by Mike Faricy
“Just tell me the damn license number.”
I gave her the number I wrote down the night before. Then I gave her the number on the South Dakota plate.
“This second one will take a bit longer. Since it’s not Minnesota.”
“Thanks in advance for your time, Donna. What about that Minnesota plate?” I could hear the keys on her computer clicking in the background.
“That Minnesota plate comes up as a ’99 Buick LeSabre, registered to one Lester Palti Kopff.”
“Lester?”
“Palti Kopff.”
“Can you give me the spelling on that middle name?”
“It’s just the way I pronounced it, Palti, P_A_L_T_I,” she snapped.
“Huh, never heard that one before,” I said absently. Then heard a frustrated exhale from Donna on the other end of the line. “You got an address?”
She gave the address to me, and as I was writing it down I realized I was just across the street from the place, Karla’s Karwash. The address was bogus, but I saw no point in mentioning that fact to Donna.
“What about that South Dakota plate?’
“I keep telling you I could lose my job if anyone found out I was giving you all this information. Do you ever bother to listen to the news? They’re making a big deal about unauthorized personnel accessing DMV records.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really, it’s been all over the papers. Of course, I suppose you couldn’t be bothered with something as mundane as a newspaper.”
“And it’s become a big deal, accessing DMV records?”
“It certainly has, and every time I get one of your stupid calls like this one you’re putting me at risk. I’ve told you before I could lose my job.”
“Gee, just think, and you’d lose it for sure if the state ever found out you were treating their summer interns to an all-night sex filled adventure.”
“You can’t just keep calling me like this,” she whined.
“You know, you’re right, Donna. Tell you what, when you get that info on the South Dakota plate, you can call me.”
“Oh!” she hissed and hung up.
I slouched down in the front seat and waited for old Lester Palti Kopff to wander back out to his car.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The car door slamming closed next to me woke me up from my nap. I glanced over just in time to see the frightened woman slap the lock down on her door, then quickly start her car. She glared at me as if to say ‘some people’, then quickly reversed out of her parking spot almost smashing into a pink Volkswagen in the process of leaving the parking lot. The Volkswagen driver leaned on her horn for an extremely long period of time. Reading her lips, one got the distinct impression she was anything but pleased.
There seemed to be a steady departure of cars for the next half hour, all racing toward the exit to just get the hell away from the office. After that, just the occasional person strolled out to the almost empty lot and drove off. By maybe six-fifteen, there were about twenty cars left in the entire lot. My sweatbox and Pauley’s LeSabre were two of them. Fortunately, there were a few vehicles between us, and I was parked so far away from Pauley I didn’t think it would be an issue if the others left.
At about thirty seconds past seven, Pauley swung open the ‘Employees Only’ door. He stood in the open doorway, lit his cigarette, inhaled deeply, then turned and blew a large cloud of blue smoke back into the building. He crossed the street, causing traffic to slow in both directions as he headed straight for his car and me waiting in the far corner of the parking lot.
He was talking on a cell phone, oblivious to his flat tire as he went around to the driver’s side and slipped behind the wheel. He started the car, lowered the windows and flicked the butt out into the parking lot where it sparked when it hit the shimmering asphalt pavement. Then he began to pull ahead. He stopped after a couple of thumps and climbed out of his car to check the tire. I heard him shout “God damn it” as he scanned the almost empty lot for a reason the tire was flat. I slouched down a little further, settled in and watched as he changed the tire.
I didn’t think he knew how to work that fast, but he had the thing changed and tossed into his trunk in under ten minutes. He fired up the LeSabre and pulled out of the lot. I watched him disappear around the edge of a building before I moved. I stayed a couple of car lengths behind him as he made his way up East Seventh Street, weaving through traffic.
He pulled into the left-turn lane and waited a couple of minutes for the light before turning onto Payne Avenue. He stayed on Payne past the old Hamm’s Brewery, past the East Side District Police Station, and then took a left and went down the hill on Reaney Avenue.
He pulled to a stop across the street from a seedy looking two-story brick building that predated the Second World War. The place looked to have been built as a four-plex and was edged with faded, flaking brown trim. I counted twelve door bells with exposed wires attached to a piece of wood that was nailed to the side of the door frame and apparently served as the building’s security system.
Pauley didn’t ring one of the door bells. He used a key to open the front door and went in the building. I felt the odds looked pretty good that this was the new apartment Karla had mentioned. I debated about walking up the front sidewalk to see if his name was posted next to one of the door bells, but then decided to stay put in my car. I didn’t want to take the chance of him glancing out the window and catching me standing out front.
A little before nine, he walked back out to his car wearing jeans and a different T-shirt, and drove off. I followed some distance behind him. He made his way on East Seventh, driving back into downtown. He drove past Karla’s Karwash, then turned left on Minnesota Street down to Sheppard Road which ran along the Mississippi river. He turned onto Sheppard Road heading up river. The traffic was much lighter along the river and I had to drop back further or risk being spotted.
