Cold Justice

by Rick Polad

  She set the glasses down on the wooden coffee table and sat next to me. The couch was big enough for both of us to have breathing room, but her leg was touching mine. She had done that in the bar also, but then I figured it was because the stools were close. I decided I didn’t mind.

  “So, Spencer, do you have family here in Chicago?”

  That was an innocent question but not something I wanted to get into, so I kept it short. “No, I don’t. My only aunt is up in Wisconsin.”

  “Where’s the rest of your family? Are you not from here?”

  “Yes, I am. My parents were killed in a car accident a few years ago, and my sister died when she was young.”

  She put her hand on my leg. “That’s sad. I’m so sorry.”

  I reached for the beer and reluctantly took a drink. “Thanks. How about you?”

  “Me too, and most of my family is gone too. So I guess we have something in common.”

  “I guess.”

  She swirled her wine. “You know, what you do is so exciting. How did you get to be a detective?”

  One of the disadvantages of being a detective is what it does to relationships. You wonder about ordinary questions, and that wonder gets in the way of conversation. Her question was perfectly normal and one that anyone would ask, but given the situation I was wary. You can’t get close to someone if you’re wary. But my goal wasn’t to get close to Jamie. I wasn’t quite sure what my goal was, and I decided some history wouldn’t hurt.

  “I was in the army… military police. I liked the investigation part of it so I decided to try my hand at working privately.”

  “And you like it?”

  “I do. It’s been interesting.” And there was another relationship issue—I had left out more than I had told her.

  I swirled my beer. I figured if I was swirling it I wouldn’t have to drink it.

  “That’s great. Not many people like their job.” She pulled her legs up under her, but her leg was still touching mine. “There’s something else I’m wondering. You’re a detective, but you don’t carry a gun. Don’t detectives carry guns?”

  I laughed. “They do, and I do when I need to. They make me nervous.”

  She returned the laugh. “Perhaps not a good trait in a detective.”

  “Perhaps not, but things have worked out okay so far.”

  She took a drink and changed the subject. “There hasn’t been much about Mr. Mineo on the news. Have you found out anything?”

  That was innocent enough also, but…

  “Not much. At least nothing that seems to help. Do you still think he did it?”

  “Oh, I have no reason to think he did or didn’t. But I’ve learned that most of the time things are actually the way they appear.”

  I agreed.

  “I know you can’t tell me what you’ve found out, but you must know more than what’s on the news.”

  I laughed. “That’s not always the case. Sometimes they know more than me.”

  She finished her wine. I had barely started the beer.

  Turning toward me, she put her hand on my shoulder and said, “For instance, the man was killed in an alley. You must have looked at the alley and found something you can’t talk about.”

  Her touch was electric, and her eyes were like a puppy that just wanted you to pet him. In a normal situation I would have returned the touch. And then there was Rosie, but whenever I thought about Rosie I saw Gabriel. Her hand was still on my shoulder.

  “I’d love to look at the alley with you and have you tell me what you found.”

  When I looked away from her I was being stared at by Uncle Sam and wondered what he would think about relationships.

  I put my glass back on the table and turned toward her. She moved her hand from my shoulder back to my leg.

  I took a deep breath and said, “I’m feeling a bit nervous.”

  She looked confused. “I make you nervous?”

  “No, Uncle Sam does.” I pointed at the hanging. “I feel like he’s staring at me.”

  She laughed.

  “It’s the first time I’ve seen Uncle Sam up on someone’s wall. Are you that patriotic?”

  She shook her head and smiled her pretty smile. It was very endearing. “No, not really. But I do love Uncle Sam. Kind of a strange looking fellow, but he’s done a lot for me. I thank him every day for what I have.”

  “Well, I can’t argue with that.”

  “I’ll take it down if it’ll make you feel better.”

  I put my hand on top of hers and said, “No, that’s okay.”

  “Good.” She cocked her head with a little smile and said, “I’m just wondering… and it’s okay either way… it would be fun to look at the alley with you. I’ve always been interested in things like this. Maybe if someday you need a partner…”

  I laughed. “I have enough trouble taking care of myself.”

  Her face lit up. “Which is why you need a partner! You could teach me.”

  Either this was the start of a beautiful relationship or she was fishing for something. If it was the first, I didn’t know what to do. I kept thinking about Rosie and Gabe and wondering if he was doing the same thing to her that Jamie was doing to me. If it was the second, I was the bait, and I needed to know what she was fishing for. I remembered her statement about most things being the way they appear, but there was that word “most.” I looked over at Uncle Sam, but he had no advice. I decided to take the hook and see where it led.

  “I don’t know what I could teach you, Jamie. And it’s not very much fun. It’s mostly drudgery, just asking a lot of questions and seeing what makes sense.”

  “Sounds like putting a puzzle together, and I love puzzles.”

  I nodded. “They can be fun. But sometimes they can be frustrating.”

  Her face lit up again. “I know… I can help with some questions!”

  I cocked my head and shifted on the couch. “I don’t know, I—”

  “Come on. It would be fun.”

