The Book Case Read online

  “Mr. Parker never told you that when you carried the books upstairs last night?”

  “Uh…I don’t—”

  “Cut the bullshit, Scott.” I informed him, “Two people are going down for murder. The third person involved is the government witness.” I asked him, “Which one do you want to be?”

  He started to hyperventilate or something, and I said to Simmons, “Get him some water.”

  Simmons grabbed a bottled water off the counter and put it on the table in front of Scott. I said to him, “Drink.”

  He screwed the cap off with a trembling hand and drank, then took a deep breath.

  I took a shot and said to him, “Mrs. Parker told me you met her here last night, after Mr. Parker left for the day.”

  He took another deep breath and replied, “I…she asked me to stay and meet her here.”

  “And she asked you to help her with some furniture in her husband’s office.”

  He nodded.

  “And you did that.”

  He nodded again.

  “Did you know why you were doing that?”

  “No.”

  “Try again. I need a truthful witness for the prosecution.”

  He drank more water, then said, “I told her…it wasn’t safe to—”

  “One more time.”

  “I…didn’t know…she said don’t ask questions…”

  “What did she offer you?”

  He closed his eyes, then replied, “Ten thousand. But I said no.”

  “Yeah? Did you want more?”

  He didn’t reply.

  I thought a moment and asked, “Did you both have a drink in his office?”

  He nodded.

  “On the couch?”

  “Yeah…”

  What a deal. He gets ten thousand bucks, drinks the boss’s liquor, and fucks the boss’s wife on the boss’s couch. And all he has to do in return is push the bookcase back a bit while Mia Parker slides the wedges out. How could you say no to that? Well, Jay Lawrence said no, but he was older and wiser, and he already fucked Mia Parker. Also, he got scared.

  I made eye contact with Simmons, who was shaking his head in disbelief.

  As I said, I’ve seen it all, but it’s new and shocking every time.

  Scott was staring blankly into space, maybe thinking about Mia Parker on the couch. Maybe thinking it seemed like a good idea at the time.

  Well, aside from money, you have what I call dick crimes. Dicks get you in trouble.

  I had another thought and asked Scott, “Did she say she’d get Jay Lawrence to help you get your book published?”

  He seemed surprised that I knew this. I didn’t, but it all fit.

  Scott was fidgeting with the empty bottle now, and then he said, “I didn’t know what she was going to do…I swear I didn’t.”

  “Right. So this morning you let her in at about seven thirty.”

  He nodded.

  “Mr. Parker was already here.”

  He nodded again.

  “He told you his wife was coming by to say hello to Jay Lawrence, her friend from LA.”

  “Yeah…”

  “She went up to his office and they waited for Jay Lawrence.”

  He nodded.

  “And you went…where?”

  “Out back.”

  “Could you hear the crash?”

  He closed his eyes again and said, “No…”

  “What time did you come back to the stockroom?”

  “About…seven forty-five…”

  “Then you carried some books to the counter, just like you said in your statement, and you called up to him.”

  He nodded.

  “And there was no answer, so you knew she was already gone. And where did you think he was? In the bathroom? Or under the bookcase?”

  No reply.

  “Did you actually go up the stairs?”

  “Yeah…I didn’t know…I swear I didn’t know what she—”

  “Right. She needed the furniture wedges for another job. And she paid you ten thousand bucks and had sex with you for your help. And she gave you a script for this morning.”

  He didn’t reply.

  I looked at my watch: 11:29. Almost lunchtime. I stood and said to Scott, “I’m placing you under arrest as an accomplice to murder.”

  I nodded to Officer Simmons, who already had his cuffs out, and he said to Scott, “Stand up.” Scott stood unsteadily, and Simmons cuffed his hands behind his back.

  I said to Simmons, “Read him his rights.”

  I walked toward the door, then turned and looked at Scott. I almost felt sorry for him. Young guy, bad job, lousy boss, maybe short on cash, and wishing he was back in college, or wishing he could be the guy autographing his books. Meanwhile other people’s unhappiness and money problems—Mia’s and Jay’s—were about to intersect with his life. Of course, he could have just said no to Mia and called the police. Instead he made a bad choice, and one person was dead, two were going to jail for a long time, and Scott, if he was lucky and cooperative, would be out before his thirtieth birthday, a little older and wiser. I wanted to give him an enduring piece of advice, some wisdom that would guide him in the future. I thought of several things, then finally said to him, “Never have sex with a woman who has more problems than you do.”

  I walked back into the store as my cell phone rang. It was Lieutenant Ruiz, who said to me, “I’m waiting for your call, John.”

  “Sorry, boss.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “Three arrests. Wife for premeditated murder, her boyfriend for conspiracy to commit, the clerk who found the body as an accomplice.”

  “No shit?”

  “Would I lie?”

  “Confessions or suspicion?”

  “Confessions.”

  “Good work.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You coming to work today?”

  “After lunch.”

  We hung up, and I looked at Mia Parker and Jay Lawrence, both sitting now side by side in the wingback chairs, cuffed and quiet. They were together, finally, but they didn’t seem to have much to say to each other. I had the thought that the marriage wouldn’t have worked anyway.

  I also thought about telling Jay that his girlfriend had banged the clerk to get the kid to do what Jay wouldn’t do. But that would make him feel bad—and he felt bad enough—though it might shut her up about Jay banging his publicist. I resisted the temptation to stir the shit a little, and I let it go. They’d find all this out in the pretrial anyway.

  Later, while we were waiting for the three squad cars to take the perps away, I asked Jay Lawrence to sign a book for me. He graciously agreed, and I took his book out of the display window.

  He was able to hold a Sharpie with his cuffed hands, and I held the book open for him. “To John,” I requested. “The greatest detective since Sherlock Holmes.”

  He scrawled something, and I said, “Thanks. No hard feelings.”

  I put thirty bucks in the cash register.

  When all the perps were in the cars, I opened the book and read the inscription:

  To John, Fuck You, Jay.

  Well…maybe it will be worth something someday.

  THE END