The Third Fan: A Reed Ferguson Mystery (A Private Investigator Mystery Series - Crime Suspense Thriller Book 9)

by Renee Pawlish

  “Reed, you’re a PI, not a street cop. Plus, he took you by surprise. There wasn’t anything you could do.”

  “I guess.”

  “What’d he look like?”

  “He was big, with a mean-looking face.”

  “And the woman got away?”

  I nodded. “Charlie thinks she may be the girl he saw at Pete’s the night Pete was murdered.”

  “What do you think?” she asked as she got a couple of pillows and made me lie down.

  I laughed, a short, bitter sound. “He saw her back as she was going down the stairs. It could’ve been anyone.”

  “Hm. I wonder if there’s a way to talk to her.”

  “I don’t know. I can’t keep an eye on his building all the time and follow up other leads.” I sighed. “Maybe the Goofballs could help.”

  “I’d offer, but I have to work. And besides, that would be incredibly boring.”

  Not the first time I’d heard that. Willie and the Goofball Brothers had both turned down boring surveillance jobs before. I couldn’t blame them. Surveillance was boring. “I might see what they’re doing tomorrow,” I said. “Maybe I can talk one of them into giving me a hand.”

  “Deuce is probably working, but Ace might be free.”

  That was true. Deuce had a steady construction job, but Ace had recently started working at Best Buy and his hours were flexible. “I’ll call Ace in the morning,” I said.

  “In the meantime, just relax. How about a film noir?”

  Willie was going out of her way to be sweet, since she didn’t always enjoy the old noir movies as much as I did.

  “Thanks,” I said. “But you watch whatever you want. I’m tired.”

  “I’ll bet you are.”

  She curled up with me and we watched TV for a while and then went to bed. Willie soon fell asleep, but even though I was tired and sore, I lay awake, thinking about Charlie’s mysterious stalker. Could she have been at Pete’s, or was that just wishful thinking on Charlie’s part? I’d seen her with the two other women in front of Coors Field the morning I’d met Charlie for breakfast. Then I had an amusing thought: was she “the third fan”, like The Third Man in the movie I watched last night? In the movie, it turns out the third man didn’t actually exist. I sighed, and turned my focus back to Maggie. I needed to know if she’d been at Charlie’s. So I needed to get a picture of her to show Charlie. Through my headache, I formed a plan on how I could watch for the stalker and get Maggie’s picture. Then I fell asleep.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Willie had to work early the next morning, so she was gone by the time I woke up. I groaned as I got out of bed and plodded into the bathroom. Then I checked my face in the bathroom mirror. I had a small bruise on my jaw, but no black eyes, although my nose was sore. I also had bruises on my stomach where my assailant had pegged me with the bat. But overall, I’d been lucky I wasn’t hurt worse. I showered, dressed and then prepared a duffel bag of what I needed for the day: snacks, bottles of water, an early Elvis Cole mystery by Robert Crais, and my camera with a zoom lens. Then I grabbed a quick bite to eat and headed out.

  It was Monday, and I had wanted to leave earlier and possibly catch Maggie on her way to work, but I also needed to talk to Ace to see if he’d be available to watch for Charlie’s stalker. In any normal situation, a phone call with instructions would’ve sufficed. But then, I was dealing with a Goofball Brother, so “normal” didn’t apply.

  It was another gorgeous morning, the sun a huge yellow ball overhead as I traipsed downstairs and onto the front porch, then knocked on the Goofball Brothers’ door. I was surprised when Deuce answered.

  “Hey,” I said. “Don’t you have work today?”

  “I hurt my hand this morning.” To prove his point, he lifted up his right hand and showed it to me. He had a splint on his middle finger. “Right when I got to work – bam – sprained my finger. I’ll go back in a day or two, but my hand is pretty sore, so the doctor said to take a couple days off.”

  “Oh, that’s cool. If you feel up to it, I’ve got something you and Ace could help with today – if you want.”

