The Visible Suspect (A Frank Randall Mystery)

by Steven Ehrman

  “Listen, Officer Murphy, I wouldn’t know anything about that,” I said, as I thought of the mug shot of Vitale in my glove box. “All I know is that Peterson is missing and his wife misses him. If there’s anything else then you know more than me.”

  He studied me.

  “I can’t tell if you’re lying or just stupid, Randall,” he said. “But I’ll tell you what the rank and file cops in this town think. They think old lady Peterson helped Tony Peterson skip town and she hired you to monitor the cops and find out what they know. How could you do that, Randall? You used to be on the side of the law. This guys a scumbag and his wife knows it. She has to.”

  I ran my interview with Glenda Peterson over in my mind. I was sure that Murphy was wrong. He didn’t look smart enough to think up a conspiracy like that one his own. I wondered who put it in his head.

  “Listen, Officer Murphy, this is a what you see is what you get kind of investigation. Mrs. Peterson hired my for one reason, to find her husband, or at least to find out why he left.”

  “Okay, Randall. We’re not here to go good cop/bad cop on you. We just heard you were going to the Missing Persons Bureau and we thought we would catch you coming back into town. I gotta tell you that you made us wait all day. Did you go to the track or something?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I had a hot tip.”

  “Did it come through?” asked Murphy.

  “It was a late scratch.”

  “Well, maybe next time. The ponies are a bad investment anyway,” said Murphy. “Listen, Randall, forget what I said about the drinking stuff, I was just trying to get a rise outta you. Pals?”

  He stuck out his hand. I reached out and grasped it.

  “Sure,” I said. “And my pals call me Frank.”

  “Great. I’m Murphy by the way. Chet and I might be checking in with you every once in a while. That okay?”

  “Sure. Call the office anytime.”

  “All right, Randall, I mean, Frank. Now, be careful on your way in. You still look white as a ghost.”

  Murphy walked back to the squad car and joined Officer Scarpeli. He started the car, but just sat there idling. I climbed back in the passenger side and slid over behind the wheel. I fired up the engine. The car lurched into gear and I was soon speeding down the road into the city. I noticed the squad car had eased in behind me at a comfortable distance. I hit the surface streets and made a few quick turns, but they always caught up. I wasn’t really trying to lose them I just wondered how much moxie they had. I drove for a while. Night had set in. I went by the office, and saw Frankie and Jimmy’s sedan across the street. They weren’t in it, but I figured they were around somewhere close by. I didn’t care. I had decided to go to my apartment and pack it in for the night. I ached all over and was dead tired.

  In ten minutes I was in front of my apartment building. I had only moved in a few months before, and I didn’t plan on staying. My old place had been a comfortable bungalow. This was a large eight-story apartment building with its own parking garage. It was dark and always smelled damp. I found my assigned spot in the garage and walked into the building. We were supposed to have a doorman on duty in the evenings, but I didn’t see him. I took the elevator up to the third floor, got out, and walked down the hall. My apartment was the last one on the hallway facing the street. I unlocked the door and went inside. I peeled off my jacket and threw it on the couch. I was rolling up my sleeves as I pulled back the curtain and looked down at the street. I could see a squad car parked right in front of the building. I sat down and lit a cigarette. Them being there didn’t bother me a bit.

  The phone rang a couple of times as I fixed myself two eggs and two pieces of toast. I didn’t answer it either time. I was done being a detective for the day. I parked myself on the couch and started reading a history of the American Revolution, that I had started several days ago. I had almost nodded off when the phone jangled again. It rang at least ten times before it stopped. I walked into the bedroom and laid down on top of the covers. Before I turned out the lights I took the phone off the hook on my bedroom extension, which was on the nightstand. With a peaceful night assured, I lay back in the darkness and fell into a fitful sleep.

  Chapter Nine

  I awoke the next morning to bright sunshine coming through the window of the bedroom. I was still sore all over, but I managed to get into the shower, brush my teeth, and shave all by myself. I was sitting at my kitchen table listening to the radio and drinking my third cup of coffee, when I remembered the phone was still off the hook. I went in the bedroom and placed it back on the hook. Before I got out of the room it began to ring. I looked at the clock and saw that it was after eight, so I decided to answer it.

