by Brad Smith
Billy came out from under the car now, with a pair of twisted and rusted brake lines in his hand. His face was flecked with dirt from the undercarriage and there was a smear of grease across one cheek. Like the war paint of his ancestors, Tommy thought. ‘Point is, why not come work for me?’ he asked. ‘You made the run once. It’ll be easier this time. Not only that, but this time you’ll get paid.’
Billy didn’t look at him. ‘I don’t like the risks.’
‘There’s risk in everything. This car could fall off those jack stands and crush you like a cockroach. Where’s your twenty bucks an hour then?’
Billy took one of the rusty brake lines and placed it alongside a new one, checking it for length. Tommy reached into his pocket and took out a wad of fifty dollar bills, wrapped with an elastic band. ‘Here’s a thousand, good faith money,’ he said. ‘Make the run tomorrow and there’ll be another four grand in it for you when you get back. That’s five grand for a day’s work. And you don’t have to deal with Chino.’
He held the money toward Billy but the Indian, still measuring the lines, ignored the gesture. Tommy waited a moment before placing the cash on top of the toolbox. Billy glanced at it and away.
Tommy laughed. ‘Bones told me you don’t have a fuck of a lot to say. He wasn’t joking. You realize this could be a steady gig for you. Once every couple weeks. You got other prospects, other than fixing clunkers in your driveway for peanuts?’
‘Like I said, it ain’t against the law, fixing cars,’ Billy said.
‘No, it’s not. But you want to know what is? Murder, for one. Home invasion is two. And then there’s arson and robbery and assault.’
Now the Indian looked at him.
‘Oh, that got your attention,’ Tommy said. ‘I’m a smart man, Billy. I can put two and two together. Now, I couldn’t care less about Chino or that dipshit Murdock. But I’d hate to see you go down on this, Billy.’
The Indian looked at the shiny new brake line in his hand. After a moment he glanced at Tommy and then walked over to pick up the wad of cash from the toolbox. He held it in his hand for a long moment, as if weighing it, before shoving it into the pocket of his jean jacket.
Tommy smiled. ‘See you tomorrow morning.’
TWENTY-FOUR
While Pulford dealt with the search warrants Dunbar drove downtown to have a talk with Pearce Walker. He’d heard from sources around the courthouse that Walker had taken Larry Murdock on as a client. If it was true, he was obviously doing it on the taxpayer’s dime. Murdock couldn’t afford a haircut, let alone a lawyer in Walker’s price range.
Walker was in his outer office talking to his secretary when Dunbar walked in. The two had been joking about something and Walker held the smile as he looked at the newcomer.
‘Tara, check the day book,’ he said. ‘Does the detective here have an appointment?’
The woman named Tara was apparently used to Walker’s humor and she did not bother to check any book.
‘I was in the neighborhood,’ Dunbar said.
‘I’m pretty busy,’ Walker told him.
‘No, you’re not.’
‘All right, what’s this about?’ Walker asked. ‘As if I didn’t know.’
‘I thought we should have a talk about Larry Murdock.’
Walker smiled. ‘Yes, let’s do that.’
Winking at the woman, he led the way into his office and closed the door behind them. Dunbar took a seat on a leather chair and Walker sat on a matching couch against the wall. He was in his shirtsleeves, his tie loosened.
‘You realize,’ he said, ‘that there isn’t much to discuss until I get a look at discovery.’
‘Maybe there is,’ Dunbar said. ‘We need those other two names, Pearce. And Murdock can provide them.’
‘You seem convinced that my client is guilty, detective. Have you guys done away with due process over there?’
Dunbar ignored the shot. ‘There were three people involved that night. I get the impression that Murdock is a sheep. We’re pretty sure somebody else was the leader. A big guy with a teardrop tattoo. Murdock can do himself a big favor if he gives us the names.’
‘My client assures me he is innocent,’ Walker said. ‘Wouldn’t he be admitting guilt if he started rattling off names?’
‘I suppose you need to play it that way,’ Dunbar said.