  “Oh yeah?” He narrowed his eyes, part curiosity, part suspicion. Ever since I’d rescued him from kidnappers when he naively got involved in some criminal activity on a construction job, he had been more hesitant to assist with my detecting endeavors. And, like Willie, he didn’t care for the mundane tasks that I usually asked him to do.

  “It’s easy, trust me,” I said.

  “Okay. Come on in and I’ll get Ace.”

  I stepped into his living room, which was sparsely decorated with a couch, a TV on a stand and a desk in the corner.

  “Ace!” Deuce hollered. “Reed wants to talk to us.”

  “I could’ve done that,” I murmured.

  “What?” Deuce said.

  “Nothing.”

  Ace walked in from the kitchen. “Hi, Reed, what’s up?”

  “I need some detecting assistance, if you have time,” I said. “And I’ll pay you.”

  “I’ve got the day off. And you don’t need to pay us.” Ace was more enthusiastic than Deuce. “What do you need?”

  I gave them an overview of the case, without mentioning Charlie’s name, and explained how I needed them to watch for his stalker.

  “It sounds kind of boring,” Ace said when I finished.

  This was an ongoing argument with them. They were always wanting more exciting work, but they didn’t realize that part of the investigative business was tedious surveillance. I gingerly touched my sore nose. On the flip side, I thought, rather than being bored, you could get beat up. And unfortunately for them, most of what I could trust them with was the boring stuff.

  “It would really help,” I said.

  Deuce crossed his arms and focused on me, all business. “So your client’s got a stalker, huh?”

  “What does she look like?” Ace asked.

  “I’m not sure,” I said.

  Deuce’s perpetually perplexed look deepened. “You want us to watch for someone, but you don’t know what she looks like?”

  “I have a general idea,” I said. “She’s younger, maybe early twenties, and she’s got longer hair, and it’s sometimes pulled into a ponytail.”

  “That could be a lot of women,” Ace said.

  Good point. “Oh, and if she does have her hair pulled back, you see the number twenty-three tattooed on her neck.”

  “But if her hair covers her neck, we won’t see the tattoo,” Deuce said.

  “You’ll know her by her behavior,” I said. “If you notice a woman that fits the description I just gave you, and she’s hanging around my client’s building for long periods of time, it’s probably her. Oh, and she might have a camera that she uses to watch the building.”

  “Why would she use a camera to watch?” Deuce asked. “You use a camera to take pictures.”

  “I think she’s trying to appear casual, but she uses a telephoto lens to zoom in on my client’s balcony,” I said. More puzzled looks. “The zoom lens acts like binoculars.”

  “Oh,” they said in unison, but I didn’t think they got it.

  “It’s a small point,” I said. “If you see a woman who stands around and watches the building for a long time, call me.”

  “I don’t know,” Deuce said. “It really does sound boring.”

  “Blake Street Tavern is across the street,” I said. “You could hang out there for a while, get lunch, have a beer.” I pointed a finger. “Just don’t drink too much. I need you to stay clearheaded.”

  “Well, okay,” Ace said. “We can do that.”

  “Great.” I pulled out some bills and handed them to Deuce. “Here. This is for lunch and a couple of beers.” Then I wrote down the address, then described the street and Charlie’s building. “Once the bar opens, wait there for a while, but if the wait staff gets irritated that you’re staying too long, you’ll have to watch from the street. And if you see that woman, call me ri
ght away.”

  “You want us to follow her?” Ace asked. “I can do that, remember? That’s what makes it exciting.”

  And dangerous, I thought. I remembered my most recent case, when Ace had taken it upon himself to follow a thug that I’d been interested in. Although Ace had surprised me by successfully tailing the guy, I’d been so worried about what might happen to Ace if the guy discovered he was being followed that I almost had a heart attack. And Ace obviously didn’t remember how worried he’d been, too, when he thought the thug might find out where he lived and pay him an unpleasant visit.

  “No,” I said, not wanting to revisit that scenario. “Don’t follow her, just call me. You understand?”

  “Okay.” Ace frowned with disappointment.

  “Hey, Reed,” Deuce said. “What’re you going to be doing?”

  “The same thing you are,” I said.

