by Mike Faricy
Instead of tail lights, I caught Pauley just three doors up the street. He was walking around the back of his car on his way up to the front door of a large three-story home, stucco with a brick front. I waited at the corner and watched as the front door opened before he’d even had a chance to knock. He stepped inside and the door closed behind him.
I resisted the temptation to let the air out of his front tire again. I drove up the street past Pauley’s car. He had parked behind what looked like a burgundy Corvette, but I couldn’t be sure in the dark and I didn’t want to be too obvious and stop. I gave a quick glance toward the house, but other than noticing an orange painted door in the front with a yellow porch light shining overhead, I didn’t see anything. I pulled to the curb in front of another gigantic house halfway up the block, parked and waited.
Over the course of the next hour and a half, three people walked by and all of them gave me the evil eye. All three were walking dogs.
The first was a very large woman in a grey sweat suit walking a very small white dog that seemed to lift its leg on every boulevard tree along the street, and there were quite a few. She would wait for the dog, then give some sort of encouraging words like ‘Aren’t you just the best boy ever’, before the thing scampered off to the next tree and lifted its leg again. It sounded like awful high praise just for taking a piss. She looked at me as she waddled past and frowned. Her jowls seemed to sag and her fat cheeks turned her eyes into slits. As she came into view in my rear view mirror the word ‘PINK’ was stenciled across her rear in very large letters. I gave an involuntary shudder.
Fifteen minutes later, some guy impersonating a college professor, or maybe he was one, walked past. He was walking an ancient German Shepherd with a number of bald spots on its coat and a gait that suggested severe hip dysplasia. The guy was wearing wire rim glasses, sandals, Bermuda shorts, a white golf shirt buttoned to the neck and a navy blue beret with a number of brass pins stuck to the thing. He began giving me the evil eye from two lots away. I pulled out my cell phone and pretended I was talking and taking notes. Fortunately, he didn’t stop to interrogate me. He probably had to hurry home so he could fall asleep reading Elizabethan literature.
The last person to walk by was a kid. I pegged him at thirteen or fourteen. He stared at me for a bit then frowned in my direction, but not directly at me. I figured he was just pissed off at the world because he had to walk the family dog at night and all the neighborhood bedroom windows were on second floors so he couldn’t peek in. He was walking what looked like a black lab. The dog gave the impression it would have really preferred to not be going this fast at this hour of the evening.
I was still watching the kid and his dog in my rear view mirror when the front door opened down the block. Pauley quickly stepped out and headed for his car. I slouched down until he drove past then waited to start my car once he rounded the corner.
I followed him down University Avenue and back over to the East side of town. He pulled to a stop in front of a bar named Mr. Blue’s. A place so low, it was even below my tawdry standards. Once again I resisted the urge to let the air out of his tire. I waited down the block, watching his car in my rear view mirror until a little after eleven when I figured he probably planned to waste his time in Mr. Blue’s until closing.
I drove back to the home he’d stopped at on Dayton Avenue. The burgundy Corvette or whatever it had been, was nowhere in sight. I slowed down and scanned the front for the address numbers. I found them after a long moment, wrote them down and then headed home.
As I crawled into bed, I could still catch the scent from Marsha’s hair on the pillows. It smelled like something tangy, maybe fresh fruit. I fell asleep in minutes.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The problem with going to bed somewhat early and alone, was I woke up the same way, somewhat early and alone. It was a little before six when I put the coffee on, then got on the computer and did a reverse search on that Dayton Avenue address. I fully expected Gaston Driscoll to pop up. Close, but no cigar, as Dawn Miller’s name appeared. Interestingly, there was no Mr. Miller listed and I wondered if my original hunch had been correct. Dawn Miller, Gaston’s current HR person was his toy.
If I was correct, that had me worried about Marsha’s safety and that reminded me that she had an appointment yesterday with Dawn Miller for a job interview and I hadn’t heard from her. Six-fifteen in the morning was too early to call, so I resisted the temptation to do so and scold her.
I did sit there and wondered what Dawn Miller was up to, having a low life like Pauley stop by her home. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be positive. And that brought me full circle to Pauley following Marsha which made me think six-twenty wasn’t as early as six-fifteen, so I called Marsha.
My call got dumped into her answering service after about eight rings. I phoned again and I got her answering service in two rings. I phoned three more times before she answered, sort of.
“Lo.”
“Hi, Marsha, Dev.”
“Dev? What the hell time is it?”
“Just a little after eleven,” I lied. “Just checking to see how things went yesterday?”
“Yesterday?” She was slowly beginning to come around, but it was work.
“Yeah, your appointment with Dawn Miller at Gaston Enterprises. How did it go?”
“Mrumph, mrumph.” She cleared her throat, slowly becoming more awake than not. “Oh, I think it went pretty good. Course I listed you as a reference. That might not have been a wise move. Just a little lie, told them I did routine office work for you for eighteen months and that I was a model employee who made you a lot of money.”
