Play To Kill

Chapter Nine

It had taken Camilla less than half an hour to isolate the security footage that showed Alan Sommers in full bridal regalia entering and leaving the Tiara Club the night of his murder - alone both times - which eliminated all hope of an easy conclusion with a slam-dunk suspect.

Why don't we ever pull a case where our perp is so stupid he gets caught in the act on surveillance tape wearing his work uniform with the name tag in plain view?' Gino complained as Magozzi pulled the Cadillac away from the Tiara Club's flashing neon and headed north toward Alan Sommers' apartment. "You read about that stuff all the time, but it never happens to us.'

'That's because the really stupid felons are almost always bank robbers.'

Gino sighed. We should move over to Robbery, then.'

'I thought you were angling for Water Rescue.'

'A mere pipe dream. I can't swim.'

'Seriously?'

Yeah.'

Why don't I know that about you?'

'Why would you? It's not like you ever asked me to go surfing or anything. Shit. It's late. I better call Angela.'

While Gino checked on his hearth and home, Magozzi watched the neighborhoods deteriorate with each city block.

This part of Minneapolis had never exactly been mink and pearls, but when the gangs moved in during the eighties and nineties, they left a lot of carnage in their wake. The MPD Gang Task Force had worked hard to sanitize things over the years, and they'd done an impressive job, but the lingering hangover of too much violence for too long was still evident. Half the houses were still unoccupied, and the few viable businesses that remained were girded in the graffiti-scarred armor of steel gates and chain-link fencing.

Gino clicked off his cell phone just as Magozzi pulled into the parking lot of the Stop-and-Go. 'How's the homestead rolling without you?'

'It all went to hell in a handbasket. The little guy has a fever and Helen has a sore throat. Angela told me to take vitamin C.'

'What's that do, and where are you going to get it?'

'Are you kidding? She tucks shit like that in my pants pockets every day, and it does absolutely nothing except keep my marriage intact.' Gino craned his neck and looked out the windshield at the darkened Stop-and-Go sign. 'When I was on the beat, the guys used to call this place "the Stop-and-Die." Doesn't look much better than it did back in the day. And it's closed, damnit. Don't tell me we have to come back here tomorrow for interviews.'

Magozzi shrugged. 'My gut tells me Alan Sommers wasn't killed by anybody he knew or worked with. Camilla said everybody loved him - and we didn't see any Norman Bates-type stalkers on the vid.'

'That was a bummer, wasn't it? So Alan Sommers was probably just a great victim of opportunity for some sick asshole who wanted a little exposure on the Web.'

'That's what I'm thinking. Let's see what turns up in his apartment and we can go from there.'

Gino nodded, then unsnapped his holster and drew his gun. 'I'm going in armed and dangerous. This place still gives me the creeps.'

It took them a few minutes to find the battered metal access door behind the Stop-and-Go that led up a flight of stairs to a squalid, dark hallway of doors. The place was a true dump, crawling with cockroaches and rodents that didn't seem the least bit put out by the presence of humans. If there were any other squatters utilizing the space, they were either dead, very quiet, or out for the night, because the place was as silent as an anechoic chamber. It was the kind of silence that was inherently and deeply menacing and, oddly, the same kind of silence that kept you dead quiet. If you didn't make any noise, the bad things might not find you.

They found Alan's place at the end of the hall and let themselves in with the key Camilla had given them. Magozzi flipped on a light, which cast a harsh, bare-bulb glare on a surprisingly tidy, freshly painted room that bore no resemblance to the scary hallway they'd taken to get here. There was a twin mattress on the floor, made up with a clean bedspread that Magozzi had recently seen in one of the IKEA catalogs he mysteriously received every couple months in the mail, even though he'd never shopped there. The tiny kitchen and bathroom were both spotlessly clean not a speck of dirt or a roach or rat in sight - and there was the pervasive smell of patchouli incense that battled with the funk of mold that was probably emanating from the walls in highly toxic quantities. Alan Sommers had lived in a hellhole, but he'd obviously put forth some effort to make it livable.

Gino ventured into the second room, which was little more than a big closet, filled with an astounding array of wigs, makeup cases, shoes, and gowns wrapped in plastic, hanging from a sagging dowel. And in shocking contrast, amidst all the finery, were two brown-and-yellow-polyester Stop-and-Go uniforms, neatly hung and ready for service. 'Christ, look at this,' he said. 'It's like Cinderella's closet. Char girl by day, princess by night. This guy was leading a double life. And he had more wigs than Cher.'

'It gets weirder,' Magozzi said from the living room as he stared up at a framed diploma that hung on the wall. 'Alan Sommers graduated cum laude from Billy Mitchell Law back in 1989. How the hell do you get from there to here?'

Gino joined Magozzi in the living room. 'Huh. That's a damn big fall. But remember what Camilla said? That he lost somebody close? She kind of implied that that was what sent him over the edge.'

He started rummaging in the apartment's few drawers and cabinets but didn't turn up anything except the mundane scraps of day-to-day life. 'Man, this is the sorriest place I've ever tossed. There's nothing here, not even a can of Coke in the fridge. It's like Alan Sommers wasn't even a real person, just a cardboard mock-up.'

'I think the real Alan Sommers is in that closet.'

'Christ, you're going to have to put me on suicide watch if I stay here much longer. I hate poking through dead people's stuff. Reminds me of having to clean out my grandpa's house after he died.'

