Читать книгу Murder Doesn't Figure - Fred Yorg - Страница 18

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I was back in never-never land again, only this time there was no silk down comforter, and no sandy white beaches in 3D color. There was only the pitch-black darkness of the abyss. I was starting to come around now, and could feel my head pounding and the odd sensation of a warm sticky liquid streaming down the right side of my face.

Over the sound of the Warren Zevon tape, that was blasting, I heard a recurring echo, “Are you all right, are you okay, are you okay?” I was hoping Tuxedo would be there when I opened my eyes, but I couldn’t explain the voice. I didn’t think the cat would sound anything like this. I thought he would sound more like the old time actor Ronald Coleman, the star of “Lost Horizon.”

The voice continued, “Are you okay, are you okay?” The voice and the annoying mantra had to be stopped.

I reined in my wits and responded, “Yeah I’m okay, just a little shaken.”

As I was coming out of the darkness, I struggled to open my eyes. The sight before me unfortunately, was far more unsettling than the cat. Tuxedo, had been replaced by a bald headed man with bushy eyebrows, a bulbous nose and an unkept mustache.

“What happened?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” the bald headed man replied. “It appears that you took the last corner a little too fast and went out of control. Your car went off the road and you hit your head. Do you know how long, you’ve been unconscious?”

“What time is it?” I asked.

“It’s exactly 2:34.”

“I’ve been out for about half an hour. How bad is it?” I asked.

“You’ve got a nasty cut on your right forehead, and you’re gonna need a few stitches.”

“NO, NO, not me the car.”

The bald headed man was obviously not a fan of classic sport cars as he responded in a highly agitated tone, “I don’t know, I patch up people not cars.”

“By the way, who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?” I asked.

“I’m with the volunteer first aid department. We were sent up here on another call and found your car, on the side of the road.”

“Lucky me.”

“You can say that again,” he responded.

“Where’s the ambulance and the rest of the crew?”

“The ambulance and the rest of the squad went on ahead to the big mansion, up on the point.

They dropped me off, to take care of you.”

“You mean Von Klamer’s place?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that was the name.”

“I just came from there, what happened to him?”

“He’s dead, it appears somebody killed him.”

The last remark by the EMS worker got my full attention. It brought me around quicker than any smelling salts he had in his bag.

“Well, I’ve patched you up as best I can. You’re okay, but I strongly recommend that you go to the hospital and get checked out.”

“Thanks for your help, I really appreciate what you did for me.”

Just then, the ambulance pulled up followed by two cars. The first car was a police car and the second one was a plain blue sedan. The EMS worker went to the second car and talked to the driver. Then he jumped into the front passenger seat of the ambulance. The ambulance and police car then made there way down the hill. As they drove away from the scene there were no sirens. But then why bother making a lot of noise and commotion for a dead man.

The man in the driver’s side of the blue sedan made his way out of the car. He resembled the comedian Gilbert Godfrey, only with a nose as big as my size twelve shoes.

“I’m Officer Joel Fein, I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you’re up to it.”

Before I could answer the second cop got out of the car. He was a big man about 6'2" and weighing in at close to 300 pounds. He reminded me of the character that Orson Welles played in the old classic movie “A Touch of Evil.” The second cop looked vaguely familiar, but I just couldn’t place him.

“Sure, I’ll be happy to answer a few questions,” I replied to the first cop.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?”

“I’m sure.”

“Fine. We appreciate your help. May I have your name?”

“Fred Dansk.”

“Do you have any identification?”

“Here’s my license and registration.”

Officer Fein, then took the documents over to the big cop. They talked in hushed tones and conferred for an uncomfortably long period of time. Then Fein and the big cop made there way closer. I recognized the big cop now. He was Arman “Case” Malacasa. I hadn’t seen the son of a bitch in thirty over years and the years hadn’t been too kind to him. Case and I were rivals on the football field many years ago during our hay days. He was the star tackle for Middletown High School during the years that I played for Red Bank. Back in those days, the rivalry between the two schools couldn’t have been any intense. It didn’t matter how many games we won during the season, just as long as we beat Middletown.

I always looked forward to the challenge of playing against Middletown and Case, in particular. He was one of toughest, meanest, dirtiest players in our conference. He was what I always hated in my fellow man. He was a bully, a blow hard, a loud talking braggart; just plain miserable specimen of humanity. I’m sure as a young child he amused himself by pulling the wings off of flies. As he got older, he only got worse. After high school, Case got a football scholarship to a small southern school. He got thrown out mid-year for breaking into the Dean’s house and looting the place over the Christmas Holidays. This embarrassing episode, was hushed up by the college so as not to cause further embarrassment to the school and their athletic program. Case then returned to Middletown and somehow connived his way onto the police force. I had always suspected that the town fathers must have gotten together and realized that the best place for Case, the place where he could do the least amount of harm to the community, was the police force. They were probably right.

As I sized up the two cops and my current situation I quickly came to the conclusion that the best way for me to play it with them was to be as cooperative as possible. I figured Case for a wild card. On one hand he hated my guts from the old days, but on the other, I knew a lot of powerful people in Monmouth County that he knew. I was relatively confident that some of those desperados had taken care of Case somewhere along the line. I reasoned, that Case was probably smart enough to realize that jerking me around and making life miserable for me wasn’t going to help his standing in the desperado community and depending on who I knew could only be harmful. It was time for me to turn on the charm and be as cooperative as possible.

