“Can you think of ANY other reason why someone would be stalking you?”
“I really can’t.” She started to get up. “I knew this would be a waste of time. I shouldn’t have come.”
“Hold on just a moment,” Kevin said. “I’ve been doing this a long time and I’ve learned one thing --- nine times out of ten, if a person, especially a woman, feels like they’re being followed, it’s probably true. We just don’t know the ‘who’ or the ‘why’ yet. That’s where we come in.”
“What can you do?” she asked, perplexed.
“We can follow you too. If someone’s stalking you, we’ll find them. ‘Stalking the stalkers’ so to speak. Let’s give it a week. If we don’t come up with anything, you can chalk it up to imagination. But if you’re really being followed, you need to know.”
She thought for a moment. “What do you need?”
“Your daily schedule,” Kevin replied. “You can text it to us every morning before you leave your house. Give us a ‘heads up’ if you deviate whatsoever. Wherever you go, we’ll go, but you’ll never know we’re there.”
“All right then, one week.”
We negotiated our fee and signed a contract for our services.
Kevin and Walt, the geriatric gumshoes, had a real paying client and were ready to kick ass.
Surveillance is a mind-numbing chore.
After two eight-hour days in the car my butt was getting bedsores.
“How could you do this for thirty years?” I asked Kevin as we waited outside the gated community where Elizabeth Crane lived.
“Nobody said it would be glamorous,” Kevin replied. “If you plan to do this very long you might want to buy some stock in Preparation H.”
“Very funny.”
Just then, the big iron gate swung open and Dr. Crane’s BMW pulled out into the street. She looked around, hoping to spot us, but Kevin knew just where to park so we wouldn’t be seen.
I checked her daily schedule. “She’s heading to her office, then has lunch with a colleague at eleven-thirty.”
We knew the route to her office so Kevin stayed a good two blocks behind her.
Suddenly, a black Chevy van, pitted with rust spots and dents, pulled out of a side street and fell in behind the doctor.
“Whoa, that piece of crap certainly doesn’t belong in this neighborhood,” Kevin said.
“Maybe it’s a gardener or a repairman,” I replied.
“Maybe, maybe not. We’ll know soon enough.”
We dropped back another block and followed the van into the medical center parking lot.
It idled long enough to see the doctor lock her Beemer and enter the building. As soon as she was inside, it pulled out of the lot and headed back along the route we had just traveled.
“Dollars to donuts they’re going back to her place. They wanted to make sure she was away from home. Bet you a buck they’re going back to case the place.”
Kevin was right. The van slowed down in front of the big iron gate.
It was obvious that the folks living inside took their security seriously. The doctor had a control similar to a garage door opener that activated the gate. Two surveillance cameras were perched atop the brick and stone structures that held the gate. A ten foot high brick wall circled the two block perimeter of the compound that held eight houses on estate sized lots.
The van pulled away and circled the blocks surrounding the walled compound. The houses bordering the compound were as elegant as the ones inside, and from what we could see, each one had security cameras as well.
“If they’re planning to break in, it can be done, but it won’t be easy,” Kevin observed. “There,” he said, pointing to a vacant lot. “That’s the weak point. No house, no cameras. They can get to the brick wall unobserved, then it’s just a matter of scaling the wall. They could do it with ropes and grappling hooks if they’re any good.”
After completing the circle around the neighborhood, the van headed toward downtown.
“Might as well tail ‘em,” Kevin said. “Let’s see where they lite.”
Twenty minutes later, they pulled up in front of a brick six-plex on Linwood just a few blocks from my Three Trails Hotel.
We watched as two middle-aged guys parked and went inside.
“Let’s see who we’re dealing with Kevin said, grabbing a tablet and a pen.
We entered the foyer of the building and Kevin started writing names from the six mailboxes built into the wall.
“Time for a pow-pow with the good doctor. Let’s see if any of these names ring a bell.”
Dr. Crane met us in the lobby of her office building after lunch.
“It wasn’t your imagination, Doctor,” I said. “You were definitely being followed. I have a list of names here. Look them over and see if you recognize any of them.”
The doctor took the list and a moment later her mouth dropped open.
“These two,” she said pointing. “Billy Bob and Oren Thrasher. They’re my nephews --- my brother’s boys. Why in the world would they be following me? We may not know each other, but we’re still family. Why wouldn’t they just come up and introduce themselves?”
“Good question,” I replied. “You said you weren’t close with your brother. Why was that?”
“It’s complicated,” she said, thinking back to her childhood. “I was two years older than Gabriel. I was Mom’s little girl and Gabe was Dad’s pride and joy. Dad paid very little attention to me. I studied hard, got good grades and stayed out of trouble. Gabe was just the opposite. He fell in with the wrong crowd and Dad was always bailing him out of trouble. When Dad died, Gabe took off and it was just Mom and me until I went away to college.”
“When was the last time you saw your brother?”
“At Mom’s funeral. He showed up and we went through Mom’s things together. He was living in his car at the time and just took a few boxes of old letters and family photos. I made arrangements to have everything else put in storage at one of those rental places. It’s all still there. I should have gone through it all years ago but we had our practice and well, the time was just never right.”
