No Joke

by Bill Noel

  “Sure you’ve got this?” Neil asked as he waved at his empty plate.

  “Yes.”

  “Thanks, you’re a pal.” He headed to the exit.

  Yeah, a pal who’s trying to pin a murder on you.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  On the walk home, I reviewed my talk with Neil, leaving out anything about pro basketball. I hadn’t learned much. He confirmed what I already knew about Michael Hardin. I’d learned that Neil had been fired and was desperate for a job, although the termination occurred after Michael was murdered so that, alone, couldn’t have precipitated the killing. To listen to him, you’d think he and Michael were good buddies. Neil liked the bookie, and owing him a little money was no big deal. I figured none of that was true. Had I expected him to admit being so desperate that he’d killed Michael? If Barb was right that the thefts at Theo’s were separate from the murder, Neil was my prime suspect.

  I started thinking about what I knew about Janice Raque, the other suspect, when the phone rang.

  Theo’s name was on the screen. “Hi, Theo, what’s up?”

  “This is Sal, his brother. Is this Chris?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Is Theo okay?”

  “Can you come to his house? Like now.”

  I heard noises in the background and repeated, “Is he okay?”

  “Umm, sort of. Are you coming?”

  Sal either didn’t want to or was unable to tell me what was going on. “Yes.”

  I pulled in front of Theo’s a couple of minutes later. I was relieved to see there were no ambulances, fire trucks, or police cars surrounding it. On the other hand, Chief LaMond’s vehicle was in the drive.

  Sal greeted me with, “Thank God, you’re here.”

  I saw Pete on the couch with a drink in his hand and staring out the window at the Folly River. “What’s going on?”

  He pointed at the steps to the second floor. He didn’t say anything, so I hoped he meant that I should go upstairs. A wide, center hall divided the second-floor rooms. This was the first time I’d been upstairs, and it was apparent that it had been decorated by the same professional who did the first floor. The wall covering had a muted floral pattern that was complimented by a patterned fabric on the two upholstered chairs on one side of the hall. Three original oils depicting serene Lowcountry scenes were on the opposite wall. They were the only serene things I found. One of the chairs was occupied by Theo, the other held Cindy LaMond.

  I faced the chief, who was tapping her foot on the floor. She looked up and shrugged. Theo was twisting the sleeve of his T-shirt like he was wringing water out of it.

  Cindy said, “What’re you doing here?”

  “Sal called and asked me to come.”

  She exhaled. “Okay, stay out of the way.”

  “Out of the way of what?”

  Cindy pointed to a closed bedroom door, in a low voice said, “We have a bit of a problem.”

  Theo let go of his sleeve and said, “Thanks for coming. Sal said you were the one friend he knew I had. He thought I needed someone with me. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

  I nodded at Theo then turned to Cindy. “Problem?”

  She stared at the closed door. “I stopped by to ask Wallace some questions.” She hesitated and patted Theo on the knee. “He told me that Wallace, Sal, and Pete were in the kitchen and asked me to follow him. We got to the kitchen, where things went sideways.”

  Theo made an audible groan and put his head down between his hands.

  “What happened?”

  “The funny guys were standing around the island drinking beer. Sal saw me with Theo, smiled and said, ‘Umm, correct me if I get it wrong, Theo. ‘Three seniors were out for a stroll. One of them said, ‘It’s windy.’ Another one said, ‘No way. It’s Thursday.’ The last one says, ‘Me too. Let’s have a beer.’ I thought I was there to ask Wallace questions, not to be the audience at a comedy show. Sal slapped his knee, and Pete laughed at the joke. Wallace shot out of the room like a chicken with its tail feathers on fire.”

  Theo groaned again.

  “Then?” I said.

  “Wallace took off up the steps, went in his room, and slammed the door. Theo and I followed and asked him to come out. I told him I had a couple of routine questions. I emphasized routine. As you can see, he hasn’t taken kindly to my request.”

  I turned toward Theo. “Does he have any weapons?”

