“Ah, Byron, of course you are right. Yes, I am tired and poor Davey is too. Yes, of course Andrew can call me at home; he will know that.”
After checking the rear door and turning off lights Father Ben, Davey and Byron exited the Center through the front door. Ben paused and gave the door a thorough test assuring it was locked.
Watching them leave from the shadows of the viaduct were Leo and Jake.
“Let’s get a beer while we’re waiting for it to get dark,” suggested Jake “Maybe some food, too.”
“Jake” crabbed Leo, “you’re always thinkin’ of your stomach.”
“Well ain’t you hungry?” complained Jake. “Besides it’ll be awhile before its dark enough to break in.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” Leo, relented grudgingly. “C’mon.”
The two crossed the tracks and reached the water side of Alaskan Way and headed for the tavern down the street from the Center.
✽✽✽
It was exactly six twenty three, Wednesday evening when Charlene Thayer entered the Sheraton. Her gaze passed quickly around the lobby focusing on a tall bespectacled man glancing at his watch and then turning his attention back to a folded newspaper.
“Mmhm that must be him,” she mused, “his watch must be slow, he isn’t even aware I’m here.”
A voice behind her startled her momentarily. “Hello, Mrs. Thayer.”
She turned and looked into the youthful smiling face of Andrew Kincaid. He was not what she had expected at all. His blue eyes were intense and warm. His sandy brown hair suggested being unruly at any given moment. He was tall, good looking, not handsome, but very appealing. She had always pictured reporters as being casual, maybe even slightly disheveled in their appearance; but he was well dressed, shirt and tie, a navy blazer and gray trousers. There was such openness about him that she was immediately put at ease.
The small trim woman facing Andrew was not quite what he expected either. She wore a dark dress that flattered her figure and creamy complexion. She used very little makeup and what there was, was light and tasteful. Although he had seen photos of her at the Center with Father Ben and the Bishop, the person before him was distinctly different. She was about 5’ 5”, and her hazel eyes held little flecks of gold and all of her emotions registered in her eyes and on her face. Her light auburn hair was collar length and held back from her face by a multi colored silk scarf. She was pretty. He guessed that Charlene Thayer could be mid to late thirties, but it was hard to put an age on her. Her figure indicated activity and energy.
Her smile was warm, but there was distance in her handshake. “I’m surprised that you found me so easily,” she said pleasantly.
“I cheated,” he laughed. “I’ve seen your pictures at the Center and I looked you up.”
Charlene nodded approval. “A true newspaper man,” she said smiling again.
“Did you drive in?” he asked steering her toward the dining room.
“No,” she replied. “I allowed myself the luxury of a cab,” adding, “my car is in the shop for a couple of days getting some things fixed that I’ve considered along the lines of elective surgeries.”
Andrew laughed and nodded understanding. Seated, done with menu juggling and having ordered coffee and iced tea, Charlene inhaled deeply as if to gather courage. Looking directly at Andrew she asked nervously, “Mr. Kincaid, what in the world is this all about?”
“Please, Mrs. Thayer, make it Andrew. ‘Mr. Kincaid’ sounds so formal... my father is ‘Mr. Kincaid’. I’m just Andrew or Andy.
“Mrs. Thayer is pretty formal, too,” she responded. “My name is Charlene. Now to get back to the question—what is this all about?” She had decided not to mention her close friends called her ‘Charlie’, the name Paul had used.
Andrew reached into an inside coat pocket extracting a stained and yellowed envelope. He passed it across the table and as Charlene took it from his hand she recognized her name in the all too familiar handwriting. She knew it was Paul’s writing and she gasped. Dozens of questions raced through her mind and Andrew aware of the shock spoke gently to her.
“Mrs. Thayer, Charlene, let me explain how this letter came to me. There was a man who came to the Seamen’s Center yesterday who had carried it to be delivered to you. He was attacked and stabbed in front of the Center last night and died at Harborview. Father Ben and I were with him and one of the last things he said was that you were to get this letter.”
