The Drunk Detective

by Mary Jean Curry

  “What kind of woman do you think I am to blackmail the Church. I took ‘em and they’re safe, but worth far more five grand.”

  “That’s fine. I have no real interest in them, other than releasing them between other news outlets. They don’t hurt me.”

  “Oh, but they do. I have the dead nun in the car with you outside of my apartment. I’d say you’d have some explaining to do at a minimum. I’ll take my cash for talking to you though, and will hit the road.” Dotty stood and held out her hand.

  “What’s the rush?”

  “Look, I have a man waiting for me to return to cook him breakfast in only my Payless flats. And I don’t spend more than an hour in one bar. Especially not this one, do you smell the damn dog.”

  “I had no idea. Actually thought it was you, seeing as though you haven’t been in your home to shower.”

  “Or it could be the stank that you’ve brought up here from the Justice Department,” Dotty said, retaking her seat. “Look, it been real, but you want to talk and not doing much of it.”

  “I’m paying for answers, not give them, and you’re not earning much.” Lynch sipped his Sprite and gazed in Bob’s direction. “He looks like an agent. Who drinks Pepto at a bar?”

  “Yup, Secret Service, a little. Around the ass area.”

  “Maybe. They do read often, and I see he has a newspaper at a bar. Who does that but the police? Come to think of it, you’ve been asking me a lot of leading questions like you’re wearing a wire, Dorothy Olivia Davis.”

  “Tell me, what’s Absolution? Let’s really get to the bottom of things.”

  Lynch offered her a blank stare. The stare down lasted a tad longer than Dotty expected, and she knew that she’d finally struck a nerve. “What would you know about Absolution?”

  Dotty curled her lips showing a wicked smirk. She sat back and belched, pulling it from her toes.

  “Fine, maybe you do have something to trade, after all.” The investigative reporter sat up in his seat and folded his hands on the table. “You remember Iran-Contra? You’re old enough?”

  “Shade, but, yes, vaguely. The scam that married the U.S. and Canada by sneaking American journalists out of Iran by posing as a Canadian film crew.”

  “Close enough. Absolution...”

  “Please don’t say it has anything to do with God.”

  “Yes and no.”

  “OK, continue.”

  “Absolution was a code name given to a Justice Department operation that went to Hell.”

  “Like Deep Throat?”

  “Precisely. This one targeted Italian mobsters in New York by substituting field agents in clerical robes into confessionals posing as priests. They gathered evidence from high-ranking figures in organized crime and sought indictments which grand juries rubber-stamped.”

  “See, I’ve never believed that U.S. prosecutors could indict a pork chop, but I guess so if evidence from a confessional is admissible as evidence.”

  “Very true, but some knit-wit decided that installing cameras in the confessionals and then deciding to blackmail the good and bad guys to pay him to keep the tapes quiet was found out, and Loretta Scalia went after him.”

  “You’re making this up.”

  “We’re confident Loretta Scalia was eventually bribed by the mob to drop the cases. She was the special prosecutor assigned to take down the mob.”

  “She sounds more like a royal fuck up.”

  “A democratic one actually. With a small D.”

  “So what’s the beef now?”

  “When you mix church and state there are no secrets. We had an informant who had enough of Scalia’s rhetoric about the Church’s sex scandals and called our Philadelphia office. They relayed that information to Washington and here I am to fact check.”

  “Sinclair?”

  “Yup, and Sister Tudor got it because she’s been with Sinclair thirty-years, and very close to him. Close enough that the bad guys believe that he confided in her.”

  “Wow. What a mess?”

  “This year’s election would be a mess if this scandal came out. Scalia losing her job and being indicted herself would take down the present administration. Drag the whole party down with it. The Church too. So simply put, she hired an assassin to eliminate the informant.”

  “That would be you.”

  “Or so she thinks. Government has nothing on Politico. We have people in very impressive places, deep undercover to expose corruption. Scalia’s requisition for a killer was diverted to us and I got the job of acting killer. I’d prefer not to tell you why.”

