Evan Gold entered the Commercial Street Diner and looked for Lt. Abrams, but his mind was on Katherine. Was she safe, and how could he tell her to keep her new necklace under wraps without spooking her and possibly making matters worse?
He caught a wave of Abram’s hand and started to walk back to the booth. It was in a dark corner and off the beaten path – just how Evan preferred his meetings with the police. Evan sat down. The two men exchanged the usual pleasantries and ordered their food.
“What happened to you?” Abrams asked, furrowing his brow and staring at Evan’s cheek.
“Oh, this old thing?” Evan said, touching it lightly. “Occupational hazard. Any news about what caused the fire at the depot?” Evan began, changing the subject.
Abrams sighed and wiped his palm across his forehead, “Heard about that, huh? I guess it’s like the rest of small-town news, spreads faster than the fire itself. Can you believe it? There wasn’t much damage, but it’s not like we need another catastrophe to investigate. We’re short-handed as it is. Still too early to determine the cause, but it looks like arson, the fire chief says. I tell ya, Evan, the whole town’s gone crazy inside a week. But I assume you didn’t call me to talk about the fire.”
“Not exactly,” Evan said, mindlessly straightening his fork and napkin. “Mostly, I just wanted to clear the air between us. Let you know there are no hard feelings. I know you got a job to do. You got orders to follow. But I want you to know I’m not the bad guy.”
Lt. Abrams rested his elbow on the table and clasped his hands together, “You know how it is, Evan,” Abrams began, “fog of war and all that. I know you’re on the up and up. You want to see Gabe’s killer gets justice as much as the next guy.”
“Assuming the next guy didn’t shoot my partner,” Evan said with a small laugh. “What you need to do is cool your partner’s heels. He thinks I did it. And if he doesn’t think that, he’s sending out the wrong signals. If I read the situation correctly, if he was in your shoes, I’m a razor’s thickness from being sent away for killing two men despite there being zero evidence to implicate me, for crying out loud.”
Abrams shook his head and said, “It’s not like that, Evan.”
“It’s not?”
Abrams shook his head and grabbed a sip of water. Something had caught in his throat. “Excuse me. No, we know you didn’t kill Gabe.” Abrams unfolded his napkin and wiped his mouth.
“No? If I didn’t do it, who did?”
“Charles.”
“Charles?” Evan raised his eyebrows.
Abrams nodded and took another sip.
“What makes you so sure?”
“The bullet we found. Unusual caliber. Very rare. 7.62. Fits this Soviet-made pistol – a Nagants semi-automatic. Bellhop says he noticed the gun in Charles’ room the day before. They talked about it some. We picked up the gun from Charles’ room, fired a couple of rounds. Markings matched the slug we pulled out of Gabe’s chest. Seems pretty open and shut.”
Evan sat back a moment and thought. “Never heard of a, what did you say, Nagant?”
“Close enough. Yeah. Russian. Funny, though, I saw one when I was serving in France, if you can believe it. We barracked near the Reds for a time, and an officer showed me his. Maybe Charles got it off a Russki in the war, or the gun traded hands time and again since the war. Strange though. Never seen one in the States. So, maybe I’m lucky to have seen two in my lifetime.
“I didn’t know you served, Steve,” Evan said.
Abrams waved his hand to dismiss the subject. “I was drafted late. Don’t like to talk about it much. There’s a lot of ugly people do to each other.”
Evan nodded slowly, then, “So if Charles killed Gabe, that means I could only have killed Charles. At least my odds are improving. I’d only have to serve one death sentence.”
Abrams sighed again, “Don’t be that way, Evan. This isn’t a joke.”
“I couldn’t agree more. I’m just trying to keep a clear view of the situation so I can stay a couple steps ahead of my trip to the gallows.”
The waitress brought their food, and the two men stopped talking for a second. Once they were alone again, Abrams took a bite of his sandwich, and Evan asked, “So, I ran into Harold Huber after he spent the night with you guys. Seemed like you gave him the once over. Were you able to get anything useful out of him?”
Abrams shook his head and took another sip of water. “No. Waste of time. We didn’t get one thing out of him. It was clear he’d been through questioning before.”
“Really?” Evan asked with a mouthful of food, “I would have thought you have a guy for, what was it, six or seven hours, you would have gotten something.”
Abrams looked strangely at Evan, “I wish we’d had him that long. No, we didn’t keep him that long. Maybe an hour. It was like squeezing a turnip. We figured we’d do better cutting him loose and see if he got into any more mischief.”
Evan returned the strange look and continued to eat. For the rest of the lunch, the two men talked shop, but Evan’s mind was churning on where Huber had been all night.
