The Corporal Works of Murder (12 page)
Read The Corporal Works of Murder Online
Authors: Carol Anne O'Marie
“Tim?” Mary Helen hesitated at the counter. Except for a slit of light showing beneath a door in the back, the place was dark. Could Tim have stepped out and forgotten to lock the front entrance? Hardly. “How do?” she called again. “Tim? Are you there?”
She listened. Nothing. Anxious thoughts began a slow roll through her mind. Was the man all right? Where in the world was he? Had something happened to him, too?
Skirting the counter, Mary Helen stood for a moment. This really was none of her business, but if something had happened to him, she couldn't just leave him, could she? Of course not.
Cautiously she made her way toward the back room, pausing at the door. Her heart pounding, she pushed it. The door opened a few inches, then stopped. She pushed again but it was stuck. Warily she peeked around it. Fear slid down her spine.
The small back room looked as if a tornado had ripped through it. Papers were everywhere. The door itself was stuck on an overturned lamp. Someone had slashed the shades and torn the curtains from the windows. The dirt from one lone philodendron plant spread across the linoleum like a brown ribbon. Even the desk chair was overturned and pencils thrown everywhere as if someone had been unable to control his rage.
“What the hellâ” An angry voice ricocheted off the wall.
With a startled gasp, Mary Helen spun around. Tim was behind her, his eyes a cold blue. Pushing past her, he stepped into the room. She watched his face grow burning red. His beard twitched. With a howl he kicked aside the lamp and stalked into the room.
Arms bulging, he righted the chair. The blue dragon curled around his neck seemed to take on a life of its own as he rescued the telephone from under a stack of scattered papers.
“What are you doing here?” he growled at Sister Mary Helen. His eyes shifted from her to the shredded window shade.
“I was simply looking for you,” she said, scarcely able to catch her breath.
“What the hell for?” he asked, roughly dialing the telephone.
“To find out your last name.”
He gave her a long, flat stare. “Moran,” he said. “Tim Moran. Now get the hell out of here, will you?” He pointed.
Gladly
, Sister Mary Helen thought, turning with as much poise as she could muster. “I'm relieved, Officer Moran, that you were not hurt,” she said pleasantly.
, Sister Mary Helen thought, turning with as much poise as she could muster. “I'm relieved, Officer Moran, that you were not hurt,” she said pleasantly.
His eyes shifted as if he hadn't seen her before. “Go!” he shouted.
And she did, but not until she heard him ask for Lieutenant Don Donaldson.
Struggling to salvage some of her dignity, she quietly let herself out of the tattoo parlor. Unfortunately, she walked right into Inspectors Dennis Gallagher and Kate Murphy, who were pulling up to the curb in front. From the scowl on Inspector Gallagher's face, she knew how he felt about seeing her there. Frankly, she was grateful that she could not hear what he was saying to Kate.
“Hi, Sister,” Kate called, climbing out of the driver's seat of the car. Despite her effort to be pleasant, Mary Helen did not miss the edge in her voice when she asked, “What are you doing here?”
It's a free country, Mary Helen wanted to snap, but caught herself. “I might ask you the same question,” she said with a smile that she was sure an alligator would envy.
Kate's blue eyes sparked. “I asked you first,” she teased, in what Mary Helen knew was her final attempt at being amiable. To press it any further would be dangerous.
“I just dropped in on Tim, here,” Mary Helen pointed toward the darkened storefront, “to find out what his last name was.”
Kate frowned. “To find out his last name?” She looked over at her partner, who was coming around the car toward them, and shrugged. “I see,” she said.
Sister Mary Helen turned to face Gallagher. “I didn't know the man's last name,” she explained with a weak smile intended to appease him.
“His last name?” Behind his horn-rimmed glasses, Gallagher's eyes were smoldering. “Why would you need to know his last name, Sister?” His words were choppy with anger. “Didn't Kate
make it very clear that you were to stay out of this thing? As I understand it, even Moran here told you to butt out. What will it take? Someone to really hurt you?”
make it very clear that you were to stay out of this thing? As I understand it, even Moran here told you to butt out. What will it take? Someone to really hurt you?”
