The Pastor’s Daughter: Episode XVII

As a newspaperman, I always try to control my emotion and temperament in any situation or circumstance. So it isn’t often that I lose my temper, but when I do, I often do things that could be disastrous. Whenever I’m angry, I won’t care whether what I say or do might upset the apple cart. The sight of the Black Pontiac gave me a rush of blood to my head. In a fit of anger, I decided to find out who  the hell this driver was, and what he was playing at. The problem is that the car was behind me. Hence there wasn’t much I could do about it at that moment. The key is to get him in front of me somehow. If I can do that, it would become easy to crowd him into the curb, force him to stop and find out who he was. And if he wanted to play it rough, I was in the mood for a fight. I mean, I have the right to protect myself, right?  When you die and go to heaven, I don’t know that St. Peter is going to ask, why did you fight with your stalker? He is probably going to ask why you didn’t beat the hell out of him.

I drove down Eastern Boulevard, heading towards the Bengies Drive-In Theatre with the Black Pontiac about fifty yards in the rear. When I reached a dark patch in the road that is very close to a Chinese restaurant, I slammed on my brakes, swung the car to the curb and pulled up. My actions took the driver of the Black Pontiac by surprise, and he had no chance to stop. The car shot past me. Unfortunately it was too dark for me to see whether this driver was a man or a woman. But by then I didn’t care. As soon as the car has passed me, I released my brakes and went after him, sending the Mercedes convertible forward with my foot squeezing the gas pedal to the floor.

The driver of the Black Pontiac must have guessed what I planned to do. I said this because his reaction was quicker than I expected. My guess was that he, in turn, trod on the gas and the Pontiac surged forward. As a matter of fact, the car went streaking down Eastern Boulevard like a bullet from a gun.

For a moment I thought I was going to catch the bastard. The front bumper of the Mercedes convertible was only a foot off his rear fender. All I had to do was to swing the wheel over and hit him. But before I could do that, he began to pull away.

At this point we were travelling at almost eighty miles an hour. This was Eastern Boulevard and the maximum speed limit was forty miles an hour. We might get in trouble with the police if they sees us. I heard a shrill  police siren  blasting somewhere in my rear. I saw beyond the speeding Pontiac the traffic light at the Maryland Air National Guard intersection looming up. I saw a slow moving traffic ahead and I became alarmed.  I knew I couldn’t roar past that intersection at this speed without hitting a car and hurting myself. My foot went down the brake pedal and I slowed down.

Meanwhile, the Pontiac leapt away from me. Its horn gave a long, warning shriek, and then the car went screeching through the Maryland Air National Guard intersection, missing three cars by inches, and forcing two others skid to a standstill. Only slightly slackening its crazy speed, the Pontiac, its horn still blaring, stormed past the intersection and disappeared into the darkness, heading  towards White Marsh Boulevard.

I heard the police siren again. Anxious not to get into trouble with the police, and pretty certain that the policeman did not get my plate number since I was moving too fast, I slowed down to a respectable speed and resumed my drive to Evan’s place. I was indeed rattled that the Black Pontiac had got away. But, to say the truth, I was relieved: it was better that he escaped than for me to attempt to compete with his kind of driving. At least I had achieved one important thing: I had given the bastard a scare.

I arrived at Evan’s apartment, parked the Mercedes convertible outside and went up the steps to the front door. Evans answered my ring immediately.

“Come on in,” he said. “I’m glad you made it.”

I followed him into his beautifully furnished sitting room.

“You need a drink?” he said.

“No, thanks,” I replied.

I sat on the arm of a leather chair and looked at him. Evans was slightly built, handsome with intelligent, shrewd eyes. I have known him for a long time and he had always maintained a bright face. But tonight he looked different: his face looked grave, and he wore a worried frown.

“I don’t want to drink alone,” he said. “You must have something to keep me company. How about a vodka?”

“Well, that’s fine with me.”

While he was fixing the drinks, he said, “This is a very bad news, Harry. The article on the paper only says she fell off a window. Do you, by chance, have any details? What was she doing in Atlantic City anyway?”

“She was on vacation there.”

He brought the drinks over and gave me mine. Then he began to move restlessly about the sitting room.

“The case is an open and closed one, isn’t it?” he asked, without looking at me.

“What do you mean by that?” I said.

“I mean, it was an accident, right?”

His question startled me.

“It looks like an accident,” I said. “However, there is some doubt about it. Reverend Waters thinks she was murdered.”

He turned restlessly, his frown deepening.

“How about the police – particularly that crazy guy Lieutenant Ludlum? What do they think?”

“They are beginning to believe it might be a murder case. Lieutenant Ludlum is handling the case. At first, he wasn’t sure it was an accident. But now he is having a second thought. The best way to put it is that he thinks it might be murder too.”

