Houseboat

by Paul Shadinger

  The coroner went on to conclude that the surgery was several years old, and appeared to have been expensive since it was very well done. The last paragraph of the report stopped me cold. Whoever the John Doe was, he was already as good as dead before someone shot him in the vacant lot. The coroner’s report said the deceased had cancer spread throughout his body. He estimated that the John Doe had no more than three months to live. After reading over the report and everything that was wrong with the John Doe, I came to a conclusion. It sounded to me that whoever killed Mr. Doe in my vacant lot actually did him a favor and had saved him a lot of pain and suffering.

  I picked up the picture one more time. I still had the feeling I was missing something. The face looked so familiar, but I could not pinpoint his name. I was frustrated. I wondered if an old friend of mine would know who it was. My friend’s name is Walter and I knew him from the old days. I decided I would have to get ahold of him and see if Walter could tell me if he knew whom the dead person was.

  After I finished my careful scan of the contents, I tossed the folder back on the desk. I was disappointed with what I’d found. I had hoped to recognize who died in my backyard. Our outfit wasn’t that big and I was sure I’d know Mr. Doe had been. Just as the folder hit the desk, both detectives came around the corner carrying Styrofoam cups of coffee in their hands, but no donuts. I considered for a moment making a cop joke, but decided just to keep my smart mouth shut. I pointed to the folder and asked to nobody in particular, “Any luck finding out who our John Doe was?”

  Both Sakol and Jeff L. shook their heads. Jeff L. remarked from the sound of my comment I didn’t seem to know who the guy was either. I explained how I felt that somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew the person, but for some reason he looked different. I mentioned I’d seen that JD had plastic surgery, but it was good enough to change his features, which meant I had no idea who it was.

  Jeff L. continued telling me they had submitted the prints to various Washington, DC organizations, and they were still waiting to hear back. Sakol said they both thought that it was strange that it was taking so long to hear back on the prints. Both of them agreed it usually took less than twenty-four hours, but this was dragging out. Jeff L. opened up the folder and withdrew one of the pictures of the deceased. “Here,” he said as he handed me the photo, “I had them make an extra copy for you. I thought you might want one. As I remember, you still keep in touch with some of your buddies from Nam. Pass it around.”

  “Thanks. If I find anything out I’ll let you know, of course.”

  Jeff L. paused for a second and continued, “Sakol believes this is the man who murdered Slim. However, I disagree. We both believe he was some sort of ex-special forces, and as you said yourself, it sure looked like the work of a former serviceman.”

  I waited for a second, held up the picture Jeff L. had handed me and then dropped my little bomb, “I doubt however, if this was the man who did ol’ Slim in.”

  Sakol was leaning back in his chair with his feet crossed on the edge of his desk. He had his coffee resting on his tummy, and his eyes were in their usual half-closed position. After my remark, his feet hit the floor and he pitched forward, coffee spilling from his cup. His normally happy round face took on a dark and foreboding expression, his almond eyes turned into small slits and were dark as deep pools. “How you know?”

  I held up my hand with the palms facing Sakol. “Easy Sakol. It was the dental x-rays.” I paused while I fished them out and handed them to him. “The pattern shows lots of dental work, but most of the upper and lower right-side of his teeth are implants with caps or denture wings. His left side also has lots of work, but not as much as the right. See?” Sakol nodded his head.

  I continued, “When a person brushes their teeth, they usually start on the upper opposite side of their dominant hand and then move down. In other words, if they’re right handed, they’ll start on the upper left quadrant. It’s the easiest side to brush and so it gets the most attention. If they’re left handed, the upper right quadrant will be the healthiest, then the lower. If they are right-handed, the upper left quadrant is the healthiest.” Both of them were nodding their heads.

  “Your John Doe was probably right handed. If you check Slim’s autopsy you’ll see that the positions of the knife wounds would indicate that he was probably murdered by a left handed person.”