“Well, something has definitely brought your nephews out of the woodwork,” Kevin replied. “Do you mind if we sniff around and see what we can find?”
“Please do.”
We were parked on Linwood a block from the brick six-plex when we saw the Thrasher brothers exit the building and climb inside the van. When they pulled away from the curb, Kevin followed.
On Troost Avenue, they pulled into the parking lot of The Acme Cleaning Company. Kevin cruised by just as they exited the vehicle. They were both wearing coveralls with Acme Cleaning Company stenciled on the back.
“Great!” Kevin said, circling the block and heading back to the six-plex. “Now we can get to work.”
“Exactly what do you have in mind?” I asked.
“With both of them at work, we’ll have plenty of time to check out their apartment. Maybe we’ll find something that will tell us why they’re stalking the good doctor.”
“You mean break into their place?”
“Relax. I’m not going to break anything,” he said, pulling a lock-pick set out of his coat pocket. “Their apartment is the logical place to start --- unless you have a better idea.”
This was the part of the P.I. business I had been dreading. As a cop, I couldn’t go near a suspect’s residence without a warrant. I had seen Suzanne Romero get too much evidence tossed out of court for exactly this kind of thing.
Alarm bells started going off in my head as I remembered the Professor’s admonition about crossing the line to the dark side. Kevin and I were about to unlawfully enter an apartment. Was this just good investigative work or something more sinister?
“Well,” Kevin said, jarring me out of my reverie. “Any better ideas?”
“No, I guess not,” I replied truthfully. It did seem like the logical place to start.
We parked a block away
from the building and strolled innocently to the sidewalk leading into the six-plex. Seeing no one close by, Kevin motioned toward the front door.
Once inside, we checked the mailbox again and saw that the Thrasher brothers occupied Apartment 4 on the second floor.
Kevin knocked twice and getting no response, whipped out his lock picks. In less than a minute I heard the ‘click’ and we were inside.
As much as I hated what we were doing, I had to admire the skill of my brother-in-law. I couldn’t help wondering how many locks he had picked in his thirty years as a P.I.
After seeing the Thrasher’s beat-up van, I fully expected their apartment to be equally trashy, but it wasn’t. It was actually quite neat for a couple of single guys. At least we assumed they were single. There were no other names on the mailbox, and at first glance, there were no frilly things to suggest that members of the fairer sex lived there.
The floor plan was simple, eat-in kitchen, living room, and two bedrooms with a ‘jack & jill’ bath in between.
“You take the kitchen and living room and I’ll take the two bedrooms,” Kevin said.
I started in the kitchen.
The refrigerator held a carton of milk, a carton of orange juice, and a package of cold cuts. In the cabinet were two boxes of cereal, a loaf of bread and several cans of soup. It looked very much like my kitchen during my bachelor years.
Seeing nothing of interest, I had just started going through the pile of stuff on the living room end table when I heard Kevin mutter, “HOLY CRAP!”
A moment later, he came into the living room grinning like the Cheshire cat and carrying a very worn book.
“This is what we came for,” he said, holding up the book. “Motive wrapped in a big red bow.”
I saw the inscription on the cover, ‘The Diary of Chloe Fisher.’
“Here, read a few pages,” he said, handing me the diary, open to a passage he had found.
I read a few pages and soon, like Kevin, I was muttering “Holy Crap!”
Kevin grabbed the book and tucked it under his arm. “Let’s get out of here. We’ve got what we need.”
I was shocked. “We can’t just take this thing!”
He looked at me like I had lost my mind. “Really! Why not? We work for Dr. Crane. Don’t you think she needs to see this? If it were you, wouldn’t you want to see it?”
He was right, of course, but I was having great difficulty getting around the fact that in less than an hour I had been guilty of breaking and entering and now burglary.
As we headed to our car, the words from the Eddie and the Cruisers tune kept running through my mind.
You slip to the dark side
Across that line.
On the dark side, oh yeah.
On the dark side, oh yeah.
CHAPTER 12
We spent the rest of the day pouring through Chloe Fisher’s diary. It read like a John Steinbeck novel. I was certain that Dr. Crane had no clue as to her family’s early history. She was in for a big surprise.
There was so much information in the diary, we debated on exactly how we should approach the doctor.
In the end, we decided to just present the part that related to her current situation, her being stalked by the Thrasher brothers. There would be plenty of time later for her to digest the rest of Chloe Fisher’s story.
We made arrangements to meet with her in her home that evening. We felt it would be easier for her to hear what we had found in comfortable and familiar surroundings.
Dr. Crane’s home, while elegant and certainly pricy, was not ostentatious. It was obvious that she and her husband had done well with their medical practice.
She greeted us warmly and led us to a family room where a fire crackled in the hearth. When we were comfortably seated, she offered a plate of cookies and tea from a silver service.
I was actually too nervous to eat, but since she had gone to so much trouble, I accepted. I bit into the cookie and it literally melted in my mouth. It was a far cry from the Nestles chocolate chip cookies that Maggie and I slice off the dough roll and plop in the oven. Kevin and I each ate three before we got down to business.
