The Man Who Couldn't Miss

by David Handler

  “I do not know what you are talking about,” Glenda said to me in a slow, clear voice, as if she were addressing a recalcitrant child. “I did not purchase any heroin. I did not go to the inn. I was shopping in Sherbourne. There are shopkeepers who can vouch for me.”

  “Perhaps they can,” I conceded. “But they can’t vouch for where you were ten minutes before you got there. It all adds up, Lieutenant. After all, Dini had been wronged by Greg in the worst way imaginable.” I looked over at Dini. “Are you going to come clean or are you going to stand there and tell us that you didn’t duck into the men’s dressing room and smash Greg in the head with that brick again and again and—”

  “Hoagy . . . ?” Merilee’s hand was on my arm. “She’s been through a lot. Must you be so harsh?”

  “We’re not playing beanbag, Merilee. And Greg was my friend. I liked the guy. He messed up big-time, but he didn’t deserve to drown facedown in that filthy water.”

  “Well, I don’t feel a drop of sympathy for him,” Glenda said heatedly. “And I resent you suggesting that he deserves any.”

  Tedone ran a hand over his layered mountain of black hair. “We know where that 1924 Tuttle brick came from. There’s a pile of them out in the courtyard. But what was it doing in the men’s dressing room?”

  “Propping up one of the dressing table legs, Loo,” his young sergeant replied. “The table’s all rickety now.”

  “That’s a good catch, Ang.”

  “Plain as day,” he said modestly.

  “Seems like an open-and-shut case to me, Lieutenant,” I concluded. “Dini smashed Greg in the head with that brick until he toppled over facedown in the floodwaters. No one heard it happen because the sump pumps covered the sound of the attack. By the time Marty found him and called out to me, the poor guy was already dead. We were too late to save him.”

  Marty nodded gravely. “Too late.”

  “And then Glenda coldly eliminated Sabrina, who had witnessed Dini leaving the dressing room.”

  Tedone considered this a moment before he turned and looked at Lulu. “Your dog . . .”

  “What about her, Lieutenant?”

  “This afternoon, she went up the stairway to the third floor of the inn from Sabrina’s room and started barking. How come?”

  “Because she smelled the traces of gunk that were still on Glenda’s shoes from the flooded dressing rooms last night. I’ve no doubt that Glenda cleaned them thoroughly. Just not thoroughly enough to deceive a top-shelf scent hound like a basset. You should have worn a different pair of shoes today, Glenda.”

  “These are my only comfortable pair,” she said defensively. “My feet bother me. Besides, I already told you. I never went near that girl’s room.”

  “And yet Lulu followed your scent up the staircase from Sabrina’s room to the room that Dini used to grab a nap, the one right across the hall from Marty’s room. You went up there to retrieve something that Dini had left behind.”

  “It didn’t happen that way,” Glenda maintained, shaking her head. “Dini didn’t kill Greg. I didn’t kill Sabrina. You’re wrong about all of this.”

  “I was figuring a new guest would have moved into the room, but the manager informed me that you folks still had the key. So you went up there after you killed Sabrina to fetch whatever it was that Dini had forgotten to take with her. What was it, Glenda? What did she forget?”

  “I didn’t kill that girl!” Glenda’s face was getting tomato red. “I was never there at all, I swear!”

  “That’s the only thing I still can’t figure out, Lieutenant. What it was that Dini left behind,” I said as Dini gaped at me in fright. “I’d suggest your men search every inch of that room, because aside from that one nagging detail this case is as tight as a drum.”

  “It is not!” Marty spoke up angrily. “It’s total bullshit! Dini would never kill Greg. She couldn’t. It’s not possible.”

  Tedone raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you know something more than you’ve told us, Mr. Miller? Did you see or hear anything?”

  Marty shook his head. “No, nothing. Just what I’ve already told you.”

  “Then you can’t help her, Marty,” I said. “No one can. Here are your killers, Lieutenant. Glenda committed an act of premeditated murder, so she’ll never see the outside of a prison again. Dini is another story. What do you think, will she be tried for manslaughter?”

