Mary, Mary, Shut the Door

by Benjamin M. Schutz

  “Okay. How much do you charge?”

  “I’m a hundred dollars an hour. This thing we just did here is on the house. I don’t charge people to find out if I can help them. If we’re agreed I can help you, my meter starts.”

  Gina Logan gave me her hand. As we shook hands, she said, “Start your meter, Mr. Haggerty.”

  “Do you have the case file with you?”

  “Yes, it’s in my bag.”

  “Why don’t you leave it with me. I’ll get on this right after I finish eating. You can come by the office tomorrow, we’ll do a fee-for-services agreement, and that’ll make it official.”

  “Great. Thanks very much, Mr. Haggerty. I feel a lot better now that we’ve talked.”

  We shook hands again and smiled. This rush of optimism would recede after a while and her doubts, like roaches, would return, scurrying about in the dark recesses of her mind when she was alone, waiting for news. Optimism is just a by-product of activity, just another metabolite.

  Gina Logan slipped into her coat, placed the case file on the table, fumbled around for some money for the coffee until I waved her off saying I’d pay for it, smiled again and left.

  John came over. “Are you staying for dinner tonight?”

  “Yeah, let me have the mixed grill and another cup of coffee. And I’m done working. Thanks, again.”

  “No problem.”

  I opened the case file on Todd Berman. Gina had his name, address, and phone number. Berman paid his retainer in cash. The information was probably all phony, but that was okay. The woman would know who he was and where to find him.

  I flipped over the contact sheet and services agreement, to the information on her subjects. The woman’s name was Tara McKinney. She worked as a secretary at a small trade association. Her work address and phone number were listed, so was a description of her car and tags. Gina’s notes said Tara McKinney was five-seven, one hundred and twenty pounds. She had blonde hair worn straight, long, green eyes and pierced ears—all of her earrings dangled or were big hoops. She wore nonprescription sunglasses when out.

  The next page was her surveillance notes and a Ziploc bag of photographs. I took them out and fanned them in my hand. There was a good one of Tara and her boyfriend. I stood that up against my water glass and filed the rest.

  After she’d made her case, Gina listed the DMV information on the boyfriend: Stanley Calloway, address and phone and Social Security number.

  The rest of her notes confirmed her story. After I finished eating, I tucked the file into my briefcase and left Artie’s. I called Mr. Calloway from my car.

  “Hello.”

  “Yes, is this Mr. Calloway?”

  “Yes, this is Stan Calloway.”

  “My name is Leo Haggerty. I’m a private investigator and I have reason to believe that you are being watched by someone who may intend to do you and your girlfriend, Tara McKinney, some harm. I’d like to meet with you so we can discuss this further.”

  “Just who is it that’s supposed to be watching me?”

  “I’m not sure of his name. He calls himself Todd Berman. I have reason to believe that he’s an ex-boyfriend of Ms. McKinney’s.”

  “Jesus Christ, not him again. I thought we were finished with all this.”

  “What do you mean, ‘finished with all this’?”

  “Tara had him arrested the last time he harassed her. He got a suspended sentence and a fine. He was supposed to be in some kind of counseling. If he ever harassed her again he was going to jail.”

  “Maybe he’s decided that the way to keep her for himself is to keep everyone else away from her. If no one else will go out with her because of his harassment, maybe he thinks he’ll win her back. Did that judgment cover you?”

  “No. How did you find out about this? Are you watching me, too?”

  “No, Mr. Calloway. This information came to me through another investigation.” Technically true. “And I felt it was important to alert you right away. I have some ideas on how to respond to this Mr. Berman.”

  “Don’t bother calling him that. His name is Joel Silverman.”

  When Calloway didn’t address my invitation, I repeated it.

  “Can we talk about Mr. Silverman?”

  “Why? I’m going to do what we did the last time, call the police and have him arrested, or get a lawyer to charge him with harassment.”

