“Gantz was in Devil’s Corner several weeks ago with the Clintocks when a well-dressed man walked in and sat down with him. Benny Mars heard Rudy refer to his visitor as ‘M&M’? Well, Mars said they were rather chummy so I decided to drive up to Strathmore and it turns out they paroled a Canadian about a month after Rudy Gantz was released. The guy’s name is Jakob Reisman but, get this, the other inmates started calling him M&M right after he arrived. It was shorthand for a nickname that reporters gave him during his trial – the Mexican Mennonite. Reisman was in on drug possession and distribution charges. Somehow, he got mixed up with a Mexican cartel but the details so far are sketchy. The Staties caught him with enough drugs to put him away for about a year but rumor persists that he stashed away considerably more before he was apprehended. Warden described him as a model prisoner, quiet guy who kept to himself but seemed to get palsy-walsy with the guy in the cell next to him – our boy, Rudy Gantz.”
Fogarty stopped but Meacham sensed he had more to tell. “C’mon Fogie, what else you got?” Meacham pressed. “Guess I must have charmed the warden, Billy. He showed me Reisman’s file along with his picture. He’s sending me everything via teletype in the morning. I don’t want to jump the gun but Reisman looks like the character that Benny Mars described. I’ll go by Devil’s Corner and get Mars to verify it.”
“I’ll need that confirmation, Fogie, as soon as you can get it. I’ll have surveillance on Rudy and his boat tomorrow morning. If Reisman is his partner, he may be in Parlor Harbor as well. Something tells me that Ralph Birdsong’s murder was not a random act and it certainly wasn’t about a romance that went bad. We know that Birdsong and his pal Drebek were big pot smokers. Speaking of Drebek, call me as soon as Sweeney has anything on him.” Fogarty could sense that Meacham had more to say. He had learned to be patient when there was a lull in the conversation as his boss mulled over what he wanted to say next.
“If our boy Rudy is in partnership with this Reisman character, there could be a connection between all of them. Then again, maybe I’m reaching too far. I need to give it more thought, piece things together, Fogie” Meacham said, his voice trailing off as if he couldn’t quite buy into his own theorizing.
“Oh, by the way, the Mayor is sympathetic to your situation with Woody but did ask when you would be back in town” Fogarty interjected. “I’ll call him in the morning and discuss the potential link between Gantz, Reisman and the college boy. The intrigue will whet his appetite and should hold him for a while – unless he wants me to take a leave of absence” Meacham said.
Fogarty laughed. “You’ll figure it out, boss. You always do” he said before hanging up the phone.
***
Mother Nature had not been kind to Bradley Drebek but he compounded his unattractive physical attributes with an abrasive personality that drove away acquaintances and relatives alike. He had an obnoxious, obtrusive intelligence that he foisted on people not in an effort to engage in conversation but rather to intimidate them with his learning.
Physically, he had been saddled with a combination of the worst features ever assembled on one human frame. He was dwarfish in stature and had over-sized buck teeth that caused his mouth to be perpetually open in a gaping manner. When he talked excitedly, spittle flew in all directions and he exposed rows of teeth with a dull, yellowish film that were more suited for the mouth of an octogenarian.
He had an obnoxious, repulsive way of pushing himself into a group of students, all the way back to grade school, causing them to almost immediately clam up and disperse when he walked up. Drebek looked around first bewildered and then resentful. By the time he graduated from high school, he was practically an outcast.
When he got to Thorndyke, Drebek let his hair grow long and shaggy in the current style but now it hung in greasy clumps around his ears and onto a forehead populated with ripe red pustules ready to explode. His cheeks were pockmarked after many pimply attacks and his sunken chin sported the intermittent hairs that were intended to be a goatee.
Drebek was a loner at Thorndyke until he attached himself, with no particular conviction, to the anti-war movement. His fast-talking, wise-cracking style fit in well at protest gatherings where monosyllabic chanting was more important than debate. He was not reluctant to shout out a particularly popular slogan that drew notice and even praise from some in the crowd. It was at one of these events, weeks before the accident at the basketball game between Woody and Birdsie, that Drebek offered a joint to Ralph Birdsong and started the process of ingratiating himself with Woody Meacham’s friend.