‘The presumption of innocence, detective. It’s common knowledge that your department has struck out big time on this one. How do I know that this isn’t a giant witch hunt, that you didn’t collar my client in the hopes that he heard something in a bar somewhere?’
‘We have an eyewitness.’
‘That eyewitness is Carl Burns. I have learned a little about him in the past forty-eight hours. He has a criminal record for starters. Not only that, but he was found on the lawn the night of the fire, unconscious, bleeding profusely from wounds on both wrists. There are rumors of a murder/suicide attempt. A doctor tells me that the man nearly died from a lack of blood, which means that his mental capacities would have been impaired on the night in question. A couple of weeks later he goes Rambo on my client, an innocent man, involves him in a high speed chase and then viciously assaults and kidnaps him.’ Walker smiled. ‘And this is the guy who’s going to put my client at the scene of the crime? He’s all you got, detective?’
‘Murdock’s truck was at the scene and he lied about it. Why would he do that?’
‘No idea,’ Walker shrugged. ‘Maybe a knee-jerk reaction from a guy who’s been in lots of trouble and is basically a dimwit. That doesn’t put him in the house.’
‘He was in the house.’
‘You saying it doesn’t make it true. And it certainly doesn’t mean squat in a court of law.’
‘He was in the house, and he would be smart to give us those names,’ Dunbar persisted. ‘It could mean the difference between a murder conviction and one for accessory. Besides, doesn’t it bother you that these people are out there on the loose?’
‘Not really,’ Walker said. ‘They are your problem. But since you took the trouble to drive down here, I will tell you this. I’ve now had two lengthy interviews with Mr Murdock. He’s an innocent man. If you want the names of the three people who were in the house that night, you’re going to have to find them on your own.’
Pulford was still waiting for the paperwork when Dunbar got back to the station and told her about his conversation with Pearce Walker. Listening, she doodled on a pad on her desk, making circles inside of circles.
‘So he’s telling Murdock he’s going to walk,’ she said. ‘And as long as Murdock believes that, he’s never going to give us anything. Because that would be the same as a confession.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Fucking Walker,’ Pulford said. ‘All he thinks about is his cred, what this means to his profile. He couldn’t care less about what happened out there that night. Why couldn’t Murdock have hired a public defender with a heart?’
‘Walker has a heart,’ Dunbar said. ‘It happens to be made of stone.’
Pulford sighed. ‘You know he’s never going to let Murdock testify. Not a chance he’ll put that guy on the stand.’
‘Not a chance.’
Pulford gave up on her doodling. ‘That leaves us with the bike gang. And just because they’ve been caught leading a crooked councilor around by his nose doesn’t mean they’re going to tell us anything about this situation.’
‘I wouldn’t think so.’
‘So we’re back to Murdock as our best lead.’
‘And that’s a problem,’ Dunbar said. ‘Murdock is never going to roll over on anybody from the Wild. He would be signing his own death warrant.’
‘Does Walker know about the bike gang’s involvement?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Dunbar said. ‘Unless his client told him. I sure as hell didn’t.’
Pulford began absently tapping the pen on the desk, like a drummer hitting a snare. ‘I still don’t get that part.’
‘What part?’
‘The bike gang’s involvement,’ Pulford said. ‘Especially after talking to Hubert earlier. It sounds as if they’re getting rich through white collar crime these days. All of a sudden they pull this home invasion shit?’ She paused, thinking. ‘With his past, you don’t think there’s a chance that Burns is connected to the bikers, do you? And maybe this could be some sort of revenge scenario?’
Dunbar considered the idea. ‘That would mean that he knows what’s behind this. If he does, he’s a hell of an actor. And why would he be tracking Murdock’s plate number and chasing him around the countryside if he knew who it was all along?’
‘Maybe he made up the story about the turkey receipt and the plate number.’
‘If so, he took his own sweet time doing it,’ Dunbar said. ‘And keep in mind he could just have given us the plate number.’
‘I suppose,’ Pulford admitted. ‘But it’s something to think about. Maybe he crossed them somewhere along the way and doesn’t want to tell us about it.’
