Crooked River (Jack Francis Novel)

by MP Murphy

  “The man is steadfast in protecting those girls, even if they give him trouble. The Captain was a ruthless business man and never had any pity for anyone else. I’m sure it was the same with the body in the picture. He didn’t care because it didn’t concern him.”

  “Could be,” I thought for a minute. The body was still bugging me. “Did you guys ever get an I.D. on the corpse?”

  “Now there’s a funny thing. There hasn’t been a corpse reported, and it gets worse.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I’m not officially involved so I couldn’t send anyone over to the Zeitlin place to check it out, but I did go over on my own.”

  “And?”

  “And the place was clean, empty, no body.”

  I was stunned. “How can that be?”

  “Looked like a professional job to me. Oh, I’m sure if I had sent some of the techies over there they could have dug something up, but once again I’m not officially on the case.”

  “Simple blackmailing job with a first time crook was how the Captain laid it out to me. I think it just became a little more than that.”

  “You want my advice?” Colin asked, face smug, and arms crossed at his chest. “Stay out of it. Find the antique dealer and get back anything he has on Chelsea. Then collect your money from the Captain and forget about it. Just stay out of whatever else comes along.”

  “We both know I can never just let things be. It’s not in my nature. The whole thing will just eat at me and I will have to keep digging to satisfy my own curiosity”

  “I know. That is why I recommended you to the Captain.” Colin was beaming now. “But don’t forget what curiosity did to the cat.”

  Chapter 9

  It was lunchtime and the street was bustling with people running to and from work on their short breaks. The wind had begun to kick up out of the northeast blowing in between buildings and rustling the trees. A storm was coming. Madeline sat, parked in her silver Mercedes, watching the storefront of Charles Beard’s antique shop and all was quiet. It had been quiet all morning. No movement in or out and no sign of Beard himself. She should have known the slimy bastard would keep a low profile, but then some people didn’t know any better.

  The hours of sitting patiently were wearing on her and she was getting anxious. Mr. Francis wasn’t at his condo when she drove there earlier, and she figured he would at least stop by Beard’s shop today. Instead, she had seen nothing. Madeline reached for her keys and was getting ready to turn on the ignition, when her cell phone vibrated in the seat next to her. It was Chelsea. She had a feeling that she would regret telling the poor girl about the predicament she was in, but she had a right to know.

  “What is it Chelsea?” Madeline answered.

  “Maddie, where are you? What’s going on?” The girl sounded like she was panting as she rattled off questions.

  “Slow down. Nothing has happened yet. I’m just sitting outside of Beard’s shop waiting for someone to show up.”

  “You’re just sitting there? All morning you’ve just been sitting there. We need to do something.”

  “Chelsea, you need to relax and have some patience. We cannot just run into this thing head first. If we make any mistakes it will make things worse, so just relax.”

  “I can’t relax. I’m trapped in this damn house pacing around my bedroom like a crazy person. I feel helpless in here. Please give me something, anything to make me feel better, please!” Chelsea sounded desperate and Madeline knew that was not a good thing. The drugs had made her more unstable than she normally was, and now without them, without being able to go out, and being stuck in that house with their father, Madeline knew it was a dangerous combination.

  “I understand Chelsea, I really do. Just please give me some more time.”

  “I need something. I need to do something. I can’t just sit here anymore. Please give me something I can use. Give me something, something good. I just want the whole thing finished. I’m nervous, scared, and what if someone comes for me. They killed that poor man. His head was ripped open and blood was all over the floor. I was right there and I saw it. They could come and do the same thing to me.” Chelsea had not been able to get rid of the nightmare. She had no idea who the dead man was, said she was too scared to look at his face. She also had not been able to grasp the fact that if they wanted her dead they could have shot her that night. A tangled web of fear and anxiety was creating a different reality for the girl.

  “Chelsea just give me a few more hours and I’ll get you something I promise.” Madeline looked up towards Beard’s shop in time to see two people, a brunette woman and a young Italian-looking man peeking into the front window of the store. They spoke to each other for a moment and the man disappeared down an alley around the back of the building. The brunette woman, attractive in her pressed suit, waited calmly out front until the door opened from the inside. “Chelsea, something’s going on I got to go.”

  “Maddie! Maddie, what is it? Maddie!” Madeline heard none of her sister’s pleas. She had already hung up the phone intently watching the store. A couple of blocks down the street, making their way towards the shop, walked two men. Madeline noticed them just as they came up to Beard’s antique store. “Oh, Shit,” she said out loud. It was going to get interesting. Mr. Francis was walking in the front door of the shop with none other than Agent Colin Sommers. A lot of people were looking for Charles Beard today.

  Chapter 10

  The girl was losing it, Douglas thought, as he walked down the hall and away from Chelsea’s room. He had overheard her phone call with Madeline leading him to the conclusion that both girls were aware of the blackmailer. It only made sense and would explain the way Chelsea had been acting lately. Just now he had left the girl, talking frantically to herself alone in the room. Sure, drug abuse played a part and she was not the most stable of people to begin with, but now Douglas would say she was near the edge of reality. Frantic, unpredictable, and drugged up past any reasonable point, was a combination not to be allowed to fester without some type of supervision.

