Finding David Chandler

by Charles Ayer

  I also knew, while I was being honest with myself, that I should have taken that advance when she’d offered it to me on the first day.

  When I’d gotten home the night before I’d gotten online and discovered my checking balance was near zero, despite the fact that I’d replenished it only a few days ago by charging my credit card. There had also been an email from the credit card company reminding me that I hadn’t even made the minimum monthly payment on my balance that month, and would I kindly rectify that obviously unintentional oversight on my part? Things were starting to feel desperate.

  So I got on my email the next morning and responded to one of the messages I’d received from a prospective client thanks to Lacey’s efforts. It was from a man who wanted to know if his wife was cheating on him. What I should have told him was that if he was asking me, then all I’d be doing was confirming what he already knew. What I actually told him was what my rates were, and that as soon as he wired me a $500 deposit I’d get on the case. With my mind already overwhelmed with adulterous thoughts it was the last type of case I wanted, but I didn’t have any other choice unless I was willing to go crawling to Doreen, and I was still too proud to do that.

  Then, at lunchtime, I went over to McDonald’s and got myself one of my guilty pleasures, a Filet o’ Fish sandwich meal, biggie-sized. I virtuously ordered a diet soda to go along with it.

  When I got back from Mickey D’s there was already a reply from the guy who wanted his wife followed saying that I was hired, and that the $500 was already wired to my account. He also said his wife had told him earlier in the day that she had a last minute night out “with the girls” that night, and she’d probably be out late. He gave me his address and the make and model of her car.

  I got online and made a payment on my credit card that was slightly more than the minimum, just to reassure the card company that I was a sterling customer. Then I hopped in my car and drove by the guy’s address, which was in a new development built in what had been an apple orchard when I was growing up, to make sure I didn’t get lost on the way over. Then I drove over to the Mid-Valley Mall in Newburgh and spent a thousand bucks on a Canon digital SLR camera with a zoom lens and all the bells and whistles. I charged it to my credit card and held my breath waiting for the transaction to clear. I tried not to look too relieved when it did. Then I went home and spent the rest of the afternoon fiddling around with the camera to make sure I knew how to use it.

  I ordered a large pepperoni, mushroom, and sausage pizza around six, figuring that I needed adequate nutrition to get me through a possibly long night, and that Italian cuisine for dinner would be a healthy complement to my seafood lunch. I ate half of it and put the other half in the fridge, content in the knowledge that I didn’t have to worry about what to have for breakfast the next morning.

  The guy had said his wife would be leaving the house around eight, so I got in my car around seven and drove over to give myself plenty of time to find an inconspicuous place to park. The nice thing about driving a silver ’05 Accord is that there are a million of them, and they attract zero attention. By seven-thirty I was tucked in about a half-block from the guy’s house. I’d been tempted to stop off and get myself a cup of coffee, but I figured it would a long time between bathroom breaks, so I held off.

  You would think that one of the first rules of conducting an adulterous affair would be not to drive off to a tryst in a red Mazda Miata with the top down. Apparently, however, this woman hadn’t read the manual. Either that or she didn’t give a shit if her husband found out. She backed out of the driveway, spun her tires, and took off down the road; I gave her about 50 yards before I started to follow her.

  I’d been taught as an NYPD cop how to put a tail on someone, but my skills were wasted on this woman, who never looked in her rear-view mirror once as she zipped over to one of the older neighborhoods in town, only about a quarter-mile from my old neighborhood. She pulled into the driveway of a house that I felt like I should recognize. An automated garage door opened and she pulled in. The door went back down.

  There were no shades pulled down in the front windows, but the house seemed dark. I waited five minutes for something to happen, and when nothing did I grabbed my camera and got out of my car. It was a dicey move in a neighborhood with a lot of nosey neighbors, but my curiosity was getting the better of me, and I really wanted to find out if there was anything to see in the back of the house.

  I’m big, and it’s tough for me to maintain a low profile, but I was familiar with the layout of the neighborhood, so I circled around to where there were some woods in the back, and then slowly crept back toward the house.

  There were no lights on in the upstairs rooms, but there seemed to be some light coming from the basement windows. I crawled to within ten feet of one of the windows on my belly, careful to keep off to one side.

  I got enough of a view of the basement to realize that it had been expensively refinished: recessed lighting, carpeting, an entertainment center, a wet-bar, and high-quality looking furniture.

  I also got enough of a view to see a man and a woman, both completely naked, standing with their backs to me at the wet bar pouring drinks and playing grab-ass. When they’d finished pouring their drinks they turned around and headed back toward the sofa.

  I tried as hard as I could to focus on their faces, but I’m a human being, after all. The woman I immediately recognized as my client’s wife. She wasn’t a bad looking woman and, I had to admit, she didn’t have a lot to be ashamed of without her clothes on.

  Oddly enough, I’d seen the man naked many times before in my life, but not in over twenty years. Time hadn’t done him any favors. I also realized why I thought I should recognize the house.

  The man was none other than Chief of Police Eddie Shepherd. It had been his parents’ house when we were growing up, and he must have bought it or inherited it from them when they joined all the other parents in Florida.