  “Been down that road,” Cindy responded before Theo could. “He doesn’t, well, not that Theo knows about. Sal followed us up and said that Wallace could stab us with his rapier wit. I didn’t need more jokes and sent him downstairs.”

  “How long’s he been holed up in there?”

  Cindy looked at the door. “Half hour, tops.”

  I said, “Plan?”

  “I don’t want to go all SWAT on him. The door’s got one of those little holes in the knob. I could get in with this.” She held up a three-inch-long, thin wire that unlocks many interior residential doors. “Wouldn’t have to kick it in. I called Officer Spencer and asked him to come in silently to join us. He should be here any minute. Before you came up, I told Wallace that I’d give him a few minutes to think. I’d be waiting out here.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “Something about hell freezing over.” She glared at the door. “I’m not waiting that long.”

  I said, “Think he’s a danger to himself?”

  “We can hear movement in the room and he mumbles something every once in a while, so he’s going strong.”

  I heard the front door open and Sal talking to someone. Seconds later, I heard the heavy footsteps of Allen Spencer as he bounded up the stairs. He looked around, and Cindy gave him a thirty-second recap of the situation. I had always been impressed how calm Cindy became when faced with tricky situations. This would qualify.

  Cindy leaned close to Theo and said, “Theo, this is your house. Do I have permission to search Wallace’s bedroom once we finagle him out?”

  “Oh,” Theo said, like he’d returned from being zoned out. “Umm, sure, whatever you need, Chief.”

  Cindy stood and moved to the side of Wallace’s door. “Wallace, this is Chief LaMond. I’ve got a couple of easy questions I’d like to ask you. How about you open the door and come on out? I’ll ask my questions and be on my way.”

  The only sounds I heard were Sal and Pete talking downstairs.

  Cindy tapped on the door. “Wallace, tell you what. Theo will go downstairs and get you something to drink while I’ll come in and ask my questions. How’s that sound?” She pointed at the stairs and Theo headed down.

  Cindy closed her eyes and shook her head.

  Allen moved to the other side of the door and rested his hand on his handgun.

  Cindy started to insert the wire in the door knob, when the door swung open. Cindy jumped, and Allen started to pull his gun when Wallace stuck his head out the door. “Here for my next show?”

  “Wallace,” she said, “how about you and I move over to those chairs so I can get my questions out of the way?”

  He was dressed in black. For the first time, I noticed that he was the same height as Cindy, although she outweighed him by thirty pounds. She appeared comfortable with that advantage in case he didn’t cooperate.

  Wallace smiled, said, “Why not?” then sat in one of the chairs.

  “Officer Spencer,” Cindy said as she took the other seat, “why don’t you look around Wallace’s bedroom while he and I talk?”

  Wallace jumped up and pointed to his room. “You can’t do that. You need a search warrant.”

  Cindy held her hand in front of him. “That’s okay, Wallace. It’s Theo’s house. He said we could look. Have a seat, and let me ask you something.”

  Officer Spencer went in the room, Wallace returned to his seat, and I moved to the corner of the hall.

  Cindy smiled and leaned toward Wallace. “I was wondering why you ran when you saw me stopping by to visit my friend Theo.”


  She said it like two friends having a conversation rather than an interrogation.

  “I’ve been a little jittery. I’ve also had a couple of bad experiences with police over the years.”

  Cindy nodded and smiled. “That explains it. You don’t have to be afraid of me.” Her smile widened. “Someone said you’d been generous, bought your friends their new stage clothes. I must say, from what I’ve heard from people who were at your performance at Cal’s, you all looked professional.”

  Wallace smiled. “Thank you.”

  Cindy chuckled. “I even heard you bought the drinks that night. That was nice of you.”

  Wallace leaned back in the chair, his shoulders relaxed, and he nodded.

  Cindy leaned closer to him. “Somebody told me that it’d been some time since you’d received a lot of the money that you’d been owed by promoters or royalty checks. That’s irritating, isn’t it?”

  He tilted his head and eyes narrowed. “Sure is.”

  “So, I was wondering about something. You can help me figure it out. Where’d you get the money for the clothes and drinks?”