  The front study of the Gilmore mansion had the look of a library. An eighteen-foot ceiling towered overhead with extensive molding work and a conservative chandelier in the center. Four walls were adorned with bookshelves containing volumes collected by Captain Gilmore and his father. The ornate, mahogany desk was surrounded by a fireplace, large, plush leather sofas, and windows that overlooked the drive and the grazing horses. The desk was bare except for a small lamp, Douglas’s laptop, and a telephone. Douglas had found over the years that the study was the best place to conduct his business. The old man rarely entered the place and the girls probably had no clue that the room existed at all. Douglas had never seen either of them reading anything heavier than the weekly gossip column.

  Retrieving a phone number off of his laptop, Douglas dialed the phone at the desk. Chelsea needed to be looked after closely and he had just the person to do it.

  “Yes,” a raspy, quiet voice answered.

  “It’s Douglas.”

  “I am aware of who it is,” slight accent, maybe East European.

  “There is something I need you to do.”

  “So soon? It seems like I just finished up the last job you sent me on. I am not accustomed to hearing from you so often.”

  “Yes, well, this is important,” the man always made Douglas a little nervous and his voice quivered.

  “What may I help you with then?”

  “I need you to follow Chelsea.”

  A soft chuckle came from the other end of the line. “When Captain Gilmore gave you my number it was to handle important business affairs for him, and that is all.”

  “But this is important. The girl is out of control.”

  “I am not a babysitter,” the raspy voice rose, not yelling, just pronouncing his disdain for the idea, “besides the girl has always been out of control.”

  “She could create problems for some of the Captain’s businesses if sh
e is left to her own devices. The girls, both of them, have found out about the blackmailer. It appears Madeline is trying to take care of it on her own, while Chelsea has increasingly drifted towards crazy. Her mind is too weak to handle such news. I am afraid that she will break and do something that we will be forced to clean up.”

  “I see,” the voice paused for a second and Douglas thought he had hung up the phone. “Does Captain Gilmore know about this?”

  “No he has washed his hands of the matter and left me to clean it up.”

  “And now you want me to clean it up for you?”

  “No, I want you to prevent any further incidents by following Chelsea and keeping her from creating anymore problems for the Captain.”

  “Double what you paid me last time.” This was not a question but a demand.

  “Done, I’ll transfer the money as soon as we are off the phone.”

  “Very well then.” The voice was gone and the line when dead.

  Douglas felt better just by getting off the phone with that man. He had no idea who he was, but all the same, any task he was given was completed perfectly. Still, his voice sent chills through Douglas’s body. The man was a cold player, ruthless and effective, even though many of his techniques were quite abstract and gruesome.

  There were feet scrambling down the front stairs and a loud slamming of the large door that led to the driveway. Within seconds, Douglas heard a car start and then from the window he caught a glimpse of Chelsea driving off in the car her father had given her for her sixteenth birthday. The car had sat in the garage for years, but Chelsea had been driving it the past few days. Douglas found that odd, but he assumed the girl had lost her other car while on one of her drinking binges. Unfortunately, those were the kinds of things one had to get use to when dealing with Chelsea. The missing car didn’t bother Douglas nearly as much as her leaving the house, and in such a maddening way. Hopefully her new handler could find her before she did anything dramatic, but then again dramatic was Chelsea’s nature.

  Chapter 11

  The girl behind the desk could have belonged there, but for a brief moment, her startled look at my arrival with Colin, gave her away. She recovered quickly, however, and adjusted her well-trimmed suit as she came out from behind the desk to greet us. Her brown hair bounced as she walked and so did other things on her. Each stride was confident as she reached out her hand to introduce herself.

  “Hi, my name is Alex, Mr. Beard’s assistant. What can I help you with today?” Her smile was big, white, and for a moment I thought I saw a sparkle.

  “We’d like to speak with Mr. Beard if we could,” I asked. Colin stayed quiet and walked around the barren store. The shop was sparse, and did not fit the image I had of an antique store. My memory of an antique store was a barn stocked full of odd pieces, so cluttered you could barely walk around. Every other antique shop in Ohio looked like that, but Charles Beard’s store was different.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Beard is unavailable today. Can I maybe assist you in something?”

  “No, it’s important that we speak with him ourselves.” There was noise coming from the back room and Colin began to stride over to the door. “Is he in then?” I gestured in that direction.

  “No, no,” Alex quickly cut off Colin’s path to the door. “No, he’s not in. That’s just a stock boy we have moving a few things for us.” She got Colin to move back around in front of the desk and then situated herself on top of it. “Like I said, is there anything I could help you two gentlemen with today?”

  “And like I said, we need to speak to Mr. Beard personally. He would find it most beneficial to talk with us at the quickest and most opportune time.”

  “A private matter then, very well do you have a card I could pass along to Mr. Beard?”

  I reached in my pocket for a card. Took out a pen and wrote something on the back of it. Colin looked at me questioning my actions. “Alex,” I asked, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  “No.”

  “Ah, married then?”

