“Hasn’t said a word. You want to take a shot?”
Herb nodded. We walked back to the interrogation room and Herb popped his head inside.
“Ready to deal?”
The lawyer sighed, loud and long.
“I’m sorry, Detective. He refuses to say anything.”
Herb sat in the chair across from Rushlo, and I stood behind him, wearing my no-BS face.
“We just got some X-rays, Derrick. They confirm the woman is Eileen Hutton. We’re going to charge you with first-degree murder. I’ve spoken with the assistant state’s attorney, and if you make a statement and name the partner, we’ll go easy on you.”
Rushlo began to hum again. I felt an urge to whack him upside the head.
“Are you not talking because you’re worried about your partner? Or are you embarrassed to admit what you did to Eileen after you received the body?”
Rushlo’s lawyer furrowed his brow.
“What do they mean, Derrick? What did you do to the body?”
I dropped the papers on the table. “We have evidence that your client had sexual relations with the corpse, roughly two hours ago.”
I’d never seen a lawyer look so completely disgusted. In a way, it was refreshing.
“Derrick—I think you need to get other representation.”
Rushlo turned to him, panicked.
“You’re my cousin! You can’t desert me!”
“I don’t know if I can handle this, Derrick. My specialty is DUIs, not humping dead bodies.”
“I don’t have anyone else!”
The lawyer gathered up his things and stood.
“I’ll make some calls, see if I can find someone. Don’t say anything without counsel present.”
He made a sick face, then left the room.
I wanted to keep going at Rushlo, but no lawyer meant no questions. We booked him, taking prints and mugs, and tossed him into a holding cell.
“Dammit, Herb. I really don’t think he’s going to give up his partner.”
“We can check Rushlo’s background. Try to narrow it down.”
“That will take time. And meanwhile, we’ve got a crazy cop running around, slicing up call girls.”
“How about a mole ploy?”
I considered it.
“What if one of the cops here is the killer? Maybe that’s why Rushlo is so scared.”
Herb rubbed his mustache.
“Bring in someone from the outside? Stick a wire on him, stick him in the cell, maybe he could get Rushlo to give up a name.”
“Do you know anyone other than cops? Someone who would know how to get information out of him?”
“I know a few retired cops. I could make a few calls. How about you?”
I shook my head. “No one.”
“How about your ex-partner? That McGlade guy?”
“No. He’d find some way to make everything worse.”
“We’ve only got tonight, Jack. Tomorrow they’ll ship Rushlo to the county lock-up. We wouldn’t be able to get a mole in there.”
“McGlade is an idiot.”
“He used to be a cop. Plus he owes you one, from the way they depicted you in that awful TV movie. Remember how they made you into a binge eater, constantly shoving things into your mouth? That must have been humiliating.”
I thought about McGlade’s suspended PI license, and knew I could use that to get him to help. But, dammit, it was using a machine gun to kill a gnat.
“If the choice is working with Harry, or letting a maniac run free, I’m not sure which is the worse of the two.”
“Call him.”
“Maybe I can dress up as a man and do it myself. I can paint on a mustache with mascara.”
“Call him.”
“Ah, hell.”
I needed to dial directory assistance to get McGlade’s number. As his phone rang, I silently hoped he wouldn’t pick up.
“This is Harry McGlade, World’s Greatest Private Detective, featured in the television movie Fatal Autonomy. Talk to me.”
I swallowed a gallon of pride. “Harry, it’s Jack.”
“Jackie! Calling to give me good news about my license?”
“Sort of. I need a favor.”
“Consider it done, sugar. I had no idea you wanted to ride the Harry Rocket, but I’m more than happy to give you a taste. I usually like them younger, though.”
“Even if you tied me down, McGlade, I’d chew off my own arms to get away. I need you to run the mole ploy for me.”
“Gimme details.”
I filled Harry in, lowering my voice when a pair of cops walked past.
“And if I help you out with the stiff-sticker, you’ll get me my license back?”
“You have my word.”
“I’ll be there in half an hour, ready to be wired. See you soon.”
Harry hung up. Herb gave me a pat on the shoulder.
“It’s for the greater good, Jack.”
I took a deep breath and rubbed my temples.
“That’s what Oppenheimer said.”
CHAPTER 17
“Want to help me tape on the wire?”
McGlade waggled his eyebrows at me. He’d unbuttoned his shirt, exposing a flabby chest completely carpeted with curly brown hair. It was like looking at a gorilla, if the gorilla used Rogaine.
“Is it a full moon?” Herb asked.
“Could be,” McGlade answered. “Does the full moon turn you into a fat pig?”
Herb narrowed his eyes. Harry had a wonderful way of immediately getting on a person’s bad side.
“Don’t get angry, Porky.” Harry grinned. “It’s just a joke.”
Herb folded his arms. “For your information, I just lost ten pounds.”
“You didn’t lose them—they’re hiding in your ass.”
I stepped between them and used some tape to attach the lavaliere microphone to Harry’s chest. More tape than necessary.
“You’re so gentle, Jackie. You’re turning me on.”
Harry put his hand on my hip, and I pinched his nipple hard enough to draw milk. He yelped and dropped his hand.
