Evidence Not Seen (Love Is Book 9)

by Carlene Havel

  “I don’t believe my dad will ever share anything about the past, including First National. My mother either, and they’re the only ones who know. Unless you help me out.”

  Otto turned his piercing blue eyes on Jeff. “Why ask now?”

  “I tried to find some information before, but I didn’t learn much.” He cupped a hand and gazed at his fingernails. “My dad served his sentence and was released from prison last month. My mother acts like he went on vacation and came home.” He paused. “I guess I’m searching for a reason not to be angry with my father. He left my mom to raise me by herself. We had a pretty tough time. I’d like to get past all of that and enjoy having a father now for the rest of his life and mine. Perhaps if we talk for a while, you’ll remember something—I don’t know what—that will clarify things.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Wiggling his shoulders, Otto Schmidt let the quilt slip slightly from around his red plaid flannel shirt. He stared at Jeff for a long moment. “Tell me everything you know.”

  “There isn’t much.” He stopped to arrange events in sequence. “My parents were married in 1946, shortly after my father was discharged from the army. I was born in 1950. Mother taught school and Dad worked at the bank. According to Mom, he was a whiz at banking, but you have to take what she says with a grain of salt.” Jeff withdrew a small package from his pocket. “The rest of what I know came from newspaper articles. Do you want to read them?”

  Keeping his hands in his lap, Otto shook his head to decline the offered clippings. “Go on.”

  “As I understand it, First National was planning to open a branch office in Glen Oak, and my dad was supposed to be the manager. There was a glitch in the vault locking mechanism and the alarm system. The contractor couldn’t get things fixed in time for the grand opening, but only a handful people knew that. On the first day of business, they discovered some fifty thousand dollars delivered the day before was missing.”

  Otto broke into a spasm of coughing, causing Jeff to ask, “Can I get you something?”

  “Yeah,” Otto replied. “Hand me that pack of cigarettes and the matches from the top of the dresser.”

  After doing as he was told, Jeff turned his kitchen chair around and sat in it the traditional way.

  “Care for one?” The old man held out a half-emptied pack of Lucky Strikes.

  “No, thanks. I don’t smoke.”

  Otto lit up and took a long puff. “Smart,” he said, tucking the cigarettes under his lap quilt. “Wish I’d never started. What else did you find out?”

  “I think you know the rest,” Jeff said.

  “Not a question of what I know.” Otto turned away and exhaled a cloud of smoke.

  Actually, the whole point was what he knew. But Jeff would play along if that’s what it took. “At first suspicion fell on the contractor, especially when it turned out he had a record. Then someone found out the bank president had a girlfriend. His wife was shocked to learn the banker had bought his sweetie a fur coat and some diamond jewelry about the time the money went missing.” Jeff checked his newspaper clippings to make sure he got the facts straight. “The police—I suppose that was you—found out my dad had spent his savings, borrowed as much as he could, and was trying to sell his house.” He put the clippings back into his pocket. “Then, out of the blue, Keith Galloway confessed. He would never say what he did with the fifty thousand, which caused the judge to give him the maximum prison term for the theft, along with a couple of minor charges the DA threw in. There was a lot of speculation full restitution would have resulted in a suspended sentence.”

  “You got it mostly right,” Otto said, his cigarette dangling from his lower lip. “Except the banker’s wife knew all about the girlfriend. She put up with her old man’s catting around as long as he kept it quiet and bought her the same goodies his floozy got. The contractor didn’t have a record. He was indicted for shoplifting years before, but the charges were dropped. Hand me that ashtray, will you?”

  Jeff moved the heavy glass ashtray from the floor to a low table next to Otto.

  “However, you missed some significant facts,” Otto said. “That’s not your fault. It was part of the deal.”

  “Deal? What deal?”

  Otto took out another cigarette, carefully refolding his quilt to cover the colorful package. As he tapped the end of the cigarette on the side table, Jeff suspected the old man enjoyed keeping him waiting. He was probably bored, confined to a wheelchair all day.

