Razzamatazz (A Crime Novel)

by Sandra Scoppettone

  Colin didn't.

  "Anyway, Drew gets it wrong and Hallock lets him go. He doesn't figure it, until two weeks later Drew comes in to confess about a hit-and-run of a dog that's already been solved. Then Hallock realizes the guy is some kind of wacko. Harmless, but wacko in this area. Vietnam veteran. He runs an antique and junk shop. A loner. Probably he killed some innocent people in Vietnam or something and has this need to confess."

  "Spare me the amateur psychology."

  Mark shrugged. "You wanted to know, pal."

  "Yeah." Colin pushed himself up out of the chair.

  "Where're you going?"

  "The office. I didn't get to writing the story last night."

  "Write it tomorrow. Stay. The Mets and the Phillies are playing this afternoon."

  "Maybe I'll come back."

  Driving to the office he wondered why the hell he hadn’t just asked Kathy who the sucker was? Slipping? Or was it circumstances? There was no denying that the discovery of the body in Gildersleeve's pool had given him a jolt. And maybe his attraction to Annie Winters had thrown him too. He looked at his watch, wondering when she did her church thing. Then he glanced in his rearview and saw a car close behind. He realized it had been there since he'd left Mark's. The driver was a man but that was all he knew.

  Pressing down on the pedal, he watched the car behind him speed up, too. When Colin turned a corner, so did the other car. Obviously he wasn't worried about being spotted. Colin slowed, turned from Fielding into Center, then coasted to the Gazette building, where he stopped. The other car pulled up behind him. Colin waited. The man got out of the car and came up to Colin's window. Colin recognized Phil Nagle, a local insurance broker. He'd met the guy twice and didn't like him much.

  Nagle bent, eye level with Colin. "I want to talk to you."

  "What about?"

  "Gloria Danowski."

  LOOKING BACK—25 YEARS AGO

  On Saturday May 30, there will be a special dance for teens at the popular American Legion Hall in Seaville. The wonderful Moonflowers will be featured and two other singing and instrumental groups will be on hand: The Divebombers and The Persuaders, featuring vocalist Gary Bell. Dancing will be strictly for teenagers only, from 8 to 11 P.M.

  SEVEN

  Sundays after church Ruth Cooper always went to her linen store, even though it wasn't open for business. In Seaville they stayed open on Sundays but not in Bay View. Although the towns were adjacent to one another, they couldn't have been more different. As Ruth saw it, Seaville was a working-class town and Bay View was chic, elite. She was proud she lived and worked in Bay View.

  The reason she came down to her store on Sundays was because it was quiet and she could review stock, place new orders, and go over the books in peace. During the week it was impossible to get that sort of work done. Too much chattering between the clerks and customers, too much gossiping and fussing. Another reason Ruth liked to come to the store on Sunday was so she could get away from Russ.

  Still excited by Annie's suggestion, Ruth put her key in the lock—made in the shape of a heart—let herself in, and locked the door behind her. Blissful quiet. No annoying sounds from a television, and most of all, no annoying hands trying to paw her.

  What was wrong with Russ anyway? Married twenty-nine years, and all of a sudden he was chasing her around like she was a dog in heat.

  She flipped on a light and pulled down the ruffled pink shade on the door. Looking around she took a deep breath, sighed. Ruth loved the look of the colorful towels stacked on the shelves, the printed sheets, the napkins, tablecloths. And in the center of the room were the decorative doorpulls, soap dishes, toothbrush holders, gold, silver, and porcelain light switches.

  She walked down an aisle, let her hand trail across the stacks of Cannon and Fieldcrest towels, thinking maybe Russ was getting senile or something. But that was ridiculous, he was only fifty-six.

  They both were. So what was going on, then? He hadn't touched her for eight years and all of a sudden it was sex, sex, sex every minute. Maybe it was all those girls on the television with the big bazooms that were getting him crazy. Whatever, he was getting her crazy. It was so peaceful those eight years, and now he had to start up.

  She went down three steps into the back room where she kept curtains and bedspreads, and snapped on another light. Off this room was her office, small but efficient. She opened the door and screamed.