“Yeah, Marsha, that’s what I want, you working at Gaston Enterprises. I’ll be able to sleep nights, knowing you’re safe with that jerk.”
“Yeah, well, God I’m tired. I worked until close last night. Then get this, we had some dopey, bullshit meeting.”
“A meeting? At two in the morning?”
“More like closer to three. Yeah it went on for a half hour. You wouldn’t believe it. God, I bet I didn’t get to sleep until close to four this morning. Hey look, I better get going, I’ve got a one o’clock appointment down there again today.”
“At Gaston?”
“Yeah, follow up interview.”
“Did you give them your address?”
“Hello? Yes Dev, its pretty standard procedure on a job application and a resume. You know, in case they want to mail you something like an acceptance letter or God forbid, a paycheck.”
“Paychecks are all direct deposit nowadays.”
“Yeah, well…look I better run.”
“Keep me posted. Call me after this interview thing today. Oh, and Marsha, keep an eye peeled for that light green Buick LeSabre from the other night. It’s got red tape on the left rear tail light and the left rear panel is dented, scraped and scratched.”
“Tell you the truth, Dev, right now I’m so tired I wouldn’t know a Buick LeSabre from a pick-up truck.”
“The LeSabre has four doors, oh and South Dakota license plates.”
“Gee, thanks, look gotta run and hit the shower.”
“Need your back scrubbed again?” I tried not to sound too eager.
“Not this morning, but I’ll gladly take a rain check,” she said.
“You got it.”
My phone rang about twenty minutes later.
“Haskell In…”
“You moron, what the hell do you think you’re doing calling me at this hour? You jerk!”
“Who is this?” I asked.
“Shut up, Dev. Damn it, you woke me out of a sound sleep at six in the damn morning. God, no wonder I’m so tired.”
“It wasn’t six. Calm down, it was more like six-twenty and besides, you should have called me after your appointment yesterday.”
“Bastard,” she screamed and hung up the phone.
I could have called her back. I could have explained. I could have stepped in front of a
bus, too. I decided another cup of coffee was probably a much better idea. After that I’d have to see what I could learn about Dawn Miller.
Chapter Thirty-Four
I wandered into the office about ten-thirty. It was already hot and humid and the temperature was going to climb for about six more hours. There was a love note taped to my chair from Louie that said he would be in court until early afternoon. It went on to say we were out of coffee and while I was getting the coffee some doughnuts might be nice.
It was too late in the morning to watch the ladies board buses for work or college, so I sat at my desk drumming my fingers and willing my phone to ring. Amazingly it did.
“Haskell Investigations.”
“Hi, Dev, Karla.”
“Karla,” I said and then that idiot Pauley immediately came to mind. Great minds must think alike.
“Got a moment to talk?” she asked.
“I’ve got all day.”
“Yeah, right,” she said, apparently thinking I was kidding. “Look, do you remember yesterday when you were here telling me about the people you talked to?”
“Yeah.”
“You mentioned a name that rang a bell…”
“Amanda…”
“Amanda Richards. But I couldn’t remember how or where there was a connection.”
“I thought you checked your computer files, didn’t you? You were thinking she may have been an employee at one time, but nothing came up.”
“Yeah, well she wasn’t an employee, but she was mentioned in some background information on one of my employees.”
“Did someone use her as a reference?”
“No, welcome to my labor pool. Victim of an assault and attempted rape.”
“Assault and rape?”
“Attempted rape.”
“You mean one of your employees attacked her at the carwash? What the hell did he do?”
“No, not exactly, but it was sort of how he ended up here. As a matter of fact it’s your friend, Pauley Kopff.”
“That idiot?”
“Yeah, the charges originally filed against him were for breaking and entering, assault and attempted rape on a woman named Amanda Richards. The records I received had him pleading guilty to breaking and entering and the assault charge. The attempted rape on Amanda Richards was stayed provided he did the time and didn’t reoffend. That’s why I got the notification from his Parole Officer. Any hint of anything even remotely resembling a problem, and he’s back behind bars its all part of the terms of his parole, well that and about twenty other things.”
“Attempted rape?” I was deep in thought.
“I don’t know much beyond that. There must be some way you could check on this, get a more complete picture.”
“The police would have an incident file. Interesting.”
“Yeah, it came to me about three-thirty this morning, just popped into my head and woke me up.”
“You’ve been up since three-thirty? You should have come over.”
“I just might next time. Anyway, interesting sort of coincidence, don’t you think?”
“Yeah. Is he scheduled to work today?”
“Pauley? Bear with me here a minute. I’ll check.” I could hear her keyboard clicking in the background. “Yeah, we’ve got him on one till seven every day this week.”
“Does he usually show up for work?”
“Yeah, he’s okay. I think I told you he just made the transition from the half-way house to his own place. That’s potentially a difficult change for this crowd. Like I said, I’m half expecting the other shoe to drop. They usually do something like throw a party for some girlfriends and pals and things tend to go downhill rather quickly from there.”
I was deep in thought.
“Dev? You still there?”
