Henry Wood Detective: Boxed Set (Books 1 - 4)

by Brian Meeks

Henry knew that wasn’t true or even close, but he sensed she believed it. He liked her enthusiasm and the rose colored glasses with which she saw the world. “What do you propose we do?”

  “Let’s figure out what his problem at work is and fix it. Maybe then he won’t be sad and can go home after work.”

  Henry looked at her. She had a pleading look that was difficult to say no to. In fact, he said he would look into it. “We are going to need to give her a report, though. I promised we would have something for her.”

  Celine thought about it for a while. “I suppose you are right. We should tell her the truth now, but I’d still like to help. Also, it isn’t really fair to keep billing her for something she didn’t ask us to do.”

  Henry couldn’t stand the sound of her disappointed voice. “Tell you what, why don’t we have her into the office. You can explain what you learned. I think you’ll be good at it. Then, we can look into his work stuff, off the books, and, if we turn up anything, then great.”

  Celine’s eyes lit up and said, “A secret investigation.” She clapped her hands.

  CHAPTER 5

  Martin Van Sythe, Fifty-three with three kids and a wife. He loved one of them. When he graduated from Yale he felt invincible. He married a beautiful, though not gifted, model with a taste for the finer things in life. She liked keeping up with the Joneses, but really wanted to keep up with the Carnegies. The first five years were pretty good, almost great. They talked about children. He was against it.

  The first child was an accident, or so Mrs. Van Sythe claimed. The second one was planned, but only because she caught him cheating on her and cashed that chit in for the second child. The third came some years later. Exhaustion from having two young children took its toll. When the kids were off with her parents, poor judgment and good wine led to the youngest. Martin thought they had finally gotten it right. Little Sally was hypnotically entertaining. He loved her dearly.

  Though he only tolerated his wife, he never asked for a divorce, because Van Sythe believed in rules. He liked order and took contracts very seriously. He had hoped she would demand one when he cheated on her, but she just wanted another child. He thought a lot about what life would be like without them. Every January before Sally was born, he would plan a family trip to the Poconos. He would pick a resort in the mountains and make his wife and the kids meet him there. They drove through some terrible storms but always made it unscathed. He would usually be drunk by the time they got there, which made their successful arrival less painful.

  Martin sat in his office. It was nearly midnight; he hadn’t eaten. He had maps of the U.S., Europe, and Russia spread out on his desk. For as good as his education was at Yale, he had very little knowledge of the world. It bothered him, so he started to study maps, to learn where things were. Everyone else in the Kupton investment group had traveled abroad, and he felt small when they talked about Minsk, Rome, Paris, London, or any of the dozens of places they had been. He imagined taking the family, really just Sally, on a long trip abroad. She was old enough to appreciate it now and, for the first time in a long while, he had a goal beyond money. Of course, it was secondary to the deal the group had been working on, but it was important to him, too.

  The phone rang. The secretary was gone, and he didn’t realize he would need to answer it himself. After four rings, he punched the button and snarled, “Van Sythe Realty and Management, Martin here.”

  “Charles here, how you doing? You didn’t say much at dinner.”

  “I don’t recall much conversation from anyone. But you’re right, my mind was on other things.”

  “How is your end going?”

  “You know how I feel about discussing it on the phone?”

  “We're not saying anything, just talking, so?”

  “You want to talk, we can get together tomorrow. Lunch?”

  “You worried?”

  “I didn’t say that; I just don’t like phones. How about you?”

  “My end is always ready to go. A few days notice, and we are fine.”

  Martin stopped talking. Did he hear a clicking on the line?

  “Martin, you still there?”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow. Have your girl call mine and set up a place and time. Noon?”

  “Sure, but…”

  Martin hung up. It wasn’t the first time he thought he heard something on the line. It upset him that Charles didn’t understand. If someone was listening, it didn't matter if they heard anything or not. The point was somebody was interested. Which somebody, well, that was something he didn’t want to think about, but he knew he must. Martin wondered what the eavesdroppers thought about Daniel doing a swan dive from the Woolworth. That had to be confusing, as he didn’t have an office there or any business contacts.

  Martin stood up, walked over to the bar. One more scotch before heading home.

  CHAPTER 6

  William Darby was the youngest of the group. At only thirty-five, he was a veteran of Wall Street with ten years on the floor of the NYSE and now three years managing a half dozen brokers. Darby could be described as being extremely confident but only if one were to understate things. He often worked twenty hour days and didn’t really have any friends.

  One hour before the markets opened, he was on his second cup of coffee while he read the newspaper. More than anything, routine was sacred to him. With the exception of the five people on the list, his secretary knew not to put any calls through. She poked her head into the office and said, “It’s Mr. Van Sythe”

  Darby grabbed the phone and said, “Darby here.”

  “Meet me in twenty minutes.”

  “Are you crazy, the market is about to open. The Dow closed at 418.77, my analysis says it is sure to move down today. I can’t miss it.”

  “Meet me in nineteen minutes.” And the phone clicked off.

