Tracking A Shadow: A Jarvis Mann Detective Novel

by R Weir

  She led me down a long hallway and into a meeting room that seemed designed for forty–fifty people to meet in, or for parking several SUVs side by side. The table was of the same walnut tone everything else in the office was, oval-shaped with chairs circling it. A huge glass window gave a nice view of the mountains, though today they were hard to see because of the smoke from the foothills’ fires nearby. The walls were paneled in walnut, with various framed nature photographs hung on them. Also a huge LCD 80-inch TV was mounted with a large camera for video conferencing. Four white, ball-shaped microphones hung from the ceiling to capture every word spoken in the room. The space itself was bigger than my whole home office times two. The acoustics were so perfectly designed that I wanted to sing out loud to test them, but I resisted the notion.

  “May I get you some coffee, soda or a Perrier to drink?” she asked. “We even have bagels and Danishes if you’d like.”

  “Perrier and a Danish would be wonderful,” I replied. “This is quite a room. I’m sure a lot of high-level meetings are held here. I’m afraid I may get lost because it’s so large.”

  She smiled warmly back at me. “I’m certain I can help you find your way home.” She turned and walked away, but stopped and smiled back at me again before leaving. Nice to know I still had it, or at least found it. She didn’t seem put off by my Old Navy outfit.

  My wait for Tony Bristol wasn’t long. He walked in with a presence that matched the whole office. This was not a shyster lawyer who chased after ambulances and ran commercials on TV late at night promising to collect the money you’re owed for an injury you suffered. Taller than me, probably 6’2”, but he was very slender. His hair was cut short, brown with a tint of gray at the temples. He was wearing a black Armani suit that cost more than my entire wardrobe. On his left hand was a huge ring that sparkled in the light from all the small diamonds, while on his wrist was an expensive watch that certainly wasn’t a Casio. He reached out his hand to shake mine, cupping it with both of his. Very firm, no perspiration, and he held it until I decided to let go. His smile was warm and genuine. If I was on a jury, I’d believe anything he said.

  “May I see some ID, please,” he asked.

  I pulled out my wallet to show him my P.I. license. Hopefully he didn’t notice how few dollar bills were stowed away inside.

  “Mr. Mann, so good to meet you. Can’t be too careful, and I need to make sure I’m giving information to the correct person. Emily called and asked me to help out. She was a wonderful client, so I’m most happy to assist in any way I can. She said you needed data on her divorce from her horrible husband.”

  “It’s good to meet you, as well. Yes, I’m working on something for her, and she said you had an extensive file on her ex that I could get ahold of. This would save me a lot of legwork and her several hours of fees.”

  Melissa returned with the Perrier and a lemon Danish, my favorite. “Can I get you anything, Mr. Bristol?”

  “Nothing to drink for me, Melissa. Can you retrieve the case file for Emily White and make copies of everything for Mr. Mann. He is working on a case for her and needs all the info we have.”

  I smiled at her. “It would really be much appreciated.”

  “I’m happy to do so. I guess that you’re not a lawyer from the way you’re dressed.”

  Oh, she did notice my Old Navy style. “No. I’m a private detective.”

  “You must meet some interesting people in your line of work.”

  “You could say that,” I answered, giving her my best smile. I hoped it worked better on her than it did on the receptionist.

  “I can have those ready for you shortly.” She turned and walked out of the room.

  Bristol gave me a wry glance. Maybe he sensed something between us. But I figured I was out of her league.

  “I know you only have a short amount of time,” I said. “So I wonder if you can give me a few of your thoughts on Emily’s divorce. From your perspective.”

  “Well, it’s pretty much all there in the file. It has been five years, and I work on many cases at a time. I’m not sure I can add to what you’ll read.”

  “I’d just like to hear it in your own words. Maybe it’s nothing but I find reading notes is helpful, while hearing it from someone involved in the proceedings can bring a different light to the cold, hard facts.”

  Bristol leaned back in his chair, placing both hands behind his head. He thought for a few moments before speaking. I wasn’t sure if he was stalling, trying to recall something, or deciding what to tell me.

  “Well, I’m uncertain what she has you working on, though I can make a pretty good guess. I recall the anxiety she had about her ex-husband, a fear for her life and well-being. We did everything we could legally to keep him off her back. Unfortunately, short of physically threatening him, not much was going to stop him. We just hoped he wouldn’t completely lose it.”

  “She stated after the divorce proceedings were finalized, he stopped stalking her. Any ideas why?”

  “I do recall that was the case, but no idea. I figured we’d have to continue with the restraining order and arrest him enough times to finally keep him in jail. But it just stopped.”

  “Since she needs help again, do you have any thoughts why she didn’t just come to you?” It seemed like a good question. “You obviously have resources here, certainly more than a simple detective like myself would have. Of course, price…”

  Bristol gave a broad grin. “Yes, we aren’t cheap. Money could have been a factor, though as I recall that was not an issue for her. But no, I can’t truly speculate why she didn’t come back to us for help this time. I’m certain she was satisfied with the work we provided.”

  He looked at his watch: a Rolex, I determined. Definitely not a Casio. “Well, I must go, as I need to be in court in an hour. You can wait here, and Melissa will bring you a copy of everything we have. I so enjoyed our conversation.” He shook my hand again with both hands and left the room. I had the feeling he went to a lot of fundraisers and was used to pressing flesh. He’d have made a good politician. Was he as good at kissing babies as shaking hands?