  “That’ll be up to the district prosecutor,” Tedone replied. “I wouldn’t rule out second-degree murder.”

  “Whatever she’s charged with, she’s a beloved movie star and will doubtless become a figure of great sympathy, what with the extenuating circumstances and all. Greg having a gay lover and giving her the AIDs virus. Her being a single mother who has to raise the twins on her own now. Hell, a slick criminal defense attorney might even convince a jury that it was Greg who committed the crime against her.”

  “I doubt that,” Tedone said. “It’s manslaughter at the very least.”

  “How many years behind bars will she be looking at?” I asked him.

  “Somewhere in the neighborhood of eight. Maybe five if she’s lucky enough to get a sympathetic parole board.”

  “And lucky enough to get her proper dosage of HIV meds while she’s in prison,” I pointed out. “Penitentiaries are hotbeds of theft and black marketeering when it comes to AZT. Not exactly the healthiest environment either. There’s the starchy, greasy food, lack of fresh fruit and vegetables. Plus those places are petri dishes for germs. Bronchitis and pneumonia always going around. I’d have major, major health concerns if I were you, Dini. And with your mother in prison God knows who’ll end up looking after the twins. I imagine they’ll be placed in foster homes. Maybe the same foster home if they’re lucky. It sure would be a shame to separate them. But, hey, Greg got what he deserved for what he did to you. I can see your side of it. Truly, I can.”

  “But, Hoagy, I didn’t kill him!” Dini cried out helplessly. “I swear!”

  “Ladies, I’m afraid we have to continue this conversation at the Major Crime Squad headquarters in Meriden,” Tedone said.

  Dini blinked at him, aghast. “I’m under arrest?”

  “No, but I am bringing you and your mother in for official questioning. If I were you I’d contact your lawyer. I’d also suggest that you say nothing further.”

  “B-But she didn’t do it!” Glenda sputtered. “I didn’t do it!”

  “Please follow me,” Tedone said, starting for the spiral staircase.

  “Hoagy, this can’t be happening!” Merilee protested, utterly distraught.

  “I’m afraid it is, Merilee. I’m sorry.”

  “The twins,” Dini said to Merilee pleadingly. “Would you . . . ?”

  “We’ll bring them home to the farm with us,” Merilee promised her. “We have plenty of room, and they’ll be fine there until this horrible mistake gets straightened out.”

  “I didn’t kill him!” Dini sobbed. “Hoagy, I’m telling you the truth. You’ve got to believe me!”

  “I wish I did believe you, Dini. I’ve always liked you. And you’ve been a good friend to Merilee. But you have to admit how painfully obvious it is that you’re the one who grabbed that brick and smashed Greg over the head again and again and—”

  “Stop this, damn it!” Marty erupted furiously. “Don’t you talk to her that way! She’s the victim here, you coldhearted prick. Don’t you see that? Don’t you possess so much as one single fucking ounce of human decency?”

  I gazed at him sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Marty. Truly, I am. I should have taken into account how hard this must be for you. I completely forgot.”

  “Wait, forgot what?” Tedone asked me.

  “That he and Dini were romantically involved back when they were in drama school together.”

  “We lived together for an entire semester.” Marty smiled at Dini fondly. “I still think that’s the happiest I’ve ever been in my life.”

  Tedone peered at hi
m. “You two lived together? I didn’t know that.”

  “She took up with Greg after me,” Marty said. “Before me she’d had a fling with that lowlife greaseball Romero. Dini and every other girl in our class, including Merilee.”

  Merilee’s jaw tightened, but she remained silent.

  Marty pulled a Lucky Strike from the breast pocket of his mothball-scented vintage checked sports jacket and lit it with a butane lighter, dragging on it deeply as he continued to look fondly at Dini. “I thought we were for keeps, you and me. But it was rock-solid Greg who was right for you. Not someone who’s as screwed up as I am.”

  “Your personal hygiene may have had something to do with it, too,” I suggested. “Have you considered that?”