  It didn’t sound like fun to me, but I didn’t see the harm. And maybe she’d ask something I hadn’t thought of. “Okay, go ahead.”

  “Hmmm, well, let me think for a minute.” She got more wine while she was thinking. “You’re not drinking your beer.”

  “Oh, no, I guess I was distracted by the company.” I was hoping not to have to finish it, but I picked up the glass and took a drink.

  She sipped her wine. “The papers haven’t said much about all of this. I know someone needs a motive. Does Mr. Mineo have one?”

  “Not really. But there may be an old grudge nobody knows about, or maybe Schloff was getting in Joey’s way.”

  She squinted her eyes. “Anybody else with a motive?”

  “None that makes it worth killing a guy.”

  “Maybe not to you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A person’s motive might not seem like a big deal to someone else, but it might be a real big deal to that person.”

  “That’s true.” I hadn’t excluded any possibilities, but there were no smoking guns.

  “How about the witness?”

  I was a little wary about the questions, but conceded that if I were sitting next to someone who was investigating a big murder case I’d be doing just what she was. “What about the witness?”

  She shook her head and frowned. “Some guy does the right thing and comes forward, and he dies. That’s just awful.”

  I agreed.

  “Why didn’t the police keep him somewhere safe?”

  “They thought they did.”

  “Then how did he die?”

  “He was shot, but I assume you are wondering how someone got to him.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good question.”

  She drank and thought some more. “If Mr. Mineo killed Schloff, then he would have killed the witness too, right?”

  “Not necessarily, I think—”

  “Does Mr. Mineo have an alibi?”
<
br />   “The best. He was in jail.”

  She laughed. “Hard to beat that. But what about his gang?”

  “His boys were at his mansion. They hadn’t left all day.”

  “Mansion? Mr. Mineo lives in a mansion?”

  “He thinks he does.”

  “And you believe them?”

  “I didn’t ask them.”

  She looked puzzled. “Then how do you know?”

  “I had someone watching the house.”

  “That’s awesome. You’re their alibi!”

  “Well, my man is.”

  She thought some more and finished the wine. “Schloff was shot with a handgun, right?”

  “Right.”

  Tapping the empty glass with her fingernail, she asked, “So if the witness was shot with a rifle, wouldn’t it be two different shooters?”

  “Not necessarily. The witness was shot from farther away, across the street. A rifle is more accurate.”

  “I see. And couldn’t the witness getting shot have nothing to do with Schloff?”

  “You mean someone completely unrelated to the Mineo case had a reason to kill the witness and happened to find where the police were keeping him?”

  She scrunched up her face. “If you put it that way, I guess that would be a little far-fetched.”

  “It would be a lot far-fetched.” I forced down the rest of the beer. She asked if I wanted another. I declined.

  She looked disappointed. “I guess we haven’t solved the crime, huh.”

  I laughed. “No, I guess not. And some crimes never get solved.”

  “Must be some smart criminals out there.”

  “Some. But luckily most aren’t. Most make mistakes.”

  She took her hand off of my leg, folded her arms across her chest, and, with a smile, said, “You must know some things nobody else knows.”

  I smiled back. “I know some things even the police don’t know.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to tell the police?”

  “Only when I’m sure they’re pertinent.”

  “Like what?”

  After a few seconds of thought, I decided to share one thing.

  “Okay, I’ll tell you something that the public doesn’t know.”

  She grasped my arm and looked excited. “What is it?”

  “Max Schloff wasn’t killed in the alley.” The week was up, so it would be in the morning papers anyway. I wasn’t really giving up anything critical, but she was excited.

  “See! That’s what I mean about your job. You get to know things like that. Where was he killed?”

  “In a warehouse over on Cambridge, a block east of Broadway.”

  “Well why did they say he was killed in an alley?”

  I shrugged. “Beats me.”

  She looked coy again and took my hand. “Could you show me the warehouse? It could be my first lesson!”

  “I suppose I could.”

  Her excitement faded, and her look turned from coy to seductive. She reached out and gently touched my cheek as she leaned in and kissed me. And after a few seconds I kissed her back. Maybe that was the reward for the inside information, and maybe what she was fishing for was me. But I wasn’t sure if I was landing a tuna or a barracuda.

  We made plans for the next day. I’d pick her up after lunch.

  ***

  I started the Mustang, and while it was warming up I picked up the phone and called Rosie. She answered on the third ring.

  “Hi, Rosie, how was the party?”

  “It wasn’t a party, Spencer. Just dinner.”

  “How many?”

  “How many what?”

  “People at dinner.”

  Silence for five seconds and then a sigh. “Just two.”

  “So, no funny hats or noisemakers?”

  More silence. “Is that what you called for? To harass me?”

  “No. We need to talk. Can I come by?”

  More silence. “Sure.”

  The drive was only twenty minutes, but it seemed like an hour.

  Chapter 26

  I was in the office before Carol, taking care of paperwork and throwing darts—mostly throwing darts. I had just hit two bull’s-eyes in a row when she walked in.

  “Good morning, Spencer. Tough job you’ve got.”