Charlene didn’t speak. She sat rigidly staring at the unopened letter. The look on her face told Andrew that she had only half heard him. As if in slow motion she opened the ragged envelope and reading the date once again shook her head in disbelief.
The letter dated January 1971 read
“My Darling Charlie,
When you get this letter you will know that I won’t be coming home. It’s quiet for the moment and so I am writing this in hopes it will reach you somehow. There are so many things that I wish I could tell you, how I wish I could be there to hold you close. I want you to know that in spite of the distance between us I have always felt your love and your prayers. They have sustained me and they do now.
In these last moments I realize that many of the things I’ve given my life to were only shadows and I ask your forgiveness and understanding, but I tried to do what I honestly believed was my duty. More than wanting you to remember that, I want you to know how very, very much I love you.
There is another man here with me, his name is Pyotr Chernakov, he is a Soviet Air Force officer. He risked everything to defect, now we realize that we have been betrayed. I don’t know how or by whom. If you get this letter it will be because my friend George has found a way to get it to you somehow.
I pray that Brad makes it home. He and Olivia can help you through the days ahead. Please know that I have always loved you and I’ll see you on the other side.
Paul
She stood up; the color drained from her face. Steadying herself on the chair, she said quietly, “I have to go... I’ve got to get out of here... please excuse me.”
Andrew was standing also, “Let me take you home.”
No,” she said, “I really want to be alone—I need to be alone. It’s going to take some time to...” she paused, “to what? Understand? That’s not possible.” Charlie argued with herself as she left the restaurant. Outside she dove into a parked taxi and drove off.
Andrew dropped money on the table and hurried after her, but she had already disappeared in the cab. Andrew was left standing looking at the receding tail lights soon absorbed in traffic and feeling as if he had inadvertently perpetrated a dreadful act upon another human being. Swearing to himself under his breath he decided that Charlene Thayer needed help even if he didn’t know how to give it. Besides he felt used in a situation over which he had no control. That was not a comfortable place for Andrew Kincaid, a man very much in control of most situations in which he found himself.
✽✽✽
8:00 PM
It was dark as they left the tavern. “C’mon, let’s get this over with,” urged Jake.
“Yeah, okay, we hafta’ be real careful,” Leo agreed.
They crossed the street back to the Viaduct and watched the Center to make sure everything was quiet. Standing there in the semi darkness, both men were uneasy and both agreed it would be their last visit to the Seamen’s Center. They watched as Officer Pete Reilly made his rounds and checked the lock on the Center door. After giving it a thorough try, he seemed satisfied and continued on his beat.
“I don’t like the idea of doing this tonight, they could probably identify us—that’s why we hafta’ be real careful!” Leo emphasized again.
“Yeah, they know us pretty well by now,” Jake admitted.
“C’mon, Jake, it’s dark enough and the cop is outta’ sight. Let’s go down the alley and check for a window before we try to break a door lock.”
“Maybe a window is unlocked.” Jake remarked. “They’re
low enough we can get in.”
“Yeah,” Leo agreed. “We won’t be seen so easy as trying to jimmy the front door.”
They stayed in shadows as much as possible and reached the window that accessed the storeroom, but the window was barred by an ancient grate. Jake swore as he grabbed one of the bars and gave it an angry pull.
It gave, not much but a little and Leo said excitedly, “Wait, Jake, we just might be able to get this loose!” He grabbed the grate encouraged by the movement. Together they pried and tugged. The rusted screws gave way and the window was exposed—and unlocked.
Jake tumbled in over the sill, offering Leo a hand in, they found themselves in the Center storeroom. Leo pulled his flashlight from his pocket and keeping the light low so as not to be seen, gave an examination of the shelves they might have missed earlier.
“We’ve been through here,” Jake muttered in a stage whisper. “Let’s get to the office before that cop comes back.”
