by David Archer
“Well, well. Arlene Gomez, is it?” the guest beamed. “Allow me to introduce myself: your fellow Mexican, Fernando Flores.” The man, who looked like he could be a Mexican or at least a Tejano, was stocky, but not quite obese. She would guess he was in his mid-thirties.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Flores, and I hope you are enjoying yourself,” she smiled, despite an unpleasant feeling she had about the stranger. “Not to burst your bubble, but I’m actually Puerto Rican…and Italian on my mom’s side.
“Habla usted Español?” he inquired with a wink.
“Only what I learned in high school. My sister and I grew up in an English-speaking home.”
“Oh, so you’re ashamed of your heritage,” he accused her.
“Not in the slightest, Sir. That’s just how I was raised.”
“Sure, I understand. I didn’t mean anything by it. Tell you what, just to make amends, why don’t I buy you a drink after you’re done here. Someplace nice, not this glorified warehouse.”
“Now, Mr. Flores, that would not be a good idea. For one thing, we’re discouraged from seeing our guests socially, outside the convention, and, for another, my day doesn’t end when yours does. I will probably be here until eleven, getting everything wrapped up and set up for tomorrow.”
“Eleven is nowhere near my bedtime. How about I come back then and take you someplace nice. Matter of fact the hotel I’m staying in has a real swanky bar. And then, when we got done there, my room’s only a short elevator ride away.”
“That was kind of you to ask, but, as I said, we are not to mingle with the guests off the premises. I could get in trouble.”
“Hey, I won’t tell no one. Besides, what with us being compadres, so to speak, don’t you think you could make an exception?”
“What I forgot to mention,” Arlene told him as she pointed to the ring on her finger, “is that I am engaged to a very tough cop.” It was the first time she had ever expressed the opinion that Sean was anything other than a bean-counter.
“Ha! And I suppose he’s a gringo.”
“Mr. Flores, if we expect people to stop calling us names, we have to stop calling them gringos, now don’t we? Play nice, and have a good time. Maybe I’ll get a chance to talk to you again, but, for now, I have to get busy. Adios.” Arlene was quite sure she had said all the words to this character she was ever going to say.
“Hey, over here, Miss High-and-Mighty!” a friendly voice called out. Arlene turned around to see it was Ed Smith. He and George Harbison were waving to her. Thank goodness Bob Jenkins was nowhere in sight, even though Arlene knew he was somewhere in attendance.
“How wonderful to see you both!” she said as she gave them each a quick hug.
“Got any time for us to catch up?” Smitty asked her.
“For the two of you, I’ll make some. Come on, I’ll buy you boys a drink.” They took a table close to the cash bar. As Harbison removed his jacket to drape it over a chair, a paperback fell out of a side pocket. He quickly snatched it up and moved it to an inside pocket. Before he did, Arlene saw the title: Sirens of Titan.
“Are you a Kurt Vonnegut fan too?” she asked him. “He’s one of my favorite writers.”
”I suppose, but I’m more into Science Fiction generally. It’s my guilty pleasure,” Harbison admitted.
“We all have them, don’t we?” Arlene added. “And what about you, Edward? Do you have any…in the way of books, I mean. Don’t want to get too personal.” While all the other executives called him Smitty, Arlene had chosen to address him as Edward, once she had been promoted to the point where she no longer had to call him Mr. Smith.
“You bet. I love the mysteries. I think I’ve read ‘em all from Conan Doyle to Ellery Queen. Nothing like a good whodunit to get the juices going. Thing is, they’re not the trashy stuff the snobs like to think they are. You read enough, you can learn a lot. Ask me, it beats the stuffing out of watching TV like a big old sack of potatoes.”
“The important thing, I think, is that we all read books,” Arlene said. “Never mind if they’re not the deep philosophers. Sad to say, reading is a pastime an awful lot of people have sworn off of for good. Probably for the reason you said, Edward. I don’t watch all that much TV, but, you know, sometimes it feels like I’m wasting my time when I do.”
“I think we’re a dying breed,” Harbison sighed.
