[Devlin Haskell 06.0] Last Shot Page 4

  “I’m not trying to be difficult, Karla. But if he’s involved, Aaron LaZelle and Detective Manning will nail him. They’re good.”

  She shook her head. “They won’t be able to touch him.”

  “They’re good. I’ve been on both sides with them. Believe me, they don’t miss much.”

  Karla just shook her head. “Jesus Christ, murdered. The poor thing. Oh, Desi…” she said and then just let that drift off.

  “They should be here shortly. When you talk to them, let them know your concerns. Any information you can give them can only help.”

  Karla just looked at me and shook her head like she didn’t believe me. “I’m sure they’re good, Dev. But people like Driscoll get to play by a different set of rules than you and I have to follow.” She bit her lower lip and seemed to be thinking.

  “They‘ll get whoever did this, Karla. I’m pretty sure,” I said, but suddenly I didn’t seem to sound too convincing.

  Karla shook her head, then pulled open a desk drawer and said, “No, I want you on this. I want you to nail that bastard, Driscoll.”

  “Karla, this is way out of my league. I deal in cheating spouses, fake insurance claims or the occasional dog-napping. This is a murder and we don’t even know if Driscoll was involved. Let’s just let the police handle it.”

  “You owe it to Desi, and you’re going to owe it to me,” she said, pulling out a checkbook and beginning to write.

  “Karla, that’s really kind. But don’t you think it would be better not to mess up the police and their…”

  “I haven’t got the time or the inclination. Besides, it’s just become very personal for me. Here,” she said, reaching across her desk to hand me the check.

  “Karla, come on, five grand? Think for a minute. This is a hell of a lot of money.”

  “Then you had better get to work. I’ll expect an accounting of your expenses. Keep me up to date at least a couple of times a week.”

  “Karla? I really can’t…”

  “I don’t want to hear it, Dev. Get on it and nail this bastard. Now, get your ass out of my office before those cops show up.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Help me out here,” Louie said, then took another sip of Jameson and threw his dart. He missed the board by a good foot. The dart lodged in the oak trim around the office window with a loud crack.

  The late afternoon heat in the office had left the two of us drowsy. Or was that from the Jameson? It didn’t really matter. Louie had opened the window a half hour ago, but I thought it only served to increase the room temperature and add a heavy dose of bus exhaust to the immediate atmosphere.

  “I think you should stop trying to multitask and either drink whiskey or throw darts. Together it just doesn’t seem like it’s the best combination,” I said, then pulled Louie’s dart out of the woodwork.

  He nodded in agreement, dropped the remaining three darts onto his picnic table, then refilled his glass from the Jameson bottle. He took a sip, settled back into his office chair, put his feet up on the picnic table and proceeded to pontificate.

  “Now, help me out here. This Karla woman writes you a check for five grand, and suggests there’s more where that came from, should you need it. So, tell me exactly…why this isn’t a good thing?”

  “It’s not the money.”

  “Problem number one,” Louie said and sipped.

  “The investigation Desi wanted me to do may have nothing to do with her murder.”

  “You really believe that?” Louie said and sipped again.

  “Maybe. What I do know is that if what Desi told me is true, and I stress the word if, then this Gaston Driscoll guy is far too clever to march over to her apartment and shoot her twice.”

  “But what if he was behind it? What if he felt she was going to find something out and he just sent someone, paid someone to make the hit?”

  “Yeah, but where do you find a good hit man when you need him?”

  “I don’t think it’s that far fetched, buddy.” Louie drained his glass and looked longingly to the Jameson bottle resting on the far end of the picnic table.

  “Make you another?” I asked.

  “No, you don’t have to,” he said, pushing the empty glass in my direction and getting a little more comfortable in his chair. “It just strikes me as a major coincidence that this woman meets with you, tells you her tale, tells you she has a feeling and she’s found dead a couple of days later.”

