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

by Brian Meeks

  “Which name?” Jim now had his notebook out.

  “Martin Van Sythe.”

  Jim wrote it down, shook Henry’s hand, and handed Henry his card.

  “Listen, Jim, I appreciate you letting me take a look at your crime scene. If I get anything, I’ll give you a ring.”

  Henry thanked Mike and Jim and went back to his car. The coffee wasn’t as good as the stuff Celine made at the office, but it was passable. He was less angry now, and the song in his head had changed to ‘Captain Jack,’ which seemed odd as he hadn’t especially cared for that one.

  CHAPTER 46

  Henry made it to the office and paused outside the door. He looked at his watch. It was well past nine. He had one cup of coffee in him but needed another desperately. He took a deep breath, hoping to smell a pot brewing, then turned the handle. It was locked.

  Henry got his key out and went inside. Celine wasn’t there nor was Buttons. If she had run an errand, she would have left the cat there and work would be on her desk. Every night, the desk was cleaned and, as soon as she arrived, she arranged her work files neatly and made coffee. She was, at her core, efficient. She was also punctual. He checked his watch again, but it was right.

  Henry walked down to Bobby’s office and knocked. Bobby was always around. It was strange, too, how he seemed to know when Henry was coming. He knocked again. Nothing. No running little feet, no strange shuffling sounds, just silence. Henry went back to the office, took off his hat, and started a pot of coffee.

  Once it was going, he picked up the phone receiver. His finger hovered over the dial. What is her number? Damn. She was always here first. Henry went out to look in the files. She had organized them in a manner that would make a librarian jealous. She had cobbled together files of Henry’s old cases as the original files had been mostly destroyed in the fire in January. There were also files from his days with Mickey. If Henry wanted something, she could put her fingers on it in an instant. Henry, however, could not.

  After opening a few drawers, he realized her system was alphabetical. Would she really have a personal file for herself? He went to the “S” drawer and opened it. There it was, Celine Spinoza, in red letters at the top of the file while all the other words were in blue. Inside the folder was her number and address. Henry went to her desk and dialed.

  It rang four times, then a weary voice said, “Hello...”

  “Celine, are you okay?”

  “Henry, is that you?”

  “Yes, where are you?”

  Even tired she had her wits about her. “Where are you?”

  “I’m at the office.” Henry said, almost annoyed.

  “I have one more question then.”

  “Okay, what’s that?”

  “What day of the week do you think it is?”

  “It’s…” Henry was quiet for a while. The Dodger’s game was on Wednesday, which was yesterday. No, that wasn’t right. It was... “…sorry to have disturbed you. See you Monday.”

  Still groggy, but having fun, she asked, “And when would Monday be?”

  Henry sighed in defeat. “The day after tomorrow. Say ‘Hi’ to Buttons for me.”

  “I will but not right now; he is still sleeping.”

  “Sorry I woke you.”

  “Don’t you worry about it, boss. Try not to mess up my files this weekend.” She hung up the phone.

  Henry went and poured himself a cup of coffee. Where had the week gone? As he drank it, he thought about the Dodgers and realized he hadn’t picked up a paper. He set the half-full cup down and went down to the newsstand a few blocks away. The air was cool; he felt awake.

  Why had John Fleming, if that was him, been killed? He took out his notebook and added to his list: Follow up and find out if it really was John Fleming’s body. He assumed it was. If so, who had killed him? Was it the same people who had killed Daniel? His gut told him that Jack Abrahms knew how Daniel had died, maybe had something to do with it. He didn’t know where he was and wasn’t sure how to look into someone who was keeping an eye on him. Bobby might be able to find something out.

  On the walk back, with the folded paper under his arm, he wondered about all the people in the appointment book. That was where he would start today. He needed to figure out who they were, how they knew Daniel, and where he could find each of them. Again, this seemed like a job for Bobby, but he wasn’t around.

