Getting Away With Murder (12 page)

“Boy? That kid is thirty-five if he’s a day! And if his health can’t take a boilerplate form letter, then—”

“There has been harassment on the phone as well.”

“Harassment? You’re out of your mind!”

“We want this business settled, Mr. York, today.”

“I’ll have to discuss this with my client, of course, Mr. Cooperman.”

“You just got off the phone with your client, or have you forgotten?”

“We don’t want to be rushed into a hasty decision, Mr. Cooperman.”

“I thought that you were all in a tizzy about getting your rightful money? Have I been misinformed?”

“Ah, not at all. I’m still trying to assess our damages, but we are glad to see that reason and good sense are prevailing. Far too much time is wasted on unnecessary legal work.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Would you be able to send an invoice to my office by the end of the day?”

“We’ll certainly be in touch.”

“By the way, where is the car now?”

“Car? Oh, you mean the car! Hart Wise has that, I
think.
Better ask Shaw.”

“I’ll do that. Thanks, Mr. York. Good to do business with you.”

We shook hands, and in another minute, I’d climbed down the stairs and was walking through the open-air farmers’ market. I suppose I should have made my way south on James Street to my office, but I wandered around the market stalls for a few minutes, enjoying a glimpse of sausages and hams, cheeses, and early hothouse vegetables instead. It made thinking easier. I was wondering whether I had been wasting my time with Shaw and York. Was it their pressure on Hart that threatened to turn him into a parricide? I doubted it, but at least it was action, something accomplished.

Hart had been driving the Triumph when I saw him at his mother’s. There was no doubt about who had possession of the car. But Whitey York had been vague about it. As I guessed, neither Shaw nor York gave a damn about the car; it was Hart they were after. They needed him as a stick to get at his father. I had a sudden image of boys poking at a wasps’ nest. I began to feel pleased with my progress. I only hoped that Abe Wise had a sense of humour about expenses.

THIRTEEN

All of the local mandarins were there with their darkest suits and warmest coats on to wish a final farewell to Edwin Ernest Neustadt, late of this parish. They stood on the graves of other men and women to press as close to the open grave as possible. From my pitch at the rear, I could recognize many familiar faces wearing their most solemn expressions looking across the plastic green grass that had been thrown over the disturbed earth. I’m sure that I would have known most of the faces belonging to the backs in front of me as well. The Niagara Regional Police was well represented. The police band played a slow march and the casket was lifted from a gun carriage by six strapping officers in their parade uniforms. Pete Staziak was standing near a tall monument that pointed skyward, with his expression blending into the uniformly sombre vista. A eulogy was read by a high-ranking Salvation Army officer, an old friend of the deceased. Neustadt had, he told us, in ample quantity all of the manly qualities. His word was his bond; his virtues beyond enumeration. His time with the police force had seen many important changes, of which Edwin Neustadt had been a part. He was seen as one of the architects of the Regional Police which succeeded the earlier, more primitive Grantham Police Force. Neustadt’s elderly widow stood steadfast at the grave-side, supported by a married daughter and her husband. A hymn was sung, or at least attempted, while the police band tried to lead, then to follow, the singing. We heard the ashes-to-ashes section of the burial service. Again the words hit me as though they were directed at me personally. The coffin was lowered into the ground and the widow shook the hand of the Salvation Army eulogist. After that, everything began to break up.

I had spotted Abram Wise standing beside Mickey and his wife a few rows in front of me. It was Victoria I saw first. Her dark hair was covered by a kerchief. Wise was almost hidden by the people standing between us. Mickey’s attention to his boss’s other business gave me a sense of relief. I felt almost free, and postponed a look over my shoulder to see who was in charge of keeping me in sight.

I stood my ground as the company dispersed. The bandsmen marched off smartly as did the uniformed police. But Staziak was still talking to a brother plainclothes officer across the open grave from me. He was rubbing his hands in the frosty air. Wisps of vapour told me which of them was talking even when I couldn’t see their faces. Staziak stomped his feet and plunged his hands into his overcoat pockets.

An old survivor of the police force was being helped away by a middle-aged man in a windbreaker. “Did I have a coat?” he asked, not noticing the one he was wearing. Even in civilian clothes, you could see that he’d worn a uniform for decades. He kept looking back over his shoulder. “Wasn’t there a woman with us when we came?” The man in the windbreaker moved him slowly away from the grave.

