Witch House (35 page)

“Where does this leave us?” Carlos asked.

“Right where we started,” Dominic answered,
“with a boatload of suspects and no real evidence. Guess this gun
in the trunk idea of mine was no help.”

“Not necessarily.” I put my foot up on the
bumper of the car and glanced into the trunk. “We may not know who
pulled the trigger on Landau, but we know that not everyone pulled
the trigger. That is to say, three people came here tonight and
told us that someone else killed Landau. At least two of them were
telling the truth.”

“And possibly all three.”

“That’s right, possibly all three. So, how do
we narrow it down?”

Dominic said, “We give them a lie detector
test.”

“No, we can’t make them do that.”

“We can make them want to,” said Carlos.

“How do you mean?”

“We tell each of them that the person they
were trying to protect has implicated him as the killer. Whoever is
innocent will want to take a polygraph to prove it.”

“I like it, but you know what that means,
don’t you?”

“It means that we have to do it tonight
before they all throw bail.”

I checked my watch. “It’s too soon to go now.
We need to give it time to make it look like we had time to
question Mochohyett, Tarkowski and Stiles.”

Carlos smiled, clapped his hands clean and
rubbed them along his belly. “Great!” he said. I knew what was
coming next. “Let’s go to breakfast.”

I looked at him in mild disbelief. “You just
ate pizza like four hours ago.”

“I know. I’m starving.”

I took a breath and let it out with a sigh,
wondering why I bother. “You buying?”

His face grew tart. “No. It’s Dominic’s
turn.”

“Mine?” Dominic pointed at the busted lock on
his trunk. “Who’s going to pay for this? You?”

“Me? I don’t think so. It was your idea to
plant a decoy in your trunk.”

“Tony?”

“Dominic, don’t worry. The department will
cover that.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“Oh. Okay.” He turned his palms up empty. “I
guess breakfast is on me then. Let me run in the house and get my
wallet.”

He sprinted off, and after he was gone,
Carlos turned to me and asked, “Is the department really going to
pay to repair his trunk lock?”

I shook my head. “Probably not. You gonna
tell him?”

“Not before he pays for breakfast.”

“All right then.” I plunged my hands into my
coat pockets. It had grown considerably colder as the night drew
on. A cup of coffee and a warm Danish was sounding mighty good
about then. I smiled back at Carlos and said simply, “Bon
appétit.”

Dominic’s idea to polygraph the three
suspects we busted in the stakeout was a good one. Unfortunately,
all three were too smart to fall for it. By nine o’clock that
morning, all had seen a judge and made bail for their freedom.
Still, as we sat up in the detective’s break room, drinking coffee
and reviewing where we stood in the case, we concluded that the
night was not a total waste.

We knew that all three of our suspects met
with Landau at Pete’s Place on the night of his murder. That lent
substantial weight in implicating their culpability. Two of them,
Kemper and DeAngelo, admitted they had seen Spinelli on the six
o’clock news that night. In that interview, the news footage showed
the gun, which we claimed was used to kill René Landau. It seemed
reasonable that Kemper or DeAngelo would have recognized that we
did not possess the real murder weapon if either had committed the
crime. Since they did not, we felt certain that neither killed
Landau. For that reason, we took solace in knowing that our
sleepless night had not passed in vain.

“What I want to know,” Carlos asked, “is
seeing how both Kemper and DeAngelo thought they were protecting
Tarkowski and Stiles, does that make it more or less likely that
Tarkowski or Stiles killed Landau?”

Dominic said, “Seeing how Tarkowski and
Stiles were about to leave town in a hurry yesterday, you can’t
help wonder if both killed Landau. She could have lured him outside
the bar into the alley and he could have whacked him.”

Carlos countered, “What about Powell? Isn’t
it possible he killed Landau, pitched the gun into a Dumpster or a
sewer and then went back to work that night? If he believed that we
found the gun, he would have come back for it like he did.”

“No, not Powell,” I said. “He’s a veteran.
Two things strike an odd chord with me about that. First, if he
used a gun that he intended to dispose of afterward, he would make
certain it was untraceable and that his prints were not on it.
Secondly, he knows how we work. He would not get rid of it at the
crime scene. He might toss it off the Jefferson Street Bridge into
the river, but nothing so sloppy as to trash it in a nearby
dumpster or the sewer, not unless he wanted us to find it.”

