Manslaughter (Stanley Hastings Mystery, #15) Read online

  I left in a few I thought he’d like.

  “Nude pictures of the mother?” MacAullif said. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “I assume she took her clothes off and posed for a camera.”

  “Shithead. You know what this does to the case?”

  “It complicates it somewhat.”

  “Now there’s the understatement of the week. We got the mother going to the apartment before the daughter, and, by her own statement, leaving the guy dead. You throw in the blackmail photos, she’s lookin’ awful good. Even Thurman’s gonna like her for this.”

  “Thurman doesn’t know she was there.”

  “Yeah, but when he finds those blackmail photos....”

  “He won’t.”

  MacAullif’s eyes were wide as saucers. “Are you telling me you took those blackmail photos out of the apartment?”

  “No, I’m very carefully not telling you I took those blackmail photos out of the apartment. You really should listen to what I say, MacAullif.”

  MacAullif took out his gun and shield, laid them on the desk. “I’ll just resign. It’s easier. Who needs a pension, anyway?”

  “Right. And why wait to be prosecuted? I’ll just check into the nearest jail.”

  “Safest place for you. How’d you get into that apartment?”

  “Richard’s representing Grackle’s widow in conserving his estate.”

  “She had the keys?”

  “She was married to the guy”

  “She had the keys?”

  “It stands to reason.”

  “Did you get into that apartment with her keys?”

  “No one’s asked me that yet.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Richard wouldn’t let them.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “We were in court. Richard was manipulating things.”

  “You were in court?”

  “Didn’t I mention that?”

  “There were gaps in your story.”

  “Well, they caught me in the apartment. What did you think they were gonna do, give me a medal?”

  “What did they charge you with?”

  “Breaking and entering, and compounding a felony. But Richard got it dismissed.”

  “How?”

  “Widow’s his client.”

  “Right. What are you gonna do when they find out she never had a key?”

  “The case will be solved by then.”

  “Not at this rate. Now it looks like the mother did it, and the cops don’t even know it.”

  I bit back a smile. I had MacAullif hooked good. There he was, saying the cops just like he wasn’t one of them. “Yeah, but she says she didn’t do it.”

  “And you believe her?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “She look good in those pictures?”

  “Not bad.”

  “Then she couldn’t possibly have done it. Not with your storybook mentality. Beautiful naked women are never guilty.”

  “Ever read I, the Jury?”

  “What?”

  “Mickey Spillane. When I was a kid, I read the ending over and over.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Your naked-woman theory. Anyway, you’re missing the big picture, MacAullif.”

  “Am I? Well, I would be delighted to have it pointed out to me.”

  “The naked pictures don’t faze Mommy at all. When I brought it up, she thought they must be pictures of her daughter.”

  MacAullif frowned. “That makes no sense.”

  “Tell me about it. The woman copped to bein’ there, findin’ the corpse, runnin’ out. She also admits to searching for blackmail evidence, which she did not find. The naked photos fit in perfectly. Except, for some reason, they don’t.”

  “In your estimation,” MacAullif pointed out. “Which has never been wrong before.”

  “Granted,” I admitted. “But I’m telling you, the pictures didn’t bother her. In which case, she must have been paying him off for something else.”

  “Such as?”

  “I don’t know. But, whatever it was, the evidence must be in that apartment.”

  “Be? As in, is there now?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “I’m sure I don’t wanna know what manner that is. I think that’s a long shot, and I think you’re wrong. If there are naked pictures, they have to be it.” MacAullif peered at me quizzically. “Is that why you’re here? To have me talk you out of this idiocy?”

  “No. There’s more. According to Mrs. Balfour, the downstairs door was unlocked, so she didn’t have to buzz up.”

  “And that’s important because...?”

  “Come on, MacAullif. Just ’cause you’re pissed, don’t make me spoonfeed you. The guy’s dead, he’s not answering his bell. If she’s telling the truth, the buzzer’s out, the downstairs door is open, so she can go right up and find the body. If so, the killer must have done that deliberately.”

  “Why? Doorbells fail all the time.”

  “Yeah, but look at the timing. The buzzer breaks that very day. Grackle calls Mrs. Balfour, tells her the downstairs door will be open.”

  “Oh, now he arranged his own death?”

  “Don’t be dumb.”

  “Me? You’re the one feeding me this shit. So, what about the girl? Did she know the buzzer was broken? Did she know the downstairs door was unlocked?”

  “I haven’t talked to her.”

  “You were playin’ kissy-poo in the front seat with her.”

  “That was before I talked to the mother. I didn’t know the buzzer was out.”

  “And, god forbid you should learn any details on your own. Okay, say the buzzer was out. So what?”

  “It’s an interesting detail that seems to have escaped Sergeant Thurman’s attention. I’m hardly in the position to point it out to him now.”

  “You son of a bitch.”

  “It’s a no-brainer, MacAullif. Tip off the ADA to check on the buzzer. If it doesn’t work, he’ll find out why.”

  “It’s not my case.”

