Accidental Deaths (A Willows and Parker Mystery)

by Laurence Gough

  Parker said, “What happened, Joey didn’t want to talk to you?”

  “He wasn’t there, pretty lady.”

  “Pretty lady?”

  “That’s what Bob called you. The pretty lady.”

  Parker revved the engine. “Where’s Joey?”

  Willows shrugged. “He didn’t show up for work this morning, or bother to call in sick.”

  “He’s on the lam.”

  Willows grinned. “Maybe.”

  “The house?”

  “Might as well give it a try.”

  Parker put the car in gear. “Reminds me of an old joke. Know what they call a guy with no arms or legs who falls in the ocean?”

  “Bob,” said Willows, slouching low in the seat.

  “You heard it?”

  “It’s an old joke. You said so yourself.”

  “Another lesson learned,” said Parker.

  “What’s that?”

  “Never tell an old guy an old joke.” Parker pulled away from the curb. It was mid-afternoon, the temperature in the high seventies. The car wasn’t air-conditioned. Willows took off his jacket and rolled down his window. His holster dug into his groin. He unclipped it from his belt and laid it on the car seat. Parker glanced at him but didn’t say anything.

  Willows said, “You check the air-quality index in this morning’s paper?”

  “I never read that trash.”

  “What, air-quality indexes?”

  “No, the morning paper. In fact, they’ve stopped calling it a paper. It’s a tabloid now.”

  “Doesn’t matter. They don’t have a foldout. Without a foldout, it isn’t a tabloid.”

  “Without a what?”

  “Cheesecake.” Willows grinned. “Racy snapshot of a pretty woman.”

  “Knock it off, Jack.” Parker was tailgating. She changed lanes and accelerated.

  Willows stuck his hand out the window, trying with mixed success to deflect the flow of humid, sticky air towards his face. After a moment, he said, “Speaking of cheesecake, you want to stop somewhere, grab a bite to eat?”

  Parker smiled. “No,” she said, “I don’t.”

  There was a glossy black Jaguar parked in front of Joey Ngo’s house. At first glance, the man on the front porch seemed to be knocking at the door. But as they drew nearer, Willows saw that the man was energetically patching the bullet holes in the stucco.

  Parker said, “It isn’t often you see a tradesman working in a black three-piece suit, especially in this kind of weather.”

  “And especially not in this neighbourhood, either,” said Willows. “In Shaughnessy, I’ve heard even the plumbers wear a tux.”

  “But is it a dean tux?”

  The man paused to glance at the unmarked police car, and then went back to work. The sound of the triangular metal spatula sliding across the rough surface of the stucco made Parker grit her teeth.

  A blob of Spackle hit the man’s polished black shoe. He knelt and wiped the shoe clean with a scrap of cloth.

  By now, Willows and Parker were in the yard, closing fast. The man tossed the spatula in a plastic bucket and used the cloth to wipe his hands.

  Willows pulled out his wallet as he climbed the front steps.

  The man smiled. “Cops? You don’t have to show me any identification, I believe it.” He smiled at Parker. “Looking for Joey?”

  Willows said, “Who’re you?”

  “Alan Carroll. The landlord.”

  Parker said, “Could you show us some identification, Mr. Carroll?”

  “You want to make sure I’m not the Star Trek guy, am I right?” Carroll’s black leather billfold was embossed with the Jaguar logo. He showed Parker his driver’s licence. “Pretty uncanny, huh? Am I his identical twin, or what?”

  “A striking resemblance,” said Parker. “Absolutely incredible. Jack, take a look.”

  “Amazing.”

  Parker returned the licence, and Carroll slipped it back in his billfold. “Those films seem to come out about every six months,” he said. “Every time a new one hits the screen, all of a sudden I can’t go anywhere without being hounded for my autograph.”

  Parker said, “I would have thought it’d be kind of nice, being mistaken for a movie star.”

  “The women falling all over me?”

  “No,” said Parker, “that isn’t what I meant at all.”

