Chapter Twenty-Six
I stopped in at the Arthur Treacher’s at Fourteenth Street and Union Square for some chicken and chips, the first junk food I’d had since going into training for my last fight. I’m a junk-food freak, and the only time I get to eat it is between fights.
After lunch I dropped another dime into one of Ma Bell’s one- armed bandits and called Heck’s office again. His secretary told me he was in and would be for some time. I told her I’d be there in ten minutes.
Heck’s office was on Madison and Twenty-third, so I walked back uptown nine blocks and took the elevator up. When I walked into his office the secretary told me to go right in. I didn’t recognize her, which wasn’t surprising. Heck had the knack of having a different young woman out front every time I was there. I didn’t know if he fired them or they quit, but there was no denying he had a large turnover of personnel.
“I expected you to call sooner, Miles,” he told me, as if he was disappointed in me. He looked up from his desk, and when he saw my face had picked up a few extra lumps he said, “Madre de Dios, pal!”
I told him about being jumped on the street, and then about jumping into the ring with Willy Wells’s boy.
“Well, at least one of those incidents was unavoidable,” he commented.
I grinned sheepishly and said, “Yeah, I know. Don’t worry, I don’t intend to get into the ring again until my eye heals.”
“That’s good. What about this attack on you? Do you think it had anything to do with your brother’s case?”
“Maybe not directly,” I told him.
“What do you mean by that?”
I sat in his visitor’s chair and said, “I’ve been checking out Eddie’s clients, to see if maybe one of them had a motive for wanting him dead.”
“And? You found something?”
“I haven’t found a blessed thing,” I told him, “but on the other hand, maybe someone thinks I have.”
He thought it over a moment, then said, “I think I understand. Either someone thinks you have something or there is something they don’t want you to find. That’s why they sent those two cabrons after you.”
“What’s that word?”
“It’s a dirty Spanish word, Miles.”
“Oh, well, that’s the way I figure it. It would have been more helpful if those two, uh, goons had spoken to me or given me some kind of warning or something.”
“You mean like on the television, when the villain tells the hero, ‘Stay away from so-and-so,’” he said, dropping his voice to a dramatic, villainous level, “and then the detective knows who to look for?”
“Right. I guess that would have been a little too much to hope for, huh?”
“Maybe you didn’t give them a chance to talk,” he suggested. “Perhaps they didn’t expect you to fight back so effectively.”
It was my turn to think one over.
“Well then, maybe they’ll try again, and I will get a warning,” I offered.
“Or maybe next time they’ll just kill you.”
“Oh, now that’s a cheerful thought. Thanks a heap.”
“I’m sorry, Miles, I did not mean to alarm you. Perhaps they were just muggers.”
“Yeah, maybe,” but I didn’t think so. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair and asked, “Heck, how are you progressing on Ben’s case?”
“Not very well, I’m afraid,” he answered. “He refuses to change his story at all.”
“Have you got anyone working on it?”
“Yes, I have Walker Blue doing some investigative work for me. He went through the office building, found a couple of people who remembered seeing your brother that day.”
“In what kind of shape?”
“Inebriated, to say the least,” he replied helplessly. “There’s no avoiding that fact, Miles.”
“I know it, but that doesn’t prove he killed Eddie,” I pointed out defensively.
“No, it just proves he was there, which is half the state’s case.”
“He’s not denying that he was there, Heck!”
“Easy, Miles,” he said, holding up both hands so I could see the palms, “don’t jump on me.”
I sat back in my chair and apologized.
“I’m sorry, Heck. Listen, why don’t you let me work on this thing, too?”
“Walker likes to work alone, Miles, and besides, you’re a little emotionally involved—”
“Emotionally and financially,” I told him.
He frowned and asked, “How is that?”
“Well, Ben sure hasn’t got any money to pay you.”
“Thanks for telling me,” he said wryly.
“Oh, don’t worry, Heck, I can pay you.”
“I’m not worried, Miles,” he assured me. “Look, you know Walker Blue’s a good man—”
“I know, but he’s not cheap. I am,” I countered.
“Now you are going to tell me that you are trying to save yourself some money by working on the case yourself, right?”
“Right.”
“That’s a good try, Miles,” he complimented me.
“Look, Heck,” I tried again, “I’m going to nose around anyway, but it would help if I had some kind of official capacity, just in case push comes to shove with the cops. Put me down on the books and pay me a dollar. I just want to be able to tell them I’m working for you.”
He cocked his head to the right and asked, “Have you had any trouble with the police?”
“No. I’ve met the detective in charge—”
“Hocus?”
“Right. We seem to be getting along so far, but I’ll need a leg to stand on if he tries to warn me off.”
He thought it over a moment, then said, “All right, Miles, I may be wrong, but you’re hired.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it—and since I’m more than likely paying the bills, I compliment you on good judgment.”