“I have no intention of being hurt,” Mary Helen said with the last bit of moxie she could muster.
Exasperated, Gallagher rubbed the palm of his hand over his bald crown. “If I had a nickel for every corpse who thought that,” he growled, “I'd be able to retire right now from this lousy job.”
Mary Helen raised her chin and pushed her bifocals up the bridge of her nose. “I understand, Inspector, that you are concerned, butâ”
“No buts about it.” He seemed to chew each word. “Except you, Sister. You are to butt out!”
Their eyes clashed, Gallagher daring her to say another word. Mary Helen struggled to calm down.
“What in the hell are you still doing here?” Tim Moran's voice hit her like a shot.
“I'm on my way, Officer Moran. I was just talking to my friends here.” She threw the words over her shoulder.
And good luck to you all,
she thought,
youâyou ingrates!
Quickly she walked toward the Refuge, her feet slapping the cement. What was it Eileen always said? “When you are sitting on your heels, you will thank goodness for your old stool.”
And good luck to you all,
she thought,
youâyou ingrates!
Quickly she walked toward the Refuge, her feet slapping the cement. What was it Eileen always said? “When you are sitting on your heels, you will thank goodness for your old stool.”
Taking deep breaths, she stole a glance at the three police officers standing in a worried knot. That is, if that bunch of know-it-alls will ever be able to admit that theyâthey are definitely sitting on their heels.
With just a smidgen of sympathy, Kate Murphy watched Sister Mary Helen make her way back to the Refuge. Her short, round figure seemed smaller, more stooped than usual.
The poor thing
was just trying to help,
Kate thought. The first chance she had she'd square it with Sister. Right now, Tim Moran needed her full attention.
The poor thing
was just trying to help,
Kate thought. The first chance she had she'd square it with Sister. Right now, Tim Moran needed her full attention.
It took her a minute to realize that Moran and the man she'd glimpsed talking to the uniform when Gallagher and had she responded to the murder scene were one and the same. Actually, his disguise was so good that she'd never have recognized him. In fact, she doubted if his own family would.
“Did Donaldson send you guys?” Moran asked.
“Donaldson? Why would Donaldson send us?” Gallagher frowned.
Moran held open the door of the tattoo parlor and Kate followed Gallagher in. “Because I just got off the phone with him. Somebody trashed the place,” Moran said, scratching at his scrawny beard.
Kate and Gallagher trailed him down the hall to a small back room. “Whew!” Gallagher exclaimed, surveying the mess.
“Trashed” is an understatement,
Kate thought, avoiding the broken glass from a light bulb. “Is anything missing?” she asked.
Kate thought, avoiding the broken glass from a light bulb. “Is anything missing?” she asked.
Moran shrugged. “I haven't had a chance to look yet.”
“When did it happen?” she asked.
“It just happened.” Tim Moran seemed dazed. “I was here all morning. I only stepped out for a few minutes. Hell, I couldn't have been gone for more than ten minutesâat the outside. When I came back the place was like this. And that nun was here”âhis eyes grew coldâ“snooping around.”
“Why did you leave the shop?” Kate asked.
Her question seemed to take Moran by surprise. He eyed her suspiciously.
“Funny that you ask,” he said. “I got a call from the American Asian Market up the street. At least, I thought it was. A woman called and told me the owner had fixed me something special to eat and asked if I could come over and get it. He does that every once in a while,” Moran said. “Nice guy.”
“Sounds like it,” Gallagher agreed.
“Anyway, when I got there he was all shook up. He didn't want to offend me, but it seems he didn't know what I was talking about.”
“Somebody's idea of a joke?” Gallagher asked.
“That's what I figured. Anyhow, when I went up there I thought the Chinese guyâ”
“Does he have a name?” Kate asked.
“The Chinese guy? Yeah, of course he does. But somehow I don't think it's the one his mother gave him. It's Elvis. Elvis Lee.”
Gallagher shot Kate a
stay-on-the-point
look. “You were saying?” he urged.
stay-on-the-point
look. “You were saying?” he urged.
“Yeah, I thought Elvis had called so I switched off the lights in the front of the shop before I left so that it looked closed.”
