Pretty City Murder

by Robert E. Dunn

  •••

  Larry braced himself for Lauren’s reaction as he walked up the inside staircase. She usually took her afternoon nap at one o’clock. In the kitchen he debated whether to slather on the contents of a small, yellow and white tube he found in a drawer. A day at the ballpark would require fortification for the main Irish fight, the endless battle against skin cancer.

  Lauren pushed open the kitchen door, and, with her right hand still holding the door, scrunched up her face, licked her finger, and placed it on his lips. “You’re a doll stick. What’s that on your face?”

  “I have two tickets for a one o’clock game. Want to go?”

  “When did you buy these?” she asked, seeing the tickets on the counter next to the Jack Daniels.

  “Today.”

  “I have a hair appointment.” She walked past him and slid into the bench seat.

  He turned and said, “I’m retiring. I have the day off. Would you mind cancelling the appointment?”

  “You’re doing what?”

  She lit a cigarette, giving Larry time to prepare for the face-off.

  “I’m off the MacKenzie case. They all wanted me to go. So, I’m retiring.”

  “That’s a mistake. What are you going to do around the house all day? I don’t want you in my hair.”

  “Please, Lauren, I’m very disappointed, and these tickets will get my mind off things.”

  She puffed once and snuffed the cigarette in the ashtray. “All right.” She looked at the clock. “For Christ sake, we’ve got to go, or we’ll be late, and you know how I hate being late. I’ll be upstairs getting ready. Take the car out and wait for me.”

  Larry backed out the Chevy, jumped onto mowed grass, and waited on her side. She came down the drying steps. The wind was still blowing as he opened her door. Once they were inside, he tried looking in the rear-view mirror, but Lauren was adjusting her flowered scarf.

  “Did you see Mark this morning?”

  “Yes. Did you know he was coming?”

  “I called him last night and told him to go to the funeral.”

  “He brought Joan.”

  “Who else was there?”

  “What?”

  “You need a hearing aid. Keep your eyes on the road. Was Maureen there?”

  “Yes.”

  “I knew she would be.”

  Shortly after one o’clock, under a clear-blue sky, the park erupted over the first pitch.

  After a call in the third inning, Lauren yelled, “Bum call, umpire. Larry, we need another umpire. This one’s blind as a bat.”

  “Like the seats?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Larry took a sip of coke, and Lauren munched on a hot dog smothered in slippery, caramelized onions. The stadium began to empty in the seventh inning, but they stayed to the very end. It wasn’t often that they enjoyed a game together.

  As they headed out of the stadium parking lot, she pulled the scarf over her gray-blonde roots and looked in the mirror again. “How is Father Ralph taking all this?”

  Larry wanted to forget about the case, but Father Ralph was her friend, too. He gripped the steering wheel as they passed Cristo Rey Monastery, but it was too late in the afternoon for Lauren to order him to stop for a consult.

  “He seems to be okay.”

  “Just okay?”

  As the Chevy turned at Forty-Third Avenue and Fulton, Lauren said, “Maureen. What a harmless, little butterfly she is. I see Clare O’Hara at the Franklin Street nail salon, and every time, she’s parked right in front. I don’t know how she manages that.”

  “She has a nice figure.”

  “I bet she was dressed all in black. She knows how to handle every situation. You would have to, to be married to James O’Hara. What’s he got to say for himself? The murder occurred in his hotel. Two-bit joint.”

  Larry laughed for the first time all day.

  “You know, I have a funny feeling that a woman killed Cornelius. Don’t ask me why. I could be wrong. Larry, you should be solving the case. The rest of them are city bureaucrats. You’re better than that. It’s true.”

  Without looking, Larry leaned over to kiss her, but the door slammed shut.

  It was five o’clock. Lauren stood at the sink peeling potatoes. “Maybe, Father Ralph needs a vacation.”

  “Priests don’t take vacations.”

  “Then a retreat. Maybe, I should call him. Funny, me counseling a priest.”