Magozzi nodded. 'There's nothing here. Let's get to the jail and bribe a boy in blue to let us see Wild Jim before they let him out in the morning.'

'I got nothing to bribe a jailer with.'

'Give him some vitamin C.'

'You get that I have had no sleep, right, Leo? Zero, nada, not even a Salvador Dali nap.'

'I get it. Join the club.'

Magozzi pulled in at an angle in front of the Hennepin County Jail.

'And you also understand that it's three o'clock in the morning'

'I do.'

'So here's the thing. My eyes are fried eggs, my brain cells are crisp around the edges, and at the moment I'm about three levels down from any drunk coming off a high toot, let alone an ex-judge.'

Magozzi put the car in park and rubbed his eyes. 'No choice. The golden time is wearing off on Alan Sommers. We already lost a day thinking he was an accidental, more time finding out he left the club alone, and Wild Jim is the last lead. We've gotta milk it.'

During visiting hours, Hennepin County Jail kept at full ballast with a cross section of society that would never mingle in the real world. There was always the predictable, en masse scum, coming to chitchat with significant-other scums; then there was the regular meat-and-potatoes crowd, always a little shell-shocked by having to visit an errant friend or family member in lockup; and, less frequently, the dressed-to-kill cocktail crowd, sporting major attitude and pissed as hell that their lover or spouse had gotten a DUI after drinking too much champagne at an important charity event. It made for excellent sport if you were into people- watching, but as a cop, you got over that brand of voyeurism your first or second day on the job.

At this hour the lobby was calm, the sign-in deputy was bored, and Magozzi and Gino were relieved. Efficiency was at its peak, and Wild Jim was escorted immediately to the standard, Plexiglas booth that was blurry with scratches and fog from the breath of loved ones declaring their heart's desire through a quarter-inch of plastic.

The judge looked perfectly lucid, eyes as sharp as they always had been on the bench, blood alcohol notwithstanding. He plunked down on the steel chair across from Magozzi and Gino with a gracious thanks to the jailor who'd escorted him, then lasered in on the both of them without prelude.

'I remember you, Magozzi. You were in front of me twice. As I recall, you were trying to lock up a couple craven sociopaths that your wife at the time wanted desperately to put back on the streets, for some incomprehensible reason.'

'She was a public defender.'

That elicited a snort from Wild Jim. 'Bad bedmates, cops and public defenders. But I guess you figured that out.'

The comment really pissed Magozzi off. It was incredibly bad form to bring up his ugly divorce that had been so painfully public in the law enforcement community, but he had no choice but to humor him. Drunks coming off jags could change like the wind if you pushed the wrong buttons.

'Come on, where's your sense of humor, Magozzi? I've had five divorces, so that makes you four times smarter than me. Hey, do you know what the difference is between a criminal and a public defender?'

'No, Judge, I don't,' Magozzi said flatly.

'Neither do I!' He busted a gut laughing at his own tired joke, then his eyes honed in on Gino. 'And I remember you, too, Rolseth. Only saw you once, but we made a good team. We exterminated some vermin that day, yes indeed. So, Detectives, assuming this isn't a social call, what can I do for you?'

'A body was found in the river this morning,' Gino said.

'Ah. That's why there were so damn many cops in my front yard. So what happened to the poor schmuck?'

'Drowned.'

'And I'm talking to two homicide detectives. Isn't that interesting.'

Magozzi ignored the comment. We understand you may have seen something last night.'

'You wouldn't believe the depraved shit I see down by the river, every goddamned night. People having sex, shooting up, smoking crack… I don't know what happened to this city.'

'Last night specifically,' Magozzi said, trying to get him back on track. The sergeant running the canvass said you mentioned a commotion.'

The judge smiled. 'Very delicate phrasing, Magozzi. Yes, I told a cop this morning that there was some crazy faggot raising hell down by my river, like usual. Sorry, but I'm not politically correct.'

'Raising hell? What does that mean?'

'He was crashing through the brush, yodeling like a coloratura soprano on helium.'

'Calling for help?' Gino asked.

Wild Jim leaned back in his chair and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. 'You know what the problem with this line of questioning is, Detectives? I'm a bourbon aficionado. And when you like Kentucky horse piss as much as I do, memories and recollections are hard to come by. If I saw something, I don't remember it. All I can tell you is I heard yodeling, then I heard a cop shouting at me to wake up this morning. There's nothing in between.'

Magozzi sighed audibly.

'Don't look so dejected, my friend. I may be a dissolute drunk, but just because I don't remember last night right now doesn't mean I won't think of something later. So, are you expecting your perp to get into more monkey business down there, maybe return to the scene, or is this a one-off murder?'

Magozzi and Gino just shrugged noncommitally.

'Well, there's my answer. Tell you what - I'm down there every night anyhow. I'll be your eyes and ears. And I know where to find you.'

We wouldn't recommend night walks by the river for a while.'

The judge smiled. 'I'm sure I'll have plenty of company.

You cops always blanket an area after a homicide, at least for a week or two. By the way, am I a suspect?'

'Should you be?'

'Absolutely. Anybody down by that river last night should be a suspect, but I don't have to tell you that. Anything else you need to know?'

Magozzi looked straight at him. Yeah. What happened to the respected judge who sat on the bench, handing out justice for twenty years?'

The judge looked surprised. 'Nothing happened to that respected judge. You're looking at him. I sat on the bench handing out justice for twenty years, and for every one of them I was drunk out of my mind. Kind of puts a wrinkle in the robe, doesn't it?'