The Visible Suspect (A Frank Randall Mystery)

by Steven Ehrman

  He paused and waited for questions. I had one.

  “If Thomas saw me kill Vitale why in the world would he think that would be a reason to blackmail his mother?” I asked. “He couldn’t tie her to anything.”

  “Sure he could, Randall. Don’t be stupid. Tommy was going to blackmail his mother cause he was sure she had hired you to kill Vitale. He couldn’t think of any reason you would do it on your own. He didn’t know what a white knight you are. In Tommy’s world people only act in their own best interest and anyone can be bought with enough money. He figured you were in a sleazy enough trade to take on the occasional rub out. What Tommy didn’t know was that there was a contract on Vitale and someone did come there that night to kill him.”

  “Who?” I asked. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

  Jimmy read the expression on my face.

  “Don’t worry, it’s no one you give a rats ass about, Randall,” he said. “It was me. You see, Uncle Rico gave me the assignment. Since you and I are such good friends, he was sure you would lead me right to Vitale and he was right. He’s a smart cookie, my uncle. Anyway, he gave me a contract for ten thousand to clean the slate for the family with Vitale. He thinks I did. In fact, I made my bones with the outfit doing it, or so they think. Uncle Rico thinks I did it and he’s satisfied with me and, incidentally, with you too. You came out smelling like a rose, buddy. Dumb luck, I call it. The smart money said you were going down on this one. Hawkins was the only person who could hurt you and I covered that. Poor little guy just chose the wrong bar to run his mouth. It’s over.”

  I laughed out loud. It was a good laugh and I let it boom and then run out of steam on it’s own.

  “I’ll give you credit, Jimmy, for spinning a good yarn,” I said. “You realize, all of this is just on your word, and the supposed word of a guy who has tread marks on his skull down at the cemetery.”

  Jimmy was picking at his fingernails and not looking at me, as I picked up an envelope and tore off the end.

  “Where’s your fancy letter opener, Randall?’ Jimmy asked politely.

  “What letter opener?”

  “Now, you’re playing dumb again. You were using it the last time Frankie and me was in the office, and I’ll bet dozens of people could testify that you owned one. Where is it?”

  I didn’t say anything and looked Jimmy hard in the eyes. They were a pale blue and he didn’t blink.

  “No need to tell me. You don’t know where it’s at anyway.”

  He pulled an ornate brass opener from his pocket and tossed it on the desk. It clattered to a halt right in front of me, next to Jimmy’s revolver.

  “Does that look familiar, shamus?” he asked. “Sure it does. You’re probably wondering how I ended up with it. After I saw you use it to stab Vitale, I wondered what you were going to do with it. I waited until the cops left, and after I was sure you hadn’t confessed or gotten caught, and I followed you when you left the building that night. You made me pretty footsore, old friend. We did some hiking that night, but I saw you walk onto the bridge and drop the letter opener in the river. While you were on vacation I had a friend do a little snorkeling and find it for me. Now, I have the murder weapon. What’s your story now?”

  I pushed my chair back and stood up. I walked over to the window and stared out. I could see people on the sidewalks and traffic in the streets. It all seemed so normal. None of them knew anything about what Jimmy knew.

  “Do you know how many more lives he was going to ruin, Jimmy?” I asked with my back to him. I don’t know why, but I felt like I had to justify it to him. “His eyes were dead. He was going to step all over everyone who ever loved him and just walk out and start over again somewhere. And you know what? The cops weren’t going to do anything. Even good cops like Woodward had their hands tied. He was just going to disappear after that.”

  “You don’t gotta sell me, Randall,” he said. “He was a bug. And like I said before, I think he was going to plug you when you left that night. He only met with you first to find out how much you knew.”

  “Where do we go from here, Jimmy?” I asked. I had never been so tired.

  “We don’t go nowhere, buddy. We go on like we always have. The key is not to act like anything has changed,” Jimmy explained. “Oh, and, Randall, I know you. I know this thing must be weighing on you. I’m already on the record with the family of taking care of this thing. I can’t have you getting a case of regrets and confessing to this. I know you did this at least partly for the girl. You screw up and she pays. Do you understand? I ain’t no Vitale. I wouldn’t hurt just for laughs, but I would burn her to protect myself. Remember that one night when you’re in your cups and feeling like a bum. You can’t get into heaven anyway. You probably never had a chance, so don’t think it was just because of this.”