  “It’s not that simple. He hasn’t done anything to you yet. The police won’t pick him up. Your lawyer might be more successful. He might get a restraining order issued, but you see what he’s doing even with jail time hanging over him. He hasn’t quit. He’s just changed his approach. Besides, I believe that someone pointed Silverman at you for their own ends. They don’t care what trouble he causes you if it helps them.”

  “Who is that?”

  “I don’t know yet. That’s the other investigation I mentioned.” Technical truth #2. “I’m hoping to nail both Mr. Silverman and the person who is using him. I need your help to do that.”

  “How do I know that you aren’t working with Silverman, that this whole story isn’t a scheme to get me alone somewhere and kill me? That’s what he threatened Tara with. That he’d kill her and anyone who went out with her.”

  “You don’t know, Mr. Calloway. I’m willing to meet with you anywhere, anytime, under any conditions you choose. I only ask one thing in terms of helping me understand and predict what Mr. Silverman might do. I’d like to meet with you and Tara McKinney. If not together this first time, that’s fine. Do whatever you want to convince yourself that I’m who I say I am. But I think her input would be very helpful.”

  “Let me think about this. How can I get in touch with you?”

  I gave him my office number and beeper, and got a dial tone in return.

  Home was just where I’d left it. I tossed my mail, cleared the machine on the business line, and turned on the TV. I did laps around the dial until I found a movie.

  I settled into my chair and watched a young couple attempt to flee a mob of the undead lurching forward with decayed features, carrying torches to find their prey. The young couple was not successful. Trapped in their car, they were pulled out through the shattered windows and devoured by the cannibals, who gorged themselves even as their own entrails followed behind.

  Oh, for the good old days, when we were the mob, and Frankenstein the monster, the only one of his kind.

  I fell asleep to an unhappy ending and the threat of a sequel.

  Paula Zahn woke me up. I wish. Her broadcast image was bringing me up to date on the latest inhuman folly. The Duke of Cornhole had just been arrested for molesting his three daughters. Good-bye incestral home. I cut the sound off, started the coffee and went to shower and dress. With coffee and reheated pizza in hand, I just liked to watch her talk. She was so expressive, so obviously intelligent, so beautiful. The fact that she looked so much like my ex-something had nothing to do with it.

  In the office, I flipped open to detectives in the yellow pages and began calling. Todd Berman had done just that. His first story wasn’t nearly as slick as the one he gave Gina Logan. In fact, he was turned down cold by the first three agencies he talked to. They all told the same story. The guy had no right to information about an ex-girlfriend, so they passed on it. Nobody tried to wise him up, so they just said they were booked up. And nobody admitted to referring him to anyone else.

  The next agency on the list was Excalibur Investigations, run by Rick Stone.

  Rick was an encyclopedia of bad habits, moral turpitude, and unpunished felonies. A routine sideswiping by Rick on a female client would include a padded expense sheet, an offer to forgive the balance in the horizontal plane, a hold back on the photos for later blackmail, and leaking confidences like a shotgunned intestine. A woman under surveillance got the same treatment only in a different order.

  His greatest talent was a nose for shame. That was probably what kept him in business. If he could smell it on a woman he went right
after her. Win or lose, she’d never tell. While Rick had read way too many paperbacks, apparently so had his clients. He was macho cliché all the way up to his snow-white pompadour. To me he looked like a Q-Tip. Enough people bought the pebbled glass door, the bourbon in the desk, the shoulder holster in plain sight, and the “trouble is my business” motto to keep the lights on and the phone ringing.

  Franklin Investigations followed Excalibur in the directory. Rick had fine-tuned “Todd Berman” and pointed him at Gina Logan. Why?

  I picked up the phone to get an answer when Kelly announced over the intercom that a Ms. Logan was here to see me and there was a call from a Mr. Calloway. I asked Kelly to show Ms. Logan in and tell Calloway I’d return his call shortly.

  Kelly pushed open the door and Gina Logan walked in. I motioned for her to sit, and pulled her case file out of my briefcase.

  “Here is your file. I’ve talked to Mr. Calloway. That was him on the phone just now. We might be able to do something there, but first, do you know Rick Stone?”