  “Yeah, but the investigating officer’s Thurman. You can second-guess him with a wink and a nod.”

  MacAullif frowned. “Say the buzzer wire’s cut. That just substantiates the mother’s story, which no one’s ever heard.”

  “It’s also a point for the daughter. She’s gotta explain how she got in.”

  “I thought she claims the guy was alive.”

  “She does. But she hasn’t told her story yet. It may be subject to change.”

  “Wonderful.” MacAullif grimaced, rubbed his stomach. “Any more work you want me to do for you?”

  I looked at the empty glass on his desk. “That’s probably enough for one bicarbonate.”

  35.

  MACAULLIF CALLED ME on my cell phone on my way to sign up Jack Ham, the victim of a cruel city government that failed to adequately pave its streets, causing the gentleman to stumble on his appointed rounds, most likely selling crack.

  I answered while driving. “Hello?”

  “Something’s up,” MacAullif said. “Lid’s on tight, and Sergeant Thurman’s prancin’ around like his wife just had a baby.”

  “Maybe his wife just had a baby,” I suggested.

  “I doubt if they’d clamp the lid on that. Odds are, he found something in the apartment, but I don’t know what.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “Wouldn’t be a bunch of naked photos, would it?”

  “I sure hope not. You manage to plant the seed?”

  “What?”

  “About the downstairs door. Any word on that?”

  “Give me a break,” MacAullif said. “I’m not in the loop, nor do I wanna be. Thurman’s all excited about some theory of the case. Be a hard time to sell him another.”

  “You’re saying you didn’t do it?”

  I could imagine MacAullif turning bright purple, reaching for pills. “Sorry,” I said. “I�
��m just touchy. So Thurman’s back from the crime scene?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you have no idea what he found?”

  “You’re two for two.”

  “I guess the only way to tell is go over there.”

  “Yeah, well I wouldn’t do it.”

  “Why not?”

  “You got a death wish? Even a moron like Thurman’s gonna stake the place out.”

  “Yeah? And how many cops will that take?”

  “One.”

  “He’s gonna stake the place out with one cop?”

  “Don’t be stupid. He’ll put him in the apartment.”

  “Really? Interesting.”

  “Don’t try to go in there.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it. So you got no idea what Thurman found?”

  “How many times do I have to say it?”

  “And you got no idea what the cops have on the girl in the first place?”

  “You may have no idea. I’ve got plenty.”

  “Oh?”

  “Aside from the traffic cop, they got her fingerprints in the apartment. Apparently the girl wasn’t careful about it. There are none on the knife, but they’re on everything else.”

  “Any chance they might wind up on the knife?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I understand the cops lifted the prints.”

  “You understand that?”

  “Well, that’s what it looked like to me. Any chance a print gets mislabeled? A cop tryin’ to write doorknob accidently writes knife handle?”

  “No way. Thurman’s dumb, but he’s straight.”

  “Suppose the ADA asks another cop to slip one over on him?”

  “Are you on your cell phone?”

  “What about it?”

  “I hate these goddamn radio waves bouncing around the city. You never know who hears what.”

  “It’s the wireless bit that bothers you? A nice phone line you’d feel perfectly secure?”

  “Fuck you. No one’s framing anyone.”

  “Glad to hear it. What else they got on the girl?”

  “That’s not enough? They know where she works. They know she was payin’ the guy off.”

  “How do they know that?”

  “I don’t know, but they do.”

  “That’s still mighty thin.”

  “Yes, it is. That’s why Sergeant Thurman’s down at the Criminal Court Building runnin’ a victory lap. He found something made an iffy case ice cold.”

  “And you got no idea what it is?”

  “For the third time, I do not. But your insistence on asking begins to look suspiciously like a ploy. Which makes me wonder, do you have any idea what it is?”

  “Thought you’d never ask. Grackle has a file system. Long about ninety-nine he switched over from manual to computer. And he’s got nothin’ about the girl in his computer files. Which is strange, since she’s not old enough to have anything predate ninety-nine.”

  “So what?”

  “Fuck you, shithead!”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Not you. Some son of a bitch just cut me off.”

  “Are you still driving?”

  “I have an appointment. Life doesn’t stop just because you have a case.”

  “I don’t have a case. This is not my case.”

  “Of course not. And life didn’t stop because of it. Anyway, the point is there’s nothing on the computer, and don’t ask me how I know. So he found something about the girl, it’s gotta be in the file cabinet. Except the file cabinet’s got the wrong dates.”

  “So what could he have found?”

  “In the apartment? Hard to say.”

  Which was absolutely true. It was very hard to say. I didn’t want to admit to not telling the police about finding two hundred and seventy grand in cash, for instance.

  Not to mention throwing the file folder out the window.

  36.

  I FOUND A PARKING meter on third avenue and strolled past the front of Grackle’s town house just to see if any oversized cops would come rushing out and beat me up. None did.

