by Rick Polad
“Here we are,” he said simply.
She didn’t respond—just kept looking. He felt nervous and wondered if he had done something wrong.
“Is this your house?” he asked hesitantly.
The strange look slowly changed to a smile. “Yes, it is.”
He waited for her to get out. When she didn’t, he asked, “Is something wrong?”
“No.” She pulled her legs under her on the seat and folded her arms across her chest. “No, there isn’t.” She paused for only about ten seconds while she looked at him again, but it seemed like ten minutes. “Charles Lamb you are a very nice and a very strange man. You remind me of my brother.”
Charles felt his face get hot. He was sure he was blushing. “If you mean because I gave you a ride home, that’s no big deal.”
She shook her head. “That is nice. I appreciate it very much. But that’s only a part of it.” She folded her hands in her lap. “You found my fifty dollars on the ground. You could have walked off with it, but you returned it.”
He smiled. “Well, I tried to.”
She returned the smile. “Yes, and that’s the important part. Then you refused to take money for the ride home. You open the door for me, call me ma’am, and have behaved like a perfect gentleman.”
Charles didn’t understand what was so special about all that. He was simply doing something to earn the fifty dollars and told her so.
“That’s sweet. Would you like to earn some more money?”
Charles didn’t know what he had to do, but he could always use more money. Sarah didn’t give him much, and most of that went for beer. It wouldn’t hurt to find out what she had in mind.
“What would I have to do?” he asked hesitantly.
“Nothing you can’t handle.” She shifted on the seat and the skirt slid way above the nylons. There couldn’t be much more leg left.
“This place is old and hasn’t had much tender care. Needs a lot of repairs and I’m helpless. So, if that’s what you do, you’ve got a job.”
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. To make some money would be good. To work for this woman would be wonderful. “What do you want me to do?”
She pursed her lips and raised her shoulders. “I really don’t know. Why don’t you come in and look around and we can make a list.”
Charles glanced at his watch. It was almost ten o’clock. If he didn’t get home before ten, Sarah would be mad. Now he wouldn’t be home until after eleven. Sarah would accuse him of being in a bar all night, or worse. On the weekends, she would let him alone when he came home drunk and late. But a weeknight would be different. She didn’t care if he went out, but there was a line at ten. Charles had no idea why.
He sighed. “I really should get home. It’s very late and my wife is going to be very upset as it is.”
She looked concerned. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t think. This isn’t late for me. Well, how about this? You come back in the morning and we’ll start then. No, wait. I have appointments tomorrow. Could we make it Friday?”
He felt relieved. Ten something was one thing. After eleven would be quite another. “That’s fine. But how do I know what tools to bring?”
“Bring your basic ones. There’s a tool room in the basement where you should find what you need. They may be a little dusty, but I’m sure they work. The man who owned this house was a carpenter. He went into a nursing home and left all his tools.”
“What time would you like me to come?”
“How about ten?”
He nodded. “And if I may ask, what’s your name?”
She laughed with a sound full of bells. “Of course you may ask. Which name would you like?”
He was puzzled. “You mean first or last? Could I have both?”
This time her laugh was louder and stronger and she shook a bit. He felt like she was laughing at him and looked hurt.
She stopped immediately and touched his arm. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. You’re just not what I’m used to. No, I mean I use several different ones. I’ll give you the one on my birth certificate.” She held out her hand. “Hello Charles Lamb, I’m Amanda Brock. Call me Mandy.”
He looked at her hand and slowly reached out and shook it. This woman confused him. He didn’t understand most of what she said and had no idea why she had more than one name. He wanted to ask, but didn’t want to be nosy.
She picked up her bag and opened the door. “So, I’ll see you Friday morning?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Mandy.”
“Okay, Mandy.”
She pushed the door open. He cringed again as it squeaked. She started to get out and then turned back to him. “It has been nice meeting you, Charles Lamb. You are an amazing man.” She got out without adjusting her skirt. “Ten o’clock Friday?”
He nodded. “Ten o’clock Friday.”
She waved and made her way around the car. He waited until she got the door open. She waved again and he started backing out of the drive.
As he drove home, Charles tried to make sense of the evening. He was fifty dollars ahead, had met a beautiful woman who didn’t seem to be repulsed by him, was going to see her again, and was going to work for her. It had been his lucky night.
Chapter 7
Benjamin Tucker had ranked in the top ten percent of his law class at Harvard. Top ten meant somewhere between six and ten. If it was five he would have said five. With a little more work he could have been at the top. But he hadn’t wanted to work that hard. And he still didn’t. That was one of the reasons he worked for the state and had chosen the public defender’s office. While his richer, but more stressed-out friends worked late nights and weekends, Benjamin went to the club and played golf. The other reason was, he truly believed that people who could not afford a high-priced attorney should still get someone who was competent.
