Requiem for Moses (33 page)

“There’s always a first time.”

“You think?”

“What if that’s their plan? They want to get Lacki alone in the station. I already checked with the guy whose place Lacki took. He was called out of town in a hurry after he got a message that there was illness in his family. The illness turned out to be nonexistent. But that puts Lacki in the garage alone. Then Billy Bob’s people bring in two cars late in the day to make sure the hoists are filled and Lacki will have to use the jack.”

“So, a conspiracy! Sounds good. But why?”

“At this point, and with no good reason, I’d say it’s got something to do with the Moe Green case … but I don’t know what.”

There was a long pause while Tully seemed to be listening to someone else. “I think we got your connection,” Tully said finally. “They just found Claire McNern dead.”

“No! God, no! When? Where?”

“Within the past hour. In her apartment.”

“I drove her home from the station.”

“Mangiapane told me.”

“I can’t believe it. I asked if she wanted me to go in with her, but she said no. So I sat and waited till she was inside her building.”

“Initial report says it was suicide.”

“Yeah,” Lennon said bitterly, “just like Lacki was an accident!”

“You took her home, so you know where she lives.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

By the time Lennon, Tully, and Mangiapane arrived in separate cars, the media was gathering. There were more than a few gripes when Lennon walked past them and disappeared inside with Tully. They all knew Lennon had a beat on this story. But seeing her handed another lead on a silver platter rankled. “She’s a material witness,” Mangiapane said over his shoulder as he passed through the journalists.

The police technicians were at work on their various specialties. One officer had been collating the information as the investigation continued. “Whaddya got so far?” Tully asked.

“So far, it looks like suicide.”

“Give it to me from the top.”

The officer consulted his notes throughout. “The couple downstairs heard a shot—or so they guessed—at about seven this morning.”

“Did they check it out?”

The officer shook his head. “It wasn’t their problem. And it wasn’t going to become their problem as long as they stayed out of it.”

“Ummm.”

“It was the manager of the station her fiancé worked for who found her. Seems he brought her car to her—it was being repaired. He knocked at the door—says he wanted to make sure she was all right and to give her the car keys.”

“Did he touch anything?”

“Fortunately, no. But he told us how her boyfriend had been killed earlier this morning. And how they were going to get married. That plus no trace of anything else, plus the gun in her hand added up to suicide. She was real depressed—understandable, I guess.”

“When I interviewed her, I noticed she was left-handed,” Lennon observed thoughtfully.

“Huh …” Tully looked more carefully. “She’s holding the gun in her right hand.”

“Zoo,” Mangiapane called from the doorway, “this is Mrs. Bartholomew. She’s one of the neighbors. This is Lieutenant Tully, ma’am. Tell him what you saw, please.”

“A man. He must have jumped from this window up here. I heard the gunshot and I looked out the window. I was in the kitchen starting breakfast.”

“Did he injure or hurt himself when he landed on the ground?” Tully asked.

“I don’t think so. He kind of rolled when he hit the ground. Then he got up and ran away. He didn’t limp or anything like that.”

“Thanks very much, Mrs. Bartholomew,” Tully said. “Now please go with Sergeant Mangiapane. He’ll take your statement.”

“But I just told you—”

“For the record. You understand.”

“Not really.”

“Manj …”

The sergeant took her arm, in a helpful manner. “Ma’am, would you come this way, please ….”

Lennon’s role as a material witness was over. Neither she nor Tully wished to compromise a mutually beneficial relationship. So, after a few more words with Tully, she left and joined her fellow journalists behind the police line.

Mangiapane returned to Tully. Another officer was recording Mrs. Bartholomew’s statement. “She got a pretty good look at him, Zoo. She thinks she’d recognize him if she saw him again. So Ted’s gonna take her to look at some mug shots. She’s not too happy about that. But she’ll go.”

Tully, contemplating the floor, nodded. “In my gut, it’s as clear as can be. It’s a big jump—but … I think Doc Green set this up. Somehow he got a contract out on McNern and Lacki. And, if he did, he probably included his two children and the other guy, Cameron.

“Manj, get in touch with those three. Tell them what’s happened. Suggest they get some protection—at least until we break this.”

“Sure thing, Zoo.”

