The Pastor’s Daughter: Episode XXV

We looked at each other for a long moment. From the look in her eyes I could see that she would shoot if I gave her the slightest provocation. So I remained motionless, with my hand half in councilman McCutchen’s pocket.

“Take your hand away!” she snarled.

Slowly I withdrew my hand from councilman McCutchen’s pocket. He stirred, half-turned and made a growling sound in his throat.

“Move away from him! Now!” she said sharply.

I stood up and backed away.

Meanwhile, councilman McCutchen pushed himself on to his hands and knees. He then shook his head and staggered to his feet. Before he got his balance, he stood swaying backward and forward for a moment, his legs rubbery. As he regained his balance, he shook his head again, looked at me and grinned. That surprised me because I expected to see a vicious, furious expression on his face. He ruefully rubbed the side of his head and said, “You’ve got more guts than I thought you had, Harry. I haven’t been hit so hard in years. Did you really think I would be so stupid to carry that note around?”

“Well,” I replied. “It was worth a try.”

“What’s all these about?” Grace demanded impatiently. “Who’s this asshole?” She didn’t lower the gun nor did she take her eyes off me.

“This is Harry – the guy I was telling you about. He’s taking the stuff to Cornwall on Friday,” councilman McCutchen said. He touched his head again and grimaced.

“You guys have made a mess of my room. Get out of here!” she said. “Go on, get out, both of you.”

“Oh, stop it!” councilman McCutchen said. “You’re always making a big deal of everything. I want to talk to talk to you.” He turned to me and said, “Go on, Harry, get lost. Don’t try that nonsense again. Next time I will get tough too.”

I was surprised again.

“I’ll be on my way,” I said, and moved towards the door.

Grace gave me a scornful look and turned her back on me. As I passed her, I snatched the gun out of her hand. I then gave her a shove  that sent her reeling into one of the lounging chairs, spurn around and covered councilman McCutchen.

“Okay,” I said. “Give me the wallet, now!”

For a long moment he stood both transfixed and alarmed. Then  he threw back his head and gave a burst of loud laughter that rattled the windows.

“Oh my Gawd!,” he laughed. “This guy mean business. You will kill me? Talk about  guts.”

“I said give me the damned wallet!” I shouted, and there was something in my voice that made him stiffen.

“Listen, Harry, it’s not on me,” he said, hardening his eyes.

“You either give me your wallet or you’ll have a slug in your leg.”

We stared at each other.  When he saw I wasn’t playing, he grinned and took the wallet from his hip-pocket and tossed it at my feet.

Making sure to keep him covered, I bent down, picked up the wallet and backed against the wall. I then went through it. It contained ten hundred-dollar bills, and there was no other paper in it.

Grace was looking at me, her eyes smoldering.

“Some tough guy, isn’t he?” councilman McCutchen said to her. “He’s nearly as tough as I am. But we got him by the balls. He’s going to do what he’s told. Won’t you, tough guy?”

“I guess,” I said. “But I must warn you: it won’t be all that easy.”

I put the gun on the table and left the room.

Councilman McCutchen’s loud explosive laughter followed me.

As I walked down the steps to the drive, I noticed that it was still raining. Near the front door was the black Pontiac. Behind it stood the dark- blue Bentley.

I broke into a run and when I reached the street I kept on running until I reached my car. Driving fast to my apartment, I packed my car and bolted up into my lounge. Without taking off my soaked raincoat I called the Pinkerton’s Investigation Agency and asked for Revkin Lockwood. I was surprised when he came on the line almost at once because, since it was now almost half-past ten, I thought he may have gone home.

“The Black Pontiac I was talking about is standing in the drive of a house in Carrol Island, near Chase in Middle River,” I said, omitting the part  that it belonged to Councilman McCutchen. The guys at Pinkerton’s Investigation Agency always claim that their men are the best, so let them figure that part out themselves. “Here’s the house’s address.” I gave him the address.

“So, what do you want me to do?” he asked.

“I want you to get some men to cover it right away,” I said. “I want to know where the driver goes when he leaves. But watch out: he could be a very dangerous man and he’ll probably be on the look-out for a tail.”

Revkin said he would take care of it immediately. I heard him speaking to someone and giving instructions to get men out to Grace’s house in Carroll Island.

“Any news for me yet?” I asked, when he was through.

“Give me till tomorrow morning, Harry,” he said. “I will have something for you by then.”

“I don’t want you to come to my house,” I said. The fact that Councilman McCutchen had known that Lieutenant Ludlum had been to see me that afternoon warned me that my apartment was being watched. So I told him to meet me at Middle River Press Club in Hawthorn Village. He said he would be there.

I took off my raincoat and took it into the bathroom. I then went back to the lounge and poured myself a glass of Hennessy. I sat down and felt my jaw. It was aching and I was feeling sick myself because I knew I was in a jam. I also knew that there was no one to get me out of it except myself.

There wasn’t much I could do at the moment since tomorrow was Sunday. On Monday I would drive down to Atlantic City to attend the inquest. On Friday morning I would have to leave for Cornwall unless I could pin Brittany’s killing on to  Councilman McCutchen without implicating myself. My time is so limited at this point.

