***
That night, Meacham went to the “Pig & Whistle” and sat alone at the counter watching the couples come and go, half fearing that Gwen would walk in with the minister. He hardly tasted his food as he pondered what had happened at Big Red’s house.
He had gone to her house not to break up with her, because he never believed that they were officially “dating”, but to tell her - exactly what? He had never decided. He certainly couldn’t say that he wanted something better, that he felt a little embarrassed when seen with her, felt degraded. What he knew for sure was that if Gwen Braun saw them as a couple then it would define him as the kind of guy that wants a partner that turns eyes, makes other men envious, that draws stares.
He had to admit that Big Red had been a convenience – something she figured out – but for Harry Macklowe she was probably a trophy. He didn’t feel in the least that he had lost out to Macklowe but it did annoy him that someone his same age called him “kid”. More importantly, what did it say about him, that he would just fall into a relationship, take what came along without any need to put himself on the line, even risk rejection. He remembered his Father describing how he got his Mother to marry him. “Persistence, my boy,” he had said with a grin. “I was in a real fix since she was dating a friend of mine and her father liked him better. But I hung in there, eventually wore down the entire family. Best thing I ever did, bar none.”
Meacham thought about the time when his Father worked for the Governor. He was so young then but now he yearned for the lost chance to talk about it. Hawkins’ letter didn’t entirely clear the air, or his Father’s name, and the sports car was a constant reminder of the lingering doubts that clouded his memory. Meacham swiveled in his counter stool and looked out the window. His shiny red sports car seemed to be staring back at him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
WEDNESDAY, JULY 20, 1955
Meacham spent a restless night and what little sleep he got was not refreshing. He dragged himself into the station the next morning where Whipple briefed him on the latest from the abortive cigar factory caper and the antics of their assorted detainees. The Clintock twins continued to be stoic, he said, but there was a great deal of whining and yelling from the other would-be tough guys. Rudy Gantz was the most pathetic, alternately whimpering for his Mother – who eventually showed up and lectured him to “take his medicine” – or begging the guards for protection from his former comrades and the newcomer Burt Grimsley. Shortly, indictments would be returned and then the real fun would begin for these losers, Meacham thought to himself.
Whipple gave Meacham more details than he wanted to have on two autopsies. Apparently, DePue had recently eaten lunch and the vomited contents of his stomach had lodged in and blocked his larynx. Ironically, had he gone without eating, he might have survived. “What about Santimaw?”, Meacham asked, almost reluctantly. “Oh yeah” said Whipple. “Looks like pure accident combined with bad judgment. Looks like he ingested a few anti-depressants and washed them down with booze. It seems his heart was not strong and it couldn’t take the jolt.” Meacham said nothing but thought to himself that while Santimaw’s death didn’t appear to involve foul play, he couldn’t help but think that the harassment he took from Hawkins would probably have driven him over the edge sooner or later.
To Meacham’s relief, a clerk opened the door to say that a woman was on the line and would speak only to him. When pressed to identify herself, she had simply said “tell him I am the blonde from the Institute.”
The call was immediately patched through to Meacham’s phone and after he announced himself, there was a long pause during which all that could be heard was competing voices and the roar of a bus or truck. Meacham tried again, more gently, this time saying “Your aunt from Boston is here in Parlor City and is determined to stay until she knows you are safe.”
After a short pause, Meacham heard “Okay, so you know my real name is Stella Crimmons. Good for you. I’m at the bus station.” He quickly motioned to Whipple and mouthed the words “go, go, go bus station” under his breath while pointing to the door.
“Stella, everything is going to work out. Your aunt will be relieved and I can arrange a meeting with her rather quickly. Be patient for just a few minutes and someone will pick you up,” said Meacham reassuringly, deciding to ignore her insolent tone. “Right,” said Stella sarcastically and then the phone went dead.
