Jack Daniels - Casebook Page 6

  Who had scored, I neither knew, nor did I care very much. I smiled and thanked him. I walked over to the door and pushed it open. It was a lot different to how it had been just a few days earlier. Forensics had been over every square inch dusting for prints. The wreckage had been scanned for signs of any possible clues. The broken ornaments, and the shards of glass, had all been removed. Drawers had been put back into position. Torn photographs had been picked up, and placed on the table. Someone, someday, would have the task of going through the pieces and putting them back together again. Or maybe they would be just thrown away.

  I wondered whether Philips did have any relatives, a mother maybe; or perhaps a brother. Would they be interested in a pile of torn photographs? Would anyone be that concerned? Linda perhaps? I looked down at the photographs, and sighed. It wasn’t much to show for a man’s life was it?

  I glanced around the room, and wondered if anything worthwhile had been left. I went back to the door and opened it. I peered round at the officer. “Do you know if they found a diary, or anything similar?” I asked. “Any papers, or receipts, things like that?”

  The officer shook his head. “Not to my knowledge sir,” he replied. “Was it important?”

  Might have been I thought, perhaps I’d never know. I thanked the officer, and returned to the room, becoming more and more convinced that I was wasting my time. I walked over to a cabinet over by the window. I opened the top drawer. It was empty. All of the drawers were empty. I returned to the table and looked at the remains of the photographs. They were just pieces of several jigsaws, and told me nothing.

  Then I noticed something, a photograph, mainly intact. It showed a young lady, and a young man. The lady was Linda, and the young man had his arm around her. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” she had said. This photograph told a different story. I wondered who the guy was. I placed the photograph in my wallet.

  I looked back at the table. I was surprised to see that Linda was in several of the photographs. More surprising was the fact that Joe Philips didn’t appear in any of them. I shook my head, puzzled. Perhaps he just didn’t like his photograph being taken. And yet there were dozens of photographs showing another man, usually with Linda. It made no sense. Why would he keep photographs of someone, and yet have none of himself?

  I gave the room another glance. There were no signs of any private papers, which was also strange. There were no bills, no invoices, no receipts, and there were no bank statements. There was nothing. That was something else that made no sense.

  I heaved a sigh, and walked to the door. “I’ve finished,” I said to the officer as I returned to the corridor. “You can lock up now.”

  The officer nodded and locked the door. “Did you find anything, sir?”

  Had I found anything, I wondered. I shook my head. “No, nothing of any significance,” I replied. “So what’s the score?” I asked pointing to the radio.

  The officer smiled. “Chicago won, eighteen to six.”

  I smiled. Eighteen to six what I wondered. I raised my hand and waved. “I’ll be seeing you”.

  * * *

  Don’t ask me why I thought the photographs so important, because I wasn’t sure. So she had a boyfriend. Was that so strange? Hardly. In fact I had said something similar to her. What was it? “I don’t believe it, a good looking girl like you, you must have dozens.”

  By why would she lie about it? Why not just say, yes I’ve a boyfriend, and we’re planning on getting married. It meant nothing to me, one way or the other. So what was the problem? Okay so it was personal, and none of my business, but where was the harm. I was hardly going to forbid it was I? I can’t let you go through with it. He’s not good enough for you. I wasn’t her mother was I?

  So why was I so bothered, so concerned. It was probably of no importance anyway, but I just couldn’t shake it. Linda had lied to me, and I wanted to know why.

  I needed to speak to her.

  * * *

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mrs. Marshall

  I was desperate to get in touch with Linda. It was probably nothing major, and I was probably making a mountain out of a molehill, worrying for no reason. It wouldn’t have been the first time, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. But there it was, I couldn’t shake it.

  I reached into my inside pocket, and took out my wallet. I opened it and took out a piece of paper. I read the details that Linda had written. “Mrs. Lydia Marshall, 274 Mulberry, telephone 886 4378.”

  I reached for the telephone and dialed the number. “That number has not been recognized,” a mechanical voice announced. “Please check and dial again.”

  I dialed once more, with the same result. The number she had given me was not, in fact, the correct number. Perhaps she had just made a simple error, and written the number down incorrectly. I’ve done that, we all have, no end of times. I reached for the directory, and looked up Mrs. Lydia Marshall.

  There were six listed, and none of them lived on Mulberry. A simple error with the telephone number was one thing, but to get the address wrong, that was a different matter entirely. I picked up the telephone and dialed the first number.

  It was answered on the third ring. “Mrs. Marshall,” I said.

  “Yes, who’s speaking?” came the reply.

  I explained who I was, and why I was calling. “Do you have a daughter by the name of Linda?” I asked.

  “No I don’t,” was the reply.

  I thanked her, and apologized for taking up her time. The next three calls produced the same response. I was beginning to wonder. Linda had made an error about the telephone number, and about the address. I wondered if she had made another error. Was Linda her real name?

  Then I dialed the fifth name that was on the list.

  “Yes I do,” was the reply to my question. “I do have a daughter of that name. Why do you ask?”

  I explained who I was, and that I needed to return something to her. Okay, so I lied, but I couldn’t tell the truth over the telephone could I? Besides I wasn’t entirely sure what the truth was anymore.

