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

by Brian Meeks

  “I don’t mind if I do.”

  Martin stood and shook his hand, puffing on a stogie himself.

  “Martin,” William said. He turned to Richard Bessemer, “How you doing your lordship?”

  Richard usually feigned disgust when they teased him about his title, but, deep down, he quite liked it. “I'm well, just beating the peasants and such. You know, typical day.”

  Matthew leaned against his desk, “We are going to keep rather informal tonight. As soon as Charles and John arrive, we can begin.”

  A few minutes later they walked in together, laughing over some raunchy joke John had told. They each took cigars. Once the pleasantries were done, Matthew motioned for them each to find a place to sit. He reached over to the desk lamp and pulled the chord twice.

  Everyone except Martin looked at each other. It was odd behavior, and it made them a little uneasy. In truth, the fact that they were out of the city made William nervous. The outer door opened, and seven rather large men walked through. It became quiet.

  The big one came forward and gave Matthew a bear hug. He whispered something to Matthew. The six other men stayed out in the reception area while the large man took a seat behind the desk.

  Matthew pointed to his friend. “This is Pytor, and he is our client, the one who will make us all very rich men.”

  This eased the tensions considerably. Everyone except Martin stood and shook his hand. William said, “Good to meet you, Pete.”

  “Good to meet you, too, William,” Pytor said in a perfect New York accent.

  When it had calmed down a bit, Matthew handed out some documents. “It is time to go over our plan. You have all invested considerable funds to help get Kupton Manufacturing through the lean times and now it’s time to get your twenty pieces of silver so to speak.”

  “Heck, it better be a lot more than that,” John said laughing.

  “You have all been chosen for your expertise and your deep pockets.”

  The egos in the room were beginning to swell. It wouldn’t last for long.

  “You’ll each play a role and earn a reasonable fee for your services. You’ll also share in the profits of Kupton Manufacturing because you are share holders, and, lastly, the value of your shares will increase twenty-fold.”

  “Our services?” Charles asked.

  “Yes, you are in shipping, so we naturally we’ll use your company to ship the containers. The import and export red tape will be handled by Mr. Bessemer, excuse me, Sir Bessemer. Once you see the size of the contract, I'm sure each of you will want to buy up some more of the outstanding stock through our friend William.”

  Martin knew what was coming next. He stood and got himself a drink. He wanted to be able to see the expressions on each of their faces. Martin wanted to get a read. They each had a limited understanding of the business that was about to happen, but none of them had the entire picture except for him.

  John, leaning back and blowing a ring of smoke, said, “What is my role in all of this besides the deep pockets?”

  “You’ll be providing the lumber that will be used to build the plant in Denmark, which will be receiving all the goods.”

  “What plant?” John asked, looking terribly confused.

  “The plant is a front, so we can justify sending so many shipments to one spot.” Matthew had a gift for delivery. It was cold and said matter of factly. That was not how it was received.

  John leapt to his feet with disgust. “Front?! I thought this was a legitimate business deal.”

  Matthew was about to answer him when Pytor stood and went to the door. “Matthew, perhaps it would be better if I explained our little arrangement.” Pytor opened the door and the six men walked in, each carrying a briefcase, which they set at the feet of each man. The men then went back outside without so much as a word and closed the door behind them.

  “Gentlemen, please consider this a show of good faith.”

  There were a few muffled curse words and a gasp or two when the men opened their briefcases. Martin didn’t bother; he knew what they contained. The room fell silent again. Pytor lit his cigar, again, took a couple of puffs, and said in his normal accent, “Mother Russia is very interested in some of the parts Long Island Iron Works is making for the Navy contract. If I'm honest, and I rarely am, they are many times better than what we have been able to make. Our submarines need to be able to dive to the same depths as the American subs; without these parts, we would be at a severe disadvantage.”

  John dropped his briefcase on the floor. Hundred dollar bills floated out. “You're asking us to betray the U.S of A, and I won’t be involved.” He stood up and threw the cigar on the floor and crushed it with his boot. John took two steps to the door. Pytor stepped up behind him, raised his gun, and shot him in the back of the head. The office door misted red. John’s body fell to the floor with a thud.

  Pytor returned his gun to his shoulder harness as the office door opened. Two men took John’s body and left. Pytor continued, “Worry not, my friends, we can still buy lumber from his company for the cover plant. We will be paying ten times what the parts are worth. Matthew will make sure that the balance sheet looks enticing to Wall Street. It will be good but not too good; then, quarter after quarter, the profits will continue to rise. The bulls will stampede towards your doors, eager to buy the stock that you get for such a low price today.”

  Matthew saw the looks on their faces. “Please don’t feel like you are betraying your country. We are simply providing a service to keep the balance of power equal. That is how you prevent wars. We are doing a good thing.”

  Pytor poured himself a drink, “Now, gentlemen, that is all we needed to discuss today. My friends outside will see you to your cars. You don’t want to get mugged with all that cash.”

  The room was silent again save for the footsteps of the men leaving. Martin stayed behind and picked up the case dropped by John. “I think that went well.” He handed the briefcase back to Pytor who said, “Keep it.” He did.

