by David Archer
“I’m afraid I can’t say I did, Sam,” Harry said with a grin, “because I didn’t. I’m as shocked about this as anyone, but whoever did it certainly picked the perfect moment, didn’t he? Is there any doubt in your mind I’ll be arrested before this day is over?”
Sam swore under his breath, something he rarely did. “Not a whole lot,” he said. He started the car and followed Lawton out of the parking lot, turning toward downtown. “So, the problem now is how do I prove you’re innocent? I’ll go down to the tobacco shop and show photos of you, try to get someone to say they remember you being there at the right moment, but you’ve been a professional killer in the past. Lawton is going to say you had plenty of time to go back to the house, kill Michael and still make it to the tobacco shop. And unfortunately, he’s correct. Unless that tobacco shop was in Orlando, you probably did have time.”
“I certainly had time,” Harry said. “But I just as certainly didn’t do it. Naturally, I’ve no idea who did, but I can tell you some things about him.” He held up a hand and ticked off points on his fingers. “Number one, he was either in the house this morning when we were or he has it bugged. Michael was killed in his own home, only hours after the most likely suspect there could ever be was sitting across the room from him, and facing down a gun, I might add. Number two, anyone who knew or worked with Michael should have expected him to be out of the country today, but our killer was apparently certain he’d be home and alone. Number three, whoever did this has actually had it planned out for some time, but seized upon an opportunity to give the police an easy target. Number four, the killer wanted Michael found as quickly as possible, probably because he wanted to be sure I was discovered and named as a suspect right away. And number five…”
Sam looked at him in the mirror again. “Number five? Go on.”
“Number five,” Harry said after a moment, “the killer is almost certainly a spook, like me and Michael. Which means that he’s not going to take any chances about me having an alibi. He’s either going to kill me, or that poor young man at the tobacco shop.”
Sam’s eyes snapped wide open as he looked at his old friend in the mirror. “What was the name of the shop again?”
“Clearwater Pipe and Cigar, McMullen Booth Road,” Harry said. “Why…”
Sam floored the Buick and raced up alongside Lawton while honking his horn. The detective looked at him, surprised, but pulled over when he saw Sam waving frantically. Sam pulled to the curb behind him and jumped out of the Buick, running up to the detective’s car.
“You need to send officers to the Clearwater Pipe and Cigar store on McMullen Booth Road,” Sam said in a hurry. “I have reason to believe the killer may go after the clerk there.”
Lawton stared at him for a moment, then picked up the microphone attached to the radio under his dashboard. “Dispatch, this is twenty-six,” he said.
“Go ahead, twenty-six.”
“Dispatch, send a car to Clearwater Pipe and Cigar, McMullen Booth Road. Make sure the clerk is okay.”
“Twenty-six, ten four.”
The dispatcher ordered a patrol car to go to the store, while Lawton looked up at Sam. “Wanna tell me what that was all about?”
“Mr. Winslow believes the killer might well be an intelligence agent, and could possibly be tailing him. If he’s correct, the killer won’t want Harry to have an alibi. He’ll want Harry to be the only possible suspect, and that means eliminating any witness that could put him somewhere else when Reed was killed.” Sam closed his eyes and smacked his hand on the detective’s door. “If he’s right, that kid is probably already dead.”
Lawton’s mouth was hanging open again. “Do you even realize how crazy you sound right now? Just where did you get your PI license, out of a Cracker Jack box?”
Sam scowled at him. “Ten years with the Denver Police Department, six of them as a detective. Don’t get cocky, Lawton, because it’s quite possible this case is going to turn out to be way over your head.” He smacked the door again, then turned and walked back to the Buick. He slid behind the wheel and put it back into gear as Lawton pulled out from the curb.
The Clearwater PD was on Pierce Street, not very far from the hotel, but traffic and one-way streets caused the drive to take almost 20 minutes. Sam pulled in the parking lot behind Lawton and found a space that wasn’t reserved for official vehicles. Harry and Kathleen slid out of the backseat as Sam got out of the front, and they all followed Lawton into the building and directly to his office.
No one said a word until they got inside the office and Lawton shut the door, and then the detective turned and looked Sam in the eye. “You called it,” he said. “Our officers arrived at the tobacco shop and found the clerk, a twenty-four-year-old man named Jim Clayton, who happened to have a wife and two little kids, dead and stuffed under the counter. His neck was snapped, but the door was open and there were customers wandering around the store. They didn’t even know he was there. CSI should be there any minute, maybe we’ll get some answers.”
Sam shook his head. “Dammit,” he said. “I spoke to him a few minutes before you arrived, to ask if he remembered Harry. I wish I’d known to warn him, he might still be alive.”
Lawton cocked his head. “You called the tobacco store, but you didn’t mention that while we were at the hotel?”
Sam started to speak, but Harry cut him off. “He didn’t mention it because the young man said he didn’t remember me,” Harry said. “The place was quite busy when I was there, and I’m not sure the lad even really looked at my face.”
Lawton sat down in the chair behind his desk and pointed at three others scattered around the room. Harry, Kathleen and Sam pulled them closer and sat down.
