Fatal Chances (The Red Lake Series Book 5)

by Rich Foster

  His cup was empty. Coffee was a nervous habit to pass the time, but any more would bring on caffeine jitters. He was spared by Julia who walked out to the mailbox on the curb. She left a letter and put the red flag up. If she was still wearing the red lingerie, it was hidden by what could only be described as a sensible dress. And if it made her feel sexy, it did not show in her walk.

  A few minutes later the garage door went up and Harry went down. He came out the stairwell and was in his car by the time she reached the corner. She turned toward Beaumont. The gray sedan, parked three spaces over from Harry, started up and followed her.

  He joined the parade and tailed the cars into town, Julia pulled into a public parking lot and the sedan followed. Harry parked in a yellow loading zone at the curb. Shortly, Julia appeared crossing the lot and began to stroll Main Street followed by her Shadow. She turned into a store a few doors down. Harry pulled a u-turn and found a place to park on the street. He fed a couple quarters into the meter and settled onto a bus stop bench with his newspaper.

  Julia’s Shadow sat on the parking lot's low wall and smoked a cigarette, almost opposite Harry. Harry felt envious as the man puffed. Five years and I still miss smokes? When Julia came out of the jewelry store he remained seated. The Shadow acts as if he's done this before? Perhaps the guy was psychic for Julia walked only twenty feet and entered a clothing store.

  The bus arrived and pulled to the curb. Harry used its cover to move into the shop behind him. When the bus pulled out the bench was empty. He idled around the store but kept his eyes out the window. Julia's watcher did not seem to be on alert, just bored. If he's a hired body guard he's no good.

  Other than lunch at a small cafe, the rest of the afternoon was the same. Julia shopped and Harry and Julia's Shadow played Cat and Mouse. As the afternoon grew late, Harry left. It was too late for a rendezvous, he figured she would soon head home. He was nursing a Scotch rocks on his room's balcony when her car turned at the Raven Crofts gates. The gray sedan was not far behind, but sped off as she turned. Quitting time! Harry thought, the guy has done this before. This morning he was late and looked in the garage to see if he missed picking up his tail. But who was he? And why?

  The garage door on the Stockman house rose. Julia pulled in and got out of the car. Before the garage door closed Harry realized what troubled him, Two days of shopping and she's bought almost nothing?

  *

  The next day was much the same.

  Harry was accustomed to dull stakeouts whether in the rugged Afghan hills or the wooded streets of Red Lake, but Julia Stockman lived a boring life of window shopping and lunch. Yet not a new parcel in sight.

  She went to the Ashton Country Club for lunch. The sign said Private, but Harry did not let that worry him. As for the Shadow, he continued up the road. He'll be back. Harry followed Julia in. The Club's lot was shaded by broad leafy deciduous trees. The building itself floundered between a Colonial and Plantation style, as if the architect failed to make up his mind. I bet the servers are black and the golfers white.

  Harry loitered in the lot. Julia strolled in carried by her sensible pumps. He hoped for some action at the club, thinking of tennis or golf pros or men with more money than good sense who fooled around with bored housewives.

  After watching a couple codgers on the putting green for a bit, Harry strolled inside.

  May I help you?

  The girl in a blue blazer gave him a smile that implied doubt he belonged there.

  “I was thinking of joining a club.”

  “Well unless you call the municipal course a club, we are the only one in town.”

  She exuded pride in the Ashton Club, as if she too belonged,.

  “Could you show me around?”

  “Perhaps you would like to check our fees first. The club is not cheap, sir.”

  Harry served her an icy stare, “Neither am I, Miss!”

  The condescension in his voice caused her to wilt.

  “I'm sorry, sir. Why don't I you follow me?”

  As they toured the club Harry saw Julia in the dining room with a man whose back was toward him. However, when his escort took him unto the terrace to overlook the course, Harry saw Julia was dining with her husband. If Julia Stockman had any friends, Harry never saw them. She was a dull, conventional women, At least with her clothes on.

