Death by Jury (Alo Nudger Series Book 9)

by John Lutz

  “You leave Vella alone,” the voice rumbled. “Stay away from her. You stay away from everything and everyone’s got anything to do with her.”

  Nudger was paralyzed with a combination of fear and surprise. His stomach was pulsating and made a noise he’d heard before that sounded like Rrrruuuuunnnn! It already knew what his fear-numbed brain couldn’t process.

  But Nudger couldn’t run. Wouldn’t have had time, anyway.

  The smell of bourbon grew stronger and the man seemed to grow even larger as he approached. One of the massive hands became a massive fist.

  It struck Nudger’s chest like a truck.

  Massive pain.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Someone or something was gently prodding his shoulder.

  Sunlight lanced painfully beneath Nudger’s eyelids, and he heard Claudia’s voice say, “He can’t fight, he doesn’t like guns, so why is he in this line of work?”

  “Why do I sell doughnuts?” Danny’s voice. Nudger thought it was a pretty good question. “It’s all we know, I guess.” Ah, the answer.

  Nudger heard himself groan.

  Conversation ceased.

  Memory flooded in. He moved his fingertips and felt carpet nap. He must be lying on his back on his living room floor, where his giant assailant of last night had left him. Vella’s lover. Or so the big man had implied.

  Nudger opened his eyes and the sunlight splashed into them like acid.

  “Are you all right, Nudger?” Claudia asked in a concerned voice.

  “Sure. I always hurl myself against a few hard objects then sleep on the floor. Is the place on fire, or is it morning?”

  “Morning,” Danny said. “Almost ten o’clock.”

  “Am I having a soiree?”

  “Not unless that’s some kind of fit that would leave you hurt and unconscious. What happened is, I wanted to talk to you about Ray, but you weren’t in your office. So I phoned about nine o’clock and you didn’t answer your phone. I hung the CLOSED sign in the shop window, drove over here, and saw your car. Your apartment door was unlocked, and I opened it a crack and saw you on the floor. Naturally, I came on in.”

  “And?”

  “And tried to bring you around but couldn’t.”

  “He phoned me then,” Claudia said.

  “Why aren’t you in school?” Nudger asked.

  “That’s where I phoned her at, Nudge,” Danny said. “I knew she was teaching summer classes out at Stowe School.”

  “I got Biff to take over my remedial English class and drove here right away,” Claudia said.

  Nudger groaned again. Biff was Biff Archway, girls soccer team coach and sex education teacher at Stowe High School. He was in love with Claudia, Nudger was sure. Sometimes Nudger suspected that Claudia loved Biff back. Nudger hated Biff.

  He tried to sit up, and Claudia and Danny helped him so that he was leaning with his back against the wall, his numbed legs stretched out in front of him with only a slight bend at the knees. His chest felt as if it were caved in. He fumbled with the buttons on his shirt and looked down. A nasty multicolored bruise the size of a dinner plate was glowing there.

  “Wow!” Danny said. “I thought it was only your head.”

  Nudger averted his eyes from the bruise where the big man had punched him. It was the only blow he remembered being struck. “My head? What about my head?”

  “You’ve got scrapes and bruises on your face, Nudger,” Claudia said. She touched his cheek gently with the tips of her fingers. “And your nose has been bleeding, but it stopped.”

  “Looks like you been in a hockey game,” Danny observed. “What happened?”

  “I got home last night and a shaved gorilla was waiting for me. He told me I should stay away from Vella. Then he slammed me in the chest to make his point, and that’s all I can recall. He must have worked me over some more when I was unconscious.”

  “Vella who?” Claudia asked, an edge of suspicion in her voice.

  “I was trying to find out about her,” Nudger said. “Seems she and Roger Dupont had a thing going.”

  “Then why didn’t the big man beat up Roger Dupont?”

  Nudger shrugged. “Unavailable, I guess.”

  “This reminds me of Farewell, My Lovely,” Claudia said.

  “Huh?”

  “It’s a famous novel by Raymond Chandler. My English class did a report on it last year. A giant ex-con named Moose Malloy hires Marlowe to find his old love, Velma.”

