by John Holt
I wondered how long they had known each other. Jerry had said they knew each from way back. I wondered if maybe they had gone to the same school.
More importantly I wondered what they had been talking about. Had Mrs. Walker said anything about her husband and his playing around? Had Brady seen an opportunity to make some money? Was it then that she starting making plans to blackmail Walker?
* * *
Chapter Eight
I Have A Visitor
It was late by the time I got back to the office. I was feeling quite weary. It had been another of those days. You know the ones I mean. Two steps forward and three back. Only in my case it was four steps back, and none forward. I was getting very few answers, but more and more questions.
This case was just going over and over in my mind, and I was playing a Muddy Waters track, it seemed to match my mood.
Well, I rolled and I tumbled, cried the whole night long
Well, I rolled and I tumbled, cried the whole night long
Well, I woke up this mornin', didn't know right from wrong
Lying on the desk in front of me was one of Mama Dell’s specials. It had seemed like a good idea when I picked it up, twenty minutes ago, but now I wasn’t so sure. It was clear to me that Denis Walker was guilty, but proving it was going to be difficult. I had a terrible feeling that he would get away with it. That wasn’t something I liked, as I’m sure you can understand. It was not a good feeling, and it was enough to lessen my appetite.
I reached for the box and took out a slice. Pay attention, I did say lessen my appetite, not curb it completely.
There was a knock on the door.
I reached across and turned the volume down on the CD player. I looked at my watch. It was near six. Who would be calling at this time of night I wondered.
“Come in,” I yelled.
Nothing happened. Then there was another knock.
“Come in,” I called out once more.
Still nothing happened. Reluctantly I got up and walked over to the door. I opened it. Standing in the corridor was a lady. And when I say lady, I mean a real lady. About five feet four I’d say, hundred and twenty pounds, auburn hair, and the bluest of eyes I’ve ever seen.
“I’m Amanda Walker,” she said, although said doesn’t do it justice. No one looking as good as she did merely spoke. Dressed for the opera, she looked like a million dollars, not that I have any idea what a million dollars looked like, especially when it came in the form of a dress. Nor did I know how people dressed for the opera, but I guessed that she did. She swept into the room, no one looking like her merely walked. She sat down. I tried to remember whether or not I had dusted that visitors chair recently. It’s funny the things that you think of.
“I said, I’m Amanda Walker,” she repeated. I had heard the first time. I idly wondered what Miss. Franklin had that Mrs. Walker was clearly lacking. As I said, it’s funny the things you think of. I decided that it was more a case of what she didn’t have. You know things like poise, style, taste, class, money. What Walker saw in Miss. Franklin was beyond me, but there’s no accounting for taste is there? It takes all sorts to make a world.
“How nice to see you, Mr. Daniels,” she said. “My husband has told me so much about you.”
I just bet he has, I thought. I wondered if he had given her the ten cents tour, or had he told her every seedy, squalid, sleazy detail. “I can explain,” I started to say. “It was all a misunderstanding ….”
“There’s really no need,” she said, holding up her hand. “Perfectly understandable, I know all about Miss. whatever her name was.” She paused for a few moments.
I couldn’t understand why the need to ask the question, or did she really not know that the dead woman was her drinking partner of a few short months ago. Maybe she didn’t know. Or maybe she did know, but she didn’t know that I knew.
“Susan Brady,” I replied, wishing that I had checked more thoroughly when this whole affair had started. I mean, yes sure Susan Brady was good looking, no argument, but she didn’t compare with the lady sitting in front of me. Things would have been a lot different, if I had taken more care.
“Susan Brady,” I repeated, forgetting that I had already answered her question.
“Yes, I remember now,” she replied. “I heard how she deceived you into obtaining information, and how she had been blackmailing my husband. He told me all about it. A very clever lady, a little greedy perhaps, but she simply miscalculated.”
Some miscalculation I thought, the dame was currently lying on a granite slab at the County Morgue. How clever was that I wondered? I also wondered if Walker had really told her all about it, including all about Miss. Franklin. Or had he told her another reason for being blackmailed, something underhand at work maybe, or some double dealing at the dog track?
“What can I do for you Mrs. Walker?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Oh, nothing, not really,” she replied. “I just thought that it was time that we met.” She paused for a moment. “In the circumstances I feel that I already know you.”
Is that it I thought, just a friendly social call like that? Happened to be in the neighborhood, thought I’d drop by. That was mighty nice of her really, considering my thoughts concerning her husband, or more to the point maybe, his thoughts concerning me. Was she really seeking a divorce I wondered? Did she know about Miss. Flozzie Whatsername? I was debating whether or not to ask. If she did know, then clearly she wasn’t that concerned.
“Oh there was one other thing,” she continued.
“Go on,” I coaxed.
“I was just wondering if the authorities had any ideas about who killed her.”
I shook my head. ‘Well actually we think your husband did it’, didn’t seem quite right somehow.
“Not yet I’m afraid, but they are so short of clues,” I replied. “I mean so far there’s really nothing. And it comes right down to a shoe.”
