The Pastor’s Daughter: Episode XXI

After he left, I remained motionless. I felt dizzy as my mind was crawling with alarm. I should have known that Lieutenant Ludlum wouldn’t have missed the importance  of the missing films for this case. This is something I couldn’t keep from Reverend Waters.

I told myself that I must move very fast to find this mysterious A before Lieutenant Ludlum found me. I didn’t underrate him. He was already getting too close to me for comfort.

The sound of the telephone snapped me out of my mood. I picked up the receive and it was Candace.

“You didn’t call me yesterday as you promised,” she said. “I’ve been waiting. Tell me the truth, Harry. What’s going on?”

I did some quick thinking. Now that Lieutenant Ludlum had told me this was a murder case, it doesn’t make sense to confide my troubles to her anymore. This is because she might get hooked in as an accessory if she knew I was Graham Reed.

“My apologies Candace,” I said. “I’m really up to my ears at the moment, and I’m on my way out. Just give me a couple of days and I will tell you everything….”

“But, Harry,” she said. “Can’t we meet tonight?”

“I’m so sorry Candace, but I can’t make it tonight. Don’t worry. I will call you in a couple of days. I have to run now,” and I hung up.

I waited a moment, and then put a call through to Trenton. The operator couldn’t connect me to Reverend Waters because his line was busy. She told me she will  try again after an hour.

There was nothing for me to do but to sit down and think over the information I had got from Leifert and to consider the threat that was beginning to develop from Lieutenant Ludlum. After a while, I got tired of frightening myself and turned on my Emerson transistor radio. Adele Addison was giving a recital of Dolly Patton’s songs. As I listened, her dark, exciting voice carried me out of my troubles for the next hour. She was at the middle of  I Will Always Love You, and making my hair stand on end, when the telephone bell rang and I had to cut her short.

Reverend Waters came on the line after only a ten-second delay.

“What have you got, Harry?” he said.

Even at that distance I could hear the anxiety in his voice.

“I’ve just had Lieutenant Ludlum here,” I said. “He told me he has concluded Brittany’s death looks like murder. He also said he will tell the coroner so.”

There was a pause, then Reverend Waters said, “How did he came to that conclusion?”

I told him about the camera and the missing films. I also told him how I had taken the camera and had found the scrap of film in it. Speaking very slowly, I explained to him how the camera had been stolen before I could hand it over to Lieutenant Ludlum.

The information seemed to stun him. I said this because he was hesitant when he began to talk again.

“What are you going to do, Harry?”

“I’m trying to get a list of Brittany’s men friends,” I replied. I also told him I had got Pinkerton’s Investigation Agency on the job. “Lieutenant Ludlum is working on the same angle. He’s convinced Brittany had a number of boyfriends.”

“If he tries to stir up a scandal about my little girl, I’ll deal with him!” Reverend Waters snarled. “Keep in touch with me Harry, okay? I must be updated of any development, understand?”

I said I understood.

“I also want you to talk to this coroner fella,” he continued. “He promised he would handle this Brittany’s pregnancy business so it won’t get out. If possible, get tough with him, Harry. Threaten him with a lawsuit. That would put a scare into him.”

“My only worry is that this may turns out to be a murder case, Reverend,” I said, “If that is the case, there’s nothing we can do about the verdict.”

“Stop telling me what we can’t do!” he bawled.  “Listen, Harry – do you want to do this job for me or not?”

“Sure,” I replied. “I’m with you all the way.”

“Then, talk to the coroner. I want you to call me back tomorrow at this time.”

I said I would, and he hung up.

I put a call to coroner Russell Jacoby. When he came on the line, I told him that I had been talking to Reverend Waters, and he needs his assurance that the arrangements he had made with him would stand. Russell was very friendly and compliant. He told me that unless further evidence came to light, Reverend Waters need not worry about the verdict.

“Point of correction, Mr. Russel: You will be the one who should worry if the verdict’s the wrong one,” I said, and slammed down the receiver.

I looked outside the window. It was dark and raining. I went into my bedroom to get my raincoat. I told myself that it was time to pay a visit to the house in Carrol Island.

END OF EPISODE XX

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

The Pastor’s Daughter: Episode XX

I read many Shakespeare’s plays during my high school days. One of the characters in his plays, the one called Cicero, once said that Nature has planted in our minds an insatiable desire to see the truth. My insatiable desire at this point is to finish this Brittany’s case and, perhaps, take a short vacation. Unfortunately, the case is getting tougher everyday.