“Speak for yourself, you old goat.” Smitty joshed. “I’m a long way from 100.”
“How many times I gotta tell you, man, I ain’t do nuffin!”
“Yeah, well, pardon us if we get a little suspicious, what with seeing you at the wheel of a stolen Mercedes and all. Funny that you couldn’t show a title,” Frank pointed out.
“Or keys, for that matter,” Biggie Hilton added.
“You mutha…ah…you guys sayin’ I stole that car? Sheeit, I ain’t never stoled a car in my life,” Vernon Gaddy insisted.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you’re a regular choirboy,” Frank responded. “So how did you come to be behind the wheel?”
“Tyrone said I could drive it for a while.”
“BULLSHIT!” Biggie thundered. Gaddy started in his seat.
Naw, man, Tyrone a friend of mine. Said I could use his car for a coupla hours.” Frank rolled his eyes and sighed.
“All right, then, Tyrone who? Where does he live?”
“I don’t know. Just Tyrone. Know the guy from around the hood, but that don’t mean I know his whole life story.”
“Just a last name and an address is all we want,” Frank patiently reiterated.
“You sayin’ Old Tyrone never had you over for tea and crunkets?” Biggie sneered.
“Fuck that, man, I ain’t no damn fag.”
“Son, you better give us a way to find your good buddy Tyrone, or all this is going to come down on you. You know that old saying about possession being nine-tenths of the law? Well, that cuts both ways.” At that point, a clerk came into the room.
“Excuse me, Detective Mueller, Captain Grimes needs to see you right away.”
“Be right there,” he answered, even as he kept his eyes on the suspect. “So here’s the deal, Vernon. I gotta go off and take care of some mickey-mouse stuff. That means I gotta leave you alone with your other good buddy, Detective Hilton. Anything he says or does to improve your attitude is nothing I’ll be around to witness. Got that?” Vernon Gaddy’s eyes got a lot bigger as he turned them to Frank’s scowling partner.
“Yes, Sir, how can I help you?” Frank addressed the Captain as soon as he entered the office.
“This is not a request for help, Detective Mueller. Please, take a seat.”
“Is everything OK?”
“No, I’m afraid it isn’t. Let me come right to the point. Your sister-in-law, Miss Gomez, has been sexually assaulted.” Frank flinched for a moment but retained his composure.
“We both know sexual assault covers a lot of ground, from some joker wagging his ding-dong at a girl to outright rape. Could you be a little more specific?”
“It was the second thing you said. I’m sorry, Detective.”
Chapter 7
To his agency’s surprise and delight, Bill Payne had been named Regional Adman of the Year at the awards banquet. For the firm’s senior partner, Zeke Blumenthal, nothing would do but for the team to adjourn as soon as possible to the Civic Center’s private party room that had been reserved for the winner.
“Everybody’s glass filled?” Blumenthal beamed as he hoisted his own full flute and cleared his throat to speak.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Adman of the Year. True, it’s only a regional award, but I’d like to see some New York hot-shot do any better than our man Bill Payne. To Bill!”
“To Bill,” most of the guests echoed as they toasted and drank.”
“Let’s get some more bubbly in those glasses,” Blumenthal insisted. “Surely I’m not the only one who—”
“Oh, Sweet mother of God!” Martha Pa
yne screamed. “I’m losing my mind!” She had understood and heeded the doctor’s warning not to mix the antidepressants he had prescribed for her with alcohol, and, up to this point, she had kept the warning in mind. While everyone else around her was enjoying a fine merlot with their beef Wellington, she had wisely stayed with ice water. Then, at the zenith of her husband’s glory, she forgot herself and raised a glass of champagne along with the others. The effect was almost instantaneous.
In a flash, Blumenthal was on the house phone, while Bill Payne tried to calm his wife.
“Get someone over here, right away!” he barked into the phone. “We have a situation—a very serious situation. I think we’ll need an ambulance.”
“Where the fuck is Arlene?” the head concierge raged. “Just when we need her the most, she craps out on us!” The P.A. system had already asked Arlene Gomez to report to the concierge desk several times.
