Body Slam (The Touchstone Agency Mysteries)

by Rex Burns

  19

  The morning Denver Post had the story on page two of the Local News section: “Attorney Slain. William Ellis Huggins, 32, was found shot to death beside his car in the 900 block of Yuma Street. A police spokesman speculated that robbery was the motive. . . .”

  Julie found a parking place just down from the bright blue cottage with its Attorney’s Office sign. The front door opened when she pushed it and she found the young woman behind her desk. This time she wasn’t trying to type. In the silence of the cottage she seemed to be moving papers from one stack to another without really knowing why. She looked up as if Julie might provide an answer.

  Her name was Jennifer and she needed to talk. “I read about it in the paper this morning.” Behind large glasses, her hazel eyes were damp and worried. “I didn’t know what to do. I mean, should I come down and open the office or not! I mean, people—clients—might call, you know? But I don’t know what I ought to tell them.”

  She had been hired six months ago when Mr. Huggins opened his practice. It was her first job and she got it while she was still a senior in high school and she really liked the work. Mr. Huggins was just getting started and he promised her that after a while if she did real good, she would get a raise and he would even pay for her to take night classes at a school for legal assistants. In time, she might even learn to manage the office for him if the business grew like he expected it to. No, there wasn’t much business yet—mostly drunk driving cases and some wills and some business contracts. Mr. Huggins said it was tough for lawyers to get started on their own, but lately things seemed to be getting better. “At least Mr. Huggins seemed a lot happier, and yesterday after you were here, he even came out and joked a little bit about getting rich as a sports manager, and now he’s …”

  Julie watched the girl dab a wadded tissue at her eyes. “I’m sorry, Jennifer. It happened so suddenly, and it’s left a hole in your life.”

  “Yeah!” She sniffed. “That’s just how it feels. I mean, it’s not like … but he was my boss and all and just yesterday …”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “When I left work yesterday. He stayed late a lot and dictated stuff for me to type in the mornings—correspondence and legal forms to fill in. And he said … he said, ‘See you tomorrow.’ ” A new tissue was yanked from the box on her desk. “And then this morning I read about him being shot and all.”

  “It’s very difficult, Jennifer.”

  “I mean, do you think I did right to come down and open the office?”

  “That was the right thing to do. Clients will be worried about their cases, and you’ll need to bill them for any work Mr. Huggins did prior to—ah—this morning. In fact, I’m here about a case I was working on with Mr. Huggins: the American West company.”

  “You were working with Mr. Huggins on that?”

  Julie nodded. “That’s why I was here yesterday. There are a few loose ends to clear up before going ahead with the contract. The people involved will be very sorry to hear of his death, of course. Shocked and sorry for his family. But they will also need to have their work completed as soon as possible. Do you know who I might get in touch with to find out what they’d like done with their business?”

  Jennifer welcomed something concrete to do. “American West Sports and Entertainment?” With another sniff and careful deliberation, she pressed keys on the computer and scanned a document. Julie moved so she could read over the young woman’s shoulder.

  “Here it is.”

  Julie was already writing down the single name on the file: Joanna Louise Gerwig. No address, telephone number, or e-mail line.

  “May I see the complete file, Jennifer?”

  “All the files are in Mr. Huggins’s safe. This is just the billing program. And only Mr. Huggins has—had—the combination.”

  “Did he leave anything for you to type this morning?”

  “No. The in-box was empty.”

  “Have the police been by to interview you?”

  “No. You’re the only one who’s come so far. I just don’t know what I should tell people when they do.”

  Julie patted the girl’s shoulder. “It’s possible the police will want to look through Mr. Huggins’s files, so don’t clean up his office or throw anything away. When clients call, tell them that Mr. Huggins is deceased and they should contact another lawyer and ask that lawyer to call you for their files. And be sure to tell them you will bill them for any pending charges.” She added, “And keep close account of your own time, Jennifer—your salary will have to come from the estate when the office is liquidated.”

  She thought about that. “Do you think I’ll get paid this week?”

  “Do you know how much is in the office accounts?”

  “No. Mr. Huggins takes—took—care of the finances.”

  “I’m sure there will be enough money in the corporate account and in office equipment to cover routine expenses such as your salary. But do keep a careful record of what you do and the days you work, just to be sure.” She added, “And you might look to see if Mr. Huggins made out a will.” Except a lot of lawyers never got around to making out their own wills.

  “I don’t have a letter of recommendation, either. I don’t know what I’ll do for another job.”

  “You have some experience now, Jennifer. That should help.”

  “I hope so.” She looked around, more tears trembling in her eyes. “I liked working here. I hope I can get another job in a law office.”

  Julie hoped so, too. She handed the young woman a business card. “Here’s my card if you have any more questions. Call any time, Jennifer. And if anyone asks about American West, please tell them to call me at this number.”

  Back at the office, Julie dialed Detective Wager who told her he wasn’t the one who caught the Huggins homicide. “That was Ashcroft. He’s off duty. Was the victim another one of your customers?”

