[Sign Behind the Crime 01.0] Gemini

by Ronnie Allen

  “How much do you want?”

  “More than you’d be willing to pay, mate, and I’m going to get it.”

  Clancy hung up, leaving Morgan shivering, holding the phone close to his ear and feeling as if he’d lost another ten years of his life.

  He shut off the computer, put the flash drive into his pocket, and nervously raced out of the room, forgetting to grab his coat.

  ***

  Max, you gave me one hell of a nightmare last night. I hope you’re wrong for once. I know I keep asking you to tell me the connection between Carlson and Reynolds and you gave it to me last night, boy. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, Max. All I kept seeing is paper flying in the air, papers flying out of a brown coat. Every pocket was spitting out paper. It was Carlson’s coat. I saw him take it off and put it on the rack in his office and then he disappeared into a thin mist. Actually, it was more like a bomber jacket.

  I’m in his office now, Max, sitting at his desk. It’s after hours and on Sunday. It’s dinner time. Paul needs to eat, or we hear his stomach rumbling from the next room. Not hearing anything. No chance of Carlson appearing. So, Max, now would work.

  A sudden epiphany hit!

  Oh, man, Max, am I looking for a jacket? A police file? Tell me, please. I can deal with it. Am I looking for a file that will make the connection between Carlson and Reynolds blow up like a bomb?

  He remained calm for a minute and then received the usual affirmative jolt through his right side. John jumped up and opened the top drawer of the file cabinet. He was not exactly sure what he was looking for. He thumbed through many files and then the second drawer, and then the bottom one.

  He wouldn’t be careless enough to leave it in here, in an open cabinet.

  John sat back down at the desk, opened the center drawer, and stared at Carlson’s service revolver in its case. He opened the large drawer on the bottom right. Under a stack of irrelevant papers was a wooden box. John saw a tiny padlock and took a pair scissor out of the top middle drawer, stuck the tips in, and spread the blades breaking the lock. He removed an untitled legal size folder and the negative energy flowed through him as he flipped open the cover. It was a feeling of churning in his stomach that made him nauseous.

  It’s a good thing I didn’t eat. State income tax evasion. Conspiracy in vehicle transportation licensing, stock manipulations, insider trading. This guy is into some good stuff. No prosecutions. No active FBI investigations. Interesting, no publishing illegalities.

  That’s why Carlson didn’t want to call in the FEDS and why he didn’t show up at his apartment. And that’s why he impeded the investigation. That’s right! At Barbara’s apartment, he recognized Reynolds voice on the answering machine. Damn it, Paul! How deep are you involved with this guy?

  Carlson casually walked down the hall carrying a cup of joe and caught John looking at the file. He backed up with urgency, knocking into a metal trashcan, throwing him off balance and making his coffee fall out of his jittery hands. John, alerted to the noise ran to catch up with him but Carlson vanished around the corner, leaving John to stare in dismay at the splatter on the floor.

  ***

  Barbara relaxed, surrounded by luxury, on her oversized royal blue velvet couch in her living room with her legs up, bent at the knees, and her body leaning against a sky-blue lace-embellished pillow on the arm of the couch. Across the pillow, in hot pink embroidery, was the word “Princess.” She grinned mischievously as she dialed the phone. She readied to begin her act. It would be the major starring role of her life.

  “Hello.”

  As seductively as she could, she purred, “Morgan, hi, it’s Barbara.”

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  “At a conference in Connecticut. I got your messages but I was so busy with seminars and everything, I couldn’t call you. I’m really sorry. You sounded so worried.”

  “To say the least. Can we talk over dinner?”

  She had him exactly where she wanted him.

  ***

  Around eight p.m., Carlson sat at his desk in the precinct, panic-stricken that he’d been exposed. He removed his service revolver from the top middle drawer and loaded it with six rounds. He handled it contemplatively. “I couldn’t hack it in the crib for ten years, or however long, not with the throat cancer.” He raised the gun to his head, but before he could discharge a bullet, his phone rang. Startled, he put the gun back in his desk drawer and raced out of the office.

