Homicide! (Parker & Knight Book 2)

by Wells, Donald

  Stella gestured at the walls.

  “Say goodbye to the old place; they’re moving us into the basement of the new hospital next week.”

  “So soon? But I didn’t think it was open yet?” Parker said.

  “It’s not really, but our section is done and they’re attempting to move departments in one by one. The place is massive and to get it up and running completely will take time, but they do have the emergency room taking patients.”

  Jo wrinkled her nose.

  “I hope the new morgue smells better than this.”

  “There’s state of the art ventilation, but you know, death smells like death,” Stella said.

  They thanked her for the preliminary autopsy report and stopped for coffee, which they drank in the car.

  The car was an unmarked, black Chevy Caprice. It was new and much needed. The only other unmarked vehicle the department had available prior to their purchase of the Caprice was an ancient Crown Vic that smelled like rotted fish. Parker had hated that car so much that he had been driving his own car while on the job, a classic 1965 Mustang, but both he and Jo found the Caprice to be a sweet ride.

  Jo looked sideways at Parker, who was seated behind the steering wheel.

  “I know you said that she had nothing to add to the case, but how did your talk with Jones go otherwise?”

  Parker grinned.

  “It went excellent.”

  “That’s all you’re going to say?”

  He shrugged.

  “She’s part of an active case, but once it’s solved, well, we’ll see.”

  “I told you that she likes you.”

  “Enough about my hopes and dreams, what do you think our next move ought to be?”

  “You mean after we talk with Patrick Taggart again?”

  “Yeah, I don’t have much hope of learning anything new there, so we need another angle to approach this from.”

  “We know it wasn’t robbery; Woolley still had his wallet, so I guess we take a closer look at his life.”

  “Up until six weeks ago, Woolley lived in Pittsburgh, but we’ll talk to his neighbors again.”

  “What about his mother? She’s the one that reported him missing in the first place.”

  “Good thinking, maybe she can tell us if he was seeing anyone, although I doubt a grown man would tell his mother about his love life.”

  Jo smiled.

  “Speaking of love life, let’s go to Taggart’s.”

  “I’m not going there to see Ms. Jones, only her employer.”

  “Oh, so we’re all business now, eh?”

  “You’re damn right; the quicker we solve this case, the sooner it becomes inactive.”

  “And the sooner you can ask Jones out, I get you, and hey, it’s nice to see you happy.”

  “I’ll be happy when we find the murderer.”

  ***

  “You don’t tell the damn cops anything, you hear me, boy?”

  “Yes Granddad, I hear you.” Patrick Taggart said. He was at his home, which was actually his grandfather’s home, and the old man was telling him what to do, again.

  The old man, Nathanial Taggart, was ninety-nine and the owner of the bar that bore his name.

  The house was a huge three-story colonial that sat on ten acres and was adjacent to the fifty plus acres that the bar on the other side of the lake sat upon. All in all, Nathanial Taggart owned a good chunk of land, most of which was undeveloped.

  They were in the old man’s office, a space lined with books, but dominated by the huge picture window behind the desk.

  Patrick leaned down and spoke to his grandfather, who sat in a wheelchair. The old man’s bald pate was covered with age spots and his eyes were two bright blue points set in deeply wrinkled flesh. Whenever he spoke more than a sentence, he needed to pause to take a breath.

  “I don’t understand why you don’t want me to talk to the police. Maybe they can help us with Nico, maybe they’ll even arrest him for murdering poor Chaz Woolley.”

  The old man pointed a crooked finger at him.

  “You don’t talk to cops, period. Be a man and handle this yourself.”

  “I tried that, remember. I told Nico no and he punched me in the stomach, then, I paid Chaz to handle it and... well, now he’s dead. This Nico Umbria is a dangerous man.”

  “There’s a .32 in my top desk drawer. Arrange to meet this Nico punk somewhere and... and take care of things. That’s how I would have handled it in the old days... hell, I still remember where I buried the bodies.”