  “No.”

  “Well, now he fits the definition of a lawyer you can trust.”

  “That’s almost funny, Officer Wager. I never realized you knew any jokes. But here’s why I’m asking about him: he may have been involved with local wrestling promotions—just like Palombino.”

  “Oh?” Then, “Tell me more, Julie. In fact, tell me everything.”

  She explained about the negotiations between American West and the FWO. “I haven’t yet talked with Schmanski. I wanted to learn a little more about Huggins’s murder first.”

  “Schmanski. One of Chertok’s frequent visitors, right? On that list you gave me?”

  “You’re sharp today, Gabe.”

  “Our fair city’s in safe hands. What’s Schmanski’s tie to Chertok?”

  “They both work for the FWO. Have you come up with anything on the other names?”

  “For some reason I just haven’t gotten around to it, Julie. All those donut breaks . . .”

  “I understand. And I know you will call the instant you do find something. But I just gave you a possible link to Palombino. Is there anything you can tell me about the Huggins case?” In the silence that followed her questions, Julie could imagine the homicide detective leaning back to gaze at the ceiling, lips pursed to ponder a decision.

  “Huggins isn’t my case, understand? So all I have is what’s known around the office.”

  “That’s more than I’ve got.”

  “Damn well should be. Anyway, the victim was found lying beside his car about eleven p.m. by a couple of transients cutting through the railroad yards. Shot twice in the chest, but you’ll have to pump Ashcroft for the ballistics report. He thinks it was a robbery—victim’s wallet empty, no watch or rings. The usual. Could be that, or the transients took what they could before reporting him. The time of death was probably between eight and ten p.m., but the autopsy’s not in yet, and I don’t have access to it—ask A
shcroft. No leads that I know of. Again, ask Ashcroft.”

  “Huggins’s car was still there?”

  “That’s affirmative. Towed to the impound lot and forensics is working on it. Maybe finished by now. Ask Ashcroft.”

  “Any papers or other documents found with him?”

  “I don’t know and you know who to ask, right?” Then, “You looking for something specific?”

  “More information on American West. I’m having trouble finding out who the principals are.”

  “Ashcroft will be back in tomorrow.” Wager added, “And don’t mention my name to him, OK? Let us not leap merrily to the assumption that the Huggins case is related to the Palombino case. I’ll keep the possibility in mind, but right now they’re separate and I want to keep it that way unless something definite comes up.”

  Her father had told Julie about the long history of animosity between Wager and Ashcroft. In fact, between Wager and almost everyone else in the PD. “My solemn word, Detective Wager.”

  “Your solemn silence is worth more—unless you’re talking to me.”

  Julie could not find a Joanna Louise Gerwig or a J. L. Gerwig in the online telephone books or on other computer sources. If the woman lived outside the metro area, Julie would have to call Bernie. The paper hunter’s telephone recorder took Julie’s request for a search on that name. Then she telephoned Schmanski.

  “I read about it. I don’t know what the hell we’re going to do now, Miss Campbell. Huggins was the only person I ever talked to on the deal.”

  “Did he ever mention a Joanna Louise Gerwig?”

  “ … No.”

  “Did he ever drop any other names connected with American West?”

  “No. If he did, I wouldn’t be so worried. I mean we’re talking a big commitment here, and major promotions and venues. I’m all set to go with rental deposits, scheduling, advertising, printing—all that has to be set up—public relations stuff, advertising space. The whole schmear, and it takes time. Now I got to wait to hear from people I don’t even know!”

  “If you do hear from anyone, would you call me, please?” She gave the man her pager number. “Any time, day or night.”

  “What’s so important about this for you?”

  “My editor’s excited about local wrestling and he wants to get the story before anyone else does. He’s afraid Mr. Huggins’s death might draw the attention of the competition to the subject.” It was the best lie Julie could come up with on the spur of the moment.

  But the idea of competition worked. “Oh. Yeah. I see. All right—anything I hear, I’ll let you know. Your back and my back, they both itch, right?”

  Julie allowed as that was true.

  The message coming through the telephone speaker was for Raiford, and the voice was Salazar’s. “George tells me you’re ready for some exposure already. That’s good—real good—you’re doing what I tell you, and now you’ll be pulling in some money. So I got you set up for a demo match. Get down to Tanks-A-Lot today—right now—and get your outfit. I already picked it out for you. All you got to do is give them your name and pay for it. Just tell them you’re the one Mr. Salazar said was coming in today. Then be at the gym by three.”

  Julie glanced at the wall clock. “You’re going to be pushed for time, Dad.”

  At lunch, they had discussed the Huggins murder and what it might mean. And though they hadn’t come to any conclusions about its relevance, they did decide what to do next. Julie, while waiting to hear from Bernie, would keep digging into InterMountain EnterPrizes for any possible connections to Lidke. Raiford would again interview the wrestlers who had been at the gym on the day of Palombino’s murder for anything they might have remembered since or forgotten to tell Julie.