  ***

  In a crowded restaurant in Chelsea, where the average cost for a dinner was a hundred bucks for the entrée, and everything else was a’ la carte, the maître d’ escorted a dressed up Morgan and Barbara to an elegant table for two in a secluded corner. Morgan wore a Ralph Lauren blue pin stripped suit with a dark blue tie over a matching shirt and she stunned everyone in a low cut Vera Wang red dress, making the most of her smooth cleavage with a wide gold belt accentuating her narrow waist. Morgan couldn’t take his eyes off her. The maître d’ smiled warmly at them, holding the chair out for Barbara.

  “Thank you.” The maître d’ nodded and left. “I never thought you’d want to see me again after our little fiasco,” she told Morgan.

  “Nah, that’s water under the bridge. How’s the car running?”

  “Wonderfully. Is something wrong? You look preoccupied.”

  “No, nothing really.”

  They examined the menus but only his had the prices.

  “Morgan, your eyes tell it all. Come on. What’s wrong?”

  “Ah, she’s playing shrink.”

  “Aren’t you lucky? You can get me for free.”

  “Funny lady. I’m just being bothered by a prankster with an irritating sense of humor. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Blackmail?”

  The waiter approached to take their order.

  “We need some more time, please.”

  The waiter retreated.

  “Morgan...”

  “No, he hasn’t mentioned money yet and it’s been two times with a threat for a third.”

  “Have you called the police?”

  “Yeah, had to. Steve forced the issue. My cousin is a lieutenant in Brooklyn, so he’s handling it. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You have to talk about it.”

  “Why?”

  “That creep won’t just go away. Whatever you do, don’t give him any money. That’ll never make him stop.”

  He hesitated. “I don’t know about that. Maybe it will. Once and for all.”

  “Morgan, I know about people like this. It doesn’t.”

  “Okay then, my free shrink. What would you do?” Barbara seized the opportunity to dive in. But before she could respond, he added, “I can’t afford any police investigations now.”

  “Why not? What have you got to hide? Morgan, you’re a very highly respected and generous philanthropist.” He furrowed his brows and pursed his lips. “Oh, no!” she said. “Don’t tell me you’re laundering money for some Columbian drug cartel.”

  He laughed. “Nothing that adventurous.”

  She lowered her voice when she noticed stares. “Nothing that adventurous?”

  “Look every large company finds practical loopholes. Forget it. Now what have you been up to?”

  “Well, now that you asked. I’m thinking of expanding my clinic.”

  “To where?”

  “A larger complex. My clientele is increasing, so I have to hire some more counselors. But I definitely want to stay in Brooklyn.”

  “Did you find a place yet?”

  He was ready for the kill.

  “Have any connections in real estate?”

  ***

  Tony, Sal, and John convened with Jen a little after eleven p.m. in Loo’s office.

  “What do you mean he took a vacation?” Sal demanded of Jen.

  “Sal, he called me a little while ago to get the team together to tell them he wasn’t coming in for two weeks.”

  “D
id he say why?”

  “All he said, Tony, was that it was personal.”

  “Damn it! Thanks, Jen.” She exited the room without looking back. “All right, John, what happened? Spill it,” Sal demanded.

  “Sit down. I’ve had the feeling he was involved with Reynolds, from the time he recognized the voice on Barbara’s machine.”

  “Yeah, we got that. And he’s been actin’ real strange lately. Like he wants us out of the office more than in.”

  “That’s what I meant, Tony, when I asked you if you noticed a change in him a couple of weeks ago. That’s significant. He’s been impeding the investigations, more lax than usual, and I knew something was up. I started to dig and found a file on Reynolds. Right in this drawer. Not good stuff. He caught me looking at it and took off.”

  Sal didn’t look happy. “You broke the lock?”

  “Yeah. With the scissors from here.” John opened up the middle drawer.

