by John Holt
She planted a kiss on my cheek, and I left.
It’s alright ma, there’s nothing to worry about. I mean what’s a little kiss.
* * *
Chapter Seven
Police Department
“Can I help you, sir?” a young lady asked as I reached the reception desk.
“I’d like to see Detective Bates,” I replied. “I think he’s on the third floor in room …”
“Is he expecting you?” the receptionist interrupted.
“No he isn’t. But I’m sure that he would like to see me,” I replied, trying to sound confident. “I have something that ….”
The receptionist interrupted again. “One moment please.”
She lifted a handset and dialed a number. “Can I tell him who would like to see him?” She asked, looking up at me.
It seemed like a good idea, and not an unreasonable request, so I told her. “It’s Daniels, Jack Daniels.”
She passed on the information, gave a polite “Yes sir”, and replaced the handset. “Detective Bates will be right down,” she said. “If you would care to take a seat over there, he won’t be long.” She indicated a row of seats in a waiting area over on the far side of the lobby.
I thanked her, and did as she had requested. It wasn’t long before Bates emerged from the elevator. He saw me, gave a wave, and walked over. “Let’s go in there,” he said, pointing to a small meeting room. “We can talk in there.”
He held the door open for me, and then closed it behind him. He walked over to the corner where there was a coffee machine. “Take a seat,” he said. “How do you take your coffee?”
Preferably in a cup I thought, but obviously it was going to be in one of those Styrofoam mugs. “Black,” I replied. “And two sugars.”
He poured the coffee, and placed the cups on to a side table. “That’s the best we can do, I’m afraid,” he said. “Now what can I do for you?”
I placed my shopping bag onto the table, and withdrew the two packages. “I thought you might be interested in those.” I pushed the packages towards the detective.
He looked at me, and took a deep breath. He looked suitably impressed. “Where did you get them?” he asked.
“That’s what they were looking for,” I said. “It seems like our friend Joe is a pusher.”
“Where did you get them?” he repeated.
I smiled. “Our Ms. Marshall had them all the time,” I replied. “Joe had left them with her a couple of days ago. He told her to hide them, and that he would pick them from her later.”
“That’s the day he never showed up, right,” suggested Bates.
“Correct, that was the day,” I replied. “He must have known something was going to happen don’t you think?”
“The search, you mean,” said Bates.
I simply nodded.
Bates stared at the packages for a few moments. “I’ll get these checked by forensics,” he replied. He stood up and turned towards the door. “And thanks.”
“There’s one other thing,” I said, calling him back.
He returned to the table and sat down. “Go on, what is it?”
I told him what I had in mind about returning to Joe’s apartment. “I want to take another look, but I need your permission to go there.”
He shook his head. “Not a chance, sorry.”
I heaved a sigh and pointed to the two packages that he was carefully holding. “Frank, you owe me.”
He looked at me for a moment, and then looked at the packages. He nodded. “Okay, Daniels,” he replied. “It’ll probably cost me my badge ….”
“And your gold watch,” I added.
He smiled. “That too, but, against my better judgment, I’ll arrange it.” He shook his head. “I must be crazy, but I’ll let you know when.”
I thanked him, and stood up ready to leave. He reached out and held my arm. “One thing,” he said. “I want to be the first to know if you find anything.”
I agreed that he would be told anything that I considered relevant.
* * *
It was a few days later when I got the call from Bates giving me the go ahead. “It’s all arranged,” he said. “You can go to the apartment on Friday. The officer on duty will be expecting you.”
I thanked him. “I’ll let you know how I get on.”
“Just exactly what do you hope to find?” Bates asked. “My boys have been over the place with a fine tooth comb.”
The truth of the matter was that I had no idea what I hoped to find. I was just clutching at straws. “You never know what a fresh pair of eyes might turn up,” I said. “We’ll see.”
“Sure, we’ll see,” Bates said, sounding anything but hopeful. “By the way, Daniels, that stuff you sent over. We had it tested. It was bad, real dirty. We’ve linked it to a couple of deaths over on Albany.”
I remembered the news item. It was a month or so ago. Two teenagers had been taken ill, and sent to Saint Michaels Hospital. One had died the following day, the other three days later. Both had been taking drugs.
“I remember the case,” I replied. “Did you ever find the people responsible?”
There was silence for a moment, and I could hear Bates breathing hard. “No, we never did,” he replied. “But maybe now we might get lucky. This might be the break we’re looking for.”
I certainly hoped so.
“So what can you tell me?” Bates continued.
I had to admit that I had already told them everything I knew. Everything did I say. What did I know anyway? Nothing. It suddenly occurred to me that I wasn’t actually officially investigating anything, and I certainly wasn’t being paid for any of this. So why didn’t I just leave it all to the police and walk away?
Another of those mistakes 1 mentioned earlier. They were certainly mounting up.