  Nudger didn’t ordinarily read detective novels and had never heard of Moose Malloy or Velma. He’d heard of Chandler, though. If Nudger wasn’t mistaken, Chandler had also written that famous detective novel about the falcon. Or maybe he was the one who’d written about a detective known as The Falcon.

  Nudger was a detective and had never felt like a falcon.

  “I think I read a book by Chandler once,” Nudger said. “There was this one great line, something like—‘She had a body that could make a man kick a hole in the wall.’ ”

  “I don’t think you’ve got the quote exactly right,” said Claudia.

  “Probably not. I’m not at my best.”

  He tried to stand up. His head exploded. Felt like it, anyway.

  Claudia helped to support him as he sagged against the wall. “I’ve gotta get to court,” he said.

  “No,” she told him. “You’re going to the Emergency Room at St. Mary’s Hospital.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Better listen to her, Nudge. That bruise looks bad. So does your face.”

  “I’ll go to see Dr. Fell,” Nudger said. Dr. Fell was a general practitioner with an office near Nudger’s in Maplewood. Nudger’s personal physician, when he needed one.

  “Dr. Fell will tell you what you want to hear right up until the minute you die,” Claudia said. She did not like Dr. Fell. She had never been able to tell Nudger why.

  “No hospital,” Nudger said. “Dr. Fell or nothing.”

  “Little to choose between them,” Claudia said, “but come on. I’ll drive you to Dr. Fell in my car. Danny’s got to get back to the doughnut shop.”

  “She’s right, Nudge,” Danny said apologetically. “If I don’t bake some fresh Dunker Delites before the lunch crowd comes in, I’ll have to microwave some from yesterday.”

  Nudger looked at him in disbelief but said nothing. The term “fresh Dunker Delite” was an oxymoron. The missile-like confections seemed to pop out of the oven weighty and stale.

  “About Ray . . .” Danny said.

  “What about him?” The last person Nudger wanted to think about was Ray, who surely was a blight on every life that had intersected his own.

  “He went into work this morning at Shag’s. Got there right on time, too, he said. But he hurt his back and went home.”

  Nudger squinted at his wrist watch. “It’s only ten o’clock. He didn’t last very long.”

  “That German woman doesn’t believe Ray’s back’s really hurt so bad he can’t hoist a bun and beef patty, and she’s threatened to fire him.”

  “Ray should appreciate that.”

  “No, no. You don’t understand. Getting fired for deliberate nonperformance—which she might somehow be able to prove—doesn’t fit into Ray’s plans. If that happens, he’ll be turned down when he applies to collect his unemployment checks.”

  Nudger almost smiled. He had to admire Heidran’s guile. She had Ray where she wanted him now, by the wallet. She was something like Eileen only with character.

  “Maybe he should go back to Shag’s,” Nudger said. “It might be smart if he begged forgiveness and offered to mop the floor.”

  “No, that’s not in Ray’s plans, either.”

  “Big surprise.”

  “He wants you to talk to the German woman so he don’t have to go back there. He wants her to make it like he was never hired.”

  Nudger stood up straight and remained standing even though his headache flared and each breath
hurt his bruised chest. He’d taken a punch to the heart powerful enough to knock out a heavyweight contender. Maybe Claudia was right about skipping court today and going easy on himself.

  “Will you talk to the German woman, Nudge?”

  “No,” Nudger said. “Who does Ray think I am, Jimmy Carter? He should be the one to talk to her.”

  “Nudger,” Claudia said. “It can’t hurt for you to talk to this person.”

  He stared at her in anger and disbelief. She had betrayed him.

  “It’s something you might be able to do today that won’t be a strain on you, and I can go with you.”

  “I have other ideas,” Nudger said.

  “He’ll talk to the woman at Shag’s,” she assured Danny. “If he feels well enough.”

  Danny smiled like a grateful bloodhound. “Thanks a lot, Nudge.” And he loped out the door, headed for his Dunker Delites.

