Calling Card Capers

by Dan Kelly

  We thank the sergeant for his input and head for St. Peter’s church, hoping to find a priest, a nun or perhaps a parishioner who might be able to identify the man Sergeant Mancuso described.

  When we enter the church, the pews and the alter are vacant and Janet and I not being Catholic don’t want to start wandering around and do something that would offend. Janet says, “Let’s check the rectory. Someone should be there.”

  Sure enough, when we ring the bell at the rectory next door to the church a nun answers the door and when we introduce ourselves and tell her why we’re there she invites us in. “I’m Sister Margaret. I’m new here so I won’t be of any help to you. Father McIntyre is in and he’s been the parish priest here for years. If this gentleman you’re asking about is a member of this parish, he’ll know him.” Pointing to a small vestibule off the to the right of the doorway she says, “Please have a seat in here while I go round him up.”

  A few minutes later the spitting image of Spencer Tracy appears in the doorway and immediately my memory of that 1930s movie Boys Town starts rolling in my mind. The first time and only time I saw it I was around ten years old and it made a big impression on me and I’ve never forgotten it.

  Seeing the shock on my face, Father McIntyre smiles and says, “I know, I remind you of Father Flanagan, the priest Spencer Tracy portrayed in Boys Town. I get that a lot and am used to the reaction.”

  “If there’s any truth to that old saying ‘Everybody has a double.’ you’re living proof.”

  Laughing softly he adroitly changes the topic of conversation from his appearance to why we’re here. “Speaking of appearances, the man you described to Sister Margaret is definitely one who would stand out from the crowd and I’ve noticed him several times in the congregation during the masses I’ve served. Unfortunately, I’ve never had the chance to speak with him as he always leaves by the side door instead of the front where I wait to greet the parishioners as they’re leaving the church at the end of mass.”

  I ask, “Would you mind asking around amongst the sisters and your parishioners about them knowing anybody answering this description? It’s very important that we be able to identify him.”

  “Not at all, but why is this so important?”

  I explain to him what we were attempting to do and why and he is appalled to think that he might have someone like the Crusader in his parish.

  “Father, please refrain from telling anyone why you’re asking about this guy. We don’t want this individual to get wind of someone trying to track him down. If he does, he’ll disappear in a heartbeat. If anyone asks, just say you’re trying to help someone who’s been looking for him. Besides, this guy might not be the Crusader and if word gets out he is a suspect his reputation could be irreparably tarnished.”

  “I understand and will do my best.”

  I give him my business card and the next place we head for is Casey’s Pub.

  It’s approaching three o’clock in the afternoon and the place is nearly deserted except for a couple of men sitting at the far end of the horseshoe bar talking with the bartender. I’m thinking the shape of the bar is appropriate for an Irish Pub, luck of the Irish, four leaf clovers and all that. The bartender saunters down to where we have taken seats and greets us with a brogue so thick you could knock it across the room with a shillelagh. “What’ll ye be havin’?”

  I order a Bushmills on the rocks and Janet orders a Knappogue Castle and tonic. I ask the bartender, “Is Barney working today?”

  “He’ll be here in a wee bit. He’s runnin’ a bit late because he had to make a couple of stops along the way.”

  We sip our drinks, munch on some peanuts and popcorn the bartender has placed on the bar, check out the décor in more detail and decide we like the place. We talk about other places we could visit to make inquiries and weed out the ones with the least potential and engage in some small talk. Around three-thirty Barney shows up, but we have to wait a little longer as he has his priorities too.

  Calling out to the bartender he says, “Sean, help me unload the van will you? I’ve got a mess of stuff out there and I banged up my knee hauling it out of Brewsters.”

  “Will do, Barney.” Pointing to us he adds, “These folks are waiting to talk with ya.”

  Looking over at us Barney says, “I’ll be with you in a minute, folks. Let me wash up first. My hands are as dirty as a kid’s who’s been outside playing in the dirt all day.” Barney disappears into the men’s room and reappears moments later with his hair neatly combed and drying his hands on some paper towels.

  “What can I do for you folks?”

  I take the lead and say, “Sergeant Mancuso suggested we talk to you about someone we’re trying to track down. He was involved in an altercation in front of your bar a while back and we’d like to talk to him about something related to that incident. He’s a husky guy about six feet tall and has hair like a zebra, thick and wavy and jet black with wide snow white streaks in it. Does this sound like any of your regular customers?

