by David Bishop
“So, you simply come up to this room and it becomes spy central.”
“It is helpful to know what people say when you are not about. How that confirms or contrasts with what they say when you are with them. Dozing in a chair after dinner or toward the end of a family meeting can briefly allow similar access. We old folks are assumed to be unreliable, even as to being awake. Ten minutes of strategic dozing is often more informative than hours spent as an active participant in conversation.”
“Don’t you feel a bit guilty using such tactics on your own family?”
With some effort, the general crossed his legs. “No more than they should feel using the tactics of waiting until they think I can’t hear to say what they really think.”
I reached out and touched his arm and smiled. “I see your point, General. You put this in place some years ago, then, while the house was still under construction?”
“Some plans are for near term use. Others have a longer horizon and are refined as time passes.”
I looked toward a slight knock on the door. Then Charles came in carrying a tray with what I knew had to be some Irish on crushed ice. The general smiled. “Would you indulge me, Matt? Please enjoy that for the both of us.” After I nodded, he said, “Now tell me, did your getting in my grandson’s face tell you anything?”
“You heard it all, General. What do you think?”
“Yes, the question in answer to a question. However, I heard only Eddie’s words. You saw his face, perhaps smelled his sweat. I could do neither.”
“No, General. I don’t think my bracing of your grandson told me any more than I knew before. Except for learning he is smart and handles pressure well. He may be made of sterner stuff than even he knows. Of course, that has nothing to do with whether or not he killed Ileana Corrigan.”
“That was my read as well,” the general said. “And thank you for sticking up for me. Eddie is smooth, but for reasons known only to Eddie, he remains confident he is superior to all others. Feeling so, showing respect is not easy for him. Nonetheless, he feigns it well in the company of outsiders. I know of no one who does not find him affable and courteous. Still, you got his goat a bit. I don’t recall ever having heard him threaten to pummel another man.”
“I did have him out of sorts for a moment. But he quickly recovered his composure. That’s when I knew he would not open up. General, in light of it being eleven plus years since the death of Ileana Corrigan and in light of your clandestine method for overhearing, what have you learned? Did Eddie kill your unborn great grandson?”
“If I knew that answer, I would not have needed you. The investigation would have been over and we would have advanced to the penalty phase.”
I asked the general if I could step out and use the men’s room. He offered me the use of his which sat between his bedroom and the adjoining study we were in. I had hoped he would. After using it for the justifying reason, I took a few plastic storage baggies from my pocket and collected a significant wad of hair from his brush. I put two cotton swabs from his waste basket, each soiled with ear wax into a second bag. Several used facial tissues went in a third. After that I flushed, washed my hands, and went back to the study to rejoin the general.
“I understand your daughter spends more time with you than does your grandson. Is this true?”
“Karen is very attentive and strives to be a companion and a help. Eddie avoids everything beyond token appearances. And, may I add, Karen displays that same attitude and interest in this old war horse whether I am with her or as far as she knows, not around. I’m guessing you wonder why I’m leaving so much more to my grandson than to my daughter.”
“That’s none of my business, General.”
“I appreciate that, Matt. Go on, now.” He motioned with his fingers, raising them in an upward manner. “Enjoy your drink. Would you like another?”
“Would we, General?” After he nodded, he smiled and pressed a button on the desktop. Within less than a minute, Charles entered with the tray on his outstretched hand, the drink obviously made before the general summoned it. The general and Charles worked together like a priest and his acolyte.
“As I was saying, I appreciate that, Matt, but you know more about this family now than anyone outside it so I think an explanation is in order. I have thought about being more generous with Karen. I continue to think on it, but in the end I’m afraid I’m a hopeless chauvinist, unable to think of substantial wealth going to a woman. I do have a meeting with my attorney this afternoon. Reginald Franklin, you remember him. He came to your office to arrange your first visit.”
I grinned, “Reginald Franklin, the third, as I recall.” I took a large portion of my fresh drink. The general stayed quiet while I did so.
“I know. I know,” the general said. “He’s a bit stuffy, pretentious, but he is an excellent attorney and a quite honorable man. After Charles, Reggie is my longest and most loyal ally. I think I am the only person alive who calls him Reggie. I think he likes it, but would never confess it. His wife calls him Reginald.”
“I’m glad you told me of your eavesdropping system, General.”
“As I told Charles, we shall trust your integrity, Matt. I wanted you to know in the event you wished to make use of it in some manner. My only concern is that you don’t alter what you say or how you say it in deference to my feelings. I want you to handle things without concern for my possibly hearing them. Agreed?”
“Agreed, General.” I finished my last drink.
The general licked his lips.
I walked out.
Chapter 19
I left the general’s home without being certain if I was mixed up with a normal family or one that was completely dysfunctional. Part of that confusion is I’m not all that sure what constitutes a normal family. Are you? What I knew was I liked the general, lusted for his daughter, and neither liked nor respected his grandson. But that did not mean Eddie was guilty of anything more than being a popinjay. I also suspected I didn’t have much time if I was going to find the answer for the general while he was still able to hear it.