  “I can careless about why.”

  Lynch was dignified. “Scalia violated the First Amendment right of every mobster that went into those confessionals to make peace with God for their sins. She stripped them and got appointed to the highest prosecutorial rank, despite violating plenty of people’s rights. I’ve researched her cases in the appeals court and the harmless error rule has been used over and over to protect her from being exposed for her violations of defendant’s Constitutional rights. I was barely starting my local investigation when Sister Tudor was murdered.”

  Dotty was about to signal for Bebo to bring her another libation. She put her hand down.

  “Yes, Sister Tudor had confirmed most of what Sinclair had told us. She knew the feds came in and stripped the cameras from the confessionals. She knew that they interviewed everyone at their New York parish. That’s why Sinclair was transferred here and Mary Tudor joined him,” Lynch said. “Come on, Dotty, you play dumb, but you had to know that she didn’t die fucking some cheap man-whore.”

  Dotty said, “A man has to be pretty low to refer to a lady like that.” But, the man-whore told me that he was humping her. Was that a lie?

  23

  Bebo slid Dotty’s next gin on the booth’s table. “This will be last call, my friends. I gotta close up and walk Puffy to take a dump.”

  “Hell, he used up all of his gas in here. No way he can shit,” Dotty said.

  Lynch said, “Nothing for me, thanks.”

  Bebo regarded him. “You don’t look well, mister. Are you OK?”

  “I’m just fine. Why you say that?”

  “Dotty says you have the AIDS.”

  “I did not. What the fuck Bebo. I said ‘he looked like he had it.’”

  “What? I have is Stage IV cancer.” Lynch waited for them to be alone again. “Sister Tudor had a heart problem. Two bypass in a year, mainly due to her weight. Nuns don’t hit Planet Fitness much. She was given an overdose of digitalis which brought on a convincing coronary.”

  “Why not go MJ with propofol? And don’t tell me Frankie gave it to her?” Dotty was incredulous.

  “Well, he had opportunity.”

  “But no motive. I don’t get all of the complexities here. Hell, they could have given him the Mickey. Why turn this into a manhunt for me and make it a big stink?”

  Behind the bar, Puffy chose that coincidental moment to raise one of his own.

  “I did some digging and found the Vatican was strongly considering hosting the World Meeting of Families in Philadelphia. Had the scandal about priests allowing the feds to come into their confessionals to do their dirty work hit the newswire, the papal visit to Philadelphia or even America would have been dead’er than Tudor and Sinclair and Chen.”

  “That was wicked rude,” Dotty said and frowned. “There was no way Frankie did this. He called me to get her out of his bed. He didn’t have to involve me.”

  “Maybe he had a change of heart. A working man would lose his creds if he had a nun found in his bed. Police would have turned his business off. So when you called Sinclair, he had no choice, but to have the body spirited away. That’s also why Frankie was nearly blown to hell that morning.”

  “I thought you tried to kill me.”

  “Hell no. Why? Whoever planned this would have known that you didn’t live with Frankie. He was being taught a lesson for messing up the plan. He’s lucky they h
aven’t pulled his plug at the hospital.”

  “His brother has been watching over him,” Dotty said, squirming in her seat thinking about him. “It’s a relief to know that the IED wasn’t for me.”

  “Why? You’re obviously the next target.”

  “Yeah, but I got pictures.”

  Lynch smiled. “Come on, Dotty. You keep being a prime suspect because they want the pictures leaked to expose the Church and yet another sex scandal of a different kind. That would overshadow the tidbit about cops posing as priests to bust bad guys.”

  “You’re right.” Dotty’s gin buzz was going away. “So who’s the killer?”

  “I thought you’d figured that out by now seeing you keep escaping death and being charged.

  “I thought its been you the last few days.”

  “You’re an idiot. The killer is really damn good. Let’s hope it’s only one because his arsenal includes heart attack to arson to strangling to shooting. This is no one- dimensional killer.”

  “That’s a relief. I wouldn’t want to be the victim of no amateur. Don’t you have leads, files, or people in places to figure this out?”

