by Dave Balcom
“Never heard of it.”
“Really? Never heard of Watergate? Never heard of reporters going to jail rather than revealing a source?”
I could see in his eyes that he had in fact heard of those things, so I pressed, “I’m not working on a story for some newspaper or magazine, Credenza, but my code doesn’t vary. I need information to protect me and my family. You must know something that will move me closer to that protection...”
“Not the same; not the same at all. I can’t help you.”
I sat back and thought of Gibbs and D’Onofrio. I let the silence drag on. I sat there wondering what Jan was doing to pass the time, and guessed she was doing one of those New York Times crosswords, waiting for me as she did so often. My center was in place and my internal watch said we’d sat silent for five minutes when he finally spoke.
“I don’t know how I could help you even if I wanted to, right? I don’t know who wanted you dead or why. It was a contract, plain and simple.”
“What was included in the contract offer? You had to receive something, you said you knew I took walks.”
“Look, it’s like this, okay? I take a call telling me I have mail. I go to a coffee house and log on to my email account, see? In there is a photo of you and your missus, and a brief bio – your names, where you’re at, habits, tendencies, that kinda stuff, you follow?”
“You were carrying cash.”
“Don’t leave home without it, right?”
“Where did it come from?”
“I found it in an envelope on my front seat – these people are very slick, I always lock my car, and it doesn’t slow them a bit, you know? Also I found the address for the van, so I knew what I was going to do.”
“You knew that, how? Born with that instinct? Went to training school? How?”
“Look, Stanton, you’ve won my respect, okay? You’re big, quick and violent. Hell, you’re my kinda guy. But this isn’t my first rodeo, as they say. I grew up in this racket. My dad was an associate, my brother’s an associate – on the business side, not the action side – but while I’m no made man, none of us are, I don’t have to be told what ‘the vehicle is a van’ and the address to know that I’m supposed to steal the damn thing.”
“And then, what, you drove to the nearest paint store or hardware store and tricked it out with drop cloths, shrink wrap and Sakrete?”
“Pretty much. There’s these Home Depot stores, you know?”
“And what were your exact instructions?”
His eyes changed then, and instead of looking at me he became very interested in the ventilation duct over my right shoulder.
I let the silence drag again, but that didn’t seem to be working this time. When I figured we’d been at this break for more than five minutes, I opened a different track.
“Does the name Paul Ralph mean anything to you?”
“No, should it?”
“How about Dave Boyington?”
Again there was no reaction, just a shake of the head.
“Frank Foster?”
Again, nothing.
“Marci Evers?”
“Who is she?”
I was flustered for a second, I was out of ideas. “How about Greg Blake?”
And I saw it; for just a microsecond, I saw a flicker of something... and then the word “fear” blossomed in my brain.
“How about,” I stalled a second, and then dredged up “Melanie Deal?”
Again, no hesitation, just a wrinkled lip and a shake of the head.
“Margie Phillips?”
Nothing more.
“You ’bout done? I’m gettin’ parched and tired.
“I can order us some water...”
“Bullshit, Stanton; I’m done with this. I have nothin’ for you.”
I thanked him for his cooperation, and he interrupted me, “I never cooperated, you hear me? Never!”
I nodded. “That’s right, I misspoke, I just meant that I appreciated your giving me the time to ask my questions.”
“Damn straight, then,” he said.
I nodded, smiled, and left without another word.
CHAPTER 42
Lawton and Bromwell were waiting for me when I came out of the room, and we walked silently to the Sheriff’s cruiser, and remained silent all the way back to his office.
When we came in, I realized it was after five. Edwina was long gone, and a crusty looking sergeant was manning the desk.
“Messages Wyatt?” Bromwell asked as we walked in.
“None for you; several for Inspector Lawton, and two for Mr. Stanton.” He was holding up pink message slips.
The sheriff grabbed them as we walked by and dealt them to us without breaking stride. I pulled my cell out of my pocket and found I had two messages waiting for me there as well. I flipped my phone open and found they were both from Jan. I looked at my slips and found they were from her too.
“Jan?” I asked as she answered her phone.
“Where have you been?”
“I was in an interview room at the county lockup, talking with Credenza Mo-lesky,” I said, imitating the phonetic pronunciation. “It came up suddenly, and I didn’t give you a call. I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right, I wasn’t worried, just a bit put out because you weren’t responding. They pulled your phone for the interview; didn’t they?”
“Everything but my belt and shoe laces.”
“Well, I wanted you to know that Frannie called me today and asked if we could come out to the inn for dinner tonight. Can we?”
I told her I’d check and call her back, and then used the bathroom before going back into Bromwell’s office.
The two policemen were waiting for me. “So?”
“This has something to do with Greg Blake.”
“Whoa!” Bromwell reacted. “How could it?”
“I have no real idea, but when I was checking things out, I ran through a bunch of names, and none of them elicited any reaction except when I mentioned Greg. Big Mo is good, but not that good, I saw it in his eyes.”
“But nothing when you mentioned Ralph?” Miles asked.
“That’s correct.”