“Thank you,” he said, bowing his head.
“I guess I’ll get to work, then,” I said, starting to rise.
“Oh, there’s one more thing, Miles,” he commented, stopping me.
“What’s that?” I asked, half in and half out of the chair.
“Your brother wants to know why you haven’t been to see him in the past few days.”
I was suddenly struck by guilt over what Julie and I had done last night, and I sat back down.
“Tell him they won’t let me in to see him,” I suggested.
He shook his head.
“As an investigator working for his attorney, they can’t stop you from seeing him,” he advised me, sounding very officious.
“Yeah.”
“How about tomorrow morning,” he suggested. “You can go in with me.”
“Is Julie going?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“She’ll be going in the afternoon.”
He was wondering why I wasn’t in a hurry to visit my brother, and, to be truthful, I was wondering the same thing. It wasn’t because of what happened with Julie, because I hadn’t been in such a rush even before that. Part of it was probably because I was just tired of taking care of someone who had for years been pretending he was taking care of me. The other part might have been because, damnit to hell, he just might have—I mean it was possible that he had killed the best friend I ever had. Maybe I thought that by not seeing him, not looking at him, I could go on believing that he hadn’t killed him, in spite of all the evidence.
“Miles,” Heck called out, breaking into my reverie.
“Yeah, Heck, I’m here.”
“Miles, I don’t know what the problem is, so I can’t tell you how to solve it, but he is your brother.”
I looked at him and grinned slightly.
“Is that Latin logic?” I asked.
He smiled widely and said, “That’s just the truth.”
“Yeah,” I admitted, scratching my nose, “I guess it is that. Okay, Heck, I’ll go with you tomorrow.”
“Good. Meet me
in front of my office at ten o’clock in the morning, and we’ll go out to Ryker’s Island to see him.”
I got up to leave and then thought of something else I should bring up.
“Heck, there is something that you should know about,” I said, turning back to him.
I told him all about Corky Purcell, why I was looking for him, and how I found him.
“You think the murder of this Purcell has anything to do with Ben’s case?” he asked. “I fail to see the connection.”
“Well, so do I,” I told him. “I think it might have something to do with the man in the fifth row, though. Since I’m working for you, I just thought you should know everything I was working on.”
“Fair enough,” he agreed. Pointing his finger at me, he added, “You let me know the minute you come up with something I should know, though.”
“Believe me, you’ll be the first to know,” I promised.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I went straight from Heck’s office to the Seventeenth Precinct. I was deliberately trying to avoid Detective Vadala, at the same time hoping that Hocus would be in and would take my statement instead.
When I walked into the Precinct I was stopped by an officer at the front desk who wanted to know where I thought I was going.
“Homicide,” I told him.
“Do you have an appointment?” he asked.
“I, uh—yeah, I do.”
“Who with?”
“Detective Hocus.”
“Stand by,” he told me, picking up a phone. He spoke briefly, casting suspicious glances at me, then hung up and said, “All right, you can go up.”
“Thanks.”
“Next time stop at the desk and identify yourself or mention if you have an appointment.”
I bit back a coarse reply and said, “I’ll remember, thank you.”
He didn’t answer. I had already ceased to exist as far as he was concerned.
I went upstairs and was met at the door to the squad room by Hocus.
“I hear you were involved in some excitement uptown,” he said by way of greeting.
“Yeah, I came down to make my statement.”
“Well, Vadala’s not back yet, but you can come in and wait for him,” he offered.
“Thanks.”
He led me inside, and instead of going to his lieutenant’s office he took me to his desk.
“How have you been doing with my brother’s case?” I asked him as he seated himself.
“Well, I haven’t found anything to make me change my mind about him, if that’s what you mean,” he answered honestly.
“Yep, that’s what I meant,” I said, looking around the room.
There were eight desks, only three of which were inhabited now. At one a lone detective sat laboring over a typewriter. At the other another detective sat with an elderly woman, showing her photos. The third desk was Hocus’s.
“Why don’t you have a seat,” he invited, indicating the one next to his desk.
“Thanks.”
“Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“No, thanks,” I told him, sitting down. “Uh, listen, would it be possible for you to take my statement?”
“Um, it’s not my case, but I guess I could take your statement, yeah. Are you in a hurry?”
“It’s not that I’m in a hurry,” I told him, “as much as it is that I want you to hear the story.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“Well, you’re working on the Lucas Pratt case, right?”
“Right,” he said. Then leaning forward, he asked, “You think there’s a connection?”
“I think you better take my statement and then decide for yourself.”
Half an hour later he was glancing over my typewritten statement, nodding his head.
