by Rich Foster
Fatal Chances
A Harry Grim Story
Fatal Chances
by
Rich Foster
NOVELS BY RICH FOSTER
RED LAKE STORIES
The Death of Alan Chandler
Cast the First Stone
ADX Praxis - A Harry Grim Story
Lasting Doubts - A Harry Grim Story
OTHER TALES
Morphine Dreams
SCREENPLAYS
Rochambeau
Copyright © 2015 by Rich Foster
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.
First Edition: June 2015
Printed in the United States of America
Chapter 1
Paula's face appeared around the doorjamb of Harry's office.
“You have a client.”
She flicked her hair as though a wild mare
Harry arched his eyebrows, and as always found himself distracted by the life in her blue eyes, the curl of her lips, and curve of her cheeks.
“Send him or her in!”
Paula pushed the door wide open with a twitch of her hips.
“Mr. Stockman, please come in,” she gestured toward the inner sanctum with an open hand.
The offices for the Harry Grim Agency, situated on the second floor of the old Edison Building were neither plush nor impressive. But neither was the town of Red Lake. The office was all that one might expect in a small resort town, sparse and utilitarian. The aroma of old age lingered in the building's hallways despite a coat of fresh paint. The elevator to the second and third floors moved as grudgingly as an old lady crossing the street and when visitors came their footsteps echoed loudly on the asphalt tiled floors.
However, people came to Harry not for his office but his reputation for being a tough and effective detective.
“Harvey Stockman,” Harry thought the voice was made for the radio. It resonated firmly yet pleasantly, as though saying, ‘I’m a man you can trust!’ Stockman was tall and broad shouldered; Harry guessed he played football back in high school. But that was well behind him, traces of gray now marked the hair by his temples. When he took the hand that Stockman thrust forward, Harry found the grip as firm as the voice. Not given to menial work, the skin is too soft. Glancing down he saw well manicured nails. The business suit was more expensive than any sold in town, yet not so much so as to cause locals to distrust him.
“A pleasure, I'm Harry Grim. Won’t you take a seat?”
He figured the man would dance around the issue for a couple minutes before he came to the point. Most clients had difficulty spitting out the troubles that brought them to hire a private eye.
But Stockman sat down on the edge of the chair and leaned forward, his gaze intent.
He’s going right to the point, Harry silently thought as he asked, “How may I help you?”
“I live over the pass in Beaumont. I have a successful business and a good reputation. I’m afraid my wife's behavior may damage it.”
Stockman paused to give Harry an opportunity to ask how, but Grim remained silent with the tips of his fingers pressed together, his eyes calmly staring into those of his client.
Stockman’s eyes darted to the floor. When he looked up they were pleading for help. “I think she is having an affair.”
I wonder what he is most concerned about losing?
“What do you want me to do?”
“Whatever it is you detectives do!”
Stockman’s words implied a class distinction between them. Harry ignored it.
“Well, some people want evidence for a divorce case. Others just want to know if it is true. Sometimes they want to know with whom. One or two clients wanted me to kill their spouse. I told them I didn’t do wet work.”
Grim glanced out the window letting the conversation momentarily hang. He looked back at Stockman’s chiseled face. “What do you want?” he asked, stressing the third word.
Stockman’s face twitched and his eyes darted about as though looking for enemies.
“I want to know if my suspicions are true and if they are with whom. I plan to run for the state senate seat next year, I do not intend to have any personal problems arise during the campaign.”
“Tell me about your wife. What makes you think she's cheating?”
“Well she avoids sex, for starters.”
“Don't most women?”
Paula heard this and put her head around the door jamb and stuck her tongue out at Harry. He struggled to look serious.
“It used to be better. Her sister died a few months back, since that time things have been rather slow.”
“Grief takes a lot of forms.”
“I suppose,” Stockman grudgingly assented, “but she is changing.”
“In what ways?”
“It is hard to put a finger on but she is just not the same old cheerful Julia.”
“What about drugs or alcohol?”
“She drinks but that's all.”
“Are you sure?”
Harry's question riled the man.
“She's my wife for God's sake, I would know wouldn't I?”
“Perhaps not, or you wouldn't be here. Some drugs can bring profound change, especially when abused.”
Stockman just shook his head.
“Keep an open mind, drugs might explain a lot. On the other hand has she seen a doctor lately?”
“For what, exactly?”
“A physical. Maybe she has a disease.” Or a restless crotch? Or maybe Mr. Stockman you simply bore your wife to death?
Harry was tempted to ask if he still loved his wife, but by the time people came to him most knew where they were heading. He generally avoided divorce work but the rent came due each month regardless.
“I’ll look into it. If she is cheating I will find out. If she has a habit or an obsession I will find that out too. Miss Lindstrom, my assistant will print out our standard contract. If it is satisfactory, sign it, pay her the retainer, and I will go to work.”
“Don’t you need some information?”
“I’m a detective.”
