A Detective Bass Collection

Chapter 1-2

Bass, thinking about what the officer had said a minute ago, turned to him. “Why would you say that about a razor? Shaving his chest? Is that what you do on Saturdays?”

The officer only replied by saying, “Mr. Chackiowski, William Chackiowski, found the body.” The officer closed up his black notebook and walked out of the room.

Bass turned to another officer. “Jim? His wallet, please.”

While the officer bent down on the other side of the body and carefully removed the victim’s wallet from a back pocket, Bass was handed a pair of forensic gloves. When he was given the wallet, he examined it for money. He found a ten and two one-dollar bills, one credit card, one bank card, and a driver’s license. “Jon M. Lestiw,” he read aloud. “Twenty-three.” He slid the license back in place and returned the wallet to the officer. “Bag it.”

Bass rose, bracing a hand on his right knee as he stood up. When he left the room, he briefly touched the wood paneling near the door, feeling the grooves and texture of the dull green bead-board. It was an ugly color; he thought. He also noticed that he still had on the forensic gloves. He removed them and touched the wood again. The texture felt the same, and it was still an ugly color. He wandered out of the stuffy room, looking for someone to hand his gloves to.

He approached the first officer he saw. “Who found the body?” he asked, and handed him the gloves.

“Bill,” the officer replied. “Out there. An old guy, white hair. The one with ‘Hawaii’ on his shirt.”

“Chackiowski?”

The officer nodded.

Bass went through the narrow hallway, past the book tables, to the entrance. At the foot of the steps was a man of average build, with thinning hair and a slight mustache. He was assuring a small group of people outside the door that they could soon enter and shop for books.

Bass went down the four steps to where the man stood. The noonday sun was beating hard against the wooden doors and the flagstone steps. Bass could feel the perspiration mounting under his suit. He felt uncomfortable, and it showed in his tone of voice. “Don’t you think this assurance is a bit premature?”

“Oh, no. They’ve told me, they promised me, that it would only be a couple more minutes,” the man replied. “Just wait. If you have a book, I’ll take your money inside.”

“I’m one of the detectives, Gilbert Bass. Are you Chackiowski?”

“No. But I was the one who called the police. Shawn Morton. I’m sort of in-charge since Reverend Farlee is on vacation.”

“Hawaii?”

“No, I think it’s to the Caribbean this time.”

Bass moved their discussion into the courtyard, near a short wall that framed a set of flowering roses. “The victim was Jon M. Lestiw. What can you tell me about him?” Bass asked.

Morton said nothing at first. He briefly touched his little moustache, thinking. After a minute, he replied, “I’ve never heard of him.”

“He didn’t look familiar?”

“No. Not that I could tell. I’m not sure. The whole thing was upsetting.”

Bass could tell Morton was upset. He stammered, and his face was red. Bass thought the redness was partially due to the hot sun and the stifling noon air. He could feel the heat as it radiated off the brick walls.

“Did you see anybody run?” Bass asked.

“No, I don’t remember anyone.”

“Too bad. Did you hear anything?”

“No. Not really. The air-conditioners were on.

“You have more than one?”

“There’s one in the anteroom, too. But they don’t make much noise.”

“They don’t cool much, either,” Bass said. “So, you heard nothing and saw no one run?”

“Yes. I mean, no. That is correct,” Morton said, nodding in agreement.

Bass heard a clicking noise, like the jingling of coins. He noticed that Morton had one hand in his pocket. “You nervous?”

Morton stopped jingling the coins. “Yes. I guess I am,” he replied.

The tall man with white hair came out of the church and walked over. “Some people want to leave,” he told Morton.

“They’ll have to wait,” Morton said. “You can take their money, but tell them the police don’t want them to leave.”

“Are you Chackiowski?” Bass asked.

The man nodded. “Call me Bill. It’s easier to say.”

“And you found the body?”

Bill nodded.

“How did that happen?” Bass asked.

Bill seemed confused. “What do you mean?”

Bass rephrased the question. “How did you come upon the body?”

“I was returning from the bathroom. After that, I was going to go to the kitchen for a drink of water, and I saw him when I went by. He was just lying there.”

“See anyone else?”

“No. No one.”

“Didn’t I see a fountain in the hallway? A chrome one?”

“I like drinking water from a glass.”

“So, you went down through the hallway. Why didn’t you cut through the main room, where the books are?”

“Mrs. Halversen was standing in the doorway. She just brought a box of books around to the other side, and she was standing there talking with Millie. I didn’t want to bother them, so I went around the back way, through the hall. The door to the room was open, and there he was. On the floor. They say he’s dead.”

“About what time was that?”

“I don’t know. What time is it now?”

Morton, who had remained at Bass’s side, filled in the answer. “Eleven. We opened at eleven. A quarter after or so. That’s when Bill found him.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“I looked. At the clock in the kitchen. As soon as I phoned, that is. Police always ask that question.”

“Yes, I guess we do.”

The idle group migrated over to Bass and Morton and seemed to be listening.

“Let’s go inside,” Bass said.

