Live Bait (2 page)

Gino shrugged. ‘He was just giving us a heads-up. Thought we should keep in touch in case something clicks.’

Magozzi sighed, looked longingly at the Weber. ‘So we’re back in business.’

‘Big-time.’ Gino paused for a moment. ‘You ever think there’s something wrong with a job where you only have something to do if someone gets murdered?’

‘Every day, buddy.’

Marty
Pullman was sitting on the closed toilet lid in his downstairs bathroom, staring down the muzzle of a .357 Magnum. The round black hole looked very large, which worried him. Worse yet, the toilet faced the big mirror on the sliding doors that enclosed the bathtub, and he wasn’t too keen on watching his own snuff film. He thought about it for a minute, then got into the bathtub and slid the doors closed behind him.

He smiled a little as he aimed the shower nozzle toward the back of the tub and turned the spray on full blast. He may have made a mess of his life, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to make a mess of his death.

Finally satisfied, he sat down in the tub and put the muzzle in his mouth. Water poured over his head, his clothes, his shoes.

He hesitated for just a few seconds, wondering again what, if anything, he’d done last night. Not that it would matter now, he thought, slipping his thumb through the trigger guard.

‘Mr Pullman?’

Marty froze, his thumb quivering on the trigger. Goddamn it, he was hallucinating. He had to be. No one ever came to this house, and certainly no one would just let himself in – except maybe a Jehovah’s Witness, which made him glad he had the gun.

‘Mr Pullman?’ The male voice was louder now, closer, and he sounded young. ‘Are you in there, sir?’ A forceful knock rattled the bathroom door in its frame.

The gun tasted terrible as he pulled it from his mouth, and he spat into the water swirling toward the drain. ‘Who is it?’ he shouted, trying his best to sound scary and aggressive.

‘Sorry to disturb you, Mr Pullman, but Mrs Gilbert told me to break the door down if I had to . . .’

‘Who the hell are you and how do you know Lily?’ Marty shouted.

‘Jeff Montgomery, sir? I work at the nursery?’

The kid spoke only in questions. God, that was irritating. Marty looked down at the gun and sighed. He was never going to get this done. ‘Stay right where you are. I’ll be out in a minute.’

He scrambled out of the tub, stripped out of his drenched clothes, then stuffed gun, clothes, and shoes into the hamper. He wrapped a towel around his waist, then opened the bathroom door.

A tall, good-looking kid – eighteen or nineteen at most – was standing awkwardly in the hallway, hands stuffed into his jeans pockets.

‘Okay. Here I am. Now tell me why Lily wanted you to break my door down.’

Jeff Montgomery had big blue eyes that grew comically wide when he noticed the thick scar that slashed a diagonal across Marty’s bare chest. He looked away quickly.

‘Uh . . . I didn’t actually break down your door? It was open? And Mrs Gilbert has been trying to call you forever, but no one answered your phone? And jeez, Mr Pullman, I’m really sorry, but Mr Gilbert passed away.’

Marty didn’t move for a minute; didn’t even blink; then he rubbed the heel of his hand hard against his forehead, as if it would help him absorb the information. ‘What?’ he whispered. ‘Morey’s dead?’

The kid pressed his lips together and scowled down at the floor, trying not to cry, and Marty’s opinion of him shot up a few degrees, even if he did end every sentence with a question mark. Anyone who liked Morey enough to cry for him couldn’t be all bad.

‘He was shot, Mr Pullman. Someone shot Mr Gilbert.’

Marty didn’t say anything, but he felt the blood drain from his face as if someone had just pulled a plug. He sagged sideways against the bathroom door frame, glad it was there to hold him up.

Jesus Christ, he hated this world.

‘Come on, Leo. Stop at Target or someplace so I can buy a pair of pants,’ Gino grumbled from the passenger seat.

Magozzi shook his head. ‘Can’t. Crime scene’s getting older by the minute.’

Gino plucked unhappily at the legs of his shorts. ‘This is totally unprofessional.’ He blew out a noisy sigh and looked out the window.

He’d always liked this part of
Minneapolis. They were on

‘Damn, I hate this part.’

‘At least we don’t have to tell her,’ Magozzi said. ‘That’s something.’

‘Yeah, I suppose. But we still have to ask her questions, like did she shoot her husband in the head.’

