by Rick Polad
Stretch wanted to know if anything strange happened or anyone out of the ordinary stopped by. The tenants in the building, of course, would have guests. Everyone who went in and out was recorded. But this guy sitting in the Mustang was definitely out of the ordinary. He had come out of the building just before the girl left and then had gone back in. Then someone had entered the girl’s apartment.
Billy picked up the telephone and dialed Stretch’s number.
Stretch asked Billy if he would stay an hour past the end of his shift so he could talk to him. Billy would be paid accordingly. Billy agreed. He had nowhere to go and would have stayed all day as long as he got paid.
When Stretch showed up, Billy filled him in. He had already told the story to his relief man, Al. Al was impressed. Billy showed Stretch the Mustang that Spencer was still sitting in. Stretch told Billy he had done a good job and paid him for his time plus an extra fifty. Al watched with wide eyes as the fifty changed hands. He would be glued to the window for the next four hours. But Al soon lost his excitement; Stretch was going to stay and watch for himself. Without complaining, Al sat on one of the chairs and picked at his fingers. He would settle for getting paid for doing nothing.
Five minutes after Billy left, the phone rang. Stretch answered.
“Yep. Still there,” he said and read Spencer’s license plate. “Let me know when you get it run.” He hung up and stretched both arms back over his head without taking his eyes off the window.
Since Stretch was doing Al’s watching job, Al watched Stretch. None of them had ever paid much attention to him before. He was meaningless. He was given the respect due the person who hands out the money, but other than that they didn’t care who he was or what he did. Normally, the only time they saw him was when they got paid.
Al soon got tired of studying Stretch. There was no point to it. There was nothing else to do except sleep, and Al was smart enough to know that wasn’t a good idea. He tried to stay awake by twiddling his thumbs, first in one direction, then the other.
Twenty minutes later the phone rang again. Stretch slowly rolled his head in a clockwise direction and just listened. He now knew the man sitting in the car was Spencer Manning. He also knew where he lived and that he was a private investigator. Stretch said nothing to Al, who had gotten up to get a bag of potato chips and a can of Coke and was settling back onto his chair.
Chapter 10
Laura immediately noticed the leather pants on the floor. She knew she had left them on the bed. There had been other times when she thought someone had been in her room. Sometimes it was just a feeling. Another time she thought her underwear was not the way she had left it. But her drawers were so messy she couldn’t be sure. That was the look she wanted; a poor, lost, down-and-out soul. Aside from a black-and-white TV, there was absolutely nothing in the room anyone would want. A burglar looking for something to sell for drug money would be very disappointed. One of the old ladies on her floor, Jeanne, had warned her about security and had pointed out the broken lock on the front door. Jeanne was very concerned about Laura’s safety and raved about how useless the landlord was. Couldn’t even fix the lock.
Jeanne would have been surprised to learn that the broken lock was one of the reasons Laura had chosen the building. If someone found her, she wanted to know. And if that someone was concerned about how she lived, she wanted to know that too. That was why she left the deadbolt unlocked. The only time she locked it was when she was in the apartment. Once, when she returned, she found it locked, but thought she had locked it without thinking. Jeanne had been in for a visit and thought she was doing Laura a favor by turning the deadbolt.
Holding the refrigerator door open with her hip, Laura placed a quart of orange juice and four containers of fruit yogurt on the bare shelf. She kicked the door closed and threw the bag in the garbage. She walked to the bed, pulled off her sweater, and slowly unbuttoned the plain white blouse. Shrugging it off, she let it fall to the floor and turned to the mirror above the dresser. She arched her back slightly and looked at her breasts covered by a plain white bra. Smiling, she thought they were just right; large enough to be noticed from a distance, but not too big to be saggy when she hit eighty.
After stretching her calf muscles, Laura closed the blinds, planning to lie down for a couple of hours of sleep before hitting the streets. With the blinds closed, the room was dark enough to sleep during the day. She regretted the lack of sunshine, but usually closed the blinds when she was home. She knew about the men in the apartment across the street, and she was not an exhibitionist. She knew about them because she was the one who hired them.
