Desperate Measures

by M. Glenn Graves

  It probably needs to be said that there was no fire burning in the fireplace except for the small pile of pipe tobacco still smoking after he had forced it into the open spot between the two fire grates. It was then that I noticed the heads on the end of the fire grates. Bull head and male torso. Cronus ever present. Thematic consistency.

  “We take our marital bond very seriously in the church, especially for the priest and his wife,” he said with his back to the fireplace. He was now holding the pipe and not puffing on it.

  “You wouldn’t be the first clergyman to break his vows,” I said.

  “I would in my religion.”

  “And yet your religion allows for sexual relations between the priest and the congregants as a part of the worship,” I said. “How convenient. Break the vow without breaking the vow.”

  “I fear that you do not understand the importance of sexual relations in our worship.”

  “I fear that too, and it’s not likely to change.”

  “Puritanical blood flows through your veins, Miss Evans.”

  “My faith is a long way from Plymouth Rock, Fletcher, so it’s a bit more than what the Puritans practiced.”

  “You celibate, Miss Evans?”

  “My sex life is not part of the truth for which I am searching, Reverend. The point here is that you say Melody Legrand did not make the cut in your search for a pure wife. Is that about it?”

  “That would be the crude way of putting it,” Fletcher said.

  “That’s me, Detective Crude. So, can I surmise that since she failed the test for making it to the shindig wedding, you decided to sacrifice her to Cronus in an effort to purify her body?”

  “We do not practice human sacrifice, Miss Evans. The law would likely frown on such, don’t you agree?”

  “The law and several million people as well. But that wouldn’t necessarily stop you from doing what you thought your god desired,” I said.

  “Point taken. However, Cronus does not demand human sacrifice,” he said.

  He walked over to his desk, opened a drawer, took out a pouch, filled his pipe bowl, packed it, retrieved a lighter, and returned to his chair across from me. Sam watched his every movement. The lighter he had retrieved had the bull-head, male body carved on it. Where does he find these things? I’ll have to have Rogers do a search online to see if I could order something.

  “The bottom line of all this truth you would have me believe is that you have no first-hand knowledge of Melody’s demise. Would that be a fair assessment of your involvement?”

  “I know nothing about it. Of course I was saddened to learn of it. I actually thought I could learn to love that girl. She would have served Cronus and me well. It was a difficult loss.”

  His unrequited love statement was a bit much for me to swallow.

  “Her death or her failure to meet the specifications required to be your wife?” I said.

  “Both,” he said, “but I was referring to her ghastly death.”

  “Ah, yes. The infamous recording of her last minutes on earth. You have anything to do with that recording?”

  “You mean other than view it?” Fletcher said.

  I nodded.

  “I was told of its existence and I asked to see it,” he said.

  “Who told you?”

  “A friend of a friend would be the way young folks refer to these things,” he said. “I can’t recall who exactly.”

  “And do you still have the recording in your possession?” I said.

  “No, I do not. I think I destroyed it after seeing its contents. Much too horrific for my tastes, so I burned it. There,” he pointed over to the fireplace, “I think you will find its remnants in there.”

  40

  Lenny Johnstone had loaned me his copy of the ghastly recording. The police who investigated Melody’s suicide had a copy of the recording. Perhaps the person who orchestrated her death, or at least the person who was on hand when the recording was made, had a copy. The ever-widening circle of recordings made it a priority for me to find out precisely where Fletcher got his hands on the DVD. It was a rabbit worth chasing. A clue is a clue is a clue.

  There would be no compelling reason for the police who investigated to show the recording to the preacher. Maybe they told him about it and he had someone find him a copy. Whatever, it was something which I needed to do. One more question to answer.

  That left Lenny and the person directly involved in the production as the likely suppliers, or, at the very least, the informers. Unless of course Lenny supplied someone else with a copy, someone he’s not telling me about. It’s a theory. It’s a possibility. It’s a way that things happen. A trail to follow. We sleuths like to follow trails in the hope that they lead us somewhere. Mostly they do not.

  I called Lenny to avoid leaving Weston. Not that my environs were so invigorating or thrilling; rather, it was chiefly because I had this strong feeling that the answers to Melody’s strange death were to be found in this locale. Not that I was getting close to the truth, mind you. In my work, I never assume that the answer is just around the corner. It may be, but some corners are more difficult to navigate. It is best to keep an even keel when doing gumshoe work. Besides, I consider myself methodical. Rattling cages takes time and sustained energy.

  “Yeah, Lenny here,” his familiar voice said. I was beginning to pickup on his speech pattern.

  “Clancy Evans, Lenny. You got a moment to answer a question or two?”

  “Shoot, lady. You finding any answers yet?”

  “More questions than answers.”

  “Sounds philosophical. What’s up?” Lenny said.

  “Did you show or give the recording to anyone besides the police?” I said.

  “Which copy?” he said.

  “Which copy?” I repeated. “How many copies are there?”

  “Three, I think.”

  “You think.”

