when I was younger. It was a story of two brothers who never leave their family home, and who slowly fill it with newspapers, magazines, and assorted junk until they’re reduced to crawling through tunnels of the stuff just to get around. A cave-in ends the story and the brothers. I wondered how many more days it would take to reach that state here.
My guide finally let out a little cheer in the doorway of a long-abandoned bathroom. “Here we are-the whole kit and caboodle. My Lord, it’s got the entire room to itself.” She paused, still looking, and finally pointed to a stack balanced high on the porcelain sink in the corner. “We’re in luck; the one you want is right on top.”
I volunteered to do the climbing while she supported my legs, and managed to lug the box down with a minimum of destruction and a sweat-soaked shirt. She rummaged through its contents while I filled out her request form in the half-gloom of the dim overhead bulb.
“Just the jury list, right?”
“That’s it.”
We exchanged single sheets of paper, both smiling at the absurdity. “Always happy to help in a police emergency,” she added.
Back downstairs in the temperate zone, I found a note on my desk to go to Interrogation-a fancy name given to a room with a table and some vending machines between the squad room and the patrol captain’s office. There I found Murphy, Dennis DeFlorio, a Windham County deputy sheriff I didn’t know, and a scared-looking young man who was built like a gas pump. DeFlorio was one of the five corporals in Support Services under Murphy and me.
Murphy caught my arm and steered me back outside. He kept his voice low. “What have you been up to? You’re sweating like a pig.”
“Been upstairs. Is that the guy who stole Woll’s car?”
“Let’s say he’s the one in whose driveway we found the car. He claims he doesn’t know a thing about it. The deputy in there says he dragged himself out of bed to answer the door-hardly guilt-riddled.”
“Any prints on the car?”
“J.P. me.
“What’s his name?”
“Wodiska.”
I looked down at the jury list I was still carrying. “Henry A. Wodiska?”
“The one and only. What have you got?”
“Something you’re not going to like. Wodiska was on the same jury as Reitz and Phillips.”
Frank closed his eyes. “Shit. You’re right; I don’t like it. You want to talk to him?”
“If you’re finished.”
“I’ll ask Dennis. I’ve assigned him to it. Remember, keep the Davis-Harris thing under your hat.” Murphy went back into the room briefly and reappeared leading all but Wodiska out behind him.
DeFlorio stopped me as I headed in, understandably curious. “What’s up?”
I decided to do unto Murphy as he’d done unto me. “It’s something Frank’s got cooking. I’ll let you know if this guy says anything new.”
“All right.” DeFlorio wasn’t thrilled, but there wasn’t much he could say. He’d only just gotten the case, and on paper we all worked for the same masters. Still, this was as close to palace politics as I ever cared to get.
Henry Wodiska looked up at me with wide, childlike eyes as I entered. “I swear I didn’t steal no police car. I’d have to be stupid.”
“From what I’ve been told, you’re claiming to be deaf.”
“Huh?”
“Does your driveway slope up or down to the house?”
“Up.” His voice had a bewildered lilt to it.
“So someone drove the squad car up the driveway, parked it, cut the engine, and wandered off, and you never heard a thing?”
“The bedroom’s on the other side of the house. I never hear stuff like that.”
“What about the shotgun? How do you suppose it got in the car?”
“I don’t know, man. I came home and I went to bed, like always. I don’t know anything about any of this shit. I swear to God.”
“Why were you asleep when the sheriff’s department came calling?”
“I work nights. I didn’t get home till six this morning.”
“Where do you keep the shotgun?”
“In my pickup.”
“And you didn’t notice it was gone?”
“I wasn’t in the pickup. I drove with a friend. We switch off like that-it saves gas.”
“A car pool.”
“Yeah.”
“And it was his turn last night-or this morning, I mean?”
“Yeah. I haven’t touched that pickup since yesterday, or the shotgun.”
“You didn’t cut the barrel down?”
His tone picked up a little heat. “Shit no. That thing was like a collector’s piece. It was my father’s, a real nice gun. I wouldn’t fuck it up like that.”
I nodded and sat opposite him. “No. That makes sense. So you figure someone stole the gun, maybe last night after you’d gone to work, sawed it off, did his number on our patrolman, and then planted both the gun and the car at your house after you’d gone to sleep. Is that it?”
“I guess so.”
“How close is the next house? Can you see it from your place?”
He shook his head. “It’s not far, but there’s trees in the way.” He suddenly leaned forward, pleading again. “I swear to God I didn’t do any of this.”
I held up my hand. “Hey, I’m a believer. I don’t think you did either. We’re going to have to check it out some more, but I think you’re telling the truth. Like you said, you’re not stupid, right?”
He nodded hopefully. “Right. I mean this is all too crazy.”
“Right,” I agreed. I pretended the sheet of paper I had in my hand related to his case. “Wodiska… That really rings a bell.”
“I never done anything.”
“No, no. I don’t mean that. It’s something else. It’s like I read your name in the paper or something. Did you win a trophy or something a few years back?”
He sat back in his chair, the anxiety cleared from his face. “The only time I been in the paper was for that trial.”
“What trial?”
“The one with the nigger. You know, the murder case. Real steamy stuff. I got interviewed ’cause I was on the jury.”
I slapped my forehead. A little hammy there. “Right, that’s it. The Harris case.”
He grinned. “Yeah, that’s it.”
“Sure. I remember now. You guys didn’t waste any time there, did you?”
His voice became slightly defensive. “He was guilty, wasn’t he?”
I spread my hands. “Hey, we thought so. In fact, I remember a few of the guys complaining you took as much time as you did.” I got up and put some money in the soda machine. “You want something? I’m buying.”
Whatever apprehension he had left disappeared. “Sure. Pepsi?”
I pushed the button and passed the can to him. heeight='
“We took so long ’cause of that little fruitcake with the puppy pictures. He made a big deal about making up his mind, but he didn’t fight for long. No one else believed him. Real pain in the butt.”
“Did you ever keep in touch with any of the jury members after the trial?”
“No. There was one good-looking girl, but I never did anything about it.”
“Hey. You shouldn’t waste your opportunities.”
He grinned-an amazingly unappealing hunk of humanity. “Yeah, well…”