  “I wonder if I could call on you, and leave the item with you,” I asked. I said that I would appreciate it very much, and promised that I wouldn’t take up too much of her time.

  “Well I have to go out now,” she said. “But if you come at about four o’clock this afternoon.”

  I said that would be fine, and asked for the address.

  “Oh yes, of course,” she said. “You’ll need that won’t you? It’s 366 Elm Drive, do you know it?”

  I didn’t know it, but I didn’t think that it would be too difficult to find. “I’ll find it,” I said. “You’ve been most helpful,” and hung up.

  * * *

  It was just after four when I pulled up outside 366 Elm. I sat for a few moments and looked at the house. It was one of those Colonial style houses popular in the seventies. At the front was one of those manicured lawns, surrounded by several shrubs. At the edge of the driveway was a silver birch. This was my kind of a house I decided there and then. One fine day, I murmured wistfully.

  I reached over to the rear seat, and picked up a book, the one that Linda had left behind. Okay so it was another lie, she hadn’t left a book behind. She hadn’t left anything behind, but it was all I could think of at the time.

  I got out of the car and walked to the front door. I rang the bell. A smartly dressed lady opened the door. “Mr. Daniels,” she said. “Right on time, do come in.”

  I walked into a bright spacious hallway. “Let’s go into the living room shall we,” she suggested. “We’ll be more comfortable in there.”

  It was large room, with large full height windows leading out onto the rear garden. She was right. It was a comfortable room. I could get used to a room like that, easily.

  “Can I get you anything?” she asked.

  A scotch would have been good, but I didn’t think that’s what she had in mind. “Oh no thank you,” I said. “I don’t want to take up too
much of your time.”

  She smiled, and then she noticed the book I was holding. “Is that the item you wanted to return?” she asked.

  I looked at the book, surprised. “Yes that’s the item,” I stammered as I handed it to her.

  She looked at the title. “Are you sure this is hers,” she said. “It’s not the kind of thing she would normally read.”

  I coughed a couple of times, and cleared my throat. “Oh yes,” I said. “There’s no mistake, I’m sure that’s hers.”

  “Well I’ll see that she gets it back,” she said. “And thank you for bringing it.”

  The reply took me by surprise. “Isn’t she here?” I asked.

  “Here,” Mrs. Marshall repeated. She shook her head. “No she hasn’t been here for some weeks now.”

  “But I thought ….”

  “Yes, Mr. Daniels, you thought?”

  “Oh nothing,” I replied. Was this another lie, more deceit, I wondered. If so, then why? What was the reason?

  Mrs. Marshall looked at the clock on the mantle-shelf. “Was there anything else?” she asked.

  I sighed. What was happening? Was there anything else? I was beginning to have serious doubts. “There is one other thing,” I said. I reached for my wallet, opened it and took out the piece of the photograph I had taken from the apartment. I handed it to Mrs. Marshall. “Can you tell me who that is with your daughter?” I asked.

  She looked at the photograph for a few moments, and started to smile. “Why that’s Joe,” she said. “Joe Philips, her fiancé.”

  “That’s not Joe,” I protested. “Joe’s d ….”

  “Of course that’s Joe,” she insisted. “That was taken at his house in Cedar Drive. About three months ago, just after they announced their engagement.”

  * * *

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cedar Drive

  I was in a daze. My mind was reeling. I couldn’t take it in. Linda had lied over so many things. It couldn’t have been a simple error. It was deliberate, but why? I just couldn’t figure it. The phone number could have been an error, but the address, and going back to live with her mother, was all lies. But why lie to me? I thought she had trusted me. How wrong could a guy be?

  What else had she lied about? I looked back at the photograph. The guy in the picture was fair haired, and nothing like the description she had given. It just couldn’t be Joe.

  Then it hit home, and hit hard. We only knew what Joe looked like from her description, and from a photograph that she had provided. Clearly the dead guy was not Joe. So who was he? And why all the deception, what was she trying to hide?

  Scrub that last question. I think the answer to that was becoming more and more obvious.

  Armed with Joe’s address, I thanked Mrs. Marshall for her help and left.

  * * *

  Cedar Drive was one of those tree lined avenues occupied by those with money, a lot of money. People like bankers, attorneys, politicians, business men, and, or so it would seem, a Candy Man. This is where he lived. This is where they both lived.

  Number 175 was about halfway along the street. As I passed by I noticed a Jaguar XJ Sedan sitting in the driveway. I guessed there was $75000 give or take a dime or two, just sitting there. I stopped a short distance from the entrance, and walked back.

  As I watched, the car doors opened, and two people got out. Linda was one of them. A fair haired man got out on the other side. He walked around the car, and over to where Linda was waiting. He put his arm around her, and kissed her. They then walked slowly towards the house.

  Joe had faked his own death, and she had helped. And I, unwittingly perhaps, had helped her.

  Had she planned the whole thing from the first? I guess any patsy would have done. It just so happened that I was the sap who got taken in. And she had actually done nothing. I had made all the running. I had no one to blame but myself.