By the time I reached my apartment, I had mapped out in my mind what I was going to tell Reverend Waters. I told myself that my best plan would be to be as simple as I can in my explanations. This is because there were angles to this Brittany business that had to be investigated before I could even think of giving Reverend Waters a gimmer of the truth.

I left the Mercedes convertible outside the building and hastily climbed the staircase to my apartment. As I was walking down the hallway, I saw a figure of a man loitering outside my front door. I almost had a heart attack when I recognized the short, broad-shouldered  shape of Lieutenant Ludlum.

He turned at the sound of my footfalls and gave me a look I didn’t like. It was a long stare that was meant to be scary and succeeded in being scary.

“Hello Lieutenant,” I said. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long, have you?”

“Not really,” he said. “I just got here. There’s something I wanted to ask you.”

I fetched out my key, opened the front door and stood aside.

“Come on in.”

He walked into my sitting room very slowly, you know, in measured steps. The way he walked in reminded me of how an undertaker walks into the room where a body is laid out. Now, here’s the funny part: when he moved in, he placed himself with his back to the window. I knew he  did that to make sure that if I faced him, the full light from the window would fall on my face. As a precaution, I decided I will not give him that advantage. So I went over to my desk that stood in a corner out of the light and sat down, making him turn to face me.

“What’s on your mind Lieutenant?” I asked, lighting a Marlboro and trying to keep calm.

He looked around, found a chair and sat down.

“I regret it is now no longer possible to advise the Atlantic City coroner that Brittany Waters’ death was accidental,” he said. “There are several issues that looks suspicious. Because of that, we intend to make a full investigation.”

I kept my face expressionless.

“I’m trying to follow you,” I said.

“Brittany Waters had many men friends,” he said. “I’m sorry to say this, but we discovered that she has been free and easy with her favors.”

“You are just  trying to be polite, Lieutenant,” I said. “So, what is your point here? Are you telling me she led an immoral life? That she was a whore?”

He nodded.

“That’s right.”

“That won’t make Reverend Waters happy. Are you sure of your facts?”

He made an impatient movement.

“Of course I’m sure,” he said. “We, I mean the Police Department, think it is more than possible that one of her men friends killed her. In other words, this is now a murder investigation. The bottom line is that I now have a list of the names of a number of men she knew. Unfortunately, your name is on that list.”

“So, this is your way of telling me that I had sexual relations with her?” I said, forcing myself to meet his eyes. “Because if that is the case, it will give me great pleasure to sue you.”

“I’m not accusing you yet, Mr. Harry. You knew her. I’m just trying to clarify the position. Like I said before, we are convinced that a man she knew killed her. All I need from you at the moment is to tell me where you were on the day of her death.”

I have been expecting this question for a long time, so I already have a ready answer.

“Do you think I killed her, Lieutenant?” I asked in  a voice I scarcely recognized as my own.

“No, I don’t”, he replied. “I am working with a list of all the names of the men who knew her. Against each name, I am writing down the whereabouts of this man at the time of Ms. Brittany’s death. This will save me a lot of time because I only need to investigate those men who can’t account for their movements at the time.”

“That makes sense,” I drew in a long, slow breath. “So you want me to tell you where I was four days ago, right”

“Yeah,” he said.

“I have no problem with that,” I began. “It was the day I began my vacation. My plan was to go to Atlantic City. I forgot to book a room and, finding I had left it too late, I stayed in my house, working on my book. I am writing the biography of Henry Ford.  The following morning…”

“I’m not really interested in what happened the following morning, Harry,” Lieutenant Ludlum said. “Just tell me what happened on the 29^th.”

“No problem,” I said. “I was right here, working on my book. I worked all the afternoon and evening up to three o’clock the following morning. I didn’t go anywhere since I was so tired after putting in all that work.”

He looked down at his black shoes.

“Did anyone  called on you” he asked, hopefully.

“No one did, because I was thought to be in Atlantic City.”

“You did not get even a phone call?”

“No, for the same reason I believe.”

“I see.”

There was a long, awkward pause while he starred at his shoes. Then he looked at me and said, “Well, thank you Harry.”

To say the truth, meeting his eyes was like having a car’s high beam across my face.

