Shay O'Hanlon Caper 04 - Chip Off the Ice Block Murder

by Jessie Chandler

  The distance that separated us from our glowing destination felt like a huge chasm instead of maybe ten or twelve long strides. I gritted my teeth and set myself in motion. Coop’s finger slid through my belt loop, keeping us connected. Thirty feet, twenty feet, ten feet, and then I was hugging the wall, inching toward the doorjamb. My heart hammered in my ears and I tried not to hyperventilate.

  How did the cops do it on Eddy’s TV shows? They made it look so easy. I’d just stick my head far enough around the edge of the doorjamb to get a peek into the room, see what and who was in there. I realized that if there was someone inside and it wasn’t my father, well, maybe popping into the room at eye level wasn’t such a great idea. I recalled JT mentioning awhile back that in cop-speak, doorways were sometimes referred to as a vertical coffins. I sank into a squat, feeling the texture of rough brick against my back through the layers I was wearing.

  I felt a nudge and glanced at Coop, who had hunkered down beside me. Thanks to our proximity to the light spilling from the open door I could now clearly see him. His eyebrows met his hairline in the classic “what are you doing?” expression. Or more accurately, it was the “what the fuck are you doing?” look.

  Jesus, it was hard to breathe. I needed to act or I was going to pass out from lack of oxygen. I squeezed my eyes shut in a lightning-quick prayer to whatever deity might be willing to listen, opened my eyes, and ducked my head around the doorjamb.

  The room itself wasn’t exactly bright, but it was illuminated enough for me to make out the back wall, which was covered in wallpaper that made up a full-size nature scene—the kind that was used in the ’70s and early ’80s—with bucolic pictures of deer grazing on a lush green pasture, or stands of trees in the forest. In this case it was a blindingly colorful sunset over a lake in the woods. I wondered if the intent was to try to relax patients. If it was, it wasn’t working now and probably didn’t then, either.

  In front of the obnoxious wall, a person sat slumped chin-to-chest, face obscured, on an old rust-colored vinyl couch. The still form was bundled in blankets, and a pointy, purple-colored stocking hat with a yellow tassel covered the top of their head.

  A kerosene lamp, like those used on Little House on the Prairie, sat on a side table and cast its yellowish light through the room. A propane camp heater glowed red-hot on the floor nearby. I didn’t see any weapons lying about, but who’d leave their means of protection very far from their side in a place like this?

  An old rectangular folding table with a faux-wood top sat against a wall, and two pizza boxes and a jumble of grease-stained napkins littered one side of the top. Four gallon-sized water jugs were lined up with military precision below the table. The other side held what looked like first-aid supplies—a few rolls of gauze, white tape, a brown plastic bottle of hydrogen peroxide. Whoever was in there was apparently one hurting unit.

  By the time I finished my brief assessment, the person hadn’t budged an inch. I pulled away and pressed the back of my head against the wall in a futile attempt to ground myself. Coop gave me a half-panicked glare.

  I pointed down the hall the way we’d come. We retreated around the corner next to the stairwell.

  I said, “I don’t know if the dude is alive or dead.”

  “You couldn’t tell it if was your dad?”

  “No. All I could see was the top of his head. Or her head. Shit, Coop, what if whoever it is, is frozen solid?”

  Momentary silence. “We’ll deal when we confirm either way.”

  I took a shaky breath. “Okay. Here’s the plan. I’ll get over to the other side of the door, and on the count of three, let’s go in, guns blazing.”

  “Figuratively.”

  “Of course.” Sometimes the man was far too literal for his own good. “Let’s get a hold of the guy and make sure he can’t hurt us, then deal with whatever else we need to.”

  “Maybe we should go get JT.”

  I considered that for about a half-second. “No. If we make any more noise, if whoever is in there is sleeping, they could wake up. If it’s my dad, no big deal. If it’s not … or if he’s joined the ranks of ghosts that I’m sure haunt Hell here, well, we don’t need backup for that. Let’s get this done.” I felt like I was going to yak. Or pass out. Maybe both.

