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

by Brian Meeks

  He found several suits of clothes lying across the bed and was relieved that each one had matching shoes. How did she know his size, he wondered, until he saw the note.

  Mr. Wood,

  I hope these fit well. Please try them on at your convenience, and, if there are any problems or aren't to your liking, we will handle it immediately. Mrs. Palmeroy estimated your size but wasn't sure about the shoes.

  Harriet

  Henry had gotten most of the mud off the bottom of his own shoes, but the tops were still a mess. He slid them off and tried the first pair. They fit well enough. He was hot and felt the bad mood creeping back. A shower would help.

  * * *

  The black sedan pulled over outside the gate to the Palmeroy estate. The two men sat quietly. The driver turned off the ignition. The passenger got out and approached the guard at the gate. He carried a map in his hand. The guard, seeing him coming, picked up the phone and said something before stepping out to greet the man.

  “May I help you, sir?”

  “I’m supposed to deliver a package to the Whitcomb estate, but my buddy has gotten us lost,” he said turning the map around so the guard could see it. He pointed to a spot that had been circled. “This doesn’t look like the right place, but I’m not sure where we are now.”

  The guard pointed at the map. “This is where you’re at. Follow this road a mile or so and take the right turn. It should get you back to the road you need to be on. You’ll turn left and then go until you see it. Their place is hard to miss once you get on the right road.”

  “Thanks, Mac,” the man said and walked back to the car.

  The driver watched the guard stand his ground. Another guard had entered the booth from the other side of the wall and was talking on the phone. As they pulled away, the driver asked, “See anything?”

  “They had a rack of shotguns on the wall in the shack. He didn’t seem very trusting.”

  “I’m not surprised. This is about what I expected. Let’s see what is on the other side of the estate.”

  * * *

  Catherine took the call in her office. “Yes, I did exactly as you said. They are staying the weekend.”

  “They?! Who the hell is with him?”

  “It’s his assistant. I had to invite them both. What could I do?”

  His rage exploded. “Goddamn it, I gave you one thing to do and you mess it up. Typical.”

  She wasn’t used to this side of her husband. His temper was well known, but it was usually directed at lawyers, never at her. Her voice stalled. “I...I’m sorry. I really didn’t know he had to be alone. I thought...”

  Mr. Palmeroy realized she was right, and the anger was gone, “I’m sorry, dear. It really isn’t such a big deal. I overreacted. I’ll be home soon.”

  She hung up the phone still shaken.

  CHAPTER 20

  The Major headed for the restaurant.

  Major Doyle Worthy III walked with a cane though his limp was scarcely noticeable. His tailor once asked why he carried it, and he replied, “We’ve been to hell and back together.”

  Doyle was born six months to the day after his father, Colonel Doyle Worthy Jr., was killed in action. On July 18, 1917, a German infantry man fired and missed his target, hitting the colonel instead. It wasn’t during a heavy skirmish. There wasn’t glory or triumph or anything for Doyle III to cling to as he grew up never knowing the man he loved more than anything. His grandfather, a retired general, raised him on a heavy diet of war stories.

  The senior Doyle was the first to attend West Point. He graduated top of his class. Doyle Jr. finished in the penultimate spot. As Doyle III grew up, his grandfather told stories of the father he never knew, and a spark of rage lit at each disappointed mention of his father’s class rank. He vowed not only to finish first but also to excel at a level that would make people forget his grandfather. He did, too.

  He worked harder than any of his classmates though some thought he could have finished first with only half the effort. His mind was perfect for military strategy. He played chess at master level, devoured history books, and could remember the most inane minutia of anything he saw. His only flaw, though he didn’t see it that way, was an inability to get along with anyone. He was perpetually angry and coarse.

  His first commission, as a second lieutenant, went well enough. He followed orders and never let his commander down. He also knew how to make his commander look good.

  A cabbie yelled at him to get out of the way. He ignored him with silent contempt. A half block later he was at the restaurant. The maitre de led him to his usual table but didn’t bother to take his order. It was always the same, and he knew the gentleman didn’t like chit chat.

  The coffee was still warm when his guest arrived. He didn’t stand to greet him.

  “You are late…but only just, so I see no need to dwell on it. They will bring you a menu. We have much to discuss but not until we’re alone.”

  “Yes, Major.”

  The waiter brought a glass of water and a menu. Randolph Vance found the first steak listed, ordered it, and said that water would be fine.

  Now they were alone. The quiet lasted a few beats. The major raised an eyebrow. Randolph sat a little straighter. “I have carried out the first two missions as planned.”

  “And afterward did you leave the mementos?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think he has connected the dots?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  Doyle considered this and decided it was too much of a stretch for someone like Randolph to understand the depths of the human mind. He waved his hand, dismissing the response. “It makes no matter. I’m quite sure that if he hasn’t yet, he soon will.”

  “What is our next move, sir, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Not at all, Lieutenant. It’s quite simple. I’ll lay it out for you…after we enjoy our meal.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Mike was worried. They hadn’t found anything when they dusted for prints. It was the absence of prints on things like the door handles, desk drawers, and the telephone that was most troubling. Whoever had been through the office had wiped it clean. Why didn’t they just wear gloves? Mike thought to himself. It was strangely professional and sloppy.

