Dead Letter (Digger)

by Warren Murphy

  Digger walked down the steps and over to the next building.

  Allison was looking down at John Paul Rampler. Sitting behind her on the opposite side of the porch was Mark Rolan and looking at him, Digger again wondered what he was doing in college since he was obviously majoring in pecs and lats. He started up the steps and Allison saw him.

  "Oh, Digger, I’m glad I found you. We’ve got to talk."

  "Is everything all right?"

  "Yes," she said. "It’s just this creep won’t leave me alone." She nodded her head toward Rampler, who looked at Digger with a smile and waved a hand, holding a joint toward him in greeting.

  "I was just telling her that I think it’s a shame for a pretty young woman to waste her life making a dwarf happy," Rampler said.

  Digger put a hand on Allie’s arm and started her down the stairs. "I’ll be right with you," he said.

  As she went down the stairs, Digger said, "Why don’t you get off the girl’s case?"

  "Why? She suffers so wonderfully," Rampler said.

  "Because if you don’t get off hers, I’ll get on yours."

  "Oh, yeah?" said Rolan from behind Digger.

  "Quiet, hairbag," Digger said without turning around. "When I want to hear from you, I’ll rattle your chain."

  "Oh, yeah?"

  "Oh, Jesus," Digger said. "Listen, Rampler. Use whatever hand signals you use to communicate with this thing and tell it to butt out, will you?"

  "I don’t think I can do that," Rampler said with a smirk. "Why did she call you Digger?" He looked over Digger’s shoulder. "You better answer fast."

  "Because it’s what I do."

  "What do you dig?" Rampler asked.

  Digger felt Mark Rolan’s big hand on his shoulder.

  "What I don’t dig is being touched by Cro-Magnon man," Digger said. He turned on Rolan, twisting out from under the heavy hand on his shoulder. The body-builder was over six feet tall, only an inch or two shorter than Digger.

  "You called me a name," Rolan said.

  Digger smiled and moved closer as if to whisper in his ear. "If you think that was bad, try this," he said. He balled his fist and drove it deep into the young man’s stomach, so deep that he had to come up on his toes to deliver the blow. Rolan buckled as if he had just been gutted with an axe. He staggered backward and collapsed, sitting down on the concrete landing, next to the front door of the dorm building. His hands covered his stomach and, openmouthed, he gulped for air.

  Digger turned back to Rampler who was no longer smirking.

  "And now I’m going to tell you just once, very nicely. You stay away from Allie and Danny and you keep your insipid mouth shut when you’re around her. Or they’re going to have to mail you your diploma. And somebody’s going to have to read it to you."

  Rampler looked down, away from Digger’s angry eyes, and Digger walked down the steps to where Allie was waiting.

  She whispered into his ear, "Wow. Do you do this often?"

  He took her arm and walked away with her. "No," he said. "I’m a pacifist. When I was a kid I wouldn’t even join the Boy Scouts. I was the only 4-H club member in New York. I raised competition water-bugs."

  "That’s awful," she said with a grimace.

  "No, they weren’t bad. I took a brown ribbon for best household pet one year at the Hoboken ethnic fair. I was in running for best of the show right up until the last minute."

  "What happened?"

  "I lost to a swamp rat from Jersey City. Biggest damned rat I ever saw. My waterbug was prettier, but I never had a chance."

  "Why not?"

  "Damned rat ate my waterbug. The judges were afraid of him. They gave him all the ribbons and he ate them. Then he had his sights on my 4-H uniform. I think he thought I was a cornstalk. Anyway, I was walking down the steps of the Frank Sinatra Memorial Grammar School when the sucker came after me. Good thing I wasn’t alone."

  "What happened?"

  "My father was a cop. He plugged the critter right between the tusks. Blew him away. We stole what was left of his ribbons and left. What were you looking at me for?"

  "You’re crazy. Anyone ever tell you that?" she said.

  "Koko. The girl I live with. She tells me that all the time. What’d you want to tell me?"

  "Oh, I almost forgot. I was going to walk over and get Danny. The police called that they just found his car. They want him to come over and identify it."

  "Why?" Digger said.

  "I don’t know," she said. "That’s all they said."

