The Pastor’s Daughter: Episode XXXI

I left the Marriott hotel soon after nine o’clock and drove a car I had hired out towards the harbor near the vacation house. On reaching the harbor, I left the car under trees and walked towards the three or four men I saw lounging outside the steamer station. I asked one of the men if I could hire a rowing boat for a few hours’ exercise. I also told him that I wanted to row myself.

From the way the boatman looked at me, I was convinced he thought I was crazy. But he got down to business when he realized I was willing to pay him for his boat. We haggled for about ten minutes, and we finally settled for one hundred dollars for three hours. I gave him the money and he took me down to the boat. He told me a few things about how to operate it so I won’t be stranded in the waters and shoved me off.

It was a dark, star-lit night and as I started rowing I was grateful for the gentle sea breeze. I rowed until I was out of sight of land. Then I put the oars down inside the boat and stripped off my clothes. I put on a pair of bathing trunks I had brought with me, and, thus clad, I again started rowing again, heading towards the vacation house built in the hill face. I was convinced that it belongs to either Grace Roselli or her father, Vito Roselli. I couldn’t understand why anyone would decide to build a vacation house in such an inaccessible place.

After rowing for about an hour, I saw in the distance a red light on the harbor wall. Deciding to rest for as while, I paused, letting the boat drift. I could see the outline of the vacation house above the harbor. I noticed that there was a light on in one of the rooms on the ground floor.

After resting for about five minutes, I regained some energy and started rowing again. Soon I reached the rocks only four hundred yards from the vacation house that Brittany had rented for both of us before her death. Just another few hundred yards further on would be Grace Roselli’s vacation house.   I decided to beach the boat, so I pulled it up on the soft sand, making sure that it will not drift off with the tide. Then I waded out into the sea and began to swim towards the lonely vacation house.

The sea was warm and that really made me comfortable and happy. Being careful not to make any noise, I swarm silently into the harbor. As I continued to make progress, I cautiously  avoided the red light that reflected down on the still water. I noticed that there were two powerful Bass Boats moored in the harbor and a small rowing boat. I started swimming towards the steps that led to the lonely vacation house. I swarm cautiously, looking along the wall of the harbor. I had my ears pricked for any suspicious sound. Soon, I was glad that I was on the alert, for I suddenly saw a little red spark make a circle in the air, and then drop into the warm sea and go out with a hissing sound. I definitely knew what that meant: someone who is somewhere in the shadows has just tossed away a cigarette butt.

I slowed down, trying not to make a sound. By now I was very close up against the harbor wall. I looked around me and saw a mooring ring just above my head. Again, being careful not to make any sound that might draw attention to me, I cautiously reached up and caught hold of it. While clinging to it, I looked in the direction from where the cigarette butt had come.

After straining my eyes for a while, I made out a dark figure of a man, sitting on something that I believed to be a bollard. He appeared to be looking out to sea. I told myself I need to be more careful now since he was not too far from where I was. So I waited. After about five minutes, he seemed to have became tired of sitting down, and he got to his feet and disappeared in the darkness.

I waited. Again, I was glad that I did because he reappeared and walked slowly along the harbor arm to the far end. This time I could see him clearly for he came under the red light. He looked like a strongman: he was tall and powerfully built. He was wearing a white t-shirt, black jeans trousers, and a black Ivy  cap. He lolled over the wall, with his back to me, and lit another cigarette.

I lowered myself into the water again, and swarm silently to the steps. I placed my hand on the lowest one, and then looked over my shoulder. The man was still there and he was staring across the lights of Atlantic City, his back turned to me. I pulled myself out of the water. I told myself that this is the time for action, only that I should be careful not to blew this opportunity. I moved silently up the steps, keeping in the shadows of the overhanging trees. I looked back, and was surprised that the man was still motionless, and was still staring across the lights of Atlantic City.

Moving silently, I climbed the steps. And when  I reached a terrace that was facing the harbor, I paused and starred up at the vacation house which, by now, was about fifty feet above me. Although I could see a big, un-curtained, lighted window, there was no sign of life up there. However, I could hear a faint sound of country music coming from what I believed was a radio.

