Murder Miscalculated

by Andrew Macrae

  Metcalf probably meant that to be a close to our conversation, but I wasn’t ready to let that happen.

  I turned to Cochran. “There’s another matter we need to discuss, isn’t there, Cochran?” My anger about Doris Whitaker finding out about my arrangement with Talbot was building again.

  He nodded. “Mr. Metcalf, Agent Talbot told of Mr. Smith’s role, didn’t he?”

  “You mean that he’s a pickpocket Talbot recruited to take Zager’s wallet?”

  Cochran nodded.

  Metcalf took an interest in his fingernails. “Yes, he told me, why?”

  I banged a fist on the coffee table. As there were no coffee cups on it, and also as it was made of heavy glass and steel, there was only a quiet thud and a pain in my hand, not the effect I wanted.

  “Because someone told Doris Whitaker, that’s why.”

  “Doris Whitaker?” The name drew a blank with Metcalf.

  “She’s the leader of the largest pickpocketing gang in the city,” explained Cochran. “She erroneously thinks that The Kid, Mr. Smith was working with us in an effort to build a case against her.”

  “Well, that’s ridiculous.” He looked at me with some of his old disdain returning. “I have no knowledge of this Mrs. Whitaker nor of any other pickpockets in this town.” He sniffed. “And I wish to God I didn’t know you.” He got up. “If you’ll excuse me gentlemen, I have an appointment in court in an hour for which I cannot be late.”

  We stood and said our goodbyes and left.

  We didn’t talk in the elevator going back down, the operator’s presence precluded that, but as soon as we made the lobby, we both spoke at the same time.

  “What do you think?” Cochran asked as I asked him the same question. Cochran answered first.

  “I think he’s scared. The photograph of that hit man of Wolfe’s really shook him.”

  “The hell with that,” I said. “What about Doris? Do you think he tipped her off?” Cochran shook his head.

  “I don’t see why. What would he gain by doing that? My guess is she heard it elsewhere on the street. I was probably seen going into The Book Nook by someone who recognized me as an FBI agent.”

  We parted company at the corner of Market and Oak. Cochran had to meet yet again with the team investigating Talbot’s murder while I had books to shelve.

  All in all, I think I had the better deal.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  As promised, Mel came by the bookstore that evening. He and Barbara greeted each other with big hugs. They go back together to the days when Mel was a cop on the beat and Barbara’s store a hotbed of protest organizers. As a cop on street patrol back then, Mel was on the other side of the barricades, but during his off-hours he was a welcome worker at Barbara’s shop. He took a long look at the kitchen when he came in.

  “I remember when that wall over there was stacked this high with protest signs nailed to sticks of wood.”

  Barbara handed him a cup of tea. “Yes, and you were over there on the floor, nailing the signs to the sticks,” she said with a smile. “If you look, you’ll see there are still dents in the linoleum from your hammer.”

  Mel walked over and squatted down. He ran one of his big hands over the floor and nodded. Junior took advantage of his position and strolled over so that Mel could have the honor of giving him a quick bit of petting.

  We sat at the table once more, Lynn, Barbara, Mel and me. Cochran was gone, heading to the airport to meet the investigating team due in from Washington. Max and April were out at a book signing.

  “Kid,” said Mel, getting down to business. “The chief is turning the investigation of Special Agent Talbot’s death over to the feds at their request. I offered to hand our side of it over to someone else in the department, given our friendship, but she said it’s not necessary, given that the feds are taking full charge.”

  He stopped to take a sip of tea. “I don’t think you’ll be bothered much, based on Cochran’s statement that you didn’t arrive until after he found Talbot’s body.”

  Then his face grew stern. “What I want to know, Kid, is what’s this I’ve heard about you going back to working the street as a pickpocket? One of the guys from the robbery detail gave me that bit of news this afternoon.”

  I told Mel about the operation Talbot and Cochran were running and how, after trying to teach Cochran how to pickpocket, I’d stepped in to do it.