“Yeah, we need to spend time in the priest’s office,” Leo agreed. “Maybe the good Father left the package in plain sight.”
Jake was thinking that he really didn’t care if they found the package or not. He just wanted to get out of there and get their money as soon as possible.
They did a cursory search again of the main room of the Center, throwing magazines and other articles on the floor and not bothering to pick up anything behind them, then moved on to Father Ben’s office.
Starting with Father Ben’s desk they rifled through drawers, tossing articles from the top of the desk leaving everything in disarray. Then they attacked the file cabinet forcing the lock and dumping the contents on the floor.
Next they searched the bookshelves throwing books here and there; looking behind pictures, under furniture, so engrossed in their search that they failed to hear Officer Reilly try the front door.
Reilly had noticed what looked like a flash of light through the glass. Cupping his hand over his eyes he peered through the glass door. By the light from the street he could make out objects on the floor that appeared suspicious. Cautiously he moved through the alley toward the back of the Center; he spotted the grating lying below the open window to the storeroom. “Strange,” he muttered, “Father Ben wouldn’t leave a window raised like that. I’d better check this out.” At that moment he heard a thump and another thump from somewhere inside the Center.
“Better call for backup,” as he reached for his radio. After quietly placing the call he climbed through the window and made his way out of the storeroom toward the sounds of the chaos.
“Who’s here?” he called out shining his light around the main room.
The movement in the office stopped and Leo and Jake stood frozen.
“Police! Come out with your hands up,” he shouted.
“Dammit!” yelped Jake
“Make a run for it,” Leo impelled. Leo threw a book across the room distracting Reilly as Leo and Jake hurled themselves past the officer knocking the flashlight from his hand. They went through the door of the storeroom flinging themselves out the window with Reilly right behind them.
The darkness hindered Pete and after a fruitless chase without his flashlight he realized they were gone. The back up team arrived, “I lost them,” Officer Reilly said, wiping his brow.
✽✽✽
“That was too close, Jake,” Leo panted.
“You got that right,” said Jake, “Now what?”
“We call Maxwell and tell him our breaking-in trip was a bust...and we almost got nailed by the cops.” Leo replied grimly. “And we want our money!” he added.
“Then what?” Jake was fearful that Monte would send them back. “Leo, you gotta tell him we’re done—tell him the package wasn’t there and we ain’t lookin’ no more!”
“We gotta lay low,” Leo retorted. “We go back to work and act natural.”
It was midnight and once more Leo and Jake were at a pay phone with Monte. As usual Leo was doing the talking.
“We had a close squeak,” Leo explained. “We broke in the Center just like you said and had a real good look around. We took the office apart and looked every place it could be. It ain’t there and what’s worse a cop almost got us.”
“Well,” Maxwell responded grimly, “be very glad he didn’t. I would not be very happy to see you downtown. You might even have a serious accident. Jail is not a healthy place for you two; obviously you got away. The important thing is did you find the merchandise?”
“Dammit, Detective, didn’t you hear me? It AIN’T there!” Leo yelled emphatically.
“Look, Detective Maxwell,” Leo went on in a calmer voice, “we just want the rest of our money. We figure wasting the guy was worth more than the thirty grand we got up front and besides, we’ve taken all the big risks so... ” Jake broke in; “Tell him he promised we would be taken care of.” Jake spoke loudly so Monte could hear him.
“Be quiet; no, no, no not you, Detective—I’m talkin’ to Jake. He wants the rest of his money too.” Leo rubbed his forehead. “We want the money now, Detective Maxwell,” Leo stated again.
“Just be patient boys,” Monte interjected. “I told you boys you’d be taken care of and you will be—very soon in fact.”
“We’re done, Detective,” Leo interrupted. “We did what you wanted and snuffed the Kelshaw guy on the first job and we’ve been chasin’ our tails on this second bit of crap and almost got busted. Like I said, we took all the risks and no more!! We want the rest of our money by Monday, or else! We’re serious; you can find us at Atlas Window Cleaners and bring the money!” Leo shouted as he hung up the phone.