Wise too wasn’t in a rush to leave the grave-side. He was examining the faces of those who had come to assist, as the French say, at the funeral. He seemed to be amused when he discovered people staring at him. When his eyes reached mine, he stopped. “What are you doing here, my friend?” he asked when he had closed the distance.

“You are my business, Mr. Wise.” I nodded a greeting to both Mickey and his wife. Mickey smiled back. “You told me that you were coming to the funeral. I was interested to discover why.”

“Did you find that out?”

“Not yet, but I may get lucky. Too bad Chief Neustadt can’t tell me.”

“A lot of grief died with Neustadt, I’ll tell you, Mr. Cooperman. A lot of grief and evil! How are you coming along since we talked?”

“I think that I’ve eliminated the threat of embarrassment over that antique car. It will cost you, but I didn’t think that was a consideration. Your name won’t come into it.”

“My retarded son’s business is no concern of yours, Cooperman. I’ll deal with Shaw and York in my own way. I suppose you want to be thanked for your efforts, eh? But don’t forget why I hired you. You lose me and you won’t see a penny, I can assure you.”

“Thanks for the testimonial, Mr. Wise. I could get fat and rich on an endorsement like that.”

“Save your wit for your work, Cooperman. Good-afternoon.” He pulled at Mickey’s arm and the three of them moved through the thinning crowd back to a car parked somewhere on the narrow lane that twisted its way through the cemetery.

“You never know what you’ll find at a funeral!” I knew it was Pete without turning. He must have doubled around behind me, because I was still looking at the spot on the other side of the open plot where he had been standing.

“Hello, Pete. This is a bad day for the force. My deepest sympathy, Pete.”

“Thanks, Benny. Nice crowd?”

“I guess it’s a major loss, eh?”

“Old Ed had been retired from actively contributing to our efforts for some years, Benny. But this is the send-off he would have wanted: parade uniforms, muffled drums, slow march, all of that stuff. Ed liked the drill. Me, I don’t much care for the soldiery, all that military stuff. It leaves me cold.”

“All funerals do that. What took the late chief off to his reward, Pete? Some kind of accident, wasn’t it?”

“Deputy chief, Benny. He never made it to the top. He was acting chief for a year; that was enough.”

“That colonel from the Sally Ann gave him a first-rate send-off.”

“He’s a major, Benny, not a colonel.”

“I guess he was well-liked, eh, Pete?”

“He had a few fans, Benny.”

“Not enough to get him confirmed chief though?”

“Damned good thing too.”

“You must have liked him a whole lot to spill this much affection in the shadow of his cortège, Pete. What’s the story?”

“‘They tried to get rid of him years ago, but he wouldn’t go. He held us back for years. He was an old-fashioned cop, Benny. He couldn’t make the changes into modern times.”

“I thought he led the way to reform.”

“Eulogies, Benny. They take a tolerant view of the facts.”

“So he was another casualty to progress?”

“He couldn’t be budged until his sixty-fifth birthday. The Niagara Regional Police has been making great strides since he retired. We’re almost caught up to Toronto.”

“What took him in the end? What sort of accident?”

“Didn’t you see it in the paper? If you didn’t read it and you didn’t know him personally, Benny, what brings you here this frosty afternoon? You working?”

“Maybe I’m interested in becoming a part of local history, Pete. Look at all of those tombstone. How many of them have Staziak or Cooperman written on them?” Behind Pete I could see Victoria Armstrong helping Wise into a limo. Mickey was standing on the driver’s side looking at me.

“That’s ’cause we come from good hardy stock, Benny. We don’t fade away. We’ve got staying power. Hey! Are you trying to put me off? I asked if you were working, damn it!”

“I am. And it could get me into a lot of trouble if I was seen talking to the fuzz, Pete. Will you be at home tonight? I’ll call you.”

“Are you pulling my leg or is this for real? Yeah, I’ll be at home minding my tropical fish.”

“I’ll be talking to you.” Without looking in his direction, I moved off in the direction I’d seen the others go. The old policeman with his keeper was feeling all of his pockets as though he had lost his car keys or glasses, while the man in the windbreaker waited to help him into the front seat. My car was somewhere along the lane too, parked on the margin of brownish grass by the back wall. Looking up, I could see the dark branches of the maple and beech trees were putting on signs of the season to come. I put that down to the southerly slope of the cemetery away from the lake. Twigs were fattening and buds were looking shiny. Through the windshield, as I drove along the curved cemetery lanes to the street, I could see that it was starting to snow.

