Crickett (Dev Haskell - Private Investigator Book 8)

  Mike Faricy

  Crickett

  Published by Credit River Publishing 2014

  Copyright Mike Faricy 2014

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior and express permission of the copyright owner.

  All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  ASIN# B00OWNUKLK

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank the following people for their help & support:

  Special thanks to Donna, Rhonda, Julie and Roy for their hard work, cheerful patience and positive feedback. I would like to thank family and friends for their encouragement and unqualified support. Special thanks to Maggie, Jed, Schatz, Pat, Av, Emily and Pat, for not rolling their eyes, at least when I was there. Most of all, to my wife Teresa, whose belief, support and inspiration has, from day one, never waned.

  To Teresa

  “God, you idjit!”

  Crickett

  Chapter One

  I dropped into The Spot for only one, four hours ago. Just as I signaled Mike for another, I caught sight of her walking in the side door. Karen Riley hadn’t changed much in a year and a half. She did seem to bounce a little more enticingly as she came around the bar, of course that was before I saw the stroller with the baby. Two serious drinkers at the end of the bar had to move their stools so she could get past and they didn’t look too happy about the interruption.

  On our last night out she was staggering after drinking two bottles of pink champagne, she slipped getting into my car. As her skirt rose up around her waist she looked over her shoulder at me, licked her lips then said, “Maybe you’d like to give a girl a hand?”

  I was only too willing to lend a helping grope.

  Amazingly, the ride home had been uneventful, but only because I was able to fend Karen off despite her protestations. Before we’d driven a block she’d slipped her skirt off and tossed it onto the spare tire in the back seat. More than once I had to physically keep her at bay as we raced toward her house.

  “Just pull over and let’s do it, Dev. Come on,” she sighed then ripped her blouse open.

  We were only four minutes away from her place. I figured I could hang on, but sped up all the same. She seemed to settle down as I screeched around the corner onto her street. I pulled to the curb in front of her place, jumped out then quickly walked around to open her door.

  It had all the makings of a night to remember and I rubbed my hands in delicious anticipation. As I opened the passenger door her purse fell to the ground, followed by her gorgeous legs swinging invitingly onto the sidewalk in a very unlady-like pose. She looked up at me with a glassy stare, but I don’t think she saw me. Fortunately, at a little after three in the morning no one would be around to notice her thong attire. I stuffed a handful of items back into her purse then picked up a discarded red heel from the curb. Halfway along her stagger toward the front door she kicked the other shoe into the garden. She let her blouse fall to the ground just before the front steps. I stopped to retrieve it juggling her purse and the heels.

  “It’s been real, later baby,” she slurred just as I heard the front door click open and she staggered inside. I clutched everything in my arms and hurried up the porch steps. I had five feet to go when she slammed the door closed behind her, stumbled into the middle of the living room then passed out on the floor.

  I could see her through the front window, lying face down on the carpeted floor, wearing just her thong and a gold necklace, out cold. I rang the doorbell repeatedly. I pounded on the locked door then frantically searched around the porch for a nonexistent key. She remained dead to the world.

  A clap of thunder brought me to my senses. I carried her shoes, purse and blouse back to my car. I tossed them on top of her skirt and the spare tire just as the rain began to pour down.

  I don’t know, maybe it was karma, bad karma I guess. I was back over there the following afternoon shampooing her living room rug and not having much luck removing the pink champagne stain.

  Pasty looking Karen didn’t seem to be in the best of moods stretched out on her living room couch. A blue terricloth robe was cinched tightly around her waist hiding any semblance of her figure and eliminating my hope of a ‘thank you’. She had an ice pack on her head, a box of Kleenex on her lap and occasionally sipped from a glass of 7-Up. When she spoke it was only to give me further rug cleaning directions or swear that she would never, ever drink pink champagne again.

  I came back to reality as she forced the stroller around a table, flashed a smile in my direction then charged toward me pushing a wide-eyed little boy. The words ‘Paternity Suit’ suddenly screamed in my head. I wasn’t sure if it was the stroller with all the toys or the gigantic diaper bag that made her look like she was getting ready to set up a campsite.

  “Well, well, well, Dev Haskell. I thought I might find you here,” she said then proceeded to hoist the diaper bag onto the bar.

  I had to clear my throat a couple of times before I could find my voice. “Great to see you again, Karen,” I lied. “Who is this little guy?” I asked then gripped the edge of the bar and waited for the shotgun blast.

  “This is our little Oliver, ten months. Oh, and just so you know, I’ve changed my name. Now I’m Crickett.”

  I felt light headed as the color drained from my face. I was too stunned to do the math in my head, nine months plus ten months before that equals when?

  “Oh, Jesus, Dev calm down. God, look at you, you’re pale as a ghost. Are you gonna be okay? It’s Daryl and me, he’s my boyfriend.”

  I still wasn’t seeing anything funny in my honest mistake, but I faked it. “Well congratulations, Kar… I mean, Crickett. And aren’t you the handsome little devil,” I said looking down, actually he kind of was. I felt my heart slowing back down to normal. “What’s with the Crickett name change?”