“So what have the two of you found that is so important,” she asked, placing the cookie tray just out of our reach.
“Before we get started,” I began, “I just want to let you know that we will most likely be telling you things about your family that you might not have been aware of.”
“Look, Mr. Williams.”
“Please, call me Walt.”
“Very well. Walt, Kevin, I’m nearly seventy and I’ve seen and done a great deal in my life. What you see around you here are just things and they in no way reflect the person I am. I’m quite aware of my humble beginnings and I seriously doubt there is anything you could tell me about my family that would shock or trouble me.”
“I certainly hope that’s true because there’s lots to tell. I’m sure you’re familiar with the name Chloe Fisher.”
“Of course. It’s my mother’s maiden name. I haven’t heard it for years.”
“Well, we have her diary,” I said, holding up the worn book.
I saw the shocked look on her face. “I’ve never seen that before --- never knew it existed. Where did you get it?”
“From your nephews, Billy Bob and Oren Thrasher.”
“They gave it to you?”
“Well, not exactly. It’s probably better that you don’t know the details.”
“I think I understand, but where would they have gotten it?”
“The best we can figure,” Kevin said, “is that when your mother passed, you met with your brother and he took several boxes of photos and family mementos. The diary was probably in one of those boxes.”
“So did you find something in the diary that would explain why my nephews are stalking me?”
I nodded.
“So tell me!”
“It’s complicated, so we thought the best way for you to understand would be to give you some background about your mother’s early life, then let you read her story for yourself.”
She settled back in her chair. “Let’s hear it.”
“By the time your mother was eighteen, she was pretty much on her own. She took a position as a live-in housekeeper with one of Kansas City’s wealthy families. Angus Tyler had amassed a fortune in the railroad business and was living high on the hog.
“According to the diary, she became friends with a young black man by the name of Nate Jackson who was Tyler’s groundskeeper. Apparently she would sneak sandwiches from the kitchen and share them with young Nate on their lunch breaks.
“With that in mind, I think you should read the next chapter in your mother’s own words.”
I handed her the open diary. “Begin reading with the December 1st entry.”
She slipped on a pair of reading glasses and took the book.
December 1, 1943. Mrs. Tyler and the kids left today to visit her sister in St. Louis. I hate being alone with Mr. Tyler. When his wife is not around, he says things to me he shouldn’t be saying and sometimes he tries to touch me. Today, he followed me into the kid’s bedroom and I don’t know what he would have done if the doorbell hadn’t rung.
Elizabeth Crane looked away and I could see a tear glistening in her eye.
December 2, 1943. What happened today changed my life forever. Like he done the day before, Mr. Tyler followed me into his bedroom while I was tidying things up, only this time there wasn’t any knock at the door to stop him. He grabbed me and threw me on the bed. I knew what he was planning to do and I fought him with everything I had, but he was just too strong. I was screaming as loud as I could. He had my arms pinned with his knees and was unbuttoning my blouse when Nate comes busting through the door carrying one of his shovels. He must have heard my screams. When he saw what Mr. Tyler was doing to me, he swung his shovel and I heard the crunch as it hit the back of Mr. Tyler’s head. He rolled off of me and onto the floor. There was blood ever
ywhere and I could see from the blank look in his eyes that he was dead.
Dr. Crane gasped, “Oh my God. I had no idea. She never talked about any of this. It’s horrible.”
“If you think that’s bad --- well, it gets worse.”
“How could it possibly?”
I just shrugged
She continued reading.
Nate helped me up and when he saw that Mr. Tyler was dead, he told me that we couldn’t stay. We’d have to run. I said, “How can we run? We don’t have any money and no place to go.” And he said, “Then we’ll just have to get some.” Nate grabbed a silver-plated revolver that Mr. Tyler kept in his nightstand and pulled me toward the door. We got in his old pick-up truck and Nate drove to the Wells Fargo office and parked in the alley next to it. He told me to wait and he’d be right back. A few minutes later, he came back carrying a sack filled with money. He took off and drove as fast as the old truck would go. While we was driving, he told me to divide the money into equal shares. I did what he asked and counted out two stacks of bills worth twenty-five thousand each. I never thought I’d see that much money as long as I lived. Nate pulled into a motel parking lot. He told me to take my share, rent room #8, and he would be back for me in two days. He said that if he wasn’t back in two days, I should high-tail it as far away as I could go. I asked him why he had to leave. He told me it would be better for me if we split up. People had seen him at the Wells Fargo office, but they hadn’t seen me. He said he had some business to take care of, but he’d be back. I did what he asked and rented the room. I’ve never been so scared and alone.
Elizabeth Crane set the diary aside, removed her glasses and wiped the tears from her eyes.
“I feel like I’m reading a chapter from the life of Bonnie and Clyde and not my sweet, gentle mother. You think you know someone but ---.”
“I hate to tell you, but there’s more, and it’s not pretty.”
She sighed, put her glasses on and continued to read.
Lady Justice on the Dark Side (Volume 19) Page 8
