The River Murders Page 9

  I listened as Tharpe explained what he thought happened and how the police responded. This time I asked him, “Did you know Pete?”

  “Knew his name from my days in narcotics. Just another lowlife.” He held up his hand and said, “No offense. I mean, about your brother.”

  “None taken. He is a lowlife. But he’s also my brother, and Pete was my friend, so I’m going to help.”

  Tharpe turned and focused his full attention on me. He said, “Look, I’m a fellow vet. Did four years in the Marines. I’m telling you, you need to give up being everyone’s unpaid private investigator. The Newburgh police are looking for veterans right now. We got some kind of grant to hire them. It’s a decent job with a good retirement. No one will hold anything your brother has done against you. You’d like the feeling of camaraderie again.”

  I was surprised by the offer, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t consider it for a minute. My main career as a paperboy wasn’t everything I’d hoped it would be. And with this new job, I’d still be able to live in Marlboro in my little house surrounded by all my family. But I knew this wasn’t the time to give an answer.

  As we started to walk back outside, Tharpe said, “Sure, there are some headaches on the job. You have to put up with punks and shits, but you also get to knock heads once in a while and do some good. You should think about it.”

  It was a charming offer, but I was never much for “knocking heads.” And my experience told me that “punks” often matured into decent human beings. Of course, that experience mainly came from being in the Navy, which had a tendency to straighten people out.

  Right now I wasn’t interested in anything other than the person who killed my friend.

  CHAPTER 7

  I DIDN’T TELL Natty about my chat with Detective Tharpe as we drove in his new, leased Chevy Camaro to a nice area outside Newburgh close to Firthcliffe, in an upscale development. I wondered if any of Pete’s neighbors had known what he did for a living. My bet was that he was smart enough to do business away from his home, especially since he’d been keeping his job from his wife, Katie. Apparently, she didn’t even know what business Pete was involved in. Not all drug dealers show that kind of common sense.

  As we pulled into the cul-de-sac where Pete Stahl had lived with Katie in a small, single-story house, Natty started acting weird, even weirder than usual. I had no idea what was going on inside that foggy brain of his, but I felt like he was holding something back from me. He clearly didn’t feel like talking just yet. I suspected it had something to do with his feelings for Pete’s widow.

  We parked in the driveway behind a new BMW and I noticed a woman standing at the front door. As I climbed out of Natty’s low Camaro, I realized the woman was much younger than I thought she’d be, probably not yet twenty-five. Her loose blond hair, blowing in the breeze, made her look like the girl next door. The beautiful one. Her face lit up as soon as she saw Natty. She wore jeans and a bulky sweater and those crazy boots younger women tended to wear, the ones with the name like “Neanderthal.”

  Natty introduced us and she had good manners, smiling as she shook my hand and looked me in the eye. She said, “Thank you for helping us. The Newburgh police have been polite, but they showed no real interest in Pete’s murder.”

  I hadn’t realized that Natty had told her I was taking the case. I liked her direct approach.

  She served us iced tea as we sat on the couch. I couldn’t help but glance around at her collection of the Peanuts characters in all shapes and forms, from ceramic to stuffed. The place had a certain childlike warmth to it that I was sure came from her. Even though they didn’t have any kids, there were stuffed animals lying around on chairs and her beagle lay quietly in the corner, wearing a homemade knitted sweater.

  Katie noticed my interest in the surroundings and said, “I use the toys for my job. I work with kids and they like to play with stuffed animals.”

  She sat down on a plush chair across from me, and for the first time I noticed her bloodshot eyes. She had been crying. Maybe it was a cumulative effect from the last few days. I felt her sense of loss.

  It made me think how easy it is to write off shootings reported on the news. No matter who was killed—a drug dealer, a gang member, or some poor guy walking down the street who was hit by a stray bullet—they were someone’s husband or child.

  Katie said, “A detective talked to me on Saturday, but I could tell he was just going through the motions. I’m not stupid, I knew Pete was involved in some shady business, but we had an understanding. I didn’t ask as long as he was careful. He also promised me he never hurt anyone. I know that our relationship wasn’t perfect, but anything you could do to help find out who killed Pete would mean the world to me.”

  I said, “I’ll do what I can, but right now there are absolutely no leads. I was hoping you might be able to tell me something about the night he was shot.”

  “No one could ever say Pete wasn’t a hard worker. He was ambitious. He worked every Friday and Saturday night. It was one of the things that had driven us apart. I don’t know what he was doing the night he was killed, but he usually wandered home around two or three in the morning. The Newburgh police came by and told me what had happened somewhere around one.”

  “Can you think of any reason someone would want to kill your husband?”

  She just stared at me with those wide blue eyes and shook her head. “Pete was a great guy. No one wanted to hurt him.”

  She stood up and took our glasses into the kitchen. A few moments later, she was back and sat on the arm of the chair that Natty was sitting in. She draped her hand across his shoulder and gave him a hug and a kiss on the top of his head. It was a show of affection for comfort. But it was obvious.

