Chapter 5-5
1758 Words
“And he fell against the rocks,” Jaybee said.
“What did you do with the sack?”
“Blood money.” Tintin pointed over his shoulder. “I threw it in the bushes.”
“You poor thing,” Jaybee said.
“I ain’t going to prison!”
“Of course not. But you better get out of here.”
When he was gone, they looked at each other.
“Now what?”
Sean walked toward the bushes. “Point your flashlight in there.”
She did. He pushed his way in, with a flashlight in his left hand.
“You see anything?”
“What are the odds of spotting a brown sack in—Wait.”
There was something down near the ground, not brown but red. He reached forward, scraping his hand on a bunch of thorns, and picked it up.
“It’s a mask. Iowa Street Sports.”
Iowa Street Sports.”“Wow,” Jaybee said.
“And here’s the sack. Man, it’s decomposing.”
“We’re lucky it didn’t rain.”
Sean stuffed his flashlight into one pocket and the mask into another. He used both hands to pick up the sack. Then he had to fight his way out of the bush.
Jaybee pointed her light at the sack. “Show me.”
They looked at the money. “Does that look like five grand to you?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen that much, except in the movies.” She looked up at him. “We need to talk. Let’s go back to my place.”
Jaybee shared a house with three other students on Jersey Street, not far from the university. “I can’t bring you in,” she said. “Because of the bug.”
“Sure,” Sean said, trying not to sound disappointed.
The big front porch had old folding chairs, so they were able to sit six feet apart. But that made it hard to keep their voices down.
“We are not turning Tintin in.”
Sean nodded. “He wouldn’t last an hour.”
“And anyway, it wasn’t his fault. He was just scared and pushed the man—”
“You don’t have to convince me. Whiteshaw thought he was meeting Odin and Odin had agreed to kill his girlfriend.”
“Alicia,” Jaybee said. “That poor thing.”
“Don’t feel too sorry for her. She thought he was going to have his wife bumped off.”
“What do we do now?” Jaybee scratched her head. “Do we tell the cops about Odin?”
“We can’t do that without talking about Tintin.”
“Now what? I can’t believe there’s no way forward, not when we’ve found the money. What is it? I can tell you’re smiling, even with the mask on.”
“Ten percent reward.”
“I’ll be damned,” Kanon said. “Somebody sent us a goddamned clue.”
Lawton looked across his desk. “A b****y footprint? Deathbed confession?”
“None of the above. Check your email.”
Lawton did. The message, from a fake-sounding account, had been sent to both of them.
To the detectives investigating Hector Whiteshaw’s death.
To the detectives investigating Hector Whiteshaw’s death.There’s a guy says he killed him. Whiteshaw promised him five thousand bucks to kill his girlfriend but tried to give him only five hundred.
There’s a guy says he killed him. Whiteshaw promised him five thousand bucks to kill his girlfriend but tried to give him only five hundred.The guy’s name is Odie or Otie and he lives in a motor home on Illinois Avenue. Please get him off the street before he hurts one of us.
The guy’s name is Odie or Otie and he lives in a motor home on Illinois Avenue. Please get him off the street before he hurts one of us.“One of us,” Lawton said. “This was probably sent from one of the homeless types who hang around there.”
us,”“Yeah, and this guy Odie has them scared. Wasn’t that the kid on the Andy Griffith Show?”
“That’s Opie. Nice of whoever it is to send the license plate number. Let’s run it.”
The answer was waiting when they returned from lunch.
“What do you know?” Kanon said. “Otis Wayne Caffrey. And the man’s got a record. Assault. Armed robbery. A real peach. Can we get a warrant to search his RV?”
“Not based on an anonymous note.” Lawton banged a fist on the desk. “Guess what? Turns out we don’t need one.”
The next day Otis Caffrey woke bright and early at ten a.m. when someone banged on his door. “Keep your freaking shirt on!” he said, putting on his own.
Damned hangover.
Damned hangover.He opened the door and squinted through brilliant sunlight at a familiar face. “Mr. Ricardo? What the hell are you doing here?” He wasn’t due to see his parole officer for a week.
“Surprise inspection, Otis. These officers need to take a look around your place.”
“They got a warrant?”
“Remember the terms of your release? If you refuse, I can cancel your parole.”