“Then I’ll take another run at Greg through Lansing.”
“Good enough; I’m going to dinner at the Skeegmog Inn. The message from Jan was about an invitation from Fran for dinner.”
Lawton sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his lips. Finally he went to the front desk. I could see him from my seat, and after a brief exchange with Sergeant Wyatt, he came back looking puzzled. “Wyatt said that as far as he knows there has been no public news about Chmolski’s arrest.”
“You think there’s a connection between Chmolski and Blake?” Bromwell asked.
Lawton shrugged, and I said, “Big Mo’s eyes told me there is.”
“Then you better not be late for dinner, had ya?” The sheriff said with a sly smile. “And we won’t be far away.”
“You should wear a wire,” Lawton said quietly.
“I can’t help but think that’s getting ahead of ourselves. I think you need to engage your researchers, enjoy a good night’s sleep, and we’ll reconvene tomorrow.” I turned to the sheriff, “And I think you should have someone at Annie’s, hanging out. That’s close enough, and it should be someone whose presence won’t wag tongues.”
The sheriff was nodding. “You think that dinner party might end up at Annie’s with Jan on the piano?”
“I hadn’t thought of that. I expect it’ll end up on the patio around a fire or in the living room in front of a fire, and that we’ll be back in Bellaire by 10.”
CHAPTER 43
We arrived at the Inn just as the sun was painting the lodge a thin yellow that hinted of earlier sunsets in the future. You can almost feel winter lurking around the Great Lakes as October turns the woods from gaudy red and gold into the gray and green that will add its own dash of stark when the snow starts piling up.
Fran wa
s all smiles and warmth as she greeted us, and she hustled Jan off towards the kitchen as I watched Judy make her rounds of the campground and lake shore.
“It’s a fine evening, heh?” Greg said from behind me. I hadn’t heard him approach, but I didn’t react as I turned to accept his outstretched hand.
“It’s beautiful and peaceful,” I said in response.
“Best time of the year; after the sun worshipers and before the snowmobilers. Just the right amount of time to collect yourself, make sure everything’s in shape for winter. Been hunting this week?”
“Not for birds; Paul Ralph’s family has pretty much dominated our time.”
“Police are doing all they can, right?”
“They are, but Jan did some research when we were here before, looking into some questions that rose out of her class reunion.”
“I heard about that. Is there anything to it?”
“You grew up in Detroit, had a business in Detroit, right?”
“Yeah. But then I met Frannie, and saw what real living can be; I have no regrets about moving up here. I made a hell of a lot more money down there, but,” and here he spread his arms to encompass all that he could see, “this is real living.
“Come on, there’s a batch of Manhattans aging in the fridge and I’ll bet charcoal is about ready.”
He headed for the lodge. I whistled for Judy and she came bounding. I put her in her crate and followed my host, digesting my surprise at his seeming passion for this place.
Dinner was grilled grouse with sage and thyme, baked potato, and a tossed salad with Roquefort dressing. I had no digestion trouble from that.
“You have grouse in Oregon, no?” Greg asked after the table was cleared and as he poured port wine for all of us.
“We do,” I said, “but they’re dumber than rocks compared to these birds. Ours don’t suffer that much hunting pressure. Their population isn’t nearly as strong as the chukars, pheasants, and quail – they take most of the bird hunter attention.
“But after Jan steals that recipe, the grouse in my neck of the woods are going to demand more attention.”
That caused a ripple of chuckles from the women and a nod from Greg, “You want to give our local birds another shot tomorrow?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Mid-morning to mid-afternoon. We’ll be back in time for the Michigan kickoff.”
I looked at Jan and I could see some concern in her eyes. “I’d love to do that, Greg,” I said with a smile. “What time should we be here?”
“I’ll pick you up, and then Jan can drive down on her own schedule. The place I want to hunt is north of B’laire about a half hour. Say we meet at 9?”
“Sounds perfect to me.”
CHAPTER 44
Jan was very quiet on the ride back to Bellaire. We parked the Suburban at just ten o’clock, and while Judy and I went for a little walk, she went to our room without a word.
When I came back, she was sitting with Miles Lawton in the little bar that graced the hotel’s lobby.
“Uh, oh,” I thought. “Hey there!” is what I said aloud.
“Hey there, yourself,” Miles responded. “You’re going hunting in the a.m. I hear.”
I shot a look at Jan which she shot right back. “I am. I was planning on getting together with you and seeing if you wanted to either come along, or if you wanted to put a tail on us.” I turned to Jan and stuck my tongue out.
“Sure you were,” was all she said, but in her tone I could hear real concern.
Lawton ignored our antics. “I’m not going with you; I was planning on having Gail come up for dinner tomorrow; but now I’m not sure that’s a great idea.”
“I think it’s a wonderful idea; we might all have dinner at Annie’s,” I said.
Jan had had enough. “You’re full of it, Stanton,” she hissed. “You know Greg Blake is somehow linked to a man who planned to kill you and maybe me, and then you agree to go off with him carrying loaded guns? What could possibly go wrong in that scenario?”
