Snowjob

by Ted Wood

  “Okay,” Hinton said. “Yeah, there’s some logic in that.”

  “So we need to know who killed him,” Doug said. “And I figure it was the same guy who sent Kelly here to off me and Reid.”

  “Who was likely the same guy who called in to report a prowler,” I said. “My guess is he was scared we’d work Kelly over and get the truth out of him. He wanted him out of here and in the station where there’s Miranda rules and lawyers and all of that stuff.”

  “We keep a tape of incoming calls,” Hinton said. “I’ll listen to it when I get to the station house, see if I can identify the voice.”

  “Must be a local,” Doug said. “No out-of-towner would know the name of the people at 239.”

  “Leave it with me,” Hinton said. “If I recognize the voice I’ll be on his case so fast his head’s gonna spin.”

  Doug reached out and bumped him on the arm. “Thanks, Pat.”

  Hinton winked. “What’s a partner for?” He nodded and left and Doug shut the door behind him.

  “This is getting complicated,” I said. “Hell, who’d want to get us two killed?”

  “Manatelli,” Doug said firmly. “His ass is in a sling. He’s not afraid of us but he’s afraid of the mud that’s getting stirred up. If news of it gets back to his boss, he’s for the deep six with the concrete overshoes.”

  “Yeah, but how would he have known your neighbor’s name?”

  “Maybe Kelly gave him the name ahead of time,” Doug said thoughtfully. “Kelly knew he’d need some backup if we got to him. But it’s no use now. He won’t tell the police anything.”

  “Not if he’s been arrested enough times to know the rules. And the most he can be charged with is trespass and having that gun.”

  “You watch,” Doug said grimly. “I’ll bet there’s some fat-ass lawyer down there inside an hour, have him out before he says a word. I’ll check with Pat in the morning. You’ll see, Garfield will have sprung the guy.”

  “So let’s get some sack time,” I said. “We can sleep safely now.”

  “Yeah.” Doug gestured at the couch. “Leave that, come up an’ crash in Angie’s room.”

  “This’ll be fine. I’ll set Sam to keep for us. We can sleep.” I yawned. “See you in the morning.”

  “You sure about that couch?” he asked doubtfully.

  “Sure as you’re born.” I gave him a bump on the arm and he went up to bed. I told Sam to keep and went to sleep. It took a little time to unjangle my head but at last I was gone and didn’t wake until Doug came down. It was almost nine o’clock.

  He was shaved and fresh and waved hi. Then he put the coffeepot on and called the station. I heard him talking as I got up and folded the blankets. He came back in as I was heading up to the shower. “Surprise, surprise,” he said. “Garfield was waiting at the station when Kelly got there. Had him out before the guys could even talk to him.”

  I paused at the foot of the stairs. “This is all being organized by someone local.”

  “Someone with money,” Doug said. “And the best bet is Huckmeyer. I think we have to talk to that guy today.”

  “You can’t. I have to,” I said. “How about a big breakfast? I figure this is going to be a tough day.”

  I showered and shaved and came down to bacon and eggs. By the time I’d finished it was almost ten and I took Sam and set out for Cat’s Cradle, stopping first at a tire place to have a replacement put on my spare.

  The mechanic showed me the damage, a clean slit, an inch long. “Somebody didn’t like you parking where you did,” he said cheerfully. “I’d watch before I parked there again.”

  “That’s a promise,” I told him.

  The skiers were out at Cat’s Cradle in full strength but I found a parking spot and went to the office. I was still fifty yards away when I saw Captain Schmidt coming out. He was alone and I jogged over to him. “Morning, Captain. What did Huckmeyer say about the IOUs?”

  Schmidt had eyes like a bull terrier, sunk deep in the beef of his face. “Oh, it’s you,” he said and kept walking. I fell in beside him and he spoke without looking at me. “Like I expected. He said yeah, he’d been owned money by Grant. Two times. Both times the guy paid him and he canceled the IOU. That satisfy you?”

  “Why did he mark one ‘paid’ and the other one ‘discharged’? Did you ask him that?”

