Road to rouen, p.14
Road to Rouen, page 14
More writing. “Why did you pull a gun on the owner?”
I hadn't known Harris was the owner. And now this was complicated. I tried to buy time. “What do you mean?”
“The owner told someone you pulled a gun on him.”
“I don't remember that.” Time to play dumb.
More notes. “Maybe you were angry with him?”
“No.”
“Did you settle the account?”
“No. He waived the balance.”
“Because you pulled the gun?”
“No.”
“What time did you leave the agency?”
“I don't know, maybe two thirty.”
“Where did you go?”
“A bar.”
“Why?”
“I dunno. Thirsty.”
“Remember the name of the bar?”
“No.”
“What time did you leave the bar?”
“Dunno. Maybe four thirty.”
“Where did you go?”
“Another bar.” I don't know why I lied. I was scared. For some reason I didn't want them to know about the hotel.
More notes. Then, “Why did your wife hire the detective agency?”
“I dunno.”
“Were they investigating you?”
“No.”
“How do you know that?”
“I dunno. She wouldn't.”
He started writing again. I was getting tired. It looked like he could see that because he closed the notebook.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Hit by a car crossing the street. You're lucky to be alive. Somebody pushed you out of the way just in time.”
“It doesn't feel like out of the way.”
He gave a little smirk. “Here's the situation, Mr. Cutter. You're under arrest on suspicion of murder in the deaths of the owner of the Randolph Detective Agency and one of his employees. We also have you on assault with a deadly weapon for the wounding of his receptionist.”
“I didn't kill anybody.”
“That's still to be determined.”
“I need my lawyer.”
“We can arrange for you to make a call. He's not available on a Sunday, is he?”
“Maybe not.”
“Okay, you can do that tomorrow.”
“The cuffs? I'm not going anywhere.” Couldn’t hurt to ask.
He stopped and thought for a second. He looked over at the nurse who gave a nod. Then he reached in his pocket for a key and leaned over the bed and took the cuff off my left arm. “Now that you're awake they'll transfer you to another ward where we have a guard posted.”
“That's it?” I asked.
“That's it for now,” he said. “I'll be back tomorrow.” He turned to leave.
“Wait,” I said. Where am I?”
The nurse answered, “Cook County Hospital.”
Then he said, “A world of trouble.” And he left.
I reached up and scratched my nose.
***
I don't know what it is about hospitals. They're always waiting until you fall asleep before they try and do anything to you. So they're always waking you up. They woke me up to take some pills. They woke me up to eat some cherry Jello cut up in little cubes and drink some water. They woke me up to wash me off which hurt my side so bad when they rolled me over I had to cry out in pain. Finally, they woke me up to take me to the special ward.
An orderly pushed the bed through the corridors while some kind of cop or security guard walked along one side and a nurse walked on the other side carrying my chart and a bag full of my clothes and stuff. That kind of procession earns you a lot of stares from all the people you pass. I hoped I looked decent even though I knew I had a few days stubble on my face. But then I thought that just maybe made me look more sinister so I fit the role of a dangerous killer better.
They pushed me through double doors they'd had to stop and unlock and then into the ward. When they got me where they wanted me, I looked around. There weren't any screens. There were a couple dozen beds half of them with guys in them in various states of disrepair. I thought I looked in better shape than half of them.
I didn't want to think of anything anymore. I decided to fall asleep so they could wake me up sooner and give me more of those pills for the pain.
(back to top)
Chapter Twenty One
Between the lights being on all the time and dozing on and off a lot I had no idea what time it was whenever I woke up. So when somebody touched my shoulder and I opened my eyes and saw Marty I was completely confused.
“You,” I managed to say.
He gave a little smile. “Surprised?”
“What time is it?”
“Eight.”
“What day?”
“Sunday.”
“What are you doing here?” I was still trying to come to.
“Making sure my richest client is alive.”
“How'd you get in here?”
“I'm your attorney, remember?”
“Yeah, but how'd you know I was here?”
“I read the papers. You are almost famous. I was here last night too, but you didn't wake up.” He gave a look around the room. “I see they have you slumming it now.”
I made a face. “I'm glad to see you.”
“I bet.”
“You know what's going on?” I moved my right arm to show him the cuff.
“Yes. And I'm not sure your little interview this afternoon did you a lot of good in that regard.”
“What do you mean?”
“I told you once before not to talk to the police unless I'm there. You didn't give them enough to remove suspicion.”
“Hey,” I protested. “I did the best I could.”
He shook his head and then sat down in a chair and scooted over to the side of the bed. He pushed his glasses back up his nose and lowered his volume. “They're not giving me a lot of time. We've got a lot to cover. Listen carefully. We need to establish your alibi so we can at least get you out on bail if they won't drop the charges. Where did you go after you left the agency?”
“A bar. I don't know the name.”
“How did you get there?”
“I walked.”
“I mean in what direction did you walk?”
“I came out, turned right, went to the corner, turned right again and then found it a couple blocks down on a corner.”
“Anybody there going to remember you?”