  Lynch bobbed his head up and down. “I have all of that. If he’s corrupt and a hit man, he’s going to be found.”

  “Man, you ain’t got shit. He’s killed three times on your watch,” Dotty was irritated.

  “I need info from you. Why else would I be here with five grand?”

  Dotty drank. She was beginning to lose faith in cheap alcohol. “What do we do?”

  “Are you French? What you mean, we, red face?”

  “You need me,” Dotty said.

  “For what? You don’t know anything. Less than me, in fact. I don’t know why I thought that a fired PI from a low budget agency could help me.” He tossed her the cash-filled envelope. “Get yourself an airline ticket. Say hello to Albert in Alaska.” He started to stand and Dotty grabbed his forearm.

  “OK, I’ll give you the pictures.”

  Lynch snuggled back into his seat. “You have them on you?”

  “Of course not. They’re with my partner.”

  “You’re a lesbian?”

  “No idiot. My friend, Patrick Swayze.”

  “Very clever code name,” Lynch said and smirked. “How soon can you get them?”

  “I can have them e-mailed.”

  “Fine you do that, but I’ll need the originals and the camera. I’ll keep this until then.”

  Lynch grabbed the money from Dotty’s hand.

  She snatched it back and slammed a bald fist onto the table. “I’m keeping this for talking. I suggest you find at least four times this amount for the pictures.”

  “I was thinking I’d influence local police to let you off the hook as payment, so that they can look for the real killer.”

  “Kiss my ass. Up to five times now.”

  “Suit yourself. I bet you get shanked in the tank. Anyone ruthless enough to kill a nun and a bishop and an old man would pay any crack whore to get arrested just to do you in.”

  “Well, that’s nice information, but I’m not giving up my goodies for something no jury would convict me of,” she said opening her blouse exposing a wire. “I have this whole conversation being recorded, pal, so I have pics that I’m selling a media outlet for twenty-five grand for a set of ten. Cash and not check, please. Thank you.”

  “I’ll see what my editor wants to do.” Lynch left.

  Dotty was timing her own exit so that she wasn’t seen with Lynch when, to her dismay, Lieutenant Boxer and a uniformed officer Dotty had never seen before came out of the bar’s kitchen area with their guns drawn.

  The lieutenant looked like a mobster in his too big suit and snazzy fedora on his head. His face was brightly lit by a green Heineken beer sign in the window. His natty beard looked painted on. He said, “Assume the position, killer. You’re under arrest for triple homicide, attempted homicide, and being an overall royal pain in my ass.”

  The uniformed officer frisked Dotty, and put the envelope filled with cash into her back pocket, Bebo said, “Sorry, dear. My liquor license is important to me running a bar.”

  “You ratted me out? It’s all good,” Dotty said when she was handcuffed. “The bar’s owner will be glad to know that you’ve been pleasuring his wife in the bathroom. She’s quite the trash.”

  “Let’s go, murderer,” said Boxer.

  “Am I going to be read my rights?” She still had Hank Robinson recording the entire confrontation, as the uniformed cop hadn’t found the wire.

  “Well, they’re both leopard print, but I’m no bedroom expert. I do know left or right, they’re not your style.”

  Dotty elected to remain silent.

  24

  The interrogation room was the size of a tuna can, wrapped in bland yellow paint on the walls and multi-colored tiled flooring. The wood table had a hook under one leg to keep it from rocking and four mismatched chairs. Dotty was parked on one and then rubbing her un-cuffed wrists. It had been a half hour before Lieutenant Boxer joined the party of one. He didn’t have his hat on and the lighting created a halo over his head. Dotty watched him take off his suit coat and throw it over the back of an empty chair. He then tossed a tape recorder onto the table without turning it on.

  “Comfy, Ms. Davis,” he asked nicely; or, as nicely as he could manage considering he hated the suspect before him.

  “My panties are in a bunch, but otherwise, I’m grand.”

  Boxer mustered up a grin—small and tight. “Not as bunched as this room you’re in, I’ll bet. Cells get smaller as you go up the jail to prison food chain.”

