Death by Jury (Alo Nudger Series Book 9)

by John Lutz

  At last the car got moving. Nudger followed, a foot from its rear bumper. The green arrow disappeared while he was in the intersection, but no one honked at him.

  They were out on Tesson Ferry Road, a broad, busy street. Nudger glanced at his watch. Four-thirty. A reasonable time for Joleen to be heading for her job on the night shift. But she was going in the wrong direction, and she was going very fast. Nudger had a hard time keeping up as she wove through traffic and jumped yellow lights.

  When a signal up ahead turned red, Nudger was afraid for a moment that she was going to blast right through it. Then the Pontiac’s taillights flared, and he stepped on his own brakes. The car behind Joleen turned off, into the entrance to a shopping center. The next car in line followed suit. Suddenly there was no one between Joleen and Nudger. She was stopped at the white line, and there was nothing he could do but coast slowly up behind her and hope the light would change.

  It was no good. She made him. He saw her green eyes in the rearview mirror. She swung round in her seat to get a better look at him.

  The next instant she faced front. Her arms flew as she cut the wheel sharply. Then the engine roared and the tires squealed and the big car cut across traffic. There were more squeals as other cars stopped short to avoid hitting her.

  The Pontiac ploughed on across the road, bounced and lurched over the concrete divider, then swept into a turn going the other way. Oncoming cars honked, skidded, plunged to a stop. A minivan missed her rear bumper by inches.

  By the time Nudger was through wincing, Joleen had disappeared.

  If this were a movie, he’d cut the wheel, stomp on the gas, and go screaming after her.

  It wasn’t a movie, though. It was real life, complete with large, heavy cars driven by confused, scared, vulnerable people.

  He decided high-speed chases were for the cops.

  Leaving the snarled traffic to sort itself out, he turned right into the shopping center. There was a public phone next to a McDonald’s.

  He called Hammersmith at the Third District, then went inside to catch up on breakfast and lunch.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The rush-hour traffic was heavier than usual, and it was dark by the time Nudger got back to Maplewood. A block away from the office, he ran into yet another jam. After five minutes of stop-and-go, he reached the cause of the backup. It was a St. Louis police car, double parked in front of his building. A tall young cop was standing in the doorway of the doughnut shop, talking to Danny. Had someone actually died from eating a Dunker Delite?

  Double-parking in back of the police car, Nudger got out and walked over to the sidewalk. Danny pointed the cop toward him.

  The cop looked very stern, very fit. Fresh out of the Academy and ready to take on the world. He bobbed his head at Nudger but didn’t smile. “Mr. Nudger?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Would you come with me, please, sir? You’re wanted at Third District.”

  “Lieutenant Hammersmith send you?” This was strange; ordinarily Hammersmith would just leave a message on Nudger’s machine.“

  “No, sir. Captain Springer.”

  Bad news. Springer was an old enemy. He’d probably told the cop to mace Nudger if he hesitated. “Sure,” Nudger said. “Any idea what it’s about?”

  “There’s a meeting scheduled for six o’clock and the Captain wants you to be present. That’s all the information I have.” He went over to his car and opened the back door. He was going by the book: He intended to put Nudger in the backseat, behind the cage, where the door handles didn’t work. “If you’ll just step into the vee-hicle, sir.”

  “You mind if I follow you?”

  “You mean, in your own vee-hicle?” The young cop’s face went blank for a moment as he tried to figure out whether the Captain would mind this modification of his orders. “Well, I guess that’s okay.”

  In convoy they headed east on Manchester. The young cop wasn’t using his roof lights; he probably figured they could make it to Third District comfortably before six.

  They were on a dark and lightly traveled section of Manchester when the cruiser’s roof lights began to shine and ripple. It slowed and pulled over to the side of the road. The young cop got out and trotted back to Nudger’s car. Confused, Nudger rolled down his window.

  “Sir, I just got a radio call. We’re not going to Third District. If you’ll follow me, I’m going up Kingshighway to Highway Forty.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “There’s been a homicide reported. Captain Springer is now at the scene, and he wants you there.”

