Snowjob (29 page)

“Please.” The chief was tense as we followed the man through into the big cold room with the stainless steel cabinets down one wall.

“He’s in here,” the attendant said, indicating a drawer at waist level. “Between the guy an’ the girl he killed. Justice, huh?”

“Open it,” the chief snapped. The man looked at him, hurt that his comment had been ignored.

The body was covered with a sheet and the attendant flicked it back from the face. Doug and I looked at it, then at one another. “That’s not him, sir,” Doug said. “I’m sorry, but somebody’s pulled a stunt on us. That ain’t Manatelli.”

SEVENTEEN

I glanced at the chief first. His jaw was set and I knew he was working out a plan for damage control. The uniformed man took his cue from his boss, showing no emotion. The only one shocked was the attendant. He stood there with his mouth open. You could see he was thinking, just wait until the guys at the pool hall hear about this. Maybe he could even call the local radio station, win twenty-five bucks for the news tip of the week.

The chief nipped all those plans in the bud. He stuck his finger about an inch from the guy’s nose. “Listen up. This is a police investigation. We already knew what this detective has confirmed. We’re doing what we’re doing to put the man Manatelli off guard. He thinks he’s fooled us and that’s what we want, while we keep on looking for him.” He paused, then demanded, “Do you understand me?”

“I think so, sir.”

“Good,” the chief said. “Now pay attention to me, because if you don’t, you’ll be looking for a new job.”

That point was loud and clear. The man cleared his throat and asked, “What d’ya want me to do, Chief?”

“You say nothing. If any word of this gets out it will hamper our investigation and you are out of this job or any other city job as long as you live.”

“I know about being confidential.” The man’s face was red. “I can see what’s happenin’, Chief. I won’t say nothing to anybody.”

“Not even Dr. Weichel,” the chief warned. “He already knows. But that’s all. We don’t want anyone else to know. Not your wife. Not your neighbors. Not even your goddamn dog.”

“I gotcha.” The guy was hoarse now.

“Right. Close this up.” The chief turned and swept out. We followed him. He stopped in the lobby and said, “My office. Follow me down there.”

“Right,” Doug said and we went out and got into the car.

Doug didn’t speak until the chief’s car had started away and we followed. Then he said, “He’s gotta feel like a goddamn moron.”

“The question is, where does this leave you?”

Doug picked up the pace, following the chief’s driver who was breaking the speed limit back to the station. “If it falls apart, I’m back inside and all bets are off. But he won’t want that to happen. He’d look too stupid.” Doug grinned without amusement. “After those swell speeches yesterday about what a righteous boy I am, if he has to send me back inside he’s got egg all over him.”

“That’s the good news. The bad news is that Manatelli’s had almost a day to do what he planned.”

“Outside of business hours,” Doug said as we pulled into the parking lot behind the police building. “If he was planning something at the bank, it ain’t done yet.”

We went in. Roger, the cop who had driven the chief, was in the front office waiting for us. “The chief says to go right in, Detective.”

“Thanks.” Doug nodded to him and the cop looked grateful for the recognition. I guessed he’d felt the rough side of the chief’s tongue on the way back, had heard the same speech as the morgue attendant.

The chief was standing at the window. He turned and went to his chair. “Siddown,” he said. We sat and he looked at me. “I don’t see how you can help us here, Mr. Bennett.”

“With all respect, I think I can, Chief. If you’re keeping the information confidential, you can use me instead of spreading the news any further.”

He thought about it in silence for a moment, then said, “Yeah. You’re right.” He opened his desk drawer and rummaged, then came out with a badge. “I don’t have a Bible here. You a religious man?”

“No. But I mean it when I swear an oath.”

“Good. Do you swear to uphold the laws of the United States and the State of Vermont during your tenure as a special officer with the Chambers Police Department?”

“I do.” I raised my right hand for him and he passed me the badge.

“You’re in,” he said. “It’s confidential but until this thing is wrapped up, you’re a member of the department. I’ll see what I can do about pay an’ all when this is over.”