Evans looked at me.

“I’m sure it was murder. And I’m willing to bet on that,” he said quietly.

I lit a cigarette and slid into the chair.

“Now, why did you say that, Marcus?”

“I had always knew that sooner or later, someone will get rid of her. You won’t understand Harry: Brittany was asking for trouble.”

“You seem to know too much about her, don’t you?” I said. “Please tell me what I’m missing here.”

He hesitated, then came over and sat opposite me.

“This stays between the two of us, right?” he said.

“Absolutely,” I replied.

“You and I are good friends Harry,” he began. “I need your advise. Like I said before, I was actually getting ready to call you when your call came in. Can we talk off the record?”

“Of course! I’m all ears.”

“I met Brittany at a party about five days after she came down to Middle River. I guess I was foolish enough to fool around with her for four or five days – or rather nights.” He looked at me and shrugged. “You know how it is with me when it come to women. I mean, I give it to her: she was beautiful, exciting and has everything any man can wish for. And she was alone at the time too, so I thought that she was custom-made for me, you know. I made my move and she fell practically into my arms. But…” He broke off and frowned.

“But – what?”

“Four nights later, she asked me for money.”

I stared at him.

“Not a big deal,” I said. “Perhaps she want to borrow some money from you?”

“Nothing like that,” he said. “I know you won’t believe this: she wanted money for  services rendered. And to add salt to the injury, she was asking for quite a lot of money.”

I was indeed surprised.

“How much?”

“Two thousand dollars.”

“What?? Is she crazy? So, what did you do – laugh at her?”

“I wish,” he said. “But unfortunately, she was serious about it. It was a big challenge for me to make her understand that I hadn’t such a sum. Believe me, it was a nightmare. She threatened to tell her father about the whole thing. I became worried – actually, scared – when she said that her father will get me dismissed from my paper if she told him about us.”

I felt a sudden chill crawl up my spine.

“Hold on a minute! Are you telling me that Brittany Waters tried to blackmail you?”

“Exactly,” he said. “That’s the technical way of putting it.”

“Well, what happened next?”

“What do you expect? I compromised. I gave her my Rolex watch and my gold necklace. They cost me a fortune, but they took her off my back.”

“Oh come on, Marcus. Don’t tell me you submitted to blackmail?”

He shrugged and said, “It is easy for you to criticize, but she put me in a very bad spot. Reverend Waters is powerful and connected enough to get me fired from my paper. Look Harry, I like my job. I mean, it is the only thing I’m good at. So, you can agree with me that it was her word against mine. I knew she might be bluffing, but I couldn’t afford to take the risk either. The Rolex watch and the gold necklace both cost me almost a thousand grand. So I believe I got off fairly lightly, at least much lighter than one of your colleagues.”

I was sitting forward now, staring at him.

“You lost me here,” I said. “What do you mean?”

“You think I’m the only one? Of course not! There’s another newspaper man – he lives in Hawthorn – who she tricked the same way. Never mind who the guy was. But we compared notes together. He parted with a pair of diamond ear-rings he bought for his fiancée. They broke up a month later and the guys was devastated. The bottom line is that Brittany Waters seems to specialize in newspaper men. And her reason for that is obvious: her father’s influence was more readily felt in that industry.”

I felt suddenly sick.  If what Evans has said was true, and I was sure it was true, then it was obvious that Brittany had set a trap for me. This also means that if she has been alive today, if she hadn’t fallen from that window to her death, I would have been taken for a blackmail ride.

I saw then that I will be in deep trouble if this story of Evans’ got out. This is because if the police finds out that I was the mysterious Mr. Graham Reed, this story will present an obvious motive for Brittany’s murder. The police would simply conclude that she had tried to blackmail me; I was unable to pay, and, to save my new job, I had pushed her off the window of the vacation house.

I started to wonder around the sitting room. Fortunately, Evans wasn’t really paying much attention to me. He remained sited in his chair, staring up the ceiling.

“Harry,” he said. “I believe you can now see why I think she could have been murdered. I am convinced she might have tried this stunt on another fellow, probably a violent fellow. I don’t believe she went to Atlantic City alone. I have no doubt in my mind that there was a guy with her. And, if she was murdered for real, the most logical thing for the police to do is to find the mysterious guy.”

I remained silent.

“What do you think I should do, Harry? Ever since I read the story of her death in the newspaper, I’ve been trying to make up my mind. Should I call Lieutenant Ludlum and tell him how she had tried to blackmail me? It would give him, and the police, the motive if they really think she was murdered.”

Having gotten over my first shock at this time, I returned to my chair and sat down.

