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

end of town on December twenty-first. The only place the body could have been dropped into the water was from the Mill Street Bridge.”

“How do you know he was there?”

I cleared my throat. “A city cop told me he found him there, right in the middle of the bridge, dead drunk at one thirty in the morning on the twenty-second. He was weeping in his car. He had no business being there at that hour unless it was to throw Darleen Hicks into the water.”

Frank thought it over. He liked the idea, but wanted to know more. What other evidence, for example, did I have to point the finger at Brossard?

“Darleen asked him for money,” I said. “And he lied to me about that.”

“She asked Russell, too,” he pointed out.

“But she wasn’t pregnant.”

“Sure, but Ted Russell wouldn’t have known that. He still might have wanted to keep her from talking.”

“Except that she was a virgin.”

Frank threw me an incredulous look. “Where did you come up with that?”

“The autopsy,” I said. “So that proves that Ted Russell is telling the truth when he says he never had his way with Darleen Hicks.”

Frank mulled it over. “The girl still could have lied about having an affair with her teacher, but if she was a virgin like you say . . .”

“I think she was all bark and no bite. Brossard swears he didn’t give her money, and he would have been under the same threat as Ted Russell. And as far as I’ve heard, Darleen never told anyone that she was sleeping with Louis Brossard.”

“So tell me your theory, Ellie,” he said. “How did this happen?”

“I think Brossard followed Darleen from school that day. Maybe he saw her leaving the parking lot after her bus drove off. Then she hailed a taxi on Mill Street.”

“Then isn’t that the end of it for Brossard?”

“No, I believe Brossard became obsessed with Darleen during his investigation of the Ted Russell scandal. This looked like the best chance he’d ever get: Darleen had missed the bus, there were no witnesses. Maybe he could get her alone. So he followed the cab, which dropped her about two and half miles from her home. She was alone on the side of the highway, and it was nearly dark.”

“So he just rolled up, and she got in?”

“Why not? Maybe he lured her with a promise of the money she’d asked for. Or maybe it was just cold enough to accept. He was the assistant principal, after all. Must have seemed safe enough.”

“Then what?”

“He drove her to the snow hills, where things got messy.”

“Wait a minute,” said Frank, raising a hand. “You think he drove right past her house and didn’t let her out?”

I thought it over. Frank made a good point. Driving her past her own farm posed a huge risk. She could have easily jumped from the car, given the slow speeds cars traveled on that road. And if Dick Metzger had been in the fields near the road, he might have seen.

“You’re right,” I said. He must have taken her to the next turnoff on 5S. There’s a little road on the other side of the snow hills. I visited it with Gus Arnold. He drank a pint of rye in that very spot after finishing his route that day.”

Frank’s ears perked up. “He was there? And you don’t suspect him?”

“I do. He certainly was in the right place. But there’s too much smoke with Brossard.”

“So what do you think I should do? Arrest Brossard? Arrest the bus driver?”

I shook my head. “There’s no proof. Maybe you could search his place. His car for sure.”

“I’m going to talk to the cops down in Hudson. I want to know if this Brossard fellow was ever on their radar. What about you, Ellie?”

“I’m waiting for you to get a warrant.”

There was quite a stir when the afternoon edition came out. All four of my stories made the front page, as the Darleen Hicks case was now big news. The discovery of the body made it hard to ignore. And there was salacious interest all around, what with the taxi driver’s role and the two men arrested in my apartment. George Walsh also had a piece in the paper that afternoon: “Walsh’s Witticisms,” five jokes, three riddles, and a caricature of the author. I was already planning to have the cartoon image enlarged and framed for display on my desk. As a bonus, Charlie told me that George’s copy had been riddled with typographic errors.

“More than the usual misspellings,” he said with annoyance as I tried not to laugh. “It’s as if he typed it with boxing gloves on. What’s wrong with that man?”

I was sipping some coffee in the back booth at Fiorello’s at about six. Fadge and I had been discussing the case, and I was making notes for an article linking the Hudson girl’s disappearance to Brossard and Darleen Hicks. I wasn’t ready to go to press with it, of course, just outlining the research I would carry out. Fadge wasn’t convinced about the assistant principal and was more interested in the bus driver. I told him Gus Arnold was still on my list, but right now I was 99.44 percent sure that Louis Brossard was my man. Then the phone rang. It was Charlie Reese, looking for me. I slipped into the phone booth and closed the folding door.

“What is it, Chief?” I said.

“The sheriff’s looking for you. He said he and the DA got a search warrant for Louis Brossard’s place, and he’s going over there now. Olney says you can’t go in with him, but he may have a statement for the press if you wait outside.”

“I’m on my way,” I said and hung up.

Three county cars and the DA’s Chrysler New Yorker were parked outside the Northampton Court Apartments. Frank and the Thin Man were inside Brossard’s place, while Pat Halvey and Stan Pulaski stood guard outside, warding off