“Good.” I didn’t waste time. “Let me tell you what I saw last night. At around ten-thirty Manatelli’s bodyguard visited Walter Huckmeyer in Brewskis. They went into Huckmeyer’s office. Then I followed the guy and saw that he went to the mobile home of Mike Kelly, the biker who deals grass, the guy who came after Doug and me two nights back. You know about him.”

The chief waved one hand. “Of course. Right, Get over there and find out what you can. Do you have a weapon?”

“Just my dog.”

“That’s a start. But take this.” He dug into his drawer again and came up with a police .38 in a shoulder holster. He broke protocol by passing it to me without opening the cylinder but I took it and checked the load. Six shots. I took my coat off and slipped the holster on. “You want the guy in here?”

“I want the truth,” the chief said ominously. “If you have to charge him with the murder of the guy in the morgue that’s fine. But find out what Manatelli’s doing and where the sonofabitch is.”

“Will do.” I turned to Doug. “Can I get a house key? I want to take Sam.” To the chief I added, “It’s on my way, won’t take more than a minute.”

“Under the window box at the left side,” Doug said. “Good luck.”

I picked up Sam and pushed my car to the limit out to Kelly’s shack. The car we’d followed the night before was still there and there was a light on inside. I went up to the door and banged on it. Sam was at my heel, silent and ominous. Kelly came to the door in long Johns. He was just out of bed, eyes gritty. He didn’t even have the moxie to reach up for his gun. I shoved him aside. “Where’s your buddy?”

He was still blustering and I took a moment to grab his shotgun and turn and fling it away by the barrel, sending it cartwheeling over the driveway, into the snow on the other side. I knew he’d never go out that far, dressed as he was.

“You can’t do that,” he roared but Sam and I went by to the back room of the shack. The bodyguard was sitting up in bed, feeling under his pillow. I told Sam, “Fight,” and he jumped on the bed, snarling in the man’s face.

“Get him offa me,” the man screamed but he didn’t reach any farther.

“Hands on your head,” I said, then to Sam, “Easy, boy.”

The guy put his hands on his head and I felt under his pillow and took out his gun, a Walther. I stuck it in my coat pocket. “Where’s Manatelli?”

“He’s dead. Where you bin? It was on the news last night.”

“That’s my second question. Who’s the guy in the morgue and who shot him? You or Manatelli? But first I want the truth. Where’s Manatelli?”

“He’s dead,” he said again. I reached for his hand and folded his fingers backward. The pressure was too much and he sprawled face first on the covers, his hand up behind him. “You’re breakin’ my hand.”

“I know,” I said. It wouldn’t break until I cranked the pressure way up above where I had it, but he didn’t know. He had soft hands with no real strength in them.

“Fer Crissakes! I don’ know,” he said and I turned up his fingers a little farther. He screamed. I ignored him, glancing around to check on Kelly. He was dressed how in denims and a work shirt.

“Sit,” I told him. “On the floor, where I can see you. Move and the dog’ll have your face off.”

He sat. I pointed to him with my free hand and told Sam, “Keep.” Sam ran over to him, making him cower back, covering his face, then stood in front of him, his big head a few inches from Kelly’s face. Scratch Kelly as a threat. I turned my attention back to the man on the bed. “I couldn’t hear you,” I said softly. “Remember. I asked where your boss is.”

“He’s with the kid from the ski lodge,” he hissed. “Please. Please leggo o’ my hand.”

I threw his hand away. “Get dressed.”

He lay for a moment, nursing his fingers, breathing in a low sob. “I’ll kill you,” he said softly. “I’ll shoot your goddamn balls off.”

“Forget it. You’re inside for life,” I told him. “Get dressed and hurry.”

He sat up, sullenly. He was wearing a blue silk undershirt and boxer shorts. “You look sweet,” I told him. “You’ll be a big hit in the joint in those shorts. Get dressed.”

He didn’t move immediately and I slapped him hard across the face. It’s not my style but there was no time to play games. I wanted him at the station and I had no handcuffs. I had to cow him completely.

