Small crimes

Chapter 18

The desk clerk seemed surprised to see me. They had already cleared out my room, and he had to get my duffel bag out of a storage closet. As he handed it to me, he was eyeing my cuts and bruises with some curiosity. I answered the question that seemed stuck on his lips.

'Those cops who took me out of here this morning tried to kill me,' I said.

'Really?'

'Damn straight. I'm lucky to be alive.’

‘No shit?’

‘No shit.'

As I said before, I didn't care anymore. Word would spread about those two cops, and as far as I was concerned, they deserved whatever they ended up getting. I took my duffel bag to my car and headed towards Bradley. Along the way, I stopped off at the Eastfield Mall and bought a shirt and pair of pants. I wore my new clothes out of the store, and cleaned up the best I could in the mall's rest room.

After that I found a diner and had three cheeseburgers and a milkshake. It was like I had this bottomless hole that I couldn't fill. I probably could've had a couple more cheeseburgers, but I stopped after three. Before leaving I called Craig, apologizing for missing my parole meeting with him the other day, and scheduling another meeting for later in the afternoon. I also called an attorney in Bradley, Jim Pierce, and was able to set up an appointment for within the hour. I still had enough time before the appointment to drive down to the old tannery.

The tannery had been shut down for almost sixty years, and it lay empty until Manny bought it fifteen years ago and moved his bookie operations there. In some ways it made sense – the building is as out of the way in Bradley as you can get – but I often wondered what he wanted all that space for.

The roads leading to the tannery were in rough shape. I guess during the past fifteen years only Manny and his employees ever bothered to drive down them. After twenty minutes of bouncing around, I got to the building.

From the outside the old tannery looked pretty dilapidated. There were half a dozen cars parked alongside it – more than I would've expected. I drove around the building until I got to a pair of dumpsters. In no time at all I found what I was looking for – empty boxes and containers of pseudoephedrine, iodine, acetone, methanol, and other ingredients necessary for manufacturing crystal meth. I suspected that that was behind Junior's push to acquire college clubs. Not only was he manufacturing crystal meth, he was acquiring distribution outlets so he could unload his junk without having to deal with a retailer.

Nobody saw me going through the dumpsters; at least, if they did see me no one bothered doing anything about it. When I was done, I got in my car and headed back towards downtown Bradley.

I arrived at Jim Pierce's office a few minutes before our scheduled appointment, and his receptionist had me take a seat and wait. Next to Harold Grayson, Jim's probably the best we've got. When I was a cop I saw him plenty of times arguing ridiculous bald-faced lies in court without missing a beat, and more times than not convincing the juries to buy them.

After fifteen minutes Jim came out to greet me, and led me back to his office. His attitude towards me seemed curious, and when he got behind his desk he leaned back and pursed his lips while he studied me.

'You look like you've been run over by a truck,' he said.

'It's nothing. I tripped and fell, that's all.'

He knew that was a load of crap, but he didn't care enough to pursue it. 'It's been a long time, Joe. What can I help you with?'

'I need to hire a lawyer.'

'Why me? Isn't Harold Grayson your lawyer?'

'He's not available.'

He raised his eyebrows at that. "The two of you have a falling out?'

'No, nothing like that.' I paused, and then said, "There's a conflict of interest.'

'If you want to hire me my rates are one hundred and fifty an hour.' He checked his watch. 'You're on the clock now. What's the problem?'

I went straight into it and told him about Manny, the deal he was making with Phil, and what he was going to confess to. During it all, Jim leaned back in his chair bug-eyed as he listened to me.

'So you're saying Manny Vassey, to protect his son, will be alleging you murdered Ferguson?' he asked. 'Yes.'

'How do you know this?’

‘He told me.'

'He just came right out and volunteered this to you?’

‘Yeah.' I smiled weakly. 'I visited him a couple of days ago at the hospital and he let it leak.'

Jim's eyes widened as he considered what I was saying.

'So what do you think?' I asked. 'How badly will his confession hurt me?'

He rubbed his chin as he thought it over. Matter-of-factly he said, 'As you probably know a deathbed confession is an exclusion to the hearsay rule. If he does confess there's nothing I would be able to do to keep it out of court. Is there any other evidence you know of that could support his allegations?'

'His son, Junior, paid off a friend of mine, Earl Kelley, to write this/

I had Earl's affidavit with me and I handed it to him. As he read through the document, I realized that there was more. If Dan could make a deal and slice a few years off whatever sentence he was going to end up with, he'd do it in a heartbeat. He'd tell about the thirty thousand dollars' worth of bets a bookie told him I made after Billy Ferguson's murder. Thinking about that made me sick to my stomach.

Jim finished the affidavit and put it down. His expression didn't look too hopeful.

"This Kelley's a friend of yours?' he asked.

'Yeah.'

'Maybe you need to make yourself some new friends.’

‘Maybe, but Junior made it well worth his while to write that.’