I was completely sure he killed Brittany. However, I couldn’t figure out why he did it. Of course he didn’t kill her to get a hold on me. I believe that idea had come after he killed her; or perhaps after he found the note I left for her. Then why did he kill her?

Brittany was spending money with him. I could see that he had her where he wanted her. It is a well-known fact: a drug dealer always has his victims where he wants them. The victims don’t stand a chance unless, of course, they happens to find something about the dealer that gives them a bigger hold on him than he has on them. 

Brittany was a blackmailer. A natural question to ask at this point is this: has she been crazy enough to try to blackmail councilman McCutchen Smith? Brittany wouldn’t have attempted a stupid and dangerous move like that unless what she had found out about him was really hot: something, she must have been sure, that was so dangerous to councilman McCutchen Smith that he would have to toe the line. Had she found some evidence that really put councilman McCutchen Smith on the spot? In my view, if she had, she would have hid it somewhere under lock and key before she dared to put the squeeze on councilman McCutchen Smith.

My mind told me that the fact that he had killed Brittany either proved that he had found the evidence and destroyed it, or that she hadn’t had the time or the chance to tell him she had it hidden. He had pushed her down the window to her death as soon as she began her blackmail threat.

Was that what happened?

It was a good guess, but a likely one. If I could get my hands on this evidence, I could literary fry councilman McCutchen Smith. If such evidence existed, where had she hidden it? In their house in Victory Villa?  In her bank, or in a safe deposit?

There was nothing I could do about their house in Victory Villa. Lieutenant Ludlum had a police guard there. One thing I can could do would be to find out if she had a safe deposit. I could call on her bank before driving down to Atlantic City on Monday.

I might be wasting time, but it is very important that I consider and explore every options. And this one seemed to be promising.

As I continued to think  about it, the telephone bell rang. As I picked up the receiver, I glanced at my watch. It was just after eleven-ten.

“I have traced the Black Pontiac, Mr. Harry,” Revkin told me. “You will not believe this: the owner is R councilman McCutchen Smith.”

“Well, what else do you have for me?” I asked.

“You don’t seem to be surprised at this hot information,” he said.

“That was because I already know that part,” I replied. “Please go on.”

“Councilman McCutchen Smith  lives a double life,” he continued. “He has a big house in Federal Hill. This is where everybody, including his political friends,  believes that he lives. But then, he also has a secret apartment Highlandtown, Baltimore City. This is where he stays any time he wishes to shade his political cover, hide from his political friends and spend time with whores. The apartment is over a liquor  store.”

“Is he there now?”

“He went in to change his clothes,” he replied. “He just left there a few minutes agoi, wearing his evening clothes.”

“Good. Stay where you are. I’m coming over – I will be there in a minute,” I said. “Oh, one more thing: I’m sure you know that what you found out about Councilman McCutchen Smith  is a dynamite – a very hot news. But I don’t want it to get out to the press yet because there’s an ongoing murder investigation that involves him. The police and I wants to get all the facts and evidences before the press get involved. So, I expect you and your agency to keep this quiet and avoid the press until I tells you otherwise. 

Understand?”

He said he understood.

“Alright, see you in a few minutes,” I said and hung up.

I pulled on my soaking raincoat and left the apartment. After entering my car, I drove for about twenty minutes before I reached Highlandtown. Leaving my car at the corner of the street, I walked quickly down until I spotted Revkin’s figure shetering from the rain in a dark shop doorway. I stepped out of the rain and stood beside him.

“What’s up?” I asked. “Has he returned?”

“No,” he said.

“You stay here,” I said. “I’m going in there to have a look around.”

Revkin pulled a little face.

“That is not legal, Mr. Harry,” he said without any hope.

“Thanks a lot for letting me know,” I said. “Any idea how I can get in there?”

I was looking at the liquor store opposite. I noticed that it had a side entrance which, I believe, would lead to the apartment over the store.

“The side entrance and his apartment’s locks would be easy to open,” Revkin said, fumbled in his trouser pocket and gave me a bunch of keys.

“Well now, Mr. Revkin,” I said as I took the keys from him. “These are strictly illegal too.”

He looked concerned.

“Yes, Mr. Harry. Not everyone would want my job,” he replied.
I grinned, and tapped his shoulder.

“No worries.”

I crossed the road and paused to look up and down the deserted street. I then took out my flashlight and examined the lock. As Revkin said, it would indeed be easy to open it. After my third attempt with the keys he gave me, I turned the lock and pushed open the door. Moving into darkness, I closed the door behind me. The darkness that surrounded me was so thick I couldn’t even see my fingers. So I turned on my flashlight and went quickly up the steep narrow steps that faced me.

The air upstairs was also thick with state smell of liquor and sweat on the landing. There was also the smell of cigar smoke. I could not believe that a respected city councilman like McCutchen Smith   will live in an apartment like this. What a sharp contrast to his house at Federal Hill. Perhaps Revkin was wrong? I told myself that this is not the time for pondering.