  William hated Martin, but he respected him. He was also one of William’s biggest clients, and because of this, had to put up with his crap. He wandered into the pit of desks outside his office and gave a talk to the guys working the phones. He went over the day’s strategy and said he would be out with a client but would get back as soon as he could. It was unusual for him to not be there but not unprecedented. William had enough clout that he could do whatever he pleased and the partners wouldn’t care, as long as he kept putting up big numbers.

  William loved his job. He was starting to wonder if he was missing something, though. There was a numbness about his life, he couldn’t explain. The years since college had passed so quickly. When he started to think about what he might do, after his proverbial ship came in, he realized there was a point where he could be content with how much money he had. He had a lot now, but it would pale in comparison to what the group was going to make on this deal. It seemed that nothing could stop them now.

  The traffic was chaotic as always. Even crossing the street was a challenge. A little newsstand, about three blocks from his office, was the spot he assumed Martin meant. When they went out for drinks, after work, they always met there. He looked at his watch. He was two minutes early, which in his world, meant right on time. Martin would be three minutes late.

  Five minutes later a man in a trench coat with his hat pulled down and carrying a cup of coffee, bought a newspaper. William was still reading his paper and didn’t recognize Martin.

  “William, follow me.”

  A bit startled at Van Sythe's sudden appearance, but not wanting to draw out the meeting with arguing William said, “Fine.”

  They walked a few more blocks, then Martin hopped into a cab. William got in beside him. “What is all this cloak and…”

  “Sssh…Driver, take us to Ebbets Field.”

  “We're going to a baseball game? Wait a minute, opening day is tomorrow. What the hell is going on?”

  Martin gave him a look but didn’t talk.

  “You’re really starting to worry me.”

  When they arrived, Martin paid the driver and told him to wait. Wi
lliam looked at his watch and tapped the crystal face with a scornful look. They started to walk towards the stadium. The cab driver left.

  “William, I'm truly sorry to pull you away like this, but it’s important. You know I respect you and wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t.”

  “Fine. What is it you wanted to tell me, way out here?”

  “Somebody is listening.”

  William’s first inclination was to make a wise crack. He refrained. “In what way?”

  “I wasn’t sure at first. I've been struggling with whether to tell anyone, but I heard it again last night. Charles gave me a call. I guess, I did tell Charles I thought something might be up, but he dismissed it as paranoia.”

  “What did you hear?”

  “It was a sort of clicking on the line, a slight crackling.”

  “Couldn’t that just be a bad line?”

  “I've been telling myself that for weeks. I did a little test. I've been making calls from other phones.”

  “Other phones?”

  “Yes, pay phones, house phones at hotels, and I've even borrowed the phone at a few bars.”

  “What sort of test?”

  “I make two calls, one to someone in the group, one to a random place like the library.”

  “Why?”

  “To listen for the noise, see if I hear it.”

  “But you said the problem is on your office phone.”

  “I noticed it there but also my home phone.”

  “I have no idea what you are saying.”

  “When I call anyone in our group, from these phones, I hear the same crackling. The other calls are clear. I've made dozens of calls; it's always the same.”

  “You hear it when you call me?”

  “Remember when I called you the night before…Daniel?”

  “Yes, you sounded drunk. You were rambling on about the weather or something.”

  “I had a few, yes, but I was ‘rambling on’ as you say, because I didn’t want to say anything important. I heard it then, too.”

  “What exactly are you saying?”

  “Someone has bugged all our work and home phones.”

  They had walked a few hundred yards. Neither one noticed the cab had left. William was trying to grasp everything and at that moment the gravity of their situation began to weigh on his psyche. Getting back to the office seemed unimportant. It was then he noticed the cab was gone.

  “The cabbie left us.” He sounded distant.

  Martin didn’t say anything. He knew how William's mind worked, the way he calculated probabilities, the way he could see both the big picture and the smallest detail.

  William stopped and turned up his collar. He didn’t hate Martin as much now, and respected him even more. “My friend, let’s find a warm place, inside, to consider our next move. We should call a meeting…though using the phones…well, we need to move carefully.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Henry got into the office earlier than usual. He wasn’t sure he believed his new client. It looked like Daniel Kupton had killed himself. It seemed to Henry that Ms. Silverton might just be unable to accept the facts. Of course, he would give it his full attention before setting her straight.

  Henry jotted a few ideas in his notebook, the first being to stop in and see Big Mike. If anything looked hinky, then Mike would know. The second item was to give his young friend Lawrence a call. Lawrence was one of three guys who had tailed him during his last case. It had come to blows. After Henry demonstrated that they weren’t as tough as they thought, he won them over with a few pitchers of beer. Afterward, they sort of gravitated towards Henry. As far as he knew, they mostly hung out on corners and smoked. He wasn’t sure, but he hoped he might talk Lawrence into helping him with the Frank Pimpkin case.

  Henry called Mike’s number at work and gave him a ring. “Hey, this is Henry. Is Big Mike in yet?”

  “Hey, Henry, great job on catching Mickey’s killers,” said the man who answered the phone.

  Henry wasn’t sure who it was but played it neutral. “Thanks, buddy.”

  “This isn’t Buddy, he's in at noon. John here.”

