Death by Jury (Alo Nudger Series Book 9)

by John Lutz

  Claudia smiled and pointed at Nudger. She still had the knife in her hand, which made the gesture more dramatic. “He had a witness. Hannah Duskovic, from the Helping Hand domestic temp agency. She’d helped Karen with the housecleaning a couple of months before her disappearance.”

  “So?”

  “Well, remember Dupont’s claim that Karen used the furnace as an incinerator? This Duskovic woman confirmed it was true.”

  Nudger shifted in his chair. Dupont telling the truth? It was as unlikely, as unsettling, as Fleck mounting an able defense. “But the police found earrings in the furnace. And a pair of panties.”

  “Well, why not? Once your underwear turns grayish and starts rolling over at the waistband, you have to get rid of it some way. Right?”

  “Sure,” Nudger said uneasily.

  “So why not burn it?”

  Nudger wondered if there was a personal message here. His underwear was mostly gray and sagging. He got up and poured himself another glass of wine from the bottle of Gallo on the sideboard. Hannah Duskovic. The Helping Hand Agency. Must have been a lot of work to track her down. This wasn’t Fleck’s legal acumen, Nudger thought, it was Fleck’s investigator making him look good. Problem was, that investigator wasn’t Nudger.

  Who had gotten this stuff for Fleck?

  He leaned against the fridge next to Claudia. Close enough to smell the aroma of garlic and olive oil. “Okay, so there goes the evidence that he burned her body. But there’s still the evidence that he buried her.”

  “You mean the muddy shovel?” She tossed her head. Her thick dark hair bounced and settled becomingly.

  “Fleck explained that, too?” Nudger asked.

  “He had another witness,” Claudia said. “I can’t remember the name, but he’s a farmer from Sedalia. He was driving his tractor down the road when he passed Roger’s Infiniti, and—”

  “And Roger was digging the drive wheel out of the mud,” finished Nudger. “Just like he said all along.” He took a sip of his wine. “Well, all right. That still doesn’t explain how one of Karen’s hairs got stuck in the mud on the shovel, but I guess things are looking better.”

  Claudia shook dried basil, fresh parsley, and black pepper into the skillet. Then she took Nudger’s glass from him and poured half the contents into the sauce. The skillet hissed and sent up an aromatic cloud of steam. If only she’d leave out the clams.

  Draining what was left of his wine, Nudger wondered how that farmer from Sedalia had been tracked down. Fleck must have hired the entire Pinkerton Agency.

  Claudia stirred her sauce. “There was one more witness. Amelia Barthelme.”

  “Who’s she?”

  “She runs the lost and found department at Chicago Public Transit.”

  Nudger took a not-so-wild guess. “Karen’s suitcase?”

  “Found in the waiting room of a North Shore train station, two weeks ago. Empty, kind of beat up, but with luggage tags that read Karen Dupont.”

  Putting down her spoon, Claudia picked up a can of clams and reached for the opener. “I’d say a reasonable doubt now exists, wouldn’t you?”

  Nudger nodded. He decided to put up with the clams.

  Soon enough he’d be eating humble pie.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  When Claudia turned on the television news after dinner, the announcer was saying that the jury was out in the Dupont case.

  She and Nudger were sitting on the couch side by side, and Claudia turned her head to look at him.

  “What?” Nudger asked.

  “Shouldn’t you be sharing the vigil with the defendant?”

  Nudger sighed. She was getting carried away with this courtroom drama business. “The defendant’s locked away in a cell. I’d be sharing the vigil with Fleck.”

  “Nudger, really. You heard what the reporter said. The verdict’s in doubt. It could go either way. I don’t see how you can stay away.”

  Nudger did. He was tired and his bruised chest hurt. What bothered him most was that he wasn’t sure what verdict he wanted the jury to return.

  When Claudia went to do the dishes and the news gave way to a game show, Nudger got restless. His mind wouldn’t let go of the case, so he decided Claudia was right; he might as well head over to the courthouse.

  The office buildings of Clayton had emptied out and the streets were quiet. Nudger parked on Central Avenue, across from the County Government Center.

