CHAPTER 5

THE STATION HOUSE hadn’t changed one iota since Rosco had left the police force. Institutional green paint still clung to the plaster walls; air conditioners wheezed and grumbled; the hallways smelled of stale coffee and stale, prepackaged doughnuts, and the basement continued to serve as Newcastle’s morgue. Rosco acknowledged greetings from several officers as he strolled past the duty desk and up to a door marked HOMICIDE. He tapped twice and walked in without waiting for a reply.

“Good to see you, Polly—Crates. Hot enough for ya?”

Originally from Boston, Lieutenant Lever affected a strong Southern twang with the words Polly and Crates. It was a feeble attempt at humor, but Rosco smiled for old times’ sake; the mispronunciation of his name had always been a running joke.

Al Lever was only a year or two older than Rosco, but those years had left their mark on his appearance. He was overweight, bald, pasty white, and had a constant smoker’s cough.

“Still the ‘barefoot boy with cheek of tan,’ eh, Polly—Crates?” he chortled. “What did Mrs. Briephs say about your choice in footwear?”

“Mind if I sit, Al?”

“Go for it. We don’t stand on ceremony here.” Lever motioned to an ancient office chair on castors. “Did the old lady serve you tea and crumpets?”

Rosco wheeled the chair toward Lever’s desk.

“Mrs. Briephs was very polite. She has a way about her. I can’t say as much for the goon who was keeping her company. He looks like a former hit man.”

Lever coughed. “Drop the case, Rosco.” His voice was deadly serious.

“You know me better than that, Al. If someone tells me to drop a case, it’s the last thing I’m going to do … What went down with her son?”

“The official line is heart attack. Do yourself a favor, tell the lady you can’t help her, and go play some handball.”

“That’s from the M.E.? Heart attack?”

Lever pulled the coroner’s report from a pending file on his desk and slid it toward Rosco.

Rosco looked the report over and dropped it on Al’s blotter. “That’s pretty ambiguous wording Carlyle’s chosen. It sounds like he’s covering something. I’d like to have a look at the body … if that’s okay with you?”

“You’ll have to go through channels.”

“Oh, come on, Al,” Rosco moaned. “You know I can pull the paperwork. That’s not going to stop me. I’m working for a relative. I have a need-to-know. You slow me up by a day, maybe two. That’s it. Just walk down there with me. We save a little time. If everything’s kosher, I go home … play handball with the gang like you said.”

Lever stood, walked over to the office door and locked it. He lit a cigarette, then moved to the window, stared out at the harbor and inhaled deeply.

“You mind if I smoke?” he asked.

Rosco only smiled.

“Okay, I’ll fill you in. But, dammit, Rosco, I want you to keep it between you and me. It doesn’t leave this office. I’m on thin ice here.”

“I’m going to find out anyway.”

Lever recognized the truth in this. He took another drag. “Briephs was strangled.”

“What …?” Rosco sat up straight. “Al, come on, you guys can’t cover something like that. That’s not you. Thin ice is an understatement. You’re a good cop. You’re not going to—”

“Easy. Easy,” Lever interrupted. “It’s not what you think … We found Briephs’ naked body spread-eagled and tied to his bed with nylon stockings. A fifth stocking around his neck. It was a sex game. You follow me? That’s all it was. Accidental death … With a prossy, most likely … You know Briephs’ uncle, the Senator, right?”

“Not personally, but I’ve met his right-hand man—as of today.”

“Not ten minutes after we informed Mrs. Briephs of her son’s death, the Senator’s pit bull, John Roth himself, is walking through that door. How he got here that fast, I’ll never know. The man’s a piece of work.”

“Mrs. Briephs didn’t mention anything about this stocking business—”

“You’re getting ahead of me. I never gave her a cause of death. We didn’t have the M.E.’s report compiled yet. I just told her his body had been found … things were being ‘handled’ … the usual … Anyway, ol’ Bulldog tells me the Senator doesn’t want news of his nephew ‘consorting’ with ‘unsavory characters’ to hit the papers. It being an election year and all.”

“But the Senator’s not here; he’s in Southeast Asia,” Rosco began, then added, “Why are you so sure he was with a hooker?”

“You never worked Vice, my friend. We used to pick Tommy-Boy up on a regular basis when we’d do a sweep for girls and johns down on Congress Street. He liked the rough ones, I can tell you that. And it was getting kinkier all the time, from what we heard. We kept it quiet. He contributed big time to the Police Athletic League … And don’t eye me like that. The League needs the money. You spent more time with the kids than anyone … Look, I know most of the girls on Congress. You want to poke around down there, go ahead. They can give you some freaky stories about Thompson C. Briephs and their ‘confidential expeditions’ to that little island of his. He was definitely getting into tough love.”

“So Roth insists the Senator wants it hushed up and you agree?”

“Come on, Rosco, where’s the harm? Briephs’ mother is an old lady. Ol’ Bulldog’s right when he says the shock would probably kill her … And who gets hurt in the end? Some fifty-dollar-a-night hooker. She gets two to five on accidental manslaughter and walks in six months. What’s the point?”

“I don’t like it.”

“Leave it alone, Rosco.”

“I want to see his body.”

“Drop it.”

“Not a chance.”

Lever sighed in frustration. “I don’t have time now and I mean that. Come back at three. I’ll walk you into the morgue then.”

“No funny business?”

“No funny business.”

Rosco stood, crossed to the office door and unlocked it. “What do you know about a woman named Annabella Graham?”

“The crossword lady at the Evening Crier?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve never seen her around town …?”

“Not that I know of.”

Lever laughed, coughed violently, then lit another cigarette. “Of all the guys in Newcastle, I can’t believe you’ve never set eyes on Annabella Graham.” Another laugh erupted from Lever’s chest—followed by another coughing fit.

“This damn heat wave!” he sputtered. “My allergies have been driving me crazy …”

Rosco didn’t comment.

When Lever’s attack subsided, he eyed Rosco with a good deal of secret delight. “Annabella Graham,” he hummed. “What would you like to know about her?”

“I’ve got a meeting with her … Thought I should educate myself on this puzzle biz. Find out about the newspaper game before I start poking around the Herald.” Rosco opened the door and stepped into the hall. Before he got ten feet, Lever called after him: “One bit of advice, before you make a fool of yourself …”

“What’s that?”

“Annabella Graham is married.”