I moved silently and slowly up another flight of steps, keeping to the shadows. This move brought me on to the second terrace. Opposite the lighted window was a patch of dark shadow, made by tulip tree. Again, I kept to the shadows and looked into a luxuriously furnished lounge, convinced that no one could see me.

I saw four men sitting around a table in the center of the room. They were busy playing poker, and beyond them, was Grace Roselli. She was lying on a couch and reading a magazine and smoking; by her side was a radio from which came the soft sound of the country music.

My attention turned to the men at the table. Three of them were the rough types you can see any day in a Twentieth Century Fox movie. I mean, their faces looked hard, thin and vicious and their clothes were flashy. It was the fourth man on the table who held my attention. He should be about fifty years. He was big, grossly fat and he looked Italian. I recognized him immediately. I had seen too many pictures of him in the papers. I could not believe my eyes! I felt a little surge of triumph run through my body. I had succeeded where the whole of Trenton and Baltimore police force had failed! I should have guessed before now that this inaccessible vacation house could be Vito Roselli’s hide-out but, somehow, I hadn’t thought of him being there.

The four men were seriously focused on their game of poker. It was very easy to see who was winning the game. Six tall stacks of chips stood before Vito Roselli. The other three players had scarcely a chip between them. As I watched them playing, one of them – a tall, thin man - threw down his cards with a gesture of disgust. He said something to Vito Roselli, who grinned at him, shoved back his chair and stood up. The remaining two players also threw in their hands,  and relaxed back in their chairs, frowning.

Meanwhile, Vito Roselli  looked over at  Grace and said something to her. She looked up with a face that is heavy with boredom. Then, she nodded and returned her attention to her magazine.

The tall thin man came over to the window and opened it. To make sure he didn’t see me, I crouched down against the low wall. I could hear the sound of the country music loudly now through the window.

“Lupton’s late,” the tall thin man said, speaking over his shoulder to Vito Roselli.

Vito Roselli got up from the table, stretched his big limbs and came to the window.

“He’ll be here,” he said. “Lupton’s a good boy. He’s coming from a long distance.” He looked over at Grace. “Turn the damn radio off. I can’t even hear my own voice.”

Without looking up from her magazine, Grace reached out and turned off the radio.

Vito Roselli and the tall thin guy stood by the window, listening hard. Well, since I want to be sure I was safe, I listened too. Soon I heard a faint sound of a motor-boat engine somewhere out at sea.

“Here he comes,” the tall thin guy said, sounding excited. “Michael’s down there, isn’t he?”

“He damn well better be,” Vito Roselli growled. He moved away from the window and left the room. A few minutes passed and I saw him again as he came out on to the terrace.

I knew if they finds me here, my life wouldn’t be worth a cent. So, I began to sweat. If any of them finds me here, they’d cut my throat and bury me at sea. And the place I was hiding wasn’t that safe either. If any one of them came over to the tulip tree they would definitely see me.  But, in any case, it was too late to move now. Squeezing myself against the terrace wall, I lay flat, holding my breath.

Vito Roselli sat down at one of the tables, about fifty feet from me. Soon, tall thin guy came out and stood looking out to sea.

“He’ll soon be here,” he said, pointing out into the darkness.

“Do you see him coming?”

“Yes, I see him,” Grace said. Putting her hands on the top of the wall, she leaned forward. Because she was so close to me, I could smell her perfume.

The red light from the harbor flicked off and the then came on again. There was a long pause, then I saw Vito Roselli lit a cigar. Grace  and the tall thin guy continued to stare down the harbor. I lay so still that a lizard ran lightly across  my bare back, mistaking me for part of the scenery.

Then I heard someone running up the steps. A man appeared, wearing a black t-shirt, black trousers and black loafers. He was young and good looking in a flashy, tough way, and he smiled widely at Grace as he came on the terrace.

“Hello sweetie,” he said.

Grace’s boredom vanished immediately, and she gave him a dazzling smile.

“Hi, Lupton!”

He crossed over to where Vito Roselli was sitting and dumped on the table a parcel wrapped in a blue plastic bag.

