Soft Case (Book 1 of the John Keegan Mystery Series), Page 5

guy. I’d seen him do an interview for one of those biography shows a few years back, and he’d seemed like a down to earth man, the kind I could respect. He wasn’t full of himself, like most corporate guys who made a windfall. But now, he was dead, and it quickly became apparent that his death would make my life more difficult. I didn’t care for that one bit, and I really didn’t care for working with a butt sniffer like Rick Calhill, but these were the cards fate dealt me that evening, and I’d have to play them out to the end. Looked like I’d have to bluff my way with a busted straight.

  “Let’s go,” I said, “No sense in keeping a soon-to-be mourning mother up any later than she has to be.”

  “Yeah, let’s go,” Rick said.

  We said our goodbyes to Siebling and the socially challenged Allison, who barely nodded when we did so. I tried to think that maybe there was a real woman trapped underneath that white coat somewhere, but I came up empty. That’s the way such things go, I suspect.

  The drive to Valley Stream, where Mrs. Mullins lived, took 35 minutes. Rick actually leaned on his new car a bit, doing about 65 the whole way there, which was a lot for him. I sat in the passenger seat, watching the white lines go by, and thought about the fact that I hadn’t had a cigarette in over an hour. Whether Mrs. Mullins liked it or not, I was smoking in her house. Belligerent smokers, yeah I know.

  Valley Stream was a pretty big town, for Long Island. I couldn’t stand the island, or most of the people who lived there. The place was too quiet, and the people talked too much, probably to compensate. I grew up in Queens, which geographically wasn’t much different, but we city people feel real strong about the subtle differences between suburbanites and us. Don’t even try to make a logical argument about how similar we were. Or the fact that Queens was on Long Island, technically.

  Mrs. Mullins’ house was just off Merrick Road, pretty much the main drag through the town. Her house was a big colonial, painted a baby blue, with a screened-in porch and a huge front yard. Rick stopped the car in front of the house, and we sat there for a moment.

  “No lights on,” he said.

  “She’s probably not home.”

  “We’ll see.”

  We walked up to the porch, took our badges out, and I was about to ring the bell, when someone called to us. It was the neighbor to the left. Well, the left if you were facing the house. He was taking out his garbage.

  “You the police?” he asked.

  “Yup,” I replied, flashing him the badge, though from where he was, he might have not been able to see it.

  “She’s not home. Doing a dig in the Andes, if I remember correctly. You’re here about her son, right? Shame.”

  “We just need to speak with her,” Rick said.

  “Real shame. Car accident, huh? Young man.” He shook his head. “You guys doing the investigation?”

  “She leave any way to get into contact with her?” I asked.

  “In the Andes? Not that I know of. You might want to ask her housekeeper. She comes here every morning around eleven. Keeps track of the place.”

  “Got a name?”

  “Roseanna, I think. Nice looking woman too. Like I said, she usually gets here around eleven,” the man said.

  “You see her son around here recently?”

  “Ron? No, he didn’t come around much. What, with his mother always running off to all parts of the world. She’s an archaeologist, you know. Jackie Minkoff. Ever hear of her?”

  “No,” I replied.

  “She’s real famous. Always on A&E,” the man said.

  “What about her husband?”

  “Died over ten years ago.” The neighbor started moving toward his house. “You sure you guys are cops?” Not sure what spooked him, but we cops have that effect on people.

  “As sure as we can be,” I said. I reached into my pocket and grabbed a cigarette.

  The man moved further back when I did this. “Oh, I just thought you would have known about that,” the man said, his voice pitching with suspicion.

  “We don’t know much, yet.”

  Rick whispered in my ear, “You want to officially question him?”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then there’s no reason to. We have more important things to do.” I looked back at the neighbor. “Thank you, sir.” We walked back toward the car.

  “Well, it looks like we’ll have to get a warrant for the house, get a hold of that tape. This way, we can get all the information we need tomorrow when we speak to the housekeeper,” Rick said. That mind of his was always working.

  “Right. So you can take me home and we’ll get started on this first thing in the morning.”

  “Don’t you want to go see Coltrain?”

  “Not especially. Anything he gets isn’t going to change by the morning. I’m a lot easier to deal with when I get a good night’s sleep.”