  "What are you doing here?" she said, heart knocking against her chest.

  The last thing Ruth Cooper saw before he slit her throat was a glint of metal and his smile.

  LOOKING BACK—50 YEARS AGO

  The body of Dr. Peter Tuthill, the 68-year-old eccentric "corn doctor," was found on Saturday in a lonely wooded road near Mattituck. The beaten, bullet-ridden body was discovered in his antiquated old coupe. The old doctor was known to carry large sums of money on his person due to his distrust of banks. When found the body was stripped of $10,000 in cash, and the five revolvers which he carried were missing.

  EIGHT

  Phillip Nagle was a slight, dark man in his late thirties. A pointed nose and chin gave him a pinched look, as if he were in pain. His hair was thin and drifted over his forehead in separate strands. The glasses he wore were the aviator type, rose-tinted. Usually he dressed in finely tailored sports jackets and slacks, but on this day he was in worn jeans and a faded Ralph Lauren polo shirt. On his feet were worn Topsiders with no socks. He had a fairly successful insurance agency and had gotten himself elected to the Village Board the year before. Many people in Seaville called him a sleaze ball behind his back.

  Colin sat across from the man, thinking he looked like a murderer and wondering why he'd never seen it before. Nagle hadn't said a word yet, but Colin was sure the guy was here to confess. He offered him a cigarette. Nagle took one with a shaking hand.

  Colin settled back in his chair. "So what about Gloria Danowski?"

  "This is off the record, right?"

  "Right."

  "I don't know how to start."

  "Did you kill her?"

  Nagle's eyes widened behind the glasses. He looked like an owl. "No. Hey, no. That's why I'm here. I don't want anybody thinking I did. I mean ... see ... shit!" He looked at his cigarette as if he didn't know how it had gotten into his hand, and put it in the black ashtray. "Mind if I smoke a joint?"

  "Yes."

  "Huh?"

  "I mind if you smoke a joint."

  "How come?"

  "I'm an old-fashioned guy. I don't like people smoking joints at my place of business."

  "What if I said I wanted a drink? You newspaper guys all drink. You wouldn't care if I wanted a drink, would you?"

  "Yes."

  "No, you wouldn't, and it's the same thing."

  "Did you come here to debate the marijuana-liquor issue or do you want to tell me about Gloria Danowski?"

  "Yeah, Gloria," Nagle said, picking up the cigarette.

  "Did you know her?"

  Nagle nodded. "I was fucking her."

  Colin knew Nagle was married and had three kids. "Tell me about it."

  Nagle grinned stupidly. "She gave good head."

  "Jesus. I didn't mean the sex, Nagle. I don't give a shit about that." Colin pulled at his mustache, worked an end between his fingers. "Tell me what you came in here to tell me, for Christ's sake."

  "Okay, okay. I thought you meant---I met her at Southampton College last fall. We were both taking a course in Advanced Accounting—she was thinking about going back to work. Anyway, we, you know, got to talking before and after class. I took her for a drink one night. She was a good-looking broad. Nice jugs."

  Colin hated guys who talked about women that way. "Spare me the details, okay?" He wanted to bust Nagle in his weasel face.

  "What's the matter, don't you like pussy?"

  "I'm losing my patience, Nagle. Maybe you want me to call Chief Hallock, huh?"

  "All right, all right." He took a long drag of the c
igarette, blew a stream of smoke in front of him. "In the second semester we both pretend we're going to some class, but we don't. We start this thing. Every Tuesday night. I'd meet her in the parking lot, she'd leave her car, we'd go to a motel, fuck our brains out, then I'd take her back to her car. She'd go home, I'd go home. So everything goes along as usual, then about four weeks ago I read in the paper she disappeared. See, it was the night I'd seen her. The last I know I take her back to the car, we say goodnight. That's it. But sooner or later somebody's gonna remember we were real friendly in that class and maybe put two and two together, see?"

  "What two and two?"

  "That I knew her. That maybe I knew her pretty well. And then they're gonna be on my ass."