  Henry walked back into the office and sat down at his desk. First things first, he checked the box score. Loes pitched a complete game, gave up six hits, allowed three runs, walked four, and struck out two. Duke Snider had three RBIs, Gil Hodges had one, and Furillo had two. They beat the NY Giants 6-3. Henry spent a few more minutes reading the sports, then took out a legal pad and started to copy the names from his notebook to the pad.

  Henry looked them up in the phone book, starting with John Fleming. There was one, but the address didn’t seem right. The car had been too nice for that neighborhood. Henry called it anyway and found that John Fleming was home and didn’t own a car. None of the other names could be found. The cup of coffee was gone now. He considered another but decided to turn off the coffee pot and head down to the library. He needed to see the latest copy of Who’s Who.

  Henry knew it would be a good place to start; Who’s Who, founded in 1899 by Albert Nelson Marquis, contained informative biographies of important people. He was sure Daniel would be listed and perhaps his associates also. If not, at least he would get to see his favorite librarian.

  CHAPTER 47

  Dewey and Gilbert walked along 5th Avenue. Dewey had a newspaper under his arm while Gilbert carried a copy of Fathers and Sons by Turgenev. They weren’t talking.

  Thirty minutes earlier his office had been a symphony of yelling with Jack berating the team who had tailed John Fleming the night before. The night had been a disaster. The team had learned that their subjects were to meet somewhere. All the intelligence pointed to it being something big, but the theories about what ‘it’ might be were all over the map. The team had followed him before and knew his driving patterns. Tailing him should have been easy, but what they didn’t know were the driving patterns of the Armenian taxi driver who broadsided them. Both agents were in the hospital. None of the other analysts or agents was at fault, and Jack knew it, but he railed on them nonetheless.

  Both Gilbert and Dewey had been unable to do any serious planning back at the office and decided to take one of their famous walks. The secretaries knew that when they said they were going to the park they would be gone for hours and unavailable. They didn’t always go to the park, but today they ended up at a park bench. They each read for fifteen minutes or so. Dewey, still reading, said, “Jack was really letting them have it.”

  “He is a menace. I don’t know what you see in him. You know why he is really mad?”

  Dewey didn’t have any idea, but he knew Gilbert would tell him.

  “He is mad because the detective’s secretary resisted his charms last night.”

  “Really? I hadn’t heard.”

  “He came in today and I asked him about his date. He said it was like all the others.”

  “No bragging?”

  “None.”

  “I guess you're right, he struck out. I would love to give him a hard time about it, but we really need him in with Celine. All of our wire taps are producing next to nothing. The bugs in Daniel’s old office have gone dead. The only one who seems to be making progress is the detective.”

  Gilbert took offense at this as the analysts were his team, and he had planned the surveillance. He wanted to defend his team, but he knew Dewey was right. “It isn’t as if we can walk into Van Sythe’s office and start asking questions.”

  “No, we can’t, but did you hear the tapes from Henry’s visit?”

  “Yeah, I heard them.”

  “The way he handled the secretary, well, that was brilliant.”

  “I suppose so,” Gilbert said begrudgingly.

  “He can�
�t be underestimated. He spotted Jack and John and even got the drop on them.”

  Gilbert turned the page of his book. A couple with a baby stopped to feed some pigeons. They looked very much in love, so they probably were not spies but one never knew. Dewey lit a cigarette and watched the birds. When they moved on, he said, “I heard from Langley this morning.”

  Gilbert looked up, staring straight ahead. “And?”

  “They are of the belief that we aren’t getting anymore intelligence because we have been chasing phantoms. My sudden ‘lack of chatter being telling’ argument wasn’t persuasive.”

  “But what about spotting Oleg here in Manhattan?” Gilbert asked in disbelief.

  “It’s simple. They don’t believe us. There hasn’t been any whiff that their death was staged anywhere in Europe. Even the Moscow agents report that the funeral seemed legitimate.”

