SAGE: AN ADAM STONE MYSTERY (THE ADAM STONE MYSTERIES Book 1)

by D. L. EVANS

  “The goddam phones are dead? How can this be?” Martchenko asked to no one in particular. Chief Lewis quickly left the group and headed quickly back down the corridor to his office. The situation was critical. Someone had done the impossible; shut down a police station electronically. No computers, no ‘phones ringing, no sound of machines working at all. Cell phones were also dead. The background hum of technology had disappeared leaving a strange silence filled with tense human voices. Blinds were opened to let in what still remained of the day’s last light, but it did little to illuminate the offices.

  Questions percolated through the building. Worried officers and staff gathered in cliques wondering if the shut down was a prelude to some sort of attack. Without ‘phones, they felt strangely isolated and weapons were not far from nervous hands.

  Several officers wandered the halls checking the various rooms. No one had any answers. Mack stood in the semi-darkness and watched Annie. He noticed that the two women were the only ones not reacting with any emotion to the mysterious shut down. Alison took advantage of the confusion and ordered Annie and her lawyers out of the building. Detective Martchenko looked at Mack and shrugged his shoulders. They were not ready to charge her. As things stood, they couldn’t function professionally at all.

  Ten minutes later the lights and power came back on. Worried expressions gave way to enthusiastic applause. The general air of relief did not infiltrate Chief Lewis’ office where he was up to his neck in the repercussions dealing with the first time in police history that a police station was so vulnerable. Why hadn’t the backup programmes kicked in? Why hadn’t the fail-safes’ worked? The building was relatively new and the security was state-of-the-art... or so he thought. There was no doubt his ass was going to be in a sling about this monumental cock-up. Who had ever even heard of a police station suffering a computer melt down combined with an (as yet) unidentified cable interference that resulted in the shutting off of all electricity? The experts said it couldn’t happen, short of a direct nuclear attack. Lewis ordered RCMP electronic consultants to find out what happened as soon as possible. The papers were going to have a field day. He wondered if this was going to mean an early retirement?

  Chapter Forty-Five

  ADAM STONE:

  My answering machine had a message from Mack asking me to meet him at the Half Moon Bar. It was late. When I arrived he was waiting. I ordered a bourbon and water and sat facing him. “What’s so important that you couldn’t tell me on the ‘phone?” I asked.

  “Annie could be charged any minute for the murder of her uncle, Richard Stanford. He was strangled this afternoon just after Annie saw him at the rest home. She happened to be at the police station a little later, ‘voluntarily’ on another matter when the shit hit the fan. You shoulda bin there.”

  “What?...” I found myself without words, incapable of speech. My drink arrived and was placed in front of me but I didn’t move.

  “Annie was at the Station,” Mack repeated, “just down the hall from me, to discuss the fact that she was with Jack Hennesey on the day, or evening that he was killed. Martchenko was taking the statement and handling the interview.” I nodded, as he continued. “Story is; Jack Hennesey was waiting for her inside the warehouse entrance when she left the wake just before midnight, threatened her, said a bunch of shit that didn’t make sense and then took off. He must have been killed literally within the hour of leaving her at the warehouse, just as he arrived at his apartment. We assume the perp was waiting for him. Annie can prove that he left and that she continued up to her apartment and went to bed. It’s all on their security tapes. At least the part of her entering her apartment and not leaving until the next morning. They’re checking out the tapes at forensics to make sure they haven’t been tampered with.”

  His words finally started to sink in. “She told me Mack. Annie told me she was assaulted but didn't know who his is, was, or why he there. She thinks he was sent by someone but not to kill her. He was just planning a friendly little rape. Annie sorted him out. You'll see on the security tape. What happened at Summerhill Glen? Richard Stanford is dead?”

  “Jesus on the cross. She handled him? Can't wait to see that. The old man’s nurse, remember Alma, called Annie to calm him down. He actually filed a complaint against us for interviewing him under false pretences. Can you imagine? Anyway, Annie drove out there, sorted him out and stopped by the station on her way back to withdraw the complaint. She was planning to come in anyway to tell the investigating team about her tussle with Hennesey on the day he died. Assuming that she’s telling the truth, they figure her uncle must have been killed minutes after she left.”

  I struggled with the vision of him in his bed, his angry eyes, and his frail hands.

  Mack took a few swallows of his ginger ale and looked down at a manila envelope on the table, which he moved a few inches forward in my direction. “Look, they’ll have a hell of a time pinning the death on her and the family has lawyers up the wahzoo so I don’t think anything will stick, even if they get that far... Adam, are you listening?”

  “What?” I said, not hearing him. Who would kill him? What was going on?

