Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 14 - Murder in a Casbah of Cats by Kent Conwell

Author:Kent Conwell [Conwell, Kent]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery: Thriller - P.I. - Texas
ISBN: 1612186629
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2012-11-05T06:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

After the meat wagon hauled Morena away, I started up the porch, thinking that Lieutenant Fenster would want to talk in the kitchen or library. Instead, he motioned me to his unmarked cruiser. “More privacy,” he said, nodding to the faces peering out the sidelights around the huge double doors.

“All right,” he growled, slamming the door and shifting around in the seat to face me. “Let’s hear it all again.”

I went back over all that had happened the last three days, beginning with the rock through my window, then the mysterious figure that first night, then the fallen poker, the wet cat, the spiders, the mud in front of the hearth, the still-unsolved murder of Old Man Watkins, and finished with Morena. “You know yourself, there’s an answer. There’s got to be.”

He just stared at me.

I explained. “I was bored out of my skull and started nosing around just for the heck of it. After all, Lieutenant,” I hastily said when I saw the glowering expression crawl across his face, “the case is fifteen years old. I’d heard Collins was the prime suspect and that he was working in a local laundry. I figured Morena might be able to tell me more of that night. I was just taking a wild shot.” I paused and chewed on my bottom lip. “You tell me, Lieutenant. Why would someone kill Willy Morena for talking to me?”

“You said O’Banion wanted him. There you go.”

“No.” I shook my head. “It’s my guess O’Banion wanted him to hurt, to suffer a little, not go out like a porch light.” I pondered the events of the last few days. “Two buddies, Guzman and Morena, getting whacked out here. What do you think the odds are of Alberto coming out here and living?” It was a rhetorical question, but I answered it anyway. “Zilch. But why? They’re not working with Collins. From what Morena said, they had their own little business going. The one time they tried to get in with Collins, he refused. Why? He can’t be satisfied making fifteen bucks an hour.”

Lifting his eyebrows, Fenster replied. “He must be. As far as his parole officer is concerned, he’s been a model citizen ever since he got out of the joint. Made shift foreman a few years back.”

My brows knit. “I heard Collins passed a polygraph about the old man’s murder.”

“Yep, but around here, getting a judge to admit one as evidence is as chancy as winning the lottery. They won’t allow polygraphs, and for good reason.”

“You think he beat it?”

The cynical twist on his lips answered my question.

He scooted back around and buckled his seat belt. “OK, Boudreaux. A team’ll be out in the morning to check the scene. Waste of time with all the rain, but we got to do it. Can’t tell. Something might turn up. As for you, stop nosing around. What happened in the library is no business of yours. I’ll toss your keister in the can if I hear of you asking any more questions, you hear?”

I agreed—reluctantly, but I agreed.

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