  “It sounds like Hank.” Lowering his voice he adds, “Those two guys at the end of the bar are the ones he got into the argument with and I told them to knock it off or take it outside. They took it outside and then someone threw a punch and they went at it. Hank’s no one to take lightly in a fight as those two quickly found out, but he’s not a bully either. Those two were in their cups a little and Hank knew it so he just roughed them up a little, hoping to discourage them. He’d push them down and they’d get back up. When I saw that no one was going to get hurt real bad, I figured I’d let them let off steam and they’d tire out soon enough. Before that could happen though, someone called the cops and they stopped them.”

  “Do you know Hank’s last name?”

  “No he never told me and I never asked.”

  “Do you think one of those two would know?”

  “They might. All three are regulars, but I haven’t seen Hank for five, six weeks.”

  “Thanks, Barney.”

  Picking up our drinks, we moved down to the end of the bar where the two men were seated and this time Janet takes the lead. Guys, especially guys who’ve had a few drinks, are much more apt to open up to a pretty lady than to someone who looks like me. I’d intimidate she’ll infatuate.

  There’s nothing outstanding in the appearance of the two men. They’re both about five ten, about 190 lbs., in their late thirties, both sport beer guts, one has a shaved head and the other has thinning red wavy hair and looks a little like Ron Howard, the actor and director.

  “Gentlemen, would you be willing to answer a few questions for us?”

  Baldy answers with, “It depends on the questions.”

  “We’re trying to locate an acquaintance of yours. Until recently he was a regular here. He goes by the name of Hank. We don’t have a last name for him and we’re hoping you can help us out.”

  The Howard look-a-like says, “We know a Hank. What does yours look like?”

  Janet gives him the description we have and which has been confirmed by Barney. “Yeah, that’s our Hank. Why are you looking for him?”

  “He had some strong feelings about the military equipment being used in Iraq and Afghanistan and I want to talk with him about them. I’m a journalist with the Washington Post and am doing research for an article I’m writing.”

  The guy with the hairless pate shakes his head and says, “Strong feelings is putting it mildly. He was ready to start his own war to make the people he believed were responsible for his son’s death in Iraq pay big time. The kid’s rifle jammed while his platoon was under fire and he caught one in the chest and died on the battle field.

  “The last time we saw him he was cleaning the sidewalk with our butts. We were more than slightly inebriated and got tired of his spouting off on the scumbags in D.C. He kept saying over and over again that they should be made to pay for what they have done. He just wouldn’t shut up about it, so we started doing some spouting off ourselves about how th
ere are lots of good folks in D. C., not everyone is a scumbag. One thing led to another and Barney kicked us out and we got into it outside. The cops came and broke up our poor excuse for a melee and that was the end of it.”

  “Do you know his last name or anything about him that you that you think might help us find him, like what his son’s name was, where he lives, what he does for a living?”

  They both thought about that for a minute and then the red headed guy says, “Hank always referred to his son as Junior. He told me once that he and his wife wanted to have a bunch of kids, but something happened during her pregnancy with Junior and she couldn’t have any more kids. He’s a techie, develops information systems, computer programs, stuff like that. He lives in Frederick and I got the impression that where he works is also in Frederick. As for his lasts name, I don’t t remember him ever saying it.”

  Janet turns to baldy and asks, “Can you add anything to what your friend has said?”

  Shaking his head he says, “I can’t think of anything. Sorry.”

  “Well thanks for talking with us. Here’s my card. If either of you think of anything else, please call me. Barney, their next drink is on us.”

  We pay our tab and head for Tony’s barber shop.

  During our drive over to Tony’s, we talk about what we have learned and how we can use it to locate Hank. In our minds, Hank appears to be a top contender for the Crusader title.

  Janet says, “Well, Hank fits the profile you’ve constructed when it comes to the assumption that the Crusader has to have the ability to hack into computers. He’s definitely a match for the motive you’ve tied to the military and indirectly to others in or dealing with the government and the fact that his son was his only offspring makes his loss even greater and could be feeding his lust for revenge.”

  “After we talk with Tony, let’s take a look at the businesses in the area that might employ someone like this Hank, keeping in mind the proximity of the businesses to Casey’s Pub.”

  When we get to Tony’s, his two chairs are occupied and three more men are waiting. I walk over to the barber nearest to the door and ask, “Are you Tony?”

  The barber next to him says, “I’m Tony. What can I do for you?

  “We’re looking for somebody and we have reason to believe he’s one of your customers. If it’s alright with you, we can talk while you’re clipping away. It looks like your pretty busy and I don’t want to hold you or your customers up.”

  “That’s fine with me. Resuming the shave he was giving the man in the chair he asks, “Who are you looking for?”

