by Karl Tutt
Chapter 18
It was a different story with the Shipleys. I did get invited to that interview, albeit I had to sequester myself behind the two-way mirror in the interrogation room. Melanie was first. She had also denied her right to counsel, agreed to be taped. Very foolish unless you like life behind bars, but like I said before, there’s no accounting for taste. Still, I had a feeling when the steel door slammed, she wouldn’t like it at all. No Nieman Marcus or Cristal . . . and plenty of trailer trash of all colors and nationalities.
“Let’s make this quick and quite clear,” she said. “My daughter had nothing to do with any of the planning or actions taken by Oscar and me. Yes, it was initially his idea . . . but I went along. We were in trouble. Oscar is a gambler. You know that. He was also a loser . . . a big loser. We were accustomed to what you might call a certain lifestyle. The money came. The money went. Nothing unusual. When the recession hit, things got a bit more complicated. But we didn’t know how to curtail what we so richly enjoyed. I could not inform Shasta that tuition was becoming a problem. What do we do? Tell her to drive a KIA. We tried to keep it all hidden from her. It was working until the truck blew up.”
“What truck was that, Ms. Shipley?”
“It was a delivery. Boston to New York. The driver was a relative, one of Oscar’s cousins from upstate. He was incinerated in the blast. It was a difficult process to even identify him. A week later we got a telegram. “Time for a payoff. Next?” That’s all it said, but those words were very clear. I don’t know how much he owed them, but it was a lot. There was never anything mean about Oscar. He’s a kind and patient man. He adored Shasta and I was her mother. But he started drinking more, even got abusive with the two of us. It was never like him. We had to do something.”
“And that was what?”
“Oscar came to me late one night. He was obviously drunk, but still quite lucid. He said he had a plan.”
“Can you describe it for us?”
“I’m telling you again. Shasta never knew anything about any of this. Leave her alone.”
“I can’t make any promises, Ms. Shipley, but I can assure you that Shasta need not be any part of this investigation unless it is absolutely necessary. The more you can tell us, the more her safety is assured. We certainly do not wish to involve any innocent parties or besmirch their characters in any way.”
Billy was definitely in his ‘good cop’ mode. I hadn’t heard him talk like that in a long, long time.
She ran her fingers through her blond hair, wiped a tear with a much used tissue, and went on.
“The engagement to Todd was the turning point. It brought it all together. We had established a very tight relationship with the boy. He was the heir to millions. There was no possibility he would deny family assistance when they were in need. We were about to become that family. He adored Shasta and we were certain that he would not desert her under any circumstances.”
“I’m getting the picture, but I need to know how the Ferarras fit into the scenario.”
“You must think me rather slow, Lieutenant. You had that figured out long ago. Lute was my aunt’s son. His reputation was well-known on the street, as well as within the family. Money. It was all about money. Dom was Oscar’s bookie. We were never close and Dom is connected, but you know that. Oscar often told his younger associates, ‘Never play outside your own back yard.’ We didn’t. We knew whom we could trust, who could expedite delicate matters, who could deliver us from those who wished us harm. It was dirty . . . really quite beneath us . . . but at least it was part of our back yard . . . but not Shasta’s. We never exposed her to those kinds of family secrets.”
It was good stuff, but Billy and I both knew that under most circumstances a spouse cannot be compelled to testify against her husband in court. That was a problem.
The underbelly was violent and disgusting, but Melanie’s devotion to her daughter and her determination to protect her struck me as endearing. She was a crumbling Madonna holding her only child as close as she could.
Oscar was another matter. He immediately requested an attorney, stated only that his wife was delusional, but reiterated their mutual insistence that Shasta was no part of any of this. That was all we could get on record until the man showed up.
He did . . . quickly. Counselor Stuart J. Mellancroft, nattily attired in a gray pinstripe, carrying the obligatory black alligator briefcase, and an attitude as condescending and officious as they come. He introduced himself, offering a handshake that felt like clutching a dead mackerel. After that, we seemed to be headed exactly nowhere.
Every time Billy asked Oscar a question, the man looked at his attorney. Mr. Mellancroft would give a slight shake of his head and Oscar’s lips were sealed. Billy was out of patience, but he looked toward the mirror and nodded. Then he took one more shot.
“Mr. Shipley, I fully understand your desire not further incriminate yourself. However, your wife has told us the entire story. We know about your gambling debts, the problems with Shipley Fine Foods . . .
“Little of which will be admissible in a courtroom, but, Detective, I am sure you know that.” The tone of the attorney’s voice was smug to the point of smarmy. Billy didn’t miss a beat.
. . . and the involvement of your daughter.”
Shipley came out of the chair like a cheap Fourth of July rocket.
“Wait just a damned minute, Shasta had nothing to do with any of this. I’ve told you that. Leave her alone.”
“I’d like to believe you, Oscar, but there is the matter of her phone, the calls to other suspects. I seriously doubt a first degree charge. Conspiracy to commit murder is more likely, or maybe a simple charge as an accomplice. Maybe a plea. She probably wouldn’t do much time.”
Billy was reaching, but he had lit Oscar’s fuse. He loved his daughter and seeing her indicted would be a lot worse than anything we could do to him. Mellancroft grabbed Oscar’s arm and tried to sit him down, but Oscar shook him off and glared. He stood, the seething rage focused on Billy. I was glad there was a blue uniform at guard in the room.
“So suppose I talk. Melanie gets off lightly, and Shasta disappears from the picture completely. You get Oscar Shipley. You’ve got your murderer. The case is off the books and Boston Homicide solves another big one. The papers love it. Rah, rah for the boys in blue. How about it?”
Billy gave a slight nod.
“Okay, call your damned DA. Tell him I’m willing to bargain.”
Mellancroft shook his head, looking like a deflated Santa Claus in the middle of a patch of dead grass. Billy waved to the uniform and stepped outside to make the call. The assistant DA was there in ten minutes.
Epilogue
They put off the wedding. Oscar pleaded to conspiracy and fingered Lute as the hit man. Unfortunately Lute wasn’t around to defend himself, but it was plausible, and it made things a little easier. Melanie didn’t do a day. She was evaluated by a herd of sympathetic shrinks and judged incompetent to stand trial. Since the prosecution didn’t need her, she was given probation with some reasonable conditions attached to it.
Just as the DA had promised, Shasta disappeared. Both figuratively and literally. I don’t even think Todd knew where she was. There were rumors. The best one had her enrolled in Business School at one of the quiet, but well-respected, universities out west.
I was guessing a sentence of twenty-five to life for Mr. Shipley. He probably wouldn’t get out before he was dead, and I kind of wondered if he might prefer the latter.
My belly healed up nicely. Due to some technicality, neither Eleisha, nor I, was eligible to collect the reward. I did, however, receive a cashier’s check in the mail not too long after the trial. $25,000. I gave Eleisha half. I can’t even say I was disappointed. That kind of money buys a lot of pizza and jug red.
Who knows? I may even splurge on some Stouffers’ Lasagna and a bottle of real cab.
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