay now?”

  “I guess so. I just want to find out what is going on. Someone has it in for me.”

  Rick sat down in the matching leather chair across from me. I noticed that if someone sat in that chair, the person on the couch had a hard time seeing the big screen TV. Poor planning there, Ricky-boy.

  Rick took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, as if to add emphasis to what he was going to say. “You really think it’s someone down at the precinct?”

  “I don’t know. Makes sense though, doesn’t it?”

  He looked me straight in the eye. “You think it’s me, don’t you? That’s why you came here today.”

  “Listen, I don’t think it was you. I’d be surprised if it was. But it was someone. I can’t see you having a motive. For all I know, you would have taken the rap with me, if you had come along. Good thing for you that you got sick. I’d rather spend my night with my head in the toilet than in handcuffs.”

  “They cuffed you?”

  I nodded. “They went through the entire process. Trust me, you don’t ever want to go through it.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “No, you can’t,” I said.

  “I guess not.”

  I wanted to get right to the topic, but I really couldn’t do that. Now that I had said I didn’t think Rick screwed me, I couldn’t start asking him questions that gave away the opposite. I had hoped he was going to spill the beans, but he didn’t seem ready to do that. I’d have to go about it carefully. I preferred to walk out of there with nothing, rather than give my angle away. If Rick really was involved, anything I said to him would go right to the wrong people.

  “I really need your help,” I said.

  “Anything.”

  “Well, obviously, I didn’t take any money from Mrs. Mullins, and I’ll tell you this, I don’t think she killed her husband.”

  “You sure about that? She had motive.”

  “Think about it. If she was going to kill her husband, she wouldn’t make it look like a suicide,” I said. I watched Rick as he spoke, but couldn’t get a good read off him.

  “Why, because of the insurance? That’s nothing compared to what she would get from the buyout.” That sounded familiar.

  “If you’re going to commit a crime, especially one like murder, you might as well get as much money as possible. Why miss out on an easy fifty mil?” I asked.

  “Because it works as a perfect contradiction to motive, that’s why. It’s got you convinced.”

 
“But no one else, apparently.”

  “Hey, I’m not saying that I think for sure that she did it. I’m just saying that she is a good suspect.”

  “Everyone is a good suspect.”

  “True.”

  I could hear one of the babies cry in the other room. Rick got up.

  “Give me a second. You want something to drink while I’m up?”

  “I’ll take a soda.”

  “Diet okay?”

  “Yeah, fine.”

  Rick went into the other room, and I got up to take a quick look around the apartment. It was tough to find what I was looking for. I wanted to see if there was any hint that he had spent the last day and a half home sick. A blanket on the couch would have been a sure sign, but I hadn’t seen that. Maybe the ring of a soda can on the table, but there was none of that either. I really wanted to take a look in the bathroom. I had to find out where that was, and I couldn’t yell out to him, with the baby and all.

  I worked my way around the living room, and towards the kitchen, and saw a door which looked to be the bathroom. I opened it. Closet. Real good detective work. I closed that door, and found another, across the hall. That was the bathroom.

  Rick had one of those fancy bathrooms, with expensive tiles and one of those stand-alone sinks. I’m not good at interior decorating terminology, but I think you know what I mean. It was fancy. And sitting on the counter was a can of Lysol, opened. Unless Rick was a neat freak, that might have been a sign that he actually was sick. Either that, or he was a lot smarter than I gave him credit for.

  Impossible.

  I heard Rick go into the kitchen, so I flushed the toilet and walked out. He was standing by the door with a can of soda and a glass of ice.

  “Nice shitter you have there,” I said.

  “Glad you like it.”

  “I do.”

  We walked back toward the couch and I sat down. I took the soda, had a swig, and looked directly at him. “I’m in a bad situation here, Rick. I’ve got the feeling that I can’t trust anyone. Hell, if my own parents were even remotely involved, I would be suspect of them too.”

  “I understand. I don’t know what is going on, but if there is any way I can help, all you have to do is ask.”