  “We only have a first name, Hank, but we have his description. He’s a husky guy about six feet tall and he has thick, wavy, jet black hair with wide snow white streaks in it. The man who gave us the description said the black and white streaks made him look like a zebra.”

  “That sounds like one of my customers. He used to come in once a month to get his ears lowered, but I haven’t seen him for a while. If it’s the same guy, I only knew him as Hank. He paid with cash so I never saw him sign his name on a credit card receipt.”

  One of the men waiting for a haircut speaks up and says. “I know who you’re talking about. His name is Hank Aldrich. We were neighbors for many years. In fact, I was the one who told him about Tony when he first moved in across the street from me.”

  Janet asks, “You said were. Did you or he move away?”

  “He did, but I don’t know where he and his wife went. My wife and I went out of town for a couple weeks to visit our daughter and her family in Santa Fe, New Mexico. When we came home there was a sold sign on their lawn and the house was empty. We were shocked because we were pretty friendly and talked about a lot of things, good and bad. He never said a thing about thinking of moving. Although now that I think about it I shouldn’t have been surprised that they pulled up stakes and moved on. Hank started to change after his son was killed in Iraq. He probably moved to try to escape the memories that were fostered here. He really blew a gasket when the investigations into the accusations that inferior equipment was being issued to our military came up with nothing to substantiate the claims. He swore up and down that there was a cover up. In fact, he got into a fight over it right outside here.”

  I ask, “Can you tell us anything about him that might help us find him?”

  “Why are you looking for him?”

  Janet gives him the same story she gave Barney and he seems to buy it. “Did he ever tell you where he worked, talk about his relatives and where they lived, places he liked to go to relax and get away from the stresses of everyday life. Is there anything you can think of that will help us find him?”

  Thinking about that for a minute he says, “I’m sorry Miss. I’m drawing a blank. I might be able to think of something later. How can I get in touch with you?”

  Janet gives him one of her cards, we thank Tony and his customer for their input and we head for the door. As I open it for Janet to leave, the customer calls out. “Wait a minute. I just remembered where Hank said he worked. Sub Rosa Electronics. How could I forget a name like that?”

  Janet thanks him for the additional information and asks, “What’s your name and would you mind if I contacted you if I think of anything else you might be able to help me with?”

  “George Polaski and give me another of your business cards and I’ll write my email address on the back.”

  As we’re walking to our car I say, “I think we’ve accomplished a lot more than I thought we would on our impromptu safari. I don’t think we’re going to learn anything else worthwhile here, so how about we head back home. You drive, I’ll pass what we’ve learned onto Don Ericson, check in with my office and I’ll treat you to dinner at Morey’s if you have nothing planned for the evening.”

  “I’d like that and over dinner we can discuss where we should go from here.”

  I call Don, but get his voice mail so I just leave a brief message that our trip was fruitful and for him to call me on my cell the first chance he gets. It’s after five, but I call the office anyway because Felicity is a workaholic and frequently works until six or sometimes later. She picks up on the first ring. “You’ve reached Dawson, Inc. This is Felicity speaking. How may I help you?”

  “Wow! That’s a mouthful and a half. Why not just say hello and what do you want?”

  “Because my tyrant of a boss would hand me my head if I didn’t put on airs and kiss ass.”

  Laughing she asks, “Okay, what do you want?”

  “I’m just checking in to see how the day went.”

  “We’re now caught up on everything we put on hold due to this Crusader nut. We picked up some new business today from a company in Boston that’s looking into acquiring a company in Chicago and wants us to check out the operation from soup to nuts. I’ll fill you in on the details when you get into the office tomorrow, assuming you’re coming in.”

  “I’ll be there. Janet and I had a good day too. I want you to do something for me tomorrow. I want you to find out all you can on a Hank Aldrich. Hank is probably a nickname for Henry. Last known address was in Frederick, Maryland. His last known employer was Sub Rosa Electronics in Frederick. He’s a techie and disappeared from Frederick about the same time the big hullabaloo over the results of the investigations into the quality of the military equipment being provided to our military personnel was taking place in the media and in communities all over the country.”

  “Do you think he’s the Crusader?”

  “We’re still looking for other possibilities, but my gut is telling me he’s the one.”

  “I’ll get right on it.”

  “No, go home and relax. Get on it first thing tomorrow.”

  Chapter 12

  Settling in at Morey’s with a beer for me and a glass of chardonnay for Janet, we go silent for a minute as we collect our thoughts on what we have learned in Frederick and then start to dwell on what we are going to do with it.