Three doors were facing me when I reached upstairs. I opened one of them and discovered that it was a small dirty kitchen. In the sink I could see two frying pans and dirty pots, around which flies buzzed busily. The remains of a meal of sandwich lay on a greasy paper on the table. This guy’s a pig!

I moved down the passage and looked into a small bedroom that contained a double bed. The room was quite a sight to see: the bed was unmade, with grimy bedsheets and a greasy pillow. There were clothes all over the floor. A dirty light blue shirt hung from a bedside lamp holder. The floor was spotted with tobacco ash. To say the truth, the smell in the room nearly choked me.

I backed out of the room and entered the sitting room instead. I was also surprised at what I saw in there. Just like the bedroom, it looked as if a pig had lived in it for some time. There was two lounging chairs by the fireplace and a big settee under the window. All three pieces looked dark with grease. On a small table stood six bottles of Hennessy, three of them empty. A vase of flowers stood on the dusty over-mantel. The walls and the floor doesn’t look good either: the floor was spotted with tobacco ash and there were grease marks on the walls.

There was a big ash tray on one of the arms of the chairs. It was loaded with cigarette butts and three Cuban Cohiba cigars. I picked up one of these butts and examined it. It seemed to me to be the exact type of the butt I had found at the surroundings of the vacation house in Atlantic City. I put it in my pocket, leaving the other two.

Against one of the walls stood a reading desk on which were piled both old and current movie magazines, newspapers and pictures of naked girls. When I opened the desk drawers, I discovered they were crammed with junks – the type of junk that a man will accumulate if he has never had a clear out. However, in one of the lower drawers  I found a new, gray-colored travelling bag. I took it from the drawer, zipped it open and looked inside.

Except for a screwed-up ball of paper, the bag was empty. I smoothed this out and found it to be the duplicates of two  train tickets from Baltimore to Trenton and back, dated four months ago and made out in McCutchen Smith’s name.

I stood looking at the tickets with great interest, with my mind busy. Here was the proof that McCutchen Smith had been in Trenton  before Brittany had left Trenton. Did it mean anything? Had they met in Trenton? Slipping the paper in my wallet, I returned the bag to the drawer.

I spent another half-hour in the apartment but I did not find anything else to interest me. I did not even find my note to Brittany. I decided to leave.

I was indeed glad to get out into the rain and the fresh air once more. Revkin was very nervous when I joined him.

“I was getting worried,” he said. “You stayed there for ages!”

I’m not worried about his nerves – I had too much on my mind at the moment. I told him I would be at the Middle River Press Club in Hawthorn village at ten the following morning and left him.

When I got back to my apartment I sent the following cable to Tim Jenkins, our Trenton Office’s crime reporter:

Supply all the information you can find on McCutchen Smith: he’s a Baltimore City councilman.   An African-American, tall, broad and looks like a prize fighter. The son of Vito Roselli turned politician. Will telephone Sunday. Very urgent. Harry.

Jenkins was an expert at his job. I knew that he would be surprised that I was asking this kind of information about a city councilman. He will also be surprised that he was the son of Vito Roselli. Anyway, if there was any angle to McCutchen Smith’s visit to Trenton, Jenkins would know it.

END OF EPISODE XXV

P.S. Episode Twenty-Six  will be published here next Monday.

The Pastor’s Daughter: Episode XXIV

When he say that, I felt as if the bottom of my world had fallen out.   I have completely forgotten about the note I had left for    Brittany the vacation house in Atlantic City.

“I’ve got it right here,” Councilman McCutchen  went on, tapping his hip pocket. “The note is perfect. That and the watch could nail you Harry. You wouldn’t stand a chance.

He was right. If Lieutenant Ludlum ever got hold of that note, I would be finished. In my mind, I could see the note now as clearly as if it lay before me. 

        Brittany (I had written), I guess we missed each other. So I am going back to the train station to wait for you there. Meet me there. Love from, Harry.

What made my situation worse was that I had written the note on the vacation house’s headed paper, and I had even put the time and date on it. The shock of finding Brittany dead at the vacation house had completely driven the note out of my head until now.

“As you can see Harry, I’ve got you sewn up tight,” Councilman McCutchen   continued. “When the police find your bags in the left luggage office at the train station, they will also find Brittany’s camera and some of the films. Not only that, they will find a letter from Brittany to you that will  close this case. She wrote it before felling off that window.”

I made an effort and pulled myself together. I am definitely in the worst jam of my life, and that made me very scared and angry. I told myself that if I really want to get out of the situation, the first thing to do would be to get the note and destroy it. And, since he said he had it on him, all I had to do was surprise him, knock him cold and get the note.

“Brittany never wrote to me,” I said.

“Sure, she did,” he retorted. “I made her do it, and it was quite a letter. In it she told you how she hired the vacation house and how beautiful it is; and how you two are going to have a wonderful time there as Mr. and Mrs. Graham Reed. I tell you this, Harry: That letter is a complete give away.”

