Stone Cold Dead by James Ziskin (great novels of all time txt) 📕

Dr. Arnold Dienst’s large, horselike face told me where his worst fears lay.

“It is you!” a voice startled me from behind. “I knew you’d come.”

“Frankie,” I said. “You nearly scared me to death.”

“I could never do that, Ellie. I’m in love with you.”

“Stop it, Frankie. You’re not in love with me. And I’m not here to see you. I came about Joey.”

“You’re not in love with him, are you?” he asked. “That’s what he’s been telling everyone ever since he got back. ‘I’m in love with Joey Figlio,’” he said in a falsetto voice and made an accompanying cross-eyed, palsied gesture to indicate some form of besotted infatuation. I couldn’t be sure if the pantomime was meant to ape Joey or me.

“I’m not in love with him or you, Frankie,” I said, and that appeased him.

“Well, good,” he said. “I don’t mind if you don’t know you love me yet, but if you were in love with him, I’d kill that backstabbing son of bitch, I swear it. I’d kill him for you.”

“Cool your jets, space cadet,” I said. “And mind your language. You’re not killing anybody. Besides, Joey has bigger worries than threats from you just now. The sheriff's on his way, probably to arrest him on suspicion of Darleen Hicks’s murder.”

“I doubt it,” he said, staring into my eyes. “Joey lit out about an hour ago. Said this place wasn’t going to stop him from slitting that teacher’s throat.”

“One of the boys told Joey that Miss Stone was here talking to me,” Dienst said to Frank Olney. We were all three sitting in the principal’s office, reviewing the events of the past two hours. “That spooked him, the boy said. Joey suspected her visit somehow spelled bad news for him, and he escaped the school grounds.”

“Check the backseat of my car,” I said, and Frank glowered at me.

“This isn’t the time for humor, Ellie,” he said.

“Who’s joking? Check the backseat of my car. I’m not leaving here until someone assures me he’s not lying in wait for me.”

“The thermos looks like it was Darleen’s,” said Frank, ignoring my pleas. “I’ve sent a deputy over to the Metzger place with it for the mother to confirm, but I think it’s the one. Now we’re going to have to locate this Joey Figlio. Any idea where he might run?”

Dienst shrugged. “His parents’ house, perhaps?”

“He doesn’t get along with his father,” I volunteered. “Although he is close to his mother. But I doubt he’ll go there. Too obvious.”

“Then where do you think we should look?” asked Frank.

“I already told you. My car.”

“Okay,” said Frank, turning back to Dr. Dienst. “We’ll inspect Miss Stone’s car then we’ll go from there. We know he’s after the teacher, Russell, so we’ll post a deputy at the junior high and at his house in Cranesville. Joey’s not the smartest criminal I’ve come across. Maybe we’ll nab him sooner rather than later.”

“And you promised to watch my place,” I said to admonish him. “Last Sunday, remember?”

“Yes, we’ll make sure you’re safe,” said Frank with impatience. “I’ve already asked Chief Finn if his boys could help, and he said he’d police his own town.”

“That’s comforting,” I said.

“Take it easy. He might be a goon, but he’s not going to put up with trouble in his backyard. He’ll gripe about it and make a show about not doing anything, but I guarantee the city police are keeping an eye on you.”

Feeling no more confident of my safety, I let it go. Frank called the DA, the Thin Man, Don Czerulniak, to ask for some advice. Don suggested questioning the boy if he was found, but not to arrest him yet.

“Prove to me that she’s dead,” Don told Frank, “and find this little delinquent. Then we’ll talk about an arrest.”

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 11, 1961

The temperatures continued to defy the season, with the mercury reaching fifty-six degrees on the giant thermometer outside the Mohawk Savings Bank. I had an 8:30 meeting with Charlie Reese to review some stories he’d assigned me, including the one on Teddy J. There was a home game Friday night, which I was scheduled to cover, and I promised I’d drop in on a practice before then to finish up the feature.

“There’s one more thing I wanted to tell you, Ellie,” Charlie said, adjusting himself in his seat. “Artie Short managed to wire George and intercept him at St. Louis. He’ll be back late tomorrow night.”

“Well, we knew it was too good to last,” I said, shrugging my shoulders.

“It sure was a lucky thing that you didn’t publish that story on the bus ticket,” he said, and I nodded. “Otherwise, it might have been you on that bus to Arizona.”

Charlie stared at me for a long while, holding my gaze with his. I think he wanted to accuse me of concealing information, but he didn’t dare. I thought about my pact with Frank Olney, that we’d agreed to keep the unused ticket and the love note from Ted Russell secret for the time being. But now I was in danger of missing my own scoop. I wasn’t listening to Charlie suddenly but was planning my discussion with the sheriff: the one where I would tell him I needed to publish my story whether he wanted me to or not. I had a job to do, just as he did, and I hoped my decision wouldn’t damage our relationship; I needed the sheriff on my side.

“Ellie?” asked Charlie, pulling me back into the room.

“Yes?”

“I said fine. You don’t have to cover the Laundromat ribbon-cutting. I’ll find someone else. But finish up that Teddy J. story for me. It’ll help keep Short off my back.” He looked me in the eye again. “And yours.”

“I’ve already blown the entire year’s snow budget on this thing,” grumbled Frank Olney. “And we haven’t towed off even a quarter of the stuff.”

I was in his office, a little past ten, sipping a cup of tea across