Ted’s Confession
Walt was upon me in an instant. “You’ve been shot!” He said like I might have some question about the source of blood which was soaking my shirt and the intense pain in my gut.
“I’m fine.” I insisted. “He didn’t hit anything important.”
A cry and a scuffle from the far side of the garage stole everyone’s attention from my bullet wound. We looked to see Ted as he struggled with big Hank Kellerman. Kellerman held Ted back as the youth fought to get to Stan. Ted’s face was streaked with tears.
“Don’t let him go, Hank.” I said. “I don’t want him fouling up the scene. When the cops get here, they should see everything just as it is. Slug him if you have to.”
The mention of cops caused the other two crooks, who were still lined up on the far side of the front of Stan’s tow truck, to bridle against the invisible restraint of the gun which Harrison Stiles held on them. Harrison cocked back the hammer on his automatic. “Don’t.” Harrison said to the crooks. The cocked hammer and the stark warning brought the crooks to rest.
“You alright, Law?” Harrison asked. “You hurt bad? You want me to shoot ‘em so we don’t have to watch ‘em?”
I appreciated Harrison’s offer, as savage as it was, but I refused it. “I’ll be alright. No need for anyone else to die today.”
Harrison nodded grimly and kept his eyes on the crooks. I was impressed by the man’s professional calm in a stressful situation. I saw why Scofield employed him. In spite of his habits, he was a good man to have on my side. I made a mental note to see what I could do for Harrison once the case was closed.
In the meantime, and in spite of my wound, I tried to maintain control of the situation. I issued some orders to keep things calm until the police showed up. “David, find some rope and tie those two up. Hog tie them if you have to and put them against the other side of the tow truck. Don’t walk in front of Harry’s gun.”
“Yes, Law.” David agreed and set about his task.
I heard another scuffle and saw that Ted was still struggling with Kellerman. Kellerman got tired of the fight. He shook Ted to get his attention. “Stop it.” He said. “Your friend is dead. You can’t help him now. The best thing you can do is try to help yourself.”
Ted stared up at Kellerman for what felt like a long, silent moment, then he burst into fresh sobs of grief. Kellerman pulled the young man into his barrel-like body and held him. The big man offered Ted the comfort of masculine sympathy, like a father would for a crying child. Ted screwed his face into Kellerman’s chest and wept into his shirtfront.
Walt started to mother me again. “You need to lay down.” He insisted. “You’ll lose more blood if you stay on your feet.” He looked around in frustration. “Where are the police? SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE!” My husband shouted.
“WALT!” I cried. I had to grit my teeth to endure another spasm of pain. When it passed, I did my best to soothe my husband’s worries. “The bullet didn’t hit anything important. He shot me in the stomach. You’ve got to remember that I’ve had my guts butchered before. I know what it feels like to be badly hurt. If the bullet punctured my intestines, my insides would be on fire. They’re not. That means all he hit was meat. It hurts like hell, but I’ll be alright. I promise.”
I could tell by the grim set of Walt’s wide jaw that not one word of what I’d said had reached him. He broke away from me and ran to a nearby workbench. Walt grabbed a hard, wooden chair, ran back, and tried to make me sit down.
I eyed the low chair and refused it. Even without a hole in my guts, the chair was low enough that it would be difficult for me to get up from. With a bullet hole in my stomach, getting up would be damn near impossible. To make Walt happy, or at least to make him worry less, I plodded over to the tow truck and hitched my ass on the high ‘push-bumper’ on the front. I leaned back against the grill and let my stomach muscles relax. I felt a quick stab of pain from the changed position, but it passed quickly, and I felt better.
Walt checked on me again, then he fled the garage. “I’m going to call the ambulance!” He shouted while he ran to the nameless tavern across the street.
I was tempted to yell after Walt to tell him there was a telephone in the garage office, but he was already well on his way to the tavern, so I didn’t bother. I checked my wristwatch. The whole showdown in the garage had taken no more than five minutes. The cops were still at least five minutes away.
I rested against the warm truck grill and tried to decide how hurt I really was. I’d been dismissive of the wound in front of my husband because I didn’t want to worry him, but I hadn’t managed to convince myself that the bullet hole in my guts was really no big deal.
I concentrated on my pain and quickly decided that I’d been right about at least some of what I told Walt. After I was wounded in The Great War, I had many surgeries besides the initial battlefield surgery which saved my life. The two emergency surgeries I had after that first one were to fix perforations in my intestines. Each time a weak spot in my plumbing opened up, the contents would leak into my abdominal cavity. The leakage would cause a unique, burning pain.
Since I didn’t feel the same fiery pain I’d had back then, I was reasonably certain Stan’s bullet hadn’t done any real damage. I still needed medical attention to fix what the smug son-of-a-bitch had done, but I didn’t think the wound counted as an emergency. I took my hand from my stomach to see how much blood there was. Bright red blood flowed steadily, but slowly. I decided my condition wasn’t life threatening as long as I got medical attention within an hour or so.
