“Which you are able to do.”

“I am. I had a print of one of the pictures you took of him kissing his neighbor’s wife. I tossed it at him and told him that if he made the slightest trouble, I’d send the picture to his old lady and the girl friend’s husband.”

“The blackmailee blackmailing the blackmailer. Nice twist.”

“I told him that if that didn’t work, I’d kill him. Then I went home. He was alive last I saw him. Had a sore beezer, but it was still breathing.”

“I wonder if his old lady found that picture,” I said.

He sat down again.

I continued. “Okay. Some things you should know. I had to tell the cops that the mob is looking for you.”

“Why?”

“To keep them from releasing your mug shot to the press.”

“Shit. I didn’t think of that.”

I always like it when I think of something that nobody else thinks of. Makes me look smart. I need all the help I can get.

“I don’t know whether the cops’ll hold your picture back, but I had to try. Also, the other bad news. I’m going to have to tell Penrod what I know about the case. Within limits. Otherwise he’ll charge me with obstruction. I have to give him enough to satisfy him.”

Buford nodded his approval. “I guess that’s okay. Got to keep you on the street.”

“Now. How do you want me to proceed?”

He leaned forward again and looked me squarely in the eye. “You were homicide,” he said. “You said you closed cases. Close this one. Find out who the fuck did it.”

Great. The meter would keep running.

“No matter who it is?” I asked.

“Why would I give a shit who it is?”

I’d save that one for later.

“Have they charged you?”

“They have.”

“Arraigned?”

“No. Later today.”

“Okay. The prosecution will ask for remand. Your lawyer will ask for recognizance. With luck it’ll be something in between.”

It was time to voice my concern about Sanford.

“I’ll leave the choice of lawyers up to you, Buford, but I think you need to get a better-looking lawyer. One that doesn’t look like a two-bit gangster in a zoot suit.”

“I’ll have to. Sanford is my chauffer, bodyguard, and right-hand man.”

“I can’t imagine you needing a bodyguard, and I can’t imagine him being one,” I said.

“Looks can be deceiving.”

“Yours or his?”

“Both. Sanford was a lawyer for the mob, but got disbarred. Kind of short on ethics and it caught up with him.”

All of a sudden I liked Sanford a lot more. “I know how that goes.”

“He came with me when I left the family. Very loyal, very protective.”

Buford adjusted his huge frame in the small metal folding chair. “So anyway, how do I keep my mug out of the newsreels?”

“Avoid cameras. When word gets out you’re in here, the press’ll be all over this place like stretch marks on a ninth-street lap dancer. When the cops take you between the jail and the courthouse, cover your face with your coat. Defendants do that all the time. That might keep your pretty face off the six o’clock news.”

I tapped on the mirror and signaled for Sanford to come in. He did and I explained that I would be investigating the murder and trying to clear his boss. Buford told him to give me whatever help I needed. Sanford grunted his assent.

I left the two of them there and went down to Bill Penrod’s desk in the squad room. The desk was pushed up against a column in the middle of the squad room. The desk was wider than the column, so things on the desk fell onto the floor on either side of the column. I could swear that there was stuff still on the floor from when I worked next to him years ago.

“Okay, Stan. Let’s have it.”

I told him the whole story, who Overbee was, why Vitole was blackmailing him, and that Vitole was banging Marsha Sproles.

“Bill, Overbee asked me to look into the murder and try to find out who did it.”

“We already have a perp, Stan. Overbee did it. One of his guns is a match for the slug the ME took out of Vitole’s brain.”

“That doesn’t make sense, Bill. Why would a major player like Overbee bump some guy then hang the piece back on the wall with his collection?”

“It wasn’t on the wall. It was somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“In the trunk of his car.”

That sounded downright stupid to me. Buford would not have hidden a gun in his car.

“Registered to Overbee?”

“No. All his guns are unregistered.”

“How do you know it was his?”

“Because of where we found it.”

My first thought was Sanford. I didn’t know how stupid he might be.

“Did you check out his chauffer?”

“You mean his lawyer?” Penrod laughed. “Yeah, we did. He has an alibi.”

“This has to be some kind of frame-up.”

“I know you want to believe that, Stan, but you know how it goes. We got this one practically closed. The guy is a former wise guy. Tough. With a lot to lose if his cover is exposed. And he was seen there the morning of the murder. Motive, means, opportunity.”

The holy trinity of a murder investigation. Find someone who has all three, and most times you’ve found your killer.

“Before you declare it closed, Bill, keep in mind the neighbor, Sproles. He had a motive. Vitole was doing his wife and got whacked in front of their house. And Vitole’s wife too. He was cheating on her. You got more than enough likely suspects.”

Bill wouldn’t budge.

“But then there’s the gun,” he said. “I can’t see any way to link it to anyone else. I’m going into the room now with this new piece of evidence and get my confession.

“Let me know if you get it. Otherwise, I have work to do.”

I hoped he didn’t get it. The meter would stop running.

“Just stay out of our way, Stan.”

“How can I be in your way if you closed the case? You won’t be out there investigating any more.”

“Good point. But I know you. Where there’s a way, you’ll be in it.”

Chapter 11  

I left the police station and drove to my office. I didn’t see the olive-drab Chevy anywhere on my route. Captain Jeremy was sure to want his payback for the ass-kicking I’d given him and his car. I wasn’t sure which I’d enjoyed more, hitting him with the baseball bat or that ostentatious Beamer.

I parked on a side street and walked into the alley to go in the back entrance to the building.

The next thing I knew, one of the two Army goons was walking toward me from the far end of the alley. I looked behind me for a place to run. The other one was coming from the other end. I almost shit my pants. Here I was, surrounded by muscle bearing down on me, and Roscoe was safely stored three stories up. Maybe it was for the best. I might have shot a couple soldiers. Paperwork.

I got to the doorway before they got to me and tried to open the door. Locked. I had a key, and I fumbled for it. Before I could get it out, they were on me.

One of them spun me around and pinned my arms behind me. The other one faced me. They were both bigger, stronger, and younger. Other than for that, I was okay.

“Stanley Bentworth, I presume,” he said. “Phony cop. Likes to beat up on our Captain.”

The other one said, “The Captain checked up on you, Stanley. Found out you aren’t a cop. Found out what you are, asshole. Now we’re going to show you what happens to someone who fucks with our people.”

“You guys got no beef with me,” I said. I struggled to get free. The last thing I wanted was to be kicked around by two healthy soldiers. “Your boss likes to beat up on women and kids. Guys like that give the Army a bad name.”

“Won’t work, pal.”

I kept struggling but it didn’t help. “Then tell the son-of-a-bitch this,” I said. “The next time I see him will be the worst day in his miserable fucking life.”