A Little Game Of Murder, Chapter 18

A Little Game Of Murder, Chapter 18 [part 18 of 24]
By: Miltone (miltone915@yahoo.com)

A Little Game Of Murder

By Miltone (c)2005

Chapter 18

After lunch Latimer drove out to Rexford Bay. But to his disappointment, Bud was off on a weekend camping trip with the Cub Scouts.

"Guess I forgot to tell you this morning," Mary Toomey said. "The Cub master called yesterday morning to check if Bud was going with his pack to the Scout camp at Bear Lake. It was the first I had heard of it, but when I checked with Bud, he nearly had a conniption fit. Seems this was something planned a month ago and for which he already had Veronica's permission. He'd forgotten all about it, and of course she's had too much on her mind to think about such things. I had one hour to get him packed, into his Cub Scout uniform, and downtown to the chartered bus."

"When will he be back?" Latimer asked.

"Not until late tonight."

"He'll probably be pretty sleepy then," he said. I'll drop by to see him tomorrow morning."

As he drove to his office, Latimer thought again that children certainly recovered fast from tragedy. He was sure that Bud loved his mother, and probably missed her, but he obviously wasn't allowing worry over her predicament to interfere with his social activity.

Latimer found himself at loose ends after settling up his bank account and finding a fat thirty-five bucks left after all the bills were paid. He fingered the roll in his pocket. Still plenty of Jacksons left in there, he thought and then headed out into the sultry early evening air.

Malone was holding forth at the El Dorado.

"Don't you ever go home to your wife and kids?" Latimer asked as he ordered a bourbon on the rocks. "Oh, yeah that's right, you're not married anymore."

"Don't remind me," Malone replied drinking from his scotch and water. "Every time I go over there Tommy always asks his mother who's the strange man in the house."

"So are you going to hold the story on Chase?"

"For the time being, Vince," Malone answered. "The Old Man wants me to run with it, so I started to pound something out but put him off by spending some time researching the story in the downstairs morgue. I figure that'll buy me a day or two."

"Good. Cause I have a hunch that we're gonna get a break before that story will go to press."

"A hunch, eh?" Malone said, unimpressed. "Better be a good one."

"Just so long as it's good enough to spring Ronnie from the county jail," Latimer said, savoring the first swig of bourbon after the waitress set it down in front of him.

They were silent for several minutes as the subject of Chase's murder melted away. Soon enough they were ordering dinner and talking about the pennant raced shaping up between the Yankees and the Indians. After a final shot of bourbon, Latimer pushed himself toward the aisle.

"So where are you off to?" Malone asked. "Catching Judy's show at the Blue Herron?"

"Nah, I'm trying to keep my distance from her for a while, you know, keep the national news flunkies off her."

"What a guy!" Malone remarked. "Pretty noble for a private dick."

Latimer shrugged.

"So you didn't say where you were headed," Malone said.

"Don't know. Any place but home."

"Mind if I come along?" Malone remarked. "We need to forget about all this murder bullshit for at least one night."

Latimer chuckled and shook his head. Barroom by barroom, the reporter and the private eye began to work their way down Center Street to Third Avenue then down in the direction of Little Mexico.

"I know this sweet little place where the women are as spicy as the salsa," Malone said.

"And I'll bet the tequila bites just as hard," Latimer replied.

"As hard as what?" Malone asked, his heavy footsteps weaving just a bit.

"As the women," Latimer grinned.

"Oh, yeah, pal," Malone said. He began to do a light-footed dance then said in a high-pitched voice with a poor Spanish accent, "Oh, Senõr. Kick me, bite me, scratch me! Make me feel cheap! Make me feel Mexican!"

Latimer slapped his portly drunken buddy on the back and they wandered into the Monterrey. The sound of mariachi music and the smell of fat cigars and cheap tequila filled the air. The place was festive despite the dim lighting and quite noisy compared to most dives they frequented in Runyon City. They found a couple places at the bar and ordered a beer. It was dark and thick and packed a wallop, just what they were looking for.

"Senõr Latimer!" Hola," came a voice from behind Vince. He turned around to see the smiling face of Mercedes Santiago.

"Well, hello, Mercedes," Latimer replied.

"I been reading about you in the newspaper," Mercedes said, easing her dark slender arm around his shoulder. She was wearing a brightly colored print dress that fit her figure tightly. Vince felt her small firm bosom press against his arm. "You and the poor Senõra Chase. What brings you down here on a night like this?"

"Trying to forget about all of that," Vince said. "At least for one night."

"Well, you come to the right place, Senõr Latimer."

The little Mexican woman eyed Malone with her big dark eyes.