  “Oh, Karen was just, I don’t know, so proper, so churchy. Crickett is more me, more of my persona.”

  ‘Persona,’ I thought. “Can I get you something?”

  Mike strolled up and studied her from across the bar.

  “Gee, thanks, but I better not. Course on second thought, maybe just a double Bombay Safire martini and two olives,” she said all the while staring at Oliver. She shrugged her shoulders, shook her head back and forth and made a strange face at the baby.

  “You want a bag of beer nuts or maybe some pork rinds for the little guy?” I asked.

  “Ahhh, no I don’t think so and his name’s Oliver, Dev. If he gets hungry I’ll just feed him. Yes, Oliver you’re growing up to be a great big boy, aren’t you? Yes, yes mommy’s little moose.” She sort of squeaked out the word ‘moose’ and the serious drinkers who’d had to move their stools glanced down the bar.

  We chatted for a bit. At least I tried to chat. Crickett was busy making faces at Oliver and sipping her martini. She drained the glass, pushed it across the bar signaling for another, then turned toward me and thrust her chest out to take control of the conversation.

  “Daryl and I need your help. It’s kind of embarrassing, but I figured you’re used to it.”

  “Being embarrassed?”

  She nodded then said, “Yeah, you know the sort of situations you seem to get yourself into. Remember when you had that crazy woman who tried to kill you?”

  “Which one, there’ve been more than a couple?”

  She nodded like that sounded perfectly logic
al. “Well, of course I’d like to hear their side. Thanks,” she said to Mike as he slid another filled to the rim martini in front of her.

  “So what happened?”

  She took a deep breath, a healthy sip then said, “Daryl was arrested, and our attorney said he should try to make a deal, only he didn’t do anything.”

  I nodded like this made sense. Actually, in my line of work it sort of did.

  Crickett looked around, then leaned forward and half whispered. “He was arrested with some drugs in his possession. Only he didn’t know they were in his possession.”

  “Did someone plant them on him?”

  “Sort of.”

  “How much are we talking about?”

  “They said five million, at least that’s the figure from the DEA, but I’m thinking they trumped it up. You know how they are.”

  “Even so, five million? That’s not exactly an amount you can hide in your jacket pocket.”

  Oliver began to fuss at this point, and I half wondered if he somehow understood the gravity of his father’s situation.

  “Oh God, he can’t be hungry. I’ll tell you, all he does is eat,” Crickett said. She didn’t look all that thrilled as she lifted Oliver out of his stroller and onto her lap. Even I had to admit, for ten months he was a pretty big guy.

  “Do you want to grab that booth in the back so you can have little more privacy?”

  “Oh honestly, it’s completely natural, Dev, it’s why God gave them to us,” she said then pulled her top up, exposed her left breast and flashed a smile in my direction. It looked a lot larger than I remembered, and I stared while she took another healthy sip of her martini. Little Oliver clamped on the moment she set her glass down. Once attached, he turned his head and gave me a look as if to say, ‘See what I got and you can’t have any.’ The drinkers at the end of the bar suddenly looked a lot happier, stared for a long moment then ordered another round.

  Chapter Two

  Crickett went on to explain her boyfriend’s predicament while little Oliver remained firmly attached. I suspected, given his male genes that he was just showing off, possession being nine-tenths of the law.

  “So that’s pretty much it. He just thought he was helping out a friend, driving this van into the parking ramp. They have him on video the entire way.”

  “The police?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I haven’t actually seen the thing. I guess the video is like fifteen minutes long, including his arrest. It’s just so obvious it was all a set up.”

  “Well, yeah, but he was arrested in possession of the van and there was five-million dollars worth of drugs in the thing. I’m guessing you don’t hide that much in the glove compartment.”

  “Apparently they were all stacked up on a pallet in the back. Actually, two pallets I guess, but there was a tarp over them so he didn’t really know. Anyway, we’re going to dispute the five-million figure. I think it sounds high.”

  “Jesus. Who owns the van?”

  “It was a rental.”

  “Who rented it?”

  “Well, I guess it was supposed to be rented, but actually it was sort of just taken.”

  “You mean stolen?”

  She gave a nonchalant nod then adjusted Oliver who seemed to be contentedly sleeping and still latched to mommy. The little glutton opened his eyes for a brief moment and shot me another glance that suggested ‘Don’t even think about it.’ Then he snuggled in closer and drifted back asleep.

  “Did Daryl steal the van?” I asked.

  “Well, that’s what the police are saying. It’s one of the charges against him. But the keys were under the floor mat so he just got in and drove off.”

  “And he was going to deliver this van to a parking ramp?”

  She nodded like this made perfect sense.

  Daryl wasn’t sounding like the brightest bulb on the tree. His credibility was becoming an issue with me and I hadn’t even met the guy.

  “So what about the friend he was helping? Was he arrested too?”

  “Not exactly. See, that’s sort of the problem or at least one of the problems. We can’t seem to find him. No one knows where he is, and then Daryl got this warning not to cooperate with the police.” She leaned forward, glanced around cautiously, and whispered. “They said if he cooperated, Oliver and I would be killed.”

