To Find a Killer

by Charlie Vogel

  “Our meals should be here shortly. So, you’ve decided to move into an apartment so soon?” Her brown eyes looked too big over her glass of wine. She set down the glass, her fingers nervously tracing its shape.

  “The house is too big, too full of memories . . . just plain too much for me now. I wanted a place where I could sleep, but not necessarily live in, if you know what I mean.”

  “Live in. Yes. I understand that. I live in a beautiful place, an apartment by Crazy Horse Lake. I’ve been there ten years. Ah, where did you decide to rent?”

  “Towards the downtown area.”

  “Lots of renovation being done . . . in that area.” The waitress arrived with the salads, which neither of us touched.

  Sipping the Scotch, I couldn’t help but notice how secluded our table seemed, backed into its own little corner, and wondered if it was Maggie’s deliberate choice.

  * * *

  “Well, Mr. Norris,” she lowered her voice a fraction and I naturally leaned forward. “Let’s get down to business. Eileen gave me a copy of a file a few days before she died.” Her eyes glistened with rising tears. She took a sip of wine and continued, “On-On the day she was murdered, she phoned me and-and wanted this file put in a safe place. Her instructions were ‘Do not show it to anyone.’ I locked the folder in the trunk of my car. I didn’t even think of it again, let alone read it, until after her-her funeral . . . Mr. Norris, I don’t know what to do with it now. If Bison Insurance learns of my part in hiding it, I could lose my job, and, if I go to the police, I know I would be fired for-for breaking a confidence or possibly something worse.”

  “Mrs. Holmes-Maggie, calm down. What is in the file?”

  She wet her lips. “A Mr. Frank Harper is one of our Vice Presidents. He was Eileen’s direct superior, and now mine, I guess. His wife passed away a few weeks ago. She had a five hundred thousand dollar life insurance policy. In the file . . .” her words came out in a rush, “Eileen investigated her own boss for insurance fraud, Mr. Norris!”

  I leaned back as the waitress placed a plate with a medium rare rib-eye steak in front of me. I frowned at it. Apparently the ever-efficient Maggie knew even my steak preference and probably had a file of my likes and dislikes. As the small bowl of spinach was placed beside my plate I thought Aha! She screwed up! Then I heard “Miss, the spinach is mine. The corn goes to Mr. Norris.” I tried to concentrate, but as I shifted in my chair I glimpsed the shapely legs of the waitress hesitating at another table.

  Maggie pointedly cleared her throat bringing my attention back to her expectant stare. Yeah, she had notes on me all right! The Scotch disappeared in one swallow. “Quit with the Mr. Norris. You sound like one of my students. Call me Bob.”

  “Certainly. If you wish, since this should be less formal . . . I guess.”

  “Right. So, why can’t you turn the file over to someone in the company?”

  “I don’t know who. I can’t take it to lower management. Above me is the whole group of vice presidents, with Mr. Harper in the midst and directly in my path in the chain of command. Bison is known for the sincere loyalty of its management. In fact, the president and Mr. Harper are close friends. I would not be allowed access to the Board of Directors without going through Mr. Harper. And if my complicity leaked out . . . Any way you look at it, I would not be able to get another executive secretary job in this city.”

  “Is the file that incriminating?”

  “Yes. It contains enough evidence to indict Mr. Harper.” She fidgeted with her napkin then whispered. “In fact, it contains evidence he manipulated his wife into using an undetectable chemical that resulted in her death . . . so he could collect her insurance.”

  “Murder? You are describing murder and fraud. Why for God’s sake did you call me?”

  “I know how close you were with . . . your wife. I thought she may have told you some of this. I thought she may have mentioned what she was going to do with the file.”

  “You may know a lot about me, Maggie, and-and about my marriage, but one thing Eileen did not do at home was talk about her work. Nothing. Not one word about anything like this . . .” My thoughts raced. “Well . . . she did mention investigating an employee . . . and she was nervous and short-tempered that day . . . No, that’s reaching. No, this is all news to me. Wow. So, this file would be damned important if there’s no other record . . . Wait. I got the impression Eileen did most of her work by computer. Would there be a computer file, too?”

