by Rick Polad
He thought some more. “And where do you think it is?”
“Again…” I raised my arms, palms up. “Might just exist in his head.”
“But if it doesn’t, where?”
“Well, he never leaves the apartment.”
“Except to pick up the evidence.”
“Yeah, except for that.”
The room went quiet. He was thinking. I was thinking about what he was thinking. While we were busy doing that his phone rang. He said to put the call through. I started to get up, and he waved me back into the chair. I listened to a few “I don’t knows” and a few “we’re looking into its,” and he ended with “call me back in a couple hours.” He hung up and gave me a stare that meant something. Five seconds later I found out what the phone call was about, but I wasn’t sure what the stare meant.
He took in and let out a long breath. “That was the Trib. They’re wondering about a report they got about a missing person.”
“Sorry to hear that. Those don’t usually end well.”
“No, they don’t. But this one maybe even more so.”
“How so?”
“The missing person is Rafael Melendez.”
I’m sure I looked more surprised than he did. “That’s not good. But missing is better than dead. Who reported it?”
“No, it isn’t. Anonymous caller. Who else have you told about this evidence?”
“No one.”
He looked skeptical. “Not even your friend Lieutenant Powolski?”
“Not even him.”
He thought again. “Then who else could Melendez have told?” It was a rhetorical question. He thought some more. “Maybe told his sister.”
“Maybe. But I guarantee you she wouldn’t have passed it on. She takes everything he says as the ramblings of a man whose mind is gone.”
“By the way, his sister is missing also.”
“Ah, well that makes me feel better. She probably took him somewhere.”
“Maybe. But the Trib is wondering what we know. I’d like to know something. They also gave me his address and asked if it had anything to do with the body of Reynolds Margot that was found near that location in the alley.”
My eyebrows went up.
“You wanna come along?”
“Absolutely.”
“And while we’re looking for evidence of whether or not they left willingly, we could be looking for whatever else we might find.”
“We could do that.” I expected him to get some help, but he didn’t. It was just him and me. That was all right with me, but I didn’t think it would have been all right if one of his detectives had done the same thing.
While we were driving I asked a question. “You’re the head of detectives. Why aren’t you handing this off to one of your team so you can take care of all that paperwork that’s piling up?”
He laughed. “You got that right. But this interests me, and when something interests me I like to take care of it myself if I can. Besides, it’s not like they’re sitting around waiting for something to happen. We’re swamped.”
Sounded reasonable to me. I’d have done the same thing. Then I thought about my list. I knew that no one on my list had been in that alley that night. Guys get hired for things like that. But guys talk, and if I was right, someone on my list would be interested in whatever evidence had been found. Bast sounded interested, but then that was his job.
Chapter 34
We were in Bast’s unmarked car. As we turned onto Rafael’s block, I got a knot in my stomach. The alley where Reynolds had been left was a half block ahead. The sky had clouded over, and the buildings looked even shabbier than they had in sunlight. Boarded up windows, trim that needed painting, dirty concrete, and no place for kids to play left me wondering how people lived like that. There weren’t any hopes and dreams… it was just getting through the day.
One of the buzzers in the foyer was marked “Super.” Bast pushed it, and a woman answered. He identified himself and told her why he was there. She let us in and met us in front of Rafael’s door with the key. She was a short, plump woman who was probably younger than she looked. It was that kind of neighborhood. After several glances between Bast’s ID and his face, she let us in without asking for a warrant. She didn’t ask about me. Bast asked her when the last time she saw Rafael and his sister was.
She shook her head and said, “I ain’t no den mother.”
She didn’t come in and told us to make sure the door was locked when we left. Bast asked if she wanted to know what we found. She didn’t. It was that kind of neighborhood too.
The apartment was empty. The only sounds were from cars on the street. It looked exactly as I remembered. I followed Bast around as he looked in closets and opened drawers. I didn’t touch anything, and neither of us spoke. I saw everything he saw, and what we saw told us that Rafael and his sister, if they had left for any extended period of time, hadn’t left of their own accord. The drawers in the bedroom dresser and the closet next to it were full of clothes. There was food in the refrigerator and in the cabinets. And there was mail on the kitchen counter. There was one odd thing that I didn’t mention to Bast—Rafael’s binoculars and notebook were not on his table. It had only taken fifteen minutes to look through the apartment.
“Okay, Manning. Let’s look for something else.”
“Like what?”
“Hey, you’re the one brought this up. You tell me.”
“Well, we’ve already checked drawers and closets. Let’s think where we’d hide something if we needed to.”
“Under, behind… maybe in plain view. Be nice to know how big it is.”
I laughed. “It would be nice to just know that it is.”
It’s hard to find something when you have no idea what it is. It is even harder when that something might very well be a figment of someone’s imagination. I didn’t expect to find anything, and that’s exactly what we found.
A half hour later we were back at the station. I headed for the public lot, and Bast went in to call the Trib and tell them what he had found.