“Excuse me, Officer Fein, would you please call Reed’s Getty Station for me? That’s my mechanic and he’s located just around the corner in Atlantic Highlands.”

“I’m sorry Mr. Dansk, but we use…”

Case interrupted Fein, “Sure, we can call him for you.”

“But Case, you know departmental policy,” Fein whined.

“Call Reed’s,” Case said in an authoritative voice.

“Thanks, Case, I appreciate it.” Fein seemed surprised to hear me call Case by name, but nonetheless made the call. Case for his part, never answered me, he just gave me a dreary look and nodded.

The two cops then walked back to their car and talked in low whispered tones. I was feeling a little better now and got out of my car and leaned up against the trunk. I surveyed the damage to the car and it wasn’t too bad. I’d been lucky the car went into the drainage ditch on the side of the road. No telling what could have happened if not for the ditch. Fein and Case then walked back over, and Fein started the inquisition. He started out innocently enough, just asking background questions. As he continued to grill me, my mind was split, one side responding to Officer Fein’s questions and other side speculating on whether I had ever seen a larger nose on any other breathing human being.

Fein then got around to asking about the accident. “Why were you in such a hurry to get away from Von Klamer’s place?”

“I wasn’t, the brakes failed,” I responded.

“Kind of unlucky for you to have the brakes fail after you kill someone. Isn’t it?”

“Now hold on Fein, that’s way out of line, I’m not about to be accused of murder, by some little piss ant flat foot like you.”

“Well something just doesn’t add up right. Something smells fishy,” Fein stammered.

I was pissed now. Not thinking I shot back, “Well you know we’re only a mile from the fish market in the Highlands, with a nose like yours perhaps that’s what you smell.” I knew that comment was a mistake, but my temper just got the better of me. Fein was now in my face. Case was off to the side just smiling, enjoying the show. At least he still had a sense of humor. Reed was now pulling up with the tow truck, just in the nick of time.

Fein then backed off and walked over by my car. “I’m going to have a look in your car before it gets towed, do you have any problem with that, Mr. Dansk?” Fein asked in a surly tone.

Although I knew he had no legal right to search my car, I figured why not, I had nothing to hide.

I figured the more that I cooperated the quicker I’d be done with this mess. “None, Officer Fein, knock yourself out,” I replied.

Dave Reed jumped out of the truck and walked over to where Case and I were standing.

“I thought you said the car was as good as new,” I asked sarcastically.

“What happened?” Reed asked.

“Coming down the hill, I lost my brakes. Could it be that you didn’t put any brake fluid in the car?”

“No way, let me look under the car at the fittings and brake lines.”

“HOLD IT we can’t let a civilian look at that car, that’s evidence,” Fein complained.

“What the hell difference is it going to make? Don’t worry about it, Joel,” Case barked.

Dave was looking at me to tell him what to do. Before I could respond to Reed, Fein who was rifling through my car hollered out, “What’s this twenty five thousand dollar check doing in your car made out to you, and signed by none other than the deceased?”

“It’s called a retainer. Von Klamer was my client and while we’re on the subject, I rarely kill off my clients before the check clears.”

“It still looks suspicious to me,” Fein returned. “We’re going to take this as evidence.”

“Go ahead. Just make sure you give me a receipt.”

“Fred, I found your problem, the reason you had no brakes is quite simple, someone cut your brake line,” Reed said from underneath the car.

Case, who had been a quiet onlooker spoke up, “Can you take out the part of the line that’s been cut? We’ll need it for evidence.”

“Yeah, it’ll just take me a couple of minutes,” Reed said as he went to the panel box on the side of the truck to get the needed tools.

Meanwhile Fein continued to pace around the car, muttering to himself in a highly agitated state. I really didn’t know who Fein was pissed at more, Case or me.

Dave then spent the next five minutes dissecting the evidence from the car. Once he completed the task he handed the evidence over to Case, who promptly put it in a plastic bag and then into the trunk of his car.

“Tell me Officer Fein, do you really think I’d be stupid enough to kill my client and then cut the brake line on my car, just so I could have a convenient alibi?” Fein didn’t respond. I could only surmise that he wasn’t talking to me. Perhaps it was something I said earlier. No matter, I wasn’t worried about it affecting our long-term relationship. In my mind, I had long since dismissed Fein as a half-assed clown.

Case was the man I had to keep happy, he was calling the shots.

“Case, you’ve got my story, you got your evidence. I’d like to get out of here and get to a hospital. It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah, you can go, but we’ll need to speak to you tomorrow. Let’s say 10:00 a.m. at the station.

If you need a ride back to Shrewsbury, we can call a cab for you.”

“No thanks, Case, I’ll get a ride with Dave. He’s got to drop off the car at my place, anyway.”

I was counting my blessings when I stepped up into the tow truck. I hadn’t been badly injured and other than the cut brake line the car seemed just fine. Even though Fein was a horse’s ass, at least Case had shown himself to be a reasonable man. All told I’d been very lucky. It could have been a hell of a lot worse. As I was about to shut the truck door my luck seemed to change as Case hollered over, “Dansk, you may want to bring a lawyer with ya, for tomorrow’s meeting.”