I put my hand back over the wound to try to keep the blood inside and checked the scene around me. David had come back with some oily rope and was busy tying up the two crooks while Harrison kept them covered. Stan was still dead in a pool of blood on the floor of the shop. Hank Kellerman still had his arms around Ted. Ted’s bitter sobs had subsided.
I called out to Kellerman. “Hank, bring him over here. I want to have a word before the police come and screw everything up.”
Kellerman physically turned Ted around to face front and walked him over to stand before me. I jerked my chin toward the top of the truck bumper which extended to my right. “Have a seat.” I said to Ted.
Ted shook his head and pouted his boyish face. “I hate you.” He said. “You killed my Stanley.”
I agreed with the second part of what the young man said. “Yes, I did. Your Stanley shot me in the stomach. Maybe I should have let that one slide. Everyone deserves a second chance, right?” I asked sarcastically. “While we’re talking about second chances, what about Larry? Doesn’t he deserve a chance?”
Ted rubbed the tears from his eyes with balled fists, like a child would. He opened his hands and ran his fingers through his bright, red hair. He kind of pulled the hair up and back. When he was done, his hair very much resembled that of the cartoon bird which was tattooed on his ass. “What about Larry?” Ted asked.
“You remember Larry.” I said with more sarcasm. “You came here with him. He’s in jail for killing you. Don’t you think it would be nice if the cops knew you weren’t dead?”
Ted looked at me with wide, scared eyes like I was crazy. “What are you talking about, Mister? Stanley told me he’s been checking on Larry. He even gave Larry money so he could afford to keep our room. Larry was nice to me. I insisted Stanley make sure he was safe while I was hiding out. How could he be in jail? Stanley told me he saw Larry at the races last night.”
Ted’s words gave me momentary pause. I didn’t understand how he could have things so wrong. I quickly made a guess which I knew was right. The biggest liar in the case so far had been Stan. I reasoned that, if Stan had lied to me, it was logical he’d lied to everyone, including Ted. I didn’t yet know what the lies were and why Stan had told them, but I wanted to find out. I decided to enlighten Ted to the truth of Larry’s plight. At the same time, I planned to explain who I was. I also wanted to make Ted understand what he’d been part of.
“My name is Law Edwards. I’m a detective. I’m also an old friend of David Ploughman. David came to me for help because his son, Larry, was arrested for murdering his boyfriend and roommate, Ted Danton. The police have a body in the morgue which fits your description. The body had your wallet in its pocket. Larry has been in jail since the morning of Saturday, February 7th. Unless we do something, in less than two weeks, he’s going to be on trial for his life. David and I have spent the last few days trying to find out who killed you.”
As a way to prove how far David and my efforts took us, I reached my bloody right hand into my jacket pocket and drew out the letter I’d taken from Ted’s shaving bag. I gave the envelope to the young man. “I read it.” I admitted.
Ted clutched the envelope in his hands. He was careful to avoid the bloody thumb print I’d left on the paper. “This is the letter I wrote to Mama from Galena. I never sent it ‘cause I knew she’d show it to old Father Brown and he would twist my words in a knot. He always convinced Mama that anything I said was wrong. You read my letter?” He asked.
“I’m a detective.” I said again. “I spent a lot of time trying to find out who you were. I talked to Beth Holbrooke where you used to live. I talked to Hank. I even talked to your friend Sunshine.”
“You talked to Arthur, I mean Sunny…about me?” Ted asked.
I tried to get the conversation back on track. I didn’t want to waste time to rehash everything I’d done. I wanted to understand what Ted had been doing and why. I pushed for those answers. “Last night, I was at the races with Stan. We followed him back to the place where you’ve been living and saw you through the front window. David saw you too. He’s the one who told me who you were. You see, the body the cops have doesn’t have a face. Since that man is about the same size as you and also had red hair, everyone thinks you’re dead. Where the fuck have you been and what did Stan tell you was going on? Why were you hiding out?”
Ted looked to Hank Kellerman for confirmation that what I said was true. “Mister K, is he right?”
Kellerman agreed that I was. “Everyone thought you were dead. The police came here. They talked to all of us. I even read it in the paper. If you hadn’t turned up, Larry might have gone to the chair.”
Ted shook his head and blinked his scared green eyes. He threaded his fingers through his hair again. “Nothing makes sense.” Ted said in a voice which shook with nervous excitement. “Stanley told me…he said…he said…he said…”
Ted’s voice got higher in pitch and faster in cadence until it was just chatter. Kellerman tried to calm the young man. He put a fatherly hand on Ted’s shoulder. “Settle down, son.” He advised. “Take a breath and tell us what Stan told you. No one is upset with you. I’m glad you’re alright. I missed you. We just want to help Larry. You want to help Larry, don’t you?”