But Thursday morning he knew he was going through the motions instead of putting a hundred and ten percent into his job. He was thinking about Laura and hoping Spencer would be able to come up with something. He had no idea why he wanted information or what he would do if he got it, but it would make him feel better. He was tired of shuffling his clients through the system and pushing them back onto the streets where they would end up doing something that brought them back to him. Didn’t make any sense. Maybe this time he could help.
Chapter 8
Spencer’s phone calls hadn’t added any more information about Laura Douglas other than what he got from Ben, and that wasn’t much. Blond hair, blue eyes, and five-foot six. That roused his interest. It was rare that he couldn’t find background on someone. He decided to make a trip to 247 Wilson.
That afternoon, he let himself into the lobby of Laura’s apartment building. Fifty years ago this was probably a classy building, but it had seen better times. The lock on the front door was no longer operable. The door didn’t latch, but was heavy enough that it stayed closed. The floor was gray marble. It was rugged enough to hold up over the years. The rest of the lobby was rundown and dingy. The mailbox tags showed Laura Douglas on the second of three floors, apartment 2D. The stairs were covered with worn green carpet and the railings were solid oak. A wide staircase led to an expansive landing at the second floor where Spencer entered the hallway and turned to the right. 2D was at the end on the left. 2C was right across the hall.
Putting his ear gently to the door, Spencer listened for signs that she was home. It was a little after two p.m. The television was on. He listened for a few minutes and heard nothing else. He was a bit nervous. The longer he stayed, the greater the chance of being seen. If he was going to follow Miss Douglas, being seen was something he certainly wanted to avoid. But he also wanted to get into the apartment and needed to know if she was home. Benjamin didn’t have a phone number for her, and she wasn’t listed.
Realizing that he was holding his breath, and was tensed up in anticipation of trouble, Spencer took a deep breath and walked down the hall and back. A
minute later he listened again and heard nothing. The television was off. She was home.
He hurried down the stairs and got into his Mustang, which was parked across the street about fifty feet west of the building. From there he could see the front door. Ten minutes later, Laura left the building and walked slowly east. She was easy to spot from Benjamin’s description. Blond hair in a ponytail, about five-foot six, looked like your average college kid. She wore jeans and a loose, yellow sweater over a white blouse and looked very much like she should be heading for class. Spencer cringed when he thought of her walking the streets. She would attract every pervert in sight. He watched her walk to the end of the block and halfway down the next before he got out of the car.
Leaves fluttered in the warm breeze blowing out of the south. Spencer quickly crossed the street and re-entered the building. An old woman was trying to open her mailbox. She didn’t even look up as Spencer walked by. He glanced back at her as he turned the corner onto the stairs. She was still fumbling with the key.
As he walked down the hall, Spencer fingered a set of lock picks in his pocket. The door to Laura’s apartment had a dead bolt, but it wasn’t locked. He didn’t need the picks. Sliding a thin plastic strip between the lock and the jamb released the latch and Spencer was in the apartment in less than ten seconds. He was very nervous.
The shades were halfway down and the apartment was dark and dingy. But even in the subdued light, the despair that filled the room was obvious. It was basically one room with a bathroom in one corner and a kitchenette built into a wall. An open sofa bed took up part of an interior wall. Assorted clothes and a pillow with no cover lay on the floor in front of the bed. A pair of black leather pants, half hanging off the end of the bed, was mixed in with the sheet. Quite a different image from the girl Spencer had just seen. Spencer picked the pants up and went through the pockets. Two dollar bills and some change. He dropped them back on the bed. As he turned to his left, they slid onto the floor. He didn’t notice.
A small TV was next to the bed on a stand. The only other pieces of furniture were a beat-up couch with an end table and a dresser next to the bed. There was a picture of Laura and another young girl on top of the dresser. They were posed in front of a palm tree. He guessed the picture was about four years old.
Spencer glanced around the room and decided to start with the dresser. Opening the top drawer, he felt revulsion at what he was doing. It was the second time he had searched through someone else’s things. The first had been a fellow who was definitely one of the bad guys, and he had had no qualms then. Now he felt like he was invading someone’s life, but he reasoned that he was doing it for a good cause.
The drawers held whatever she felt like throwing in. Underwear was mixed with blouses and sweaters in a confused mess. The underwear, lacy and very sexy, looked expensive. The third drawer down held two pairs of jeans, four red tube tops, a white blouse, a couple sweaters, and a business-sized white envelope. It was addressed in longhand to Laura Justine. The address was Detroit and the postmark was a year old. The return address was a Mr. and Mrs. Harold Justine, Naples, Florida. Expensive turf. Spencer assumed the letter was from her parents. He was right.
The letter started “Our Dear Laura” and went on for three pages. Scanning quickly, he got the gist of it. They had hired a private investigator to find her and wanted to talk. They weren’t sure why she had left, but desperately wanted her back and were willing to change whatever she wanted if she would return. They hoped she was okay and loved her deeply. It was signed “Love Mommy and Daddy”. The stationery was expensive and was embossed at the top with some sort of family seal.
