Crickett (Dev Haskell - Private Investigator Book 8)

by Mike Faricy

  “And someone is threatening your ex and her baby?”

  “Ex is maybe too strong a term, we weren’t together long enough to rate that title.”

  “She dumped you?”

  “More like a mutual lack of interest. Although doing the math she must have been seeing this Daryl character at the same time. To tell you the truth, I’m guessing I was the dalliance or maybe a brief interruption and he was the steady boyfriend.”

  “When are you going to see this guy?”

  “Tomorrow, right after I watch the surveillance video of him taking the van and then driving it into the parking ramp.”

  “It sure sounds like a setup. The cops are there filming, just waiting for someone to show up and drive off in the thing,” Louie shook his head in disbelief.

  “I’m guessing whoever the pal was with the hundred bucks, he knew what was going down or had some awfully strong suspicions. The cops weren’t just filming, apparently they had a tracking device planted on the van, as well. Of course they’ve also got this numbskull on the parking ramp security cameras. Oh, and one of their undercover officers follows him into the ramp and parks about four spaces away on the same level.”

  “And he’s clueless?”

  “Apparently. Yeah, it’s a setup, I think there’s a good chance my guy is innocent of any drug offense along with guilty of being really stupid. But, that doesn’t alter the facts and the facts are not in his favor, at least from what I can see.”

  Louie shook his head, then drained his glass and pushed it across the picnic table toward me. “After all that, I could use a little more to soothe my nerves.”

  I put the binoculars down on the window sill, poured a good inch into his glass and capped the fifth of Jameson.

  “Not having any?”

  “I gotta go to some fundraiser tonight with Heidi and be on my best behavior.”

  “Fundraiser?”

  “I don’t know, some political thing. Anyway, it usually works in my favor. I’ll be her designated driver while she hob knobs with the ‘Swells’. Oh, get this, just in case things aren’t bad enough for this Daryl dude, guess who’s representing him?”

  Louie took a sip and shrugged.

  “Daft.”

  “Cochrane? Daphne Cochrane? God, poor bastard doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell. I hope you advised your lady friend to get another lawyer.”

  “Yeah, I did, but I think it just went in one ear and out the other.”

  “Mind if I make a suggestion?” Louie said then drained his glass. “He needs to cooperate, give his pal’s name to the cops, hell, they probably already know who it is. Then he needs to get away from Daft. She’ll get him sentenced to twenty years, killed, or both. I’ll represent him pro bono if need be, but get him away from her, she shouldn’t even be practicing.”

  “That’s big of you.”

  “The M.O. fits in with my usual band of idiots. I can use the publicity and it won’t cost me anything more than a little of my time.”

  “I’ll pass it on,” I said, then picked up the binoculars to resume my futile quest.

  Chapter Four

  I was seated at Heidi’s kitchen counter paging through some dreadfully trashy magazine full of makeup tips and an expose on a Hollywood star I’d never, ever heard of. I’d been sitting there for the past half hour while Heidi tried on a dozen different outfits. All the while she was racing back and forth between her walk-in closet and the full length mirror in her bedroom she called to me. “I’ll just be another minute.”

  “No rush.”

  “Almost ready,” she called five minutes later.

  “No problem, take your time.”

  She carried two different outfits on hangers from the closet then held them in front of her while she stood staring at the large mirror. I could hear her mumbling, “Oh, I don’t know.”

  Truth be told, she looked fabulous in everything she’d tried on. She could have gone to the event in cut-offs and a T-shirt and still have been the most attractive woman there. But, painful past experience had taught me to keep my opinion to myself at this particular moment.

  She strolled into the kitchen fifteen minutes later hooking an earring and looking like a million bucks. “What do you think?” she asked.

  It’s one of those questions like ‘Does this dress make my ass look fat?’ or ‘How old do you think I am?’ You’re juggling a grenade and hoping the pin wouldn’t fall out.

  “I don’t think you should wear that. It makes you look stunningly beautiful and every guy there will be hitting on you. I better go back home and get my gun.”