“So, Mr. Private Eye, you already knew your client had no alibi at that point, right?”
Sam shook his head. “No,” he said. “I only knew that the clerk didn’t recognize Harry from my description. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t remember him from a photograph, or that another customer in the store might not be able to confirm Harry’s presence there.”
Lawton grinned, but there was no humor in it. “And now I’ve got two murders on my hands, but still only one suspect. Six years you were a detective, you said? Well, I’ve been doing this for more than ten. Don’t try to teach Grandpa, Junior. No alibi is still no alibi, no matter how you try to cover it up.”
Sam started to bristle, but Harry put a hand on his arm. “Detective,” Harry said, “might I suggest that you verify my story about my past before we go any further. If you would simply call the DHS headquarters in DC, the personnel division can confirm that I have just retired from there. If you identify yourself as a police detective and give your badge number, they’ll connect you with someone who can confirm that I have been an active intelligence agent in the past.”
Lawton looked at him. “And that’s supposed to tell me exactly what? I don’t care if you used to be the President of the United States, right now you’re a murder suspect, and you’ll be treated like every other murder suspect.”
“Young man,” Harry said softly, “no matter what you might think of me at this moment, I can assure you that I still pull enough weight with the federal government to make your life quite miserable. Now, I have no intention of doing anything to interfere with your investigation, but I will be damned if I am going to be treated with such disrespect by a small-town policeman whose opinion of himself is way too high. You can either make the call I’ve asked for, or I shall make it myself. If I do, somebody is going to want to know why you haven’t confirmed my identity, and that is probably going to become quite unpleasant for you.”
“Oh, I’m scared,” Lawton said, his face a mask of mock fear. He stared at Harry for a moment, then shook his head and reached for the phone. “Fine, what’s the number?”
“Oh, don’t be an idiot,” Sam said. “Either call directory assistance or google the number for yourself. If you dial a number Harry gives you, you could claim he had someon
e waiting to answer.”
Lawton glared at him, but then turned to a computer and typed for a moment. He dialed the number that came up on the screen and identified himself when someone answered.
“I’m sitting here with a Mr. Harry Winslow, who claims he used to be a spy.” He listened for a moment, then nodded his head. “Yep, that’s him, white hair and all. Yeah, I can hold.”
The hold music was apparently loud, because Lawton held the phone away from his ear for a moment. The rest of them could hear it playing, a fairly recent hit song by John Legend. A moment later, the music ended suddenly and Lawton clamped the phone back to his ear.
“Yes, that’s…” Lawton trailed off as the voice on the other end began speaking. He listened for several seconds, then tried unsuccessfully three times to interrupt before he finally got to speak. “Okay, look,” he said, “I’m currently interviewing Mr. Winslow as a suspect in a murder investigation. He’s giving me some long-winded story about how the victim, Michael Reed, stole his wife thirty years ago and he’s just now found out she wasn’t dead and buried.” He listened again for a moment. “I’ll let him call you when I’m…”
The voice on the other end of the line suddenly became louder, and Lawton’s face grew dark. “Fine,” he said testily. “Here he is.” He held the phone out to Harry and glared at him. “They want to talk to you.”
Harry leaned forward and took the receiver, putting it up against his ear. “Harry Winslow,” he said. He listened for a couple of seconds, then smiled. “Jonas, you old goat, how have you been? Yes, it’s true. I found out that Michael Watkins actually convinced her I was dead and that the KGB was going to come after her and the children. He took her to Brazil and got her a new identity all set up, and they got married sometime later. She found out I was alive after the Lake Mead incident, and then he started threatening her if she tried to contact me. I found out she was alive just a few days ago, when Michael left something inside my apartment to bait me into coming after them. I hired Sam Prichard—yes, that Sam Prichard—to help me track her down, and we showed up at her door this morning. Shortly after we sat down to talk, Michael came in and pointed a gun at us, but we talked him into a deal where we keep our mouths shut and he would get to keep the fortune they built together. Kathleen and I left, and I can assure you he was alive and well at that moment.” He listened for another moment, then chuckled. “Whoever did it seems to have seized upon the opportunity to let me take the fall. Even the only possible witness who could swear I wasn’t there at the time is dead under suspicious circumstances, so this is going to be quite a conundrum, I’m sure. This young detective doesn’t seem to want to believe any of this, so you might put a bug in his ear.”
Harry listened for another moment, then passed the phone back to Lawton. The detective put it to his ear. “Lawton,” he said. “This is all really true?” He listened to whatever the other man was saying for a moment, then closed his eyes and shook his head. “All right, fine,” he said after a moment. “None of that changes the fact he’s currently the only suspect we’ve got. Frankly, it seems to me that if somebody had stolen my wife that long ago and I found out about it now, I might want to kill the son of a bitch, myself.” He listened again for a couple of minutes, not even interrupting once, and his eyes slowly got wider. When he finally spoke, it was simply to say goodbye and hang up.
“Well, well,” he said. “According to that fellow, who claims to be in charge of classified employee records, you used to make James Bond look like an amateur. Of course, that doesn’t mean a whole lot right at the moment, but I guess I should at least listen to what you got to say. You want to tell me more about this whole crazy wife-stealing situation?”