  "Maybe I’ll go with him," Digger said.

  Digger and Danny took a cab to Shawmut Avenue where Digger saw Lieutenant Terlizzi standing next to a black Camaro.

  "Is that yours?" Digger asked Gilligan.

  "Yeah. Oh, crap. Look at the front. It’s all banged up."

  "I thought it might be," Digger said. He took Danny by the arm and walked up to Terlizzi.

  "Remember me, Lieutenant?" he said. "Burroughs?"

  "Oh, yeah. You were asking about the saloonkeeper. What brings you here?"

  "This is Danny Gilligan. That’s his car."

  "Look at it," Danny said. "It’s all mashed. What the hell happened?" He started for the car, but Digger caught his arm.

  "I don’t think the lieutenant wants you to touch the car," he said.

  "Why not? I’m going to hurt it now? It’s all banged up and I’m going to hurt it? Am I going to be able to drive it out of here?" He looked at Terlizzi, who ignored him and turned to Digger. "What’s your interest in this, Burroughs?" he said.

  "This is the car that hit that professor, isn’t it?" Digger said.

  "I think so," Terlizzi said. "The paint chips on the body checked out to this make and model. I’m waiting for the lab guys now."

  Danny Gilligan looked back and forth from one man to the other, totally confused.

  "Danny," said Digger, "I have to talk to the lieutenant alone. Go over there and have a cup of coffee, will you?"

  Danny looked unwilling, but said, "Okay, Mister Burroughs."

  When he was walking toward the small luncheonette across the street, Digger said, "He reported it stolen yesterday morning. He’s a student at Waldo and it was swiped off campus."

  "That’s odd," Terlizzi said.

  "How so?"

  "Usually, a guy gets run down by a stolen car, it’s right after the car got stolen. Some twelve-year-old black kid who doesn’t know the difference between the brake and the gas pedal. But nobody steals a car and keeps it around for ten, twelve hours."

  "The pros get rid of them right away. The joyriders as soon as they hit somebody or run out of gas," Digger said.

  Terlizzi nodded.

  "So maybe this one was stolen twice," Digger said. "Somebody glommed it, then ditched it, and somebody else picked it up again. This kind of car attracts kids like flies to shit."

  "Yeah, maybe," Terlizzi said. He lit one of his vile little Italian cigars and seemed to be thinking about Digger’s suggestion, which Digger knew was nonsense. The car hadn’t been stolen twice. Just once. By a murderer.

  "Lieutenant, no reflection on your department, but I know how most print guys work," Digger said.

  "Yeah. So do I. They couldn’t get fingerprints off piano keys."

  "I told you I work for an insurance company. My company’d pay to have a good private print man come in. From some lab, if you want."

  "Normally you’d be right, Burroughs, but this car was involved in a death. They’ll do a good job on it or I’ll have their asses."

  "Will they do the whole car?" Digger asked.

  "They’ll do every damned surface that can hold a print. This thing’ll look like a powdered jelly doughnut when they’re done."

  "Okay," Digger said.

  "You still haven’t told me. Why are you so interested? What brings you here?"

  "I’m pretty sure Redwing was murdered," Digger said.

  Chapter Seven

  "I don’t know what to make of this," Terl
izzi said, holding the letter under the fluorescent lamp on his desk.

  "Neither do I," Digger said. "I thought it was nonsense until Redwing got run down. Then I started to worry about it some. That’s when I decided to talk to you."

  "You waited long enough," Terlizzi said sourly.

  "Hey, lieutenant, lighten up," Digger said. "First thing I did was go warn Jayne Langston just in case."

  "That’s her name on here. Who is she?"

  "The college shrink. Her ex-husband is Hatcher, the guy I told you got the letter by mistake and gave it to Miss Stevens."

  "Okay. He got the letter and his ex-wife’s name is on the list. Bad blood between them?"

  "Ex-husband, ex-wife. They can’t stand each other."

  "Ahhh, that’s normal," Terlizzi said. "Did Hatcher have any problem with this guy Redwing?"

  "I haven’t heard of any yet," Digger said. "You know, Redwing was a fag."