  “You’ve got your own problems,” Larry said.

  She frowned and said, “Is there something I don’t know about you and Father Ralph?”

  Larry smelled pot roast and turned on the radio. Lauren dropped the plate in front of him. He said grace and slurped up the dark gravy. “Aren’t you eating?”

  “No. Shouldn’t he talk to a counselor? I’m worried about Father Ralph. Aren’t you?”

  “Let God take care of Father Ralph.”

  “Like the situation with Mark? Is that what you mean?”

  “If God didn’t correct me, I would doubt He loved me.”

  “Do you love Mark?”

  “Of course.”

  Larry settled into his living room chair and heard the torrent of water running over dishes.

  The water stopped.

  Lauren appeared under the wood beam of the entry hall. A dish towel lay in the bend of her arm, which rested on her hip. “Well, what about Ralph, should I call him?”

  “Do whatever you think is best.”

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on between you and Ralph?”

  “What are you going to say to him?”

  “Nothing about Cornelius. People die. I’m going to talk to him about Joyce Contorado. How can any woman fall in love with a priest? She should be ashamed of herself, a married woman chasing a priest. I wish she were...Poor Ralph.”

  “Don’t bring that up with Ralph.”

  “Sometimes you have your head under water. And call Captain Dempsey!”

  The water onslaught resumed.

  Chapter 12

  Tuesday, July 9

  Larry pushed mush around with a spoon. The hall phone rang.

  “Can you get that, Larry?” Lauren called from upstairs. Her voice reminded him of the umpire’s bad call the day before.

  “Leahy, can you be here at nine?”

  “Yes, of course, Captain.”

  Joe and Hieu didn’t look in Larry’s direction when he entered Dempsey’s office.

  Dempsey did.

  He looks dumb and happy.

  “Inspectors Varton and Trang had their say. They weren’t very pleased with what happened yesterday, but that’s over. You will continue as the second lead in the investigation and work in tandem with Varton and Trang. And Larry, do not deviate from procedure again. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir, absolutely.”

  “Now, Varton, Trang, and Leahy, shake hands and let’s get this done.”

  Hieu made the first move and shook hands with Larry. Varton and Larry reluctantly grabbed each other’s hand.

  Dempsey asked, “What are we going to do now?”

  Hieu said, “Finish this investigation in five days.”

  “Correct. Joe?”

  “We will do it.”

  “Leahy?”

  “Do what Inspector Trang said.”

  They all exchanged face-saving smiles.

  Varton was as broad as a church tower and seemed taller than usual. “Follow orders, Leahy, and we can work out our differences.” He slapped Larry on the back.

  Larry felt the sting.

  That damn Marine ring.

  “Be safe out there, boys,” Dempsey said.

  Varton led the way to his office. Once inside, he looked at Trang and said, “We have four interviews today: James O’Hara at ten o’clock, Gerald Smith at one, Pablo Morales at two, and Bud Fletcher at three. I have more questions for O’Hara.”

  Joe must have muffed the first interview with O’Hara.

&n
bsp; “I’d like to be present during the Morales and Fletcher interviews.”

  “You, Trang?”

  “All four interviews.”

  Hieu’s eyes were on Joe.

  Joe looked at his watch. “O’Hara will be here soon. You stay with me, Hieu.”

  Larry stared out the window of his office. He favored shade and dusk and drew the blinds closed. The clicking of keyboards and the distant hum of conversations began to sap his vitality, but it wasn’t the noise. Varton had poached Hieu. Hieu wasn’t for the taking.

  How do I get Hieu back on my side?

  An hour later, Joe walked in holding a single page. “O’Hara says he was at home on the night of July 4, all night. When I asked about his personal gun, he said it’s a Smith and Wesson 345 and stays at home. An inventory occurs at the end of every month at the Greenwich, and the Security office guns are inventoried at that time. He said both guns were in the Security office at the end of June, so we know whoever took them did so after June 30 and on or before July 4.”