  “Drinking beer?” Ace grinned.

  I sighed. “I’ll be watching for a different woman, and when I find her, I’m going to see if I can get a picture of her.”

  “Who is she?” Deuce asked.

  “A suspect.”

  “Oh, right.” They both nodded knowingly.

  “Don’t worry, Reed,” Ace said. “We won’t get drunk. I’ll call you later with an update.”

  “Thanks,” I said and left before I could regret my decision.

  ***

  I made a quick call to Cal, who used his hacker magic to find out that Maggie worked at a tech firm in Aurora, which is a sprawling suburb southeast of downtown and also Colorado’s third-largest city. It took me forty minutes to cross town to get to Maggie’s workplace, and when I did, I wondered if I was making a mistake. Her office building had front, back and side entries – how could I watch them all? There weren’t that many Goofball Brothers to help, even if I decided to pull Ace and Deuce from their present assignment. So I drove around the lot, looking at cars. I finally spotted a silver Toyota Camry, but when I checked the license plate, it wasn’t Maggie’s. However, the next Camry I saw was.

  I found a parking place in the next row, half a dozen cars down from hers. Since it was already after ten, I’d have to hope she came out for lunch. I got my camera ready, put it on the passenger seat, rolled down my window and sat back to wait.

  The minutes turned to an hour, and still no Maggie. I read part of my book – call me old-fashioned, but I love the feel of a real book and could not get used to an e-reader – and then got out and walked around. Storm clouds were forming over the mountains in the west and I wondered if it was going to rain later. It was not uncommon this time of year for Denver to have afternoon thunderstorms that usually passed quickly, but that sometimes brought hail or even tornadoes. I hoped that wasn’t the case today, as it might ruin my opportunity to get a clear picture of Maggie.

  Lunch hour came and went, and, sure enough, I was bored. I wondered if the Goofballs were bored, too. I almost dozed off, so I got out and walked around again. Then I started thinking about film noir, and those old detectives. Did Sam Spade or Mike Hammer ever get bored? We never saw that side of the story. That’s probably the real reason the great fictional detective Philip Marlowe was a hardboiled drinker – he was driven to booze not by a femme fatale but by boredom. The skies grew dark, and thunder announced the presence of a storm. At three, Ace called.

  “Hey, Reed, we haven’t seen anyone.”

  “Okay. Can you stay through dinner or do you need to go?”

  “Sure, we don’t have anything going on,” he said.

  In the background, I heard laughter. “Are you at the bar?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Aren’t they getting suspicious because you’ve been there so long?”

  “Nah, the waitress is nice. Her name’s Kendra. We’ve been talking to her and she said stay as long as we want. She’s even brought us free Cokes.”

  I smiled at that. The Goofball Brothers could drive you nuts, but they were loveable, too. They must’ve charmed Kendra.

  “Okay, thanks. Is it raining there?”

  “Not yet,” he said. “And we can see the street from where we’re sitting.”

  “If it does rain, I doubt the stalker will hang around, so you can go home.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “I’ll call you later tonight.”

  I ended the call and waited. A few minutes later, the rain began to fall. I rolled up my window and kept watch on Maggie’s car. My phone rang again.

  “O Great Detective,” Cal said. “I’ve got some information on Maggie Hollenbaucher.”

  “What’d you find?”

  “She hasn’t been in any trouble, but she has a lot of student loan and credit card debt. She likes to spend money: lots of clothes and travel. And even though she makes a decent salary, it’ll take her years to pay off all the debt.”

  “So some extra cash would come in handy,” I said.

  “Yep.”

  “Anything on Mason Dubowitzki?”

  “So far, he’s clean,” Cal said. “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay. Sometimes the least likely person is the killer.”

  He laughed. “Then watch out for him.”

  “Will do.” I thanked him and hung up.

  Maggie grows more interesting as a suspect, I thought as I rearranged myself to get more comfortable.

  Five o’clock finally arrived and a little later, Maggie dashed to her car, unlocked it and hopped in. She was so focused on keeping dry that she didn’t notice anything – or anyone – around her. But she also had a raincoat covering her head, and I wasn’t able to snap her picture.

