Cold Justice

by Rick Polad

  I turned into the wind and headed back to my Mustang, thinking about all the cement and bricks that had taken the place of the prairie. Progress. Trees had been replaced by black streetlamps, straight and unmoving in the wind. It had started to snow again, and the wind drove stinging flakes into my face. On my way to the parlor I had heard on the radio that the temperature was fifteen, and the wind chill was ten below... like fifteen wasn’t bad enough. Life in the Windy City.

  ***

  All it took was a few snowflakes to make a mess of traffic. Luckily, I had the parking spaces behind the office. Street parking was bad enough in good weather. Parking bans on the major roads when it snowed made spots on the side streets pretty valuable prizes. People would reserve their spots by placing furniture in the street. One person just around the corner kept a couch on the parkway in front of his house that he would move into the street. Of course, there was nothing legal about that tactic, and heated arguments added tension to the winter discontent.

  I solved my problem by paying We Care Lawn and Plow to keep not only my parking spots clear, but also the alley behind my building, much to the pleasure of the rest of the tenants on my block.

  I heard the typewriter when I walked in the back door. I got a hello from Carol and another growl from the dog.

  “You need to teach that dog who buys the dog food around here.” I bent down and offered my hand. I thought I saw him squint as he ignored it. “Anybody looking for me?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. A Larry from Motorola stopped by. He has something for you.”

  “What?” I went to high school with Larry. He was a big shot in communications and was the one who had set me up with my pager a few years back.

  Carol shrugged. “No clue. He wouldn’t tell me. Just wanted to know when you’d be back.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That I had no clue. He smiled and said my days of being clueless were about over.”

  “And that means?”

  “There are many things I have no clue about, Spencer. Add that to the list. I’m amazed you pay me for being so clueless. He said for you to call when you got back. Said you have the number.”

  “I do. See, that’s why you get the big bucks. Anything on the dog?”

  “Nope.”

  I handed her the cash and told her not to worry about getting it to the bank in this weather. Walking the three blocks would be like the Donner party trying to make it across the mountains. Well, maybe not quite that bad.

  She said there was no way she was going to be responsible for five thousand dollars—she’d brave the weather.

  Chapter 4

  I was about to call the precinct station to check on the dog when I heard the front door open and Carol say hi to Rosie, my love interest detective on the Chicago police force. We had spent two weeks over Christmas up at my cottage on Moonlight Bay in Door County. Aunt Rose had outdone herself with the dinner feast, and leftovers had lasted a week.

  I walked out of my office and found her squatted down, petting the dog.

  “What a sweetie, Spencer!”

  I smiled. “Thanks, I try.”

  “Idiot. What’s his name?”

  Carol took over. “We don’t know. Billy found him last night in the recess by our front door.”

  Rosie unzipped her coat, and Carol offered her some coffee.

  “We’ve reported him. I was just going to call the station to see if anyone had reported him missing,” I said.

  “I suppose that’s the right thing to do,” said Rosie with more than a note of sadness. “Looks like he’s pretty happy here.”

  “He is,” Carol said. “Except he growls at Spencer.”

  “Who doesn’t?” Rosie continued her petting. “Seems a shame to try and find someone who left a dog out in the cold.”

  “Agreed. But you don’t know what happened. Any number of things could have gone wrong. Probably a very worried owner out there somewhere.”

  “No collar.”

  “No wonder you’re a detective. Yes, strange, but still, we have to check.”

  Rosie stood. “You available for lunch?”

  “Sure. You working?”

  “All done. I’m going to the range.”

  “Okay. I’d join you, but after lunch I’m going to the station to have another chat with Joey if he’s still there.” Rosie and I had been in the academy together and were at the top of our class in firearms. We had continued our competition and were pretty even as far as who won.

  “He was when I left,” she said. “I’ll go with you… we can check on the dog.”

  “You pet the dog… I’ve gotta make a call first.”

  I called Larry and got no more information than what Carol had told me. He had something for me and was being very secretive. He said he’d be back at two.

  ***

  My first stop at the station was O’Malley’s desk, where I asked about the dog.

  “Business must be pretty slow, eh Manning?”

  “It’s a favor. You got anything?”

  He uncovered a sheet of paper. “Yup. Lady called this morning. Name of Nancy Knox. Dog got away from her last night.”

  “How do you let your dog get away in below zero weather?”

  “Well, don’t be too hard. It’s a working dog.”

  “Working?”

  “So she says. Probably some poor blind lady.”

  “The dog had no collar.”

  “I don’t explain ‘em. I just do the paperwork.”

  “Okay, thanks.” There would be one unhappy little boy, not that he’d be able to keep him anyway. Carol’s building didn’t allow pets.

  Rosie asked the desk sergeant about Joey. He had been sent to County. That meant he had been charged. I told her I wanted to talk to Stosh, and she said she’d come up to his office in ten minutes.

  ***

  Rosie and I chatted on the way back to the office. The wind had picked up, and blowing snow brought traffic to a crawl. It gave us a chance to talk, and I told Rosie about my little voice.

