Strucker took the cigar from his mouth and moved over to the body of the dead police captain. He stared down at it for a moment, knelt, and carefully lifted Colder’s revolver from its holster and placed it next to the lifeless right hand. Strucker rose, turned to Dill, and said, “Satisfied?”
“I don’t know,” Dill said. “Tell me about it.”
Chapter 38
Strucker looked at his watch. “You’re gonna get the two-minute version,” he said, “because when homicide comes through that door, I’m turning Colder into a brave and dedicated cop who shot it out with the most wanted fugitive in America.” He turned to Jake Spivey. “How’s that sound?”
“Just fine,” Spivey said.
Strucker turned back to Dill. “She worked for me, your sister. For me and nobody else. Six months after they brought Colder down from Kansas City, he didn’t feel right. He changed. His attitude shifted. His interest wasn’t the same. That’s hard to explain to a civilian, but I knew he had something going. He bought a house that was just a tad too nice. His suits were a hundred dollars too expensive. He wasn’t dumb enough to buy himself a Mercedes, but he did pop for an Olds Ninety-Eight. Then there was that lousy business with his wife. You heard about that.”
Dill nodded. “He committed her.”
“So it was around in there that I called Felicity in and told her what I thought and felt and what I wanted her to do about it. Well, your sister was one brilliant woman, and beautiful, and if I wasn’t so old and so happy with Dora Lee — well, I might’ve gone courting myself, even if Felicity was poor as Job’s turkey. But she told me that was a Dill tradition — being poor.”
“She was right,” Dill said.
“So she turned herself into a honey pot and Gene Colder fell right into it and, shit, who could blame him? I couldn’t. But what I wanted to know was how much money he had, and where it was coming from, and what he was doing to earn it. It took Felicity damn near six months just to find out how much he had, and it was around seven or eight hundred thousand. He gave her the money to make the down payment on the duplex and a lot more besides, but I guess you’d already figured that out.”
“Some of it,” Dill said.
“But what your sister couldn’t find out was where the money was coming from because it wasn’t. I mean, Colder just had it, you understand?”
“Yes,” Dill said. “I understand.”
“And then, one day, she mentioned you and Jake Spivey to him and how you two had grown up together and all. Well, Colder couldn’t hear enough about that. Then, a few months later, they were at his place, Colder’s, and it was a Saturday afternoon, as I remember, and he went down to the store for some beer or something, and Felicity started snooping around. She found a ledger about so big.” Strucker’s hands measured a small seven-by-nine-inch ledger. “So she read it and what she read was everything she’d told him about Jake. Not you. Just Jake. So I went calling on Jake out at the old Ace Dawson mansion.”
“It was love at first sight,” Spivey said with a grin.
“And you two figured it out, right?” Dill said. “The Kansas City connection between Colder and Clyde Brattle.”
Strucker nodded.
“How much do you think Brattle paid Colder to kill Jake?” Dill asked. “A million?”
Strucker nodded. “At least. Well, we — Jake and I — we decided if we could just keep Jake alive, Brattle’d show up sooner or later to find out how come he wasn’t getting what he paid for. And when he showed, well, I’d collar him and that sure wouldn’t hurt my political future any. Jake and I’d already talked some about that.”
“And you just let Felicity dangle,” Dill said.
“Colder hadn’t done anything yet,” Strucker said. “You’ve gotta keep that in mind.”
“And you’re saying he killed Felicity when he found out what she was up to.”
Strucker nodded somberly. And after the nod came another of his long sad sighs. “We couldn’t prove it though. We had no case.”
“Bullshit,” Dill said. “You could’ve nailed Colder for Felicity. Or for what’s his name, her ex-boyfriend, Clay Corcoran. Or for poor old Harold Snow. Jesus. Harold was the real easy one. But you didn’t, did you, because you were still waiting for Brattle. You guys traded my sister for Clyde Brattle.”
Strucker in two quick strides was at Dill’s side. He grabbed Dill by the left arm and spun him around. The chief of detectives pointed down at the floor. His face was an angry wrinkled knot. His voice a rasp. “Who’s that lying down there in his own blood and piss and shit? That’s Gene Colder, Captain Gene Colder, who was the best fucking homicide cop I ever knew. He killed your sister without leaving a trace and then preached at her funeral. He shot Clay Corcoran through the throat from thirty-six feet away with a twenty-five automatic and six hundred other cops standing around with their thumbs up their ass. He used a sawed-off on Harold Snow and then waltzed back in carrying a pint of ice cream, took over the investigation, and planted the evidence that would prove Snow killed Felicity. You think he didn’t know what he was doing? Why the fuck d’you think a guy like Clyde Brattle’d pay him a million dollars? And if Gene’d been just a little luckier tonight, he could’ve nailed Brattle, kept the money, and the law’d never touch him. But there he is. On the floor. Dead.”
Dill reached over and removed Strucker’s grip. He then stepped over to the coffee table. “What if he didn’t do it?” Dill asked.
Strucker glanced quickly over at Jake Spivey who seemed puzzled. “What’s he getting at?” Strucker said.
“Something,” Spivey said.
“You say you can’t prove he killed Felicity — or Corcoran, or even Harold Snow. So if you can’t prove he killed them, he’s innocent.”
“He killed them,” Strucker said. “All of them.”
“You think he did.”
“So do you, Pick,” Spivey said.
“Maybe,” Dill said, reached down, picked up the tape player, snapped out the cassette, and put it away in a pocket.
Spivey rose. “You ain’t fixing to walk out the door with that tape, are you?” he said.
“It was supposed to be your briarpatch, Jake. The ultimate one. But now it’s mine.” Dill looked at Strucker and then back at Jake Spivey, who reached down and picked up the.38 Colt automatic from the coffee table. “I worry about you two,” Dill said. “I worry about how high you’ll rise and what you might do when you get there. And if you go far enough and high enough, then someday you might start remembering me and how I was here in this room on the night you did what you did. And then maybe you might start wondering if maybe you shouldn’t do something about me. So when you start thinking like that, remember this: I’ve got the tape.”
Spivey shook his head sadly and brought the automatic up until it was aimed at Dill. “Pick, I can’t let you go through the door with that tape.”
“What’s on it?” Strucker said.
“Everything we need to keep me out of jail and make you mayor and then senator.”
“Well, now,” Strucker said.
Dill said, “I’m leaving, Jake.”
“We’re just gonna have to stop you one way or other,” Spivey said, his voice sad and troubled. He looked over at Strucker.
The chief of detectives slowly shook his head. “No.”
“What d’you mean no?” Spivey said.
“If we take that tape away from him, he’ll talk,” Strucker said. “About tonight. If we let him walk, he won’t.” He looked at Dill. “Right?”