  “If that’s possible.”

  I went to open the passenger door to the car, and Rick gave me a look. “You’re gonna finish that before you get in, right?” he asked, referring to the smoldering Marlboro dangling from my mouth.

  “For you, anything.” I flicked the cigarette into the street and got into the car. The ride back to the city was quiet, which I enjoyed. I got the feeling that quiet was a luxury I wouldn’t be able to enjoy for a while.

  Three

  Sleep didn’t come too easily that night. The bed felt warm, and a slick layer of sweat formed on my body. The temperature in the room wasn’t too bad, but my mind raced, taking my heart along for the ride. I wanted to get to sleep so I could leap forward to the morning. By then, the media would be all over the situation, most likely camped out in front of the precinct. I didn’t like that, but it excited me. I was about to be thrust into a huge media blitz, make television appearances, and possibly even get a spot on Letterman. Well, at least something like that.

  When I got up, which was about 7AM, my head felt like one huge cloud. I hadn’t rested. The sleep I’d gotten had done more damage than good. I went through the morning procedure of showering, shaving, and getting into the last clean suit I had. It was a brown one, from Macy’s, made of a fairly expensive wool. The shirt I had didn’t go with the suit. It was a white oxford from The Gap, and the tie, a floral pattern my mother gave me years before, only worsened the situation. Still, I looked better than most of the bozos at the station, which didn’t say much, but comforted me nonetheless.

  Rick called after I got dressed, and waited downstairs in a Mercury unmarked car at the corner. He was nice enough to have a black coffee and buttered roll waiting for me when I got into the car. He seemed chipper, a common state for him, only more so that morning, like he’d slept like a baby the night before.

  I hated him for that.

  “Ready to roll?” he asked.

  “As ready as I’m going to be.”

  “Nice suit.”

  “Wiseass.”

  “No, I mean it,” Rick said.

  “Just shut up and drive.”

  We drove toward the station, through the morning traffic and drizzle. It wasn’t cold, maybe around fifty degree, but the air had a dampness to it that ran right through you. I’m not a weather person, meaning that whether it is raining, sunny, or snowing, I am unaffected by what Mother Nature is doing. That day, however, the dreary weather got to me. Probably because I was tired and cranky, and I had Mr. Sunshine sitting next to me. Fun.

  “I spoke to Coltrain late last night,” he said to me.

  “Yeah,” I said. I hate talking in the morning.

  “No sign of a heart attack. No present illnesses. The man was of sound health.”

  “Not surprising. It could still have been an accident of some sort,” I said. I just wanted Rick to shut up.

  “I don’t think you believe that,” Rick said.

  “I don’t believe anything right now.” I didn’t. I only wanted to go back to sleep and pretend I dreamt all of this.

  “I also spok
e with Geiger. He’ll be speaking to the judge first thing, to get that search warrant.”

  “That would help.”

  “You cranky today?” Rick asked.

  “Not especially.”

  Rick rolled his eyes. “This should be fun.”

  “Have you heard anything about the wife, kids?”

  “They were in the Bahamas. I believe they’re flying back today. Early flight, into JFK.”

  “We might want to have a chat with Mrs. Mullins.”

  “I figured that.”

  We got to the station, and my premonition about a media frenzy was dead on. Rick averted them, pulled into the lot, and we entered through the back entrance, where said reporters didn’t think to park themselves. Before we got halfway down the hall, Geiger intercepted us.

  “You two are in for a hell of a day. I’ve already heard from the mayor and several of Mullins’ people, wanting to make sure the case is handled by able men. Oh, and a few Senators called, to express their interest.”

  “How nice of them. Doubt it was anyone I voted for,” I said. “I thought you didn’t vote,” Rick said.

  “Exactly.”

  “I’m working on that warrant, and I want you guys reporting to me every hour on the hour. I want to be able to keep people abreast of what’s going on. Damn shame,” Geiger said.

  “Yeah, really,” I replied.

  We just stood there, almost as if we offered a moment of silence for the deceased. That seemed appropriate. Mullins was a good man. But the silence got to me, as much as I like it when Rick clams up. It was uncomfortable. I fumbled with the change in my pocket.

  “Well, I guess we should get to work, eh?” I said.

  “Probably a good idea.”