Snowjob (10 page)

“Right through here, sir.” The cop bustled over to the flap on the counter and swung it up. The lawyer nodded and walked through to the back door of the office. It closed behind him and the cop looked at me. “Must be heavy if Grant’s sent for him. You here about the same beef?”

“Yeah.” I gave no more away but smiled and gave a friendly nod. I had nothing to gain by antagonizing him. “Is he the Grant family lawyer?”

“Him, no. He’s not into property an’ the rest of that stuff. He’s a criminal lawyer. If he doesn’t like a cop he can make you look real small on the stand. I don’ want him as an enemy.”

“I understand. I’m a cop myself,” I said. I didn’t add that I wasn’t about to brownnose anybody, lawyer or layman.

The lawyer had at least broken the ice and the cop got me a cup of coffee and we stood at the counter, chatting and sipping for another few minutes. Then Garfield came out again, shepherding Grant and the others. None of them spoke to me but Garfield gave me a withering look. I ignored him.

They all went out without saying a word and then Hinton came through the door at the back and beckoned me. “Come on through, Reid.”

I went back, to the standard business end of a police station, a green-walled area that led off to the cells one way and to a couple of interrogation rooms. Hinton’s partner was sitting by one of them and Hinton led me in there and shut the door. “They walked. No charges,” he said simply.

“What about the gun?”

“It’s his. We checked.” Hinton looked harried. Garfield had been tough on him, I guessed, and he wasn’t a lone wolf like me, he had a chief over him and promotion ahead, like a carrot on a string just out of reach. He wiped the corners of his mouth with his forefinger. “If you want the letter of the law he’s not supposed to have it loaded when he’s carrying it to the pistol club but that’s a chickenshit charge and the rest of it didn’t hold up when his shyster started ripping at it.”

He didn’t say any more but I could feel his anger, the resentment any cop feels when a lawyer shreds him on an arrest he thought was worth pursuing. It was time to give in gracefully. “Well, thanks for your effort, Pat. I’m sorry it didn’t give you a nice little felony arrest for your file but I know how these things work.”

He looked relieved at that. “Yeah, well. What can I say?”

“How about me buying you dinner someplace, your partner too?” I suggested. These were the only friends I had on the department. I wanted them kept sweet.

Hinton’s face creased into a smile. “That’d be great. How about you, Charlie?”

His partner shook his head and spoke to me. “No thanks, sir. I’ve got a case in court tomorrow, drunk driver, and I want to go over it. That Garfield is the defense attorney and you know what he’s like if you haven’t done your homework.”

“Okay then,” Hinton said. “See you in an hour. Come on, Reid.”

We went out through the front office, Hinton shrugging into his overcoat as he walked. “I’m going out to eat,” Hinton said. “We’ll be at Angelo’s. Charlie’s in the detective office if you need him.”

“Right, Detective.” The young guy on the desk smiled and opened the counter flap. He polished all the apples that came his way, it seemed.

We went in Hinton’s car, the radio tuned to the police frequency which was quiet all the way. He didn’t say anything until we pulled up in front of the restaurant, a plain-fronted place but with good decor visible through the window. They even had a menu in a frame outside. Pretty classy for a small town.

The owner greeted Hinton like a long-lost brother and gave us a booth, one of the few empty tables in the whole place. We ordered the special of the day, Shrimps al forno, and a bottle of red wine. The wine came right away and I poured us a glass each. Hinton sipped his and at last began to talk.

“It looks to me like you’re right,” he said, and when I didn’t answer he gestured with his wineglass. “About something big going down.”

“What makes you think so?”

“This Garfield. He’s a thousand-dollars-a-day man, not the guy that Grant would have called normally. And he came right away, like he was waiting for the call or something.”

He knew his town better than I did so I waited for him to go on. “Old Man Grant went to school with Maloney, the other lawyer in town. They’re thick as thieves. Maloney does all his business. Yet the kid called for Garfield. That makes me want to ask questions.”