Stockman rose. This time he did not put out his hand. He gave Harry a nod and a twitch of his mouth as if enduring a bad taste. He moved toward the office door.
“One thing,” Harry said.
Stockman looked back.
“Why me? There’s an excellent agency in Beaumont.”
“I was told you are good. And the Crawford agency is too close to home.”
By whom?
“Travis Parks, he is Beaumont's representative in the State Legislature. He said you were rude, arrogant, hard to control but effective.”
“He's right on three out of four. I won't be controlled, you should understand that before you sign the check.
Stockman nodded. “That's worth knowing.”
By the time Paula came into his office with a signed contract and retainer check, Harry held a background check on Stockman.
“Problems?” Paula asked, noting the frown on Harry’s face.
He shrugged. “Stockman looks decent at first glance. But there are a lot of recent credit inquires, a few late payments, and a lot of charge cards. His house carries a first and a second mortgage. And the property tax is past due.”
“So what do I do with this?” Paula fanned herself with the check.
“What bank is it drawn on?”
“First Continental out of Denver.”
“Strange place to bank when you live here. Call and make sure it is good.”
“Really?”
“I don’t wan
t to waste my time without getting paid.”
Harry went back to the background report.
Stockman was 39, a graduate of Prospect High School and the University of Illinois. For the past fourteen years he was married to Julia, (nee. Blackwell), age 36. He had one prior marriage. His union to Heather Melford lasted three months. The petition for a dissolution of marriage was filed in Reno, Nevada. Less than a year later he remarried in the same town.
Stockman was a member of the Parsons County Republican Party, an Elk, and the past year's chair for the Beaumont Chamber of Commerce. His name appeared in numerous articles in the Beaumont Star, which was the only printed news source on that side of the mountain.
Julia Blackwell Stockman was 36, a graduate of Red Lake High School and of the University of Nevada Reno. Harry ran a background check on her and found no criminal arrests and little financial history, Evidently, her economic welfare is tied to her husband?
Next he ran an online search for her name. An article for the Star came up. When it opened he found a picture of four women. The caption read, New Steering Committee named for the Beaumont Woman's Club. According to the sub-titles, Julia was the second from the left. She was medium height with striking features, framed by a mass of dark hair. Structurally she put the other three to shame. Harry would have no trouble picking her out in a crowd.
The Stockmans lived in an upscale development of houses that promised more than they would ever deliver. The builder was long gone and the owners found that without his subsidies the association fees failed to meet the operating cost of the club house, pool, and nine hole executive golf course.
From his third floor hotel room Harry observed yellowed patches on the greens and tall overgrown weeds bordered the fairway. Curving brick walls framed the entry to the development on which metal letters read, Raven's Croft. The wrought iron privacy gates hung open. Probably broke once too often and the association's board of directors voted to stop spending money on their repair.
Thirty six Camden Court was the second house on the first cross street of the main drive. The house was all brick with plastic mullioned windows that imitated wood. There was something artificial about the house, the eaves were too narrow and the windows being set flush in the exterior wall gave the effect of it being a false front Hollywood set rather than the country house to which it aspired.
The streets of Raven's Croft were devoid of cars. Even the driveways were empty. Evidently parking on the streets is forbidden. One of those developments where Neo-fascists run the board. Harry thought as he poured himself another coffee sent up by room service.
The Holiday Inn was fortuitously placed. Doing a stakeout parked on the streets of the sub-division would be impossible and the highway the tract opened unto was posted No Parking. For $135 a night Harry could watch the Stockman House from the comfort of a padded chair and still be downstairs before Julia reached the main road.
Harry waited for the older model Lexus that Julia Stockman drove. Harvey’s car was a late model Range Rover and according to the credit report, he was in arrears on it by 60 days. The garage door opened and a dark green Rover backed out. Despite its four wheel drive and rack lamps on the roof, Harry figured it probably never left the pavement.
Stockman pulled out onto the highway and headed into Beaumont. Harry cracked the sliding glass door and tilted the telescope that stood on a tripod toward the house. He found himself looking at a pattern of bricks. He brought them into sharp focus and then slowly turned the horizontal and the front of the house passed before his eyes, The drapes were drawn. He turned the vertical knob and the lens climbed the wall. The itsy bitsy spider climbed the water spout, he hummed softly. His lens crossed a small opaque window. Gotta be the bathroom. To the right was the bedroom window. The Stockman's cafe curtains provided privacy from their neighbors across the street but not from another floor up where Harry stood.
His view matched that of a window washer. A jumble of sheets and blankets on the bed. Clothing lay draped across the furniture. The room carried a Spartan quality. No pictures adorned the walls, no nick-knacks stood on the high boy chest, or upon the long dresser. The nightstand was a jumble of glasses, magazines and unidentifiable junk. The only thing that stirred was a large yellow cat that arched and preened itself upon the sheets.