"This is my friend, Jack Malone. He's the one who's been writing all those stories about me and Ronnie in the Times," Latimer said, introducing them. "This is Mercedes Santiago. You remember her? She used to work for the Chases up till a little while ago."

"Nice meeting you, Senõr," Mercedes said.

Malone nodded at her and smiled. Latimer glanced up and down the bar but didn't see another empty stool. He slipped off his and offered it to Mercedes.

"Oh, that's okay, Senõr," the little woman said. "I am here with some friends."

Latimer frowned.

"Some lady friends," the little woman said, waving at a table crowded with three other women.

"It was nice of you to stop by and say hello, Mercedes," Vince said.

"Unless you and your friend would like to join us. We are celebrating the birthday of Rosita. She is turning forty years old and is not very happy. So we make a party and how you say ... cheer her out?"

"Cheer her up," Vince corrected.

"Oh, si, Senõr," Mercedes laughed. "That's right. Cheer her up."

Malone exchanged a look with Vince and shrugged.

"What the hell! When in Mex-town," Malone remarked.

They joined Mercedes and her friends, who like her were in their late thirties and worked mostly in Rexford Bay as housekeepers. The tequila and cerveza was flowing and Latimer and Malone were welcomed into the happy little group. As her friends clustered around Malone, teasing him and playing with his bright red hair, Mercedes clung closely to Latimer, eventually convincing him to dance with her.

"I'm not very good at this," Latimer complained as Mercedes put her little hands on his shoulders.

"You don't have to be very good, Senõr Vince," she laughed. "You just have to move ... with your hips. I already know you can move your hips, Senõr Vince."

She winked a big dark eye at him and squired him through some kind of a wild dance, something he had never tried before. Latimer fumbled his way through stiffly at first, but began to loosen up as the beer and the music and the writhing little body of Mercedes began to work on his senses. Twirling the skinny little dark-skinned woman around, it was the first time in a month that he felt like smiling and laughing out loud.

When they returned to the table, one of their chairs had disappeared but Mercedes perched on Vince's lap, nestling her tight little buns against him and stretching her arm around his shoulders. Another beer and both Latimer and Malone were reeling happily.

Then Latimer felt a nudge on his back.

"Hey, you! Gringo!" shouted a loud voice behind him.

Latimer turned around to see a heavyset local standing stoutly behind him.

"Juan Pablo!" Mercedes shouted. "What are you doing here?"

The man said something to her in a rapid Spanish tongue, too fast for Latimer to understand.

"What'd he say?" asked Malone drunkenly.

Vince shrugged. Mercedes popped off his lap and placed herself in front of the man. She rattled off something that sounded like an insult and a warning to get lost. Latimer stood up to his full height, towering over the shorter man.

"This is my friend, Senõr Latimer. You no mess with him," Mercedes warned.

Latimer and Malone exchanged another look. Both were eying the path to the door, just in case. Mercedes and Juan Pablo fired words back and forth. Vince figured that they had gone out a few times and Juan obviously believed that they were more of an item than Mercedes did. Finally Juan Pablo crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at Latimer before backing away and fading into the surrounding crowd.

"Maybe we should be going," Latimer suggested when Mercedes turned back to him.

"You don't have to leave, Senõr Latimer," Mercedes said, taking his hand in both of hers. "Juan Pablo is just a silly man. He won't bother you again."

"Yeah, but when he comes back with some friends he might," Latimer said, tapping Malone on the shoulder. "Let's hit the road, Jack."

Malone stumbled to his feet, shaking himself free from Mercedes' lady friends and muttering, "Just when it was getting to be fun."

"Just call me a spoil sport," Latimer grunted, tossing some dough on the table. "Thanks for the hospitality, Mercedes." Then he turned toward the birthday girl. "And Happy Birthday, Rosita!"

Mercedes clung to his arm for a moment.

"I am so sad that you have to go, Senõr Latimer," she said in a soft sad voice. "Maybe we can move our party someplace else."

"I don't know ..." Latimer said reluctantly.

Mercedes spoke rapidly to her friends and they all nodded, especially Rosita who got up from the table and took Malone's arm. The others quickly followed. They were on the wrong side of downtown to walk to Vince's place, besides it was in no condition for visitors. The next thing Vince knew, they were packed into a cab heading to a place that Malone kept on the side.

"Just don't tell Betty about this, okay?" Malone said to Vince as they pulled up to the Tuller, a modest little residential hotel.

On the way they had stopped the cab at a package dealer to pick up some refreshments and the party moved upstairs. By one thirty the booze was gone and the downstairs neighbor was pounding on the ceiling. By two in the morning, Mercedes other friends had left together in a taxi. Rosita ended up in the bedroom with Malone. Mercedes was with Latimer on the small sofa.