  "Did you see her drive off that night?"

  "No. I saw her get in her car, but I left before she did. They found the car in the lot."

  "What do you think happened to her?"

  "Beats me."

  "Did she ever mention anything to you about somebody hating her or wanting to kill her?"

  "No."

  "How about her husband?"

  "What about him?"

  "What'd she say about him?"

  "Not much. Just that he was a drag and couldn't get it up."

  "Did she ever say that her husband might suspect?"

  "No."

  "Do you think he did?"

  "How should I know?"

  "Do you think he killed her?"

  Nagle took some time, thinking what he should say. Colin knew the guy was weighing whether or not to put the finger on the husband.

  "I don't know," Nagle said.

  "Did Gloria ever say that Danowski was violent?"

  "No."

  "Did she have any other boyfriends?"

  "She didn't need any," he gloated.

  "But did she have any?"

  "No."

  "Not that you know of."

  "Right."

  "How about before you?"

  "No. I was the first."

  "Are you sure?"

  "That's what she said."

  "Okay. So what do you want from me?"

  He shrugged. "Advice. What do you think I should do?"

  "Tell Chief Hallock."

  "Are you crazy?"

  "That's my advice. Tell him before he tells you. If you're innocent, you have nothing to worry about."

  "I'm innocent. But what if it gets out? I mean, I'm telling you this off the record, but I can't keep Hallock from spreading the word. I've got a wife and three kids."

  "And you're a member of the board." Colin knew which was more important to Phil Nagle.

  "Yeah, that, too."

  "You don't have a choice. You have to tell Hallock. If you're innocent, he won't spread it around about you. He's not like that."

  "Listen, you've only been in town what, five, six weeks? You don't know what shits people can be."

  "Why'd you come to me if there's so much I don't know?"

  "I'm beginning to wonder myself. I thought you looked like a decent guy."

  When you start getting compliments from a sleaze ball, Colin thought, it's time to worry.

  "What are you going to do with what I told you?" Nagle said.

  "Nothing. I don't have to. The connections will be made soon enough. Then you'll really look suspicious, Nagle. Can you prove you didn't kill her?"

  "Of course not. I thought I was innocent until proven guilty."

  "Where'd you hear that?" Colin stubbed out his cigarette, lit another. "And if I remember correctly, you're not exactly a Gildersleeve fan, are you?"

  "He's an asshole."

  "That's what I mean. If you keep this information to yourself, when they finally get onto you it's going to be more than putting two and two together. More like two and three. Do you think Hallock doesn't know how you feel about Gildersleeve?"

  "Fuck. I don't know."

  "Well, what did you think I'd tell you to do?"

  "I don't know. I guess I thought you'd say I had nothing to worry about. I don't know." He took off his glasses, wiped them with the bottom of his shirt.

  "Hallock might give you a hard time for awhile, until he's sure you didn't do it, but he's not going to book you. On the other hand, if you don't go to him on your own, if you wait until he has to pick you up, then he's going to make you wish you'd been in that pool instead of Gloria. Me, too."

  "What's that mean?"

  "It means if he arrests you on his own, then you're fair game."

  "Shit."

  "Up to your neck."

  Nagle put back his glasses. "Okay. I'll do it."

  "Good."

  "See you," he said and started to leave.

  "Hey, Nagle?"

  "Yeah?"

  "What do you feel about Gloria Danowski being murdered?"

  "Feel?"

  "Right, feel."

  "I don't know. I feel bad, I guess. She was a good lay."

  Colin was glad Nagle left quickly; he wanted to clobber him.

  He had always hated fighting, even though he was pretty good at it. The first real fistfight he'd had was in grade school when the public school kids picked on the Catholics. He'd knocked Freddy Martin's two front teeth out, and Colin's father had had to pay for Freddy's bridge. In junior high he was always getting into fights, but in high school he managed to stay clear of them, using up his aggression on the football field. In college he never fought anyone. He talked his way out of things because he just didn't have the heart for fighting. By then he knew it was pointless. After college it never came up—except that once—but he couldn't remember it and didn't even know if he'd won or not.