  “Because that part of it’s there for me anyway. And as far as the film-star stuff goes, the adulation thing, you can forget about the women. It’s the little kids who go crazy. Ten-year-olds, and like that. Know what the worst part of it is?”

  Willows said, “I bet they want to pull your ears, to see if they’re real.”

  Carroll’s smile faltered. Willows indicated the house. “You own the building, is that right?”

  “What? Oh, yeah. Lock, stock and mortgage.”

  “Is Joey home?”

  “Not unless he’s hiding in a duct pipe.”

  Parker said, “Have you been inside?”

  “Yeah, I told him I was going to come around and fix the bullet holes, he was expecting me. When I got here, there was still blood on the porch, and the chalk drawing of that poor girl’s body. I was shocked, let me tell you. How Joey could leave it like that beats me.” The door was partly open. Willows moved a step closer, peered inside.

  Carroll said, “You want to take a look around, go right ahead. Help yourself.”

  Willows pushed the door open a little wider. He had Carroll’s permission to enter the house, but the landlord wasn’t living in the house. And Willows didn’t have a warrant.

  If Joey had killed his brother, the evidence required to put him away could be in the house. Willows thought about it for a moment and then reluctantly decided that the possible benefits of gaining immediate access to the house weren’t worth the risk. He might find the murder weapon under Joey’s pillow, but if the court ruled he lacked sufficient grounds to enter the house in the first place, the evidence would be ruled inadmissable.

  And Bradley would give him a cute little hand-held stop sign and he’d spend the rest of his career policing a school crosswalk.

  Probably he should’ve arranged for a warrant before he drove to Joey’s house. Better late than never. He said, “Excuse us a minute, will you?” and walked Parker down the steps and halfway across the front yard.

  Parker said, “A warrant, right?”

  “The kid didn’t show up for work or phone in. I think we’ve got reasonable grounds to be concerned for his safety. For all we know, Carroll’s right — Joey could be down in the basement, stuffed in a furnace vent. See what you can do, okay?” Parker, fishing in her purse for the keys, started towards the car.

  Willows made his way back to the porch. “Mr. Carroll, how long has Joey been living here?”

  “He signed a year lease about eight months ago. Him and his brother. When I found out that Joey’s chick was living here too, I just about hit the roof.”

  “Wait a minute. Do you mean Emily Chan?”

  “Right, who else?”

  “Emily was Cherry’s girlfriend.”

  “Maybe he thought so.”

  Willows said, “What d'you mean by that?”

  “I got a phone call last month. Two or three days after I found out I was carrying an extra tenant. The call came about eight o’clock at night, maybe a little later. It was Emily on the line, telling me the sink won’t drain, could I come over and fix it or should she call a plumber.”

  Willows waited patiently while Carroll lit a filter cigarette. The lighter, black anodized aluminum, was also embossed with the Jaguar logo.

  “So anyway, it’s been a long day. I’m bushed, and I tell her maybe I can make it but probably not. But in the end, I climb in the Jag and zip on over here.”

  “Why?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It had been a long day. You were tired. The sink could wait. Where do you live?”

  “Kits Point.”

&n
bsp; “So why drive all the way across town?”

  Carroll shrugged. “Well, mostly to avoid the cost of a plumber. I mean, a plugged sink, it can wait until the morning, but even so, you’re looking at maybe a hundred bucks. But there was something else. She sounded … ”

  “Like she was coming on to you?”

  “You got it.”

  “But when you showed up, your plumber’s helper at port arms, all she wanted to show you was the sink.”

  “Hey, it was a lot worse than that. I knock on the door. No answer. So I knock louder. Still nothing. It’s at least an hour’s drive, there and back. So I try the door.”

  “You walked in,” said Willows.

  “I told her I was on my way over. It shouldn’t have been such a big surprise.”

  “She was with Joey?”