I had alerted Charles that I would be sending someone by to look at the records on the five old soldiers whose care the general had paid for until they each passed away. I asked him to compile what he had, also to prepare a letter of introduction to the assisted living facility and nursing home where they had resided. The general had donated enough to the facility that concern for the access rules under HIPAA regulations were not mentioned; the patients were all deceased. My representative would be allowed to speak to the administrator and look over their records. I didn’t yet know who I would send or the significance of doing this. This plan constituted little more than what the attorneys object to as a fishing trip into records looking for God knows what.
I had been on the case for only a few days and, as yet, had picked up no bones that had meat on them. Met some people and learned some secrets, but nothing that pointed me anywhere in particular. I needed to pick up the pace, multiply my efforts. Have more people sift through more haystacks in the hope that one of us might find the proverbial needle.
I got home late in the afternoon and immediately labeled and secured the three baggies I had filled in the general’s bathroom together with some items, secretions, if you must know, that Karen had left at my place the night we had our sleepover. I also had a piece of gum she had chewed and a measure of my dental floss she had used in the morning.
I also assigned Axel to follow Eddie. I wanted the general’s grandson shadowed twenty-four-seven with pictures taken of everyplace he went and everyone with whom he came in contact. Twenty minutes later he said it was all arranged. Buddha, his driver’s ed teacher would handle the driving while Axel handled the picture taking. Using Buddha had a strange feel to it, but then a former wheelman for the mob should be able to keep up with a popinjay. So, I decided to feel guardedly optimistic. Axel had not yet identified who he would use for the graveyard shift, but he expected to h
ave that arranged by the time it was needed.
“Can Buddha still handle the driving?”
“Boss, that’s a silly question.”
“Well, can he?”
“Can Kellogg’s still make corn flakes?”
I repeated to myself about feeling guardedly optimistic.
“You’ll have to pay these guys, boss. But don’t worry, I’ll set it up. They’re good men. I won’t be able to be here at all hours like I’ve been. Can you handle things at the house without me?”
Axel had already become the indispensable man, at least in his mind.
*
We met Axel’s friend, Hildegard, in front of an apartment building several blocks from our condo on the opposite side of Mackie’s. She was around five feet, a little taller perhaps, with a medium build and a smile that could melt butter or men’s hearts. Her blond hair was bleached, the roots brown.
Hillie, as I was told she preferred over her full name, had turned eighteen since leaving home. I didn’t ask what she was doing in Long Beach. I had an idea, given where Axel said he first met Hillie. If she chose to share that information I would know, officially. If not, it was no business of mine. Hillie appeared to trust Axel, yet she remained wary.
Over the next two hours, we ate and talked at Morton’s Steakhouse in Anaheim, a short drive south from Long Beach. I mostly let Axel and Hillie talk; they were developing a great rapport. It always amazes me how much more one can learn by listening, rather than talking, beyond asking stimulating questions in a non-probing manner.
Hillie had grown up in Gridley, California, a small, mostly farming town north of Sacramento and south of the twin cities of Marysville-Yuba City. Her father was a certified public accountant and she spoke proudly of having worked for him all the way through high school. Her job had been to help him prepare financial statements and tax returns for his small business clients, which included several ranches and farms. Her goal had been to follow in her father’s footsteps. She had planned to join her father’s firm after going to college to major in accounting. Her mother was a different story. Of course, we were getting only the young lady’s opinion of her mother. Hillie saw her mother as an intolerable shrew. When she could stand no more, she left home. Hillie and her father stay in touch with the understanding he not ask her where she is or when she will be coming home. They talk Mondays, late in the afternoon while he is still at his office. She said Monday afternoon was a slow time in the work she was doing here in Long Beach. She didn’t put a label on her job. And like I said, I didn’t ask.
Axel had already told her he had been in prison for a very long time, along with Mackie whom she had met. He had also disclosed the story of my having shot the thug on the steps outside the courthouse, and that we had spent four years together inside. That I had been pardoned and Axel paroled. She seemed unconcerned by any of that. I liked her. But then I expected I would. In prison, Axel always sized up the new cons and new bulls right off and he rarely pegged them wrong. He had made a good choice in befriending Hillie.
By the time dinner was finished I had employed Hillie to go to the Whittaker’s and meet with Charles to go through the information on the old soldiers. I had a hard time explaining to her what I wanted her to look for. Without being sure it would prove true, I told her the old standby adage: you’ll recognize it when you find it. When it came time for her to meet with the nursing home administrator, Axel would go along. I felt certain she could handle it if the people there gave her an even break. Given her youth, I couldn’t be certain she’d be viewed as an adult, so Axel would ease that part of it. Axel also told me that for those few hours Buddha alone could handle keeping an eye on Eddie.
After we got home from dinner, I called Fidge to see if I could meet with him for coffee in the morning. We agreed on eight. I suggested a coffee shop not far from his house. Fidge suggested his kitchen table. By eight-fifteen his two teens would have left for school.