  Larry said, “Maureen Daley substantiates what O’Hara said. She said she was at O’Hara’s home on July 4; he was there all night, and she left at two in the morning.”

  “Maybe, you should go home. Maybe, a trip to Russian River. Maybe, Ireland. Maybe, you should just quit this case and let me and Trang finish it. We will, you know, with or without you. That may come as surprise, but it’s a fact. These folks you’re so in love with are nothing special. Criminals never are. Stick to our agreement.”

  All the air in the room had been sucked out. Larry got up and opened the blinds with such force that the cord broke.

  “Joe, these people you talk about are more than a pocketful of bed bugs, and I doubt if any one of them is a criminal.” He turned and faced Varton.

  “One of them is.”

  “What about Fletcher?”

  “I’ll be asking him if he made that phone call telling you to stay away from the Greenwich, and if he did, why. Smith is due. Want to stay and listen?”

  “No. After the interview we can compare our reactions to Smith, and Joe, I’m sorry for everything.”

  “I know, and you should be.”

  Larry sat down with the cord in his hand and nothing to do but read O’Hara’s statement. A feeling overwhelmed him as he threw the broken cord into the waste paper basket.

  Something is there – O’Hara has charm and charisma, but did it get the better of him?

  •••

  Gerald leaned on one side of the seat and then the other.

  Varton gazed over the desk and said, “Thank you for being on time. Our conversation will be recorded.”

  Gerald watched Varton lift the see-though box and flip a switch.

  He ran both hands through his neatly combed hair and felt the rubber band. Dressed in a floppy-collared, blue and white plaid shirt and the same white sweatshirt he always wore, he had made himself more presentable with dark slacks, the only pair he owned. He looked at his medium-brown shoes that needed polish and felt “as if the dogs was after him.”

  “On Saturday, Mr. Smith, you were interviewed by Inspector Leahy. He said that you left your apartment at four o’clock, got into a rental car, and drove off. Where did you go?”

  “I was plannin’ on goin’ to Topaz Lake. That’s Mr. MacKenzie’s hideaway, but Inspector Leahy bummed me out. So, I drove around for a while, went to the Haight, didn’t see anything there, and drove over to the Greenwich to see if Pepper was on duty.”

  “Fine. You gave a satisfactory answer. Let’s hope the rest of the interview goes that way.”

  “You’re from Waco. Do you have family there?” Hieu asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you miss them?”

  “No. I’ve been asked these questions before.” His fed-up emotions permeated what he said next. “I have a daughter there. She lives with her mother. I’m not allowed to see her. That’s all.”

  “I’m sure that’s quite a disappointment.”

  Why’s Trang asking me this crap?

  Varton interrupted, “What is your relationship with Chase?”

  “She’s a good girl. That’s all.”

  Gerald felt a mood coming on and resisted it. He wanted to go home, get into his sweat pants, and rework the fly. Varton got up, moved around the desk, and sat on its edge.

  Gerald heard Varton’s heavy breathing and smelled pineapple. Something warm instigated a look down at the whale’s tooth dangling outside his sweatshirt. There was a red smudge on the ivory. A drop of blood on his right forefinger covered a small prick caused by the hook of a fly.

  “You said you were outside Room 1212, MacKenzie’s room. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.” Gerald slowly dropped his hand and pressed the drop of blood against his brown slacks.

  “You told Inspector Leahy you were in the hall.”

  “Well, that came later. When I got out of the elevator...”

  “Let’s step back and discuss why you went to MacKenzie’s room that night. You had been fired and went there to borrow some money. MacKenzie loaned you money before, and you just wanted a couple hundred dollars to help pay the rent. Right?”

  “Yes.”

  “O’Hara fired you a couple of days before. It was unfair, and you thought Mr. MacKenzie would understand. You had a good record and should not have been fired for being late three times. MacKenzie was sympathetic.”

  “Yeah. The day I went to the accounting office to pick up my last paycheck, I saw Mr. MacKenzie. He said he was sorry I got fired and that if I ever needed help, just ask.” The last word betrayed his drawl.

