Such Wicked Friends

by Rod Hoisington

  Sandy yelled, “She what?”

  Martin continued, “She told you that after I fondled her on the night Brad died....”

  “After you fondled her?”

  “Sandy, be quiet a minute. After she said I fondled her, she said that she could never be unfaithful to the memory of her husband. And that’s when I got mad and killed him.”

  “The point, Martin?”

  “The memory. She used the word memory. She said that she could never be unfaithful to the memory of her husband. He wasn’t a memory at that point he was still alive out on the chaise. And I was supposedly inside trying to seduce her. He wasn’t dead yet, you see? Memories come later. Obviously, she was lying. Her accusation was meaningless.”

  “Or she simply misspoke,” Jaworski said. “Are you saying she killed him?”

  “I’m saying she’s lying about me.”

  The detective turned to leave. “Thanks for coming in. I’m going to let you go now.”

  She said, “That sounds like a big favor, Eddy. Why wouldn’t you let him go?”

  “We can’t seem to find this Ted Cobalt to back up the alibi of your affectionate buddy here who performs meaningless acts on women. I was just informed that Cobalt’s car is gone. The apartment manager hasn’t seen him for days.”

  She shook her finger at Martin. “Shame on you. After molesting Jenna and murdering Brad, did you also do away with Ted, so he couldn’t deny you were with him?”

  Jaworski smirked. “Well, if any of you characters run into him tell him to call me. I need his statement for the record.”

  She and Martin went out and stood by his car. She asked, “Did you try to phone Ted?”

  “Left a message. Then Jaworski sent a cop over to Ted’s apartment.”

  “I’d like to check out his apartment myself. You don’t happen to remember the cop’s name, do you?”

  “Can’t think of it. Why?”

  “Uniform or PC?”

  “Plain clothes. Tall, skinny guy.”

  “Blond buzz cut?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sounds like Carl Moore.”

  “Yes, Moore. That’s what he called him, Moore. Why?”

  “Drive me over to Ted’s. Let’s use your car. It looks more official than a red sports convertible.”

  “What are we doing?”

  “How does breaking and entering grab you?”

  Ted’s apartment and the police station were both near the old struggling downtown area of Park Beach. The chain stores out in the malls had easily grabbed off the customers, and the streets now were almost empty. She told him to park the car directly in front of the main entrance in the No-Parking area. They rang at the front entrance until the manager appeared. She put on her best grim face and demanded, “What’s your name?”

  The manager stuttered, “John...Swanson.”

  “Swanson, huh.” She gave Martin a suspicious look as though they shared some terrible secret about this Swanson. She continued, “Detective Moore was here awhile ago. Now we’re here. I’m Reid and this is Bronner. We want to check out Cobalt’s apartment.”

  Martin tried to stifle a cough. The manager said, “I don’t know....”

  She locked eyes with him, and speaking very slowly she repeated, “We want to check out Ted Cobalt’s apartment, Swanson.”

  They followed the manager up the stairs, waited as he sorted through some keys and unlocked the apartment door. She kicked the door open carelessly with her foot and gave Martin a nudge inside. The manager started to follow. She put her arm across the doorway to block him and closed the door in his face saying, “That’ll be all, Swanson.”

  Martin protested in a low voice, “How many laws did we just break?”

  “I doubt there’s a law against confusing an apartment manager. There might be others. Besides, Ted’s your friend.”

  “Only until he learns I’ve been in here.”

  “Check the bathroom for a damp toothbrush.”

  “If I find one, what does that mean?”

  “I don’t know, Martin. I was just trying to impress you.”

  “Nancy Drew would know.”

  “Go check the bathroom. I’ll look in the bedroom for his dead body.”

  He reported back, “No toothbrush at all in there and the light was on.”

  “I think he went somewhere in a hurry. Closet doors are open. Look at the bedspread. That indentation is where a suitcase was resting. He’s on a trip somewhere. Let’s boot up his computer.”

