Dark Alleys

by Rick Polad

  “But she was lucky you were there.”

  “Well, there’s another way of looking at that. If I hadn’t come up with that plan, she wouldn’t have been in the alley in the first place.”

  Their food arrived.

  “And Friday would still be out there,” Ben pointed out. “And who knows what else might have happened to Laura. Given the result, I don’t think you should question how it happened.”

  “Yes, good result. But don’t think I’d do it again.”

  “Okay, pal. You coming to court tomorrow?”

  “Nope. What good would that do? I know what’s going to happen there. Despite his very capable attorney, he’s screwed. He’ll be bound over for trial on first-degree murder charges. Maybe you can keep him out of the chair with an insanity defense, but maybe not. And maybe he’ll succeed in hanging himself in County. Why would I want to watch that?”

  “Okay, I’ll pray for a miracle.”

  “You do that. Good luck, Ben.”

  “Thanks, Spencer.”

  They ate in relative silence with a few comments about the Cubs and the weather.

  Chapter 101

  Monday morning, Spencer was in a bad mood that even catching Friday couldn’t change. His gut told him Charles didn’t kill Brock. How frustrating not to be able to do anything about that. He thought about going to court. It might get his mind off of his frustration. The trial was downtown in Room 802 of the county courthouse.

  He ate, then got in the car and started driving. But he soon found himself driving south. Forty minutes later he was parked in the driveway of Charles Lamb. He just sat in the car for a half hour, thinking and wondering.

  * * *

  Jimmy was actually watching a robin when the car pulled into the driveway next door. Jimmy couldn’t see the driver, but no one got out. He kept watching after noting the time in his notebook. A half hour later, a man got out of the car, walked around to the side of the house, and looked at the bushes. Jimmy wrote that down too.

  * * *

  Spencer had the strangest feeling that he was being watched, but figured he was just reliving his childhood up in the tree house. He looked into the bushes and thought that wasn’t a bad hiding place. He couldn’t even see in a foot. How would Sarah ever have found the baggie? But she must have, if he was going to help Charles. Or he had to place her at Brock’s house. And there was no evidence she knew where that was. Proving either seemed impossible.

  He started to walk back to the car and then stopped. The strange feeling was still there, and he could plainly see the tree house he and his dad had built in the woods.

  He looked up at the tree house. Where there’s a tree house there must be a kid. “Hey kid.”

  Nothing. He said it again. This time he identified himself as a private detective. Still nothing. He turned and started to walk away.

  “Hey, mister.”

  Spencer froze and caught his breath. He slowly turned around. Peeking over the edge of the fort was the shaggy head of a boy about twelve or thirteen.

  “Mister, are you really a private detective?”

  “Sure am. Spencer Manning.”

  “Can I see your badge?”

  Spencer reached for his wallet. “We don’t have badges, we have ID cards.” He held it up.

  “I can’t see it from up here.”

  “Okay if I come up?”

  “Sure.”

  Spencer relived the joy of climbing the ladder up to the tree house. What great memories that brought back. When he got to the top and climbed in, he handed the card to the boy, whose eyes were as big as saucers.

  “Wow! This is great! Wait till the army sees this!”

  “Pardon?”

  “I’m going to be in Army Intelligence when I grow up. I have a notebook of very important things. See!” He held up his notebook.

  Spencer admired the notebook. “That sounds like a great plan. I had a notebook like that when I was a kid.”

  “You did?”

  “Sure. And a tree house just like yours. Did your dad make this for you?”

  “Sure did, mister.”

  “You can call me Spencer. What’s your name?”

  “Jimmy.”

  “Okay, Jimmy, nice to meet you.”

  Jimmy set down the notebook. “What are you doing here?”

  Wondering how much he should tell, Spencer decided it didn’t matter. “Mr. Lamb was arrested for killing someone, and I’m trying to find evidence to prove he didn’t.”

  Jimmy was enthralled. “Wow, this is the coolest thing that ever happened. Just imagine what the army will think of this!”

  Spencer shook his head. “I’m afraid you can’t write that, Jimmy. This is official police business.”

  “Oh yeah, I knew that. But what are you looking for?”

  “Well, it’s kind of complicated, but Mr. Lamb hid money in those bushes right down there, and that is very important in this case.”

  Jimmy was all of a sudden silent and withdrawn and looked frightened.

  “What’s the matter Jimmy? Did I scare you?”

  He just stared at Spencer with a quivering lip.

  “I’m sorry, Jimmy. We can talk about something else.”

  Jimmy decided that if he was going to be part of Army Intelligence, he should tell the truth. He was afraid because he had taken some of the money.

  “No, I’m not scared. I’m twelve.”

  Spencer nodded. “Good, that’s good.”

  “I know about the money. I took some of it.”

  Spencer was silent. He realized that if Jimmy spent as much time in the tree house as Spencer had, he probably saw Charles with the money.

  “That’s okay, Jimmy. We can talk about that later. What do you know about the money?”

  “I saw the man hiding the baggie and putting in money.”

  “You did? Do you remember when?”

  Jimmy perked up. “I don’t have to remember. I wrote it all down.”

