Chapter Fifteen
We checked out of the hospital. A nurse wheeled me to Mariel’s car, gave me my iPod, a printed sheet of care instructions and a dose of Tylenol for the road. With one arm around Mariel, I climbed into her passenger seat. It was worth the pain and losing consciousness just to be able to hold her again but I discovered new pains when I bent and twisted to get in. Mariel drove me home in silence. I think there were things she wanted to say but she said nothing.
On the way, I thought about the man who knocked me down. From the way he hit me, he must have come from my side yard. He wore a white hard hat, work boots and some type of line worker uniform with a tool belt. The hat and large wraparound sunglasses covered most of his face. I couldn’t see enough of it or see it long enough to identify him. He didn’t hurt me after knocking me down, so I surmised he only hit me so he could get away and I wouldn’t have time to recognize him.
I’d only been living here a few months and this was my first case. I only knew a handful of people, yet since Ray’s murder, someone robbed me and now someone sent me to the hospital. There had to be some connection, but it didn’t make sense. If Ray’s killer attacked me, why did he let me live? Then, I remembered the break-in. Someone searched my home even though the stolen items were in plain sight. The burglar must have wanted something he didn’t get. Something he thought I had. Something that’s kept me alive. I had to find it before he did.
It took me a while to get out of the car. Mariel stayed inside so I walked around to the driver’s side to say goodbye. Through the open window, she gave me a perfunctory kiss as if to indicate that she still loved me but wasn’t happy with me right now. I thanked her, turned and slowly walked inside the house.
This time, there were no signs of entry or attempted entry. In the kitchen, I bent to take a bottle of water from the pantry and my back started to stiffen. My left elbow began to feel sore, the old gunshot wound in my left shoulder throbbed and I wondered if there was any other damage. When I got into the bedroom, I looked in the mirror to find out. A pattern of scratches decorated my left side where I fell and the face of an achy old man with a bald spot in his short, silver and black hair stared back. That seemed to be the extent of it.
When I took a closer look, all I saw was a lined face with my grandfather’s high forehead and his crooked tooth. He didn’t give me the lines, they came from experience. Maybe that’s why my mouth turned down at the sides. I don’t know why Mariel thinks I’m good looking. I’m just glad she does.
I lay down on my bed and took inventory. Nothing felt broken. I had scratches, bruises, and a bump on my head but I wasn’t bleeding and the headache was starting to become dull. I wasn’t dizzy. Well, I wasn’t dizzy as long as I didn’t make any sudden movements. I guess I was lucky, I didn’t hit my head too hard on the concrete driveway or lose consciousness for too long. I was just sore and I probably would be for a while. After resting a bit, I got up and left the bedroom.
I put the paper Karl gave me with the plate number down on the nightstand and headed for the shower. The hot water felt good and soothed my sore spots, but I was starting to get annoyed. It was getting to the point where something happened every time I left the house to run.
I toweled dry, put on clean swim trunks and went out the back sliding door. I knew I was going to run the plate number Karl gave me, but after that, I had no idea what to do next. Maybe a little aimless floating in the pool would help my mind. If nothing else, the warm water should ease my body. I swam a few laps to work out the muscle kinks from the fall. Then I dripped dry on one of the patio chaises. I rested from my ordeal and thought about what just happened.
The man who knocked me down came to my house for a reason. His attire indicated he wanted people to think he belonged where he was. A hardhat, boots and tool belt are things you might wear if you worked in construction or as a lineman of some type. My assailant didn’t have a ladder, but some utility poles have rungs and trees can be climbed. I looked around my yard. Not a single utility pole, but I had plenty of trees.
When I looked up into one of them, I saw something shiny. It reflected the fading sunlight, but I couldn’t tell what it was. Whatever it was, I was sure it didn’t grow there. I dried off a bit, went into the house and got my binoculars. You can’t live near the beach and not have binoculars. Between the boats, the birds and the porpoises, there’s just too much to see.
The bright spot on the tree was a glass lens inside of a small black tube about three inches long. I recognized it immediately. It was a weatherproof bullet camera. I had seen one like it at the Spy Shack. Someone was interested enough in my activities to spend a couple of hundred bucks, but the location of the camera violated privacy restrictions. Without a warrant authorizing the camera, I doubted the video would be admissible in court. I started to wonder who would want to watch my house and why.
