by W B Garalt
“Yeah, but that seems a little devious”, countered Maggie. “Maybe Lou and Don Chace would consider letting him in on this.”
At that point they were both tired and they decided to sleep on it. They agreed to meet and inspect the property the next day, and take it from there.
On Tuesday morning the day began with a dreary gray sky and a slight mist in the air. The weather situation was still the same when Maggie met Max at Jerry’s house on the hill.
Their timing was perfect. Maggie was parked in the circular driveway in front of the main entrance, just getting out of her car when Max pulled up on the north side of the house. They went to the side entry, the only door that Jerry’s key would unlock. They went into a hallway which led up two steps to the kitchen, or, in the opposite direction, down to the basement.
The house was darker inside than it was outside with most curtains and drapes closed. The interior exhibited updating circa the 1970s. It was generally clean and fairly neat.
The basement contained a wine cellar but was otherwise unfinished. There was no evidence of wine in the dusty racks. The heating and electrical systems had been upgraded 1990’s style.
The lot was approximately one acre, deeper that it was wide. The out building, of a carriage-house design, was garage space for three cars, a garden tractor and tools. While Maggie finished her notes and pictures of the interior, Max was outside measuring the house and carriage house.
While they were bidding each other adieu in the driveway, Max’s cell phone buzzed showing a call from Chief Devaro. The request was for a meeting the following day at the tennis club private meeting room. Max accepted for both he and Maggie.
“I think either the chief or the inspector might have a location to discuss”, Max said, summarizing the call.
“Well, we can suggest this one, it’s a bit ornate but it does have some privacy”, Maggie suggested.
“At least they’ll see that we’ve done our homework”, quipped Max, with emphasis on ‘homework’.
“You are the master punster”, said Maggie, with a groan and a grin.
They each had other appointments and they drove away in opposite directions.
Chapter 32
At 9:30AM on Wednesday morning the four plotters were sipping their coffees at the table in the private meeting room of the East Wayford Country Club.
“Don and I have possible properties in mind. Have either of you have any possibilities?” the chief asked Max and Maggie, starting the discussion with no hesitation.
“We both have one,” Maggie said.
“Good, let’s hear about both”, the chief responded.
“No, I mean we literally have one property in mind between us.” Maggie explained.
“Okay, okay, let’s hear it”, said the chief with a hint of gruffness. Maggie understood. She knew that Chief Devaro was known to lack a sense of humor in the morning.
She and Max gave a combined description of the property.
“I know that place”, remarked the chief. “That’s the old Hopswich property. Somebody bought it at an estate sale some years back, I forget the name.”
“Well, Jerry Pippin has it now, with a private party holding the mortgage and the deed”, Max explained. The chief thought that it could have possibilities.
He then went on to describe a property in his town which he had owned and, in the reverse situation, sold the house and held a private mortgage which was not being paid. The mortgagee had rented it and the tenant had skipped out on the lease. The chief had processed a foreclosure and had repossessed it the previous month. Some furnishings were left and the chief had some odd extra furniture that he could supply.
A third possibility was one that Don Chace suggested. It was just across the river in nearby New Haven and it was owned, under a pseudo name, by the State of Connecticut. It was used by The U.S. Attorney General office and had been used as a safe-house for protected witnesses. It was currently on the surplus assets list.
“Is this a productive group or what!” exclaimed the chief with mock enthusiasm, “Three possible sites in two days. We should go into business as ‘The Scheme Team’, or something.”
After chuckles all around, they debated the properties’ features. The theme was availability, location, complexity of arranging use, credibility and, most-assured secrecy.
All four of the meeting participants, taking time away from their usual responsibilities without explanation to anyone, pressed to define the best possible location for the sting. They broke briefly for lunch, on the chief’s club tab, and continued into the early afternoon.
At 1:30PM it was time for a vote. Max passed out one of his business cards to each participant. Each wrote the number of the preferred property on the card, in the order presented. 1st was Maggie and Max’s, 2nd was the Chief Lou Devaro’s and 3rd was Don Chace’s. They placed the cards, number down, in the center of the table.
One-by-one the chief turned the cards over to reveal the numbers: 3…3…3…..3. It was decided. The location of the sting, Don Chace’s submission, was in New Haven. Security, confidentiality and control were the determining factors.
Jerry Pippin would have had to be in on the plan if his house was used, and he could, for all anyone knew, be involved in the killings, or know the identity of the killer, or killers. With the chief’s house, he was the original, and now once again, the current owner of record of his rental house. That could spook any perpetrator if the ownership status was known. The final decision on the place had been made. Now it was time to set the date.
Time was of the essence. Another killing could be attempted at any time. The media demand for information was causing an up-roar in the community. There were two days left before the July Fourth long weekend.
“By Friday, people would be getting into a celebratory mood”, predicted the chief, “and attention from the media might be diverted until after the holiday.”
“But then the mood would turn sour,” Chace predicted, “and all hell could break loose if the investigation hasn’t made any progress.” The chief then addressed Maggie.