As she walked to the bed, the phone rang. It was Stretch. He told her about Spencer Manning and asked, “Does this have anything to do with what you’re doing?”
“Can’t see how it does, but it doesn’t make any sense.”
“Maybe we should call the cops.”
“Sure, just what I need.”
“Well, he is breaking into your apartment.”
“Yeah. Strange. But there isn’t anything here for him to take. He must want something, but whatever it is is beyond me.” She sighed.
“So what do you want to do?”
She took a deep breath and said, “Keep watching and see if you can find anything else about him.”
“Will do.”
Chapter 11
Charles Lamb woke up early Friday morning. He was awake when Sarah left for work at 6:30, but pretended he was asleep so he wouldn’t have to deal with her. He usually slept until after seven, but this morning was excited about starting work at the lady’s house. He pulled on worn jeans and a work shirt and went downstairs. He constantly asked Sarah to throw the paper up on the porch as she left. How hard could that be? She never did.
The days had been getting longer. The sun was shining brightly in a cloudless sky and it would be a warm day. Charles loved summer. As he walked back up the drive, he thought he saw movement from the side of the house where the neighbor kid had a tree house. Slowing his pace, he watched out of the corner of his eye, but saw nothing. Maybe just the glint of the sun. His eye moved slowly back to his house and he sighed as he saw the obvious signs of neglect. Sarah was right—the old frame house needed a lot of work. He made a mental list while the sun warmed his back. Light brown paint was peeling and cracked; pieces of fascia were rotted and others were partly missing, revealing roof joists in a few spots; window sills were rotten; and one pane of glass next to the front door was cracked, but still holding together. Sarah had threatened to hire someone to do the work if he didn’t. Charles found that funny, since he could do it all himself. But darned if he was going to give in to her and do it. And he knew she would never hire someone; there wasn’t any money, and she wouldn’t be able to bitch about it.
He made a pot of coffee and unfolded the Chicago Tribune: two shootings the night before; why the aldermen think they need a raise and why they would get it; and hope for the Cubs, more in Sports. As he sipped the coffee, he decided to leave at 8:30. That would give him plenty of time, and he would miss most of the rush-hour traffic. He finished the coffee, rinsed his cup, and headed for the basement to collect his tools.
Chapter 12
Jimmy sat in his tree house and watched as Charles Lamb picked up the newspaper and walked back to the house. He held his breath when Mr. Lamb looked in his direction and thought for a second that he had been seen. But Mr. Lamb didn’t know he was there. That was important. If you’re going to gather information on the enemy, they can’t know you’re there.
Like Charles, Jimmy also loved summer. From his perch in the green leaves he had seen important things and they were all in his notebook. Someday he would enlist in the army and apply for intelligence school. He would be able to show them he already had the skills they were looking for. Neatly documented by date, his notebook listed many neighborhood events.
The Lamb house was only twenty or so feet from his lookout perch, and he had a clear view of the
kitchen and the bedroom. Other neighbors were further away, but a pair of binoculars brought them closer. His mother was a bird watcher and had given Jimmy the binoculars along with a book about northern birds. He kept a list of birds he had seen, and, after he was in the tree house, he’d show his mother the list. He would be especially excited if he saw a new bird. Actually, the names had come from the book. It was a lot more fun spying on the neighbors.
There was the night he had missed dinner last fall. He had told his mother he was tracking an oriole, rarely seen in these parts. She had let him stay out. Actually, he had been watching Charles and Sarah Lamb in their bedroom. Mr. Lamb had come in while she was undressing. He had put his arms around her from the back. She pulled away, grabbed her blouse, and covered her chest. But Mr. Lamb had taken ahold of the blouse and pulled it away. He had grabbed her and thrown her on the bed. She rolled to the other side and ran out of the room. As Jimmy watched, Mr. Lamb punched a hole in the wall.