For some reason the  expression on his face told me he wasn’t saying the truth about Brittany’s letter to me. I’m quite sure he was bluffing on that one. There was no letter; but then I wasn’t worried about it at that point. The not I had written to Brittany would be enough to nail me.

“Okay, so you have me by my balls,” I said. “What are you going to do about it?”

He got to his feet and began to wonder around the room, making sure to avoid coming near me while he wandered. 

“In have been looking for a guy like you for years,” he said. “When Brittany told me she was making a pass at you and who you were, I knew I’ve found my guy. I have a job for you: I have a business interest in Canada. So your job would be to take a parcel across the Canadian border for me. You are more than suited for the job, and you’ll basically sail through without any hassle.  With your background and job, the Canadian customs officials  won’t even bother to look in your bags, let alone search your car. I have been hoarding the stuff up for months, waiting for a chance like this.”

“What stuff? It is some type of drug, isn’t it?” I asked, watching him.

He grinned.

“You needn’t worry about that,” he said. “All you have to do is drive from here to Cornwall, Ontario. You will spend the night at a hotel in that city, leaving your car in the hotel garage. I will tell you which hotel as soon as we finalize the deal. I will have planted the parcel containing the stuff in your car before you leave. I will alert my contact in Cornwall and he will collect it during the night. It is as simple as that.”

“I’m so surprised a councilman like you is involved in drug business,” I said. “I mean you have a good, well-respected and well-paid job. Why do you need to deal on drug? You are more rotten than I thought, Councilman McCutchen.”

His eyes hardened.

“Now listen very carefully,” he said. “The last thing I need from a ‘moral judge’ like you to pass sentence to what I do. Why should you care, anyway? If you must know, the council job pays peanuts. Do you know I can’t even touch my campaign fund without spending countless hours filling mountains of forms to justify the withdrawal? On the contrary, there’s a lot of dough in this white powder. If I put in five grand, I can make fifty grand distributing. Not only that, the money is tax free…”

“So, why then why go into politics?”

“I thought I’ve already told you,” he replied. “I went into politics because my father want to build his political connections in Baltimore. With lots of political friends, police officers and judges covering us, we can do business without stress.”

“So, if I don’t do what you said, Lieutenant Ludlum will get my note to Brittany. Is that the idea?”

“You are catching up fast,” he said. “You are smart after all.”

“And if I do do it, what happens then?”

He shrugged.

“You will have a nice vacation and come back to your work as a newspaperman. But then, you’ll have to make another trip to Cornwall, say, in about six months. A newspaper man is expected to travel, right? So you can see that you are custom-made for this job. You can also see how smart I am in picking you.”

“I’m just curious: did Brittany have anything to do with the picking?” I asked.

“Of course she does,” he said. “I know you see her as the innocent daughter of a church minister. But you are wrong. I’m sure by now you know she was not what you think. She was very rotten. She was a garbage pail. Anyway, she was involved, but she was strictly small time. Actually, she wanted to put the bite on you for a thousand dollars. I, however, talked her out of that. I convinced her you would be far more useful as a carrier.”

It suddenly downed on me what this was all about.

“Brittany was a drug addict, wasn’t she?” I said. “And that’s why she always need money. And she never cared how she got it, so long as she got it. And it’s probably a parcel of heroin you want me to take to Cornwall, isn’t it?”

“Well, what do you think? You don’t think I will be putting a face powder in the car, do you?” he returned, grinning.

“That’s it Harry. So long as she’s got dough to spend, I was always willing to help her. It was strictly business, not personal.”

“Was it your idea or hers we should go to Atlantic City?”

“Why should you care?”

“It was your idea then, wasn’t it? You probably chose the vacation house, and there was a convenient window to fall off. You knew that as a newspaper man, I wouldn’t play unless you really got a stranglehold on me, right? You laid the trap, threw her off the window and I walked into it. Tell me if I’m wrong.”

He laughed.

“I admire your imagination,” he said. “Anyway, you can’t prove that Harry, but I can prove mine.”

“Let me ask you this,” I said. “Did Brittany take you on her camera when you two were up in the vacation house? Is that why you were so anxious to get rid of the film?”

“Far from that, Harry. If I were you, I shouldn’t worry about the camera. That was a ruse to make the police think it was murder.” He lit a cigarette. “Enough of these questions. Let’s get back to business. Are you going to Cornwall or do I send the note to Lieutenant Ludlum?”

“I am a newspaper man,” I said. “What made you think I would agree to carry drugs for you? How about if I decide to expose your hypocrisy in the papers? That would make a terrific headline. The last time I checked, the mandatory minimum prison term for drug trafficking is twenty year. For a politician like you, who have public trust, it could be more. Have you thought of that?”

“I knew you wouldn’t do that,” he replied. “If you expose me, you will also expose yourself since I have enough evidence to prove that you fooled around with Brittany and probably killed her. We are in this together now, Harry, see? That’s why I need your answer today, now.”

“Do I have any choice?”

As I say that, I glanced aimlessly around the room. If only I could  find a suitable weapon! I couldn’t  find anything substantial enough to hit him with. I was convinced I wasn’t going to stop  this asshole with my bare fists.