“Sure, I do.” Ted agreed. “Stanley told me he needed a lot of money. He said he’d done a deal with some gamblers from out of town, Chicago, I think. They were here to see the races. A lot of gamblers bet on our drag races. Stanley told me about it. There’s a Western Union office near the end of the track. The guys who clock the races send the times out on the telegraph. They send messages all over for people to bet on.
“The gamblers won money on Stanley before. They came all the way from Chicago to see him, to see if they could bet more on him. Stanley promised to win all his races that night and the gamblers put a lot of money on him. He won the first two drags, but on the last one the other guy cheated and beat Stanley. The gamblers got mad. They threatened to kill Stanley if he didn’t pay them back all the money they lost PLUS the money they should have won. It was a lot, thousands. I was helping him get the money.”
“Ho-o-ow?” I stammered through a spasm of pain.
Ted lowered his eyes and whispered the answer. “Stealing cars.” He admitted.
“And chopping them in my shop.” Kellerman added.
“I’M SORRY MISTER K!” Ted blurted. “Stanley said we didn’t have no choice. He said they’d KILL HIM if we didn’t.”
Kellerman tried to calm Ted again. “Alright, son, it’s alright. Just tell us what happened.”
Ted sniffed and quieted. When he started to talk again, his speech was coarser than it had been before. Before the change, he’d sounded like a scared youth, barely more than a boy. After the switch, he sounded like a typical street tough, like someone who spends all his time in poolrooms.
“I been around.” Ted asserted in his new voice. “I been on my own five years, since I was sixteen. I been all over. I done things, bad things. I ain’t always been good. I ain’t been good a fair piece of the time. I know how to rob cars. It’s easy for me. I built a tool. With a twist of the wrist, it pulls the lock right outta the door. I carry some pieces of wire I use to power the ignition. In less than ten seconds I can drive a locked car away. My record is three seconds.
“When I was driftin,’ if I couldn’t find no job, I’d open cars and frisk them for cash. If I was real hard up, I’d rob one. I ain’t never been caught ‘cause I’d rob some old jalopy and take her to scrap. The scrap boys don’t ask no questions, and they pay cash.”
I didn’t much care about Ted’s criminal history except where it had to do with Stan. I tried to stop the young man from bragging. “Yeah, great.” I sneered. “Stick to what you did here.”
Ted restarted his story in a new direction. “I met Stan right away. I liked him. You seen him. Stan’s a real man. Not that Larry ain’t. It’s just, Stan has experience. Stan and me started to like each other, like each other a lot. I wanted him to know the things I done. I told him, came clean one night after a tumble. When I told Stan about me, he told me about him. He told me about the gamblers and the money and all. He said he needed help. He treated me nice and asked me to do what I knew how to do. I said I would, and I did.”
I tried to ask a question, but my voice broke. I cleared my throat and heaved a breath to try again. When I took my breath, my stomach hurt, and my head swam. I looked at my shirt. My whole front was wet with blood. I worried I might be losing too much. I knew I was losing too much. My former confidence that I wasn’t badly hurt abandoned me. I started to get scared.
Walt had gone to call the ambulance, but he hadn’t come back yet. I wondered what was taking so long. I wished he would hurry. I hoped the ambulance would get to me soon. I wished the police were there already. I needed help.
Because I didn’t have any help and the cops were taking their sweet time, I pushed forward with my questions. “Why hide?” I asked.
Ted opened his mouth to answer but clamped it shut when David walked up to stand with Kellerman. “They’re tied up, Law.” David announced and dusted his hands off from the hemp fragments that always come from old rope. “Harry is going to watch them.” Having relayed his news, David looked at me and decided he was worried. He pointed at my middle again. “You’re bleeding a lot, Law. Are you sure you’re not hurt worse than you think?”
I almost lied, but I didn’t see the point. David was right. His eyes would tell him how much blood I’d lost. I couldn’t hide the stain on my shirt. “I think I’m hurt bad.” I admitted. I was going to say more, but rapid movement from behind Hank Kellerman stole my attention. Walt pushed out of the tavern and ran back toward me. I warned David. “Don’t tell Walt.”
David objected. “He should know.”
I shook my head and buttoned my jacket over my blood-soaked shirt. “Making him worry won’t help me and it won’t get the ambulance here any faster.”
David wanted to argue some more, but he closed his mouth when Walt entered the garage. Walt drew even with the crowd which was gathered around me. “The ambulance will be here soon.” He said. “They’re right around the corner. The dispatch said they’d been at the waterfront with the police, but they weren’t needed. He…the dispatcher, is going to radio and have them come here.” Walt knelt in front of me. “How do you feel?” He asked.
