by Derek Murphy
A tall, slim, young woman, dressed in a navy business suit was framed by the open doorway, her chestnut hair hung just to her shoulders and shockingly blue eyes surveyed him coolly. They stood frozen in time for just a few seconds, long enough for Carl to amend his impression of the woman. She was older than a cursory appraisal of her appearance had given him to believe. He estimated her to be somewhere in her forties or early fifties. If pressed to guess at that moment, he would have to say forty-eight, but no more. She was also not as tall as he had thought; the high heels seemed to elongate her legs, giving her the appearance of several more inches of height. She was more nearly five-two than five-eight.
Her voice was light and airy as she queried, “Mr. Tanner?”
“I’m Carl Tanner. How can I help you?”
She stepped into the office, one hand extended as the other continued to hold her purse, a rich, blue leather that matched her shoes and suit. He was sure that the leather would be buttery-soft to the touch; much like her skin. Yes, she was certainly well-preserved.
“Virginia Marshall-Nelson. Do you have time to talk to me about something that concerns me a great deal?”
He flipped through his mental file until he matched the name up with the file he had read about Chip Nelson and his wife Erica. Chip’s mother. Other than that bit of data, he would have to re-read the file.
Shaking her hand, he said, “Very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Nelson. Again, how can I help you?”
Her eyes tightened just a little at the corners as she corrected him.
“Mrs. Marshall-Nelson, if you please, Mr. Tanner.”
“Of course.”
He led her, still holding her hand, to the chair in front of his desk and gestured for her to sit. As she did, he moved to his chair and joined her.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
She sat primly, knees together, elbows close to her sides, hands on the purse in her lap, back straight and head erect. There was no trace of a double-chin and she appeared as physically fit as a woman half her age. Carl wondered why he had never heard of her. He didn’t normally read the society pages in the newspaper, but could remember no press coverage of anything to do with her.
“My daughter-in-law, Erica, mentioned to me that she was having Chip investigated because she thinks he is cheating on her.”
Perturbed, Carl said, “We handle our cases with discretion and confidentiality, Mrs. Marshall-Nelson. I’m surprised that Mrs. Nelson would have confided in someone who would normally be expected to warn her husband of our investigation.”
She dimpled and said, “Please call me Ginny. Calling me Mrs. Marshall-Nelson is such a mouthful.”
As he nodded, she continued, “Chip gave me to understand years ago that what he did was none of my business. As a matter of fact, I’m on better terms with Erica than I am with Chip.”
Somewhat at a nonplus, Carl asked, “Then I suppose you are here on Mrs. Nelson’s behalf?”
“In a way. Chip’s father, Quinton, had his little playmates on the side during our marriage, several of whom were paid off when he died. Them and their little bastards. A good part of what remained of Quinton’s fortune went to get them out of our lives. That’s why Chip had so little to start his life with and also why he didn’t finish his education and get his Master’s Degree. Given his father’s proclivities, I’m sure that Chip is just following in his father’s footsteps. It’s a pity that he isn’t as astute a businessman as his father was. He seems to lack that aspect of his father.”
Still puzzled as to what the woman wanted of him, Carl asked, “So, are you here with information? Or, do you want me to drop the case? What?”
Ginny lifted one hand and waved it lightly in the air as she said, “Oh, I know you can’t drop the case just because I say so. I just thought I would tell you about the little tramp that Chip has in an apartment in Glenville. She does those little, smut-movies. Not the kind of person that my son should be associating with. Not if he expects to make a success of himself. At least his father had the good taste to chase after models, actresses and politicians’ wives.”
Sliding a notebook in front of him, Carl made a note of the suburb to the immediate south of the city. Glenville was a typical bedroom community, dependant on the fortunes of the city to survive. There were the usual small businesses there, but little else. No manufacturing and no prospects of anything of the sort. It was just the kind of place to hide a mistress and expect to keep yourself undiscovered. As he wrote the note, he wondered at Ginny’s attitude toward Quinton Sr.’s cheating; if she knew about it at the time, why hadn’t she been outraged? Was she the kind of society lady who was aware of her husband’s peccadilloes and turned a blind eye so long as she was able to keep the money, prestige and social position that his prominence afforded her?