  I let that hang fire. He was back to the old Jimmy. Just goading me for laughs. I wasn’t sure I would ever be the same, but he already was.

  “Oh, and, Randall. Where did you hide the opener, or did you leave it right out on the desk?”

  “Right there,” I said pointing at the potted plant. “I shoved it down into the dirt. It would have taken ten whole minutes to find, but with the cleaning lady downfield blocking for me, I didn’t think they would look. They didn’t.”

  “That was a chance though. Just hiding meant you were guilty. You’d have been better off leaving in the open.”

  “That’s where you don’t give the cops enough credit, Jimmy,” I said. “An old investigator like Woodward might have noted it and then started trying to tear up my alibi. And even so, here it is.”

  Jimmy got up and headed for the door.

  “I’ll be seeing you, Randall.”

  “Just a minute Jimmy,” I said. “You forgot your gun.”

  I picked up the revolver and pointed it at him. Jimmy looked at the gun and at me.

  “Oh, I get it, Randall,” he said jauntily. “I got something on you and you think you can wipe the slate clean by rubbing me. For one thing, it wouldn’t end there. I told Frankie I was coming to see you. And for another, you ain’t made that way. I’ll see ya”

  He turned again to leave.

  “Jimmy, take the gun,” I said, and I turned it around and grabbed it by the barrel holding it out towards him. It was cold.

  Jimmy looked at me. His eyes were hard and not blinking again, “It’s not mine, Randall. I took it off Vitale that night. I had to make sure he was dead, and I found it tucked into his pants. He was going to give it to you himself. At least the bullets. It’s yours now. You never know when you might need it. Don’t worry about it tying you to anything. Vitale always carried a clean gun. When he used one for anything, he dropped it and got another. Oh, and one more thing.”

  He dug into his jacket pocket and tossed something to me. I almost dropped the gun catching it. It was my watch.

  “Sorry about the watch. Sal likes shiny things. I got it back for you.”

  And he was gone. I didn’t hear the elevator so he must have taken the stairs.

  I sat in my office the rest of the afternoon. The phone didn’t ring. I heard the elevator several times and heard doors open and close, but no one came to the office. As dusk approached, I got up and left. I pulled a pint of scotch out of my desk drawer, took a pull, and put it in my pocket. I looked down at the gun. I grabbed it and smelled the barrel. There was the faint odor of gunpowder, but it was hard to tell when it had last been shot. I tucked into my pants and buttoned my jacket. I might need it, just like Jimmy said.

  Once I was outside the building I started to walk towards my car and then changed my mind. I needed a few drinks and I didn’t feel like driving. I flagged a cab and got in.

  “Where to, Mac?” asked the driver. He was a young guy with a baseball cap on with long, greasy hair sticking out the back.

  I gave him the address of the Club Control. He flipped the meter on and eased into light traffic. We had covered about half the distance when I noticed a set o
f headlights that made the last three turns with us. I glanced out the rear window, but all I could see was glare.

  “Turn right at the next intersection,” I told the cabbie.

  “That’s the wrong way, man,” he said.

  I told him to do it anyway. Two more turns convinced me.

  “Head towards the warehouse district,” I said.

  “At this time of night?” protested the driver. “There’s nothing there, buddy.”

  “Just do it.”

  “Okay. You’re the doctor. What address?”

  “No address. I’ll let you know when to stop.”

  He drove a few more blocks and I noticed him looking in his rearview.

  “Hey, buddy,” he said. “I don’t wanna sound like a nut, but I think someone is tailing us.”

  “You’re right,” I said in a weary voice. “They’ve been on us since I got in.”

  “Listen, mister, for twenty bucks I can lose them for you.”

  “I don’t want to lose them. Just drive.”

  He shrugged his shoulders and watched the road, sneaking peeks in the mirror every now and again. As we entered the warehouse district traffic thinned to nothing. This area was alive with trucks and workers during the day, but was home only to alley cats and despair at night. The air was rank with the smell of diesel fuel. There must have been a spill recently. Whenever that happened they usually just opened up a fireplug and washed it into the sewers. It all ended up there anyway.