“Is that enough of a connection for you to take over the Purcell case?” I asked. “Both Lucas Pratt and Corky Purcell could have led me to my man in the fifth row—”
“And now they’re both dead,” he finished for me. He let my statement flutter to his desk and added, “Yeah, that’s a connection, all right. Vadala may not like it, but I’m pretty sure I can get the boss to turn the case over to me.”
“Great.”
“Why are you so enthusiastic?” he wanted to know.
“I just think that I can get along with you better than I can with Detective Vadala,” I told him.
He frowned at me.
“Jacoby, are you going to continue with your search for the man in the fifth row?”
“I am.”
“Uh, does that mean that you’re not going to work on your brother’s case?”
“No, it doesn’t. As a matter of fact, I’ve been retained by Hector Delgado to do some background investigation on the case.”
“Is that a fact?” he asked, very interested. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but your sister-in-law hired Delgado on your recommendation, didn’t she?”
“That’s right.”
“Yeah, well,” he said, picking the statement up off the desk, “I guess that means you’ve got almost as much right on the case as I have.”
“I don’t see any reason why we can’t work together,” I told him. “You know, exchange information.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that, Jacoby. We both want the same thing, right?”
“But for different reasons.”
“Well, whatever the reason, we want the guilty party to be punished. The best way to do that is for you to clue me in on anything you find out.”
“And vice versa.”
“Yeah, right.”
I stood up and told him. “I’d like to call you tomorrow and find out what the autopsy report says about Purcell and the cause of death. I didn’t see any marks on him that would have killed him.”
“I should have the report by tomorrow morning, so sure, give me a call.”
“I’m going to see my brother at ten,” I told him. “I’ll call you after that.”
I started to walk out and he called after me.
“Jacoby.”
“Yeah?”
“You let me know if you find your man in the fifth row.
“He could be more than the connection between these two cases,” he told me.
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to be found,” he suggested. “Just maybe he’s the killer.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
As I left the Precinct I was struck by the fear that I might meet Detective Vadala on his way in, but mercifully that fear did not materialize into reality. No doubt he would be informed by his superior that the Purcell case was being turned over to Hocus due to certain similarities, or connections, with one of his cases. It would serve no good purpose for him to find out that I had something to do with it. The last thing I needed if I was going to stay in this business was a cop with a grudge.
I walked downtown to the office and arrived there just before six o’clock. Missy was hanging up the phone when I walked in.
“Ready to eat?” I asked her.
“Well, well, a man who keeps his promises,” she said, slapping her hands down on the folders that covered the desk. “Shall I tell you want kind of day it’s been now, or over dinner?”
“Let’s make it over dinner,” I told her, realizing how hungry I was. “I’m starved.”
We decided against anything fancy and simply went to the nearest Brew & Burger.
Once we had a couple of giant burgers, a mound of French fries and a carafe of wine in front of us, she started telling me what kind of day it had been.
“So you spoke to a lot of nasty people, but no one you think might have had a reason to kill Eddie,” I summed up.
“Yeah, they were nasty, but so are ninety percent of the people in New York. That doesn’t make them murderers.”
“I guess not.”
“How was your day?” she asked.
“It started off great,” I told her, then related my story about finding Cork
y Purcell’s body and just kept on going to bring her up to date.
“That reminds me,” she said when I finished. “Your friend Robie McKay is sending an envelope full of clippings over in the morning.”
“He come on strong on the phone?” I asked, smiling.
She didn’t smile back when she answered.
“Yeah, but I cooled him off without hurting his feelings,” she told me, playing with her French fries with her fork. Her burger was only half gone, but she was doing a dandy job on the wine.
“Hey, kiddo, what’s on your mind?” I asked her.
She poured herself some more wine and picked up her glass.
“You are,” she said. “Why are you so interested in an old-time trainer who turns up dead in a rundown hotel? Does it have anything to do with getting your brother off the hook for Eddie’s murder? Does it have anything to do with Eddie’s murder at all?” she demanded.
“No, not with Eddie or my brother,” I admitted.
“You going to keep the business open, then?” she asked. “You taking on other jobs already?”
“No, this is personal. It started before Eddie was killed, or Ben was arrested,” I told her, and went on to explain it all to her so she wouldn’t think I was cutting out on my brother, or trying to cut in on Eddie’s action now that he was dead. I understood that it was the wine talking, because she knew me better than that.
“Missy, I know this is hard for you—” I started.
“Hard? You don’t know the half of it,” she told me. “Miles, I still think your brother killed Eddie. You haven’t come up with anything that’s changed my mind. Have you changed yours? Have you come up with anything at all that proves your brother didn’t do it?”
I hesitated a moment and then admitted, “No, nothing.”
“Then why don’t you forget it, Miles?” she asked. “The police have Eddie’s killer.”
“He’s my brother, Missy; that’s the only justification that I can give you.”
Eye in the Ring Page 10