Chapter 5
A wailing Police siren drew me back to the main floor. I opened the front entrance in time to see a plainclothesman get out of a cruiser, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses. He was about sixty years of age, tall, well-muscled and broad-shouldered. White hair beetled beneath the brim of a new black Stetson. His suit was tailor-made gray. Hand-made Italian boots gleamed like polished onyx on his big feet. A large Emerald ring glistened on one pinky. Although I had never seen the man before I hazarded a guess his name might be Shawn Delaney.
"I hope my call didn't interrupt anything extorting."
He jerked toward my voice like a vicious dog at the end of its tether. "Captain Delaney, Police," he grunted. Then he took off his sunglasses and stuffed them into his suit's inside pocket.
Delaney had an unforgettable face. It was long, leathery and wrinkled, with steel blue eyes burning from the bowels of two dark sockets. A tiny purple pouch sagged beneath each, like a wrinkled saddlebag. His square jaw supported a wide slit of red mouth from which a toothpick jutted. Between the sockets and the slit was a huge carrot nose and shiny high cheekbones. The former had been savagely broken at some time. And deep scars twisted across one of the latter. These continued their swathe up over one eyebrow, and then down the side of the cheek directly beneath. The savage trail ended on the slope of his neck just below the bobbed remains of one ear. The whitish scars were jagged, deep and wide. The kind a broken bottle gives when held by unfriendly hands.
I made an obvious check of my watch before chiding, "Thirty minute response on a homicide. That's gotta' be a world record, Delaney. Lunch break? Or, winning at pinochle?"
The big man let his cold eyes slide over my like the sharp edge of a straight razor. Then, he asked, "Who might you be, Old Son?"
I told him, and where I was from. Then I jabbed a thumb towards the Spirea hedge. "Eli Huggins, the deceased. He's in no hurry, Delaney. But I can't wait to see you in action."
The big cop glanced toward the shoes, and then returned his stare to me. He was clearly in no rush to see the body. Perhaps because he knew exactly what he would find.
"Weak stomach?" I taunted. "Or simply not sure what comes next. If you need help give me a shout. I've handled these things hundreds of times."
Delaney put his hands at his hips, leaned back and twisted to stretch the kinks out of his back. It looked like it felt good so I mimicked him.
He made a self-conscious clearing sound in his throat before asking, "What's your business here, Bishop?"
I cleared my throat, too. "Eli hired me to stop a dirty Irish cop's extortion racket. Some kind of low-life, huh? Collecting his pay from the taxpayers while shaking them down."
Delaney lolled the toothpick with a pasty-white tongue, letting his eyes give me another scraping. "Do tell."
I grinned. "Back where I come from we neuter those types."
"This dirty Irish cop have a name?"
"Shawn Delaney was what Eli told me. Relative of yours?"
His grin died. "You sound like a man with a problem, Mr. Bishop. Problems often get a man into trouble."
I set my right fist in the palm of my left hand with a smack. "Nothing I can't handle, Delaney. But, if I need help I can always call on J-D."
His mouth gaped in surprise. "You know J-D?"
I shrugged. "Friend of a friend."
The uniformed driver got out of the cruiser and quickly moved over to where Delaney stood. He was a young man with pale blond hair and a boyish freckled face. His uniform was freshly issued, because none of the creases had been ironed over. And the service pistol holstered around his narrow middle was shiny-new. He stood at attention directly behind his superior. At any moment, I half expected the kid to bend over and kiss Delaney's ass.
"Telepathy?" I asked Delaney.
He gave me a quizzical look and said, "Come again?"
"Usual procedure is to secure a murder scene immediately. I thought you might be using telepathy to handle that."
Delaney spat out the toothpick. "Stay put, Old Son. You and me got some talkin' to do."
He barked at the uniform and the two of them went over to Eli's corpse. I strolled down to the cruiser and peered inside. It was better equipped than those in which I had spent my police career. Multiple two-ways buzzed with coded calls, mostly traffic. It had a video-recording unit, radar, and a computer system for instant readout. The latter connected the cruiser directly to the TCI and NCI databases. In the cruiser's ashtray a fat, gold holder contained the distinctive remains of a Cuban cigar. If Delaney was an honest cop McAllen was law-enforcement heaven—at least in terms of pay.