“I told you, the way I see it, Huckmeyer is wrapped up in something with mob connections. He dug up Grant to scare me off. He must have told him to call Garfield if things went sour.”

Hinton took another sip of his wine. “I just wish I knew what this Huckmeyer thing is all about.” He put his glass down. “I’m going in to see Doug tomorrow, tell him what’s happened, see what he wants me to do.”

“Good. He needs your help. I can’t open as many doors as you can,” I said but Hinton wasn’t listening. He was looking past me.

I turned to glance back and saw two tall men coming toward our table with the restaurant owner walking ahead of them nervously.

Hinton lowered his wineglass quickly, shoving it out of sight under the table, and I knew who the men were—his superiors. And they were heading right for us.

As they reached the table Hinton stood up. “Good evening, Chief.”

The chief was a heavy set guy around fifty-five. He nodded at Hinton and spoke to me. “Are you Reid Bennett?”

“That’s right.”

The chief just nodded to the other man who pulled out a card and looked at it while he said, “Reid Bennett, you are arrested on a charge of assault.” Then he started reading me the Miranda rules.

I sat there in silence until he had finished. Then he said, “Stand up, please, sir,” but there was no courtesy in his tone. I stood up and he handcuffed me. I said nothing. All the patrons of the restaurant had stopped eating and were watching me in horror and delight. A real criminal, eating at the next table, just like folks.

The arresting officer got my coat off the peg and draped it over my shoulders. “Come on,” he said.

“What about the check?” I asked.

“We’ll take care of that.” The chief was huffing slightly, as breathless as if he had run all the way from the police station.

“What about my dog? He’s in the car outside.”

The arresting officer was pushing me to the door, keeping a stiff pressure on my back.

“Don’t worry about him,” he said jovially. “He’s gonna be put down.”

SIX

I didn’t say anything until we got to the station and they opened the car door to haul me out. Then I said, “I want to warn you, my dog is the K9 unit of my police department. He’s got three citations for bravery in making arrests. If he’s injured I will sue this department for ten million dollars.”

Hinton had followed us and he heard what I said. He came to my defense. “This man’s a police chief, sir,” he told his boss. “And the dog is a trained police dog. It’s a valuable piece of police equipment.”

The chief said nothing for a moment. I was wondering who he would call to check on what I was saying. Peter Horn at Murphy’s Harbour would wonder what he was talking about. The only citation Sam ever got was a raw egg with his kibble. Peter knew how many times Sam had bailed me out but he was an Indian, an Ojibway, not the most talkative guy on the telephone. If these guys did ring him they would ignore anything he told them.

After a few seconds the chief said, “Take it to the pound, Hinton. We’ll decide about it in the morning.”

“Yessir.” Hinton turned away. I gave a shrill whistle and he turned around as Sam squeezed through the open window of my car and ran to me. “Easy, boy,” I told him. “Good boy, easy.” I reached out to pat him with my cuffed hands. “He’ll go with you now,” I told Hinton. “Take care of him.”

The big man who had read me my rights laughed. “They keep ’em twenty-four hours at the pound. Then they’re gassed.”

I said nothing and Hinton hooked his finger into Sam’s collar and led him away. Then the chief opened the rear door of the police station and they led me through to the area I’d visited earlier.

“Siddown,” the big cop said and I did on a chair beside the desk. He unlocked the handcuffs. He had cranked them up tight when he put them on but I didn’t rub the hurt place. Another of my wife’s acting axioms. Never let them see you sweat.

The chief said, “You can take it from here. I’m going home.”

“Right, sir. See you tomorrow,” The arresting officer stood up politely until the chief had gone. Then he turned to me. “Okay, wise guy, what’ve you got to say?”

“I want Mr. Maloney, the attorney.”

“Yeah. Later.” He got a charge sheet and took out a pen. “Turn out your pockets.”

I did so and he picked up my wallet and looked inside. He stopped when he got to my ID. “Chief of Police, Murphy’s Harbour, Ontario. Where’s that?”

