by Rick Reed
“I’ll get the knife,” Walker said. “We can run some forensic tests and see if that’s what killed Olson.”
“Who are you going to test it on?” Liddell asked.
“I would suggest he try it out on you, Bigfoot, but your skull is too thick to penetrate,” Jack answered.
“Oww!”
“We have some ballistic gel dummies. I’ll film it,” Walker said.
“What have you got on Harry Day?” Jack asked Angelina.
“I’ve got financials, bank records, firearms license, registrations of gun purchases, tax records. There’s nothing there. He had a comfortable life, but he wasn’t pulling in big money from anywhere. Unless he was buying and selling guns from street people, he’s clean as a whistle.”
Liddell posited, “Robbers don’t always go after big money.”
Chapter 44
Dennis James was predictable due to two habits in his routine. He was still a practicing Catholic who attended the same church his parents had taken him to during his formative years and he had an addictive personality. Smoking, drinking, sex, gambling, drugs, stealing, drinking, drugs, and from there on it was mostly about drugs.
Dennis left St. Anthony’s Church and, true to his nature, his head swiveled around, checking out the street before walking south and circling back behind the school that had been turned into a homeless shelter. He skirted the homeless shelter and continued walking west toward Fulton Avenue, occasionally casting a glance back over his shoulder. Twice now Dennis had looked directly at the black SUV parked on the street across from the Econo Lodge and not reacted. He couldn’t see through the smoked glass windshield or he would have run.
Dennis picked up the pace and the driver of the SUV was tempted to follow, but he knew exactly where Dennis was going. There was a little store on Columbia Street, not two blocks from where they were, that sold various and sundry tobacco products. It sold other things too, like LSD and crack cocaine. It had done so when they were all in grade school together. All the kids knew. The adults were clueless. They had even scored cough syrup laced with morphine. It was a rite of passage. A way to numb the boredom of listening to the nuns all day.
The SUV circled the church in the other direction from which Dennis had walked. It pulled to the curb on a side street facing Sam Day’s Market. Dennis didn’t disappoint. His head darted around before he went in the shop and swiveled like a tank turret on his shoulders when he came outside, eyes never pausing once on the black SUV.
Dennis walked west on Columbia Street and jumped when he was honked at as he stepped into traffic to cross onto Third Avenue. He gave the offending horn the double bird and continued north on Third Avenue.
The SUV driver lost sight of Dennis, who cut in between two houses, but he picked him up again as he cruised past the alley entrance. He slowed and watched Dennis climb the outside stairway at the back of a house. He settled in and waited for Dennis to come out. Thirty minutes later, he left the Desert Eagle and the WASP in the car and put a small tactical knife in the pocket of his hoodie jacket. He pulled the hood up, slipped on sunglasses, and walked down the alley.
He climbed the rickety stairs to the second floor, where a door had been pried open. He listened. No noise came from inside. He looked through the door’s window and saw Dennis sitting on the peeling linoleum floor in the corner of the kitchen, legs drawn up with a shard of glass from a broken window propped on his knees. On the glass was a teaspoon-sized mound of white powder, and several lines of the stuff he’d bought at Sam Day’s Market. Dennis’s eyes were unfocused and his head was lolled back against the wall. He turned his face toward the dark figure standing near him.
“Waa’chu wan’.” Dennis slurred the words and drew the piece of window glass closer, cutting himself and not noticing, protecting his skag.
“That’s China white, Dennis. Pure. Uncut. It must have cost you a chunk of the money I gave you.”
Dennis’s head nodded and bobbed on his neck like a bobblehead doll.
“’S mine.”
“I don’t want your heroin, Dennis. Want a cigarette?”
The man pulled a Bic lighter and a pack of unfiltered Camel cigarettes from a pocket of the hoodie. He wasn’t worried about fingerprints or DNA. The good thing about tobacco was that it destroyed itself. Just like the tobacco smoke destroyed your lungs. He didn’t have the smoking habit himself, but he remembered Dennis smoking these coffin sticks in high school. Dennis thought it made him cool.
