Jack Daniels - Casebook Page 14

  She shook her head, and sighed. She opened her handbag once again, and took out another photograph. It was of a young woman, aged about twenty-five. Good looking, but skinny. Certainly not my type.

  “Mr. Daniels, I have been married to that worthless piece of junk for twenty years.” She tapped his photograph. Tapped did I say, pummeled is nearer the truth. If she had an axe she would have chopped the picture into a thousand little pieces. If you’ve something to say lady, then don’t pussyfoot around, just come right out and say it.

  “He is cheating on me, with that other piece of junk.” She pummeled the photograph of the young girl. “That tramp.” She took a deep breath. “Of course it’s his money she’s after. What else?”

  Sure it was I thought, and who could blame her. Just out of idle interest I wondered what he, the worthless piece of junk, wanted from her. No need to answer that.

  I was beginning to think that Mrs. Walker was no longer completely fond of the shipping magnate, and she wasn’t too keen on the young bimbo either. I’m quick like that. You know, perceptive.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, not really caring one way or the other. It was nothing to me after all. He wasn’t my husband thankfully. “Look, I’m a private detective, not a marriage counselor. So exactly what do you want me to do about it?”

  She shook her head and started to smile. “He is worth two billion dollars,” she continued. “I intend to seek a divorce, and take him for every dollar he owns.”

  Suddenly he sounded a whole lot more interesting, but she wanted a divorce. No need to ask why, besides I guessed it was probably to her advantage. Remember what I said. I’m quick like that, perceptive. Nice work if you can get it I thought. Although I was still unclear what it had to do with me.

  “I want you to get evidence of his playing around with that, that flozzie,” she explained striking the photograph of the young girl once again. “Evidence I can use to get the divorce, evidence that he couldn’t dispute. I want photographs, I want statements, I want dates, I want times, and I want places.”

  So there you have it, the very thing that I was dreading, and there it was, out in the open like that. A snooping job! I shook my head. That type of surveillance work was always pretty tricky. You had the weather to contend with, the rain, and the cold. And then there were the long hours stretching into the middle of the night. In fact they could go on all night, and there were no guarantees that the subjects would be where they were supposed to be anyway. “I’m not really that interested, Mrs. Walker ….”

  “There’s twenty-five thousand for you when I get the evidence,” she interrupted. “And another twenty-five when the divorce is settled.”

  Suddenly I felt my enthusiasm growing. After all it wouldn’t be that difficult a task, I mean how hard could it be. So there’d be a little rain, some cold, a few late nights. I mean what else did I have to do anyway? It would be a chance to get out of a stuffy office, and out in the fresh air. Well out of the office anyway. And besides it wasn’t everyday that someone was offering fifty thousand dollars for a couple of days work. I wondered if that included expenses. Of course the IRS would want their share, but even so it might be worth it. Did I say might?

  I reached across for the photographs, amazed that there were still in one piece. Looking at the young girl even though she was skinny, I really couldn’t blame the guy, but was she worth fifty thousand? I didn’t think so.

  “So what can you tell me?” I asked.

  She heaved a sigh, and shook her head. “Not much I’m afraid.”

  “Well let’s start with a name shall we?” I coaxed. “The girl, what’s her name?”

  She shook her head again. “I’ve no idea,” she replied.

  “Do you have an address for her?” I asked

  She shook her head once more. “All that I know is that my louse of a husband has been seeing her on a regular basis, for the past six months or more.”

  That was all very interesting, but it wasn’t getting me anywhere. “Do they have a regular place to meet? A regular time maybe?”

  “The Carlton Hotel is one place they meet,” she replied. “Every Monday, and Thursday, usually at five.”

  At last we were getting somewhere. Well it was a start I guess. I picked up the photographs. “Can I keep these?” I asked, before any more harm befell them.

  “Of course you can,” she replied. She handed me a piece of paper. “One-one-four Sycamore, that’s my address,” she said, pointing. “But I don’t want you coming round, and him seeing you. So that is only to be used in an emergency. Do you understand?”