  “Wait a minute.” Sal retrieved the engaged gun. “This isn’t good. He was ready to use this, but something spooked him. Damn it, Paul. You better not be thinking of what we’re thinking you’re going to do.”

  “That was in its case when I saw it,” John said. “We have to stop him before he does use it.”

  Sal took a flash drive out of his pocket. “Here, Reynolds’s mouthpiece brought this over. Got another call.”

  Tony slammed his fist on the desk. “Man! What the fuck is he doing?”

  “We’ll set up a stakeout on Reynolds and see if Paul makes contact. Maybe we can save him from himself before we involve Internal Affairs,” John said it, but he knew damn well that wouldn’t be possible.

  ***

  Morgan and Barbara held onto each other under the sheets after making love. They were relaxed now, and he apparently enjoyed her while she faked enjoying him as she had faked it with every man. They lay face to face, sharing a pillow.

  Lie, Barbara. Lie. “I knew you’d be good the moment you touched me in the elevator, and I wasn’t disappointed, Morgan.” She knew how to flatter a man’s talents and, with Morgan, it was all below the belt. He was so self-absorbed, she’d bet he couldn’t tell when a woman faked it.

  He lapped up the compliments. “I told you so, blue eyes. You’re not so bad yourself.”

  She uttered a childish giggle. “Listen, while I have you in a good mood.” She gently pecked his cheek.

  “Ah. Here it comes. What is it, honey?”

  “Do you have any openings in your company?” Morgan hiked his brows. “Real entry level stuff?” she continued.

  “Changing careers?”

  “No. It’s for the father of one of my patients. He spent most of his life in institutions. Now he’s out. He really needs a chance, Morgan.”

  “A real gem, huh?”

  “Look. I’m only asking you as a favor because he can’t officially apply anywhere. He has no work history. But it was nothing criminal. I assure you. He only needs one, just one, person to give him a chance.”

  “He’s got you.”

  She sounded so professional, it reeked. “Morgan, be realistic. I can’t support him. That’s not what the therapeutic process is about. Do you have anything? Stock boy? Mail room? Housekeeping? For minimum wage. Just so he can build up a tiny piece of self-esteem.”

  “Can he read?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yeah. Okay. Tell him to see Walter Banner first thing tomorrow morning. Eight a.m.”

  “Thanks. His name is Clancy Davis, and you won’t be sorry.”

  “Famous last--” The doorbell rang. “What the—Stay here.” He snatched a robe and angrily exited the bedroom.

  “Believe me. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Morgan reached the front door. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s me.”

  Morgan opened the door, annoyed, and didn’t hesitate to show it. “I told you never to come here.”

  “Had no choice. Trenton read the file.”

  Barbara eavesdropped by the door.

  “That file was supposed to be destroyed,” Morgan snarled.

  She grinned with satisfaction and looked upward. Thank you, God.

  Morgan threw his hands up. “So now what?”

  “He’ll never keep quiet,” Carlson said, insinuating what he wanted to do.

  “No way, cous. I have over two mil invested in our relationship, but that doesn’t include murder.”

  Barbara listened with a gleam in her eye.

  “And I’ll give you another million,” Morgan said. “So pack up and get ready to leave the States. We’ll meet at our usual drop off point tomorrow night.”

  Morgan slammed the door in Carlson’s face without saying another word. Barbara watched him as he stood there livid, with his face turning red.

  She performed a victory dance and raced back under the covers.

  CHAPTER 39

  Sal and Tony were grateful they were able to get hold of the superintendent of Barbara’s Central Park West apartment building, Denver, early in the morning before he began his shift. Sal leaned against the beige-and-black marble tiled wall and relaxed as Tony, more on edge, fidgeted with his memo book in hand. Sal let him worry for both of them. He noticed not one light bulb was out in this place and the halls were immaculate.

  “We need you at the precinct, Denver. Thanks for meeting us this early.” Sal said.

