Jack Daniels - Casebook

by John Holt

  I shook my head. “There was no risk,” I said. “He was nowhere near the place when he made the call. He could have been anywhere, even at his house on Cedar Drive.”

  Bates shook his head. “That can’t be right,” he said. “His car was there, parked at the corner. She pointed it out to you remember.”

  I smiled. “That’s right, his car,” I replied. “Yes she did point out a car, certainly, but how do we know it was his car. We only have her word for it.” I couldn’t believe how gullible I had been. How easily I had been taken in. Ma was right after all, be careful of strange women, they can’t be trusted.

  “I checked the license plate,” I continued. “The car belongs to a young kid, name of David Mills. He lives in the next block. Funnily enough he tells me that the car has been at that corner for the past three weeks. And it’ll be there many more weeks to come. He needs a new clutch, and he can’t afford the three hundred dollars.”

  “So the whole thing was planned,” said Bates. “Clever, very clever indeed.”

  “Yes it was all cleverly planned,” I agreed. “Even to you and I being at the apartment at about the same time. She knew when Joe was going to make the call, and she knew roughly when the police would arrive. And she insisted that I brought her to arrive at about the same time. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  “But why?” asked Bates. “What was the point?”

  “There were two main reasons, I think,” I replied. “Firstly she wanted to give you that description; to make sure you got every detail. And secondly she had to be sure that you, and I, were completely taken in and that there were no problems. That we had no suspicions.”

  “And of course it all went her way,” said Bates. “There were no problems, we were suitably taken in.”

  “A clever plan,” I said. “And a very clever woman.”

  “But like most crimes the criminal makes a slip up.”

  “It nearly worked,” I said, as I thought of the way she had made a fool of us, of me. I had walked straight into it.

  “Well Daniels, on behalf of the department I have to thank you for all your help,” said Bates, as he offered me his hand. I took it and shook it.

  “It was nothing …” I started to say.

  “It was very much appreciated,” Bates continued. “And you might be entitled to a small reward, offered by the City Council.”

  Might, I thought. Might, it wasn’t a definite. It was only a maybe.

  “So tell me, Daniels, was she a client, or what?” Bates asked.

  I smiled as I recalled my first meeting with her. I shook my head. “Oh no, nothing like that, I’m afraid. I just felt sorry for her that’s all.”

  “You felt sorry for her,” said Bates. “What, are you in the Salvation Army or something?”

  “You can joke all you like, but I did feel sorry for her,” I replied. “She was crying. But you know what the worst of it was?”

  “The fact that you won’t be getting a fee,” Bates suggested.

  I had to admit that was a major consideration. “Well yes, that too,” I agreed. “But it’s something far more important.”

  “Go on, I’m listening.”

  I smiled and nodded my head. I looked at him. “For a time there, for a long time, I was actually helping her to get away with murder.” I paused for a moment. “Okay so I never realized what was happening, but it’s still not a nice feeling.”

  Bates smiled and shook his head. “I’m still puzzled though.”

  I heaved a sigh. “Go on.”

  “I still don’t exactly understand how she expected her plan to work,” Bates started to explain. “I mean how did she know that you would just happen to come along.”

  I shook my head. “She didn’t know,” I replied. “It didn’t matter whether it was me or some other soft touch.” I paused and heaved another sigh. “She actually thought that she would attract the attention of the police.”

  “The reason for the blood-staining,” suggested Bates.

  “Precisely,” I replied. “If the police had shown an interest it would have still had the same effect, and still produced the same result. But it happened to be me, not the police. I was the gullible one, the one that got taken for a ride.”

  Bates shook his head and smiled. “Didn’t your mother ever warn you about strange women?

  I looked at him for a few moments, and started to laugh. “You know she never did.”

  * * *

  After Detective Bates had left I suddenly felt at something of a loss. I looked down at my desk. “Now what do I do,” I asked myself. Then I saw it, a thick brown envelope. It was just sitting on one of the shelves. For a few moments I wondered what it was. Then I remembered. Inside that envelope were a number of photographs and a couple of type written statements.

