Homicide! (Parker & Knight Book 2) (2 page)

“I see you’re a gentlemen; Detective Parker, there aren’t many of you left.”

“You can blame my mother, she drilled certain behaviors into me and one of those was to always open a door or pull out a seat for a lady.”

Heather said nothing in return, but only smiled at him.

“Um, thank you for the food; that was very kind of you.”

“I meant what I said; I’d like to see you at the bar sometime.”

“You’ll be seeing me there for certain now that Charles Woolley has been found murdered.”

The smile left Heather’s face.

“I don’t know how I can help, as I told you before, I barely knew Mr. Woolley. He had only been working at
Taggart’s
for a short time.”

“Right, we were just hoping that something had occurred to you since our last talk, maybe something Mr. Woolley did or said?”

Heather shook her head.

“No, nothing, but then, I only spoke with him a few times.”

“Did he ever ask you out?”

“No, why?”

“You’re an extremely beautiful woman; I thought that he might have shown interest.”

“Extremely beautiful?” Heather said, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“Just the facts, ma’am,” Parker said.

Heather’s smile widened.

“I get asked out quite often, most of the time the attention is unwanted, but not always, and sometimes I look forward to saying yes.”

Parker raised an eyebrow at that.

“You don’t have a boyfriend, why is that?”

“I’m not an easy woman to date. If I’m not working at the bar, I’m in class, and if I’m not in class, then I’m studying. My whole life these days is medical school and work; it doesn’t leave much time for play.”

“You’re a serious person for a girl your age.”

“I’m not a girl, Detective Parker, I’m all woman,”

“I meant no offense; it’s just that at my age, you seem very young,”

“And that bothers you, the age difference?”

“Yes.”

“It shouldn’t, it doesn’t bother me.”

They stared at each other, and Parker actually had to stop himself from reaching out and taking her hand.

He stood and opened the door.

“Thank you for coming in.”

“No more questions?” Heather said, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

“Not at this time, no,”

“I see.”

Heather grabbed her purse and rose, but Parker continued to stand in the doorway.

“There is one more question...”

“Yes?”

“I can’t ask it right now, because technically you’re part of an ongoing investigation, but once we solve this case, I intend to ask it.”

Heather moved closer and stared up at Parker. She was not a short woman, but Parker still towered above her.

“Anytime you’re ready to ask, Detective, I’ll have an answer for you.”

Parker smiled, and led her back to the elevator. As the doors opened, he spoke to her.

“Ms. Jones, will you be working later this afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“Good, Detective Knight and I will be at
Taggart’s
later; we’re meeting Mr. Taggart there.”

“Be sure to come see me and say hi,”

“Oh, I will, take care now,”

“You too Detective, and call me Heather,”

They smiled at each other until the doors closed, and when Parker turned around, he found Jo staring at him.

“Did you find out anything?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

Parker wiped his hands on his pants.

“I found out that my palms still sweat whenever I talk to a beautiful girl.”

A
short time later, Parker and Knight visited the morgue to hear the results of the autopsy from Stella Harvey.

“While there was a lot of bruising on the face and torso, death was caused by a single wound to the throat, a gash caused by a serrated instrument, most likely a knife, but I’ll have the detailed report ready for you in about a week, after the toxicology results comes back.” Stella said.

“What about the bruising? Could it have been caused by a fist?” Parker said.

“Yes, but death occurred shortly after they were made,”

“So, possibly a fight that led to a knifing,” Jo said.

Stella gestured at the walls.

“Say goodbye to the old place; they’re moving us into the basement of the new hospital next week.”

“So soon? But I didn’t think it was open yet?” Parker said.

“It’s not really, but our section is done and they’re attempting to move departments in one by one. The place is massive and to get it up and running completely will take time, but they do have the emergency room taking patients.”

Jo wrinkled her nose.

“I hope the new morgue smells better than this.”

“There’s state of the art ventilation, but you know, death smells like death,” Stella said.

They thanked her for the preliminary autopsy report and stopped for coffee, which they drank in the car.