  “I was pretty good, if I do say so myself.” He lit his cigarette. “Back then, a sharp detective did it all. I didn’t call in a specialist to take pictures and lift prints.” Taking a long draw, he repeated, “Yes, sir, I did it all. You wouldn’t happen to have a cigar on you, by any chance?”

  Jeff shook his head.

  “No, I guess not, you being a non-smoker and all. I got me a beautiful, complete handprint from underneath a stainless steel counter inside the vault. I had a feeling. You probably get them now and then, when you have to come up with something that brings all those odd-shaped pieces together in a pattern. When all of the sudden, crazy stuff starts to add up.” He paused, as if waiting for a response.

  “Yes. I sometimes sense whether a client is being truthful with me or not.”

  Otto leaned toward Jeff. “Listen, if my grandson comes in here, I’m going to tell him you have been smoking, not me. Don’t let on, all right?” He settled back and smoked for a moment. “Yep, I had a hunch about that handprint. Funny though, it didn’t match up with any of my prime suspects.” He narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. “So what do you think? Where would you go from there?”

  “Excuse me?” Jeff understood Schmidt’s question, but disliked playing games.

  “Who did it?”

  “Keith Galloway did it, Mr. Schmidt. But why? And what did he do with the money? Did you ever figure that out?”

  Otto’s deep cough reminded Jeff of a seal’s bark. “You skipped a few steps. If your old man didn’t have a motive, and the prints weren’t his, how do you figure he did the crime?”

  “Because he confessed,” Jeff said. “Why would a man plead guilty and serve twenty-seven years in prison for something he didn’t do?”

  For the first time, Schmidt smiled. “Well now, you’re finally asking the right questions. All you need are the answers to go with them.” He held the stub of his cigarette between his thumb and middle finger, with the smoke drifting across his age-spotted hands. “What’s your theory?”

  Totally frustrated, Jeff tilted his head back. “Well, let’s see. My father had a martyr complex. He felt the need to be punished for something he did during the war.”

  “That’s stupid,” Otto said. “Try again.”

  Why did he come here, to let this old coot play him like a violin? “The bank president’s girlfriend was in love with the contractor and they conspired. The prints belong to an accomplice, who took the money and left my dad to take the rap. The butler did it. I don’t know.”

  Otto stared out his window for a moment. “Why don’t you chew on this little mystery for a while? Once you sort out the motives, the solution will become obvious. Come back and see me when you have it figured out.”

  “Mr. Schmidt, do you know who that handprint belonged to?”

  Otto grinned. “When you come, bring me some Luckies, will you? A whole carton if you can swing it, but don’t let my grandson find out. He’ll be in pretty soon to put me down for my nap.” He held out the pack of cigarettes. “You can put these back over there where you found them.”

  Jeff stood and put things in order. “There’s no reason for me to return unless you promise to answer some questions for me.”

  “A cigar would be nice, too.”

  As if on cue, Bubba came lumbering in. “It’s time for you to rest, Pawpaw.”

  “All right.” Otto rolled his wheel chair to the bed. “I hope to see you again, Jeff. Remember what I told you. Motive.” He tapped the side of hi
s head. “Use your noggin.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  As soon as Jeff arrived home from visiting Otto Schmidt, he cleared his dining room table. He set out a stack of index cards, his old newspaper clippings, and colored markers. After listing several suspects, he spread the cards across the table’s top. He stared at the labels reading Bank President, Girlfriend, Contractor, and Keith Galloway for a while, then added Accomplice, and Joker to account for people other than the obvious. Finally, he started to work out each suspect’s reason for wanting fifty thousand dollars.

  With a yawn and a stretch, Jeff realized he’d been absorbed in his analysis through dinner time. Opening his refrigerator almost snow blinded him. The pantry was only slightly better stocked, with a few cans of soup, crackers, and some popcorn. Feeling ravenous, he phoned for his favorite quick meal.

  Shortly thereafter, Jeff plopped his warm pizza on the kitchen counter, taking two slices to the table where his homemade puzzle awaited his attention. He surveyed his apartment while consuming dinner. The classy chrome and glass décor suddenly struck him as cold, even sterile. The place needed warmth. It needed Melanie. So did he.

