Death by Jury (Alo Nudger Series Book 9)

by John Lutz

  As Nudger parked, Blaumveldt ducked down in his seat. Nudger said, “What did you do to get Joleen so mad at you?”

  “I caught on to her,” Blaumveldt said. “Go knock on the door.”

  Nudger crunched across the snowy yard and rapped on the door of the trailer.

  “Who is it?” Joleen called out.

  “Nudger. We talked last summer, during the trial.”

  “I’m busy.”

  “Ms. Witt, I’m continuing to investigate your sister’s murder—”

  “What for?” she yelled through the door. “Roger killed her. He got off. It’s over.”

  “There’s been a new development. I wish you’d give me a minute.”

  The door swung open. At first glance Joleen was as he remembered her, a tall, big-boned woman with unruly red hair. Her summertime tan had faded, though, and that made a change in her. Her healthy, outdoorsy look was gone. She looked somehow drained and tense. She was wearing olive drab cargo pants with the cuffs tucked into lace-up boots and a waffle-knit long underwear top.

  Behind him he heard the squeak of rusty hinges as Blaumveldt opened the Granada’s door. Joleen looked beyond Nudger at him, hooding her eyes and setting her mouth. She flicked a disgusted look at Nudger, which made him feel a little ashamed of the subterfuge.

  Joleen got tough. “I told you before, Blaumveldt, I’m through talking to you. Take your pal and go away.”

  Nudger felt the need to speak up for himself. “It’s not just a trick, Joleen. We really do have something to tell you.”

  She gave him a longer look. “Now I remember you. You seemed a decent enough person. Not like your friend here. He’s been harassing me ever since the trial.”

  “I haven’t been harassing—” Blaumveldt began, but she overrode him.

  “Coming by or calling. Always with just a few more questions. And when I wouldn’t talk to him anymore, he took to following me around. I think he even bugged my phone—”

  “That would be illegal,” Blaumveldt said.

  “Just leave me alone, you fucking pest.”

  Blaumveldt stood very straight, his arms hanging at his sides, his face expressionless. His tone was mild. “It’s nothing personal on my side, Joleen. I work for the insurance company, so I had to consider the possibility your sister was alive and attempting to perpetrate a fraud. I had to keep checking whether she’d gotten in contact with you.”

  All this time Joleen had been standing in the doorway, blocking their entry. Now she leaned against the door frame, hanging her head. She seemed very weary. She shot another glance at Nudger. “I don’t really care about the harassment. The thing I can’t forgive this jerk for is he almost got me hoping again. I knew last summer that Karen was dead and Roger killed her. But Mr. General Mutual Insurance here kept coming around and coming around, and I started thinking, maybe he’s right. Maybe Karen’s alive. I knew deep down it wasn’t true, but God, I wanted it to be true so bad. I couldn’t stamp out the hope. Every time I picked up the phone, every time I went for the mail . . .”

  She covered her face with her hands, so they wouldn’t see her tears. She swallowed hard, then in a steadier tone she went on, “And then they found the body. I’ve had to go through my sister’s death twice. Now leave me alone, please!”

  Nudger took a step back from the door. He felt sorry for Joleen and regretted the trick he’d played on her.

  But Blaumveldt stood his ground. In the same neutral tone, he said, “It’s no good, Joleen. I’ve found out what you’ve been hiding all these months. Now, you want to talk to us about it, or do I take it to the police?”

  Nudger looked from Blaumveldt to Joleen. What was going on here?

  Whatever it was, it worked. Joleen stared at both of them for a long moment, then shrugged and stepped aside.

  They entered the trailer. The quarters were cramped and utilitarian; they suited Joleen’s military style. Nudger looked around for a place to sit but didn’t see one. No chair faced another. All the chairs faced machines: the television set, the computer, the microwave. Joleen’s home was a series of workstations. Nudger thought she must lead a lonely life. Her sister must have meant a lot to her.

  She sat on a stool at the counter that divided living room from kitchen. Nudger and Blaumveldt remained standing.

  “All right, Blaumveldt,” she said. “What have you found that you think’s so important?”