‘The bike gang is the key,’ Dunbar said. ‘We need to know who was in on this and why. Maybe tonight we’ll get some answers.’
Carl opened two bottles of beer and handed one to Rufus Canfield, who was sitting on a pine plank laid across two sawhorses, his legs dangling above the floor of the sugar shack.
‘So you know him?’ Carl asked.
‘Pearce Walker?’ Rufus said. ‘Only by reputation.’
‘And what is that?’ Carl pulled a bundle of shingles over and sat down.
‘He’s a bit of a dandy,’ Rufus said. ‘Wears fedoras and fur coats, that sort of thing. Loves the limelight, craves high profile cases. Seems not to be bothered by the more venal natures of some of his clients.’
Carl had a swig of beer. ‘I would assume he is expensive?’
‘No question about that.’
‘How would Murdock afford him?’
‘Oh, I’d say he’s doing this on the court’s stipend,’ Rufus said. ‘He knows this will be a big case, with lots of opportunities to preen for the gallery and smile for the cameras afterward.’
Rufus took a long drink. He had shown up unexpectedly, carrying a six pack of beer, after stopping at the warehouse looking for Carl. Norah had told him how to find his way to the bush lot. It had rained again in the night and Rufus had arrived at the cabin with his loafers encased in mud and his pant legs dirty to the knees. He had used a broken cedar shingle to clean most of the muck from his shoes before entering the shack.
‘Speaking of Mr Walker,’ Rufus continued, ‘you might like to know that he petitioned the Rose City police to have you arrested.’
‘For what?’ Carl asked.
‘Felony assault and kidnapping. With regards to Mr Murdock.’
‘Shit.’
Rufus smiled. ‘I was told that it was considered briefly but in the end nobody wanted to prosecute a kidnapping case where the alleged victim was hog-tied and dropped off in front of the police station. Particularly when the victim was a man the cops hadn’t been able to identify, let alone apprehend.’
Carl drank from his bottle. He was hoping to finish shingling the roof today. The temperature was going to drop overnight and they were calling for snow by the weekend. He thought briefly about putting Rufus to work, then dismissed the idea. Putting the lawyer on the roof would probably mean having the lawyer fall off the roof. As it was, Carl was going to have to transport him back to his car on the wagon. Those loafers wouldn’t survive another trip through the muck.
‘What’s next for Murdock?’ he asked.
‘He’ll have a bail hearing sometime within the next few days,’ Rufus said. ‘Given the charges, I doubt he’ll be offered bail. On the off chance that he is, it will be a couple of million dollars. I don’t think he has it.’
‘No,’ Carl said.
‘Next up would be the preliminary,’ Rufus went on. ‘You would be part of that, as I suspect you are the key witness. However, I’m assuming that the police would very much like to round up the other two suspects before that comes about, and present them before the court together. I have no idea if they are any closer to doing that. Have they told you anything?’
Carl shook his head. ‘Just that they’re hoping Murdock will talk. They said he might, after he talks to a lawyer.’
Rufus finished his beer and reached for a fresh one. ‘He may very well have the wrong lawyer for that.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Pearce Walker isn’t interested in taking on a case where his client makes a deal and pleads guilty on a lesser charge.’ Rufus opened the beer and, seeing that Carl was in need, handed it over before reaching for another. ‘There’s no spotlight in that scenario. Walker wants an acquittal, or at the very least a long-drawn-out trial where he can showcase his talents for verbosity.’
‘Maybe Murdock will want to talk,’ Carl said.
‘Maybe,’ Rufus said. ‘But if his lawyer is telling him he could go scot-free, I think it’s unlikely. He’s a different cat, Walker. I think he fancies himself one of those bigger-than-life lawyers that exist only in fiction. Some people seem inclined to believe that being on television affirms their importance somehow.’
‘Pretty much the opposite of what Frances believes,’ Carl said.
‘True.’ Rufus sipped at the beer, watching Carl over the bottle. ‘Has there been any change?’
‘Not really,’ Carl said. ‘She apparently has fluid on her brain. They mentioned surgery as an option.’
