Murder in Store

by DC Brod

  had gone about twenty feet, Griffin said, “This will be fine.”

  The big man threw me down in the snow at the base of one of the trees. The snow had started to melt, and the cold wetness revived me a little. Meanwhile, Griffin watched, hands in the pockets of his camel’s hair coat, smiling his approval. The day was fading fast and I could barely see the car from my position.

  Griffin walked up to me, smugness smeared across his face. His associate stood next to me, gun pointed at my head. He appeared to be a man of few words and, I hoped, even fewer brains.

  “You should know by now,” Griffin began, “that I do not tolerate blackmail.” He paused, maybe hoping that I would start pumping him with questions. The captive audience. I shifted in the snow and rubbed the back of my neck.

  “Art Judson was a friend of yours, wasn’t he?” I think we both knew he wasn’t changing the subject.

  I shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”

  He smiled. “He was also a loyal Hauser employee, wasn’t he?” “That’s the way it seemed.”

  “Would it surprise you to know that he was also in my employ? That he was a man who could be purchased with limited funds?”

  “Is that how you buy loyalty, Griffin? A bullet in the chest?” I glanced up at the man holding a gun to me. “You listening, Deke?” The big man shifted slightly.

  Griffin laughed, apparently enjoying himself. “I reward loyalty generously. I punish betrayal quickly.”

  “Judson was blackmailing you,” I said. Enough of this waltzing.

  He nodded. “And Ray Keller.” He paused, apparently allowing that to sink in. “No one, and I mean no one puts the screws to me.”

  I wasn’t at all flattered by Griffin’s sudden urge to confide in me. It didn’t say much for my life expectancy, but I wanted to keep him talking. The longer he talked the longer I lived and the longer I had to come up with a way out of this mess. Besides, I figured I’d earned the right to know.

  “Why did you kill Melinda Reichart?”

  “Because she was an oversexed little tramp who didn’t know her own place.” He removed a pair of black leather gloves from his pocket and put them on, slowly easing each finger into place, all the while continuing his speech. “Imagine a woman like that even thinking we had a future together. Thinking I would cave in to her material desires by threatening to tell my wife about our affair.” He paused and considered his last statement. “It wasn’t the threat of blackmail. I couldn’t care less if my wife knew about that affair. Theresa knows enough to look the other way.” He smiled. “She’s had a lot of practice. It’s amazing how much people will tolerate in order to retain the status quo. You see, what Melinda did was to assume that she could intimidate me into leaving my wife. No one intimidates me.”

  “That’s not the way I hear it,” I said.

  Griffin raised his eyebrows.

  “In fact, I’ll bet you killed her because she told you to get lost, and the only thing you handle worse than intimidation is rejection.”

  Griffin approached me and crouched down so we were eye level with each other. “You’re wrong,” he said, staring into my face like he was trying to read something there. Then he stood up, walked away, did an abrupt about-face, and said, “The end is near, Quint. Very near. I wouldn’t make any groundless accusations if I were you. They might tend to hasten your demise. And you’re still hopeful you’re going to get out of this alive, aren’t you?” He was smiling again. “One never knows.”

  It was getting colder, but I was still sweating. I didn’t pay much attention to that, however. I was too busy trying to figure a way out and wondering if this was when I should request a cigarette and blindfold. But even though my brain was working, it wasn’t producing.

  “What about Keller?” I asked, still stalling. “My guess is you had Keller killed because he ID’d the girl in the photo after she wound up dead. He added up two and two and decided to supplement his income.”

  Griffin shook his head as he recalled the late detective. “Dim-witted gumshoe. I decided that if he was smart enough to put it all together after Melinda’s death, then just about anyone could. But he was way out of his league. Judson too. He should have been content with the money I was paying him to spy on Hauser.”

  That made sense. Hauser knows about Griffin, so Griffin has him killed. Art needs another source of income. He pushes his luck with Griffin so Griffin has Art killed.

