notation.
107
Red White and Black and Blue
by Richard Stevenson
Fallon's "reluctant" recommendation to Shenango Life was to withhold paying the insurance policy's beneficiary, Jennifer Stiver, because the official verdict was suicide, and standard policy precluded a payout under such circumstances.
I went over this material twice again, and each time my attention snagged on the disappearing confidential memo about an abusive "Leg. kahuna," and on the "call from Leg."
to which "Blessing" was to have responded.
I e-mailed Bud Giannopolous and asked him to please find out if SUNY had somebody on its staff named Blessing.
Then I called my pal at APD.
"I need to talk to a detective on the force named Ivor Nichols. Can you set something up?"
"Can't. Sorry. Ivor retired a couple of years ago. Even worse, both for him and for you, he passed away just last week."
"Crap."
"What's this about? Maybe I can help."
"What kind of cop was Nichols? Would he have altered a report to protect somebody important in the Legislature?"
"I guess you could say that Ivor was traditional in the regard. Yeah, I'd have to say so."
"What did he die of? Nothing violent, I hope."
"Lung cancer. It's not violent, technically speaking, although I've heard it feels that way."
* * * *
[Back to Table of Contents]
108
Red White and Black and Blue
by Richard Stevenson
Chapter Twelve
I slept poorly. My back, legs and shoulders still ached, and the ear felt as if fire ants were gnawing at it. I had changed the bandage, per Albany Med's instructions, before I went to bed, and chowed down more Tylenol, all of this to not much effect.
When my wake-up call went off next to my flaming ear at five thirty Friday morning, I was already half conscious, half thinking and half dreaming about kahunas and Blessing and—
go figure—an elegant blonde woman jumping into San Francisco bay. I showered without getting the bandage soaked, just splashed a little.
After throwing on some jeans and a polo shirt, I made my way down to the hotel parking garage, bringing along only my Blackberry and the Smith & Wesson in the shoulder bag.
While the rental car appeared untampered-with, I gave the engine and wheel wells a quick once over.
Traffic was light at this early hour. I whizzed across the I-90 bridge and kept going east on the interstate, exiting briefly for a Dunkin' Donuts stop just past East Greenbush. I joined the orderly drive-thru queue—not wanting to go inside and frighten the bleary-eyed early morning customers with my repulsive hickey—and then got back on the highway and consumed the juice, coffee and bagel in the car. If anyone was tailing me, I was unaware of it, and I was staying watchful.
109
Red White and Black and Blue
by Richard Stevenson
I didn't have my GPS with me, which left me feeling naked and helpless on the one hand, but also gratifyingly self-sufficient. I would stalk my prey using mainly my nose and also my vague recollection that Arlington, Massachusetts was located just west of Boston. I confirmed this on a map I picked up at a Massachusetts Turnpike service area and arrived in Arlington just in time to get stuck in the morning commuter traffic inching its way into the city.
As I crept along on state route 2, I found an NPR station on the radio and caught the tail end of a news report on upcoming primary elections across the US. The roundup mentioned in passing the New York State primary. The reporter said political handicappers were putting their money on the Tea Party-backed conservative Democrat Kenyon Louderbush. The Shy McCloskey campaign was described as
"floundering." I said out loud, "You betcha."
I pulled into an Arlington Mobil station to ask directions to J&J's Auto Service, where Hugh Cutler worked, and was told that the Shell station diagonally across the intersection was J&J's. I made my way over there and filled the tank on the Hyundai. The station had no convenience store attached to it, just a two-bay
107
Red White and Black and Blue
by Richard Stevenson
Fallon's "reluctant" recommendation to Shenango Life was to withhold paying the insurance policy's beneficiary, Jennifer Stiver, because the official verdict was suicide, and standard policy precluded a payout under such circumstances.
I went over this material twice again, and each time my attention snagged on the disappearing confidential memo about an abusive "Leg. kahuna," and on the "call from Leg."
to which "Blessing" was to have responded.
I e-mailed Bud Giannopolous and asked him to please find out if SUNY had somebody on its staff named Blessing.
Then I called my pal at APD.
"I need to talk to a detective on the force named Ivor Nichols. Can you set something up?"
"Can't. Sorry. Ivor retired a couple of years ago. Even worse, both for him and for you, he passed away just last week."
"Crap."
"What's this about? Maybe I can help."
"What kind of cop was Nichols? Would he have altered a report to protect somebody important in the Legislature?"
"I guess you could say that Ivor was traditional in the regard. Yeah, I'd have to say so."
"What did he die of? Nothing violent, I hope."
"Lung cancer. It's not violent, technically speaking, although I've heard it feels that way."
* * * *
[Back to Table of Contents]
108
Red White and Black and Blue
by Richard Stevenson
Chapter Twelve
I slept poorly. My back, legs and shoulders still ached, and the ear felt as if fire ants were gnawing at it. I had changed the bandage, per Albany Med's instructions, before I went to bed, and chowed down more Tylenol, all of this to not much effect.
When my wake-up call went off next to my flaming ear at five thirty Friday morning, I was already half conscious, half thinking and half dreaming about kahunas and Blessing and—
go figure—an elegant blonde woman jumping into San Francisco bay. I showered without getting the bandage soaked, just splashed a little.
After throwing on some jeans and a polo shirt, I made my way down to the hotel parking garage, bringing along only my Blackberry and the Smith & Wesson in the shoulder bag.
While the rental car appeared untampered-with, I gave the engine and wheel wells a quick once over.
Traffic was light at this early hour. I whizzed across the I-90 bridge and kept going east on the interstate, exiting briefly for a Dunkin' Donuts stop just past East Greenbush. I joined the orderly drive-thru queue—not wanting to go inside and frighten the bleary-eyed early morning customers with my repulsive hickey—and then got back on the highway and consumed the juice, coffee and bagel in the car. If anyone was tailing me, I was unaware of it, and I was staying watchful.
109
Red White and Black and Blue
by Richard Stevenson
I didn't have my GPS with me, which left me feeling naked and helpless on the one hand, but also gratifyingly self-sufficient. I would stalk my prey using mainly my nose and also my vague recollection that Arlington, Massachusetts was located just west of Boston. I confirmed this on a map I picked up at a Massachusetts Turnpike service area and arrived in Arlington just in time to get stuck in the morning commuter traffic inching its way into the city.
As I crept along on state route 2, I found an NPR station on the radio and caught the tail end of a news report on upcoming primary elections across the US. The roundup mentioned in passing the New York State primary. The reporter said political handicappers were putting their money on the Tea Party-backed conservative Democrat Kenyon Louderbush. The Shy McCloskey campaign was described as
"floundering." I said out loud, "You betcha."
I pulled into an Arlington Mobil station to ask directions to J&J's Auto Service, where Hugh Cutler worked, and was told that the Shell station diagonally across the intersection was J&J's. I made my way over there and filled the tank on the Hyundai. The station had no convenience store attached to it, just a two-bay
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