  “I definitely must strongly object. Would you enter my home and treat my place in this manner?”

  “Oh sure, if you were missing and I thought you were in trouble.” The computer blinked to life. “Oh good, his e-mail program is coming up.”

  “You don’t know the password and I’m glad. Let’s get out of here while we’re still unindicted.”

  “What’s his dog’s name?”

  “I don’t think he has a dog.”

  “He has a dog all right, I can smell it. Come on. Let’s find the utility room.” She started down the hall.

  “I’m through with this. You might not care, but I’ve a law license of my own to protect. I’m waiting outside.”

  “Okay, you go outside and answer all the manager’s questions. Oh, here’s the utility room. Help me look for a leash or dog tags. We need the dog’s name.”

  “You want the dog’s name? Right there.” He pointed to a dog’s bowl. It says, ‘Max’.”

  She rushed back to the computer and entered “Max” as a password. “Doesn’t work. It says password must be at least six characters.”

  “Maxwell,” he suggested.

  She tried it. The screen blossomed onto his email page. She clicked around for a minute. “Nothing recent here that would hurry him off. Several from a Sheila. Nothing sexy, but they’re all signed with love. I’ll copy down her email address.”

  “Yes, very ominous—she’s his wife. They have a summer place in Kennebunkport. In any case, you’d better check her out. She might have kidnapped him.”

  “Okay. Okay. So, there’s nothing suspicious here. Let’s scram before you have a seizure.”

  Martin was relieved once they were out of there and back in his car.

  “Sorry about raising your anxiety level. I’m worried about Ted. Not just because he’s your alibi. He didn’t show for the appointment at our office, he hasn’t returned your several calls and he hurried away from his apartment.”

  “Maybe his wife knows where he is?”

  “We now have her email. Can you send her a message from your smartphone? Ask about him without alarming her. Now take me back to my car. I’ll be in the office. Call me there later.”

  “Why don’t you go straight home? There’s a Tropical Storm Warning posted.”

  “You mean a warning like it’s coming, or a warning like don’t worry about it?”

  “We’ll get a couple days of heavy rain at most.”

  “Okay, I won’t worry until you old timers tell me to worry. I’ll be at the office for only a couple of hours. A little rain won’t bother me.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  A light sprinkle had started by the time Sandy returned to the office. She parked and walked slowly to the building. The wind was coming up, but the sprinkle felt pleasant on the warm day.

  She settled in at her desk listening to the gentle patter on the windows—a pleasant summertime rain to work by. Her afternoon in the office continued quietly enough although occasionally she was aware of the sound of heavier rain. Around four, she heard the first low growl of wind. By five a torrent of rain had started. Soon she heard rain smashing against the side of the building, rattling the windows. She decided to lock up the office and get over to Chip’s before it got worse.

  The phone rang as she was leaving. It took a moment for her realize it was Ted Cobalt calling. “Martin told me the other night that I could trust you. I’m in a bit of a spot. Can I trust you, Sandy?”

 
“You can absolutely trust me, Ted.” Although that was the answer an untrustworthy person would also give. “How can I help you?” Silence for a long minute. “Ted?”

  He spoke haltingly, “Just stay on the line I might have to stop talking anytime. I’m leaving now. I can be in Park Beach in less than an hour. No, bad rain has started here. Give me a full hour.”

  “Good I’ll meet you.” She had no idea what was going on. “Do you know where my office is?”

  “Too dangerous...I might be followed. We need a public place to meet.”

  “How about the Sabal Palm Plaza, you know it?”

  “Good. By Citibank. One hour.”

  “Okay, Citibank. What are you driving?

  “Silver Buick. You?”

  “Little red convertible.”

  She stood at the office window. The sky was darkening. Now all rain and wind. She saw the automatic streetlights flicker and stay on. She didn’t want to leave the warm and dry office, nevertheless finally meeting the illusive Ted Cobalt would be worth getting a little wet.

  She watched the clock and forty-five minutes later, she found an umbrella, locked the office and trotted through the heavy rain to her convertible parked beside the building.