There were a total of five stop lights and we had green lights on all of them, never stopping once. Sheppard Road runs along the river for a few miles, then gradually rises to the top of the river bluffs where it eventually morphs into the East River Boulevard. Pauley continued at a leisurely pace, winding along the top of the bluffs, driving past more and more stately homes all of which were definitely out of his financial weight class, not to mention mine. He was about two blocks from the Lake Street Bridge when he turned onto Dayton Avenue. I slowed a moment later at the same corner, and glanced up the block to see if I could spot his tail lights.
Instead of tail lights, I caught Pauley just three doors up the street. He was walking around the back of his car on his way up to the front door of a large three-story home, stucco with a brick front. I waited at the corner and watched as the front door opened before he’d even climbed the three steps up to the porch. He stepped inside and the door closed behind him.
I resisted the temptation to let the air out of his front tire again. I drove up Dayton Avenue, past Pauley’s car. He had parked behind what looked like a burgundy Corvette, but I couldn’t be sure in the dark and I didn’t want to be too obvious and stop. I gave a quick glance toward the house, but other than noticing an orange painted door in the front with a yellow porch light shining overhead. I didn’t see anything. I pulled to the curb in front of another gigantic house halfway up the block, parked and waited.
Over the course of the next hour and a half, three people walked by and all of them gave me the evil eye. All three were walking dogs.
The first was a very large woman in a grey sweat suit walking a very small white dog that seemed to lift its leg on every boulevard tree along the street, and there were quite a few. She would wait for the dog, then give some sort of encouraging words like ‘Aren’t you just the best boy ever’, before the thing scampered off to the next tree and lifted its leg again. It sounded like awful
high praise just for taking a piss. She looked at me as she waddled past and frowned. Her jowls seemed to sag as her fat cheeks rose and turned her eyes into slits. As she came into view in my rear view mirror the word ‘PINK’ was stenciled across her rear in very large letters. I gave an involuntary shudder.
Fifteen minutes later, some guy impersonating a college professor, or maybe he was one, walked past I didn’t know. I did know he was walking an ancient German Shepherd with a number of bald spots on its coat and a gait that suggested severe hip dysplasia. The guy was wearing wire rim glasses, sandals, Bermuda shorts, a white golf shirt buttoned to the neck and a navy blue beret with a number of brass pins stuck to the thing. He began giving me the evil eye from two lots away. I pulled out my cell phone and pretended I was talking and taking notes. Fortunately, he didn’t stop to interrogate me. He probably had to hurry home so he could fall asleep reading Elizabethan literature.
The last person to walk by was a kid. I pegged him at thirteen or fourteen. He stared at me for a bit, then frowned in my direction, but not directly at me. I figured he was just pissed off at the world because he had to walk the family dog at night and all the neighborhood bedroom windows were on second floors so he couldn’t peek in. He was walking what looked like a black lab that gave the impression it would have really preferred to not be going this fast at this hour of the evening.
I was still watching the kid and his dog in my rear view mirror when the front door opened down the block. Pauley quickly stepped out and headed for his car. I slouched down until he drove past, before I popped up, then waited to start my car once he rounded the corner.
I followed him down University Avenue and back over to the East side of town. He pulled to a stop in front of a bar named Mr. Blue’s. A place so low, it was even below my tawdry standards. Once again I resisted the urge to let the air out of his tire. I waited down the block, watching his car in my rear view mirror until a little after eleven when I figured he probably planned to waste his time in Mr. Blue’s until closing time.
I drove back to the home he’d stopped at on Dayton Avenue. The burgundy Corvette or whatever it had been, was nowhere in sight. I slowed down and scanned the front for the address numbers. I found them after a long moment, wrote them down and then headed home.
As I crawled into bed, I could still catch the scent from Marsha’s hair on the pillows. It smelled like apples or oranges, maybe something a little tangy like fresh fruit. I fell asleep in minutes.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The problem with going to bed somewhat early and alone, was I woke up the same way, somewhat early and alone. It was a little before six when I put the coffee on, then got on the computer and did a reverse search on that Dayton Avenue address. I fully expected Gaston Driscoll to pop up. Close, but no cigar, as Dawn Miller’s name appeared. Interestingly, there was no Mr. Miller listed and I wondered if my original hunch had been correct. Dawn Miller was Gaston’s current toy.
If I was correct, that had me worried about Marsha’s safety and that reminded me that she had an appointment yesterday with Dawn Miller for a job interview and I hadn’t heard from her. Six-fifteen in the morning was too early to call, so I resisted the temptation to do so and scold her.
I did sit there and wondered what Dawn Miller was up to, having a low life like Pauley stop by her home. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be positive. And that brought me full circle to Pauley following Marsha which made me think six-twenty wasn’t as early as six-fifteen, so I called Marsha.
My call got dumped into her answering service after about eight rings. I phoned again and I got her answering service in two rings. I phoned three more times before she answered, sort of.
“Lo.”