While he was waiting for Whipple to return with Stella and before he could call her aunt, the Chief stepped in to say that he had received a call from Randall DePue’s widow. She had some information which could be of significance and asked if he would come by in the afternoon. The Chief had intended to call her after receiving the autopsy report but now with Grimsley’s confession, his task was decidedly harder. With the blonde due shortly, Meacham suggested that the Chief visit the widow instead and take a police matron with him. He agreed.
In a few minutes, the station was bustling as Whipple walked in behind Stella Crimmons as the Chief was walking out. She was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt but the luscious blonde hair overshadowed every other feature. In fact, she could have been wearing a burlap sack and the entire station – at least the men - would be craning their necks to follow the flowing, golden tresses.
After bringing her into Meacham’s office, Whipple left them alone. Stella wasted no time in saying “Let’s get right to it, Detective, am I in any kind of trouble?” Meacham leaned forward and calmly said, “Well, that depends, Miss Crimmons, on a number of factors. For instance, what is your knowledge of certain events that occurred at the Institute, how cooperative you turn out to be, if you decide to withhold information, if you tell me things that later turn out to be untrue. Quite frankly, we need to ascertain just how involved you were – possibly still are - in not just the fraud that was perpetrated on the Institute but in the death of one of the patients – not to mention the abduction of an employee.”
Meacham was watching her closely but to his surprise Stella showed no reaction but reached for Meacham’s pack of cigarettes, took out two and handed them to him. Without thinking, he put them both in his mouth, lit them and handed one back to Stella, all the time trying to remember in what movie that scene had occurred.
After a few puffs in silence, Stella said, “It would probably be best if I tell you everything, all the way back to Boston. It is my intent to answer any reasonable question. But first, it has been a long bus ride and I need some food. Then, I would like a private meeting with my aunt before we talk again.” Meacham agreed and buzzed Whipple to escort Stella to a secure room.
As she reached the door, she turned back to Meacham and said, “I read the paper and I feel bad for Hawkins’ wife but he was not a good man. He did the right thing in the end.”
My oh my, is she a cool customer for a young lady, thought Meacham. She would give Big Red a run for her money, of that he was certain.
***
Meacham decided to drive over to the Riverside Motel and prepare Mildred Crimmons in person, thinking it could possibly prevent a dramatic scene in the station. He found her in the coffee shop gazing out the window and when she saw him approaching, her face turned ashen. Before he sat down, Meacham quickly said, “She’s fine, back in town of her own volition. It seems as if she wants to cooperate with an investigation underway at the Institute but wants to see you first.”
Mildred sighed and said nothing for a few seconds before asking in a hesitating, reluctant voice “And Ripley, did he return as well?” “No he did not, Miss Crimmons”, said Meacham, adding in almost a lecturing tone “and you should not be surprised. The most recent name we have for him is Reginald Carver and we suspect but cannot yet prove that Ripley Maxwell is simply another alias in a long string of them. However, we are reasonably certain he isn’t using either name at the present time. Look, you need to accept the fact that this guy is a professional con man and thief. After speaking with your niece, I am confident that you will no longer harbor
any doubts on that score. So, if you are ready, I will drop you off at the station. I have some other matters which need my attention but will be available later.” Mildred sighed again and allowed Meacham to lead her out the door, never once showing any curiosity about the investigation to which Meacham had alluded.
***
After dropping off Mildred, Meacham drove over to Belvedere Motors to meet with Glenn Perkins, sales manager and son-in-law of owner Will Belvedere. Glenn had always been a car buff and some cynics thought it was more than a coincidence that he started dating Winnie Belvedere in the 10th grade. Meacham never bought into it and when he saw the picture on Glenn’s desk of the happy couple with two children on their laps, he smiled and concluded “Yep, some guys get it right.”
“Are you crazy,?”, said Glenn, almost leaping from his chair when Meacham announced his plan. “That car is the love of your life. Hell, I can still remember when your Dad and you picked it up. Never saw two happier guys.”