  “I thought of that, too and it worries me. But no one knows her access number, not even me. It’s five digits of two letters and three numbers. Have-Have you seen it written down someplace?”

  “No! Why the hell would she write it down?”

  “It does change every two weeks. I thought maybe somewhere in her purse. Oh, the men who . . . the men at the store, they didn’t get her purse did they?” She clutched my hand. “If someone got their hands on that code and knew what it was . . . they could find the file and erase it. Mr. Harper could get that money. He’d go free. Bob, I have to find that code to change it and protect the file . . . until I can get to the Board.”

  “Why don’t you give me the file with the paperwork on everything. I’ll look through Eileen’s things for the code. Give me your phone number so I can let you know if I find it.” She fumbled in her small clutch for a notepad and pencil stub.

  I stared at my now-cold steak. “What is preventing Harper from getting his money right now?”

  “There is a flag put on files under investigation. If Eileen was the one to flag it, only her code will release the file to payment.”

  “Can’t a VP do pretty much anything he wants in the company?”

  “Perhaps after a few weeks of file inactivity. Or someone could be appointed to replace Eileen and take over her workload. They could remove the flag. That will take at least another two weeks because the Board has to approve upper management appointments.”

  “Wouldn’t the replacement find what Eileen found?”

  “Maybe, but Vicky Templeton is the most likely candidate. She’s, ah, rumored to be friendly . . . almost intimate with Mr. Harper, even before his wife’s death.”

  Chapter 4

  At the crest of the short incline, the house stood dark. The full moon broke through the scattered clouds, but soon disappeared behind a large, thick one. The street lights barely filtered through the trees and shrubbery on the front lawn.

  I pushed the button on my watch. A green light filled the face. I had twenty minutes before I had to pick up Harry at his new Stop-and-Go. His shift ended at 11:30. We were moving his things to my apartment.

  I parked the Mustang behind the Ferrari. Judge Williams had left a message on my answering machine I accessed by my cell phone. Urgent business had come up, so he hadn’t been able to move the Ferrari into my garage. I stared at its rear window, wondering if I really wanted to move it myself. The thought of Eileen’s perfume inside the car unnerved me. Would her accusing image appear in the car when I climbed behind its wheel? Bad enough in my dreams, but if I were trapped in such a small space . . . .

  Fear struck me in such a way I had to force myself to leave the Mustang and walk toward the house, another place I didn’t want to enter, but I had nothing at the new apartment. I needed clothes and toiletry items. My hand inserted the key. It grated in the lock. I slid my hand around the door frame and turned on the lights. Surely, ghost don’t appear in well-lit rooms. Still, I ran from place to place grabbing and stuffing things in garbage sacks. They held more than luggage, anyway.

  As I threw three bulging garbage bags into the Mustang’s back seat, I remembered my paints and canvases. The door had slammed with the locking behind me. Tomorrow in the day light would be soon enough. Nothing was that important, except . . . .

  I had told Maggie I would look through Eileen’s things for that damn code. My eyes focused on the Ferrari. Maggie had mentioned Eileen’s purse. I remembered Eileen stuffing it under her seat.
<
br />   Almost in slow motion, I unlocked the passenger door and opened it. The dome light came on. Nothing else appeared. Holding my breath in anticipation of her perfume, I pulled the purse out and dumped it in the seat. My goose bumps lessened as I grew more intent on searching through the last things she had touched. The small sticky pad at the top of the pile had lines of printing indenting its top note. Eileen had fiddled with the notepad then the visor mirror before we went . . . I pulled down the visor and there it was stuck to the mirror, the note with a five digit code written in Eileen’s handwriting. “France’s Amour” floated to me. I merely sighed, suddenly relieved rather than afraid.

  The front door lock clicked and I rushed inside to use that phone. I didn’t want to risk a cell phone interception on this call. After several rings, I heard Maggie’s tired voice. “What is it?”

  “Maggie? This is Bob.”

  “Bob?”

  “Bob Norris.”