  “A homicide? Who was killed?”

  The young cop went blank again. It took him a moment to come up with the name. “Victim’s a male. Blaumveldt. Walter Blaumveldt.”

  The cop led Nudger into a multilevel parking structure across the street from the General Mutual Building. They drove up three levels and came to the crime scene.

  As Nudger got out of his car he could see only a cluster of haphazardly parked vehicles: patrol units, unmarked cars, an EMS van, and a forensics van. A few curious office workers, with briefcases in one hand and keys in the other, were hanging around trying to see what was going on.

  Nudger didn’t really want to see what was going on. He walked slowly toward the crime scene, accompanied by the young cop.

  Hammersmith emerged from behind a van and glided toward him. He was wearing a camel’s hair overcoat out of a thirties gangster movie. It reached almost to his ankles. He looked a lot warmer than Nudger felt.

  “Hello, Nudge,” Hammersmith said. He dismissed the young cop with a nod.

  “What happened?”

  “I was hoping you could fill me in some more.” Hammersmith turned and fell in beside Nudger, walking him back toward the vehicles. Toward the body. “You said on the phone it was Blaumveldt who was suspicious of Joleen Witt. So I called him at his office, asked him to come over to the station. He said fine, he had a lot of information for me, he’d be right over. I waited, but he didn’t show. Instead we got the call about this.”

  They skirted the ambulance and came up to Blaumveldt’s car. The driver’s side door stood open and the interior light was on. That was going to run the battery down, Nudger thought inanely.

  The body lay facedown on the cement floor next to the car. The keys were still in Blaumveldt’s outstretched hand. Blood stained the light-colored raincoat. Nudger was relieved that he couldn’t see Walter’s face.

  “Tummy okay?” Hammersmith asked.

  “Sure,” Nudger lied.

  “A secretary from a law firm across the street called it in,” Hammersmith explained. “She was on the way to her car when she saw the body. It must have just happened. The killer was either really stupid or really cool. Took a helluva chance of being seen. Apparently waited by the car, then came up behind Blaumveldt and shot him in the back of the head. It was a light caliber weapon, probably a twenty-two handgun. Didn’t make much noise, but it did the job.”

  Hammersmith’s fleshy features sagged. “It’s too bad. Walter was a gloomy old cuss, but he was an honest man.”

  Nudger couldn’t improve on that. He nodded.

  Hammersmith sighed and went on. “His wallet’s gone. Probably that’s just to throw us off, make us think it was a mugging.”

  Nudger deliberately took his eyes away from the body. Looked at Hammersmith. “I’m not sure about that. Was there anything in his pockets? I mean, did it look like the killer searched him?”

  “We haven’t found any papers that’d indicate what he wanted to talk to us about, if that’s what you mean. You think the killer took them?”

  “Nudger!”

  He knew the voice, and it was not one he wanted to hear. He turned to see the pale, pinched face of Captain Leo Springer. Springer bore down upon him, arms swinging and fists clenched.

  “I want to talk to you. Come over here.”

  He stalked away with that slinky walk of his. Nudger thought he r
esembled an angry ferret.

  Nudger shot a glance at Hammersmith, who avoided his eye. Then they followed the short, wiry figure of the Captain around the ambulance.

  “I didn’t know you were on this case,” Nudger said.

  “I’m trying to deal with a very delicate liaison situation with the Illinois State Police,” Springer replied. “And you are not helping. Now tell me about Joleen Witt.”

  “Have you put out an APB on her?” Nudger asked.

  “Yes. We can do our job without the benefit of advice from you, Nudger. Now answer my question. What the hell was going on between Blaumveldt and Joleen Witt?”

  So Nudger explained the events of the day. Springer folded his arms as he listened and rocked back on his heels. When Nudger got to the scene in Joleen’s trailer, he began shaking his head and rolled his eyes.

