Shell Game – Chapter 22 – Interrogation

When he entered the living room with the two detectives, the sight Evan saw looked like a scene from a second-rate melodrama, perhaps the one Harold had seen earlier that evening. The table by the window had moved several inches to the interior, and the cheap porcelain vase Gold bought at a different flea market in the vain hope he could brighten up the place lay scattered in a thousand pieces. Water from the vase made a dark blotch on the rug. The flowers, which had been a few days overdue anyway, lay at grotesque angles amid the shards. Evan recognized Harold’s snub-nose revolver lying among the flowers.

Claire sat in a chair near the window. Her knees pointed so that her back was to the men as they entered the room. Her hands covered her face, and she appeared to be sobbing. As for Harold Huber, he stood in the middle of the mess with his left hand holding a handkerchief over his right cheek. Evan noticed dots of red on the cloth.

Lt. Short walked up to Huber and pulled his left arm away from his face revealing the gash. The wound would heal without a doctor’s help but would leave a scar.

“What did you do to this woman?” Short ordered.

“Let go of my arm,” Harold yelped. “You’re hurting me.”

Short grabbed Harold’s chin to get a better look at his cheek and asked again, “What did you do to her?”

Harold pulled against Short’s grasp, “I didn’t do anything.”

“From the looks of how you’ve redecorated the place, I’d say something happened,” Evan said and found a seat in the armchair. Claire lifted her head and turned to face the men. Her eyes were appropriately wet and frightened. She darted a pleading look over to Evan, who merely smiled and raised his eyebrows at her.

“How did you get this cut on your face then?” Short continued his interrogation.

“She hit me. Her ring must have cut me. That’s why I cried out,” Harold said.

“That was you who screamed?” Short asked, confused. “It sounded like a woman.”

Evan stifled a laugh.

Lt. Short let go of Harold’s arm and turned to Claire, “Is that true? Did you hit him?” Again, Claire looked to Evan for help, but seeing none, turned to the detective and smiled delicately.

“Yes, officer, I hit him. But I swear it was out of self-defense,” she said.

“You liar!” roared Harold. “Officers, you should lock both of these lunatics behind bars.” He jabbed a finger in Evan’s direction, “He has hit me and gone through my pockets,” then he pointed at Claire, “and this dragon lady grabbed my gun and hit me with it without provocation!”

“I thought you said it was her ring?” Abrams chimed in.

“They deserve the book thrown at them,” Harold demanded.

“Is this your pistol, Gold?” Short asked, pointing to the gun lying by the flowers. Evan shook his head.

“It’s mine,” Harold said.

“You have a license for it, I assume?” Short asked.

“I do,” Harold said, suddenly compliant. He reached in his coat pocket and produced the proper slip of paper. He then picked up his gun and slipped it into his coat pocket.

“Alright,” Short said, holding his hands in the air, “I want everyone over here,” he pointed to the sofa, “and we’re going to get to the bottom of things.” Claire and Harold made their way to the couch, sitting as far apart as possible. After Short got everyone’s name jotted in his notepad, he said, “Now, start from the beginning. Why are all you three together tonight?”

Harold spoke first, “Mr. Gold invited me over.”

“Why is that?” Short asked.

“He didn’t say exactly,” said Harold, “only that they wanted to speak to me face to face.”

“Uh-huh,” Short said, looking at Claire while Harold was talking. “And what happened when you got here?”

“Well, officers,” Harold said, getting agitated, “they started asking me all kinds of questions, and they threatened to kill me if I didn’t help them.”

“You weasel!” Claire lunged at Harold and smacked his cut cheek with her open palm before Abrams and Short could wrestle her off him.

“Cool it, lady,” Short said. Then, “What’s your side of things?”

Claire looked at Evan as she began to talk. “It’s true we, that is Mr. Gold and me, we wanted to see Mr. Huber here.”

She paused and placed her fingers to her forehead, “I’m sorry, I’m… Evan, could you…?”

Evan held up his hands, “No, no. You’re doing fine, my dear. Besides, I was at the door talking to the nice officers, remember?” The smile on his face only seemed to increase her panic.

“Would it be fair to say,” Abrams stepped in, “that you do not feel safe here?” Claire nodded and flashed her doe-eyes at him.