  I had forgotten all about Mrs. Walker and her divorce.

  * * *

  A Dead Certainty

  John Holt

  Phoenix Publishing – Essex - UK

  © John Holt – March 2015

  Chapter One

  A Mugs Game

  Let me start right off by saying that I’m not a gambling man. I never have been. As far as possible I don’t take chances. I mean life’s one big gamble ain’t it? And there’s nothing certain in this life except death and taxes. I think it was Franklin Delano Roosevelt who said that, or was it Benjamin Franklin, I’m not too sure; or it could have been Jerry in the bar the other evening. He occasionally comes out with something clever like that. Either way, whoever it was, when it comes right down to it, however you play the game you will still lose out in the end. Living will eventually kill you and no mistake. There’s nothing you can do about it, there’s no avoiding it.

  So that’s more than enough for me. I’ve no intentions of adding more problems to my life, by gambling on the roll of a dice, or the flip of a card, or the spin of a wheel.

  Why take the chance? I mean it just doesn’t matter what plans you make, or whatever you do, things can go wrong. Seriously wrong. Am I right, or am I right. As I said I’m no gambler. It’s a mugs game. No one wins on the gee-gees except the bookie. No one wins at roulette except the house. Oh sure some punters win, and some win pretty good. But the chips are stacked against you, and most people will lose, and lose badly. The odds aren’t in your favor, take my word for it. Whether it’s the lottery, the track, or poker, you just can’t win. Unless you have a sure fire system you have no chance. I know I’ve tried it, never again.

  Talking of systems, I’m no expert but it seems to me that basically there are two types. There’s the legal type. You know the one where you weigh up the risks, and study the form. Is the going good, or bad; you check the horse’s pedigree; what weight is the horse carrying and things like that. Doesn’t mean a thing to me, but some guys swear by it. You check the odds and you assess your chances. You know what’s involved, and you plan for every eventuality. You know what you can afford to lose, and you cover your bets. Your chances of winning are probably fair to okay, but you’ll never make a fortune.

  Some people will just bet on favorites. Sure, most of the time their horse comes home first, but at what odds? They won’t be high that’s for sure. You won’t get a favorite at twenty to one will you? The odds will be low I can tell you, two to one maybe. You know you bet ten bucks, to win five. Where’s the sense in that? What’s the point?

  On the other hand there’s the second type of system, the illegal way. You know what you want, and no matter what happens you’ll get it, even if it means eliminating anyone, or anything, that stands in your way. You don’t care who gets hurt, or how. It’s no longer a gamble. In other words, you could say that it was a dead certainty. You’ll win no matter what.

  * * *

  By the way, the name’s Daniels, Jack Daniels. I’m a private detective. I was having a slow day. Well slow didn’t really do it justice. It wasn’t so much slow, as stopped. I had just finished tying up my last case. A surveillance job, okay so ha
ve it your way, it was snooping. Feel better now do you? Anyways I’d made copies of all the photographs, and the statements that I had. They were now all safely sealed in an envelope addressed to Mrs. Amanda Walker, and ready for me to deliver to her when I got details of the time and place. And she could then get on with seeking that divorce that she wanted so badly. Then after a few more days I should be getting a nice fat pay check.

  So I was busy going through my paperwork, sorting through the bills that had to be paid. You know, have you ever noticed how things like that mount up. Electricity bills, this insurance and that insurance, repair bills, begging letters from the I.R.S. It seems that’s all that I get these days, that and the charities trying their luck. I never get that letter giving you something; it’s always somebody looking for something.

  That’s life I guess.

  Keeping me company was Elmore James. That is he wasn’t actually there in the room with me. I mean the poor guy died over forty years ago, No he’s on a Compact disc that I had playing. Just in case you don’t know who Elmore James is, or was I should say, let me fill you in. I’m a blues fan, you know. Elmore was a blues singer from Mississippi, a few years back. I’ve got a fair collection ranging from Robert Johnson, and Charley Patton, right through to Muddy Walters and John Lee Hooker. Okay, so you’ve never heard of them either. Is that my fault?