  Mel shook his head. “I can’t believe they talked you into doing it, Kid. Do you have any idea of the risk you are running? Just because a fed gives you a get-out-of-jail-free card doesn’t mean the district attorney is going to respect it.”

  It fell upon me to tell Mel about the hold Talbot had on Barbara. “Talbot had a warrant for Barbara’s arrest. He was holding it over our heads. That’s how he got me to agree to pretend to go back to picking pockets.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  We took turns explaining to Mel about James LeCuyer and the missing bank money from decades ago, as well as Talbot’s blackmail.

  When we were done, he shook his head. “Well, with your cover blown, at least that part’s over.”

  “That’s what we hope,” said Lynn. “Unfortunately, it’s already created trouble, and we’re not certain what to do about it.” We again took turns explaining how Doris Whitaker and her crew were on the warpath, believing me to be working with the local cops to bust her.

  I had the fun of telling Mel about how Lynn rescued me from The Empire Room.

  Mel studied Lynn with an amused smile. “Fishnet stockings, high heels and a short skirt, eh?”

  Lynn stuck her tongue out at him. “Go ahead and picture it in your mind, ‘cause that’s the last time anyone will ever see me in a getup like that.” Her face became serious. “Mel, isn’t there anything you can do about Doris?”

  Mel thought about it. “I’ll have a word with the robbery division. I know she’s been a thorn in the side of the department for years, but we’ve never been able to get anything on Doris herself, only the people working for her, and they’re too intimidated to testify against her.”

  Mel stayed until close to eleven, chatting and catching up with us. Shortly after he left, Max and April came back. We all called out “Good night,” to Tom out front and headed up the stairs to our respective rooms.

  Cochran came back around midnight. Lynn and I heard his feet on the stairs and as he proceeded down the hallway. He stopped outside our door and knocked softly. “Kid, Lynn, are you awake?”

  “Come in,” I called.

  He opened the door. Lynn switched on her bedside lamp, and we propped ourselves up on our pillows. Cochran stepped in. His face reddened when he saw us in bed.

  “I’m sorry, I should have known you’d be asleep.”

  “No problem,” I said. “What’s up with the team you had to meet? Did they arrive safe and sound?”

  “Yes. They’d like the three of us to meet with them in the morning. We’ll meet them at their hotel at nine.”

  Lynn stifled a yawn. “Me, too?”

  Cochran saw Lynn’s bare shoulders and long black hair cascading on her pillow, and he looked away quickly. Lynn smiled.

  “Yes, you too,” he answered. “Apparently Special Agent Riley briefed them before they left, and he spoke highly of your opinion on things.”

  “What, and you don’t share that opinion?” Lynn teased.

  “No, I mean yes. I mean,” he took a breath, “I share his regard.”

  Lynn laughed at his discomfort and a second later threw a pillow, my pillow, at him. My head clunked against the headboard.

  “Hey!” I shouted. I grabbed Lynn’s pillow out from under her. Cochran took advantage of our horseplay to make his escape, closing our bedroom door behind him.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Lynn, Cochran and I walked to The Broadmore the next morning. I was tempted to ask Cochran about the advisability of the agents investigating Talbot’s death staying in the same hotel in
which he was murdered, but I decided against it. He might not have appreciated the humor.

  The morning fall mists were still rising from the streets, and the scent of the night still lingered as we strolled down Knickerbocker Lane. Shops were opening their doors and setting out tables of sale items on the sidewalk. We had enough time that we were able to stop and chat with our neighbors, to compliment an attractive window display, to commiserate on a drop in business.

  The two FBI agents were waiting in the hotel lobby when we arrived. Both men resembled a television director’s image of what an FBI agent should look like. They were both tall, broad shouldered and, as far as I could tell, devoid of any sense of humor. One introduced himself as Special Agent Cranz. The other was Special Agent Stern. I can’t say with certainty that I knew which was which, and I doubt that would have mattered to either of them.