  “The problem with all that is I didn’t talk to anyone about our meeting. Well, except for Karla, but that was this morning, three days after the fact. Karla didn’t even know I’d met with Desi, so she didn’t tell anyone. That just leaves Desi. I can’t believe she went around town boasting I didn’t take her case.”

  “Possibly,” Louie said, then gave me the nod as I handed him another drink. “Thanks.”

  “Possibly? Now you’re on even thinner ice. You think that after Desi met with me over the course of the next couple days she ran around telling people I wasn’t going to take her case? No doubt she talked to every one of the guys she washed cars with and then she mentioned it to all the customers at Nasty’s since they decided they wanted to go to a strip joint and talk to the bartender more than they wanted to watch all the strippers. Come on, man, that can’t be what went down.”

  “Not exactly,” Louie said.

  “You think? Then according to your theory, one of these losers has a direct link to Gaston Driscoll and calls him. Gaston gives his hit man a ring and sends the guy to Desi’s. She likes the look of this hit man. So she suggests wouldn’t it be a good idea if she got all comfortable on the bed before he blows her brains out? That about it?”

  “Are you through?”

  “You tell me?” I asked.

  “Jesus, and I’m the one drinking,” Louie said, shaking his head.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Look, Dev, what if someone knew she was going to talk to you or maybe just knew she wanted to pursue an investigation? Maybe that was enough to set things in motion and it was merely a coincidence that she spoke with you. I mean, you said she told you she had a feeling. What caused that? Did she get a phone call or maybe a note? Was some idiot following her?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And you may never know. I’m just saying it might be interesting to check into it. And, well, as long as you got that five grand sitting in your back pocket, maybe it could be worth your while, too.”

  “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to at least Google the news articles. See what happened seven years ago.”

  “While you’re Googling maybe you could make me a refill,” Louie said and drained his glass.

  Chapter Nine

  I had a legal pad next to my laptop and was making notes as I read a number of articles. I began with the discovery of the robbery at the Ninth District Federal Reserve Bank over in Minneapolis. That led to articles on the elaborate security measures which led to the architectural firm Touchier and Touchier which led to the death of Little Jimmy Fennell prostrate on the steps of the St. Paul Cathedral. When Little Jimmy died he had nine consecutively numbered one hundred dollar bills stuffed in the athletic sock on his right foot. That in turn, somehow led to Desi and her purported stealing of the security plans.

  One of the first things that struck me was that it seemed amazing there wasn’t the slightest mention of Desi’s purported lover, senior partner Gaston Driscoll. Well accept for his one comment.

  “We at Touchier and Touchier do our very best to vet and run substantial security checks on all our employees. Despite our best efforts, as well as those of the Federal government, it would seem an individual such as Miss Quinn, who apparently lacked basic moral fiber, somehow managed to find a way to sneak through the cracks in the system. Sadly, Miss Quinn’s shortcomings reflect poorly on all of us who constantly strive to do our best. We are cooperating at every level with Federal, State and local authorities to bring this sordid affair to a logical and sp
eedy conclusion.”

  Not exactly the sort of ringing endorsement one would hope to hear from a lover. I had to give old Gaston this much. He was pretty good at denying.

  By this time, Louie was snoring contentedly in his office chair and I called Aaron to see if I could have a look at the Little Jimmy Fennell file.

  “Which one?” he said. There was background noise that sounded like a bar or maybe a restaurant.

  “The file where he ends up on the steps of the Cathedral for starters, then maybe whatever else you have just to give me some background on the guy.”

  “Actually, it’s a bit sketchy. You’re right, that’s where he was found dead, but that was ruled natural causes. If I recall specifically, he died of a cardiac arrest. It’s entirely possible he just dropped dead there, not that it would really matter all that much anymore. This wouldn’t have anything to do with the Desi Quinn murder, would it?”

  “I just want to make damn sure I’m doing the right thing by not getting involved.”

