He held up a pudgy hand. “And then I said to myself, what he’s after is to spring this Harrison Doran. He’s going to say that since these two murders are tied together, Doran should be let go.”
“You’re making my case for me.”
“Uh-uh. I’m making my case for me. An amateur like you sees a connection between the two killings, but an old pro like myself-huh-uh. Roy Davenport was a hood. He had plenty of enemies of his own. Whoever killed him figured by bumping off Davenport now, it’d look like it had something to do with the Bennett murder. Pretty good thinking except for one thing. He hadn’t counted on a brain like mine.” He tapped his temple for dramatic effect. “You see what I’m trying to say here, McCain? He thinks he’s outsmarting me, but I’m outsmarting him.”
“With your brain.”
“That’s right, McCain, with my brain. So your boy Doran stays right where he is. He killed Lou Bennett. That one I’ve got wrapped up. Now I have to start a separate investigation to find the man who killed Davenport. That’s how an old pro does it. Stick around. You could learn something.”
“Oh, I’ve learned something already.”
“Oh, yeah, what’s that?”
“You’re even dumber than I thought you were. The same person killed Bennett and Davenport. They were business partners for years. If one of them had an enemy, then the other one had the same enemy. And that means that Doran didn’t kill Bennett. Somebody else did.”
All he had for me was a contrived smile. “Doesn’t feel good, does it, McCain? I figured this one out and you didn’t. You won’t have bragging rights on this one.”
“Does that mean that you know who killed Roy Davenport?”
He kept the smile. He made it wide and irritating. “Now, you don’t think I’d tell you, do you? I’m a sworn officer of the law.”
“I guess I was wrong.”
That got his attention. “What? Wrong about what?”
“I just told somebody waiting to see you that even you wouldn’t be stupid enough to think these murders weren’t committed by the same person.”
At least I got rid of his smile. “You tell a lot of people I’m stupid. And you’ve been telling them since you hung out your shingle. And you know what? I’m still chief of police and you’re still a failure as a lawyer. You want to hear what some of the successful lawyers say about you?”
“I could give a shit what they say.”
“Now that’s a lie and you know it.” He looked right at me. “Any more than if I was to say that I don’t give a shit about some of the things you say about me.”
I wanted to say something smart, but his honesty surprised me. He was admitting that all the scorn hurt him. He had no right to tell me this, because, at least for the moment here, I had to feel bad about making fun of him all the time. Cliffie was supposed to be a cartoon. It pissed me off that he’d forced me to see him as a human being.
Then he did me the favor of reverting to type. “It’s my turn here, McCain. My turn. I’m going to solve two murders at the same time. And all the people who make fun of me behind my back will have to eat a big barrelful of shit. Hot steamy shit. And I’ll guarantee you, I won’t have just one killer, I’ll have two. And whether you like it or not, I’ve already got the mouthy bastard who murdered Lou. He’s sitting in a cell right down the hall there.”
“He didn’t do it. I don’t like him much better than you do. I wish he’d never come to town, and I can barely stand to be around him for more than a minute or two. But he didn’t kill Bennett. That much I’m sure of. And I don’t care if you ‘win’ this one or not, Chief. It probably is your turn. All I want is to see that the right man goes to prison.”
“He should be going to the gallows. But thanks to you and your liberal friends, we don’t have capital punishment in this state any more.” Then: “What’s so funny?”
I hadn’t realized I was smiling. “Just the way you manage to give little political speeches every chance you get. I know how you feel about the death penalty. You rag me about it all the time.” What I’d really been smiling about was how good it felt to return to our usual adversarial relationship. He’d only gone human on me for less than thirty seconds. That amount of time I could handle. But not any more.
I walked to the door. “You’d better get out there and talk to them. They’re getting restless.”
“If I had my way, we’d shoot every reporter in the state on sight.”
“Be sure to mention that when you’re talking to them.”
“You know, McCain, someday if I’m real lucky I’ll be a cool guy just like you think you are.”
“That’s right, Chief,” I said. “If you’re lucky.”
I didn’t talk to Molly on my way out of the station. I just waved and hurried on. I didn’t want to be around when she learned that Doran was not going to be released.
“I guess I don’t understand, Mr. C.”
In her berry-red miniskirt and white blouse, Jamie was a decided distraction. She seemed to have become even more carelessly erotic since her eighteenth birthday. Or maybe that was because I could now legally look at her as a woman. She was stretching to put a law book on the third shelf above our tiny refrigerator. The position outlined her body all too well.
“What I meant was, I’m happy to give you an advance if it’s for you. Something you need or your family needs. But I’m pretty sure this is for Turk, isn’t it?”
She shoved the book back on the shelf, then ended her stretch. She faced me. “He really needs this outfit. He’s pretty sure a big record producer’s going to be in the audience.” She walked over and sat down at her desk.
“He was sure there was going to be a big record producer the last time he played this bar.”
“Well, like he says, this producer is real busy. He has a lot of big stars to worry about. Sometimes he can’t get away.”
I wanted to point out the obvious to this girl-woman-child. I wanted to say that no record producer would ever be found checking out a bar band in Black River Falls, Iowa. I wanted to say that either Turk was living in a fantasy world or he was creating a fantasy for Jamie as a means of prying more money out of her for his “outfits.” But I couldn’t, because she wouldn’t believe me. And because she might very well start crying. I did not need any tears on this particular morning.
“Tell you what, Jamie. How about Turk going halvsies?”
“What’s ‘halvesies’ mean?”
“You pay half and he pays half.”
“But he doesn’t have any money, Mr. C.”
“Well, doesn’t he get paid for these gigs? He must earn something.”
“Well, he earns a little bit. They have to split it up between four guys, remember. But he needs that for cigarettes and beer and stuff like that.”
“Are you keeping track of how much he’s borrowed from you?”
“Oh, he’s not borrowing, Mr. C. I’m just giving him the money. When he gets his record deal and the money starts coming in, it’s like Turk says. We’ll get married and then he’ll make sure I get paid back every cent.”
“But you’re not keeping track of what you give him. How will you know how much-” I stopped myself. Pointless to go on. “You’ve already borrowed against your next check, Jamie.”
“He really needed those new boots. They’re like the Beatles wear. Turk said people wouldn’t take him serious if he didn’t have boots like that. Record producers can always tell if you’re up to date, Turk says.”
“All right. I’ll tell you what. I’m going to give you your full paycheck. We’ll call what you’ve borrowed a bonus, all right?”
“Gosh, thanks, Mr. C.”
“But there’s a catch.”
“There is?” She was suddenly a little girl afraid of hearing some imminent bad news. “Like what?”
“Like you won’t give more than twenty percent of your check to Turk.”
“How much will that be?”
“It doesn’t matter. We’ll figure it out. But I want you to make that agreement with me. No more than twenty percent. And that goes for every check I give you.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. C, but I don’t think Turk’ll like that.”