  I waited while Sakol pushed the new bit of information around in his brain. He leaned forward and punched in some numbers on his phone. He asked for someone I didn’t know, which was not surprising. I assumed it was someone in the Coroner’s Office, because when he came on the phone, he asked if there was any possible way for them to determine if the John Doe was a left or right handed person.

  Suddenly the dark look slid off his face and he nodded at me. Whoever was on the phone had confirmed my guess. Sakol hung up the phone, picked up what was left of his cup of coffee, leaned back in his chair, and his moon-face grinned up at me. “Son bitch, you clever man. How you know about teeth?”

  “I have a bit of gum trouble myself. So one time, I asked my hygienist if the side of the mouth is in any way correlated to which hand is the dominant hand, and she said she didn’t know, but in the future, she would watch. The next time I was in, she told me it appeared I was correct. It turns out that the easiest side to brush is the opposite side of your dominant hand. The side with the most deterioration is on the other side. When I looked at the X-rays of your John Doe, I saw he has, I mean had, many problems on the right side of his mouth. I’ve seen a lot of dental x-rays lately with my sorry mouth. Sorry to punch a hole in your theory.”

  Jeff L. coughed softly and with a tight smile grumbled, “I tried to tell everyone I didn’t think we had the killer, but nobody wanted to listen to ol’ Jeff L.!” Jeff L. turned to Sakol and continued, “Maybe next time when I tell you, Sakol, you’ll listen to me and believe. It was just too easy to think we had the killer. Besides, we still don’t know who killed our John Doe.”

  Sakol nodded his head, thought for a minute, and made his comment, “Our John Doe could be killer. He do job, and people who hire him, whack him! No worry now! He no talks anyone. It good theory.” Sakol turned his gaze on me and finished, “Or was ‘til Matt come, let air out.” I noticed Sakol’s normal glint back in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry if I ruined your pet theory. Any more ideas about what’s going on?” I tried to console him.

  Jeff L. asked, “How are you coming with the daughter? Have you found out any more about her or her goofy aunt?”

  “That’s one of the reasons I came by this morning. I had a drink with Jennifer yesterday and…”

  “Jennifer! Now it’s Jennifer!” Jeff L. interrupted.

  “Yes Jeff .… it’s now Jennifer! And NO, we are not an item. She asked me to help her get some information about the Bottomsley dame. I’m trying to stall her. I know Slim’s death is an ongoing investigation, and the department doesn’t like interference from anyone. The last thing I need is for you guys to get pissed at me for getting in your way.”

  I turned to Sakol and finished, “By the way Sakol, thanks for telling her I was a nice guy and all, but all it did was convince her I was her man.”

  “What does she want to know about Bottomsley?” Jeff L. asked.

  “Well, I get the distinct impression she feels something is wrong with the entire setup. Actually, neither of us felt very comfortable with the way things are going with Bottomsley and her attorney. Both of you have expressed the same feeling to me.” Sakol and Jeff L. nodded their heads. “By the way, what did you tell her about me?” I directed my question at Sakol.

  “She ask if you honest man; say yes. She hear what she hear.” Sakol smiled his wise smile at me. “What do now?”

  “First off, I thought she needed legal help, so I made a call to set her up with my attorneys. Next, I wanted to check with you guys before I did anythi
ng with this crazy mess. If I help her at all, I wanted your approval before I start asking any questions.”

  Jeff L. and Sakol looked at each other for a moment. It was then that Sakol gave a slight nod, and then he shrugged his shoulders. Jeff L. turned to me and replied, “You understand I can’t actually give you permission to get involved with our ongoing investigation of Slim’s death.” I nodded my head. “But if you were to ask questions about the Bottomsley woman, I don’t see how we can stop you. What I would hope is anything you find out, you’d share with us. Of course, I know you would want to do that anyway. Right?”

  I was quick on the uptake, “Jeff L., you hurt my feelings. Of course, I’d share everything with you and Sakol. Why do you think I wouldn’t do that?”

  Sakol replied, “Matt, you too involved! Big brass not happy you find Slim, a man you mad at. Big brass not happy John Doe die in back yard. You understand, we need something? You find something you share. OK, Matt?” For Sakol, that was a major speech.