  I understood. I didn’t need telling twice. It made perfect sense. I nodded. “No problem,” I replied. “What about the phone number, is that your home number?”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s my cell phone number. Only use it if you have to.”

  Once again that made perfect sense, although I would hardly ring her just to pass the time of day now would I? I stood up. “I’ll be in touch,” I said.

  She stood up and I walked her to the door.

  * * *

  Chapter Three

  I Started Work

  Well unbelievable as it now seems, I did do a check up on Mr. and Mrs. Walker. Okay, so it wasn’t as thorough as it should have been I have to admit that. In fact it wasn’t thorough at all, as subsequent events clearly showed. But hey, so I made a mistake, it happens. You’ve never made a mistake I guess. So you’re perfect, must be nice. Anyway, I did find out all about his shipping business, it was pretty impressive. And all about the house in The Hamptons, and the house on Honeysuckle, and the apartment in Manhattan, oh and the house …. You get the general idea. He certainly doesn’t lack a roof over his head.

  Let’s skip that though shall we? Let’s just say that he wasn’t doing too badly for himself that was for sure. He wasn’t going to be on welfare any time soon, you’ll be glad to hear. I think the term is he was comfortable. I should be so comfortable I hear you say. That goes double for me.

  So I started work. Over the following few days I made several trips to the Carlton. I told the management that I had been employed by Mr. Walker to keep an eye on the girlfriend. Well it wasn’t a complete lie was it? Anyway it was accepted, no problem, and with no questions asked.

  In fact the Hotel reception was very helpful, supplying dates, and times, going back over the last eight months, not six, every Monday, and every Thursday, regular as clockwork. What happened the rest of the week I have no idea. Dane, the young bell hop filled in several more details, and actually supplied a name, and an address, for the young lady.

  “How do you know her address,” I asked.

  The boy smiled. “It was easy,” he replied. “I called a cab for her, and I heard her give the cabbie instructions, two-two-seven Albany.” He smiled pleased with himself. “It’s over on the east side,” he added helpfully. “Do you know it?”

  I knew it. It was a nice quiet residential area, nothing fancy but not too bad. I’d been there a few times. Once to visit an old friend and the second time was a stake out. Drug dealing if I remember rightly. The third time was car-jacking. As I said it was a nice quiet area.

  Then I saw them come into the hotel lobby. “There they are now,” Dane said un-necessarily.

  There was no doubt as to who they were, Mr. Denis Walker and his lady friend Miss. Terri Franklin. I ducked behind a column. They slowly walked past me, arm in arm, laughing at some joke or other, and headed towards the elevator. I have to admit that I’m no photographer, but I got some pretty good pictures of the two of them together right there.

  The next day I was at the corner of Albany and Fifth. It wasn’t long before Miss. Franklin came out of her apartment block. She walked to the corner, and crossed the street, heading towards the park. I followed her along the path running around the lake. She suddenly stopped. I wondered if it was to meet up with Walker. It wasn’t, but not to worry because I got a few more photographs of her, feeding the du
cks.

  One more trip to the Carlton and I was done. Dane had managed to record some of their conversations. Don’t ask, because I didn’t. I didn’t want to know, and neither should you. I didn’t care. Recording someone without their knowledge is highly illegal. But I’m not going to tell anyone and neither are you, are you?

  I just thanked him, and gave him a fifty dollar tip. I now had everything that I needed. I made copies of everything, and arranged for Mrs. Walker to collect them. I was instructed to leave them in a deposit box at Grand Central Station. The box was open when I arrived. I imagined that she had the key.

  * * *

  That was six weeks ago. I had heard nothing since then, until this newspaper item. So she was dead, murdered. I couldn’t believe it. Mrs. Amanda Walker, my client, was dead, stabbed twice. Why, I wondered? Why would anyone want to kill her? And more importantly who would want to kill her? Maybe Walker found out about her wanting a divorce. Maybe he wasn’t agreeable, and maybe he killed her. It wasn’t unknown or unusual. I mean lots of husband murder their wives, for all kinds of reasons.

