by Liz Turner
After what felt like hours to Hallie, Johnny shrugged and said, “No, not anything new I suppose. I wish I could help.”
Samson copied the shrug in an exaggerated manner, his shoulders moving up and down in a comical way. “See? There you have it! I’d say this club had nothing to do with the poor Captain’s death at all. Nothing. Can Johnny here fetch you both a drink though?”
Jackson declined with a wave of his hand. He and Hallie shared a glance. They were clearly not going to get anything out of Johnny right now, not with Samson hovering around.
“I think we ought to get going, actually,” Jackson said.
“Yes, but I’d like to use the ladies’ room before we go,” Hallie said. She looked straight at Johnny as she spoke. Jackson, understanding, suggested he would use the bathroom as well.
When they arrived in the hallway where the restrooms were, they found Johnny waiting. He was apologetic about his boss’s behavior.
“Don’t read too much into it,” he said. “He’s just worried that the club is going to suffer losses if people get wind of a police investigation here.”
Jackson frowned. “This isn’t about the club, Johnny. We wanted to ask you something.”
“What is it?” Johnny replied eagerly.
After making sure no one was in earshot, Jackson pulled the small black pouch of tobacco from his suit jacket and held it out. “We want to talk to you about this.”
Johnny suddenly looked nervous. “I don’t know anything about the black market, Sergeant. I work hard to keep this club above-board. I’d appreciate you not accusing me of…” he trailed off.
Hallie shook her head. “No, Johnny, we’re not accusing you of anything. We’re asking for your help. As the bartender here, you’re privy to a lot.”
“Listen, Johnny. We would just like to know if you know of anyone who uses tobacco like this,” Jackson said. When Johnny didn’t answer, he added, “Do you?”
After an uncomfortable silence, Johnny said, “Alright, but you didn’t hear it from me. And Harding definitely can’t know I’m speaking ill of one of our patrons. Marvin Peeples, I often see him filling his pipe from a bag that looks an awful lot like this one.”
“The attorney?” Jackson asked. Johnny nodded.
Chapter 5
The Courier
T he doctor and sergeant set off for the law offices of Marvin Peeples, located on the second floor of a tall brick building. Once inside, the receptionist directed them to wait in the small area by her desk while she called for Mr. Peeples. The room was tastefully decorated with antique lamps and a patterned rug; wooden paneling lined the walls.
“I think he’s in,” she said. She was a pretty, middle-aged woman, wearing bright red lipstick and elaborate false eyelashes. “But he may be in a meeting.”
“Just tell him the Sergeant wants to see him. A personal call, not police business,” Jackson said, bowing his head curtly.
The woman nodded and disappeared through the wooden double doors that separated the foyer from the offices.
Once Hallie was sure the receptionist was out of earshot, she turned to Jackson. “How exactly are you going to get Mr. Peeples to confess to black market dealings? To a police officer no less?”
“I’m a corrupt officer,” he said, smirking. “I just can’t seem to kick my tobacco habit, and I think I’m above the law!”
Hallie laughed, and then the door opened and the receptionist returned. “Right this way, Sergeant.” Hallie stood up, but the woman stopped her. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but Mr. Peeples doesn’t like too many people in his office.”
Hallie eyed her incredulously. How truly ridiculous, she thought. He doesn’t want to take a meeting with a woman. But aloud she said, “Of course, I understand. I’ll wait here.” She nodded to Jackson to continue in.
Hallie settled back into her chair and smoothed her skirt, trying not let her irritation get the best of her. Why I’m a better doctor than he’ll ever be a lawyer. He’s a fool— her thoughts were interrupted by the buzz at the front door.
The receptionist answered and two men from the postal service came in and set down a large stack of boxes, the sort that are used for housing mountains of paper. Hallie lazily watched the men heave the boxes in one-by-one. The receptionist flashed a pearly smile at the men each time they entered the room.
“Why, you two ought to take up boxing; you’d make a killing with all the muscles you must be building with this job! I’m sure you didn’t expect to be put to such a physical test when you decided to become postmen,” the receptionist said.