  “Glad you noticed. It’s very stressful.” Actually, throwing darts gave me a chance to think. I thought about adding the time to my Joey time sheet.

  As she hung up her coat, she asked, “Any news on the dog?”

  “There will be soon. The wheels have to turn.” I put the darts away. “I know Billy is excited about the dog, but he’ll probably go to someone who needs a working dog.”

  “I know.” She sat and opened her drawer. “At least he won’t be mistreated anymore.”

  “We can hope.”

  She opened her schedule book. “Nothing on the schedule for you today. More darts?”

  I laughed. “No, I actually have a full day. Phone calls to make this morning and an errand this afternoon that will take a few hours.” I didn’t want to tell her what it was. Me bending the rules was one thing… her knowing about it was another.

  “Well, I’d practice up on darts if I were you. Billy wants a rematch, and he’s been practicing.”

  “Tell him we’ll do it soon.”

  The mailman came in with the mail as I was heading back to my office. We hardly ever got anything Carol needed to ask me about.

  My first call was to Mooneen at city hall.

  “Oh, hello, Mr. Manning. I was wondering if I’d hear from you.”

  “Hi, Mooneen. Anything new in the office?”

  “Nothing you don’t probably already know. Mrs. Schenk is on administrative leave pending an investigation into the business with Knox. I assume you had something to do with that.”

  “Not a bad assumption.”

  “Then thanks. I hate to see animals being abused. I also hate to see people abusing their public trust.”

  I smiled but she of course couldn’t see it. I was pretty cynical about public trust. A lot of people serving the public were giving themselves a pretty big helping at the same time.

  “I do what I can, Mooneen.”

  “On another note, we’ll need the dog back. I assume he’s safe. Do you know where he is?”

  “I do. And I assume I’ll get a call today about that. I’ll turn him over, but there’s a little boy who would love to have him.”

  She paused. “Mr. Manning, I’ve been thinking about the little boy. I’m not promising anything, but I have an idea.”

  “Anything you’d like to share?”

  “No, I don’t want to get anybody’s hopes up. It’s a longshot.”

  “Okay. Good luck with that. Thanks for all your help, Mooneen.”

  “You are welcome. And thanks for yours.”

  When I had hung up Carol came in with two messages. One was to call Stosh. The other had a number of a Mr. Gillery from animal welfare. My conversation with him was brief. He was nice enough, but he was all business. I explained about Billy. When I asked if there was any chance we could keep the dog his response was to tell me he’d be coming for the dog just after lunch. I told him that wasn’t possible, and he told me about defying a city official. I wanted to tell him what I thought of that, but kept it to myself. I told him the soonest I’d be able to have Spot back in my office would be Wednesday at four. He admitted that since I was holding the cards, or in this case the dog, there wasn’t much he could do about it. I agreed.

  I decided to get some exercise and walked out to the plush lobby.

  “Carol, what time does Billy get home from school?”

  “About three.”

  “Okay. Please call Ralph and tell him to bring the dog Wednesday at two.”

  Her face lit up with a smile. “Sure. Billy will be so happy.”

  “Well, I’m not sure Billy should see him. A Mr. Gillery is coming at four to get him.”

  The smile disappeare
d. “Oh. Well, I guess that has to happen.”

  “Yes. Do you think Billy should see him? It might be harder to see him and then have to say goodbye.”

  “Yes, it probably would. But I think that’s up to Billy. I’ll talk to him about it and see what he wants to do.”

  “I’m sorry this is so hard, Carol.”

  She tried to smile. “I know. Thanks for all you’ve done, Spencer. Do you want me to get the lieutenant for you?”

  I took a deep breath. “Nope. The lieutenant is the last person I want to talk to.”

  I got a very quizzical look, but she didn’t ask why. She also didn’t ask why I closed my door when I went back to my office. It had never been closed.

  I spent the next hour talking to Ben, telling him about the evening with Jamie. Rosie and I had always had a strange relationship, and it looked like that hadn’t changed. I felt a bit guilty, and it helped to have someone to talk to. I wanted someone to know what was going on, and Ben was the best person to tell. He always had been.

  Chapter 27

  On the way to the warehouse I gave Jamie some rules about what not to do. Don’t touch anything was first on the list. I parked on Cambridge about a hundred feet from the door and remembered the snow that was falling the last time I was there. Today the sun was shining, and the wind had calmed to a slight breeze, so the cold wasn’t as bitter.

  Jamie put her arm around me, and her boots clicked on the concrete as we walked up the block. “This is very exciting,” she said, giving me a squeeze, her shoulder purse digging into my side.

  I had the lock open in less than thirty seconds, opened the door, snapped the lock back in place, and pulled the door closed. The last time it had taken a minute for my eyes to adjust to the dim light. Today there was plenty of sunlight streaming in the windows. I could almost hear the sound of forklifts. As we exited the offices I motioned to the left. “Stairs up to the second floor.” She followed me.

  “This is kinda spooky, Spencer… you know… knowing someone died here… all alone.”

  “Not quite alone.”

  “Well, you know what I mean.”

  “Yup.”