  Still, guys like Nagle made him remember and understand the pleasure of smashing a fist into a face, feeling knuckles against teeth, splitting lips open. He hoped Hallock gave Nagle a bad time, hoped he scared the shit out of him.

  Colin smiled thinking about Nagle: knees knocking together, hands too shaky to hold a butt. He deserved anything he got. But he believed Nagle was innocent. So, who did it then? The husband could've found out about his wife's affair and killed her, but it wasn't likely. With that kind of murder, he would've broken down by now if he'd done it. Nobody knew that better than Colin did. Jesus. Everything always came back to that. He turned to his typewriter, stared at the piece of paper still there from the night before.

  BODY FOUND IN MAYOR'S POOL

  It hadn't changed, hadn't written itself. And it wasn't going to get written now, either. He reached for the bound volume of the Gazette seventy-five years before for the week of May 26th. One of his duties was to do the "Looking Back" column. At first when Mark gave him the job, he was insulted, feeling this was some rinky-dink thing one of the others could do, not the managing editor, for Christ's sake. But that was the way it was on a small weekly: You did all kinds of stuff no matter what your title was. Anyway, he'd come to like it, found it fun going through the old issues, pulling things from seventy-five, fifty, and twenty-five years before. Sometimes he lost himself in the papers, hours passing before he'd pull just the right excerpts. Colin knew it was something you could do in half an hour, but he liked reading all the ads, the sports and the real estate section. It knocked him out seeing things like:

  FOR SALE:

  WATERVIEW-10 RMS, FIREPLACE,ICEBOX,

  PORCH, 1 ACRE, PRIVATE BEACH $3000

  Today that same property would be worth about half a million.

  So he got lost in the past, and when the phone rang and he glanced at his watch he was stunned to see it was almost three. Mark said, "We have another one, pal."

  "Another what?"

  "Murder."

  "Where?"

  "Bay View. Cooper's Linen Shop. Ruth Cooper."

  "Christ."

  "Get over there."

  "Right."

  Getting into his car, Colin wondered what he'd do if any murders happened past Riverhead. He wasn't sure he'd be able to go. The truth was even Riverhead was alien to him. Since he'd been on the Nort
h Fork he hadn't gone past Mattituck. That was twenty miles from Seaville. Riverhead was twenty-five, and his panic attacks weren't getting any better. But it was useless to worry about that now. Now there was another murder.

  Starting the car, he wondered if a B was carved into Ruth Cooper's chest.

  LOOKING BACK—75 YEARS AGO

  Some miserable wretch, without a grain of self-respect or an atom of conscience, stole the hospital collection box in the post office some days ago. If the guilty person has really enjoyed the loose change which had been deposited therein for the purpose of charity, he has sold every speck of honor he ever had, if he ever had any. The box was torn from the writing desk in the office, to which it had been attached.

  NINE

  When Ruth Cooper did not come home for Sunday dinner, Russell Cooper, who had prepared roast pork, potatoes, asparagus au gratin, and a salad, became worried. He called the store, but there was no answer. So he turned off everything on the stove, sick that the dinner was going to be ruined, and got into his new silver Toyota Tercel and drove down to the shop. The door was locked. He knocked. There was no answer. Ruth's car was parked in front of the store, which alarmed Russ further, thinking she'd had a heart attack. He shouted Ruth's name, but nothing happened. Officer Dan Reeves of the Bay view police was driving by, saw Russ and came to his aid. Reeves gave the front door a flat-footed kick, and it broke open like a cracked egg.

  One minute after they were in they found her—throat slit from ear to ear, blood everywhere. Her blouse had been torn open exposing her chest, which displayed long bloody slashes. It took Colin to tell them what it was.

  "It's an A. Like the other one."

  "What other one?" Bay View Chief of Police Ed Webb hadn't been informed by Chief Hallock of the details on Saturday's homicide.

  Colin, fighting nausea and dizziness, explained.

  Webb said to Officer Reeves, "See if you can get Chief Hallock here."