“Twenty miles south of Parry Sound on Highway 69,” I said. “Now would it be too much trouble for you to explain what kind of cockamamy charge you’ve cooked up to harass me?”

He sat back, unbuttoning his topcoat. He was heavy and looked proud of it, the kind of guy who always has the biggest steak on the menu, with double fries and extra onion rings. “No problem,” he said jovially. “At or about six-thirty
P.M. this date, you violently assaulted three men while holding them captive with that dog of yours.”

I said nothing and he grinned at me. “How’s it feel? Bein’ on the other side of the desk, eh, Chief?”

“I’m not saying anything until Mr. Maloney gets here. Call him, please.”

He stood up, tossing my ID on the desk. “Gimme everything in your pockets, on the desk. And your belt and your shoelaces.”

It was routine procedure and I did as I was told. I was glad that I wasn’t carrying Doug’s .38. It was hidden in my car.

Once he decided that he wasn’t going to get a rise out of me he didn’t say a lot more. He put me in a cell and went out to the front to call Maloney. That left me more worried than I’d been before. I’d used the lawyer’s name as if I knew him, hoping it would give me some credibility. But if Hinton had been right and the guy was a friend of the senior Grant, he was liable to refuse the case and leave me there until they appointed some public attorney in the morning when I was brought before tide court. And by that time, Sam would be dead.

My watch was with my other possessions, in an envelope in the charge room desk, so I didn’t know how much time passed but it seemed like a geological age before the door opened to the front office and the young cop from the desk came through with a thin little man in his fifties. He wore rimless glasses and he didn’t look anywhere near as self-confident as Garfield had. He fiddled with his spectacles as he came up to my cell. “Mr. Bennett? I’m Frank Maloney.”

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Maloney. Could we get rid of the officer so I can talk to you, please.”

The cop took the hint. He nodded and went back out, leaving the door open.

“You’re charged with assault, three counts?” Maloney said.

“Yes, and I realize that you don’t do much criminal work, but Detective Hinton told me you were a good man.” I was studying him. He was pinch-faced without looking mean, something like the guy in
American Gothic.

“Garfield’s better,” he said. I liked his modesty. “My work is in property and so on, but I do take the occasional criminal case.”

“Garfield is already representing the men I assaulted.”

He blinked at me. “You mean they were charged?”

“Charged, but not booted. Mr. Garfield raised such a ruckus that the police dropped all the charges. Then they turned around and had me picked up.”

“Were they local people?”

“Yes.” I looked at him. “And this is the test, Mr. Maloney. If you don’t want to take me on, I’ll understand, but I hope you’ll recommend someone else. I don’t have any friends in this town.”

“Why wouldn’t I take you on?”

“Because the guy charged in the attack on me is named Grant. I understand you’re a friend of his father’s.”

He blinked again and his eyes narrowed slightly. “My friendship with Paul Grant has nothing to do with my practice,” he said. “And if it makes any difference to your peace of mind, the only disagreements we have had are over his son.”

“Then you’ll represent me?”

“If you can pay, yes.”

I laughed. “You’re a professional, Mr. Maloney. How much do you charge?”

“Four hundred dollars a day for court appearances. And I heed a retainer now of one hundred dollars.”

“I have money in my wallet which is with my personal effects. Can you get me out?”

“Who’s the arresting officer?”

“Big guy, forty-eight to fifty, six-two, maybe two-forty. The chief addressed him as Fred.”

“That’s Captain Schmidt. I’ll go and talk to him.”

“Thanks. I’ll wait here.” I lay back and he looked at me for a moment and then realized I’d been making a jail-house joke.

“Of course,” he said.

He was away about twenty minutes, I judged, then he came back with the uniformed officer who was carrying some keys, which looked like a good sign. It was. He opened the cell door and I stepped out and shook Maloney’s hand. “Thank you, Mr. Maloney. What happened?”