Spencer sighed at the sadness of a family gone wrong. Whatever was bothering Laura was bad enough for her to leave home, change her name, and live in this lonely room. If it was that serious, you’d think her parents would have a clue. He jotted down the address in a small notebook. After returning the letter to the drawer, Spencer quickly searched the rest of the room, including the refrigerator and the garbage, and found nothing of interest. There was very little sign that a person lived there. What would make a pretty young girl choose to live this kind of life? Whatever it was, Laura still cared enough about home to keep the letter. That was at least one ray of hope.
Spencer had been in the room for about twenty minutes and was anxious to leave. Placing his ear to the door, he listened to make sure no one was in the hall and heard a door open and close. He waited a minute and then reached for the doorknob. As he did so, someone knocked on the door. Spencer jumped back, gasped, froze, and hoped whoever was at the door hadn’t heard him. A second knock was followed by a key being inserted in the lock. Spencer looked for a place to hide and saw none. He didn’t have time to make it to the bathroom. The only thing he could do would be to try hiding behind the door. As he inched back against the wall, he heard a woman’s voice from the hallway.
“Jeanne, what are you doing down there?”
The key was quickly pulled out of the lock.
“Just seeing if little Laura is home. I thought she could pick me up something from the market if she went out.”
“Well, she already went out. I saw her up at the corner. She said she’s coming right home. You’d better not let her catch you there. You know she told you to stay away from her, old woman.”
“Oh, she didn’t say that. You’re just jealous,” snarled Jeanne. “And I’m no older than you. And my hair is real.”
The other woman humphed and went into her apartment.
Spencer didn’t like the fact that Laura was on her way home. He hoped Jeanne wouldn’t like it either. She didn’t. He heard her footsteps heading slowly back down the hall.
* * *
Jeanne dropped the key into the pocket of her smock. It was left over from a lady two tenants ago who was the only friend Jeanne had ever had in the building and who had given her a spare. The landlord never changed the locks. What did it matter? Why would anyone want to come back here? She would wait until tonight. Laura usually went out at night. Jeanne would go back and see if she had any new fancy underwear. Such pretty things.
* * *
Spencer heard a door open and close and quickly let himself out of the apartment. He hurried to the stairs. Hearing steps in the lobby, he went up instead of down. Glancing around the corner at the top of the stairs, he watched Laura climb steadily to the second floor and disappear into the hall. He listened for her door and then quickly left the building. The wind had picked up, and he zipped his jacket as he walked across the street and got back in the Mustang.
He had only found one new piece of information, but that was worth a phone call to Florida.
Chapter 9
An old man in an apartment across the street glanced at the alarm clock on the table next to the window and wrote down the time Spencer left the building on a yellow legal pad. He had also noted the times Spencer had first entered and exited and the time Laura had left. For that he got paid two hundred eighty dollars a week, cash. It was an easy job for an old man on welfare. He worked four-hour shifts every day of the week. Some of the others took weekends off and they could arrange among themselves if they needed to miss a shift. Twelve men manned the shifts.
The man who hired them, known simply as Stretch because he was constantly rolling his head or pulling back his arms or reaching toward the ceiling, wanted to know when Laura left and came home, what she wore, and if anyone who didn’t live in the building was hanging around. They were given photographs of all the tenants. There were a few rules: no alcoholic beverages were allowed; they had to be alert; and they couldn’t sleep. That was why the shifts were only four hours, Stretch had explained. They were to be self-policing. If their relief showed up drunk, they were to call a number Stretch had given them and stay until he arrived. They would then work the drunk’s shift and receive an extra fifty dollars. The drunk would be fired. So they all hoped their relief would show up drunk. The refrigerator was kept full of soft drinks and juic
es. Potato chips and pretzels were in the cupboard. They could ask no questions and, as long as they were paid, none of them had any questions.
The man in the window was Billy. He thought Stretch had some kind of attraction to the girl but kept that to himself. He also thought Stretch was not the big boss and kept that to himself, too. He had noted Spencer’s license number and written brown hair, medium build, navy jacket when Spencer went into the building the first time. He wrote same guy the second time. Billy watched with great interest as Spencer got into the Mustang and then didn’t leave. He wrote that down too. Billy hoped Stretch would be as excited as he was. Maybe he would get a bonus. They weren’t told the girl’s name, but her picture was taped under the window. They all referred to her as the girl. They were all very fond of her. She was their meal ticket.
The apartment was bare except for the table by the window and four wooden chairs with thin cushions. Stretch didn’t want them getting too comfortable. If the relief man found one of them asleep, the same bonus system applied. Billy thought one of them might lie and say they found someone asleep just to get extra money, but Stretch had let them all know they were also being watched so he would know if they were lying.
Stretch would stop every day to look at the yellow pad. He dropped in at random hours just to keep them on their toes. Sometimes he brought pizza. They had no complaints about the working conditions. The place was heated through the winter and that was more than most of them were used to.
