William Bernhardt - Murder One

“Of course. I have a couple of chores to attend to. Life as a landlord, you know. But maybe later …”

“Just give me a call when you’re ready to come over.”

“It’s a date.”

She pressed her firm body against him and gave him a long sweet kiss. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

Ben watched as her black-clad figure moved away. It seemed as though the further she went, the sharper and more intensely her taste lingered on his lips.

“So, kemo sabe. Hitting on women at funerals now?”

Ben pivoted around. “Mike!” He reached out and clapped his friend’s arms. “When did you get back in town?”

Major Mike Morelli grinned, then shoved his fists deep into the pockets of his unseasonable trenchcoat. “Just last night, as it happens.”

“Was your mission a success? Did you catch the bad guy?”

“Don’t I always?”

“Yeah. You and Dudley Do-Right.”

“But enough about me. Let’s talk about you. Couldn’t stay out of trouble while I was gone, huh? Not even for a few weeks.”

“So you’ve heard? Those clowns you work with at Tulsa P.D. actually arrested me.”

“I’ve heard. Penelope gave me the full scoop last night when I got in.” He paused. “I’m sorry you had to endure that.”

“You and me both. If I go my whole life without again experiencing delousing, that’ll be just fine.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t around to help.”

“I don’t think it was a coincidence. I think Matthews and his cronies waited until you went undercover to make their move.”

“No doubt. I guess you’ve heard—Matthews has been suspended. I don’t know if he’ll ever work as a police officer again. Frank Bailey is being investigated by IA. They’ll come up with some kind of punishment for him, but the general feeling is that he was more a follower than a leader. And he did come clean at trial, more or less. That counts in his favor.”

“I agree. I don’t want to see any more people hurt by this. They were all basically pawns in Andrea McNaughton’s revenge game. Like I was just telling Keri, I think we should put this behind us. Move on.”

“Noble sentiments. And speaking of your client Keri …” He leaned in a little closer and winked. “I gather the relationship has moved somewhat beyond attorney-client.”

“What gave you that idea?”

“Oh, mainly that twenty-second smooch I just observed.” He jabbed Ben in the ribs. “You old chick magnet, you.”

Ben pushed him away. “I want to make it clear that we didn’t let this thing develop until after the case was completed.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, maybe there were one or two slips. Three, actually. But still—”

Mike held up his hands. “Relax, Ben. I’m certain that whatever you did, you did it in a morally responsible, hand-wringingly ethical manner.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means chill out. I’m your friend. And I’m glad to see you finally connecting with someone.”

Ben tilted his head to one side. “I have to admit, I’m feeling a little guilty about the whole situation.”

“What, because of the attorney-client thing?”

“No. Because of her age. Which is roughly half mine.”

“You’re exaggerating. Besides, she’s an adult and she can make choices for herself. You’re not breaking any laws.”

“No, not quite.”

“You’re probably the best thing that ever happened to that poor girl.”

“Maybe, but still—”

“My God, Ben. Are you totally incapable of being happy? You’ve got a good thing here. Don’t spoil it haranguing yourself because she’s younger than you.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Ben glanced up at the cloudless sky. It was fairly warm out, especially for this time of year in Oklahoma. “So when are we going to get together so I can hear about this archcriminal you tracked down? There’s a game on tonight.”

“Sounds good. We can drink beer, swap stories, and you can pretend to understand football. Say, my place at eight?”

“I’ll look forward to it.” Ben glanced at his watch. “What are you doing now?”

“Oh, work, what else? Now that I’m back, they’ve dragged me into the cleanup of this Joe McNaughton disaster. Well, triumph for you. Disaster for us.”

“What’s left to do?”

“For LaBelle, major damage control. When that verdict came down, he saw his reelection bid flittering away right before his eyes. He hasn’t decided whom to blame yet—the judge, the jury, you—but I can guarantee he’ll be on the evening news soon ranting about this miscarriage of justice.”

“And for you?”

“Well, we finally found the dive where Kirk Dalcanton lived after he moved away from his sister. Man, you thought the place where she lived was grim—you should see this hellhole. I didn’t think dives like this still existed in Tulsa.”

“What do you have to do?”

“Oh, everything. Look for any additional proof that he was the murderer. Catalog his belongings, which I guess are now his sister’s belongings, since she’s his only living relative. In fact, there’s some stuff you could take over to her. And judging by that last kiss, you’re going to be seeing her soon.”

“Let me think. Do I want to deliver to Keri her dead brother’s belongings? I think that’s a no.”

“Come on, kemo sabe. It would save me a lot of time.”

Ben frowned. “I’m entirely too soft. But I missed you, you big lug.”

Mike fluttered his eyelashes. “I love it when you sweet-talk me.”

Half an hour later, Mike parked his TransAm in front of a dilapidated flophouse just a few blocks from central downtown. Some parts of Tulsa’s downtown area had been refurbished in recent years, giving people more and more reason to venture northward, even during nonwork hours: Greenwood, the Brady, OSU-Tulsa, Gilcrease Museum. Almost every time Ben came downtown it seemed he discovered something new and charming. But there were also isolated pockets of the past, places where it seemed nothing had changed for decades—except maybe for the worse.

Kirk’s apartment—his room, to be more accurate, was barely habitable. The two-story house was a faded grayish color, so ill-maintained and uncared for that as he looked at it, Ben wondered that it could even remain standing. This place could be a poster house for landlords everywhere: DON’T LET THIS HAPPEN TO YOU!

Kirk had the room at the top, a converted attic, which Mike informed Ben he had rented for a whopping twenty dollars a week. As Ben stepped through the creaking door, he was almost knocked over by the putrid odor that assaulted him.

“How could anyone live here?”

The tiny room was so cluttered with stuff the two men could barely get from one end of it to the other. Despite the haste of his move, Kirk seemed to have taken with him everything that was of the remotest importance to him.

“Anyway,” Mike said, “you can see that most of this clutter is just personal junk. Not going to help us understand anything about the murder. Not worth anything to anyone, except maybe his sister. And in most cases, probably not her. But someone has to take it.”

Ben pushed his way through the room. “Funny, isn’t it? Or not funny at all. Depressing. Some of this stuff must’ve been special to him. He may have used it, or looked at it, every day. But now he’s gone and—pow. One week later, it’ll all be on the scrap heap.”

Ben saw some books, a few CDs. Kirk seemed to favor country-western, not exactly surprising for a boy from Stroud. Several Bibles, also not a gigantic surprise. Ben picked one up and found numerous passages underlined in red. In some cases, messages were scrawled in the margins, in what had to be Kirk’s handwriting.