“For God’s sake.” He did a quick mental inventory. “w**d is legal, right?”
Ricardo rolled his eyes. “If that’s all we find, I won’t say a thing. You willing to let these officers do their job?”
Otis waved a hand. “Be my guest.”
He watched the tall one going through his shelves. The shorty stopped. “That’s some scar on your eye. You got a parrot to go with it?”
“You’re a riot.”
“Somebody was telling me about an eye like that.” He nodded. “Oh, yeah. Any chance you have a friend in our department, Mr. Caffrey?”
Damn it. Now his ex-girlfriend’s sister was going to get in trouble. “No. I don’t think we run in the same circles.”
“We’ll check that,” said the tall one. “How about you check outside, Kanon?”
“Ten-four.” And he went out.
“What are you guys looking for, anyway?”
“Evidence.”
Otis snorted. “Of what?”
The cop was pulling stuff out of his food cabinet, mostly beer. “Well. Let’s put it this way. When was the last time you talked to Hector Whiteshaw?”
Otis straightened up, trying to keep his face still. What the hell could the cops know about that? All communication with that guy had been through a dummy email account and a burner phone and, thank God, he’d thrown it in the bay as soon as the corpse was identified.
“Don’t know the man. What does he say about me?”
“Nothing, because you killed him.”
Otis grinned under his mask. “You gotta be kidding. I never met him.” Which was true enough. The jerk had gotten himself killed on the night he was supposed—
“Got it!” yelled the cop outside.
The tall one pointed. “Let’s go see what Detective Kanon found.”
“Hell, yeah.”
The short cop was standing behind the RV. He had disconnected the spare tire. “Lookie here.” He waved a brown bag.
“I’ve never seen that before in my life.”
“No?” Kanon held it open between his gloved hands. “You claim somebody just left you all this money as a gift?”
Otis blinked. “Money?”
“I’m guessing five hundred. Is that what it looks like to you, Detective Lawton?”
“More or less.”
“Bull!” Otis jerked forward. “You planted it!”
Lawton had a g*n in his hand faster than Otie could imagine. “Hands against the wall, Caffrey. You are under arrest.”
Otis shook his head. “I swear I never even saw that guy who got killed.”
“That’s funny,” Kanon said. “Look what else is in the sack.”
Now handcuffed, Otis turned to look.
Kanon was holding up a red mask. “Iowa Street Sports. Whiteshaw’s store. Hell of a coincidence, don’t you think?”
“Iowa Street Sports.“This is bull!”
“Anything else in there?” asked Lawton.
“A cigarette lighter. Hey, I’ll bet that holds fingerprints.”
“I’m still not sure we did the right thing,” Sean said. “I mean about mentioning in the letter that Whiteshaw was gonna use the money to kill his girlfriend.”
They were on their break at the Lunchbox. The newspaper website had reported Otis Caffrey’s arrest.
“I mean,” he said, “wasn’t it nasty to tell the wife that he had a lover and the lover that he was going to kill her?”
“I’m sure,” Jaybee said. “They both had a right to know what the bastard was really like. It’ll help them get over their grief.”
“I’m“Hmm. Maybe. So, what are going to do with—” He looked around to make sure no one could hear them. “You know.”
She nodded. “There’s forty-five hundred bucks left. I say we split it three ways.”
“Three? How do you figure?”
“One third to Alicia. For the baby.”
“Okay. That’s fair.” His hand started for his head, then jerked away. “We’ll put it in an envelope with her name and leave it at the sporting goods store.”
“That’s probably the best way.”
Sean nodded. “Do you have any envelopes?”
“I think so. You need more than one?”
“There’s another debt I have to pay.”
Dear Mrs. Whiteshaw.
Dear Mrs. Whiteshaw.I’m sorry for your loss.
I’m sorry for your loss.This $23 belongs to you.
This $23 belongs to you.
Robert Lopresti is a retired librarian who lives in Washington state and rides a bicycle every day. His 100+ stories have won the Derringer and Black Orchid Novella Award and been reprinted in The Best American Mystery Stories. He blogs at SleuthSayers and Little Big Crimes.
The Best American Mystery StoriesSleuthSayersLittle Big Crimes
- Writer