The rest of the lunch proceeded pleasantly enough. Before leaving, Evan encouraged Abrams to look more into what was going on at the depot. He wasn’t sure if the fire had anything to do with anything, but it certainly looked suspicious to him. Abrams thanked him for the tip.
Once on the street, Evan looked at his watch. If he worked it right, he had time to swing by the depot and do a little nosing around before Abrams could get to it. It would be tight, but he thought he could get it done before meeting at City Hall with the District Attorney.
From the depot, Evan took a back-alley route to the seat of Athens’ government. Then, up a flight of stairs to the DA’s office, and he congratulated himself that he still had five minutes to spare and made himself comfortable in the receptionist area. Two large portraits – President Kennedy and Governor Anderson – stared down at him. He picked up a magazine and began to flip through the pages. Eventually, the receptionist ushered him into the inner office.
The office was as opulent as Evan’s was sparse. Evan eyed the polished wood-paneled walls, the fancy art and diplomas adorning the place, and the stuffed leather furniture. Quite the style for a town that claimed to be for the working. He didn’t know how the bureaucrats spent the taxpayer’s money, and he didn’t care. But there was something in the theatrics of this meeting Evan didn’t like.
“Evan Gold,” the DA’s authoritative voice came booming at Evan, “good to see you again. It’s been a while.” The big man stood and shook Evan’s hand. Evan felt the DA’s hand was rough and used to hard work. It was like gripping a rock. Not the standard grip of a career pencil-pusher. The hand also almost swallowed Evan’s in its grasp. Evan wondered what all the intimidation was for; the plush office, the “just one of the guys” greeting. “Sorry about your partner,” the DA said, looking Evan in the eye, “he was a good detective.”
Evan couldn’t imagine the DA and Gabe had ever met. “He did his job,” Evan said.
“An honorable epitaph if ever there was one.” The DA returned to the navy wingback behind his walnut desk. He motioned for Evan to take a seat. “Who did that to your face?”
“How can I help you, Marty?” Evan asked. He was tired of talking about his wound. The DA shrugged and then held up a finger with one hand and pressed a button on his desk with the other. A moment later, a side door in the office opened, and a court reporter entered with her stenotype machine. She took meticulous time setting up her stand and carefully placing the device on it. She smiled at Evan as she tucked a pencil behind her right ear and rested her half-glasses on her nose.
A moment later, the Deputy DA entered with quiet seriousness. He neither smiled at Evan nor shook his hand. He unbuttoned his coat and sat in a corner chair by the DA’s desk. Now all eyes were on Evan, and he wasn’t certain someone wasn’t about to come up behind him to whisk him away to who-knows-where for a very long time. He once again thought of Katherine and what she would think of him if he suddenly went missing. The rhythm of his pulse became more pronounced with each passing moment.
Evan, not wanting to look like he felt, shifted his weight, crossed his legs, and looked at the DA out of the corner of his eye. “What gives?”
“Nothing gives,” the DA said with open hands, “we both want the same thing. I think you know some facts that would be helpful, and I want you to tell me.”
“Like what?” Evan asked.
“Like who killed Jason Charles.”
Evan laughed.
“That’s funny to you?”
“Yes,” Evan said, “because I could have answered that over the phone. But now you’ve brought me down here, and you’re recording everything I’m saying. I think you want to know more than who I think killed Jason Charles.”
“Humor me,” the DA said.
Evan spread his arms wide, “I have no idea who killed him.”
The DA leaned back in his chair, and Evan heard the springs creak. “Yeah, but I bet you could make a fairly educated guess, couldn’t you?”
“I think I could, Marty. But I won’t.”
“Why is that?”
“Because, last I checked,” Evan looked at the Deputy staring holes in him, “the educated guesses of a private detective doesn’t account for much in a court of law.”
The DA chewed his cheek and said, “If I tell Vicki to leave, would that help?” The court reporter looked at her boss and stopped typing.
Evan looked over at her, nodded, and said, “How are you?” Then back to the DA, “No, she can stay. That’s not going to change what I or what I won’t tell you.”
The reporter looked back at the DA, who gave her a curt nod, and she commenced typing again.
“But while we are entertaining theories, Marty, what do you think happened?” Evan asked.
“I like a good dancing partner as much as the next guy, Evan, so how about this: you tell me who Silver was shadowing that night, and I’ll tell you who killed Charles.”
Evan laughed again and shook his head, “You must think I’m as much a chump as Lt. Short does. I’m not about to fall for an amateur trap like that.”
“Fine, but I’ll bet all the contents of your pockets that whatever Silver’s assignment was is a pretty good clue as to who killed Charles.”