  Schmidt checked his stride and turned to face me. “You won’t be happy until Huckmeyer’s in trouble, will you? What is it with you?”

  “Did you ask him?” I repeated.

  “Yes. I asked him. He said that the second time he was in a hurry and just scribbled on it.”

  “If he was in that big a hurry, why not scribble ‘paid’? It would’ve saved him a whole bunch of letters and a second of his valuable time.”

  Schmidt took a deep breath and looked at me for a moment before answering. “Frankly, Mr. Bennett, you are starting to give me a pain in the ass. Just because you come up with something doesn’t make it any more important than anything else we find.”

  I tried to speak but he held up his hand and kept on talking. “I am satisfied that this man, who I’ve known since he was a pup, is honest and can be trusted. If he tells me a perfectly valid reason why he did something, that’s okay by me.”

  “How many people does he lend money to? Did he tell you that? Or didn’t you bother asking him?”

  He looked at me for a moment, then said, “We’re through talkin’,” and walked away to his car.

  I stood and watched as he got in and drove away, spurting snow and gravel from under his wheels in an angry rush. Then I turned and went on to the office.

  The same receptionist was at the desk. I told her, “Walt’s expecting me,” and walked through to Huckmeyer’s office.

  He was at his desk and he jumped up when I came in. “You can’t come in here.”

  “You don’t think so? Phone the chief of police. He’s given me permission to follow up on the Cindy Laver killing.”

  He picked up his phone, watching to see if I was going to chicken out. I just turned my head away, humming a little song, and he hung up and sat down. “I’ve just been talking to the police,” he said.

  “I’m aware of that, Mr. Huckmeyer. I spoke to the captain but he didn’t ask you a couple of questions which I’d anticipated, so if you don’t mind, this will only take a minute.”

  “That’s all the time I’ve got,” he said. “I’m going out to check the operations.”

  “Fine. First, can you tell me please how many other people you lend sizable sums of money to?”

  “I don’t have to answer that,” he said sharply.

  “No, but if you don’t, you leave the nasty suspicion that you only lend to rounders who end up getting killed on your property and being charged, posthumously, with another murder.”

  He stood up. “Talk to my lawyer.”

  “Who’s that? The lovely and talented counselor Garfield? The same guy who sprang Kelly last night after he came to kill me?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It came out right but he wasn’t looking at me.

  “The same guy who knew the names of the people on Doug Ford’s street, so somebody could use their name and call for the police before we had a chance for a good talk with Kelly?”

  “I don’t care what the chief has told you. This isn’t a police investigation and you’re not a cop. I want you out of my office.”

  I wagged a finger at him. “I’ll go, but I have to tell you that Mr. Manatelli isn’t going to be pleased. All this fuss at Cat’s Cradle is going to get back to him. He may dump another body on your slopes. Only this time it might be yours.”

  He was white, either from anger or from fear, there was no way of telling. “Get out,” he hissed.

  “’Bye. See you again when you feel more like talking,” I told him.

  I turned to the door and asked, “Oh, just one more thing. How much cash was in the bag that Cindy Laver took home tha
t night?”

  I could see the question had rattled him but he just repeated, “Get out. And stay out. I’m going to put a security man on the door to keep you out.”

  “Better get two, one to go with you when you visit Brewskis,” I said and left.

  I looked in at Brewskis but the staff people I knew hadn’t come on duty so I drove back, slowly. Kelly’s pickup was beside his shack and so was a Cadillac. I pulled in behind it, noting the license. A Vermont plate.

  As I walked up to the front with Sam at my heel, Kelly opened the door. He had his shotgun at the ready. “Get offa my property,” he said. “Do it now before I shoot that fuckin’ dog.”

  I pulled Doug’s pistol out of my pocket. “Pull that trigger and you’re one dead rounder.”

  “You think so?”

  “Wanna try?” I kept the gun aimed squarely at his eyes.

  He let the muzzle of the gun droop. “We’ll talk,” I told him. “If not now, after your shyster lawyer’s gone home. I’m gonna be in your face until you tell me who sent you.”