  “Well, after I viewed it the first time, I made a copy so that I could hold on to those last images I had of her. I put that copy in a safe place and then gave the original to the police who showed up to investigate what had happened.”

  “Did the police ever return the copy you gave them?” I said.

  “Not yet. I called them and they said it was in the evidence locker or some such bull as that. You know the cops, they have their own double-speak going.”

  “And the DVD you loaned me, is it a copy of your copy?”

  “Nothing gets by you, huh, detective? You bet. I wasn’t about to give away my only version of that sad event. So, yeah, I made a copy and that’s what you have.”

  “Anyone else get a copy?”

  “Like, knowingly get a copy?”

  Lenny was good at mincing words. He should consider the law profession.

  “In other words, Lenny, did anyone ask you for the DVD in which you subsequently gave them a copy, unbeknownst to them that it was a copy?”

  “Oh, like yeah, that did happen. I forgot all about that.”

  “So who asked for it?”

  “Like, I didn’t get a name or anything. You know, one of Melody’s friends asked for it. So, I figured, what the hey’ and I obliged.”

  “Male or female?”

  “Hey, I wouldn’t be giving out that DVD to some male dude. It was a female. One of her college friends.”

  “Don’t recall the name, huh?”

  “Naw. But she was one of those pushy broads, you know what I mean?”

  I smiled.

  “Like me,” I said.

  Lenny paused about five seconds, too long for the normal flow of a conversation. I could tell he was considering how to answer me.

  “I guess so. If you say so. A little like you. Assertive. You know, like, she knew what she wanted and there was no way I could have conned her into believing that I didn’t have the DVD had I wanted to deceive her.”

  Becky Lewinski came to mind since I couldn’t see the other friend, Stacey, as being assertive. But you never know.
When a person gets a head of steam up they could easily do something a bit out of character for a good reason. Still, my best guess was that Becky was the one who asked Lenny for the DVD.

  “It crossed your mind to con her?”

  “Only because of the content,” he said.

  “This person say why they wanted it?”

  “Not that I recall… well, check that. Seems like she said something about knowing the whole truth. Some such line as that, whatever that means.”

  I thanked him and closed my phone. Sam and I headed to Regis College to track down the co-eds Becky and Stacey. I should put them in my contact list it would seem. Might be easier than sitting in the College Café drinking coffee, eating muffins, and waiting for them to stroll by. Hit and miss. Too much of my professional life was based on hit and miss. Not the type of fun I had envisioned as a youngster when I pondered the day I would be grown and working a regular job like most adults. As it turned out, nothing regular about my job either. Such is the way life turns.

  Four muffins and two cups of Java later, Becky and Stacey entered the cafe, spotted me at my lonely table, and sauntered over.

  “Like you live here now?” Stacey said as they sat down without asking.

  Friends forever.

  “I’m beginning to feel that way.”

  “So how’s the investigation going?” Becky said.

  “Bits and pieces.”

  “Like, nothing of substance, huh?” Becky said.

  “If I had the right glue, then it would definitely form an image.”

  “Glue?” Stacey said.

  “I need something to hold the bits and pieces together,” I replied.

  “I have some tape in my locker,” Stacy said.

  “She’s not used to someone who uses a lot of metaphors,” Becky added.

  “What does that mean?” Stacey asked her friend.

  “I’ll explain it later. So why are you back here today?” Becky said to me.

  “Need to know something from you.”

  She sipped whatever it was she was drinking through her straw while she eyed me.

  “Those muffins look pretty good,” she said as her glance fell on the uneaten half that rested precariously on the plate in front of me.

  “Information not without a price,” I said as I handed Becky a five spot across the table.

  “A girl’s got to survive,” she said.

  “I suspect you do a sight better than survive, Ms. Lewinski.”

  She laughed as the two co-eds went after their muffin fare. They each returned with two large muffins in a few minutes. Becky had one with nuts and caramel sauce over the top. It looked better than the ones I had found earlier. Lust comes in all forms.

  I watched them devour the first muffin before I refocused the conversation on the issue at hand now that I knew they had some food to appease their hunger.

  “Before you consume the last one and leave me in the lurch, I need that info,” I said.

  “How can I help?” Becky said.

  “Are you the female who procured the DVD of Melody’s death from Lenny Johnstone?”

  “That creepy weird guy that Melody was shacking up with?” Becky said.

  “Unless she was shacking up with more than one creepy weird guy, then that would be the one.”

  “Naw, Melody was too straight to do that kind of thing. Yeah, like I went to him to see if he would let me have the DVD of her death.”

  “For your own edification?” I said.

  “Not in this lifetime. I didn’t want to see it. I heard enough about it to make me ill. I surely didn’t want to watch it,” Becky said.

  “So the reason for your retrieving a copy of said DVD?”

  “I did it for a friend.”

  I looked at Stacey who was chomping away on her final muffin.

  “Don’t look at me,” she said with a mouthful of nuts and caramel. “I didn’t want to see Melody die either. The whole idea of how she died gave me the creeps. Yuck.”

  “It wasn’t for her. It was for Raney. You remember him, right?” Becky said.

