Riders on the Storm
- Автор: Горман Эд
- Серия: Sam McCain #10
- Год: 2014
- Язык: английский
- Год: Pegasus
- ISBN: 978-1-60598-625-8
- Жанр: Криминальные детективы
Электронная книга - «Riders on the Storm». Краткое содержание книги:
That was when the chubby, cute little dog barked. “That’s Ivanhoe. Steve got him from the pound about six weeks ago. I prefer cats myself. But I have to admit Ivanhoe has ingratiated himself with me. A bit like you have with me, McCain. Even though I think you’re way, way wrong about Lon.”
On the way back to my car I played with Ivanhoe for a few minutes. He liked to ram headfirst into my leg as if he was trying to topple a statue.
The way I was trying to topple Lon Anders.
15
From Valerie’s I drove out to Cherie’s, the roadhouse where Donovan had been drinking the night he was killed. Saturday was the only day they served lunch here so the packed parking lot didn’t surprise me.
I took a stool and surveyed the dining area that spread out below the raised bar. Customers generally dressed up some when they came here at night but this afternoon summer clothes, even beach clothes, were the standard.
I ordered a Hamm’s draught and then asked if I could speak to Mr. Hobart, the manager.
“Something wrong, sir?”
“No, no, this is a very nice place. No complaints. This is a private matter.”
“I’ll need a name.”
“Sam McCain.”
He was mid-twenties with Beatles hair and a jaunty way of mixing drinks. He also had a good bartender’s innate suspicion for anything untoward a customer might say.
“Just a second.”
He stepped over to the phone next to the cash register, punched in three numbers, and then started talking in a quiet voice. He nodded and hung up and came back to me.
There were four booths in the west corner of the bar. He pointed to them and said, “Neil said to wait in one of the booths over there and he’ll be out in a few minutes.”
“Thanks.” I picked up my draught.
A few minutes turned out to be sixteen or seventeen minutes according to my watch. The bar got more and more crowded. Most of the men along it were now watching the Cubs game on the elevated twenty-seven-inch screen.
I knew Neil Hobart from the downtown group that perpetually tried to have its way with the city council. The group was the new Establishment but they wouldn’t have full power until the present group retired or passed on.
Very cool, very expensive fawn-colored collarless shirt, flowing white trousers with fawn-colored belt yet. Rimless glasses and thinning blond hair in a ponytail. How cool is too cool?
No handshake. He sat down across from me and said, “You’re wasting your time, McCain.”
“I hear that a lot.”
“Everything I know I told to that new police chief.” I wanted to give him a quarter tip for not calling him “Paul.”
“So I suppose you think Will Cullen is guilty?”
“I have a friend in the department. He laid it all out for me. Of course he’s guilty. And if that isn’t enough, I was at the luncheon for Senator O’Shay this noon. He’s convinced it’s an airtight case. That kind of says it all, doesn’t it?”
“When Donovan was out here drinking the other night did you talk to him much?”
“Some. I felt sorry for the guy. This is a bullshit war and he’s one of the people who paid for it. I tried to be as nice as I could but he was getting way too drunk. I did everything I could to get him to take a cab. I even offered to drive him home myself if he’d just wait till closing time.”
“How was Will?”
“Sort of pathetic. He just kept drinking and saying that he wanted to be friends again with Donovan. But Donovan just kept pushing him away.”
“Physically, you mean?”
“Yeah. Will’d get close and Donovan would tell him to shut up and go away. And a couple of times he gave him a little push. No big deal. I finally got Will to go into the dining room and do his drinking.”
“Was Lon Anders here that night?”
“I had a dinner that night so I didn’t get out here until around nine. He wasn’t here while I was. Why’re you asking about Anders?”
“Just doing my job.”
“Anders is a friend of mine.”
“All I said was that I was doing my job and that is all I’m doing. How about Teddy Byrnes?”
A sneer as cool as his shirt. “Yeah. He was here for an hour before I got here. Then he left when I got my friend Heinrich to help me. He’s one of our chefs and I had to pay a lot of money for him to come here from Chicago. Eight years ago he was still in Hamburg and he wasn’t working as a chef. Have you ever heard of Sankt Georg?”
“No.”
“You’re taking your life in your hands to walk around there at night. Heinrich grew up there and pulled two years as a bouncer in a club where he claims there were at least two murders a month. I need any help with some psycho bastard like Byrnes, I just walk back and sic Heinrich on him. As soon as Heinrich got Byrnes in a hammerlock and then jammed his thumb in Byrnes’s eye, I assumed the fight was over. And then Byrnes slipped the hold and knocked Heinrich out in one punch. And he was out for almost ten minutes. I got scared he wasn’t going to wake up.”
“What happened to Byrnes?”
“He took a long look at how unconscious Heinrich looked and split.”
“But he was here and I assume you’ll testify to that.”
“Of course I will. But that’s a long haul to prove that he had anything to do with Steve’s death. I admired Steve for serving the country, by the way, but he was totally full of shit about the war. You didn’t do so well by it yourself, McCain, and you didn’t even get over there. That was one hell of an accident.”
“Yeah. It wasn’t fun.”
“I lucked out. Heart palpitations since I was young. They’ve never really bothered me that much but they were my ticket out so I have developed a fondness for them.”
He was out of the booth and this time his hand was out.
As we shook, he said, “For what it’s worth, I know Will from the times he’s been out here. I like him and I feel sorry for him.”
“But he’s still guilty, huh?”
“I’m sorry, man,” he said, “but he’s still guilty.”
The psych ward. I had called Lindsey Shepard but was told that she and her husband were probably on the ward now visiting with Will Cullen. I assumed I could persuade them to let me speak to Will.
I stepped off the elevator and was confronted by a long desk and two thick-looking doors to the left and right. Both bore signs: ONLY PEOPLE WITH PASSES ALLOWED. The air was somehow different here. Confined, claustrophobic.
A man in a blue security guard uniform laid his paperback down on the desk and said, “Is there something I can help you with?”
“I’d like to talk to Will Cullen but to do that I need to speak to Lindsey Shepard first. Are she and her husband here?”
The guard checked his clipboard list. “Yes, she’s still here. Her husband left.”
“Would you get her on the phone? I’m sure she’ll say it’s all right.”
“I’ll have to ask you for your driver’s license.”
“Of course.” I handed my billfold over.
He studied the photo and then studied me and then handed the billfold back.
“That’s Lindsey Shepard you’d like to see?”
“Yes.”
“Nice lady.”
“Yes, she is.”
He shook his hand as if it had been asleep and punched numbers on his phone. Then, “Kay, would you tell Mrs. Shepard that there’s a man named Sam McCain who’d like to come back and see her?” Listening. “Sure, I’ll hang on.” Cupping the phone and to me, “Still as hot out there?”
“Feels worse than ever.”
“I don’t want to leave work. The air conditioning. All we’ve got at home are three fans. I could probably pull an extra shift if I wanted to but I’d feel guilty. I sorta feel guilty already. Here I’m sittin’ in air conditioning and the wife and my three kids are sweatin’ it out at home.”