“You still smoke Camels, Denny?”
Dennis’s head bobbled on his shoulders.
“I guess that’s a yes.” He clicked the Bic and burned the end of the cigarette until it glowed. He stuck the other end up to Dennis’s lips. Dennis seemed to be too tired or too weak to raise his arms.
He laid the pack of Camels on the floor a few feet away from the almost-unconscious Dennis James. He pushed some paper rubbish against the bottom cuff of the dirty blue jeans and lit it with the Bic. The pants caught fire, but the wearer didn’t seem to notice as the flames climbed his leg like a tree branch. There would be no need for the knife.
He could imagine the police report. Known drug addict found burned to death. Pure heroin found in his system.
“I always told you those things would kill you, Denny.”
He watched until Dennis’s clothes burst into flames, the man wearing them barely reacting. There were curtains hanging from the kitchen windows. He lit these and backed out of the door. He saw some movement. There were other junkies inside. No matter. They were as good as dead anyway.
He stood on the stoop outside and left the door halfway open, allowing the air to feed the fire. The wallpaper caught and burning curls fell to the floor in the kitchen. The linoleum began to blister and then roll up like the Fruit Roll-Ups he’d had when he was a youngster.
He hurried down the steps, across the street, and between houses to the alley. If anyone had noticed him, it would appear he was escaping the fire. Just another druggie running from a shooting gallery; a drug den.
In the alley behind the houses he took the hoodie jacket off and circled to the block. returning to his SUV. He drove slowly away and watched smoke rise from the fire.
Chapter 45
Jack and Liddell talked through the evidence again, description of both scenes, autopsy reports, hospital records, and statement from James, Needham, and Dick, plus the recorded statement of Ginger Purdie. They still needed to talk to her, but said her taped statement was just more cover-up for Dick. The prosecutor would be hard-pressed to convince a jury that a fight that led to Max’s death had ever taken place. And there was no definite proof in Harry’s case, except for Olson’s thievery of guns, money, and business papers and Olson was dead. They were no closer to an arrest than the original investigation.
Jake Brady stuck his head in the door of the war room. “Someone here to see you, gentlemen, and I use that term loosely.”
“Who is it?” Jack asked.
“I’m not your secretary,” Jake said. “You want to see him or not? He stinks and I want him gone. I made him stay out front.”
“Okay. I’ll be right out.”
“I’ll get him,” Liddell said. “I need to get away from this stuff for a bit. My mind is reeling.”
Jack went back to reading the case file documents on Max Day’s murder. He hoped he’d see something he’d missed.
Liddell came back in the war room with an old derelict in tow. The man smelled like burned hair and fresh manure. Liddell said, “Jack Murphy, meet Dennis James.”
* * * *
The smell of smoke and body odor and other unpleasant things was overwhelming in the small room. Over Jake Brady’s protests, Liddell and Jack led James through the kitchen and out the back door.
Dennis James was wearing a thin button-down shirt out over soot-covered blue jeans. The sides of his ten
nis shoes were blackened. One leg of his jeans had holes burned out of it. The sleeve of his shirt was singed. His hair stuck out at angles. His eyes were wild and constantly moving.
“I came to you,” James said. “Remember that when I get to court. I know you two are the cops on Max Day’s murder. I want to be locked up. You got to arrest me.”
“Why? What have you done?” Jack asked. The man’s pupils were pinpoints, but he was frightened, manic.
James stuffed a hand deep in one of his pockets and came out with a baggie of something resembling raw sugar and handed it to Jack.
“That there is pure H. China white. Heroin. I ain’t saying no more.”
Jack was temporarily speechless. This wasn’t exactly how he’d expected it to go once they located Dennis James.
“Are you hurt?” Jack asked. “Have you been in a fire?”
Dennis chuckled. “You could say that. I’ve been on fire. That’s why you gotta arrest me.”
“Why are you in such a hurry to go to prison, Dennis?” Jack asked.