Over the easy sounds of the over night radio station, they could hear the squeak of the bedsprings in the bedroom and the voice of Rosita making a special request of Malone. This was followed by louder squeaks from the bed and a shriek of pleasure and some choice words in Spanish from Rosita.

"I think Rosita finally have a happy birthday," Mercedes said in a soft voice. "It was so nice of your friend to invite us over, Senõr Latimer."

Latimer was reclining into the corner of the sofa, Mercedes beside him, facing him, her arms holding onto his shoulders.

"I'm glad you had a good time," Vince said softly, feeling the soft warm hands of Mercedes massage his shoulders.

"You have good time?" she asked him, her face close to his, her large dark eyes gleaming in the dim light of a table lamp.

"Yes," Latimer said after a long pause. "I had a good time."

"Maybe, we can have more of good time," the dark little woman said, her hands moving down over Latimer's chest, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt.

"Are you sure? It's getting late," Vince said feeling the full effect of the booze and beer.

"It's never too late, Senõr Vince," Mercedes said, pulling open his shirt and running her hands over his bare chest. "I know you like the way I touch you."

Her strong slender fingers toyed with his nipples. Latimer shivered with pleasure. When her hands reached down and passed over his crotch, Latimer's hips rocked involuntarily, making Mercedes grin and giggle.

"I know you like this, Senõr Vince," Mercedes said, getting up from the sofa and standing before him.

She moved her slender body in time to the soft instrumental music, her hands gliding over her trim curves. With a turn and a sway that was far more enticing than most of the girls at the Bombay Club, she lowered the zipper of her dress, the bright print fabric parting seductively down her bare back. When she slipped it from her shoulders, she was wearing only a pair of black panties and an inviting smile.

Mercedes moved up close to Latimer, nudging his knees apart and leaning forward to reset her hands on his shoulders, her small firm breasts just inches from his face. She tilted her head forward and swept her long lush black hair back and forth over his face and chest, the scent of her perfume rousing his ardor.

Tossing her head back, Mercedes laughed and knelt between his legs, her warm hands dropping to his trousers. Latimer leaned back against the couch and felt her hands unbuckle his belt and open his fly. Her hands were good, strong fingers probing, caressing, and stroking him. After tugging his pants and shorts to his feet, Mercedes rested her arms on his bare thighs and settled down between his legs.

"You want this, Senõr Vince?" she asked needlessly as she took his tall proud erection into her hands. "You want my magic, Senõr Vince?"

"Yes, Mercedes," he said resting his hand on her head and guiding her open mouth toward his throbbing dick.

With a rousing purr she took him into her hot little mouth. With a flurry of flicking tongue and soft wet lips and hard suction, Mercedes quickly brought him to the peak of arousal, his pale pink member contrasting with the dark brown of her complexion. Latimer growled and grunted as she bobbed her head up and down ferociously, her purring voice becoming completely feral and heated. And when she sat back and admired her handiwork, engorged and erect, glistening in the dim light, Mercedes grinned.

"I know what you want next, Senõr Vince," she said and stood up.

In a moment her panties were on the floor and she had climbed up onto his lap, bringing his towering manhood to the center of her heat and wetness. Mercedes brought her tight hot cunt down hard onto him, sending a shiver of pleasure shuddering through the both of them. She leaned forward and pressed her firm little tits against his face and started to rock, up and down, her dark wet snatch gliding up and down every inch of him.

She screamed and shouted, calling him names in Spanish, clawing at his neck and shoulders, raking her nails down over his chest as she bucked up and down on him. Gradually Latimer began to move, easing from his passive reception of her attentions to taking charge. He thrust his hips upward, sending her tight little dark body bouncing high onto to land back down onto his lap with a resounding smack.

They rolled onto the floor, Mercedes on her back, her legs held up high. Then she moved onto her hands and knees and begged him to take her from behind. And when that wasn't enough, she sat on the edge of the coffee table and wrapped her legs around his hips as Latimer knelt and entered her savagely. When he felt his nuts tighten up and his dick swell completely, Latimer growled again.

"Senõr Vince," Mercedes sighed. "No ... no ... it is not safe."

Latimer was not shooting blanks. He pulled out of her and Mercedes reached for him, grasping his dick firmly and stroking him frantically. His eruption sprayed out over the sweet curves of her dark belly. Vince grunted loudly.

Malone applauded from the doorway of the bedroom, his portly pale body naked and glistening with sweat. The dark figure of Rosita appeared beside him, equally naked.