  “Oh! I’m sorry, Bob. I must have dozed off.”

  “You woke me. My turn to get you up. I found the access code.”

  “What? Wonderful! Do you want to bring it here or have me meet you—”

  “Just get a pencil and paper. An executive secretary does have those, doesn’t she?”

  “Ah, you’re teasing . . . Okay, I’m ready.”

  “B-N-6-1-5.”

  “Wonderful. Oh, I said that. Anyway, first thing tomorrow I’ll get to the file, encrypt it somewhere else, and start searching for access to someone on the Board. Where can I reach you?”

  “I know you’ve got my cell phone number in your little file, but don’t use it. Too easy for someone else to overhear. And don’t leave a message on the answering machine here at the house. Someone might break in again and listen to that. As soon as I get a phone at the apartment, I’ll call you at your home number.”

  “Fine. Well, goodbye and thanks for sharing this burden.”

  “No, I’m the one who’s grateful. Now I know where I’m headed and that Eileen wants me going there.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Talk to you soon.”

  The match’s flame caught the corner of the note. I dropped it into the kitchen sink then turned on the faucet. The ashes mixed with the running water and swirled down the drain. I calmly walked out the front door and smiled as the lock sounded behind me.

  Since I was late, I expected to find Harry waiting. Instead he stood behind the counter of his new Stop-and-Go, stocking cigarettes in the overhead rack.

  “Sorry, Bob. Overnight man called in. I gotta work another shift.”

  “Let the manager come in.”

  “I’m elected since I’m the new man and I need the money. Remember?”

  “What time are you getting off?”

  “Six, if my day relief comes in on time.”

  “I’ll be in bed. Here’s your key. You get the bedroom next to the bathroom. Don’t wake me. Got a feeling I’m going to sleep well tonight, for the first time in many nights.”

  “Hey, I’ll stay another day in my old place. I told you I don’t really need to move, anyway.”

  “Harry! Harry!” I moaned. “We’ve been over this time and again. You can’t afford that dump. I have the space. That one bedroom is bigger than your whole damn apartment. Get off work in the morning, come on over, get some sleep . . . then we’ll move your stuff. It’s decided. I will see your sweet face when I wake up, right?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

  I opened the door.

  “Wait!” I looked back. “Be careful with my car.”

  Three blocks later I arrived at my new place of residence. The furnished apartment occupied a quarter of the second floor in a spacious two-story brick building. I had three bedrooms, bathroom, kitchen, separate dining room, and airy living room. Plus I had negotiated for two parking spaces in the secured underground garage. Harry’s Mustang would be safe.

  With a garbage bag slung over each shoulder, I trudged up the stairs. On the second flight was much easier, mainly because I had a pair of well-shaped feminine legs climbing the stairs in front of me. Her thighs rubbed together and, with each sway of upward motion, her fanny peeked from under a wonderfully short skirt. When we reached the hallway, my attention stayed on the hip-movement. I stopped at my door and could only blink in surprise when she turned.

  “You following me, mister?”

  The bags slid to the floor, as I took in her brown calf-eyes, then the leather halter top’s exposure of abundant flesh. Her hand brushed long blonde hair over a slender shoulder. Huffing a short breath of impatience, she cocked her head. The pouting lips gave her a little-girl appearance, but the total picture put my guess that she was around twenty.

  “I . . . Ah, I’m going to my place. Here . . . right here.” Without looking away, I shoved one hand into my pocket for the keys.

  “Oh?” She leaned forward a fraction and lowered her voice. “You just moving in?”

  “Yeah . . . Yes. Here. Right here.”

  A smile parted those glossed lips. “Then I guess we’re neighbors. This is my door . . . across from yours.”

  I managed to swallow. “Really. I’m Bob Norris. Do you live with your parents?”

  Her bubbly laugh echoed in the hall. “You’re giving me a line, right?”

  “A line? No. You’re young, so I thought your family . . . What’s your name, anyway?”

  “Call me Lori, just Lori. And, no, I don’t live with anyone, except sometimes my man comes over. Don’t even know where my parents are. Wait. I take that back. My old man’s serving time. Been there fifteen years.”