  Blaumveldt smiled sourly and shook his head. He wasn’t going to be hurried. In half a year, Nudger thought, these two had had plenty of time to build a poisonous relationship.

  “You already know,” Blaumveldt said. “It’s what you were afraid I’d find out. But let’s start at the beginning. Nudger, go ahead. Tell her what you learned last night.”

  Joleen’s eyes shifted to Nudger. He said, “You told me last summer you thought Roger fooled around. You thought he had a girlfriend at the time your sister disappeared. You were right.”

  “Oh? What’s her name?”

  Joleen was staring straight at him. The wide green eyes, the aquiline nose, made him think of a wild creature both furtive and dangerous. He didn’t know if he was afraid for her or for Vella, but he knew he’d better not tell her Vella’s name.

  “That’s not important right now,” he said. “What matters is that Karen found out about her.” He went on to narrate the scene in the Dupont’s living room. Joleen rested one elbow on the counter behind her and looked at the floor as she listened.

  When he’d finished talking, she didn’t look up. “I knew about that,” she said. “Karen told me. Funny how different it sounds when the slut tells it to Nudger. What’s that she said about an aura?”

  “She said she and Roger have an aura of sexuality. Everybody who’s around them gets turned on.”

  Joleen laughed. “Well, I’m glad she’s enjoying the sex, because with Roger, sex is all you get. He’s not a man, he’s a dildo.”

  Turning away from them she reached across the counter to pick up a glass. She filled it with water from the kitchen tap and turned back to them.

  She took a sip of water and said, “There was nothing special about this girl, whatever she thinks. The reason Karen got so upset was that Roger had brought her to the house. That was something he hadn’t done before.”

  Joleen looked at Nudger. “Their home was important to both of them. By that time, it was about all their marriage came down to. For Roger to bring his latest girl into their home—that was telling Karen he had no respect at all for her anymore. That he wasn’t going to leave her with anything.”

  “So Karen came and told you this,” Blaumveldt said. “What did you decide to do about it?”

  Karen returned her gaze to the floor. She suddenly seemed deeply bored. “Fuck off, Blaumveldt.”

  Blaumveldt sighed and reached into his shirt pocket. “Okay, I’ll tell you what you did. You decided to make Roger pay for his sins. Literally. You started selling his possessions.”

  He unfolded a piece of notebook paper. “You sold only things he wouldn’t miss, and you were pretty cagy about it. Took me a long time to dig this up. Most of Karen’s jewelry went to a jeweler downtown. You got thirty thousand for it. Or was it closer to forty?”

  Joleen said nothing.

  “Then there was the silver service. That brought about fifteen thousand. The painting you sold through a gallery in New York netted you over twenty thousand. ”

  “It was an abstract by a contemporary artist,” Joleen said. “Roger didn’t like it and made Karen keep it in her dressing room. He never missed it.”

  Blaumveldt folded his list and put it away. “What else did you sell, Joleen? How much money did you raise?”

  She continued her stubborn silence, staring at the floor.

  “Where’s the money now?” Blaumveldt asked.

  Nudger didn’t expect Joleen to answer. But after a long moment she said, “Karen spent most of it.”

  Blaumveldt raised his eyebrows, which for him wa
s an extreme expression of surprise. “On what?”

  “I’m not sure, exactly.” She met Blaumveldt’s skeptical look and her own eyes hardened. “She was my sister and all I wanted was to help her. I didn’t press her for answers she didn’t want to give. But she used to talk about a house of her own. A little cabin in the country. It was kind of her dream. A place she could get away to, that was hers and not Roger’s. She didn’t want him to know about it. Didn’t want anybody to know about it, not even me.”

  “So you don’t know where this cabin is?” Blaumveldt sounded skeptical. But Nudger thought Joleen might be telling the truth, considering how Roger had apparently treated his wife.

  “I don’t buy it, Joleen,” Blaumveldt said. “I think Karen kept the money in cash—or maybe a secret account. I think that was her slush fund, in case she decided to run away from Roger.”