  “So we are just going to let them get away with it?”

  “We aren’t even sure what ‘it’ is.”

  “I’m telling you, it must be something to do with the Navy contract. My bet is sabotage. Oleg and probably Pytor are here to do something to the parts. If the Navy gets defective…”

  “I know; it would be disastrous, but we just don’t know for sure. I’ve brought this up, but they assure me that there is a Navy man on the inside who reports that everything is fine. Kupton Manufacturing doesn’t even know he is there.”

  “They have a man on the inside? What is he doing?”

  “He is in quality control and tests every batch before they are boxed up. Apparently, the parts are exceeding what was believed possible even from a few years ago. That is how they got the contract, and the first batch of parts is likely to be delivered on time or very close to it. The only thing he has reported is that they may miss the deadline by a couple of days.”

  “That doesn’t worry the Navy?”

  “They are behind schedule on the new sub by six months and aren’t even ready for the parts yet. They don’t care about a few days as long as the parts meet the specs promised.”

  Gilbert was not one who liked to lose. The thought made him crazy. He got up and left Dewey on the bench. “I’m getting a hot dog, you want one?”

  “Sure.”

  Dewey returned to his paper. Gilbert’s mind slowed or, more accurately, it turned hyper-sensitive. That is how he thought of it. When the job became too stressful, he turned to his training. He always had been a keen observer and excelled at it. He could use his sense of smell, sight, hearing, and touch simultaneously and process his surroundings better than anyone. The hot dog stand was approximately 53 meters from the bench, the wind blew from the west and felt wet, and the humidity was increasing. He knew there were three people walking behind him; one had a dog, and he could describe the three people’s clothing even though he had only seen them when he stood up. The man at the hot dog stand was in the antiques business and ordered one dog with ketchup only and one with the works. If asked, Gilbert would remember that order twenty years from now. That was how his mind worked. He got two dogs with mustard and ketchup and walked back to the bench. If he hadn’t been so worried about the operation and in his current state, he might not have noticed the man in the jacket.

  “Here you go. I think you will SEE it is how you like it.”

  Dewey knew by the slight inflection in his voice that their conversation was over. They were being watched. “Thanks.”

  Gilbert sat back down, ate his hot dog, and said, “You were RIGHT about the game yesterday; the Dodgers did beat the Giants. They really LEFT it all out on the field.”

  Dewey stood up and headed off to the right. Gilbert would go left and they would make their way back to the office separately, making sure they lost the tail. In Gilbert’s mind, this was good news as they must be on to something.

  CHAPTER 48

  Henry saw the guardians of the Schwarzman Building, Patience and Fortitude. They were the lions who watched over the entrance to the New York Public library. Henry wasn’t sure where the Who’s Who was located, but, if Marion was working, she would be glad to help him. Marion, a tall, slender woman with wise eyes, had been there for at least ten years. She had jet black hair pulled into a bun as all good librarians do, and she knew everything about the library and the wonders it contained within. She seemed fond of Henry, and he looked forward to seeing her, too.

  Henry couldn’t recall if she worked on Saturday and didn’t see her behind the desk. There was an older man with glasses who wore a look of raging indifference, which made Henry decide to forgo asking for help. He probably didn’t need it anyway as he had been taught well the ways of the card catalog system. Marion always had red fingernail polish on and Henry liked to watch her deftly flip through the cards. A young black man looked through the “W” drawer. He seemed confused.

  “What are you trying to find?”

  “Hey, mister, I need to write a report. We get to pick anyone we want, so I thought I would do one on Booker T. Washington. My mom is always talking about him.”

  “Good choice. ‘Character is Power.’”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s a quote from Mr. Washington.”

  “How do you know about Booker T. Washington?” He looked up at Henry, sort of suspicious but mostly curious.

  “I like people who say smart things.” Henry said with a grin.

  “I do, too.” He said, then looked back at the drawers.