He then got to his feet and added, “I’m sorry if I had taken up too much of your time. But you must understand that this is a complicated case. It is only by asking questions and making inquiries that we shall eventually arrive at the truth. You know that anyway.”

“No problem,” I said, aware that my mouth was dry and my hands were clammy.

“If I come across anything that I think you can help me with, I will be in touch with you again,” he said as he moved to the door. Then he stopped to look at me. “Are you sure you don’t want to add anything to what you’ve already told me? I mean, is there anything that may have slipped your mind that might help me?”

“Not at all” I said.

He stared at me.

“I think you should treat this matter seriously,” he said. “After all, this is a murder investigation. I guess the best way to put it is for you to think about it very well,  just in case some idea may occur to you.”

“No problem Lieutenant,” I said. “I will call you if I have something for you.”

“I will appreciate it if you do.”

He nodded and, opening the door, he left. As soon as he left, I stubbed out my cigarette. I then walked over to the window and watched the traffic swirling around my neighborhood. I noticed a few dark clouds in the sky: a sure sign that it was going to be a wet night. I saw Lieutenant Jim Ludlum get into the police car and drive away.

END OF EPISODE XX

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

The Pastor’s Daughter: Episode XIX

If Jesus had been around – you know, taking questions from newspapermen like me – I would have asked if He could help me solve this Brittany business. Anyway, I was very busy for the next two hours.

I knew by now Reverend Waters would be back in his Trenton office. Naturally, he would be waiting impatiently to hear from me. I told myself I would try to get something tangible for him – a kind of progress report of my investigation so far – to him during the day.

I called the Pinkerton’s Investigation Agency and told them to send their best man around. I told the person I spoke to at the agency’s phone that the job was confidential and urgent. They assured me they would send their best operator to me, a man they call Revkin Lockwood. Then I put a call  through to  Leifert Green  of The Baltimore Sun. Leifert has been in Middle River (which is a suburb town in the Baltimore area) for fourteen years. So he knew everyone who is likely to make news in the state of Maryland. And, of course, he also knew a few who wouldn’t.

I said I would like to have a word with him if he has the time.

“For you, Harry, I’m  always free,” he said. “What’s bugging you?”

“There’s some few things I want to figure out for my boss,” I replied.

“Suppose you buy me a huge lunch? I will be much obliged to talk.”

“Sounds like a plan” I said.

“What time will it be?”

I looked at my watch. The time was just after twelve.

“I will meet you at the  Baker’s Bar at one-thirty,” I said.

“Confirmed. I’ll be seeing you.”

I hung up the phone and made a few notes on a writing pad.  I also did a little thinking, trying to make up my mind on how much to tell Reverend Waters. His wife’s warning kept ringing in my head. I could see if I gave him the whole story he might get upset and mad at me. At the same time, it wasn’t going to be easy to keep much back either. I was still brainstorming on what I was going to tell him when the front door bell rang.

I opened the door and find a short, elderly white man, dressed in a shabby black suit, standing on my doormat. He introduced himself as Revkin Lockwood from the Pinkerton’s Investigation Agency.

Nobody asked me, but Revkin Lockwood wasn’t particularly impressive. By looking at his face I could bet he hadn’t shaved this morning. His linen was grubby and he carried with him a nasty smell of garlic that instantly poisoned the air in my room.

In any case, I told him to come inside. As he stepped in he removed his shabby fedora hat to show a balding head. He sat on the edge of one of my chairs while I went over to the open window and sat on the sill.  In my mind I was  praying for a circulation of fresh air.

“Mr. Revkin,” I began. “I want some information, and I want it as soon as possible. Money will not be a problem. I will suggest that your agency should put on as many men as they think necessary.”

His eyes opened wide and he showed me several gold-capped teeth in what he imagined was a smile. His smile looked to me like the kind of spasm you see on the face of a woman in labour when she has a sudden stomach cramp.

“The fact that I am your client means that the information I want must be regarded as strictly confidential,” I continued. “Also, the police are equally investigating the case and I don’t want you to tread on their toes.”

When I said this, his smile faded and his eyelid narrowed.

“The police are our friend,” he said. “We won’t do anything to annoy them.”