  Natty avoided eye contact with me as I got a clear picture of what was going on. This was not a one-sided relationship.

  CHAPTER 8

  MY BROTHER AND I were quiet on the ride back through town to his office. I couldn’t help but notice the number of abandoned buildings downtown and the lack of effort to clean up any of the garbage along the street or in vacant lots. This place was an advertisement for the “broken window theory” of government.

  When we were inside the State of Mind Tavern and seated at Natty’s personal table, he turned to me and said, “There’s probably some more you need to know about what’s going on.”

  “No kidding.” I just stared at my brother, who remained silent until I said, “I’m listening.”

  Natty looked around nervously. The bartender who doubled as his bodyguard was used to me by now and didn’t pay too much attention to our conversations. Finally, Natty said, “Katie told me she loved me, too. I mean, um, we’ve developed sort of a relationship. You know what I’m saying.”

  “Since Pete was killed Friday night?”

  “No, it’s been going on for a little while. She mentioned to you how they had drifted apart.”

  “But you said you thought you loved her. Didn’t you also say she was faithful to Pete?”

  “That’s true. It’s just how we feel about each other. It’s not like we’ve slept together. She’s not that kind of girl.”

  I appreciated the fact that my brother could still surprise me. I considered his awkward confession and finally said, “You didn’t have anything to do with Pete’s murder, did you?”

  Natty looked hurt. “Do you have to ask?”

  “Yes, of course I do. Natty, you’re a criminal by trade. You’ve got a thing for a guy’s wife. If the cops knew this you would be their only suspect. So I have to ask if you killed Pete.”

  Natty looked down toward the table and shook his head. “No, I didn’t kill Pete.”

  I leaned back in the chair, tipping it up on the rear two legs as I looked at my brother and decided I believed him completely. That didn’t change the fact that his relationship with the widow of his friend and business associate wouldn’t look good if word got out. Deep down I had a feeling I wouldn’t express righ
t now: I liked the idea of my brother interested in a nice girl like Katie who wasn’t involved in a scam or part of his usual world.

  As I was still considering this new information, the front door suddenly opened and the room filled with sunlight.

  Mike Tharpe and another detective stepped in the doorway and made a quick scan of the bar. Tharpe walked toward us while his partner faced the bartender. I recognized the good tactical sense.

  Tharpe kept standing as he looked at Natty and said, “You’re under arrest. You want to make it easy or do you want to make it fun for me?”

  I was the one who said, “What’s the charge?”

  The meaty detective didn’t even glance at me. “Homicide. We got some forensics back on a weapon we recovered. It was Pete Stahl’s gun.”

  I said, “So why does that make my brother a suspect?”

  “His fingerprints were on it and we think the DNA we’re testing now will come back to him. You wanted me to clear this up and this is how I’m doing it. Now you don’t have to worry about finding out who killed your friend.”

  “You didn’t know any of this earlier today when we were talking?”

  “You made me realize I had to do something, and when I checked with the lab, this is what came back. I want to thank you for doing your civic duty and motivating me.” He motioned for my brother to stand up and did a quick pat-down, then handcuffed Natty behind his back. In the big scheme of things, it was a fairly civil interaction, considering my big brother was going to jail.

  CHAPTER 9

  AS THE TWO detectives led a handcuffed Natty out of the bar, he turned to the bartender and said, “Call Lise.” Then he looked at me and said, “Don’t worry, little brother. For once, I’m innocent.”

  I stepped to the door to watch them stick my brother in the back of a black Ford Crown Victoria. Apparently the Newburgh Police Department had gotten a pretty good deal on the model. I stayed on the curb until the Ford pulled down the street and out of sight.

  The few people on the street didn’t seem interested in a nonviolent arrest.

  When I stepped back inside I said to the bartender, “Who’s Lise?”

  The surly bartender barely looked up from the ledger he was working on and said, “Best attorney this side of the city. She changed everything when she showed up last year. Natty is as good as out on this bullshit. I just called her and she said you can go by her office around five. She’ll know something by then, after she talks to the DA.”

  That was more words than the bartender had ever spoken to me.

  I debated calling my mom but wanted to have more information first, so I drove around Newburgh to get a better feel for the city. It had a bad reputation, but I had learned that cities, just like people, rarely matched the way they were portrayed in the media. Almost every other year, Newburgh was listed as the most dangerous city in New York or given some title like “Murder Capital of the State.” And to be fair, it had been flooded with drugs, guns, and gangs, in that order. But there were a lot of people trying to make it a better place to live. People who understood that working with at-risk kids could have the biggest payoff down the road. I noticed adults coaching kids in every park and mothers keeping a close eye on their toddlers as they played. They were families, and that meant there was still hope for Newburgh.

  I found the law office on Ann Street near downtown. The building was a typical three-story brick, block-shaped structure with a little grocery store stuck awkwardly to the side. Lise Mendez’s office was on the second floor, and of course there was no elevator. The building housed a couple of lawyers, an accountant, and a financial planner. It was a drug dealer’s dream. When I found the right door, there was no name painted on the glass, just a card taped in the corner. This did not instill confidence as I stepped into the room and realized the reception area was unused and empty except for a couple of chairs. I heard a voice in the inner office say, “In here.”