“Hello, Mr. Roselli. Here it is.”

Vito Roselli leaned back and smiled at him.

“Good job, kid,” he said. “Have a sit. Here, Kyle, get him something to drink.”

Kyle went into the lounge. Grace came over and Lupton took her hand.

“May I kiss your daughter, Mr. Roselli?” he asked, grinning at Vito Roselli.

“Go ahead,” Vito Roselli said, shrugging his shoulders. “Looks like she needs it, so why should I worry? By the way, did you have any trouble coming over?”

“Not really.”

He kissed Grace and then pulled her on to his lap, putting his arms around her.

“I guess this is a good place for a run,” he said. “But, how are you going to get the stuff into Cornwall, Mr. Roselli?”

“McCutchen is taking care of that,” Vito Roselli said. “McCutchen is a smart boy.”

Lupton’s face hardened.

“McCutchen smart? Give me a break!” He looked at Grace. “Are you still seeing him, sweetie?”

Grace’s eyes opened wide.

“What!” she exclaimed. “McCutchen? Don’t be silly. I told you he’s my half-brother.”

“I know you did,” Lupton said, frowning. He didn’t seem convinced. “Regardless, be careful with a guy like that.”

“You are so horrible,” Grace  said. “Dad, could you just tell him that McCutchen is just my half-brother.”

Vito Roselli  sat back, smiling and listening.

“Sure,” Vito Roselli. “McCutchen is my son, from my beautiful mistress. You don’t have to worry about him. He’s a good boy.”

“I guess I have no choice than to believe you boss,” Lupton said.

“So stop being jealous then,” Grace said. “Because you are driving me crazy when you are like that.”

“Aw, whatever,” Lupton replied. “So, what’s McCutchen taking care of then?”

“He’s got Harry, a newspaperman, to run the stuff into Cornwall, Ontario,” Vito Roselli said, grinning from ear to ear. “He works for Middle River Times.”

“Harry!” Lupton sat forward. “I know that prick! I’ve seen him around in Baltimore City. He agreed to do it?”

“That’s the idea,” Vito Roselli said. “McCutchen’s got him by the balls. We can’t go wrong with a guy like Harry acting as carrier. This is the smartest thing that McCutchen has ever done.”

“I give him that,” Lupton said. “That, indeed, was a smart move.”

Kyle came out with a vodka and a soda and gave it to Lupton.

“This is not what I requested,” Lupton said.

“Well, “ Kyle replied. “That’s what we have at the moment.”

Lupton shrugged, and started sipping the drink.

“Come on kid,” Vito Roselli said. “We don’t have all night. I’ve got the dough for you. Are you  sure you won’t stay for a while?”

“I will,” Lupton said. “I will go back tomorrow night.”

Grace got off Lupton’s lap and slid her arm through his.

“Don’t worry about the money now, sweetie,” she said. “Let’s go to my room. We need to talk.”

Lupton looked over at Vito Roselli.

“Are you cool with that, boss?”

Vito Roselli smiled.

“Sure, why not?” he said. “Grace’s a grown woman now so she has her freedom. The dough’s all ready for you whenever you are ready. When’s the next run?”

“In about three weeks from now. It’s all well-planned.”

Carrying his drink, Lupton followed Grace  into the vacation house. Kyle stared after them, frowning.

“McCutchen’s going to stick a knife into this prick one of these days,” he said, looking at Vito Roselli. “You know how protective of his step-sister he is.”

Vito Roselli laughed.

“Aw, forget it,” Vito Roselli said. “McCutchen’s a good boy and he will not pull a stunt like that. In any case, I want Grace to have her fun. It’s her time.” He tossed what remained of his cigar over the terrace, and then said, “Put the stuff in the safe,  Kyle . McCutchen  doesn’t want it until Thursday. You take it to Middle River on Wednesday night. …undedrstand?”

Kyle grunted. He picked up the plastic-bag package and the two men went into the vacation house.

I got to my feet as soon as they were out of sight. Here was the way out for me! I said this for one simple reason: If the package failed to get into councilman McCutchen’s hands by Thursday, then I wouldn’t have to take it to Cornwall, Ontario. So, as far as I’m concerned, there was only one way to handle this: I had to get back quickly and alert Lieutenant Reid.