‘If I were to depose Kelley, any chance he'd recant and admit to perjuring himself?’ I don't think so.'

'Anything you could say to him to help convince him?'

I shook my head. 'How bad is this for me?'

'I could argue that both Vassey's confession and this affidavit are self-serving, but I think I'd only be wasting my breath. Odds are pretty good you'll end up being convicted of first-degree murder.'

'Why would they buy Vassey's confession? He's a goddam criminal.'

'It doesn't matter. Deathbed confessions carry more weight with a jury than you could imagine. It's the psychology of it. Why would a dying person lie and risk purgatory? I know it's silly, but that's the way juries think.'

'What about the deal he's making to protect Junior from prosecution?'

'I don't think that would matter much. To be honest, the biggest problem we'll have is you. Face it, Joe, people here think you got off too easy for what you did to Phil Coakley. Now Phil wouldn't be trying the case against you, I'm sure one of his assistants would handle it, but he'd be sitting at the prosecutor's table each day reminding the jury what you did to him. They'll be looking for any excuse they can to send you back to prison. It's not fair, but that's the way it is.'

'What if you moved the trial to another state?'

He shrugged. I could try for a change of venue, but I don't think I'd be successful with that.'

'Why not?'

He gave a half-hearted shrug. 'I know the judges who'd be hearing this. They've all been having to live with Phil's scars these past years. I don't think there's a chance they'd give you any kind of break, let alone a change of venue.'

Of course, I knew it wouldn't matter where the trial was held. Once Dan told what he thought he knew, I'd be sunk.

Jim showed me an uneasy smile. "The one thing you have going for you is life without parole is seldom given in Vermont. I know of only half a dozen defendants who've gotten that.'

As I looked at him his smile faded. We both knew that I would be added to that select group.

'So that's it, huh?' I asked.

'I don't know what else to tell you, Joe. If charges are brought against you and you want me to represent you, I'd be happy to do it but I'll need to see eighty thousand dollars in escrow before I can sign on.'

'I don't have that type of money.'

He showed another half-hearted shrug. 'I'm sorry, Joe, I won't be able to help you, then. But I'm sure the court will appoint you a capable public defender.'

As I got up to leave, he checked his watch.

'Joe, we've been talking for twenty minutes. Usually I charge in fifteen minute intervals, but why don't we call it even at fifty dollars? You can pay my receptionist on your way out.'

I took fifty bucks out of wallet and tossed the money-on his desk.

It was pretty much what I expected. I don't know why I wasted my time and money with the meeting, but it didn't matter. The only effect it had on me was making me more resolute to carry out the plan I had settled on.

I still had over an hour before I had to meet Craig. I walked over to the Bradley Brewery, got a seat at the bar, and for the hell of it ordered a blueberry wheat ale. As I looked around the place I saw a number of people I knew. Most of them avoided eye contact with me, but there were a few who had been at church when Thayer made his speech on forgiveness, and a couple of them nodded back to me. I guess that was the best I could hope for.

I liked the ale more than I thought I would and ended up ordering a second one. The hour slipped by quickly and before I knew it I had to head over to the courthouse. Craig was waiting for me in the cubbyhole of an office he had there. He was originally from Queens, New York, and had moved to Bradley about the time I had joined the force. I wouldn't say we were ever exactly friends, but back then we used to talk a lot, or more precisely he used to talk a lot to me. For the most part it was a running monologue. He used to seek me out so he could tell me how sick he had gotten of New York and how glad he was to be able to have a quieter and more wholesome life in Vermont.

As I took a chair by his desk, I barely recognized him. He didn't look like he was enjoying the wholesome life he had hoped for. Craig was only a couple of years older than me, but his tight curly hair that used to be a reddish brown had turned gray and had receded to almost the top of his skull. He had also gotten a lot wider and heavier since I'd last seen him. As he sat behind his desk and frowned at me, he looked like a bitter, flabbier version of Larry Fine from the Three Stooges.

'What the hell happened to your face?' he demanded.

'You really want me to tell you?'

'What do you mean?'

'You could always ask Dan Pleasant, but if you want I'll be happy to tell you all-'

'Never mind,' Craig said, stopping me. I knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't want to deal with this type of problem.

'But Craig, you sent Dan after me, didn't you?’ I don't know what you're talking about.’

‘Didn't you notify Dan that I missed our meeting the other day?'

'What? I didn't say anything to him about that.'

So Dan was either guessing about me missing my parole meeting or he had one of his boys watching the courthouse. Sonofabitch!

'Really? Well, let me tell you what happened-'

'I said never mind.' There was some panic in his voice. He picked up a folder and flipped through it before putting it down and forcing a stern, almost laughable look onto his face. 'Now about you missing our meeting-'

'I'm sorry about that, Craig. As I said in the message I left you, I had a job interview. By the way, I didn't get the job.'

I could tell he was relieved that I let the other matter drop. He made a loud sucking noise as he breathed in a lungful of air. 'You have to take this seriously, Joe. If you violate your parole I have to send you back to jail. If I do that you'll serve out your complete sentence. That could be another seventeen years.'