  “Oh. Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” I glanced down at the keys I nervously jingled. “Well, Lori . . . nice to have met you. Please excuse me. I’ve got a lot of stuff to put away and it’s late.”

  She looked at the two lumpy black bags.

  “Need help?”

  “No, but thanks anyway. I can get it. I’ve still got another bag in the car. Lots of stuff to put away.”

  “Is your place furnished?”

  “Yeah, but I’ll replace it someday with better stuff.”

  “I rent mine furnished, too. Yours is probably just like mine. I could start unpacking those while you get the other bag. Save you some time . . . since it is late.”

  I stared at the key I had inserted in the door lock. Why the hell not, Norris? “Sure, if you have the time.”

  My fingers flicked on the yellow glow of light as the girl rushed past me. She looked things over, nodding.

  “Everything’s just the same as my place. I could walk blindfolded and know where I’m at.”

  “That’s good, I guess. I, ah, don’t have any coffee to offer you. If you give me a few minutes, I could run down to that corner grocery and get a few things. It’s open all night.”

  She giggled. “Yeah, I know. Don’t do that. I just stopped by my place for a pack of cigarettes. I can take a few minutes, but I have to get back to work.”

  “You work this late? It’s after twelve. What job keeps a young girl out this late?”

  “You really are kidding me, right? You have no idea what I do?”

  She held her arms out and slowly turned in place for me to better assess her appearance, I guess. Standing about five-eight, well-proportioned, barely clad, the girl certainly couldn’t be a waitress at an area diner like Jake’s. She was pretty enough to be an entertainer. I tried to remember if I had seen any bars or nightclubs nearby.

  “I’m sorry, Lori. I’m not good at guessing games. Whatever you do, I bet you’re good at it.”

  She frowned in disbelief, then a slow smile brought back her youthful appeal. “Yeah, that’s what I’ve been told. Maybe sometime you’ll see me at work. Well, time’s a wastin’ and we didn’t get any unpacking done, but I gotta go. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. See ya!”

  An hour later, I had my clothes hung and stood staring at the bed mattress and its questionable stains. Flipping it over only revealed mor
e stains. Finally, I tore the garbage bags and spread them over the bed as temporary sheets. Stretching out, I considered where I would buy a new bed in the morning. With each move, the crackling plastic irritated my nerves, but I drifted off to sleep hoping it prevented the little creatures in the mattress from crawling onto my body.

  A woman’s scream awakened me. That was something new to my dreams. The past few nights I had dreamt of Eileen in a rowboat. She hated boats and fishing. But in the dream, I sat opposite her holding a fishing rod. Each time I reacted to a tug on the line, she leaned over with a pair of scissors and cut it. She never said anything, let alone screamed.

  The scream came again, only this time more of a screech. I sat up, fully awake now. Thumps came from the hallway outside my door. Pulling blue jeans over my underwear, I stepped bare-footed into the shadowed strangeness of my new apartment. Torn blinds hung at an angle across the wide double windows of the living room. The street’s dim light slanted through the blinds, barely marking the dark and ragged furniture. Another screech kick-started my attention back to the hall. A woman’s voice shouted a long list of creative profanity. Sounds like Lori. She knows more cuss words than even Harry. I pulled the door open, but knew better than to step into that hall.

  A broad-shouldered man stood with his back to me. He filled the open doorway across from mine. Easing my door partially closed, I watched through a less obvious few inches of space.

  “You bitch!” The male voice boomed. “You give me two hundred dollars or you’re dead meat! You understand?”

  “Fuck you!” Lori shouted back. “Get outta here ‘cause I don’t owe you shit!”

  “Two hundred!” He planted beefy hands on the door frame as if he would force it wider and launch himself forward.

  “For what?” she snidely demanded.

  That girl’s no coward! And, for some insane reason, I opened my door a little wider.

  “I sent you six johns! My math says you owe me another two hundred. Or can’t you count, bitch?”

  “Bullshit! You might have had six johns, but I only did four tricks. They ain’t gonna to pay, if they don’t do nothing!”