  It was the kind of shoving match you see in schoolyards. We both knew we couldn’t do anything but I knew his kind. You have to keep the pressure on or they forget the trouble they’re in. He lowered the gun completely and then, surprisingly, looked back into the shack and then stepped aside.

  A man came out of the doorway, dark, fifty-five or so, well dressed, Italian. And then another man. The one who had kidnapped Angie Ford.

  The first one spoke to Kelly, very low, and Kelly dropped his eyes and went back inside. Then the guy spoke to me, a low voice that let you know he expected to be listened to. “Put the gun away,” he said.

  I did and he came down the walk toward me. “You got a problem?” he growled. Pure godfather. Marlon Brando has a lot to answer for.

  “Not me. But it seems you do.”

  The bodyguard had his hands in his pockets but I figured there was a gun in one of them. He spoke to his boss first. “That’s the guy I told you about, from Canada.” He seemed like he wanted to be more respectful, to call his boss Mr. But he was afraid to say the name where I could hear it. The boss said nothing and the bodyguard spoke to me. “You said you was goin’ home.”

  “I lied. I’ll mention it next time I go to confession.”

  Manatelli grinned at me. “You’re a good Catholic boy. I like that.” Then the grin dropped away as he went on, “I give the word an’ you don’t make it to confession. You’re dead.”

  “Like Cindy Laver? like Grant? Like Wendy Tate?”

  He spread his arms. “I don’t know anybody with those names.”

  “So what’s your proposition? Or did you come out here to get some fresh air?”

  “Tough,” he said softly. “Always tough guys. Listen, tough guy. I’m a reasonable man. I see a problem, I fix it. You’re too tough to be threatened? Fine. I deal with you another way. What’s your price?”

  “My price is simple. But it’s not money. I want Doug Ford cleared. That too high for you?”

  Manatelli grinned again. It didn’t look any warmer this time.” What’s he charged with?”

  “Just to refresh your memory, Murder One, plus theft of fifty grand.”

  “Go on back to his place and wait,” he said. “It’s going to be all right. I have connections. Unnerstand?”

  “As soon as he’s clear, I’m gone. And the talk about your money-laundering goes with me. Everything’s sweet.”

  That made him narrow his eyes. “Go and wait,” he said.

  “I’ll wait one day.”

  The bodyguard made a growling sound and his coat crunched up as he raised the gun he had in his pocket.

  I figured he was the guy who’d cost me a new tire so I sneered at him. “Nice coat. Get the tailor to cut more slack in the next one, or get yourself a smaller gun. The size of your dick would be fine.”

  His chin dropped and he opened his mouth to reply but Manatelli looked at him and they both just stood there as I walked away and put Sam into my car.

  Doug’s next-door neighbor was chipping ice off the sidewalk when I drove in and we exchanged waves as I got out of the car. I went in and found Doug in the basement, cutting a board on a table saw. He switched the saw off and took off his goggles when I came down. “What’d our boy say?”

  “Not a lot, but I had a talk with Manatelli.”

  Doug stood and listened while I filled him in and then said, “How’s he gonna handle that, get me off the charges? D’hesay?”

  “No. Maybe he just wants me out of his hair while he pulls some stunt. Like maybe he’s moving his money from the bank to Barbados or some place. But that won’t stop me going on with the investigation if he hasn’t cleared you.”

  “He’s a snake,” Doug said. “I don’t see how he can get the charges wiped unless he’s got clout with the chief. An’ that don’t wash. The chief’s honest.”

  “So, we’ll wait,” I said. “Maybe he’s planning to pull some stunt but we’re armed. We’re in the house. He knows he can’t get at us. And tomorrow, I’m back on his case.”

  “Well, okay,” Doug said. “If you wanna go by what he said, well, what can I say?”

  So we spent the afternoon working together on the bookshelf for Angie’s room. Doug cut and I sanded and it r came out looking like something from a store. At six o’clock we knocked off for a drink before supper and Doug flipped the TV on for the news.

  The usual election stories and foreign wars dominated the national news. Then the local anchor came on and made an announcement that stopped us cold.