  “Hello,” I said a bit hoarsely.

  “Hello, may I speak with Frank Randall please?” said a voice that belonged to a young man.

  “This is Randall.”

  “Mr. Randall, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you since yesterday. I need to meet with you.”

  “Hold on,” I said. “You skipped a few steps. Who are you and what do we have to talk about?”

  “Oh, I beg your pardon,” said the man. “How silly of me. My name is Thomas Hawkins. I believe you are acquainted with my step mother Mrs. Peterson”

  He said the name Peterson like it was an epithet.

  “I know her,” I said.

  “Lets not be coy, Mr. Randall. I know you are in her employ. She told me that herself.”

  I considered that he might be lying, but I wanted to talk to him too eventually, so I played along.

  “All right, Mr. Hawkins. You win. I have been hired by your step mother, and I’m certain you know why.”

  “I do know, and that is what we need to discuss. I am at my office. Your service gave me your home number, but I don’t have the address. May I come over right now?”

  “Now doesn’t work for me. How about my office at ten?”

  “My business really is of the utmost importance. Can we not meet now?”

  We argued about it for a few more minutes, but he finally agreed to meet at my office at ten. He was still grumbling about the delay when I hung up. In five minutes I had my shoes and jacket on and was ready to leave. I noticed my shoes needed a shine and made a mental note to have that taken care of. You never know who you might meet.

  I stopped at a diner on the way in and had anther couple of cups of coffee along with two eggs over easy and four strips of crisp bacon. The bill came to $1.99 and I left a fifty-cent tip. I made my way to the office and parked in the garage. I entered the building and found the elevator working. I rode up, unlocked the office, and sat at my desk. It was only a few minutes after nine. I wanted to make sure that I beat Hawkins in because I had a few phone calls to make.

  My first call was to Agent Banner. I got the secretary and she said Banner was in a meeting. I left my number and she promised he would call at his first opportunity. I next called the old precinct for Detective Maynard. I got through to him and he asked me to wait while he transferred the call to his office again.

  “Well, Frank,” he said. “I don’t hear from you for months, and now two calls in two days. People will start to talk like we’re an item.”

  “You should be so lucky,” I said. “Listen, John, I ran into a couple of patrolmen yesterday and they were a little threatening. No rough stuff, but they wanted to know about my involvement with the Peterson case.”

  “Did you get any names, or were they just badges?”

  I told him the names and described the encounter. I left out the meeting with Ravello and Banner. If he wondered why I was on that lonely stretch of highway, he was circumspect enough not to ask.

  “I know those two,” he said. “They’ve been partners for a good long while. Come to think of it, they were friends with those two officers that bought it in the river; Wiley and Mathers. In fact, they were both pretty cut up about it, of course, lots of guys on the force were. You know the blue line, Frank.”

&nbs
p; “Yeah, I know. I just want to know if I have anything to worry about.”

  “We all got worries, Frank, But if it’ll ease your mind, I’ll talk to them,” he said.

  “No, don’t do that,” I replied. “I can handle them I just wanted to know their back story. They said they were friends of the victims and you confirmed it. That’s good enough for now. Don’t put their backs up.”

  “Okay, Frank, you’re the doctor, but you seem to be getting into some pretty muddy water.”

  “I’ll be fine. Thanks, John.”

  I rang off and lit a smoke. So Murphy and Scarpeli were on the level. They probably weren’t the only cops who wanted Peterson/Vitale dead. I didn’t mind the police taking an interest in my investigation as long as they didn’t scare off any leads. As I was thinking about it the phone rang. I looked at the clock and saw I still had over half an hour before Hawkins arrived.

  I answered the phone and heard the bored voice of Agent Banner.

  “Well, Randall, what can my humble office do for you today?” he asked. He didn’t sound sincere.