“If you don’t want it, Glenn,” said Meacham sternly, “I’ll put an ad in the paper and sell it myself. Just wanted to give you first dibs. Do I not look like I am deadly serious?”
Glenn sat back down, asked Meacham a few questions and started scribbling numbers on a pad. He then pushed a sheet of paper across the desk and said, “Of course, I need to have my boys go over the car but if it’s still in the shape I think it is, that number is good.”
“I’ll bring it by tonight. Let me know when your appraisal is finished and we can finalize everything. Hey, great picture of the family – how is everyone?”
“Let me tell you, Billy, that Winnie is flat out the best thing that ever happened to me. Her father drives me hard at times but I don’t mind. He can’t appear to go easy on his son-in-law and I still love the car business as much as ever but that doesn’t surprise you, right?
Sales are down right now so we were joking the other night that maybe we could get Ed Sullivan to pitch for us. Hey, two more years and little Charlie will be ready for Little League – hope you’re still coaching”, said Glen, now holding the family photo in his hands.
Meacham smiled weakly but said nothing as he turned to leave Perkins’ office. He waived over his shoulder when he heard “You gotta come over for dinner soon – Winnie keeps asking why we hardly see you.”
***
When Meacham got into his car, the radio buzzed and a call was patched through from the Chief. He had met with DePue’s widow and they needed to talk right away. Neither of them had eaten lunch so the Chief suggested his favorite Greek diner.
“Good thing I had Miss Halliday with me, Billy,” said the Chief as soon as they slid into a booth. “When the widow heard about Grimsley’s confession, it was helpful to have some female assistance. We might have had trouble getting her to talk about why she called if we had given her the gruesome details first.
“Turns out, when she was going through a box with her husband’s possessions that someone from the Institute dropped off, she found some papers tucked into a book that DePue was reading. It so happens that DePue was corresponding with an attorney in Boston and using Oscar Peterson as a sort of courier to avoid Hawkins. It looks like DePue smelled a rat early on and it probably cost him his life. Here, read the letter and then we can talk.”
Meacham pored over the letter from J. Winthrop Austen and stopped short. “Damn, Chief, there it is!” exclaimed Meacham, sitting bolt upright. “Peterson told me he was DePue’s mail courier but didn’t know any details. But that picture left for me by Santimaw must have come with this letter. Somehow, either DePue slipped it to him or Santimaw took it off DePue’s body – sort of an insurance policy for the fat toad against Hawkins. Or maybe I should be generous and consider that the better side of Santimaw was disgusted with Hawkins and couldn’t take it anymore. Guess we’ll never know.”
“So who is Siebert?” asked the Chief after the waitress dropped off two of the daily specials. “That is the real name of our con man, also known as Reginald Carver, Ripley Maxwell and who knows what other aliases. And to think that he decided to saddle Hawkins with his true identity, leading everyone on a wild goose chase. Right now, we can’t be sure if anyone else knows that Carver/Maxwell is really Siebert – except the unfortunate Randall DePue.”
“I’ll get a hold of Boston police and get all available background on Siebert” said the Chief, adding “What’s next with you, Billy? Oh, I rode to DePue’s with Miss Halliday so she dropped me off here. We’re riding back to the station together.”
“I need to interview the blonde bombshell this afternoon, Chief. Haven’t figured out if she is putting up a good front or if she is clueless. Of course, it is entirely possible that Siebert intentionally left her in the dark about everything, including his real name. I can tell you that she has a lot of tongues hanging out back at the station.”
“But not yours, Billy?” asked the Chief with a sly smile. “Nope, definitely not my type – at least not any more” quipped Meacham as the Chief paid the check with a bemused look on his face.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Everyone looked up when the Chief and Meacham walked into the station together. No doubt, the police matron had spread the news that she had dropped off the Chief at his favorite Greek diner where he habitually ate either alone or with the ex-Mayor. Today, he had honored Meacham with his hospitality.