  “Earth to Adam,” Mack stated. I tuned in. “You have to read this. I told you that I was collecting info on the Stanford family; a few phone calls uncovered some stuff that I’m sure you don’t know about.” I still didn’t react. He continued, “OK, let me start where I started, with Alison Stanford. You just listen and I’ll catch you up on the family that yer getting involved with. She... Alison, is an extremely bright lady, graduated second in her class at Princeton. Economics. None of that’s new, however, she has some interesting habits. She collects mechanics. You know, the rough biker types that can build a car out of spare parts. Dirty fingernails and motor cycles. She belonged to a rather notorious club while in university, and stayed a member, for a few years. They specialized in leather... whips and things. Didn’t guess that, did you? And I can assure you that this side of Lady Alison is well hidden from the public. Made me think of the little collection that was found at Hennessy’s apartment. And what do ya know; I found six shots in the collection that we think could be Alison in a black wig and leather. A dominatrix, likes giving pain... and there’s sure lots of perverts to bare their all for her. Unfortunately in three shots she’s wearing a partial mask as you can see and in the others the make-up is so heavy, especially the black spray mask across the eyes that you can’t quite make her out. Make a helluva calendar. We do know for sure that she likes to change her look and hang out at private bars that the cops are afraid to go into alone. This stuff would blow her public image right out of the water in the hands of the media. One of the family maids said that little Alison was screwing the family chauffeur when she was barely fourteen and has had a healthy appetite for grease and leather ever since. Sort of humanizes her, don’t cha think?”

  “I don’t care what Alison does. So she has some unpopular preferences, so what? Some wouldn’t even say that this stuff is a problem. At least the ‘consenting adults’ part. You don’t have proof of any serious trouble. There’s nothing in there that’s even illegal, right? I mean, there’s nothing with kids or animals or anything right? And what about Annie?” I managed to ask. “She’s not in any of the shots.... is she?” I held my breath.

  “No, but how much has she told you about her past?”

  “Well nothing sticks out as unusual,” I answered feeling a little defensive. “She spends a lot of time alone. Parents died in an accident when she was six, I think. Their uncle became their legal guardian... half-uncle actually. Nannies and maids raised them with some help from that strange little guy Lucas. Richard Stanford,” I said, “Christ, you saw him… a gargoyle. Not exactly a hands-on, parent type but Annie doesn’t... didn’t seem to hold any bad feelings or resentment about him that I could detect. She said that he did his best for them within his limitations. S’that what you mean? Tell me what happened.”

  “I will, of course. That
’s why I’m here mate. But first, what else do you know?”

  “What else,” I repeated stupidly. “She switched majors in University. Graduated with an Arts degree, worked in New York and Florence, Italy, in restoration work and eventually joined up with Alison back here when they bought out Richard. It took two years for the legal work and the gallery restorations to be completed.”

  “Did she go into any detail about her private life, former boyfriends?” Mack asked.

  “What are you getting at?” I was feeling uncomfortable and didn’t like the drift of the questions. “For Christ sakes Mack, tell me what you found!” but he just started rustling through some papers, obviously stalling. I was ready to explode. “Don’t t tell me she has a secret life, cruising for sailors down at the harbour where she works or any speculation like that? I don’t give a rat’s ass about Alison’s private life. Now, tell me what’s in that fucking envelope about Annie. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?”

  He cleared his throat. “Calm down Adam. Annie Stanford was romantically involved with exactly three men that we know about.”

  “Yes, I know. One was an assistant professor at the University of Toronto, one owns a gallery in New York City and one owns or runs a gallery in Florence. She told me. What’s this about?”

  “All three of them are dead,” he stated softly, looking down at the envelope.

  “All dead?... Wait a minute; she did say that the professor was killed in a boating accident. I remember.”

  “Yes, that’s right. He was an excellent sailor, raced in competitions... practically raised on the water. Then they found his yacht drifting in Lake Ontario, with Mr. Michael Harrison dead in the cockpit, head bashed in. It was called an accident by the coroner. An unexpected shift in the wind and the boom caught him broadside. He was alone of course. Thing is, that every one of his friends don’t think that’s what happened. He was too good at sailing. But, the case is closed.”

  “You’re saying that it wasn’t an accident, that maybe Annie killed him?”

  “No. I’m not saying that, yet. But you should listen to the whole story. Harrison died two months after he and Annie broke up. By then, she had moved to New York. Mr. Samuel Hawn owned the Tempest Gallery where she worked for just over two years. She lived with him for the last six months, before they called it off. Annie then runs off to Florence attending The International School of Art. Three months after she’s gone, Mr. Hawn, who has just booked a holiday in Italy, co-incidentally, dies in a car crash.”

  “He was going to Italy? To make up with Annie?... What, she flew back secretly and killed him first?” I tried to swallow a lump of worry in my throat.

  “I’m not finished... In Florence, Annie was touring several famous galleries with her class, as part of the course. In one particular place, she spotted three fakes and had a quiet word with the owner. That was the first time she came to the attention of Interpol.”

  “Interpol?”

  “Yes. She’s well known to Interpol, the RCMP and the FBI. It seems that the modest Angelique Stanford has been quite a whiz at spotting fakes and does some very hush-hush stuff with the world’s major fraud squads. This info, by the way, can only be repeated in the confessional.”