‘That’s why we get the big bucks.’

There was a squad on the street and another one blocking the driveway of the Uptown Nursery when Magozzi and Gino arrived. A couple of uniforms were standing around with rolls of yellow crime-scene tape, looking lost. Magozzi showed his badge when one of them approached the window. ‘You got a grid staked out? You want us to park on the street?’

The uniform took off his hat and wiped his shiny forehead with a sleeve. It was already hot in the sun, especially on asphalt. ‘Hell, I don’t know, Detective. We got no clue where to string the tape.’

‘Gee, how about around the body?’ Gino suggested.

The cop bristled a little. ‘Yeah, well the wife moved the body.’

‘
What?’

‘That’s right. She found him outside and moved him into the greenhouse. Said she didn’t want to leave him out in the rain.’

Magozzi groaned. ‘Oh, man . . .’

‘Lock her up,’ Gino muttered. ‘Tampering with evidence, destroying a crime scene. Lock her up and throw away the key. She probably killed him anyway.’

‘She’s about a million years old, Detective.’

‘Yeah, well that’s the thing about guns. Old people, kids, anybody can use ’em. They’re equal-opportunity murder weapons.’ He got out of the car and slammed the door and started walking slowly toward the big greenhouse in front, eyes down in case the rain had missed a bloody footprint or something.

The uniform watched him go, shaking his head. ‘That is not a happy man.’

‘Normally he is,’ Magozzi replied. ‘He’s just pissed because I wouldn’t let him stop and change into some long pants before we came here.’

‘You gotta give him points, then. Those are some bad legs.’

‘Who belongs to the other squad?’

‘Viegs and Berman. They’re walking the block, hitting the neighbors. Couple of bike patrols are baby-sitting the body inside, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the old lady has them watering plants or something.’

‘Yeah?’

The uniform wiped his brow with his sleeve again. ‘She’s a piece of work, that one.’

‘You got a feeling about her?’

‘Yeah. I got a feeling her husband’s getting the first rest he’s had in years.’

Magozzi caught up to Gino in the middle of the lot, staring at the hearse angled in front of the greenhouse.

‘We got no crime scene,’ Gino grumbled. ‘Rain trashed it first, then the funeral director drove his tank all over it, and . . . oh, man. Are you seeing what I’m seeing?’

Behind and almost hidden by the hearse was a white ’66 Chevy Malibu convertible, red leather interior, positively cherry. Gino had lusted after it from the first time he’d seen it.

‘Huh,’ Magozzi grunted. ‘What do you think?’

Gino clucked his tongue, the envy as ripe as ever. ‘Gotta be his. There isn’t another one like it in the Cities.’

‘So what’s he doing here?’

‘Beats me. Buying flowers?’

Neither one of them had seen Marty Pullman since he’d left the force a year ago, a few months after his wife had died. Not that they’d known him that well even when they were all carrying the same badge. In
Minneapolis, Homicide and Narcotics didn’t mix nearly as often as they did on TV. It was just that once you saw Marty, you weren’t likely to forget him. He still had the wrestler’s physique that had taken him to State in high school. Short bowlegs, massive chest and arms, and dark eyes that had looked haunted even before they were. They’d called him Gorilla back when he’d still had a sense of humor, but those days were long gone.

The big glass door of the greenhouse opened, and
Pullman walked out to meet them.

‘Man,’ Gino said under his breath. ‘Looks like he lost about fifty pounds.’

‘Hell of a year for him,’ Magozzi said, and then Marty was there, shaking their hands, his expression as sober as ever.

‘Magozzi, Gino, good to see you.’

‘What the hell,
Pullman?’ Gino pumped his hand. ‘You take up gardening, or did you join up again and nobody told me?’

Marty blew a long, shaky breath out through puffed cheeks. He looked like he was teetering on the edge of something. ‘The man who was shot was my father-in-law, Gino.’

‘Oh shit.’ Gino’s face fell. ‘He was Hannah’s dad? Oh man, I’m sorry. Shit.’

‘Forget it. You had no way of knowing. Listen, you don’t have much of a scene here.’

Magozzi heard the quaver in his voice, and decided to hold off on the sympathy until the man was strong enough to accept it. ‘So we heard,’ he said, pulling out a pocket notebook and a pen. ‘Anybody else here this morning besides you and the funeral director?’