  I walked back the other way, surveyed my options. The alley beside the town house was fronted by a rather formidable-looking iron fence, two stories high, topped with spikes, barbed wire, ground glass, razor blades, land mines, heat sensing devices, and a guided missile system. Maybe that’s just how it looked to me. Anyway, my chance of getting inside it I put around zero.

  The other side of Grackle’s town house unfortunately abutted a townhouse, which abutted another town house, and another town house, and so on, and so on.

  I continued on around the block and met with more success. The alley next to a fish store on Lexington was open, allowing easy access to the rather smelly dumpster in back. I detoured around it and found myself in a labyrinth of town house backyards, some of which had high fences, some of which had low fences, and some of which had none. It remained for me only to find Grackle’s building.

  There were no numbers, and the buildings didn’t look anything like themselves from the rear. Fortunately, I had a clue. Grackle’s town house was the one with the alley next to it.

  I found it easily, slid over a six-foot fence, and dropped into the backyard, right into a pile of garbage can lids. Why the hell anyone would stack up garbage can lids was beyond me, but someone had, and I hit ’em all.

  I staggered to my feet, ducked behind a garbage can, which of course had no lid, and looked to see if the police guard, if any, had noticed my approach. Apparently, none had. Either that or they’d been on to me ever since I passed the front of the building, and I was walking into an elaborate trap.

  After a few moments of galloping paranoia, I crept out from behind the garbage can and worked my way down the alley.

  The file folder wasn’t there. Of course it wasn’t. Not with Sergeant Thurman so happy. What else could he have found?

  I gave the alley a good once-over, just to make sure I hadn’t overlooked anything, and got the hell out of there.

  I wasn’t about to climb over the garbage can lids if I could help it, so I vaulted over the side fence into the neighbor’s yard. And then into the neighbor’s neighbor’s yard, when that back fence proved too high.

  Two houses down I stopped, blinked.

  The house had an alleyway.

  How was that possible? I’d only seen one alleyway from the other side.

  The answer was simple. I’d started looking for alleyways when I’d got to Grackle’s town house. His alleyway was the first one I’d noticed. There was no alleyway after Grackle’s town house, but there was one before. The one before was the one I’d just inspected.

  The one I was looking at now was Grackle’s.

  A silhouette in the upstairs window was a police officer.

  I instinctively shrunk back into the shadows. But the cop wasn’t looking out the window. He seemed to be flipping the pages of a magazine. I wondered if it was Penthouse. If so, he must be in the bedroom.

  And the file folder must be right under the window.

  Only, I couldn’t see from there, because of the garbage cans in the way. I was having bad luck with garbage cans.

  I crept along the side of the building. From his vantage point, the cop could only see me if he stuck his head out the window. There was no reason to believe he would do that. On the other hand, there was no reason to believe he wouldn’t.

  I kept low, worked my way around the garbage cans.

  My cell phone rang.

  It sounded loud as a fire alarm.

  I dived back behind the garbage cans, fumbled in my jacket pocket, wrenched it out.

  Tried to shut it off.

  The only way I knew to do that was to answer it.

  It was my wife.

  “Hello,” I whispered. For the benefit of those who sit next to me on trains and buses and in waiting rooms, Alice heard me just fine. These are technological advances, not tin-can telephones. You don�
�t have to shout.

  “Stanley,” Alice said. “Where are you?”

  I wasn’t about to tell her. “Call you back.”

  I hung up, switched the phone off, and checked to see if I was in imminent danger of arrest. It appeared I wasn’t.

  When my blood pressure had dropped into the relatively comfortable range of twice normal, I checked Grackle’s window again and crept around the garbage cans.

  And there it was, the file folder, right where I had thrown it. I don’t know why I was so surprised. I guess I felt like the coal miners in the old Beyond the Fringe sketch, who find a lump of coal and are delighted because it’s the very thing they’re looking for.

  I wasn’t standing there thinking this, by the way. I was creeping down the alley, grabbing the file folder, and hightailing it the hell out of there. I did stop somewhere along the way, after the third or fourth fence or so, to look in the file folder to see if it happened to contain Grackle’s blackmail evidence. With my luck, it could just as easily have been some English professor’s Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? term papers instead. But, no, like the coal miner, I had found exactly what I was looking for.

  Okay, so now I had the porno pictures.

  The only question was what did I do with them?

  37.

  “OUCH!”

  I peered over Alice’s shoulder. “Don’t try this at home.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Actually, I was kidding. If you’d care to try this at home....”

  “In your dreams.”

  Alice flipped to the next picture. “My, my!”

  “How about trying that at home?”

  “Stanley, you shouldn’t even be looking at these.”

  “What?”

  “You know the woman. It’s an invasion of privacy.”

  “You’re looking at them.”

  “I don’t know the woman.”

  “Would you be looking if you did?”

  “It’s different. I’m a woman.”

  “For which I’m grateful.”

  “The point is, I’m a woman. So I wouldn’t be invading her privacy.”

  “Suppose she’s gay.”

  “Is she?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then why suppose it?”

  “Alice, it’s a moot point. I’ve seen the pictures.”

  “I know. We’re discussing whether you should have.”