***
When Chip Sweeney got to the Drebek residence in Washington, DC, there was a police squad car parked in the driveway with a uniformed officer slouched behind the wheel. Sweeney approached the car, flashed his credentials and said “Looking for a Bradley Drebek, sir. I’d like to ask him a few questions”. The policeman lazily turned his head and said in a flat, monotone voice “So would we but we’re all too late, kid. My boss is inside now talking to the parents. Found him slumped over the steering wheel of the family car down by the Tidal Basin, throat slit almost ear to ear. It was no amateur job. What’s your beef?”
Sweeney was shaking inside but tried to act calm. He didn’t feel so cocky right now but didn’t like being called “kid”. He took a deep breath and swallowed before saying “Yeah, we’ve got an investigation going on and his name popped up. We’re curious about a box shipped to him a few days ago out of Parlor Harbor.”
“Not much to be curious about, kid. The box you are looking for is probably the one we found in the back seat of the car. It was ripped open and there was a bunch of anti-war flyers strewn all over the place. If there was anything else in the box, the killer probably took it.”
“Let me ask you, officer, would you say that there were enough of those flyers lying around the back of the car to fill up the entire box?“ Sweeney asked pointedly, smarting from the second juvenile reference and determined to regain his composure.
“Hey, come to think of it, no. That’s sharp thinking, kid, not being at the crime scene and all. Say, I’ll check with my superior but we can probably send you the crime report and some photos if that would help. Yeah, give me your information.”
Sweeney thanked him and walked back to his car, not sure if the cop had been sarcastic or genuine. If anyone else but another cop had called him kid that many times, there would have been either an apology or a fight. Sweeney drove off in search of a pay phone. He knew that Lt. Fogarty would want to get the Drebek news to the Chief right away.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jerry Takes a Boat Ride
Jerry Kosinski sat on the bench that ringed the perimeter of the upper deck of the Happy Scotsman. It was a bright, nearly cloudless day and Jerry looked the part of the typical tourist in blue seersucker pants, blue deck shoes and a sporty white shirt open at the neck from which hung binoculars and a camera. He was topped off with a wide-brimmed navy-blue hat and sun glasses.
Jerry had suggested, with tongue in cheek, that he add a pipe to complete his mature ensemble and Gwen played along before vetoing that idea by pointing out he would no doubt have erupted in coughing fits and drawn attention to himself. Earlier, he had received his instructions – more like an admonition – from Billy Meacham to be inconspicuous, with the stern reminder that he was not Sherlock Holmes investigating a “cloak and dagger” case.
Woody laughed and said “Hey, Jer, are you sure you can forget Zoroaster and prairie dogs for the day and play detective? And not yell out toadface if you see Rudy?” Billy and Gwen had bemused looks on their faces, happy to see the boys together again, enjoying each other, despite the dark clouds lurking overhead.
***
Jerry peered into the water and thought of the Devonian fish. Is this the spot where it first came ashore, wriggling and struggling to begin a new life on land, to commence the long chain of events over eons that led to this very moment? Why not here, in this lake, as much as any other pla
ce on earth?
The calliope blew, causing giggling kids to scurry about and the ring-billed and herring gulls to disperse, disrupting Jerry’s speculations. He looked up to see the captain in the pilot house with a much shorter, indistinct figure in his shadows. Both of them were wearing captain’s hats but the one in front towered over the other person and was clearly in charge of the vessel. The boat rumbled and the immense paddle wheel started to turn. Jerry could feel the massive power of the steam engines beneath him, as if an angry sea monster was stirring. He casually scanned the deck but there was no sign of either Rudy Gantz or the Clintocks.
The Happy Scotsman would make five stops as it skirted the shore of the lake, moving west and north toward the Canadian border, staying close to the shoreline to avoid the choppier water further out. Tourists who wanted to hop off at a particular port for site-seeing or shopping could do so and re-board as the boat made its return trip to Parlor Harbor.