“Hi, Marsha, Dev.”
“Dev? What the hell time is it?”
“Just a little after eleven,” I lied. “Just checking to see how things went yesterday?”
“Yesterday?” She was slowly beginning to come around, but it was work.
“Yeah, your appointment with Dawn Miller at Gaston Enterprises. How did it go?”
“Mrumph, mrumph.” She cleared her throat, slowly becoming more awake than not. “Oh, I think it went pretty good. Course I listed you as a reference. That might not have been a wise move. Just lie, tell them I did routine office work for you for eighteen months and that I was a model employee who made you a lot of money.”
“Yeah, Marsha, that’s what I want. You working at Gaston Enterprises. I’ll be able to sleep nights, knowing you’re safe with that jerk.”
“Yeah, well, God I’m tired. I worked until close last night. Then get this, we had some dopey, bullshit meeting.”
“A meeting? At two in the morning?”
“More like closer to three. Yeah it went on for a half hour. You wouldn’t believe it. God, I bet I didn’t get to sleep until close to four this morning. Hey look, I better get going, I’ve got a one o’clock appointment down there again today.”
“At Gaston?”
“Yeah, follow up interview.”
“Did you give them your address?”
“Hello? Yes Dev, its pretty standard procedure on a job application and a resume. You know, in case they want to mail you something like an acceptance letter or God forbid, a paycheck.”
“Paychecks are all direct deposit nowadays.”
“Yeah, well…look I better run.”
“Keep me posted. Call me after this interview thing today. Oh, and Marsha, keep an eye peeled for that light green Buick LeSabre from the other night. It’s got red tape on the left rear tail light and the left rear panel is dented, scraped and scratched.”
“Tell you the truth, Dev, right now I’m so tired I wouldn’t know a Buick LeSabre from a pick-up truck.”
“The LeSabre has four doors, oh and South Dakota license plates.”
“Gee, thanks, look gotta run and hit the shower.”
“Need your back scrubbed again?” I tried not to sound too eager.
“Not this morning, but I’ll gladly take a rain check,” she said.
“You got it.”
My phone rang about twenty minutes later.
“Haskell In…”
“You moron, what the hell do you think you’re doing calling me at this hour? You jerk!”
“Who is this?” I asked.
“Shut up, Dev. Damn it, you woke me out of a sound sleep at six in the damn morning. God, no wonder I’m so tired.”
“It wasn’t six. Calm down it was more like six-twenty and besides, you should have called me after your appointment yesterday.”
“Bastard,” she screamed and hung up the phone.
I could have called her back. I could have explained. I could have stepped in front of a bus, too. I decided another cup of coffee was probably a much better idea. After that I’d have to see what I could learn about Dawn Miller.
Chapter Thirty-Four
I wandered into the office about ten-thirty. It was already hot and humid and the temperature was going to climb for about six more hours. There was a love note taped to my chair from Louie that said he would be in court until early afternoon. It went on to say we were out of coffee and while I was getting the coffee, some doughnuts might be nice.
It was too late in the morning to watch the ladies board buses for work or college, so I sat at my desk drumming my fingers and willing my phone to ring. Amazingly it did.
“Haskell Investigations.”
“Hi, Dev, Karla.”
“Karla,” I said and then that idiot Pauley immediately came to mind. Great minds must think alike.
“Got a moment to talk?” she asked.
“I’ve got all day.”
“Yeah, right,” she said, apparently thinking I was kidding. “Look, do you remember yesterday when you were here tellin
g me about the people you talked to?”
“Yeah.”
“You mentioned a name that rang a bell…”
“Amanda…”
“Amanda Richards. But I couldn’t remember how or where there was a connection.”
“I thought you checked your computer files, didn’t you? You were thinking she may have been an employee at one time, but nothing came up.”
“Yeah, well she wasn’t an employee, but she was mentioned in some background information on one of my employees.”
“Did someone use her as a reference?”
“No, welcome to my labor pool. Victim of an assault and attempted rape.”
“Assault and rape?”
“Attempted rape.”
“You mean one of your employees attacked her at the carwash? What the hell did he do?”
“No, not exactly, but it was sort of how he ended up here. As a matter of fact it’s your friend, Pauley Kopff.”
“That idiot?”
“Yeah, the charges originally filed against him were for breaking and entering, assault and attempted rape on a woman named Amanda Richards. The records I received had him pleading guilty to breaking and entering and the assault charge. The attempted rape on Amanda Richards was stayed provided he did the time and didn’t reoffend. That’s why I got the notification from his Parole Officer. Any hint of anything even remotely resembling a problem, and he’s back behind bars. It’s part of the terms of his parole. That and about twenty other things.”
“Attempted rape?” I was deep in thought.
“I don’t know much beyond that. There must be some way you could check on this, get a more complete picture.”
“The police would have an incident file. Interesting.”
“Yeah, it came to me about three-thirty this morning, just popped into my head and woke me up.”
“You’ve been up since three-thirty? You should have come over.”