by David Archer
Most of the people he talked to at the agency agreed they were a couple of decent guys, even if Mr. Harbison was a little tight with a buck. Harbison had admitted to the small vice he had confessed to Arlene during the convention when they were talking about books. He told Ernie he was a science fiction nut, while Smitty went in for mysteries. Miss Gomez never did say what she liked to read. Probably Cosmo and Vogue, he supposed.
When he checked their homes, he learned a little more about the two men. Harbison’s youngest son, who was still living at home, looking for the “right kind of job” to come along, confessed he had found a secret porn stash his dad kept in the garage, in a binder marked Technical Manuals. Just don’t tell him I said so, okay? Smitty’s wife at first had said everything was fine with her and her husband, but she didn’t sound totally convinced. When Ernie pressed her, she finally admitted she and Ed hadn’t made love for close to a year now. She was afraid he had become impotent. In fact, she added, he is so ashamed of himself that, lately, he won’t even let me see him naked. I wish he’d take those pills you hear about, she sighed.
Okay, Ernie figured, let’s see what I got. Smith can’t get it up anymore, even though he’s the younger of the two. Harbison still has an eye for the ladies, but he’d also have the most to lose if he turned out to be Mickey Finn. Then he remembered this was strictly a make-work assignment. Sure, it was possible one of them could be the perp, just like it was possible the Delaware River could flood its banks tomorrow and wipe out half of Philadelphia.
When Vic Pacini got back to his desk, he saw there was a message for him from Arlene Gomez. Right off the bat, he returned her call.
“Thank you for getting back to me so soon. I got something that may not be anything at all, but I thought you might want to hear it.”
“At this point, anything you can give us would be deeply appreciated,” he assured her.
“All right, here it is. Last night I had a strange dream I was in a parking garage and being dragged out of a van. Do you think that had anything to do with, you know, the incident?”
“You never can tell, but I just made a note of it. Thank you, Miss Gomez. We appreciate your efforts to cooperate.” It was only after she ended the call that a horrible thought occurred to Arlene. Howard Ellsworth drove a van.
Chapter 11
First it had been a temporary duty assignment to Dover, then another TDY to Wilkes Barre. All in all, the Deputy Chief of Station was spending very little of his time around Philadelphia…and none of it with Arlene. Her only contact with Sean had been a few apologetic telephone conversations. Arlene wondered why a fellow who was supposed to be there in an administrative capacity should be out of the office so much. The truth of the matter was that Sean had practically begged Chief Spangler to send him on those trips. To his credit, he had handled both assignments well enough, but it was nothing any other of the top agents couldn’t have done.
As Sean Higgins sat in his motel room the night before he would have to drive back to Plymouth Meeting, he admitted to himself, he could not keep this up forever. If nothing else, Spangler had warned him he was getting way behind on his paperwork. It was time to wrap this up, once and for all.
Dear Arlene,
I cannot begin to tell you how much it pains me to write this letter. I thought ours was a love that would last forever, but, alas, such a thing was not meant to be. I have found someone else, sad to say.
Her name is Mai Ling. Yes, you were right, I always did have a thing for Asian girls. I suppose it was only a matter of time. I guess it’s better this happened now than after we were married. I met her on my last assignment and, though we have only known each other a little while, I know she is the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. On one hand, I could say damn Chuck Spangler for constantly sending me from one place to another, but, then, I never would have met my new fiancée. Life can be crazy sometimes.
I think you should keep the ring, that is, if you want to. If you want to sell it off, it’s nothing less than what I deserve. I know I let you down, really bad, but I can’t help myself.
All I can say at this point is that I wish you every happiness and success for the future. You are a beautiful woman, Arlene. I have no doubt you will soon find a man who will be far more suitable than I ever was.
All my very best wishes,
Sean
Of course there was no Mai Ling. She should be glad, Sean figured, that he chose to let her down with a nice little white lie, when, in truth, he wanted nothing more to do with the dirty two-timing whore.
The cops had still not identified Mickey Finn when Arlene got Sean’s letter. She took it with a lot less equanimity than she had taken the rape. After all, the rapist, whoever he was, was a rat bastard through-and-through. Sean had been her knight in shining armor.
Sadie and Frank came right over with the baby after Arlene had called her sister with the terrible news.
“I blame myself, Sweetie,” Sadie said as she gently rubbed her weeping sister’s back. “If I hadn’t gone and hooked the two of you up, none of this would have happened.”
“Don’t blame yourself,” Arlene told her. “I can see how he could fool you. He sure fooled the hell out of me. I actually appreciate that you tried. Looks like now I’m going to end up as Juliet’s crazy maiden aunt.”
“You will do no such thing!” Sadie protested. “I now know better than to stick my nose in your business, but there’s no reason you can’t find Mr. Right on your own. Say what you will about your time with Sean Higgins, it made you into a more confident, optimistic woman. Don’t deny it, you know I’m right.” Instead of responding to her sister, Arlene raised her angry red eyes toward Frank.
“Arlene, I feel awful about this. I want you to be happy, not like this…not like this” Frank stammered. He had been counting on Sadie to do all the talking.