“Why don’t we try Mr. Ellsworth?” one of the assistants suggested. “He’ll probably know what to do.” Sad to say, there was no finding Howard Ellsworth either.
Arlene Gomez was surprised to wake up in the passenger seat of her car. She turned on the interior light and checked her watch. It was 4:15—long after the festivities would have ended for the night. Why had she dozed off with so much to do yet? It was not as though she didn’t get plenty of sleep the night before. And what was she doing here? If she wanted to nod off for a bit, she knew of several hidey-holes in the Center where she could put her head down and snore like a chainsaw, with nobody the wiser. Something did not add up.
She checked herself in the rear-view mirror and saw that, while they were not a complete mess, something about her hair and makeup seemed a little out of kilter. Fearing the worst, she hiked up her dress and checked her panties. They were on backwards with one side pulled up a lot further than the other. Please, she silently prayed, don’t let it be so.
“So tell me, Pops, when’s the big day?” Greg Martin asked Frank.
“Soon. Any day now,” he curtly answered.
“You guys know what it’s gonna be?” Ernie followed.
“Girl.”
Ernie could not help but notice; for a proud father-to-be, expecting his first child, Frank Mueller did not seem the least bit excited or delighted. Had Frank been hoping for a son? That didn’t square with what he told them earlier when Greg had asked if he had any preference. All we’re hoping for is a healthy baby, he had said at the time.
The rape of Arlene Gomez was being handled quietly to save Frank and his family as much embarrassment as possible. Only the people who needed to know had been briefed. Frank, who was pointedly left off the case because he would have been too close to the victim, was only too eager to give the investigators all the information he could. Not only did he feel for Arlene, the crime had devastated his wife and her mother. If the police could not make this right by catching the bastard, who knew what misery might follow?
Frank wanted to see if his brilliant friend had any insight, but he wasn’t sure if that would be a good idea. He figured Ernie had as little use for Arlene as she did for him. In addition, now was not a good time to bring up the topic. He liked Greg Martin well enough, but knew the guy was an unmitigated blabbermouth.
“If you good people will excuse me for a second, I gotta go visit the gents,” Greg said as he stood up and started for the bathroom. When he was out of range, Frank gestured for Ernie to lean in. He might not have another opportunity like this for a while.
“We gotta talk, in private, about some very serious business,” he said, sotto voce.
“What, you want me to stand godfather for the kid?”
“This is no joking matter. How about you meet me tomorrow night at Ho Sai Gai, say eight thirty. Street clothes—ditch the uniform. I don’t think we’ll run into anyone we know that late in Chinatown”
“Only if you buy me a Peking duck.”
“Sure, chicken lo mein it is. Come on, man, this is, like, super-important.”
“Relax, I’ll be there.”
“I was hoping it was you,” the slender, middle-aged man said after he opened his door.
“What, you were expecting someone else?” the visitor asked.
“No, not for this, but who knows what could happen to ruin things.”
“You worry too much.”
“I have reason to. Unlike you, I’ve been caught—literally—with my pants down.”
“I think we’re OK for now,” the other guy said, “but we should probably get this done right away. I want to get back before they miss me.”
“All right, then, let’s get to it.” Both men began rapidly shedding their clothes.
“I know you don’t think much of her,” Frank added, “but I am very upset over this, and Poor Sadie is on the verge of hysterics. I just hope to God it doesn’t affect the baby.”
“Jeez, Frank what kind of a jerk do you think I am?” Ernie responded. “Sure, I’ll do whatever I can. Now, let’s review the bidding, okay? What do we know so far?”
The news is bad, Frank told his friend, but not as bad as it could be. We know she was not sodomized or beaten or cut, so that was a plus. Seems like the perp slipped her some kind of knockout drug and did her while she was asleep, the bastard. Also, the guy used a rubber, so she probably didn’t catch anything or get knocked up, thank God. Unfortunately, by using protection, the rapist kept us from getting any useful trace evidence.