“I don’t want a lawyer. I’m guilty of drug possession with intent to sell.” He emptied his pockets and a wad of rolled-up fifty-dollar bills hit the floor. “That’s five grand, Detective Murphy. All proceeds of selling drugs. Arrest me.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I want you guys to book me. No one else. Just you two.”
Before Jack could respond, James said, “And I want guarantees. First off, I don’t want to be put in a cell with anyone. Anyone. I want to go in lockdown. Suicide watch. And I don’t have to say nothing else, cause that’s my God-given right. You got the evidence. I’m making it easy for you.”
Jack could now smell the fear underneath the stink. He examined Dennis James to determine if the man was in need of medical facilities. He decided it could wait until he finished talking.
“I don’t think I can do that,” Jack said. “In fact, I don’t think I’m going to arrest you. This is a drug unit case. I don’t have any way of testing this crap. For all I know, it’s sugar and you’re some nut that’s wandered away from a psych facility. You’re free to leave.”
Liddell stood back to let the man leave, but Dennis James made no move to go. His face twisted up and he broke down, sobbing and shaking. “Please arrest me, you guys. I don’t want to go to jail, but it’s either that or I’m a dead man. They’re gonna kill my ass.”
“We can protect you,” Jack said, “if you tell us everything you know about Max Day’s murder.”
James rubbed snot dripping from his nose and wiped it on his pants, smearing soot down his pant leg and across his hand. “You can’t protect me. You have no idea who these guys are. I’m telling you. They won’t quit until I’m dead.”
“Who won’t quit?”
He seemed to get some steel back in his spine and said, “I’m not telling you anything until you give me what I’m asking for. I got some real good stuff for you.”
Jack was getting tired of being jerked around. He had no doubt Dennis James knew something about Max’s murder, but he wasn’t about to make a deal with this piece of human scum.
“You are going to tell me,” Jack said. “Or I’ll stick your ass back on the street and jump for joy when you get picked off. You tell me what you know about Max’s murder and then I’ll tell you what I might—just might—do. No guarantees. No deals.”
“I know who killed Max Day,” James said.
“Who?” Jack asked. When Dennis didn’t answer, Jack took him by the shoulders and pointed him toward the parking lot.
“Carl Needham’s trying to kill me. It was Carl, man!”
Chapter 46
Jack went to the restroom and washed his arms up to his elbows. Twice. Jake borrowed some of Vinnie’s spare clothes for Dennis James. Liddell stood watch while James showered with a garden hose and dish soap beside the outside trash bin. It was chilly, but he didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t have any blisters on his legs, but they were red and Jack had no doubt the burns would hurt like hell once the China white wore off. Vinnie’s spare pants were a little short, but the tie-dyed sweatshirt fit him fine. Vinnie’s shoes wouldn’t fit, so James put the half-melted sneakers back on.
After he was somewhat clean, Jack led him through the back and into the war room. Jake brought food and strong black coffee. James was destroying all of it.
When Jack thought James had sobered a little, he said, “This isn’t a food kitchen, Dennis. You tell us what you know or out you go.”
“I know lots of things,” James said, noshing on a hard-boiled egg he’d wrapped with several strips of bacon.
Jack took the plate away and leaned forward, staring at him.
“You want me to start with the fight?”
“That’s a good place,” Jack said.
“Okay. Max and Richard Dick hated each other’s guts.”
Jack leaned back and remained silent.
“There was a football practice before the championship game. Did you know that?”
Jack rolled a finger in the air.
“Well, Dick was sweet on Ginger Purdie. Truth is, most of the team was sweet on her. You know what I’m saying? Max was trying to make time with her. Dick caught him watching Ginger. Truth is, I think Ginger had a thing for Max too. Or she was just trying to make Dick jealous.”
“The fight?” Jack asked, his patience running very thin.
“So anyway, we was with Dick and he smacked Max in the back of the head with his football helmet. Max went down, but when he got up he was smiling-like, and he punched Dick in the nose and knocked him down. Some things were said back and forth and then Max left.”