“I’m sure you won’t,” I assured him. “This is what I want you to do for me. I want you to find out who were the men friends of an African-American girl who stayed in Middle River for the past fourteen weeks. Her name is Brittany Waters. If you like, I can give you some of her pictures. She stayed in her family house in Victory Villa.” I handed him some pictures I had got Candace to send over from our files, as well as the address of Brittany’s family house at Victory Villa. “She had many men friends. Your job is to find their names and where I can find them. I also want to know what she did with herself during the time she was in Middle River.”

“Brittany Waters died accidentally in Atlantic City, I believe?” Revkin asked, looking at me. “She is the daughter of Reverend Reginald Waters, the Middle River Times owner?”

In spite of his shabby looks, this guy appears to keep abreast with the news.

“That’s right,” I said.

His gold teeth flashed. I could see he has now realized he was in with the big money and that pleased him. He produced a notebook and a pen and made a few notes.

“I will start immediately, Mr. Harry,” he said.

“What I just told you was the first job. I also want to find out who owns a black Pontiac with this registration number.”

I handed him a piece of paper where I wrote the black Pontiac’s number.

“The police told me this number is not in their records, that there is no such number registered. So your best approach would be to watch out for the car. If you spot it, you should follow it and get a look at the driver.”

He made more notes and, after that, closed his notebook.  He then said, “The death of Brittany Waters was not perhaps accidental, Mr. Harry?”

“We don’t know yet. But then, that shouldn’t bother you. Just get me this information fast and leave the other angle to the police to handle. They are paid to do the job anyway.” I stood up. “I want you to call me here as soon have anything reasonable. Don’t wait to give me a written report. I want you to clear this job in a very short period of time.”

He said he would do his best. He also suggested I might like to pay the usual retaining fee of one-thousand dollars, took my check, assured me that he would have something for me before long. He then left my apartment.

I opened another window, and then left the apartment myself to keep my appointment with Leifert Green. I found him drinking Irish Cream and crushed ice at Baker’s Bar. He is tall, thin man and has  steady eyes and a jutting jaw.

We had a couple of drinks. After that we went into the restaurant and ordered our meals. Each of us had the Baker’s Special, which consisted of steamed North American snow crab legs, tender lobster tails, hand-crafted garlic shrimp scampi, and Walt’s Favorite shrimp. Each of our meals was served with rice, chicken salad and red wine. We talked of this and that and enjoyed our meals. It wasn’t until we were eating the salads that I got down to business.

“I want some information from you, Leifert” I said.

He smiled at me.

“Of course I knew you didn’t bought this meal for me because you love me,” he said, grinning. “I’m not that dumb. So please go ahead – what is bugging you?”

“Does the name of Grace Roselli mean anything to you?”

His reaction was instant. I mean, the pleased, relaxed expression on his face slipped away. His eyes became alert.

“Wow! Wow! Wow!” he said. “Slow down and take it easy now, will ya? Now, why did you say that?”

“Sorry, Leifert, I’m not giving reasons. Just tell me who she is.”

“Vito Roselli’s daughter, of course. You should know that.”

“Vito Roselli, the mobster?”

“Oh come on Harry, you of all people shouldn’t ask that,” he said. “Sure, Vito Roselli the mobster.”

“Well, I know something about Vito Roselli, but not much. Where is he right now?”

“Believe me, that’s something I would like to know myself. Obviously, Vito Roselli is somewhere in Middle River, or perhaps, in Baltimore City. But, just where he’s holed up I don’t know and the Baltimore Police don’t know either. They don’t care anyway. He left Trenton about three months ago. He arrived at Baltimore City and registered with the Baltimore Police as instructed by the Judge, giving the hotel Marriott as an address. Then he vanished, and the Baltimore Police haven’t been able to trace him since. We in newspaper business know he hasn’t left the State of Maryland, but just where he’s got to, no one knows.”

“You mean, his daughter don’t know where he is as well?”

“Grace probably does, but she isn’t talking. I’ve had a word with her a couple of times. She has lived in Middle River for the past five years. When I interviewed her she says her father hasn't made contact with her. He have not even written to her, she said.”

“Tell me more about Vito Roselli, Leifert.”

He leaned back in his chair.

“You wouldn’t like to buy me a vodka, would you?” he said. “It would be good to finish such a good meal correctly.”

I signaled to the waiter, ordered two glasses of vodka, and when they arrived, I offered Leifert a Romeo Y Julieta cigar I had been keeping on ice for this occasion.