“Sorry, just thinking for a moment.”
“Look, I’d appreciate it if you decide to talk to him, that you did it off our premises. I don’t want any repercussions coming down on me or the business.”
“Repercussions? I’m a nice guy.”
“Yeah, you usually are, but you’d be dealing with the social pool my employees come from, that always puts a little different spin on things.”
“Yeah, I get it. I won’t talk to him there, Karla.”
“Thanks. Hey, I better get back to work. Keep me posted.”
“I will, see ya.”
“Bye,” she said and hung up.
Pauley, Pauley, Pauley, I thought for a while. Then figured if I could look at the police file, I could study up on him, especially in relation to Amanda Richards and then maybe just take a peek around his new pad while he was at work this afternoon.
Chapter Thirty-Five
“In relation to what?” Aaron LaZelle asked. I’d phoned him as soon as I hung up with Karla.
“I told you I just wanted to see a file on a low-life named Pauley Kopff.”
“Wiseass with spiked hair? A four or five-time loser?”
“Oh, I don’t know, that number sounds a little low.”
“And let me ask again, this is in relation to…?”
“Like I said, the Desi Quinn murder. I’m still gathering information, but there seems to be a consistent pattern here with Gaston Driscoll flittering out there somewhere on the horizon.”
“Driscoll? You’re still on that kick. Dev, you’d have better luck trying to nail the Governor.”
“Yeah, believe me, I know. It’s still all circumstantial and I feel like I keep going around in circles, but the circles seem to be getting a little tighter.”
“How so?” Aaron asked.
“Again, all circumstantial,” I said, then told Aaron pretty much everything I knew, including Pauley stopping in at Dawn Miller’s home last night. I left out Marsha getting close with Gaston Enterprises, Pauley following Marsha home and me almost shooting him. As I was talking, I wished I’d gotten a license number on the Corvette parked in front of Pauley’s car. It may have been Gaston Driscoll’s. I made a note to have a romantic conversation with Donna at the DMV as soon as I was off the line with Aaron.
“I suppose we could bring him in, and I could have Manning sweat him for a couple of hours. He can be pretty good.”
I knew from some very unpleasant personal experience what it was like to be opposite Detective Norris Manning in an interrogation. The guy would like nothing better than to lock me up for life, just on general principles. I didn’t want to go anywhere near Manning.
“No, I don’t think that would be such a good idea.”
Aaron half laughed. “You still holding a grudge?”
“A grudge? Me? No, I just think the guy is a little too ‘by the book’ for my taste.”
“This coming from someone who has no book whatsoever,” Aaron said.
“And I’m not sure what it would accomplish. Pauley Kopff has probably been on the wrong side of an interrogation table since he was twelve. As good as Manning might be I don’t think it would turn up anything new. If, as I suspect, Pauley is somehow working for that squeaky clean Driscoll, it would just serve to alert the two of them that something is up.”
“And you want to review our information on Pauley Kopff?”
“Yes. Maybe you could put one of your team on Kopff.”
“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Let me see, the department is two investigators short and can’t replace them due to city-wide budget cuts. Did I mention everyone over here is working under a mandatory no-overtime policy? The team I have working Desi Quinn’s murder in normal times would have a caseload of seventeen other cases, all hanging fire. These days it’s probably double that.”
“Okay, okay, look, everything I’ll see in that file is probably public record stuff, but it would save me half a day of digging it out.” I waited a long minute. “You there, Aaron?”
“What? Yeah, sorry, just filling out the file review card. Stop in and see Madeline. This will be down there waiting for you in the next hour. Gotta run.” I heard him say to so
meone, “Come in, have a seat and close the door.” Then he hung up.
I wrote Louie a note on the bottom of the note he left for me, telling him I’d get coffee and doughnuts. I stopped at the grocery store on my way to see the always smiling Madeline down in the records department.
When the elevator doors opened to the musty basement, Madeline wasn’t smiling, but she was bleary-eyed. She never mentioned the file review card Aaron said would be waiting for me. Instead, I just wrote down Pauley’s name on a post it note and handed it to her. She more or less directed me with a clumsy wave of her hand toward the bank of cubicles, then swallowed, smiled and walked unsteadily back into the file area using the counter as a support, a guide or both.
After fifteen minutes of waiting, I was ready to call out to her when she suddenly appeared with a file about a foot thick. She attempted to set the file down on the desk top, but as she did so, she sort of lurched forward and the contents fanned out across the Formica top like a deck of cards.
“Whoopsie.” She giggled, then staggered out to her desk where she picked up her thermos and disappeared into the ladies room.
I looked at my watch. It wasn’t even eleven in the morning.
I straightened the stack of forms, investigations, reports, interviews and assessments that made up the file and began reading. It was modestly interesting and very depressing at the same time.
Pauley had been born Lester Palti Kopff in 1980. His mother was listed as a woman named Ruby Kopff, born in 1964. Which made her just sixteen when Pauley was brought into the world. Things went downhill from there. There was no mention of a father, responsible or otherwise.