"Damn! And I thought I was a wild man!" Malone said with a laugh.

They split the last couple of beers that Malone kept in the fridge. Lying with Latimer on the sofa Mercedes fell asleep but Vince couldn't catch a single Z. He eased himself from underneath the trim warm body of Mercedes and lit a Camel. He needed rest but couldn't sleep so he kissed Mercedes goodbye, dressed and found his way down to the street.

The night was still hot and stuffy but the walk back to the El Dorado where his Merc coupe was parked helped clear his head. By the time he climbed the stairs to his place, he could hear the phone ringing off the hook. It was after two.

"Hello," Latimer said.

"Latimer?" a male voice asked. He recognized the voice of night desk Sergeant Pat Sullivan, "Yeah, Pat. What's up?"

"Thought you like to know that we just nabbed the Slasher. I called Bert Mueller just before I phoned you and he's on his way down to question him. Figured you might want to sit in."

"Hell, yes," Latimer said. "I owe you a steak sandwich. So tell me, who's the guy?"

"Hold onto your hat," Sullivan said. "It's Kevin Goik."

"Kevin Goik!" the reporter said incredulously. "You're shitting me!"

In another time, Kevin Goik might have been called the village idiot. He was a simple-minded soul who spent most of his time seated on the bench in front of City Hall, smiling cheerfully at everyone passing by and engaging anyone who would listen in conversation. He was generally regarded as harmless, an obviously mistaken label if it turned out that he was the Slasher, for there was nothing harmless about a burglar who prowled through occupied houses carrying an axe, prepared to use it on anyone who surprised him.

"That was my first reaction when Mike Donnelly brought him in," Sullivan said. "But there doesn't seem much doubt he's our boy. Mike caught him red handed pulling a job."

"I'll be right down," Latimer said.

Vince called over to Jack Malone's little love nest to tip him off. They met up outside police headquarters; Malone's eyes were red and his suit badly rumpled.

Chief Detective Bert Mueller was already at headquarters when he arrived. Kevin Goik was seated on the long bench stretching the full length of the booking and complaint room along the wall directly opposite the desk. He was a tall, slender man of about twenty-eight, not unhandsome, but with the dull vacant expression of a man playing poker with forty-nine cards. Latimer had known of him all his life, but he had never before taken a really close look at him. He realized now with some surprise that the man had a wiry but unusually muscular build.

The burly detective was standing before the man, and Patrolman Mike Donnelly stood next to the detective. The grizzled desk sergeant leaned his elbows on the complaint counter, listening to what was going on.

"Morning, Pat," Latimer greeted the desk sergeant "Hello, Mike. You really think you've got the right man, Bert?"

Mueller gave his head a slow but definite nod. "Mike caught him hanging from a rope in front of a second story window at the Clark place out at Rexford Bay. Mike's been pulling right into the driveways out there when he makes his rounds, and he caught Kevin square in his headlights. Before Kevin could climb back up the rope, Mike jumped out of the car and ordered him to come down or he'd shoot. The rope only reached a little below the windowsill, but Kevin let loose and dropped fifteen feet. Didn't seem to hurt him."

"He landed like a cat," Donnelly said. "I never saw anything like it. Didn't even jolt him."

Kevin Goik smiled. "I can jump clear from a roof onto grass," he said modestly. "I land on my feet and roll. I wouldn't try it unless there was grass to land on, though." The simple-minded man looked at Vince. "Hello, Mr. Malone. Hello, Mr. Latimer."

Latimer nodded surprised to see that Kevin knew every one by name.

"Hello, Kevin," Malone said. "You've been kind of a bad boy, haven't you?"

"He had a Boy Scout hand axe stuck in his belt," Donnelly said. "Show it to him, Pat."

Pat Sullivan reached under the counter and held up a short handled axe. The blade had been ground down to such thinness that it looked as sharp as a razor.

"This is what he whacked poor Mrs. Hutson with," the desk sergeant said. "He's got it ground so you could shave with it. I imagine it's what he used to cut screens with, too, because there wasn't another blade on him. How do you like that? Using an axe to cut wire screens."

The detective said, "He's been cheerfully admitting every job we've asked him about so far. Including chopping up Old Man Potts and Mrs. Hutson." His tone became a trifle aggrieved. "I think he would have confessed any time we asked him, even if Mike hadn't caught him cold. Here the guy's been sitting on the bench right in front of this building day after day. All some cop would have had to do was walk out and ask him if he was the Slasher. Kevin would have admitted it."

"I'll point that out in my news story," Malone said. Mueller gave him a sharp look, then realized he was kidding and grinned a little sheepishly.