‘A couple of the employees – I sent them home, but told them to stay put, that you’d be checking in with them before the day was out. I blocked off where Lily said she found Morey with my car, but that’s about the best I could do.’

‘We appreciate it, Marty,’ Magozzi said, wishing he could walk away from this one. Lily Gilbert had lost her daughter one year, her husband the next. Magozzi didn’t know how you survived that kind of double tragedy, and asking her the questions he had to ask suddenly seemed like an appalling act of cruelty. ‘You think your mother-in-law will be able to talk to us?’

Marty managed a half smile. ‘She’s not falling apart, if that’s what you mean. Lily doesn’t do that.’ He glanced toward the main greenhouse. ‘She’s in there. I tried to get her to go to the house – it’s on the back of the lot, behind all the greenhouses – but that’s not about to happen until they take Morey away. ME’s on the way, right?’

Magozzi nodded. ‘He’ll do a little on-site before they move him. I don’t think you want her around for that.’

‘Hell, no, I don’t. But Lily will be wherever she wants to be. That’s just the way she is.’ He sucked air in through his teeth. ‘There’s something else.’

Magozzi and Gino waited quietly.

‘After she got him inside, she washed him. Shaved him. Changed his clothes. He’s lying in there on one of the plant tables all decked out in his funeral suit.’

Gino closed his eyes briefly, trying to hold his temper in check. ‘That’s not good, Marty.’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘I mean, her son-in-law was a cop. She had to know she was destroying evidence.’

‘She’s damn near blind, Gino. Can’t even get a driver’s license anymore. Says she never saw any blood. I’m guessing the rain washed it away before she got out here. He caught it in the head, small caliber right behind the left temple, and he’s got this great head of thick white hair . . . hell, even I had to look for it and I knew it was there.’

‘Okay.’ Gino nodded, letting it go for the moment.

Magozzi made a note to have the crime-scene techs collect the clothes the dead man had been wearing when he was shot. ‘Anything you can think of that might help us out here?’ he asked.

Marty’s laugh was short and bitter. ‘You mean like who’d want to kill him? Sure. Look for somebody who’d pop Mother Teresa. He was a good man, Magozzi. Maybe even a great one.’

The air in the greenhouse was hot and swampy, laden with the scent of wet earth and vegetation. Long tables filled with plants were lined up in two rows, leaving a narrow central aisle – it looked like every other greenhouse Magozzi’d ever been in, except for the front table, which held a corpse in a black suit instead of potted flowers.

Even dead and laid out for viewing, Morey Gilbert was still a formidable presence. Very tall, very well-muscled, and better dressed than Magozzi had ever been in his life.

Two young bike cops fidgeted near the body, trying to pretend it wasn’t there.

‘Where are they?’ Marty asked them.

‘Your mother-in-law took the old gentleman back there, sir.’ One of the bike patrols tipped his head toward a door in the back wall.

‘What’s back there, Marty?’ Magozzi asked.

‘The potting shed, a couple more greenhouses. Lily probably wanted Sol out of here for a while. He was pretty shook up.’

‘Sol?’

‘He’s the funeral director who called it in, but he was also Morey’s best friend. This is a tough one for him. Hang on, I’ll get them.’

Gino waited until Marty was out of earshot before whispering to Magozzi. ‘Her husband is dead, and she’s consoling the funeral director? That’s a little ass-backwards, isn’t it?’

Magozzi shrugged. ‘Maybe that’s how she holds it together, by taking care of other people.’

‘Maybe. Or maybe she didn’t like her husband very much.’

They walked over to the front table to take a closer look at the dead man before the family came back. Gino used a pen to lift the white hair, exposing the bullet hole. ‘Tiny. I suppose you could miss it if you were half blind, but I don’t know.’ He looked up at the bike patrols. ‘You guys can take off now if you want. We got it covered. Send copies of your reports up to Homicide.’

‘Yes sir, thank you.’

Magozzi was looking at Morey Gilbert’s face, seeing a person instead of a corpse, starting to form the kind of bond that always linked him to victims. ‘He’s got a nice face, Gino. And he was eighty-four, still running his own business, taking care of his family . . . Who’d want to kill an old man like this?’

Gino shrugged. ‘Maybe an old woman.’

‘You’re just pissed because she moved the body.’