  “Yes, I’ll share any information I pick up with both of you. I know you guys are not wild about my involvement, but thanks for turning me loose.” I motioned to the file on the desk, “Does this mean that you’ll tell me who this guy was when you find out?”

  “Maybe trade! Go find, come back, maybe have trade.” Sakol grinned up at me.

  I guess that was as close as I was going to get to an answer.

  CHAPTER 19

  Leaving the detectives’ depressing little hole in the wall I returned to my place. Jennifer had an appointment at my lawyer’s firm and I had promised I would take her there. Driving home I remembered the folded picture of the John Doe inside my jacket pocket which reminded me I might have a way of getting an identity on the John Doe from the back lot. Walter. If anyone might recognize John Doe it would be Walter.

  Since his return from the war, Walter has been dealing with PTSD. Walter had found the best way for him to deal with things is to live apart from society. He now lives on the Olympic Peninsula across the Puget Sound from Seattle on some land I gifted him. He refuses to get either a landline or a cell phone. This presents a problem since the only way for me to contact Walter is by sending him a letter telling him when I’m coming over. Every couple of days he walks about five miles from his place to the little general store below his cabin. While he’s there, he picks up mail and any supplies he might need. I knew it would be a couple of days before I could arrange to go over and see him. When he gets a letter from me he calls me collect from the little general store and we arrange a meeting time.

  Later this afternoon was Jennifer’s appointment to meet with my attorneys and I only had a few minutes before I had to pick her up at her hotel. This meant I needed to get ready, and fast. Since I had no idea how long I’d be with Jennifer, I decided it was best to leave BJ at home. When I got there, the first thing I did was take her outside for a brief run. After we returned, I started to put on my suit and from the look on BJ’s face, I could tell she knew this time she was not going with. She crawled up on the corner of the bed, laid down with her head between her paws. She was looking sad and trying her best to make me feel guilty. She was succeeding. While I changed into my suit I mused if Jennifer should ever see the way I usually dress, she’d be in for a real letdown.

  When I think about lawyers, I always compare them to gunfighters from the old westerns. Reputations! If a gunfighter had a good reputation, sometimes he could avoid a gunfight simply because the other cowpoke had heard how fast the gunslinger was on the draw. Because of a reputation, the fellow going up against the gunslinger didn’t want to take a chance of losing. Maybe the cowboy thinks he might be a little faster, but finding out the answer could be a real tough lesson. That would be especially true if you aren’t as quick as you thought, or hoped, you were. Thus, because of a reputation, people tended to back down.

  When a lawyer has a good reputation, the question you ask is, “Do I really want to go to a courtroom and find out how good that lawyer is?” Sometimes it’s in your best interest to just back down, pay out a little money, and by doing so, actually end up winning. I’ve found having one of the top law firms in the state behind me has saved me from some “gunfights” I didn’t want to take on. I was hoping my lawyer’s reputation and his abilities would be of help to Jennifer, too. From the sound of it on the phone, Mr. Green didn’t sound like he was in the same arena as my gunfighters.

  Jennifer was staying at the Sorrento Hotel. The Sorrento, in downtown Seattle, is an older, smaller, but very plush hotel. The service is excellent, and the entire place feels like something out of a movie version of a very upscale hotel from the 1930’s. I thought to myself that it suited Jennifer very well.

  I went to the desk in the hotel lobby, and they called up to her room. A few minutes later, she walked off the elevator looking breathtaking. For a moment I wished I were twenty years younger. Here was obviously a woman of class. I was sure she only saw me as some old codger just trying to help her with a problem.

  I gave her my best smile. “You look wonderful. You realize every person in this lobby is staring at you?”

  She was blushing a little as she glanced around the room and replied, “You’re too kind, but I notice you and the desk clerk are the only ones here.” She finished with a cute chuckle.

  “You fill up a room all by yourself!” I had no idea what that meant, but I was so taken with her looks I was at a loss for anything intelligent to say.