  It wasn’t the best timing, but Theo returned and handed Wallace a canned Coke.

  Wallace took a sip without taking his eyes off the chief.

  “Chief LaMond, why am I getting the idea you didn’t show up to visit your good friend Theo? Are you accusing me of something?”

  “No, I’m trying—”

  Wallace interrupted. “I already confessed that I killed that guy on the beach. You’d looked at me like I was an organ grinder’s monkey. You didn’t bother to arrest me.” He leaned down, slammed the Coke can on the floor, and stood.

  Cindy put out her hand. “Calm down, Wallace. I’d rather clear up these questions here. If you’d rather, we could go over to City Hall.”

  He looked toward the stairs and returned to the chair. His fists were clenched. If Cindy wasn’t larger, I was afraid he was going to pounce on her.

  “The money,” he said and repeated, “the money. Oh, yeah, I got a cash advance when I used Theo’s credit card at the grocery.” He turned to Theo. “Sorry, I should’ve told you.”

  Officer Spencer cleared his throat. He was standing in the doorway to Wallace’s room and holding an orange and red credit card. “Chief, could I borrow you a moment?”

  She looked at her officer then said to Wallace, “Give me a minute. Chris, why don’t you talk with Wallace until I get back?”

  I translated is as, “Don’t let Wallace bolt.” I asked if he wanted anything to eat.

  He said no and looked toward his room. “Chris, those cops need twice as much sense to be half-wits.”

  I was glad he hadn’t shared that statement, joke, or whatever it was with Cindy, or he may’ve found himself getting an ant’s eye view of the polished wood floor.

  Cindy, followed by Allen Spencer, returned to the hall. She sat, scooted closer to Wallace, and waved the MasterCard in front of the comedian. “Wallace, please explain this.”

  Wallace looked at the card and shook his head. “Never seen it before.”

  “You sure?”

  “That’s what I said. Where’d you get it?”

  “Officer Spencer found it under your mattress.”

  “Must’ve been there forever. Is it Theo’s?”

  “It appears to belong to Michael S. Hardin. That name familiar?”

  Wallace stared at the card, looked at the floor, then back at Cindy. “How could I forget? That’s the guy I told you I killed.” He closed his eyes and whispered, “I did it, I knew I did.” He shook his head. “Where did I get the candlestick?”

  “Wallace,” I said, “how do you know you killed him?”

  “Oh, umm. I was told I did. I think it was in a dream, or one of the guys told me. I remember standing over him. He was dead.”

  I asked. “What guy told you?”

  “Pete,” he hesitated, “or could’ve been Sal.” He snapped his fingers. “No, it was Ray.”

  Cindy held her hand in Wallace’s face. “Before you say anything else, I’m going to have Officer Spencer read you your rights.”

  Allen Spencer Mirandized Wallace.

  The comic slumped in the chair and came close to slipping out of it.

  Cindy then told Spencer to take Wallace to the jail in Charleston.

  Allen asked what he should charge him with, and Cindy said the murder of Michael Hardin. Allen took hold of Wallace’s elbow as he escorted him to the steps.

  Wallace stopped and turned to Theo. “I never saw that card. Honest to God.”

  Theo moved to the chair that Wallace had vacated and looked at Cindy. “I think there’s something wrong with him—something wrong with his head.”

  Cindy reached out to touch Theo’s leg. “Theo, that’s for someone else to determine. My job is to haul the fish in; someone else has to weigh them.”

  I said, “Did Allen Spencer find anything else that would implicate Wallace?”

  “Isn’t the dead guys MasterCard enough?”

  I shrugged.

  “Chris, don’t tell me you don’t think he did it. He was broke, yet came into money to buy clothes and pay a hefty bar tab. He parked the dead guy’s credit card under his bed and, oh, yeah, there’s one other little pesky detail, he confessed.”

  “Cindy, he confessed to killing someone in the library with a candlestick. He seemed surprised when you sprung the credit card on him.”

  Cindy looked at her hand and at me. “Surprised because we found it, not that he didn’t know it was there. Where did he get the money?”