Jerry went below to leisurely stroll around the lower deck. He randomly snapped pictures in his effort to look carefree and nonchalant. He had been instructed by Meacham not to leave the boat unless he spotted the targets onshore. And even then, he was only to take pictures from a distance. Jerry looked at his watch and calculated that he had several more hours of playing the tourist. He was anxious to help his best friend and prayed for a little drama before the day was over.
***
Capt. Hap MacQuarrie’s girth was of Falstaffian proportions so it was not surprising that Jerry only caught a partial view of the person standing behind him. Hap’s florid complexion was mostly covered by a curly, strawberry blonde beard that dominated his face below what seemed like disproportionately small green eyes. His enormous, moon-shaped belly pushed relentlessly against a shirt that had not been tucked in for years. Some people called him Big Tuna but not to his face.
Hap enjoyed an occasional pint of Scotch Ale and he remembered how his father had called it Wee Heavy up until the day he died. There was also the shot of single malt scotch whiskey with bitters but only for special events. Uncontrolled drinking was not one of Hap’s indulgences despite what his cherry red cheeks might suggest. When not gorging on haggis, Shepherd’s Pie, oat porridge and his other favorite Scottish delicacies, Hap would have lived the relatively quiet life of a steamboat operator had he not been seduced by the ponies.
While watching the movie “Ben Hur” as a teenager, Hap was enthralled by the chariot races, prompting his father to take him to a race track just south of Parlor Harbor. Hap was instantly enamored with the excitement and pageantry of harness racing. The pounding and thumping of the hoofs were melodious drumbeats to the ears of young Hap. He even dreamed of owning his own horse one day and imagined himself, notwithstanding his considerable dimensions, squeezed into a sulky adorned with the Scottish colors of white and azure. Hap’s betting was inconsequential in the early years, in large part due to the presence of his father. They both enjoyed the diversion offered by the races as a respite from the monotonous routine of the lake. When his father died and Hap inherited the boat, things started to change.
As his penchant for gambling increased, along with the size of his wagers, Hap was befriended by a tout he had met at the park who seemed to have a knack for selecting winners. It was not long before the race track was Hap’s obsession. When his fiancé finally walked away, frustrated and heart-broken, Hap should have seen that his fixation might be ruinous. Instead, he went to the bank and borrowed money against his only asset – the Happy Scotsman. Hap cringed when he thought of his father, a thrifty Scotsman if there ever was one, looking down on him. He remembered how he liked to tell Hap “mony a mickle maks a muckle” and here he was on the verge of squandering everything. He slinked out of the bank that day as if he had just committed grand larceny.
A brief winning streak with his borrowings put Hap at ease and bolstered his confidence. Hoping for a big strike that would allow him to pay off the bank loan, Hap went all in on one race recommended by the tout. He lost big that day when his horse spit the bit down the home stretch and drifted toward the rail. Walking to his car, Hap muttered dejectedly “ma heid’s mince when I get to the track.” After wallowing in self-pity for a few days, he started to face the fact that he was in danger of losing his boat.
After Hap had missed a few loan payments, his banker mentioned that he had been visited by a Canadian looking to invest in a boat but who didn’t want the operational responsibility. Hap was desperate and, with strong coaxing from the banker, agreed to meet with the investor. When the Canadian showed up, he brought with him a diminutive redhead who he introduced as his partner.
It puzzled Hap why this pair who, by their own admission spent little or no time on the water, would want to be part-owners of an excursion boat. Hap might have pressed them for an explanation under other circumstances but he was in no position to ask questions.
The guy named Reisman did all the talking when they met to consummate the deal. He was very business-like and polite as he succinctly laid out the non-negotiable terms of the investment. It was Reisman’s sidekick that made Hap uncomfortable even though he hardly spoke a word. It was explained to Hap by Reisman that Mr. Gantz, as he was called, would function as a sort of bursar overseeing the finances but that, naturally, Hap would continue to be in charge of operating the boat. Hap shrugged and agreed. What choice did he have, with a bank foreclosure hanging over his head? Hap would just go about his daily routine and try to ignore the sullen-looking redhead who would be playing the honorific role of co-captain.