Moving very carefully and silently, I went down the steps towards the harbor. When I reached the last few steps, I could see the red light on the harbor wall.  I paused in the shadows, looking for the man they had called Michael. But I couldn’t find him. Where was he? It will be too risky for me to slide into the water until I knew exactly where he was. I hesitated, and then looked along both arms of the harbor. There was still no sign of him.

Then suddenly a cold creepy chill snaked up my back as I became aware of soft breathing behind me. Before I could turn around, a muscular arm hooked under my chin and slammed against my throat. Dazed, I began to fight back and then I felt a hard, bony knee drove into my spine.

END OF EPISODE XXXI

P.S. Episode Thirty-Two will be published here next Monday.

The Pastor’s Daughter: Episode XXX

Before I caught the first train to Atlantic City on Monday morning, I called Candace at her apartment.

“What’s up, Harry,” she said. “I have been waiting for your call. What’s going on?”

“Plenty,” I replied. “But I can’t talk about it now. I’m in a rush. I’m taking a train to Atlantic City in five minutes to attend the inquest. We’ll hang out together when I get back.”

“But you keep saying that, Harry. I’m sure there’s something wrong. I’m really worried about you. Tell you the truth, I have a feeling you are avoiding me.”

“How could you say that, Candace?” I replied. “Of course I’m not avoiding you! I’ve been busy. Common Candace, take it easy, will you? I’ve only got a couple of minutes. Here’s something you can do for me, if you don’t mind. The police have taken the guard off Brittany’s family house at Victory Villa. The key is with the parish secretary. Will you get the house cleared for me?”

“Sure,” she said.

“I hope to be back to Middle River sometime tomorrow, and I will call you, I promise. Can you do something about the house today?”

“I’ll try,” she said.

Tell Phorbus the Reverend want it done. He won’t bother you if you say that to him.”

“And you promise to call me as soon as you get back?”

“Yes, of course,” I said. “I have to go now. Talk to you soon.”

When the taxi dropped me off at Penn Station in Baltimore City, I had to run into the station to catch the train.

I reached Atlantic City soon after ten-thirty, I booked a room for the night at the Marriott Hotel, had a wash, then took a cab to the coroner’s court.

I was expecting to see other witnesses, so I  was surprised that I was the only witness to be called. Lieutenants Reid and Ludlum were there. Lieutenants Reid gave me a long, gloomy stare and then looked away. Lieutenant Ludlum nodded, but he didn’t come over.

Russell Jacoby, the coroner, a clean-shaven little man, avoided meeting my eyes. Although he kept looking in my direction, he always managed to focus on a spot just above my head at the last moment.

I was called upon to identify Brittany’s body and to explain why she had been in Atlantic City.

I saw three reporters sitting at the  court. They looked bored, and their expressions became gloomier as I explained that, as far as I knew, Brittany had rented a vacation house for a month’s vacation. There was nothing said about her renting it in the name of Mrs. Graham Reed.

As if for something to say, Russell Jacoby asked me if I knew if Brittany had had a phobia for heights. I almost said she had, but, catching Lieutenant Reid’s sardonic eyes at this moment, I told him that I don’t really know.

After a series of questions that I thought were irrelevant to the case, Russell Jacoby indicated that I could step down. He then called Lieutenant Ludlum.

Lieutenant Ludlum’s evidence electrified the three reporters and a few other people there who had come in to pass an hour out of the heat. He said he is convinced Brittany’s death wasn’t an accident. He and Atlantic City police were pursuing certain investigations that would probably prove that Brittany was murdered. He said he would like the inquest adjourned until Monday, since they should be able to successfully conclude their investigations by that date.

Russell Jacoby looked as if somebody just slapped him on the face. He said he hoped the Lieutenant have good reasons for asking for an adjournment, and Lieutenant  Ludlum said quietly that he had. After a long hesitation, Russell Jacoby granted the adjournment, and left the room in a hurry, as if he were scared someone would question his authority for granting Lieutenant  Ludlum’s request.