  Now every Tuesday you’ll usually find me at the 51 Club a couple of blocks away. It’s a blues club on Ashby. It’s just a small place you understand, I mean thirty people and it’s packed. They usually have something good on though, a visiting blues band perhaps, or maybe a solo artist. Last week it was a guy going by the name of Tony McPhee, a blues guitarist from Chicago. Not great, but not bad either. He did a lot of the old Chicago blues by Muddy Waters, and Little Walter.

  Okay, so I’m sitting here listening to Elmore’s ‘Dust My Broom’, trying to sort out my accounts. For those who don’t know, to dust your broom means to shake off an old girlfriend, to make way for the new one. Get it.

  “I'm a get up in the mornin'

  I believe I'll dust my broom

  I quit the best girl I'm lovin'

  Now my friends can get in my room”

  Okay lesson over for today.

  As I said I was doing pretty okay with the bills, if I do say so myself. Well I’d got the papers in a nice neat stack at least. Come on now, give me a break, it’s a start. Okay so I hadn’t actually done a lot, but at least everything was now in date order, the oldest bill at the top. All I had to do now was to go through them and see what I could afford to pay – if any.

  There was a knock on the door. I looked up, and this old guy just helps himself. The door opens. He comes in without so much as a by your leave, and he looks at me.

  “Mr. Daniels?” he says, sits down and makes himself right at home. Any second now he’s going to produce a flask of coffee and some cookies. He’s going to take his shoes off and put his feet up. I hoped he hadn’t planned on staying the night, or maybe bring his family with him the next time.

  “I’m Daniels,” I replied, as I reluctantly switched the CD player off. “And you are?”

  “Jason Drake,” he replied all cool and collected, as though I was supposed to know who he was. “Maybe you have heard of me.”

  I hadn’t, and I’m still waiting for the coffee and cakes.

  * * *

  Chapter Two

  Jason Drake

  “Should that mean something to me?” I asked.

  He placed a briefcase on the desk and opened it. He took out a newspaper and spread it out in front of me. It was a copy of The Racing Post. The three inch headline announced the Death of Blue Boy, a three year old. Underneath was a photograph of a certain Jason Drake. I would never have recognized him.

  I was still puzzled. I pushed the newspaper back towards him. “So?” I said quite simply.

  “Mr. Daniels, I own several race horses, including Kansas Lad, he’s favorite for the Kingsland Stakes at Belmont in three weeks time.”

  I was none the wiser. The only steaks I was interested in were the well done variety with mushrooms and onions, and French fries. “So,” I repeated, stifling a yawn. I really had to get on, the paperwork was crying out for attention or something like that. Besides I wanted to get back to the music.

  Not to be put off in any way Mr. Drake continued with his fascinating narrative. “Mr. Daniels, if you look at that newspaper article once again, you will notice the date.”

  I could hardly contain myself, with all the excitement. I was sure that there was a point to all of this, though I was beginning to think that perhaps Mr. Drake had forgotten what it was. “I’m looking, I’m looking,” I said.

  “It was three weeks ago,” Drake explained.

  Did I say explained? A slight overstatement on my part, I have to say. It explained nothing except that he collected old newspapers. To me yesterday’s newspapers were simply that, yesterday’s newspapers, and of very little value.

  “So it was three weeks ago,” I said. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

  Drake heaved a sigh, and glanced around the office. What he was looking for I had no idea, but I guess he must have found it, because here he was once again with the explaining. “Mr. Daniels, Blue Boy died three weeks ago. The veterinary said that it was his heart. It just gave out.”

  It could happen I supposed, but not being an expert in either horses or veterinarys, I said nothing.

  “Mr. Daniels, Blue Boy’s health had been checked thoroughly only two days previously. He was declared as fit as a bell.”