  In the middle of a block I had the driver stop. I paid the meter and stepped out. The driver didn’t want to leave me. I could see he was torn, but his dispatch radio crackled and he pulled away from the curb and disappeared around the next corner. The car that had been following us had stopped a block away, when my cab pulled over, and turned off its lights. I looked back in the gathering darkness and could just make out a gray sedan. I began to walk in the other direction.

  By the time I had covered the first block I could see the lights come back on. The car was getting closer. I braced for a volley of shots as it pulled along side me, but then it increased speed and passed. It pulled to the curb twenty yards ahead of me and a large man got out of the drivers side. He walked over to the passenger side, on the sidewalk, and blocked me. He had one hand in his jacket pocket and the other he put out in front of him.

  “Slow down, Randall,” he said with a rasp. “We got business.”

  I stopped five feet away from him. It was Homer Watkins. His face was hidden in shadows, but that was his heap and I would recognize that voice anywhere.

  “I was expecting someone, but not you, Homer,” I said. I could feel the cold steel of the revolver against my waist and wondered how quickly I could jerk it out.

  “I’ll bet you didn’t expect me, Randall. We got personal business, but that can wait. I’m working and I got someone here wants to talk to you.”

  He opened the door and a pair of legs came out in sheer hose with high heels. I followed the legs up to a short black skirt and green blouse. It was Gloria Hewes. She whispered something to Watkins and he went back around the car, opened the driver’s door, and got back in the car, but not without one last nasty glance at me.

  “I’ve been trying to reach you, Frank,” she said softly. I could smell her perfume.

  “I’ve been out of town. If you’re mad about Vitale-” I began.

  “It’s not that, Frank. That was over long ago. I know he was just using me. He played a long game and he got what he paid for.”

  “So you’re the one who hired Watkins?” I asked.

  “Tony wanted me to find someone who could keep tabs on your investigation. Once he was dead, I asked Mr. Watkins to let me know when you hit town again and to take me to you. He spotted you at your office and came and got me. You were just leaving as we got there. He doesn’t like you very much.”

  “Another Christmas card I’m not getting. Why are you here, Gloria?”

  “Because I care about you Frank and you’re the first right guy I’ve met in a long time. You can’t tell me you don’t feel something for me too. I think you’d do almost anything for me, baby, and I would do anything for you.”

  I tried to guess how much she knew. I’d never tell her, but maybe someone who had been on the grift as long as she had could smell out the answer in this tangle.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I want to go home with you, Frank. I don’t want to be alone.”

  I thought it over. I walked over to the car and leaned in the passenger side window.

  “The lady will not be needing you anymore tonight, Homer.”

  He looked to Gloria and asked, “Is that how you want it Miss Hewes?”

  “We’ll be fine. Send me a bill,” she said.

  “Listen, it’s pretty desolate down here. You sure you don’t want me to carry you some place.

  Gloria looked at me and I shook my head.

  “We’ll be fine, Mr. Watkins. Thank you.”

  With that, Watkins took off. He made no turns and it took a few minutes for his taillights to fade away. We began walking. It was going to be a long walk before we could flag a cab, but we had time. We walked a dozen blocks in silence before traffic began to pick up. I saw a cab and raised my hand. I pulled her close to me and kissed her.

  “What is your name, really?” I asked.

  “Cynthia Helm,” she said.

  “Is that your real name?”

  “Does it matter?” she said.

  “No, I guess not,” I said. “I like Gloria better anyway.”

  The cab stopped and she got in first, with me sliding in beside her. I gave the cabbie my address and he began driving. She held onto my arm tightly. We arrived at my apartment building shortly. I paid the cab and we were deposited on the sidewalk. I looked up at the building.

  “We’re home,” I announced.

  “Let’s get up to bed, Frank.”

  “Are you tired?” I asked.

  “No.”

  She looked up at me and kissed me again and we walked inside.

  I never did find out her real name.

  The End

  Please look for the next Frank Randall Mystery in the summer of 2014