  Nudger tucked in his shirt and tried to rearrange his wrinkled clothes so they’d be passable. His shirt looked okay, but his pants were creased and twisted in some way that made him appear to be standing in a strong wind. Oh, well. He located his sunglasses and put them on. That should help his headache some.

  Then he sighed in resignation. “Okay, let’s go see Dr. Fell.” He really didn’t think it was a bad idea. He was definitely feeling punk.

  “Don’t we have to phone for an appointment?”

  “No. You don’t need an appointment to see Dr. Fell. He’s a humanitarian. ”

  “But you do have to pay for his services.”

  “Yes,” Nudger said. “In cash, before he’ll see you.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Dr. Fell’s office was down the street from Nudger’s, above a hardware store across from the Kmart that had closed when the new one several blocks east on Manchester had opened for business.

  Nudger sat next to Claudia in a plastic chair in Dr. Fell’s small waiting room. It was one of a row of plastic chairs, different colors but all attached together in some way. In the center of the room was a low wooden table on which sat a large glass ashtray and some old copies of Reader’s Digest and Practical Science. There were no other patients waiting.

  Claudia had obeyed a sign instructing patients to press a button, and the buzzer that alerted Dr. Fell had rasped in the inner office. Nothing to do now but wait.

  In the waiting room.

  Silence. Except for occasional sounds of traffic from outside on Manchester.

  “It’s been years since I’ve been in a doctor’s waiting room where there was an ashtray,” Claudia said in a hushed tone, as if they were in a church that might echo her words and disturb the devout.

  Nudger absently touched his bruised chest with his forefinger and winced with pain. “Dr. Fell isn’t a moralist.”

  “Smoking’s not a moral issue, it’s about health. And that’s what a doctor’s supposed to be about.”

  “Don’t bother me with logic,” Nudger said. “I’m hurt.”

  “You should be at St. Mary’s. It’s hot in here. This place should be air-conditioned. I’m surprised Dr. Fell doesn’t have to treat all his patients for heat prostration.”

  Nudger agreed with her there. He was perspiring heavily, and he could feel body heat emanating from Claudia, who was sitting practically on top of him because of the closeness of the tiny, attached plastic chairs.

  The door to the inner office opened and a small, bearded man with a limp emerged, followed by Dr. Fell. The bearded man’s face was pale and his eyes had an odd yellow cast to them. In his hand was clutched a white prescription slip.

  Dr. Fell was a lean, dark-haired man who seemed bent inward at the middle so that he always stood with a forward lean. He had very dark eyes, a very white smile, and was of some foreign extraction that Nudger had never placed. “Rub that on your chest,” he said to the small, bearded man in his peculiar accent, “and you should feel better by tomorrow.”

  The bearded man nodded weakly and limped from the office. Dr. Fell, who was always smiling, smiled wider. “Ah, Mr. Nudger. Please come in and tell me what is the problem.”

  Claudia helped Nudger stand up. “Should I go in with you?” she asked.

  “Not necessary,” Nudger said. “I’m in good hands.”

  Claudia rolled her eyes, then wiped perspiration from them with her knuckles and sat back down. She was resignedly picking up Practical Science as Nudger followed Dr. Fell into his office.

  No sooner had Nudger paid the standard office-visit fee and removed his shirt than Dr. Fell spotted the problem.

  “Ah, what have you been doing, Mr. Nudger?”

  “It’s what’s been done to me, Dr. Fell.”

  “Your work. You are in a dangerous occupation, Mr. Nudger. Last night on Barnaby Jones—”

  “Those are reruns,” Nudger interrupted. “It’s not like that anymore.”

  “But it was for you recently,” Dr. Fell said, touching Nudger’s colorfully damaged chest. “Did someone run into you with a car?”

  “Something like that.”

  Dr. Fell moved his hands around Nudger’s torso, not without some expertise. “Does this hurt, Mr. Nudger? This? This?”

  “Yeow!”

  Dr. Fell moved back and stood with his fingers touching his chin, studying Nudger. “You are putting on weight, Mr. Nudger.”

  “It’s my age, I guess. I have a headache, too.”