  Patrick shivered at the thought of committing violence.

  “I’m not like you Granddad, and times have changed.”

  “A punk’s a punk, Pat, and there’s only one way to handle a punk.”

  Patrick checked his watch.

  “I have to get back to the bar.”

  “Alright, but don’t tell them cops nothing, we’ll handle this ourselves.”

  “Yes sir,” Patrick said, as he took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his receding hairline.

  The housekeeper came in as Patrick was leaving and handed the elder Taggart a glass of water and several pills. Her name was Margaret; she was in her eighties and had worked in the home for decades.

  “Take your pills, Nathan, and what’s up with Pat, he looked ill.”

  “That boy’s got no backbone, that’s his problem.”

  “Pat’s a good boy; it’s just that he takes after his mother.”

  The old man sighed.

  “I wish Nate was here. That boy wouldn’t put up with this nonsense, I’ll tell you that.”

  “Nate left a long time ago; he’s off making his own life.”

  “I think I’m gonna wind up handling things myself,” the old man said.

  ***

  Parker’s eyes searched for Heather as he walked into Taggart’s, and he spotted her taking a food order at a corner table. She sent him a little wave and he smiled at her.

  “What are you going to do if she’s the murderer?” Jo said.

  “Bite your tongue,” Parker told her, and Jo laughed.

  The bartender, a young man with a huge mustache, told them that Patrick Taggart was expecting their visit, and showed them to his office by leading them through a pair of swinging doors next to the bar. The doors opened onto the hot and busy kitchen, which was noisy and filled with activity, as pots steamed, grills sizzled, and a radio played heavy metal music.

  Jo took a deep breath and sighed.

  “M’mm, it smells good in here; I’m eating those ribs Jones gave us as soon as we get back.”

  The bartender knocked on the door, and Taggart yelled for them to enter. The office was small and contained a cheap wooden desk, two filing cabinets and a wall of shelves that held a combination of overstuffed file folders alongside supplies such as drink cups, napkins and garbage bags. Taggart’s desk was equally cluttered and Parker wondered how the man got any work done.

  Patrick Taggart was fifty-two, tall, but pudgy and would have been bald except for a fringe of dark, but graying hair. His blue eyes looked nervous, and upon seeing Parker and Knight, he suddenly had trouble getting comfortable in his chair.

  “Hey Pat, the police are here to see you about what happened to Chaz,” the bartender said.

  “Thanks Jerry,”

  The bartender left and Taggart stuck out a clammy hand.

  “Detective Parker, Detective Knight, it’s good to see you again, but I’m sad about the circumstances.”

  “Yes sir,” Parker said, “However, we were wondering if you’ve thought of anything new that might help.”

  Patrick shook his head. “No, nope, not a thing,”

  Jo took out a sheet of paper and read from it. The sheet contained the details of Charles Woolley’s recent bank statements.

  “We see from his account records that you recently paid Mr. Woolley three thousand dollars over and above his wages; can you tell us why?” Jo said.

  “A... a signi
ng bonus,” Patrick stuttered. “Mr. Woolley only joined us back in July, as I’m sure you know.”

  “A signing bonus to manage a restaurant?” Parker said, sounding doubtful,

  Patrick nodded his head.

  “Yes, he was ah, well sought after in the industry.”

  Jo and Parker exchanged glances and an unspoken understanding passed between them. They had been standing in front of the desk, mostly because there were no chairs other than the one occupied by Patrick, but Jo moved closer and stared down at Patrick as Parker leaned on the desk, glowered, and spoke in a harsh tone.

  “Taggart, we think you know something about Charles Woolley’s murder. Stand up; you’re coming to the station with us.”

  As Parker spoke, Jo took out her handcuffs.

  Patrick’s head swiveled back and forth between them and then he slumped deep into his chair.

  “I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  ***

  “Vandalism, did you report it?” Parker said.