The big cop's cursing captured my interest and I went over to one of the concrete benches framing the mansion's staircase. There, I propped one foot in his direction and watched the Irishman's technique. He had gotten Eli's blood on his tailored slacks, and was not happy about the dead man's lack of consideration. Corpses have a way of getting back at their killers. Sometimes by leading homicide investigators to the assassin's door, sometimes by staining a pair of slacks, sometimes both.
By the time I had finished a smoke the uniform was back inside the cruiser. From where I watched, he looked sick, and scared. His voice quaked as he used one of the two-ways to request a forensic team. And he had barely finished speaking when he jumped out of the car to revisit his supper. I returned my gaze to Delaney more out of empathy for the young cop than interest. The first murder scene was always hard on one's digestion.
While I continued to gaze, the big cop clumsily shuffled through Eli's pockets. Dig and look. Dig and look. Suddenly, he stopped and fumbled something into his own suit. Then, he rose with obvious satisfaction and strolled over to where I waited.
"Short on evidence bags?" I taunted.
A line of moisture had formed across his upper lip, while more dripped below his sideburns. "Come again?"
I pointed to his coat pocket. "You put something folded and green in there. I thought you might be low on forensic supplies."
Delaney's teeth glinted at me like old ivory as he asked, "You carryin', Old Son?"
I nodded, drew my suit coat aside and showed him the holstered Mauser. "A State permit goes with it."
He snapped his fingers and I handed him my weapon. He pulled out the clip, counted the rounds, and then smelled the breach.
"Let's see that so called license," he grunted.
I handed it to him and Delaney made appropriate entries into a notebook regarding my identity, address and license issue-date. Then, he returned my property before saying, "Guns get a man into trouble. You looking for trouble, Old Son?"
I grinned. "A low-life corn-beef and cabbage chewing hustler like you is worried about me, Delaney? I'm touched."
"What's your story on this?"
I told him how Leon had met me at the airport and we had driven back here.
"That's all there was?" he asked.
I nodded. "Of what I saw."
Delaney propped one foot on the bench and rested a forearm on his raised leg. "Then if I was you, Old Son," he said, jabbing the air in front of my nose with a thick finger, "I'd haul my ass out'a here. If there's anything else, I'll be in touch."
I wagged my head. "I'll stick around awhile and see what pops. Last time I did that Dominic Portello came close enough to smell the garlic. You know Dominic, Delaney? He likes dirty cops in a big way."
His chin took a momentary dip and he chuckled grimly. "You're just punchin' all my buttons, ain't ya?"
I moved my foot on the bench, making sure I scuffed his shiny Italian boot. "The Portellos and I go way back, Delaney. They won't like hearing how you've been puttin' the arm on one of their people."
He glanced back toward Eli's body and asked in feigned surprise, "You tellin' me old Eli was runnin' dope, or somethin'?"
"Two weeks from now they'll be a replacement for Eli. And you'll be boxed in concrete. That answer your question?"
&nb
sp; He jerked upright, letting his marked boot hit the concrete with a loud thud; his cheeks pink with fermenting rage. "I'm beginning to take a real dislike to you, Bishop."
I closed the distance between us until we were toe-to-toe. "What was the deal, Delaney? You wanted to cut in and Eli balked?"
Delaney backed pedaled a step. And from the look on his face I could tell my remarks had hit a soft spot somewhere.
"You been real busy, Old Son!" he gritted. "I see I'm gonna' have to keep an eye on you."
I blew him a kiss. "Only if you're really serious about us."
He pinked, again. This time he unbuttoned his suit coat. "Where's the Pug?"
I nodded toward the front door. "Leon's waiting for you. He's got the idea you killed Eli."
Delaney took out a wear-worn revolver and checked the rounds in its cylinder. "Drunk?"
"Don't worry, Delaney. I'll be right behind you making sure nothing goes wrong."
A gust of wind rippled across the big cops shoulders bringing the pungent scent of Jade-East.
"You threatening me, Old Son?" he grinned.
"Right down to your big feet."
Delaney pursed his thin lips a moment. "Leon gets mean when he drinks, killin' mean. And Eli was not on the best of terms with the pug. That stepdaughter of Leon's. Nice lookin' young piece who likes nice things and ain't fussy how she gets 'em. You hear where I'm comin' from, Bishop?"
I had and did not like the sound of it. What was worse, I was no longer certain Delaney was behind Eli's killing. However, I was far from convinced that Leon had done it. The cop holstered his weapon and moved past me, into the house. I purposely crowded him from behind.
We found Leon staggering around the living room carrying a full fifth of scotch. A booze-flush colored the grime on the boxer's face. When he spotted us, Leon let go a roar of gravelly laughter before stopping in front of a vacant-eyed television.
