FIRST STEP MURDER

by H. R. Whidden

  “I’m here to see Detective John Walker.” Faxon stood in front of the front desk as the duty sergeant called the detectives office.

  “Go ahead, he’s waiting for you,” he said after setting the phone down.

  In the office they shook hands and he sat down, Faxon saw the Boston Herald on the detective’s desk.

  “My superiors crawled up my ass about that article Cullen wrote, but I told them he investigated it himself. I went back and pulled a fingerprint from the inside of the keypad box, and the bottom of the elevator door. I ran it but didn’t get a hit, so the man’s still unknown. I also blew up the image of the shoes the guy was wearing when kneeling in front of the keypad, we’ve got the pattern of the soles of his boots, but still nothing that would lead to the man. I also called my friend over at ATF,” John said. “I had him check the sale of guns from that Cartwright Arms to the Saudi national and it’s all above board, someone has a lot of pull to get that deal done.”

  “I could talk to the realtor that’s handling the sale of the property,” Faxon said “but I don’t have anyone paying me, so without something else pointing to murder, and a paying client, I guess I’m done. I do have to make a living.”

  “Here I got something for you.” Detective Walker handed him a piece of paper. “Mrs. Franks, her son was beat up pretty bad. He’s at Mass. General, critical condition. His name’s Tom Franks he was found down near the inner harbor, he was probably buying drugs, but she calls every day wanting to know if we’ve caught the guys. I told her it wasn’t our top priority and that she might have more luck hiring a private detective to find out who did it.”

  “Thanks, I’ll call her. Has she got money?”

  “Yea her husbands a big trader, they can pay.”

  “Listen, if I find the guys that beat him up and he can identify them I’ll call.”

  “Yea, that’s all I’ve got to do is go around picking up drug thugs.”

  * * *

  “Mr. Molina, I need you to go and make another offer on that property. I’m calling because we expect that Mr. Samuels sons to accept now. However we want to reduce the offer by half. It’s still higher than they’ll get from anyone else. I’m sure Payton and Kerin Samuels will accept. As soon as you get a signed contract fax it to the Marine Group, your commission will be wired into your account.”

  “Sir we’ve only talked a few times, but I can’t help but think that you knew Mr. Samuels wouldn’t stand in the way of the purchase of the property from our last conversation.”

  “You’re being paid to handle the group’s purchase of properties and being paid handsomely. My suggestion to you Mr. Molina is, stop thinking so much. It may be bad for your health.”

  * * *

  “Mrs. Franks this is Faxon Bennett, I’m calling because Detective Walker said you might like to hire a private detective to look into the assault on your son?”

  “Yes Mr. Bennett, I’m at the hospital now, my son is awake and can describe the three men that beat him.”

  “I have to make a stop first Mrs. Franks, but I’m on my way to the hospital.”

  Faxon went by the Ned Devine’s.

  “William is Mary here?”

  “She’s in the back.”

  Mary was a twenty year old art student. She had helped him one other time with an identification drawing. She was getting things out of the cooler for the bar back.

  “Hey Mary how would you like to make some quick cash,” Faxon said.

  “Another bad guy,” she asked?

  “I have a client in the hospital, he was beaten up pretty bad, but he can describe the three guys. I need you to do a likeness of them. How about two hundred? It shouldn’t take thirty minutes.”

  “If William lets me go, sure,” she said.

  Mary got her back pack with her large sketch pad and pencils.

  “I’m not too young for you ya know. I haven’t seen you with a girl since I’ve been working at Ned Devine’s.”

  “Being a private detective sure isn’t glamorous, and it seems not very high paying, taking pictures of cheating husbands, tracking down three guys that nearly beat this guy to death. It’s hard to meet the right person.”

  At the hospital Tom Franks described the three guys to Mary, she showed him the drawings, then made changes, and they went back and forth until he was satisfied. He gave height and weight to Faxon and Mrs. Franks wrote a check for five thousand dollars, with the agreement that if Faxon tracked them down and there was an arrest made she’d pay five thousand more. Her son would likely be in the hospital for a week and if he couldn’t go to the station to identify the perpetrators she’d still pay.

  Faxon paid Mary the two hundred and got a kiss on the cheek. He had the exact location of the attack down near the old warehouse section of the docks. Tom had said that he was attacked just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  He drove the old Jeep and parked alongside the building, the windows were at least ten feet above the ground and half of them were knocked out. An old sea freighter was docked about a hundred yards away and Faxon looked at the name painted across the back. The Desert Sun, then his cell phone rang.

  “Faxon Bennett Investigations” he said.

  “Mr. Bennett I was referred by Shira Brennon, my names Lisa Colman. I own a ladies apparel shop, high end women’s shoes, bags, clutches things like that. A semi-truck load of inventory was stolen and it wasn’t insured, it’s over eight hundred thousand dollars retail in inventory. I would pay two percent to get it back.”

  “When did it go missing Mrs. Colman?”

  “It’s Miss. And you can call me Lisa. Today, this afternoon, the driver stopped for lunch and when he came out the rig was gone. If you find it the driver’s offering a reward for the return of the truck and trailer too, he’s an independent.”