To no one in particular, Tully said, “I’d give a lot to toss Green’s apartment. There’s gotta be something in there that would tie him to these deaths. But … we haven’t got enough. We can’t ask for a warrant on a hunch. And we haven’t got any hard evidence.”

Sergeant Angie Moore approached Tully just as he was concluding his soliloquy. “The good guys are winning some.”

“What’s that?” Tully was eager.

“The GOB Company. Some of our guys got looking into that. They rousted several of Higbie’s hangouts. One of the girls—a longtime member of the gang—was pretty pissed off because a younger gal—a recent member—got to pull off a hit. And, as far as anyone could remember, it was the first hit ever pulled off by the gang. They say it was the first contract killing Billy Bob ever accepted.

“Anyway, the two gals were at each other’s throats and running off at the mouth. As a result, we have in custody the perp of the Lacki murder, the perp of the McNern killing, a bunch of gang members, some mad at us, almost all mad at each other, and …” She paused to give Tully the benefit of her dramatic conclusion, “… Billy Bob Higbie himself.”

“Anybody tie the doc into issuing the contract?”

“No … not yet, anyway.”

Even though this spreading web had not yet engulfed Dr. Moses Green—in Tully’s opinion the prime mover—they were getting close. The ice under Green’s feet was getting thinner by the minute.

Meantime, the Good Old Boys network was coming apart. Tully expected great things from the women, who were angry at or envious of each other. Just take the caliber of woman who would join a gang like Billy Bob’s and get a couple of them at each other’s throats and watch the Good Old Boys fragment.

Higbie was in over his head. Drugs, prostitution, protection rackets—crimes such as these Higbie could handle; indeed, he was skilled at them. But homicide was something else, particularly for the neophyte. Almost no other crime held so many pitfalls. At every turn was the chance of making mistakes—mistakes that could return to haunt—and trip up.

If Tully was right—and his gut told him he was—the linchpin— Moses Green—was still not in the bag. And Tully knew he didn’t have enough cause for a search warrant.

Someone giving a good imitation of a disheveled bum walked casually into the crime scene. Tully had worked with Tim Fisher years ago in Vice. While Tully had moved on to Homicide, Fisher had stayed with Vice, refining a technique that continued to improve over the years.

“Word on the street is you’re looking for the guy who put out a contract on a couple of people.” Fisher looked around the room and focused on the dead woman. “This looks like maybe one of ’em. But what’s she doing with the gun? Suicide?”

“That’s what the guy who did it wants us to think.”

Fisher shook his head. “The Higbie bunch. The gang that couldn’t shoot straight.”

“Yeah. You got something?”

“Maybe. I got a snitch—very reliable—who says the doc who’s been in the paper and on TV all the time lately—he’s the guy who put out the contract.”

Tully was elated. “Will you go down and help us get a warrant? I really need this.”

“Hey, why the hell do you think I bothered looking you up if I wasn’t gonna do right by you? Sure, we’ll get your warrant.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

Mangiapane approached, looking positively beatific. “Zoo, one of our guys just got this from dispatch. Doc Green died—just a little while ago. A blue-and-white responded. They report the guy definitely is dead. They wanted to know does Homicide want to take a look?”

“Does a politician kiss babies? Let’s go!”

As he turned, Tully added, “Just so there’s no loose ends call Father Koesler. He’s been in this from the beginning—before we even got into it. Ask him to meet us at the Greens’ apartment.”

En route downtown, Mangiapane asked to be patched through to Koesler. “Father? Father Koesler?”

“Yes.”

“Sergeant Mangiapane here. Lieutenant Tully wants you to meet us at Dr. Green’s apartment right away. Can you make it?”

“Yes, I think so. What’s up?”

“Dr. Green died.”

“Again?”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

At the Green apartment when Tully and Mangiapane arrived were Father Koesler, David Green, Dr. Garnet Fox, Judith Green and her fiancé, Bill Gray. Introductions were unnecessary.

Green’s son and daughter, as well as Gray, appeared to be exhausted. And little wonder: A great deal had happened in less than a week.

Fox was packing instruments into a black bag. He looked up and smiled as the two officers entered. “This is, indeed, an occasion to be remembered. Seldom does a Homicide lieutenant make a routine call like this. Overkill?”

“With Dr. Green,” Tully responded, “maybe overkill is impossible. What is it, Doc?”