  “Stop, you’re just saying that.”

  “Beautiful, Heidi, really nice.” I was telling the truth.

  “You don’t think it’s showing too much cleavage? I don’t know, maybe I should wear a different bra.”

  “I think you’re asking the wrong guy. I got an idea, let’s skip this fundraiser and I’ll send them a check for a hundred bucks. We’ll stay here, just the two of us, and your wine glass will never be empty.”

  “Yeah, you’d love it. That’s my going rate a measly hundred bucks?”

  “Actually, I would love to stay here, and I’m sure my personal check would be acceptable.”

  “Hmm-mmm, too bad, come on we better get going. We’re already late,” she said making it sound like I had something to do with the tardy departure.

  We made the short drive to downtown St. Paul and I pulled into the valet parking lane. I figured parking would probably run me twenty bucks, and we weren’t even inside. The eighteen-year-old valet opened the passenger door for Heidi, then stood and stared at her with a ravenous look on his baby face. Apparently he agreed with me. He came to his senses after a long moment and walked over to me. “Man, I don’t believe it, just like Walter White,” he said as I handed him the keys to my Pontiac Aztek.

  “It’s been giving me a little trouble lately,” I said failing to mention it had been a pain for the past ten months. He was still trying to start it when we walked into the reception area.

  “Well, Heidi. My, my, aren’t we looking grand,” some guy said then planted a lingering kiss on her cheek. “Here, will a white do?” he asked and handed her one of the two glasses of wine he was carrying.

  “Burt, how sweet,” she cooed. “Say, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Dev Haskell. Dev, meet Burt,” Heidi giggled.

  Burt nodded and extended his hand. As we shook, he sort of half turned and cut me off. “Heidi, I wonder if I could have a private momentito. If you’d excuse us for just a bit, Dan,” he said over his shoulder then hurried her off to a corner explaining some sort of involved thing I apparently wouldn’t be able to comprehend.

  I made my way to the bar, got a lite beer in a bottle for eight dollars and began to mingle. The fundraiser had a bar set up in all four corners of the large, chandeliered ballroom. None of them offered a decent beer, but then these were ‘The Swells’ and I was out of my usual drinking element. I figured there might be a good three hundred plus people milling around paying exorbitant drink prices and trying to look interesting. I recognized a few people, but no one I really wanted to talk to. I couldn’t see Heidi anywhere, but a casual glance around confirmed she would be the most attractive woman in attendance.

  I finished my lousy beer and got another. I caught Heidi from across the room involved in an animated conversation with two guys, neither one Burt. I decided to stay away and wandered over to the hors d’oeuvres table. I could have saved the effort.

  Apparently this was some sort of gluten free, vegan group. Not so much as a Dorito, cocktail wiener, or a meatball to save my soul. Most of the food trays were already picked over and empty, but the signs were still sitting on the table in front of the crumb-covered trays; Broccoli au Grande, Cauliflower Au lait, persimmon, avocado cubes. I could go on, but you catch my drift. I would have killed for a double cheeseburger or a Ballpark hot dog.

  I was ready to leave anytime, but this was
actually business for Heidi. She would be talking to clients or prospective clients all night long. I’d known that was the drill before we arrived. I also knew how she intended to unwind once we got home, so I just sipped the lousy beer and bided my time.

  I spotted my target maybe twenty minutes later. In a room full of elegantly tailored outfits, summer silk blouses, delicate lace and sprayed on tans there she was in a gray wool skirt, with a red sweater draped over her shoulders. It looked like the perfect winter outfit for an elementary school principle. Unfortunately, it was July in Minnesota with an evening temp still hovering close to ninety and a dew point not far behind. Daft, Daphne Cochrane, Daryl Bergstrom’s appointed public defender, small world.

  She appeared adrift in an endless sea of chatty, head-bobbing individuals waxing eloquently about nothing while they stood in small groups all around her. She lifted a wine glass to her lips, but at just about the point where the wine approached the rim, she lowered the glass.