I thought for a second. “Maybe not the bartender. But there was a barmaid. Big chest she liked to show. I talked to her. Redhead. She might.”
“Okay. Where did you go next?”
“I took a bunch of cabs back to the hotel.”
“Why?”
“I saw the cops come after the shooting and I got scared.”
He screwed up his face in dismay. “You were there?”
“No, no. I just heard the sirens and went to look. Nobody saw me.”
“Okay. What hotel?”
“Alhambra. On Wabash.”
“Anybody see you there?”
“I dunno.”
“Did you go to the bar? Talk to anybody? Order anything from the room?”
I closed my eyes and tried to think. This was getting hard and I was running out of steam. “Bar, no. Um... I got some scotch and a burger from room service. I think that was the night.”
He smiled. “Good. I'll try to track that all down tomorrow. Why'd you pull the gun on the guy?”
“Pissed me off. Wouldn't tell me anything.”
“I don't know how we're going to get around that one yet. Only good thing is the man can't press charges.”
“Who told?”
“The bookkeeper. He hid out. The owner must have said something before the attack.”
A thought flashed through my mind, but I couldn't catch hold of it. Something about the bookkeeper. Then another thought came to mind. “How do you know all this?”
“I'm your attorney. The cops have to share some things.” He smiled a little smile again.
“Anything else?”
The smile went bigger. “Yes. I got the life insurance policy. It looks legit, so it appears like we can collect once we have a death certificate and the insurance company investigates. And as long as you stay alive.”
“That seems to be difficult lately. Anybody think the accident was deliberate?”
“The police don't. But they are treating it like a hit and run. The guy never stopped.”
“What kind of car?”
“Black Ford. '55 or '56.”
“That's too much of a coincidence.”
“But right now it's only a coincidence. Let the police handle it. There's a couple things, though, on the life insurance.”
“What?”
“There's a secondary beneficiary. Charles Fowler.”
“What's that mean?”
“Normally it means if you died before Connie he would get the proceeds when she died. But in this case there was a rider that said if you die after Connie and before the proceeds are awarded, Charles would be the beneficiary. Pretty unusual.”
I didn't like the sound of that. “And?”
“And the policy is owned by a corporation. Reage International. Ever hear of it?”
“No.”
“Nobody else has either. I'm still looking into it. All I have is a post office box in New York.”
“So it wasn't Connie?”
“Not unless she was connected to the corporation.”
I was fading and Marty could see it. “Can you come back tomorrow?” I asked.
“Yes I will. I want to be here when the detective comes back. I'm staying in town tonight.”
“Good.”
He stood up and moved the chair back. “That brings up expenses. We didn't cover that. I'll just add them on to the contingency if that's all right by you?”
He made me smile in spite of myself. He never forgot money. “Fine,” I said.
He waved a goodbye and walked toward the doors. I watched him go, thankful there was at least one person who really wanted to see me alive and out of jail. Or at least I hoped so.
***
I was feeling better the next day Not great, maybe not even good, but better. I could feel my mind clearing because I now was able to think about what was going on. But that wasn't really good because it let me start to get nervous and anxious to get out of this mess.
Another doctor who looked like a high school sophomore with his too big white coat and glasses came by late in the morning with a nurse in tow. He took my pulse and listened to my heart and looked into my ears. I could actually feel his disdain and disgust at having to deal with such an obvious rabid dog of a killer. But that didn't bother me.
“So, doctor, what's wrong with me?” I asked as nice as I could.
He kind of sneered, “I wouldn't know.”
“But aren't you supposed to know?” Again kind of stupid nice.
He gave me one of those looks then he looked down at my chart. “Grade three concussion, sprained wrist, two cracked ribs, contusions,” he read from the notes. Then he felt compelled to add an editorial comment so he looked up at me and said, “Unfortunately, you'll live.”
So I said in my best faggy voice, “Well thank you, doctor. I appreciate the report. I hope you have a truly lovely day.”
That confused him for a moment, and in that moment I sprang up in the bed as far as my ribs would let me, bared my teeth and hissed into his face, “Now get the hell away from me before I eat your eyes!”
He must have jumped three feet back his mouth wide open. The nurse clamped her hand to her mouth stifling a laugh. I couldn't help but laugh myself even though I tried not to because it hurt like hell with those ribs.
***
One of the nurses came by and unhooked the IV from my arm and said I didn't need it anymore because I was eating and drinking. She also told me Detective Donatelli would be by at three o'clock to talk to me again. There was no way I could call Marty, so I hoped he knew the schedule. He did because he showed up at five before three with a big smile on his face.
“Got you off the hook,” he beamed, excited like.
“Really? How'd...?”
“I just came from the police station. I talked to the detective and showed him you've got an airtight alibi. Gave him the name and number of the barmaid and showed him a statement from the hotel with your room service order with the time. Cops love it when you do their work for them. By the way, I checked you out of the hotel.”
“But I used a different name. How'd...”
“Just asked for somebody who'd left their things without checking out. And you signed for room service with your real name. So dumb you were smart.”