  The day had been hot and oppressively still, but now the sky was overcast and the wind was picking up. A newspaper page sailed across Central Avenue, passing Nudger as he crossed the street. Stinging grit blew into his eyes. He blinked his way into the Courts Building.

  There was no one in the lobby except the guard at the metal detector. The escalators thrummed in the silence. As Nudger rode up to the second floor, he popped an antacid tablet into his mouth. He expected the evening to be tough on his stomach.

  The doors of the room where Dupont was being tried stood wide open. People paced, or sat on the benches and smoked. A videocam crew from one of the local stations was setting up a tripod. Nudger looked around, expecting to see Effie Prang or Joleen Witt. Instead he saw Lawrence Fleck.

  The little lawyer was pacing stiffly across the corridor. One hand was plunged deep in his pants pocket, while the other ran distractedly and lightly over his hair, almost as if it were his own. Fleck practically vibrated with nervous tension. He spun around to pace the other way and spotted Nudger. His clenched features relaxed into a grin.

  Nudger realized he represented an opportunity for Fleck to let off steam. His stomach muscles twitched in foreboding as he walked toward Fleck.

  The lawyer folded his arms, tucking his hands into his armpits. He rocked back on his heels and lifted his chin. “Nudger! You here to tell me you’ve found Vella Kling? Well, my naive friend, you’re a little late.”

  “No.”

  “No? You’re not late?” Fleck retrieved his hands from where he’d stuck them and started waving them around. “The defense has rested! The case has gone to the jury! There’s nothing more that even I can do.”

  “I meant no, I haven’t found Vella.”

  “Wonderful! I’m glad you didn’t spoil a perfect record right at the end. You’ve achieved nothing on this case, Nudger. Nothing! It’s been a complete waste of time working with you. Any other lawyer, he had to work with you, know where he’d be? Finished! Kaput! Sunk! There’d be a trail of bubbles and nothing more. Fortunately I’m not any lawyer. A fool for a client, a complete fool for an investigator, and I may still manage to win this case. Know how?”

  “I’d like to,” said Nudger.

  “Because I’m me! Lawrence—”

  “No, really, Lawrence,” Nudger said. “I’d like to know where you got that great stuff about the videotape and the farmer and the suitcase.”

  Fleck settled down. For once he looked reluctant to speak. Then he glanced over Nudger’s shoulder and said, “Him.”

  Nudger turned. He recognized Walter Blaumveldt, the insurance investigator, idling with his back turned halfway down the corridor.

  “Excuse me,” Nudger said. He was halfway across the hall when he heard Fleck call out, “That’s right, Nudger! Talk to a real investigator. Find out how it’s done.”

  Blaumveldt heard—everyone in the corridor heard—and turned. He didn’t appear to be gratified by Fleck’s praise. In fact, his long, sagging face looked as gloomy as ever.

  “Don’t let the guy get to you, Nudger. He’s a little tense.”

  “He’s a little swine,” Nudger said.

  “True, but he’s also wound up tight. The verdict’s in doubt.”

  “It wouldn’t be in any doubt at all if it weren’t for you.”

  Blaumveldt shrugged his broad shoulders. “I haven’t done all that well. I didn’t find Karen Dupont.”

  “But you’ve done wonders for Roger Dupont.” Nudger studied the other man in silence for a moment. “How come you gave Fleck
what you’d found out? You didn’t have to do that.”

  Blaumveldt looked puzzled. “C’mon, Nudger. I’m a working stiff. A guy who pays his bills and his premiums. You think I could sit on evidence when a man’s on trial for his life? Besides, a lot of it came from Dupont himself, indirectly.”.”

  Nudger stared. “From Dupont?”

  “I interviewed him and he was able to point me in the right direction on a few things.”

  “When I talked to him, he didn’t point me in any direction at all.”

  “I think once the trial got underway, it sort of concentrated his mind,” Blaumveldt said. “He remembered a lot of stuff.”

  “If he’d remembered when the police were interrogating him, he might have saved himself a lot of trouble.”

  Blaumveldt made a weak attempt at a smile. “Sounds like you think he got himself put on trial for murder just to see what it was like.”

  Fleck walked up to them. Nudger braced himself for more abuse, but Fleck said only, “The jury’s coming back.”