Near the door was a small metallic table with glass top, and on that table stood a large vase full of white carnations. By the vase was a large photograph in a gold frame of Grace Roselli. She was in a green swimsuit, lying on a lounging chair and sheltered by a big, Sunny Bahama type sun umbrella. She looked very beautiful, and there was something vaguely familiar about the photograph. However, I only half-glanced at it. Beside the photograph was a solid glass paper-weight. I told myself that that would be a good weapon to use.

“So, what’s your answer?” he asked, watching me. “Do we have a deal?”

“Like I said, I got no choice: I will do it.”

“It will be a pleasure doing business with you, Harry,” he grinned. “I knew you would play. Now, let’s get down to business. Here’s what you’ll do: On Thursday night I’ll be along at your neighborhood to plant the parcel in your car. Get off early Friday morning. Stay the night in Sarnia, then, on Saturday, you drive to Cornwall, Ontario. You will have to drive through the Blue Water Bridge and connect to Canadian Highway 402 via US Interstate 69. You should time it properly so that you cross the border around seven in the evening. That’s when the custom guys at the border will be thinking of their dinners and they’ll be glad to pass you through quickly. After leaving the border, you go straight to the Auberge Chesleys Inn. It’s one of the best inns in Long Sault community. Leave the car in the inn garage and forget about it. Got all that?”

I said I had got it.

“And no funny business, Harry. I have a big fortune tied up in that white powder. So, if you try to double-cross me, I will kill you. Short and simple.” His eyes hardened again as he stared at me. “I have you by the balls, so don’t forget it. I guess you have me by my balls too.”

“What happens if Lieutenant Ludlum finds out I was at the vacation house when Brittany died?”

“Let him prove it,” he replied. “In any case, I will prepare an alibi for you if he gets tough. I never have any problem making up alibis. So long as you play with me, you got nothing to worry about. You and I can work on this business for years, and there’s a lot of money to be made. There’s the Mexican run you can handle too. Harry, this is really big: if we cooperate well in this business, in the long run  we could be pulling in more dough than six large America’s industrial corporations put together.”

“Very interesting,” I said. “Looks like I’ve got myself a new career.”

“What do you think? I just showed you how big dough is made, and you ought to be grateful.” He stubbed out his cigarette. “Well, Harry, I have to take care of some business now. Start getting ready to leave on Friday, okay?”

I got slowly to my feet.

“Not a problem,” I replied.

He moved around me very cautiously, keeping his distance and watching me. Meanwhile, I stopped by the table and looked at the framed photograph of Grace Roselli.

“Is she your girlfriend?” I asked.

He moved closer, but he was still out of my reach.

“Never mind who she is Harry… keep moving. I have lots of things to do, okay?”

I lifted the frame.

“She’s really very sexy. Is she on drugs too?”

Then he made the big mistake I was expecting. He snarled, stepped up to me and yanked  the frame out of my hand. Than move put his right hand out of action. With a quick move that surprised even myself I gave the large vase of  white carnations a swipe with my left hand and grabbed the glass paper-weight with my right hand. The vase, water and carnations exploded against McCutchen’s kness. He looked down for a second, cursing.

With the paper-weight balled in my fist, I hit him on the side of the head, using all the energy in me. He went down on his knees, and I saw his eyes roll back. I still have the paper-weight in my fist so I clubbed him harder on the top of his head. He slid forward, stretching out at my feet. Then I made my own mistake: I dropped the paper-weight and knelt beside him. My God! This man was the toughest guy I had ever seen. His right hand groped upwards towards my throat and he almost had me. But I was ready for him: As he levered himself upward, I knocked his arm aside. His eyes were blank and I could see that he was practically out. Yet he was still very dangerous. I set myself, and as he lifted his head, I hit his jaw very hard with my balled fist – my punch was so hard that the impact jarred me from my fist to my elbow. His head slammed back on the floor and he went limp.

By this time I was breathing very hard. But then I couldn’t afford to lose any second. I caught hold of him and rolled him over on his face. I slid my hand into the left pocket of his trouser and my fingers closed over a leather wallet.

As I was pulling his wallet out, the door jerked open and Grace Roselli came in.

She held a 0.38 Smith & Wesson revolver in her hand and she pointed it at me.

END OF EPISODE XXIV

P.S. Episode Twenty-Five  will be published here next Monday.

The Pastor’s Daughter: Episode XXIII

Since there was nothing else I could do, I came down. If it came to a fight, there was no room up on the landing anyway. Besides, I was so surprised that he, Councilman McCutchen Smith, was behind all this. So I wasn’t in the mood to fight him, even though my mind told me the he must be definitely a very dangerous man to be involved in this drama.

I came down very slowly.

“Councilman McCutchen Smith!” I said. “What a pleasant surprise! How did you got involved with this? I mean, is this how you spent your time?”

He smiled, showing big, white even teeth.

“Hello Harry,” he said. “You are the one who’s surprised. I’m not. I was right behind you all the way from your apartment to this place. Come on down. I’ve been waiting to have a talk with you. There’s business to be done.”

