Bulldog (Dev Haskell - Private Investigator Book 9)

Mike Faricy

Bulldog

ASIN# B00QMYFJKO

Published by Credit River Publishing 2015

Copyright Mike Faricy 2015

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior and express permission of the copyright owner.

All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank the following people for their help & support:

Special thanks to Donna, Rhonda, Steve, Julie and Roy for their hard work, cheerful patience and positive feedback. I would like to thank family and friends for their encouragement and unqualified support. Special thanks to Maggie, Jed, Schatz, Pat, Av, Emily and Pat, for not rolling their eyes, at least when I was there. Most of all, to my wife Teresa, whose belief, support and inspiration has, from day one, never waned.

To Teresa

“I’m knackered”

Bulldog

Chapter One

The first time I
saw Dermot Gallagher his right hand held a pint of Mankato Ale and his left arm automatically wrapped around shapely, sexy Casey, the girl who’d come to the bar with me. We were best friends by the end of the night, Dermot and me. Me and Casey…well not so much.

Dermot had been in his uniform that night, a black tunic and a saffron kilt. He was a drummer in an Irish bagpipe band here in town. Maybe that was it, the uniform or maybe Casey just had a thing for guys in skirts, I don’t know. He turned out to be a really good guy, with a dry sense of humor, sort of quiet, but only because he was taking note of everything going on around him. He had dark hair, wore glasses and stood about six feet tall with a ready smile. He and Casey were married the following year. I was deployed at the time.

The smile was gone today. The mortician did a pretty decent job, but if you knew Dermot like I did, well it just wasn’t the same. The white silk lining on the inside of his casket didn’t do much to help matters. There was a rosary wrapped around his hands. I never knew him to be particularly religious, hell maybe he wasn’t and he was just hedging his bets. That would be just like him, a final, subtle joke on his way out the door. We’d lost guys when I was deployed, even so you never get used to it and that experience certainly didn’t make this any easier.

“You about ready, Dev? I guess they’re lining up at the door to carry him in,” Casey placed a hand on my arm and gently pulled me away from Dermot. It was a few minutes before eleven. The visitation in the vestibule of the church had been going on for a couple of hours and the place was packed.

Casey was a little thing, maybe five-two, blue eyed with a slight figure. She was dressed in black and proving herself a hell of a lot stronger than me right now. I walked over to where the priest and the other pall bearers were assembled and waited quietly.

The undertaker rolled Dermot’s wooden coffin up to the doors going into the chapel then directed us in a soft voice. “Line up here, lads, three to a side. We’ll raise him up then arms on the shoulder of the man across from you. No rush, we’ll walk at a modest pace to the front and you’ll set him on the stand before the altar. All right now, everyone ready?”

A couple of guys nodded, I guess I was still too numb. We took hold of the brass handles and hoisted the coffin up to shoulder height, rested it on our arms stretched to the man’s shoulder across from us, then after a nod from the undertaker we stepped off. At least three of us had been in the service which put everyone more or less in step. Not that Dermot was particularly heavy, it was just I don’t know, I can’t remember really. I was okay for the first few steps, then the organ started playing and I came close to losing it. A clearing of the throat and a hard swallow got me back in line. We carried him up the aisle, then back out at the end of the service an hour later.

I don’t remember much, Casey and her extended family walked behind us on the way out. She carried a large, framed photograph of Dermot giving everyone a last look, tears were running down her cheeks and she was biting her lip, but she made it.

We carried Dermot to the hearse and after the short drive to the cemetery, from the hearse to the grave site. Dermot’s band was there, twenty some folks standing in formation playing Amazing Grace on the bagpipes while we carried him to his final resting place. God, and I thought the church had been tough. The moment I heard that tune tears started running down
my
cheeks.

And then it was over.

Chapter Two

We were back at
The Spot for a farewell toast and a bite to eat. It was crowded and there was a lot of false bravado being shouted back and forth. Casey was holding a Jameson with a brother on either side for support. She came from a tight family and they would make sure she was okay. Folks kept coming up to give her a hug and pay their respects. I don’t think she ever got the chance to take a first sip.

“Get you a beer?”

I turned around to see my pal, Aaron LaZelle a lieutenant in St. Paul’s homicide department. Detective Norris Manning was behind him and gave me a polite nod.

“Thanks, but no thanks. If I start today I may not stop.”

“You gonna be okay?” He sounded like he really meant it. Manning had turned away and was eyeing the assembled crowd.

“Yeah, I’m fine this is just a tough one.”

“They’re all senseless, but this one, Jesus,” Aaron said and shook his head.

“Any idea, any leads.”

He shook his head again, then said, “Nothing of any consequence at this point, but we’re not about to give up.”

Of course what else could he say? “You need anything from me you just give the word,” I said.

“Actually, what we need is you not getting involved. I know how you feel, believe me we’ve both been there.” Manning turned and nodded agreement then went back to scanning the crowd.

I saw no point in commenting.

“You let us do our job and we’ll get whoever did this, Dev. I promise.”

“Just for the record, the guy had no enemies. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, same with his wife, Casey. They’re just good folks.”

It was Aaron’s turn to nod. “That’s what we heard over and over, just the nicest folks.”

“Still the same story?” I asked. “He just answered the door and some bastard shot him?”