"Have you asked him about being out at the Chases' that night?" Latimer asked.

"I was waiting until you got here so you'd know it wasn't rigged." The detective turned to the suspect. "Now Kevin, you've admitted to entering nine different places out at Rexford Bay. Are there any more we haven't covered?"

Kevin Goik corrugated his brow in thought. "I guess that's all there is," he said apologetically.

Latimer said, "Were there any places you started to enter, but were scared off for some reason or other?"

Kevin considered this for some time before saying,

"Well, there were places I watched for a while, but the people never got around to going to bed, so I got tired of waiting and went home."

"I don't mean that," Latimer said. "Did you ever get up on the roof of a house, then hear some noise inside that frightened you and made you decide not to break in?"

Kevin shook his head. "I never climbed up on no roof until I figured everybody was asleep. And nobody ever heard me. I don't make a sound when I walk. I got these. See?" He held up one foot to show the crepe sole of his shoe.

Latimer had a sinking feeling in his stomach. Thinking back over the various burglaries, he couldn't recall a single victim ever reporting hearing a sound made by the burglar.

Even Mrs. Hutson had heard no noises on the roofs or in the houses. According to her story, she had awakened more because she sensed another presence in her bedroom than because she heard anything. But Veronica's story was that she had heard noises on the roof, and later from the direction of the hall window. If she had, she was the only person who had ever heard the Slasher make any noise.

Detective Mueller said, "Let's pin it right down. Kevin, do you know the old Runyon place?"

"Sure. That's where Mr. and Mrs. Chase live. Old Man Runyon and his wife used to live there, too, but they're both dead. He drowned a couple of years back and she had a heart attack a while later."

"Then I guess you know the place," the detective said. "Did you ever try to break in there?"

"Oh, no. I wouldn't do that. Mrs. Chase was always real nice to me."

"What about Mr. Chase? Is he nice to you?"

Kevin looked lost. His face was growing flushed and he looked from Mueller towering over him to Latimer to Malone and back again. Latimer could see small beads of sweat building up on the simple man's forehead.

"Mr. Chase? Um, he's all right, I guess, but I ... I never see him around town as much as Mrs. Chase. She's real pretty and always gives me a nickel for the gumball machine. I could never steal from her."

Latimer's discouragement at the reply was mixed with surprise at his reference to Bruce Chase. "Are you aware that Mr. Chase is dead?"

"Is he?" Kevin asked with raised brows. The simple man looked genuinely surprised, almost alarmed. "N-nobody told me."

Latimer looked at Mueller and the burly detective said, "He can't read, so he wouldn't have seen it in the paper. He doesn't even have first grade intelligence. And nobody talks to him about anything serious. His folks don't talk to him at all, except to give him orders, mostly to stay out of the way."

Latimer tried once again, more out of desperation than hope. "Think hard, Kevin. On a Sunday night, or early Monday morning, a couple of weeks ago, weren't you on the roof of the old Runyon place?"

Kevin gave his head a definite shake. "No, sir, Mr. Latimer. Like I told you, I like Mrs. Chase. I wouldn't rob her."

In a last ditch effort, Latimer said, "Are you just saying that because you wouldn't want her to know and think bad of you, Kevin? Because if you are, she wouldn't get mad. As a matter of fact it would help her if we could prove you were on her roof that night."

"Well, I'd like to help Mrs. Chase," Kevin said. "She's a nice lady. But I know she wouldn't want me to lie. Once when she stopped to talk to me out front I was telling her about Mr. Frentz the hardware man saying he heard I was going to be drafted. She said it was a lie and it was very cruel of Mr. Frentz to lie like that. So I know she doesn't like lies."

Latimer's shoulders sagged wearily. That should tie up the prosecution's case, he thought. Kevin Goik would be absolutely convincing on the witness stand. All you had to do was look at his vacantly smiling face when he spoke and you knew he was no more capable of lying than a three-year-old child.

As the police led simple-minded Kevin off to complete their booking, Latimer caught the sleeve of Malone's jacket.

"Something doesn't square about this, Jack," Latimer said.

"What're you talking about?" Malone replied. "Kevin admitted being the Slasher. He wasn't on the roof the night of Chase's murder. I know this doesn't help Veronica, but what more do you want?"

"It just doesn't work for me," Latimer said. "How would a simpleton like Kevin Goik get the idea for knocking over houses like this."

"Maybe he's seen too many Saturday matinees."

"Nah, that's not it," Latimer said, ripping into a fresh pack of Camels. "Somebody had to plant the idea."

"And just who would that be?"

"I ain't saying just yet," Latimer said.

To be continued ...