The three reporters cornered Lieutenant  Ludlum, but he had nothing to tell them. As they made for the door, I blocked their way.

“I think I know you guys from somewhere,” I said and smiled at them.

“Of course we know you, Mr. Harry,” the reporter for East County Times said. “But this news is hot, and don’t try to stop us.”

“Why should I,” I said. “I’m sure you will print facts and not opinions. Don’t say I hadn’t warned you.”

They shoved past me and ran for their cars.

“Mr. Harry…”

I turned.

Lieutenant Reid was standing at my side.  He had a bleak expression in his eyes.

“What’s eating you, Lieutenant?” I asked.

“Mr. Harry, I need a favor from you. We are looking for the guy who was at Atlantic City on the day Brittany Waters died. From the descriptions we have obtained from witnesses, we believe we are getting close to finding this guy. So, we are arranging an identity parade. Somehow, your height looked the same as this guy. Do you mind being a member of this parade?”

I felt a cold, sinking feeling inside down my  spine.

“I’ve got a call to make…” I said in a voice I couldn’t recognize as mine.

“It will only take a few minutes, Mr. Harry,” Lieutenant Reid said. “Please come with me.”

Behind him were two policemen, and they moved forward, smiling at me.

I went with them.

There were ten me already standing in a line: two of them were black men, one looked like and Irishman, and the rest were Mexicans. They were all shapes and sizes, but the two black men were about my height.

“It will only take a few seconds, Mr. Harry,” Lieutenant Reid said with the air of a nurse who is about to check a patient’s blood pressure.

A door opened and a thick-set white guy came in. His unshaven face looked embarrassed as he stood looking along the line. I recognized him immediately as the taxi-driver who had driven me from Atlantic City to Absecon train station on the mad rush to catch the train to Penn Station, Baltimore City.

He looked down the line and his eyes rested on me. He stared at me for about four seconds. Those few seconds felt like an eternity, and I found I was beginning to sweat. At last, he slapped his thigh with his hands, then turned around and went out.

I was tempted to wipe my face, but realizing that Lieutenant Reid was looking at me, I decided against it. When I met his eyes, he gave me a sour smile.

Another white guy was brought in.  I didn’t recognize this one. But by his worn overcoat and leather cap, I guessed he could be the attendant at the left luggage office at the Atlantic City train station where I had left my bag before walking out to the vacation house. His eyes went down the line until they reached me. We stared at each other for a while, then after looking at the other two men in the line, he went out.

They brought in two more white guys and a white lady. I did not recognize any of them. They too glanced down the line, their eyes passing over me. Because they concentrated more on one of the other guys at the far end of the line, I started feeling better. They stared at him and he stared back, grinning. I really envied him for his lack of a guilty conscience. To say the truth, I felt relieved that they didn’t stare at me as they had at him. I saw Lieutenant Reid was scowling. Soon, they all went away.

Lieutenant Reid indicated that the parade was over.

The ten men went away.

“Thank you, Mr. Harry,” Lieutenant Reid said to me as I moved after them. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience this may have caused you.”

“No problem at all,” I said. I saw he wasn’t happy with the outcome of the parade and I guessed the last three witnesses could have upset his hopes. “Did you find the man you are looking for?”

He looked fixedly at me.

“I can’t answer that question at the moment,” he replied and, nodding curtly, he walked away.

I left the coroner’s court and took a cab back to Marriott Hotel. Going up to my room, I put a call through to my Middle River office.

Candace told me she had arranged with the woman who deals in second-hand clothes to inspect the contents of Brittany’s family house that afternoon.

“The house should be cleared by tomorrow,” she said.

“Good job, Candace,” I said. “Is Phorbus there?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“Could you put him on the line?”

“Sure,” she said. “But before I do that, I think you should know this: Lieutenant Ludlum has been asking questions about you.”

I stiffened.

“Interesting,” I said. “What vsort of questions?”

“He asked me if you knew Brittany Waters. He wanted to know if the name Mrs. Graham Reed meant anything to me.”

“Is that right? What was your response?” I found I was gripping the receiver unnecessarily hard.

