the other side of his desk in the tan wash-and-wear suit he’d had on last time.
“You sound disappointed,” Harry said.
“You going to tell me what’s going on?”
“If I could,” Harry said.
“Why don’t you try.”
“Want me to make something up? ’Cause that’s what I’d be doing.”
“First an acquaintance of yours, Cordell Sims is shot and now one of your employees.” Mazza took a pen out of his shirt pocket, squatted and picked up a shell casing with it, holding it up so Harry could see it. “But you don’t know anything.”
Mazza smelled like a smoker and had nicotine stains on the index and middle fingers of his right hand.
“What was Jerry Dubuque doing in your office?”
“By the look of it, sleeping one off,” Harry said. “It’s happened before. Jerry occasionally hits the bars in Hamtramck after work. Has a few too many, comes back to the office. It’s the only couch in the place. I’d rather have him sleep here than get on the road.”
“Mr. Dubuque have a drinking problem?”
“He did, he doesn’t any more,” Harry said.
“No sign of forced entry.”
“Jerry wouldn’t have worried about locking the door. Wouldn’t have crossed his mind. The gate out front is locked at night. I’ve got a security man who keeps an eye on the yard, sits in his car and listens to music.”
“What’s his name?”
“Columbus Fletcher. Phyllis, Miss Wampler can tell you how to get in touch with him.”
“What time’s he leave?”
“Between six fifteen and six thirty.”
“What time do you usually get here?”
“Seven.”
“Shooter must’ve parked in front or on a side street across Mt. Elliot, waited for your security man to go. Came through the gate saw your Mercedes in the lot, saw Mr. Dubuque on your couch and shot him. Miss Wampler said she arrived at six fifteen, and I believe the perp was still here. Heard her and went out the bathroom window. It was still open.”
The photographer finished and nodded at Mazza. “All set.” He put the camera in a black bag with a strap, and walked out of the room.
“You keep money around, Mr. Levin?”
“There’s ten thousand dollars in the safe. I told you the last time you were here, it’s a cash business.”
“Do me a favor, check and make sure it’s all there.”
Harry had a vintage Mosler bolted to the floor behind his desk. He turned the chair around, sat leaning forward and opened it. Saw banded stacks of fifties and hundreds. “Looks like it is.”
“So,” Mazza said, “we can rule out robbery as a motive.”
“Unless whoever it was tried to open the safe and couldn’t.”
Mazza took out a pack of Camels, tapped one out, put it between his teeth and lit it. “I think it was planned. Perp comes here sees your car in the lot, sees someone on the couch in your office, thinks it’s you. Same type of gun used on Cordell Sims. There’s something you aren’t telling me. Quite a bit I’d say.” Mazza paused, taking a deep drag on the Camel, blowing out smoke. “This a dope deal gone wrong? You and Cordell in business together?”
“Not even close.”
“Laundering money through the scrap yard?”
Harry frowned, let that one go.
Mazza ran his tongue over his teeth and spit out a loose piece of tobacco. “Where were you last night?”
“Home watching TV,
“Anyone with you?”
“Why?”
“Mr. Sims decided to check out of Detroit Receiving about midnight,” Mazza said, stubbing his cigarette out in an ashtray on Harry’s desk.
“Can’t say I blame him. Whoever shot him was probably coming back to finish the job.”
“Know anything about it?”
“Why would I?”
“Security guard described you in detail.”
“I doubt it.”
“Then we’ll have you come down, appear in a line-up. How’s that sound?”
“Like you don’t have anything and you’re trying to force it.”
“Any idea the penalty for harboring a fugitive?” Mazza said, pushing his hair off his forehead.
“No, but you’re going to tell me, aren’t you?”
Harry did have one thing going for him. Hess thought he was dead.
Cordell felt pain in his shoulder and leg before he opened his eyes and saw her, cute little white girl sitting in a chair, smiling at him. “Who’re you?”
“Franny, Harry’s niece. He asked me to check on you, see how you’re doing.”
“Been better.”
“I’m a nurse. Let me see your wounds.”
She got up, came over to the couch. Took three aspirin out a bottle on the end table, put them in his hand and gave him a glass of water.
“This should help take the edge off.”
He swallowed the aspirin and drank some water, handed her the glass. “What hospital you work at?”
“Providence, but I’m still in school. Not registered yet.”
“Know what you’re doing?” Cordell said.
She gave him a look like, pardon me? Pulled the blue hospital blanket down, lifted his gown and pulled the bandage off his thigh. Stared at it, poked the skin around it. Pulled the bandage off his forearm, looked at the little hole‚ was black ’n’ blue around it. Lifted his arm, checked the other side where the bullet came out. She slipped his right arm out of the gown and checked his shoulder and nodded.
“Am I gonna make it, Doc?”
She grinned. “Looks good. You’re healing well.”
“Motherfucker itches.”
“That’s normal. I want to take you upstairs, put you in a hot tub.”
She helped him up to the bathroom, filled the tub with warm water and Epsom salt, and helped him in.
“Just soak for a while.”
Girl was cool. Didn’t seem nervous seein’ a naked brother. “Want to go out some time?”
“I’ve got a boyfriend.”
“I’ll teach you how to do the Freaky Deaky.”
“I already know it,” Franny said. “If you don’t keep your freak clean you might get shot.”
“How you know about that?”
“I read it in the paper. Call me when you want to get out,” she said, stepped into the hall and closed the door.
When the police left Harry paged through a stack of transaction reports and shippers Jerry had put on his desk the day before. Without Jerry he’d have to put Phyllis in charge for a few days. She could handle it. He gave her a couple blank checks and told her to get more money when she needed it.
“Harry.” Phyllis on the intercom. “Someone named Joyce is on the phone for you.”
“Put her through.” He picked up the receiver. “How you doing?”
“Going out of my mind.”
“Where are you?”