Before leaving, he scanned the area in the sidewalk’s direction, an area that was heavily shaded by the numerous elm trees. It looked cooler there, but he was hoping to see his partner, Macky, who hadn’t arrived yet.

Bass and Morton went in and stood near the card tables.

“May we sit here?” Bass asked the two women.

The women stood up and relinquished their chairs.

Before Bass sat, he looked over at an officer and motioned in the women’s direction, silently asking if their names had been recorded.

The officer nodded.

Bass, satisfied, then sat, adjusting himself to the folding chair with regret. He put an elbow on the table which wobbled a bit. He turned to Morton, who had seated himself on the second chair. Bass asked, “If we determine that the attack occurred, say, around eleven, about the time you opened? Could you tell us who was here? Here, in this building?”

Before Morton answered the question, Bass’s partner walked in. Macky was frowning as usual. His eyes beaded as he squinted, apparently trying to find an object to fix on.

He came into the anteroom where Bass was sitting.

“Late night?” Bass asked.

“Daughter problems,” Macky replied.

MacIntyre stood similar in height to Bass, but he was heavier. His stomach didn’t allow for his gray sport jacket to be buttoned without him drawing in a deep breath, which he seldom did. His face had the healthy complexion of a man who ate well. His few forehead wrinkles showed that, at times, he would concentrate with furrowed brow. His hair was turning white and thinning, but the thinning had nothing to do with the stress of the job. That was genetics—it would have thinned anyway, as he told Bass many times. He handled the stress by eating, and that was whatever his daughters cooked. The result of his eating showed mostly in his stomach, not his face.

“What do we have?” Macky asked.

“Backroom. Male, Caucasian, twenty-three. Stabbed. He—Bill, there—found the body at about eleven-fifteen. He was telling me that two people were standing about there.” Bass pointed to the center spot under the archway leading into the main room. “So, he went around the back hallway. That’s when he found the body on the floor. Small room, off to the side.”

“Hear anything?” Macky asked Bill, who was standing next to the tables.

Bill shook his head.

Macky turned to Bass. “Did anyone hear anything?”

“Not that we know of,” Bass replied. “I was just asking Mr. Morton if there was any way we could tell who was here at the time.” Bass looked at Morton and waited for him to respond.

“I don’t think so,” Morton said, but after he gave it more thought, he added, “I would guess pretty much the same people who are here now.” His eyes lowered to the cashbox.

“And you saw no one run?” Macky asked.

Morton shrugged hopelessly and shook his head.

“We’re never that lucky,” Macky said.

Bass agreed. “That’s the truth.” His elbow still rested on the wobbly table.

“You keep receipts?” Macky asked.

“We take checks and credit cards. Bill was here. He’d probably have a better idea.”

“You don’t take cash?”

“None yet. Not yet this morning.” Morton motioned for Bill to come around the table, and rose to give him a place to sit.

Bass slid the cashbox across the card table. “The checks and credit cards? Could you go through them and come up with a list of names?”

Bill seemed perplexed as to what they wanted him to do.

Bass repeated his request several more times before Bill understood. After that, Bill quietly and methodically thumbed his way through the receipts. He came up with two. “I think these were the only ones at that time. The other ones are from last night.”

“So these two people were here and bought something? And then left?”

“They bought some books. I guess they left.” Bill studied the table a minute, and then looked around. After a minute, he brought out a few small four by five cards. “There was this person, too. He didn’t buy anything, but he wanted to be put on our mailing list. He left. I saw him leave. Out that door.” Bill slid the card across the table. A name, Alan Nilsson, and his address were printed in neat, penciled letters. Macky jotted the information down.

“The rest of those cards?”

“They’re from Thursday night, and yesterday, Friday,” Bill replied. “We had a special opening on Thursday evening.”

“We can give you more names, if you want,” Morton offered.

“We only need those who were here today, this morning, for the moment,” Bass said. He turned to Bill. “How can you distinguish today’s receipts from Friday’s?”

“They’re in pencil. I asked Bob for a pen that worked and he said he would get me one later from the kitchen. See?” He held up a check. “Mrs. Puchow wrote us her check in pencil. She was here earlier. I remember seeing her. Wasn’t she just here?” He twisted his head to glance around MacIntyre.

Bass scowled, noting that she wrote the check in pencil.

“Pencil’s okay,” Bill said. “She trusts the church.”

During this short discussion, Bass noticed that Macky had been looking around the room and at the officers standing idle. “Want to check out the area?” Bass asked, nodding in the direction of the hallway.

“Can’t hurt,” Macky replied.

Bass and Macky went down the side hallway where they had a brief discussion with the sergeant, who assured them they had taken all the names of those present and that the list would be typed and available for them by the time they returned to the office.

“Today’s Saturday,” Bass reminded the sergeant.

“We won’t be in the office until Monday,” Macky said. He laughed as he turned away, adding, “If we’re lucky.”

The sergeant smiled and excused himself.

In the back, the body had already been black bagged and the Medical Examiner’s assistant was giving instructions to the paramedics, who had just unfolded the gurney.