The car was an unmarked, black Chevy Caprice. It was new and much needed. The only other unmarked vehicle the department had available prior to their purchase of the Caprice was an ancient Crown Vic that smelled like rotted fish. Parker had hated that car so much that he had been driving his own car while on the job, a classic 1965 Mustang, but both he and Jo found the Caprice to be a sweet ride.

Jo looked sideways at Parker, who was seated behind the steering wheel.

“I know you said that she had nothing to add to the case, but how did your talk with Jones go otherwise?”

Parker grinned.

“It went excellent.”

“That’s all you’re going to say?”

He shrugged.

“She’s part of an active case, but once it’s solved, well, we’ll see.”

“I told you that she likes you.”

“Enough about my hopes and dreams, what do you think our next move ought to be?”

“You mean after we talk with Patrick Taggart again?”

“Yeah, I don’t have much hope of learning anything new there, so we need another angle to approach this from.”

“We know it wasn’t robbery; Woolley still had his wallet, so I guess we take a closer look at his life.”

“Up until six weeks ago, Woolley lived in Pittsburgh, but we’ll talk to his neighbors again.”

“What about his mother? She’s the one that reported him missing in the first place.”

“Good thinking, maybe she can tell us if he was seeing anyone, although I doubt a grown man would tell his mother about his love life.”

Jo smiled.

“Speaking of love life, let’s go to
Taggart’s
.”

“I’m not going there to see Ms. Jones, only her employer.”

“Oh, so we’re all business now, eh?”

“You’re damn right; the quicker we solve this case, the sooner it becomes inactive.”

“And the sooner you can ask Jones out, I get you, and hey, it’s nice to see you happy.”

“I’ll be happy when we find the murderer.”

***

“Y
ou don’t tell the damn cops anything, you hear me, boy?”

“Yes Granddad, I hear you.” Patrick Taggart said. He was at his home, which was actually his grandfather’s home, and the old man was telling him what to do, again.

The old man, Nathanial Taggart, was ninety-nine and the owner of the bar that bore his name.

The house was a huge three-story colonial that sat on ten acres and was adjacent to the fifty plus acres that the bar on the other side of the lake sat upon. All in all, Nathanial Taggart owned a good chunk of land, most of which was undeveloped.

They were in the old man’s office, a space lined with books, but dominated by the huge picture window behind the desk.

Patrick leaned down and spoke to his grandfather, who sat in a wheelchair. The old man’s bald pate was covered with age spots and his eyes were two bright blue points set in deeply wrinkled flesh. Whenever he spoke more than a sentence, he needed to pause to take a breath.

“I don’t understand why you don’t want me to talk to the police. Maybe they can help us with Nico, maybe they’ll even arrest him for murdering poor Chaz Woolley.”

The old man pointed a crooked finger at him.

“You don’t talk to cops, period. Be a man and handle this yourself.”

“I tried that, remember. I told Nico no and he punched me in the stomach, then, I paid Chaz to handle it and... well, now he’s dead. This Nico Umbria is a dangerous man.”

“There’s a .32 in my top desk drawer. Arrange to meet this Nico punk somewhere and... and take care of things. That’s how I would have handled it in the old days... hell, I still remember where I buried the bodies.”

Patrick shivered at the thought of committing violence.

“I’m not like you Granddad, and times have changed.”

“A punk’s a punk, Pat, and there’s only one way to handle a punk.”

Patrick checked his watch.

“I have to get back to the bar.”

“Alright, but don’t tell them cops nothing, we’ll handle this ourselves.”

“Yes sir,” Patrick said, as he took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his receding hairline.

The housekeeper came in as Patrick was leaving and handed the elder Taggart a glass of water and several pills. Her name was Margaret; she was in her eighties and had worked in the home for decades.

“Take your pills, Nathan, and what’s up with Pat, he looked ill.”

“That boy’s got no backbone, that’s his problem.”

“Pat’s a good boy; it’s just that he takes after his mother.”

The old man sighed.

“I wish Nate was here. That boy wouldn’t put up with this nonsense, I’ll tell you that.”

“Nate left a long time ago; he’s off making his own life.”