  “Oh, sorry,” still having no idea who he was talking with, “I didn’t recognize the voice. My apologies.”

  “Forgetaboutit, I don’t care. I'm not sure we have ever talked on the phone. It makes me sound weird. Oh and no, Big Mike hasn’t come in yet.”

  “You mind if I ask you something, John?”

  “Not at all...shoot.”

  “You know the Kupton case? Any idea if they ruled on it or not?”

  “I can’t say if it's closed, but it sure looks like suicide. Why do you ask?”

  “I'm looking into it a little. I heard some scuttlebutt that there might be more to it.”

  “I haven’t heard a thing. Sorry…hey, Big Mike just walked in. You mind holding?”

  “Not at all, thanks.”

  A moment later, Mike huffed, “Henry, you're in early. Celine cracking the whip?”

  Henry laughed because it was true. “Yes, she is, but I came in because I woke up and couldn’t sleep.”

  “Is it the Kupton case?”

  “Yep.”

  “I'm going over to the Woolworth just to ask around. You want to tag along?”

  “Swing by and pick me up. Thanks.”

  Henry hung up the phone and headed for the coffee pot, sitting sad and empty. Henry would not let this continue. He went down the hall and filled up the pitcher they kept by the pot. Bobby came out of his office and gave a wave but didn’t stop to chat. Bobby was the little man who rented office 309, in the Flatiron Building, to Henry. Bobby was most noted for talking really quickly, having trouble staying on one subject of conversation, and being generally excited about everything. He was incredibly annoying and rather likable, after a while. If asked, Henry would say that Bobby was an acquired taste. Celine loved him.

  Henry started the coffee just as the phone rang. He figured Mike was calling back and casually answered, “Hello, buddy.”

  “Uh…Hello, is this the Henry Wood Detective Agency?”

  “Oh, yes, sorry, I thought it was someone else. This is Henry, how may I help you?”

  There was some mumbling on the other end of the line, then the voice came back on. “I have a few questions I would like to ask you.” It wasn’t a pleasant sounding request. It was typical intimidation 101. Henry gave a sigh, already bored.

  “You are welcome to ask me anything you like. I may not answer, though.”

  “Listen, Mr. Wood…” said the voice as it rose in volume and then stopped. A new man's voice said, “I apologize for my partner. We have been up all night, and our nerves are a bit shot. We were wondering, hoping, if you will, that you might be able to tell us if you are investigating the Daniel Kupton…suicide and the Manhattan Six.”

  Henry appreciated the new tone and changed his accordingly. “I understand what it's like to have a long night. Who did you say you were with?”

  There was a pause. “I'm not at liberty to say.”

  “You will forgive me if I'm skeptical. I'm not in the practice of discussing my cases or clients with anyone, let alone a complete stranger.“

  There was an even longer pause. The voices on the other end started to argue among themselves. Henry thought they must really be tired to be so unprepared for the call. He almost felt sorry for them. “Mr. Wood, it's a matter of national security. We need to know what you know.”

  Henry was curious. He couldn’t imagine that these voices had learned about his new case from Mike. “Listen, I have to go. I don’t know who you guys are or what this is about, but if what you say is true, then I might be able to be reasonable. Right now, I need to see some badges. In an hour or so, my secretary will be in. Call back, make an appointment and we can sit down and talk. I’m not making any promises, though.” With that, he hung up the phone, not waiting for a rebuttal.

  Henry went down to the street to wait for Mike.

  CH
APTER 8

  Mike and Henry arrived at the Woolworth building. They went around to the spot where Daniel Kupton had been discovered. Henry expected to see something, anything, but it was just sidewalk.

  “It was an office on the twenty-third floor. Actually, it was a vacant office.” Mike said, reading from the file he had brought with him.

  Henry shook his head. “What time did he jump?”

  “A guy driving past saw the body. He pulled over and called it in. We haven’t had anyone come forward who was a witness. The call came in at 3:23 am.”

  “Aren’t most jumpers more, well, spontaneous?”

  “How do you know it wasn’t?”

  Henry walked around a little looking up. “It seems odd to me that he would decide to kill himself in the middle of the night. What was he doing all day? Did he go out to have a little dinner and see a movie, then just wait until nobody was around and sneak into the Woolworth building? Don’t they have security?”

  Mike could see where Henry was going. It did seem odd. “We actually don’t know what time he jumped. But I see your point. I doubt he jumped much before he was seen. How long could a body lie on the street unnoticed? Let’s go talk with security.”

  They circled the building. Henry wanted to get the lay of the land. When they got back to the front door, they went to the security desk. Mike took out his new detective badge, and said, “I was wondering if we could ask you a few questions?”

  The man behind the desk was in his late 50’s, had heavy jowls and a pretty good paunch on him. His hair was gray, but his eyes were still sharp. “Is this about the guy who jumped?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I wasn’t here. I work the day shift.”

  “Who was on that night?”

  “It was Oliver and Papa Joe and a couple of new guys, just started a few days before. I couldn’t tell you their names, but you should have them. I think someone sent over the list.”

  “I'm sure they did. I like to ask for myself, be thorough, you know how it is.”