One Lost Soul More: A Clancy Evans Mystery (Clancy Evans PI Book 1)

by M. Glenn Graves

  “Turn around,” he said.

  I did what he told me. He took my .357 from the holster using his left hand. He put the gun on the bar.

  “Sit in that chair and tell me everything you and Cyler discussed.”

  I sat down in the chair he had pointed to and began talking about the furniture and colors of Cyler’s condo. Scarletti slapped me again, a little harder this time. In the face.

  “Listen, bitch, we can dance like this all night and your face will become raw meat soon enough. What did you learn from that fag Conroy?”

  “Nothing you don’t already know.”

  “Maybe after we’ve gone to bed for a few hours you’ll feel like talkin’,” he said and grabbed me by my hair. He dragged me into the sleeping area of the suite. He threw me onto the large bed and was on top of me before I could even think of some counter plan to protect myself. Scarletti was stronger than he looked.

  He ripped my blouse and began kissing me hard when my cell phone rang. The unexpected sound distracted him just long enough for me to knee him in the groin. I put as much force as I could into my primary attack, hoping that it would hurt. He grimaced and moaned. It must have hurt. I felt better. He rolled off of me and I ran towards the bar to get my handgun. My phone was still ringing.

  I took the gun off of the bar counter and sat down on the floor in the corner behind the bar. My head was reeling from his quick and fierce attack. I was not thinking straight and I needed to calm down. Collect myself. I tried to button my blouse, but the louse had ripped off too many buttons to do that. I was mad now. It was one of my new Malone blouses.

  My seat on the floor gave me a good view of anyone coming out of the bedroom into the sitting area. He would have to pass in front of me at the entrance to the bar. I figured I could hold him off at my present location. I waited.

  He was still moaning a little after several minutes.

  “I was trying to give you a little pleasure before I killed you,” his voice seemed to be getting closer to my position. I held my breath now and then to control my breathing and calm down some more. My gun was cocked and ready to unload on him the minute he came into view.

  There was a loud knock on the entrance door.

  “Open up. This is hotel security. Open the door!” the voice was shouting. The loud knocking continued.

  I stayed on the floor behind the bar in my ready-to-shoot position.

  Scarletti emerged from the bedroom and walked past the bar. He didn’t see me hiding on the floor behind the bar. I stood up slowly and watched him walk to the door. He was not carrying his gun and had straightened his clothing to look normal.

  He opened the door. I was right behind him at this point and hit him hard with the butt of my .357. He collapsed in a pile between the security man and me.

  “Ouch,” the security man said. “I’ll bet that hurt.”

  “I hope so.”

  46

  “I guess he followed me to Conroy’s place and then back to my hotel,” I said to Dennis Morland as we sat in his office on Beaubien.

  “You wanna press charges?”

  “You bet your life. He tried to rape me.”

  “Attempted rape won’t keep him for long.”

  “It’ll slow him down and get him suspended.”

  “True, but he’ll fight it.”

  “He’ll lose.”

  “Maybe, but if he can eliminate you, then he wins.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes open. Let’s talk about Bimbi Love and the case against her.”

  “Solid case. All evidence points to her.”

  “What’s her story?”

  “Says she found him dead the next morning. Next to her in bed. She ran out of the room to get help and met the maid in the lobby. The maid came into the suite and called security and they called the police. The maid said she left before security arrived on the scene.”

  “Why did she take the wallet?”

  “Keepsake or some such nonsense. Too much of a stretch for me. Anyhow, we had the pills from that bottle of anti-aging junk checked out by our labs and they were Percocet. When we found the Percocet in her apartment, two plus two made for a good case. Then as an added bonus we found the Dilantin in her place. The Medical Examiner found Dilantin in his blood stream. Too much of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

  “Where is she?”

  “Where we keep all murder suspects.”

  “May I talk with her?”

  “Sure. I’ll take you over.”

  Morland led the way from his office to the holding cells. I followed.

  “Thanks for calling the cops for me last night,” I said.

  “Least I could do. Scarletti overplayed his hand.”

  “Didn’t have much of a hand in the first place.”

  “Some players always think they can draw to that illusive inside straight,” he said.

  “Fools try.”

  Rogers and I had talked late last night after my rendezvous with Tony Scarletti and my interview with the police officers who answered the call. As usual Rogers enlightened me on several fronts. Bimbi Love turned out to be a Darlene Sledge from Minnesota. She had a daughter seventeen named Gretchen Sledge who lived with her some of the time. She found some medical records on Gretchen that listed her as being epileptic. She was taking Dilantin for it.

  Bimbi was dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans. Her dirty blond hair needed to be combed and she could have used a little makeup. They must have arrested her on her day off.

  “I ain’t talkin’ with him around,” she gestured with her chin like Rosey did.

  I looked at Morland and he shrugged.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  We both watched him leave us. I was on the outside of the cell looking at this poor, unkempt woman of about fifty. I was being kind. She looked more like an old sixty.

  “I didn’t do it.”

  “Who did?”