Chapter 12
“Gentlemen, I think we’re almost there,” Detective Pacini gloated as the three guys on the case met again to compare notes. Even Halloran had to admit that Jenkins was almost certainly a dead end. The guy had chickened out when he had a chance to bang a pretty secretary, if the girl’s story could be believed.
“And anyway,” Ernie pointed out, “how likely is it a guy they call Bob the Slob could pull off such a precision operation?”
“Yeah, yeah, great point, there Campanella,” Pacini said, “but it’s nothing compared to the biggest reason of ‘em all. It wasn’t Jenkins because it was Ellsworth. I got the guy dead to rights.”
“You think so?” Ernie asked. Frank had already briefed him that Ellsworth was gay.
“There’s one point I hadn’t brought up yet,” Pacini said. “I just recently got a call from the vic. She said she had a dream about being dragged out of a van. You know, there’s a reason we dream the dreams we do. And guess who owns a van? Our man Howard Ellsworth, a/k/a Mickey Finn.”
“Yeah, but how much can we rely on a dream?” Halloran wondered.
“Well consider this,” Pacini countered, “after we put this joker in lockup, I checked out his ride, inside and out. Clean as a whistle. It’s like it was thoroughly detailed, maybe for a good reason.”
“Or it could be the guy’s compulsively clean,” Ernie offered, “you know, the way most of your gays are.”
“Gay? Who said anything about gay?” Pacini snapped. “I think you’re just trying to louse up my case, Campanella, and I don’t appreciate it one bit.”
“I got it from a reliable source,” Ernie said.
“And would this reliable source have the initials of…oh, I don’t know…F.M.?” Pacini sneered.
“Maybe, maybe not. Look, you can arrest this guy and go through the whole process, but, sooner or later, it’s going to come out.”
“All right, suppose he is a homo. Some of them have been known to fuck women,” Halloran pointed out.
“Yeah, but for a reason. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, if a gay man has sex with a woman it’s ‘cau
se he’s trying to prove a point, either to himself or somebody else. If that’s the case, why would Ellsworth bang Miss Gomez on the sly? For that matter, why bang Miss Gomez at all? If he wanted to show he was straight, any one of several hundred hookers would have done the job with a lot less risk to him.”
“You’re making a mountain out of a mole hill, Corporal,” Pacini said. “I think the van is key, here, and who else among the suspects owns a van? I can’t think of anyone off hand.”
“There is one guy,” Ernie pointed out, “and I did get a look at his van. It was also clean as a whistle.”
“Oh, and I suppose he’s a fag too.”
“Or maybe a guy who’s so deeply in love with Arlene Gomez, he can’t fuck his wife anymore,” Ernie offered.
That afternoon, Ernie found what he was looking for at the third shop he and Pacini had visited.
“Here’s a log of all the detail jobs we done for the past week,” the owner said. “Go ahead and check it out if you want.” There was no name that matched any of their suspects, but one name stood out: James Moriarty.
“There, right there.” Ernie said as he held his finger to the name. “Professor James Moriarty is, like, the arch villain in the Sherlock Holmes stories. One thing I learned about this guy, he’s crazy for mysteries.
“Tell me,” Ernie asked the owner, “did Mr. Moriarty look anything like this?” He held up a photo he had found in the agency’s newsletter.
“Yep, that’s him.” Yep, it was Ed Smith.
Epilogue
Arlene sat it stunned silence after Frank broke the news. Once again, but even more so, conflicting emotions ran through her mind. She was glad that the crime got solved, of course, but deeply sad it had been Edward. The really sad thing was, if he had been single or even divorced and come to her after Sean Higgins ditched her and maybe asked her nicely, she could have seen starting a relationship with him, up to and including sex. What a waste, she thought.
And of course, she was massively relieved the rapist had not been Jenkins or Flores. If either one of those guys had violated her, it might have sent her around the bend. She was also very relieved that Howard Ellsworth had been cleared of all wrongdoing. Suppose he had been out on a secret assignation when the crime took place, what of it? Aren’t we all entitled to a little happiness wherever we can find it? Finally she was very curious: how did those guys manage to figure out it was Ed Smith and not someone a lot more likely?
“Are you sure you want to hear all the gory details?” Frank asked her.
“Yes I do. Edward Smith was my friend. I want you to help me understand how this could have happened.”
Frank had been allowed to listen in on Smith’s confession from outside the room. He said the guy had been in love with Arlene Gomez ever since she was a student on a summer job. As the years went by, it got harder and harder to control his feelings. Even though he had not mustered up the courage to leave his wife so he could court Arlene, he was heartbroken when she left the agency. He had figured the convention they were invited to might be his last chance to do something. He carefully made all the preparations, including shaving his pubic hair so as to leave no trace of it, then slipped the drug into Arlene’s drink when she had been distracted by a question from another conventioneer. Arlene was right, Frank agreed, it really was a shame.
