Gumshoe - The Vanowen Case (The Gumshoe Mysteries Book 1)

by Paul Henke

  ‘That’s a bit careless.’ A prenuptial agreement was signed before a marriage to ensure the bride didn’t take the groom for a financial ride. Occasionally, it worked the other way around.

  ‘Stupid more like.’

  ‘Yeah. You’re right there. Thanks Zelda. And good work.’ I checked the time. It was coming up to 5pm. ‘It’s time to go home.’

  Zelda smiled. ‘I enjoyed today. Frank,’ she hesitated a moment and then said, ‘thanks again. For the job. I sure do appreciate it.’

  ‘That’s okay. You showed initiative today and I like that. I don’t want someone who just does as they’re told. If you see something that needs doing, or think I need to know something then take care of it.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I will. Hey, I can’t get over this.’

  ‘Over what?’

  ‘In at a reasonable hour, leaving at a reasonable hour. Boy, this office work sure is easy.’

  ‘The hours are flexible.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m not a clock watcher.’

  ‘I didn’t think you were. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  I arrived at the bar around 9pm. It being a Monday there were few people in the place. The room was about fifty feet long, twenty wide. There were booths lining the walls and tables in the middle. It was wood lined, old, cosy and welcoming. There were two barmen. I slid onto the stool next to the back wall and ordered a beer.

  I nursed it for about 40 minutes when the man I wanted came in. There was no mistaking him. He was exactly as Susan Vanowen had described, down to the blue blazer. He stopped in the doorway and looked around. I ignored him. He walked up to the bar, bought a double scotch on the rocks and settled in one of the centre booths, next to the wall. He was facing the entrance and so his back was to me.

  I waited while Crane took a few sips of his drink and appeared to relax. Alcohol will do that. It also lowers your guard as well as your instinct for self preservation. It was why, in the bad old days, sailors and soldiers were fed rum before going in to battle. It wasn’t called Dutch courage for nothing. I picked up my beer, crossed the room and sat down next to him. He looked at me in surprise. Up close I could see the crows’ feet around his eyes, and the tinge of grey in his sideburns. He was older than he liked to portray.

  ‘Mrs. Vanowen sent me,’ I said without preamble. I quickly ran my hand around his waist.

  ‘Hey, what in hell do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘Checking you for weapons. Relax. I just don’t want any unexpected surprises, that’s all.’

  ‘I’m not carrying any weapon.’

  ‘I know.’ I pushed myself out of the booth and crabbed around to the other side and slid in opposite him.

  ‘Do you have the money?’

  ‘Not so fast. I want to see the photos. See what it is she’s paying for.’

  ‘Let me see the money first.’ He licked his lips, his eyes blinking fast. I guessed he was using. Probably cocaine, which can be a nasty habit to have as well being an expensive one.

  I reached into my jacket pocket and extracted an envelope. I’d taken the precaution of opening the original package and counting it. There was exactly $5,000 in $100 bills. I opened the flap and flicked through the bills, showing him the money.

  ‘That doesn’t look like ten grand.’

  I didn’t answer. Instead, I said, ‘Show me the photos.’

  ‘After I count it.’ He held out his right hand, palm up. His left was gripped around his whisky glass.

  I used my left hand to grab his right and bent his palm backwards. Just past ninety degrees he flinched. He tried to pull away but I was holding him too tightly. ‘I can push further and break your wrist.’ I spoke in a conversational tone. It’s very effective when showing the other person how serious you were. No histrionics and no threats. What I was doing was far more effective. The hold and the method I’d learnt during the war. ‘Are you going to show me or not?’ I pushed a little further and he gave a loud gasp.

  ‘Yes, damn you. Now let me go.’

  I released him. He sat rubbing his wrist for a few seconds.

  The barman called over, ‘Hey Godfrey, you okay.’

  ‘Yeah, Tom. Thanks.’

  That was interesting. He was obviously a regular. Using a regular haunt was not the action of someone who was used to running a blackmail racket.

  He put his hand into an inside jacket pocket, extracted an envelope and placed it on the table. He kept his right index finger on it. ‘They’re in there. Now give me the money.’