  “Oh, believe me you’re doing the right thing, Dev. You’ve never been more right in your life. Here, hold on half a second, someone wants to talk to you.”

  I heard a voice ask, “Who is it?”

  Then Aaron said “Dev Haskell. Give him your honest opinion and maybe some additional incentive to stay away from our investigation.”

  “Haskell?”

  The gum snapping across the phone line identified Detective Manning. I visualized him sitting wherever they were with his bald head gleaming in some sort of bar light, then his face suddenly changing from pink to an explosive crimson when Aaron told him I was on the line. He spoke slowly, but with an edge to his voice, like he was explaining something to a wayward child and on the verge of completely wigging out.

  “Haskell, I want you to listen carefully. I’m going to reserve our worst cell for you down in the holding unit. There might be one or two other serial rapists, probably a deranged butcher in there as well, but you know, birds of a feather and all. Course they won’t like the interruption caused by your arrival, but that shouldn’t worry a top investigator such as yourself. You just keep on screwing up our work. After all, that’s what counts, right? Oh, and one other thing, listen to this,” he said and then hung up.

  I was tempted to phone back and tell him we’d been disconnected, but thought better of it. I wasn’t ready to go after Gaston Driscoll, yet. But my interest had been piqued to the point where I wanted to have a look at the case files for both Little Jimmy Fennell and Desi Quinn.

  Chapter Ten

  Madeline Siedschlag had worked in records at the police department for at least as long as I could remember. I thought she’d been hired during Roosevelt’s New Deal. I was told she was a pretty hot number at one time, but a hundred years of sitting on a chair and working in the lower dungeon of the police department seemed to have a way of changing that.

  The records room was actually a series of rooms replete with a musty, damp basement smell that seemed to permeate everything. Concrete walls painted an Igloo white and lowest bid beige carpet, lacking a pad beneath, did nothing to enhance the charm of the place. Madeline’s office furniture, such as it was, resembled remnants from a time prior to computers or even touch-tone phones. I figured the file room was most likely the final resting place for outdated office equipment before it simply got tossed in a dumpster.

  I had been standing in front of Madeline’s empty desk for close to fifteen minutes, waiting for her to return. I’d had more than enough time to examine the four framed photos of her holding five different cats. The photos sat on a government issue green desk with a grey linoleum top and a bead of chrome trim running round the edge. Her faded purple office chair was pushed in against the desk with a note folded over the top that read, ‘Back in 3 minutes’.

  “May I help you?” A smoker’s voice rasped from behind me.

  Madeline lumbered back behind the counter and set a thermos on her desk. She took me by surprise, first because she’d been behind me and secondly because she didn’t resemble the woman I remembered. She’d put on weight, a lot of weight and there were purplish double bags under both eyes that stood out from her pasty white skin.

  The woman I remembered as fastidiously unattractive looked to have not brushed her hair in awhile. Maybe she was going for the dreadlocks look. She certainly had the ‘dread’ part down. Her dress was wrinkled and spotted with food stains. She’d become a female version of Louie, only about ten times his age.

  “May I help you?” she asked again, then moved behind the counter to steady herself and stared across at me.

  “Hi, Madeline, I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Dev Haskell.”

  “Dev Haskell,” she said, obviously thinking about it for a long moment.

  I caught the tell-tale whiff of alcohol and wondered about the thermos she’d set on her desk. It wasn’t quite eleven in the morning.

  “Dev Haskell,” she repeated before a light suddenly went on. “Oh, well, yes, of course. Dev, how are you?”

  “Fine, Madeline, just fine. You look, well, you don’t seem to have changed one bit,” I lied.

  “Oh, you, stop.” She giggled, then waited for me to tell her more.

  “Madeline, I was wondering if I could look at a couple of closed case files. They go back…well, almost ten years and I was hoping…”

  “Are you with the department now, Dev?”