***
It was time for part two of my plan, and I needed Ralph’s help. He was the best operative I had. One of the character traits that made him valuable was that he didn’t ask questions unless he needed to know something that would help with what he was doing. He didn’t need to know why. And he didn’t mind doing things that were illegal, as long as my neck was as much on the line as his. He once told me over a few beers that it didn’t make sense that the bad guys were the only ones with the advantage of illegalities. I wondered at the time if the beers had helped that viewpoint.
The Q Ball pool hall was on Clark on the near north side, and I think Ralph used that as his mailing address. That was the phone number in my records. I didn’t have to wonder if he would be there. There would be something wrong if he wasn’t.
I took a stool at the bar and ordered a Rolling Rock. There were only three balls left on the table, and Ralph was shooting. Only one of them might be difficult, and that depended on how he set it up. What separated a great player from a good player was being able to look many shots ahead and not only sink balls but leave the cue ball and the rest of the balls in the right places to run the table. Ralph was great, and everybody knew it. But they played anyway, always hoping. If anyone ever beat Ralph they would be the neighborhood hero.
He sank the six ball, and as he was walking around the table I caught his eye. He barely nodded. The next shot was the tough one, or at least it would have been for me. He hit the two on the left side. As it fell into the side pocket the backspin on the cue ball drew it back to a pretty easy location for the eight in the corner. I had never seen any money change hands, but I knew somewhere along the line it did. He took the stool next to me and leaned his stick against the bar.
“Hey, Spencer. Something urgen
t?”
Usually I called. “Not terribly, but I was in the neighborhood.”
“So I can have a drink?”
“Sure.” Ralph did his share of drinking, but never on the job.
He nodded to the barkeep, who brought him a Scotch on the rocks.
“Booth?” he asked.
“Yeah.” We relocated.
We both took a drink and then I said, “I need an apartment with a street view from the living room. Not the first floor. Has to have a separate bedroom. Nothing fancy.”
Another good thing about Ralph was that he knew people. If he couldn’t get something directly he would know someone who could.
“How long?” he asked.
“Don’t know where this is going. Might as well get a month.”
“Any particular neighborhood?”
I took another drink. “Around here would be fine.”
“Price range?”
“Whatever the going rate.”
He nodded and took a drink and didn’t ask why. But since I needed his help, I told him the plan.
I had told three people about the evidence that Rafael had. I figured that one of those three people would be concerned about that because I figured one of those three people was involved. If they weren’t, then I was out of luck.
My plan was loosely based on the old scam called the “blind blackmail.” The blackmailer sends out letters saying “I know what you did. If you want it kept quiet, send money to…” Almost everyone has done something, so it might get results. The payoff was small, maybe a hundred or two. Most people throw the letters away, but some bite.
In this case, I figured I was guaranteed results. Once Ralph found a room, I would send a message to Thward, Nadem, and Bast. The note would say that the writer had the evidence and that it was for sale for whatever dollar amount. I figured all would bite, and my gut was telling me Nadem was the guilty party. Or maybe I was just hoping. If he was, he’d send a hired hand with a briefcase or maybe a gun. Either way, we’d have it covered. And since Bast and Thward were law enforcement, they’d show up with the troops to catch whomever was pulling this scam.
Ralph pointed out that there were holes in the plan, such as how did I know who was going to show up when. I had already thought of that. I’d send out notes one at a time with specific times to meet.
Another problem was that Nadem might just not show. But we reasoned that if he was clean he’d call one of his friends in high places and they would show up with the troops.
We both finished our drinks, and he said, “It might work… and it might not. But whatever happens, it’ll be interesting.” He also pointed out that there would be holes we hadn’t thought of. There always were, and I’d always been able to work them out.
I thanked him for the rousing vote of confidence. He said he’d start working on a place right away and let me know.
***
He called a little after eight. He had a place within walking distance of the pool hall… 322 West Dickens. I picked him up an hour later, and we took a look at it. It was perfect. It was a tiny one bedroom at the street end of a hallway on the third floor. Two windows overlooked the street. The only furnishing was a set of thin, white curtains that had turned a bit yellow on one of the windows. The air in the room was a bit stale, so I opened the window with the curtain. It fluttered like a wisp of smoke.
“So how you wanna work this, Spencer?”
“We need to be here before they get the note so they can’t stake it out and see us arrive. I’ll courier a note to Thward at nine tomorrow morning and tell him to be here between two and four. That should give him enough time and window to be able to make it. You’ll answer the door. I’ll be in the bedroom with a tape recorder running.”
“And if he can’t make it? Or isn’t in the office tomorrow?”
“That’s one of the holes. We’ll have to play it by ear.”
“And what if the guy with the troops decides to arrest us for any one of a list of things that keeps getting longer the more I think about it?”
I gave him my best smile. “Is that all you can do? Think about the holes?”