“I told him that Mrs. Graham Reed meant nothing to me, and that you did know Brittany Waters.”

“Thanks Candace.”

There was an awkward pause, and then she said, “He also asked me if I knew where you were on the 29^th. I told him you were at your apartment, working on your book about Henry Ford.”

This girl is indeed an angel!

“That’s what I was doing, Candace,” I said. “It’s a true story.”

“I believe you,” she said.

There was another awkward pause, then she said, “I’ll put you through to Mr. Phorbus.”

“Thanks, Candace.”

After a moment or so, Phorbus came on the line.

“Hello Phorbus,” I said. “I believe you are having a good time?”

“What can I say,” he replied. “Tell you the truth, Harry, I would complain, but who would listen? What’s going on, anyway?”

I told him the coroner had postponed the inquest until Monday.

“Why? What’s biting him?” he asked.

“The police are convinced it’s murder.”

He whistled.

“That’s pretty,” he said. “I guess they must have their reasons?”

“Sure, they do,” I replied. “But they didn’t say. “Please call the head office and tell them the fact. You may also ask them for their opinion, or for some kind of guidance. It’s up to the Reverend whether they print or not. I’m certain the other newspapers will cover it.”

“Well,” he said. “I don’t know the facts, so I’m all ears.”

“Tell them the inquest is postponed until next Monday as both the Atlantic City and Middle River police want more time to make more inquiries. They have evidence that points to foul play.”

“Alright. Nothing more?”

“That’s all, Phorbus.”

“I’m on it. By the way, Harry, you didn’t by any chance bump the girl off, did you?”

I felt like an amateur boxer who had taken a low punch.

“What’s that?”

“Aw, skip it, Harry. I was only playing with you. That crazy cop was asking me questions about you and Brittany. He seems to think you knew her better than most.”

“Don’t mind him,” I said. “He’s crazy.”

“I believe you. I’ve always thought cops are crazy people. So long as your conscience is clear, why should you care?”

“That’s right,” I said. “ Now, please make the call, will you?”

Phorbus said he would get it off right away.

“Well, I’m gonna leave you alone. Try and keep out of trouble.”

He said he would.

END OF EPISODE XXX

P.S. Episode Thirty-One will be published here next Monday.

The Pastor’s Daughter: Episode XXIX

As I was driving back to my apartment, I suddenly realized that I still didn’t know the name of Revkin’s client who had hired him to watch Brittany. I told myself that this is something I need to know.

I wondered if I should go back to Revkin’s apartment and get councilman McCutchen Smith to squeeze the information out of him, but decided against it. There’s no sense in giving councilman McCutchen any more information than is necessary.

The good thing is that I was near the offices of the  Pinkerton’s Investigation Agency. I wondered if I should risk trying to get the information for myself from their office. This, of course, would mean breaking into their office. I was convinced that it should be fairly safe to do it at this hour of three o’clock on a Sunday afternoon. I decided to take a chance and do it.

I parked my car down a side street. I opened the trunk and took out a tyre lever and screw driver, making sure to conceal them in the pocket of my rain coat. I then walked quickly to the block of offices where the Pinkerton’s Investigation Agency was housed.

I immediately noticed that the front entrance was shut and locked. I expected to see that, naturally. So, I went around to the back of the building, my plan being to enter through the janitor’s entrance, assuming that it was open. I was right: I found that the janitor’s entrance door was open. I  walked into a lobby full of trash containers filled with soda cans and empty milk bottles. I paused to listen, but I didn’t hear anything. I made my way quietly up the stairs to the first floor.

I found the Pinkerton’s Investigation Agency at the far end of a hallway. The agency’s section of the house consisted of just six rooms. I was glad that no light showed through the frosted panels of the doors. To make sure there was no one in the office, I went from door to door, knocking on each and waiting. No one answered my knock.

I decided to proceed with my plan immediately. With my heart beating very heavily, I took out my tyre lever and inserted it in between one of the doors and the door post. I counted one, two, three, and then put a little pressure on it. The lock broke without any alarming noise, and I pushed the door open. Entering the empty office, I closed the door and looked around.