  As soon as his body stopped screaming for food, Jeff picked up the phone and dialed Melanie’s number. Receiving no answer, he left a message on her answering machine. “Hey, you! This is Jeff. Call me when you have time to talk. Don’t worry if it’s late. I’ll be up.” He wondered what Mel was doing—and with whom.

  Forcing himself to be slow and thorough, he decided to concentrate on opportunity. The time window extended from an afternoon cash delivery until approximately eight a.m. the following morning. Sixteen hours or so, at least half after dark. Almost anyone could slip away long enough to do the crime.

  He began writing new questions for Otto Schmidt. How did the thief gain entry into the branch bank building? What was needed to carry the money away—a suitcase, wheel barrow, or truck? Jeff stopped and tapped his pencil against his teeth. Was he off track? Even if he found answers to these questions, what did they have to do with his dad’s guilt or innocence?

  At ten o’clock, the telephone jangled. Jeff grabbed it before the second ring.

  “Jeff?”

  “Hi, Melanie.” He felt a smile spreading across his face at the sound of her voice. “I’m glad you called.”

  “I hope it’s not too late. Bernie and I decided to take in a movie after work.”

  Friday night with Bernie. Jeff was starting to dislike this guy. “Not at all. I’ll be up a couple more hours at least.”

  “Tough case?”

  “Actually, I’m working on a big puzzle. It’s spread out all over my dining room table.”

  Melanie chuckled. “That’s the last thing in the world I thought you would be doing. You seem more like the type to watch a sports program.”

  “You’d be right about that most of the time.” He shifted the telephone to his other ear. “I had a wonderful time at the Sweetheart Ball last night.”

  “Me, too,” she said. “You’re a great dancer.”

  “That’s no trick with you for a partner. Hey, Mel, if you’re not busy, how about coming over tomorrow? You can help me with my puzzle, and I’ll repay you by springing for lunch.”

  “Well, I don’t know.”

  Hearing the hesitation in her voice, he remembered Gretchen’s revelation about why Melanie’s engagement ended. “Do you bake?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

  “I don’t own a rolling pin, but I was thinking if you’re a baker, you probably do.”

  “What’s your point, Jeff?”

  “I was thinking you might be apprehensive about being alone with me in my apartment. So, bring a rolling pin along and break my head with it if I get the least bit fresh with you. What do you say?”

  Laughing, Melanie replied, “All right. What time should I come?”

  “Late morning, so you can get home early. It’s dangerous for you to drive those country roads by yourself after dark.”

  Jeff held his breath. Did he sound like he thought she belonged to him already?

  “You’re sweet,” she said. “But you don’t need to be concerned. My dad does enough worrying for all of us.”

  After they said their goodbyes and hung up, Jeff walked around his apartment. The place was perfect for a bachelor, but not suitable for a family. Was it time to start shopping for a house? He wrote out a few more index cards and laid them out on the dining table. When he could no longer concentrate, he dug the Friday classified ads out of the wastebasket, sorting through the jumbled sections until he located the real estate listings.

  Jeff went to bed, taking the newspaper along. He caught sight of himself in the mirror, and couldn’t resist laughing aloud. “Jeffrey Keith Galloway, you are definitely in love. I must say, it feels wonderful.” He began circling descriptions of homes in neighborhoods with good schools.

  All he needed now was to say those three little words to Melanie, and pray she’d repeat them back to him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  On Saturday morning, Jeff decided to pick up the clutter before Melanie arrived. He whistled a tune while stowing clothes in the hamper, loading the dishwasher, and tossing newspapers into the wastebasket. When his apartment was presentable, he showered and selected a neatly-pressed pair of jeans. Although he always dressed carefully for work, he normally paid little attention to his attire on Saturday. This particular day, however, he pushed shirts left and right in his closet, searching for one he thought Melanie would like. He settled on a long sleeved polo shirt, the color of her eyes, cornflower blue.