As Meacham sat down at his desk, Whipple walked in smiling and said, “How was your lunch, Meach?” “Don’t start in on me, Whip,” said Meacham with mock seriousness, “or I might need to speak to the Chief about your attitude.” Whipple feigned concern and they both chuckled.
Meacham motioned for Whipple to sit down and then briefed him on his lunch conversation with the Chief and the new evidence provided by DePue’s wife. Whipple shook his head in disbelief before saying, “Well, looks like we have a seasoned pro on our hands with Siebert which means he could be pretty damn elusive. And that means the dame may be our best bet for corroborating what we have so far. She has been as tame as a lamb since you left. We fed her and gave her an hour with her aunt. From what we could tell, the only show of emotion was on the aunt’s side.”
“Well, the aunt is an emotional wreck. First, she purposely disrupts her own ho-hum life with the expectation that she can take her small town niece under her wing, groom her for success in the big city and then maybe marry her off to some Boston social elite. At the same time, she falls into the clutches of a heartless con man who steals her life savings – which she could probably forgive – but then stomps on her dream of big-time romance. And to top it off, the niece then runs off with the would- be lover boy. Whew, not sure how I would hold up if all that was coming down on me all at once.” It pained Meacham just to recite Mildred Crimmons’ recent history.
“Yeah, the niece might be the bitterest pill for her to swallow, Meach. When she left the girl, she was covering her eyes but you could see she had been weeping. Fogarty drove her back to the motel. So, ready to continue your interview with the ice queen?” asked Whipple.
“Give me a few minutes to collect my thoughts, Whip. Let’s start with you in the room and see if she objects. I don’t want some whispering campaign starting around here about me and the blonde” said Meacham with arched eyebrows. “No problem, lover boy” said Whipple as he quickly closed the door but then popped back and was gone just as fast after saying “Mike DeLong has been trying to reach you.”
Meacham re-read the letter to DePue from the Boston attorney and looked over some scribbled notes that DePue has left describing his history with Siebert. He couldn’t help but reflect on what a contemptuous bunch of outsiders who, with premeditation, had wreaked havoc on his sleepy little home town.
Before going to interview Stella, Meacham called the Braun house but, as he expected, there was no answer. Still, he somehow felt better for trying.
***
Meacham entered the smoke-filled room and could see from the overflowing ashtray that Stella had bee
n chain-smoking. Whipple picked up the ashtray to empty it and Stella said “Why don’t you just take it with you since you’re leaving?” Meacham nodded ok and Whipple winced as he closed the door.
So, Stella, where do you want to begin?” said Meacham matter of factly. “Why don’t you begin, detective, and tell me exactly what you think I’ve done wrong. I’ve been very foolish, even naïve, which I will readily admit. But as to doing anything illegal, nothing that I am aware of.” All this was delivered in a calm, confident voice as Stella lit her own cigarette this time.
Meacham started to speak and then stopped. It struck him that Stella was prepared – even rehearsed – for this interview as if she knew it was going to occur. So if she was ready, he decided that his best change to trip her up was with some rapid fire questioning. “Fair enough, Stella” said Meacham, let’s begin.
“When did you move to Boston?” “Last Summer”
“When did you meet Ripley Maxwell?” “Last Summer”
“How did you meet him?” “My aunt introduced us”
“When did you meet Hawkins?” “Last Summer”
“How?” “At a charity event”
“Who was with you?” “Mr. Maxwell”
“Why wasn’t your Aunt there?” “She wasn’t invited”
“Did you move in with Maxwell in Boston?” “Yes”
“Why?” “My aunt was overbearing”
“When did you meet Winston Siebert?” “Who?”
“Winston Siebert, III, when?” “I don’t recognize that name”
“Whose idea was it for you to take a French name?” “Ripley’s”
“Why did you agree?” “It would keep my aunt from finding me plus I liked the sound of it?”
“Did you have an affair with Hawkins?” “Absolutely not”
The Parlor City Boys Page 18