“It seems to look that way at this point. I’d say the wife’s scream from upstairs frightened off whoever was there. It’s just not making a lot of sense at this stage, but then does it ever? Like I said, we’ll get whoever is responsible.”

I was going to say something like ‘
I hope you get them before I do,’
but a little voice inside my head said
‘Shut up, stupid,’
and for once, I listened. Looking back, I think that was probably the first inkling that I wasn’t going to wait. If I’m yelling, my temper might be on the loose for a moment, but I quickly get it back in check. It’s when I’m quiet or soft-spoken that I’m probably the most dangerous. I can become cold, very unforgiving, and I’m capable of some horrible things. I’d been that way from the moment I learned someone murdered my friend, Dermot.

“Anyone seem out of place here?” Aaron asked. Manning was still scanning the crowd.

I shook my head. “Most of these folks I know. Like I said, everyone loved the guy. It just doesn’t make any sense and I’m not buying the random option.”

“It’s possible, but the chances of it ever being random are pretty slight. There’s always the off chance some loon is in the crowd here getting high on people’s reactions or the sense of tragedy. You know, suddenly they think they’re important because they caused all this,” Aaron said.

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. Well, I think we’ll be going. I’m not going to pay my respects. It’s always a bit disingenuous and just seems to add more stress to an already stressful situation.”

I nodded then said, “I meant it. You need anything on this you let me know.”

“We’ll do that, Dev. You let us handle it. I know it doesn’t seem like we’re moving fast enough, but give us some time, promise?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Counting on you, Dev,” Aaron said then he and Manning sort of faded into the crowd and out the door.

“Was that the police you were talking to earlier?” Casey asked maybe an hour later. The crowd had begun to thin out, but I still didn’t think she’d ever had the chance to sip her drink. She’d set the thing down a while ago and apparently lost track of it.

“Yeah, I’ve known the one guy, the lieutenant since we were kids. The other guy is a detective, I’ve dealt with him in the past.” I saw no point in mentioning Manning had me fingered as the root of all crime, major and not so major, committed in the city.

“What did they want?”

“Just checking on things, they like to make sure everything is as good as can be expected for you,” I lied.

“Oh, that’s kind of sweet.”

“Yeah, that’s them.”

“Hey, my brother’s and some friends are coming back to the house after this, it would be nice if you could join us,” she said.

“Thanks.”

“No pressure, it’s going to be laid back. Hope you can make it.” She turned around when a woman tapped her on the shoulder to express her regrets and say how truly sorry she was. Poor Casey was on about hour six of listening to the same well-intentioned comments, which in itself would be exhausting.

Chapter Three

“No, she seems pretty
set on selling the place,” Dennis said. He was one of Casey’s brothers. Another brother, Tommy was reaching into the refrigerator and passing beers our way. We were in Casey’s kitchen, nibbling from a dozen different plates of hors d’oeuvres.

“God, they just got the place,” I said.

“Well yeah, more like two years now, but what a mess, it’s almost a hundred and twenty-five-years old and right now there isn’t a room that’s not torn up. God bless the two of them, but finishing a project wasn’t their strong suit. Jesus, talk about stars in your eyes,” Tommy said, then gave a quick glance around the room.

There wasn’t a door hung on any of the kitchen cabinets. Sections of plywood painted black had served as the temporary counter tops for the past year. One of the exterior walls had been opened up and yellow fiberglass insulation was wedged between the studs and covered with a plastic vapor barrier. The ceiling had been gutted down to the joists and you could see the cloth covered copper wire from about 1915 running through holes in the true dimension timber. Next to the wires, the pipe from the 1890 gas light ran to the middle of the room.

“We got some guys coming in to hang some sheetrock and do taping, we hope to be painting after that.”

“What about an electrician and a plumber, is this joint even up to code?” I asked.

“They’re starting Monday, sheetrockers will have to work around them, but we need to get this place on the market. We wait much longer and we might as well wait until next spring. Christ, not much moves in real estate between November and March in Minnesota.”

“Is she gonna stay here, I mean while the work is being done?” I asked.

Tommy shook his head. “My two girls are down in Madison at college, we got extra space. She can be as private as she wants or needs to be, she’s staying with us until she gets resettled, there’s no rush. She was just uncomfortable staying here, no surprise, so she’s been with us the last couple of nights.”

“How’s she doing?”

“Like anyone would, I guess. She’s in the bedroom a lot of the time. Comes out and you can tell she’s been crying, her eyes are red and puffy, she’s sniffling. What can you do except give her a big hug and tell her you love her. Of course then that just starts her up again. I can hear her up in the middle of the night walking the floor. It’s gonna take some time.”

“So, Casey mentioned you’re a PI?” Dennis said then took a sip from his beer and shot a quick glance toward his brother.

“Yeah, I am, but I mostly work on stuff like resumes to employers and things. You know, just making sure job applications are correct and some dork hasn’t listed himself as the president of a bank when in fact he’s out there delivering newspapers or something.”

“So you wouldn’t investigate something like this, Dermot’s murder?”

“No,” I said then took a deep breath in preparation to give the company line. “In an investigation like this, the best thing, the most helpful thing we can all do, is stay out of the way. Give any and all information, even the most remote, seemingly unimportant fact, just give it to the cops. They’re equipped to deal with these things. They’ll process DNA samples, ask questions, interview folks. They don’t need any of us out there screwing things up, and they especially don’t need me making a mess of their investigation.”