  “Oh yes, at first, and they were minor incidents, a broken window, spray paint on the rear doors, but then, a man showed up and took credit for the incidents. His name is Nico Umbria.”

  “Why would he take credit?” Jo asked. “Did he want you to pay him to stop?”

  “Well, he didn’t come right out and say that he was the one who committed the acts, but he did insinuate that they would get worse if I didn’t take him on as a partner.”

  “A partner? He didn’t simply ask for money?” Parker said.

  “No, in fact, he offered money for a fifty-percent stake in the bar, but the amount was laughable, given the amount of business we do.”

  “So what happened when you turned him down?” Parker said.

  “Nothing, he just smiled and said that maybe we could do business in the future.”

  “But then the vandalism escalated, am I right?” Jo said.

  “Yes, and this time it was damage done to several customer’s cars. I blamed it on teenagers and paid the damages out of pocket.”

  “Why didn’t you report this to us?” Parker said.

  Patrick sighed.

  “I wanted to, but my grandfather balked at it. If he knew I was talking to you now he’d be furious, he’s... not fond of the police.”

  “Not many former bootleggers are, although, there aren’t many around anymore, are there?”

  “Yes, he’s quite old and set in his ways, but he’s the one that owns the bar, in truth, I’m just a manager.”

  “But you’re the one that handles the books for the bar, and you’re the one that hired Charles Woolley. What was the three thousand dollars for?” Parker said.

  “Chaz was the confident type, and like yourself, Detective Parker, he was a big man and I think also an ex-Marine. When I told him about Nico Umbria, he called him a punk and said that he would handle things the next time Umbria showed up.”

  “And what happened when Umbria did show up?” Jo asked.

  “Chaz sat in on the meeting and things got quite loud. Nico’s not very big, and Chaz was very aggressive and threatening in his manner. At the end of the meeting, Nico seemed cowed and swore that he would never bother us again. In gratitude, I paid Chaz that bonus.”

  “But Nico came back, correct?” Parker said, and Patrick shook his head.

  “Not at first, and when Chaz stopped showing up for work, I thought nothing of it. He wouldn’t be the first manager who quit without a word. However, after your last visit, when you said that Chaz was missing, it got me to thinking, but still, Nico made no contact, and so, I thought the two things weren’t connected.”

  “But this Umbria has contacted you since?” Jo said.

  “Yes, yesterday, after the body was found, he confronted me in the parking lot and offered his condolences, he also made another ridiculous offer to buy the bar, the whole bar this time, not a partnership, and his offer price is a fifth of what the bar’s worth.”

  “You must suspect that he killed Chaz Woolley; why didn’t you come to us?” Parker said.

  “My grandfather told me not to, but he’s wrong, this is a job for the police. Can you help me?”

  “Absolutely, but we’ll need your cooperation.”

  Patrick stood and offered his hand again.

  “I’ll do whatever it takes. This man, Nico, if he killed Chaz... the thought of it makes me sick, and my other employees must be kept safe.”

  Parker thought of Heather.

  “No harm will come to them. I swear it.”

  4

  In a bar in Camden, New Jersey, Nico Umbria met with the leader of a gang called Muerte Soldados or Death Soldiers, and transacted a little business.

  Nico was twenty-four, five-foot-nine and a muscular one-seventy. He was wearing a dark suit with a blue shirt and no tie, and his long black hair was tied back in a ponytail.

  The gang leader was known only by the name Dos and was nineteen-years-old. He had lived in the gang since he was five and just recently became its leader when his brother, Uno, the former leader, was sentenced to life for killing a man who owed him money. Dos was about Nico’s height, but weighed a sinewy one-forty.

  “So what’s up?” Dos said.

  “I need a job done up in Washington Township.”

  “Which Washington, there’s like five or six towns with that name, right?”

  “Yeah, but this is the one off of I-95,”

  “Oh yeah, I know it, lot of new shit being built up there, ain’t there?”

  “Yeah, but it’s an old bar I care about, a place called Taggart’s.”

  “So what’s the job?”