  Faxon got Miss Colman’s information and the address of her shop. He looked around and the area was deserted, no one around anywhere. He got out of the jeep and put his thirty eight in his back pocket, then walked around the side of the warehouse. There was a steel staircase going up the side of the metal building and a door at the top. Faxon walked up the stairs, the door was padlocked, it looked new, and he thought who would put a new lock on an abandoned warehouse? He had to lean away from the rail at the top of the stairs to see inside a window. There were no lights on but even in the dark he could see there were semi-trucks and trailers parked inside.

  Back down the steps he walked back to the front of the warehouse and checked the small entry door. There was a new padlock on it too. Faxon pulled on the large rollup door and it was locked from the inside. He went back to the Jeep and decided to sit and wait a little while, if something criminal was going on the men would be back tonight.

  It was 2:00 am when the sound of a big truck woke him. One man got out of the cab and unlocked the small door in front and went in. Even though Faxon was parked down the dock he could see the man had a military haircut and carried himself the same. Height and weight he could be one of the men he was looking for. It was just a hunch but Tom Franks might have been beat up by the same guys that were high-jacking trucks. Faxon dialed Detective John Walker.

  “John, Faxon here.”

  From John’s answer he knew he’d just woke, in the background he heard a female voice ask, “who the hells calling this time of night?”

  “A huge pain in my ass, try to go back to sleep dear. I knew when I gave you my cell number I was gonna to regret it.”

  “Listen, I think I found the three guys that beat up Tom Franks and the reason why. I’m down here in the inner harbor, dock 21, their using an abandoned warehouse to park stolen trucks.”

  “You could have told me that in the morning, Bennett.”

  “They wouldn’t be here in the morning, this is our chance to catch the guys and thwart a multi-million dollar truck theft ring, and maybe who’s behind it. One more thing the guy I saw had a military issue rifle, their heavily armed.”

  “
Damn, ok I’m on my way I’ll call the swat team, and don’t try to do anything on your own Bennett don’t be a hero let us take care of it.”

  Faxon waited and in about thirty minutes he saw heavily armed men in body armor surrounding the building. The roll up door had been closed after the semi-truck had been driven in, and two of the swat members blew the door and toss in two flash-bang grenades. A dozen armed men poured through the door and Faxon could hear the sound of automatic firearms, it was all over in a matter of moments and the swat team members started filing back out checking their guns. Detective Walker’s unmarked car pulled up near the door with his blue dash light flashing and Faxon hurried to join him.

  One of the patrol officers that crowded the dock tried to stop him.

  “It’s ok, he’s with me,” John said.

  They walked inside the warehouse, the smoke still hadn’t cleared. Detective Walker checked the first body not far from the door. Faxon stood beside him.

  “Military boots,” Faxon said. The man wore jeans a t-shirt and a jacket he sported a military haircut too. Faxon unfolded the three drawings of the men that had beaten Tom Franks, he found one and held it next to the man’s face with Detective Walkers flashlight on it.

  “Looks like you were right Bennett, that’s a pretty good likeness,” John said.

  Faxon put the picture back in his pocket and knelt down, and pulled off the man’s jacket.

  “What the hell Bennett, what are you looking for?”

  Faxon tore the right sleeve of the man’s shirt.

  “Tattoos,” and there it was, a tattoo of a bad dog showing lots of teeth. Above it was Semper-Fi, written in cursive, below that was, Hoooo-Rah, under the picture of the bad dog in big block letters was, USMC.

  “I’ll bet they all have the same tattoo,” he said.

  The Detective and Faxon checked the other three dead men and he was right they all had the same tattoo and the pictures matched the likeness of each man. John Walker went to talk to the commander of the swat team. Inside the warehouse there were three semi-trucks and trailers, and six large shipping containers, one of the trailers were open. The dead men had been unloading the trailer full of electronics and filling a shipping container. Faxon checked the cab and found shipping papers from Honey Well, the electronics shipment was meant for a Government contractor in New York.

  Faxon checked each truck, and the next one was full of cell phones, laptops, and computers. In the third truck he found the shipment of women’s accessories meant for Lisa Colman. “What the hell would they want with women’s apparel, must have been a mistake,” he thought.

  “So what did you find,” the detective asked?

  “A truck load of electronics from Honey Well in route to a Government contractor in New York. Another trailer full of cell phones, and computers, the third a truck load of women’s accessories, I don’t see the connection they must have gotten the wrong truck.”

  “Well I’m not that smart Bennett, but let’s see, ex-military high jacking trucks, loading the goods into shipping containers,” John said.

  “And a freighter at the dock with the name, Desert Sun, I bet we find a connection to the Marine Group and the ship registration connected to Kasam Rashid Kolmani.”

  “What do you know? What’s going on here,” John asked?”

  “I don’t know, but I suspect. An offshore company owned by a Saudi, involved in the theft of millions of dollars of goods, hiring ex-military, buying high priced property, maybe involved in murder by a man that had the skills to make it look like suicide, and buying arms from an American arms dealer with permits from the ATF.”