  Julia's Shadow picked them up as they came out of the club drive. He was parked on the shoulder. The day before Harry asked a contact at the Department of Motor Vehicles to run the plate, it was a rental.

  After another afternoon of window shopping Harry went home. He left behind a GPS tracker on both Julia's car and her unseen friend. In three days he would come back and remove the devices download the data and trace their every move on the map. It was possible to install a model that transmitted the data, but it was more expensive and Harry preferred to lower the cost in case they were lost.

  *

  “What is Mrs. Stockman like?” Paula asked him over dinner.

  Harry mulled this over while his jaw worked on a bit of steak.

  “I don't have a feel for her. She's attractive...”

  “How attractive?” Paula interrupted with a hint of jealousy.

  “Not as attractive as you, of course!”

  Paula smiled.

  “She likes to shop.”

  “Most women do.”

  “But she never buys. Three days and she bought one set of underwear.”

  “And how do you know that?” A hint of mild irritation leaked out with her words.

  “A good telescope and a high motel room.”

  “No wonder they call you private eyes, peepers.”

  “Not my favorite pastime, but it pays the bills.”

  “And what else did you see?” By now Paula's voice carried enough suspicion to make Harry cautious.

  “Just the panties and bra when she held them up, after that she went into the bath to dress.”

  Harry found sometimes a small lie was safer than a large truth. Paula's mouth twitched and then settled. "Make sure you don't stray, Harry,” she said with a feline smile. "I wouldn't like that.”

  “No, I am sure you would not,” he agreed. Then sought shelter by putting more meat into his mouth before he slipped and put his foot in instead.

  Chapter 2

  The previous winter was dry. Snowfall was sixty percent of normal and Alder Ski Resort west of town struggled to keep the slopes well groomed by making snow. As a consequence tourism was off and the business community suffered.

  Hopes were high for a wet spring, but it arrived and rain did not. Gradually, as if wasting away, the water level in Red Lake slowly dropped as the Bureau of Reclamation released water from the Forks River dam to keep up the flow for the spawning trout.

  Harry's favorite bass hole became shut off when the bar across the shallow entrance to Woods Bay became exposed. He consoled himself by getting out his fly rod and creel. For two days he stood in the chilly waters of the Forks River casting. Considering the market price of fresh trout, the work was not without merit but, other than feeding himself, casting his rod and reel did nothing to pay the office rent.

  He expected Harvey Stockman to call for a report. Most people lacked patience. Experience taught him people were loath to pay if he found nothing, but invariably hated the messenger if he did. The next morning at dawn Harry drove up the pass toward Beaumont. Storm clouds wreathed the peaks of the Lazarus Range making a promise of rain they had not delivered. As he started down the other side, a crack of lightning split the sky and the thunder rattled his truck. More dry lightning followed, yet the roadway remained dry.

  A half hour later Harry was in the Holiday Inn parking lot, sipping a cup of complimentary coffee he purloined from the lobby urn. From his vantage point he could not see the Stockman's house but there was only the one exit from the sub-division.

  Cars came and went. Traffic increased with people going to work. Harvey Stockman left about 8:45. A short
time late the gray sedan pulled into the hotel lot.

  He's been doing this a very long time, he knows her habits.

  As if to prove the point, fifteen minutes later, Julia's Lexus pulled onto the highway. Harry hung back as they worked the stoplights into town. He missed one and they pulled a block ahead but he managed to close the gap when traffic slowed through a single lane construction zone.

  Going to the health club, he thought.

  Julia turned in. The gray sedan pulled into a coffeehouse on the corner. Harry pulled to the curb. The first drops of rain fell as Julia hurried into the gym. Harry walked the opposite direction. At the end of the parking lot he slipped between two cars and then worked his way back. down the aisle. A minute later he held the GPS device from her car.

  Harry climbed into his truck and drove on. The driver of the sedan occupied a window booth but he was focused on the menu in his hands. Harry pulled around back where he quickly recovered the second tracker.

