The Goulden Fleece (Harry Gould Thriller Book 1)

by Raymond Obstfeld

  “Can’t you see he’s conning you, kid?” I explained. “Listen to me, I know. I’ve been dealing with cons for years. I thought everybody in the world was a sucker but me. Then I came here, and I’ve been conned from the moment I hit town until now. Conned by everybody. Don’t you see, I was the biggest sucker of all. That’s the first rule of any con, let the mark think he’s pulling one on you, let him think he’s got the advantage. Walker doesn’t care about you. He needed you to pull this off. But now that it’s over and he has his million dollars, do you think he’s still going to need you? You know too much.”

  Carl hesitated a moment, but I could see it was too late. Walker had done a thorough job on him. It would only be a matter of time before Walker would kill him, too.

  “Come on, let’s go,” Carl said, and we moved toward the front door. I gave the stuffed pheasant one last look. Even he was grinning. There was still a chance I could reach the kid on the drive to wherever he was taking us, but it didn’t look too hopeful.

  There were lot of splinters flying and lots of shouting when Lt. Bower came bulldozing through the front door leading a parade of uniformed and plainclothes policemen. Carl looked startled, but his instincts had already aimed his gun at Lt. Bower. I tackled him as he was about to shoot, the force of which caused the gun to discharge anyway. We wrestled a few minutes until Lt. Bower came over and lifted Carl up with one hand. A few of his men handcuffed him and led him out the door along with Walker. Walker was no longer smiling. Neither was the stuffed pheasant.

  Jerry had a handkerchief pressed tightly against the back of his neck. I could see the blood seeping through.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “You did it on purpose, Gould. I know you did it on purpose, and I’m going to get you. Attempted murder of a federal officer.”

  “Look, the gun just went off. I couldn’t help it.”

  Lt. Bower returned from inspecting the den and ordered one of his men to call an ambulance for De Young’s body. He picked up the leather bag with the million dollars.

  “How’d you get here?” I asked him just as Heather and Melinda ran through the door. We hugged each other a lot. It felt good to be with someone who didn’t want to lock me up or kill me.

  “I told him you were coming here, Harry,” Heather admitted. “I thought that this time you were getting in over your head.”

  “He was in over his head from the beginning,” Lt. Bower offered.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here. We’ll take your statements at the station,” he quickly said.

  “Just a minute, Lieutenant,” Jerry said, flipping open his identification card. “FBI—and I’m taking full responsibility for this prisoner. He’s wanted for questioning by the Bureau.”

  “I don’t care if you want him for May Queen, he’s going with me.”

  “I have jurisdiction here,” Jerry protested.

  “Like hell you do!” Lt. Bower explained. “Now if you want to wait here for the ambulance and let them take care of your wound, you’re welcome to. Otherwise, I’ll have you taken in for obstructing an officer in the performance of his duty.”

  Jerry started another protest, but upon consulting his nose, thought better of it. “I’ll get even with you yet, Gould,” he mumbled as the rest of us climbed into police cars. Lt. Bower was behind the wheel, Melinda next to him, and Heather and I held hands in the back. It was nice to be in a car without a gun pointed at me.

  “By the way, Lieutenant,” I said leaning toward him from the back seat. “I still have a few unanswered questions.”

  Chapter Twenty

  It was about 5:00 a.m. when the four of us slid into a booth and ordered breakfast. Lt. Bower and Melinda were sharing a menu and smiling a lot at each other. He ordered a double portion of pancakes.

  “If the pancakes be the food of love, pile on,” I said with a sigh.

  “What do you mean?” he asked as if I’d just accused him of something.

  “I mean you still haven’t answered my questions. We were in that police station for hours, and I still don’t know the whole story.”

  He leaned back and smiled smugly. “What do you want to know?”

  “First, I want to know how the whole thing got started. Why Bartlett and Walker became partners in the first place?”