  ‘I want the negatives as well.’

  ‘I didn’t expect you to settle for anything else.’

  In all transactions like the one we were engaged in, a certain level of trust is eventually needed. I said, ‘Count it,’ and handed the money over while at the same time I picked up his envelope.

  He did his best to count the cash without taking it from the envelope and I shuffled through the photographs. They showed Susan Vanowen in various positions with the man opposite me. She was obviously enjoying what she was doing. In one photo she was sitting astride him with her head tilted back and her mouth open. I compared the prints with the negatives. They matched.

  I placed them in my pocket while he scowled at me. There was real anger in his voice when he said, ‘There’s only five grand here.’

  ‘It was all she could get hold of.’

  ‘I don’t believe it. I want the full ten.’

  ‘Look, Crane, it doesn’t matter what you want. She can’t get any more. The bottom line is, Vanowen pays the bills and controls the money. That’s all she can manage. I suggest you take it and run. Drop the whole thing. Forget about her.’

  He put the money into his pocket and appeared to be thinking about what I’d said. He stood up and smiled at me. It wasn’t a happy smile. More shark than clown. ‘I might have guessed the bitch would pull a fast one. You can tell her those are only some of the photographs in my possession. I have more and if she wants them she’d better find the money and quick. I’ll give her a week. If she doesn’t pay up I’ll send them to her husband.’

  ‘He won’t like that. He might not like what you’re doing to his wife and send someone less friendly than me.’

  ‘I doubt it. Because I’ll make sure my lawyer has a copy of everything. An insurance policy let’s call it. I get my money, she gets the photos, Vanowen knows nothing about it and everyone is happy. The alternative?’ He shrugged, ‘You can work it out.’

  I watched him leave. The meeting had gone pretty much as I’d expected and I wasn’t surprised he had more photographs. That was one thing with blackmailers. It took a lot of persuasion to get them to give up a lucrative deal like the one Crane had.

  The following morning Mrs. Vanowen was shown into my office by Zelda. She was offered coffee which she refused.

  As soon as Zelda closed the door behind her, Mrs. Vanowen said eagerly. ‘Well? Did you get them?’

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘What do you mean, sort of?’

  I told her in detail what had happened. She had the good sense not to interrupt me. When I finished she sat silently for a few seconds, then she jumped to her feet and began ranting and raving. She cursed everyone from Crane to her husband and finished up on me. A useless fool was the least of it.

  When she’d calmed down, I said, ‘I warned you what could happen. So what do you want me to do now?’

  She shook her head. Genuine tears rolled down her cheeks and she reached into her purse for a handkerchief. ‘Is there anything you can do to get them back?’

  I shrugged. ‘I guess I can try.’ I had an idea to do a bit of breaking and entering. It was another useful skill I’d picked up courtesy of the OSS. ‘Come back next week.’

  Wednesday morning I had to tell Zelda to postpone my appointments with the two prospective clients.

  9

  The door to my office was open and I heard the phone ring. Zelda answered with a polite, ‘Frank O’Brian Investigations, m
ay I help you?’

  I was fiddling with my electric gear, alternatively taking sips of coffee from a chipped mug. Zelda was planning to buy new cups and saucers for clients.

  ‘Frank,’ Zelda called, ‘Mrs. Vanowen. She sounds upset.’

  ‘Okay. Put her through.’

  ‘Mrs. Vanowen, I told you I’d get back to you before next week.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr. O’Brian but I need you to help. Oh God. I need it badly.’ She began to cry.

  ‘What is it?’ There was no answer so I spoke more sharply this time. ‘Mrs. Vanowen, take a grip. What is it?’

  ‘I’ve been arrested!’ She said with a gasp and started crying again.

  ‘What for?’ There was no reply so I repeated, ‘Mrs. Vanowen, what for?’

  ‘For the murder of Godfrey Crane.’

  Whatever she had been about to tell me that was about the last thing I’d expected. ‘You don’t need me. Get a good lawyer and fast and don’t say anything to the cops. That’s the best advice I can give.’

  ‘I thought you were a lawyer?’

  ‘I am. But I’m not practising anymore.’