Julia Stockman breezed into the room. A towel turban covered he hair, and a white terry robe wrapped her body. To Harry's surprise she gave the cat a swat that sent it fleeing the room.
No love lost there.
Mrs. Stockman opened the dresser and tossed lingerie on the bed. She added a sweater from the middle drawer and from the closet a pair of slacks and a blouse.
She held the blouse up. Harry saw a grimace of disgust cross her face, but she set it out anyway, before disappearing into the bathroom.
Ten minutes later she was back, the towel gone, her hair dried, and make-up on. Her lips were a scarlet slash which Harry barely noticed in that her robe was gone, and he was occupied appraising her body with adolescent lust. He let out a short whistle, Every bit as good as Paula, only different! Harry suspected Stockman's concerns about her behavior might be sexual in nature.
*
Harry followed Julia for two days. She led a boring life, at least by his tastes which tilted more to fishing than shopping at the Beaumont Mall and downtown shops.
The first morning he tailed her to the mall. He followed her in case she passed straight through and met somebody on the other side. Most people were not that clever or careful. When she entered a high-end lingerie shop, Harry figured there was time to go out to the lot and be back before she moved on. If he was wrong she would be easy enough to pick-up again either in the mall or in her car.
As he walked through the lot Harry nonchalantly flipped a quarter in the air and caught it on the way down, near Julia's car he missed and the quarter rolled under the chassis. If anyone was watching they only saw a man retrieving his property. Harry placed the miniature GPS tracker under the frame of the car. It would record all of Julia's movements for five days without a recharge.
Three minutes later Harry was window shopping inside the mall. He spotted Julia still inside the Naughty but Nice Boutique.
Sure doesn't look like the type by her clothes, but she does have the body.
Harry took the escalator to the upper deck. Tailing in a mall was simple. Even if a mark passed him a half dozen times, it was not unusual.
Ten minutes later Mrs. Stockman came out carrying a small shopping bag. For the rest of the afternoon Harry followed as she shopped. Julia was drawn to the more upscale stores She skipped the major department stores.
Harvey Stockman's credit card problems seem tied to a bored wife who likes to shop. Maybe he wants to cut his overhead?
By the end of the afternoon something troubled him but what that was eluded him.
The next day she went to the gym shortly after Stockman left home. Harry could see her on the ellipse machine through the large plate windows that advertised fit, spandex clad bodies.
I wonder if the fat and out of shape are forced to the back of the room?
Harry wrote down the GPS fix for the gym, below the mall's latitude and longitude. After a few days he would not need to follow Julia, all that was necessary was to down load the GPS tracker and tick off the different stops. If she was meeting someone it would show up.
An hour later she was on her way home. Harry retreated to his hotel room. This was detection at its worst, waiting for something to happen. I hate divorce work!
As if to compensate him for the boredom of his task, Julia appeared in the bedroom naked. She held up a red lacy bra, smiled with approval and slipped it on.. Gotta admit she looks good in it. This was followed by panties that were held together by little more than string. It seemed hopeful that Julia was headed for a rendezvous.
A car pulled into Raven's Croft. It cruised past Camden Court. The vehicle caught Harry's attention when a half block later it pulled a u-turn in t
he club house drive. Coming back the car rolled to the curb just before the Stockman house. A stocky man climbed out, the jacket pulled tight across the shoulders and there was no chance it could be buttoned. Harry curiously watched as the man walked slowly toward the corner. He expected he would to go to the Stockman's house but he strolled on.
Harry returned to watching the bedroom window but the room was empty. Nothing stirred. Then the walker returned, he glanced around briefly before he walked quickly up the drive, but rather than go to the door he peaked in the garage window. Harry swung the telescope down and focused. He snapped the shutter of the attached camera and took a half dozen portraits. The man seemed familiar. The face was rugged and showed the marks of having been a boxer or street brawler, If that's her lover she sure doesn't go for looks!
The man retreated to his car and studied a street map. After five minutes he pulled out crossed the highway and parked in the Holiday Inn lot. Harry wondered what to make of it? Not a lover calling, but who would want to see if she was home?
There were a few possibilities, a jealous lover, a bill collector, the guy dresses like one, he thought. Maybe Harvey Stockman doubled down and hired a second agency? This seemed least likely. Whoever it was their interest lay with Julia or they would not wait once they saw Harvey's Range Rover was out.
One cup of coffee later the sprinklers came on at the Stockman house otherwise nothing stirred. Harvey and Julia apparently lived behind drawn curtains unlike Harry and Paula whose cabin faced the lake and seldom saw a blind drawn.
In the middle of Harry's next cup a meter reader entered the side gate, but came out too soon to be fooling around with the lady of the house.
Harry continued to think about the guy parked below his window. Maybe Julia is a gambler and owes her bookie? They have debts and the guy fits the part of muscle? That scenario fit with Harvey Stockman's concern about his reputation. Maybe the case had nothing to do with sex?