  “I don’t know. But I would never kill Joey.”

  “How long had you known him?”

  “About twenty years.”

  “Long time.”

  “We were lovers.”

  “I was told Joey Malone was gay and preferred little boys.”

  “It’s a lie!” she yelled at me.

  “Only what I was told.”

  “Our relationship was a secret.”

  “What relationship?”

  “My daughter is his child. Look, I don’t know who you are, but I need some help here.”

  “I’m trying to help you.”

  “Naw, I mean I need something for this damn headache. It’s killin’ me.”

  “They’ll bring you some aspirin.”

  “Won’t do no good. I’ve had these headaches all of my life. I need something strong.”

  “Migraines?”

  “Hell, I don’t know what to call them. But I take that stuff called Percocet.”

  “Prescription?”

  “Doctor in Mexico. Joey and I met a doctor there years ago and he sends us some pills every few months. Joey took care of it. Can’t get a doctor around here to give you any.”

  “Did you give Joey some of your medicine?”

  “No. I wouldn’t do that. Joey didn’t need it. He took that vitamin junk or whatever it was called. It seemed to help him. He took several pills a day.”

  “How many?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe one or two every four hours. It didn’t bother me none and it seemed to help him. Besides, I knew it was safe. Nothing much in that stuff. But he swore by it.”

  “So that night he died, you gave him some of those pills?”

  “Yeah. Joey didn’t drink all that much. I did the drinking. Anyhow, he wanted to go to bed early, so I kept waiting on him, getting up and getting his pills with water.”

  “You wait on him a lot?”

  “Sure. I loved him. He took care of me and my little girl. So whatever he wanted, I did it.”

  “You give him any Dilantin?”r />
  “Yeah, after we had sex for a while, he couldn’t sleep. Said he was too excited. So, I had some of my daughter’s medicine with me. I carry it around just in case she needs it. You never know when she will have an attack. And you can use that stuff for sleeping, too.”

  “You found Joey the next morning?”

  “I got up early to go pee and when I came back I noticed he wasn’t breathing like he usually did. He snored all the time. But he was quiet that mornin’. I shook him …” she started crying softly.

  I felt sorry for her. I was a sucker for a good story, and hers was plausible.

  “Tell me about Gretchen. Where is she now?”

  “You leave her alone. She don’t need to be drug into this mess. Say, how’d you know her name? I didn’t tell you her name.”

  “I’m an investigator.”

  “Police?”

  “Private.”

  “I don’t want to drag my daughter into this.”

  “I need to talk with her. She might be able to help you. So tell me where I can find her?”

  Bimbi thought a good while before she spoke. I could tell that she was reluctant to tell me. I waited. Vigilance finally paid off.

  “Check the soup kitchen downtown on Madison. If she’s not there, then go a few blocks down the street to the homeless shelter. She works at both places. She likes to help people.”

  “Good. Maybe she can help you.”

  “Listen, lady, you be kind to her. She’s a sweet kid, but she’s different.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s retarded a bit, but she’s got a good heart.”

  “I’ll be kind,” I said and turned to leave. I remembered something, so I stopped. “Why did you take Joey’s wallet from his room?”

  “Keepsake. Had some baby pictures of Gretchen hidden in it. I don’t know, I guess I’m just sentimental. I loved the man. He was kind to us. What can I say? I wanted something to remember him by.”

  “And not for the money?”

  “What money?” she said.

  “Money and, say, credit cards.”

  “You mean in the wallet?”

  “Bingo.”

  “Joey never carried money or plastic. Didn’t need to. Had that personal assistant that took care of everything.”

  “Enough said.”

  “Don’t forget to get me something for my headache.”

  47

  Morland failed to return by the time I was ready to leave Bimbi, so I took a cab to the soup kitchen downtown. It was a nice enough place right in the heart of the city. It was not quite eleven when I arrived, but the place was full of clients. Some were eating and some were still standing in line being served. I looked for someone who might be in charge. No one seemed to fit the bill, so I walked back into the kitchen area to seek help from one of the cooks.

  A tough looking but friendly African American lady pointed Gretchen Sledge out to me. The teenage girl was serving the plates of the people passing by the window. She was smiling and greeting each of them as if she knew them.

  “I need to talk with her for a few minutes. Could you get someone to take her place?” I said to the short, stocky woman who had pointed Gretchen out to me.

  “I’ll takes her place, Child. You jest go on and get her. You two cans talk in the pantry,” she pointed to the small closet with a single curtain hanging in front as a door.

  I told Gretchen I needed to talk with her privately about her mother, so she followed me willingly into the pantry.

  “Is Mama okay?”

  “Except for the headaches, she’s fine.”

  “Yeah, she gets lots and lots of headaches. I wish there was something we could do for her.”

  “You live with your mother?”

  “Yes, but sometimes I stay downtown in the shelter to help out. These homeless people need lots of attention sometimes. It’s my job to help all I can. I work here every day but Sunday.”

  “Important work.”

  “Yes, it is, isn’t it? I think helping people is the best thing in the world to do. What do you do for work?”