  I wasn’t going to be able to stand this for long, so as soon as they put their drinks on the table and started getting down to business I picked up my camera and lined up a shot. The autofocus was fooled by the pane of glass, so I carefully focused the lens manually and waited for both their faces to be clearly visible.

  The moment came, and I took my shot.

  ******

  I was suddenly blinded as the back yard and the basement window exploded with an instantaneous burst of light from the camera’s flash, which I had forgotten to take off of “Automatic” mode.

  I was blinded. I heard the woman shriek, and then I heard Eddie scream, “What the fuck?!?” I heard stumbling bodies and then heavy feet pounding up the stairs.

  I was just recovering my eyesight when Eddie came storming out the back door clad in nothing but a pair of boxers. His stomach hung over the waistband and his legs looked spindly, but I wasn’t fooled. Eddie was a big, strong man, and he was pissed. He let out a roar that sounded like a gored bull and came charging at me. This was not going to be fun.

  One of the first things I’d learned as a young NYPD patrolman about street fights is they are not fair, and the Marquis of Queensbury Rules do not apply.

  So I got to my feet and kicked Eddie hard in the nuts.

  He wasn’t ready for it and I hit him flush. He went down hard. I was immediately on him and gave him two or three hard shots to each of his kidneys, paralyzing him with pain. I grabbed his right arm by the wrist and pulled it up hard behind him until I could feel his shoulder socket get within a millimeter of tearing.

  “Eddie,” I gasped, not realizing until I tried to talk how heavily I was breathing, “don’t make this any worse, please. I don’t want to hurt you, I really don’t.”

  I felt him sag, and I was just beginning to think that I might have control of the situation when my client’s wife came storming out the door, still stark naked, and wielding a baseball bat. Without making a sound she sprinted toward me like a hungry leopard and raised the bat. I didn’t want to do
this, but I had no choice. I waited until the last possible second, and then just as she began to bring the bat down, I lunged at her and hit her squarely in the solar plexus with my head. I felt and heard the air explode out of her lungs as she fell flat on her back, her chest pumping like a gaffed fish fighting for air.

  I grabbed my camera and stood up, gasping. I winced as I realized that she’d missed my head with the bat, but my back had taken quite a shot. I was going to have a bruise, but I didn’t think she’d cracked any ribs.

  “I’ll come by and see you in the morning, Eddie,” I said between breaths. “Don’t do anything foolish until we talk, okay?” He moaned and seemed to nod his head.

  I ran back to my car, got in, and headed home. I picked up a cup of coffee on the way.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  EDDIE SHEPHERD DIDN’T LOOK BAD, all things considered. He had a small scrape on his nose and a bruise on one of his cheekbones, probably from when he fell on his face, but that was about it. Judging by his expression, the deeper injuries were of a more subcutaneous nature.

  I’d woken up early, showered, headed over to McDonald’s for a large coffee to go, and headed straight over to Devon Police Headquarters. I pulled into the parking lot a little after seven, but it didn’t surprise me that Eddie’s car was already there, and when I walked into his office he looked like he’d been there a long time. The sun poured in through two large windows, and Eddie’s office would have seemed almost cheery if not for the personal atmospherics.

  “Here to gloat, are you?” he said, not looking up from his desk top, which was empty.

  “No gloating, Eddie,” I said.

  “What, you’re going to save it for when I get the letter from Nancy’s husband’s lawyer naming me as a defendant in the divorce? Or perhaps when the story gets into the newspaper and I’m forced to resign?”

  “Nothing like that.”

  “Then what? Just to rub it in that the great Matt Hunter won again?”

  “Aw, Christ, Eddie, cut it out and listen to me.”

  “Okay,” he said, finally looking up from his desk, but still not making eye contact.

  “Look, I sent my client an email last night. I told him that, yes, his wife was having an affair.”

  “Jesus, you couldn’t wait, could you?”

  “I told him,” I said, ignoring him, “that that was what he’d hired me to do, and I’d done it. I didn’t tell him who she was having the affair with, and I deleted the photo from my camera. It sucked anyway because of all the glare.”

  He finally made eye contact. “And?”

  “And he fired me. Told me he wasn’t going to make a final payment and he wanted his deposit back. Told me he was going to get online and trash me, put me out of business.”

  “So, you’ve decided to give up on detective work already?”

  “Absolutely not. I figure the guy won’t do anything because if he did, he’d have to admit that he couldn’t keep his wife in his own bed. No man wants to admit that in public. I figure he’ll lick his wounds and go away. So, your only concern is your friend Nancy. Maybe you ought to call her and tell her to keep her mouth shut.”

  “Thanks for the advice. You finished?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. What then?”

  “David Chandler.”

  “Ah, yes. Saint David of Devon. You’re telling me he hasn’t turned up yet?”

  “No, he hasn’t.”

  “Gee, that’s a shame. Princess Doreen must be distraught.”

  “As a matter of fact, she is.”

  “Is this the part where I’m supposed to tell you I give a fuck?” said Eddie, the familiar sneer returning to his face. “The part where I should be falling down on my knees and thanking you for doing me a favor and gratefully offering to do anything you ask in return?”