  The health of bells was another subject of which I was not an expert, so I continued to say nothing. I had decided that the guy did have a point, and would sooner or later get to where he was going. I only hoped that he would get to where he was going before he forgot where he was, and that it would be sooner rather than later, before he forgot what it was, or that I was too old to enjoy it.

  “Blue Boy was due to race at Hyland, he was the favorite for the Chantry Stakes, prize money of one hundred thousand dollars to the winner. Somebody didn’t want him to run, so he was deliberately killed,” Drake continued. “Poisoned I would guess.”

  Okay so at last he had made his point. I wasn’t impressed. “What makes you say that Mr. Drake?” I asked, although why I have absolutely no idea. Now don’t get me wrong, I like animals as much as the next guy, but I mean the veterinary said that it was his heart, and you know what, he or she, should know what they were talking about shouldn’t they.

  Drake started to frown. “Mr. Daniels do you know anything about horses?”

  I guessed there was a reason for the question, although what that reason was remained a mystery.

  “I’ve owned horses my whole life,” Drake continued. “My father owned horses, and his father before him, and his father before that.” He paused for a moment. “It’s in our blood you see.” He paused once again. “There was nothing wrong with his heart, nothing.”

  “So you think ….”

  “No, Mr. Daniels, I don’t think that he was killed,” Drake interrupted. “I know that he was.”

  I smiled and shook my head. “Mr. Drake I’d be the first to admit it, I know nothing about the gee-gees.” I thought that it was about time I said something. “All I do know is never bet on them, it’s only the bookies that win.”

  Mr. Drake opened his mouth to speak, but I was on a roll. Nothing was going to stop me, not now. “Gambling is a mugs game, and the odds are stacked way against you. You just can’t win.”

  “I appreciate your opinion Mr. Daniels, but that does not take from the fact that Blue Boy was murdered.”

  “Who would want to do a thing like that?” I asked. “For what reason, what would they have to gain? Every murder must have a motive.”

  “Oh there’s a motive alright, it’s money,” Drake replied. “I’m sure that you will realize that the racing world is very competitive. And clearly you know there is a lot of mone
y involved. Horses are expensive to buy, and to rear. Trainers cost money, good jockeys don’t come cheap. But of course there are compensations to be had. There is a lot of money to be made in winnings, an awful lot of money.”

  Fascinated as I was, I hoped that he would get to the punch line soon. “I have many rivals,” Drake continued. “Some of whom are not as gentlemanly as we would like.” He paused once again, whether for effect, or just to check that I was still awake I’m not sure. “Since the death of Blue Boy there have been several other, shall we say, incidents.”

  “Incidents,” I repeated. “Such as?”

  “Oh just things like a small fire in one of the tack rooms,” Drake started to explain. “It was nothing too serious, and no one got hurt, fortunately.”

  “Anything else?” I asked, unimpressed.

  “Terry, one of the stable boys, fell from a ladder. The rung snapped, fortunately he wasn’t hurt, but it could have been very serious.”

  “Another accident,” I suggested. “These things happen.”

  “Certainly they do. Accidents happen all the time. Riders fall from the horse, they cut themselves. They sometimes break a bone or two.” Drake agreed. “But these particular incidents were no accidents. These were deliberate.”

  “I could say that you would say that, if I were a cynic,” I replied.

  “And Mr. Daniels, if I were a cynic I would say that you would say that,” he replied smiling. “But I’m not a cynic, I’m a realist.”

  “Go on,” I coaxed. “I’m listening.”

  “A short time ago I mentioned Kansas Lad, remember?”

  “The favorite for the Kingsland Stakes at Belmont, I think you said.”

  “Right, Mr. Daniels, absolutely correct. You have an excellent memory,” said Drake. “Just lately however, there is a lot of money being put on Warrior, the second favorite.”

  I tried hard to think of why that should be considered sinister. I couldn’t. “So someone thinks that maybe, just maybe, your horse is beatable, and Warrior is the one to do it,” I suggested.