  After Martin left, Matthew and Pytor discussed the one element they had neglected to share with the others. It was the piece that made the plan genius.

  CHAPTER 43

  The shift at Long Island Iron works was over. People filed out to their cars. A storm was coming, and a fierce wind blew. With heads down, people rushed to get into their vehicles and head home or to the bar.

  Lawrence went with a few of the guys to Pete's Bar and Grill after their shift. It was located one block from the front entrance to the plant. The inside was mostly empty when they arrived, but it quickly filled. The kitchen started hopping as people ordered burgers, and somebody plugged a bunch of dimes into the juke box. Lawrence bought the first round.

  Along one wall, near the back of the bar was a dart board; next to that, a pool table. Lawrence’s work buddies were pretty good at pool. They played three games. Lawrence won one and lost two, but it was fun. It wasn't the same fun he had with his friends, but it was less dangerous, so he was happy. After he finished his second beer, he sat down next to Frank Pimpkin and ordered another.

  "Hey, boss, how is it going?”

  "Okay," he took a pull of beer, hoping to avoid chit-chat.

  Lawrence said, "It’s really swell how you have been helping me get going. This is a great job, and every one of the guys is A-okay."

  "You're doing well, Lawrence, I'm glad to have you aboard."

  "Do you mind me asking you something?"

  "No, go ahead." In truth, though, Frank really wished to be left alone.

  "I'm going to be in the secret section tomorrow. What is it like?"

  "It's pretty much like what you've been doing, but with fewer margins for error."

  "Why is it so secret?

  "It's the..." Frank paused, "...Navy contract. That is just how they want it."

  "But we are just making pipes and gauges, right?"

  "Yep."

  Lawrence thought about this for a while. He could tell his boss didn't
feel like talking, but he was undercover for Henry. He wasn't about to let him down. Lawrence took a pull from the long-neck bottle. "Why do you suppose pipes need to be secret?"

  "The ones you will be making tomorrow are tested to withstand much higher pressure; if they fail for the Navy, lives could be lost."

  Lawrence didn't really understand but decided he had asked enough about it. "So you have a lot of responsibility. It must be stressful."

  Frank didn't want to talk; he had a lot on his mind, but the kid was showing interest in his job and that needed to be encouraged. "It is, but don't you worry about it. You're going to do just fine."

  With that, Lawrence went back to watch some of the other guys play pool. He would report to Henry after tomorrow's shift. He asked a few of the guys if they knew anything about the secretary, Amy, and they gave him a hard time. One of them mentioned that he thought she was single but didn't know for sure. Lawrence stopped asking questions and started thinking about her.

  CHAPTER 44

  The drive home took Henry past a new Chinese restaurant. He picked up an order to go. It was getting late. He had spent a long time just sitting at his desk, thinking and trying to build up a theory as to why Daniel Kupton had been murdered. It was hard to think about not because he had so little to go on but because he felt haunted by Cynthia’s death. He could see her sitting across from him at the restaurant and then, a few hours later, she was gone. He didn’t imagine when he left her off that it would be the last time he would see her. He didn’t think of anything; he just drove off. It seemed like the moments before someone was gone should have been more profound somehow.

  These were the thoughts that kept him up until 3:00 a.m. He was unable to get her out of his mind.

  Henry pulled out the player and put in the Billy Joel DVD. He hadn’t learned anything yet that might tell him what had happened to Daniel Kupton or where he should look for answers. He was sure the answer was in the music somewhere. The first song on the disk was “Miami 2017,” and there were references to ‘lights on Broadway,’ ‘churches in Harlem,’ ‘the skyline,’ ‘the Battery,’ ‘a carrier from Norfolk,’ ‘the Yankees,’ and ‘the Bronx.’ The more he wrote down, the less clear it became.

  He stopped writing and decided to just listen. The piano playing was remarkable - maybe he should be looking for a piano player? That didn’t seem to be it. He set the player down, got up, and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator. The single thought that kept bothering Henry was how everything in each song could be a clue. He couldn’t think of anything to do but listen and listen until he knew all the songs. He hoped the disk really was a clue because if it was just a nice present from the future, well, then he was at a loss.

  Henry turned up the volume and went downstairs to check the closet. Who knows, maybe there was something new. There wasn’t. He really liked the live version and let himself get lost in “She’s Got a Way.” It made him think of a woman from his youth. He could see her long brown hair but couldn’t remember her name. It didn’t matter; the words seemed to touch his soul. Maybe it was the beer.

  Henry looked at the screen and noticed the song playing was not one he had heard before. How had that happened? He took out the other disk and put it in to check. He had thought that each disk contained the same songs; one the regular version, another the video version, then the live versions without video. Could this be a clue?

  He felt energized despite the hour. There were more songs repeated than not, so he made a list of the unique songs and decided to listen to them each again. By 5:00 a.m, he had pages and pages of notes but no pattern. He played ‘Miami 2017’ one more time.

  Henry went to bed and slept restlessly. He wasn’t any closer to solving either murder. It would be a short night.