  “Not exactly. See, I’m looking into the…”

  “Well, then unless you have express permission from one of our investigators…”

  “Actually, Lieutenant LaZelle in homicide suggested I come down and review a couple of these files.”

  “He didn’t happen to give you a review card, did he? They’re supposed to fill one out.”

  “Gee, no, he didn’t. But I know he was busy. He was just rushing off to somewhere as a matter of fact. I bet he just forgot, Madeline.”

  As she picked up the phone on her desk and started pushing buttons she said, “Let me just call up there and see. He’s usually so good. He…Oh, Lieutenant, glad I was able to catch you before you dashed out the door. Madeline, down in records. Mr. Haskell is down here and it appears you forgot to sign off on our review card. Department policy.” She chuckled. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to send him back up.”

  “I’ll just go,” I half whispered.

  Madeline signaled me to wait a moment.

  “Oh, Lieutenant, you don’t have to do that. I’m sure Mr. Haskell wouldn’t mind.” She smiled, nodded at me and held up an index finger. I noticed there was dirt under her nail.

  “Oh.” She shrugged. “You’re so kind,” she said and then hung up.

  “Everything okay?” I gambled.

  “Yes.” She smiled, but then added, “He’s on his way down and said for you to just wait. He’s always so darn sweet. Why don’t you just have a seat over there? It should only be a minute.” She indicated a line of card table chairs against the far wall.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Goodness, some emergency must have come up. He’s usually so prompt,” Madeline said fifty minutes later.

  “Maybe I should just run up to his office,” I suggested.

  “Oh, I’m afraid you better not. That would be exactly the time he’ll come down and you’ll miss him,” she said. “Would you excuse me? I’m just going to run to the ladies room for a moment,” she said, then picked up her thermos and quickly walked around the counter.

  If I’d known their filing system, I could have pulled the files myself. It wasn’t like I was going to take the things home with me. I just wanted to read them and get up to speed.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Aaron asked a moment later. He was standing in the doorway, watching me stare at my feet.

  “Look, Aaron, I’m sorry. I just wanted to get up to speed on some background stuff relating to Desi Quinn.”

  “So, you decided that the best way to try and get up to speed was to pull
an end run on me, is that it?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, that’s good to know. Now I guess I don’t have to worry. What the hell are you doing down here? And where’s Madeline?” he asked, looking around.

  “I think she went out for a drink,” I half whispered.

  That didn’t seem to faze him. “You want to look at our files just ask me. They’ve been closed for seven or eight years. I would have let you take a look.”

  “That’s not the impression I got when we spoke on the phone yesterday.”

  He seemed to think about that for a moment. “You can’t leave this room with anything except your own notes. Clear?”

  I nodded.

  “I’ll have you locked up and turned over to Manning and his serial rapists if you even think about taking anything out of one of the files.”

  “What could I possibly take?”

  “I’m not sure, just don’t. Okay? Madeline usually has some damn form to fill out around here,” he said, looking behind the counter. “Here we go. Okay,” he spoke as he filled in the form. “You stay here with those files. When you’re finished you report back to me up at my desk before you leave the building. Clear?”

  I nodded.

  “I’m not kidding, Dev.”

  “I got it.”

  Madeline lurched back behind the counter about twenty minutes later. She looked glassy eyed and the alcohol smell seemed stronger.

  “Lieutenant LaZelle came down and filled out this form,” I said, handing it to her.

  “Oh, isn’t that just the way? I’m gone for two minutes and he breezes in and out.”

  “He said I should read the files down here. I guess maybe in one of those cubicles,” I said, trying to get things moving.

  She waved a hand dismissively. “Sure, dear, whatever you want.”

  I was hoping she was just talking about the files. I handed her a slip of paper with Desi’s and Little Jimmy’s names written on it. “How about I wait in a cubicle for these files?”

  “Perfect.” She smiled, then seemed to stagger just a half step while she examined the names I’d written down, then she turned the sheet over to see if I’d written anything on the back side.