  Terlizzi dropped the letter and buried his head in his hands.

  "Oh, balls," he groaned. "I don’t need that. Tell me you’re lying."

  "Sorry. I’m told it’s true."

  With a tired, disgusted voice, Terlizzi said from under his hands, "You know what this is going to mean, don’t you? It’s going to be murder. It’s going to be this professor’s sweetheart who ran him down because Redwing didn’t like his new shade of pantyhose. Why me? You can never figure out swish killings."

  "I’m sorry to have brought you bad news," Digger said.

  "Who are you anyway?" Terlizzi said. "What the hell are you doing in Boston? If this letter came after you arrived in town, what the hell are you doing here?"

  "I came up for…oh, shit." Digger looked at his watch. Three P.M.

  "What’s the matter?"

  "I came up here for my annual physical. I was supposed to be at the hospital at one o’clock."

  "You’re late."

  "Can I use your phone?"

  "For a local call," Terlizzi said.

  "Thanks." Digger dialed Buehler’s number and when the answering service picked up, recognized the woman’s voice.

  "Hello, Melinda, this is your old friend, Julian Burroughs."

  "Mister Burroughs, Doctor Buehler has been calling every fifteen minutes for you."

  "I know, I know. When he calls again, tell him I was unavoidably detained. I’ll get there as soon as I can."

  "You don’t have to do that," the woman said.

  "Why not?"

  "Doctor Buehler wanted me to tell you that he’s rescheduled everything for tomorrow, and he’ll see you at the house for dinner. He said he hopes you got lucky."

  "Is that exactly what he said?"

  "Yes. I wrote it down. I don’t know what he meant but…"

  "I’ll explain it to you sometime," Digger said. "Thanks, Melinda. Be talking to you."

  He replaced the receiver and shook his head. "It’s okay, but I hate being late for anything. I just damned forgot about the whole thing. I come three thousand miles for this damned exam and forget it."

  "What kind of cop was your old man?" Terlizzi asked suddenly.

  "A good one. Everybody in his precinct wanted to ride with him. If you’re asking ’cause you’re checking on me, you could call Lieutenant Breslin at the Hollywood police. Or Lieutenant Mannion in Fort Lauderdale. I’ve worked with them on some things."

  "It’s not necessary," Terlizzi said. "I think I trust you." But Digger noticed that Terlizzi had written both cops’ names down on his note pad. "You say you’ve talked to Jayne Langston?"

  "And I showed her the letter. I thought she might have some clue who wrote it. She deals with the college nuts. But she wouldn’t say anything."

  "Was she frightened by the letter?" Terlizzi asked.

  "No. She thought it was a prank."

  "I’m in a bind, Burroughs."

  "What’s that?"

  "Just on the basis of this letter, I can’t afford to put a guard on this Langston woman. But if she gets iced, my ass’ll be in a sling."

  "Well, at least you can tell her to be careful. Coming from you, she might believe it. She didn’t believe me at all."

  The telephone rang on Terlizzi’s cluttered desk and he snatched at the receiver.

  "Yeah. What’d you get?" He listened for a few seconds, nodding imperceptibly with his head, before slamming the receiver back down.

  "What’s the matter?"

  "That was the lab. There weren’t any prints in the car."

  "None?"

  "Not a goddam print. Not on the windows or doors or mirrors or glove compartment. Not even on the goddam trunk lid."

  "Any hot wires around?" Digger asked. "How’d the thief start it?"

  "No hot wires, either. Neat little fucking thief. Cleaned up his prints and took his alligator clips and wires with him. Let’s go see this Doctor Langston. Ride with me, I want to talk to you."

  Terlizzi drove his black Ford expertly through down-town Boston’s maze of cluttered streets. He lit a cigar and asked Digger, "Are you the kind of guy who can keep his mouth shut?"

  "I lived with my ex-wife for eleven years and never told her I hated her worse than summer squash."

  "I’d like to keep all this out of the papers, all this letter crap and maybe murder and like that."

  "Me, too," Digger said.

  "Get the press involved and they’re all over your butt; you can’t get anything done. Then you get the crazies coming out of the closets. The town’ll be flooded with chain letters in about three days. We won’t be able to get anything done."