  “Where did you see Mr. MacKenzie?” Hieu asked.

  “The hall.”

  “On the first floor or the twelfth floor?”

  “I saw him on the second floor outside the accounting office, next to O’Hara’s. I wanted to have it out with O’Hara, but Cornelius was leaving O’Hara’s office. We talked. Then I took the elevator back to the first floor.”

  “What time was that?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  Varton said, “You thought about MacKenzie’s offer and returned the night of July 4, which is why you were on the twelfth floor. Correct?”

  “That’s all I wanted to do. Borrow a couple hundred dollars.”

  Varton stood up and walked to Gerald’s chair. He stood behind it, out of Gerald’s view, and said, “Had you ever been on the twelfth floor before?”

  “Yeah. I went up there sometimes when me and Mr. MacKenzie left for the lake.”

  Varton’s phone rang. “Yes, I see.” He put the cell phone back in his pocket, “Inspector Trang, Leahy has some information about this case. Talk to him.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  God, what’s that all about?

  Gerald sat back and ran his hands through his hair. Both hands brushed up against Varton. The rubber band exacerbated the pain of the cut, and blank walls offered no relief. As Hieu got up, Gerald looked at him and valiantly said, “I can tell you’re a swell guy.”

  Without warning, Varton had stepped out in front of Gerald and lowered his head, his face in Gerald’s face. “I think you went into his room, MacKenzie said no, and you killed him.”

  Gerald backed up his chair, which would have tipped over, but Varton righted it with his left hand, and the pineapple smell swelled. Gerald grabbed the whale’s tooth, the only gift his father had ever given him, and stuffed it and the black leather strap under his sweat shirt. He pictured his old man doing what Varton was doing and with the same pleasure in making others squirm.

  “You were trespassing when you entered the hotel the night of July 4.”

  Hieu stood still.

  “Trang, go see Leahy.”

  Hieu closed the door quietly.

  “You had been fired. You snuck up to his room, knocked on his door, MacKenzie let you in, you asked for money, he said no, and you killed him.”

  “No. I didn’t enter his room. I’m telling you, wh
en I got to his door, I heard someone in the hall and ran to the stairs, walked down a few steps, and...”

  “There’s one flaw in your story.” Without changing the angle of his face, Varton staked a position between Gerald and the desk and placed a hand on Gerald’s right wrist. Varton had his foot up against Gerald’s. Gerald thought he was about to be manacled.

  Varton’s hand and foot left him feeling immobilized, and he worried about what he had done. Escorted out of the hotel on his last day as an employee, he had ignored the consequences of returning. Now it was looking serious.

  “Let’s go back to your past. I checked your record. You had a child support warrant issued three months ago. I called the Waco sheriff’s office. The warrant was cancelled because the amount owed was paid, and it was paid on the fifth,” Varton yelled, “one day after the murder.”

  Gerald said nothing.

  “Where did you get the money? Inspector Trang and Inspector Leahy are discussing plans to subpoena your bank account.”

  Guilt was pointing at him. He felt like a bug under foot, and he thought about what the Texas judge had said, “You are not to see your daughter except in the company of her mother,” and the voice of a Texas Ranger ringing in his ear, “Vamos.” It was the last time he saw her. The urge to get drunk made him shiver. He wanted Leahy in the room but couldn’t think why. Anyone but Varton.

  “I got paid. I just told you. I used that to pay the child support.”

  “But you had rent due, didn’t you? Well?”

  “I asked Cornelius’ help paying the rent.”

  “Then you still owe rent. I’ll be talking to your landlord. Now, back to the night in question. You would have been seen by the person you heard in the hall. MacKenzie’s room is at the end of the hall. There is no other way to get to the stairs or the elevators without being seen. I think your story is false...every word of it.”

  Gerald looked down at the floor. Should he tell the truth or lie? The room seemed to cave in around him. “All right, I did enter his room, but he was already dead.”

  I should apologize for being there.

  “Because you killed him!”