***
When Benny Mars saw Lt. Fogarty walk into Devil’s Corner for the second time in less than a week, he winced then started chanting “playing out the string” under his breath, hoping to appear calm. He was starting to think that the only way he could get any peace of mind would be to close up the bar and leave Parlor City for good. He had a buddy running a saloon in Pompano Beach urging him to come down and be his partner. He had held back but maybe …….. Right now, he was consuming so much Pepto Bismal that his teeth had taken on a perpetual pinkish tinge.
Fogarty had a queer smile on his face, causing Mars’ stomach to agitate like a washing machine with an over-sized load grinding through the spin cycle. “Take a look at this picture, Benny, and tell me if you recognize him. Take your time and get it right” barked Fogarty. “I’ll just take a look around and get acquainted with some of your regulars. You attract a real nice clientele, Benny. What’s the draw?”
Mars stared at the picture of Jakob Reisman as Fogarty sauntered away. He did take his time, as instructed, hoping it would impress Fogarty, but he knew right off who it was. He finally caught Fogarty’s eye and motioned for the lieutenant to return to the bar. “Yep, that’s the guy in the suit who came to visit Gantz. Sat right over there, I’m positive”. Mars practically chirped while pointing to a corner booth with dim lighting.
“Now, doesn’t that make you feel good, Benny, doing your civic duty? You are now officially on my good guy list and I know you want to stay there. If Gantz, the Clintocks or this M&M character are back in Parlor City and I don’t find out from you first, you move off the good guy list. You don’t want that to happen, now do you? Because if it does, I’ll figure you’re protecting these lowlifes or, worse, in cahoots with them. Are we clear?” Fogarty was smiling again and Mars’ stomach was churning violently as he nodded yes. The smile disappeared and Fogarty glowered as he turned away and exited Devil’s Corner.
***
“What’s our next move, Chief?” Fogarty asked. He had just told Meacham about Benny Mars’ positive identification of Jakob Reisman and the shocking news that Sweeney had phoned in from Washington, DC about Brad Drebek’s murder.
“Stay clear of Devil’s Corner, Fogie. You’ve got Mars spooked so badly, he might do something crazy. Plus, if he is in league with Gantz and this other character, he won’t make a false move if he sees you dropping in on a regular basis. When Sweeney gets back, have him drive up here w
ith the picture of Reisman plus anything that comes in from the D.C. police. He can keep an eye on Mars’ joint as well as the Clintocks’ house when he gets back from Parlor Harbor. He’ll blend in a lot better than an old goat like you. Also, check your sources on who is moving drugs around the Projects. Any new players, new suppliers, that sort of thing. You need to get a hold of Gantz’ parole officer and see if the redhead has permission to even be in Parlor Harbor and be part owner of a tourist boat. Tell him the boat travels close to Canadian waters and see if it peaks his interest.”
“And your family, Chief?” Fogarty asked, hoping to hear something encouraging. After a few seconds of silence, Meacham said “I’ve got someone watching Gantz’ boat and hope to know something by tonight. But if you mean Woody, he’s holding up fine. Kinda shocked me a bit but part of it is his belief that somehow justice will prevail simply because he’s innocent. It surprised me, Fogie, but he’s got the instincts of a detective.” Meacham paused as if pondering what he had just observed about his stepson and then said, “Busbee should be getting documents from the D.A. soon so we should have a better idea of what evidence they have besides a bloody knife from Pappy’s and an old codger who swears that he saw Woody walking down by the water waving the alleged murder weapon. How crazy is that?
“Oh, one more thing, Fogie, almost forgot. Gwen was called back to the Institute for a few days. Some sort of crisis with the nursing staff. She won’t stay away from Woody for too long but she’ll be riding back to Parlor City tomorrow with Sweeney.”
When Meacham finished, Fogarty could tell by his tone of voice that his boss was down and even more worried than he was letting on.
“Keep the faith, boss. And let me know anything you need – anything” said Fogarty beseechingly.
A Murder In Parlor Harbor Page 11