17
Harry started talking, then, with Sam and Kathleen adding in details as needed. Lawton sat at his desk and made notes, but the look on his face was one of total disbelief. The whole story took almost an hour, and then another half-hour for Lawton to type it up for their signatures.
“At the moment,” Lawton said, “I don’t have anything to hold you on. We are interviewing the neighbors around Reed’s house, and tracking down everyone we can find who’s been to that tobacco store today, to see if maybe they saw anything. Could be you’re correct about that clerk, that somebody killed him so he couldn’t give you an alibi, or it could be you whacked him yourself so he couldn’t tell us you were there an hour earlier than you claimed. Whatever the case, I don’t want you leaving Clearwater. There’s no doubt in my mind I’m going to have more questions for all of you before this is over.”
Harry extended his hand, but Lawton refused to shake it. After a couple of seconds, Harry simply shrugged and walked out the door with Kathleen and Sam following. They got back into the Buick and Harry suggested they go find some dinner.
“Hey,” he went on, “at least I wasn’t arrested. That’s got to be something good, right?”
“It’s good at the moment,” Sam said, “but if we don’t find the real killer soon, I’m afraid your luck isn’t going to hold out much longer. Lawton wants to close this case, and he isn’t all that concerned about making sure he’s got the right guy, as long as he’s got somebody who looks guilty. Right now, that somebody would be you. I’m not a lawyer, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t want to try to defend you on this case.”
“Sam, boy, I know plenty of lawyers if I need one. What I need right now is the best private eye in the world, and that’s you. There is a killer out there, and he’s got to be caught before he manages to frame me completely.”
Sam nodded as he made a left turn. “I agree,” he said, “but at the moment, I haven’t even got the slightest idea where to start looking. Kathleen, do you know of anyone in particular who might’ve wanted Michael dead?”
“Besides me, you mean?” Kathleen asked. “I’m afraid not. Of course, there’s always the people he dealt with in his dark work. That’s what he called it when he did special jobs for the CIA or NSA, ‘dark work.’ I always thought it sounded a little egotistical, you know?”
Sam chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment. “I don’t suppose he kept any kind of journals or records about that work, did he?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “Keeping any kind of record of his clandestine assignments would be a violation of security. There’s no way he would ever do that.”
Sam shook his head. “Harry, is there anybody you could contact who might be able to give me leads? Someone who might know what kind of people Michael might have pissed off in the last few years?”
“I can certainly try,” Harry said. “I’ll get on that as soon as we get back to the hotel.”
“Good, you do that,” Sam said. “Kathleen, I’m going to need to speak to your kids. Would you see if you can arrange that? Under the circumstances, it would be best if I could meet them somewhere else, but they could always come to my hotel room if necessary. You can be present if you want, but I’d want Harry to stay away.”
Kathleen nodded. “They’re upset,” she said, “but I’m sure they’ll be willing to cooperate with you. I doubt either of them really knows anything about this, though.”
“I agree, they probably don’t,” Sam said. “The thing is, sometimes people know things they don’t even realize they know. I’m just looking for a starting point, something to nudge me in a direction that might do some good.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I’ll get them to sit down with us, but then the rest is up to you. I don’t think either of them is very happy with me at the moment.”
“That might change when they learn the truth,” Sam replied. “I realize it’s going to be hard for them to accept, but they’re going to need to know just who Michael really was, and what he did to your family. And I can tell you without a doubt it will be better coming from you than letting them learn it from the news.”
Sam suddenly turned the car into the drive-through lane of a fast food restaurant. “Tell me what you want,” he said. “I don’t think we have time to
go sit down anywhere; I need to talk with your kids tonight, and pretty soon.”
Sam relayed their orders to the teenager behind the intercom, paid for and picked up the food and headed on to the hotel. He parked the car, but it was suddenly mobbed before Harry and Kathleen could get out. A half-dozen reporters who had been hanging around the front door had spotted the Buick, and some of them had obviously talked the desk clerk into revealing what kind of car they were driving. The car was surrounded, and questions were being shouted.
“Mrs. Reed,” yelled one reporter, “did you kill your husband?”
“Did you have someone do it? Did you hire one of these men to kill him?”
Sam climbed out and pushed a camera out of his face. He flashed his ID for just a second, then spoke loudly. “Back off, back off, or you could be charged with interfering in a police investigation.”
“Shove that,” said a burly man. “Haven’t you ever heard of the freedom of the press?”
Sam shot him a look that could have peeled paint. “Of course I have,” he said. “Haven’t you ever heard of keeping details out of the press so that only the perpetrator will know them? These folks are under orders not to say anything at this time, so you can all go home for a while.”
“Yeah? And who are you, their lawyer?”
Sam grinned and reached into his pocket for a stack of business cards. He passed them out to the reporters. “I’m not an attorney,” he said, “I’m a private investigator. This gentleman is my client, and it’s my job to prove that neither of these people had anything to do with the death of Michael Reed. Unfortunately, I am still not allowed to say anything at this point, but I promise to call a press conference as soon as I know something tangible.”