“A shoe,” she repeated clearly puzzled.
“Yes, you see they know that she wasn’t killed in Battery Park,” I started to explain. “They really need to find out where she was actually murdered. That would help.”
“What has that got to do with a shoe?” she asked.
“Well when they found her she was only wearing one shoe,” I continued. “The other shoe is still missing.”
“And they think the other shoe is at the actual murder spot,” she suggested.
I couldn’t have put it better myself, but I said nothing, and simply nodded.
“Anything else,” she asked.
I heaved a sigh. “Not a lot I’m afraid,” I replied. “We think that she had a partner in her blackmailing, a man. We’re not sure you understand, but one theory is that her partner got greedy, and didn’t want to share the proceeds.”
“And that partner, whoever he is, he carried out the murder,” Mrs. Walker suggested.
“It’s only a theory, but it’s a possibility.”
She shook her head, and took a deep breath. “How gruesome,” she said. “What some people will do for money.”
I stood up. Considering that she was married to a large fortune, and money was the least of her problems, her statement seemed a little shallow to say the least. “Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about,” I said smiling.
She stood up. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Daniels,” she said holding out her hand.
I took hold and shook it. “Likewise I’m sure.”
I can’t believe I actually said that. Likewise I’m sure! What on earth was I thinking?
“Thank you for seeing me,” she said as she moved towards the door.
“My pleasure,” I said, opening the door for her. “Any time, and please give my regards to your husband.”
She left the office. I watched her go along the corridor, until she turned towards the staircase. I closed the door, and sat back down. I’m sure my regards will be greatly valued by Mr. Walker. Probably make his day, I don’t
think.
This called for a drink, a double. And maybe just a little bit more of the pizza. I pressed the play button on the CD. And put my feet up on to the desk.
* * *
Chapter Nine
Honeysuckle Drive
Okay so the information that I had got from Jerry was interesting. Well it was more than interesting, it was intriguing. Although it gave a few possible answers, it raised a lot more questions. I was hopeful that this guy Bob Chandler would be able to add a lot more information. There was at least one thing that was certain. It was clear that there was a connection, a major connection, between Mrs. Amanda Walker and the dead woman. It was also more than obvious that the dead woman had made use of that connection in some way.
She recently gets out of prison, and she needs money. Understandable, I guess. I mean she’s probably desperate. She knows about her friend marrying a rich guy. She finds out that he’s playing around. Then using information that she had got from Mrs. Walker she must have began making her plans to blackmail Walker. The first step was me. And I went along with it. She took me in completely, but it could’ve happened to anyone.
Anyway so she gets a whole stack of information, thanks to me, and then she goes on to step two. She makes contact with Walker, makes her demand, pay up or else. Walker pays up, but then she gets greedy. She wants more money. Happens all the time, and, well, you know the rest.
** *
Okay so there were still a lot of questions to be answered, and still proof to be found, but now I had something to work on. I just needed a few more bits of evidence. I wondered if the murder weapon had been found, and it would be good to know where the actual murder took place.
I reached for the phone and made a call to Frank Bates. A few minutes later I was put through.
“Detective Bates, speaking,” a voice said. “Can I help you?”
“Hi, Frank, it’s me, Daniels.”
“Hey Daniels, I was just about to call you,” Bates replied. “So, what can I do for you?”
“I was recently in Jerry’s Bar,” I said.
“Becoming a bit of a habit ain’t it?” Bates interrupted. “How many times is that this week?”
I ignored the comment. “As I said, I was recently in Jerry’s Bar. I had a long talk with my friend, Jerry, and I found out some very interesting news about our Susan Brady.”
“I’m listening,” said Bates.
I told Bates everything that I had learnt at Jerry’s place.
“That’s very interesting,” he said. “Especially the part about the prison sentence, but it’s strange that we never found any details of a police record.”
I had to admit that it was strange. Stranger still we hadn’t found any details with Social Security, or anyone else. The name Susan Brady meant nothing to anyone.
“Maybe we’ve got her name wrong,” I suggested. “Maybe it’s not Brady at all.”
“Could be,” Bates agreed. He paused for a few moments. “I’ll check with Mrs. Walker.”
Somehow I didn’t think Bates would get very far along that route. “I spoke to Mrs. Walker just the other day,” I started to explain. “I had to remind her of the dead woman’s name, which I thought was a bit odd.”
“Go on,” said Bates.
“Well there’s not much more to tell,” I continued. “Except that I told her that the woman’s name was Susan Brady, and all that she said was, yes I remember now.”
“She never queried the name?” Bates asked.
“No, not at all, she just accepted it,” I replied.
“And you say that they were seen drinking together, in Jerry’s place?”
“That’s right, it was just a few short months ago,” I replied. “Incidentally how did we decide that was her name anyway?”
“That’s easy,” replied Bates. “Her name was written on that envelope we found in her handbag, remember.”
Sure, I remembered. It was the only item of identification there was. “I’m thinking that it was deliberately planted by the murderer,” I suggested.