  I recalled Art’s gambling debt. The controversial shipping contract Griffin had arranged. “Were you fronting for the mob?”

  Griffin smiled. “No. My connection with the mob is only peripheral. We occasionally exchange favors.” He gestured toward the gunman. “Deke here is on loan from them.”

  I acknowledged Deke’s credentials with a nod. “Is it safe to assume that you finished off Carl Bonkowsky?”

  His smile was deceptively pleasant. “He was mostly gone. Not much worth saving.”

  “Enough about us,” Griffin interrupted. “Let’s talk about you. Who besides that little friend of yours has seen my file and the photograph?”

  “Detective O’Henry,” I lied. He knew about them, but I hadn’t shown them to him.

  “Not likely,” Griffin said. He began pacing back and

  forth in front of me, using the space like a stage as he explained my simplemindedness to me. “I had you followed after Hauser’s service today. You entered the White Hart without the file.” He stopped pacing long enough to pull a manila folder out of his coat. “This file.” He smiled. “We removed it from your trunk while depositing you in our trunk.”

  In addition to enlightening me, Griffin was doing something else for me. He was giving me resolve. I had no idea how I was going to get out of this, but I was sure of one thing. There was no way I was going to die at the hands of this pompous asshole.

  He pulled a photograph from the file. “This is what’s causing all the trouble, isn’t it?” He showed it to me so I would be sure to realize it was the real one, then he tore it into quarters and stuffed them into his pocket.

  “I feel confident that once I eliminate you, my troubles are over. There is the matter of your little friend, but I’m having her taken care of, too.” He smiled. “She’s in for a big surprise when she returns home.” I looked from the big man pointing the big gun at me to Griffin gauging my reaction with his hands deep in his pockets. “I have to tie up all the loose ends,” Griffin continued. “You understand, I’m sure. I don’t know what method my employee intends to use. I like to leave that sort of thing to his imagination. It never pays to stifle creativity, and he’s very good. Elaine may take an unfortunate tumble down a flight of stairs, or perhaps she’ll be the victim of a staged mugging with a fatal blow to the head.” He paused and stared at me for several seconds. “Or maybe a murder-rape.” He nodded to himself. “Yes, I bet that will be it.”

  I felt something inside me go numb and come alive again at the same time. Using the tree as a support, I pushed myself up. Griffin watched my slow progress, smiling. I felt dizzy at first and grabbed a small branch. It cracked and broke under my weight. I started to go down and Deke

  reached with his empty hand to grab me. I reacted without thinking. Before Deke got hold of my arm, I brought the small branch up with both hands, scraping it across his face. He uttered more a cry of surprise than pain but lurched back a step and I lunged for his legs, trying to topple him. He landed next to me. I spotted the gun he’d dropped a moment before he did. I gripped the barrel with my left hand and he jumped on top of me, reaching for my wrist. A gunshot froze the scene, and Deke’s body went limp.

  “I’d release that gun if I were you.” Griffin didn’t even sound perturbed. “Now Quint, that wasn’t a very smart thing to do, was it? But then you weren’t smart enough to keep your nose out of this affair. Why should I expect any other kind of behavior out of you? This is a minor inconvenience for me, but I have about all the information from you that I need.” He cleared his throat. “Let me reiterat
e. Let go of the gun or you’re going to die this very instant.”

  I wondered if Deke was big enough to make an effective shield. Then I realized that an essential part of my anatomy—my head—was a clear shot for Griffin. I let go of the gun and, with considerable effort, shoved Deke’s body away so he lay between Griffin and me. I got to my feet slowly. No more than four feet separated me from Griffin. I hadn’t figured him for the type to carry a gun. I was wrong.

  I looked from Griffin to Deke, then back again. “You missed,” I said.

  Griffin shrugged like he had just missed the bus. “Perhaps that is simply my way of rewarding incompetence. My employees either function correctly or they are eliminated. Deke here reacted without considering the consequences. Not a good trait for a man in his profession.” He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “Your usefulness has come to an end. It’s time to start thinking that last great thought, but then you’re probably wondering about your

  girlfriend’s fate. No time for philosophical musings when the little woman is in jeopardy.”