"Time to talk, Pug," Delaney said, as he faced the boxer. "No trouble, understand?"
"Too goddamn late, Delaney!" Leon slurred and waved the booze bottle like it was a banner. Then, he leered at us like a one-eyed cat that had just cleared out a fishbowl. "Killed your money-machine, didn't I?"
The boxer's surprise confession left me stunned and silent for a moment. Finally I blurted, "The only thing Leon's ever killed is a bet."
Leon shook the bottle at me and shouted, "You keep shut, Mister."
I looked down at the coffee table. The ashtray had been emptied and wiped clean; the glasses were gone. While I had been outside entertaining myself with Delaney, Leon had been cleaning up. Leon, or someone else.
Delaney's eyes darted in my direction, then he asked Leon in a surprised voice, "You sayin' you did that out there, Pug?"
Leon cackled before staggering forward like a rubber man. "Shot the bastard. Blew my brother to hell, where he belongs."
"Where's the gun, Pug?" Delaney asked, clearly as confused as I.
"Don't be a fool, Delaney," I chided. "There's more to this than anything between Eli and Leon."
Leon took a long swig from the fifth, and then collapsed to one knee. "For me to know and you to find out, Copper," he giggled, after getting his feet back under himself. Then, his eyes focused upon me as he tugged at his baggy denims, like a man getting ready to wade high water. "Don't nobody need you 'round here, Mister. Best get goin'."
"Whatever you've got in mind, Leon, it won't work," I countered.
Delaney took out his handcuffs, and moved toward Leon. "Set the bottle down, Pug," he said. "After that, we'll do it by the numbers."
The front door banging stopping Delaney's advance. Heavy footsteps pounded across the foyer. A moment later a tall, thick, redheaded man stormed into the room. His face was crimson and streaming with sweat. There were gray splotches in the hair at his temples and a glistening bald spot, on his skull's crown.
"I heard the goddamn call, Delaney," the redhead boomed. His voice was low enough to give purgatory a flushing. "I came here and found your driver sitting in his own puke and one of our leading citizen's laying out on the lawn as vulture bait. What the hell's going on?"
The big cop nodded toward Leon. "Pug, here, went off the deep end, J-D," he casually explained. "Admitted to it straight off. I warned you it was comin'."
"Good as hanged, J-D," Leon slurred, happily.
The big redhead grimaced at Leon, in disgust. "Why?
Leon grabbed two angry handfuls of empty air, took a swing at something invisible, missed and tumbled to his knees. "Told you why, J-D," he screamed as he clawed his way up the side of a chair. "Told you what he's doin' to Betsy. Told you make it stop."
"And, I said I'd handle it," Bascomb roared back. "There was no need for this."
Leon retorted, "I done what I done. And, I done it up righteous, J-D. Guess you're off the hook with me, now. No more promises to keep. You ain't gotta' do nothin' but see me on my way to hell."
J-D muttered a curse under his breath before asking Delaney, "Did you read Leon his rights?"
"Just getting to it, J-D," Delaney said with obvious pleasure.
The redhead adjusted the coat of a suit that was last year's brown, and well overdue for an ironing. Then, he noticed me. "Who in hell are you?"
"I'm the felony-murder pixie. I like to make an appearance now and again. What makes you so interested?"
Delaney jabbed a manicured thumb in my direction. "This here's Deacon Bishop, J-D: a Private Detective from Dallas. Come all the way down here to help Eli. Got here, a little late—or, so he says."
"J-D Bascomb," the redhead grunted. "County Prosecutor. What do you know about this?"
In my experience, attorneys are either painfully honest or completely corrupt; there is no middle ground. And from the lack of flash on his person I pegged Bascomb for the former. So, while Delaney read Leon his rights, I told J-D what I knew, purposely leaving out Leon's suspicions of Delaney. The one thing I did not need was to have the poor slob murdered in his cell for making accusations.
"Leon didn't shoot Eli," I said. "I'm dead certain of that."
The boxer tossed the fifth at me, but the bottle passed wide overhead. It crashed against the wall behind leaving a wet slick that sheeted down into the carpet. Then he shouted, "I done it. Ain't nobody sayin' not."
Bascomb scratched his thinning hair with thick blunt fingers and stared questioningly at Delaney.
The big cop shrugged before saying, "Why should Leon admit something that'll get him executed if he didn't do it, J-D?" He returned his attention to the boxer, letting the cuffs dance like gleaming marionettes from his fingertips. "Ain't that right, Pug?"