I guess I smiled then. It just seemed to be the least of my worries.

'This isn't funny, Joe. I think maybe the problem is you still think of us as colleagues rather than what we are. We're no longer colleagues. We're not even friends. You're a paroled felon and I'm your parole officer. That's our relationship now. You need to accept that.'

'I'm sorry, Craig. And I do accept how things stand.’ I hope for your sake that's true because you can't be missing our scheduled meetings, understood?’

‘Understood.'

He picked the folder back up and frowned at it. 'You moved out of your parents' house without telling me,' he complained, his voice bordering on whining.

"They threw me out.'

'This is what I'm talking about,' Craig said, his cheeks mottling pink and white as he got excited. 'You knew that you were supposed to stay with your parents until you found a permanent residence, and you knew that I was supposed to be kept informed of any address changes. All you had to do was behave yourself. So what did you do to make your parents throw you out?'

'Someone took a shot at me while I was in their house.'

His expression showed that he didn't understand a word I said. 'What do you mean?' he asked. He had a small idiotic smile on his face, as if I were telling a joke he didn’t get.

'I was in the house with them. Someone from outside took a shot at me through the window. Whoever it was missed me by inches. If that much.'

The meaning of what I was saying started to sink in.

'I didn't hear anything about that,' he said. 'I'm surprised. I gave a full report to the police. I would've thought somebody would've told you.’

‘Nobody told me anything.'

He started to fidget with the folders and pens on his desk. This was more than he had bargained for. Most of his parolees were just ordinary screw-ups. Maybe they served time for drug offenses or borderline petty thefts or an occasional assault and battery because they were shitfaced with alcohol at the time. Usually they were just ordinary folk who were going to toe the line once they got out. He could deal with them. I was different. I brought along troubles that he didn't want to get anywhere near.

'Where are you staying now?' he asked. He realized he was fidgeting, and stopped himself by clasping his hands in front of him. He still couldn't look at me.

'Right now I'm staying in motels. I'd like to permanently move someplace else.'

'What?'

As I looked at him giving his best older bewildered Larry Fine impersonation, I made up my mind about something. Ever since I saw those pictures of my girls I couldn't help thinking that I could move to Albany. I wouldn't force myself into their lives, but I'd be there for them. If I survived this mess, that was what I was going to do.

'I'd like to move to Albany,' I told him. 'That's where my daughters are.'

'I don't know about that-'

'People here are trying to kill me, Craig. If I stay in Bradley, somebody's going to get hurt.'

He looked scared now. This was far more than he ever bargained for, especially the idea that he might have to explain to the parole board why one of his clients ended up being killed under his nose. He cleared his throat and asked what I would do in Albany. I told him that I was planning to go to a trade school and become a plumber.

'I'll see what I can do,' he said.

'The sooner I leave the better. I was hoping to move to Albany by the end of the week.'

'I'll work on it. I'm not making any promises.'

He still couldn't look at me. His eyes were frozen on his clasped hands. As I sat and watched him, he seemed to get more uncomfortable. After a while he was just about squirming in his seat.

Anything else you need from me?' I asked. He started to shake his head, but stopped himself. 'You haven't used cocaine since you've been out?’

‘No.'

'If I had you take a drug test-'

'Nothing would show up. What's going on, Craig? Phil come by and try to convince you I'm doing coke?'

He shook his head, but he was always a lousy poker player.

'Did you hear how Phil jumped me after church? I had eaten some powdered doughnuts and he thought the sugar residue on me was cocaine.'

'I didn't hear anything about that,' Again he was lying.

'If you want me to take a drug test, give me a cup.'

It was my turn to bluff, because I knew the cocaine I ingested Saturday night would show up in a test. He wavered for a moment and then waved away the idea of the test. Again, he wouldn't want to have to deal with the consequences.

'Forget it. Just get out of here. I'll work on relocating you to Albany.'

As I left his office, he sat frozen, still unable to face me.

It was only four in the afternoon. I was beat. Thanks to Dan's boys my face now felt like raw hamburger, and my nose throbbed as if it had a life of its own. I ran my fingers along its outline. It was more swollen than before and felt as if it were pushed out of place. I walked over to the drugstore and bought some aspirin. I avoided the mirrors inside the store. I didn't want to see how bad my face looked.

When I got to my car, I headed off towards Burlington. This time I was careful about being followed. I pulled over several times and used every trick I knew to make sure no one was behind me. I stopped off once to buy some fast food and then found a roadside motel. I made sure to park in the back so my car couldn't be seen from the road.

When I got in my room I closed the shades. I didn't bother with any ice this time. I knew it wouldn't do any good.

After I looked up what I had to in the phonebook, I ate the food I bought, took some more aspirin, and set the alarm clock for five in the morning. Then I settled back and watched TV. At some point after all the late-night talk shows had finished I must've blacked out.