  “God, that slug. Yeah, I did some freelance work for him. I quit when he cornered me in his records room to discuss my taking advantage of some career opportunities. Apparently he thought I’d lost one up my skirt and he was gonna find it for me.”

  “That it?”

  “No. I filed a grievance against Stone with the state licensing board. They found against him and suspended his license for three months.”

  “Well, guess what, Todd Berman was your thank-you note from Rick. Berman went through detectives alphabetically until he got to Rick. Rick didn’t send him on to me, we’re next on the list. He sent him on to you. And he gave Berman a much better cover story than the one he started out with.”

  “What can I do about that?”

  “Unless we can get Berman to roll over on Rick, not much. You can bet there’s nothing on paper. One meeting, no witnesses. Berman is frustrated. He tells Rick about his problems with the other detectives. Rick sees a way to sandbag you. So he tells Berman how to sell himself to you, gives you a good recommendation, then declines the case on account of he’s booked up. The initial consultation, hey that’s on the house, sorry, I couldn’t help you more. Rick’s cracking open the Post every day, hoping there’s a disaster with your name on it. That I think we can avoid. Personally I’d like to play pin-the-tail-on-the-Ricky with this one. You interested?”

  I watched her mull it over. What was Rick thinking when he put the moves on her? He must have had a head cold that day. I couldn’t get a whiff of shame or even embarrassment off her. She seemed to have a good sense of who she was. But then I had no nose for women to start with.

  “Yeah, I’m interested. What do you have in mind?”

  “I’m going to call Calloway now. We’ll need his help on this.”

  I got Calloway’s number from Kelly and dialed it.

  “Stan Calloway.”

  “Mr. Calloway, Leo Haggerty returning your call.”

  “Yes, thank you. I talked it over with Tara and we decided I should meet with you first. I’d prefer it to be someplace public.”

  “Fine. Where do you work?”

  “In town, right near the zoo.”

  “Okay, how about the zoo, say forty-five minutes?”

  “That’s fine. Where should we meet?”

  “How about the polar bears. The bench closest to the railing.”

  “What do you look like?”

  “I’ll be wearing a leather jacket, sunglasses, and a brown suede cap. I’ve got a beard and I’ll be talking to the bears.”

  “I’ll see you there, Mr. Haggerty.”

  I hung up the phone and Gina asked, “You want me there?”

  “Yeah. I’d have preferred to meet someplace private where ‘Berman’ wouldn’t see us together, but as a sign of good faith, I said I’d go anyplace Calloway was comfortable, so the zoo it is. Why don’t you take a position where you can keep us in view and scan the area to see if ‘Berman’ is following him already? If he’s there, come down, lean over the railing, and drop your purse on the ground. I’ll bend over to help you and you let me know what he’s wearing and where he is.”

  “Okay.”

  I got my jacket and cap and motioned for Gina to lead the way. When she asked, “What about a fee agreement? I thought you …”

  “Yeah, well that was before this turned into an opportunity to put Stone out of business. I’d pay for a shot at that. We’re both doing the profession a favor.”

  I took a seat above the bear pit. One of the older males immediately stood up and began sniffing the air. Once he realized I was where he couldn’t get at me, he lost interest and lay back down on the rocks in the spread-eagle position, like a boned chicken, that they use to sneak up on seals.

  I walked over to the railing and leaned on it. The male saw me and made eye contact. I met his eyes. I stood up with my arms down at my sides. He did the same thing. I kept my head up and stuck out my lower lip as a sign of submission. The next crazy step would be for me to vault the railing and play with the bear. Except that I’d be face-down, peeled and eaten like a banana in minutes.

  “Uh … Mr. Haggerty?”

  I snapped out of my reverie and turned to face a young man, late twenties or early thirties, wearing a long top coat, with his hands in his pockets. He had wavy reddish-brown hair, pale freckles, and a tight-lipped, serious look on his face.

  “Mr. Calloway?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why don’t we sit and talk? My friends won’t mind.”