  Marty looked at me, bewildered. “My what?”

  “Did I just say that out loud? I do that sometimes. Sorry. I took a lot of psychedelics in my youth.”

  Marty turned back to Dini. “It’s funny how wrong you were about him. Greg was just as screwed up as I am. The only difference between us was that I was the better actor. Am the better actor. Audiences really, really liked him. He was very good at convincing them that he was a decent guy. He genuinely believed he was a decent guy. But that’s not acting.” He looked over at Merilee, his eyes coldly serious. “Tell me the God’s honest truth. Do you think Greg could have played Willie Loman?”

  Merilee said, “I really don’t see how that has anything to do with—”

  “Could he?” Marty demanded.

  “No, I don’t,” she replied, uneasiness creeping into her voice. “I don’t think he was capable of understanding Willie’s despair.”

  “I understand it.” Marty stabbed himself in the chest with a stubby thumb. “I live with it every day of my life.”

  “You’ve never had a long-term relationship with anyone else after Dini left you for Greg, have you, Marty?” I said.

  “They don’t seem to work out,” he said with a shrug. “So?”

  “So maybe that’s because you’ve never stopped loving her. You have your little flings with bovine teenaged waitresses but the only woman who you’ve ever loved, and still love, is this one standing right here.” I looked over at Dini, who was staring at Marty wide-eyed, not blinking, like a terrified bunny. “You’d do anything for her, wouldn’t you?”

  Marty stubbed out his cigarette on the basement floor with his shoe. “If I could. So?”

  “So let’s climb out on a shaky limb for a second and say that Dini and Glenda are actually telling the truth—that after Dini threw up in the ladies’ room she returned directly to her dressing room. At that particular moment, Marty, you were . . . where were you?”

  “Parked in the men’s room. I had the shits, remember?”

  “Right. The Lieutenant and I even saw the evidence to prove it. But what we don’t have is proof that you were in the men’s room that entire time. Such as, say, before Dini got sick, when Glenda had barged into the dressing room to check on her. Mimi and I had stopped by, too, which means there was a brief window of time when there was no one in the corridor. You could have raced across the hall from the john into the men’s dressing room—unseen—bashed Greg’s head in, dumped him facedown in the floodwaters, raced back into the john—unseen—closed the door and stayed in there while Dini was throwing up in the ladies’ room and Glenda was hovering outside of the ladies’ room door. Then Dini returned to the dressing room and Mimi and Glenda headed back upstairs. I was just about to follow them when you emerged from the men’s room a second time and engaged me in that stimulating conversation about septic overflow. Then you returned to the men’s dressing room, pretended you’d just discovered Greg and called out my name. I came running. We tried to save him but we were too late. Very clever on your part, Marty, except for one small, unforeseen circumstance.”

  “What circumstance would that be?” Tedone asked me.

  “Sabrina had decided to experiment with that slash of bright red lipstick. On her way down the stairs to the ladies’ dressing room she saw you, didn’t she, Marty? Saw you darting back into the john in your billowy boxer shorts after you’d killed Greg.”

  “You tell me, Hoagy,” he responded. “You’re the one who’s spinning this fable. I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You’re a huge star. Sabrina didn’t want to make any trouble. Didn’t want to get involved, period. So when I asked her if she saw anything she kept her mouth shut. But you couldn’t count on her keeping it shut, could you? Eventually, under repeated questioning, she was going to contradict your version of the events and testify that you weren’t in the john that whole time—which would have blown a great big hole in your story and ruined everything.”

  Marty said nothing in response. His face had gone blank.

  “You’ve used drugs off and on for years. I have no problem believing that you scored some ‘Tango and Cash’ back when it was around. No problem believing you carry it with you wherever you go. It’s your suicide kit, isn’t it? In case you decide you can’t cope with the total misery of your life for one minute longer. Like father, like son. I also have no problem believing you talked your way into Sabrina’s room at the inn, sobbing about your good friend Greg. You sobbed and you sobbed. In fact, you were such an emotional wreck you told her that you’d decided to shoot up. You talked her into shooting up with you, didn’t you? That was a genuinely cruel thing to do to her, Marty. She was fragile.”