“Well,” Fox said, “it is for certain that Moses Green has expired.”

“All the bases were touched this time,” Bill Gray explained. “About an hour ago, Margie called Dave, and he got in touch with us. Margie sounded like she was on her last legs. So we told her we’d take over.”

“We called Dr. Fox,” Dave continued. “Then we called the police. I guess they got in touch with you, Lieutenant.”

Tully nodded. “I assume Mrs. Green is resting.”

“I gave her something to help her sleep. She’s in her bedroom”

“And the doctor?”

“In the next room,” Fox said. “I’ll take you in.” He led Tully, Mangiapane, and Koesler into a guest room that had been converted into a replica of a hospital room.

On the bed, with a white sheet covering all but his head, was Moses Green. He certainly seemed dead. But, then, everyone had been through that before.

They stood at the bedside. No one spoke.

Tully could not help thinking of Green’s effect on so many people. He’d done his best—or worst—to ruin the lives of at least six people, counting his wife. And, in all probability, he was responsible for the deaths of two innocent people.

There were, perhaps, few people of whom it could be said that the world was a better place without them. Dr. Moses Green was such a person.

“So what do you think, Doctor?” Tully asked.

“Overdose,” Fox said definitively.

“What?”

“Morphine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Pretty certain. I’ve talked with your Inspector … Koznicki, is it? He has requested an immediate autopsy. And Dr. Moellmann has agreed. But they’ll find that it was morphine.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“The signs correspond. But, mostly, I gave him a prescription for a month’s supply when I saw him last Tuesday. It’s gone. Totally used up.”

“Didn’t you say after last Monday’s apparent death that Green told you he didn’t want to live like this?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you give him a month’s supply of morphine?”

“The doctor was in excruciating pain, man! Morphine could alleviate that pain. Good God, if he was determined to commit suicide, there are so many ways. And, as a physician, he would know them all.”

“And last Monday?” Tully pressed. “What was it last Monday? More morphine?”

Fox hesitated. “We’ll never know for certain. There are those who do not … will not … dismiss the possibility of a miracle.”

Tully snorted. “Come on, Doc. You’re the closest thing to a scientist we’ve got in this room. You don’t mean to tell me that you believe in miracles!”

“Oh, but I do, Lieutenant. You should read some of the studies done about the curative power of prayer. Blind studies and experiments!

“But, to be frank, I suspect last Monday’s episode was another overdose, possibly with morphine. I don’t know and I will never know.” Fox shook his head regretfully. “I didn’t examine him. But if it was an overdose earlier this week, it proved insufficient to cause death. But, under this hypothesis, it was sufficient to cause a coma.”

After a moment of thought, Fox looked at Father Koesler. “How about you, Father? Your opinion on a miracle the first time around?”

“What?” Koesler’s thoughts had been miles away. Much of his consciousness was absorbed in prayer. Mostly, he prayed that God, in just but merciful judgment, might find in Moses Green’s life some redeeming feature. It seemed that only God could.

Dr. Fox’s question brought him back to the moment. “A miracle? Oh, I don’t think so,” Koesler said. “From the beginning, those who thought Dr. Green’s ‘return to life’ was a miracle bore the burden of proof. I don’t know what happened to the doctor last Monday, but no one has come close to demonstrating that it was a miracle.”

A sudden commotion in the adjoining room invited their attention. Tully led the way back to the living room, where they found Sergeant Angie Moore and a group of police technicians. Since David Green seemed to be the ranking family representative, Moore served him the warrant.

“What’s this? Your being here isn’t enough? You got to have a warrant too?” David was not happy.

“This is an investigation into the cause of death,” Tully said. “This time we want no slipups on anybody’s part.” To the gathered technicians, he said, “Make sure you dust the container for the morphine. And find Green’s checkbook.”

With a half smile, David said, “About the pills, I think you’ll find everybody’s prints on that bottle.”

“What?”

“When we got here, Mother was distraught. She showed us the bottle. And when she suggested that Father must’ve taken all the pills, we all checked the container. So you should find the prints of Father, Mother, Judy, Bill, and me … that’s if you get any clear prints after so many of us handled it. Sorry. But we weren’t thinking very clearly. Anyway, it seemed so obvious that Dad had finally ended it all that we didn’t give any thought to the fact that we were mucking about with evidence.”