  "All right," Digger said. "I’d just as soon that Allie’s father, he’s my boss, didn’t hear anything about this yet."

  "Why?"

  "Allie asked me if I’d keep it quiet for a while. She’s hard to say no to. I even tried to talk her into going home for a few days but she wouldn’t. She’s got tests."

  "We’ll keep a lid on it, then," Terlizzi said.

  "If we can. Other people know about it. We can’t control what they do."

  "Who knows about it?"

  "You and me," Digger said. "Allie and her boyfriend, that Gilligan. Doctor Langston and Hatcher. Two students that live in Allie’s dorm. Rampler and Rolan. You might want to check them out ’cause I think they might be involved in this."

  "Why do you think that?" Terlizzi asked.

  "Because I don’t like them," Digger said.

  "Good reason," Terlizzi said.

  "What about the kid’s car?" Digger asked.

  "Have to hold it for a couple of days. Then he can have it back," Terlizzi said. He parked in front of Dr. Langston’s office building and when he went inside, Digger walked across the small green to Allison Stevens’s dorm.

  The lounge was empty and the student on desk duty didn’t even bother to look up as Digger walked by him and up the stairs.

  He knocked on Allison’s door for a few seconds but got no answer. From the next room, he heard a typewriter pecking away. That would be Danny Gilligan. Digger was impressed by the young man. It was final exam week and he was working until the last minute. Maybe that’s how homely men scooped up beautiful women. Because they had more staying power and weren’t easily deflected.

  He knocked on Gilligan’s door. "Who is it?" he heard the young man call out.

  "Digger."

  "Just a minute."

  A few seconds later, Gilligan opened the door and invited Digger in. While his brain might be a neat genius storehouse of information, his room looked like the city dump. Books and papers were littered everywhere. There was a mound of clothing in a corner of the room.

  "Sorry about this place," Gilligan said with an embarrassed half smile. "It gets this way around exam time."

  "I’ve stayed in worse," Digger said. "I just left the cops. They’re going to have to hold your car for a few days."

  "Damn. It’s bad enough you lose a car, but then they get it and you get caught up in red tape."

  Digger looked around for a place to sit
. There wasn’t one. He perched on the typewriter table.

  "I know. The cops are going to keep this quiet for a while," Digger said.

  "Good. If we can just stop John Paul and the gorilla from saying anything."

  Digger shrugged. "Allie still taking her test?"

  Danny sat back behind his small wooden desk and nodded. If he thought there was anything odd about having a desk that looked like it belonged in the room of a ten-year-old, he didn’t show it. The desk was as neat as the room was cluttered. Textbooks were opened, pencils were neatly sharpened, notebooks filled with small, neat writing. There was a telephone and a phone book, a pair of leather gloves, an eyeglass case, a Scotch tape dispenser.

  "You’ve still got my phone number?" Digger asked.

  "Yeah. Allie gave it to me, Mister Burroughs."

  "Okay. I want you to keep a close eye on her. Be with her every minute, until this thing is cleared up. Can you do that?"

  "You bet I can."

  "I really wish she’d get lost for a couple of days," Digger said.

  "I’ll take care of her, Mister Burroughs."

  "Tell her if she doesn’t cooperate, I’ll have her father up here inside three hours."

  Gilligan nodded again. "Okay," he said. "Did my car really kill Professor Redwing?"

  "Afraid so," Digger said.

  "Any idea who stole it?"

  "No. They couldn’t get a print off the car."

  "Somebody must have seen it somewhere."

  "That sounds logical, but it doesn’t work that way," Digger said. "People just don’t notice cars. I’d better get out of here and let you study."

  "Okay. Will you call Allie tonight? I think she’d like to hear from you."

  Digger rose from the typewriter table where he was sitting and walked toward the door. "Mister Burroughs," Danny called.

  Digger turned around.

  "Allie told me what you did with Rampler and Rolan. That was nice. Thank you."

  "I didn’t mind it a bit," Digger said.

  Outside, Digger saw Terlizzi’s car still parked in front of Dr. Langston’s office, so he strolled across the green toward the ivy-covered brick administration building at the far end of the field.