  She appeared to be alone. Over the course of the four or five minutes I watched, she spoke to no one and no one spoke to her. If she was waiting for a friend, they were sure taking their sweet time. Not to sound too cruel, but it seemed obvious her reputation had preceded her or maybe it was just the cat hair on her sweater.

  I approached with caution.

  “Excuse me. Are you Ms Cochrane with the public defenders office?”

  She studied me for a moment, but didn’t seem to recognize me as yet another disappointed and poorly-served former client. Finally she nodded.

  “I’ve seen you in the courtroom. How are you doing?”

  “Just fine, thank you,” she said crisply, but gave no follow-up question like asking my name, wondering if I practiced law, maybe sat on the bench, or was just another criminal.

  “I understand you’re involved in this most recent case, the one where the fellow drove the van loaded with drugs over to the parking ramp?”

  She gave a slight nod and took a fake sip.

  “What was his name, David something?”

  “Actually, Daryl, Daryl Bergstrom.”

  “How is that going, do you have a trial date assigned yet?”

  “No, I’m hoping we can work out a plea agreement and avoid any sort of a trial.”

  She’d already told me more than she should have. Based on what I’d observed, it couldn’t be the wine talking, she hadn’t had any. I chalked it up to ineptness.

  “How does your client feel about that?”

  She sighed and said, “Well, actually at this point, let’s just say we’re still in the initial discussion stage.” She flashed a quick, cold smile. Obviously, if her innocent clients were locked up, she wouldn’t have to waste her time in the court room.

  “Always a pleasure chatting with you, Ms. Cochrane.”

  She gave a slight nod like this was an accepted fact then looked at me dismissively so I nodded and drifted back into the crowd.

  Louie was right, and all my initial fears had just been confirmed, Daryl Bergstrom was royally screwed. I paid ten bucks for a glass of lousy white wine and located Heidi. She was surrounded by four paunchy guys vying for her attention. She looked grateful to see me.

  “Oh, here is my significant other, Dev come here and join us. Oh, thanks,” she said taking the glass of wine and handing me her empty. She took two very healthy gulps and smiled.

  Two of the guys nodded and quickly left, a third stayed a half moment longer before he fled to the bar. The fourth guy hung in there for maybe five minutes talking some investment scheme that even I thought sounded shady. When he left, Heidi smiled sweetly, looked around, and said “Thanks for the rescue. He wanted to take me up to his cabin tonight.”

  “Can’t blame him for trying. I’m ready whenever you are.”

  “Maybe just a while longer, I’m picking up some business.”

  “Like at that guy’s cabin?”

  “Oh, be nice. Maybe once I finish this glass of wine we’ll go somewhere a little more private.”

  Chapter Five

  It was a little after ten the following morning when my phone rang. By the time I stumbled out of bed and found my trousers in Heidi’s living room, whoever it was had hung up. Against my better judgment I pulled the phone out of the pocket and called back.

  “Hello.” I recognized Crickett’s pleading voice immediately and flashed awake.

  “Crickett, its Dev Haskell. You just called me.”

  “Oh, Dev, God, Daryl’s dead.”

  “What?”

  “I got the call about an hour ago. Someone killed him in jail.”

  “Killed him? In the jail?

  “That’s what they said. I’ve been sitting here not knowing what to do so I thought I’d call you.”

  I could hear Oliver in the background.

  “Oh, not this again,” Crickett said.

  “Give me your address and I’ll come over.”

  “Is that okay? I’m sorry, I’m just sort of at a loss. I’m not sure what to do and, alright I’m coming, I’m coming. Sorry, I better go.”

  “You still in the same place?”

  What? Oh no, we, I guess I should say just me, now. I have a different place.

  “Give me the address, Crickett.”

  “Oh yeah, I ‘spose.”

  I kept repeating Crickett’s address until I found a pencil and wrote it down. Actually it was some sort of eyebrow makeup pencil thing I found on Heidi’s kitchen counter. It had been lying next to the blender. I’d made a couple of batches of Pina Coladas last night when we finally got home. There was maybe half a glass left in the blender, but I thought I’d better give it a pass.

