A Reasonable Doubt Susan Sloan (chrysanthemum read aloud TXT) 📖

Jason,” Old Eddie said.  “It was a loss for the docks when he got himself hurt like he did.  And it’ll be a loss for the whole community if they end up hangin’ him like folks think they’ll do.”

“True enough,” Joe told him.  “Only it isn’t Lightfoot I’ve come to talk about.”

Old Eddie peered at him.  “My mistake then,” he said.  “What -- you workin’ another case concernin’ the docks?”

“No,” Joe said.  “Same case.  Different angle.”

The old Indian’s eyes narrowed.  “Ah, I get it.  You’ve come nosin’ around about the dead cop, ain’tcha?”

“Yeah.”

“Took you long enough.”

“Well, you know how it is,” Joe told him.  “Sometimes things crank around slower than they should.”

Old Eddie nodded.  “That they do,” he said.  “That they do.  And what do you think I can tell you about him?”

Joe shrugged.  “I don’t know, Eddie.  That’s what I’m here to find out.   We’re looking for a reason he was in the alley the night he got killed, and we think he might have had a meet set up with maybe a potential snitch he was trying to recruit.”

“Potential snitch?” Old Eddie echoed.

“Yeah,” Joe said.  “And because he was killed in the area, like right up the alley, we thought this potential snitch he could have been meeting up with might be connected to the docks.  Which means that this potential snitch could have been a witness to the murder.  In which case, I sure would like to talk to him -- unofficially, of course.”

Old Eddie nodded slowly.  “The detective and his partner worked the docks some,” he said.  “I kept telling them it was a losin’ battle, that for every illegal shipment they caught, three more would get through right behind it, but they kept at it.  The partner liked to say, every little dent they made mattered, and besides, they were gettin’ paid by the good citizens of Port Hancock to keep the community as safe as they could.  Real idealist, that one, still has stardust in his eyes.”

“And the other one?”

“The other one,” Old Eddie said, “he wasn’t so idealistic.”

“How do you mean?”

“Seems to me, the longer he was a cop, the less conscientious he got, if you get my drift.”

“Really?” Joe said, not sure where Old Eddie’s drift might be headed.

At that, the man who had lived most of his life on the docks began to cackle.  “You really don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?” Joe parried, because he didn’t have a clue what Old Eddie was talking about.

“This ain’t comin’ at you first-hand, you understand, which means I wouldn’t be any too interested tellin’ this to anyone but you,” the ancient mariner cautioned.  “But the word floatin’ around was that maybe this particular cop got a little too close what he was doin’.”

There wasn’t much that surprised Joe Gideon anymore, but this certainly did.  “Too close, as in you mean he was playing both sides?” he wanted to clarify.

“Let’s just say, the way I heard it, he was literally enjoyin’ the benefits of both,” Old Eddie confirmed.

Lily’s eyes widened.  “Old Eddie told you Dale was on the take?” she gasped.

. . .

“I don’t know that it’s true,” Joe told her.  “I’m just telling you what the talk around the dock was.  And according to Old Eddie, it wasn’t money Dale was taking.”

Lily couldn’t believe it.  “But he was such an upstanding public servant,” she said.  “At least, I always thought he was.”

“You and me, and probably everyone else in town.”

“So, instead of a snitch,” she added, following the thought, “he may have been meeting with his supplier that night.  Oh my, that certainly shakes things up a bit, now doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it does -- if it’s true,” Joe agreed.  “In which case, we’re not looking for a witness -- at least, not a witness we’re ever likely to get to come forward.”

“I suspect you’re right.”

“The coroner set the time of Dale’s death at sometime around midnight.  So the timing would have been about right.”

Lily nodded.  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Well, according to Billy Fugate, it was around that time that Jason left The Last Call.  Could be he walked right into the meet.”

“And that could have posed quite a problem for our friend Dale.”

“It certainly could have,” Joe said.  “At the very least, it would have compromised his position.  He knew Jason.  And drunk or sober, Jason certainly knew him.  If there was even the slightest possibility of exposure, I’d say Dale wouldn’t have hesitated.”

Lily found herself actually getting excited.  “You know what this means, don’t you?” she exclaimed.  “It means that Jason might not have killed an upstanding police officer -- he might have killed a dirty cop.”

“And the chances are he might have done so because he didn’t have a choice,” Joe added.  “But thinking it and being able to prove it may turn out to be two very different things.”

Lily knew that, but it didn’t matter.  For the first time since she had been handed this case, she had something she could grab onto.  “If that’s how it went down,” she said, “then we may just have ourselves more than a mitigating circumstance.”

. . .

Rocky Tabalione was a street punk in every sense of the word.  Out on his own since the age of fourteen, he had clawed his way through his youth doing whatever he had to do, legal or illegal, to survive.  He had done a two-year stint in juvie for drug possession when he was fifteen, and a couple of years later, survived a three-year hitch for possession with intent to sell -- both of which turned out to be nothing less than a badge of honor in his circle.

He was a good-looking kid, with black hair and bright blue eyes and a small gold ring through his lower lip.  He wasn’t terribly bright, but he was street smart, and could be a real charmer when he wanted to.  By the age of twenty-four, he had made himself into Port Hancock’s busiest go-between.

“Found a niche