  Nudger looked around. People were snuffing out cigarettes, tightening neckties, moving toward the open doors of the courtroom.

  “Know what the problem is?” Fleck went on, in a quieter tone than usual. “Rising expectations, that’s what it is. You turn in a brilliant performance and people hold it against you. Yesterday I would have been a hero if I’d managed to get Dupont life in prison. Now, I’ll be the goat if he doesn’t walk out of here a free man.”

  “Maybe you’d better take your place at the defense table, Mr. Fleck,” said Blaumveldt.

  Fleck stayed put and made a face. “Naw, those jurors, they’ll take forever to come back. Always do. Bailiffs have to round ‘em up, herd ’em down the corridor like cattle. They trip over their feet going into the jury box. Fools. Saps. Total innocents. They don’t know anything and we put our fate in their hands. Anyone know why?”

  For once Fleck had asked a question and didn’t supply the answer. Nudger wasn’t going to, either. The little lawyer seemed reluctant to go back into the courtroom. The three of them were now the only ones left in the corridor. For a moment Nudger wondered if he and Blaumveldt were going to have to lift Fleck by the elbows and carry him in.

  But he was just gathering his courage. He spun on the heel of one of his clunky brown wing tip shoes and marched into the courtroom.

  Nudger and Blaumveldt got almost the last seats in the spectator’s section, way over to the side, about halfway back. The bailiff was bringing Roger Dupont in. His expression was somber, but otherwise he gave the impression of a man enjoying being the center of attention, smoothing his tie with one hand and shrugging his shoulders to make his jacket rest properly on his shoulders. Claudia had said the trial reminded her of a TV show, and Dupont reminded Nudger of a TV actor—a bad one who couldn’t do a convincing job of portraying mortal dread. Fleck, seated beside him, was doing a much better job.

  A door opened at the back of the courtroom and the jurors filed into the box. Nudger had heard that if they were going to acquit, they looked at the defendant; if they were going to convict, they looked at the prosecutor. These jurors didn’t look at anyone. They kept their eyes on the floor, as if they’d overheard Fleck and didn’t want to trip over their own feet.

  Finally the bailiff called upon all to rise and Judge MacMasters appeared. He looked as fresh and alert as if it were nine in the morning, not nine at night. He put the traditional questions to the foreman of the jury.

  Dupont rose smoothly from his chair when called upon to do so. Fleck seemed hesitant to join him. The courtroom was quiet before, but now it was dead silent. Nudger noticed Joleen Witt, sitting at the other end of the bench. She was leaning forward, looking at her brother-in-law with hatred.

  Suddenly she flinched as if she’d been struck. Nudger realized that the verdict had been announced: Not Guilty.

  He looked back at Dupont. The man reacted like a tennis star who’d just won Wimbledon in straight sets. He turned, grinning—now Nudger saw Effie, behind him in the front row—and pumped with his fist.

  There were gasps and applause. Judge MacMasters gave no clue as to what he thought of the verdict. He gavelled for order and quickly completed the formalities. Even as he left the bench, spectators were pushing into the aisles and up to the rail. Dupont turned and offered his hand to his lawyer. Fleck, his head bowed, his expression weary, slowly took it. Again Nudger was reminded of a tennis championship, of the winner graciously shaking hands with the loser. Odd.

  Nudger and Blaumveldt stood up, then realized they wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while. Roger Dupont was wasting no time getting out of the courtroom, and the main aisle was clogged with people wanting to shake his hand, pat him on the shoulder, or just get a close look at him. Nudger saw Joleen Witt shouting at him as he passed her. Her words were lost in the post-trial turmoil, but her features were contorted by fury. Effie Prang was following in her brother’s wake. Both of them ignored Joleen.

  The doors of the courtroom were open now, and through them Nudger could see the brilliant TV lights going on. He recognized the familiar blonde hairdo of a local reporter. No doubt she was one of many journalists waiting to do interviews.

  The traditional place for the victorious lawyer was at his client’s side, so Nudger was surprised to see Fleck still at the counsel table. He was shaking hands with a grim Seymour Wister.

  Nudger turned to Blaumveldt. “What do you think? Was Justice done?”