  But why the different name? That made no sense.

  I thought that maybe Detective Frank Bates would have some answers, and be willing to help? I reached for the telephone and dialed the number.

  A few moments later I was put through. I explained the reason for the call. Clearly Bates was not in an accommodating mood. Bad day I guessed. Or maybe it was his ulcer playing up again.

  “Daniels, I’m not sure I can be much help to you,” he said dismissively.

  “Frank, come on now, I need this,” I said, trying not to sound too desperate.

  Bates wasn’t having any of it, at least not just like that. “What’s it to you anyway?” he asked.

  I spent the next five minutes telling him the whole story. “The woman was my client, and now she’s dead,” I started to explain. “I want to know why.”

  I have to say he didn’t seem that impressed, not until I got to the part about the fifty thousand dollars. And even then he wasn’t too concerned, not until I told him how unlikely it was that I’d actually get paid.

  “Gee that’s a shame,” he said.

  Strangely enough I wasn’t convinced that he really meant it.

  “All that I can tell you, is that the dead woman is not Amanda Walker,” he continued. “More than that, we just don’t know at present.”

  “Not Amanda Walker,” I repeated puzzled. “She had to be Amanda Walker. Who else would she be?”

  Bates heaved a sigh. “And I’m telling you, she ain’t Mrs. Walker.”

  “But she was here in my office,” I replied. “No more than six weeks ago.”

  “Well I’m telling you the dead woman is not Amanda Walker,” Bates said.

  “So who is she?” I asked.

  “Susan Brady,” Bates replied.

  “Who the hell is Susan Brady?” I asked.

  Bates heaved a sigh. “I’ll see what I can find out,” he replied and hung up.

  * * *

  Chapter Four

  Denis Walker

  So it was quite obvious that I wasn’t going to get much out of Detective Bates, not just yet anyway. Perhaps it was too early, perhaps later when he knew more. In the meantime maybe I would do better by speaking with Mr. Walker himself.

  I wasn’t exactly looking forward to it. In fact I wasn’t even sure it was the right thing to do, the right thing for me that is. I figured that such a meeting would hardly be a smash success, but it seemed to me that I needed to speak to him. He needed to know what had been going on behind his back.

  Clearly it wasn’t his wife who had come to see me, so I guessed that she wasn’t really looking for a divorce after all. I wondered if she knew about the Carlton Hotel. It was probable that she would be just as surprised as him. It was also pretty clear that I wouldn’t be getting twenty-five dollars, let alone twenty-five thousand. And I had more chance of going into outer space as I did of collecting the fifty thousand. Oh well, easy come, easy go I guess. Whoever said that needs to have their head examined.

  What do they say? If something looks too good to be true, it usually is. Now why did I think of that now, why didn’t I think of it at the time? It might have saved me a lot of time and trouble.

  No matter. Something about spilt milk, and closed stable doors, came to mind. Apart from the need to tell Walker, and his wife, what had happened, there was another little matter that was causing me concern. It occurred to me that this Susan Brady, or whatever her name was, had probably been blackmailing Walker, using information that I had supplied. I didn’t feel too good about that. In fact I felt real bad, and wondered if, in the circumstances, I could be classed as an accessory.

  It didn’t take a great brain to know that such a meeting could be risky for me. It could go badly, and maybe cause me trouble, trouble I neither needed nor wanted. But I guessed I owed him.

  * * *

  I put in a call to Walker. I told him that I thought we should meet. He wasn’t too interested at first. And who could blame him? He was a busy man wasn’t he? He really didn’t need to be bothered by the likes of me. Maybe I should just forget the whole thing, and hang up. There again, maybe not.

  “Tell me Mr. Walker do you know a Susan Brady?” I asked.

  He was hesitant. “I don’t think so,” he replied. “Why do you ask?”

  “Have you seen today’s Herald?”

  “No I haven’t. Why?” he replied.