  Joleen shook her head vehemently. “No, no! Don’t start that again. Karen wouldn’t run away to Chicago. She didn’t know anyone there. She didn’t like big cities. She—”

  “I don’t think she ran away either,” Blaumveldt said. “She just wanted to know the money was there if she needed it. Problem was, you knew about the money, too. And it tempted you, seduced you the way I’ve seen money seduce people before. You killed your sister for it, Joleen.”

  Her eyes widened. Otherwise she was perfectly still. In the silence Nudger could hear her shallow, choppy breathing. It was as if a small pump were working, filling the room up with anger. The air seemed to thicken and darken. Nudger’s stomach, perceptive as always, reacted to the change. He would have popped an antacid tablet, but he found that he couldn’t move.

  Joleen could. She hurled her drinking glass at Blaumveldt. It was no mere gesture. She had a shortstop’s arm and the glass would have hit Blaumveldt in the face if he hadn’t ducked. It shattered against the wall behind him.

  “Get out!”

  To Nudger’s amazement, Blaumveldt persisted. “Sure you’ve got nothing to say? You know I’m taking this right to the police.”

  “Get out!” Joleen said again, this time with the sort of menace that made Nudger wonder if there might be a gun in the trailer.

  Joleen had turned her back on them.

  Nudger grasped Blaumveldt’s sleeve and pulled him toward the door.

  He knew when a party was over even if Blaumveldt didn’t.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Back in the car, Nudger popped his antacid and started the motor. Blaumveldt kept silent until they reached the exit from Cherokee Estates onto Indian Lane. Then he said, “This is the only way out of the trailer park. I’ve checked. Let’s park where we can watch it.”

  Nudger had been mulling over the same idea. He turned left and drove to the crest of the hill. There was no cross-street here, only a widening of the gravel shoulder. He turned the car around, parking it in front of a copse of trees that would break its silhouette and make it less noticeable.

  “You figure Joleen’s going someplace?”

  “I figure she’s going wherever she’s got the money hidden,” Blaumveldt said. “She’s got to run before the police can get to her.”

  Nudger looked sideways at Blaumveldt. His eyes were cold and alert, his complexion as ashen as usual. Nudger’s own face felt hot and flushed. He’d left the police department because he’d realized he would never acquire the hardness cops had to have, the ability to push people to extremes of anger or fear without being affected by the emotions himself. Blaumveldt had that hardness. He’d just proven it.

  “You really think she killed her sister?”

  Blaumveldt shook his head with rueful amusement. “I still remember the first time we talked, Nudger. You told me the way you work. You go around and get a feeling for the people, and then you know what happened.”

  “Right. ”

  “So now your feeling is Joleen didn’t kill Karen?”

  “I’m not sure. You have no proof she did.”

  “Nudger, this woman works on an assembly line. Lives in a trailer. And here’s this fortune that only she and her sister know about. She did it, then she tried to put the blame on Roger. Remember, she was the one who reported Karen missing in the first place. Then she kept after the cops until they arrested Roger.”

  “All right,” Nudger said. “One of us should stay here and keep an eye on Joleen. But the other should check out the cabin.”

  “Karen’s little place in the country, you mean? It doesn’t exist. Joleen made that up on the spot.”

  “Maybe. But we have to check it out.”

  Blaumveldt thought it over, then gave a curt nod. “You’re right,” he admitted. “So who goes and who stays?”

  The two men exchanged smiles of professional amusement. There were times when it seemed to Nudger he’d spent half his life sitting in cars waiting for something to happen, and the other half on the phone, trying to wheedle information out of people. Doubtless it was the same for Blaumveldt.

  There was no shortcut available for finding out if Karen Dupont had recently purchased a house in the country. It would be a matter of calling land title companies and realtors in the countless little towns surrounding St. Louis. There would be suspicious people who would say nothing, and gossipy people who would waste time and generate false leads. The search might take scores of calls.

  On the other hand, it was better to be sitting in a warm office than a cold car.

  “I’d prefer to make the calls,” Nudger said.

  “So would I.” Blaumveldt reached in his pocket and brought out a quarter. “Want to flip for it?”

  Nudger looked at the quarter. The sight of money clarified his thoughts. This search was going to generate a whopping long-distance phone bill. He’d have to pay it and hope for reimbursement from Fleck, which might not be forthcoming. Better to let Blaumveldt’s insurance company foot the bill.