  He began to laugh softly and shook his head like he knew a terrific joke only he was privy to. Then one of his chuckles was punctuated with a surprised cry and he lurched back a step. I glanced at the ground and saw Deke’s big hand wrapped around Griffin’s ankle. The shelter of the trees seemed miles away, but I didn’t stop to think about that as I lit out for them. I heard two gunshots and assumed he’d finished off Deke.

  It was almost dark now and I hoped that would give me an advantage. I heard another gunshot and the sound of something hitting a tree very near me. I found the car and the road and ran parallel to it through the woods and toward the highway we’d turned off from, using it to find my way out of here. If I made it to an open road, Griffin might hesitate to blow me away in front of witnesses.

  I had figured about a mile and could probably manage that if I didn’t break a leg tripping over a branch or a protruding root, but Griffin looked like he was in pretty good shape himself. I tried not to think about what was behind me or that at any moment I might be in his gunsight. I just ran and tried not to trip.

  I heard the traffic before I came crashing out of the woods. With only a second’s hesitation, I half ran, half slid down the hill toward the two-lane road. Near the bottom of the hill I heard another gunshot, lost my footing, and tumbled, head first, into a ditch.

  Griffin was almost on top of me by the time I picked myself up. I glanced at him and at the big semi bearing down the road. I had no idea whether or not I could make it across the road in front of that truck, but I knew I couldn’t afford to stay here. The truck horn blared as I ran into its path, and it didn’t miss me by much. Griffin, as it turned out, wasn’t so lucky.

  The semi covered a lot of ground while braking to an emergency stop, and as I ran up to the cab, I intentionally avoided looking for anything it might have left in its wake. When I got there, the trucker, a young guy, had removed his cowboy hat and was running a hand through dark, curly hair, shaking his head. He stood next to the cab, not sure where to look and probably not sure he wanted to find what had to be there.

  “Oh my God,” he said. “I couldn’t stop. You saw, didn’t you?” He had a slight drawl.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “It wasn’t your fault.” I climbed into the cab to use his CB while he stepped off the road to throw up.

  A row of cars were lining up in both directions as I got on the emergency channel. I raised the police in less than a minute and told them to contact O’Henry. “Tell him that an attempt is going to be made on Elaine Kluszewski’s life. He has to keep her away from her apartment. You got that?” I released the button on the CB. The cop repeated the message. Then I depressed the button again. “And we’ve got a fatality here involving a truck and a jaywalker. Hold on.” I stuck my head out the window of the cab and yelled into the group of gapers. “Can anyone tell me where we are?” I related the majority opinion to the cop and replaced the CB in the unit.

  Then I leaned back and watched as a few snowflakes drifted onto the huge windshield. I was reminded of the way Elaine’s hair had looked that night with the snowflakes lighting in it. Outside, the curious were finding out that getting a good look isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Inside, I was just sitting there, trying not to imagine the worst.

  21

  The scene had taken on the dreamlike quality that sometimes accompanies a morbid accident. The truck’s trailer blocked both lanes of the highway with the cab partially in a ditch. Traffic was lining up, but no one was honking his horn or showing any signs of impatience. A few people offered to help or asked if the police had been called, but most sat quietly in their cars, engines stilled, prepared to wait it out. It was a strange, expectant silence. No one knew exactly what had happened, only what it looked like.

  At this point, there was nothing for me to do but wait along with everyone else. There was enough of Frank Griffin on the grill of the cab to confirm the fact that he wasn’t going to crawl into the brush and escape when the crowd dispersed.

  The truck driver waited beside me, looking pale in the eerie glow of the car headlights. Finally he said, “That was you who ran out in front of him, wasn’t it?”

  I nodded. “He was chasing me with a gun. If he hadn’t gotten in your way, I’d probably be dead now.”