Chapter 20
The morning began at seven with my expanded plan in full blossom. Axel and Buddha were in position ready to tail Eddie Whittaker. I called Charles prepared to apologize for waking him, but it turned out the general had experienced a difficult night and they had both been awake since four. He said the doctor had just left and at the bottom of the stairs had shaken his head and said, “maybe a week, maybe.”
I told Charles that Hillie would be there at ten. Then I called Hillie to get her on her way. She seemed excited for the opportunity to do something akin to what she used to do for her father. I would be meeting with Fidge in a little over an hour to fan the flames on another idea.
*
By eight-fifteen, Fidge’s children were off to school and by eight-thirty I had shared pleasantries with his wife, Brenda. I love that woman. Not in the I-wish-she-were-my-wife kind of way, but in the, I’m-glad-she’s-my-best-friend’s-wife kind of way. She wasn’t gorgeous, but she was sensuous and she loved that big galoot. Fidge had the largest feet of any man I’d ever known. He wore fifteen double EE shoes. I’ve often told him that when he walks he should use those red flags that trucks hang when hauling long loads. His other distinguishing characteristic was a pencil-thin mustache, the kind worn by Boston Blackie, the fictional jewel thief and safecracker who became a private detective in books, movies and a television series. Blackie got a renewed dose of fame in a Jimmy Buffett song, “Oh I Wish I Had a Pencil-thin Mustache, the Boston Blackie kind, then I could solve some mysteries too.” I doubt it was because of his mustache, but Fidge had solved some mysteries too.
While Fidge and I slathered a couple of bagels that Brenda put on the table, he confirmed that Chris Timmons, known in police circles as Chunky, still ran the outside lab the department sometimes used for overflow DNA testing. I could have found that out without going to see Fidge, but I thought we should touch base on his investigation into the murder of Cory Jackson and mine into Ileana Corrigan, the law’s hook into my Eddie Whittaker assignment.
“Yeah,” Fidge said, “the department made the connection between the dead Cory Jackson and his past role in being the claimed eyewitness to the murder of Ileana Corrigan. We just don’t see a link there. Jackson was discredited over ten years ago as a witness against Eddie Whittaker. If somebody out there had gotten pissed about that, they would have put Jackson down a long time ago. I mean, he’s been right here in plain sight all these years.”
He got up and kissed Brenda, then got the coffee pot and two cups from the cupboard and came back to the table, while asking, “You agree, don’t you?”
“I guess. According to his half brother, Jackson does have some history with drugs.”
“Also gambling, small change stuff, but we confirmed he owed the bookies some money. Nothing much, more likely kneecaps, not kill-ya money. Still, you can never be certain about that stuff. The bookie could have rubbed him out to make the point to a bigger better with a bigger past due balance. The Jackson homicide is going through the motions, but we’ve found nothing and even the effort’s fading.”
“Shouldn’t be that way,” I said, “but with the case load you guys carry it happens.”
I went on to tell Fidge about the two million dollar shakedown of General Whittaker to buy Eddie’s original alibi. Fidge hadn’t known it, but he had always wondered about the synchronized timing of the witnesses against Eddie. His arrest, quickly followed by three witnesses who stepped up a few days later to put Eddie in that restaurant, out of the range of the murder, all followed neatly by his subsequent release.
Fidge stroked his chin like he always had while sifting information. I had forgotten about him doing that, but surviving over time is what makes something a habit. “Could Jackson and Tommie Montoya have cooked this up on their own to shake down the general? If so, Montoya might have dropped Jackson to get the entire take for himself, and to eliminate the only person who could rat him out?”
“On paper that could work, but no, I’ve spent time with Montoya, he’s definitely not bright eno
ugh to develop the shakedown, likely Cory Jackson isn’t either. If these two guys had raked in two million in cash, there’s no way they could have sat on it and stayed in their dead-end lives for the past eleven years.”
Fidge nodded. “I remember Cory Jackson from back when he claimed he saw Eddie kill the Corrigan woman. That dunce was incapable of brainstorming a fast food dinner, let along that kinda shakedown. He had a taste for drugs then and owed the bookies now. He couldn’t sit on that size bundle for eleven days let alone years.”
“I still feel like someone’s missing from the game, but I can’t put anyone in the empty chair.”
“You still picturing mystical poker games with empty chairs?”
“It’s a way of saying there may be a player we haven’t identified.”
“So, whatdaya got for Chunky?” Fidge asked, while Brenda put her hand on his shoulder to lean in and refill our cups. Talking cases in front of Brenda was nothing new, as a homicide cop’s wife she knew to keep quiet about what she heard.
“You got me to thinking when you said the department ran a paternity test to be sure Eddie was the father of Ileana Corrigan’s unborn son. It got me wondering if the general is his daughter’s poppa.”
“Really? You got anything saying he isn’t?”
“Nope. Just trying to match up my thises and thats. You know the dance. To be the poppa, the general would have procreated late in life-”
Brenda interrupted to ask how old the general would have been.
“Mid fifties,” I answered.
“No problem,” Brenda said, again proving that when it comes to anything related to giving birth, women know more than us guys. At least they think so. And they’re likely right.