Razzamatazz (A Crime Novel) (6 page)

A few squawks from Mark's big police radio in the corner distracted Colin for a moment, but then he went on. "So during that silence I hear the guy who goes into Hallock's office say: 'The woman they found in the pool. I killed her.'"

"And what does Hallock say?"

"He tells him to sit down but Kathy starts talking again, telling me this long story about her sister and some boyfriend, and so I don't hear anything else. Besides, I couldn't act like I was listening. Friendly as Kathy is, she's all rules and regulations. Okay. I go out and sit in my car across the street, figuring Hallock's going to come out with this guy in cuffs, take him over to the jail or drive him over to East Hampton jail, but no. Fifteen minutes later this bimbo comes out alone. No cuffs, no nothing. He walks."

"So?"

"So? What do you mean, so? A guy confesses and Hallock lets him walk? I don't get it."

"Colin, obviously the guy didn't do it. Describe him."

"You've got to be kidding."

"Let's hear your powers of observation."

Colin mashed out his cigarette in a large ashtray that said Stork Club on it. He felt like twisting the fucking alligator off Mark's blue shirt. "Okay. He was on the short side, about your height." He knew this would bug Mark, who hated being reminded of his size. "No, maybe a little taller. About five ten, eleven. Medium build. Dark hair, dark beard, scraggly looking. Wearing Levi's, leather belt, work shirt over a brown polo, work boots."

Mark, smiling, said, "Dirty nails?"

"I didn't notice. What is this? Why the stupid grin?"

"You just described a nut case. Jim Drew. Every time anything happens around here, burglary, vandalism, it doesn't matter what, Drew confesses. He's got a guilt complex or something. Didn't I brief you about him?"

"No."

"Sorry, pal. I should have."

"So what you're telling me, Mark, is that he’s one of those guys confesses to murder, but didn't do it."

"You got it."

"Jesus." He flopped down in an easy chair, legs outstretched. "How long's he been doing that, confessing to stuff?"

"Let's see, he came here about three years ago. He wasn't here a month before he made his first confession. A burglary. The paper listed it; then Drew goes into Hallock and confesses. Hallock books him. The next day another guy's caught burglarizing a house and confesses to the first one. Hallock confronts Drew but he sticks to it. So Hallock asks him about a detail only the real burglar could know. Like, 'Will the real burglar please stand up?'" Mark laughed.

Colin didn't.

"Anyway, Drew gets it wrong and Hallock lets him go. He doesn't figure it, until two weeks later Drew comes in to confess about a hit-and-run of a dog that's already been solved. Then Hallock realizes the guy is some kind of wacko. Harmless, but wacko in this area. Vietnam veteran. He runs an antique and junk shop. A loner. Probably he killed some innocent people in Vietnam or something and has this need to confess."

"Spare me the amateur psychology."

Mark shrugged. "You wanted to know, pal."

"Yeah." Colin pushed himself up out of the chair.

"Where're you going?"

"The office. I didn't get to writing the story last night."

"Write it tomorrow. Stay. The Mets and the Phillies are playing this afternoon."

"Maybe I'll come back."

Driving to the office he wondered why the hell he hadn’t just asked Kathy who the sucker was? Slipping? Or was it circumstances? There was no denying that the discovery of the body in Gildersleeve's pool had given him a jolt. And maybe his attraction to Annie Winters had thrown him too. He looked at his watch, wondering when she did her church thing. Then he glanced in his rearview and saw a car close behind. He realized it had been there since he'd left Mark's. The driver was a man but that was all he knew.

Pressing down on the pedal, he watched the car behind him speed up, too. When Colin turned a corner, so did the other car. Obviously he wasn't worried about being spotted. Colin slowed, turned from Fielding into Center, then coasted to the Gazette building, where he stopped. The other car pulled up behind him. Colin waited. The man got out of the car and came up to Colin's window. Colin recognized Phil Nagle, a local insurance broker. He'd met the guy twice and didn't like him much.

Nagle bent, eye level with Colin. "I want to talk to you."

"What about?"

"Gloria Danowski."