  “I help people.”

  She smiled and seemed thrilled to be talking with someone like herself.

  “Are you helping my mama?”

  “I’m trying to help her. But I need you to tell me some things.”

  “What things?”

  “Do you take medicine for your epilepsy?”

  “Yes. I don’t know the name of it, but Mama keeps it on hand. I have some in my purse in the other room. Would you like to see it?”

  “Yes, I would.”

  She hurried out of the pantry and quickly retrieved her purse. She waited until she was back in the confines of our little space before she opened her purse and took out the bottle of medicine. It was a prescription bottle for Dilantin.

  “What does your mother take for her headaches?”

  “I don’t know the name of it, but she gets it from some doctor in Mexico. We went down there some years ago, when I was a little girl, and this doctor mails it to us every few months. Mama told me that it is hard to get it in the United States of America. Is that true?”

  “True. Do you know who your father is?”

  “Yeah, but it’s a secret and I’m not supposed to talk about it with anyone.”

  “Okay. I understand that. How about if I say a name and you nod your head if the name I say is your father? Would you do that for me?”

  “That would be okay. That way we’re not talkin’ about it.”

  “Right. Joey Malone,” I said.

  “She smiled and nodded vigorously as if she was very proud.

  “I’m sorry he is dead. You must miss him a lot.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I do miss him. He was very nice to me. Always nice. He bought me lots of things and took care of me and Mama. I loved him, even though I didn’t get to show him off to anyone I know. We would go away on trips to Mexico and other places, and there we got to act like real families. You know? That was the best time of all.”

  “I guess so. Your mother and Joey ever fight?”

  “You mean hit each other?”

  “Or fuss? Loud talk.”

  “If you mean disagree, then yes. They didn’t always see eye to eye. But if you mean yell and scream at each other, never. Never. I never heard them talk ugly to each other. They loved each other. We all three loved each other. I didn’t get to see a whole lot of my daddy, but I knew he loved me. I also know that my mama loved him a lot. A whole lot.”

  “Do you know what your mother does for a living?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Why would she do that if she loved your daddy?”

  “What are you talkin’ about?”

  “She works the streets, doesn’t she?”

  “Oh, no ma’am. She quit that a long time ago. She goes out some and stands around talkin’ with some of the women, but she never does tricks. She doesn’t need to. Daddy took care of everything we needed. She’s friends with lots of the ladies who work the streets, but she doesn’t do that kind of work no more. She told me I mustn’t ever do that kind of work. She says it’s not good for you.”

  “Your mother is right. I’m glad you work here helping people.”

  “Have I helped my mama?”

  “I hope so. Now I have to find the person who really killed your father.”

  “Maybe I could help you with that.”

  “How’s that, Gretchen?”

  “I have to go back to work now. Why don’t you come back to see me and we can talk some more. I’ll be home tonight. You know where we live?”

  “I do.”

  “Then why don’t you come around and we can talk some more. I like you. You seem like a nice person.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. Thanks for your help.”

  She left quickly and was back in line serving plates when I exited the pantry. Good to see people working in jobs that they enjoyed.

  “How long has she been
working here?” I asked the African American woman who had helped me earlier.

  “Oh, ‘bout three years now, I reckon. Good worker, too.”

  “She acts as if she knows each person.”

  “She does. Knows ‘em all, by name. Best medicine in the world is to come in here and be greeted by Gretchen. She’s as good for them as that food we fix. Don’t know what we’d do without her.”

  “She get paid for this?”

  “A little, but not much. She don’t do it for the money, Honey. She’s got love inside of here,” she pointed to her heart.

  I returned to the hotel and called Rogers.

  “You come up with anything to help me?” I said.

  “Verification of what I have already told you. Found some old cancelled checks on Joey Malone. Marvelous what some banks do these days. Helps me a bundle. Anyhow, found some cancelled checks to a Carlos Cabrera in Mexico. I figured that must be the medicine that Malone bought for Bimbi.”

  “Let me tell you what I have learned. Factor this into your processors and then let me know what you think.”

  I told her everything I could recall from my conversations with Bimbi, Gretchen and Conroy. I also told her my brief exchanges with Scarletti, but I didn’t think that they were noteworthy since he said little during our brief time together. His mind was preoccupied.

  “Probably nothing more than what you have already determined. Someone is framing Bimbi Love. Sounds as if she and the daughter are on the level about Joey. And, it sounds as if Joey was not as much of a sleaze ball as you thought.”

  “I have been known to be mistaken now and then.”

  “Uh-huh. Now and then. I hear you. That be a confession?”

  “You sound like Rosey.”

  “I think it’s cool to use English that way.”

  “Cool?”

  “Yeah, way cool. So cool. Like so smokin’ to dialogue this way with my originator.”

  “I prefer that we use the English I programmed into you. Okay?”

  “Okay. But variety is the spice of life, you know. What’s your next move, Ace?”

  “Dilworth still in Virginia Beach with Craven?”

  “Headed your way today. Probably as we speak.”