“If that’s true, miss,” Short continued, “if you’re the victim here, how come this man cried out and not you?”

Claire seemed stuck in thought for an instant but then recovered, saying, “I did hit him. I don’t know how he got the cut.” She looked at Short’s face, “Thin skin, I guess, that and he tends toward the dramatic.”

“You two-faced…” Harold seethed, and the two nearly came to blows again, but Short and Abrams stepped in quickly to separate them.

Once things had quieted down, Evan exhaled and said, “Listen, Bobby. The woman here, she’s a client.”

“What?” Harold exclaimed. “Client?” Harold turned to Claire with fire in his eyes, “How did you get money to hire anyone?”

“Maybe she has a secret stash she keeps from people like you, Harold. Regardless, she is a client, and she doesn’t have to tell you anything. As for Mr. Huber over here,” he said, waving his hand in the cut man’s direction, “whom, I believe, was a friend of the late Jason Charles. That may be irrelevant to the situation. Forget I said it. He hired me this morning to locate a certain item Charles was supposed to have on him. Naturally, I didn’t want the case, not with you guys thinking I’m a murderer and all. But after talking with Miss Porter, I thought maybe we could help him out. So yes, I invited him over to further talk through the particulars.”

“Why would it matter to her if you spoke to Huber or not?” Short asked with a blank face.

“She has an interest in law enforcement and the criminal class,” Evan said.

“Uh-huh.”

“He came over. I questioned him,” Evan said casually. “Perhaps the information was harder to figure out than planned. I really can’t say. I can’t speak to what transpired while I was at the door. However, I am as shocked as you are that he would bring a loaded gun into a friendly conversation.”

Short turned to Harold and asked, “You got anything you wish to add?”

Harold looked at Evan. His eyes gave the impression of fighting one round too long in the ring. “You’ll have to excuse me,” he managed. “I’m not sure how to answer your question. I’ll have to think a moment.”

“What’s there to think about?” Short asked. “Is that hunk of malarkey he just told true or isn’t it?”

Harold licked his dry lips, “I really don’t know what to say.”

“Try the facts,” Short huffed. “You don’t know this being new to town and all, but this character lives in such a way he is always one misstep away from actual jail time. Fact is, me and Detective Abrams have many questions about Mr. Gold’s association with the murders of the past couple of days. If you know of anything that could help us-”

“Yeah, Bobby,” Evan chimed in, “that’s a good idea. Take us all downtown. You didn’t see what happened and neither did I. And as you and I both know, a he-said-she-said interrogation is never conclusive in the courtroom. I’m sure the DA would approve of the effort.”

Short looked at Evan, then at Claire and Harold in turn. Just as it looked like Short was about to speak, Evan burst into laughter. The suddenness of the laugh caught everyone so off guard, and they all jumped just a little. “Can’t you guys take a joke?” Evan said when he had enough air. At the word “joke,” Claire and Harold joined him in the laugh, though with much less commitment to it. “Listen, I apologize, but we were just having a bit of fun with you guys,” Evan said. “I figured who it was at the door. I mean, who else comes banging on my door in the middle of the night? I thought it’d break up the boredom a little if we had some fun at your expense. I hope you’re not sore.”

At this, the energy Claire and Harold put into their performance increased. Detectives Abrams and Short seemed unmoved by this news. They looked at each other and then back to Gold. “Uh-huh,” Short said. “Hilarious. Tell me. If this was a joke, as you say, why is his face cut?”

Evan shrugged, “Beats me. Maybe he cut himself shaving.”

“Don’t start with me, Gold,” pointed Short. “You’re already on thin ice. This whole time you’ve been saying he got hit in the face.”

“No, no, it’s true!” Harold said, standing. “It was a harmless little joke. You know how it is when it’s late, and you’re tired. You get a little loopy. We played a small prank. Me and Miss Porter were to get into an argument, and then I was to scream, as you say, like a girl. It was going to be funny, but then, I’m so clumsy. Mr. Gold was speaking with you officers at the door. We were in the middle of the pretend fight, and my foot grabbed the leg of the table. I cracked my cheek on the table as I fell, and the vase fell over too. Amazingly, I wasn’t cut more than I am.”