“It’s no trouble at all,” one of the men replied professionally. At this, the receptionist giggled loudly.
Hallie rolled her eyes. At her age, the receptionist ought to know better than to flirt so outrageously in the workplace! She thought. I would never put on such a show at the hospital…nor anywhere else for that matter. Reluctantly, Hallie curbed her judgements, reminding herself that the receptionist was a working woman, just like herself, and she should support that at all costs.
Shortly, the men had finished lugging in all the boxes, leaving a stack of seven piled high in the lobby. As the receptionist bent to begin sorting through the boxes, writing their postal numbers down in a notebook, the door buzzed again. This time, a young man, probably only eighteen years old and wearing plain clothes entered and placed a small package on the receptionist’s desk. The receptionist stopped what she was doing to unlock a small drawer in the desk. Hallie watched as she handed him an envelope from the drawer, and he slunk back out the door.
Hallie’s gaze alighted on the small package. It was wrapped in lumpy brown paper; whatever was inside was clearly loose—not a box or other fixed object. And, Hallie noticed, the package wasn’t marked with any stamp. No company she knew of delivered unmarked packages by courier.
She couldn’t help herself, she asked, “Excuse me, what’s the company that delivered that little package there?”
The receptionist looked up, surprised. “Oh, goodness!” she laughed. “I truly don’t know!” she turned over the package, as though searching for a stamp. “There doesn’t appear to be a stamp on it, now that you’ve mentioned it.”
“Is this the first time you’ve received a package like this to the office?”
Now the receptionist’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I don’t recall. Say, why are you so interested in the law firm’s deliveries?”
Hallie shrugged nonchalantly. “I am being rather nosy, aren’t I?” She forced an apologetic smile. “I’ve just got nothing to read during my wait. I suppose I’m just bored.”
“Oh, well, here!” The receptionist lit up and bounded over to Hallie, thrusting the latest issue of Women’s Own magazine at her. The cover screamed in bright colors how to find the perfect modern hairstyle, no matter your age.
Hallie pasted a grateful smile on her lips. “Oh, thank you, dear.”
“You should read page nineteen,” came the shrill voice.
Hallie looked up. The receptionist was smiling at her brightly from where she sat. “Page nineteen?” Hallie asked hesitantly.
“Oh yes. It’s a free pattern for the most adorable autumn skirt. It even includes fabric recommendations! I saw it in that issue a few weeks ago and I passed it over to my grandmother and she sewed it together for me—she adores making clothes, whereas I’m just plain awful at it—anyway, the result was stunning. I wish I was wearing it today, I’d model for you,” she giggled.
“Oh, well, that does sound lovely,” Hallie replied.
“I’m Samantha,” the receptionist said cheerfully. “Would you like some chewing gum?” She held out a small pack of mint gum.
Hallie declined politely, adding, “I’m Hallie Malone. Pleased to meet you.”
“You know, we never get that many women in here. And I’m the only woman who works here! And then I go home to my two sons and my husband, whom I adore, but… you understand. It’s nice to speak to a grown-up woman sometimes.”<
br />
Hallie nodded, and when Samantha didn’t turn her bright stare away, she fumbled over her words, adding, “I think I will browse that pattern you mentioned. I could do for some new clothing. Page nineteen you say?”
Samantha nodded vigorously and resumed work.
After some time had passed with Hallie feigning interest in the magazine, she got up to return it back to the woman’s desk. As she leaned over, she made a point to get her face close to the small package. She inhaled. She caught a whiff of an earthy, pungent smell. Tobacco.
She returned to her seat, and moments later Jackson came out the double doors, looking frustrated. He nodded goodbye to the receptionist, and he and Hallie left.
