Murder Straight Up
- Автор: Горман Эд
- Серия: Jack Dwyer #3
- Год: 1986
- Язык: английский
- Год: St. Martin's Press
- ISBN: 978-0-312-55325-8
- Жанр: Криминальные детективы
Электронная книга - «Murder Straight Up». Краткое содержание книги:
Murder Straight Up is an intense, gritty crime thriller that pits Dwyer against both the glittery world of television journalism and a sleazy, dangerous criminal underworld — with an innocent boy’s life hanging in the balance.
Who really engineered the death of the anchorman? Was it Kelly Ford, Channel 3’s aging, less-than-beloved news consultant? Or maybe her boss, Robert Fitzgerald, owner of a station whose ratings have declined almost to the point of bankruptcy? What about Mike Perry, pro-football player turned sports announcer, whose sturdy good looks help him hide a secret the victim knew all too well. Where does grizzly old Dev Roberts, Curtis’s co-anchor, fit in? Or Bill Hanratty, the singing weatherman?
Dwyer knows there’s a terrible secret haunting the news team. What is it? And what will all this mean to the ratings?
I took her hand. She slid it easily into mine. “Come on,” I said. “I’ll get you back to Eler’s place.”
“I wouldn’t have had guts enough to do that,” she said.
“I didn’t think I would either,” I said.
I took her back to Falworthy House and dropped her off.
From a pay phone I called Edelman, my friend on the force, to give him my arguments against Mitch Tomlin as the killer, but Edelman’s wife, Mona, told me he was out. “He’s at the university as a guest speaker in a criminology class. I can have him call you later.”
“You mind if I try him?”
She laughed. “You should know I’m used to late-night calls by now.”
“Great. I appreciate it.”
Then I checked my answering service. There was only one call, and it was a surprising one. Donna Harris.
She answered on the second ring. “I was hoping it would be you,” she said.
Despite my better judgment — I was preparing myself for word that she was reuniting with her husband — I felt the old thrill.
“How are you doing?” I said.
“I miss you.”
I cleared my throat. “I miss you, too.”
“And I know I’m being terrible about this, my indecisiveness, I mean.”
“I’m a big boy.”
“I’ve decided I’m not going to see Rex any more.”
“Why?”
“I think he just confuses me. You know how I told you he was starting to touch me? Today he slid his arm around my waist and suggested that I start seeing him at night, when we can ‘relax’ more. There are a lot of shrinks who do that, hustle their female clients.”
“Nice guy.”
“Really.”
“Maybe you can find another one.”
“Maybe I should just make up my mind.” She really did sound miserable. “The more I think about it, it’s just this father thing that he has over me.”
“Who?”
“My ex-husband. There’s a part of me that needs to be treated that way because my father was so cold to me. I feed on it somehow. But it’s not a good thing.”
“Did you learn that from Rex?”
She laughed. “No, basically all I’ve learned from Rex is that you should do whatever pleases you most.”
“Sounds reasonable,” I said.
“You’re kidding, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Because if you weren’t kidding, I’d be very surprised.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re so Catholic and so guilty. You’re not real modern, Dwyer.”
“There are worse faults.”
She laughed again. “You always get defensive when I mention that you’re a Catholic. I don’t mean it as an insult. Anyway, I like the image of you dressed up in an altar-boy costume.”
“They’re not called costumes.”
“What are they called?”
“I forget but I know they’re not costumes.”
“You can sleep with anybody you want, you know,” she said, “and not feel guilty. I mean I wouldn’t have any right to be mad.”
“I thought we were talking about altar boys.”
“I just wanted to say that to you, but I had to sneak it in somewhere and that seemed like a good place. But I’m serious. I mean I have absolutely no right to any claim on you. Not with the situation as it stands.”
“Then you really wouldn’t mind?”
“If you slept with somebody?”
“Yeah.”
There was this pause. Then she said, quietly, “I didn’t say that.”
“Say what?”
“That I wouldn’t mind.”
“Then you would mind?”
“I would mind but it wouldn’t be any of my business.”
“I see.”
“I really think I love you, Dwyer, so of course I’d mind. You know what I mean?”
“I guess, yeah.”
“But given the situation, I wouldn’t have any right to say anything. That’s what I’m trying to say.”
“I’m getting the picture.”
There was another pause. “So,” she said, “what have you been up to?”
I described most of the things that had happened since last night. When I got through, her first response was, “Is Kelly Ford her real name?”
Here we’d been talking about murder, drugs and all kinds of nasty lives, and she wanted to know if somebody’s name was real.
“I suppose so.”
“Is she nice-looking? With a name like that I suppose she’s very nice-looking.”
“She’s all right.”
“You had to think about that, didn’t you?”
“What?”
“How you were going to answer my question. Just the way you said ‘she’s all right’ when I asked you if she was good-looking means that she’s much better-looking than you’re telling me.”
“Well—” I started to say.
“But that’s what I mean. This is a perfect example. Here I am getting bent out of shape and it’s really none of my business. Not in the least. So let’s not talk about it.”
“All right.”
“As a matter of fact,” she said, and her voice started to tremble, “let’s not talk at all.”
Then the line was dead.
13
I had dinner at a Denny’s. Unlike the other chains, it serves something remotely resembling food. While I ate, I watched the other diners. Mostly couples. When you’re alone as much of the time as I am, you get resentful of couples. How happy and safe and secure they look. After I finished my meal, I got a mint and a toothpick to keep the feast going, and then I found a pay-phone and got hold of Edelman.
“Tonight a kid named Mitch Tomlin was arrested,” I said.
“He’s a nice kid. They called me after class and I stopped down. I listened to him answer questions through the glass. He’s a nice kid and I hate to see him get nailed for it.”
“He didn’t do it.”
He laughed. “I’m glad you’ve got your old confidence back.”
“I’m serious.” Then I explained, as I had explained last night, how Tomlin’s muddy prints tracked down the stairs but stopped long before he could have reached David Curtis’s dressing room.
“You ever think that the cyanide was put into the laxative somewhere other than at the station?”
“No.”
“Well, you should. And you should also consider each member of the newsteam a suspect. They have plenty of motives for wanting him dead.”
“I would, but something’s come up to change my mind.”
“What?”
“Mitch Tomlin’s confession.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. They got a confession out of him.”
“I know why he’s saying it.”
“You mean you don’t believe him?”
“No,” I said, “I don’t. He’s trying to avenge his friend’s death. Or he’s trying to protect somebody.”
“Who?”
I thought of Diane Beaufort and her miserable relationship with Stephen Chandler that ended with two guys named John and Rick and an abortion. Diane had been at Channel 3 last night.
“You got a better suspect in mind?”
“No,” I said, wanting to change the subject. No point in getting Diane involved when I didn’t need to.
“But you still don’t think he did it?”
“No I don’t.”
“A confession’s pretty hard to deny.”
“He’s probably a doper. You know how fucked up they get.”
He sighed. “I’m afraid you’re not convincing me.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trying.”