  “No, Eddie,” I said, working hard to keep my voice neutral.

  “Then I don’t get it.”

  I didn’t get it either, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. I still hated the guy. I should have been savoring the opportunity to nail his crummy hide to the wall, but it just wasn’t happening. I’d have to think about that later.

  “It’s the part where you’re supposed to do your job and work with me to find him,” I said. He just stared back at me, so I said, “Look, Eddie, with any luck I’m going to be around for a long time, and so are you. Whatever went on that made us hate each other happened a lifetime ago. I’m not asking you to like me; hell, I’m not even asking myself to like you. I’m just saying that we ought to let go of the grudges at least enough to work together, especially when a guy’s life might be at stake.”

  Eddie was silent for a long time. He looked back down at his desk. The bruise on his cheek seemed to redden. He took a deep breath and exhaled.

  “Okay,” he said, still not looking at me. “What do you want?”

  “I want you to file a missing person report. I also want to you send out an All Points Bulletin with the make, model and tag numbers of his car. I want you to send out a Be On The Lookout bulletin with his name, his photo, and a description.”

  Another pause. “Okay,” he said, finally, “I’ll get to it as soon as I can. I’ve got other things to do around here, you know.”

  I pulled out a sheaf of papers that I’d brought with me in a manila folder.

  “Here,” I said. “I did it all for you, figuring you’d be busy.” It was all stuff I’d done a million times as a cop. It had only taken me a few minutes and it was perfect. All Eddie had to do was get his secretary to copy it off on official letterhead and fax it out.

  He stared at the paperwork for a long time.

  “Okay,” he said, still not looking at me, “I’ll get it out this morning.”

  “Thanks, Eddie,” I said, trying to sound like I meant it. I got up to leave. “I’ll give you a call if I find anything more out.”

  “Okay,” he said, and then he surprised me by saying, “I’ll do the same.”

  I headed for the door.

  “And Matt?” I heard him say from behind me. I turned back toward him.

  “Yeah, Eddie?”

  He sat there a long time, staring at me. Then he turned his gaze back to the sheaf of papers on his desk.

  “Nothing,” he finally said.

  It was the nicest thing he’d said to me since junior high. I turned back and walked out the door.

  Outside, it was another perfect summer day. The air was cool, but the morning sun warmed my skin. I got in my car, rolled down the windows, and pulled out of the parking lot, hearing the gravel on the pavement crunch under my tires. I wanted to drive over to Doreen’s and tell her all about it, but that was an impulse I had to resist, at least for a couple of hours.

  It was still early and I was hungry. I swung by McDonald’s and bought another cup of coffee, then I went home and finished the pizza.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  DOREEN MADE THINGS EASY FOR ME by calling me up a little before lunchtime and asking me to stop by. She didn’t give me an explanation, but I didn’t need one. I hopped in my car and headed over. I wondered if my bathing suit was dry.

  But when I got there she greeted me at the door wearing a pair of rust colored linen slacks and a white cotton blouse. She escorted me into the kitchen. She gestured toward the large, round table that dominated the center of the room and said, “Why don’t you sit down while I pour us some coffee.”

  “Is everything okay?” I said, taking a seat.

  “Of course everything isn’t okay, Matt.”

  “I’m sorry, that was stupid.”

  “Forget about it,” she said as she filled two steaming mugs and brought them over to the table.

  “Sure,” I said. “So what’s up? Have you heard anything?”

  “No, I haven’t,” she said, as she raised her cup to her lips. I couldn’t help noticing that her hand shook a little and her movements had a stiffness to them that I hadn’t seen before.

  “I don’t m
ean to be pushy,” I said, “but it seemed like you asked me to come over for a reason.”

  She put her cup down on the table and rested her forehead against the palm of her left hand. She was silent for a few minutes, but I waited.

  “Maybe I just need someone to talk to,” she finally said, her forehead still resting on her hand.

  “Maybe,” I said, not believing it. “Is this about your kids? They’re both too smart to stay quiet about this for too much longer.”

  “Funny you should ask,” she said, finally lifting her head and taking a sip of her coffee. “They’re both awfully busy, and we don’t see that much of each other, so I’ve been able to dodge the issue without being too obvious about it. But last night we were all home for dinner and they kind of ambushed me.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told them the truth. That’s what I always do with my kids. They’re too smart to fool, so why try?”

  “Kind of like their mother,” I said. That got a little laugh out of her, but it didn’t sound happy. How much did you tell them?”

  “I told them what I knew, which wasn’t much, of course.”

  “Did you ask them if they’d noticed anything odd about their father’s behavior recently?”

  “As a matter of fact I did, but they both came up empty. He’d been just the same old Dad as far as they could tell.”

  “That’s what kids want to see, I guess.”

  “You’re probably right, but I had to ask.”

  “How are they handling it all?”

  “You know kids,” said Doreen. “They tried to act like they were dealing with it, but I know they’re both really upset.”

  “Doreen,” I said, after a brief, uncomfortable silence, “are you sure there isn’t something else you wanted to talk to me about?”