"Done it, J-D." Leon leaned back against the television. "Done it, and proud."
"Leon's covering for someone, Bascomb," I said. "He won't say who she is. But, I'm convinced she's either got a part in Eli's murder; or witnessed it."
"She?" Bascomb asked.
"There may be more than one," I told him. "Regardless, one or both could be involved."
"On what goddamn evidence?" J-D roared.
I pointed to the coffee table. "That ashtray was full of lipstick-stained cigarette butts. And there's evidence of at least two women upstairs in Eli's bedroom. I'll give you any odds you want, Leon's covering for one or both of them."
J-D looked over at Delaney and asked, "You know about this?"
The big cop wagged his head. "Just got here, J-D. And the pug was the only one Eli'd let on this property—except for his playmates, and a few select friends."
The county prosecutor tugged at his belt and then looked back at me. "You might be one hell of a detective back in Dallas, Bishop! But so far I'm not impressed."
"My sentiments exactly, J-D," Delaney chimed with a grin.
I felt my cheeks get warm. "I think Leon's covering for Moira. Or maybe his daughter, Betsy."
Leon's face swelled and darkened with rage, like a ripe eggplant. "I warned you, Mister." H
e charged past Delaney swinging a hard right at me.
I ducked Leon's roundhouse and dropped the boxer to the floor with a left hook to his solar plexus followed by a hard right to the base of his skull. Leon stayed on his knees, gasping and cursing every inch of my being, but still conscious and game.
Delaney moved to Leon. "None of that, pug." Then he clamped on the cuffs. "You might hurt that big-city detective."
J-D Bascomb wagged his head piteously. "Get the bastard out of here, Delaney. I want him processed and locked up alone: no visitors until I talk to him."
The County Prosecutor and I exchanged glances while Delaney hustled Leon, outside.
"You got a scoreboard in your office, Bascomb? Or do you collect bonus on each conviction?"
He took a brief interest in his old shoes, before giving me a look that let me know I had made a mistake. "I also get paid to run bums like you out of town. Now, before I lose my temper and charge you with obstructing justice why don't you get what's festering out in the open?"
"I've worked enough homicides to know Eli had been dead less than an hour when Leon and I got here. There wasn't time for Leon to kill his brother, drive to the airport and get me back here."
"Time of death is a guestimate in this heat. And, you're forgetting Leon's confession. He could die for this. Even a brain-battered pug wouldn't take that kind of fall for somebody else."
"He might for his wife or daughter. Leon's covering for one of the woman who was here."
"Moira and Betsy? You figure they came all the way out here to kill Eli?"
"From what Leon said, they'd have reason."
"Having reason doesn't guarantee it gets done, Bishop. You ought to know that."
"Do you know Dominic Portello?"
Bascomb threw up his hands in exasperation. "You're saying he killed Eli? Why, for Christ's sake?"
I shook my head. "I'm saying the Portello clan will be coming here as soon as Eli's death hits the news services. And when they do, you'd better be ready for trouble."
Bascomb took a heavy step toward me. "If you're trying to get my attention, you got it and then some. What trouble?"
"Eli Huggins was on the Portello payroll."
"Eli was worth millions! Why would he associate himself with sewer rats?"
"That solid citizen lying out on the lawn made his millions supplying the Portello drug syndicate."
"Man you are certifiable. Eli Huggins was no tower of virtue, but he wasn't about to get in bed with the likes of them. What proof have you got?"
"None, other than Leon said Dominic Portello was a frequent visitor."
"Leon doesn't know what day it is half the time; let alone who comes and goes."
"If you don't like that idea, ask yourself where Delaney was when Eli got popped."
Bascomb dragged one freckled paw across his red face as if he were trying to wipe my image from his view. "Shall I check on your mommy's whereabouts, too?"
"Leon made a complaint to you about his brother. Was there anything in it?"
Bascomb unwrapped a stick of green gum and shoved it into his mouth. "Unless you've got something further to tell me concerning Eli's murder, hit the road Mr. Bishop."
I had nothing pending at my offices. So, I told Bascomb I would stay in town for a while. He did not like it but there was nothing he could do to force my departure. From my perspective, a dirty cop, a brain-dead ex-boxer and a murdered millionaire with ties to a world-class drug syndicate made this too interesting a case to walk out on. I borrowed Leon's truck and headed back to McAllen.
Dead On Page 5