  I took a deep breath. “There’s a photograph on the front page,” I explained. “A photograph of a certain Susan Brady.”

  There was no response. It seemed that I wasn’t getting through and he was likely to just hang up at any moment.

  “Let me tell you a little more, and then I’ll ask the same question,” I continued. I told him about her body being discovered in Battery Park. “She had been stabbed,” I added. “I think she has been blackmailing you.” I paused for a moment. “Now I’ll ask again. Do you know a Susan Brady?”

  “What makes you think she’s been blackmailing me?” he asked.

  I took another deep breath. “Because I supplied her with the necessary information,” I replied.

  There was silence. For a moment I thought that he had hung up. Then I heard a cracking sound, and papers being moved around. Then he came back on.

  “What information?” he asked.

  That time had come, the time I had been dreading, the time when I needed to come clean, and confess. “Information about you, and Miss. Franklin, and your, shall we say, meetings at the Carlton Hotel,” I replied.

  “You did what?” he asked.

  “Mr. Walker, I think we should talk,” I said as calmly as I could manage. “Either at your office, or here, it’s up to you. I think here would probably be better for you, it will, at least, be more private.”

  I gave him the address, and we agreed to meet. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” he replied, and hung up.

  * * *

  Twenty-five minutes later the door to my office was flung open and in walked Mr. Denis James Walker. He looked anything but happy. He moved to the center of the room, roughly pushed some files off of a chair and sat down.

  “So you were spying on me is that it?” he said. “Invading my privacy, that’s a pretty despicable kind of way to earn a living don’t you think?”

  I held up my hands, and nodded my head. “Now, Mr. Walker, I don’t entirely disagree with you,” I said as though that would make everything wonderful. “But in this rotten world it’s sometimes necessary, believe me. There’s a lot of bad people out there,” I pointed to the window. “And besides I don’t have a fleet of ships to order around.”

  You know I instantly knew that last remark was not going to win me any friends in a hurry. Clearly Mr. Walker wasn’t too impressed.

  “Look, I thought I was doing it for your wife,” I continued. “She came to me looking for help.”

  “But it wasn’t my wife was it?” Walke
r replied.

  “No it wasn’t, but I didn’t know that at the time, did I?” I said.

  “And you call yourself a detective,” Walker murmured. “Did you never think to check on her? I mean her picture is in the newspapers almost on a daily basis.” He heaved a sigh. “Or, in the New Yorker, or maybe Time magazine, but I guess you would never read such publications, would you?”

  He was right, absolutely, but what can I say? What could I do? It was easy to be wise afterwards. I should have checked, I know that now, but she, whoever she was, was so convincing. I had no reason to doubt. Sure it wasn’t his wife, but it sure could have been. Anyway at the end of the day, whether the lady had really been his wife or not, didn’t really matter did it. Nothing had changed the fact that the guy had been cheating on his wife, and not just for a couple of days. So how come he was so uptight, so high and mighty. So what was worse my spying, or his cheating? Something about pots and kettles being called black came to mind.

  Talking about his wife, I wondered how she was. Certainly it wouldn’t be right to ask would it? I mean, in the circumstances it would be quite tactless to say the least.

  “How is your wife by the way?” I asked.

  I think that it would be quite fair to say that was not the greatest idea I’ve ever had, or even the second greatest. If looks could kill then that would be a new way of committing murder, and I would be lying dead right this minute. Mind you I suspect that he would claim that he acted in self-defense, and get away with it. Clearly he wasn’t going to tell me how she was. Okay I could live with that. It probably wasn’t that important anyway.

  “That is of no concern to you,” Walker replied angrily. I guess he had a point.

  “Sorry, just forget it,” I replied hurriedly. It wasn’t the greatest of apologies I grant you, but it was the best I could manage on the spur of the moment. I mean given a couple of weeks or so, maybe I could have come up with something a bit better.

  “The point is, Mr. Walker, this Susan Brady took me in, no question,” I continued. “I got the information for her, for whatever reason, and she used it to blackmail you. She has been blackmailing you hasn’t she?”