  For the next half hour Harry plotted the GPS points on the electronic map in his laptop. There was no surprise that the two overlapped much of the time. What he wanted to know was where the street tough lived. Each day the plots all ended on the highway west of Beaumont.

  As for Julia, her travels were pathetically repetitive, the gym, country club, mall, and Main Street accounted for eighty percent of her travels. The rest where scattered stops with no significant repeats and of no great duration. She never went near her shadow's location. Harry suspected she never noticed she was followed.

  Why she had a shadow was not his problem but he was curious. He retraced his steps. Beyond the Holiday Inn the roadside businesses thinned out. When he reached the GPS coordinates where the gray sedan stopped each night he found himself at an aging roadside motel that boasted color TV and kitchenettes.

  The man behind the counter was stooped by age. I hope to God I'm doing better than this when I'm his age. Harry flashed his detective license and put the photo he took when the man checked the Stockman's garage.

  “Seen this man?”

  The desk clerk put on a pair of spectacles and studied the picture. “Hmm.” he murmured noncommittally, “What's he done?”

  “I'm not at liberty to say.”

  “It looks like Mr. Wilson in room twelve. There's not going to be trouble is there? Bad for business you know?”

  Harry thought, There's little that could harm their trade. He picked up the photo. “Thanks.”

  The old clerk nodded. Harry pulled out and then parked in the lot of the liquor store next door. He came around the building and up from the far end, out of sight of the office. It took less than a minute to jimmy the strike on the motel room door, the tenant having not bothered to set the deadbolt.

  The room smelled of stale smoke and sweat. Dirty dishes filled the small sink. The nightstand and trash basket held an array of containers for take-out or microwaveable food. The closet held a sport coat a half dozen shirts and a few pairs of pants. He went through the pockets but found nothing. The suitcase on the floor bore no name, nor old airport baggage tags. It was empty. Behind it he found a pack of matches from a Las Vegas club, But they might be there only due to sloppy housekeeping. Obviously, the maid doesn't come often. Harry noted the clubs' name.

  In the bathroom the toiletry case held no prescriptions, the toothbrush was broken down and needed replacing. From the waste basket he picked up a plastic cup by the rim and dropped it into a large baggie. He searched the rest of the bedroom, checking the drawers, back of the dresser, and obvious hiding spots, other than a box of thirty-eight bullets in the night stand he learned nothing about the man other than he consumed a lousy diet and was a slob with poor hygiene.

  He let himself out.

  *

  “Mr. Stockman, do you have another person following your wife?” Harry asked, from the leather chair in Stockman's office.

  Surprise showed on his face. “What do you mean?”

  “There is a man following your wife. He doesn't appear to be a danger to her but damned if I know why he is there.”

  More trouble crossed Stockman's face and Harry knew he was about to hear a lie.

  “It's embarrassing to admit, Mr. Grim but I did hire another fellow to follow her. Just to be sure you know?”

  Harry knew nothing but nodded in agreement.

  “Its your dime. Your wife is not having an affair. She is not gambling, seeing drug dealers, or unsavory characters other than the second man you hired, whom I don't think she has noticed. In fact, please don't take this wrong, but your wife leads an extremely dull and routine life.”

  Stockman gave a smile that failed to show relief. “That's good to know. Thank you, Mister Grim.”

  There were a lot of unsaid things in the room and if spoken Harry figured half would be false. Stockman appeared nervous either concerned by his supposed second employee or the fact his wife was not involved in something disreputable.

  “I'll send you a bill, Mr. Stockman.”

  Out on the street Harry walked to the deli on the corner and ordered lunch. The pastrami on dark rye was good. He washed it down with a beer. Half-way through the middle of his meal Julia Stockman sauntered past. Evidently, she stopped somewhere nearby for Harry soon spotted the Shadow loitering in the entry of a store on the far side of the street. After watching for a couple of minutes he was sure of the bulge in the mans sport coat.

  Harry worked his way through the lunch crowd to the restrooms in the back. The beaten up pay phone still worked when he dialed.

  “911. What is your emergency?”