Then there was the Saturday afternoon in October when the police had come. Jimmy didn’t know what was going on, but he had heard yelling and ran to the tree house. There was often yelling from the Lamb house. But this time there had also been sirens. Two police cars stopped in front, and after about ten minutes the policemen had walked out of the house with Mr. Lamb in handcuffs. Jimmy knew that would be very important to Army Intelligence.
After that afternoon, his parents had warned Jimmy to stay away from Mr. Lamb. They said he was a very bad man and Jimmy should never ever go on his property or say anything to him. They wouldn’t explain. Jimmy never understood why Mr. Lamb had been taken away or what his parents had been so concerned about. Mr. Lamb had always been nice to him. When his ball had gone over the fence and Mr. Lamb was in the yard, he would throw it back with a smile and say nice catch. He was certainly not as mean as Mrs. Crow, the neighbor on the other side, who would keep his ball and scream about her vegetables and what a naughty boy he was. She was the one he should be staying away from.
The police had come again during the winter, but Jimmy hadn’t had a good view because he couldn’t go in the tree house. Jimmy had noted each event in his notebook.
Chapter 13
Spencer called his Uncle John first thing Friday morning. He lived on a golf course just north of Tampa that included a small lake that was the home to an alligator named Arnie. Spencer briefly told John about Laura.
“I’m looking for more information about her and want to talk to someone down there. Don’t you have a neighbor with the Tampa Bay Times?”
“I do,” said John. “Martin Becker. Should be in the office.” He gave Spencer the number. They chatted for a few more minutes. Spencer said he’d be down soon for a visit.
* * *
Martin Becker was in a meeting, but his secretary transferred Spencer to the society editor, Tim Burke, who picked up after one ring, probably hoping for some juicy gossip.
What Spencer had to say wasn’t that juicy, but Tim was interested.
Spencer gave Tim what he had and asked what he knew about the family.
“The Justines are one of the richest families in Florida. Very well respected. Lots of money from real estate. Two daughters, Laura and Katherine. About a year and a half ago, the parents reported Katherine missing. At the time, she was twenty, in her junior year of college. Good student, but hung with a wild crowd. Katherine had trouble with the police, but never anything daddy couldn’t take care of. The police never found anything concrete, but there were rumors. Daddy hired a P.I. but nothing came of it. Laura is three years older and has a degree in business.”
“What was the trouble that got covered up?”
“Wild parties. Disorderly charges. Minor drug charges. Nothing very serious, but sex was involved.”
Spencer was getting tired of that thread. “I wonder if that has anything to do with Katherine’s disappearance.”
“Well, there were rumors about prostitution in the group Katherine hung around with. Put that together with drugs and who knows what falls out. I wanted to run a story suggesting that perhaps she had been kidnapped and sold into the sex trade, but that never got off the ground. From what you’re telling me, I’ve gotta think Laura is looking for her sister and has some reason to think she was in Detroit and then Chicago.”
Spencer agreed. “Makes sense. What do you know about the family? Everyone get along?”
“Nothing unusual in a rich family. One daughter is perfect, the other a handful. Katherine was the wild one. Didn’t seem too happy with all of daddy’s money. Laura was the good daughter. She was being groomed to take over the real estate business.”
“Was the business doing well?”
Tim said something to someone in the office. “Very well and very high-end. We’re talking houses over a million. The business was started by Mr. Justine’s father.”
“And Laura?”
“A year ago, daddy reported Laura missing. Evidently didn’t show up for work for two days. Usually reliable as clockwork.”
“Police found nothing, I assume.”
“Right. The same P.I. managed to track Laura to Detroit, but she suddenly disappeared. It was very bizarre. The P.I. wondered if it was because of a letter the parents had sent. Sounds like the one you found.”
“How do you know about the P.I. information? I would think that’s not public knowledge.”
“My wife plays bridge with Mrs. Justine.”
“Did you print that information?”