“I think I’m gonna wind up handling things myself,” the old man said.

***

P
arker’s eyes searched for Heather as he walked into
Taggart’s
, and he spotted her taking a food order at a corner table. She sent him a little wave and he smiled at her.

“What are you going to do if she’s the murderer?” Jo said.

“Bite your tongue,” Parker told her, and Jo laughed.

The bartender, a young man with a huge mustache, told them that Patrick Taggart was expecting their visit, and showed them to his office by leading them through a pair of swinging doors next to the bar. The doors opened onto the hot and busy kitchen, which was noisy and filled with activity, as pots steamed, grills sizzled, and a radio played heavy metal music.

Jo took a deep breath and sighed.

“M’mm, it smells good in here; I’m eating those ribs Jones gave us as soon as we get back.”

The bartender knocked on the door, and Taggart yelled for them to enter. The office was small and contained a cheap wooden desk, two filing cabinets and a wall of shelves that held a combination of overstuffed file folders alongside supplies such as drink cups, napkins and garbage bags. Taggart’s desk was equally cluttered and Parker wondered how the man got any work done.

Patrick Taggart was fifty-two, tall, but pudgy and would have been bald except for a fringe of dark, but graying hair. His blue eyes looked nervous, and upon seeing Parker and Knight, he suddenly had trouble getting comfortable in his chair.

“Hey Pat, the police are here to see you about what happened to Chaz,” the bartender said.

“Thanks Jerry,”

The bartender left and Taggart stuck out a clammy hand.

“Detective Parker, Detective Knight, it’s good to see you again, but I’m sad about the circumstances.”

“Yes sir,” Parker said, “However, we were wondering if you’ve thought of anything new that might help.”

Patrick shook his head. “No, nope, not a thing,”

Jo took out a sheet of paper and read from it. The sheet contained the details of Charles Woolley’s recent bank statements.

“We see from his account records that you recently paid Mr. Woolley three thousand dollars over and above his wages; can you tell us why?” Jo said.

“A... a signing bonus,” Patrick stuttered. “Mr. Woolley only joined us back in July, as I’m sure you know.”

“A signing bonus to manage a restaurant?” Parker said, sounding doubtful,

Patrick nodded his head.

“Yes, he was ah, well sought after in the industry.”

Jo and Parker exchanged glances and an unspoken understanding passed between them. They had been standing in front of the desk, mostly because there were no chairs other than the one occupied by Patrick, but Jo moved closer and stared down at Patrick as Parker leaned on the desk, glowered, and spoke in a harsh tone.

“Taggart, we think you know something about Charles Woolley’s murder. Stand up; you’re coming to the station with us.”

As Parker spoke, Jo took out her handcuffs.

Patrick’s head swiveled back and forth between them and then he slumped deep into his chair.

“I’ll tell you everything I know.”

***

“V
andalism, did you report it?” Parker said.

“Oh yes, at first, and they were minor incidents, a broken window, spray paint on the rear doors, but then, a man showed up and took credit for the incidents. His name is Nico Umbria.”

“Why would he take credit?” Jo asked. “Did he want you to pay him to stop?”

“Well, he didn’t come right out and say that he was the one who committed the acts, but he did insinuate that they would get worse if I didn’t take him on as a partner.”

“A partner? He didn’t simply ask for money?” Parker said.

“No, in fact, he offered money for a fifty-percent stake in the bar, but the amount was laughable, given the amount of business we do.”

“So what happened when you turned him down?” Parker said.

“Nothing, he just smiled and said that maybe we could do business in the future.”

“But then the vandalism escalated, am I right?” Jo said.

“Yes, and this time it was damage done to several customer’s cars. I blamed it on teenagers and paid the damages out of pocket.”

“Why didn’t you report this to us?” Parker said.

Patrick sighed.

“I wanted to, but my grandfather balked at it. If he knew I was talking to you now he’d be furious, he’s... not fond of the police.”

“Not many former bootleggers are, although, there aren’t many around anymore, are there?”

“Yes, he’s quite old and set in his ways, but he’s the one that owns the bar, in truth, I’m just a manager.”