  “We don’t know exactly when they first became partners, but it was probably a few years ago. It was then that Bartlett approached Walker with a proposition. If Walker would feed the information to him on all of De Young’s financial deals and arrangements, Bartlett would give Walker a share of the profits, and he’d work it so only the two of them would know. That worked out for the both of them for a while. Bartlett’s bosses were pleased with his work, while De Young got the blame for his organization’s losses. Then they decided to make one real push and siphon off as much as they could. Well, even Bartlett knew that eventually he’d be found out, so they came up with a plan for his ‘death.’ That way, even though his people knew he’d embezzled, they’d think he was dead. And they’d probably think he hid the money somewhere, or that it was destroyed in the fire. Or that the murderer, who was supposed to be you, took it.”

  “What about the FBI and all that state’s evidence stuff they were throwing around?”

  Lt. Bower finished his coffee before continuing. “That was Walker’s idea, and it was brilliant. Bartlett contacted the Bureau and made a deal, saying that he and another member of the organization would turn state’s evidence. Of course the FBI was never supposed to see anyone. That was just to establish a motive for the removal of De Young by Walker. He would then tell his bosses that he discovered De Young had been dealing secretly with Bartlett all along and that now they both were planning to turn themselves in to the FBI. When the bosses checked with their sources in the Bureau, they’d find that it was true. Then Walker would remind them of how Bartlett had always managed to beat out De Young in financial deals. He’d probably also show them how much money it had cost them. They’d put it all together, and thank Walker for getting rid of De Young. Then they’d promote Walker into the top spot and he’d be boss as well as a million dollars richer.

  “And you were the key to the whole thing. They needed someone to take the fall—a red herring to throw to the police to keep the case from receiving too much investigation or attention. The only trouble was you didn’t die as easily as they’d hoped you would.

  “Actually we weren’t ready to accept the whole thing as quickly as they thought we would, which is why I let you escape from the police station. I figured sooner or later you’d provoke some response.”

  “You mean you didn’t think I was the killer at all?” I asked happily.

  “Oh, I thought you were the killer all right, but I knew there was more behind it. I wanted to find out who hired you and what he was up to. But then thanks to her,”—he jabbed a thumb toward Melinda, who smiled shyly—“you got away. Afterwards she told me about Bartlett being alive, but she wouldn’t tell me where you were. I finally convinced her that if Bartlett were alive and you were on your way to see him, you were probably in great danger. Then she gave me the address. We were on our way there when we picked up a reported fire at the same address. But you were gone.”

  “But why did De Young send for me this afternoon?”

  “Probably because he suspected something was wrong about the whole setup. He probably figured that if he saw you, he’d know whether you were a professional killer or not. And he had enough experience to know that you weren’t. Walker killed him shortly after you left. You know the rest.”

  I nodded as I chewed my pancakes. The syrup sent a sharp pain through my mouth where I’d lost my teeth. I made a mental note to see a dentist.

  “I have a question,” Heather said. “Whose was the body that everyone thought was Mr. Bartlett’s?”

  Lt. Bower swallowed his mouthful of sausage, shaking his head ironically. “It was Jonathon Mercer.”

  “Who?” I asked.


  “Jonathon Mercer. He was the husband of the woman who was killed in the room next to the explosion. That’s why we couldn’t find him to tell him about her. As near as we can figure out, he must have seen his wife sneak off to the bedroom with Tryon, the man she was killed with. He was on his way to break in on them when the bomb went off and he was killed. There wasn’t much left to make an identification on, and the coroner’s office was satisfied that it was Bartlett until you told me about the bribe Bartlett had made. I’ve had them working all night.”

  We drank our second cups of coffee in silence.

  “What do you plan to do now, Gould?” he asked me. Heather stared at her coffee.

  “Well, I had planned to return to the East, but I’m beginning to like it out here. It’s funny, just a few hours ago I was going crazy trying to get away from here. And now I’ve about made up my mind to stay.” I slipped my hand into Heather’s. She squeezed it warmly.

  “Well, just stay out of trouble,” he advised as we rose to leave.

  “You can count on it, Lieutenant,” I said grabbing the check. He smiled and led Melinda outside to wait for us. Heather studied the display case as I approached the cashier. “Do you take credit cards?” I asked her.

  “Certainly, Mr. Bower,” she smiled pleasantly, reading the name from the card I’d handed her.

  “I think we’ll pay cash today, dear,” Heather said snatching the card from her hand.

  “Maybe you’re right,” I said, reaching into my pocket and grinning. After all, when you’re right, you’re right.

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