They positioned their camera so it had a view of the front yard. What were they hoping to see? The police had no reason to watch me. Did they? Who would install a camera without caring if they could use the video in court? The only purpose this camera could serve was recording who came to the house and who left the house. I began to think Mariel’s concerns might be well grounded and I had better do something. This latest incident renewed my motivation. I started to develop a plan. First, I’d check for listening devices and then try to find who was watching me.
I ran around the house turning off any thing that could transmit a radio signal that might confuse my bug sweeper. This included the cable box, my computer, my wireless network router and my cordless telephone. I put a Bruce Springsteen CD in the stereo and turned it up enough that I could hear the lyrics throughout the house. If I could hear the music, it would be loud enough to activate any voice activated listening devices.
Starting in the foyer, I swept from the kitchen to the great room, covering the dining and living room areas. No signals. I moved to the hall and then to each of the three bedrooms. Still no signals. I even ran the bug detector in the bathrooms and on the pool deck. Except for the proximity of the tree, there were no other signals anywhere. All the camera could do is watch who came and who left my house. I began to realize that watching me was all they wanted.
It seemed each of the bugs we encountered were very specific in their purpose. They must have planted Ed’s to learn what he knew. They must have planted mine to learn when my house is empty. All I could surmise was someone expected Ed to learn something he might eventually bring to me and perhaps they’d also want to know when they could come and get it. Maybe that’s why I was still alive. Now, if I could get a handle on whom they were and what they wanted. I didn’t know what they expected to see, but I did have a license plate number that might tell who was watching.
One nice thing about having private investigator license is the legitimate access you get to things most people can’t legally acquire. For instance, The Driver Privacy Protection Act protects against most people obtaining your name and address from your license plate. However, the act states there are exceptions. For example, “For use by any licensed private investigative agency or licensed security service for any purpose permitted under this paragraph.”
Luckily, one of the purposes listed under this paragraph is “Investigation in anticipation of litigation by an attorney licensed to practice law in this state or the agent of the attorney;” I anticipated I would sue this guy for something eventually, so I figured I was on safe enough ground. Since I didn’t have time to wait days for a response to a DMV form, I sprang for $25 and used one of the online services, which promised same day service.
As I was finishing the online transaction, my phone rang. I picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Is this Max Fine?”
Close enough. “Yes.”
“This is Amanda Finch, Ms. Eastwood’s Personal Assistant. Ms. Eastwood will be available to meet with you tomorrow at the EFH office at 2:00 pm.”
“That’s great. Thank you ver
y much.”
“Do you need directions?”
“No, thank you.”
“Very well, sir. We will see you then.” She hung up.
Hmm, I guess old Ed must still have it, whatever it was he had. I sat there planning my discussion with Corky in my head when I noticed that while I was on the phone an email arrived. It was a DMV report and contained the registrant’s name and address, the vehicle VIN, and type. The owner of the Taurus was A. V. Designs, the company that employed Ray.
I couldn’t imagine a big outfit like A. V. Designs watching me with any criminal intent, at least not when they were so easy to trace. Considering the use of a company car, the surveillance Karl detected seemed more like corporate security at work than criminal enterprise, so I decided to approach this head on. I called A. V. Designs to make an appointment. If I had to get dressed for Corky tomorrow, I might as well go see A.V. Designs too.
“Good afternoon, A. V. Designs. How may I direct your call?”
“Hi, I’d like to speak with your Security Director.”
“Regarding what, sir?”
Hmm, what I can say to get him or her to see me? “It’s confidential. I’m a private investigator and can only discuss this matter with the appropriate corporate security folks.”
“Yes, sir. Please hold while I connect you.”
“A. V. Designs, Corporate Security Office. How may I direct your call?” Deja Vue all over again.
“My name is Max Fried. I’m a private investigator and I have a confidential matter to discuss with your Security Chief.”
“I’m sorry, sir. The Chief is in a meeting now. I can’t connect you. Would you like to leave a message?”
“Actually, I’d like to make an appointment. It’s better we discuss this matter in person. Is the Chief free tomorrow morning?”
“Very good sir, let me check…, his only available time tomorrow would be 4:00.”
I thought that might be cutting it close as I was seeing Corky at two, but I really didn’t expect her to give me much of her time. “OK, Fine,” I agreed.
“Is that Mack Reed?”
“No, Max Fried. M-a-x F-r-i-e-d”
“I’m sorry sir.”
“No problem, I’ll be there then. Bye.”
When it rained, it poured. Tomorrow, I would be a busy boy.
Life's a Beach Then You Die Page 16