“Listen Evans,” I said. “You’ll have to be careful. If Lieutenant Ludlum passes on what you tell him to Reverend Waters, you will still be in trouble. I hope you realize that.”

“Sure I do,” he said. He finished his vodka, got up and refilled his glass. “But do you think I should call Lieutenant Ludlum though?”

I shook my head.

“That wouldn’t be a good move,” I said. “I think you should wait until the police confirms that she was murdered. You can’t afford to rush into this thing because it is too dangerous. You will be better off if you wait and see how it develops.”

“How about this: suppose they finds out she and I were lovers? If they do, don’t you think they will conclude that because I had a motive, that I killed her?”

“Come on Evans. Grow up! You know you can prove you were nowhere near Atlantic City when she was killed.”

“I guess you are correct,” he said. “I was right here in Middle River.”

“Then stop playing around.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“I agree,” he said. “So in your opinion, I should say nothing to the police?”

“At least for now – yes. Reverend Waters suspects there’s a man involved. He is furious right now. If you came forward, he would jump to the conclusion that you were the man and he will crucify you for the sin committed by another man. You may as well know the facts: Brittany was pregnant.”

Evans vodka glass slipped out of his fingers and dropped on the floor. The vodka made a little pool on his carpet. He gaped at me, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Are you serious? I swear on my mother’s soul, it wasn’t me,” he said. “Jesus H. Christ! I’m so glad now that I didn’t call Lieutenant Ludlum before I talked to you.” He picked up his glass. “Look what I’ve done to my carpet.” He went into his kitchen to find a rag. While he was gone, I had time to do more thinking. If Lieutenant Ludlum believed and could prove that Brittany was murdered, I knew he would make every effort to track down the mythological Mr. Graham Reed. The big question now is whether I had covered my tracks well enough to prevent him finding me.

Evans came back and mopped up the split vodka. While he was cleaning it, he practically voiced my thoughts by saying, “Lieutenant Ludlum is very thorough. Since I knew him, he has never failed on a murder case. He could get on to me Harry.”

He could get on to me, too.

“Take it easy Evans,” I said. “You have a strong alibi that Lieutenant  Ludlum can’t upset. Reverend Waters has given me the job of finding Brittany’s killer. Perhaps you can help me. Could he have been this Hawthorn newspaper man you were telling me about?”

Evans shook his head.

“Not at all,” he said. “I was talking to him the afternoon she was murdered.”

“Do you have any idea who it might be?”

“No – I don’t.”

“She knew a guy whose first name is Mac. Do you know anyone with that name?”

He thought for a moment and then said, “I really don’t.”

“My next question is this: did you ever saw her with any other man?”

He rubbed his jaw, looking steadily at me.

“No offense,” he said. “But I did saw her with you.”

I sat very still.

“Did you now?” I said. “Where was that?”

“You were coming out of the Bengies Drive-In Theatre together.”

“That was because Reverend Waters wanted me to take her around,” I said. “Yea – I did take her out once or twice. But apart from me, who else did you remember?”

I knew he was too smart to be fooled by my attempt to remain casual. However, we were so close that I don’t think he would embarrass me more than he already did.
“I saw her once with a big fellow at Albert’s. He was impressively built, like a prize-fighter. But then it was dark so I couldn’t see his face very well.”

My mind jumped to the guy I had seen at the vacation house in Atlantic City. He too was big and had shoulders of a prize-fighter.

“You mean you can’t give me a description of the guy?”

“I’m sorry but, like I said, I couldn’t not see him very well in the dark.”

“Well,” I said. “No other ideas?”

He shrugged.

“This isn’t even an idea, Ed. Apart from you, this fellow was the only guy I ever saw her with in Middle River. But I can tell you this: she  was always going around with men. In as much as I want to, I can’t help you with this.”

I got to my feet.

“My good friend Evans, you have indeed been helpful” I said. “Now look, it is best for you to relax. Don’t do anything stupid: do nothing and say nothing. I will try to find this bastard. He may be the Mr. Graham Reed that I am looking for. I will definitely keep you informed. If Lieutenant Ludlum does happen to get on to you, you have a sound alibi. Don’t forget that and stop worrying, okay?”

Evans smiled.

“I believe you,” he replied. “I rely on your judgement, Harry.”

I said it was the best thing to do, shook hands with him and went down to where I parked the Mercedes convertible.

As I drove back to my apartment that night, I felt that I had used my time wisely talking to Evans. It seemed to me I had now found the reason why Brittany had died at the vacation house in Atlantic City. It wasn’t something I could explain to Reverend Waters. I know that. But at least it gave me an important clue: someone, as Evans had said, did not blackmail easily and Brittany had died.

Obviously, my next move was to find Mac.

END OF EPISODE XVII

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