  He shook his head like he didn’t completely understand but it didn’t matter anyway. “God, what a mess,” he said. “Who was he?”

  A squad car pulled up before I could think of an appropriate response. The two officers took a quick look around, then walked over to me and the truck driver. One was very young. Could have been right out of the academy. The other was middle-aged and a little heavy. He looked

  pretty grim but not as shaken by the scene as the younger one.

  “Which one of you did I talk to on the CB?” I asked. The voice had sounded older, but never assume anything.

  “Me.” I was right. “We relayed your message to Sergeant O’Henry. Now, are you going to tell me what’s going on here?”

  “That”—I gestured in the general direction of the truck—“was a guy named Frank Griffin. He had just killed another man and was in the process of trying to kill me.”

  “You mean there’s another body around here?” The younger cop hadn’t spoken yet and was watching his elder partner like he was Plato.

  “Uh huh,” I said and gestured toward the wooded area. “About a mile down that road.” The cop looked at the road, then back at me. “He’s just as dead as Griffin, but he looks a whole lot better,” I added.

  Another squad car joined the first, and one of the new cops at the scene began setting up flares. The other approached our group. “Which one of you is McCauley?”

  “I am.”

  “O’Henry said he’s on his way.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Christ,” I muttered.

  The middle-aged cop said to me, “You want to show me this other body now?”

  Deke was right where I’d left him, along with the car, and he appeared to have two more bullet holes in his back. The cop began probing me for details. I guess I couldn’t blame him, but I wanted to be out on the highway when O’Henry arrived.

  He was looking in the trunk of the car. “So this is where they stashed you?”

  “Listen,” I said. “Do you think we could get back? I’m anxious to hear about my friend. I want to know if she’s all right.”

  He shrugged. “Why didn’t you say so? C’mon.”

  When we returned to the highway, O’Henry had arrived. I recognized his stocky, slouched figure before I saw his face.

  I rushed up to him. “Is Elaine all right?”

  He held his hands up in a familiar gesture of appeasement. “Calm down. I sent some of my best men over there. They’ll call as soon as they know anything.”

  I ran an impatient hand through my hair. “O’Henry—”

  “Relax, McCauley,” he in
terrupted me. “She’ll be okay. Trust me.” Didn’t this guy ever sound anything but calm and collected? “How are you?” he asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Coulda fooled me,” he said. “Don’t tell me they coaxed you into the trunk with a Snickers bar.”

  “No,” I said, “it was an inflatable Dolly Parton with a come hither look on her rubber face.”

  “That I’d believe,” he said. “Why is it, McCauley, whenever I run into you, you’re in the company of a corpse?”

  “Two corpses,” I corrected him.

  “Even better. Who’s the other one?”

  “One of Griffin’s little helpers,” I told him. “In fact, he’s the one who finished off Bonkowsky.”

  O’Henry nodded. “Were you right? Was it Griffin who killed Hauser?”

  “Sure looks that way.”

  “He confessed?”

  “It was more like he was reciting his resumé.”

  One of the uniformed cops yelled to O’Henry, “Call for you, Sarge.” I followed him to his car and listened to his end of the conversation.

  “Uh huh,” he said. Then “Okay.” Then, “That’s good.” That was when he winked at me and gave the thumbs-up sign.

  After he hung up, he removed a new pack of gum from

  his pocket and unwrapped it as he spoke. “Apparently there was someone waiting for Elaine in the garage. They found a guy lurking around. He was carrying. I doubt we’ll ever get a confession out of him though, unless we can link him to Griffin.” He pondered that for a moment. “O’Henry,” I said. “Go on.”

  “Well, before they found the guy, they did a check on Elaine’s car and were able to ID her by her license. She was about four blocks away from the apartment.”

  “Oh, thank God,” I said. “So she never got back to the building.”

  “I didn’t say that.” O’Henry was milking his audience again. “She did go into the garage, but she wasn’t able to park. There was a Honda in her space.” He raised his eyebrows. “Sound familiar?”