  “In the living room, on the sofa.” Carroll waved at the open door. “You step in, you’re right there. Joey’s got his back to me, but she's looking right at me. Real calm. Winks and puts her finger to her lips, warning me to keep my mouth shut. I start to back out of there. I mean, I can be a wild and crazy guy, but there are limits to how far I’m willing to go.” Across the street, a woman in bright pink shorts and a matching tank top was pushing a power lawnmower out of her garage, down the driveway towards the parched front lawn. Her hair was in curlers. She had a nose like Bob Hope. She leaned into the machine and then away, yanking at the starter cord. Willows saw Parker roll up the unmarked car’s window, to keep out the noise.

  Carroll said, “She motions to me, telling me to come on in. When she sees I’m not interested, know what she does?”

  The lighter flicked on and off, blue tongues of flame leaping and dying, leaping and dying.

  Willows waited.

  Carroll said, “Waves her legs in the air and purses her lips and blows me a kiss goodbye.”

  Willows said, “What about the sink?”

  “The sink? Oh, yeah. Cherry phoned the next day, left a message on my machine. Said it was fixed. Tea leaves. I should forget about it.”

  Parker got out of the car. She locked the door and started up the sidewalk towards them.

  Willows said, “You’re sure it was Cherry who called, not Joey?”

  “Absolutely positive.”

  “What do you do for a living, Mr. Carroll?”

  Carroll lit another cigarette, giving himself time for Parker to come within earshot. “I’m in real estate. Got my own company.”

  “No kidding.”

  Carroll winked at Parker. “Surprised, huh. What, you had me in corporate law?”

  Parker said, “How did you know?”

  “Happens all the time. The suit, Jag, thirty-dollar haircut. It all adds up, makes an impression.”

  To Willows, Parker said, “I talked to Bradley, he’s going to get right on it.” She glanced across the street at the woman in the pink shorts. “Half an hour. Think she can keep mowing the lawn that long?”

  “I hope so,” said Willows.

  Carroll said, “I’ve seen stuff on TV, cops with battering rams, sledgehammers. And they always look like they’re having such a great time. That house on the east side, that you guys attacked with the bulldozer? In ten minutes there was nothing left but a pile of splinters.”

  Parker said, “We’ll try to avoid using the bulldozer, Mr. Carroll.”

  Carroll fished a pair of sunglasses from his jacket pocket. Mirrored lenses.

  Parker and Willows and the woman in the pink shorts watched him climb into his Jaguar and drive majestically away. As the car turned the corner, Parker said, “Is it William Shatner he thinks he looks like?”

  “Maybe. I thought his ears were kind of large and pointy, though.” Willows checked his watch. “There’s a McDonald’s a couple of blocks from here. You hungry yet?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “We’ve got plenty of time until that warrant arrives. I’m going to go grab a burger. Want anything?”

  “Not for me.”

  “Coffee?”

  “Okay, a coffee. A small coffee.”

  “Salad? You sure you don’t want a salad?”

  “Okay, fine. I’ll have a salad.”

  “What kind of dressing you want?”

  “I don’t want any dressing.”

  Willows held out his hand.

  Parker slammed the car keys into his palm. “And I don’t want cream for my coffee, either.”

  “Back in fifteen minutes.”

  “Take your time,” said Parker, and meant it.

  Willows was in the lane behind the house, stuffing a small tree’s worth of McDonald’s packaging in a battered garbage can, when the search warrant finally arrived.

  The uniformed constable who’d couriered the warrant across town was bored, and looking for a little action.

  “Need any doors kicked in?”

  Willows said, “You see any doors that look like they need to be kicked in?”

  Playing to Parker, the cop said, “They all need it, you ask me.”

  Parker said, “That attitude cuts no ice with me, sonny.”

  Walking back to his patrol car, the cop tried to stare down the woman in the pink shorts and hair curlers on the far side of the street, who was pretending to mow her lawn.

  No luck there, either.

  The house was fairly small. There were about eight hundred square feet on the main floor. The living room, kitchen, bathroom and bedroom all radiated from a central hallway. There was a three-piece bathroom and another bedroom in the basement. Joey Ngo’s body wasn’t stuffed in any of the furnace ducts, or anywhere else.