  “I was going to apologize for meeting like this,” he said, “but you seem to be very comfortable here.”

  “I am. I come here—oh two, three times a year—to see the bears. You like polar bears?”

  “No, not really. Can’t say I think too much about animals at all. The reason I was going to apologize was that Tara got back to me after we’d spoken and said that she’d talked to some attorneys about you and they’d all said the same things. That you were a straight shooter and honest. So I guess we didn’t need to meet like this.”

  “No problem. As you can see, I’d as soon meet here as anywhere.”

  “You said you wanted my help in dealing with Joel Silverman and somebody else you felt was using him, is that right?”

  “Yes. I believe Silverman was assisted in finding you by a private detective named Rick Stone. Stone showed Silverman how to dupe another detective into locating you by lying to that detective. He did this as revenge for her filing a grievance for sexual harassment against him. I’d like to put Stone out of business. This is just the latest stunt of his. He’s bad news for all of us and for his clients and innocent people like you.”

  “Okay, obviously I’d like to get rid of Joel Silverman and you want to get rid of this Stone fella. How can I help?”

  “Well, that depends on how you want to deal with Silverman. I have my own approach to stalkers, but it’s not for everyone. How have you dealt with him?”

  “I haven’t had to deal with him, not directly. I helped Tara deal with him. You know—unlisted phone number, better security at her home and work, keeping neighbors notified, taking a lot of precautions when she’s out, prosecuting as soon as he did anything threatening …”

  “And anxious all the time. Right?”

  “Yeah. But that’s getting better. At least it was until this happened. Now, she’s a wreck again. She’s thinking about moving and starting over someplace else.”

  “How much does she mean to you? You willing to move with her?”

  “I don’t know. I mean we’re not engaged or anything. It might turn out that way, but it’s too soon to tell.”

  “So, you don’t know how much of your life you’re willing to get messed up for this girl,” I went on, imagining Calloway’s thoughts out loud. “If you get scared off, then it’s proof to her that she’s either Silverman’s or no one’s. And you already told her that wasn’t true, that you wouldn’t let him run you off, right?”


  I turned to look at him. He wouldn’t meet my eyes, but stared down at his lap. Bingo. Gotcha. Man or Mouse to the woman you love? What a trap.

  “But this has scared you big time. If you don’t stand up to this guy, you lose the girl. Maybe that’s okay,” I paused, “and you lose a little self-respect. That’ll gnaw at you whether she’s here or not. Is that okay?”

  I had to be careful not to use Calloway for my own ends. I wanted Stone bad, but shaming Calloway into being a target wasn’t right. My life didn’t mean much to me these days so I could advocate recklessness. Maybe his did. Maybe he had things to lose. Cowardice is an easy call from the sidelines.

  What’ll it be, Mr. Calloway? We’re waiting. You look like a kid who got run off a lot of playgrounds. Is this one too many or not enough yet?

  I let Calloway take his time and walked over to the railing. A young male streamed up out of the pool onto the rocks, and then shook himself dry, his fur rippling and sliding like it was borrowed from a bigger bear.

  “Ah, Mr. Haggerty, what do you have in mind?”

  Was there an answer buried in that question?

  “Stalking puts you on the defensive. Where is he? What does he want? When will he show up again? He has all the control, you have all the anxiety. I recommend to people that they take the control from the stalkers. Provoke a confrontation. But a well-planned one. Keep the risk to a minimum and maximize the chances that they’ll be caught in the act and get some good jail time.”

  “What if it doesn’t work?”

  “What do you mean, doesn’t work? He doesn’t make a play, you try again. He does and doesn’t get convicted?”

  “Yeah and now he’s angrier than before. Then what?”

  Then you have him killed, that’s what. “I don’t know. You try again. You stalk him. Set him up in other ways. Keep him under scrutiny all the time.”

  “There goes your life. You’re still chained to their obsession. How do you get free from that?”

  “The same way every slave has ever gotten free. You turn on your masters and free yourselves. No master ever gave up slavery out of the goodness of his heart.”