* * *
So did I hand it over to the police, and just walk away? No, I didn’t, but you already knew that didn’t you. Instead I decided that another visit to Jerry’s bar, or whatever it was called, might be worthwhile. Why was she in that area anyway? To meet with the guy, so she said. But why meet up so far from home? Why meet near the bar, and not inside? What was so special about Jerry’s anyway? Five will get you ten that our friend Joe had been inside Jerry’s bar sometime that day. Sure it was a long shot, but it was all I had.
I put in a call to Linda at the apartment. There was no answer. I left a message that I was going on to Jerry’s Bar, then on to the office, and that I would try not to be too late getting back.
* * *
Chapter Eight
Return To Jerry’s Bar
It was just after two o’clock when I arrived back at Jerry’s Bar. Apart from a few lunch time stragglers, the bar was almost empty. Jerry, or whatever his name really was, looked up as I came in. “Back again,” he called out. Was that a hint of a smile, or was I imagining things?
For a brief moment I considered replying that no, I wasn’t back, not just at that precise moment, but I would be in later that day; but I decided against. It struck me that amongst the many attributes Jerry might have had, a sense of humor was not one of them.
“Yes I thought I’d give your place one more try, you know, just to see if there had been any sign of improvement since the last time I was here,” I replied. The lack of response confirmed my suspicions regarding his sense of humor.
“What can I get you?” Jerry asked showing about as much interest as someone on welfare musters when the stock market goes up.
“A scotch, and water,” I replied. Jerry poured the drink. I withdrew my wallet from my inside pocket. I took out Joe’s photograph, and placed it on to the counter. “Do you know him?” I asked, as Jerry placed the drink on the counter in front of me.
Jerry gave a cursory glance to the photograph. “What’s it to you?” he asked, clearly anxious to help in any way he could. “I mean do I look like an information bureau?”
I had to admit that Jerry did not resemble an infor
mation bureau in any way, shape or form. I tried to smile, and failed. “I’m just making some enquiries that’s all,” I replied as casually as I could muster. “It’s no big deal. It’s what I do. It’s my job.”
“You a cop then?” he shot back at me. “I thought so when I saw you the other evening. There’s cop written all over you.”
I tried to smile once again, and failed once more. I shook my head. “Ah, no I’m not a cop.” I quickly checked to see if there was anything written all over me. I was gratified to find that there wasn’t.
“So what then?” he persisted.
He wasn’t giving up. “Much worse,” I said. “I’m a private detective.”
Jerry was clearly unimpressed, and still not amused. “As you say, much worse,” he mumbled. Casually he picked up the photograph, and shook his head. He put the photograph back on to the counter. “No I don’t know him,” he replied. “He comes here that’s all, been a few times, usually with a couple of other guys.”
“Do you know the guys?” I asked.
Jerry smiled. “Look I know no one who comes in here, see,” he replied. “Even my own mother is unknown to me if she comes through that door.” He indicated the entrance door.
“Same goes for my beautiful wife, Charlene, and my two wonderful kids, Ruth aged eight, and Colin, aged ten. My silver haired old grand-mother is a complete stranger to me in these four walls. I don’t know them. I don’t want to know anyone, or anything about them, understand. They got troubles, fine, that’s their problem, and they can keep them. I’ve enough of my own. They got secrets I don’t wanna know. I don’t want to know their politics, I just don’t care, and I’m not interested in religion. What they think of the news is of no concern to me. Get it.”
I nodded. I’m not the fastest guy on the track, but that was quite a speech, and I was getting the general idea. But just in case I’d missed something, he was carrying on.
“I’ve got a business to run, see. I’ve got bills to pay, and a living to make. Remember my beautiful wife, and two wonderful kids, well they gotta eat, right. People come in here for a drink, that’s fine. So long as they have a drink, pay for it, and they cause no trouble and leave peaceable like, that’s all I care about.” He paused for a moment. “So can I get you another drink?”
I was beginning to get the idea at last. I nodded. “Sure, no problem,” I replied as enthusiastically as I could. “Make it a double, and how about one for yourself.” I felt that I needed the drink, and I also felt that maybe I might gain a few brownie points with our friend on the other side of the bar. I certainly needed them.
Jerry poured the drink and placed the glass on the counter. He then poured one for himself. “He was here,” he suddenly announced, as he started to tap the photograph. “The day that you came in, he was here.”
Why the sudden change of heart from Jerry I don’t know. Maybe the brownie points had swung things in my favor. Whatever the reason, it was a welcome change.
I looked at the photograph, and then looked at Jerry. “He was here, that same day?” I asked.
I certainly couldn’t recall seeing him, but why should I? Why would I even have looked out for him? I didn’t know anything about the guy. I’d never heard of him. I didn’t know what was going to happen did I? How that particular evening was going to pan out.
“Was he here at the same time that I was here?” I asked.
Jerry shook his head. “No not the same time. It was much earlier.”
“What time?” I asked.
Jerry shrugged. “About six; a quarter after, I don’t know,” he replied. “Who keeps track of time?”
“Was he alone?”
Jerry shook his head. “No he was here with those other guys I mentioned,” he explained. “They were having a bit of an argument. I had to tell them to tone it down a coupla times. Some of the other customers had complained, you know. You don’t expect that sort of thing early like that. Arguing, I mean who needs it. Anyway a little while later the guy just gets up and storms out.”
