Jack Daniels - Casebook

by John Holt

  Well all of that changed, especially for me, ever since I gave him some friendly advice about allowing known drug dealers to make use of his place. I guess he considered that sound advice, and since then he has passed a few useful things my way, but that’s another story.

  * * *

  It was a quarter after four when I entered the bar. The lunch time revelers had long since gone, apart from a few worse for wear stragglers. And it was far too early for the early evening commuters. Jerry saw me as I entered. He waved, and pointed over to a corner booth. I walked over and sat down. A few minutes later Jerry arrived with some drinks. He sat down opposite and placed a drink in front of me.

  We exchanged the pleasantries. He was fine, so was his beautiful wife, Charlene, and his two wonderful kids, Ruth aged eight, and Colin, aged ten. I didn’t enquire about his silver haired old grand-mother, so don’t ask. I told him that my feet hurt. I’m not completely sure that he was that bothered.

  “So Jerry what’s this thing that could be so useful to me?” I asked.

  Jerry glanced around. I wasn’t sure why, because the bar was hardly bursting with activity. No one was listening. I took a drink. In your own time, but today would be good.

  “You know that girl,” Jerry started to explain. “The one that got killed the other day?”

  Sadly lots of girls had got killed. It wasn’t very nice but that’s how things were. Remember what I said. It’s a wicked world out there.

  “Which particular girl did you have in mind?” I asked.

  “The one they found in Battery Park,” Jerry continued. “Susan something or other.”

  “Brady,” I replied. “Susan Brady.”

  “Yeah right, her, I guess” Jerry agreed.”I just got the Susan part.”

  “Why do you think that she would interest me?” I asked.

  Jerry shrugged. “Who knows,” he said. “I just thought that you being a detective and all, you might have been interested, that’s all. Besides I guessed that maybe you might be able to help out the police, and maybe that could be to your advantage.”

  Well it was a thought that was sure. It certainly wouldn’t do me any harm, and Detective Frank Bates would owe me big time.

  “What about her?” I asked

  “She was in here,” Jerry replied. “About three or four months ago, something like that. You know I’m not good with time.”

  “Was she here on her own,” I asked.

  Jerry shook his head, and took a drink. “No she was with another dame. A real good looker, you know, and talk about smart looking.”

  “Did she have a name?” I asked. “The good looker I mean.”

  “Yeah, sure she had a name, everybody’s got a name,” said Jerry. “It was Mattie, or Mandy, something like that, I’m not exactly sure.”

  “Couldn’t have been Amanda, I suppose?” I suggested.

  Jerry started to smile and nodded. “That’s right, it was Amanda. Amanda Jackson.”

  That name meant nothing to me, but a connection between Susan and any Amanda was just too much of a co-incidence. I reached for my wallet, opened it and took out a photograph. I handed it to Jerry. “Was it her by any chance?”

  Jerry looked at it for a few moments and then nodded. “That’s her, the very same.” He handed the photograph back to me. I returned it to my wallet. “Who is she?” he asked.

  I shook my head, and shrugged. “It’s a long story. Another time,” I replied. “So what time was this meeting?”

  Jerry shook his head. “I don’t know. Like I said, it was a long time ago. I don’t remember. The afternoon sometime I guess. I know the place wasn’t exactly crowded. I’d say about the same time as now, four-ish, maybe a little after.”

  “Did they come in together?” I asked. “Or did they meet here in the bar?”

  “Oh, they met here,” Jerry replied. “The classy one was here first, and then maybe ten minutes later the other one comes in.”

  “So it was just a casual meeting then?” I suggested.

  Jerry shook his head. “There was nothing casual about this meeting,” he replied. “Oh no, this meeting had been arranged. From the way they were carrying on, and what those two were saying, it was pretty obvious that they knew each other from way back. They were old friends I’d say.”

  “So what were they saying?” I asked.

  “Ah, now come on Daniels, you know I never listen in on the customers,” Jerry protested.

  “Sure, I know that,” I agreed. “So what were they saying?”

  Jerry shrugged and drained his glass. “Okay, okay.”

  “Go on I’m listening.”

  “Well one of them, the one in the paper, she’s going on about she’s just done some time you know,” Jerry explained.

  “Prison you mean?” I knew what he was talking about. I just wanted to be sure that he knew.

  “Yeah, sure prison. What else?” Jerry replied. “It seems she’s just got out. And she was short of cash.” He paused for a moment. “It was the other lady, the smartly dressed one, Mattie, or whatever her name was. Well she was doing all the spending you know, Martini for her, and gin and soda for her friend. They certainly got through a few I can tell you.”

  “Do you happen to know why she was in prison?” I asked. I was guessing maybe blackmail.

  Jerry shook his head.

  I wasn’t surprised. But I was surprised that Bates hadn’t found anything about her police record. That made no sense at all. I picked up my glass and drained it. I passed the empty glass to Jerry. “Let’s have another round shall we?”

  Jerry smiled, nodded, and stood up. “Sounds like a good idea to me,” he said as he picked up the glasses, and walked across to the bar.