  The manager of The Broadmore had made a conference room on the second floor available. The five of us walked up the broad staircase to the mezzanine level and down a hall to the conference room. It was a room more befitting an executive board meeting than an interview with two steely-eyed federal agents. The table could easily sit a dozen people, and there was a pitcher of ice water and glasses on a credenza off to one side. The air had a sterile taste, as though The Broadmore staff disinfected the room after each use.

  Cochran excused himself at the doorway, saying he needed to go to the federal building and write a report. The door closed behind him, and Lynn and I accepted an invitation to sit down and be comfortable, not an easy thing to do under the circumstances.

  Once we were settled and introductions were made, Agent Cranz or Agent Stern asked me to tell them how I had gone to the Hotel Broadmore at Cochran’s request, and what I found there. It was apparent they were operating under instructions not to press too hard on my role in Talbot’s operation, though they did ask Lynn and me quite a few questions, in a roundabout way, about what we thought of Agent Talbot.

  We gave our honest opinion but had to temper what we said, as we didn’t want to draw their attention to Barbara’s arrest warrant. I was still hoping they wouldn’t find it.

  Then they switched gears on us.

  “Why did you call Lieutenant Johnston on discovering the Agent Talbot’s body? What is your relationship with him?” asked Agent Cranz or maybe Agent Stern.

  I explained how I had known Mel for years, and since he also knew Cochran, it would make sense to call him. That prompted more questions about our past history with Mel and Cochran.

  “Maybe you ought to talk to Mel yourself,” I suggested after a while.

  “We will be doing that this afternoon,” came the laconic reply followed by yet more questions.

  The interview finished two hours later. I didn’t know if they’d gleaned any useful information from us. I certainly didn’t feel as though I’d learned anything except that Cranz and Stern were masters at keeping their thoughts hidden.

  “We will be in touch if we have more questions,” Agent Stern, I think, said as he closed the conference room door behind us.

  Lynn and I gladly took our leave of The Broadmore and headed back home, rehashing the interview as we walked, with neither of us certain how it had gone.

  Chapter Forty

  The Book Nook was in total confusion when Lynn and I returned. Book displays were shoved to the sides, and the two armchairs had been moved up against the bookshelves along the back wall, blocking half the books on them. Stage lights and a couple of video cameras on tripods were aimed at the chairs, and a dozen people milled around looking as if they were doing something terribly important without actually doing anything.

  Max Carson sat in one of the armchairs, the center of all the activity, looking as contented as a cat in sunshine and basking in the light of attention.

  “Max!” I shouted. “What the hell is going on?”

  The room became quiet as everyone looked at Lynn and me. A woman with a pinched face and a pen behind her ear hurried over to me.

  “Sir, I’m afraid you’ll have to leave. We’re shooting a segment in just a few minutes.”

  I stared at her, then at Lynn and then around the room. The curtain to the back room parted, and Candy came in, holding Junior in her arms.

  “Here he is, Max. He’s all ready for his close up.” She saw us and gave a squeal of delight. “Lynn! Kid! Isn’t this great? I got Channel Five to do their interview with Max right here in The Book Nook. It’ll be great publicity.”

  She carried Junior over to Max and placed him in his lap. I expected Junior to take off, but he surprised me by allowing Max to scratch his ears and was soon settled in the Great Author’s lap.

  Max gave me a broad smile. It was the smile of someone who has set you up for a practical joke that worked exactly right.

  Candy explained to the pinch-faced woman, whose name was Vicky-the-Line-Producer, that Lynn and I were the owners of the store.

  Vickie didn’t seem impressed. “Perhaps there’s someplace else where you can wait until we’re done? Maybe you can go out for an early lunch?” She checked a sparkly watch on her wrist and saw the time. “Okay, brunch. Maybe you can go out for brunch.” She held up her wrist so we could see the time. “We’re on a very tight schedule here.”

  I shocked Lynn with the enthusiasm with which I greeted Vicky. Max was watching, too, his eyebrow cocked in puzzlement at my antics.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you,” I gushed to Vicky and insisted on shaking her hand, both her hands, with enthusiasm. “I just love watching Channel Five and am thrilled at having you here. Mi casa es su casa.”