  He, too, glanced at the clock. “Shouldn’t be any problem. I’ll swing by Rocky Ringside on the way to Tanks-A-Lot.”

  “Does Touchstone get a percentage of your ring earnings?”

  “What earnings? Everybody I talk with takes a percentage of me. I’m beginning to feel like a twelve-slice pizza.”

  “Your manager says you’ll be making money, and your partner says you’re ready for exposure.”

  Her father’s expression was odd. “Yeah, well, exposure …”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Nothing. Just don’t count on seeing me in the ring.”

  Julie stared in surprise as her father marched out and closed the door emphatically.

  Among the routine correspondence and bills in the day’s mail was the printout of Chertok’s credit rating. It was brief—the sheet listed no credit cards, and the only borrowing was a home loan that had payments of almost $1,500 a month. No notices of delinquency. It was, Julie noted, the history of a man who paid most of his bills in cash and who didn’t leave a paper trail for the IRS. She filed it in the manila folder bearing Chertok’s name and turned to the yet-unopened envelopes in the morning mail. One of the things that never showed up in movies or detective stories was a hard-hitting, hard-drinking­ private eye filling out a questionnaire from her local professional organization about whether she preferred that the Yellow Pages list her business under “Detectives,” “Investigators,” or both. Julie marked “all of the above” and sealed that return envelope. The next was another bill: Bernie Riester’s fee for a Data Report on Mammoth Productions, and four Criminal Conviction History searches in Denver and neighboring counties and in Colorado state records for Chertok. The total wasn’t too bad—at least not more than Touchstone’s current bank balance could cover.

  She finished writing out the check and was logging the expenses when the telephone rang. The voice was Bernie’s assistant to tell her that Paul Arnold Procopio had an arrest record with the Chicago and Cook County law enforcement agencies. Convictions included one count of receiving stolen goods and one as a repeating professional gambler. The last felony conviction (gambling) had been six years ago. He had also served time in Cook County Jail and in Joliet. He was on the habitual criminal list but was not on parole, having served his full three-year sentence before being released two years ago. “A full sentence means he probably got in trouble in prison, Miss Campbell. They’re so overcrowded that they routinely give early release on nonviolent convictions.” He added, “In fact, I’m surprised they even sent him up on gambling—that’s not an offense against person or property. He must have crossed somebody important on a bet or something.”

  “That or they took his Colorado record into account. Did you find any connection to Rudy Towers, or to Palombino?”

  “No, ma’am. And, apparently, the Central City property you were interested in is free and clear of any liens. There’s no record of any bank or lending firm involved with the transaction, either. So the purchasers probably paid cash.”

  “That’s a lot of cash.”

  “More than I’ve got in the bank.”

  More than most people had in the bank—and given banks lately, that was probably a good thing. It was also a possible way for somebody to launder that large amount of money. “Anything on Gerwig?”

  “Not yet. We’ve checked credit listings, city directories, and vehicle, birth, and death records, county recorders, schools. It would help if you had a birth date or a last known address.”

  “If I had that, I could probably find her myself.”

  “We’ll do our best.”

  The telephone chirped again as she was about to leave for the InterMountain EnterPrizes office armed with clipboard, questionnaire, and lapel badge identifying her as an agent for J & J Marketing and Advertising Research. It was her father.

  “Julie—Lidke’s closing his gym.”

  “Quitting?”

  “One of the guys here said Lidke told him he was selling out. Said the new buyers would honor their gym subscriptions, and they’d be the ones promoting local matches. Guess who the buyer is.”


  “Not American West!”

  “How’d you guess?”

  20

  Lidke didn’t want to talk to Julie. “American West holds all the cards. A couple days ago they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. So I sold. That’s all there is to it. That all right with you, Miss Campbell?”

  “Who did you deal with?”

  “Some lawyer. Huggins, Muggins, whatever. He sent the papers, I signed, the courier witnessed, and he took them back before the ink was dry.”

  “Did anyone threaten you, Mr. Lidke?”

  “No.”

  “Are you satisfied with what they gave you?”

  “What they gave me? What they gave me!” When he spoke again, his voice was calmer but still tense. “What they gave me was a chance to stay in the game. That’s it: I’m still in wrestling. It’s just not my promotion no more. All right? That’s what they gave me. And seeing as it’s my life, I’d like to get on with it.”

  The telephone went silent. Julie punched in Schmanski’s number.

  “That so? Bought him out?” Schmanski’s voice showed mild interest. “I don’t know that it makes any difference to me. Just means American West’s got the region sewed up now. Means we picked the right local promotion to go with.” He added, “If we ever hear from anybody.”

  “No one’s been in touch with you yet?”

  “Naw. I keep calling Huggins’s office. His damn secretary keeps telling me I should get another lawyer and she’ll turn the files over to him. I mean, I try to tell her our deal don’t work that way, but I don’t think she’s got all the horsepower she needs to run her motor, you know?”