The slap broke his machismo. He scrambled into his clothes and I ushered him out into the main room of the tiny shack. Kelly’s topcoat lay on the couch, added to the blanket he had used to cover himself through the night. I checked the pockets for a weapon. There was nothing there and I tossed the coat to Kelly. “You too. You’re coming in. Now, where’s your phone?”

“I ain’t got one.” A sneer. That’s how tough he was. No phone! Wow!

“Get your boots on.”

He swore and protested but I hissed at Sam who went into a savage bark that instantly had him scrambling into his coat and cowboy boots. Then I took both guys out and put them in the back seat of my car, setting Sam facing them from the front seat with the instruction to keep. “One move out of either of you and you’re gone,” I warned.

They didn’t move. I backed quickly out of the drive and howled back down to the station. A uniformed man was coming down the steps, heading for his car. I called out to him. “I have the man the chief is looking for, here in my car. Help me bring him in, please.”

I’d seen the cop around, so I guessed he knew who I was. He didn’t ask questions, just came to the car door and opened it. I told Sam, “Easy,” and he relaxed while the two men got out. “Inside, please, officer,” I said and followed them in.

The chief was out of his office, standing at the telephone. He held up one finger when he saw me, then quickly finished his conversation and hung up. “This the guy?”

“Yes. He says the guy we’re looking for is with young Huckmeyer.”

“Get over there,” he said. “Ford’s upstairs. Take him with you. He knows where to go.” He lifted the counter flap. “You two, this way.”

I left him and ran up the stairs. Doug was sitting with Pat Hinton and they looked up. “Manatelli’s staying with young Huckmeyer. The chief says to pick him up.”

They both sprang up. Doug said, “Take the detective car, Pat. I’ll go with Reid.”

We sprinted downstairs and out to my car. I opened the door and told Sam, “In the back,” and he hopped over the seat so that Doug could get in.

“He’s on Maple. Go up Water Street, that’s three blocks up on the left,” he told me and I backed out and raced away up the street. It was eight-fifteen now, just light. Traffic was moving, mostly cars with ski racks. I saw the drivers glancing at me nervously as I roared by and turned onto Water Street.

“Right on Maple. It’s a big white house,” Doug said. His voice was soft and excited. “We’ve got him,” he said. “We’ve got the bastard.”

“Not yet,” I said. “Not until he’s got handcuffs on his wrists.”

“Huckmeyer. Huckmeyer. Be there, you smooth-talkin’, smooth-skiin’ devil, you,” Doug crooned. Then he said, “In there.”

I whisked into the driveway. It was empty.

“He’s gone,” Doug said. “He always drives a Blazer, leaves it in the drive, summer an’ winter.”

Pat Hinton pulled in behind us. “He’s gone,” he said as he got out. “I bet he’s at work, Cat’s Cradle.”

“Let’s check the house,” Doug said. “Maybe he’s left Manatelli at home.”

“Cover the back,” Hinton said. “I’ll bang on the front door.”

“Come on, Sam.” I clambered over the snowbank beside the walk to the front door and plowed through the knee-high snow to the back of the house. There were no tracks back there. Nobody had made a run for the fence when we arrived, and there was no sign of life in the house.

I stood there, with Sam, until Doug appeared at the side. “No answer,” he said. “Don’t mean Manatelli’s not there, but he’s not answering if he is.”

“Let me check these windows,” I said and I made the rounds. It was no good. All of them were covered by aluminum storm windows with screens, all shut tight. It meant breaking two panes of glass and the screen to get in.

“Maybe he’s got a slip lock on the front,” Doug said.

We trudged back through the snow, which was filtering down over the top of my boots and chilling my legs to the bone. When I got to the porch I took the boots off and shook out the snow.

Doug checked the lock. “Dead bolt,” he said. “We can’t get in without a key or a wrecking bar.”

“Check around for a key,” Hinton suggested. He lifted the mat and Doug and I checked under anything else movable but we found nothing.