  “We’re all fragile,” Marty said in a quiet, faraway voice. “Besides, she wasn’t exactly that hard to convince.”

  The dimly lit corridor fell eerily silent now.

  “Marty, you did this?” Dini’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “How could you . . . ?”

  “He took you away from me!” Marty cried out. “I wake up miserable every day. I stuff my face. I get drunk. I get high. I fuck stupid, doughy waitresses. But it doesn’t help. Nothing helps. Nothing. The pain never goes away. Never. Sure, I’ve managed to keep going. And I’ve survived, in my own pathetic way. But when I found out that he’d cheated on you with Eugene and that you’re now HIV-positive, there was no fucking way I was going to let him get away with that. He was rotten to the core, Dini. He didn’t deserve you. He deserved to die.”

  Dini began to weep. “Oh, Marty, you fool . . .”

  “Did you say anything to him?” I asked.

  Marty looked at me curiously. “Did I what?”

  “Did you say anything to Greg?”

  “You mean did I deliver a soliloquy? What was there to say? It wasn’t as if I planned it or anything. Sitting there on the hoop I suddenly realized that he had to die. The clarity was remarkable. So I poked my head out, saw that the coast was clear and ran across the hall. Grabbed that brick from under the table leg and bashed the hell out of him with it. After he fell facedown into the floodwaters I ran back across the hall into the men’s room and closed the door, like you said.” Marty looked at all of us as we stood there staring at him. “I had to do it, don’t you understand?”

  “I do understand, Marty,” I said. “The same way I understand that his killer had to be you.”

  He frowned at me. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you were the only person down here who nobody had eyes on for those few precious seconds that you needed—aside from Glenda, that is, who was parked outside of the ladies’ room all by herself listening to Dini vomit. But there’s no way in the world that Glenda would have ever killed Greg.”

  Glenda looked at me in surprise. “Why not?”

  “Greg was the father of your grandchildren. He was family.”

  She lowered her eyes. “It’s true, he was.”

  “And then there’s that footprint scent in the carpet from Sabrina’s second-floor room to the third floor. Lulu wasn’t following Glenda’s shoe prints to Dini’s room. She was following your highly scented flip-flops to your room across the hall from hers, which is where you went after you killed Sabrina.” I
paused, feeling a heaviness in my chest. “I blame myself for that. I should have kept an eye on her. Brought her to Point O’Woods with me. Only I didn’t, and I’ll never, ever forgive myself for that. For as long as I live, whenever I hear Erroll Garner or watch Buster Keaton, she’ll be in my thoughts. And I have you to thank for that. But she seemed okay out there in the rose garden, writing her postcard to her mom. So I left her there. And while I was driving down to the beach she went back up to her room and you knocked on her door. Marty, you’ve just made it sound as if you didn’t plan to kill Greg. That it was a sudden moment of . . . what did you call it, clarity? But not Sabrina. Killing Sabrina was cold, calculated, and incredibly cruel. You preyed on her weakness. You’re a great actor, Marty. One of the best. But you’re not one of the good guys. This is who you are.”

  Marty had started to breathe more heavily. Beads of perspiration were forming on his forehead. “My career is all I have,” he said vehemently. “Without it I’m just another fat nobody. Sabrina would have taken it away from me if she’d talked.”

  “Don’t ever do that around me again, Marty,” I said.

  “Don’t do what?”

  “Try to put the onus on Sabrina. She’s not to blame. You are.”

  “Is that a fact?” he shot back at me, his voice suddenly turning cold as ice. He’d assumed a different role now. He was no longer a pathetic, heartbroken figure. He was a wily, cornered predator. The transformation was so swift it was breathtaking. “Prove it.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Tedone asked him.

  “I mean there are no bruises on Sabrina’s body. Prove it wasn’t an accidental overdose. Prove that I was even there.”