John Boland - Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 54, No. 3, March 2009

“But he didn’t. Am I in danger?”

“Porky’s a dangerous man, but he’s not stupid. He’ll do what he can to intimidate you, but...”

“But what?”

“I guess it depends on what he’s trying to hide.”

“You think he killed your father?”

“I don’t know. But who else had access to squad room gossip that could have told him my father was there? It was dark down at those rocks. How’d the killer know it was my father?”

Nora sucked salt off her fingertip. “My testimony isn’t worth much, is it?”

“To get a conviction? No. But Dixie’s could be. The trouble is he’s out of state and his father probably has an army of lawyers to keep him in Florida. We might not be able to get him up here.”

“I’ll get him up here,” she said. And looking at her I knew she would.

I assured her that Dixie wouldn’t risk arrest for having used drugs. All he’d have to do was tell the police why he had lied about where he was that Saturday night and why Porky Johnson had warned him to keep his mouth shut.

Nora kept her word. Within two days Dixie was in a chair in Mike’s office. I was told he’d be there. I was told not to show up. Mike filled me in shortly after their meeting broke up.

“Porky knew Dixie was in Maine?”

“Dixie sat in on it,” Mike said. “And they stood together down on the street after the meeting, Porky tapping him on the chest with a hard finger.”

“What did Dixie give you?”

“He admitted lying. Didn’t want his father to know about his habit.”

“Did he see anything?”

“He saw Porky early in the evening with a woman. They were outside.”

“Anything about my father?”

“Said he didn’t know it had happened until he read it in the newspaper. It’s why he got scared. It’s why he lied. Said he made a buy and left. It corroborates what Nora Murphy told you, right?”

“So you had no reason to hold him. What’d he say about the phone call from Gina Spalitro?”

“That made him nervous. He kept glancing at Porky. Admitted she had ‘warned’ him, is the word he used, to keep his mouth shut about what he knew. He said he had no idea what she was talking about — saying it as much to Porky as to me, like denying it for Porky’s benefit, Porky taking it all in but saying nothing.”

“So what was gained?”

“Not a hell of a lot,” Mike said. “I didn’t throw hard questions at him, didn’t want to tip my hand.”

“About what?”

He studied me for half a minute. “Let me ask you a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Five bullets were shot into your father’s back and we found two slugs in the sand near the body. Does that sound like the action of a trained policeman, especially where potential witnesses were only a few hundred feet away?”

“I’ve thought of that,” I said. “It could come from long, pent-up resentment of being stalked.”

“Yes, but it raises doubts. I don’t like Porky, but he’s a damned good investigator. I have to respect him for that. I can’t even hint that he’s a suspect until I have it down on all fours.”

So that’s why Mike wouldn’t tell me everything. It was finally out in the open. For years, apparently, Porky had been under investigation for frequenting a whorehouse and possibly dealing in drugs.

It had cost me almost a month’s pay to have an oversized shower installed in my bathroom, but I was telling myself, while hot water poured down my back, that I’d do it again. Man, it felt good. I was rinsing soap from my hair, tilting my head back to keep soap from my eyes when the phone rang. I let it ring. I finished showering and walked naked into my office. The call had come from Eloise Hoagy. I called her. She picked up after the first ring.

“Oh, thank God,” she said. “I was just about to call the police.”

“About what?”

“It’s Nora. We were on the phone—”

“Slow down,” I said.

“She was talking about her son, about the legal arrangements, and wondering whether to go to Florida. She hadn’t seen him in a while. Then I heard loud pounding like a fist hitting a door. She put down the phone. I could hear voices, but I couldn’t make out anything. Then the phone went dead.

“Nora would never cut me off like that. Something’s wrong, Duff. Please, can you drive up there?”

I said I would. “Maybe it’s something to do with her mother, a relapse. Something like that. I’ll get back to you.”

I threw on some clothes and hurried up the hill to Nora’s house.

A Ford Taurus I recognized as Porky Johnson’s and a beat-up panel truck were parked behind Nora’s Escort at the curb. I made a U-turn and pulled up behind the truck, fetched my Beretta from beneath my seat, wedged it into my pocket, and went up the steps to Nora’s back door.

I heard Porky yelling something, then the sound of furniture being knocked over. I pushed the door open, stepped past a mop and bucket, opened the kitchen door quietly. Porky was in the doorway to the front room, crouched, holding his pistol in both hands, aimed at Gina Spalitro, who had an arm around Nora’s neck, dragging her backward.

“Let her go!” Porky yelled, ignoring me.

“You’re trying to frame me, you son of a bitch!” Gina yelled. She saw me, gave me a brief snarl, looked back at Porky.

“Just let her go,” Porky said.

Then I saw the knife Gina was holding against Nora’s neck. “Get out of here, both of you!” she yelled.

I got out my Beretta and aimed it, when I saw a flash of madness in Gina’s eyes. Before I could pull the trigger, Porky fired his pistol. A stunned look froze Gina’s features. The knife dropped to the floor, and Nora slumped to her knees. Gina fell backward onto the kitchen counter, knocking a coffee pot into the sink.

“Put that away,” Porky told me, meaning my Beretta. I stuffed it into my pocket and hurried over to Nora. She was crying, badly frightened but okay. Her mother was calling from the other room.

“Stay here,” Porky said. He hurried outside, came back, and raised Gina into his arms and carried her outside. Porky didn’t come back inside.

A few hours later we were upstairs in Captain Wetherell’s office. Porky was in a padded chair with me next to him. Mike was in another chair, angled out so that he could watch me and Porky.

“And just before she died,” the captain said, skepticism all over his face as he read from a typed report, “Gina Spalitro confessed to shooting Captain Frank Kerrigan. And you’re the only witness to that.”

“It’s the truth, Captain,” Porky said. “She thought it was me down there on the sand with a woman. It was dark.”

“And why would she think that?”

Porky looked resentfully at me and Mike, wishing we weren’t there. He said, “Because it could’ve been. It’s where she and I used to go. I never wanted to use those bedrooms.”

The captain held up a gas station receipt Porky had given him. “And you were twenty miles away at the time of the shooting, assuming we know exactly when the murder took place.”

“I don’t think Detective Johnson shot Captain Kerrigan,” Mike said.

The captain considered that. “But it doesn’t look good that she died before she could talk to anyone else. And it sure as hell doesn’t look good that it was you who shot her,” glaring at Porky.

“He saved Nora Murphy’s life,” I said. “It was a good shoot.”

The captain grudgingly acknowledged that. He wasn’t satisfied, but he didn’t argue. “There’ll be a formal hearing,” he said, “and all of you will be under oath.” He put papers back into a folder, looked at each of us, and said, “Dismissed.”

Outside, watching Porky go down the corridor, I asked Mike, “Are you convinced he didn’t tell Gina to make those phone calls?”