  She pulled out into what was now a full storm so dark it could have passed for midnight. She drove slowly her wipers no match for the windblown downpour. Sporadically, strong gusts of wind buffeted her small car. She strained to see. She was familiar with the Sabal Palm Plaza and it wasn’t far. Almost six o’clock—the going home traffic. She pulled in and stopped in an uncrowded area at the far edge of the plaza parking lot by Citibank.

  She sat listening to the sloppy rhythm of the wipers and watched the cars pass in the lane beyond. An occasional gust of wind would rock her car and she’d catch the sweet smell of ozone.

  Finally, a car turned toward her; the headlights approached slowly. A silver Buick passed close by then made a U-turn and pulled up close beside her. The two cars were now side-by-side but facing opposite directions, the way cops park along the highway, so both officers can stay behind the wheel and talk.

  They each lowered their driver’s side windows. The wind and rain pelted them both. She yelled, “Wait, I’ll come over and get in your car.”

  “No, time. They’re close behind me. I didn’t tell Martin the whole story. Margaret told me about the violations and gave me the files when we first met. I followed Martin to that sports bar. I thought if I told him who shot her it would get things moving, and maybe I could stay out of it. I was afraid to meet with you guys or do anything.”

  “What? Can’t hear you...not sure I got all that.”

  “The files! Can’t do it. They’ll get me. They’ll get my wife.” He held a brown manila file folder out the window. “Please!”

  As she reached her arm out to take the folder, she heard two loud bangs, too close and too sharp to be thunder. The first shot shattered her windshield and whizzed by her left ear and out the open window. The second slammed into Ted’s back. He fell forward against the wheel. The folder fell from his hand out the window to the wet pavement.

  She heard car doors slamming and men yelling. Her windshield looked like a field of crystal confetti. She couldn’t drive it like that. Without thinking further, she leaped out of her Miata, opened the front door of the Buick, ducked and dove into the front seat. It took both hands to shove his body across into the other seat.

  The Buick was still running. Good. Because she was unsure how to start it. She jerked the lever into Drive and...wait! She slammed the lever back into Park, opened the door and ran back to pick up the manila folder. She slipped on the wet pavement and fell sliding on her bandaged shoulder. She winced with sudden pain as she reached out and grabbed the folder. Another shot hit the side window of the Buick as she got up and ran back.

  She stepped on the gas pedal. The tires on the Buick spun uselessly on the wet pavement then grabbed, and the car charged forward. The seat was too low and too far back. She could never handle this monster in that position—could barely see over the steering wheel. Head for the police station isn’t that what they say. She saw headlights in the rearview mirror coming up fast. Must be them. She ran the stop sign at the end of the aisle and turned toward the exit. She looked back. Under the bright lights along the buildings, she could see the other car was long and black. Get out of there. Get to the police station. But would there be cops standing outside in the rain? No. It would take mere seconds for those goons behind her to riddle her full of bullets, grab the folder and drive off into the blackness. Where then? The hospital? Of course for Ted’s sake. People all around. Yes! Double good if Ted isn’t dead yet. She wouldn’t have bet on that.

  Whoops! Wrong direction for the hospital. She braked hard while turning the wheel to the limit. The Buick fishtailed and skidded on the wet street doing a U-turn. She hadn’t planned it, but it pointed the Buick in the right direction. She swerved. Just missed a large truck. Another car stopped suddenly to let her do whatever she wanted. She slid sideways across in front of it. Ran the stop sign at the exit. A car swerved to miss her, skidded and bounced across the median. Sorry about that, fella.

  She could barely see over the steering wheel. She drove faster. She knew it was risky. Didn’t want to die in a crash. Be dead like Ted. Maybe this meeting with him wasn’t such a great idea. She took her hand from the wheel for a second to wipe the wetness from her cheeks. Was it blood, tears?