“Why didn't you just lock the front door?” Kate asked.
“I should have,” Moran looked embarrassed. “Hell, I know better but I was just going to be gone a minute and”âhe shruggedâ“what's to steal?” His eyes shifted to the debris covering the floor.
“Let's find out,” Kate suggested, starting to gather up the scattered pencils.
Within fifteen minutes, the room was back in some sort of order. “Nothing seems to be missing,” Moran said. “At least nothing I can see right away.”
With a grunt, Gallagher picked up the plant and made an attempt to scoop up some of the dirt still covering the linoleun. “There doesn't seem to be much reason to have knocked this over,” he said, setting it on the edge of the desk.
“Maybe the perp was mad because he didn't find anything and he took it out on the philodendron,” Kate suggested.
Moran studied the pot. “Unless someone thought there was a bug or something in it.
“Was there?” Kate asked in surprise.
Moran's laugh sounded a little like a bark. “No,” he said, “although now I kinda wish there had been. I'd love to get my hands on the guy who did this.”
I'll bet you would
, Kate thought. There was something so infuriating about having your space violated.
, Kate thought. There was something so infuriating about having your space violated.
“Could be somebody who found out you were undercover,” Gallagher mumbled. “Might have put two and two together and come up with five.”
“You mean somebody who has been in the shop thought that it could be bugged and came in looking for it?” Moran stared at the dirt on the floor.
“That makes as much sense as anything,” Kate said.
“Mr. Tim?” A voice called from the front of the tattoo parlor, surprising them all.
“Back here,” Moran answered.
A frail looking Asian man in a clean, white butcher apron large enough to cover two of him appeared in the doorway. He held a brown paper sack. “For you and your friends,” he said smiling. “Lunch.”
“Thank you, Elvis,” Moran said, introducing Elvis Lee to Gallagher and Kate. “Will you join us?”
“Got to get back. Business, you know.” Bowing, Elvis left the shop as quickly as he had come.
When Moran opened the bag, the delicious aroma of sweet fresh ginger, brown sugar, and warm pineapple mixed with tangy soy sauce and onion filled the small room. Steam rose from a carton of rice. “You guys hungry?” he asked.
“Starved.” Kate pulled up three chairs around the desk. Tim Moran found paper plates and utensils and the three police officers settled at the makeshift table. Except for a few grunts of satisfaction, they ate in companionable silence. Moran managed to unearth a few tea bags and put a kettle of water on a hot plate.
“That was just what the doctor ordered,” Gallagher said when they had emptied the last carton.
In fact, he does look better, Kate thought, although it could have as much to do with his getting over seeing Sister Mary Helen as it does with the delicious lunch.
When the kettle began to sing, Moran brewed the tea and passed around the fortune cookies that Elvis Lee had included in the bag.
Kate was the first to break hers open. “âNothing is impossible to the man who doesn't have to do it himself,'” she read. “I think this one's talking about you,” she pointed to her partner.
“Never mind,” Gallagher said, breaking open his cookie. He unwound his paper and groaned. “âAll you have is today. There's no such thing as tomorrow or yesterday.' Sounds a little fatalistic, if you ask me. Maybe I should get another one.”
“Next,” Kate said, ignoring him. “Your turn, Tim.” Fascinated, she watched the letters of the word
MOTHER
, tattooed on the knuckles of his left hand, undulate as he cracked open his cookie. Slowly he unwound his paper, read it, and gave a humorless guffaw.
MOTHER
, tattooed on the knuckles of his left hand, undulate as he cracked open his cookie. Slowly he unwound his paper, read it, and gave a humorless guffaw.
Is it my imagination,
Kate wondered
, or did his face redden?
Kate wondered
, or did his face redden?
“You think yours was bad,” Tim said. “Listen to this. âKeep your friends close and your enemies closer'âprovided, of course, you know who they are,” he ad-libbed, and Kate couldn't help feeling sorry for him.
Gallagher excused himself to wash some soy spots off his tie while she cleared the desktop. Since Moran and she were alone, Kate hoped to clear up some things that were bothering her.
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