A Simple Suburban Murder (24 page)

I told them everything. They wrote busily as I spoke. At one point Frank placed a call to the station giving them the access code to the disc. I felt a twinge of guilt in breaking my promise to Sylvester and Armstrong when I told him the code. But the explanation made no sense without it. Still, I didn't reveal the significance of the data to them. At least they'd have to figure that out by themselves.

I finished my explanation.

"Lock them both up," Robertson snarled when I finished.

Frank grinned at him. "I don't think so. The press will make a deal out of this. You heard King. They'll play the Carpenter hero angle big. Do you really want to be the one responsible for arresting the hero of the hour? And remember, at the moment we have no jurisdiction or standing here."

"How did you two know about all this?" I asked.

"Courtesy call," Frank answered. "When you talked so much about what happened to Evans, the lieutenant called me."

"I got the impression he knew you."

"We grew up in Chicago in the same neighborhood. We were in the same class in the training academy. I moved to the suburbs. He stayed in the city." Frank shifted his weight on the desk, "Back to the subject at hand. Why didn't these guys kill Evans?"

"Evans wasn't a threat to their boss. Nowhere on the data disc did it indicate anything that would link him to North."

"Maybe you didn't recognize it," Frank said.

"I'm pretty sure I would have. Once you understand how he tracked the data, it's pretty easy to follow."

"Okay. North wasn't on the disc. Go ahead."

"North wouldn't have him killed. Remember, they were working a deal that last night. No, the scheme with North was a constant supply of vast sums of ready cash for both of them. Evans gambled his away. Then he borrowed from North. Evans always needed more. He turned to all the ways I've described to make it."

"Then Vance could still be our man," Robertson said.

"No, don't forget, the administrator saw Evans alive later."

"So he's our man?"

"I can't see. it. I admit I've been suspicious of them, and I don't trust them, but administrators are a generic lot. As a rule they wouldn't have the courage to kill someone. This guy is the same."

"From what you've said he doesn't have an alibi."

"No, but I just don't think he did it. And according to North, his man Edgar saw Evans even later than Armstrong." I admitted feeling odd defending an administrator.

Robertson snapped, "We'll be questioning him."

More calmly Frank said, "We'll be requestioning everybody. We'll have to puzzle it out."

"Are you going to go deeper into this set-up here?" I inquired.

"No," Frank answered, "This was a separate matter. This was a source of money, not murder in my opinion. This isn't our problem. We need to solve a simple suburban murder."

"Are you going to release Vance?" I asked.

"I imagine so," Frank said. He eased himself off the desk. They went off to requestion suspects and witnesses. We went to Scott's to get some sleep.

We woke up at three in the afternoon.

I called the hospital. Greg had been released. They wouldn't tell us much about Phil. I called Greg's house. Other than a broken knee, he was fine.

Before we went to see Phil in the hospital I called Frank Murphy to see if Vance had been released. When Frank said yes, I called Vance at home. We stopped at his house before we went to the hospital.

He greeted us effusively. "I owe you both a great deal. The police told me what you did. I can't thank you enough."

I asked him to explain the gambling operation to us in light of what we found on the disc.

He said, "It started small, just a few of us. We went on that way for a long time. For a while it simply grew. Then one day we woke up and it was too big for us."

"Too big?How so?"

"Two ways. One, on big events we had to cover too many bets. Soon we wouldn't be able to afford our own success. That led to the second problem. We made too much money. The local bookmaking people were unhappy. That's where we made our mistake. Evans said he knew someone who could solve our problem. I didn't want to trust Evans, but there wasn't much choice. In an amazingly short time Evans was in full control."

"How did he keep control?"

"He knew an enforcer who could collect from people who wouldn't pay. When we were small no one cared if someone owed. We carried them until they could pay. With Evans, if people got behind the enforcer came for a visit."

"How about yourself? You owed a great deal."

"I was paying in installments. A lot of the money Evans had on him that night was mine."

"I understand," I said. "Do you know how Evans lost so much money?"

"That I don't know. I presume he gambled heavily and lost."