  ‘Mr. O’Brian, please come. I can explain when you get here.’

  I heard a voice in the background telling her that her time was up. I sighed. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘At the police station in Scarsdale.’

  ‘Okay. Don’t say a word until I get there.’

  I hung up and looked at Zelda who had been listening in. I’d told her that if any client phoned I wanted her monitoring the calls with me. It made remembering conversations all the easier.

  I took the train from Grand Central, the Harlem Line, to Scarsdale Metro North Station and reached the cop shop on Tompkins Road around 11.50.

  I entered and approached the custody sergeant’s counter. There were a couple of officers in uniform who, as was often the case, were busily doing nothing constructive.

  After a few minutes one of them joined me at the counter.

  ‘Can I help you?’ He asked in a manner that suggested it was the last thing he was willing to do.

  ‘I’ve come to see Mrs. Vanowen. I’m her lawyer. My name is Frank O’Brian.’

  ‘Ah, yes. We’ve been expecting you. I’ll tell the lieutenant you’re here.’ He picked up a phone, announced my arrival and a few minutes later a plainclothes detective appeared.

  We shook hands.

  ‘Name’s O’Brian. Frank O’Brian.’

  ‘How do you do. Mine’s Lt. Bainbridge.’ No first name. I didn’t ask for one.

  All nice and polite so far. But I was fairly certain that wouldn’t last. I still remembered cases I’d worked on when I’d been a real lawyer. He was mid-forties, I guessed, about 5ft 10ins, grey hair, grey moustache, long sideburns and had a pleased look about him. He was wearing standard detective clothes of a dark suit, tie and black shoes. He was also carrying. It looked like a Colt .38, a popular gun with cops, criminals and gumshoes.

  ‘I’d like to speak to my client in private’

  ‘Oh course. Interview room two. Follow me.’

  Moments later I was sitting opposite Mrs. Vanowen. The room was painted an insipid green. It had a table and 4 uncomfortable chairs and an overpowering smell of stale sweat and old cigarette smoke. It was depressing and designed to sap the willpower of anyone unfortunate enough to be sitting on Mrs. Vanowen’s side of the table. This time she wasn’t looking so neat and tidy. Her eyes were red rimmed, she wore no make-up and her clothes looked as though she had slept in them. Which she had.

  ‘Are you alright?’

  She shook her head and tears trickled down her cheeks.

  ‘Mrs. Vanowen, before we go any further, I strongly suggest you get yourself a competent lawyer. I haven’t been in a court for a few years so I’m not sure I can be of any help.’

  She stopped snivelling and looked at me with real anger, ‘My lousy husband refuses to pay for a decent lawyer. I’ve been offered a public defender. What do you think of those?’

  I shrugged. ‘Some are good, some are bad and most lie somewhere in between.’

  ‘This one was no good. He suggested I plead guilty, throw myself on the mercy of the court and with luck I’d be out in fifteen to twenty years.’

  ‘Sounds like good advice. If they have you for murder one then you’ll be lucky not to get the electric chair. Perhaps the fact that Crane was blackmailing you would be mitigation. Not much, maybe, but it would probably be enough to make sure you didn’t fry.’

  She leaned forward and spoke with an intensity she hadn’t shown up until now. This time she looked me straight in the eyes, had both fists clenched on the table and said slowly, as though speaking to a moron, ‘I...did...not...do...it!’ Then she sat back and folded her arms.

  I stared at her for a few seconds and knew she was telling the truth. This was partly due to instinct and partly due to her body language and the way she’d spoken.

  ‘I must be crazy but I believe you.’

  She let out a long sigh. ‘Thank God for that. At least it’s a start. Will you help me?’

  ‘I can try. I’ll need to speak to the lieutenant and see what sort of case he has. Then I’ll take it from there.’

  She nodded.

  ‘He’ll want to interview you with me present. You haven’t said anything, have you?’

  ‘No. Only that I didn’t do it.’

  ‘Okay. At least that’s something.’ I left the room and returned to the front desk and asked for Bainbridge. This time I was kept waiting for 10 minutes.

  ‘Care to tell me about the case?’ I greeted him.