Trying to take her attitude in stride, Carl asked, “Is there anything else you can tell me about her?”
She removed a slip of paper from her purse and slid it across the desk to him. “The apartment is on Cascadia Lane. Number 154 in the Cascadia Lane Apartments. I understand her producer owns the complex and shoots his porn films in vacant apartments there. A very distasteful business.”
He looked up at her. “Does Erica know about her?”
“I haven’t told her.”
“How did you come to know about the arrangement?”
“The girl thought I might have more money than Chip has. She tried to blackmail me with the information. The girl had no idea that Chip has no position in the community to protect and went away disillusioned.”
“And empty-handed, I take it?”
“Mr. Tanner, my husband left me fairly well-off when he killed himself. But not wealthy, by any means. I’m not about to bankroll my son’s playmates.”
Leaning back in his chair, Carl asked, “So, what do you want from me?”
Ginny leaned forward, causing her suit coat and blouse to gap open just a little, revealing a fair amount of décolletage. Carl was pretty sure she knew what she was doing and that she had used the same gambit to bait traps for men in the past.
“I want you to get the proof of what Chip is doing and give it to Erica. I’ve tried to get the idea through to her that she doesn’t have to divorce Chip; just let him have his little doxies. Try to inform her that this is the way a lot of marriages are made to work in this town. She grew up here; she should know that already. I mean, she is a Morgan.”
Carl wasn’t sure what that last was supposed to mean and asked, “What difference does it make that she’s a Morgan or not?”
Ginny leaned forward even more, causing Carl to see more of her cleavage than previously and stretched her hand out to lay it on his.
“My dear Mr. Tanner. This town is filled with rich, powerful men and their wives; both their ex-wives and their shiny, new trophy-wives. The former have all been paid off in divorce court and the latter have no illusions about their place in their husband’s lives. About the only wealthy couple in town who don’t have an open marriage since the Vandivorts are gone, is the Rundgrens. He married late in life and everyone thought that Judith was his version of a trophy, but we were all surprised when he failed to stray. Now they’ve got those two little, adopted girls and seem to be the picture of married bliss. I think Charlie is very careful. That aside, I believe the Morgans are very well informed about what the wealthy people in town do in their spare time. They always have been, so Erica should know what life for a young wife in the social elite in this town is like.”
Finding the subject distasteful, especially since she had brought up Marta’s family, Carl withdrew his hand from hers, feeling the heat from her palm on the back of his hand for minutes afterward. He noticed that she left her hand on the cool desktop.
“I’ll see what I can learn about this girl in Glenville.”
Sensing that the meeting was over, Ginny leaned back in her chair, preparatory to rising and said, “Then I’ll look forward to your report, Mr. Tanner.
”
Frowning, Carl said, “I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong impression, Mrs. Marshall-Nelson. I work for your daughter-in-law. I’ll report to her. What she chooses to tell you is her business.”
He felt the temperature in the room go down by ten degrees as she rose from her chair and stepped toward the door. Her voice was cool and impersonal as she said, “Very well, Mr. Tanner.”
She stopped as she reached the door and turned back toward him, a mischievous expression suddenly coming to her face.
“Tell me, how have you fared with your court case regarding Ms. Vandivort?”
Carl felt an immediate sense of anger toward the woman and held his temper.
“That, Mrs. Marshall-Nelson, is my business.”
With a half-smile, not the least put off by his rebuff, she said, “Let me know if there is ever anything I can do to help you along, Mr. Tanner.”
As she exited the office, gently closing the outer door behind her, the phone on Carl’s desk rang. Picking it up, he said, “Shepherd, Tanner and Decker.”