  I took out my cell-phone and put a call through to Detective Bates. I gave him the gist of my call, and an address. “Get over here quickly,” I added, and hung up.

  “Oh, Mr. Philips,” I called out. “And you Linda, fancy seeing you here. What a pleasant surprise.”

  Philips stopped and turned.

  “You missed your funeral by the way,” I continued. “What a shame. It was such a lovely affair. Tasteful you know. Nice music and a wonderful service.” I paused. I put my hand up to my eye. “It was very touching. I bet you never knew you had so many friends, or maybe they were clients, hoping to get a fix.”

  “And you Linda. That is your name is it?” I continued. “You weren’t there either, not to give your friend the send off he deserved. I’m surprised at you.”

  Philips started to walk towards the entrance. “I don’t know who you are, fella, and I don’t know what you are talking about,” he said menacingly. “But if you don’t leave, now, I’ll call the police.”

  I smiled. “That’s not a problem, Mr. Philips,” I said. “I’ve already called them.”

  I could hear the sound of a police siren in the distance. “I do believe that’s them now.”

  * * *

  It wasn’t long before the patrol cars arrived. Two officers got out. Philips smiled and nodded his head. He walked towards the car, and was placed in the back seat. Linda just stood there looking at me. Was she smiling, I wondered. I couldn’t quite see. Strangely enough I still felt sorry for her, even though she had tried to make a fool of me. Tried did I say, she did more than that, she pretty near succeeded.

  Suddenly she gave a little wave, as she got into the police car. I heard the engine start. The car then slowly reversed back into the street. It then turned and drove away.

  I continued watching until the car was out of sight.

  * * *

  Chapter Fifteen

  That Wraps That Up

  “So that wraps that up,” said Bates. “Case closed.”

  “That’s right,” I said.

  “So Joe wasn’t just a pusher,” said Bates.

  “Oh no, he was much more than that,” I replied. He was Mr. Big, the dealer, the real Candy Man.”

  “And George Wallis, the dead guy, was just one of his dealers,” Bates continued. “He got greedy that’s all, and wanted more money. And when Joe refused he threatened to tell the whole story.”

  “So he had to be killed,” I added.

  “We’ve booked Philips for murder in the first. And her as an accessory,” said Bates sounding pleased with himself.

  “Thanks to me” I added smugly.

  “Oh yes, sure, thanks to you,” Bates agreed reluctantly. “But we still don’t know who the others were.”

  “What others?” I asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.

  Bates shook his head. “Don’t give me that, you know what others I’m talking about,” he replied. “The guys who had searched the apartment. Those others.”

  I was pleased to note that it wasn’t just me that made mistakes, or got things wrong. Now it was Bates’ turn. I had used up my allowance anyway, long ago.

  I heaved a sigh, and shook my head. “There were no others, Frank,” I replied. “It was Joe and Linda, no one else. They had staged the whole thing. It was them who had set it all up.”

  Bates looked puzzled.

  “You know we’ve been manipulated all the way, from the very first. At least I have,” I continued. “When I first saw the inside of that apartment I thought there was something odd. Something didn’t seem quite right, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Then when I found out what the so called searchers were looking for ….”

  “The packages you mean,” interrupted Bates.

  I nodded. “The packages, precisely,” I replied. “It was then that it hit me.”

  “What did?” asked Bates.

  “The undeniable fact that it had all been set up,” I explained. “Set up entirely for our benefit.”

  “Go on, I’m listening,” said Bates.

  “If you were looking for those p
ackages, why would you need to remove photographs from their frames?” I began. “Why tear the photographs? Why knock ornaments off of their shelves?”

  Bates said nothing.

  “You would surely know that a package that big wasn’t going to be hidden in a picture frame, or a porcelain figurine, now wouldn’t you.”

  “I get your point,” said Bates.

  “And another thing why were there newspapers, meant for number thirty-four, still lying in the downstairs lobby?” I continued. “I never thought anything of it at the time. It was only after, that I thought it odd.”

  “Newspapers?” repeated Bates, still looking puzzled.

  “Yes,” I replied. “I checked the mailbox downstairs, in the entrance lobby. There were newspapers for the three days before our visit. Together with letters clearly posted during those three days. Just lying there unopened” I paused for a moment. “That search of the apartment wasn’t carried out that day, the day we were there. In my opinion it was carried out a few days before.”

  Bates shook his head. “That can’t be right,” he said. “What about the neighbor? They heard the shouting, and the doors banging, and what about the two shots that were fired.”

  “What neighbor?” I replied shaking my head. “You never got a name did you? You told me that yourself.”

  Bates had to admit that was correct.

  “I checked with the neighbors,” I continued. “I spoke to all of the neighbors on the same floor as thirty-four, and all of those above, and those underneath.”

  “And?”

  “And the neighbors had either been out at that time, or they heard nothing. Not a sound,” I replied. “More importantly not one of them admitted to having made the call.”

  “So are you saying that it was Joe who made the call?” asked Bates.

  “Exactly,” I replied.

  “He took a chance didn’t he?” suggested Bates. “Someone could have seen him, or he could have still been there, at the apartment, when we arrived.”