  “I’ll quietly check the registration of the Desert Sun to see if your theory’s right Bennett.”

  “By the way John, one of these trucks belongs to a client of mine, the woman’s apparel, I get a finder’s fee on the truck and a percentage of the recovered goods. Do you think I could call the truck owner and have him come pick it up?”

  “Yea sure, we’ll close our eyes. I can’t believe it has anything to do with the case. Go ahead, and I’ll credit you for finding the others, I’m sure there’ll be a recovery fee for them too. Someone may as well make something.”

  He waited to call the truck owner operator until 6:00 am. As soon as he showed up at the docks the driver took the load to Lisa Colman’s lady’s apparel shop on Park Street near Beacon Hill. Faxon followed, he had to park in a garage down the street and walk to the shop.

  Inside were rows of women’s stilettos, and pumps, expensive name brand handbags and clutches, belts and in the back fancy women’s under garments. There was only one customer in the store this early and one of the two sales girls waited on her. The other girl smiled as she walked toward him.

  “How may I help you, Sir,” she smiled as she said it and reached out and took hold of his forearm.

  “My names Faxon Bennett, I’m here to see Lisa Colman.”

  “Sure, come, I’ll walk you to her office.”

  The tall pretty girl never let go of his arm as she escorted him. When they got to the door she quickly turned to face him, she stood very close and her hand slid down his arm until she was holding his hand.

  “My names Serena, has anyone told you you’re very handsome,” she smiled, “can I get you a cup of coffee, Faxon, or anything really?”

  “A cup of coffee would be great.”

  She knocked on the door and they heard a woman’s voice say, “Come” Serena opened the door.

  “Miss. Colman, Mr. Bennett is here to see you.”

  She stood up, “I was expecting you, the truck driver called and said you’d found my shipment and he’d be here soon.”

  Lisa leaned against the front of the desk. Serena came back in with a small cup of cappuccino. She handed it to him and then left the room closing the door behind her. Lisa Colman was a forty year old attractive woman with very short black hair she looked like the cover girl for fashion and grace.

  “Well you’re everything Shira said you were, young, handsome, very well built, and extremely competent. I didn’t expect such a fast response.”

  She walked back around the desk and sat in her chair, took out a checkbook from the top drawer, and began writing. When she was done she tore it out of the book.

  “Eighteen thousand dollars, I have the invoice right here if you want to check it?”

  “No I take your word for it, I got lucky following up on a led at the docks and found your truck in a warehouse.”

  “I should have offered one percent,” she laughed. “I guess there’s no use in trying to seduce you, Shira says you’re a principled man and you have a rule about clients.”

  “Let’s just say I learned the hard way not to mix business with pleasure.”

  Faxon left with the check for eighteen thousand and the drivers reward for finding his rig. He hung around the bar for a few days, only once did he run into stalker bitch. Faxon gave Mary another hundred for her help, it only seemed right for the circumstances. Detective Walker called and gave him an update on the ship registration, and it was indeed a Saudi registered vessel. They both connected the possible stolen goods to Kasam Rashid Kolmani and the Marine Group.

  Faxon got a call from Martin Samuels Secretary Rayna Wilson, and she confirmed the sale of the property in question it was sold to the Marine Group. Both Detective Walker and Faxon believed the group was laundering money from the stolen goods and God knows what else. Faxon theorized that the firearms could possibly be for arming Islamic rebels, the whole time angry that it could be retired military helping.

  * * *

  It had been months. He sat at his small table in the kitchen of his apartment above the bar with just a pair of white boxers and a t-shirt on. It was 11:00 am, his socked feet were on the window sill and he leaned back in the chair teetering on the two back legs drinking a cup of coffee and reading the paper. There was snow on the window sill and he had plans on staying in the whole day.

  The sports section, the ob
ituaries, and then he read James Cullen’s crime article, he wrote a story about an influential family that lived outside of town on a large estate. There had been a fire and the family mansion had burned to the ground taking the lives of the family matriarch and the eldest son and daughter. The article ended with the fire marshals report that it had been arson.

  Faxon sat up and picked up his cell phone and called the Boston Herald.

  “I’d like to speak to James Cullen.”

  “Hold please,” said the operator.

  “James Cullen,” he answered.

  “James, it’s Faxon Bennett, I read your article today. You’re going to think I’m paranoid. That house that burnt down, an offer to buy the estate hadn’t been turned down by the owner had it?”

  “You know Faxon I didn’t ask. You’re thinking that if they didn’t want to sell someone gave them a little incentive, like Martin Samuels suicide.”

  “I’m finding coincidences involving that Marine group,” Faxon said.

  “I guess I could call the family and ask if someone had made an offer on the estate?”

  “No I can find out, I have a friend that can get the information.”

  After a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup Faxon stretched out on the couch and was watching a history channel show on alligator hunting in Louisiana and he drifted off to sleep. Only about an hour had gone by when his cell phone rang.

  “Hello,” it was 2:00 pm but his gravelly voice sounded like he had just got out of bed.

  “Is this Faxon,” asked a woman’s voice?

  “Yes, who am I speaking with?”