Howard Engel - Getting Away With Murder

“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.”