“We’ve gone over the routine to simulate the scenario. You have to get the ball rolling by turning in a listing to Francine, correct?” Maggie nodded. “And Max”, he continued, “you and Maggie inspect the property and you turn in a report to Carl Jenson.”
“That’s been our routine”, Max agreed.
The chief continued; “Okay, now, how long will that take?” Max and Maggie agreed that they could do the inspection later in the day, up until daylight faded, whereby pictures couldn’t be taken.
“I have to get keys from “Property Assets Division” at the F.B.I. Regional Office in Hartford”, Chace stated. “I can get there and back by around 6:00 PM. Will that work for you two?”
“That should work”, Max replied. “I can get to the address a little earlier to get the exterior work done, and if you can get the keys to Maggie, she can meet me there and we’ll do the interior.” Maggie agreed to pick up the keys from the chief.
“I’m on my way,” said Chace, gathering up his notes, “you guys finish up and I’ll be back by six. I’ll call you if there’s any change.”
After the inspector left, Maggie brought up the idea that Francine would want to do a walk-through with her sales staff, possibly as soon as Friday. The chief thought that would be fine because then “all bases would be covered”, and they could wait to hear from Carrie if a “session” had been set up. He and Chace would start in the morning to check out the layout and arrange the specifics of the surveillance.
The meeting adjourned and all parties went about finishing up any items left on their agendas for the day.
Back at police headquarters, Salvadore was waiting to talk to the chief. Once in the chief’s office lieutenant Salvadore opened up with something that had been on his mind.
“Lou, I want to run something by you and Inspector Chace, maybe you can fill him in later. As I mentioned before, at the scene o
f the first killing there was a noticeable perfume smell that I didn’t think much of. I just thought it was from the house. Some people use odorants. On the day when I went to question Maggie Marshall at Stanley Realty, I noticed the same, or similar, perfume scent in her office. Then at the second crime scene, the mill office, I noticed the same, or a similar perfume scent. I thought it could have been a men’s cologne but why would Ms. Marshall be using it? I called one of the interns at the State Medical Examiner’s lab to ask about any detectable perfume aromas that they had noted on the corpses and never heard back. After that I left for the classes in Pennsylvania. I got a call yesterday from one of the assistants at the Medical Examiners’ Office and found out that there had been some talk about it and, guess what, they noted it on the third corpse as well!”
Chief Devaro felt a jolt of panic as he listened, although he masked it. He knew that Maggie didn’t use heavy perfumes and he had to head Salvadore off before he started pressing the perfume angle with her, or even worse, with Carrie. Bad timing-that could mess things up, big time, thought the chief.
“Good work Joe”, the chief had to admit. “Maybe you have something there. Let me check with Don Chace and see if he picked up anything on it. In the meantime, hold off on any action until we all get on the same page.”
Lt. Salvadore was accustomed to being very careful with Chief Devaro. He was pleased that the chief was receptive to the perfume clue because, based on past experience, it could have provoked ridicule from him. Lieutenant Salvadore was feeling good about how things were going since he returned from the training course.
Slightly ahead of plan, Inspector Chace returned from Hartford at 5:45 with the keys to the New Haven safe house. The identification on the key tags read ‘194 Pickering St’. There were two sets of keys so there would be no need to have extras made.
Shortly thereafter, Maggie showed up at the East Wayford Police Headquarters to get a set of the keys along with the semi-disguised authorization signature on a blank listing agreement for the Pickering Street property. Once she left on her way to meet up with Max, the chief sat back in his swivel style desk chair and heaved a breath of relief. So far, so good, he thought, in a tired but relaxed state, which had become rare lately.
It was a short drive across the river bridge to the address on Pickering Street in New Haven. Maggie spotted Max’s car parked in the driveway and pulled in behind.
“Hey Mag,” called Max as he came from the back yard area, “You’re right on time as usual.” “But of course.” answered Maggie.
The house was a Greek Revival Style, city home with an older, but refurbished exterior. The landscaping was basic and well kept.
“How does it look so far?” Maggie asked. “The exterior looks all good,” replied Max out of habit, “The roof is recent and I can see that the electrical service from the street has been upgraded recently. Let’s take a look inside.”
The interior of the older home, in contrast with the plain, unremarkable exterior, had been completely refurbished within the previous five years.
An open floor plan with a new gourmet kitchen, half bath, laundry room, great room, entry foyer and den made up the first floor. Three bedrooms and a new full bath were on the second. There was a new heating & air conditioning system.
The great room and den furnishings were sparse, but adequate, and in good condition. The floors were all newly finished. Pictures, mirrors and assorted wall treatments were on most of the walls. A large flat screen TV was hanged on the great room wall opposite the kitchen area.
The windows had all been replaced and had plantation-style blinds. There was a burglar alarm system and a programmable interior lighting system with a timer.
“The protected witnesses that stayed here were living quite well, I must say”, remarked Maggie, as she finished with the interior picture taking. “They weren’t missing much.”
Max agreed with that assessment. “I think this will work fine”, he added.
With the inspection completed, Max and Maggie went their separate ways to complete their respective reports.