  Spencer couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “That’s excellent work, Jimmy. It would really help me a lot if I knew when he put money in there.”

  “The lady too?”

  That stopped Spencer dead in his tracks.

  “What lady?”

  “The lady who lives there.”

  “Are you saying Mrs. Lamb was taking money out of the baggie?”

  Jimmy shook his head. “No. She was putting money into it.”

  “Into it? When was that? Do you have that written down?”

  “Sure, is that important?”

  “Very important.”

  Jimmy opened his book and flipped the page back. “Here it is. Two Saturdays ago at 10:15 in the morning.”

  The day of the Brock murder.

  “May I look at it?” Spencer asked.

  Jimmy handed him the book. There it was in beautiful blue ink. Date and time and Lady gets out the baggie and puts money in.

  “You’ve done a fine job, Jimmy. Can I borrow your notebook? It’s very important in Mr. Lamb’s trial.”

  “Sure. As long as I can get it back. I’m going to show it to the army.”

  “Absolutely. It may be a few weeks, but I will definitely bring it back to you.” Spencer gave Jimmy one of his cards, thanked him, and climbed out of the tree.

  As he walked to the car, he wondered how Mrs. Lamb knew where Miss Brock lived. He had no idea. But she must have.

  Spencer headed for the courthouse, driving as fast as he dared.

  Chapter 102

  The hearing had progressed as predicted. The state prosecutor presented irrefutable evidence showing that Charles Lamb had murdered Amanda Brock. Charles sat completely still with a look of utter despair. He was bound over for trial as predicted.

  Ben told Charles he would visit him at County and explained the psych evaluation that would be done sometime this week. Charles said he didn’t care. He would not be alive.

  The court consisted of two sets of roo
ms on either side of a center hallway with floor-to-ceiling windows at the two ends. Three public elevators were in the center of that hallway. Behind the courtrooms were the judges’ chambers and a set of secure elevators for the prisoners and judges. Normally, prisoners were led out the back of the courtroom and down a secure elevator. But the side of the floor behind room 802 was under construction and the elevators weren’t working. So the deputies waited until the courtroom had cleared to take Charles across the hall into a secure elevator on the other side of the floor.

  When the public had left, they asked Charles to stand, handcuffed him, and led him out of the courtroom into the hall.

  * * *

  Spencer pulled into the parking lot, hoping he was in time to give the notebook to Ben. He had no way of knowing the hearing had ended. He parked alongside the building and started to walk around to the front. He had made it halfway across the lot when he heard an explosion of shattering glass.

  * * *

  Charles became more agitated with every step he took. He didn’t kill Miss Brock. He was not going to County. He had no idea why they were doing this to him. When he got to the door of the courtroom, he was shaking. The deputy holding his arm told Charles to calm down.

  With wide eyes and a look of rage, Charles pulled his arm away from the deputy, ran down the hall as fast as he could, and crashed through the eighth floor window.

  * * *

  Spencer heard the explosion and looked up to see a body falling into the parking lot. It landed on the hood of a Buick. He ran over and was devastated when he remembered the picture in the paper and realized it was Charles. His body was twisted in ways bodies weren’t meant to twist. His head dangled, almost twisted backwards.

  Spencer looked up and saw people looking over the edge of the opening. One of them was Ben.

  Feeling helpless, Spencer just thought to keep people away. He knew someone would call for help, but he also knew it would be too late for Charles. He didn’t hang himself, but his neck had been broken just the same.

  * * *

  An ambulance arrived in about ten minutes. Ben made it down at the same time, along with Rosie and the prosecutor. The police had cordoned off the area. Ben didn’t have to explain—Spencer knew what had happened in court.

  Spencer was still holding the notebook.

  “What’s that?” Ben asked.

  Unaware that he was holding it so tightly that his knuckles were white, Spencer looked down at it and said, “Nothing important. Is there anything I can do, Ben?”

  “No. There’s nothing anyone can do.”

  Spencer could feel the pain in his eyes. “How about I come over and we spend a quiet evening?”

  “I think I need to be alone for a while, but thanks. I’ll call you.”

  “Okay, buddy. Please do.” Ben walked away.

  There were tears in Rosie’s eyes. Spencer put his arms around her and she sobbed on his shoulder.

  “My God, Spencer. How do you get used to this?”

  “You don’t.”

  She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “What’s the notebook?”

  “The notebook is the answer to Ben’s prayer. Just a little late.”

  “Huh?”

  “Let’s find the D.A. and get some coffee.”

  Chapter 103

  Three weeks later, Spencer made a plane reservation for Florida to visit Uncle John, where life was peaceful and sunny and all he would have to worry about was Arnie the alligator who lived in the pond in the middle of the golf course. He had also made a call to Naples and was invited for a walk on a sunny beach.

  Sarah Lamb had been arrested and charged with first degree murder. The police had found the extra key in her jewelry box. She’d admitted killing Amanda Brock and figured Charles was not only gambling, but spending money on a hooker. It had seemed like the perfect crime—Charles would be blamed, and she could still collect the inheritance with him in jail. What a strange ending to her marriage plans.