  I cursed, started up the 4-Runner and followed her. I figured she would head either home or to one of the gyms I’d seen her visit, but she surprised me and drove south on I-225 and then east on Iliff. We stayed on Iliff until she turned into a parking lot and parked in front of a Better Bodies health club.

  Another gym? I thought. She gets around.

  She was too fast for me. By the time I’d parked and grabbed the camera and focused on her, she was inside the building. I waited an hour while it rained, lamenting that this storm was not quickly passing through. Finally, Maggie came out of the gym. I snapped a couple of shots of her, but she had ducked her head down to avoid the rain, so I didn’t get a clear shot of her face.

  I tailed her again as she visited yet another gym, this one close to the Cherry Creek Mall. Same result. She darted in and out of the gym in such a hurry that I could not get a good picture of her. I swore.

  Is this going to be a bust? I thought as I followed her Camry out of the parking lot. And was this her network of places to sell steroids? I’d place bets on that.

  It was getting dark as we drove west on 8th Avenue. The rain stopped, but at this point I doubted I’d get a good picture of her. On the other hand, I’d dedicated my day to this, so I wasn’t giving up. I wondered if she was going to another gym, but then as she turned on Washington it dawned on me where she was going – to Pete’s apartment.

  Up ahead, the Camry crossed 12th Avenue and then pulled to the curb. I found a space near the corner and parked. Maggie emerged from her car and strode up to Pete’s building and on inside.

  I grabbed my camera and a flashlight from the glove box, got out and ran up the sidewalk, then cautiously opened the outside door to Pete’s building. Maggie wasn’t around, so I slipped inside. I stood in the foyer and could hear her footsteps on the stairs. I followed quietly and, as I neared the third floor, I could see down the hallway. Maggie was standing outside Pete’s door. She pulled a key from her pocket, put it in the knob and opened the door. I quickly snapped her picture as she ducked under the crime scene tape and disappeared inside.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  How do you like that! I thought. Maggie had a key, even after she’d broken up with Pete. Had he known?

  I ascended to the third-floor landing, then tiptoed down the hall, hoping I wouldn’t run into either Jane Reichel or Mason Dubowitzki. I reached
Pete’s apartment, put my ear to the door and listened. Nothing. Maggie was being very quiet. My lock-pick set was in the 4-Runner, and I wondered if I should run back and get it. But what if I missed something while I was gone? Then I heard someone coming up the stairs, accompanied by rustling plastic, so I slowly walked down the hall toward Jane’s apartment. Then I glanced over my shoulder and saw a figure with grocery bags moving up the stairs to the fourth floor. I listened for a moment, but heard nothing else, so I moved back to Pete’s door and waited. And waited. My palms grew sweaty and I wiped them on my shorts. After what seemed like an eternity, the doorknob turned. Wouldn’t she be astonished, just as I’d been when Jane surprised me? I aimed the camera on the door where Maggie’s face would be. The door swung open and Maggie saw the camera. I snapped her picture. She let out a squeak and covered her mouth.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she hissed.

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  She grabbed my arm. “Get in here before someone sees you.”

  “Or you,” I said as I ducked under the tape.

  I stepped past her and she quietly shut the door. Then she whirled around and flicked on her flashlight. A halo of light bathed her face.

  “You’ve been following me,” she said, her voice quiet. Accusation dripped from her voice.

  “Guilty.”

  “I should call the police,” she snapped. “You have no right to stalk me, and you shouldn’t be here.”

  “Yes, let’s call the police.” I started to pull out my phone. “I’ll tell them that you let me into Pete’s apartment, which you just did. And you’ll have a hard time explaining why you’re here, and how you got in with a key.”

  “How do you know I have a key? Maybe the door was unlocked.”

  “Please,” I said sarcastically, then held up my camera. “I have pictures.”

  We stared at each other for a moment. The room was stuffy and a muggy heat surrounded us. “Want to tell me what you’re doing here?” I finally asked.