Evan instinctively felt his and was reminded that the pearl was now in Katherines’ possession. Hopefully, he hadn’t just tipped anyone off that he might know where it was. Evan cleared his throat. “What else do you got?”
“Alright,” sighed the DA, “here’s what I’m after. There’s this numbers guy up in Kansas City, goes by the name Jimmy Carrollo. You heard of him?”
“Name sounds familiar.”
“Word has it Charles used to work for Carrollo, sometimes ran errands, sometimes a body man. Charles was small-time and not advancing very fast in his chosen profession, if you get my gist. Last I knew, Carrollo had been run out of Missouri and had set up shop in Colorado. But now, recently, I’ve been getting reports Carrollo is getting active again in these parts. Getting his head above the sand. Maybe he decided to visit his old employee.”
Evan shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe he did? Sounds like this Carrollo character is a bit too big for my taste. I’ve never been much in for big fish. I prefer the local issues. Leave the big stuff to professionals like yourself.”
“I heard that’s why you left the force,” the DA said.
“One hears a lot of things.”
“No ambition. No vision for the future.”
“Maybe,” Evan said. “Maybe I never told anyone my reasons. But I don’t appreciate what you’re insinuating.”
“And what is that?” the DA asked.
“That I’m a coward, or that I’m corrupt,” Evan’s neck started to get red.
“I’m not insinuating anything. I just want to catch the bad guys, however big they are.”
Evan didn’t say anything.
Ignoring Evan’s silence, the DA continued, “So my theories are: Charles caught a bullet from someone working for Carrollo. Maybe Charles ratted out some guys to make a name for himself in Colorado. Maybe there was some retribution.”
“Maybe,” Evan said, “but I have another theory.”
The DA leaned in, “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“What?”
“Charles died of old age.”
The DA slammed his palm down on his desk, pushed his chair back, and stood. For a moment, the DA looked like he wanted to say something to Evan, but the words escaped him. He, instead, turned to look out his window. The Deputy crept to the edge of his chair. Evan tried to still his breathing. The DA whirled around and thrust a finger at Evan, “You know stuff, Gold. We know each other, and I know how you munch and munch and munch around the edges. Like an ant on a potato chip. Munch, munch, munch. And with every little bite you take, every fact you wheedle out of someone, you get closer to the center. You know as much or more than we do, and you owe it to your community to help us narrow down which theory it is!”
“And I’m telling you,” Evan said, getting his feet under him in case he suddenly needed to defend himself, “you can’t use my information in a court of law.”
“I want this case closed!”
“Don’t we all?” Evan barked. The DA stared back for a few seconds before breaking away and looking out the window again. “Let me tell you what else I know. I know you’re in a bad way with your landlord… the bank…” The DA looked over his shoulder at Evan, “If I promised you immunity from them… without bankruptcy… would you talk then?”
“I’m not looking for deals. I’m not looking for protection. I can handle my own problems. What I do have is a client whose interests I represent. I cannot divulge sensitive information to you or anyone that may or may not get my client into trouble. And,” he looked over to the reporter, “make sure you get this down, sweetie,” he turned back to the DA, “I will not accept a bribe just make things easier for you, me, or anyone else!”
The DA smiled, “If nothing else, you’ve learned the language enough to slide through any barricade I can construct, haven’t you?”
“Look, the only way you get me to squawk on my client and rat them out is if the court demands it.” Evan sat back, folded his hands across his middle, and smiled, “It’s nothing personal.”
“It never is,” the DA said.
“Listen, Marty,” Evan said, changing his tone, “I think I can bring in the bad guys. I think I’m close to something, but I don’t know what it is. If you can get the boys in blue to back off a little, I might be able to work a little faster. Lt. Short has made it clear as your window there that I’m suspect number one. The only way I can clear my name is if I bring the murderer or murderers in on my own. You guys do it, and I’m still a suspect. I’m fairly certain that’s part of how this game goes. The problem I keep running into is that the police here are acting like police do – like a fully loaded tank – when what is needed is a surgeon’s scalpel. I’m closer to this than you are, and as you said, I have something to lose if this all bottoms out. Get your men out of my way. They’re clumsy, and they’re making a mess.”
“You know I can revoke your license?” the DA threatened.
“First bribes, now threats?” Evan shot back.
For several seconds no one said a word. The only sound was the light clicking from the stenotype machine until the reporter had caught up.
Evan rubbed his thighs before standing. “Thanks for bringing me down here, Marty. I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure. You want to chat with me about this again, don’t. I don’t do well with informal chats like this,” Evan said, indicating the reporter and deputy. “If you want to talk with me, subpoena me. Otherwise, let me do what I do.”
Evan made his way to the office door and let himself out.
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