  “Indeed, I do.”

  41

  In any investigation, if a person snoops around long enough and provokes enough people while pursuing the ever-evasive truth, it happens that a name, maybe two, continually surfaces. When this occurs, it generally means that the detective is either going in circles; or, she is creating sufficient havoc as to cause this name to come up often. It also can mean that the detective is upsetting the status quo and likely asking the right questions. In the world of private investigators, we professionals call that a clue. Raney Goforth’s name was cropping up a bit too much to suggest a coincidence. Besides that, I’ve already explained that in my work I do not believe in coincidences. I do, however, believe in clues. In fact, I rely upon them out of necessity. Sometimes I even find them lurking around coffee and muffins.

  The other thing a good detective relies upon is her friends, especially those who have training beyond the detective’s. I had Rogers make a copy of the gruesome recording and mail it to North Carolina. I was hoping that this particular friendship would pay some handsome dividend.

  After sustaining Sam with a blueberry muffin and two double hamburgers, I decided to find Raney and tail him instead of talking to him. Stacey and Becky were most helpful in providing me with his possible whereabouts following our muffin meal. They obviously knew him well enough to offer several options concerning his location.

  I found him at the third stop on the list of five possibilities.

  Shadowing him was the easy part of my daily grind. It simply took time and a little subterfuge, but I’ve been skilled at that since I was ten or eleven. Raney was easy to tail. He did a lot of networking with acquaintances for most of the afternoon. Most of them were peers, or at least, they appeared to be males of college age in college settings in and around the campus.

  Close to five o’clock, he got into his car and left Regis. Finally some real movement.

  Sam was at his peak of excitement. He was asleep on the front seat during the whole surveillance thing. That left me alone with my thoughts.

  Sam awoke when the car began moving.

  “Welcome back to the land of the living,” I said.

  He yawned and stretched before he returned to his slumbering position. He did manage to keep his eyes open.

  “You hungry?” I said.

  He raised his head, ears alert in the vertical position, and eyes focused keenly upon me. I took that to be a definitive yes.

  “As soon as we can leave Mr. Raney for the evening, I will find sustenance for both of us. I’m a little famished myself.”

  He put his head back down on his front paws. His eyes showed some disappointment, or that’s what I read into them. It’s not easy to read the mind of a dog, even a brilliant one.

  Raney drove to the home of Reverend Fletcher. I parked a block away from the mansion but could easily see any comings and goings from the front door of the home. It was after five when Raney entered. Three hours later, he exited through the same front door, got into his car and drove off. Sam and I diligently followed.

  I knew the terrain well enough at this point to figure out that Raney was returning to the campus. I stayed back about ten car lengths to be out of his vision and yet close enough to watch him without binoculars. He parked close to the same spot he had vacated hours earlier. According to the map I had been given on one of my former visits to the campus, the building in which Raney entered was one of several apartment complexes provided for the students.

  “You think he is in for the evening?” I said to Sam.

  Sam was now sitting on his haunches watching something through the windshield. I could only assume that he had been watching Raney walk from his car to the door of the building.

  Sam turned his head and looked at me. He said nothing. He looked back in the direction of the building.

  “I think we should wait a bit as well. Just in case. Hate to
be wrong about these tails.”

  Sam returned to his sleeping position followed by a huge sigh. The sigh was for my benefit. Took no special insight or training to figure that one.

  The first hour of our boring surveillance went by quickly. Probably something just shy of quickly. The second hour was laborious. I checked my cell phone every few minutes for the time. I suspected it was moving backwards. Sam finally stood up in the seat, walked around it as it balancing himself on a high wire, and then plopped down once again. This elaborate ritual was followed by an even longer sigh than the previous one he had voiced for me.

  “Okay, let’s go find some food and call it a night. We will return tomorrow morning before God gets up and try to stay with Raney for the day. I think he’s in for the evening.”

  Sam lifted his head and cut his eyes in my direction. I read his thoughts.

  “Okay, I will return bright and early and you can stay at the motel. Is that a more suitable plan for you?”

  His soft sigh answer seemed to indicate to me that he was more amenable to this strategy than my previous plan. As I started the engine, there was a sudden loud tapping on my side window. Both Sam and I quickly turned into the direction of the noise and found ourselves staring at the muzzle of a handgun.

  The voice said for me to get out of the vehicle. I reached over to attach Sam’s leash to his collar and the voice told me to leave the dog inside the car. He also told me to kill the engine.

  I climbed out and stood beside the young man holding the gun. Sam was now sitting upright and staring alertly in my direction. I could tell that he was not pleased with the current state of affairs. Neither was I.

  “Move that way,” the young man said as he pointed the revolver towards the door of the unit where Raney had entered a little more than two hours ago.

  I walked slowly in the direction of the building. I was wondering what my friend Rosey would do in such a precarious situation. It wasn’t the worst predicament of my life, but it was one that called for some measure of thought and some quick planning if I hoped to avoid a worse case scenario. I slowed my pace just enough for the young man with the gun to notice.