  “I’ll stay here,” he said.

  “Suit yourself.” Blaumveldt shrugged, but he looked relieved. “I’ll walk up to that gas station on the corner and call a cab.”

  “Want me to drive you?”

  Blaumveldt looked down the hill at the entrance to the trailer park and shook his head. “Better not. She could come barreling out of there any minute. Or maybe she’ll sit and stew for hours before she makes up her mind.”

  “Or maybe she won’t come out at all.”

  Blaumveldt shook his head. “She did it, Nudger. That money’s sitting in a bank account or safe-deposit box, or a suitcase buried in the woods. And Joleen will be going for it.”

  Buttoning up his raincoat, Blaumveldt got out of the car. Nudger got out too, but only to go to the trunk for his stakeout kit—a box containing a packet of stale Oreo cookies, a six-pack of diet Pepsi, and a wide-necked jar. This last was for what the police called “personal relief.”

  Blaumveldt looked on with approval. “I bet you sit a good stakeout, Nudger.”

  Nudger gave a nod of acknowledgment. That was no doubt one of the highest compliments this dour man had at his disposal.

  They parted without further words. Nudger got back in the car while Blaumveldt trudged down the road.

  Nudger turned up his coat collar and pulled his hat down over his ears, not so much for disguise as for warmth. He fixed his gaze on the entrance to Cherokee Estates. Trailers and a stand of pine trees blocked his view of the approach road to the entrance, which meant he wouldn’t see Joleen’s old Pontiac until it was about to turn onto Indian Lane. If she turned left, he couldn’t miss her; she’d go right by him. He’d have to duck and hope she didn’t remember what his car looked like. But if she turned right, she’d be over the next hill in a matter of seconds. He could easily miss her, especially if passing traffic got in the way.

  For the first few hours, Nudger did well. He didn’t allow daydreams or musings to distract him. He reduced his consciousness to something like a dial tone. He kept his eyes fixed on the entrance to the trailer park while he nibbled and sipped, and even while he a
vailed himself of the wide-neck jar. He didn’t glance at his watch. Time had nothing to do with this job. He’d stay here until Joleen appeared, then follow her wherever she was going.

  At some point in the afternoon, inevitably, boredom got the better of him. His thoughts began to wander. It was less than a week to Christmas, and he hadn’t done any shopping yet. He’d been waiting for a free evening to go to Big Lots, a vast barn of a store on Manchester, and rummage through the bins of bargain merchandise. But now he had two jobs going and a third soon to begin. He was flush, so he could—

  Nudger leaned forward, blinking. There was the Pontiac! Joleen was turning right onto Indian Lane. He’d almost missed her. Now he’d have to move fast to catch up with her.

  He twisted the ignition key. The starter ground and ground as he watched the Pontiac recede in the distance.

  Finally the engine caught. There was a break in traffic and Nudger swung out onto the road. With a clunk, his current can of soda fell over and began spilling its contents on the floor mat.

  The Pontiac disappeared over the top of the hill. Nudger stomped on the gas pedal, but the Granada’s engine was still cold and balky. He chugged slowly up the hill. A battered black pickup truck waiting at a driveway entrance saw its chance and pulled out in front of him. It accelerated even more slowly than he did and he had to let off on the gas. His stomach clenched. He pulled the roll of antacids from his pocket and thumbed one into his mouth.

  When he reached the top of the hill, he saw a red traffic light about a quarter mile ahead. Scanning the waiting cars as he coasted toward them, he was relieved to spot the Pontiac in the left-turn lane.

  Nudger switched to that lane and eased to a stop. There were four cars between him and Joleen.

  The green arrow appeared on the signal. Joleen, first in line, got moving at once. Nudger held his breath, hoping the arrow would be long enough for him to get through. The next three cars followed the Pontiac, curving through the intersection. But the driver in front of Nudger seemed to be asleep. Nudger couldn’t honk for fear of drawing Joleen’s attention. He banged his fist on the wheel and yelled “Come on!” into the cold windshield.