“Where's my stuff?”
“In my car.”
''What about showing the pistol to Harris?”
“I reminded him that was hearsay. Second hand at that. Bookkeeper said the receptionist told him. And that it was no longer germane to his case.”
“What now?”
“Once they talk to the barmaid they're going to move you back to a regular ward.”
“And the cuff?” I asked jiggling it.
“It'll come off when they move you. You know you really made an impression on that barmaid. You should call her. Name's Wanda.”
I couldn't tell if he was kidding or serious. I just made a face.
“Well, you should at least go back there and thank her.”
“Yeah, right,” I said. “Can't do that 'til I get out of here. You hear anything about that?”
“I talked to a doctor on the way in. The one who saw you earlier. You made a real fan there. He said a couple of days, but I could tell he'd like to see it sooner.”
“I'm ready anytime.”
“Another day or two won't hurt.”
I sat there for a second kind of taking in the good news. Then my mind started going again.
“We have the autopsy report.”
“What? How?”
“Judy – Judy Mancini. The gal that called you. She works for Dr. Northrup who did the autopsy. Turns out Northrup is no fan of the local cops. He let her take a copy to give to me.”
“Great. Insurance company may want that. How do we get it?”
“I'll call her when I can and tell her to give it to you.”
“Or I can call her.”
“Let me.”
“How are you doing, by the way?”
“Better. Sore. Head still hurts.” Then something came back to mind. “Listen, something's been bothering me.”
“Like almost getting killed?”
“Funny. No. Hear me. When I was talking to Harris, you know, the agency owner, he told me that I wasn't supposed to get dunned for the balance. I guess they didn't want anything to do with me. They were plenty scared. But he said the bookkeeper, Kucharik's his name, didn't get the memo and dunned me anyway. So I showed up and they had to deal with me.”
“So?”
“So Kucharik survives the shooting by hiding out? When the place gets attacked by guys with shotguns who want to kill everybody?”
“I don't follow.”
“What if the bookkeeper did get the memo? What if he ignored it because he was on the take or something? What if they wanted to get me to the agency so they could take care of everybody who'd been snooping into the Connie thing once and for all?”
“So then how did they miss you?”
“I don't know. Maybe I wasn't there long enough. Maybe the bookkeeper missed the appointment entry. I did reschedule. Maybe they had a flat tire on the way. I dunno.”
“Seems like a stretch.”
“I'm not so sure. That they didn't kill Kucharik tells me different. We need to check him out.”
“I say let the police handle it. I don't see how that's relevant to the insurance.”
I knew Marty was so close to that contingency payment he could taste it. But I was looking for something else.
“There's no insurance if I'm dead,” I reminded him. “And that bookkeeper may know who's trying to kill me. Plus there's somebody driving around in a Ford who still wants to run over me.”
Marty sat there considering the notion. “I don't understand why we just don't let the police handle it. Tell them what you know. It might help them.”
“Let me ask you a question. Who knew I'd be stepping out of a cab at the cop house at four thirty Thursday? Let me tell you – only people in the cop house.”
“Oh,” is all he said.
(back to top)
Chapter Twenty Two
In hindsight, it probably would have been better to stay in the prisoners' ward with a guard posted at the door. As it was, my paranoia just got worse and worse. I stopped with the pain pills, holding them under my tongue until the nurse went away and then spitting them into my hand and hiding them in the food I dare not eat. I didn't let them touch me unless there were a couple of nurses or doctors at the bedside. Worst was I couldn't sleep. I'd doze off because I couldn't help it, but I'd pop my eyes open at the slightest sound or sense of consciousness. The only good thing was that I could get out of bed and go down to the patient lounge and smoke. I did that a lot.
I know all of this sounds as boring as anyone's story about being in the hospital. It's hard to talk about without sounding like some kind of pansy or, worse, a braggart who wants to show you the scar. But the point is I couldn't wait to get out of there.
I called Judy late Monday night from a pay phone in the hall, my first try at remaining upright. She was cool at first wondering why I hadn't called earlier. After I told her about the accident and where I was her tone changed to frantic. How was I? What happened? Had they tried to kill me? You know, what you'd expect from somebody who cared. I told her I really couldn't talk given where I was but that I'd be out in a couple of days and would call or see her then. I told her not to worry. She said Doc Northrup had asked her if I got the autopsy report yet. I told her I'd get it from her as soon as I could.
Marty was good. He stayed in town and dropped in twice Tuesday to bring me food that wouldn't kill me and cigarettes so I wouldn't kill somebody else. The second time he came I pleaded with him to help me sneak out of there, but he wouldn't bring my suitcase up so I could put clothes on and escape. The clothes I'd worn when I got hit were all cut up thanks to the emergency room nurses. Marty promised me a new suit from his dad's store he said he would expense. He went so far as to take the bag of cut up clothes so the new ones could be tailored to match. And he brought me the gym bag. That made me feel better. I didn't tell him the .45 was in it. But maybe he'd looked and knew.