  “You didn’t see any guns? Any weapons?”

  “No.” I didn’t get that good a look, and who knew what was under the blanket, but now wasn’t the time to quibble. “I’ll go in from one side of the door, you go in the other, and we’ll be on top of him before he has a chance to react. On my count of three.” I grabbed Coop’s hand before either of us changed our minds and dragged him back toward our questionable fate.

  We reached the door, and stopped to listen. My left hand pressed against Coop’s chest. I didn’t hear anything new, so hopefully that was a good sign.

  For a long moment, time hung in the air, so heavy it was almost tangible. Come on Shay, it’s only three feet. Stop thinking and start acting. I gritted my teeth, darted across the opening, and flattened myself against the opposite wall. Success. I hadn’t been shot full of holes.

  I took a deep breath and quick-checked the room again. Nothing had changed. The slumper was still slumped. Across the doorway, Coop was ready to spring into action. I held out a hand with one finger raised. He nodded, his eyes glued to my hand. I raised the second. It was now or never.

  Up went finger number three. With that, we both charged through the door, making a beeline for the slumper. It was only later that I realized we were lucky we fit through the door at the same time.

  Coop’s longer legs aided him in reaching the still form a fraction of a second before I did. He grabbed hold of one shoulder. I launched myself into the air and tackled the other one. With the impact of two rushing bodies, the three of us slammed against the back of the couch, nearly tipping it over backward.

  A mighty grunt of pain issued from pile of blankets. Whoever it was hadn’t keeled yet. Of course, after our abuse, who knew how long they’d last.

  “Shay?” The hoarse voice that rumbled from the tangle of covers was unmistakably my father’s.

  “Dad?”

  Both Coop and I quickly extracted ourselves from my father, who was hunched over, hissing in pain.

  Fresh alarm flooded my system. “Dad. What’s wrong?” I hovered over him, not sure what to do.

  “Just … give me a second.” After a few obviously painful breaths, he straightened up and gingerly leaned back. The blanket he had up around his ears fell away and we were able to see his face.

  “Holy shit, Dad!” Alarm radiated throughout my body, landing heavy in my belly. Both of my father’s eyes were blackened, and the right one was practically swollen shut. He squinted at us through his left. Red-going-gray stubble covered his sallow cheeks, and his usually jovial, lined face was pinched.

  “Shay, I’m okay.”

  “But your face—”

  “Black eyes go away, honey.”

  Coop said softly, “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  “It’s actually the ribs I’m a little concerned about.”

  “Ribs,” I echoed faintly.

  “Broken?” Coop asked.

  “I don’t know. Sure feels like it.” My father winced as he shifted. “Of course if I didn’t have you two stampeding in here attacking me”—he tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his pain-filled eye— “they might not hurt quite so bad. But honestly, I’m okay.”

  “Pop, I’m so sorry—”

  My dad waved off my apology. “I suppose seeing a corpse sitting here all covered up was cause for alarm. Easier to breathe leaning forward. Been nodding off now and again. Didn’t hear you two at all till you were sittin’ on top of me.”

  I didn’t think we’d been all that quiet. It wasn’t like my father to nod off, ever. He had to be hurting in a bad way.

&nbs
p; “Should we go for help?” I had so many questions, but first things first.

  “No. Not till I figure out exactly what’s going on.”

  Coop asked, “How did you wind up here, of all places?”

  “Woke up on a couch. Way up north, in some cabin. Three empty bottles of Johnny on the counter and one half full one on the floor next to me.” Dad slowly drew in a breath. “I can’t remember a goddamned thing that happened. Last I can recall is playing poker night before New Year’s. I remember Agnes leaving, and after that, nothing till I came to.”

  By his far away expression, I realized he was replaying things in his mind’s eye. He continued, “Felt like I got kicked in the side by a donkey. And the blood. It was all over. Coat, shirt, pants. After I took stock of myself, I realized my nose could never have produced that much blood. It might be big, but it’s not that big.”

  I gave my battered old man a faint smile.