Tim laughed. “Hell no. I don’t want a divorce.”
“Must have been hard to sit on that.”
“Yup, but you don’t know my wife.”
They both laughed.
“I wonder why Laura is living in that apartment,” said Tim. “She has a boatload of money.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want to touch daddy’s money.”
“She doesn’t have to,” answered Tim. “Both girls have trust funds they came into when they reached twenty-one. Seven figures.”
Spencer whistled. “Maybe Katherine’s disappearance wasn’t about sex. Maybe it was about money.”
“Yeah, I thought of that. But the family was never contacted about a ransom. And Katherine’s trust fund hasn’t been touched.”
“Bridge?”
“Bridge.”
Spencer laughed. “They never mentioned bridge in detective school.”
“You’d be surprised at where I get some of my information. Does all this help?”
Spencer sighed. “More pieces to add to the puzzle. Pretty strange.”
“Yes, it is. Do I get a story when you figure out the puzzle?”
“Absolutely. Thanks for your help.”
Spencer hung up, wondering what Ben had gotten him into.
Chapter 14
Charles Lamb pulled the old Chevy into Amanda Brock’s driveway at five minutes to ten. He got out of the car and admired the view of the lake. Waves lapped up onto the edge of a sand beach. The sky was bright blue and banks of off-white clouds hung over the water a few miles offshore. An older couple walked hand-in-hand across the sand. It was a life Charles could only dream about.
He opened the trunk and lifted out his tool box. Then he slammed the trunk several times trying to get it to latch. He finally gave up and walked slowly to the side door, partly afraid to ring the bell and have this bubble pop.
Using his fat thumb to ring the bell, Charles held his breath. In less than a minute he saw movement inside the hallway. He let out his breath, but was disappointed when a short, plump, middle-aged woman answered the door.
“Yes?” she asked.
He looked past the woman, but saw no one. “I’m Charles Lamb,” he finally said. “Mrs. Brock asked...”
The woman responded without emotion. “Oh yes, Mr. Lamb. Miss Brock said you would be coming. I am to show you into the kitchen. She will be down in just a minute.”
The woman led the way down the hall past a large pantry and showed him into a sunny kitchen.
“You can wait here.”
Charles took off his cap and set his toolbox on the floor next to a large wooden table and sat in a straight-backed wooden chair.
He was happy that she was expecting him. And she was a miss. She wasn’t married. Not that it mattered. He was. And she wasn’t interested in him anyway. She just wanted him to do some odd jobs. And he was lucky to have that. While he waited, he looked around the kitchen. Bright, cheerful decorations hung on the walls, and two flower baskets were on the table. An old stove and refrigerator were against one wall. Another was lined with shelves and cupboards up to a doorway that opened into a dining room. The door was half open and Charles could make out a large, polished table of dark wood and a picture window looking onto the lake.
Even if it hadn’t been right on the lake, the house had to be expensive. He wondered what Miss Brock did to earn that much money. She said she had appointments. He decided she must be a doctor and was trying to decide what kind when she walked in. She looked absolutely wonderful.
Amanda walked confidently right up to him and held out her hand. He stood and took it. “Hello Mr. Lamb. I’m so glad you’re here. This house needs a man’s touch. Did Margaret offer you some coffee?”
Charles fumbled with his cap and looked down. She made him very nervous. Not wanting to get Margaret in trouble, he hesitantly said, “Well, I don’t want any coffee, thank you.”
Mandy looked at him questioningly with raised eyebrows. That was a strange answer. He didn’t talk much, this Charles Lamb. And he was pretty shy for a big man. But he seemed nice, and he was willing to work.
“Shall we walk around and see what needs to be done?” she asked.
“Yes, that would be fine,” he answered, feeling more comfortable at the prospect of doing something. He wasn’t good at small talk.
Mandy turned, opened a drawer, and handed Charles a yellow legal pad and pencil. “How about you take notes as we go? Then you can make a list and we can figure out what’s most important.”