“Maybe he did want us to find it.”

“But we didn’t find it.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know that.”

“No, that makes no sense. If he wanted us to
find it, why would he try to come back and get it?”

“Oh, yeah. I see your point.”

“And besides, if he hid it somewhere, don’t
you think he would first go back to where he left it to look for it
and make sure we found it before trucking off to Spinelli’s in the
middle of the night?”

“I said I see your point. So, you think he is
telling the truth.”

“I do. I believe he wanted to get the gun
back for Mochohyett, maybe get some debts forgiven.”

“No,” said Dominic, shaking his head. “I
don’t think so. Mochohyett’s boys are professionals. They know
better than to pitch a gun just any old where after a hit. Powell
knows that, too. He wasn’t looking to get it for Mochohyett. I
think he saw the eleven o’clock news, maybe even heard that the gun
was a police special .38, the kind he used to kill Landau, and
that’s why he tried to get it back.”

I acknowledged his theory respectfully. It
was, after all, as good a guess as any to explain why Powell wanted
to get the gun back. Frankly, my suspicions ran stronger toward
placing Tarkowski and Stiles within our sights. In any case, it
seemed clear that everyone, including our suspects, had an opinion,
if not a stake in the matter.

My frustrations were beginning to peak, when
one of the lab technicians from downstairs showed up with a small
manila envelope for Dominic. As Carlos and I looked on, Dominic
took the envelope, tapped its contents down to one end and tore
open the other. After reading what was inside, he put it down and
said, “It’s the DNA report on the bones we found in Johnny Buck’s
grave.”

“And?”

He smiled. “They’re a match for John
Davis.”

“I knew it!” said Carlos. “I knew it! Johnny
Buck is still alive. It explains everything.”

“Not necessarily,” I said. “It could have
been a mix up at the funeral home. Davis died from a shotgun blast
to the face. Both his and Johnny Buck’s funeral would have been
closed casket. Maybe the funeral director got the caskets mixed up.
I mean, who would have known?”

“So, what do we do?”

“We get another warrant,” said Dominic. “And
this time we don’t need Mrs. Davis’ permission to find out who is
in John Davis’ grave.”

“Then do it,” I said, delivering a
congratulatory slap on his back. “Let us know when you have
it.”

“Wait a minute. What are you guys going to
do?”

I looked at Dominic, and then at Carlos,
before lifting my arm, putting my nose to my shoulder and taking a
whiff. “I don’t know about you two.” I dropped my arm and wrinkled
my nose. “I’m going home to shower. One of us smells just a bit
ripe. It wouldn’t be fair to open Davis’ coffin and find out that
he smells better than we do.”

As I turned to walk away, I saw Carlos and
Dominic’s reflection in the glass door. Both were lifting their
arms and checking their funk. I turned around again to wave
goodbye. They dropped their arms quickly and smiled guilty grins. I
smiled back, knowing that their hygienic failings would feed a
self-conscious paranoia and lead them to the showers downstairs. At
the very least, I hoped that Carlos would brush his teeth and wash
the Peanut butter and coffee from his breath.

Back at the apartment, I caught the girls
setting up for an unusual early morning ritual. They were
collecting candles from around the house and arranging them in a
pyramid of sorts in the center of the room. The idea is to light
them in ascending order from bottom to top using just one match,
all the while evoking the spirits of witches past to guide them in
their daily tasks. Apparently, this morning they were running late,
as Ursula was still in her nightgown and Lilith in her black
panties and bra. I said hello on my way through the living room,
and again on my trek from the bedroom to the bathroom after
gathering up a change of clothes. Neither acknowledged me.

I turned the shower on in the bath and let
the water run hot while I stripped down to my birthday suit. That
is when I noticed the candle on the back of the toilet tank. I
glanced up at the doorknob, then to the candle and back at the
knob. It was unlocked. I reached for it, but too late. Ursula
pushed the door open and gasped upon seeing me standing there,
exposed and, well—hanging freely. I froze in mid-reach of the
candle, and for a moment so did she, her startled gaze ricocheting
from my face to my drafty parts and back again; stalling, it
seemed, for much longer intervals on the areas lower than my
bellybutton.