“That’s tellin’ him,” Jake grinned. “The big man better pay up or else!”
“Yeah,” Leo retorted as the two walked off.
Chapter 4
Thursday, September 18, 1980
12:10AM
Monte was angry, “How dare those two low-lifes talk to me like I was a nothing... a nobody,” he fumed. “I’ll fix them,” he muttered. “Imbeciles, who do they think they are...calling me to tell me they screwed up another simple job? They just didn’t look hard enough for the stuff,” he told himself.
Monte sat thinking. His eyes glittered and became narrow slits; a new thought had occurred to him. What was Kelshaw carrying that was so important that Ramsey and his client were so desperate to get? It had to be worth a bundle in order to be as valuable as a “hit”. And if it was worth all that would Jake and Leo want to give it up, especially if they thought they could make more than the sixty grand they had contracted for? Not likely! Why not say they couldn’t find whatever it is and try to collect on both ends?
He was seething as the thoughts whirled around in his head that they might have double crossed him.
“I’m not getting killed because of those two scumbags,” he exploded. “No sir. I think I’ll pay them a little call at the St. Croix Hotel and surprise them.” He patted his gun in the holster.
Monte left the den and put on his coat; he stuck his head in the bedroom door rousing his sleeping wife Dora, “I’m going out and I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
“Okay, goodnight,” she murmured.
12:30 AM
There was no one on duty at the desk as Monte entered the St. Croix Hotel but that didn’t matter. Monte reached under the counter and grabbed the stained register. He found Leo and Jake were in a second floor room 208.
The hotel smelled as sleazy as it appeared to be. Greasy cooking smells, probably from over-used hot plates, mingled with stale tobacco, the sweet smell of pot and dirty bathrooms filled the air. Monte wasn’t surprised; he had been involved in a number of raids that brought him to places like the St. Croix Hotel. Pioneer Square was experiencing regeneration, but Jake and Leo’s pad had a long way to go before it would qualify as an ‘artsy’ makeover restaurant or bookstore.
No light could be seen from the crack under the door. He knocked, no one answered. Not home yet he thought. They’re probably at some ba
r celebrating how smart they are for out-foxing me. Monte tried the door and found it locked. He smiled. “Small problem,” he told himself. He took a special set of keys from his pocket and easily opened the door.
Detective Maxwell stepped inside, turning on the light. He closed the door and stood looking at the room illumined by a single ceiling light fixture. Surprisingly, everything was moderately clean. He suspected that housekeeping didn’t make it more than once a year.
Two cots, separated by a nightstand that showed different layers of color through chipped paint and cigarette burns, stood against one wall. There was one overstuffed chair covered in a faded and soiled fabric that might have been blue flowered chintz. A broken spring protruded from the sagging bottom. The chair and a window shared the wall that faced the door.
A sad chest of drawers with a leg replaced by two bricks to keep it from falling, leaned sorrowfully against the other wall beside a rust stained sink. In a corner next to the door was the closet.
Monte took time searching for any items that might have been Kelshaw’s but found nothing. He flipped the mattresses off the cots and after assuring himself that they held no secrets, proceeded to dump the dresser drawers of the few meager articles of clothing. Only a few stained and wrinkled letters and a dog-eared picture served as anything that might qualify as documents rested in the bottom of one of the drawers, but these had not belonged to Kelshaw.
Next was the closet which was equally unremarkable; nothing there except some tired work shoes which Monte turned over shook and found empty. He turned out the pockets of the pants hanging on hooks and felt through all pockets of shirts and the only two coats in the enclosure. No shelf; no place to hide anything, at least not an obvious place.
“Well, I’ll just sit down and wait.” Monte found he was talking to himself again. “What a surprise they’ll get.” He smiled again as he turned out the light and sat down in the darkened room to wait.
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