C T Ferguson Box Set

by Tom Fowler

  I didn’t see any of Paul’s coworkers at the early viewing. Several of Alice’s stopped by, including her boss. He frowned at me every time he saw me but never said anything. Most of Paul’s family made an appearance; I heard the rest of them would arrive in time for the late viewing. Alice introduced me to Paul’s relatives as her friend who happened to be a private eye. She really needed to learn about oversharing. I hoped the families didn’t swap stories about the dashing stranger in the expensive suit. If they did, I hoped they confined their conversations to how I was the best-dressed man in the room. Even the funeral director wore something off the rack.

  Between the early and late viewings, I went home and grabbed some carry-out for dinner. While I ate, Rich called. I considered not answering the phone, but snubbing him would have been juvenile, even for me.

  “I wondered if you’d pick up,” Rich said.

  “Mystery solved. Sure you’re not already a detective?”

  “Are you still working the case today?”

  “I am.” I told Rich about the viewings.

  “Do you think anything will happen at the evening one?”

  “I doubt it,” I said, “but I guess you never know.”

  “Well, it’s a Monday night, and I still have a couple days before I go back to work. Want another pair of eyes?”

  “If you’re willing to come, sure.”

  “All right, I’ll see you there.”

  “Try not to look too much like a cop, if you can help it.”

  “I don’t have your wardrobe,” Rich said, “but I’ll see what I can do.”

  When I got to Ruck’s for the evening viewing, Rich arrived a few minutes before. His suit looked off the rack without appearing too cheap, and if I hadn’t known he was a cop, I might not have guessed him for one. He looked at me and shook his head. “Armani?” he said.

  “How’d you know?” I said.

  “I know you. You get it recently?”

  “After college. It still fits like the day I got it.”

  Alice’s family was there again. They all looked at me a little suspiciously, but no one ventured close to talk to me. Paul’s folks tried their best not to look at me, which I found puzzling. If they believed Alice, I was her friend who had resolved to look into their relative’s death. Why avoid me? I hoped I wouldn’t have to talk to them about Paul and Alice at some point.

  As I scanned the room, I stood near Alice. She talked to a few more well-wishers I recognized from her job. When someone from Paul’s side of the family approached her, I moved in a little closer. The man was Paul’s uncle Randy, and he and Alice exchanged pleasantries and condolences. She introduced me as her friend the detective, and we shook hands. “Do you think Paul’s death wasn’t an accident?” he said in a quiet voice.

  “I believe in being thorough,” I said. “I’m only making sure the police don’t overlook anything.”

  “Paul was a good driver. He rarely drank.” His comment reminded me I wanted to see the ME’s report. Anytime there is a one-car accident, the police suspect intoxication, and with good reason. I remembered hearing some chatter about it at the accident scene. The ME would have sent Paul’s blood out for a toxicology report, and the results would be included with his final report. After tonight’s viewing, I would try and find it on the BPD’s network.

  “Why has Paul’s family been avoiding me?” I whispered to Alice.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “Do you think he told them?”

  “Told them what?”

  I gave her a look one should refrain from giving widows. “Why he worked overtime.”

  “Oh.” She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Paul was close with his family, but we kept our business between us.”

  “Did your family know?”

  “I never told them.”

  “They could lend you money.”

  “I wouldn’t trouble them for that,” she said. I couldn’t pursue it any further because more guests made their way to Alice. Among them, I recognized a few of Paul’s coworkers, including Jake Driscoll and Sally Willis. I wondered if Jake left his surfboard tethered outside. Neither of them said anything when they saw me. I gave Alice space to greet the well-wishers. Rich sipped a soda toward the back of the room. I saw Sal walk in through the door right next to where Rich stood. When Rich looked at me, I nodded at Sal. Rich gave a nod back and followed him.