LOOKING BACK—25 YEARS AGO

On Saturday May 30, there will be a special dance for teens at the popular American Legion Hall in Seaville. The wonderful Moonflowers will be featured and two other singing and instrumental groups will be on hand: The Divebombers and The Persuaders, featuring vocalist Gary Bell. Dancing will be strictly for teenagers only, from 8 to 11 P.M.

SEVEN

Sundays after church Ruth Cooper always went to her linen store, even though it wasn't open for business. In Seaville they stayed open on Sundays but not in Bay View. Although the towns were adjacent to one another, they couldn't have been more different. As Ruth saw it, Seaville was a working-class town and Bay View was chic, elite. She was proud she lived and worked in Bay View.

The reason she came down to her store on Sundays was because it was quiet and she could review stock, place new orders, and go over the books in peace. During the week it was impossible to get that sort of work done. Too much chattering between the clerks and customers, too much gossiping and fussing. Another reason Ruth liked to come to the store on Sunday was so she could get away from Russ.

Still excited by Annie's suggestion, Ruth put her key in the lock—made in the shape of a heart—let herself in, and locked the door behind her. Blissful quiet. No annoying sounds from a television, and most of all, no annoying hands trying to paw her.

What was wrong with Russ anyway? Married twenty-nine years, and all of a sudden he was chasing her around like she was a dog in heat.

She flipped on a light and pulled down the ruffled pink shade on the door. Looking around she took a deep breath, sighed. Ruth loved the look of the colorful towels stacked on the shelves, the printed sheets, the napkins, tablecloths. And in the center of the room were the decorative doorpulls, soap dishes, toothbrush holders, gold, silver, and porcelain light switches.

She walked down an aisle, let her hand trail across the stacks of Cannon and Fieldcrest towels, thinking maybe Russ was getting senile or something. But that was ridiculous, he was only fifty-six.

They both were. So what was going on, then? He hadn't touched her for eight years and all of a sudden it was sex, sex, sex every minute. Maybe it was all those girls on the television with the big bazooms that were getting him crazy. Whatever, he was getting her crazy. It was so peaceful those eight years, and now he had to start up.

She went down three steps into the back room where she kept curtains and bedspreads, and snapped on another light. Off this room was her office, small but efficient. She opened the door and screamed.

"What are you doing here?" she said, heart knocking against her chest.

The last thing Ruth Cooper saw before he slit her throat was a glint of metal and his smile.

LOOKING BACK
—50 YEARS AGO

The body of Dr. Peter Tuthill, the 68-year-old eccentric "corn doctor," was found on Saturday in a lonely wooded road near Mattituck. The beaten, bullet-ridden body was discovered in his antiquated old coupe. The old doctor was known to carry large sums of money on his person due to his distrust of banks. When found the body was stripped of $10,000 in cash, and the five revolvers which he carried were missing.

EIGHT

Phillip Nagle was a slight, dark man in his late thirties. A pointed nose and chin gave him a pinched look, as if he were in pain. His hair was thin and drifted over his forehead in separate strands. The glasses he wore were the aviator type, rose-tinted. Usually he dressed in finely tailored sports jackets and slacks, but on this day he was in worn jeans and a faded Ralph Lauren polo shirt. On his feet were worn Topsiders with no socks. He had a fairly successful insurance agency and had gotten himself elected to the Village Board the year before. Many people in Seaville called him a sleaze ball behind his back.

Colin sat across from the man, thinking he looked like a murderer and wondering why he'd never seen it before. Nagle hadn't said a word yet, but Colin was sure the guy was here to confess. He offered him a cigarette. Nagle took one with a shaking hand.

Colin settled back in his chair. "So what about Gloria Danowski?"

"This is off the record, right?"

"Right."

"I don't know how to start."

"Did you kill her?"

Nagle's eyes widened behind the glasses. He looked like an owl. "No. Hey, no. That's why I'm here. I don't want anybody thinking I did. I mean ... see ... shit!" He looked at his cigarette as if he didn't know how it had gotten into his hand, and put it in the black ashtray. "Mind if I smoke a joint?"

"Yes."

"Huh?"

"I mind if you smoke a joint."

"How come?"

"I'm an old-fashioned guy. I don't like people smoking joints at my place of business."

"What if I said I wanted a drink? You newspaper guys all drink. You wouldn't care if I wanted a drink, would you?"

"Yes."