  “She didn’t mention....” my mouth was suddenly very dry.

  “I’ll bet she didn’t. The condition of her consultation work is that she’s to be kept off the records, takes no credit and no fees. She just spots the copies and they do the rest. It’s been going on for five years now.”

  “What else” I asked with a horrible sinking feeling in my gut.

  He rifled through the stack of papers. “Roommate number three, in Florence. Alberto DiMambro. She worked for him when her courses were completed. He owned the gallery where she first spotted the fakes. Guess that started the... uh, friendship. In a nutshell, he lived one block from his work and bought it by a hit and run, late one night, after Annie had left him and was working here in Toronto. All the names and dates are in the file in here.” He tapped the envelope.

  My mouth felt even more dry, if that was possible. “She told me she learned Italian for him.”

  “Well, he’s no longer impressed. No one was ever arrested for the crime.”

  I felt unable to speak for a few minutes. Mack waited. Finally I asked, “Tell me what happened with her uncle.”

  “I’ve just told you. Aren’t you listening? He was strangled with his signal cord mid afternoon today. God, was it only this afternoon? Feels like a week ago already; so much has happened.” Mack shook his head then finished his drink. “According to the nurse, remember Alma? ... well she said that the old darlin’ was bent out of shape because he found out from Winston Lucas, that one of his recent visitors was, and still is for the moment, a cop. He was not happy with this information. He hit the roof, called his lawyers, hissing and spitting like you could well imagine and Annie drove out to smooth things over. Lucky you were with me on that little fishing expedition to make the visit legit, though I still got my knuckles rapped from our beloved Captain Lewis, the prick.”

  “Is that why she might be arrested? She was just the last person known to have seen him?”

  “As far as they know, Annie was the only visitor before he was found dead but according to the check out time from the front desk, there’s about ten minutes that he was alone before the doctor arrived for his scheduled daily chat. After Annie saw her uncle she drove straight to the police station to talk about Hennesey. The call about the murder came in from Summerhill Glen while she was there talking to Martchenko.”

  “I didn’t know it was this guy Hennesey. Do you know what he said to her?”

  “This just gets weirder and weirder. At the wake, she left early, remember?” I nodded agreement. “Well, our Mr. Hennessy, according to her, was waiting in the shadows at the warehouse. He approached her just inside the door.” I was about to ask how he got in, but Mack anticipated the question. “He bypassed some of the electrical security and got in the front door but couldn’t get any further, she says. Anyway, she says he threatened her, pushed her up against the wall, called her some nasty names and left. That’s basically her story... “ He leaned back and put his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. “She insists that she doesn’t really know what it was all about.” I kept my thoughts to myself but I had the feeling that he didn’t believe her and didn’t want to say. “She denies knowing why he was there.”

  “I told you that. Why didn’t he force her to open the warehouse? Why just threaten her?”

  “The more interesting question is why did she take so long to report the assault to the police.... She says that she didn’t know that he was dead. She doesn’t watch television and rarely listens to the radio. She only saw a picture of him in a two-day-old newspaper in a restaurant, talked it over with big sister and decided to mention the incident to the police. While she was unloading about Hennessy, the report came in about the freshly murdered uncle. She was still there in one of the interview rooms sipping tea. That’s when I arrived but didn’t get in, thanks to Lewis. Big sister Alison once again appeared out of nowhere with the legal artillery and they were very big guns. She told Annie about their uncle… and I must say looked like it came as a complete surprise to her. What a mess. I’m glad it’s not my case. But I did think you should have the background before you hear from the press.”

  “Is there any motive?”

  He shook his head. “Not that we can see. Richard still owned a small percentage of the Gallery and is still, or was a wealthy man but then, so are the sisters. No,” he mused, “I think they’ve ruled out money as a motive, and I don’t think there’s anything else. Alison didn’t like him much and he didn’t care for her either but she was busy with her accountants at the time. Were you thinking she could have off’d him, and made arrangements for Annie to take the blame?”

  “No, no. Doesn’t fit. I don’t know what to think anymore. Has anyone gone over this information with her about
the boyfriends?”

  “Well, Martchenko has the original file so I’m sure by now she knows through the lawyers what he’s dug up. Why?”

  “It’s just that I don’t think she knew about the deaths of her past... friends, or at least the last two. I’m sure it’s come as a shock to her. It can only be a monstrous coincidence if you think about it. These men were out of her life, so why would anyone want them killed? It doesn’t make sense. They don’t suspect her, do they?”

  “I don’t think so. She could easily prove that she was thousands of miles away when these ‘accidents’ happened. But it’s possible that she could have arranged something. Money was no problem and Uncle Rick had friends in low places she could have accessed, but what motive? I realize that you didn’t need this stuff for your book, but I thought you should know what’s going on... “ He paused to chose his next words. ”You’re serious about her, aren’t you?... Don’t answer. It’s none of my business, but be careful Adam. Something is going on here. You have to consider that she could be a nut ca... uh, mentally ill.”