  Vinnie sent someone after all. He said he hadn’t put undue pressure on Alice because he didn’t want to have his guys beat up a woman. Why send someone like Sal to the funeral home, then? If Alice noticed him, she didn’t give any indication. She may not have known him. Sal made no move toward Alice while people gathered around her. He circles the room and looked at the three picture collages of Paul setup on stands throughout.

  A few minutes later, Alice had a free moment to take a breath. She wiped her eyes and sighed. Sal took the moment to walk near her. I moved closer, and Rich stayed near him on the other side. Sal looked at me and smirked. I glanced at Alice. She didn’t react; either she didn’t know Sal, or she decided to play it cool in front of friends and family.

  “Alice, how are you?” Sal said.

  “I’m doing as good as I can,” she said. “Are you one of Paul’s friends?”

  “Not exactly. Vinnie wanted you to know he sends his condolences, and he’ll be in touch.”

  I watched the color drain from Alice’s face. Her knees wobbled. I took her arm, walked her to a nearby chair and sat her down. “Stay with her,” I whispered to Rich as I passed him. Sal didn’t move, though he watched me with an amused smile.

  “A man can’t come and pay his respects?” Sal said.

  “You’re not here to pay your respects,” I said. “You’re here to intimidate Alice. At her husband’s viewing. Mission accomplished, asshole.”

  “I don’t think you should say those things in a funeral home. It’s disrespectful.”

  “Your presence is disrespectful. Why don’t you leave?”

  “You gonna walk me out?”

  “If it means we’ll be rid of you, yes.”

  “Let’s go.” Sal started toward the door, and I followed. Alice watched us walk past. Two family members huddled around her, along with Rich, who sat right behind. We walked from the viewing room into the hallway and out the back door of Ruck’s into the rear parking lot. A few people stood outside and smoked, while a few others made toward their cars.

  We had walked more than halfway into the lot when Sal turned around and threw a wild haymaker. I had been expecting him to do something and stepped to the side as the punch whistled past me. Sal looked confused when he hit only air, and I capitalized on the moment by kicking him in the side. He staggered back a step, then charged at me again.

  I expected another punch, but Sal grabbed me in a bearhug my ready forearm couldn’t block. Complicating matters, I now had my left arm pinned against me. Sal squeezed, and I groaned as the pressure built on my ribs. My right hand remained free, and I used it to hammer Sal in the nose. It snapped with a satisfying crunch on the second hit. Blood poured out of Sal’s nose, and his grip slackened. I got my left arm loose and boxed Sal’s ears. He took a step back and covered his face. I kicked him in the groin.

  Sal doubled over, now protecting his family jewels. I gave him a quick snap kick to his damaged face to straighten him back up, then kicked him in the stomach without putting my foot down. Sal staggered back a few steps and reached inside his jacket. I sprinted the distance between us and grabbed his wrist when he got it free from his coat. He had a nine millimeter in his hand and tried to bring it to bear. Sal was bigger than I and no doubt stronger. This would require leverage, which I learned plenty about in China. I barred Sal’s elbow and twisted his wrist until he shouted in pain.

  “Let go of the gun,” I said, keeping the hold. He didn’t let go. “Let it go, or I’ll break your arm.”

  “All right, all right,” Sal said, wincing through clenche
d teeth.

  He dropped the gun. It rattled against the asphalt. Sal glowered at me. I let go of his wrist, then kicked him in the face and knocked him out. Then I called 9-1-1.

  We found a couple of witnesses for the altercation in the parking lot. Both were outside smoking during the fisticuffs portion of the evening. One was a funeral home worker and the other a mourner at a different viewing. They backed up my story of what happened. Rich stayed with Alice while I gave my statement to two of Baltimore County’s finest. We managed not to disrupt the viewing, but the police cars and ambulance drew the attention of people leaving the room, as well as those arriving late. Onlookers gathered despite the best efforts of the cops.