“I tend to wonder about things like that when it’s my butt we’re talking about. So what time do you want me here?”
“Let’s shoot for ten.”
He handed me a key. “See you in the morning.” As he reached for the doorknob, he asked, “Are we carrying?”
“We are.”
Before he turned the knob, he said, “This may be your craziest concoction yet.”
I laughed. “No may be about it.”
Chapter 35
I brought the Tuesday paper in from the driveway at six thirty and started scanning. The story about Rafael was on page 6.
Two weeks ago, the body of Reynolds Margot was found in an alley on Madison Avenue. There may have been a witness to that crime. Rafael Melendez and his sister live in an apartment building across the street from the alley where Margot’s body was found. Melendez and his sister have been reported missing. Detective Bast of the Chicago Police says that they are looking into the missing persons report, and he does not know of any connection to the murder of Margot.
At nine I sent the following note to Thward by a special courier I used now and then. Special meant there was no way it could be traced to the sender. I paid a bit extra for that service.
I have Rafael’s evidence. If you want it come to 322 West Dickens, apartment 3a, between 2 and 4 this afternoon. Come alone.
Short and to the point. I left as soon as the courier picked it up and stopped at a deli for sandwiches and cokes.
Ralph was already at the apartment when I got there. I also had Paul stationed in the alley with a two-way radio. I wanted to know when Thward arrived, and there was an alley door to the apartment building. Ralph and I would take turns watching the street. We started watching at ten in case Thward sent an advance team, and we made two bets, each ten bucks. The first was whether or not Thward would show. I had yes. The second was, if he did, would it be before or after three. I had after. Ralph wanted to add a third—whether or not we’d be in jail before the day was over. I thought that was bad karma.
I won both bets. Thward arrived at 3:20. He parked on the opposite side of the street and looked up at our building over the roof of his car. I didn’t notice any other cars stopping, but I did get a call from Paul. Two cars had pulled into the alley. Two men had gotten out of each car and were just entering the rear door. It looked like Thward wasn’t the one I was after, but I’d wait to see what his play was. Ralph had heard Paul’s message.
Ralph and I had decided beforehand about the guns if one person showed up… one person who we had laid the trap for. If someone showed up with troops, we wouldn’t need or want the guns. So I took his gun and put it along with mine at the back of the high shelf in the bedroom closet. I stood behind the partially closed door to the bedroom. I’d be able to hear but not see.
A few minutes later there was a knock at the door. I turned on the tape recorder.
“Come in,” Ralph said. Someone entered, but the door didn’t close. “Who are you?”
“A guy who got a strange note. Who are you?”
“A guy who sent the note. Let me see some ID.”
It was quiet. And I smelled cigarette smoke. It was soaked into him.
“Okay,” Thward said. “Now you know who I am… who are you?”
“Name’s not important. I appear to have something you want.”
“And what is that something?”
“You’ll see when you see.”
“I’m getting tired of twenty questions,” Thward said with a snarl. “You got it with you?”
“I can get it within twenty minutes.”
“And what are you getting in exchange?”
We hadn’t rehearsed what
Ralph should say beyond the basics. But I trusted his being able to roll with the punches. I was interested in what he would say next. The conversation had gotten to the arrestable offense point.
“We can talk about that if you’re interested.”
“Okay, let’s say I’m interested. How much?”
I held my breath.
“Let’s start at twenty.”
I smiled. Ralph was trying as hard as he could not to mention money.
I could almost hear the exasperation in Thward’s voice. “Twenty what?” he asked.
Go ahead and say it, I thought. Gotta happen sooner or later. He did.
“Twenty thousand… dollars.”
Ralph yelled, “Gun!” and all hell broke loose.
I came out of the bedroom, and the troops came in the front door. Thward looked surprised and confused.
“Manning! What the hell are you doing here?”
I stood with my arms away from my sides and partially raised and didn’t answer. I could see the thoughts bouncing around in his brain. And I could see five guns pointing at us.
Thward moved his gun to me and said, “Either you’re dirty as hell or you set me up. I hope it’s the first.”
“That’s not very friendly,” I said. “And would you mind lowering the guns?”
“Yes, I would.”
“Philip Marlowe said, ‘Guns never settle anything. They’re just a fast curtain to a bad second act.’”
His gun stayed pointed. “Philip Marlowe isn’t real.”
“Doesn’t make it any less true.”
“Two of you search them,” he said to his troops.
They did. Not having guns was a good decision.
“Okay, you two have a seat.” He and his troops holstered their guns.
“There aren’t any chairs,” I said.
“Ask me if I give a damn. Sit on the floor… right next to each other.”
We sat.
Thward stood looking down on us from five feet away. “I’m starting a list of things to charge you with. Being a pain in the ass is near the top, along with illegal possession of evidence in a crime investigation and interfering with a federal officer. I’m sure I’ll come up with more. You and your friend here will be in jail before all this is over.”