Herb shook his head in disbelief; Harry got that reaction a lot. “You were right, Jack. He’s an idiot.”
“Herb,” I warned.
“A fourteen-karat, card-carrying idiot. How did you survive all those years with him as a partner?”
“Why are you in such a bad mood?” Harry asked. “Your local grocery store run out of Sara Lee?”
Benedict pointed a finger in McGlade’s face. “You make one more fat joke . . .”
“And you’ll do what? Eat me?”
Benedict got in McGlade’s face, and I had to pull him away.
“Can you both please act like professionals?”
“Careful, Jackie, when he’s done with me he may still be hungry.”
Benedict grabbed a fistful of Harry’s chest hair and yanked out a patch. McGlade screamed, then went for his shoulder holster.
“Sit!” I ordered Harry. “And back off, Herb.”
Harry glowered at Herb, then sat back down. Benedict rolled his eyes and walked over to the other side of the room, giving Harry his back.
“Here’s the deal, McGlade. We know Rushlo’s got an accomplice, and we believe it’s a cop. We need a name.”
“No problem.”
“You have to play it cool in there, try to get him to open up. You’ve read the file.”
“Yeah. He’s a mortician, and he likes his sex partners at room temperature. I’ll get the info, Jackie. I’m good at this.”
Benedict chortled.
“You may scoff, Detective Butterball, but I’ve worked undercover many times before. In fact, I’m a master of disguise. Guess who I am now.”
Benedict took the bait and looked. Harry crossed his eyes and scrunched his neck down, giving himself a big double chin.
“I lost ten pounds on the donut diet,” Harry grunted.
Herb made a fist, looked at me, and th
en excused himself from the room.
“The guy’s got no sense of humor, Jackie. He probably eats to compensate for an inadequate sex life.”
“I don’t think that’s Herb’s problem. Let’s get a level.”
I turned on the receiver, a black box the size of a car radio, and adjusted the volume. The room filled with the squelch of feedback.
“Take a few steps back, McGlade, and say something.”
McGlade walked near the door, singing about his lovely bunch of coconuts. He came in clear, lousy voice aside.
“The desk sergeant is going to put you in the holding tank. I want Rushlo to give up a name, but any other info you get out of him, I’ll be recording. You know what he looks like?”
“I saw the mugs. He looks like a toad with a Lincoln beard.”
“Probably not wise to use that as your opening line. What’s your approach going to be?”
Harry grinned, his smile as wide as a zebra’s hindquarters. “Trust me.”
I had a sudden need for an antacid.
I put the bracelets on Harry and led him to the holding area. After signing him in, I took off the cuffs and let the desk sergeant escort him to his cell.
When I returned to the office we’d appropriated, Herb was already there, signing a piece of paper. It was the authorization to give a prisoner a full body-cavity search. McGlade’s name was on the top. I took the paper and crumpled it up.
“Herb, you’re being childish.”
“Yeah. He’d probably just enjoy it anyway.”
The radio made a clanging sound. Cell door closing. I hit the Record button.
Footsteps. White noise. Shuffling.
“Hey man, got any smokes?” Harry’s voice.
“No. Sorry.” Rushlo.
“I don’t believe this shit. I shouldn’t even be in here. She said she was sixteen, man. It was so worth the hassle, though. The younger the beaver, the softer the pelt, right? Right?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
A grunt, perhaps McGlade sitting down.
“You guess? I can tell you like sex, just looking at you. You’ve got that vibe. I bet you’re a real lady-killer.”
Herb sighed and shook his head. “I know people who work at the zoo, Jack. We could have sent a trained monkey in there instead.”
I shushed him.
“Actually, I’m not very good with women.”
“You’re kidding, right? With a face like that, I bet you get laid all the time. When was the last piece of ass you tagged? Come on, don’t be shy. When was it? Last week? Yesterday?”
Seconds of silence went by.
“You’re not a virgin, are you?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. So when was the last time you got some?”
“This morning.”
“I knew it! I knew it the moment I saw you. I bet you like that kinky shit too. Little rope action, little spanky-spanky. Am I right?”
“Sort of.”
“Look at you, smiling like that. What’s your kink?”
“It’s . . . private.”
Hand-clapping sounds, and McGlade laughing.
“I bet it’s real private. I can see it in your eyes. Well, your one eye. Your other eye is all screwed up. I bet you have a hard time watching 3-D movies.”
Herb sighed again.
“So what’s your kink, man? Kids? Animals? Getting pooped on?”
“Nothing like that.”
“Tell me.”
“I don’t really talk about it.”
“Got it. Secret stuff. I’m cool with that. What’s you’re name, man?”
“Derrick.”
“Hi, Derrick. My name’s Barnum. Call me P.T.”
“Unbelievable,” Herb said.
“What do you do, Derrick?”
“I own a funeral home.”
“Funeral home, huh? How’s business?”
“Business is dying.”
They both chuckled. Herb and I managed to restrain ourselves.
“Hey, wait a second! A funeral home! Is that your kink, man? You boning the stiffs? That’s freaking great, man! I bet you get a lot of tail working in a funeral home, and none of it ever says no. Am I right?”