  “Went outside, my car was parked next to the cabin. There was blood all over the passenger side of that, too. But no victim—and considering the amount of blood, there should have been.”

  “Oh god,” Coop said. He was never good with bodily fluids. “What did you do?”

  “Well,” my father shifted with a grimace. “The joint didn’t have a phone, so I drove around till I found a back country bar and called Eddy. Then I called Mick. I haven’t been seein’ eye to eye with him lately, but when a guy’s in a pinch, you gotta do what you gotta do.”

  It was so hard seeing my dad like this. He might be a drunk, but he usually stood strong in the face of almost anything. This time, though, things were different. We were all dog paddling aimlessly without knowing what might be lurking under the surface, ready to attack.

  I said, “What happened after you called Mick?”

  “He got ahold of Dick—you remember Limpy Dick, Shay.”

  Oh yeah. He was going to get a kick out of that story when I had time to tell him.

  “Between the two of them they took care of the car. Don’t ask me what they did with it. I don’t want to know and neither do you. Dick had a sister who used to be committed here years back. He knew the place had been shut down, and figured it was as good a place as any for me to hole up in till we put together what’s going on.”

  That’s why Mick had disappeared on his wife, and why Limpy Dick was acting so strangely when we showed up out of the blue.

  “How come,” I asked, “you and Mick weren’t getting along?”

  “It was stupid. He wanted to loan me money to fix the sewer leak in the cellar, and I wouldn’t take it.” He met my eyes with his squinty one. “Sometimes I’m too proud for my own good. You take after me in that, Shay. Maybe we’ll both learn one day.”

  Maybe now was a good time to ask about the bones in the cellar. “Dad, about that leak, do you ah … ” I trailed off. God. How was I supposed to ask my father if he murdered someone and hid the evidence in the basement?

  “What, Shay? Spit it out, girl.”

  “Well, after you didn’t show up on New Year’s Eve, Whale called the Rabbit Hole and told me you were missing. It’s a long story, but I went over to the bar, Whale walked out on me—”

  “Whale did what?” My father stiffened for a brief second, hissed in pain, and folded up into himself.

  His actions alarmed me, and I pulled out my phone, my thumb hovering over the 9.

  “No, Shay!” He panted a couple of times until the pain subsided enough for him to talk. “I’m okay. Just get a twinge here and there. Put that damn thing away.”

  I eyed him suspiciously, torn between summoning help and listing to a direct order from my father. The direct order won out. I stuck the “damn thing” back in my pocket.

  “For the love of Christ. Pull up a couple of chairs. My neck is getting a crick looking up at you two.”

  We obediently pulled up two straight-back chairs. Foam stuffing was coming out of cracks in the blue Naugahyde-covered seats. I wondered how many people before us sat in these very chairs in this very room.

  “Okay, where were we? Shay, can you pour me some water?” He pointed to the water jugs and a red plastic cup that sat on the table.

  I stood and fetched the requested water and handed it over.

  My father took a deep drink. “Thanks. Anyway, back to that jerkoff of a bartender who will never work for me again.” He looked at me expectantly.

  It took a minute to reorganize my thoughts. This was too unreal. We were in the basement of an abandoned mental institution, talking to my father—who was a wanted man—about a loser bartender named Whale. “After Whale left, the Summit delivery guy dropped off his beer and complained about the smell in the cellar. I didn’t know what he was talking about, so I checked it out. Dad, why didn’t you get that fixed?”

  “Money’s been tight. I was hoping after the new year I’d have enough extra to get it taken care of. I suppose that’s not going to be in the cards after Whale bailed. I assume you closed the Lep.”

  I at least had one good card to pull, and it wasn’t the joker. “No, I kept the bar open, and you actually had a fantastic night. With Jill Zat’s help. Coop, Eddy, JT, and Rocky and Tulip pitched in too. Oh, and a gal who was looking for you named Lisa Vecoli. I think she’s a St. Paul cop. The name ring a bell?”

  “Can’t say it does. What’s she look like?”

  I went on to describe her.