I was not interested in any business, and I was still speechless.

In order not to be too close to me when I reached the hall, he took about four paces back. In any case, I was too speechless and dumbfounded to start anything – not just yet. But I told myself that if he went for me, I’d try to handle him.

“Go in there and sit down,” he said, pointing towards the lounge.

I went into the lounge, chose a comfortable chair that faced the door and sat down. By now I had control of my jittered nerves. Though I wasn’t sure what he was going to do, I knew he would not call the police. If he does call the police, all I had to do was to show them my things upstairs and he will be in a worse jam than I.

He followed me into the lounge and sat down on the arm of one of the chairs, facing me. He was still smiling.

“You are aware that I can put you in trouble if I write about this?” I said. “Are you aware this will make the headlines: a Baltimore City Councilman mixed up in a murder case?”

“Now don’t start,” he replied. “You know I have you by your balls. If you expose me, you will also expose yourself. You are much into this as I am.”

He was right.

“Let me ask you one more time,” I said. “What the fuck Councilman McCutchen Smith? Why the hell should you, a well-respected African-American councilman get involved in this?”

“Listen: don’t judge me, okay?” he said.  “I’m the one to ask the questions here. Not you.”

“Let say, for the sake of conversation – or even curiosity. What’s this about?”

“Well,” he replied. “Since I’m going to do some business with you, I should as well give you a brief history of my life. Vito Roselli  is my father.”

That was another big surprise.

“Vito Roselli is your dad? No way!” I said. “He is white and Italian. And you are African-American!”

“Oh shut up, will you?” he said. “My dad has soft spot for fat black women. That’s why he fell for my mum, and they had me.”

“You mean, your mum was his mistress?”

“Now, is that polite?” his eyes hardened. “I’m trying to be polite here. And, you are not making it easy for me one bit.”

Now I can see the connection to crime. If Vito Roselli is his dad as he said, it won’t be much surprise to people if he becomes involved with crime. That doesn’t mean that every child of a criminal must grow up becoming a criminal. Far from that! People have choices. I mean, in my line of work I  have seen children born to criminals who grew up becoming professionals like doctors or even politicians, just like this crazy animal here, Councilman McCutchen Smith. But, for a councilman to voluntarily get involve in murder, that’s a rare case for me.

“So, if you are Vito Roselli  son, how come you has the last name “Smith”?” I asked.

“I guess my parents will answer that better,” he said.

There was a brief silence, then he took out a pack of Newport, took one out and set fire to it with a match. He looked more like a guy from a Hollywood gangster movie when he did that.

“Find your stuff up there?” he asked.

“Yes – I found them,” I said. “Where’s the camera?”

“I just told you I will ask the questions!” he snarled. “Now listen and answer my questions. How did you get on to this place?”

“It wasn’t difficult to find,” I replied. “A girl wrote the your telephone number on her wall.”

“Brittany?”

“That’s right.”

He pulled a face.

“That slut.” He learned forward. “What did  Lieutenant Ludlum want with you this afternoon?”

I suddenly wasn’t scared of him any more. A councilman like him was the cause of all these problems! I was so mad at him. To hell with him, I told myself. I wasn’t going to sit there and answer his stupid questions.

“Why not ask him?” I said.

“Well, I’m asking you,” his smile went away. I could see a vicious look in his eyes. “Listen very carefully. That I am a councilman doesn’t mean I can’t get tough with you. You don’t want me to do that, do you?” He laid his hands on his knees so I could see them and slowly closed them into fists. “Right now I don’t want to hit you. But I will be glad to do that if you proved stubborn. All I want to do at this point is to talk to you. So, for your own good, don’t make me hit you. What did Lieutenant Ludlum say?”

I braced myself.

“Why not go ahead and ask him?”

I was half-way out of the chair by the time he reached me. It was stupid of me to have sat in such a low chair. I would have been more ready for his rush if I had sat on the arm of the chair as he had done. He came across the space between us so fast I hadn’t a chance. He threw a left-hand punch towards my stomach that I managed to knock aside. But what I didn’t know then was that he was only making an opening for his right-hand. I swear I didn’t see it coming. All I could say was that I only had a brief glimpse of his snarling face when something that felt like a sledge hammer slammed against the side of my jaw. The room exploded into a blinding flash of white light, and a black oblivion wiped out all my consciousness as I fell.

I regained consciousness and came to the surface in about five or six minutes. I found myself spread out in the lounging chair with a sore jaw and a head that felt like it was going to explode any minute. Councilman McCutchen was sitting close to me. He kept slamming his balled-up fist into the palm of his hand, which made me to think that he were itching to hang another bone crusher to my jaw.

With great difficulty, I struggled into an upright position and looked at him. I also had some difficulty getting him into focus because that punch had taken a lot of steam out of me. I had thought that all these years in politics would have softened him and I still found it hard to believe that he still had that kind of strength.

“Well, Harry,” he said. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Now, let’s start again. I’m gonna hit you again if you play games me. And my next hit will bust your jaw. I promise you that. Now tell me: what did Lieutenant Ludlum want?”