Ernie Campanella was true to his word when he said that Pacini and Halloran could have all the glory if they caught the perp. On a secondary level, he figured that Spanky would be able to figure out who had really cracked the case or, at least he hoped so. There had been no mention whatsoever of Ernest Campanella in the detectives’ reports. Maybe a discreet word from Frank might reach the Captain’s ear. Still, that was not Ernie’s chief reason for lending his talents to the case. Although he still felt no affection for the Gomez women—Arlene, who had never given him a chance, and Sadie, who had turned on him so viciously—he realized he had done them and their mother a great wrong. He had a debt to pay, and this was his way to pay it. As if to reward him for his virtuous behavior, a very welcome letter appeared in the next day’s mail.
Dear Sweetie,
Wonderful news! I’m coming home! I’ll be back in Philadelphia, or should I say, your arms, sometime this coming Tuesday. Normally, there is a week between the time we complete the course and the banquet where they hand out the diplomas. Since I was at the top of my class—not to brag, but there it is—the director offered me an extra stipend so that I could use the time to tour anywhere I wanted in France. I thanked him for his kind offer, of course, but told him the place I really wanted to tour was a city in Pennsylvania called Philadelphia. I even asked him to mail me the diploma, so that I could get on a plane, toute suite.
Aren’t I the best? No need to reply, you can tell me in person, before you know it.
I love you so much,
Evelyn
Arlene continued to sit in stunned silence as Frank wrapped up the case for her. At that point, his right move would have been to shut up, but he didn’t know to make it.
“Jeez, Arlene,” this has been a hell of a year for you,” he added, “between this and getting dumped by that guy Higgins.” Suddenly Arlene jumped up from the couch and began beating Frank’s chest with her fists.
“You wanted that, you selfish son of a bitch! You wanted that all along,” she sobbed. “You never liked Sean, so you drove him away. Don’t you dare bullshit me, Frank Mueller, I saw the hostility in your eyes every time Sean was around. He saw it too. That’s why he left me, I know!” At that point, Arlene stopped pounding ineffectively on Frank’s chest and cocked her fist for a haymaker to the jaw. Frank decided enough was enough, so he deftly stepped behind Arlene and pinned her arms.
“Stop, you brute! You’re hurting me!” she cried out. Sadie, who had been in the bedroom, changing the baby, hurried out so see what was going on.
“I am not hurting you in the slightest, and you know it,” Frank calmly told the angry woman. “Look, Arlene, you may not believe this, but I love you like a sister. True, I didn’t like the guy, but, if he made you happy, I was all for the two of you getting married.”
“Only part of that I believe is that you didn’t like the guy,” Arlene sneered. “No, I suppose the only guy you like is that rotten prick Ernie Campanella.”
“Arlene…Arlene…calm down and listen to me for just a second, okay? Pacini and Halloran may have made the arrest, but you know who solved the case…who really solved it? It was the rotten prick. I’m just saying…”
BOOK IV
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Prologue
“Miss Klein, I would very much like to see less yakkity-yak with your lout of a boyfriend and more focus on your work,” Professor Cynthia Fabietz of the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, told the young lady who should have been her best student but who was obviously having a bad day. “This piece looks even worse that it did the last time I checked.”
“I’m doing the best I can,” Evelyn protested.
“Tell me,” the professor asked her, “do you envision a career teaching kindergartners how to finger-paint? Judging from how much your work has been slipping, that’s the direction you seem to be heading. I think you need to ditch that nogoodnik who thinks it’s perfectly all right to come in here and waste our valuable time.”
“He didn’t just show up out of the blue,” Evelyn admitted. “I invited him. I’m sorry, I won’t let it happen again.”
If Cynthia Fabietz had been hard on her prize student, it was not without cause. Considering the astoundingly excellent copies Evelyn had made of traditional paintings in the past, this effort was a major disappointment. It almost seemed she had not been trying. Ms. Fabietz, who h
ad been observing Evelyn in a long, enraptured conversation with some cop from off the street, had every reason to believe the young lady had become too boy-crazy to concentrate on her work. What really angered the teacher was that she had given Evelyn the most interesting painting in the museum to copy. The Philadelphia Museum of Art had for years been kind enough to let academy students copy any of the exhibits as a way to discipline their talents. Of course, the students were not only permitted, but encouraged to fly off into every conceivable field of the imagination, but to do so in a meaningful way, both the academy and the museum believed, they first needed to learn from the Old Masters.
The painting Evelyn was to copy was called “Sailor’s Delight” and attributed to the renowned American artist Winslow Homer. They had to say “attributed” because, somehow, the artist’s signature had become smeared to the point where it was unrecognizable. On top of that, Homer had never written or spoken about the piece, that anybody knew of. That said, everybody in the art world was comfortable with the attribution.
The name of the painting, and its content had been based on the traditional saying, “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.” It depicted a spectacular red sunset over a placid sea, while, in the foreground, two fishermen were unloading their catch for the day. If the illegible signature did belong to Homer, then this was surely his greatest work, in the opinion of many. Had it not been for the clouded provenance of the piece, it may well have replaced “Breezing Up,” which the artist had presented to the Philadelphia Centennial Exhibition of 1876, as the artist’s most admired painting. Even if the actual artist had been an unknown, unsung painter, the work stood on its own for its spectacular beauty. Suffice it to say, Cynthia Fabietz was quietly crushed that the young lady she had considered her best student was failing so miserably at such a marvelous project.