The Pastor’s Daughter: Episode XIV

I reached Middle River around six o’clock. During the drive I had looked out for the black Pontiac, but I hadn’t seen it. On getting to my apartment complex, I left the Mercedes in the parking lot. I then walked up the private stairway that led directly to my apartment.

I unlocked the front door and carried my suitcase into my bedroom. I felt the urge to drink, so I returned to the lounge, mixed myself a Hennessey and sweet red wine and then sat down by the telephone. While seeping my drink, I put a call through to Lieutenant Ludlum.

He came on the line, after a little delay.

“This is Harry,”  I said. “I just got back from Atlantic City.”

“Oh, okay. I assume Reverend Waters has gone to Trenton?”

“Yeah. The medical examiner seems satisfied Brittany’s death was an accident.”

“I can see,” Lieutenant Ludlum said. “But it is too early to conclude. The inquest will be on Monday.”

“Well, Reverend Waters has talked to him. The Reverend also talked to your boss too,” I said, staring at the opposite wall.

“Well, I will say we still have to wait until Monday,” said Lieutenant Ludlum

There was a pause, but since he seemed  determined not to tell me what’s on his mind about this case, I went on, “I want you to help me with something, if you don’t mind. Could you get  me some information about the registration number of a car?”

“Sure,” he replied. “Give me the number and I will call you right back.”

I gave him the number of the black Pontiac.

“I will get back to you in a minute,” he said.

I hung up and continued to stare at the opposite wall. Ten minutes later, the telephone bell rang.

“I think you made a mistake about that car number,” Lieutenant Ludlum said.

“No, I did not,” I replied.

“Are you sure?”

That was one thing I was sure of.

“Yeah…why?”

“There’s no such number registered.”

I was both surprised and confused, and I ran my fingers through my hair.

Since I didn’t want to raise his curiosity, I simply said, “Well, I’m sorry about that Lieutenant. You may be right – I could have made a mistake.”

“Any particular reason for asking about this car? I mean, does it has something to do with Brittany’s death?”

I smiled.

“Not really Lieutenant,” I said. “The car belonged to a guy who ran me pretty close. I was thinking of reporting him to the police.”

“I see,” he said after a short pause. “We are here to help, especially on this case. So feel free to ask for my help whenever you need it. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Thanks a lot,” I said, and then I hung up.

I lit a cigarette and did some hard thinking. This Brittany’s business was becoming complicated. I told myself that Susan Waters argument that her husband could turn against me if I showed him the kind of daughter he had been doting on made sense. However, I still doubt that she was thinking of my wellbeing when she asked me to lay off an investigation. I was sure that she was scared that something that would affect her will come to light through my investigation. I knew too that, somehow, Reverend Waters would know if I did lie down on the investigation. And if that happens, he would definitely get rid of me and hire somebody else for the Trenton job. Another problem I pondered on is this: If Lieutenant Ludlum ever suspected that Brittany was murdered, no one, including Reverend Waters, would stop him from hunting for her killer.

I got up from my chair and went over to the telephone. I put a call to Phorbus Taylor. I could only get the operator, who told me there was no response from Phorbus Taylor’s office. So I told her to put me through his hotel. The clerk there told me that Phorbus was out. I told her I would call again and hung up.

I poured myself another drink and wondered what my next move was to be. By now I have decided to go ahead with the investigation regardless of what Susan Waters had told me. The first thing to do, I told myself, is to go to Reverend Waters house in Victory Villa, the place Brittany was staying while she was in Middle River. Perhaps there might be something there that would give me a lead on this investigation.

I put Brittany’s camera in a drawer in my desk and locked it. I then went down to where I had left the Mercedes convertible. I entered the car and drove to the house in Victory Villa. It took me only about twenty minutes to get there. I carried her suitcases and entered the house using the key that Reverend Waters gave me. From my watch I could see that the time was twenty minutes to eight o’clock. I opened the front door and walked into the hall. As I crossed the hall and walked into the sitting room, I could smell Brittany’s perfume. It gave me a bad feeling. I still find it hard to believe that only a few days ago she and I were here planning for our vacation in Atlantic City. Only a few days ago I had made love to her in this house.