I tested my teeth with the tip of my tongue, just to make sure that none of them is loose. I felt so mad deep inside me. How happy I would be if I could get to close quarters with this thug and maim him! But I wasn’t that crazy. I know I was big and strong, but I also know when I am out of my class. I wouldn’t mix things with Muhammad Ali: not just because I would be scared to, but because I know I wouldn’t stand a chance. I told myself that if it came to a fight, this animal here was too strong and much, much too fast for me.

The only way to take down a guy like this was to surprise him. There was no other way. I will need to slow him down first with a club or some kind of weapon.

“He wanted the names of Brittany’s men friends,” I said thickly, since it hurt to speak.

Councilman McCutchen scratched the end of his nose.

“Why?”

“Because he’s looking for her killer.”

I hoped that would faze him, but I was wrong. Instead, he grinned and left off pounding his fist into his palm.

“Really? He thinks she was murdered?”

“He’s not thinking: he’s sure of it.”

He continued to grin, and then said, “Well, I never knew he would be that smart.”

He lit another Newport.

“Here Harry,” he said, throwing a stick of cigarette and a box of matches into my lap. “Have a cigarette yourself. You look as if you could use a smoke.”

Lighting up the cigarette, I dragged down a lungful of smoke.

“Now, let my ask you this: why is Lieutenant Ludlum sure that Brittany was murdered?” he said.

“I think you should know the answer to that question,” I replied. “You did a pretty dumb thing: you ripped the film out of the camera and stole her spares, see?”

“I don’t see it that way,” he said. “I think it was a smart move, Harry. Had he got onto you yet?”

I tried to control my surprise, but I wasn’t so successful.

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

Councilman McCutchen’s grin widened.

“Don’t give me that crap, okay?” he said. “Of course you know what I mean. I told you I have you by your balls. You are an open and shut case in this Brittany’s business. Why, I even took the trouble to alter her watch so the police would think you were up there when she took her dive through that window.”

This man is so evil!

“So you killed her?”

He shook his head.

“You know what I don’t understand, Councilman McCutchen?” I said. “Why did you do this to Reverend Waters? Why do this to his only daughter? He trusted and loved you so much. And he was so nice to you. You won the election to become Baltimore City Councilman because Reverend Waters gave you the black voters. Why, you were even a member of the Parish Council of St. Teresa’s  Episcopal Church. Yet, the way you paid him back was to fool around with his only daughter behind his back, and to murder her as well? Why did you do this to the Reverend? Why….”

“Oh, look at you!,” he said. “The pot calling the kettle ‘black.’ You were fooling around with her too.”

“I couldn’t help it,” I said. “She practically threw herself at me.”

“Poor you,” he sneered. “Now, enough of this…”

Cutting him off, I asked him one more time, “Did you kill her?”

He shook his head again.

“The record said you did,” he replied, leaning forward and pointing a thick finger at me. “You were up there when she fell through that window. You are the guy named Graham Reed. And you left a note for her to meet you at the train station. You forgot all about the note, didn’t you? Well, I found it where you left it on the table at the vacation house, and I’ve got it.”

END OF EPISODE XXIII

P.S. Episode Twenty-Four  will be published here next Monday.

The Pastor’s Daughter: Episode XXII

I drove down to Carroll Island Road via Eastern Avenue. I passed the Walmart parking lot and continued driving until I could only see few houses. The area look like country side and on both sides of the roads were woods. I continued driving until I got to an old train track. From there I could see the reflection of the Back River Neck water body. On my left side, a few feet from the river was a lonely, but big  compound  with a fence and iron gates. I parked my in a wooded space beside the train track, making sure it will not be easily noticed by anybody.

I walked up the quiet and deserted road until I came to the double wrought-iron gates, set in a high wall that surrounded the area in which  the house stood. By now it was raining hard. I pushed open one of the gates, and moved into the dark driveway, screened by Red Maple trees and flowering shrubs.

Moving silently, I walked up the drive, being careful enough to hunch my shoulders against the rain. I walked for about fifty yards of the driveway and came to a bend. Around the bend I could see the  house. It was a small, two-story building and from where I stood I could see that this house looks nice and traditional, with stucco walls and big windows. I couldn’t believe that we have this type of house in Middle River!

I noticed that there was a light on in one of the lower windows. Other than that, the rest of the house was in darkness. There was no place I could hide because the neatly kept lawns that surrounded the house offered no cover. In spite of that, I moved around its hedge, making sure to keep close to the shrubs until I was facing the window of the lighted room. The room was only about thirty yards from where I stood. Since the curtain hasn’t been drawn, I decided that I could look into the room. That would be an audacious move, but I did it anyway. I could see that the furnishing was modern, and that the room was large. I saw a girl standing by a table. She was occupied with looking through a black evening bag.

I assumed she was Grace Roselli and looked closely at her. She was quite something to see. She was a white of course, and could be around twenty-five years. She was tall, and her almost blonde hair reached to her shoulders. She was wearing a light-green evening dress that fitted her like a second skin.