  I turned to Theo. “Why don’t you tell her about the missing cash?”

  Cindy turned to Theo so quickly that she could’ve sprained her neck. “Missing cash?”

  Theo’s face turned a dull shade of red. He told her about the missing money and the disappearing and reappearing silver frog.

  Cindy started to take notes, but her pen didn’t touch the notebook. Instead, she pointed the writing instrument at Theo. “You didn’t think the heist was important enough to tell the cops?”

  “Chief, I’m sorry. It had to be one of my houseguests, one of my brother’s friends. I didn’t want any of them to get in trouble.”

  I also thought it could have been his brother but didn’t think it needed to be said.

  Cindy mumbled, more to herself than to us, “The clothes and bar tab could have come from that money and not Michael Hardin.” She sat straight in the chair and looked at Theo. “Any other crimes you didn’t think I needed to know about?”

  Theo said, “No, Chief. Again, I’m sorry.”

  “If you’ll excuse me. I’ve got to get to the jail and try to make some sense out of this mess. Maybe Wallace will confess to killing JFK so we can clear up that conspiracy.”

  Theo’s guests weren’t the only comedians in the house.

  Cindy left.

  Sal and Pete were waiting for Theo and me at the bottom of the stairs. They were talking over top each other. Their basic question was, What’s going on?

  We moved to the great room, where Theo and I tag teamed them with an explanation.

  Sal said, “He needs to be in the psych ward instead of jail. He’s been losing it, more and more each day.”

  “Sal,” I said, “weren’t you suspicious when he bought you the new clothes? Did he tell you where he got the money?”

  “No. I figured—don’t know what I figured.”

  Pete added, “Theo, Wallace told me that you gave him the money. He could’ve been lying. The bookie probably had a bundle on him and, if Wallace killed him, he would’ve taken the cash and the credit card. Poor Wallace’s been so confused, poor man. What can we do for him?”

  Theo said, “He needs a lawyer. I’ll call the one I use for estate planning. He’ll be able to recommend a good defense attorney.”

  “He can’t afford it,” Pete said.

  Theo replied, “I’ll take care of it.”

  Pete shook his he
ad. “That isn’t fair to you. Won’t a good lawyer cost a bundle?”

  “Yes,” Theo said. “If there’s a chance that he’s innocent, he’ll need all the help he can get.”

  “What can we do?” Sal asked.

  Theo said, “Damned if I know.”

  I couldn’t have said it better.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “Charles, I’ve got a story for you,” I said on the phone before I pulled out of Theo’s drive. “Where are you?”

  My friend had trained me well. I knew the sooner I shared what happened with him the better. And, if by some strange circumstance he heard it from someone else, I’d never hear the end of it. He was in front of the Baptist Church and walking on his way to nowhere; said he was tired of being cooped up in his apartment, feeling sorry about his miserable life. That was more information than I wanted and suggested that I meet him in the Folly River Park, across the street from the church, and a couple of blocks from Theo’s house.

  The park was small, but popular, as it was within easy walking distance of the main business district. It was the home to art shows hosted by the Folly Beach Arts and Crafts Guild in warmer months, and Christmas decorations during the holiday season. Its pavilion was the site of musical performances throughout the year. It occasionally provided a shady spot for Charles and me to hang out.

  I parked and saw my friend sitting at one of the picnic tables. He was leaned back on the table and looked like he may have slept under it. His Tilley was tilted sideways on his head, his hair was sneaking out from under the hat, his tennis shoes were untied, and his orange Tennessee Volunteers long-sleeve T-shirt had a rip on the sleeve.

  “Been wrestling a bear?” I asked as I sat beside him on the bench.

  “Funny,” he said without a glimmer of cheer. “What’s so important to interrupt my mindless, boring, depressing walk to nowhere?”

  My first thought was if I should have waited another day to tell him about my trip to Theo’s. I also figured that what I had to share could bring him out of his funk, at least momentarily. I started with the call from Sal and shared the highlights of my visit ending with Wallace being hauled off to jail and the conversation I had with Theo, Sal, and Pete.