Jerry Labriola - Murders at Hollings General

"Belle-you've read the papers or we've already talked if you called me. Don't book any more house calls. We'll play it week by week. D."

He returned to the others, coming first upon Sparky who was overseeing the technician taking photographs. "Here we go again, Spark," David said. "Same as before I can check with you later?"

"Absolutely. I'll be around all weekend, I'm afraid." David felt a strong hand on his shoulder. It was Foster's. "David, this is lunacy! You realize we're ruined? Why couldn't he have been shot in his own goddamned parking lot?"

"Nothing like healthy sorrow," David said but-reconsidering-winked. He saw Nick talking to a group of security men and jotting down notes in his own notepad. Kathy was half inside the back of the car inspecting the floor with a flashlight.

David spoke to her, his voice carrying an edge of resignation. "Kath, I've seen enough for now and Sparky said it'll be okay for me to check with him later. We're still on for tonight, right?"

She emerged and, after scanning his face, shook the beam of light on it. She turned off the light and inched closer to whisper, "C'mon, darling, snap out of it. This is what happens if we have a killer out there with a planned agenda. And, yes, I'll be over after I finish here and freshen up. We can cover what we have so far and I can watch you you-know-what."

"What?"

"Tie one on. Right?"

David didn't react.

"Right?" she repeated, sticking the flashlight against his solar plexus and twisting it.

David doubled over in mock distress and, forcing a smile, said, "If you insist."

That afternoon, David stepped onto his small front porch to check the weather. The rain had stopped but the aroma was damp and the air was so heavy on his arms, it felt like sleeves.

Twenty minutes later, he climbed out of the shower as the phone rang. It was Belle,

"David," she said, her voice raised a notch, "I know about Coughlin. It's all over the news. But before that, you've got to hear this. It can't wait till Monday. At first I thought it could but the more I thought of it-you know I wouldn't call unless it was important and so I figured …"

"All right, already! Calm clown. What have you got?"

"You know my old lunch girls at the hospital-the E.R. gang?"

"Yes."

"One of them just called. Cindy. I don't know how she found out, but if she says something's true, it's true. Alton Foster and Betty Tanarkle have had something going for months, if not years. Can you believe it?"

"She said that?"

"Yes. And she's pretty certain Ted knows about it " "Well, I'll be a son-of-a … how about Nora? Does she know?"

"Cindy can't be sure."

David thought out loud into the phone. "Why that old duck. No wonder he never wanted to leave here. Taking all that crap from Bugles."

"What's she see in him, anyway?" Belle asked.

"Power? Some physical quirk? People are funny." He deliberated, oblivious to Belle's next question until she repeated it.

"You still there?" she said.

"Yeah, I'm-uh-I'm still here. This blows my mind. This absolutely blows my mind."

"It couldn't possibly tie in with the murders, could it?"

"I don't know." David shook his head. "Unless we say Foster's our man-and that's remote to begin with-and that he knocked off Bugles because he knew about the relationship, and Coughlin because of their rivalry." He spoke as if he were addressing himself. "Those are pretty big leaps."

"Do you think there'll be more?"

The question jerked David off his line of thought. "You mean murders?" He knew what she meant. "Yes."

While David speculated, he heard breathing at the other end and was conscious of his own. "Give me your opinion," he said. "If you hadn't just heard about Foster and Betty, would you still ask the question?"

"Probably yes. It's been on my mind. There's a wacko around here, that's for sure."

"And my gut tells me Time is our enemy. That's my answer, Belle."

Before hanging up, he mentioned the note he had left on her desk, indicated that on Monday they would touch base on the particulars of Coughlin's murder, and asked to be kept current on the Foster/Tanarlde liaison.

It was five-thirty. David had tossed off a drink and anticipated Kathy's arrival. Another glass in hand, he stepped eagerly to the computer, names flashing in his mind, applying to each the customary trilogy of "Motive-Opportunity-Means." He opened the "MURDERS" file dated Tuesday, January 13, reviewed its contents, and then sat back to sort out which new kernels to enter this time.

He knew he had "snapped out of it," as Kathy had implored, because he could smell the cologne from his face and feel the sweatshirt against his skin. Either that or it's the Manhattan, he told himself, although he was reluctant to be included among those he had heard could think more clearly after a drink or two. He typed:

Saturday, January 17 MURDERS, continued-

Everett Coughlin-sniper bullet at parking gate. No witnesses. Single shot to temple.

Killer had to know time of lecture. Casing found in woods.

Who wanted him dead?

Victor Spritz:? still on mission bec. loss of EMS contract.

Ted Tanarkle: Coughlin threatened him royally.

New wrinkle: Betty Tanarkle romantically linked to Foster. Ted knows.

Have feeling killings not over. Better guard Foster.

Spritz and Tanarkle both have motives.

Keep Bernie Bugles in mind-not sure why, yet. Pawnshop dealer sold pair of daggers to? woman in disguise.

Concerned about my credibility but will plow ahead-unless gendarmes crowd me out.

David heard a key in the door. Kathy strolled in and removed a redingote.

"It's nice out, now," she said.

He rose slowly from his chair, admiring her lavender skintight pants as she pulled out a hanger from the hall closet. He was at her side before the coat was hung. David pulled her close and, running his hand over her backside and tugging on the pants, said, "And what's with these, may I ask?"

"I figured you needed it. Complaining?"

"Complain? No, oh no. You look great, you smell great, and, here, let me check." He kissed her firmly on the lips and smacked his own. "And you taste great."

Kathy slapped him on the shoulder and said, "What am I, a dinner entree?" She rubbed the lipstick from his lips with the corner of a tissue. He kissed her as before, only longer.

Breathless, she said, "What's that all about?" She rubbed his lips again.

"We wouldn't want to waste a whole tissue, would we?" he said, leaving for the cramped kitchen to pour her a glass of wine. Only when she was at home with him did he look through narrow doorways and realize he could see a slice of every room. Yet, there was something erotically symbolic in the constriction of those four spaces, adding, he imagined, to the intimacy he and Kathy shared. He hoped a larger spread later in their marriage would not signify the ho-hum he had heard so much about.

She sat in an easy chair, one leg tucked under. He retreated to the sofa and stretched his legs over the coffee table. He wished he had remembered to light a fire.

"The mayor called," she said.

David swallowed hard. "I suppose he wanted to know what in hell's going on."

"That and what are we doing about it."

"And?"

"And I told him someone's on the loose probably carrying out a vendetta, and that we're working on it as hard as we can."

"He let it go at that?"

"Sort of. He said people around town were getting impatient."

"Impatient? After only four days?"

"That's what I told him. He got real apologetic said he was only doing his job."

"Did he ask about me?"

"No, but I mentioned you were assisting in the investigation. He said `good'-that he'd heard about you. See, you even have political support, David, so chill out. Another murder's no reflection on you personally-or any others if they happen."