  Henry pulled open the drawer in front of the young man, flipped about a third of the way in, and found a card. “Here is one. If you write down these numbers, it's likely that you'll find this book on the shelves and others about him in the same area.”

  “The numbers?”

  “They are on the sides of the aisle. You just find where this number falls, then wander down the row until you see other numbers that are close.”

  “That seems easy. Thanks, mister. You know any other quotes from him?”

  “Only one other, ‘Excellence is to do a common thing in an uncommon way.’”

  The boy wrote that down on the paper next to the number. He stuck his hand out, and Henry shook it. “I appreciate your help, mister. I'll do an uncommonly good job on my report.”

  Henry tipped his hat, and the young man went off to find his book. Before he could start his search, Marion spotted him. “Henry Wood, what are you doing here on a Saturday?”

  “Same reason I come any other day.”

  “Researching a case?” She said, and her eyes lit up.

  “No. I come to see you.” Henry winked.

  She blushed. “Oh, stop it.”

  “I’m looking for a little information, but mostly I wanted to see you. Are you keeping everyone shushed?”

  “I am. But the day has just started, so I haven’t had to get too tough on anyone yet.”

  “You run a tight ship here, no doubt.” Henry gave her a quick salute.

  Marion giggled, “Oh, Henry, you're such a charmer. Now what may I help you find today?”

  “I would like to take a look at the Who’s Who, but I'm not sure where to begin.”

  She gave his elbow a little tug and said, “This way. Who are you looking up?” She looked around and lowered her voice to a whisper, “If you don’t mind me asking?”

  Henry pulled out his notebook and flipped to the last page. “I came across these names today. I suspect they are wealthy associates of Daniel Kupton.”

  “Daniel Kupton, the guy who jumped out of the window?”

  “The very same,” Henry said with a smile.

  “So you must suspect there was foul play, or you wouldn’t be investigating.”

  Henry put his finger to his lips and gave her a nod. She made a key-turning motion at hers and giggled again. “I'll leave you to it then, detective.”

  Henry spent the next twenty minutes digging out helpful information on all but two of the names: Richard Bessemer and Matthew Kerwin. Henry assumed that meant they weren’t successful enough to be include
d. He understood why Kerwin was in John Fleming’s appointment book because he was the new CEO of Kupton Manufacturing, but who was the Bessemer guy?

  Henry also noted the professions: shipping, stock broker, and lumber. Lumber? Henry thought. That didn’t seem to fit at all, but at least he had new leads.

  Henry walked out of the library and waved to Marion who was helping the young man Henry had met check out a big stack of books. Henry walked back to the office. It was Saturday, which meant that none of the men could be found at their offices. He didn’t have their home addresses, but maybe Bobby would be around and perhaps he could find something out. When Henry came off the stairs, he saw a man walking towards him. They passed in the hall and, when Henry was almost to his door, he heard him say, “Excuse me, are you the detective?”

  Henry turned around and walked back towards the man. “Yes, I am, would you like to come in?”

  The man seemed nervous; he walked back towards the office, then stopped. Henry took a few steps towards him, “It’s alright, come on in. I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee.”

  He kept looking back down the hall. He said, “My name is William Darby, and I think you spoke with an associate of mine, Martin Van Sythe.”

  “I'm not really at liberty to talk about my case.”

  “Oh, yes, I understand, but I know it was you. You left your card. He called me after you left.”

  Henry smiled. This guy was really shaky, and Henry wanted to talk to him. He was on the list, and that couldn’t be a coincidence. He knew something, possibly everything, but he seemed like he was about to lose his nerve. “I can promise you, everything we discuss will be in the strictest of confidence.”

  He looked over his shoulder one more time, then whispered, “I’m not sure, but I might have been followed. I shouldn’t be talking to you, but last night…”

  Henry leaned in to hear. “Yes?”

  “I don’t like it, out in the hall, but well…can we meet somewhere crowded. I think my office is bugged or at least my phone.”