“Peeples wouldn’t divulge to me where he gets his tobacco,” Jackson growled. He lit a cigarette. “He said he didn’t use tobacco except for every so often when he can find it in stores. He’s got to be lying. The whole office smelled like the inside of a pipe!”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him that I was tired of cigarettes, of never being able to find the tobacco for my pipe, that I thought I had seen him with some the other day at the club, and that I wanted to see if he could procure some for me. I assured him I wasn’t there on police business. But I guess he didn’t buy it.” He paused, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Or he just didn’t want to share it with me. Thought I wasn’t good enough for his tobacco!”
Hallie nodded sympathetically, trying not to laugh at Jackson’s dilemma. But her eye caught something. A young man coming out of the drugstore across the street looked familiar. Yes, it was him! The courier from the law firm!
“Follow me,” she said to Jackson. He blinked at her curiously but did as she said.
They tailed the fellow down the block. He stopped at a few residences or businesses, each time lifting a package from his pack strapped to his back before he went in.
“I think he’s the messenger for whoever’s been trafficking illegal tobacco to Warrenton,” Hallie hissed. Jackson’s eyes grew wide.
Finally, they saw the courier backtrack and get into a car parked on the street.
“Quick!” Jackson said, and they made a dash to their own car further down.
They managed to pull out just behind the courier. They follow him at a safe distance for miles, and then suddenly, the car seemed to vanish. It veered to the right and disappeared!
“Where on earth—” Jackson began.
“Look where we are!” Hallie said excitedly. “The overgrown lot from last night!” She was right. They had reached the spot on the road where they had found the van. Sure enough, Jackson slowed down, and they were able to find the nearly invisible drive. The van was still in the lot, in the same place as last night, and they saw the courier get out of his car and go over to the van, as though he were about to get in it.
Jackson burst out of his car. “Stop right there!” He flashed his badge, and the young man turned pale, looking frantically left and right. But there was no escape. “You’re going to have to explain yourself,” Jackson said, leading the man in handcuffs to the car.
“I ain’t done nothing wrong!” the man protested, his eyes wild. “Please! Don’t arrest me.”
“Maybe we should hear him out, Sergeant,” Hallie said, shooting a glance at Jackson. It’ll be easier for everyone if he just tells us now what he knows, she thought.
“Alright then, speak!” Jackson growled. “We’ve been following you all afternoon. We know you’re delivering tobacco, and we know to whom. If you can tell us where the tobacco comes from, I won’t arrest you. Is that clear?”
The man looked to the floor. “Listen, all I know is that I meet the van driver here when the week’s orders are in. I take the tobacco for Warrenton clients and deliver it in my car, then I come back here and turn in the money. I get a cut. I never even meet anybody! The tobacco is waiting for me in the van each week.”
“You’ve never driven this van?” Jackson asked.
“No, I haven’t. Just my car.”
“Someone was run over with that van last night,” Jackson said, fixing the young man with a stern gaze.
The boy’s eyes grew wide. “It wasn’t me, sir, honest! I just do deliveries!”
Jackson sighed loudly and seemed ready to take the boy into the station. The young man suddenly blurted, “I know the tobacco comes from Virginia! A plantation there! Peabody Farms.” He was shaking.
“Virginia?” Hallie asked, surprised. “Do they transport it so far using the van?”
The young man shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. That van is pretty much always in this lot.”
It’d be a difficult feat getting illegal product across state lines, Hallie mused. I wonder….
Jackson and Hallie shared a glance. “Look here,” Jackson said, a bit gentler. “I won’t arrest you, but I need you to do something for me.” The young man nodded. “Continue your work as usual. Tell nobody you spoke to us. Is that clear?”
“Yes sir.”
After the boy sped away, Hallie said, “I know where we ought to go next.”
Chapter 6
Tannen Airport
A s the outskirts of Warrenton fell away in the rearview mirrors, the landscape became more heavily wooded, and the road curved sharply. The windows were rolled down, and Hallie was enjoying the clean air on her face. Although Warrenton wasn’t a large city like Boston or New York, it certainly wasn’t the countryside. This meandering drive outside the town limits made her remember what it felt like to feel like the world was wild, unrestrained.