Standing in the doorway, I looked across the room to the desk where her cartons of films had stood. I suddenly noticed that they are no longer there. Is it possible that she had forgotten to take them to Atlantic City? I became confused. That they were not on the desk means that someone had stolen them from the vacation house in Atlantic City.

The only option for me was to move into the room and look around. And that was what I did exactly. On entering the room, I went over to the desk and sat on it. After a moment’s hesitation, I opened one drawer after the other. What I found was the usual things one would expect to find in drawers of a desk. They include rubber bands, note paper, ink, blotting paper, and so on. Well, I found all these items. But to my greatest surprise, I didn’t find even one bill, diary, personal paper or letter anywhere. The only way I can explain this is that someone must have been here before me. And that person must had indeed made a clean sweep of every scrap of paper in the desk. Who might that person be? The police? Or perhaps the same person who stole the films?

I was feeling so uneasy on my mind. In any case, I went into the bedroom. I looked into  the closets and various drawers of the bureau.  What I discovered immediately was that Brittany had a large stock of expensive clothes and shoes. Reverend Waters had told me to get rid of all her things. I soon realized that the job was too big for me to handle alone. I mean, she had three drawers full of underwear and a drawer crammed with costume jewelry, in addition to  dozens of dresses, coats, and shoes. I concluded that it would be best to get Candace to help me.

So I went back to the sitting room. Picking up the phone, I called her office number. Luckily for me she was still at the office. I almost missed – she told me she was just about to go out to supper.

“I need you over here,” I said. “Can you make it?”

“Sure,” she replied.

I gave her the address and said, “I have a man-sized work for you to handle. So come with a cab. I will take you out to supper when we are through.”

“That will be nice” she replied. “I will be right over.”

As I was about to hang the phone on the wall, I noticed that a number was scribbled in pen near the telephone. I leaned forward and stared at it. The number was scarcely visible. As a matter of fact wouldn’t have seen it if hadn’t witched on the table lamp. It was a Middle River number.

One voice in my mind told me that Brittany wrote that number on the wall for only one reason: it was important to her. It occurred to me that it could be a number she had called frequently. When I searched her desk, I didn’t find any number at all. So since there was no other numbers written on the wall except this one, I believed I found something significant.

After a moment’s hesitation, I picked up the receiver and called the number. I regretted my decision as soon as I heard the ringing sound on the other end. For all I knew this might be Mr. A’s number. And it wouldn’t be smart to make him suspect I was onto him so early in the game. Before I could replace the receiver I heard a click on the line. A voice that almost shattered my eardrum bawled: “WHO IS THIS?”

The voice was so loud and coarse that I held the receiver away from my ear and listened. I could hear a faint sound of music on the background. Some throaty tenor was singing Dolly Parton’s Love’s Like A Butterfly,  probably over the radio.

“HELLO? HELLO? WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?” shouted the man who had answered the telephone. “Look, if you don’t wanna talk, don’t waste my time!”

It was one of the most shattering voice I had ever heard or ever want to hear over a telephone line, and it was more than life-size.

To hold his attention, I flicked my fingernail  against the mouthpiece of the receiver.

Then I heard a woman say, “Who is it Mac? Is it really necessary to shout like that on the phone?”

“No one answered, honey,” he said gently, in a lower tone. Then he slammed down the receiver.

I hung up and stared out of the window. Mac… and that woman’s voice. This could mean something, or even nothing. It is very possible that Brittany made a lot of friends during her stay in Middle River. Mac could have been just a friend of her. However, the telephone number on the wall made me confused. I mean, if he really were just a friend, why write his  telephone number on the wall? Of course he might have given it to her, probably over the telephone. If that was the case, it will only make sense that she scribbled it on the wall if, and only if, she hadn’t had any scratch pad near her at the time. That could be the only credible explanation. But then, I still doubt that. I said it because if that had happened, why still leave the number on the wall? I guess what I’m trying to say here is that she would surely have rubbed it out by now, after entering it in her telephone book.

While I was pondering this, I carefully jotted down the number on the back of an envelope.  As I was about to put the envelope into my wallet, the front-door bell rang.

