Murder Doesn't Figure. Fred Yorg
hold on Fein, that’s way out of line, I’m not about to be accused of murder, by some little piss ant flat foot like you.”
“Well something just doesn’t add up right. Something smells fishy,” Fein stammered.
I was pissed now. Not thinking I shot back, “Well you know we’re only a mile from the fish market in the Highlands, with a nose like yours perhaps that’s what you smell.” I knew that comment was a mistake, but my temper just got the better of me. Fein was now in my face. Case was off to the side just smiling, enjoying the show. At least he still had a sense of humor. Reed was now pulling up with the tow truck, just in the nick of time.
Fein then backed off and walked over by my car. “I’m going to have a look in your car before it gets towed, do you have any problem with that, Mr. Dansk?” Fein asked in a surly tone.
Although I knew he had no legal right to search my car, I figured why not, I had nothing to hide.
I figured the more that I cooperated the quicker I’d be done with this mess. “None, Officer Fein, knock yourself out,” I replied.
Dave Reed jumped out of the truck and walked over to where Case and I were standing.
“I thought you said the car was as good as new,” I asked sarcastically.
“What happened?” Reed asked.
“Coming down the hill, I lost my brakes. Could it be that you didn’t put any brake fluid in the car?”
“No way, let me look under the car at the fittings and brake lines.”
“HOLD IT we can’t let a civilian look at that car, that’s evidence,” Fein complained.
“What the hell difference is it going to make? Don’t worry about it, Joel,” Case barked.
Dave was looking at me to tell him what to do. Before I could respond to Reed, Fein who was rifling through my car hollered out, “What’s this twenty five thousand dollar check doing in your car made out to you, and signed by none other than the deceased?”
“It’s called a retainer. Von Klamer was my client and while we’re on the subject, I rarely kill off my clients before the check clears.”
“It still looks suspicious to me,” Fein returned. “We’re going to take this as evidence.”
“Go ahead. Just make sure you give me a receipt.”
“Fred, I found your problem, the reason you had no brakes is quite simple, someone cut your brake line,” Reed said from underneath the car.
Case, who had been a quiet onlooker spoke up, “Can you take out the part of the line that’s been cut? We’ll need it for evidence.”
“Yeah, it’ll just take me a couple of minutes,” Reed said as he went to the panel box on the side of the truck to get the needed tools.
Meanwhile Fein continued to pace around the car, muttering to himself in a highly agitated state. I really didn’t know who Fein was pissed at more, Case or me.
Dave then spent the next five minutes dissecting the evidence from the car. Once he completed the task he handed the evidence over to Case, who promptly put it in a plastic bag and then into the trunk of his car.
“Tell me Officer Fein, do you really think I’d be stupid enough to kill my client and then cut the brake line on my car, just so I could have a convenient alibi?” Fein didn’t respond. I could only surmise that he wasn’t talking to me. Perhaps it was something I said earlier. No matter, I wasn’t worried about it affecting our long-term relationship. In my mind, I had long since dismissed Fein as a half-assed clown.
Case was the man I had to keep happy, he was calling the shots.
“Case, you’ve got my story, you got your evidence. I’d like to get out of here and get to a hospital. It’s been a long day.”
“Yeah, you can go, but we’ll need to speak to you tomorrow. Let’s say 10:00 a.m. at the station.
If you need a ride back to Shrewsbury, we can call a cab for you.”
“No thanks, Case, I’ll get a ride with Dave. He’s got to drop off the car at my place, anyway.”
I was counting my blessings when I stepped up into the tow truck. I hadn’t been badly injured and other than the cut brake line the car seemed just fine. Even though Fein was a horse’s ass, at least Case had shown himself to be a reasonable man. All told I’d been very lucky. It could have been a hell of a lot worse. As I was about to shut the truck door my luck seemed to change as Case hollered over, “Dansk, you may want to bring a lawyer with ya, for tomorrow’s meeting.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
The two cops were the first to leave the scene, which made sense since their car was pointed down the hill. Unfortunately Dave and I, had nowhere to turn around. We were forced to drive back up the hill to the point and then around down the other side. As we passed Von Klamer’s place I noticed that the big iron gates leading to the mansion, had been closed. There was now a thick chain and lock on the gates, and the ubiquitous yellow vinyl tape warning people not to enter. There appeared to be, one lone policeman still on the grounds assigned with the dubious task of protecting the crime scene. I assumed that a whole host of police personnel and forensic experts would be returning later in the evening to make a thorough inspection of the premises for any small traces of evidence. As I looked back, I sensed that the mansion was somehow in mourning. The old place seemed to be surrounded by an eerie, almost sinister aura.
Nothing was said as we made our way up the hill and past the mansion. Finally Dave out of nervousness broke the silence, “I guess its true what they say, about the murderer always returning to the scene of the crime is true.” I looked over and gave him a half-hearted smile. He was just trying to ease the tension but I really wasn’t up for any idle banter. Dave continued his way around the bend and we exited Monmouth Hills without further incident.
The ride back to my place remained silent until we approached the Rumson Bridge. Once again Dave tried to take my mind off my troubles by engaging me in small talk. “When was the last time you were up in this neck of the woods?”
“About ten years ago, and after today I doubt I’ll be returning anytime soon.”
“You know the big cop, Case, he’s one bad ass son of a bitch. You know anybody that can reach out to him?”
“No reason to Dave, he’s given me every break he can and I’m pretty sure he’s going to continue to play it that way. At least I hope he does.”
Dave continued small talk, “Didn’t Case have an older brother?”
“Yeah, his name is Enrico, he’s two or three years older than Case.”
Dave pressed on, “That son of a bitch was ten times worse than Case, what ever happened to him?”
“He had an epiphany. He became a priest,” I answered.
We continued the ride through Rumson and Fair Haven only this time I wasn’t enjoying the scenery. My mind was conjecturing about the irony of Malacasa brothers, one a cop and the other a priest.
All these years I’d tried to be a decent guy and here I was up to my neck in a murder investigation, while they were out there on the loose. We passed through Rumson and Fair Haven and were now entering Little Silver, I had to get myself together. This was no time to feel sorry for myself, I had more pressing problems that I had to deal with.
“Dave, when do you think you can get around to fixing the car?”
“Sorry Fred, I’m leaving tomorrow for vacation, I’ll be gone for the next two weeks. Why don’t you get that friend of yours, Pat Melli, to fix it? He’s a good man.”
“Remind me to give him and the attorney a call when we get to my house.”
“Don’t