“What about the other two?” I asked.
“They sit there, have a few more drinks, meet a few people, and left at about a quarter to seven.”
“Would you recognize them again?” I asked hoping against hope.
He started to smile. “You see that table over there.” He pointed.
I looked in the direction indicated and nodded. “Sure I see it, so what.”
“That’s their table,” he explained. “Every Tuesday, six on the dot, they’re sitting there, regular as clockwork.”
“Just sitting there, nothing else?”
“They’re getting lots of visitors, if you know what I mean.”
I had to admit that sometimes I’m not as fast as others. In fact you could say that I could be pretty dumb. It took me a while, but I got there in the end. “Drugs,” I replied quite simply.
Jerry smiled. “Well I never actually see any passed over if you know what I mean,” he started to explain. “Let’s just say they take the orders. Where they deliver the merchandise I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. Remember what I said before?”
“I remember,” I said, and drained my glass. “So, how about their names?”
Jerry shook his head and smiled. “Persistent aren’t you?”
“One of my many faults,” I replied. “Now come on you must know their names.”
Jerry heaved a sigh, and took a deep breath. “Greg Nichols, and Ken something, I don’t know what.”
I looked at him, hard.
He held his hands up. “Honest,” I said. “That’s it.”
I nodded slowly. “Okay, I believe you,” I replied. “I know a friend who just might be able to fill in some details.” I stood up. “Every Tuesday you said?”
“That’s right,” replied Jerry, as he returned to rubbing down the counter. “Around six.”
I thanked him for the drink, and his help. “I’ll be seeing you,” I said, and walked towards the door.
“I look forward to it,” Jerry called out.
I wondered if he actually meant it.
* * *
Chapter Nine
A Body Is Found
It was a little after four by the time I got back to my office. There was a message waiting on the answering machine. It was from Detective Frank Bates. I reached across the desk, picked up the handset and dialed the number.
“Thirty-second precinct,” a voice answered. “Can I help you?”
I asked for Detective Bates, and after a few moments I was put through. “Detective Frank Bates, speaking, can I help you.”
“Frank, it’s me, returning your call,” I said. “Have you got something for me?”
“Oh yes.” Bates paused, and took a deep breath. “It’s not good news I’m afraid.” There was another pause.
“Go on,” I coaxed.
“Well we’ve found a body, out on Sycamore, hidden behind a disused shed.” Bates continued. “It hasn’t been formally identified yet, but it sounds very much like your Mr. Philips, but we’re not sure yet.”
“I can’t say that I’m surprised,” I admitted. “I was almost expecting it.”
“Any particular reason?” Bates asked.
“Yes I got a reason,” I replied. “Why is the guy missing? I mean why would he be taken away? To what purpose?”
“It’s your ball,” said Bates. “You keep running with it.”
“Could be a kidnap, I suppose,” I suggested. “But there’s been no demands made, why not? These guys, the ones holding him, they want something, he has it. They know that it’s not at the apartment. So where is it? They don’t know that the girl had it, and clearly he hasn’t told them. So what are they going to do? Keep him. Feed him three meals a day, and a place to sleep. No they’re going to threaten him, and then if he don’t play ball, they’ll kill him.” I paused for a moment. “And that is exactly what has happened, right.”
“Well I’m not entirely sure about your theory,”
said Bates. “But it looks like he’s dead alright.”
Despite what Bates had said I detected hesitancy in his voice. “So why the uncertainty about the body?” I asked.
“Well it certainly matches the description, there’s no doubt about that. But there were no identification papers on the body, nothing. There was no driver’s license, no social security card, no credit cards, nothing to say who our John Doe really is.”
“Strange, wouldn’t you say?” I suggested.
“Yes it is, but I have seen this sort of thing before,” replied Bates. “It’s deliberate, an attempt to confuse us.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“It’s simple. If you can’t formally identify the body, it’s difficult to actually start a murder enquiry,” Bates explained. “You can’t possibly work out a motive. You haven’t anything to go on in helping you find the murderer. Do you see?”
That made sense. “So what happened?” I asked.
“Well he was shot, twice, once in the chest, the second in the back of the neck. We think the shot in the chest was first, and then as he fell came the second shot.”
“Two shots,” I repeated. “Didn’t the neighbor say something about hearing two shots?”
“That’s what they said,” agreed Bates. “But we never found any evidence of a shooting in the apartment. There was no sign of any blood, and no signs of any spent cartridges, and no signs of any bullet holes. So I don’t know.”
“So what do you know?” I asked.
“It looks like a 38 caliber, and fired at close range,” said Bates. “We’ll know more once the forensic boys have finished.
“Looks like he knew his killer, then,” I suggested.
“Maybe,” said Bates. “Maybe not, it’s too early to say.”
“Do we have a time of death,” I asked.
“The Doctor puts it at between eight and ten yesterday evening,” replied Bates. “By the way we’ll need Ms. Marshall to come down and identify the body, could you tell her?”