Maggie was going to drop off the listing agreement, showing “GOVERNMENT ASSET MANAGEMENT DIVISION” hand printed, and initialed “D.F.C.” by Inspector Chace, on the owner[s] line. It would be on Francine’s desk when she arrived first thing in the morning.
Max, hoping that Carl wouldn’t be in the office, was dropping off two over-due valuation reports at Jenson & Associates. Both reports were on properties which were, at least to his knowledge, not related to the crimes.
How in hell are they going to pull this off? Max was thinking, relating to Chace and the chief with the sting. They have no official backup. They can’t trust anybody, but yet they trust me and Maggie. What if there are several people involved in the killings such as fanatic religious perfectionists against prostitution, or something along that line?
Now that the idea that was presented to he and Maggie was actually coming to fruition, Max was beginning to worry. A friend of his from his younger days, who he only saw at college reunions now, was a licensed private detective operating in upstate New York. The friend managed a crew of private security operatives, all U.S. Army Special Services veterans.
Maybe I could suggest to Chace and the chief that I could ask this friend to send down an experienced crew to do surveillance, or something, he considered. He felt a headache coming on. It was time to call it a day.
Chapter 33
Maggie was up early Thursday morning brimming with nervous energy, for what reason she did not know. She arrived at her office early and was the first person there. Ten minutes later, in walked Francine.
“Well, good morning Maggie.” she said with a surprised look. “You’re the early bird this morning, aren’t you?” Maggie returned the greeting and explained that she had a lot to do this day.
“The coffee is brewing”, she said as she noticed Francine looking at the listing agreement and pictures of the Pickering Street property.
“Oh, New Haven”, noted Francine, “we’re moving on up, I see.” Maggie’s leads usually were confined to East Wayford.
“Oh, yeah”, Maggie replied. “It’s just over the river bridge. I took it as a favor for a friend of mine. The house is vacant so you can check it out. Here are the keys. With the long holiday weekend you’ll have a short showing time before auction, but it’s in great shape and it could sell fast.”
“Oh yes, fast sale, that’s what I like!” said Francine with a rather sinister smile. Maggie grinned back, bade Francine adieu, and left the office.
As she was driving out of the office driveway, Maggie was nervous. She wasn’t accustomed to doing business any other way than straight up. What kind of freaking situation am I getting into? I just knowingly handed over a false listing agreement that I signed, accepting it for the company! Okay, so maybe the company won’t be around long. Okay, so maybe it’s justifiable and for a good cause, but this isn’t me. I don’t like lying to people. I would absolutely shit as a spy!
Maggie had to laugh out loud as she drove aimlessly in the general direction of her apartment. “I must be going nuts! Max talked me into this. I’m calling him right now.” Maggie silently resolved. She pulled over to the curb and dialed Max.
“Yo, Wazzup?” was the response.
“What the hell is that? Are you going to become a rapper or something?” she asked. Max laughed.
“I’m laughing in the face of danger, I think,” he said, “This operation makes me jittery.”
“We have to talk,” Maggie demanded, “where do you want to go?”
“Come over to my place. I just got out of the shower and I’m getting dressed”, he suggested, mimicking her severe, demanding tone.
Maggie was already calming down as she pulled up to Max’s building. She just needed to talk to someone right now.
Bruce Grover was setting up ladders to trim the front shrubbery and looked up as Maggie got out of her car.
“Hello Bruce”
, she said flatly. Grover, as usual, seemed preoccupied and was acting as though he was not sure what to say.
“Hey, how are you doing?” he blurted. “These things grow faster than weeds”, he seemed to complain, as if Maggie could do anything about it.
Maggie just kept walking. What is he freaking talking about? Does he want me to cut the god damned bushes, she thought as she rang Max’s buzzer. “Who is it?” Max asked teasingly.
“You know who the f… it is, buzz me in!” she said loudly. Grover turned away quickly as though he was eavesdropping on something private. Max buzzed her in and she went up to his open apartment door.
“What a screwball!” she said.
“Excuse me miss”, Max said with fake indignation, “do I know you?”
“I’m talking about your man Bruce,” she said, ignoring Max’s silly attitude, “That guy must be on something. You never know what he is going to come out with”, she said in exasperation. Max sensed that what Grover had said didn’t amount to much.
“He’s probably just inhibited by your gorgeousness”, he said as he pinched her cheek. She turned to face Max, put her arms around his waist, and looked up into his eyes.
“Kiss me you fool”, she said, surprising Max, and surprising herself. They kissed briefly and then broke apart, bringing themselves back to reality.
“I just needed to talk,” Maggie said, “I’m having doubts about our involvement in the police work”, she added with a look of concern.
Max poured two cups of coffee and they sat at his dinette table sorting out, in their minds, the dire circumstances they were likely to be facing. One way or another, their lives were about to change and career moves would most likely be necessitated.
“What if you had to relocate for a new job”, Maggie wondered. “Would you have to sell this apartment building?” Max had been thinking the same thing.
“I don’t know, actually”, he replied. “I could contract with a management company to maintain it, I suppose.”