“And I’m betting you’re right,” said Bates. “So we’ve still no idea of her real name then.”
“Right,” I replied, and heaved a sigh. “So have we got anything? Have we found the murder weapon?”
“Afraid not,” replied Bates.
“What about the shoe? Has that been found yet?” I asked, not really expecting a result.
“Yes, that’s one piece of good news. We’ve found the other shoe,” Bates replied. “It was discovered by some guy walking his dog. Well it was the dog that actually found it. Earlier today, round about eleven o’clock. The guy gave us a call at about a quarter after.”
I wondered why someone should find a shoe and immediately contact the police. It wouldn’t be my first call I can tell you.
“It wasn’t the shoe that attracted his attention,” Bates explained. “It was the pool of blood lying next to it. He called 911. The interesting thing is he also found a blood soaked cufflink. I’m guessing that it belonged to the murderer. Probably came off during the struggle.”
“Struggle?” I said.
“It certainly looks like she put up quite a fight.”
I don’t know what you think, but I find that very sad. I mean murder is murder whatever way you look at it. I know that. There’s nothing good about it, no way. But somehow knowing that the victim knew about it makes it that much worse. To actual know somebody was out to kill you, and you don’t maybe know why. You put up a fight, you’re desperate to survive. It doesn’t bear thinking about.
“Where was this?” I asked.
“Chantry Woods, do you know it?”
I knew it. It was a popular place for ramblers, and dog walkers. “Not far from the Walker place, if memory serves,” I replied.
“That’s right,” said Bates. “It’s just a mile or two from Honeysuckle Way.”
“You know what I’m thinking,” I said. “Walker is our killer.”
“Could be,” said Bates. “He certainly had the motive. Anyway we’re going over there now to have a few words with him. Care to join us?”
“Try and stop me,” I said. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
I hung up. I looked at the clock. It was two forty. I picked up what was left of my lunch. That’ll do the cat, I thought.
You know about the cat don’t you? You don’t! Right, well I should say straight off, that it’s not actually my cat. I can’t have pets, not where I am. It wouldn’t be fair, besides the landlord won’t allow it.
Anyway we have a stray cat here at the office. Well actually she lives in the yard at the rear. She’s a big fluffy ginger cat with white paws. We call her Ginger. Yes I know, it’s not very imaginative, but it was the best we came up with.
Not that she belongs to us you understand. She sort of adopted us. She doesn’t have a collar, or a microchip, or anything like that, so we don’t know where she came from. We’ve never seen any posters stuck up about a missing cat. So it looks like she doesn’t have an owner.
She just turned up one day, a couple of months ago, and she’s stayed ever since. I don’t know why, something to do with the fact that we started to feed her I guess. Anyway she seems happy enough judging by the way she purrs, and she’s doing alright. So she gets her food, shelter, and a friendly stroke once in a while. What more does she want?
* * *
As I came out from the back door, there she was. Someone had provided a new box for her, out of the draft, together with an old blanket. She looked comfortable enough all curled up nice and warm, and sound asleep. She stirred as I placed the remainder of my four cheese pizza down in front of her, next to a bowl of milk someone had left. She looked at it, and then turned around and went back to sleep.
I made a mental note to lodge a complaint at Mama Dells. Clearly there weren’t enough olives.
* * *
Two-two-four Honeysuckle Drive was one of those houses. You know the type. They take up six city block
s and you need a cab to get from one end to the other. Okay so I’m exaggerating, a bit. Alright so it’s more than a bit. But it is a big house. I’m guessing fifty rooms, or something like that. It was big enough for Mr. and Mrs. Walker anyway. Mind you, it’s just as well they never had kids. Could have been a bit cramped then.
The house just cried out money, and lots of it. I guessed that the house represented more cash than several small countries put together. My old car parked in the driveway, next to the Mercedes, and the Cadillac, did nothing for appearances.
The door was answered on the third ring by a grey haired retainer. I guessed he was a James, or maybe a Charles. Have you noticed that, most butlers are Charles, or James. Odd that, not that I’m an expert on butlers you understand, it’s just what I’ve seen in the movies.
Anyway, whatever his name was, asked who we were. “Can I help you gentlemen?” he said.
Detective Bates stepped forward, showing his badge. “We’d like to see Mr. Walker,” he said.
The butler stood to one side, and allowed us to enter into a large hallway. Did I say large? I guessed my entire apartment would fit into that space, and there’d still be room to spare.
“I’ll see if he is available,” said James. “Kindly wait there.”
He pointed to a precise spot. I couldn’t see anything special about it, but guessed he knew what he was talking about, so I moved into position. Where Bates was going to wait I neither knew, nor cared. James went into one of the rooms opposite. The library or perhaps it was the lounge, or maybe the morning room, who knows.
Okay so I’m still trying to guess what room it was, when the door opens. The butler is standing at the doorway. “Show them in, Thomas,” a voice called out.
Okay so it wasn’t James. What you going to do? Make a federal case out of it.
* * *
Chapter Ten
Just A Few Questions
Thomas remained at the open door and ushered us into the room.