  “Another violent death has rocked the quiet skiing town of Chambers today.” The camera showed a car on a quiet road with police cars around it, doors open, Cassidy and Schmidt and some uniformed men conferring. “An out-of-town visitor, a man who police claim is active in an organized crime family in New Jersey, was found shot to death in this rented car. A gun was found beside him and there are reports that he left a suicide note. Few details yet but we will bring you up to date as we learn more.”

  Doug turned to me wide-eyed. “That’s Manatelli they’re talkin’ about. Did you kill the sonofabitch?”

  FIFTEEN

  I looked at him in disbelief, and he said, “Sorry, Reid. But this whole thing is unbelievable. Guys like Manatelli don’t blow themselves away.”

  “I didn’t kill him but somebody else did. I spoke to him before I came back here. He was fat and sassy then. He wasn’t planning suicide.”

  Doug stood up, pacing up and down in front of the TV which was still playing the shot of the crime scene. He reached out absently and switched it off. “Okay. I’m sorry. But who did it?”

  “Maybe his bodyguard did. Maybe he was Mucci’s man after all and killed him on Mucci’s say-so.”

  “That’s the best guess,” Doug said, looking at me but not seeing me, his eyes turned inward on his thoughts. “If the bodyguard’d been doin’ his job he’d’ve stopped the guy who pulled the trigger.” He stood and considered that for a moment. “But think a minute. If it was a mob killing there wouldn’t have been any suicide note.” He thrust his arms out. “You know their pattern. They like their message to be loud an’ clear.”

  “Maybe they had a reason for cleaning things up down here. Maybe they’re not through with Chambers yet. They want some time and they bought it the best way they could.”

  Doug sat down, crossing his legs tightly, rubbing his chin. He was tied up tighter than I’d ever seen him, even when things were bad in Nam. When he spoke I knew he hadn’t been listening to me.

  “I wanted the guy wiped out,” he said softly. “You heard me say it. But now it’s happened I feel like shit. He insulted Melody, sure. An’ me an’ every brother in the world. But you don’t shoot guys for that.”

  “This isn’t your fault.”

  He waved me off. “I didn’t pull the trigger but it’s all down to me.”

  “You didn’t kill him. You suspected he was involved in a crime, you checked
it out. You’re a cop. It’s your job.”

  He didn’t answer and I could see he needed some space so I said, “I’ll put some coffee on.”

  It’s true. Watched pots never boil. I stayed in the kitchen for what seemed like an hour until the coffee was ready. Then I heard the doorbell ring. Doug answered it. “Well, hi, Captain.”

  “Can I come in, Doug? Schmidt was polite but his tone was formal. But not to where he sounded as if he was here to rearrest Doug. I put another couple of mugs on a tray with the coffee and took them through. Schmidt and Cassidy were coming in, keeping their hats on. This was business. “You heard about the mob guy?” Schmidt asked Doug, ignoring me.

  “I heard about a killing, the TV didn’t say who it was,” Doug said carefully.

  “Yeah. Well. Was a guy called Manatelli. The chief said you saw him in town here, figured he was pulling something.”

  “That’s right,” Doug said. “Manatelli’s a honcho in the Mucci family.”

  “Right now he’s so much pork.” Schmidt waved one hand. “Ate his gun in his car. Left a note.”

  “That’s what the TV said.”

  Schmidt looked at me as I set down the coffee. “You been here all day?”

  “Most of it. Since around one. Why?”

  “Can you prove that?”

  “Why do I have to prove things, Captain?”

  “Because I don’t believe in Santa Claus,” Schmidt snarled. “Answer me.”

  “I came in around one, like I said. The guy next door was clearing his walk. I spoke to him. Haven’t been out since.”

  Schmidt looked at Cassidy who nodded and left without speaking.

  “You said he left a note, Captain,” Doug said softly. “What did it say, or is that confidential?”

  “It’s a fake, it what it is,” Schmidt said. He looked at the coffee tray. I poured three mugs and handed one to him, one to Doug.

  Doug said, “Thanks. What makes you say it’s a fake, Captain?”