  The ambulance took Sal away, a couple marked cars followed it, and two others drove off in the other direction. Word of the parking lot incident must have spread because everyone looked at me when I walked back in. The blood on my right hand and sleeve from Sal’s broken nose gave it away.

  “You’d think these people had never seen a guy win a fight in a parking lot before,” I said to Rich.

  “You didn’t have to fight him,” Rich said.

  “He threw the first punch.”

  “What happened to him?” Alice said.

  “If Sal comes around to menace you again, he’ll have to breathe through his mouth. More than he usually does.”

  “Do you think Vinnie sent him?”

  “I don’t think he’s smart enough to show up on his own,” I said.

  “Now what?”

  I hadn’t thought much about consequences. “Now Vinnie knows I beat up his goon,” I said. “I’m not sure what he’s going to do now.”

  “Do you think he’s going to come after you?”

  “Maybe, but I’m more concerned with him coming after you. Sending someone like Sal to an event like this isn’t a good sign.”

  “Neither is sending him to the hospital,” Rich said. “Sal may not have been here to start trouble with anyone. He was probably only delivering a message. Someone else will deliver it next time, and it probably won’t be so friendly.”

  “So I should let Sal beat me up next time?” I said.

  “I think Sal only got physical because you were here. If you hadn’t been, he probably spooks Alice and leaves.”

  “Right. It’s Batman’s fault the Joker is a criminal.” Good rule in life: when the opportunity arises to compare yourself to Batman, take it.

  “Should I expect another visit from Vinnie’s people?” Alice said.

  “I think so,” said Rich.

  “I’m sure it gets worse from here,” I said.

  Chapter 14

  Rich and I strategized after the late viewing. We both followed Alice home to make sure she arrived safely. When we left her house, we went to a coffee shop and tried to strategize the next move. Rich could draw on practical experience with this sort of thing, whereas I went with a combination of instinct and whatever I learned watching police shows and movies. I didn’t mention the second part to Rich because I knew he would laugh me out of the coffee shop.

  “We could go after Vinnie,” he said. “He’s running a bookmaking business and maybe more. His activities are illegal.”

  “True,” I said. “It’s not a lot, though. If he’s behind Paul Fisher’s death, you probably won’t find out just because you popped him for running a book.”

  “Al Capone went down for tax evasion.”

  “Vinnie isn’t Al Capone. Besides, Capone might have gone down, but what about the families of the people he killed? They didn’t get any closure.”

  “Now you’re concerned about Paul Fisher’s family?” Rich said.

  “Alice hired me,” I said. “I’m sticking with the case because of her.”

  Rich nodded. “All right. I’m still not convinced of your altruism, but the attempt is encouraging.”

  “Fair enough. I want to talk to Vinnie again. He’s going to see this thing through because Alice owes him a lot of money. Maybe we can give him enough rope to hang himself along the way.”

  “Let’s hope he doesn’t hang Alice first,” Rich said, frowning.

  I raised my cup to his sentiment.

  Once I got home, I looked for the ME’s report. The BPD’s network still accepted my computer as one of its own. Before I left for Asia, the BPD modernized and put their case files online. The benefits were obvious, and the only downside was the chance of hackers getting in, which is why they secured the system (or tried to). The average hacker didn’t care enough to risk getting caught breaking into the network merely to read whatever case file he or she deemed important.

  The police updated Paul Fisher’s case file today. The notes mentioned the official cause of death was trauma from a car accident, which meant the ME’s report was finished. I couldn’t find it, though. It wasn’t attached to the case file, and I didn’t see it by browsing. Did the ME maintain a separate network I would have to crack? Did someone at the BPD want to keep the ME’s report from me? Rich would have told me if he did it. I think.

  After a few more minutes of not finding the report, I gave up. I needed to visit the ME’s office in person. I called the office and learned Dr. Sellers wouldn’t be back on duty until tomorrow afternoon. The delay gave me a chance to talk to Vinnie earlier in the day. He might tell me to buzz off, but I hoped he would listen to reason. He would have back in the day, but the intervening years changed him. He became more of a calculating businessman, one who had goons working for him and might be quite averse to someone—even an old friend—trying to reason with him when a lot of money was on the line.