‘No signs at all of waking?’
‘No.’ Carl finished the first bottle of beer and picked up the second.
‘You know Frances,’ Rufus said. ‘She’ll bloody well wake up when she wants to.’
Carl nodded. ‘That’s how I have it figured.’
They hit three locations at once. The Wild Lucifer clubhouse out on route 10, the bar called Hard Ten a few hundred yards away and the home of Tommy Jakes in the north end of Rose City. The raids were timed for precisely one in the morning, as the bar was closing. Dunbar and Pulford were with the team that battered in the door of the clubhouse – not an easy task since the entrance was fortified with steel rebar set in concrete jambs.
It was chaos from the start and there were some anxious moments where Dunbar feared the whole thing might end up in a shoot-out. The cops knew there would be weapons in the clubhouse and gang members willing to use them. The first six officers through the door were in complete SWAT gear. They entered shouting at the top of their lungs, demanding that everybody hit the floor. The bikers, most of whom had been lounging in front of a big screen TV, were on their feet as one. They were confused. And pissed off.
Dunbar and Pulford, wearing flak jackets, their sidearms cocked and ready, entered behind the SWAT team. There were four more officers behind the building, covering a second entrance. For a long thirty seconds the bikers stood in defiance, as if ready and even eager to make a fight of it. At least one that Dunbar could see had his hand inside his jacket. Dunbar put the front sight of his semi-automatic on the man’s chest and waited, his heart pounding. The SWAT guys continued to shout and finally the bikers stepped down, one and then another, grudgingly dropping to their knees before stretching out on the floor.
As that was happening Dunbar saw Tommy Jakes moving toward the rear of the building. Dunbar shouted at one of the team and the man caught up with Tommy before he made it to a door there. Tommy gave the guy a resigned half smile before putting his hands behind his neck.
The raid was worth the effort. Not only was Tommy Jakes in the house, but Robert ‘Bones’ Sirocco was there as well, along with eight other members of the gang. Found on the premises were a few ounces of grass, four sawed-off shotguns, a half dozen handguns and roughly three hundred assorted pills. There was close to forty thousand dollars in an unlocked safe. Some of the money was in new hundreds.
Attached to the rear of the clubhouse, where Tommy Jakes had been headed, was a garage of sort
s in which several Harleys were parked, some in various states of disrepair. Tommy’s Cadillac Escalade was also there. In the back of the SUV was a spare tire, obviously not made for the vehicle. When Dunbar cut open the tire he found inside what later proved to be a quantity of cocaine with a street value of roughly a hundred thousand dollars. The assumption was that it had either just arrived at the clubhouse or was in the process of being shipped out.
Dunbar cuffed Tommy Jakes and put him in the back of a squad car before going back inside to help in the search for anything that might tie the bike gang to the home invasion. He kept in touch with the other searches in progress. In the end, nothing much of consequence resulted from the bar, while in the city the wife of Tommy Jakes went ballistic and threatened to sue everyone from the chief of police to the mayor. A small quantity of drugs and a couple of handguns were found in the house.
They arrested everybody on the clubhouse property as well as the manager of the bar, a woman named Joni Stensen, after finding four ecstasy pills in her pocket. Dunbar knew that she would not be charged with anything in the end; the arrest was primarily a way of getting her into custody and under interrogation in the hope that she might know something about the home invasion on River Road.
The bikers, for the most part, took the raid in stride. Two or three, probably under the influence, got a little mouthy with the cops loading them into the vans, offering idle threats and suggesting that there would be retribution down the road. The cops ignored them and pretty soon they all fell quiet, knowing they were heading to the lockup for a few days at least.
Dunbar and Pulford took Tommy downtown themselves, processed him at around four in the morning and went home to their respective beds. They would deal with the more specific charges in the days to follow. At that point, everybody – including Tommy Jakes – was interested in getting some sleep. In fact, Dunbar thought as he drove home, Tommy didn’t seem all that concerned about the arrest, other than to comment on the fact that the cops had just cost him a lot of money.