  “I’m betting on your little voice, Spencer. It’s always been right in the past.”

  “But it’s Joey the Juicer. The things he’s done that we don’t even know about would fill a book.”

  “Yup, interesting ethical problem,” she said as she honked at a cab that cut in front of her and fishtailed once before recovering.

  “What are your thoughts, Rosie?”

  “I like to see bad guys off the streets, Spencer, but I just arrest them and hand them off to the courts. What happens then is out of my hands.”

  That was the same thing Dad had always said. “I was more thinking about the philosophical problem. They got Capone for tax evasion.”

  “Ah, yes, but he did evade taxes. So he went to jail for something he was guilty of. What if it was a frame? Would it be okay because of all the other things he did that he got away with?”

  Traffic wasn’t moving. A ten-minute drive was going to take an hour. “A part of me would like to think so.”

  “And that opens a door to a very slippery slope. Pretty much throws our whole legal system under the bus.”

  “So what’s the answer?”

  Rosie laughed. “I don’t worry about the answer. I just do my job. I arrest—”

  “I know. You arrest them and hand them off. Aren’t you interested in what happens to them?”

  “Don’t have time. I read the papers, but business is good—I’m busy enough just taking care of my piece of the puzzle.”

  “So, what if Joey is being framed?”

  “I’m not worried about Joey. He has better lawyers than I could ever dream of affording. And I hear he has a pretty good private detective working on it.”

  I watched the wipers battling the snow. They were losing. “I’m wondering about that.”

  “I bet you are. But I know you like things to be right. And if Joey didn’t do it, then who did? And is it okay for whoever that is to get aw
ay with murder?”

  “Yeah, thought about that.”

  “And since you like the challenge of the puzzle, you’ll do it just in case it isn’t Joey.”

  “But if it is Joey, his five grand will buy him a jail cell.”

  “You’re his best bet right now, Spencer. Have a plan?”

  “Same as usual, Rosie. Talk to everyone involved… shake the trees and see what falls out.”

  “Who do you talk to? His enemies would make a long line.”

  Traffic started to move, and we made it through the light.

  “Most murders are committed by family or friends, right?”

  “Right. Upset spouse or other relative.”

  “He’s not married. His family is in that ice cream parlor. A frame is something personal, and personal means someone you know.”

  “Could be.”

  “Could not.”

  “Could not. Wanna catch a movie tonight?”

  “Sure. I’ve got steaks in the fridge. Come over about six. If I’m not home yet warm up the grill.”

  “Okay. You’re not going home?”

  “I’d like to on a day like today. I’m going to the office to see what Larry wants and then head over to County.”

  We stopped at the Happy Dog a few blocks from the office for dogs and fries.

  ***

  I didn’t hear any growling when I came in the back door. I shook off my coat and asked Carol if she had heard from the dog lady. She had. The lady had shown up an hour ago and taken the dog.

  “Oh, Spencer. I feel so sorry for that dog. That was the meanest lady I’ve ever met.”

  I laughed. “A lady who lost her dog is the meanest lady you’ve ever met?”

  She glared at me. “Was I speaking French?”

  I sat down on the edge of her desk. “Okay, I’m sorry. Tell me about it.”

  “She was rude and arrogant and not at all thankful that we had found her dog… and kept it from freezing, by the way. She scolded the poor dog, and when she walked up to him, he backed away from her.”

  The front door opened, and a shivering Larry came in with a box under his arm.

  “Hi, Spencer. Nice weather—”

  “Hang on, Larry. We’re in the middle of a crisis. Go ahead, Carol.”

  “Well, that’s about it. I wanted to take him and run out the back.”

  “I’m sure you read her the wrong way. People don’t treat their dogs like that, especially a working dog.”

  “Spencer! I didn’t read anything wrong. She put a collar on him and snapped a leash and actually dragged him part way to the front door… and what do you mean, a working dog?”

  “The police told me he’s a working dog.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning she has some kind of disability the dog helps with.”

  “Since when is being a despicable piece of garbage a disability?” She was still glaring at me.

  “Well, it’s not. What was wrong with her?”

  “I just told you.”

  “Okay. Dogs are used for people who are blind, or have trouble walking, or can’t pick things up—”

  “Or need a beer from the fridge,” Larry said.

  Now I glared. “Like I don’t have enough trouble here?”

  He shrugged.

  “There must have been something, Carol. Think back.”

  “I’d rather not… she makes me sick.”

  “Try.”

  She calmed down a bit, stopped glaring, and shook her head. “There was nothing, Spencer. There was nothing wrong with that woman.” Then her face lit up. “You’re an investigator. Would you investigate her?”

  “For what?”

  “For being a jerk. And for mistreating animals. Get the anti-cruelty society to look into it.”

  I glanced at Larry. He was watching with amusement.

  “What would they look into?”

  “She dragged him across the floor! And she left him out in the cold to freeze.”

  I took a deep breath. “Okay. If I look into it would you calm down and get back to work?”