  Hammersmith listened impassively. He took out one of his big green cigars and lit it. For once, Nudger welcomed the resulting cloud of noxious smoke. He knew Springer disliked the smell even more than he did. Maybe this little confab would be cut short in the interest of lung health.

  Nudger hadn’t quite reached the end of the story when Springer ran out of patience.

  “What the hell is with you two?” He pointed a stiff finger at Nudger. “You should have gotten out of this case when Roger Dupont’s trial ended. Blaumveldt should have gotten out of it when Karen Dupont’s body was found. Instead the two of you keep on poking around, interfering with an open homicide investigation. And today you engineer this lunatic confrontation with Joleen Witt. Trying to throw a scare into her, I guess. I hope you’re satisfied with the results.”

  Nudger’s insides squirmed. His face felt hot. Springer was demonstrating his usual talent for probing the sorest spot.

  “Didn’t it occur to you that once she lost you, Joleen might go after Blaumveldt?” Springer stormed at him.

  “No,” Nudger said. “Maybe it should have, but the fact is, it didn’t occur to me.”

  Springer stared at him.

  Hammersmith said, “Why not, Nudge?”

  “I don’t think Joleen has the money. I don’t think she killed her sister. Which means she had no reason to kill Blaumveldt.”

  “So who do you think did kill him?” Hammersmith asked. He looked at Nudger and went on, “You’re thinking about our old buddy Dupont, aren’t you?”

  Nudger nodded.

  “This is ridiculous,” Springer said. “This reject doesn’t know anything. ”

  “Just a sec, Captain,” Hammersmith said. He blew some smoke Springer’s way and turned to Nudger. “A minute ago you wanted to know if the body had been searched, Nudge. What did you think had been taken from it?”

  “When Walter called to say he had some new information for you, it’s possible he wasn’t just talking about Joleen. He might have located the cabin.”

  “What cabin?” asked Springer.

  Hammersmith had picked up on it. “The cabin. The place in the country that Joleen thought Karen had bought for herself.”

  Springer screwed up his face even more tightly. “But you said Blaumveldt didn’t believe that story. He thought Joleen made it up.”

  “I thought it was worth checking out. And Walter agreed.” Nudger turned back to Hammersmith. “I’d check his desk and his computer. Also get hold of his phone records.”

  It annoyed Springer that Nudger was talking past him. He stepped directly in front of him. “I told you before, we don’t need your advice. I think Blaumveldt was right. There is no cabin in the country. Joleen made that up. Even if there is a cabin and Blaumveldt found it, so what? It corroborates Joleen’s story, but why should Dupont care?”

  Nudger said, “It’s possible that this cabin’s where Karen went when she disappeared. If that’s true, it may hold the answers to what happened to her, to who killed her.”

  Springer rocked back on his heels and looked up at the low concrete ceiling. “What makes you think she was at this cabin after her disappearance?”

  “No one’s ever been able to find any convincing proof that she was anywhere else.”

  “That’s brilliant, Nudger. What a mind you have. Know what I think?” Springer dropped his eyes to Nudger’s. “I think you just want to believe somebody other than Joleen killed Blaumveldt. It’s easier on your conscience that way.”

  Nudger winced. Score another low blow for the Captain. He remained silent.

  “Take it easy, Captain,” said Hammersmith mildly.

  Springer swung around to face Hammersmith. His nose wrinkled up. He chopped at the air with one arm, clearing away the smoke cloud.

  “Listen, Jack, I think your pal is spinning fantasies here. Right now, I don’t give a shit about Karen Dupont’s country house and whether it exists or not. We know Joleen Witt hated Walter Blaumveldt’s guts. We know they had a violent argument this morning. So when Blaumveldt turns up dead, my first priority is to get hold of Joleen Witt. You see the case any different?”

  Hammersmith exhaled smoke. He said, “No, sir.”

  “All right then. Maybe you want to walk your friend back to his car, Jack. And while you’re doing it, maybe you want to impress upon him that he’d better quit interfering in an open homicide investigation.”

  Hammersmith rolled his cigar between his fingers. He examined the length of the ash and flicked it away. “Yes, sir,” he said.