  Well Jerry was correct. That information could well be useful. At present, though, I’m not entirely sure how. At present it just seems to have raised a lot more questions than provide any answers. I looked over at Jerry. He seemed to be busy with another customer. Clearly he wasn’t coming back in a hurry. I stood up and walked over to him.

  “So Jerry can you tell me anymore?” I asked. “I mean do you know what they were talking about?”

  Jerry shook his head. “No, apart from what I’ve already told you,” he replied as he placed a drink in front of me. He paused for a moment and started to rub down the counter. “Bob might have heard something though.”

  “Bob?” I repeated. “Who’s Bob?”

  “Bob Chandler. He’s just a customer, but he was here that same day,” Jerry continued. “The day that those women were here, he must have heard them talking. He was sitting at the next table.”

  I looked at Jerry and nodded. I looked around. “Is he here now?” I asked. “I’d like to speak to him.”

  Jerry shook his head. “No, he ain’t here, he had to take a trip, business I think, I don’t know, I mean you know me,” Jerry replied. “He said that he’d be back in a couple days, and that’s all that I know. I’ll get him to call you if you like.”

  I drained my glass, and thanked him. “Do that, Jerry,” I said, and walked towards the door. “I’ll be seeing you.”

  * * *

  So a few more puzzles for me to work out. It would seem that Mrs. Amanda Walker, wife of shipping magnate, Denis Walker, knows our Susan Brady, an ex-con. What do they say? Tell me your friends and I’ll tell you who you are.

  I wondered how long they had known each other. Jerry had said they knew each from way back. I wondered if maybe they had gone to the same school.

  More importantly I wondered what they had been talking about. Had Mrs. Walker said anything about her husband and his playing around? Had Brady seen an opportunity to make some money? Was it then that she starting making plans to blackmail Walker?

  * * *

  Chapter Eight

  I Have A Visitor

  It was late by the time I got back to the office. I was feeling quite weary. It had been another of those days. You know the ones I mean. Two steps forward and three back. Only
in my case it was four steps back, and none forward. I was getting very few answers, but more and more questions.

  This case was just going over and over in my mind, and I was playing a Muddy Waters track, it seemed to match my mood.

  Well, I rolled and I tumbled, cried the whole night long

  Well, I rolled and I tumbled, cried the whole night long

  Well, I woke up this mornin', didn't know right from wrong

  Lying on the desk in front of me was one of Mama Dell’s specials. It had seemed like a good idea when I picked it up, twenty minutes ago, but now I wasn’t so sure. It was clear to me that Denis Walker was guilty, but proving it was going to be difficult. I had a terrible feeling that he would get away with it. That wasn’t something I liked, as I’m sure you can understand. It was not a good feeling, and it was enough to lessen my appetite.

  I reached for the box and took out a slice. Pay attention, I did say lessen my appetite, not curb it completely.

  There was a knock on the door.

  I reached across and turned the volume down on the CD player. I looked at my watch. It was near six. Who would be calling at this time of night I wondered.

  “Come in,” I yelled.

  Nothing happened. Then there was another knock.

  “Come in,” I called out once more.

  Still nothing happened. Reluctantly I got up and walked over to the door. I opened it. Standing in the corridor was a lady. And when I say lady, I mean a real lady. About five feet four I’d say, hundred and twenty pounds, auburn hair, and the bluest of eyes I’ve ever seen.

  “I’m Amanda Walker,” she said, although said doesn’t do it justice. No one looking as good as she did merely spoke. Dressed for the opera, she looked like a million dollars, not that I have any idea what a million dollars looked like, especially when it came in the form of a dress. Nor did I know how people dressed for the opera, but I guessed that she did. She swept into the room, no one looking like her merely walked. She sat down. I tried to remember whether or not I had dusted that visitors chair recently. It’s funny the things that you think of.

  “I said, I’m Amanda Walker,” she repeated. I had heard the first time. I idly wondered what Miss. Franklin had that Mrs. Walker was clearly lacking. As I said, it’s funny the things you think of. I decided that it was more a case of what she didn’t have. You know things like poise, style, taste, class, money. What Walker saw in Miss. Franklin was beyond me, but there’s no accounting for taste is there? It takes all sorts to make a world.

  “How nice to see you, Mr. Daniels,” she said. “My husband has told me so much about you.”

  I just bet he has, I thought. I wondered if he had given her the ten cents tour, or had he told her every seedy, squalid, sleazy detail. “I can explain,” I started to say. “It was all a misunderstanding ….”

  “There’s really no need,” she said, holding up her hand. “Perfectly understandable, I know all about Miss. whatever her name was.” She paused for a few moments.

  I couldn’t understand why the need to ask the question, or did she really not know that the dead woman was her drinking partner of a few short months ago. Maybe she didn’t know. Or maybe she did know, but she didn’t know that I knew.

  “Susan Brady,” I replied, wishing that I had checked more thoroughly when this whole affair had started. I mean, yes sure Susan Brady was good looking, no argument, but she didn’t compare with the lady sitting in front of me. Things would have been a lot different, if I had taken more care.

  “Susan Brady,” I repeated, forgetting that I had already answered her question.