Jack said, “Go on.”
“Dick wasn’t done, man. Max was leaving but Dick went after him.”
“Did you go with Dick? Did Needham?”
“Yeah. But we weren’t part of this. At least, not then.”
“This?”
“There was a feud going on between them. Dick and Max. It wasn’t just over that cheerleader. They was like two alpha dogs. Max played for Central High School before he come to Rex Mundi. He sacked Dick—hard—every time the two teams played each other. Then when Max played for Rex Mundi he started tackling Dick extra-hard during practices. That night Max was out near the field flirting with Ginger and Dick wasn’t gonna have it no more.”
“What else?” Jack asked.
James coughed up a wad of black goo into his palm and wiped it on the borrowed pants.
“Dick was top dog until Max came to Rex Mundi. Afterwards, it was like Dick was always being knocked down a peg or two. People were scared of Max. It was like Mad Max was invincible. That’s what we called him. Mad Max. You couldn’t hurt him, man. I mean, Dick hit him hard enough to knock him out. I’m telling you, the guy didn’t feel pain. It was scary. He was like Superman, you know.”
“Okay. Max left, but Dick went after him. You and Needham went with Dick. What happened after that?”
“Well, Dick calmed down a little before we got to the car. Then he saw Ginger fawning over Max. Out by Max’s Camaro. That’s when Dick went nuclear. Man, I never seen him like that, not in all the years I’d known him.”
“Was anyone else with Max?”
“Yeah, Reina was there too. Anyway, we was all coming at Max. I wasn’t going to fight, but I think Carl and Dick were gonna bust his head. But Max got in his car, peeled out. Then we got in Dick’s car—he had a Cadillac.”
Of course it was a Cadillac.
“Dick took off down First Avenue, trying to find Max.”
“Where was Reina Day?”
“Reina was standing there at Max’s car. We just blew past her and Ginger. Carl was mad at Max because of an earlier fight. Carl had told some people that Reina was pregnant and he’d made her get an abortion. Max heard about it and beat the crap
out of him after school one day.”
Now Jack was surprised. “When was that?”
“I don’t remember, but it was early in the school year. I think it was,” James said.
“Was this reported to the school police?”
“It wasn’t on school property. Dick was there and Carl didn’t want anyone to know. He didn’t come to school for about a week because of the black eyes. He looked like a racoon, man.”
“Did you see the beating?” Jack asked.
“I wasn’t there, but Carl was pissed that Dick didn’t help him out.”
“Dennis, you need to focus. Did Carl ever threaten to kill Max?”
“That’s what I’m getting at,” James said. “It wasn’t just Dick that had a dog in that fight at the cemetery. Needham wanted a piece of Max too. Maybe more than Dick. Carl was a spoiled rich kid. He was used to being untouchable. Well, I can tell you, Max touched him. Everyone heard about Carl getting his ass handed to him by Max and after that his reputation was in the toilet. His girl dumped him over it, is what I heard.”
“Tell me about the second fight. You caught up to Max, didn’t you?” Jack asked. He could feel his adrenaline kicking in. Here, at last, was confirmation of the second fight by a witness.
“Yeah. Well, we chased Max around over by Gloria’s Corral Club. Where Gloria’s used to be, I mean. It’s been torn down now.”
Jack said nothing.
“And Max pulled a fast one on Dick. Dick was right on Max’s bumper, but Max slammed on the brakes when we was coming up on the double dipper and Dick had to swerve around him to keep from rear-ending him. By then we were going so fast we went airborne on the double dipper.”
Jack knew the place on Allens Lane that was called “double dipper.” Even when he was a kid, the double dipper was well known. In high school they would dare each other to see who could cross the tracks the fastest and not total their cars. Later in life, he’d bottomed a police car out on that exact location during a car pursuit.
“You’re talking about the double set of railroad tracks on Allens Lane near Kratzville Road?” Jack asked, just to be clear.