  He shrugged. ‘Sure. We have her bang to rights so you’re only wasting your time.’

  ‘It’s my time,’ I said reasonably.

  ‘Okay. Let’s go to my office.’

  His office was open plan, there were half-a-dozen desks and a large office in the corner. The legend on the door said Chief of Police. The door was closed.

  He indicated a chair and I sat down.

  He pulled a file, opened it and said, ‘These are the facts. We took a call yesterday morning from the owners of the apartment over the garage where Crane lived. The owner had wondered why Crane wasn’t working so had gone to find him. Instead, he found a body with two holes in it. One in the gut and one in the head. It looked as though she had shot him in the stomach, he’d gone down and she’d then put a bullet in his brain.’

  ‘Allegedly it was her.’

  ‘It was her alright.’

  ‘Did you find a gun?’

  ‘I’m coming to that. We searched the place and found photographs of Mrs. Vanowen having sex with the man. I showed the photographs to the owner on the off-chance he knew who she was. Sometimes you get lucky with a case and in this case we did. He immediately identified the woman as Mrs. Vanowen. We drove to her house which was less than a mile away. A maid let us in and we met with Mr. Perry Vanowen in his study.’ The lieutenant was meticulously following what was written in the file. The case might have been a slam dunk but he was going to follow procedure all the way.

  ‘I explained that I wanted to speak to Mrs. Vanowen. Mr. Vanowen insisted on knowing what was going on and threatened me with his lawyer. I told him it was in relation to the shooting of a man by the name of Godfrey Crane. I explained who the man was and where the shooting had taken place. Mr. Vanowen had been standing behind his desk at the time and he appeared to lose his balance and collapse into a chair. He said, and I quote, ‘Good God. I don’t believe it. How? I mean why do you think she shot him?’

  The lieutenant looked up from the file and scowled. ‘I informed him we’d found incriminating photographs and a wad of cash amounting to $5,000.’ He looked back at the file. ‘He asked what had that to do with his wife. I explained the photographs were of her and Crane and that Crane could have been blackmailing her. I said that we wanted to take Mrs. Vanowen’s fingerprints. I then asked him if his wife owned a gun. He said she did and that it was kept in a cu
pboard in his wife’s den. I asked for the whereabouts of Mrs. Vanowen and was told she was in bed and had probably taken a sleeping pill. I asked if it was possible for his wife to leave and return to the house without his knowledge and he said yes. Mr. Vanowen then volunteered the information that they slept in separate rooms.’ He looked at me again. ‘Clear so far?’

  ‘Crystal. Please go on.’

  ‘I asked Mr. Vanowen for permission to search his wife’s den which was immediately forthcoming. We found an automatic in a small, locked cupboard in her room. I checked the weapon. Two rounds were missing and it smelt as though it had recently been fired. I placed the weapon in an evidence bag, sealed the bag and gave Mr. Vanowen a receipt.’

  ‘That was very thorough of you.’

  He nodded. ‘Too many shyster lawyers get their clients off on a technicality.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree with you more,’ I said, much to the detective’s obvious surprise.

  ‘Mr. Vanowen went upstairs. We heard shouting and then he returned a few minutes later with his wife. I explained why we were there. She started crying and said she didn’t do it. We arrested her on suspicion of murder.’

  ‘I can’t fault that decision.’

  ‘At the station house we fingerprinted the suspect. Her prints matched the prints on the gun as well as on the money. Without doubt, the bullets that killed Crane came from the gun belonging to Mrs. Vanowen. Mrs. Vanowen admitted she paid the money to Crane, that he was blackmailing her, that the photographs were her and Crane but she claimed she hadn’t fired the gun in months.’

  So much, I thought, for not saying anything. ‘Let me correct one thing.’

  He looked at me curiously.

  ‘I paid Crane. He’d wanted ten grand. She paid five. She claimed it was all the money she could lay her hands on. That her husband kept her short of ready cash but let her spend money on account.’

  ‘Why’d she ask you?’

  ‘I’m a PI. But also qualified as a lawyer. She knows that. I suppose she figured that as I know what’s happened she’d be better with me defending her.’