  “No problem, Detectives. We have the grandkids for their week off, so we’re up early. Shame what happened to those folks. Such nice people. Lived here back when Barbara was a little one. What an adorable little thing.” Denver smiled at the recollection. “She was their princess an’ she was always dolled up like one.”

  Sal grinned. He conducted the interview while Tony recorded the notes. “Did they always live in the same apartment?”

  “Yes, sir, 6-J.”

  “Do you know who they sold it to?”

  “Barbara sold it. To her twin, Kellie.”

  The mental lightbulb flashed. Sal wished John was here.

  “Right after her folks were killed, in fact. Told me they were separated at birth an’ however it happened, they got together. Dunno how. Wasn’t my place to ask. They bonded real fast, though. Guess it’s being an only child an’ she told me she felt like an orphan so she now had a family. The apartment was paid for an’ this here paperwork, says it was done by fax. Co-op board at the time approved it. Looked up what you wanted. Kellie paid for it in cash, too. June 2003. Exactly one and a half mil. Folks that were on the board then are gone now. Either passed on or retired to Florida. That’s our dream. Retire to Florida, too. Needed though. To watch the grandkids. Barbara is in California now, a school psychologist, an’ Kellie, well she spends weekends an’ holidays here, a real party girl. Out most of the night.”

  Sal moved from the wall, putting things together. He let Denver finish without interrupting him. “Kellie paid in cash?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What did she list as her career?”

  A hooker doesn’t make that much.”

  “Dunno. Just printed out what you asked me. Didn’t read it. Couldn’t understand it if I tried.”

  Sal examined the seemingly legit contract. “We have guys to go through this. Thanks, Denver.”

  “Ever see any other family members coming and going?”

  “No. Not even when the Montgomery’s were alive. Real strange, I know. Both the parents were only children, too.”

  “When did you see Kellie last, Denver?”

  “Was here yesterday an’ since Friday night. I was manning the door after midnight on Friday.”

  “Know about what time?”

  “Friday, came in about one a.m. Went out all dolled up Saturday night, carrying an overnight bag. Wouldn’t expect to see her until later today, at the earliest.”

  “Know what she’s driving?”

  “Oh, yeah. Saw her driving outta the garage. Brand new shiny red Camaro.”

  “Thanks Denver. You’ve bee
n a great help.”

  “One more thing, Denver,” Tony said. “Just a sec, Sal.”

  “Sure.”

  “When Kellie goes out at night, ever notice what she wears?”

  “Oh, yeah. Can’t ignore that hot broad. The wife would kill me if she heard me say that.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Mine would, too,” Sal said.

  “And mine divorced me over it,” Tony added.

  “What was she wearing?” Sal asked.

  “Tight designer jeans. Black and red high heeled boots. There’s a name for them damn things.”

  “Stiletto.” Tony had to explain that one. “We’re learning some things. And when she went out Saturday night?”

  “Only saw her top. Low cut. Red. She must love that red. Look like it coulda been a dress. Had to be goin’ to meet up with a man, with all that cleavage showin’.”

  “Thanks again, Denver.”

  He entered his apartment.

  “Tony, call for an unmarked to stakeout the apartment.”

  ***

  Clancy stood in the clock-in line to punch in at eight a.m. in the corner of the main lobby of Reynolds Publishing Company. He waited his turn patiently, not saying a word to anyone. Most of the people were in executive attire and there he was the blue-collar laborer. Clancy, in the mailroom uniform--blue scratchy polyester button down shirt, matching slacks--loathed the assignment. So much for building his self-esteem. There were two racks on either side of the time clock. He punched his card, placed it in the appropriate slot, and then headed into a stairwell to get to the mailroom in the basement.

  Some assignment. Take a wagon and empty the mail coming out of chute number six, sort it by department and then bring it up to the various department secretaries. That pompous Banner made it seem like a job for a Mensa scholar but little did he realize Clancy was. He just utilized his intelligence more creatively. He put the wagon in front of the chute, depressed the lever, and out poured the mail.