"It's that simple, I guess," I said.

When we got up to leave I asked him why he told Armstrong about my visits.

"Sylvester followed you to my office. I couldn't deny it. Armstrong threatened me. I'm afraid I'm not a strong man."

We went to the hospital to see Phil. Mrs. Evans and Keith were there along with Heather Delacroix. They formed a group around a doctor outside Phil's room. We hurried to join them. After introducing ourselves to the doctor, we asked how Phil was.

"I just told Mrs. Evans that external injuries aren't bad. We've talked to a plastic surgeon already. He assures us that in time Phil can look normal again." She shook her head. "It's his internal injuries we have to worry about right now. We're still testing to find the extent of the damage. The beating he took is worse than any I've seen in my fifteen years of practice. As soon as I get the final results later this afternoon I'll be in to tell you more."

Mrs. Evans leaned heavily against Heather. The social worker led her to a bench. "Did you want to ask the doctor any questions?" Heather asked.

Mrs. Evans shook her head a feeble no.

"Perhaps I could get something for Mrs. Evans?" the doctor said.

Mrs. Evans took out a handkerchief from her purse and began twisting it in her hands. She'd dart quick dabs at her eyes and nose with it, then go back to mauling the hanky. Heather answered for her. "Why don't you bring something, Doctor? I'll see if I can't get her to take it."

"Can we see Phil?" I asked before the doctor left.

She looked us over carefully. Heather, who'd obviously talked with the doctor before, nodded and spoke up for us. The doctor let us in.

We entered the room. Keith slipped in with us. He hadn't said anything, simply stood mutely watching the circle of adults in the hushed presence of familial tragedy. He wore a jeans jacket over a Chicago Bears sweatshirt.

Keith stood between us as we placed ourselves at the side of Phil's bed. He was awake. Thick bandages covered his face and arms. He smiled when his eyes lit on Keith. Phil held out his hand to his younger brother. Awkwardly, uncertainly, the thirteen-year-old took it.

"How are you, tiger?" Phil's voice came out a hoarse croak.

"I'm okay," Keith whispered back.

"I wish they'd let you see me earlier."

"They wouldn't let me."

"That's okay. You're here now."

He occasionally rasped for extra breath. He lay unnaturally still. His head inclined only slightly toward us. His eyes blinked, and his hand clutched Keith's—no other movement.

"Thanks for rescuing me, you guys," he said to us. "The police have asked me as many questions as the doctor would allow. They told me you found me."

"How did you wind up there?"

His eyes shut briefly before he started his story. "I tried to leave North's stable. I found out he and my dad worked together."

"How did you find out?"

"I overheard two of his assistants talking about somebody named Evans. At first I thought it was me they were talking about, but some of what they said didn't make sense. Then it dawned on me that they were talking about my dad. Later I talked to one of the guys I trusted. He filled me in. He was surprised I didn't know. I confronted North. He laughed at my ignorance. I didn't want to stay. I didn't want anything to do with somebody connected to a slime like my dad. I walked out on North. He warned me not to. He said I'd be sorry. I escaped. I ran straight to Daphne."

A slight laugh escaped his lips. "She delayed me in the bar long enough to call North and have two of the gang come get me. I tried to get a message to Greg, but he came in only five minutes before the goon squad showed up. I only had time to tell him to call for help."

"Greg knew about the Womb?" I asked.

"Yeah. The cops told me about him being with you guys. He used to come to the Womb once in a while. He wasn't gay or anything. Sometimes the cast and crew from a movie would go there to celebrate after they wrapped it up. They added a little more sleaze, as if you'd notice in that place."

"He must have been the one who called your mom." I explained my guess to Phil.

"It must have been him. She was the wrong person to call."

. "He did his best," I said.

"Yeah, he never was the brightest, but a good guy."

"So what happened?" I asked.

"They took me to the warehouse. I managed to get to a phone and call Keith. Your number isn't listed, Mr. Mason. I tried to get you first. That's why I didn't have much time to talk to Keith, but I knew I could count on him to get you."

For a moment Phil's hand squeezed Keith's more tightly.