  We headed off to the offices of Goldstein, Bradson & Silversmith in the Columbia Tower. They occupy two complete floors near the top. To reach their offices, you have to take an elevator to their lobby on one floor before they take you up to the important offices above the receptionist desk.

  The receptionist told us it would be a few minutes, and asked if we wanted a cup of coffee. Jennifer and I both declined. As we sat down, she turned to me and quietly remarked, “I can’t get used to American coffee. It’s so bland when compared to European coffees. I find it too weak for my taste.”

  “That’s odd. With all the stands that exist in Seattle, and how famous and great our coffees are, I’d think that some of the different blends are like what you drink back home.”

  “I’ve tried what you call European Blend, and it doesn’t compare. I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but the taste does leave a lot of room for improvement.” She gave me a dazzling smile. “Are you as big a nut about coffee as the rest of Seattle people are?”

  “I just have my cup or two in the morning, and that’s it for me for the day. I know it doesn’t look like it, but I’m somewhat careful of what I eat and drink. People my age have to act with greater care than you youngsters.”

  That remark brought forth her dazzling smile and another cute chuckle. She leaned over and placed her hand on top of mine. “I’m afraid I’m a bit older than you think. Besides, when I look at you, you’re doing well against the ravages of time. It would appear the ‘home’ is taking very good care of you!” She followed her remark with a big blast of that great smile.

  “I guess I deserved that, but when I look at you it makes me feel like some dirty old letch.”

  Jennifer patted my hand and replied, “And you make me feel like a schoolgirl again in her uniform,” she gave me a large grin and finished, “which then makes you a really dirty old man. Yes? No?”

  “You win, I quit!” Again, she blessed me with that great smile.

  When the receptionist called us to her desk, she told us in a clipped English accent that Mr. Silversmith would see us now. I thanked her and told her I knew the way to his office. I led Jennifer up the broad circular stairs to the office suites and Mr. Silversmith’s personal secretary. When she saw me, she greeted me by name, making it obvious I’d been here before.

  Bob Silversmith and I have had multiple dealings with various problems over the years. Because of that, I felt that Bob was the best lawyer at t
he firm to help Jennifer. Bob’s specialty is in business law, which is just what Jennifer needed for this situation. When the secretary started to lead Jennifer off to the next office, I dropped back. When Jennifer saw I was not walking with her, she turned around and with a puzzled look on her face asked, “Aren’t you coming with me?”

  “No, this is something you need to talk about with Mr. Silversmith first. You’ll need to tell him all the details without any second-guessing what I should or shouldn’t hear. Then later you can decide what you want me to know. Trust me; you really want to do it this way. This way you can tell him everything about your situation.”

  As she turned to walk away, I smiled at her. Then I turned and headed off to Albert Bradsons’ office. Albert acts as the defense attorney at the firm. And as much as I hate to admit it, I have occasionally had to take advantage of his services as well.

  I’ve met most of the other barristers in the firm, but Albert has been of the greatest help to me. His “fast draw” reputation is one of the best; not just in the state but on the entire West Coast. His rep has definitely worked to my benefit. Over the years, we’ve found we share similar passions for automobiles, blondes, and single-malt Scotch. More than once, we’ve tasted some fine single-malts, while trying to unravel some of the great mysteries of the other two passions of our lives.

  It’s never Al, always Albert. In Albert’s earlier days, he’d played semi-pro baseball. Even though he’s just a bit younger than I am, he’s still in excellent physical shape. Albert told me back in the day he had had the skills to move up in the ranks of professional ball. However, because he was so young, and lacked the motivation to work hard enough to advance, he never made it to the majors.

  Albert was happy to see me, and as we shook hands, I was still impressed by how fit and trim he looked. Even with the silver temples, he still looked like he could turn out for spring training tomorrow. I was jealous. For the next few minutes, we brought each other up to date on what was happening in our lives. I briefly explained my problems with the houseboat and Slim’s demise. I also told him what had brought me to his offices. Previously, Albert had sat in on a couple of our poker games, so he understood how I could win the houseboat. He’d won his share of my money.