  The sergeant handed Mike the note about Henry calling. “Did he give you a number?”

  “You see a number on the note?”

  “No,” Mike said, not appreciating the sarcasm.

  “There you go then,” he said, turning back to his paperwork.

  The creak and crack of Mike’s chair as he leaned back sounded like he felt: concerned. There wasn’t time to dwell, so he dialed and waited. “Hello, is Luna there?”

  Luna’s father said, “Sure, I’ll get her.”

  Her father put the phone down and soon she picked up. “Henry?”

  “It’s Mike. Sorry to disturb you.”

  “Mike, what’s wrong? Is Henry all right?”

  “I don’t know where he is is all. I was wondering if you had talked to him today.”

  “No…we haven’t…well…I, no. What is going on, Mike?”

  “I can’t talk about it, Luna. I really need to talk to him. Could you do me a favor?”

  “Sure, I’d be happy to.”

  “If you talk to him, tell him to get in touch with me. I’ll be at the precinct late.”

  “I can do that.”

  “It’s important, Luna. Tell him it’s okay to call me at home even if it’s late.”

  “I will, Mike, don’t worry.”

  Mike was torn about what to say next. On one hand, he didn’t want to worry her, but on the other, she needed to know the danger.

  “There’s one more thing…”

  “You sound terrible, Mike. What is wrong?”

  “You know Henry and I know how tough you were when your father was missing. I’m working on a case right now. I don’t know what is going on, but I’m worried. It’s just a feeling…my gut…�
�

  “You’re worrying me.”

  “It’s a tough case. I want you to stay inside, don’t go out, and if you see anyone poking around, you call me.”

  “Why? What is going on?”

  “Somebody was messing around Henry’s office today. It looks like they took some files. I know how much you mean to him. I just want you to keep your eyes open. Can you do that for me?”

  Luna was starting to get annoyed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mike. I’ll tell Henry you called.” She hung up the phone feeling worried, angry, and just a little bit frightened.

  Mike pulled a file off his desk. That didn’t go well, he thought.

  The office was it’s typical parade of miscreants and tragically unfortunate folks. Mike was still the newest detective and hadn’t been assigned a new desk yet. He didn’t usually mind, but today the noise was a distraction as were the smells. Mike needed to get out of there. He hadn’t eaten lunch, so Mike let the desk sergeant know to get a number if Henry called back, and that he was going to lunch. The desk sergeant didn’t care but said he would.

  Mike walked towards Henry’s apartment alone in his thoughts but not alone on the street. The eyes that followed behind him didn’t care much about where he was going. The pay was good enough that they would follow him across the entire city if need be.

  CHAPTER 22

  Lieutenant Randolph Vance left his meeting feeling anxious about the next step in the plan. He trusted the major . The major was a brilliant man who could strategize better than anyone he had ever met. Still, he did spend most of his waking hours thinking about all the ways he would like to get his revenge.

  During his month of confinement to a bed after the ambush, Randolph had gone through all the stages of coping with what had happened. When he read “acceptance,” he just couldn’t do it. It was then that he started to focus his hatred towards the man he blamed for everything. Driving past a lumberyard was enough to send him into a three-day delusional fog. He would sit in a corner, clutch his service revolver to his chest, and rock and say the name Henry Wood over and over again.

  For years he didn’t know where Henry had gone. He imagined running into him on the street. He would look into Henry’s eyes. A moment later, those eyes would recognize him as he plunged the blade into his chest and watched him die. That fantasy kept him going for months. It wasn’t a good plan, so he stopped carrying the knife just in case he really did run into him. For the revenge to be complete, he not only had to kill Henry but had to get away with it.

  He started to practice at the rifle range and soon regained his marksman skills. At first, the dream took him hunting, and then he would see Henry stalking a buck. From across a heavily wooded ravine, he would become the hunter. He would wait until Henry was about to fire and send a round through the back of his head. This didn’t satisfy him, either. It would be too quick, and his prey would never know who had pulled the trigger. Also, he didn’t like hunting and couldn’t imagine Henry was a hunter either. Still, his brain kept searching for a satisfying end to his enemy. Lost in thought he paid no attention to the traffic.

  A truck driver had to slam on the breaks when Randolph started crossing against the light. The man cursed him, but the lieutenant didn’t yell back. He had been in the wrong. It would be unjust to return the driver’s slurs. Randolph was shaken back into the now. He focused on his breathing, being careful not to touch anyone on the street. Randolph didn’t like crowds or people on the street; especially when someone would bump into him. If his mind was clear at the time, he would apologize or say something expected even if it wasn’t his fault. Other times, he might snap. This was his greatest fear. He knew a simple misunderstanding could land him in prison for doing something unspeakable.