“Master Tony,” she said, her voice nervously
high and pitchy. “Thou art home. `Tis with stealth and sly that you
gained entrance before us.”

“No,” I said. “I walked right by you twice
and said hello. You didn’t see me?”

“Methinks not.” She put her hand to her lips
and giggled. “But surely I see thee now.”

“What’s going on?” This from Lilith, checking
Ursula to one side and inserting herself into the doorway. “Tony,
you’re naked!”

“I know that, Lilith. Now would you two
please get lost and let me shower in peace?”

She elbowed Ursula in the side and pointed at
my privates. “See what I mean, Urs? I told you. That’s what you’ve
been missing.”

They gazed with guilty smirks. “Yes, sister,”
said Ursula. “`Tis true your words, and I imagined nothing less.
What doth come thy way doth come by blessings, does it not?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you how it comes, girl.”

“What say you, sister, may I touch it?”

“Sure, go ahead. It won’t bite.”

“No, you will not touch it!” I said, grabbing
a towel off the hook and holding it against me. “You will get your
damn candle and get the hell out of here, now!”

Lilith stepped forward and snatched the
candle off the back of the toilet. “Come, Urs. I’ll tell you what
guys do with that thing when they think no one’s watching.”

“Oh, splendid, sister, and do tell if ye
thinks Master Dominic hast by chance what Master Tony doth by mine
own sight.”

“Dominic? No, sorry girl. Methinks you should
set your expectations a wee bit lower for that puppy.”

“Puppy?”

“We’ll talk.”

I shut the door and locked it, but that did
not stop one of the pranksters from slipping back into the bathroom
while I was in the shower. I saw it after I got out, the words,
Nice Puppy
, written in the steam on the mirror. The funny
thing was that the letters were in Old English. If I needed another
reason for wanting a bigger house with another bathroom, I could
not think of one.

After my shower, I dressed and met up with
the girls out in the kitchen. They had completed their ritual with
the candles, and that the smoke from them did not set off the fire
alarm amazed me. Lilith was dressed now in blue jeans, button down
shirt opened to her navel and casual heels. Ursula, perhaps taking
her cue from Lilith on modern day fashion, dressed similarly,
except that for her, button down meant buttoned up all the way to
the collar. They gave each other a coy look at my expense the
moment I walked into the room, but I am used to that by now. I
ignored them, made my way to the coffee maker and poured myself a
cup.

“Lilith?” I said, returning to the table with
my coffee and sitting down between them. “Let me ask you something.
The other night at the séance, did you get the feeling that that
spirit was someone other than Johnny Buck?”

She sipped her tea before setting the cup
down thoughtfully. “How do you mean?”

“I mean did you get the feeling it was
someone else and not Johnny Buck?”

She shook her head. “No, but that does not
mean it wasn’t. Spirits are clever little hoaxers. They thrill in
screwing with the minds of mortals.”

“It is possible that Johnny Buck is still
alive somewhere?”

“Sure, he’s probably hanging out with Elvis,
Marilyn and Kurt Cobain.”

“Who?”

“Forget it. What’s this about, anyway?”

“We exhumed Johnny Buck’s grave
yesterday.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he wasn’t in it.”

Ursula asked, “Who was, pray tell?”

“A guy named Davis,” I said. “He drove the
armored truck that Buck and Landau robbed. Johnny Buck shot him in
the face.”

“`Tis why he won’t show it, this spirit
ghost.”

Lilith said, “You may be right, Urs. Spirits
that want you to know who they are usually find a way to show
themselves.”

“Then you think it wasn’t Johnny Buck that we
saw at the séance?”

Lilith picked up her tea, drank it down in a
single gulp, swished the sediments around at the bottom of the cup
and studied them closely. “Yes. I see it now,” she said, handing
the cup over to Ursula. “You see that, Urs?”

Ursula examined the contents lying at the
bottom and nodded in concurrence. “Yes Sister, I see it now.” She
handed the cup back to Lilith. “`Tis with disappointment that I
must accept what my heart doth know.”