  Gripping Nudger’s arm, he turned him around and headed him back to the car.

  He didn’t speak until they got there. Then he said quietly, “We’ll search Blaumveldt’s office, Nudge. We’ll keep our eyes open for an address. But you keep out of it from now on.”

  Nudger nodded unhappily. “Yeah, Jack. I got Springer’s message. ”

  “That’s not the only reason.” Hammersmith nodded his head toward the corpse. “You think you’re that much tougher than Blaumveldt?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he turned away and walked back toward the murder scene.

  They both knew the answer anyway.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Nudger snapped awake. Opened his eyes. He’d fallen asleep with the TV on. On the screen was a Star Trek: The Next Generation rerun. Captain Picard and his officers were sitting around their conference table under the stars. Everyone looked thoughtful. Data suggested running a level-three diagnostic. Captain Picard approved.

  Nudger ran a diagnostic of his own. He was sitting in the recliner chair in his living room, fully clothed except for his shoes. An empty can of beer was grasped in his hand. He checked his watch: three o’clock in the morning. He knew he should go to bed, but he’d apparently slept his fill. He felt wide awake now.

  He rose stiffly and went into the kitchen, where he threw away the beer can and put on some coffee. While the machine gurgled, he went back into the living room, switched off the TV and sat down next to the phone.

  He’d missed a call from Claudia early in the evening. He’d called back right away, but she’d gone out again. Now it was too late to try again; he’d wake her up. For a moment he considered calling anyway and pretending the time zone differential had confused him. Then he realized that was selfish and rejected the idea.

  When the coffee was ready, he poured a cup, sat at the kitchen table, and thought about the murder of Walter Blaumveldt. There had been no call from Hammersmith; the phone would have awakened him. Which meant either that the search of Blaumveldt’s office hadn’t turned up the whereabouts of Karen’s cabin, or that Captain Springer hadn’t bothered to order the search yet.

  Nudger thought about Joleen Witt. He thought about Vella’s ominous big brother Rolf. If Blaumveldt really had located the cabin, and if that represented any threat to Dupont and Vella, Rolf would have been the one to pull the trigger. Nudger felt certain that was what happened, even though he couldn’t prove it. The police were chasing the wrong person.

  The situation wouldn’t have surprised Blaumveldt. He’d always seemed to feel that people got away with too much in th
is world. He would have thought it typical that someone was getting away with murdering him. Nudger wondered if there might be some sort of karma working here.

  It was funny how Blaumveldt took such pride in being an exception, a rock in the fast-flowing stream of the world’s heedlessness and injustice. He’d had a highly developed sense of obligation. Nudger smiled to think of him showing up at Claudia’s apartment with the ten-dollar-bill in his hand so soon after Karen’s body was found, as quick to pay off a debt as other men were to collect one.

  Suddenly Nudger sat up straight. Suppose Walter’d been just as punctilious this time? What would he have done, if he had found a lead to the location of the cabin?

  He’d have called Nudger.

  The moment the idea popped into his head, Nudger was sure he was right. The answer he sought was on the answering machine at the office.

  He called to use the remote to retrieve his messages, but the phone rang and continued to ring. Which meant the machine was turned off.

  Nudger never switched it off.

  He gulped down the rest of his coffee, then went into the living room, stepped into his loafers, and grabbed his raincoat.

  He passed only two other cars on Manchester, and for once he was able to park right in front of his building. As he stepped out into the cold, he smelled a warm and delicious aroma. Danny was in his shop already, making donuts for his morning customers.

  Nudger went in the stairway. It was bitter cold. The landlord didn’t waste heating fuel at night. The office radiator wouldn’t start clinking and clanking with heat until well after sunrise. He ran up the steps, opened his office door and flicked on the light.

  His chair was occupied. A woman was leaning far back in it with her feet up on Nudger’s desk. She was bundled in a parka, with a knit cap pulled down to her eyebrows. It was the fact that her red hair was concealed that deceived Nudger.