  “No. What is this about?” I had thrown her off guard.

  I handed Alex my card. “My business number is on the front. That is for Mr. Beard. On the back I put my personal cell number and that is for you. I understand if you don’t want to, but I would love to have drinks some time.”

  Alex smiled politely. “I will pass this along to Mr. Beard.”

  “Thank you.” Colin and I turned for the front door knowing we weren’t going to get any further with the woman. “Have a good day Alex.”

  “Good day to you Mr. Francis,” she said looking at my card.

  Once the door closed behind us, Colin turned to me as we walked across the street towards Great Lakes Brewery. “What the hell was that about? Is every girl you meet a possible date to you?”

  “Yes, but I had good reason.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, we both know that Charles Beard works alone, no assistant and especially no stock boy, so she was there tossing the place.”

  “And so you asked out a potential criminal.”

  “I figure whoever she is working for will be just as curious about us as we are about her. I mean come on Colin, she knows we weren’t there for antiques. You practically scream Federal Agent. I figured asking her out might move things along a little faster, you know, get to know her a little bit and feel her out.”

  “Whatever,” Colin said. “You might want to watch yourself though. You end up pissing off most of the women you date, and this one is liable to kill you in your sleep or while you’re feeling her out.”

  “Come on, it will be fine. What do I have to do to make you feel better about this?”

  “Buy me a beer,” he said heading through the front door of the brewery’s pub.

  Chapter 12

  Some say Eliot Ness, when he had lived and worked in Cleveland, visited the Great Lakes Brewery pub often. These same people point to the bullet holes in the large wooden bar and will tell you they were made by Ness’s gun. Whether the story is true or not I like to believe it. Every time I enter the place I am transported back to the age of mobsters, prohibition, and to an era I pictured as being more romantic than it actually was. I swear even today the bar at Great Lakes Brewery has a classic 1930s aura to it.

  Colin and I sat at the end of the bar close to the door. There were two empty seats to my left and Colin had about a half dozen to his right. We could stake out Beard’s shop from where we sat just by looking out the window. Jerry, the bartender, put two Dortmunders in front of us to help with the stake out. He was fifty-something and balding, but had enough sense of it to shave his head. Round, thin frames sat on his nose and made his eyes seem buggy. His cracked lips did nothing to help his already dismal appearance. Jerry’s gift was by no means his looks. It was his longevity behind the bar that we were after. When you have been around as long as he had, you knew everything that was going on in the neighborhood.

  “Jack just gave his number to Charles Beard’s new assistant. Think he’s got a chance?” Colin was talking to Jerry and I was pretending not to listen.

  “That’s strange I didn’t know Mr. Beard hired an assistant.”

  “What about a stock boy?” Colin asked.

  “I doubt it, the man’s worked alone the whole time he’s been across the street there.”

  “Boy, Jerry you’re losing your touch. Back in the day you didn’t miss a thing.”

  “A lot of strange things are going on there lately. In fact Mr. Beard seems to be ill or something.” Jerry’s voice was surprisingly strong and confident, which was a contrast to his drab looks.

  “Sick? Why do you say that?”

  “Haven’t seen the man in a few days. Mr. Beard used to be as predictable as the Indians losing the Central Division. Every day at five he would stop in and have one beer, just one, and then walk home for the night.”

  “Any idea how many days it’s been?” Colin was still asking the questions and I was still pretending
to not pay attention. Sometimes it was just better to let Colin do the work.

  “Oh, let me see, this is probably the third afternoon that I haven’t seen him. Usually I see him walking to work in the morning when I am opening up and then again at lunch. He usually walks over to the market when it’s open. On days it’s not he eats at the Middle Eastern place around the corner.”

  “No sign of him at all?”

  “Nope. Now how about you tell me about this assistant you say he’s taken on.”

  “Well,” Colin started, “we just left Beard’s shop and she was there.”

  “She’s there now?” Jerry appeared puzzled.

  “Sure is, greeted us when we walked in. An attractive thing to say the least.”

  “That seems a little funny. Beard hiring an assistant that is.”

  “Jerry, we thought the same thing.”

  I had been caught up in Colin and Jerry’s conversation and I forgot to watch the window. A woman had walked into the bar without me noticing. She had a strong, lean figure with strawberry blonde hair tied up in a ponytail that swayed as she moved. Her white, three-quarter length sleeve blouse, with a high, crisp, collar, left no doubt that her breasts moved in rhythm with her ponytail. The woman’s long legs were accented by a tight khaki skirt and high heels. I personally enjoyed the light freckles that dotted her nose and stretched out across her cheek bones.

  “Sonofabitch!” was all Colin could get out before she was in range.

  “Colin, how are you?” The woman asked. “Jerry, may I have a Maker’s on the rocks please. And you must be Mr. Francis?” She didn’t even ask to sit down next to me, just threw her purse on the bar top and slid in beside me.

  My first thought was that it was my lucky day, but one look from Colin told me otherwise. She did look familiar and I tried to place the face. My mind had been too focused on the incident in Beard’s shop to have any chance at coming to a conclusion in the seconds I had.