  The insurance investigator shrugged. “Sure. He didn’t kill his wife.”

  “You still think she’s alive?”

  Blaumveldt gave an emphatic nod.

  “And you still think this is all an insurance fraud?”

  Blaumveldt turned and looked at Nudger with his cold, shrewd eyes. “You don’t, I know. You gave me two reasons. The first was that Roger couldn’t collect if he was convicted of murdering his wife. Well, that’s taken care of.”

  Nudger conceded with a nod. “But my second reason still stands. There’s no body, so he’ll have to wait seven years to collect. What do you say to that?”

  “It gives me seven years to find her.” Blaumveldt gave his faint smile. “Would you care to bet on it?”

  “Bet?”

  “I have ten bucks says Karen turns up alive.”

  Nudger hesitated. It was unseemly, betting on a woman’s life, especially since Nudger would be the one rooting for Karen to turn up dead. Still, Blaumveldt was smiling at him as if delighted with the idea, and there couldn’t be much in life that delighted the dour insurance investigator. And it was only ten dollars.”

  “Okay. ”

  For the first time, Blaumveldt offered Nudger his hand. They shook, sealing the wager. Then they rose and joined the milling throng in the aisle, which was slowly pushing toward the doors.

  Looking to the side and sharply downward, Nudger was surprised to see Lawrence Fleck beside him. It would have been more in character for the pugnacious lawyer to push and shove his way through the crowd, but Fleck didn’t appear to be in any hurry.

  “Congratulations, Lawrence,” Nudger said. “The press is waiting for you.”

  Fleck snorted. “Media people. Don’t know asshole from elbow about the law. Tell them anything and they’ll believe it.”

  “All the same, they’re going to make you a hero.”

  “Hmph!” Fleck turned and looked up at Nudger. “You let me down, Nudger. I asked you to find the truth. Now we’ll never know.”

  Nudger had no answer, and Fleck didn’t seem to expect one. They were nearing the doors now. They could see Roger Dupont, his back to them, calmly facing the glare of the TV lights, the outthrust microphones, and the camera lenses. Fleck walked over to take his place beside his client. Dupont turned, and his eye caught Nudger’s.

  They exchanged a look lasting only half a second. Then Dupont turned back to the cameras and Nudger went on his way. But it had been a strange moment. Nudger had always found Dupont opaque,
a perfect enigma, but now, for the first time, he was sure what the man was feeling. Dupont had looked at him with relief, pure and simple. Nudger was someone he wouldn’t have to worry about any longer.

  Which meant that at some point, Nudger must have had Dupont worried. When had it been?

  Leaving the building, he found that the summer night had become cooler and the wind even stronger. He hunched his shoulders and slitted his eyes and hurried toward the Granada.

  He tried to put away his frustration and bad feeling about the case. It was only the unusual case that you could wrap up in a neat package, place on your shelf, and look at with pride and understanding afterward. Most of them were messy and inconclusive, like this one. You forgot about them and moved on. The important thing was that Dupont and Fleck had won, which meant they wouldn’t balk at paying Nudger’s bill.

  As Nudger started the Granada, he held that thought and tried to feel happy about having some money for a change. But he couldn’t. At least, not as happy as Eileen and Henry Mercato were going to feel.

  Nudger woke slowly, struggling upward from an unpleasant, confusing dream. When he finally broke surface, he glanced at the clock on the bedside table: 4:00 A.M.

  Now he realized what had awakened him. It was raining. Pouring.

  Before going to bed he’d switched off the air conditioner and thrown open the windows throughout the apartment to let in the breeze. A cool night was a rarity in a St. Louis summer, and he should have known it portended a storm. Now he could hear the sashes rattling in the window frames, the clatter of blowing venetian blinds, the patter of rain falling.

  Inside the apartment.

  He got up, a little dizzily, and rushed from room to room closing windows. He seemed to be standing in puddles as he did so: The violent and capricious winds had blown the rain in from every direction. Well, he’d get out the mop and rags tomorrow. It wasn’t as if he had parquet floors and elegant window treatments. His shag carpeting and venetian blinds wouldn’t be any the worse for the dowsing.