  That puzzled her.

  “My store is your store,” I told her.

  Vicky freed herself from my grip, eyeing me with some wonder. “Thank you, Mister Smith. Now if you’ll excuse us, we’ll get back to work.”

  I took Lynn’s arm and hustled her toward the doorway to the back room. We passed the chair where Max was holding Junior, and I held up my hand as though waving at him.

  Max looked at my hand and let out a loud guffaw as we passed through the curtain and escaped into the back room.

  Lynn shook free of my arm as soon as we were through the curtain and glared at me. “Why on earth did you let her get away with that, and what was Max laughing about?”

  I opened my hand and showed her Vicky-the-Line-Producer’s sparkly wristwatch.

  Lynn tried, but she couldn’t help laughing. “Oh, Kid. Okay, this time I forgive you, but you will give it back, won’t you?”

  A young woman with the television crew passed us, carrying a tray with cups of coffee on it. Lynn stopped her and asked her if she knew how long the interview would take. Lynn kept her distracted while I picked up a cup from the tray and slipped the watch around it. When she started to leave I pointed to the cup with the watch.

  Her eyes widened.

  “Make certain Vicky gets this cup first,” I told her and sent her on her way.

  The back room was almost as crowded as the front of the store. A well-dressed Asian woman sat at the table, where two other women worked on her hair and makeup. She was familiar, and I realized I had seen her on television, reporting on local stories. Over by the kitchen counter I saw April Quist sitting on a kitchen stool. She was paging through a notebook, studying it intently.

  Lynn and I went over to her, the only person we knew in our own crowded kitchen.

  “Hi, Lynn,” she said and then added as almost an afterthought, “Hi, Kid.”

  Lynn squeezed my wrist, and I got the message. “If you two will excuse me,” I said, “I’ve got some work to do upstairs.”

  Once upstairs, I wandered from room to room, wondering what it was I had to do up there. Soon I found myself in the room where I had set up the dressmaker’s dummy for practicing. I went over to it and straightened the jacket hanging on it.

  I idly slipped my hand into the pockets, one after the other, picking up a billfold from one, dropping it into another, without really thinking a
bout it. Instead I found myself thinking about all the pockets I’ve picked in my life, all the lives I’d touched. I realized that every pocket I picked was like casting little pebbles into a lake, each with its own set of ripples spreading outward and each ripple disturbing the surface long after the pebble disappeared.

  “I thought I’d find you up here,” Lynn said from the doorway.

  “What did April want?”

  Lynn smiled as she came over and stood next to me. “She was showing me the notes she’s been making about the girls who work at The Poodle. She’s really interested in their stories.”

  My eyebrows went up. “I wonder if Max minds his assistant spending her time on things other than him?”

  “I don’t think Max has to worry about someone spending time on him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Lynn smiled at my naivety. “Kid, haven’t you noticed how much time Candy has been spending here since Max moved in?”

  I shook my head. I had no idea what Candy saw in him, but it reminded me of something else. “Speaking of which, when the heck is Max moving out? Hasn’t Donnie been able to square things with Dom DeMarco yet?”

  Lynn had the grace to look embarrassed. “Well, the fact is, that got taken care of right away. Max made an appearance at a book club Dom’s wife belongs to, and everyone is happy.”

  “When did this happen? Why’s he still here?”

  “The thing is, Kid, Max likes it here, helping out behind the counter, meeting customers. And,” she added, “it’s been good for business, you’ve got to admit.” She had a point. “Come on, Kid.” She tugged on my hand. “The television crew should be wrapping up by now. Let’s go downstairs.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  It was my turn to make supper. Since it was fall, I elected to make a large batch of turkey chili with butternut squash. I prepared it early in the afternoon and tended it while catching up on the bookstore paperwork. The chili simmered on the stove all afternoon and filled the kitchen with its autumnal aroma. My timing was right for once, and both the chili and a pan of cornbread were ready when supper was called.