  I felt obliged to try.

  In the morning after taking a run and eating breakfast, I called Vinnie. “What the hell do you want?” he said.

  “Good morning to you, too,” I said.

  “Cut the crap, C.T. What do you want? I got a guy in the hospital because of you.”

  “Send a better guy next time.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “He picked the fight, Vinnie.”

  “I don’t care. I’m hanging up now.”

  “Vinnie, wait,” I said. “We need to talk. Whatever it is, this thing is way beyond us and out of control. I think we need to figure something out before it gets too bad. Before someone important gets hurt.”

  “You don’t think Sal was important?”

  “If he had been, you wouldn’t have sent him alone yesterday.”

  Vinnie didn’t say anything for a few seconds. I thought he might have hung up on me until he finally said, “Fine. Where do you want to meet?”

  “Meet me at the Field at one o’clock,” I said. “I’ll bring lunch.”

  “You coming alone?” Vinnie said.

  “Yes. You should, too.”

  “All right. One o’clock. This is the last time I’m going out on a limb for you like this.”

  “I’ll make sure lunch is good, then,” I said.

  Vinnie and I both went to Roland Park Middle School. Ages ago, students had dubbed the athletic field there “The Field,” instead of whatever snooty donor-sponsored name it had. When I got there a few minutes after one o’clock, Vinnie sat in the bleachers. I didn’t see anyone else around. Maybe Vinnie came alone after all. I carried a gun under my jacket, and I presumed he did, too.

  I sat next to Vinnie in the second row of the bleachers. His black Oxfords rested on the front row. Vinnie came in dress pants and a nice coat. I felt underdressed in my jeans and Timberlands. He shot me a disdainful glance, then looked down at the bag of food. “Where’d you go?” he said.

  “Nick’s Fish House,” I said.

  Vinnie smiled. “You always knew where to eat well.”

  “Still do.”

  “What’d you bring?”

  “Two shrimp salad sandwiches and two orders of coleslaw.”

  “No fries?”

  “They use peanut oil,” I said.

  “You remembered,” he said.

  I reached into the bag and tossed Vinnie
a sandwich. “You were the only kid in school with a peanut allergy, Vinnie. People couldn’t bring peanut butter and jelly sandwiches because of you. How could I forget?”

  “Thanks for reminding me.” He unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite. “You never brought PB and J, did you?”

  “Are you kidding? My mother thought servants ate such stuff. I used to love it when I went to friends’ houses and their parents would fix us PB and J.”

  “No shit?” Vinnie took another bite of the sandwich. I set out both containers of coleslaw, two forks, and a pile of napkins weighted down with two bottles of water. “This is good. I haven’t been to Nick’s in a while.”

  “I’ve only been twice since I got back.” I took a bite of my sandwich. Nick’s had great shrimp salad because of two factors: large chunks of shrimp and liberal use of Old Bay seasoning, a local favorite whose popularity was confined mostly to Maryland because my state is surrounded by Philistines.

  We ate in silence for a few more minutes. Both of us devoured our sandwiches, drank some water, and started on the coleslaw before we talked again. “So what do you want to talk about?” Vinnie said.

  “What do you think?” I said.

  “I think you still have it in your head I killed Paul Fisher.”

  “The idea occurred to me.”

  “I told you it would be bad business. I don’t do bad business.”

  “Sending Sal to the funeral home was a nice touch,” I said.

  “I wanted to pay my respects,” Vinnie said.

  “If what you say is true, you would have come in person instead of sending a goon.”

  “I’m a busy man.”

  “I’m sure you are.”

  “Look, I don’t want to shake Alice down,” said Vinnie. “She’s been through a lot recently, but she owes me money, and I think she should be able to pay it off.”