I let Candace into the house.

“Please come in here and look at this stuff,” I said. “Reverend Waters wants me to get rid of it. He told me to sell it and give the money to some charity. I’m thinking of the Red Cross. It’s a huge job for me to handle alone. What she has here is large enough to stock a shop. “

I took her to Brittany’s bedroom and watched while she looked into her closets and drawers.

“I can handle it Harry,” she said.

“You can?” I said, surprised.

“Yeah,” she replied. “There’s a woman in my neighborhood who specializes in second-hand clothes. I’m sure she will buy most, if not all of these stuffs.”

I sighed with relief.

“You are a life saver Candace,” I said. “I knew you will have a solution, but I didn’t know it will be that quick. Whatever price she offers, as long as she takes everything, please accept it. “

“Brittany must have spent a great deal of money  on these things,” she said. “Some of these have never been worn. The labels on most of them showed they were all bought at Nordstrom.”

“Well, she certainly didn’t get the money from her father,” I said. “I guess some guy must be crazy about her and had bought them for her.”

Candace shrugged, and shut the closet door.

“Well, whoever gave these to her didn’t do it for nothing,” she said. “So, I don’t envy her.”

“Would you mind coming into the other room? I want to talk to you.”

“Sure”

She followed me into the lounge and sat down on a chair.

“Harry, why did she call herself Mrs. Graham Reed?” she asked.

I wished the walls of the room should fall and swallow me.

“What? What did you say?” I asked, staring at her.

She looked at me.

“I’m sorry I said that” she said.

“How did you know she called herself that anyway?” I asked again.

“Remember a woman  called before you lefty for your vacation. I recognized her voice.”

I should have known that Candace would have recognized Brittany’s voice. She had spoken to Brittany twice on the phone when Brittany had first come to Middle River. And one rare skill that Candace had was a sharp  memory of for people’s voices.

I went over to Brittany’s liquor cabinet.

“Have a drink, Candace?” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“I won’t mind a Scotch, if you don’t mind.”

I took out  a bottle of Vodka and a bottle of Scotch. I fixed myself a strong drink, and a Scotch and Pepsi for Candace and brought the drinks over.

I had known Candace for four years. Some people say that you can’t create love, that falling in love just happen to you. But I don’t believe that. I believe that we actually allow ourselves to fall in love with someone. In other words, we are in charge of our emotions. That said, there had been a time when I had imagined that I had been in love with Candace. All these years I had been working with her day after day. Spending time with her at the office had offered temptations to get intimate with her. But I managed to control my emotions, and as a result I had been careful to keep our relations more or less on a professional level.

I had seen a number of newsmen, working in Middle River and in Baltimore City, who had got too friendly with their secretaries. The outcome was not always rosy: Sooner or later the girls lose control and start to misbehave or a visiting big shot had spotted what was going on, and there had been trouble. So when it come to my relationship with Candace, I had been very careful. I had been strict with myself about her. I had never made a pass at her. Yet there was a bond between us, a bond that was unspoken and unadvertised. That convinced me that I could completely rely on her, no matter what the emergency might be.

As I fixed the drink, I decided that it would be wise to tell her the hold story, without holding back a thing. She was a good girl, a reliable confidant, and I had a lot of faith in her opinions. So I felt that it was time to get an unbiased, outside opinion, given the mess I was in at that time.

“Can you keep a secret Candace? Would you mind if I confide in you?” I asked, sitting down opposite her. “I had a lot on my mind and it’s driving me crazy. I will like to share it with you, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure,” she replied. “If there’s anything I …”

Before she could finish the front-door bell rang. We stared at each other for a long moment.

“Are you expecting someone?” she asked.

“No” I replied, getting to my feet, surprised.

“Perhaps it’s a neighbor wanting to find out who is in here,” Candace said.

“You may be right.”

I crossed the room, going towards the door. I reached for the door knob and was about to open the door when the bell rang again.

I opened the door.

It was Lieutenant Jim Ludlum, and behind him was another detective.

“Good evening Harry,” Lieutenant Ludlum said. “May we come in?”

END OF EPISODE XIV

P.S. Episode Fifteen  will be published here next Monday.