  Dr. Fell stepped forward and used his fingertips to apply pressure to Nudger’s temples, then he used an instrument with a bright light on it to peer into Nudger’s eyes.

  “There is no sign of concussion,” he said. “The bruises and abrasions on your face are consistent with those of a man who’s been in a fist fight. Yet your knuckles are unblemished.”

  “You should be the detective, Dr. Fell.”

  “And you should be in some other occupation, it appears.” Dr. Fell turned to a table with bottles and instruments on it, then swabbed Nudger’s face wounds with something that stung. “You are fortunate you don’t require stitches, Mr. Nudger.” He dropped his cotton swab into a wastebasket. “Does your chest hurt when you breathe?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “You have a badly bruised sternum. What it needs is to be given a chance to heal. I will wrap it to give you some support and to protect it somewhat, and it shouldn’t hurt so much when you breathe or when it is touched, but it needs time. You should go home and rest.”

  “I’d better not do that, Dr. Fell.”

  “Well, you had better rest, but I know you will not. I’m going to write you a prescription for pain pills and for a salve that will facilitate the healing of your massive chest bruise. You will be able to function, but please heed my advice and be careful. Infection could be a serious matter.”

  Dr. Fell wrapped Nudger’s torso with a flesh-colored Ace elastic bandage, and Nudger stood up and put his shirt back on.

  “Your clothes look as if you’ve slept in them,” Dr. Fell said.

  “I did.”

  “Ah, you must lead an exciting life. Like Jessica Fletcher in Murder, She Wrote.”

  Did the man do nothing in his spare time but watch television? “Exciting,” Nudger said, “but all those celebrities can be a trial.”

  Dr. Fell wrote out the prescriptions for Nudger and handed them to him, then he walked ahead of Nudger and held open the door to the waiting room.

  “Rub that on your chest, Mr. Nudger,” he said with a smile, as Nudger edged past him, “and you should feel better by tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Fell. I feel better already.”

  Claudia said nothing as she went with Nudger downstairs and through the hardware store. She was sweating profusely and he could see that she was aggravated.

  When they were out on the sidewalk, where it was even hotter, she said, “I don’t understand what Practical Science is doing in that waiting room.”

  “Drive me back to my place,” Nudger said, “so I can pick up my car.”

  “Yo
u’re going back to your apartment and lie down,” Claudia said.

  “I can’t. Life and death hang in the balance.”

  “Don’t go all Laurence Olivier on me, Nudger. Where did you think you were going?”

  “Down on Cherokee Street, then maybe out to St. Charles.”

  “You’re not.”

  “I am.”

  She stared at him. “Why?”

  “Those are the locations of a lot of antique shops. Collectors’ paradise. I need to find out if any of the shops bought antiques from Vella Kling. If they did, the owners might be able to tell me something about her.”

  Claudia continued to stare at him.

  “Want to go with me?” he asked.

  “You are stupidly machismo and adhere to an antiquated and self-destructive male code that is someday going to get you killed and if it happens I won’t care.”

  He knew she was certainly angry when she talked like that, without commas. They both knew he was no hero. “It’s more that I’m curious,” he said honestly. And it was his job, though he didn’t tell her that. He was persistent in his work. If he wasn’t persistent, what was he?

  Simply scared. That was all.

  “I could use your help,” he said. “Coming with me?”

  But he knew she was.

  “We’ll take my car,” she said through clenched teeth. “Its air conditioner works better than yours.”

  He was sure she let him stand for longer than was necessary out in the heat before she leaned over and unlocked the passenger-side door.

  Nudger scrunched himself down in the tiny car’s miniature seat and buckled his safety belt. “Let’s stop off first thing at a pharmacy and get my prescriptions filled,” he suggested.

  Figuring, there, that should mollify her.

  “Practical Science . . .” she muttered unbelievingly, as she zoomed the little car away from the curb so abruptly it caused Nudger’s aching cranium to bounce off the headrest.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  After the first in the lineup of antique shops on Cherokee, Nudger and Claudia realized the dimensions of their job and decided to question shop owners or clerks separately. Claudia took the north side of the street, Nudger the south.