  “I had an interesting ride home from your office yesterday,” I said. “First, Ravello’s crew picked me up for a game of handball where I was the ball, and then some local cops were waiting after that. Any reason you can think of that everyone seemed to know I was meeting with you?”

  “Jeez, Randall, act your age,” said Banner. “You’ve been working this case a few days, but the mob has been on it since Vitale disappeared. As for the cops, how many people do you think saw you walk into this office yesterday? Ten? Twenty? Now, did someone make a call back to your hometown? I don’t know, but your visit was not a state secret. Maybe you should just be more careful.”

  “I get it, Banner,” I said. “It just occurred to me that maybe you gave me all the background on the case and then set me up as a stalking horse to see who would come out of the bushes and knock me around. Maybe I’m just getting a little paranoid, but you know what they say about paranoia”

  “What’s that, Randall?”

  “Well, they say you only have to be right once to make the whole thing worthwhile.”

  “You got a full compliment of smart mouth, Randall, I’ll say that for you,” he said with a chuckle. “Anything else you want?”

  “No, I think I’ve had my say. I’ll be in touch though. Thanks for your time.”

  I rang off. It was hard to get a read on Banner. His voice inflection almost never changed. I heard the mail come through the slot of the outer door. I went to get it and was sorting through it when Thomas Hawkins came in.

  He introduced himself and gave me a flabby hand to shake. Hawkins was a man in his late twenties, balding, and had a rich mans paunchy middle. I remembered pictures I had seen of his father in the paper. Thomas looked like a dissipated version of that tycoon. The rumors of his heavy drinking were likely true. Not that I had anything against a few drinks. Some guys just handle it better than others. He sat down and got right to the point.

  “Randall, I know my step mother wants Peterson found and brought back, but I think we can reach an agreement to adjust that.”

  “What type of adjustment did you have in mind?” I asked.

  “Just this. If you do find Peterson, I am willing to make you my agent and offer him a substantial sum to stay gone. Of course, we would need a signed agreement to that effect. I’ll leave the exact negotiations in your hands. My father settled a bit of money on me when he passed, not what I deserved, of course, but enough to pay off a worm like Peterson.”

  “Why would I double cross your step mother, my client?”

  “Oh, come on, Randall. You’re in a pretty sleazy business and if this office is any indication, you’re not even very successful at it. Don’t tell me you don’t have a price,” he said, waving an arm at my humble accoutrements.

  I was quickly beginning to share Mrs. Peterson’s view of her stepson. He was an arrogant little worm.

  “Assuming I find Peterson, why would he accept chump change from you when your step mother holds the real stuff? Her money dwarfs anything you have.”

  “It should be my money, Randall,” he said, almost coming out of his seat.

  “Regardless of whose money it should be, your father left it to her. Why did he do that do you think?”

  “He did it because he was under her spell. If my mother had lived I would be in charge of the company now, instead of managing the pittance she allows me.”

  “She gives you a living and she also gives you a home. Why are you even there if you hate her so much?”

  “Because it’s mine, Randall. That’s why. I won’t let her run me out of my own home,” he said with some heat.

  “Even after she married Peterson?” I asked.

  “Especially after she married Peterson. My stepmother has a lousy instinct when it comes to men. Peterson wasn’t the first; he was just the one she married. They were all heels and users.”

  “She married your father, too,” I reminded him.

  “I’ll tell you a family secret, Randall. My father was the worst of the bunch. He was a sadist. He was an exceptionally cruel man who was protected by his wealth. Oh, I know he was supposed to be a great philanthropist, but that was a just a façade, a pretense. He enjoyed the applause it brought him when all the while he treated his family like servants. I’ll tell what sort of man he was. When my mother became ill, she had cancer, he bundled her off to a hospital so he wouldn’t have to deal with her. He wouldn’t let me visit. She died among strangers, Randall. What kind of man does that?”

  I hadn’t heard that story. I wondered what kind of man Virgil Hawkins had really been.

  “Listen, like it or not, your step mother is my client and I act in her interests. She wants Peterson back. By the way, Hawkins, you wouldn’t have any idea why Peterson disappeared would you?”