  She squinted. “You’re just saying that to shut me up, but okay… if you promise to do something.”

  “I promise. Station says her name is Nancy Knox. I didn’t get an address. Please call and get that.”

  “I already have it,” she said, looking proud of herself.

  “You do?”

  “Don’t look so surprised. I’ll have you know I work for a private investigator. Her address is 3620 Paulina.”

  “She gave you her address?”

  “I told her I needed it for our records.”

  “And she gave it to you?”

  “Yes, after I told her if she didn’t she couldn’t have the dog.”

  “Wow,” said Larry, “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

  “Well, that was smart, but she probably made up the address. We can get the right one from the police.”

  “She didn’t make it up.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  “I told her I needed to see her driver’s license.”

  Larry was nodding with a satisfied smile.

  “Okay, give me a note, and I’ll see what I can find out.” I turned to Larry. “Now, what’s this big surprise?” I stood.

  “Well, I plan on changing your life.”

  “Don’t know how to take that. I had a secretary a while back who had the same plan.” I wondered what was in the box he held in his left hand and nodded to the office.

  “So,” I said as I leaned back in the chair, “change my life.”

  He put the box on the desk and told me to open it.

  The box was a little bigger than a shoebox, and inside was something that looked like a walkie-talkie.

  “I’m dying to know how a walkie-talkie is going to change my life.”

  He shook his head. “It wouldn’t. But this will. It’s a portable cellular telephone. Installs in your car and charges while you drive. You can take it out of the car, and it stays charged for a few hours.”

  I wasn’t convinced this was life changing. “Let’s talk about the portable part. Do you have a model that comes with wheels?”

  “Funny man. This is the next big thing in communications. It’s going to change the world.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “That’s the same thing you said about the pager. You came to rely on that as I remember.”

  I pulled it out of my pocket and held it up. “Now this is portable. Fits in my pocket.”

  “Well, one of these days that phone will fit in your pocket too.”

  “What kind of drugs do you take?”

  “Make fun. Give it a try.” He handed me a card. “Here’s the guy who will install it in the Mustang for a small fee.”

  “Ah, a catch.”

  “A gift. You don’t want it… I’ll give it to Carol.”

  I nodded slowly. “Okay, thanks. I’ll let you know how it works out.”

  “I already know how it works. Welcome to the modern world.”

  I wasn’t so sure I was going to like the modern world.

  Chapter 5

  Joey had the best lawyers money can buy, but they couldn’t help him this time. The DA evidently liked the evidence and had put her career on the line with a first-degree murder charge. Joey had been booked and moved to the county jail. A top organized crime conviction would make her career, and it sure looked like she would get it. But there was that little voice following me around, whispering in my ear. And, since I had taken Joey’s five grand, I figured I should listen. It was singing the same tune as four hours ago—Joey wasn’t this dumb.

  I wasn’t happy about having to drive to County to see him—the parking was terrible, and so was the weather. A normal twenty-minute drive had taken an hour. I parked in front of the bleak building and dreaded getting out of the warm car. The seemingly hopeless grip of a Chicago winter held its normal pall over me. I stared at the gray walls and thought th
at there was little difference between outside and in. It was dismal no matter which side of the wall you were on. But I also knew there was one huge difference. I could walk in and walk back out again. For Joey, there really was no relief from the interminable winter inside the gray walls.

  I stared out the window at the snow falling heavily and thought about my plight. One of the perks of my life was that I really didn’t need a job. I had mixed emotions about the money Mom and Dad had left me, but one of the benefits was that I didn’t need to work and could stay home on days like this. I grabbed my snow brush, apologized to my baby-blue Mustang, resigned myself to the blowing snow, and opened the door.

  ***

  I had asked Stosh to call ahead and add my name to the list of people who could get in to see Joey.

  When I went through check-in, the guard asked me why I had brought a snow brush into the jail. It wasn’t the first time I had been asked. It seemed perfectly clear to me, but no one had ever told me it was a good idea. I explained that if the brush is inside the car you get a seat full of snow when you open the door to get the brush. Makes more sense to be able to brush off the door before you open it. I got the usual stare and put the brush and my coat in a locker.

  It took ten minutes of paperwork and another half hour of waiting before I was led into the interview room where Joey sat on a straight-back wooden chair with a look of despair. It didn’t take long for jail to take a man down a few pegs. The cocky, self-assured purveyor of crime didn’t look so cocky. His fashionable, never-a-crease-in-the-wrong-spot, perfectly color-coordinated three-piece suit was replaced by drab orange, one-piece prison garb. I knew it wasn’t the jail door or the tiny space with nothing other than a toilet and a bunk that had brought Joey down… it was the orange suit. Joey was a product of the clothes he wore as much as he was of the position he held in the Chicago crime outfit.

  We looked at each other for a good minute before he asked, “You get your money?”

  I nodded.

  He shrugged. “Then why am I still here?”

  “I’m good, Joey, but you were just arrested this morning.”

  “You need to get me out of here, Manning, and I don’t mean tomorrow.”