I noticed that the office belonged to one of the agency’s executives. So, I went into the second office by walking the communicating door. It wasn’t until I reached the fourth office that I found a row of  filing cabinets along the wall, which was what I was actually looking for.  I selected the file marked ‘M’, and managed to force the lock and get it open with the aid of my screw driver and tyre lever.

I spent about ten minutes going through the mass of folders in the file, but I did not find one with Brittany’s name on it.  I stood back, confused. I knew it would be an impossible task for me to go through all the files in the drawers because there were many of them. It then occurred to me that there was a chance that Revkin had kept Brittany’s file away from the rest. I decided to go into the fifth office.

On entering the office, I found that it contained three desks and that one of them was Revkin’s. I knew this because I saw the notes on the ‘in-tray’ addressed to  him.

While sitting at the desk, I went through the drawers. One of them, the third one down on the right, was locked. Since I have my tyre lever with me, I was able to force it open and I was glad to do so because the only thing in it was the file I was looking for.

Taking this file from the drawer, I laid it on the desk and opened it. I examined it for a few minutes, then shoved back the chair, reached for my Marlboro cigarette and lit one stick. I knew now who had instructed Revkin to watch Brittany, and I was completely blown away by this discovery.

Revkin’s file began:

Acting on the instruction of my client Mrs. Susan Waters, I have today arranged with Luis and Nicholas to keep a twenty-four hour watch on Ms. Brittany Waters…

Susan Waters!

So she was behind all this time! I flicked through the pages of the report until I came to the one headed with the name “Harry Robertson”, which is my name. There were ten pages given up to my association with Brittany. At the top of the page was the following:

Copy of report sent to Mrs. Susan Waters, Waldorf Hilton Hotel, London, on 24^th of August.

The report contain all the details of Brittany’s plan to rent a vacation house in Atlantic City, of her suggestion to me that we should go there as Mr. and Mrs. Graham Reed, that she should arrive at Atlantic City on the 28^th and I would join her on the 29^th.

I sat back, and started sweating profusely. It was obvious that at some  time Revkin had planted some type of buy or listening device in Reverend Waters’ house at Victory Villa, which was where Brittany was staying at the time. This is the only was he could have learned all these details.  It was obvious too that Susan Waters had known I had gone to Atlantic City to be Brittany’s lover when I first met her at the Atlantic City International  Airport. Then why hadn’t she told her husband, Reverend Waters?

While thinking about this, I folded the file and put it away in my pocket. I told myself it is time to leave the office. I don’t want to take the chance of being seen by the janitor who might want to take a walk around the office.

I put my tyre lever and screw driver in my pocket, then after peering cautiously down the long hallway I made my way quickly down the stairs and out into the street.

I drove back to my apartment. As soon as I entered my sitting room, I took off my raincoat, sat down and again went through the file. I discovered that it was by far more detailed and complete than Revkin had led me to believe. I mean, not only were the telephone conversations recorded, but also my conversations with Brittany while I had been with her. There were conversations between her and other men also recorded that revealed shocking information about Brittany’s way of life. In fact, the file was bulging with evidence that proved beyond reasonable doubt the kind of rotten lifestyle Brittany had lived. Every one of these reports had been sent to Susan Waters, either to Trenton or to London.

Why hadn’t she used this information? Why hadn’t she given me away to Reverend Waters? Why hadn’t she warned him of the life Brittany was living? I was  completely confused, and had no answer to these questions. My head started hurting, so I locked the file away in my desk.

I looked at my watch and saw that it was now after five o’clock. I put a call through to Tim Jenkins.

“Is that you, Harry?” Tim asked when he came on the line. “Jesus! Who’s paying for this call?”

“Never mind who’s paying, Tim. What have you got for me? Have you managed to dig up anything on McCutchen Smith yet?”

“You won’t believe this, Harry,” he began. “McCutchen Smith, who’s supposed to be a ‘Mr. Integrity” as a city councilman, has a dark side that nobody knows about.”

“I know that already, Tim,” I said. “What else do you know about him?”