  Hawkins dismissed it with a wave.

  “Peterson was a gold digger and I think he finally realized that my step mother, whatever else her faults are, was not going to turn the company over to him. He’s probably in Mexico right now with some tramp. I’m just afraid he’ll end up coming back.”

  “Your step mother says he was acting strangely in the weeks leading up to his disappearance. Did you notice that?”

  “I didn’t have much contact with him. My stepmother is an emotional woman. She probably noticed nothing unusual until Peterson disappeared, and then imagined all sorts of oddities. She likes to make things up, Randall.”

  “So you haven’t had any contact with Peterson, or any tips on his location?”

  “Of course, not. Why would I be here if I had?” Hawkins asked.

  “Lots of reasons. Maybe you’re just fishing. Maybe something else. Doesn’t hurt to ask. And while I’m asking, what happens in the event of your stepmother’s death? Do you know? Does Peterson get it?”

  “Not a chance,” he barked with a laugh. “Her inheritance from my father was in the form of a trust. A lifetime trust that was patently unfair to me, however when she dies it reverts to me. My father set it up that way so that we would be at each other’s throats. I told you, Randall, he was an exceptionally cruel man.”

  “Then why were you worried about Peterson?” I asked.

  “My God, Randall, how dim are you? If a man like Peterson got control of the company, he could siphon off the whole thing a little at a time. It’s a private company. There is not even a board of directors for oversight. Peterson was a dangerous man. I just want to keep him out of the picture. Do we have a deal?”

  I turned him down again and we sparred a little more. He didn’t answer many of my questions either. All I could get out of him was that Peterson was a rogue and his stepmother was a fool for loving him. He swore he knew nothing of use about Peterson and he was still muttering about what a crummy profession I was in, when I swept him out the door.

  Chapter Ten

  With Hawkins out of the way I planned the next step in my investigation. It wasn’t the
glamorous part of being a PI, but it was often the most necessary part and that was hitting all the places information was lying around loose.

  My first call was to the city editors desk of the biggest daily in town, The Herald. Mitch O’Donnell was an old poker buddy, and was usually good for a steer or two. After the usual banter, I asked what he knew about Tony Peterson. The fact that Peterson was really Vitale, I was keeping under my hat since it was an important bit of information that wasn’t public yet.

  “Peterson?” rasped Mitch. “Don’t you want the society desk, Frank? I deal in hard news, buddy.”

  “Didn’t it become news when he disappeared?” I asked. “Surely you had someone work it at least for background.”

  “Maybe,” he said fencing. “What’s your interest, Frank? Do you have a client, or are you doing this on spec?”

  “I don’t work on spec Mitch and you know it. Spec doesn’t pay the bills”

  “Who’s your client?” he asked.

  “That’s confidential.”

  “Okay, be a clam on a friend. Let me get the file.”

  He sat the phone down and I heard his chair squeak as he rose. There was the sound of typewriters in the background and the low hum of voices associated with a busy big city newsroom. In two minutes he was back.

  “All right, here we are,” he said. “Looking at the file, the only clients you could have are the wife or possibly the step son. I’m betting on the wife.”

  I let that slide.

  “Anything on Peterson that is not in the public?”

  “What are you offering for trade, Frank, or is this on the arm?”

  “I can’t promise anything big, Mitch, but if I break any news you can have it after the case is over.”

  “That’s not much, Frank,” he protested.

  “You’ll get it before any other paper. And to sweeten the deal I’ll see if my client will do an interview with one of your reporters. Until then, I need some background to start.”

  “Okay, Frank,” he said after a pause. “You win, but it’s not much. Peterson apparently dropped into town a few years ago and seems to have spent most of his time at the track and hanging around rich women. Got his claws into Glenda Peterson about a year and a half ago, or she got her claws into him, there seems to be two points of view on that, but then he dropped into what all appearances was a happy normal marriage. There are the usual photos of the married couple at various social and charity events, but Peterson kept a low profile, although he still was a staple at the track.”