  “Yes, I remember now,” she replied. “I heard how she deceived you into obtaining information, and how she had been blackmailing my husband. He told me all about it. A very clever lady, a little greedy perhaps, but she simply miscalculated.”

  Some miscalculation I thought, the dame was currently lying on a granite slab at the County Morgue. How clever was that I wondered? I also wondered if Walker had really told her all about it, including all about Miss. Franklin. Or had he told her another reason for being blackmailed, something underhand at work maybe, or some double dealing at the dog track?

  “What can I do for you Mrs. Walker?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Oh, nothing, not really,” she replied. “I just thought that it was time that we met.” She paused for a moment. “In the circumstances I feel that I already know you.”

  Is that it I thought, just a friendly social call like that? Happened to be in the neighborhood, thought I’d drop by. That was mighty nice of her really, considering my thoughts concerning her husband, or more to the point maybe, his thoughts concerning me. Was she really seeking a divorce I wondered? Did she know about Miss. Flozzie Whatsername? I was debating whether or not to ask. If she did know, then clearly she wasn’t that concerned.

  “Oh there was one other thing,” she continued.

  “Go on,” I coaxed.

  “I was just wondering if the authorities had any ideas about who killed her.”

  I shook my head. ‘Well actually we think your husband did it’, didn’t seem quite right somehow.

  “Not yet I’m afraid, but they are so short of clues,” I replied. “I mean so far there’s really nothing. And it comes right down to a shoe.”

  “A shoe,” she repeated clearly puzzled.

  “Yes, you see they know that she wasn’t killed in Battery Park,” I started to explain. “They really need to find out where she was actually murdered. That would help.”

  “What has that got to do with a shoe?” she asked.

  “Well when they found her she was only wearing one shoe,” I continued. “The other shoe is still missing.”

  “And they think the other shoe is at the actual murder spot,” she suggested.

  I couldn’t have put it better myself, but I said nothing, and simply nodded.

  “Anything else,” she asked.

  I heaved a sigh. “Not a lot I’m afraid,” I replied. “We think that she had a partner in her blackmailing, a man. We’re not sure you understand, but one theory is that her partner got greedy, and didn’t want to share the proceeds.”

  “And that partner, whoever he is, he carried out the murder,” Mrs. Walker suggested.

  “It’s only a theory, but it’s a possibility.”

  She shook her head, and took a deep breath. “How gruesome,” she said. “What some people will do for money.”

  I stood up. Considering that she was married to a large fortune, and money was the least of her problems, her statement seemed a little shallow to say the least. “Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about,” I said smiling.

  She stood up. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Daniels,” she said holding out her hand.

  I took hold and shook it. “Likewise I’m sure.”

  I can’t believe I actually said that. Likewise I’m sure! What on earth was I thinking?

  “Thank you for seeing me,” she said as she moved towards the door.

  “My pleasure,” I said, opening the door for her. “Any time, and please give my regards to your husband.”

  She left the office. I watched her go along the corridor, until she turned towards the staircase. I closed the door, and sat back down. I’m sure my regards will be greatly valued by Mr. Walker. Probably make his day, I don’t think.

  This called for a drink, a double. And maybe just a little bit more of the pizza. I pressed the play button on the CD. And put my feet up on to the desk.

  * * *

  Chapter Nine

  Honeysuckle Drive

  Okay so the information that I had got from Jerry was interesting. Well it was more than interesting, it was intriguing. Although it gave a few possible answers, it raised a lot more questions. I was hopeful that this guy Bob Chandler would be able to add a lot more information. There was at least one thing that was certain. It was clear that there was a connection, a major connection, between Mrs. Amanda Walker and the dead w
oman. It was also more than obvious that the dead woman had made use of that connection in some way.

  She recently gets out of prison, and she needs money. Understandable, I guess. I mean she’s probably desperate. She knows about her friend marrying a rich guy. She finds out that he’s playing around. Then using information that she had got from Mrs. Walker she must have begun making her plans to blackmail Walker. The first step was me. And I went along with it. She took me in completely, but it could’ve happened to anyone.

  Anyway so she gets a whole stack of information, thanks to me, and then she goes on to step two. She makes contact with Walker, makes her demand, pay up or else. Walker pays up, but then she gets greedy. She wants more money. Happens all the time, and, well, you know the rest.

  * * *

  Okay so there were still a lot of questions to be answered, and still proof to be found, but now I had something to work on. I just needed a few more bits of evidence. I wondered if the murder weapon had been found, and it would be good to know where the actual murder took place.

  I reached for the phone and made a call to Frank Bates. A few minutes later I was put through.

  “Detective Bates, speaking,” a voice said. “Can I help you?”

  “Hi, Frank, it’s me, Daniels.”

  “Hey Daniels, I was just about to call you,” Bates replied. “So, what can I do for you?”

  “I was recently in Jerry’s Bar,” I said.

  “Becoming a bit of a habit ain’t it?” Bates interrupted. “How many times is that this week?”

  I ignored the comment. “As I said, I was recently in Jerry’s Bar. I had a long talk with my friend, Jerry, and I found out some very interesting news about our Susan Brady.”

  “I’m listening,” said Bates.