“God knows, I’m relieved nothing worse happened to her,” Ernie added, “but if the son of a bitch had come inside her, we’d probably have him behind bars right now.”
“Let me pick up on that last thing you said,” Ernie told his friend at the end of the briefing. “When a guy screws a girl, he might leave something else beside sperm behind. Did they find any pubic hairs that didn’t belong to Arlene? I mean, a rubber can only cover so much.”
“No, and the sad fact of the matter is that they looked. Also, we’re pretty sure the guy wore gloves. All in all, it was a real slick operation.”
“Okay, so maybe we’re looking at a guy with some smarts, not some horny street thug.”
“That still leaves a lot of people to consider. Sadie is about half-crazy with rage. Almost seems she’s more upset than her sister. I wish we could get this thing solved, lickity-split.”
“Yeah, speaking of that, is there any chance the guy licked her…you know.”
“Nah. They checked for that too, front and back. Looks like it was your old wham, blam, thank you ma’am.”
“This is not going to be easy. What have you done so far, I mean beside reading the report?”
“Talk to you. That’s it, I’m afraid. They won’t let me work on the case, being as how the vic is my sister-in-law. I had to bend a few rules just to get a look at what they had so far.”
“All right, here’s something you can do. You do know who’s handling the case, right?”
“Sure, and they’re a couple of decent guys. Not sure how bright they are, though.”
“But you think they’re willing to cooperate at least a little, right?”
“Maybe, a little.”
“Good. Then how about you try this…”
“Jeez, Frank, we’re awfully sorry about your situation, like we told you, but you gotta believe, we’re under a lotta pressure to keep you outa this,” Detective Jack Halloran said.
“I’m not asking you to cut me in now,” Frank explained. “I just want a favor, and, if you can accommodate me, maybe you guys’ll be doing yourselves a favor too.”
“Whata’ya got in mind?” Halloran’s partner, Vic Pacini asked.
“I want you to take on a consultant.”
“Okay, who?” Pacini wanted to know.
“Ernie Campanella. Know him?”
“Not personally, but I hear he’s a real bad egg,” Pacini answered.
“Yeah, I heard that too,” Halloran agreed.
“Yeah, okay, the guy’s got a few black marks on his record.
That’s why he’s only a corporal and not a detective. Thing is, he’s, like super-bright, and as for the misconduct, he’s done a lot to clean up his act. You know, even when he was a drunk, he helped me solve a couple of murders in Strawberry Mansion I never would have closed without his help. He’s already cleared it with Spanky to let him go TDY if you guys agree to take him on.”
“I don’t know…” Halloran demurred.
“I got something else Campanella told me. He’s gonna be strictly behind the scene on this case. You and him catch the perp, you’re the ones who’ll slap on the cuffs. You get all the credit for the bust. He wants nothing for himself. Seriously, guys, Campanella’s a good deal for you. Unless you’ve got this case cracked already—and something tells me you’re nowhere near that—you could really help yourselves here.” Pacini held up a forefinger, indicating to Frank that he should stay there and wait. Then they went off by themselves and had a whispered conference.
“OK, we’ll play ball,” Pacini told Frank, “but if that dickweed pulls any shit, and I mean any shit at all, he’s back pounding a beat, capeesh?”
“I’m sorry, Sir, I’m not allowed to reveal that information,” the agent in the Plymouth Meeting office told Frank. “Deputy Chief Higgins is currently on incognito status. We can’t allow that to be compromised in any way.”
“Come on, it’s not like I’m some clown he plays golf with. I’m a cop too and, what’s more, your man Higgins is engaged to my sister-in-law. All I can tell you is, there’s been a family crisis that he needs to know about, right away.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Officer Mueller,” but we cannot make an exception for you. The best I can do is leave an urgent message for the deputy chief to call you the minute he gets back.”
Frank knew a stone wall when he butted up against one. Add to that, he did not want to bring this pompous jerk in on the specific reason for his call. All he could do was hope that Sean Higgins got back sooner, rather than later.
“Fine, please do that. This is very important,” he told the jerk.