  In the bedroom, Parker slid open a bureau drawer. It was empty. She tried the other drawers. They were all empty. Parker could hear Willows prowling around upstairs, the rattle of cutlery in a drawer. Was this where Emily and Joey had made love? The room had a single small window. She pulled aside a curtain torn from a scrap of black cloth, letting in a flood of light.

  There were four deep indentations on the surface of the scruffy carpet. A piece of furniture had stood there until recently, and been moved. Parker stared at the empty bureau. It was about the right size. She made her way back around the bed, got a grip on the bureau and tilted it away from the wall. The plaster was dented. There was a dark smear of blood.

  Parker went to the foot of the stairs and called Willows.

  There was more blood on the wall, minute high-impact splash patterns that came from several directions and heights and indicated a protracted struggle. Marks on the walls suggested that several larger stains had been washed away.

  Parker said, “A fistfight?”

  “That’s what it looks like. A good, old-fashioned bare-knuckles brawl.”

  “Between Joey and his brother. Or either one of them and Emily. Maybe that’s how she got her bruises.”

  Willows nodded, although it seemed to him that Emily had been beaten repeatedly, over a considerable period of time. He said, “We better take another look at both autopsy reports.”

  “And get the techs in here,” added Parker.

  They’d need to organize a stakeout, too, in case Joey was stupid enough to come back. Willows said, “Busy day, all of a sudden.”

  Parker nodded. Where was Joey, what was he thinking? Was it worth staking out the Chan apartment? The coffee was already turning to acid in her stomach.

  18

  The clerk’s eyes rolled up in his head. His legs buckled. The glass countertop briefly flattened his nose and then he disappeared behind the display case.

  Lulu tried to stuff the utterly useless .32 in her purse. The gun wouldn’t fit because of all the gold chains. She walked back to where Frank was waiting, gave him a coldly scornful look and handed him the pistol. Frank dropped the weapon in his jacket pocket. Lulu hurried back towards the jewellery store.

  Frank said, “Hey, where you think you’re going!”

  Lulu rolled the unconscious clerk over on his back. There was a rapidly swelling lump on his forehe
ad. His nose was bleeding, but not much. He wasn’t as heavy as he looked. His wallet was in the inside breast pocket of his suit, which had a Men’s Shop label, price tag still attached. Ninety-nine dollars and ninety-five cents.

  The key case was in one of the little pockets in his vest. Lulu unlocked a display case, pulled out a tray and dumped the contents into her purse. She glanced over the counter to see what Frank was up to, then knelt and kissed the clerk daintily on the cheek.

  Moments later, Lulu took Frank’s arm and they strolled casually towards the escalator that would carry them up to the ground floor.

  Lulu said, “That was a pretty sneaky thing to do.”

  “What’s that, honey?”

  “Take the bullets out of the gun.”

  Frank said, “I didn’t. It was equipped with a noise suppressor. Nice shot, by the way.”

  Lulu gave him a quick look, saw he was kidding. She said, “What would have happened if the guy hadn’t fainted?”

  “Who can say?”

  “No, I mean what if he’d grabbed me, or something?”

  “Then I’d have wandered over and rescued you, just like we worked it out.”

  Lulu shuddered, and pressed close against him. “I’m cold, Frank.”

  “A little scared, is all. You’ll get over it.”

  “Armed robbery. It’s a lot harder than it sounds. I felt so all alone. And when I walked up to the counter, got close to him, he seemed so … big. I was afraid he’d remember me, every little thing, and that he’d tell the police.” Lulu squeezed Frank’s arm, his rock of a biceps. “Suddenly I was worried that he’d hit me and take away the gun and shoot you. Shoot my lover.” She peered up at him with adoring eyes. “I decided I couldn’t let that happen, Frank.”

  “So you figured you’d take charge of the situation, bump him off while you had the chance.”

  “I wasn’t thinking very clearly, was I?”

  Frank shrugged. “Everything worked out okay. Rog is gonna be happy as a clam when he sees what you got for him. His only problem is he’ll have to pump iron for a few months to build up enough strength to wear all that heavy metal.” Frank smiled. “He better be careful, with all those muscles and all that gold, that he don’t get mistaken for Mr. T.”