  My father said, “Doesn’t sound familiar. Anyway, thank you for keeping the joint open.”

  Now it was time to get into stickier issues. “St. Paul Homicide showed up asking for you, asking about the gun you used to keep under the bar.” My brain registered warmth swirling around my legs. The shoebox-sized heater hummed along and worked impressively well.

  This was a moment of truth. Coop sat up straighter. His arms were crossed, hands tucked into his armpits as he raptly watched the exchange between me and my father. I carefully gauged my dad’s expression, which had not yet morphed from its current state of curious puzzlement into a mask of guilt.

  “What about it?” The tone of his voice portrayed curiosity.

  “It’s gone. I looked and couldn’t find it anywhere.”

  My dad frowned lopsidedly. “That’s strange. I went to the range a week ago, and afterward cleaned it and left it next to the cooler beneath the bar where I usually keep it. Did Whale take it with him?”

  I didn’t think my father was lying, but I suppose the kid in me never knew for sure when my parent spoke an untruth. It was time to drop the first bomb. “I don’t think he took it … he walked off wearing a tight, sweaty T-shirt and jeans. Unless he lifted it before that point. Anyway, the cops are looking for you. They think you killed Chuck Schuler.”

  “That bastard Schuler is dead? Good riddance. I sure would’ve liked to exterminate that pest. He pissed me off, was trying to get me to turn the bar over to him. I think I told you that awhile back, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, Dad, you did.” I took a fortifying breath. “Schuler is dead, and the bullet that killed him came from your gun.”

  For a moment, even the hum of the heater faded from my awareness. I held still, waiting to see what my dad would say.

  His brow furrowed as much as it could in light of the swelling. “From my gun? Are you sure?”

  “JT confirmed it with a cop friend from St. Paul.”

  “Shay, Coop,” my dad said, “I swear I didn’t kill anyone. Yes, Schuler was a pain in the ass, and yes, I don’t mind that the slimeball is dead. He had the Lep vandalized more than once tryin’ to convince me to cooperate.” He muttered under his breath, “I remember that, anyway.”

  I don’t know if it was the daughter in me that longed to believe what my father was saying—blood is thicker than water—but I bought it. A flood of relief washed through my veins, leaving me lightheaded and a little punch-drunk. Just as fa
st as relief hit, it washed away in an anxious wave, leaving me vaguely nauseous. There was still the minor matter of the body that had been found in the basement of my father’s bar.

  I tried to clear my suddenly sticky throat. “There’s one other problem. The stench in the cellar got so bad I finally called Roto-Rooter out. The problem was a cracked sewer pipe—”

  “Figured.”

  “A cracked sewer pipe wasn’t all they dug up under the cement.” I carefully watched my dad’s face to see if he’d reveal guilt, or more hopefully, innocence. However, he was good at poker, and his poker face was firmly in place.

  “Well, what did they find? Buried treasure? Maybe that would help me out of the red.”

  “Not exactly.” I swallowed at the lump that was growing thicker. “They found bones. Human bones and a dress …”

  For the second time in as many minutes, silence hovered louder than sound ever could.

  “Jesus Christ,” my father muttered. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

  Oh god, please don’t let him say he did it.

  My father’s good eye flicked from me to Coop and back again. “Oh no. You can’t be serious. You think I offed some woman and buried her in the basement of my bar?” His voice rose in indignation.

  I simply shrugged, feeling helpless, way over my head. Maybe there were some things that a kid just didn’t need to know about their parents.

  “Shay,” my dad said, making a concerted effort to remain calm, but a vein in his temple pulsed. He gently reached forward to cup his work-rough palm against my cheek and tilted my head up. “Look at me.”

  I did.

  “I did not bury any bodies in the basement of the Leprechaun or anywhere else. That, I can swear on.”

  I felt like a puppet that suddenly had its strings cut … all wobbly and lethargic. “I believe you—”

  “Well, well,” a voice cut in from behind me. “If it isn’t the O’

  Hanlons and that tall nerdy bastard, all lined up in a nice row.”