  Red light coming up. Please change. Change damn it! Change! The black car was right on her rear bumper. She slowed as though about to stop. Then at the last second she gunned it. She sped through the busy intersection on red. The response of horns was immediate. Two cars swerved, one slid off over the sidewalk. She looked in the rearview mirror. The black car slid back into view. Somehow, they made it through. They were right there again.

  Another red light. One car in front. She skidded to a stop. No choice. The black car pulled up immediately behind her. Unconsciously, she fumbled for the seatbelt and fastened it. She pounded on the wheel trying to move the cars ahead. She reached her hand down beside the seat and found some buttons. Yes. She could move the seat all around; she moved it higher and closer. Fantastic. Okay, now she was set. The sweet smell of ozone was gone. Everything smelled foul now. Was it his blood? Could you smell blood strong like that? She touched her hand to her bandaged arm and then looked at her hand. It was wet but didn’t look like blood. She looked over at the body. Blood everywhere.

  They were waiting behind. In the rearview mirror, all she could see was headlights. They wouldn’t shoot would they—all these cars around? They waited. Then green light. The car in front moved on. She waited. The black car slammed into her rear bumper. The big Buick didn’t move—her foot on the brake. Cars waiting behind them honked. She waited, pulling back and forth on the wheel out of sheer nervousness. Finally, the light turned red for her. She counted, one, two, three and floored the gas pedal. The Buick swung violently left in front of the oncoming crossing traffic. Behind, they were caught off guard. They inched out into the intersection forcing both sides of traffic to halt. A delivery truck skidded and crashed into the back fender of the black car spinning it a half-turn. She looked in the rearview mirror. Boxes and barrels were scattered and rolling about. Everything was jammed up back there in the intersection. People were out of their cars yelling in the rain. She was on down the block swerving into any gap in traffic she could find. She saw headlights coming up behind. They looked different. Then they turned. No black car.

  Hospital street coming up. She skidded as she turned and followed the signs to EMERGENCY. She pulled up to the Emergency Room entrance and opened the car door. Headlights suddenly bounced up the driveway behind her and screeched to a stop. Two big men with large guns jumped out. She slid back in behind the wheel. She heard a shot and the rear window shattered behind her. She slammed her foot down and unleashed the Buick. It sprang forward, pounced over the curb, leaped up the steps and smashed
through the automatic glass doors. She didn’t brake until the Buick was resting in the emergency room lobby.

  She looked back through the smoke, dust and broken glass at the huge jagged hole where the double set of glass doors had once been and watched as the other car sped off. She sat there trembling. A dozen waiting patients were scattered, standing on chairs and pressed against the wall. Some were screaming. Some crying. A security guard ran up and stood in front of the car pounding on the hood, shaking his fist and yelling something about all the damage, as though she wasn’t aware of where the car was. She was afraid to look over at the body of Ted Cobalt. No movement since she’d first shoved him across the car seat.

  An ER nurse, suspecting she might be injured, ran around the counter, pushed the guard out of the way and tiptoed carefully through the debris of twisted metal and shattered glass. Dust was still swirling in the air. The nurse hurried up to the car window. Sandy was still sitting there. She looked sheepishly at the nurse and pointed at Ted’s body. “Bring him back to life. Please.”

  The nurse swung into action. After they had moved his body to a gurney, Sandy lifted the file folder from the car floor, tucked it under her arm and got out of the car. Another nurse came over to give her a brief exam to be certain none of the blood on her clothes was her own. “What’s this bandage on your upper arm? It’s wet.”

  “Yeah, I fell on it.”

  “Fell? Maybe you reinjured it. Was it broken? You need to see the doctor.”

  “No, it’s okay. Just check me for new bullet holes and give me a towel.”

  “You can set that file down while I check you out.”

  “No, I can’t,” she answered.

  “We heard on the police scanner about a high-speed chase through town with shots fired. Was that you?”

  “Yeah, and not as much fun as you might think.”

  “You could use a tranquilizer. Not supposed to do this, but I have one in my handbag. Want it?”

  “Anything you’ve got.”