"They caught me before I could say much. It was worse after that. They tied me up, tortured me." He stopped for a while. As he talked he'd occasionally pause in obvious pain. In a few minutes he collected himself and continued. "After that I don't remember much until I woke up here."

Phil turned his attention to Keith, drawing the youngster closer. "If anything happens to me, if I die—"

"You're not going to die," Keith interrupted.

"You've got to listen, tiger. Please, cool down like the other night. Remember what I said that night. I promised no one would ever hurt you again."

Keith nodded.

"I meant it. No one is ever going to bother you, ever. That's what's going to make me better, my promise to you." His breathing came shallow and uneven. The emotional exertion drained him.

"Take it easy, Phil," I warned.

He ignored me. "Keith, I want you to promise me now though. If I don't get better, you will be strong and take care of yourself. I got away. You can too. You know we both broke away once." He gasped heavily.

Keith shook his head. "You're not going to die. You can't."

Phil lay back completely drained. His face turned stark white. His features clenched in agony. I summoned the nurse. She bustled us out of the room. Minutes later the doctor hurried by us into the room.

Heather met us outside, "Mrs. Evans is under sedation. I've got her napping down the hall."

Then all hell broke loose. People began rushing in and out of Phil's room. They flung large machines through the door. An hour passed. We couldn't get any answers to our questions.

The doctor came out. She came over to us. "Where is Mrs. Evans?" she asked.

Heather explained.

"Better get her," the doctor said. She looked at the rest of us. "It won't hurt if you all come in now."

"How is he?" I asked.

She shook her head.

We entered the room. People and machines surrounded the bed. We stayed in the background. Keith craned his neck trying to see his brother over and around the machines.

Mrs. Evans came in led by Heather. They made room for her on one side of Phil's bed. She took his hand. I leaned down and whispered that it was all right for Keith to go to his brother if he wanted.

He gave a violent shake of his head. His eyes were saucer wide with fear.

Phil was dead. The nurses and doctors left one by one dragging their machines behind them. The original doctor said a few; low words of comfort to Mrs. Evans, then stopped where we were.

I explained to her what happened at the end with Phil and Keith. She caught on quickly. She said to Keith, "You are never to think that you had any part in Phil's death. You're what kept him alive, I suspect. He held on so he could talk to you. His internal injuries were massive, beyond anybody's ability to cure. He died for medical reasons, not because he talked to you."

Keith seemed to understand, but he said nothing. He moved closer to us. The doctor looked at us and said, "Take care of him." We said we would. She left.

Mrs. Evans stared at her son. She barely moved. Heather murmured to her. Mrs. Evans moved closer and touched Phil's hand, then his face. She lingered in silence. Eventually Heather led Mrs. Evans away. I began to move to follow, but Keith remained rooted in place. I went back to him.

Keith stared at the bed.

I put my hand on his shoulder. "We have to go now," I whispered. Again he shook his head violently no. He brushed my hand off.

"I'm sorry, Keith, I wish we could have saved him sooner. We can stay here a little longer, but then we'll have to go."

He stared at the bed. "He was the best brother in the whole world." His words came out small and frightened. "He always protected me. I was never a pest to him. He took me places when I was little—to ball games, and the zoo, and the beach, and every Sunday afternoon in our old neighborhood we walked together the three blocks to the old movie theater. We'd sit through each show twice. I want him back."

I knew I had to ask the question. I wanted to keep it to myself forever. I was afraid of the answer. I said, "Keith, what did Phil mean when he said that about 'breaking away' and 'cooling down like the other night'?"

He continued to stare at his brother.

I asked softly, "What happened the other night?"

Scott gave me a sharp look, as if to say go easy on the kid. Keith didn't see it.

"I killed him," Keith said. "He got me up out of bed. It was real late. He made me get dressed. He said he had someone he wanted me to meet. I asked a bunch of questions, but he wouldn't answer. But Phil had warned me. He said if Dad attacked me or acted suspicious, to come get him, and that if he wasn't around to run as far and fast as I could and that Phil would come protect me or find me.