“Fine.” I lied. “I want to finish with Ted, love. Do you mind? That way when the medics get here, I don’t have to make them wait.”
Walt complied with my request. He stood from his kneeling position and wordlessly retreated to stand with Kellerman and David. I repeated my question to Ted. “Why hide?”
“I had to.” Ted said, still in his street tough voice. “Stan told me the blue boys were lookin’ for me.”
“Blue boys?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Ted insisted, “pigs, fuzz, coppers. Stan said they knew I’d been robbin’ cars. I don’t know how they fingered me, but Stan said they did. One night at the drags he found me and said I had to hide. I told him that I came that night with Lar, and I ought to let him know. Stan said he’d get word to Lar. Stan took me to his place and that’s where I stayed.
“He’d take me out at night to rob cars. On the weekends I’d come here to split ‘em up, but that’s all the goin’ out I did since February. Stanley said soon he’d have the money he needed, and we could blow town together. Leave the gamblers and the blue boy pigs behind.”
All of what Ted said sounded reasonable enough from a story perspective. I didn’t know how much of it was truth and how much was a fabrication of Stan’s very creative mind. I figured I could find that out later, or someone could. I planned to tell Scofield the story from my hospital bed and let him sort it out. There was only one piece which didn’t fit. “What about your wallet? How did it wind up in a dead man’s pocket?”
Ted shrugged his small shoulders. “I dunno.” He admitted. “Stan made me give it to him the night he took me to his place. He said he had a plan to use it to throw the pigs off my trail. I didn’t want to, but Stan made me.”
I wanted more information about Stan’s plan. I tried to ask a detailed question, but my head swam, and the words wouldn’t come. I forced myself to ask a short question instead. “Stan made you?” I asked.
Ted lowered his eyes away from my face. The coarseness left his voice. When he spoke, he sounded like a scared youth again. “When Stanley is angry, he can be mean. That night he was real angry. He’d done something, but he wouldn’t tell me what. He was all sweaty, lathered like he’d been splittin’ wood or something. His hands…they were, his knuckles were red and swelled up and he didn’t have his gloves. It was cold. I asked if he had frostbite, but he yelled at me.
“When I told him I didn’t want to lose my wallet, he got mad, crazy mad. I was afraid he’d hit me. I gave him my wallet. I didn’t even take no cash from it. That’s the last I saw it and Stan never said what he done.”
Ted’s explanation told me what I needed to know. There were still details to work out and the reasons were beyond me, but the conclusion was clear. Stan was behind the whole mess. Ted’s wallet proved it. Stan murdered the corpse and planted Ted’s wallet on it. It’s the only thing that made sense. The fact that Larry had gotten blamed for the murder was an accident, but it was an accident which benefited Stan. He had no reason to correct the mistake the cops made. He was probably glad of it.
The cops could have just as easily arrested any of Ted’s temporary boyfriends and charged them with the crime. If Sunshine and Ted had been a couple in public, instead of just in the back seat of Sunny’s Lincoln, the cops could have pinned the crime on him. Sunshine would have had just as much reason to murder Ted as Larry did, which was none. The cops would have spun out a tale of a lover’s quarrel and that fantasy would have given them all the motive they needed.
I didn’t think we’d have much trouble to prove that Stan committed the crime. As mouthy as Stan was, I was certain he would have spilled the details to at least one of his compatriots. I assumed at least one of the car thieves who were tied up next to the tow truck would be happy to tell what they knew to have their own troubles reduced. If Stan was alive, he could probably have been goaded into telling on himself.
I was so relieved. Between whatever the other crooks knew and Ted’s testimony, Scofield would be able to clear Larry of the crime. David and his son would be alright. I leaned my head against the truck grill behind me. In the distance, I heard a siren. Walt heard it too.
From the pattern of the siren blast, short-short instead of long-long, we both knew the siren was the ambulance and not the police. “I’m going out front to meet them.” Walt said and hurried away.
As I watched him go, his retreating image, and the image of everything else, broke loose from its moorings and rotated around my head. The motion made me nauseous. I shut my eyes to stop the spinning, but it just got worse. Even the tow truck I sat against started to move. The bumper tilted and tossed me onto the floor.
I landed on the cold concrete and managed to roll onto my back. I was glad to find the floor wasn’t moving like the rest of the world seemed to be. I opened my eyes to see if the world had stopped or if it was just the floor that was stationary.
Walt appeared in my field of vision. He knelt next to my head and shouted in my face. I don’t know what he said because my ears were filled with noise. The sound was like that of a nearby battle. I heard cannon fire and small arms. I heard the rattling clank of advancing tanks. The odor of gunpowder filled my nose. I worried about Walt. He wasn’t even wearing his helmet. I tried to tell him he should put it on, but I couldn’t get the words out. I tried again, but everything went black before I could speak.