But soon, she forced herself back to reality. Focus. Hallie thought hard, trying to recall what she knew about air travel. It would be easier to cross state lines with contraband goods in the sky than on the road, that was for sure. But it wasn’t as though it were simple. She imagined the pilot would have to fly at higher-than-normal altitudes to avoid detection from major airports or the air traffic controllers, and then the planes would have to swoop in for a sudden descent and landing. She said as much to Jackson.
He thought for a moment. “I think you’re absolutely right, Doctor Malone. But would commercial pilots, or even the well-trained novice, be able to complete that feat?”
Hallie’s eyes lit up. “No, probably not. Unless they were trained for something other than leisure flying. Like battle…. What if they were trained to be fighter pilots? By the best Captain in New England?”
“Are you suggesting that Captain Tannen trained people to skirt air traffic control?” Jackson asked, anger creeping into his voice.
Hallie didn’t answer. They had arrived at the flight school.
****
The flight school had two large domed structures, stamped with a large stencil reading TANNEN AIRPORT AND FLIGHT INSTRUCTION, and several small, low buildings made of stucco. Hallie guessed the domed buildings, with high ceilings and the metal facade, were the airplane hangars. The smaller structures must be part of the training school, or perhaps they were administration buildings. A long runway lay in between them. At least fifteen acres of land surrounded the runway, a vast field of shortcut green grass that was beginning to brown as fall crept upon them. Hallie marveled at how the captain had managed to find all this flat land in the middle of mountainous Massachusetts.
They parked the car in front of one of the airplane hangars and headed into a building marked MAIN OFFICE: INQUIRIES FOR FLIGHT SCHOOL, AIRPLANE CHARTERS. The office was sparse, just a few wooden desks on linoleum flooring, with large world maps covering the otherwise bare walls. A beautiful young woman was on the telephone at one of the desks.
After hanging up, she beamed at Hallie and Jackson. “Welcome to Tannen Flight School and Airport. What can I help you with?” Her voice was clipped as though she was being careful to enunciate. The small sign on her desk read EMILY SANDERS.
“We’re here inquiring after Captain Tannen, ma’am,” Hallie said, bracing herself for a reaction—of what sort, she didn’t know. Jackson lifted h
is jacket open to reveal his badge.
The smile melted off the woman’s face. “Oh,” she said, putting her hands to her mouth. “You ought to speak to Mr. Tannen, er, Gerald—Captain Tannen’s son. Stepson. He should be back in a few minutes.” She rose and began pinning the day’s flight schedules on the wall, not looking the two in the eye.
Shortly, a tall, broad-shouldered man about thirty years old, entered the room, wearing a pilot’s helmet, dark sunglasses, and a brown windbreaker. He had clearly just come in from flying. Upon noticing the guests, he took his sunglasses off to reveal a tanned, handsome face. “Hello! I’m Gerald Tannen. What can I do for you?” He offered his hand to both Hallie and Jackson.
“I’m Sergeant Jackson, an old friend of your father’s—” Jackson began, shaking the man’s firm grip.
“—Stepfather,” Gerald said.
Jackson nodded politely and continued, “And this is Doctor Hallie Malone. I’ll be frank, Gerald, we’re investigating the death of Captain Tannen. We’d appreciate the flight school’s cooperation.”
Gerald seemed slightly taken aback, but he gallantly swept his hands around the room. “Of course, Sergeant. We’ll help you any way we can. As you can imagine, the place just hasn’t been the same without my stepfather, but we’re making it work. We are quite busy though.” He pointedly checked his watch.
“I thought Captain Tannen—er, committed suicide?” Emily Sanders said, coming to stand with the group, the collection of thumbtacks still in her cupped palms.
“We’ve got to investigate every untimely death,” Jackson said simply. “Do you mind if we have a look at the flight schedules for the night of his death?”
Gerald nodded to Emily, and she disappeared into the back room, returning with the log which was apparently kept inside a thick leather notebook. Emily thumbed through it to find the day of Tannen’s death. That day had a full schedule, with every one of the airport’s four planes used in lessons or chartered out.