  A few minutes before eleven o’clock, a rap on his door told him Melanie had arrived. “Good morning, sunshine,” he said as he opened the door. In his embarrassment, he bought some magazine subscriptions he neither needed nor wanted to support his neighbor’s son’s band. He was shelling out money to the boy when Melanie walked up.

  “Hello. I see you’ve already done your good deed for the day,” she said as he shut the door behind the waif and his mother.

  “They caught me at a weak moment. Good morning. It’s nice to see you.”

  “I didn’t bring my rolling pin, but I do have a weapon.” She scowled and lifted her folded umbrella above her head menacingly. “And I won’t hesitate to use it.”

  Jeff laughed. “I’m terrified. Now I know I’ll behave like a gentleman. Want some coffee?”

  “Sure.” Melanie chuckled. She followed him toward the kitchen, but stopped at the dining room table. “I expected one of those thousand piece jigsaws. What is this, a homemade puzzle?”

  “You could say that.” He returned and handed her a mug of steaming coffee. “Blond and sweet, just like you.” Jeff sat across from her in his dining area. Taking a sip of his black coffee, he proceeded to recount his conversation of the previous day with Otto Schmidt.

  “Why was Mr. Schmidt so cagey?” she asked.

  Jeff shook his head. “I don’t know. He hopes I’ll sneak cigarettes by his grandson for him. Other than that, maybe he’s bored and relishes someone new to talk to. Or it’s possible he doesn’t get much chance to exercise his mind. So he wants to prolong this as long as he can. Could be, the old man simply enjoys mind games. Lots of good detectives do.”

  “Maybe he’s crazy.” She picked up a card. “Or he was a crooked cop, and ended up with the fifty thousand dollars himself.”

  “Those are possibilities I never considered,” Jeff admitted. “Obviously, two heads are better than one. Schmidt said motive is the key. Let’s focus on that for a while.” He handed Melanie a pen and a stack of index cards. “I have the main suspects going across the table. Underneath each person’s column, we can make another card showing the reasons why each suspect wanted the money.”

  “Who wouldn’t want 50K?” Melanie asked.

  “All right, who would have a strong enough motive to steal?”

  “What do you know about these people you’re calling suspects? I mea
n, all a crook needs is an opening. An honest person would need a powerful motive to overcome his scruples and take something that’s not his.”

  Jeff sighed. “Precisely why I need to do an analysis. Who had the opportunity and the motive?”

  After a while, Melanie propped her elbows on the table and waved her palms back and forth in front of her face. “I’ll brainstorm with you, but I can’t do the cards, Jeff. My mind isn’t organized the same way yours is. You probably understand algebra. I don’t.”

  “Okay. Let’s begin with the least likely suspect, the banker’s girlfriend.”

  “Why not start with your father?”

  “What difference does it make?” Jeff put down his pen.

  “Is your purpose to gain a better understanding of your dad and why he did what he did, or to clear his name?” She sipped coffee. “You don’t really care about those other people unless it’s possible he’s innocent.”

  Jeff stood and started to pace. “You may be right. Have I let old Mr. Schmidt entangle me in a no-win game?”

  “I’d like another cup of coffee. Do you mind if I help myself?” she asked.

  “Go ahead. Sugar’s on the counter and half-and-half is in the fridge.”

  “Half-and-half? No wonder this tastes so good.”

  At the window, Jeff watched people walking in and out of nearby shops. “What am I missing?” he asked when Melanie returned.

  Joining him, she cupped her hands around her mug of coffee. “I think you’re making everything too complicated.”

  “Why don’t we take a break and have lunch?” he asked. “There are all kinds of restaurants on the second floor of the building across the street. Mexican, Chinese, Italian, barbecue, burgers. Take your pick.”

  She scrunched her face. “I’d prefer soup and salad.”

  “I’ve never gone in search of either. We’ll play it by ear.”

  “Here’s my non-logical approach,” Melanie said as Jeff helped her put on her coat. “Let’s talk about something else during lunch and let our minds rest. When we pick it up again, we’ll have clearer heads.”