  “I need to cause some damage to the place, you know, bust up the bar, harass some customers and staff, shit like that, but not too violent.”

  “You want to give the owners grief, I got you. I’ll send a few of the members up there, even if they get caught they won’t say shit, but when do you need it done?”

  “Tomorrow is good, say around three, after the lunch crowd.”

  “It’ll be history by four o’clock,”

  “Cool, how much?”

  Dos thought that over, and said. “Two large, plus two bills for expenses, but I’ll send four guys,”

  “Expenses?”

  “Gas for the car and baseball bats and ski masks to do the job,” Dos explained.

  Nico laughed, and then, beneath the table, he handed over an envelope with two-thousand dollars in it. He had guessed right about the fee, but hadn’t factored in Dos’s greed and business savvy. Along with the envelope, he handed over two-hundred from his wallet. It was all being paid for by his employer anyway, so what did he care? And anyway, he would tell him it cost even more and turn a profit in the bargain.

  “The next time I visit Uno in the can I’ll tell him that the gang’s in good hands. Expenses? You’re a trip, Dos.”

  Dos smiled. “It’s all about the green, brother,”

  Nico sent him a fist bump, and then got up and left the bar.

  ***

  The following afternoon, Jo and Parker were staking out Taggart’s while waiting for Nico to show. Jo was actually working undercover as a bartender, a job she had done while in college. Parker was outside in the lot, sitting in the Chevy, deep in the shadows cast by an old elm tree.

  Both he and Jo had mug shots of Nico that were taken when he was arrested for breaking & entering three months earlier. Parker’s photo sat on his dashboard, while Jo’s sat on a shelf under the bar. Nico was exonerated of the B&E charge, but was suspected of being involved in other home break-ins, and possibly auto thefts.

  They had also wired Patrick Taggart’s office with a camera and a microphone. If Nico threatened Taggart or tried to extort him, it would be captured on video.

  They had tried tracking Nico down but came up empty. What they didn’t know is that Nico had no address of his own, but rather, he lived at different times with one or the other of the mothers of his three children. Nico paid the bills of all three
women and so came and went as he pleased.

  ***

  Near three o’clock, the bar grew quiet, and Heather Jones approached Jo to talk.

  “I’ve been watching you, you’re a good bartender.”

  Jo smiled. “Thanks, I did it for years and I always liked it.”

  Heather lowered her voice.

  “Can I ask you something, what’s your partner like? He seems... I don’t know, sad, I guess. Has he lost someone recently?”

  Jo stared at her, surprised by her perceptiveness.

  “No one died, but he just got divorced,”

  “Oh, and does he have kids?”

  “No, no kids, but you know, you really should be asking him these questions. He’s right outside in the car.”

  “I didn’t know if I should; I mean he is working.”

  Jo grinned. “Trust me; he’d love to have you visit.”

  Heather smiled back and then called to one of the other waitresses.

  “I’m going on break.”

  ***

  Parker saw Heather approaching and was thankful that he had just sucked on a breath mint. In the shorts and revealing shirt of her waitress uniform Heather was especially enticing, and Parker felt his pulse race.

  She is so damn beautiful,

  Without waiting for permission, Heather climbed into the passenger seat.

  “I thought you could use some company.”

  “You thought right,” Parker said, and then an uncomfortable silence began. Heather ended it with a question.

  “I heard that you recently got divorced, were you married long?”

  “Um, not very long I guess, about four years.”

  “What happened?”

  “Is this an interrogation?”

  “I know it’s rude, but I’m curious,”

  Parker gave a shrug.

  “She cheated on me. I forgave her the first time, but not the second.”

  “I’m sorry, that must have hurt.”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I call you, Rick, at least when we’re alone? It seems odd to keep calling you Detective Parker.”

  “I would like that,” Parker said, he then checked out the driver of a vehicle that had just arrived, but recognized the man getting out of it as an employee of a local business.

  Heather turned sideways in her seat.