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Why not? Nothing wrong with grabbing a little afternoon delight at work. I always wanted to nail a corpse.”
“Really?”
“Sure. Don’t have to buy her dinner, don’t have to bother with foreplay, and she wouldn’t want to talk afterward. Sounds like the perfect woman. Tell me the truth: How is it?”
Another long pause.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Not cold?”
“I use a heating pad to warm them up.”
“That’s genius, man! When we get out of here, maybe you’d let me stop by some time? I’d, you know, pay for the privilege. As soon as we both get out . . . hey, what’s wrong, man?”
“I’m never going to get out of here.” Rushlo’s voice was cracking.
“Why not? What are you in for?”
“Murder.”
“No shit! You killed somebody?”
“No. I didn’t kill anybody. They think I did.”
“Well, if you didn’t do it, they’ll let you out. Do you know who did it?”
Sniffling. “Yes.”
“Did you tell them?”
“No. He’ll kill me if I tell.”
“Won’t the cops protect you?”
“He is a cop.”
“No shit? Man, that sucks. You wanna tell me his name?”
“No. Why?”
“I’ll give you twenty bucks.”
Herb slapped himself on the forehead.
“Why do you want to know his name? Are you a cop?”
“Sure, I’m a cop. I’m even wearing a wire. They sent me in here to see if I could make you talk.”
Herb nudged me. “When this is over, let’s leave McGlade in there. He’s too stupid to be allowed in society.”
“You’re not a cop.” Rushlo talking.
“Of course I’m not a cop. I hate cops. Hey . . . you wanna hear a secret?”
“Sure.”
“I killed a cop once.” Harry was whispering. I turned up the volume.
“Are you kidding?”
“No shit, man. I was on a street corner, talking to this cute little girl, and this cop starts hassling me. I didn’t need that kind of hassle, know what I mean? He wants to pat me down, and I’m carrying.”
“You had a gun?”
“Hell yeah, I had a gun. So before he gets a chance to take it away from me, I put him down. Bam Bam! Two in the face. Maybe you read about it, happened a few weeks ago. You wanna hear the cool part?”
“Sure.”
“I liked it.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, I’m a stone-cold demon, man. I’m the real deal. Hey . . . you rich? I heard funeral homes make a lot of money.”
“I have money.”
“Maybe I can help you out.”
“How?”
“Maybe I could take care of this cop for you. Sneak up on his pig ass and give him a little Bam Bam.”
Nice, Harry. I was actually a little impressed.
“I don’t think I want to kill him.”
“He’s a pig, man. All pigs should die.”
“I don’t know.”
“Would he kill you, if he had the chance?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve got to take this guy out.”
“But he’s my friend.”
Harry’s laughter made the speakers shake.
“Do all your friends want to kill you?”
“No. Most of my friends are dead.”
Benedict snorted. “There’s a shock.”
“Well, maybe you and me can make this one dead too, Derrick.”
“I don’t know.”
“Your call, man. I’ll tell you something, though—if this guy’s a cop, and you think
you’re safe in here, you’re crazy.”
“He’s not from this station.”
“Don’t matter. He can still get to you. Sneak in when you’re sleeping, stick you a few times, and then blame it on one of the convicts. Or put something in your food. Or pay one of the other cons to do it. There’s a million ways.”
“Jesus.”
“You could maybe ask to go into protective custody, but that’s even worse. Then he’d have a shot at you when you’re alone. You should let me take the porker out.”
Another long pause.
“I can’t.”
“I could do it for twenty grand. You got twenty grand?”
“Yes.”
“Groovy. Let me whack the guy. Tell the cops he forced you to help him, and they’ll let you go. You could be back at work and getting it on with dear, departed Aunt Sally in a day or two.”
“I can’t.”
“Whatever, man. You’re the one who’s gonna get iced.”
There was no talking for over a minute. Only Rushlo’s off-key humming.
“What if . . . what if I said yes?”
“Half the money up front, the other half when it’s over.”
“How?”
“Cash. You talk to your lawyer, have him deliver it to me.”
“And what if you can’t do it?”
“I can do it. Trust me.”
“He’s a big guy.”
“Size don’t matter if you aim for the head. What’s the pig’s name?”
I noticed I was holding my breath.
“Hey man, if you want me to kill the guy, I got to know his name.”
“It’s Barry.”
Herb and I looked at each other. There was only one Barry we knew on the job. I tried to make it fit, to picture the cop on my team as the one responsible for these atrocities.
“Barry what? Barry Houdini? Barry Flintstone? Barry Manilow? You gotta give me more than that.”
Fuller had access to my office, and to Colin Andrews’s phone. Fuller was angry I passed him over for promotion. Fuller kept butting into this investigation, offering to help.
“I don’t want to say any more. I can’t say any more. I’m sorry.”
“You already said too much, you little squealer.” McGlade’s tone had become harsh, menacing. “Barry knew you’d try something. He sent me to take care of you.”
Rushlo made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a yelp.
“Leave me alone!”
“Barry can’t afford to keep you around.”
“I’m sorry! Tell him I’m sorry!”
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