* * *

That night I called Pete from a phone booth in the lobby of the library. I had the idea that my own phone might not be safe. I was paranoid, I’m sure, but I thought that it wouldn’t hurt to play it safe. Pete was home. I inquired after Shelley, his wife, and his kid, who always beat me at chess, and finally his damned fish to get his full attention. Then: “Okay, Pete, tell me about Ed Neustadt. It may help me in something I’m working on.”

“He was a nut and a son of a bitch and a first-rate fellow officer. Which version are you looking for?”

“Spare me the praise. I got that this afternoon.”

“Yeah, Ed and Major Patrick went back a long way. Their families went camping up near Bancroft. Some trailer camp. They used to go to hangings together.”

“What? The families?” For a moment I imagined a scene from
The Oxbow Incident.

“No, Benny, just Major Patrick and Neustadt. The major was the default clergyman. If the prisoner didn’t send for the clergy of his choice, they’d send for Major Patrick. They really believed that eye-for-an-eye stuff. Oh, I don’t blame the major. He was just doing his job, but Ed Neustadt just liked to be there. He liked to watch and then talk about it afterwards. He made me sick. Oh, the two of them were quite a pair.”

“Is that what you mean by his being a nut-case?”

“It’s a start. You couldn’t penetrate him, Benny When he had an idea in his head, no amount of evidence to the contrary could make him see reason. Once he had it in mind that you were guilty, he’d not rest until you were put away.”

“Are you saying that he was a conscientious officer dedicated to his work, Pete?”

“You know goddamned well I’m not! He was Captain Bligh on Church Street, Benny. There was no sense of fairness or mercy in the man. No sense of when enough’s enough. He was a bully, that’s what he was, a bully and a sadist. I’m not saying that I’m glad he’s dead, but, hell, I’m sure glad he isn’t in charge of the day room any longer. Ask Chris when he gets back from Cyprus. Oh, he made my life hell for years. Everybody’ll tell you that. No, that’s not right. They’ll all
say
he was the salt of the earth. And that’s the memory that’s being enshrined. For his widow’s sake. For his daughter’s.”

“Tell me about his accident, Pete. I didn’t read the account in the paper.”

“He was fixing his car in his front driveway.”

“Heart attack?”

“No, Benny. The jack holding the Buick up somehow released while he was trying to take the nut off the oil pan and the car came down on his chest. He was smashed up pretty bad. Must have been fast, though.” Neither of us said anything for a minute. We both listened to the rock music that was somehow playing on our line as though from far away.

“What makes a jack come down like that, Pete? Don’t you have to ratchet them down bit by bit? Or did it fall over?”

“This was hydraulic like you see in garages. He went in for all the professional equipment. You should see his garage; looks like a car repair shop.”

“That kind of jack doesn’t ratchet down a stop at a time?”

“Can do. But mainly you release the valve and the car settles back to the driveway, or whatever.”

“Pete, ‘how does an accident like that happen?”

“Damn it, Benny! I’m getting the same ideas you’re getting and I don’t have any better answer than you do.”

“What if somebody had it in for Neustadt?”

“I hear you.”

“If you were under your car and I came along and knew my business, there’s not a lot you could do about it, is there?”

We were quiet again for a few moments. The rock music had gone and had been replaced by distant voices, high-pitched women’s voices, talking rapidly many miles away from Grantham.

“I’m going to look into this thing, Benny. I don’t think anybody around here gave it a thought. I’ll look at the report and see what has to be done.”

“I’ll be hearing from you, then?” I asked.

“The hell you will. This is police business. Internal. I won’t even tell the Inspector about this until I’ve got something I can hold in my hand.” I asked him about our friend Savas’s holiday in Cyprus and speculated on the date of his return. Neither one of us could get very interested in that. Savas in the flesh was a formidable presence, but off at the eastern end of the Mediterranean he wasn’t enough to keep the conversation going. So I hung up, just in time to see Phil, the hood I’d socked from my bed yesterday in my pre-dawn kidnapping, busy pretending not to be busy watching me from the coffee stand. He hadn’t noticed that the stand was shut up for the tight. A good man can never find the cover he needs when he wants it.