  CHAPTER 45

  The phone was deafening. Henry had been asleep for two hours; it was 7:00 a.m.; and he had planned on getting at least another hour even if it meant a dirty look from Celine and Buttons when he was late. Henry got out of bed and lumbered towards the phone. He fumbled for the receiver and put it to his ear as his eyes tried to go back to sleep. He grunted something unintelligible.

  “Henry, this is Mike. I was rolling into work and heard something interesting on the radio. I think you might want to come down and check it out.”

  “What is it?”

  “A body, but that isn’t the interesting part. It isn’t my case, but I know the guy in charge. I'm sure he'll let you take a look.”

  “Let me get something to write with.” Henry opened a drawer and dug out a pencil and flipped over an envelope. “Go ahead.”

  Mike gave him the address and told him to hurry. Henry begrudgingly said he would and hung up. He found some trousers, put them on, then stood in the bathroom and splashed some water on his face. He was in a foul mood. Immediately the song “Angry Young Man” started playing in his head. He wasn’t sure, but it might have been playing in his dreams, too.

  The morning light smacked him in the face as he left the house. His body ached with fatigue. It occurred to Henry that he was doing pretty well financially and didn’t need the money from this case. He fired the engine up and pulled away from the curb. He thought about his late mentor Mickey and how he had dreamed about sailing off to islands and drinks with umbrellas. Maybe it was a case like this one that had planted the seed to get out. He wasn’t sure. He missed Mickey.

  The cars were filled with people who looked no more excited to start their day than Henry. He thought he knew the address Mike had given him but wasn’t sure of the best way to get there. The route he chose turned out to be fine, and he made reasonable time. The radio tried playing some music, but he turned it off. He wanted to let the songs from the future continue to bang around his mind.

  When he got to the crime scene, he parked, got out of his car, and stepped in a puddle. The streets were wet and now his left foot made a sloshing sound when he walked. Damn, I need some coffee, he thought. At least Mike was easy to spot.

  “Henry, you look, well, like crap.” Mike took a sip from a cup of coffee. The comment made Henry want to sock him, but he didn’t.

  “What’s going on, Mike?”

  “Henry, this is Detective Jim Finch.”

  Jim had a cup of coffee, too. He put it in his other hand to shake Henry’s. “I heard about the job you did finding Mickey’s killer. You're alright in my book.”

  “Thanks.” Henry said, trying to muster a smile. The aroma from their cups was painful.

  “This guy was found about two hours ago. The people who tried to dispose of the body got unlucky. They tried to put the car in drive so that it would roll into the river. The problem is that this spot has had its fair share of crap dumped here, and there is quite a pile, about four feet down. The car didn’t sink all the way.”

  “Who found it?”

  “A guy trying to dump his garbage. He saw the car and the body and decided to do the right thing and call. No small miracle if you ask me. So we towed the car out just as Mike showed up.”

  Henry was trying to be polite, but he really wanted him to get to the punch line. “So what’s so interesting that you called Mike?”

  Jim replied with a question. “Hey, you want a cup of coffee?”

  Henry didn’t have time to answer. Jim was yelling for a rookie to go get one. Jim had a new friend. Henry just said, “Thanks. I need one.”

  “No problem; if we don’t give the rookies something to do, they become unbearable.”

  Mike said, “They took the guy out of the car; he had been shot in the back of the head. It looks like an execution.” He took a sip of coffee.

  “Who is he?”

  Jim continued, “The car is registered to a guy named John Fleming, but we don’t know if that is him or not. The wallet was gone and there wasn’t anything in the glove box or trunk.”

  Mike explained, “But we did find this under the seat. The guys who pushed him in the river must not have noticed it.” He handed a leather notebook to H
enry. It was still very wet.

  “It’s some sort of appointment book. It’s evidence, so I need it back, but you're welcome to look through it. Mike says that you're looking into the Daniel Kupton suicide?” Jim asked.

  Henry nodded, “Yep, there are some things that don’t add up.”

  Jim said, “It looks fairly new as the appointments only go back about six weeks, but his name is in there quite a few times.”

  Henry opened the book and set it on the hood of a patrol car. He took out his notebook and started to write down names, dates, and times. On the third page was the name Martin Van Sythe. This, combined with the cup of coffee he had been handed, made him feel better. It didn’t take more than five minutes to get the important details, then he gave the book back to Jim. “May I see the body?”

  The coroner was just about to slide it into his car. He unzipped the bag. It wasn’t pretty. “What do you think, doc?”

  “It looks like he was shot from behind at very close range. I would guess the gun was only a couple of inches from his skull.”

  “Any idea what type of gun?”

  “I would guess a smaller caliber based on the damage, but it’s really hard to say. We don’t have a shell casing or bullet, so I can’t say definitively.” He zipped the bag closed.

  Henry handed his card to Jim and asked, “You do me a favor?”

  “Sure, what is it?”

  “If any Feds start snooping around this case, you’ll give me a call?”

  “Feds, really? You know who is behind this?”

  “Not a clue, but my gut tells me that there is something going on, and I think this guy was in the middle of it. There is one name in that book that might be worth starting with. I talked to him yesterday, and he seemed dirty to me.”