A sound that made him think of solar winds blowing in the freezing cold of space came, going up and down in pitch and volume, followed by a series of crackles. Then an almost unintelligible voice.
“Another day on the water would be good. I’ll see you soon.”
Carl wondered if he had gotten a misconnection and heard a snatch of someone else’s conversation, but he felt the hair on his arms stand up of itself, as though a cold hand had run up and down his spine.
Chapter Nine
Harry Michaelson turned the plastic evidence bag over in his hands and found the twin spots on Julie’s sweater, discolored from the electrical charge that had coursed through her body. Yes, someone had used a stun-gun on her. His eyes rose to gaze in thought at his partner where he was interviewing the private investigator.
Steve Thomas glanced up, distracted, as a nurse came in to assist the ER doctor in taping a bandage over the horrible bruises on Julie’s ribs. The heavy shoe that had been used to kick her had abraded the skin right through the sweater and jacket she had worn, leaving not only the bruises, but several ugly, seeping contusions.
The doctor, finishing up with the last strip of tape, looked up at him and said, “Whatever type of shoe they were wearing, it was small. Possibly a woman or a small man. The shoes were heavy, thick-soled hiking or work boots.”
Feeling miserable, Julie reclined on the bed, wearing only her bra and the paper gown over it. The nurse had helped her undress and the slacks and her underwear now resided in a plastic bag. She doubted that they would ever come clean. In any event, she wasn’t going to try; they were going right into the trash when she got home. Her eyes went to Ike standing out of the way and she pulled the sheet higher. She knew he was going to give her the third degree when Thomas and Michaelson were finished with her. Since DeeDee and the twins were still in the hospital, she had asked a nurse to get him when she arrived in the ambulance. She mentally thanked God that old Mrs. Waterbury had taken her little dog out for a walk later than usual. Otherwise, she would have been left to rouse by herself in the empty hallway. What more could happen to her? Roofied one night and stunned with fifty-thousand or more volts the next. She shook her head.
The curtain partitioning the bed off from the others in the ER was pushed to one side to admit Carl; a gym bag in his hand. He dropped it on a chair in the corner and went to stand beside Ike. The two put their heads together and conducted a near silent discussion as Detective Thomas concluded the interview.
Handing her his card, he said, “You’ve already got my number, but keep this with you, Julie. Call me if anything comes to you.”
She shook her head. “Whoever it was, they got me from behind, Steve. The only chance I had to see them, they had my head turned away from them. Like I said, they told me to stay away from the Webster case.”
Sourly, he said, “Well, if anything comes to you that you forgot to tell us, call me.”
He gathered up Michaelson with his eyes and the two left behind the nurse and doctor. The nurse would be back with her paperwork and some meds for her to take home with her for the pain in her ribs. Luckily, the x-rays had shown no damage other than the one broken rib and the bruises.
Carl and Ike moved to stand beside her bed. The former said, “DeeDee and the babies are getting out of the hospital tomorrow and he’s taking them to DeeDee’s mom’s place till this is over. First Ike gets his skull dented and then someone makes a run at you. I don’t like it. I think you should go with DeeDee. Her mom would probably appreciate the help anyway.”
Despite her throbbing head and the tingling left by the voltage that had convulsed her body, she said, “I’m not some shrinking violet, Carl! I’m staying! No one’s going to run me out of town!”
Ike flicked her wristwatch with a finger. It was a fancy electronic piece she had bought when she began training for a triathlon while still in Hollywood. “They ran enough ‘juice’ through you to fry your watch, Baby-Girl. I heard what you said they told you; that you’d get worse next time. Do you really want to take a chance on that?”
Carl said, “Remember what they did to Webster’s wife. Hell, they might have even been the ones to kill her, only making it look like a suicide.”
She shook her head and felt like she needed to pee. The nurse had gotten her clean again and she didn’t want to make another mess. Pushing herself up from the bed, she slid off it, one hand going behind her to hold the gown closed as she made her way to the little bathroom on the other side of the room. Before she closed the door, she fixed her partners with her eyes.