  Jimmy got a special certificate from the Chicago Police Department, presented to him by Lt. Powolski. He also gave back the money he had taken.

  Ben didn’t call. Spencer left messages that weren’t returned. His secretary said he was taking some time off.

  * * *

  Spencer’s plane took off on a sunny Wednesday morning at 11:10. Uncle John was thrilled he was coming down, and Spencer was thrilled he was going.

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  Calumet Editions

  PRESENTS

  Spencer Manning Mystery #3

  Harbor Nights

  Coming Soon

  Turn the page for a preview.

  Harbor Nights

  Chapter 1

  Two boats motored into the channel between the peninsula and Plum Island. It was three a.m. They weren’t showing any lights. One boat had a tarp covering something on the aft deck. They stopped midway between the two pieces of land and two men tied the boats together side-by-side. One man stepped over the gunwale onto the boat with the tarp. The other man pulled the tarp back and grabbed hold of two arms. The other grabbed the legs. They lifted a body onto the gunwale and rolled it into the water.

  The first man climbed back onto his boat, untied the lines, and held onto the second boat with a boat hook.

  “Okay, sink it,” said the first man.

  The second man took an axe and chopped a hole in the bottom of the wooden hull. He left the engine running in neutral. As the water started to flow in through the hole, the second man climbed onto the first boat and they slowly motored away. When they were four miles offshore in Lake Michigan, they turned on their running lights. Just two fishermen out early.

  Chapter 2

  I hate it when the phone rings in the middle of my night. Of course, middle is relative. It was eleven o’clock Friday morning, but I didn’t get to sleep until seven.

  I had been out with a friend comparing our lives and the success of the plans we had made in the sixties. Our lives didn’t look anything like those plans we had made ten years ago while suffering through high school algebra.

  I considered letting the machine get the call, but that would have meant five more rings and, as long as I had to listen to the ringing, I decided to answer. A groggy hello was the best I could manage.

  “Spencer, it’s Aunt Rose. Why do you sound like you’re still asleep?”

  I tried to come up with something witty, but given that it was the middle of the night, I came up short.

  “Hello, Aunt Rose. Long story. There was this girl with a cowbell. She could…”

  “Spencer! I don’t care about the girl with the cowbell. Kathleen’s been arrested.”

  I tried hard to pay attention but didn’t totally succeed. “Kathleen?”

  “Yes, Kathleen, you silly lout. The girl you almost married.”

  “Oh, that Kathleen. Well, technically…”

  “Spencer!”

  I sat up in bed and switched the phone to my right ear. “Arrested? Arrested for what?”

  “I’m not exactly sure. I just got a panicked call from her from the jail. Something to do with stolen art. She asked me to call you and Rusty.”

  Wondering if I was dreaming, I said, “Rusty? Why would she have you call Rusty?” Rusty is Kathleen’s uncle.

  In an exasperated voice, Rose replied, “I have no idea.”

  “Stolen art? Whose art?”

  “I don’t know that either. But seeing as how I have a detective in the family, I thought you could find out. They’re taking her to Chicago.”

  Things didn’t usually make sense in the middle of the night, and this was no different. “Why would Ephraim police take her to Chicago?”

  “She wasn’t arrested by Ephraim police—she was arrested by Chicago po
lice.”

  “Why?”

  “Stop asking why. That’s why I called you—to find out why. Now get out of bed and do whatever it is you do to get to the bottom of things.” Her voice raised several decibels. “The morning is almost gone for goodness sake!”

  My eyelids closed and wanted to stay closed. Another exasperated Spencer! opened them. I asked for the number of the Ephraim police station. She gave it to me and I jotted it down.

  “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “Good!” She hung up.

  I held the phone out in front of me and listened to the dial tone. What happened to goodbye?

  Kathleen and I were at one time thinking about getting married but never got to the final act, thankfully. Things would be going along just fine and then something would snap. She made a living as an artist, mostly painting harbor scenes, but I never quite understood how. Her father was the painter in the family and Kathleen hadn’t exactly inherited his talent. He had a gallery in Door County, Wisconsin and had provided a fine life for all concerned. That included Kathleen, two brothers, and their mother.

  I met Kathleen the first summer my family started vacationing in Door County. I was twelve. When we grew older, our relationship grew into more than kids playing together. When we hit high school, we started to date, but it wasn’t really any different from the time we had been spending together for years. Although we both dated others, the relationship became more serious in college. Aunt Rose liked Kathleen and told me I could do worse. To me, that wasn’t a rousing endorsement.

  Mom and Dad and I spent a month every summer at Aunt Rose’s inn in Ephraim. The inn was a block from the gallery. Kathleen and I had a long-distance relationship through college that mostly consisted of a lot of fun in Door County for a month every summer. We would sail out to one of the islands where she showed me small limestone caves. She would bring her paints and I would bring detective novels. Mickey Spillane, Raymond Chandler, or Dashiell Hammett went wherever I did. I admit I was prejudiced, but Mike Hammer, Philip Marlowe, and Sam Spade were far better entertainment than Kathleen’s paintings. She was built for fun summers, and I was smart enough to know a steady diet of Kathleen wouldn’t be healthy. There were great times, but there were also crazy times.