  I stepped through the door to find Lise Mendez standing behind a large, ornate desk that didn’t seem to go with the office. She had a pretty face and long, black hair tied in a loose ponytail. She was probably thirty-five and radiated that sort of professional confidence that came from a good education and some success in her field.

  She said, “You must be Nathaniel’s brother.” She extended her hand.

  “I am.” I glanced around to notice that her office, unlike the reception area, was packed with boxes and files, which to me was a good sign because it meant she was busy.

  She said, “What’s your name?”

  “Mitchum.”

  “Your name is Mitchum?”

  I didn’t feel like explaining and I wanted to hear about my brother so I just said, “That’s what everyone calls me.” I glanced over at the wall nearest me and noticed her diploma. I looked at her and said, “Impressive, Harvard Law. Surprised you’re not with one of the big firms in the city.”

  “I was, but I moved back here for family reasons.” Now she pulled Natty’s file from a stack on her desk and motioned for me to sit down. I noticed my brother’s file was pretty thick.

  I said, “Natty called me to look into the death of his friend.”

  “Pete Stahl? I know. I represented him, too. Why did your brother ask you to look into it?”

  “I’m sort of an unofficial private investigator and he …”

  “Nathaniel told me you delivered papers.”

  “I do both.” I decided I wanted to change the subject, fast. “Do I owe you any money for this yet?”

  The pretty attorney shook her head and said, “No, your brother keeps me on retainer. Granted, it’s normally for narcotics cases, but let’s see what happens with this. So far all they have is the gun used to kill Pete, and unfortunately, Nathaniel’s fingerprints and, potentially, his DNA are on the gun. There are no witnesses, nothing else.”

  “Do you believe Natty when he says he had nothing to do with it?”

  “I don’t have to believe him. I just have to make sure his rights aren’t violated, and that means that I’ll protect him. If he had nothing to do with the murder and I protect his rights, he’ll be a free man soon enough.”

  “Have you handled many cases like this?”

  “A few.”

  “How many defendants walked free?”

  “Every single one who deserved to. This isn’t a sporting event where you keep score. I’ll do my best. If that isn’t good enough, there are other attorneys in town.”

  I considered what she had said and nodded, then said, “Do you think they’ll let me visit Natty tonight?”

  “They usually don’t at the police department holding cell, but probably when he gets to the county jail.” She took a Post-it pad from the corner of her desk and wrote down the phone number for the jail in the western part of the county.

  I took the single blue square sheet of paper with an upstate New York logo that said Adirondacks are not only chairs.

  I looked back at her and said, “What can I do to help?”

  “I don’t need some half-assed PI on this. Sorry, no offense.”

  I gave her a quick smile to let her know I had a sense of humor, but said, “Offense taken.”

  CHAPTER 10

  IT TOOK MUCH longer than I expected to get through the Newburgh police red tape and see my brother in his holding cell. First, I sat in a room at the front of the station for thirty minutes. Then they moved me back to a visitors’ area near the holding cells.

  I’m a big guy at six two and 190 pounds, yet all the Newburgh cops in uniform made me look like a scrawny teenager. I thought back to the offer of a job from Mike Tharpe. Maybe taking on that career would be more of a challenge than I assumed. I could see that the station was bustling. Newburgh in the winter. It was a wonder-land.

  While I was waiting at the counter by the holding cells, the policemen walked a few prisoners through the hallway behind the counter. Most of them looked like younger Hispanic men and I recognized some of the tattoos on their b
odies that told me they might be gang members. Most walked quietly, but there were two that were barking the whole way and pushing back against the cop who was trying to lead them to their holding cell.

  Finally, a middle-aged black man in a neat uniform with sergeant stripes stepped out of the hallway and behind the counter.

  He said, “You Mitchum?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He broke into a genuine smile. Not one like the employee from the electric company gives you when you pay your bill. It made me like the guy instantly.

  “My name is Bill Jeffries. Pleased to meet you.” He stuck out his hand. This was the friendliest Newburgh cop I had ever met.

  I shook his hand and said, “Do you think I can talk to my brother for a few minutes?”

  “Normally you’d have to wait until he’s booked at the county jail before you can visit him. We don’t really have the facilities to allow face-to-face contact. But in your case I can make an exception.”

  I was starting to think Lise Mendez was one hell of an attorney. But then the cop said, “I know your mom, Elaine, from the hospital. She’s a good lady and she’s always talking about you boys. She’s awfully proud of both of you.”

  “Even Natty?” I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.

  The man looked at me and put his hand on my shoulder. “Son, one day you’ll realize a good parent only knows pride. It takes a lot for any boy to alienate his mother.”

  I realized this guy had been around, but more important, he knew my mother pretty well. Either way, he was doing me a big favor and I appreciated it.

  CHAPTER 11