"No, you wouldn't, and it's the same thing."

"Did you come here to debate the marijuana-liquor issue or do you want to tell me about Gloria Danowski?"

"Yeah, Gloria," Nagle said, picking up the cigarette.

"Did you know her?"

Nagle nodded. "I was fucking her."

Colin knew Nagle was married and had three kids. "Tell me about it."

Nagle grinned stupidly. "She gave good head."

"Jesus. I didn't mean the sex, Nagle. I don't give a shit about that." Colin pulled at his mustache, worked an end between his fingers. "Tell me what you came in here to tell me, for Christ's sake."

"Okay, okay. I thought you meant---I met her at Southampton College last fall. We were both taking a course in Advanced Accounting—she was thinking about going back to work. Anyway, we, you know, got to talking before and after class. I took her for a drink one night. She was a good-looking broad. Nice jugs."

Colin hated guys who talked about women that way. "Spare me the details, okay?" He wanted to bust Nagle in his weasel face.

"What's the matter, don't you like pussy?"

"I'm losing my patience, Nagle. Maybe you want me to call Chief Hallock, huh?"

"All right, all right." He took a long drag of the cigarette, blew a stream of smoke in front of him. "In the second semester we both pretend we're going to some class, but we don't. We start this thing. Every Tuesday night. I'd meet her in the parking lot, she'd leave her car, we'd go to a motel, fuck our brains out, then I'd take her back to her car. She'd go home, I'd go home. So everything goes along as usual, then about four weeks ago I read in the paper she disappeared. See, it was the night I'd seen her. The last I know I take her back to the car, we say goodnight. That's it. But sooner or later somebody's gonna remember we were real friendly in that class and maybe put two and two together, see?"

"What two and two?"

"That I knew her. That maybe I knew her pretty well. And then they're gonna be on my ass."

"Did you see her drive off that night?"

"No. I saw her get in her car, but I left before she did. They found the car in the lot."

"What do you think happened to her?"

"Beats me."

"Did she ever mention anything to you about somebody hating her or wanting to kill her?"

"No."

"How about her husband?"

"What about him?"

"What'd she say about him?"

"Not much. Just that he was a drag and couldn't get it up."

"Did she ever say that her husband might suspect?"

"No."

"Do you think he did?"

"How should I know?"

"Do you think he killed her?"

Nagle took some time, thinking what he should say. Colin knew the guy was weighing whether or not to put the finger on the husband.

"I don't know," Nagle said.

"Did Gloria ever say that Danowski was violent?"

"No."

"Did she have any other boyfriends?"

"She didn't need any," he gloated.

"But did she have any?"

"No."

"Not that you know of."

"Right."

"How about before you?"

"No. I was the first."

"Are you sure?"

"That's what she said."

"Okay. So what do you want from me?"

He shrugged. "Advice. What do you think I should do?"

"Tell Chief Hallock."

"Are you crazy?"

"That's my advice. Tell him before he tells you. If you're innocent, you have nothing to worry about."

"I'm innocent. But what if it gets out? I mean, I'm telling you this off the record, but I can't keep Hallock from spreading the word. I've got a wife and three kids."

"And you're a member of the board." Colin knew which was more important to Phil Nagle.

"Yeah, that, too."

"You don't have a choice. You have to tell Hallock. If you're innocent, he won't spread it around about you. He's not like that."

"Listen, you've only been in town what, five, six weeks? You don't know what shits people can be."

"Why'd you come to me if there's so much I don't know?"

"I'm beginning to wonder myself. I thought you looked like a decent guy."

When you start getting compliments from a sleaze ball, Colin thought, it's time to worry.

"What are you going to do with what I told you?" Nagle said.

"Nothing. I don't have to. The connections will be made soon enough. Then you'll really look suspicious, Nagle. Can you prove you didn't kill her?"

"Of course not. I thought I was innocent until proven guilty."

"Where'd you hear that?" Colin stubbed out his cigarette, lit another. "And if I remember correctly, you're not exactly a Gildersleeve fan, are you?"

"He's an asshole."

"That's what I mean. If you keep this information to yourself, when they finally get onto you it's going to be more than putting two and two together. More like two and three. Do you think Hallock doesn't know how you feel about Gildersleeve?"