  Dotty sat stoically with no desire to play games with the cop.

  “Who were you with at the bar?” asked the lieutenant.

  “My Avon lady.”

  “You’re too dumb to have such a smartass mouth, Davis.”

  “It’s the panties.”

  “You won’t have that problem in Muncy. Those bloomies they give the female prisoners will fit you just fine, I reckon. Have you ever been to prison, not jail?”

  “My dad took me to visit his dad a few times.”

  “Why was he there?”

  “He fell in love with a policeman’s wife.”

  Boxer ran his fingers over his eyebrows. He looked agitated, evidencing she had gotten beneath his skin. “Well. You’re on your way to getting your own taste of prison. I have you down as the last person to see your landlord, Chen.”

  Dotty felt a bit of relief. Perhaps they didn’t know Chen was dead during this occasion he had spoken about. “That’s not proof of murder. How long you been a cop?”

  “Long enough to have gotten a warrant to search your apartment. My lab found some fibers imbedded in Chen’s neck. Those very fibers match a Versace ascot belonging to you. That’s long enough to know one plus one equals two.”

  “Please, Chen and I always borrowed each other’s things. He dressed in drags, you know.” Hell, Chen is dead, how could he prove otherwise, she thought.

  “Long enough to know men tie ascots and ties on top of their shirt collars, not their bare necks, normally.”

  “Please, Chen wasn’t normal.”

  Boxer changed gears. “If that’s your story. Let’s talk about your gun. You’re sure it was stolen before Bishop Sinclair was killed?”

  “Absolute. Ly,”—she said, starting to say Lynch’s name, but caught herself,—“you have your investigative tools and I have mine.”

  The detective moved on, again, pressing PLAY on the recorder. Dotty recognized her own voice.

  “I’m on the steps, Your Bishopness,” she heard. “Where the fuck you been the last half hour. This is going to cost you, mister.”

  Dotty said, “What’s that?”

  “Long enough to know something was fishy when the tape wasn’t in the bishop’s recorder,” Boxer said. “Then it was mailed to police HQ in today’s mail.”

  “And you think that’s me talking? Sad.”
/>   “Long enough to know that you were at the rectory. The altar boy already ID’d you. You had a meeting with the bishop, but he was a no show, so you went to his home and shot him to death. Thanks for the taped threat, or confession, Davis. Killers don’t usually make it so easy.”

  “That wasn’t a threat.”

  “But you didn’t leave that message, so you wouldn’t know. Our voice recognition officer would though.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Never. Staying on topic, if it wasn’t a threat, what was it an Avon party invitation at that dump that you lived in? Past tense.”

  “Man, the killer sent you that damn tape. Obviously, I didn’t. Why would anyone have to mail it. The killer had to be in the house when I was outside, and he took the tape to further this bad frame-up.”

  “We’re testing the package for prints. I bet yours are on it.”

  She pulled out her envelope of cash. “Bet, bitch. Five G’s.”

  The detective shook his head.

  Dotty said, “He has to get rid of me. He’d rather send me up then kill me. I have something to kill him, so he’s being careful.”

  “Who is he?”

  “No clue.”

  “Finally, you can’t come up with a lie to tell.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yup, that’s the creek you’re swimming up and the tide is getting higher and higher. You’re in deep shit.” Boxer tapped the tape recorder. “We’ve got an ascot and gun, two murder weapons traced to you. A threatening recording by you. You’re looking like a criminal that belongs in jail. I bet you don’t even have one character witness to say you’re incapable of this. The governor will reinstate the death penalty for you.”

  He shut his mouth, stood, and then sat in the chair closes to Dotty. She let out a deep breath and scooted away from him.

  “Let it out, Davis,” he said.

  “What? I just did.”

  “All that you know. You can’t lie but so much, because to much points to you. What did you have going on with the bishop and what did it have to do with the murder of your landlord and the attempted murder of your neighbor, the he-bitch. You can’t make this any worse, so you may as well come clean.”