  Heidi was sound asleep and I didn’t want to wake her, she’d certainly earned it. I showered, dressed, put the coffee on for her and left a note. I pulled up in front of Crickett’s less than fifteen minutes later.

  Her new place was a nice two-story structure with a brick and timber second floor, wood shutters on both sides of all the windows, and three steep peaks on the roof. A brick walk curved in a gentle ‘S’ pattern across the groomed front lawn and up to the front door. Nice digs for a ‘single’ mom whose boyfriend was locked up and looking at twenty to twenty-five years. I climbed the buff stone steps and pushed the doorbell, it chimed from somewhere inside.

  Crickett opened the door a moment after the chimes stopped. “Hi, Dev, gee thanks for coming right over. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

  I had expected red puffy eyes, mascara running down her cheeks, and a fist full of Kleenex. To tell the truth she looked pretty well put together. Nicely put together as a matter of fact.

  “Crickett, I just want to say how sorry I am. Actually, I sort of don’t know what to say. This is all so, I don’t know, not just unexpected, it’s shocking.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “What did they say? The police just called? They didn’t send someone over to inform you personally?”

  “The cops? Oh no, they didn’t call. I got the call from Daryl’s father, Charlie. Apparently someone went to his house this morning, he lives out of town. I was only on the phone with him for a minute or two. We don’t really get along, he’s kind of a pain in the ass, if you know what I mean?” She shrugged, then said, “Actually, there s no ‘kind of’ about it, he’s a pain, a major pain.”

  “Did he give you any idea what happened?”

  “No, but then again he wouldn’t. Anyway, I’m supposed to meet him, Charlie, at the morgue at one.”

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Me? Yeah, in a way I guess it kind of puts a stop to any long, drawn out legal process with a trial, and it certainly makes me and Oliver a lot safer.”

  I must have given her some sort of look because she quickly added. “I mean, think about it. Now, since Daryl obviously can’t cooperate with the police and make some dopey deal, there really isn’t much point in someone threatening or harming Oliver and me. Is there?”

  “Did you hear from your attorne
y?”

  “No, not a word.”

  Somehow that didn’t seem surprising. I didn’t see any point in mentioning I saw Daphne Cochrane last night.

  “Want something to drink? Come on back to the kitchen.”

  I followed her across a nicely furnished living room with a large, heavy, oak staircase climbing up the far wall. We passed what looked like an office/den with a fireplace, walked across a fairly good-sized paneled dining room, then through a swinging door with a brass push plate that led into a spacious kitchen.

  There were lots of cabinets and they looked like they were cherry wood. The counter tops were some sort of polished, white marble with gleaming, white subway tiles running up the wall from the counter tops to the upper cabinets. A bag of pancake mix and an empty package of sausage sat abandoned on the counter and a dusting of pancake mix left a trail leading to the gas range. A white, Styrofoam container for a dozen eggs sat open on the far side of the sink and held three eggs. The large kitchen sink held what looked like two crystal champagne flutes, two breakfast plates slick with syrup, and a couple of coffee mugs. Whoever had been here had one hell of an appetite.

  Crickett picked up a glass of white wine from the counter. The glass was maybe half full and had condensation along the outside. “You want some wine?”

  “Thanks, but I better not. Got any coffee?”

  “Yeah, I think there’s some left.” She opened a cabinet and pulled down a coffee mug that matched the two in the sink. “Cream or sugar?” she asked reaching for a pot that held maybe a half cup.

  “Black is just fine.”

  “Would you like something to eat? I guess since it’s almost noon I could call somewhere, maybe get a sandwich delivered or something.”

  “No thanks, coffee will do.”

  We chatted for a few minutes until Oliver’s screech erupted from some sort of monitor plugged into an outlet. Apparently he was waking up from a nap. “Oh, God, I better go get him or he’ll just keep screaming. I’ve got someone coming over to watch him when I go to the morgue. I’m really not looking forward to that,” she said and shot me a glance.