He examined it cautiously, looked at me, and then smiled. He then bit off the end and set light to it. Then he began, “There’s really not much I know that you don’t already know about Vito Roselli. He was the controls the Truckers and Construction Union in Trenton. He also control the brothels and gambling joints in that city. The word on the street was that many police officers in Trenton are in his payroll. Anyway, he’s a tough and dangerous mobster who stops at nothing to get his own way. He and Aquiles Gomez were sworn enemies, both of them wanting to be the boss of Trenton. You probably know that Aquiles Gomez had a load of heroin planted in Roselli’s apartment. He then tipped off the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA), who moved in, grabbled the load and arrested Roselli. But then, it was a clumsy job, and Roselli’s lawyer somehow was able to keep him away from the jail. Roselli was found not guilty, but the press made so much noise about the outcome, since they were gunning for him. So Roselli was charged as an undesirable resident and the judge ordered him to leave New Jersey while the investigation is ongoing. Because the judge saw him as a flight risk, he wanted to seize his international passport. Again, his lawyer intervened and secured him a deal: as a condition for keeping his passport, he was ordered to report to the police chief of any city he wish to reside. That way they can track his movements and activities. That was a very weird court decision, but then that is America for you. If you have the money to pay a good lawyer, you can basically run the show. Anyway, he moved to Baltimore, Maryland, where he was born and brought up. The Baltimore authorities don’t want him either. They were busy trying to find a reason to nail him when he vanished.”

“I hear the police thinks he ordered Aquiles Gomez’s killing,” I said.

“I think they are correct,” he replied. “Before he left Trenton, he told Gomez he’s a dead man. Two months later, Gomez was killed. I can bet my last buck Roselli arranged it.”

“Do you have an idea how it happened? Did Gomez take the threat seriously?”

“Of course he did. He never moved a yard without a bunch of bodyguards surrounding him, but Roselli’s killer got him in the end. Gomez made a fatal mistake. Just like Roselli, he had a soft spot for African-American ladies. He rented a secret apartment that he visits once a week regularly to spend the night with his girlfriend, who happened to be an African-American. He thought he was safe there. Normally, his bodyguards took him there. The routine was always the same each time he goes there: they searched the apartment. They waited until the girl arrived, then, after Gomez had bolted himself in, they went home. They would come back in the morning, identify themselves and then escort Gomez back to his home. On this particular night, they repeated the same routine, but when they came back to get Gomez the following morning, they found the door open and Gomez dead.”

“And the girl, whatever happened to her? Who was she?”

Leifert shrugged.

“Nobody seems to know. She was gone by the time they found Gomez and no one has seen her since. The thing is that, she didn’t live at the apartment. She was there waiting for Gomez  when he and his bodyguards arrived. Unfortunately, none of Gomez’s bodyguards ever got a look at her. Usually, she would stand looking out of the window while they searched the apartment. All they could tell the police was that she was an African-American with a good, seductive body. The police couldn’t trace her either. Since the door wasn’t forced, the police thought she must have let the killer in. No what I think? It’s pretty certain she sold Gomez out.”

I brooded over this for a moment, then asked, “Do you know a big man with very broad shoulders, who looks like a prize-fighter, and whose first name is Mac?”

Leifert shook his head.

“Not at all. In any case, where does he fit in?”

“I don’t know yet. But I want to find out. If you ever get a line on him, Leifert, will you let me know?”

“Sure, of course,” he said, tapping the ash off his cigar. “Look Harry, I think you should tell me why you suddenly developed interest in Roselli.”

“I can’t tell you right now,” I replied. “But if I come across anything you can use, I will definitely let you know. I’m sorry, but that’s all I can tell you at this point.”

He pulled a face.

“Well, keep playing your games,” he said, then shrugged. “I did enjoy the lunch though, and I’m grateful.” He pushed back his chair and added, “If you haven’t any work to do this afternoon, I have. Before I get back to the treadmill, is there anything else you want to know?”

“No, I’m good,” I said. “But if I do think of anything, I’ll call you.”

“It’s a deal” he got to his feet. “You don’t happen to know where Vito Roselli is hiding, do you?”

“Well, I guess I should say that if I did, I will tell you.”

He shook his head sadly.

“Yeah, I know: like I would tell my girlfriend that my secretary has a chest like Dolly Parton. Anyway, I have to leave now. If anything happens to you, I’ll be at your funeral.”