  “There is a suspicious man standing in front of Higman's Jewelry Store. About five-ten, two hundred pounds dark hair, and he has a gun under his jacket.”

  The operator tried to ask something more but Harry hung up and returned to dipping his French fries in ketchup. As he popped them slowly in his mouth, he watched the street. A dark sedan with black wall tires parked in front of a fire hydrant at the far corner. Two men climbed out and moved toward the jewelry store.

  A moment later a black and white patrol car cruised past, it slowed enough for the driver to eyeball the Shadow, who turned away. The uniformed officer pulled into the bus stop and stepped out. His hand released the gun strap on his holster. The Shadow glanced at him and walked quickly away, only to be stopped by the undercover cops.

  Harry finished his sandwich and enjoyed the show. Whoever the man was, he was soon leaning against the brick wall with his hands and legs spread. He did it as if it were not a new experience. One officer held his gun ready while the other patted the Shadow down. The gun on the man's waist was found and handcuffs flashed in the sunlight as they were snapped on his wrists.

  Harry paid the bill. When he came out, the Shadow was in the back of the cruiser. Harry smiled to himself.

  I guess he didn't have a permit.

  The patrol officer got behind the reel and with a whoop of the siren pulled out into traffic and drove away.

  Chapter 3

  Once the rains began they fell in Biblical proportions. The world was sodden. Mud flows and rock slides blocked the pass numerous times. The Forks River crashed in a whitewater torrent. Silt laden water flowed from the hills and the crystal waters of Red Lake turned turbid. And still the rain fell.

  Irritations grew. People snapped at each other. They cursed the rain they once prayed for. Yet more came. After three weeks Red Lake was full and the Fork's dam spilled. The floodgates were opened to reduce the pressure on the dam face.

  Harry watched the water rivulets run down his office window, feeling no less irritable than most. With no work and unable to fish, he was testy to say the least. Paula chose to stay home. The ringing of the phone pulled his attention from the water patterns.

  “Mr. Grim?” a tenuous voice asked.

  “Speaking.”

  “Harvey Stockman. You do remember me?”

  “Certainly, sir. I believe you owe me a check, how nice of you to call.”

&nbs
p; There was a moment of flustered silence at the far end of the line.

  “Oh yes. Sorry, a bit of an oversight.”

  Harry mutely ran his fingers in circles having heard every excuse known, including the oddest one, “My checkbook must have fallen into the coffin at my wife's wake.”

  “Nice of you to let me know,” Harry interrupted.

  “Well there is another small thing...”

  Harry rolled his eyes but had no audience to appreciate it.

  “...Julia found the entry for the retainer I wrote you. And well....” Stockman cleared his throat. “I told her you were doing a background check on a possible campaign staffer. So if she should call you would you mind confirming my story?”

  “Mr. Stockman, if your wife called, I wouldn't admit even knowing you.”

  “Well I should like you to do so if she does call. Julia was difficult to convince. As a prescriptive measure, I booked us unto a Caribbean cruise. We fly out next week, so if she calls it will be in the next few days.”

  “No problem. Your check will be a good reminder. And if not I will be happy to ring her when you get back..” Harry grinned enjoying Stockman's discomfort. The man was full of himself.

  Stockman cleared his throat one more time. “Yes, I see. Right away, Mr. Grim.”

  *

  The longshoreman at the Port of Miami cast off the hawsers holding the Sterling Princess to the wharf and the deck crew hauled them aboard. The horn sounded a single blast telling all that they were getting underway. Along the terraced rows of balconies people leaned against the rails and waved. There wasn't really anyone watching who cared but the habit was ingrained from old films of the Queen Mary or USS United States leaving port.

  The bow thrusters roiled the water and the ship's bow slid sideways clearing the debarking cruise ship berthed ahead of them. A faint tremor gently vibrated the cabin soles as the huge General Electric LM 2500 gas turbines began to turn the propellers churning the water in their wake.

  Harvey Stockman leaned against the rail, alone. Julia had another of her recurring headaches and she took to their double wide berth as soon as they entered the cabin.