“Well, I guess you also know he’s now in your territory, as a councilman in Baltimore City. Now, listen to this: McCutchen Smith left with Vito Roselli when they ran Vito out of this city.”

“O yeah?” I said.

“That’s right. McCutchen Smith is  Vito Roselli’s son – he got him from one of his mistress, who’s an African-American. Nobody knows where she is at the moment. Anyway, I discovered that he is not only his son, but he is also his gunman and lieutenant.”

Vito Roselli’s gunman! This is a dynamite. I already knew that he is Vito Roselli’s son. But, his gunman and lieutenant? That part was news to me. At last, some of the pieces of this jigsaw puzzle were falling into place.

Tim began speaking again, “Look Harry, but for you, I would have gone public with this information. I could win a Pulitzer price if I publish…”

“Oh no, Tim,” I cut him off. “Don’t go to the press or to the police yet. There’s an ongoing investigation on this now. As you know, Reverend Waters suspects that his daughter was murdered, and I think McCutchen Smith is somehow connected to it. So I’m investigating this on the orders of Reverend Waters. Also Lieutenant Jim Ludlum of Middle River Homicide Department and the guys at Atlantic City Police are investigating this too. They don’t know about McCutchen Smith’s connection to the case yet. That’s why I don’t want you or me to go to the press or to go public with this until I gather all the pieces. So, hold your horses, you hear?”

“Sure, you got it,” he said. “Have you run into him in Middle River?”

“Yes,” I said. “And I also found out that he’s hooked up in heroin-smuggling racket. I wanted to get a check on him.”

“His father, Vito Roselli, ran heroin business here before he’s kicked out. He’s in Baltimore area too, isn’t he?”

“So I hear,” I replied. “Look Tim, I can prove that councilman McCutchen Smith rode a train from Baltimore to Trenton two days before Aquiles Gomez was knocked off, and he returned to Baltimore the day after.”

“Phew!,” he exclaimed. “That’s something, Harry. I’ll pass the information to Captain Purser. He may be able to use it. That may be the link he’s been looking for. He was so sure either Vito or McCutchen knocked off Aquiles Gomez, but both of them had cast-iron alibis at the time Aquiles Gomez died. They had a flock of witnesses that put them in a gambling joint in Atlantic City.”

“That’s interesting,” I said. “But I’m surprised he didn’t alert Baltimore Police of Baltimore City Government about McCutchen Smith’s background when he was campaigning to be a city councilman. Don’t we do background checks any more in this country?”

“Don’t be naïve, Harry,” he said. “Everything about McCutchen Smith’s background was hushed because Reverend Waters endorsed him. His endorsement basically washed away McCutchen Smith’s sins.  I can’t blame the Reverend though. He was just trying to give a young fellow black man a second chance.”

“Well,” I said. “Before  you talk to Captain Purser, be sure to convince him not to go public with the information yet. If you can’t get him to do that, then don’t talk to him. And, thanks for the information you gave me, even though I knew some of them already.”

“The pleasure is mine, Harry,” he said.

I hung up and began to pace the room while I turned over this new information. It looked as if my theory that McCutchen Smith had killed Aquiles Gomez and that Brittany had tried to blackmail him was right. But the evidence I have so far on this will not convince a jury. However, even though it was all theory, I was convinced that I was moving in the right direction.

I was tempted to go to Lieutenant Ludlum and tell him the whole story. There was a chance that he might get at the truth with this theory as a lead, given his organization. But, I resisted the temptation, and was glad that I did. The moment councilman McCutchen Smith  learned that I had been to Lieutenant Ludlum, he would produce his mass of evidence against me and that would fry me for good. So I concluded it wasn’t the time yet to tell Lieutenant Ludlum the truth. I had to have some real concrete evidence first before going to him.

I spent the rest of the evening going through Revkin’s report again and brainstorming for angles. My hope now, I decided, was to concentrate on councilman McCutchen Smith. When I got to Atlantic City, I would go out to the vacation house built in the hill face, which, I am now convinced, belonged to either Grace Roselli or her dad Vito Roselli, and see if I could turn up anything there.

END OF EPISODE XXIX

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