We shook hands, and he left. After he was gone, I turned over in my mind what he had told me. To say the truth I hadn’t learnt much talking to him. But I wouldn’t say that the money I spent on the lunch was a waste either.

END OF EPISODE XIX

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

The Pastor’s Daughter: Episode XVIII

It took me longer than I planned to contact my ex-girlfriend on the Middle River telephone exchange. But I was able to get in touch with her around four o’clock  the following afternoon.

Naturally, when you broke up with a girl, she won’t like to have anything to do with you – ever. So I did not expect to be hugged and kissed when I got her on the phone. Neither was I surprised when she made the usual difficulties that a girl who has been dropped and now discovers you are interested in her again will make. So, with this mindset, it was easy for me to exercise a lot of patience and tact  before I could get around to what I wanted to ask her.

When I told her I wanted the name and address of a Middle River telephone subscriber, she said promptly that it was against regulations and that she could lose her job by giving me what I wanted. After a lot of persuasion and aimless talk which nearly drove me crazy, she finally suggested that we might discuss the matter over a dinner at The Duck’s. So I told her I would meet her at The Duck’s at eight o’clock and hung up.

I knew there would be more to it than a dinner at The Duck’s, so I bought a cologne for ten dollars that looked showy enough to have cost three times that price as a make-weight if she proves to be too difficult to convince.

I hadn’t seen this girl for three, or perhaps four years, and I didn’t recognize her when she entered The Duck’s. I mean, this girl had won Baltimore’s local beauty contest just three years ago. But when I saw her as she entered The Duck’s, I began to wonder how it had been possible for her ever to have won a prize in the contest. Three years can make quite a dent in the shape and size of any Baltimore lady if she doesn’t watch her diet, and this girl, my ex-girlfriend, hadn’t watched anything since the last time I saw her. She really changed a lot.

Anyway, like I predicted, she proved too difficult to convince. And it was only after I had slipped her the cologne that she finally agreed to get me the name and address of the subscriber of the telephone number I had found scribbled on Brittany’s lounge wall.

She promised to call me the following morning.

In spite of the dinner and the cologne I gave her, I had to wait until half-past eleven o’clock before her call came through. By then I was yellow with rage. Speaking in an irritated voice, she told me that the telephone subscriber in question was a woman. Because of the way she said it, my reply wasn’t that polite.

“Well,” I said. “It had to be either a man or a woman, right? You don’t have to get worked up. Certainly you wouldn’t expect it to be a dog, would you?”

“Stop shouting at me, will you?” she said. “I don’t owe you any favor, and I have no business to give you information about any subscriber, okay?”

This girl is driving me crazy! Following my late father’s advice, I counted up to ten mentally before I could trust myself to speak without cursing at her. Then I said, “Okay, you win. Let me have it.”

She told me that the subscriber lived at Carrol Island, near Chase in Middle River, and her name was Grace Roselli.

I wrote down the name and address.

“Thanks a lot,” I said, staring at the scribble on my paper. “Roselli? R-o-s-e-l-l-i? Is that right?”

She said it was.

Then I stiffened.

Roselli!

I remembered the Trenton Police had believed that Vito Roselli, Aquiles’ gangster rival had been responsible for Aquiles’ death. So the big question is -  was Grace Roselli connected in some way with him? Was she his wife,  his sister, or perhaps his daughter? Was there some hook up between this woman, Aquiles’ murder, Vito Roselli and Brittany?

I suddenly became aware that my ex-girlfriend was talking to me. She was talking very loud, and her voice slammed against my ear-drum, but I wasn’t worried about her. I quietly dropped the receiver back to its cradle. As I struggle to make the connection between Grace Roselli, Aquiles’ murder, Vito Roselli and Brittany, my heart started bumping with excitement.

I told myself that this might be the clue I had been looking for. I remembered Phorbus Taylor had told me that Brittany was thought to be mixed up in the Aquiles’ killing, and that was the reason why she had come to Middle River.

Did Vito Roselli really ordered the killing?

I decided it might pay off to take a look at the house in Carroll Island. The telephone bell rang. My mind told me it was probably my ex-girlfriend wanting to know if I had actually hung up on her. I didn’t have time for arguments at this point, so I just let the telephone bell ring.

END OF EPISODE XVIII

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

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.