  Little Oliver suddenly began to suck viciously.

  “Who’s ‘they’?”

  “We don’t know. I’m guessing the drug people, but I don’t have any names.”

  “The drug people.” I wasn’t sure where to begin. Every statement seemed to raise a half dozen common sense questions. Not the least of which was ‘Could Daryl really be this stupid?’

  “Honestly, Crickett, I’m not sure what I can do here. Do you have a lawyer?”

  She nodded. “We have a public defender, but she’s really busy. She’s the one who told Daryl to make a deal.”

  “Was she aware of the threat on your life?”

  “Yeah, Daryl told her about it, but she said it didn’t seem credible.”

  “Not credible? How would she know? What’s her name?”

  “Daphne…”

  I waited for the bomb to drop, if it was Daphne Cochrane, I knew her as Daft, but had called her less charitable things. A few years back she had briefly been my court appointed public defender. I dropped her the moment she suggested I plead guilty to a murder charge. She was an eternally unhappy, impressed with herself, Ivy League, condescending witch who....

  “Cochrane. Daphne Cochrane. She seems very smart.”

  ‘Yeah, and she’d be only too happy to tell you how very smart she is,’ I thought.

  “Do you know her?” Crickett asked.

  “Not really,” I said and let it go at that.

  “I was wondering if maybe you could, you know, do some investigation or something so they drop the charges against Daryl.”

  “Crickett, did you talk to your lawyer, Daphne about this? Clear it with her?”

  “She’s sort of busy and well, like I said, she wants Daryl to cooperate with the police and hopefully he can get some kind of deal. You know a reduced sentence and stuff. I just don’t know.”

  I did know and if the threat to harm Crickett and baby Oliver was even halfway credible there was a good chance they would be killed and then once Daryl knew they were dead whoever was behind their murder would have him killed, too.

  “I think you should request protection for starters. Tell your lawyer, Daphne that these folks aren’t fooling around. If Daryl is going to cooperate, you two have to be safe. These drug folks aren’t kidding. That size of a drug bust, five million, you’ve most likely got some pretty angry bad guys out there right about now. She can’t just dismiss your concern. If she does then you should go straight to her boss.”

  “Yeah. I don’t know it all seems so complicated.”

  “Complicated? Crickett, these are serious charges. He could be looking at twenty years.”

  “Daphne thought more like twenty-five, but she said he could get out in fifteen with good behavior.” She said sounding like that was a really positive development.

  “Fifteen years is still a lot, particularly if he’s innocent.”

  “I suppose. But if you did some investigating then you could tell the police he’s innocent, they’d let him go, he wouldn’t have to cooperate and we would be safe,” she said then half pulled little Oliver off the feed bag.

  He quickly reattached himself.

  “Crickett, I can look into some basics, maybe talk to the police, but your best bet is getting some protection and like I said, if your attorney doesn’t want to do that maybe call her boss or ask for someone else to represent you.”

  “So you won’t check? You won’t investigate?”

  “No, I mean, yes. I’ll at least check on some of the basics. But let me be honest, based on what you’ve told me, this is what’s referred to as an open and shut case. Even if we can prove Daryl is innocent�
�”

  “Oh, I guess he most likely is, maybe.”

  Not the sort of ringing endorsement I would have hoped for. “Well, we still have an uphill fight on our hands, not only to prove he’s innocent, but to get the charges against him dropped. And, look I’m willing to help, I’ll do some initial checking, but at some point I’ll have to charge you and this could get expensive very quickly.”

  She nodded like it was no big thing then said, “Okay, how soon before you can start your investigation?”

  An image flashed across my mind. Crickett lying on her couch in that dreadful blue terri-cloth robe while I worked at mission impossible, attempting to shampoo two bottles worth of pink champagne out of her living-room carpet.

  “I’ll see if I can interview Daryl tomorrow. Let me get some general information from you first,” I said and pulled one of the envelopes out of my back pocket so I could write some notes on the thing.

  Chapter Three

  “Yeah, and that’s not the worst of it. The van was stolen,” I said to Louie. He’s my attorney. We share an office along with a number of wasted nights and some pretty vicious hangovers.

  Louie leaned back in his office chair and put his feet up on the picnic table that served as his desk.

  I continued to look through my binoculars into the third-floor apartment across the street hoping to spot one of the women who lived there. I wasn’t having much luck.

  “The van was stolen?”

  “Yeah, like I said it get’s worse. His pal told him the keys were under the floor mat. Innocent idiot Daryl Bergstrom drives off in the thing with two pallets of cocaine bricks sitting in the back under a tarp. He drives to a downtown parking ramp and apparently never questions any of this. Crickett said some pal paid him a hundred bucks to leave the van in the parking ramp. The cops have him on tape from the moment he gets in the van until his arrest in the parking ramp. I talked to someone down there and I’ll see the tape tomorrow, but they’ve got this jackass nailed a hundred ways to Sunday.”