After she had rearranged her bag, she picked up a white mink coat and slung it carelessly over her shoulders. She paused to light a cigarette, and then crossed the room, turned off the lights and left me looking at an expanse of black glass that reflected the swiftly moving rain clouds and Red Maple trees.

I waited.

I saw the front door open and she came out, after about a minute or so. She was sheltering under a large umbrella. She then ran down the path to the garage. A light sprang up as she pushed open the double doors. I could see a dark-blue Bentley in the garage. She got into the car, leaving her umbrella against the wall. I heard the engine start up.

She drove out, passing within about eleven yards of where I was crouching. The headlights of her Bentley made a white glare of rain, grass, Red Maple trees and shrubs.

I remained where I was hiding, listening hard. I heard the car stop at the end of the drive. There was a long pause as, I assumed, she opened the gates. Then I heard the sound of the car door slamming and the sound of the engine accelerating made me to conclude that she had gone.

I remained motionless where I was for several minutes while I stared at the dark house. No light showed, so I decided that it was safe to explore. If I had known what would eventually happen from my adventure, I would have stayed at home and made novenas and hope for the best. Anyway, I turned up my collar against the rain and walked around the house. All the rooms were dark. I found a window unlatched on the ground and eased it open. I then took out an LED flashlight I had brought with me and inspected a small but luxury kitchen beyond. Sliding over the double sink, I dropped noiselessly on to the tiled floor. I then proceeded to close the window, after which I made my way silently out of the kitchen. Following a dark passage, I found myself inside a hall.

I followed a curved stairway that led to the upper rooms. On getting upstairs, I carefully inspected the four doors that faced me.

I chose to open the door that lay to the far right. When I opened the door and looked in, I concluded that this should be Grace’s room. There was a large bed with a yellow cover. The walls were of quilted grey satin and the furniture looks good. The room has a red rug. Indeed, it was quite a room.

What I saw in the room didn’t really interest me. There was a jewel box on the dresser. If I were a burglar, the contents of the jewel box would have made my mouth water. Instead, it left me cold. However, it did tell me that indeed either this girl had plenty of money to burn or that she had a host of loyal admirers who were showering these trinkets on her.

It was only when I reached the last room that I found what I had vaguely wondered I might find. There were two suitcases by the wall. One of them lay on its side, open. In it I saw three of my Calvin Klein suits, two bottles of my favorite brand of vodka and my black cigarette case. I stood there for a long moment staring at the suitcases, the beam of my LED flashlight unsteady. Then, very gently and cautiously, I knelt down and opened the second suitcase. That too was full of my stuffs. I saw all the things that were stolen from my apartment: I mean all of them except Brittany’s camera.

As I was trying to figure out what to do about my discovery, I heard a sound downstairs that made me to almost jump out of my skin. It was the kind of sound a hunter in the wilds of a Brazilian jungle who has been stalking some comparatively harmless animal hears that warns him a rogue Green Anaconda has arrived on the scene.

The sound in this still, dark house was of the violence of an earthquake. I heard another noise that sounded like a crash. Someone, perhaps an intruder, had unlocked the front door and flung it open so that the door smashed against the wall. Then a man’s voice shouted “GRACE!”

The sound of this man’s voice literary froze me, making the hairs on the nape of my neck stand up. The man slammed the front door shut, making my heart skip a beat. Then, the horrible, coarse voice yelled again: “GRACE!”

I immediately recognized that voice. I heard it on the telephone. Mac had arrived!

Moving as careful and as silently as I can, I slid out of the bedroom. I could see that there was now lights in the hall. Moving to the banister head, I cautiously looked over. Although there were lights now on in the lounge, I couldn’t see anyone.

Then, the coarse voice started to sing.

That voice! Apart from the voice I heard on the telephone, I’m very sure I have heard that voice somewhere before. Though the presence of this man made me to sweat, and though his voice sounded very familiar, I told myself that so long as he was here, I wasn’t taking any chances of showing myself. But then there was a sudden silence. The silence made me feel as scared as the noise.

I remained in the shadows, about a foot away from the banisters. I was convinced that he will not see me if I remained there. Then I saw a figure of a man standing in the lighted doorway of the lounge.

I moved back into the deeper shadows. It was the same broad-shouldered man I had seen creeping around in the vacation house in Atlantic City. I was sure of it! The silence in the house was so thick I could feel it. Meanwhile, the man remained motionless, his head cocked on one side as if he were listening. My heart was slamming against my ribs as I waited, holding my breath.

The man moved slowly into the middle of the hall. Then he stopped. I could see his hands on his hips, his long legs apart, facing the stairs. The light from the overhead lamp fell fully on him. Now I could see him very well. I couldn’t believe my eyes! I was speechless! Councilman McCutchen Smith of all people!

By now I was sure he could see me for he stared up at the exact spot where I was standing. Then he suddenly bawled, “Listen pally. I’m not gonna play this game with you. You either come down here or I will come up and push you down!”

END OF EPISODE XXII

P.S. Episode Twenty-Three  will be published here next Monday.