“I’m staying. Get used to it. Now, get out of here and let me get dressed in peace.”
Carl sighed, stuffing his anger with her. “I brought your workout clothes from the office.”
Reaching back to take the bag from him, she said, “Good. I think I want something that’s easy to get down when I have to go to the bathroom.”
Dropping the bag onto a chair beside her, she entered the bathroom. Once the door was closed, Ike and Carl sat down and waited for her. It was going to be another long night. After a few minutes, she exited the bathroom and picked up the bag. As she unzipped it, she turned to face them and released the grip she had on the back of the gown to rummage in the bag.
“Yeah, I was right. I didn’t have any underwear in here. I’ll have to go ‘commando’.”
Ike said, “Carl and I have been talking; you are going home with him. We don’t like your apartment building. It’s too easy for people with no business there to get in. He told me you had some trouble the other night, too. If it wasn’t for what your attacker said about the Webster case, I’d almost think it was one of those jerk-offs getting back at you.”
Julie felt her face going red at the thought that Carl had told Ike what had happened when she got roofied. Another thing that disquieted her was the idea of having to spend a night at Carl’s place under circumstances far different than the one she desired. Julie liked the idea of Carl taking care of her, but wanted it to be because he desired her as much as she wanted him, not because he saw her as some kind of liability.
Keeping her face expressionless, she slipped the stretchy, sweatpants on under the gown and then let the gown drop when her bottom half was covered. Her bra showed less than most of the bikinis she wore in the summer, anyway. The compression tanktop from the gym bag went on next and she sat on the edge of the bed to slip on her socks and running shoes. The jacket she had worn when she left the apartment was in an evidence bag so she slipped on the micro-fleece jacket she kept in the bag for cool days and stood. She bounced on her toes to give the impression of fitness to her partners, though her nerves still jangled and her muscles still ached from the voltage she had absorbed.
Smiling brightly, she said, “I’m okay, guys! Really, I am! I don’t need a babysitter!”
Ike and Carl exchanged looks and Carl said, “She won’t leave my side.”
“You’ll
stand outside the door when she goes to the bathroom?”
“The window is big enough for her to climb through, but it’s three stories up and there’s not a damned thing to hang onto if she wanted to climb down.”
“You know, the care and feeding of a Julie can be problematic. I mean, she eats all those weird cheeses and those disgusting messes of sprouts and greens and whatnot. Then there’s the bathroom problem; she stinks it up worse than a 300 lb. trucker.”
“There are two bathrooms at my place. She can use the guest bathroom.”
“She snores like a freight-train, Carl. You really think you can sleep through something that sounds like a 6.8 on the Richter scale?”
Red-faced at being talked about as though she wasn’t there, Julie said, “That’s enough, guys! I’m not that bad!”
Ike gathered up her effects and dropped them into her gym bag, handing it to Carl, who took Julie by the arm and headed for the door as the nurse brought her papers and meds in. After seeing to the business of checking her out of the ER, they split up; Ike to return to DeeDee and the babies while Carl and Julie made their way to the parking lot.
Julie felt put-upon for being treated like a child but also felt a sense of comfort and well-being at having Carl’s big hand wrapped around her upper arm. As his beat-up, old pickup came into view, she looked up at him, squinting her eyes against the morning sun. It always amazed her that he was so tall. She was 5’ 7” and muscular, but he was so much taller. A solid 6’ 4” and something over 200 lbs. He managed to look a little lanky but she had seen him without a shirt on several occasions and could attest to the muscular development he possessed. As a breeze blew in from the bay, she shivered. It was late summer and the false-autumn breezes were beginning to make themselves known. In a couple of weeks, the temps would begin to decline and before you knew it, the foliage would turn colors.
Carl noticed her shiver and looked down at her. “Cold?”