“Yes,” monotoned Short as he looked at Harold’s sweaty and smiling face, “amazing.” He turned his attention back to Evan. “Listen, Gold, your lack of respect for the badge isn’t going to make you any friends downtown. If you expect me to believe all of this,” he swung his arms in broad gestures, “this story you’ve concocted-”

Evan cut him off, “You don’t have to believe me, Bobby. You don’t have to believe one syllable I’ve said or what any of us has said. But,” Evan uncrossed his legs and leaned forward in his chair, “this is the same story you’ll hear out of each of us if you should be so bullheaded as to bring us to the station house. And if that’s not good enough for you, as soon as we get finished there, I’ll march over to The Gazette and tell them my story of police abuse. And The Kansas City Star. And any other newspaper I decide to remember at the time. I’m sure the DA would be thrilled at the additional publicity that would get him.

The veins on Short’s neck bulged in plump, purple lines snaking down his already red neck. In one furious step, he made it to Evan, grabbed him by the coat collars, and stood him up. “What about the gun, Smart Mouth? Why was there a gun loose on the floor?”

The humor was gone from Evan’s face. “Maybe it was a plant. Maybe you put it there. For that matter, maybe it’s the one that killed Charles.”

Short’s right fist connected with Evan’s chin. The punch caught Evan slightly off-balance, but his whole body was rigid and ready for a fight an instant later. He clenched his fists but kept them by his sides. The muscles of his jaw twitched and danced under the pressure of his clenched teeth.

Lt. Abrams stepped in, “Okay, alright. Let’s not get…” he put his arms between Evan and his partner, “We should probably get going. No need to take this too far in the wrong direction.” Abrams moved Lt. Short back far enough that no punches could get thrown without warning. He pulled out a pad and pencil from his jacket pocket. “Where do you all lay your heads in case we need to find you later?” He loosely pointed the pad at Harold. “How about you go first?”
Harold unsuccessfully smoothed back his hair with his hand and took a breath before saying, “I am staying at The Webster Hotel.”

“Fine. That’s fine,” Abrams said as he scribbled the words in his notebook. “And you, miss?” he addressed to Claire.
“You can contact my office if you want to reach Miss Porter,” Evan said, regaining his decorum. Abrams looked at Evan and raised his eyebrows. “She’s my client, remember? She has rights and privileges. You want her, you call me, understand?” Evan said.

“Alright, alright,” Abrams said. “You don’t have to be like that, Evan. Just doing our jobs.”

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Evan said. “It’s been a long night.”

“That it has. That it has,” Abrams said, putting his pad and pencil back in his jacket. “And I think we all would do well to call it a night as soon as possible. Come on, Bobby,” he said and walked past his partner on his way to the door.
“You’re only delaying the inevitable, Gold,” Short hissed. “You’re going to be too clever one time, just one time. That’s all it will take. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Evan nodded.

“Come on, Bobby,” Abrams said. “Let’s go.” Bobby Short glared at Evan.

“Yes,” said Harold standing up between Short and Gold, “I think I will head out as well. This has certainly been an eventful night for me.”

“What’s the rush, Harold?” Evan said. “There was more we wanted to talk to you about.”

“I’m sure you did,” Harold said, bowing slightly, “but it’s late, and my mind is getting foggy. I’ll be happy to continue our discussion after a few hours of sleep.”

Evan moved to where Harold’s overcoat and hat laid, “No problem, Mr. Huber. Let me get these for you.” As he picked up Harold’s things, Evan secretly lifted the gun from the coat and slipped it into his trousers pocket. “Here you go,” Evan helped Harold into his coat and handed his hat to him. “Always a pleasure.”

Abrams smiled at Harold and said, “We would be happy to drop you at your hotel, Mr. Huber. We have to drive right by there anyway, and it will keep you out from other unexpected adventures.”

“You don’t know how grateful I am, detective,” Harold said and walked out the door.

Abrams turned to Evan and, with the face of a worried father, said, “I hope you know what you’re doing, Evan.”

“Aren’t we all just making it up as we go along, Steve?” Evan said.

Abrams raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to one side. “You have a good night,” Evan said. “I’m sure we’ll be in touch soon.” With that, Abrams nodded and stepped into the hallway. Evan closed the door behind him.