  A couple of guys unloading a truck were tossing crates and stacking them by the curb. They moved with precision and after each toss, the case was slammed down on the one before. The crack made Randolph look back. He saw the source of the sound and continued walking, but his logical mind couldn’t explain to the rest of his brain that there hadn’t been any danger. The street began to get fuzzy. The people he walked past were becoming trees. He knew they weren’t trees, but his eyes were lying to him. Each building was turning dark grey and pitch-black night. He knew he had to make it to his building. It was just one more block. He started to run, with just an edge of panic in his steps. In Manhattan, this wasn’t out of the ordinary, and nobody noticed the look of terror on his face. A small dog - or was it shrubbery? - barked at him. An opening in the forest, the gap where he could get into the building, was before him. He stopped before entering. Three deep breaths with his eyes closed helped. When he looked again, Manhattan was back as was his lucidity.

  Once inside his apartment, he felt safe again. His shirt was soaked in sweat. He took it off and dried himself with a towel. Randolph laid down on the couch and went over every minute of his meeting with the major. It was a good plan.

  CHAPTER 23

  Catherine found Henry on his way to the library. “Don’t you look dashing, Mr. Wood.”

  Unable to resist the flattery, Henry replied, “Thank you, Mrs. Palmeroy.”

  She took Henry by the arm and said, “You are going to have such a good time this weekend.”

  “A good time? I thought I was here to prevent your husband from killing himself.”

  Realizing her gaffe, she stammered, “Er, um, well, what I meant is that since you are here, I’m sure he will be fine. You will protect him from himself. I feel so much better knowing you are here.”

  Henry felt himself being led past the library and asked, “Where are you taking me, Mrs. Palmeroy?”

  With a scoff, “Haven’t I told you to call me Catherine?”

  Henry knew the change in voice. It was like the subtle buzz one felt when forgetting if it had been three or four glasses of wine. Her perfume added to the blur and the feeling of her hand in his caused the voice in his head to say, let’s see where she is taking us.

  A pretty dame was a powerful narcotic, but, as Henry well knew, the hangovers were murder. He sobered up and asked again, “Where are you taking me…Catherine?”

  “I’m not ‘taking’ you anywhere. You were just wandering down the hall like a lost puppy. I assumed you were looking for something to eat. It’s well past noon. Shall we see what they are whipping up in the kitchen?”

  Henry felt like a puppy. He wasn’t sure if she was about to scratch behind his ears, or if he would mind. “I could use a bite.”

  She kept a gentle hold of his hand until she saw one of the maids up ahead. Her voice still kept the same lilt as she described where various bits of finery had been found. Catherine loved to shop. As far as Henry could tell, she considered Europe to be her own little thrift store.

  “We got this bronze from a shop in Brussels. It’s ironic because it’s by Frederic Remington, an American sculptor. It was cast over 50 years ago. Dwight loves cowboys; he says they remind him of his childhood. I think it’s a tad garish, which is why we keep it in this back hallway.”

  “You seem to know a lot about art.”

  “I was very good at drawing in high school. My mother encouraged me, and we went to museums every chance we could. I’ve been to MOMA at least 50 times and the galleries in DC, the Corcoran, and Renwick a dozen each. Of course, there is the Smithsonian, which has art and all sorts of other interesting things. Do you like art, Henry?”

  Henry had a flash of regret at broaching the subject but didn’t let it show. “I knew someone once who loved art. When I saw it through her eyes, I started to appreciate the beauty.”

  Catherine stopped and looked at him. “Well, she certainly did a number on you, didn’t she?”

  Henry let the comment pass. “Where is this lunch you speak of?”

  A woman burst out of a door, stopped, quickly curtsied and rushed off. Inside the kitchen the yelling and chaos slowed to a simmer when they walked through the door.

  “Mrs. Pal
meroy, everything is going splendidly. Your guests will love the…”

  She cut the chef off with a wave of her hand, “ I’m sure it is, but I was wondering if you could be a dear and whip up something for Mr. Wood and his companion for lunch.”

  “Right away.”

  Catherine headed back into the hall and before the door could close the madness again rang throughout the kitchen. Catherine took Henry through the solarium and out into a tiny garden. A young woman appeared and asked what they would like to drink. Catherine ordered tea and told her to track down Henry’s companion. Henry tried to correct her and say “assistant,” but the woman was already gone.

  “There is something I wanted to ask you. A favor, if you will.”

  Henry, growing a little weary of her charms, asked, “What sort of favor?”

  “Until...” she stopped herself, “What I mean to say is, I would rather you didn’t mention that I’ve hired you and Celine. When the guests start to arrive, I would prefer it if they thought that she was a friend of mine and you are her…”

  Henry raised an eyebrow. “Father?”

  Catherine giggled and reached across the table, shaking her head back and forth. “No, silly, her gentleman friend. You are much too young and handsome to be her father,” she said, patting his arm.

  “I’m not that young, and I really don’t think…”

  “Perfect, I really appreciate it.”

  Henry wondered if this was how she roped in Mr. Palmeroy. He imagined her bringing up the subject of marriage, accepting, and calling her parents all before the dessert cart had arrived. Maybe Mr. Palmeroy really was planning to kill himself.