I had to laugh at her, and, even though I knew it was a bad idea, I couldn’t hold it in.
She reacted with the predictable dire consequences, “You laugh at me? My concern for your safety and well-being is a laughing matter to you?” She was bristling but keeping her voice low enough not to be overheard if there had been anyone handy.
“I do not think your care and concern laughable, but your presentation is. All of this just makes me proud to be me, and that causes me to laugh, sometimes inappropriately,” I then changed my tone and chose my words carefully, “I would never do anything that I thought would keep me from coming home to you, and you know that.”
That put her off balance, and she lightened up a bit, “I just don’t think you have to put yourself in harm’s way; you don’t have to prove anything to me or to Miles...”
“No, but I do feel an obligation to do anything I can to find Paul, Betty and Tony. Don’t you?”
Miles had been thinking like a trained investigator while this played out in front of him, and when it seemed the storm had passed, he reached out and covered Jan’s hand in a comforting gesture, “I don’t think this has to be too dangerous, Jan.
“Jim, we’ll put a homing device on you and another one on his truck when he comes to pick you up. We’ll be able to track you wherever you go.”
“What’s the range?”
“From the chopper? I’d bet thirty miles or so line of sight. I’ve seen it work on a boat on Lake Michigan clear to Milwaukee. It’s a line of sight thing. We’ll use the forest service’s chopper; you will never hear it unless you need it.”
Before daylight the next morning I drove to the sheriff’s office. Miles and Rick were huddling over a map with three other men, all in plain clothes. One of them was Deputy Schmidt. As I walked up, he handed me a coffee in a cardboard cup. “Cream, right?”
I thanked him as another man separated himself from the group and handed me a small, silver disc that looked like an extra large hearing aid battery.
“Put this in your pocket, Jim.”
“Is this the homer?”
“Exactly. You don’t need to do anything as long as everything’s going well; if it turns bad, just put it between your thumb and forefinger and press it tightly for about a minute and we’ll come running. We’ll also come running if this thing doesn’t move for more than 15 minutes, too. So if everything’s going normal, don’t take a 15-minute rest break.”
“How much moving do I have to do to keep you from crashing the party?”
“Oh, just a few yards will do it; this thing is accurate to plus or minus two feet, not unlike a GPS, which is about what it is. At our end we’ll see your location on our handheld monitor with a topographic map background.”
“Sounds good. I don’t think anything’s going to come of this, but I will have a chance to talk with him in the truck. I didn’t have a real opportunity last night with Fran there and all...” I ran out of gas.
“That’s about what we figured,” Rick said. “Now you need to be back at the hotel in case he arrives early.”
Greg pulled up next to our Suburban right at nine. I put Judy’s crate in his truck, and she jumped up and into it without waiting to be told.
We pulled away and I resisted the urge to look back, knowing Jan was watching.
“Sleep well?” Greg asked as he turned north on Highway 88.
“I did. And you?”
Greg gave me a quick glance. “I haven’t been gettin’ much sleep lately, Jim.”
“Why’s that?”
“You think you know, don’t you?”
“Fran told Jan that you weren’t feeling well last week after the alumni banquet, and then I heard you were downstate and I wondered if you were seeing a doctor. Are you sick?”
“And tired. Sick and tired for sure.”
“What’s the problem?”
He gave out a sigh as if his troubles were a weight he could no longer
bear. “Paul Ralph is my problem.”
“How’s that?”
He took a right turn onto a secondary road, drove in silence about two miles, and then pulled off into a county roadside park.
“Jim, I have to tell you a story. It’s not a pretty story, either.”
“Tell away, I’ll listen.”
“You know I grew up in Detroit. What you didn’t know was that I grew up in a crime family. My father, his brothers, his father – every male member of my extended family was a career criminal.
“My mom, bless her heart, married into the mob and didn’t know it until after I was born. She stuck around as long as I was there, but there were no more children. My dad probably didn’t go without, he just went without her if you know what I mean.
“Anyway, she took special steps to make sure I went to school, did the stuff like Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts, played on the sports teams I could play on; even as my dad and his family were making sure I was hip to how their world worked.
“I felt at times as if I was caught in the middle between forces of good and evil. Mom made sure I spent a couple of weeks each summer with her folks near Toronto; Dad made sure I spent as much time as I could on weekends and such at the gym, Maxi’s Pool Hall, you know, just hanging out.
“By the time I was in high school, I dressed like a hood, talked like a hood, but studied and earned grades like a preppie. When I told my old man I wanted to go to college, he approved, and he let me choose the school; I chose Michigan State. Graduated in four years with a business degree, and for my graduation present, this was in 1970, mind you, I was given a deferment from the draft that my dad had bought for me somehow.
“He also gave me a position with a concrete construction business he’d invested in. I was hired as the business manager and accountant, you know?”
“How did Paul Ralph cause you a problem?”
“Paul Ralph was an attorney representing some of the leaders of what was then another crime family, the Stahls. He was a junior member of this defense firm, but he worked directly on two trials – “Pappy” Stahl and his son, Jerry.