Murder in Store by DC Brod Read Free Book Online

Maggie over for dinner. I evaded a response by telling her I’d let her know. I was relieved when she finally put Harry on.
    “Hey, Quint, how’s it going?”
    “Couldn’t be better,” I said, not in the least convinced.
    Apparently Harry wasn’t either. “Oh, yeah, you sound great. Everything okay?”
    “Sure,” I said and hurried into the purpose of the call. “I’ve got some pictures I’d like you to go over with your fine-tooth comb.”
    “Yeah. I saw your note, and I have to admit you’ve got my curiosity going.”
    I smiled. Harry was like an old coonhound on a scent when it came to cryptic notes. “How about I bring what I’ve got by the lab in the morning.”
    “I’ll be there at seven,” Harry said and added, “I hope you’re not getting yourself mixed up in anything that’s going to be trouble.”
    “Don’t worry,” I said. Harry could play the mother role better than his wife sometimes. “Is Carl Maddox still with Chicago PD?”
    “Yeah. The Twenty-first Precinct, last I heard. Why?”
    “I’ll explain tomorrow. See you then.” I hung up.
    I didn’t have a lot of contacts from the Chicago police department anymore and I had never known Maddox all that well. But, as I remembered, he was a decent guy and might not mind checking on Keller’s death for me. If the guy did step out of a bar with so much to drink that he walked straight into a car that didn’t bother to stop, that was one thing. But if it might have been more than an accident, I wanted to know. I understand what it’s like to leave a bar with too many under the belt. Whatever god it is that protects small children usually sees that drunks don’t go wading into oncoming traffic. Just a hunch.
    I called the Twenty-first and lucked out Not only was Maddox still assigned there, he was in and he remembered me.
    “How ya been, Quint?”
    “Not bad,” I replied.
    “How long is it since you left the force anyway?” “About three years,” I said. “What’s goin’ on?”
    I told him where I was working and about the Keller hit-and-run incident. When he asked me why I wanted to know more, I gave him as few of the particulars as possible and, fortunately, he didn’t press. He promised to call back soon. He wasn’t kidding. He returned my call before I was able to finish my drink.
    “It went down as a hit-and-run, all right. But you never know. I guess the guy could barely walk when he left the bar. There was one witness, if you want to call him that. He said he thought it was a pretty big car, either green or blue. Really narrows it down, huh? Didn’t see any of the license plate. And sobriety-wise the witness wasn’t in much better shape than the victim.”
    “Not much to go on.”
    “Yeah. They followed up a couple leads, but nothing came of it. So, officially it’s a hit-and-run. Unofficially, I’d be careful if I were you.”
    “I will. And thanks a lot, Carl.”
    As I freshened my drink, I couldn’t help but wonder if Hauser was really convinced that Keller’s death was an accident.
    I grabbed Hauser’s collection of undesirables and, kicking my shoes off, stretched out on the couch to go through them. I soon came to admire Hauser’s or Keller’s information-gathering techniques. The men in the six files had committed or been accused of crimes ranging from assault and battery and statutory rape to running a dogfighting ring. Some had committed no crime per se but had been involved in relationships they wouldn’t be inclined to publicize.
    Frank Griffin, Hauser’s purposeful store manager, had made the lineup. His file didn’t contain much except for a note of his periodic visits to an apartment building on Sheridan Road. Keller hadn’t been able to get a lead on whom Griffin was visiting, but it didn’t require a huge leap from credibility to picture Griffin with a mistress. Griffin was married, but he could very well be the sort of man who feels that limiting himself to one woman would place an