  After about five minutes Melissa returned with an accordion file full of paperwork and handed it to me. “These are all the pertinent documents. Hopefully it will help you with your case. I’ll walk you out.”

  We walked side by side through the building, and I felt the tension of attraction between us. As we reached the lobby door she offered her hand to me. “It was nice to meet you.”

  “I appreciate your assistance,” I replied.

  “If there is anything more you need from me, my card is in the file. Call me at any time.”

  I smiled and walked out the door, looking back once to see her watching me. I saluted and tried not to trip over my own two feet as I headed towards the elevator. Wow, I got her number and didn’t need to ask for it. Maybe I should buy a lottery ticket, as I was on a hot streak.

  Chapter 4

  Normally when I’m downtown, I like to stroll around, check out the sights and the people. I’d spend time walking up and down the 16th Street Mall, maybe get a hot dog and soda from one of the vendors, even see a Rockies game if they were playing that day. But they were on the road right now, and it was too early for lunch. And I was on a job with lots to do. So I grabbed the next light rail train heading back my way, found a seat and began reading through all of the material I’d been provided.

  The file on Mark Remington was pretty complete, and, even though it was five years old, having the info was helpful. It covered his date of birth, where he was born, who his parents were and how many siblings he had. His complete job history, from working at McDonalds when he was a teen all the way up to foreman at a construction company. The complete pay history and listing of his net worth at the time. There was an older picture of him showing a good-looking man, with curly blond hair and ear-length sideburns, brown tanned skin and a day-old beard. He was roughly my height and weight, with an athletic build an
d two sports skills, I gathered from the notes. He played baseball and football in high school and college, but never was good enough to go beyond that, so now it was softball regularly, like Emily said. He had few vices: drank beer, but no mention of alcohol or drug issues. Nothing about any issues stalking previous girlfriends, and there was a long list of them from his past, several of whom had been interviewed. Not one had a bad thing to say about him other than the usual statements like we weren’t right for each other, we grew apart, or he dumped me for someone else.

  As for his family, his dad had died seven years before his marriage to Emily of a heart attack. His mother, whom he wasn’t close to, had many health issues as well, including diabetes. She was alive at the time of the divorce, but who was to say now, since she was in her sixties. As for siblings, Emily was right—there was a younger sister, Danielle. But she was married with two kids and lived in New Mexico. Mark had not had contact with his sister for many years.

  There was the usual financial information showing Mark wasn’t rich but wasn’t struggling. He made good money and wouldn’t waste it on frivolous things. They didn’t own a home when they were married and only rented. All the cars were paid for, and there was little debt other than small balances on a couple of credit cards. His 401k was in good shape for a man his age, with minimal savings and checking money. Statements on his job history were good, with nothing bad to say about him, most saying he was excellent at what he did.

  The restraining-order paperwork was included, along with police reports on his arrests for being too close to Emily. He spent twenty-four hours once in jail before he was let out and another forty-eight hours the second time. They tried to do a psych evaluation on him but he refused, and another judge threatened to put him in jail for ninety days if he didn’t stop. This was shortly before the hearing on the divorce that was finalized a week later. No alimony or support was given, as Emily said she specifically requested none be paid. The stalking stopped, and no one heard from him again or where he went. But I figured I could track him down without a problem with the info I had. Unless you’re in Witness Protection, finding people is easy these days.

  The train pulled into the station and I filed all the paper into the folder. I found my car and drove back towards home. The next stop was the local police station to talk with a sergeant there I knew. I wouldn’t call him a friend, though we were friendly, but someone to provide information for a beer or two. He worked behind a desk most days because of some physical issues, so he was pretty easy to track down. Generally, he wasn’t happy to see me by the expression on his face every time, so I tried not to ask for too many favors so that the well didn’t run dry. Today the precinct was quiet and I caught him at his desk talking on the phone, drinking a cup of coffee. When he finished up his call, he gave me the stare. “What do you want!”

  “I can tell you’re happy to see me, Bill.” I said. “How’s the wife and kids?”

  “I doubt you’re here for small talk. Make it quick!”

  Time had been somewhat hard on Bill. Though he looked good dressed in his dark blue uniform, with a shiny badge, and belt loaded with the Glock, mace and handcuffs; he’d taken a bullet some years back that still caused him pain in his right hip. This limited him to desk duty on most days, unless there was a shortage of manpower due to vacation and illness. He was African American, in his mid-forties, with natural tight black and gray curly hair. He walked with a slight limp most of the time and did his best to stay off of the pain medication as much as possible since it made him loopy. He tried to act tough, but you always could tell the pain wore on him. But he had no desire to be on disability.

  “Well I think I still owe you a couple of beers from the last time. When would you like to get together to collect?”

  “So you can pry information out of me I’m guessing.”

  “Hey I do enjoy your company, at least when you’ve had a few. But I could use some info for a case I’m working on. Lady being stalked said she came down here and no one would give her the time of day. I wondered if a report was filed that I can glance at or you can read it and give me the scoop when you get off. We can meet at Boone’s Tavern.”

  “I’m off at 3 today. Give me the name and I’ll see.”

  “Emily White. Came in a week or so ago. I don’t know who she talked with.”

  “Ok I’ll see what I can find.”

  “Also any info on a Mark Remington and a Rickie Ward would be helpful. See if they have any priors. They are suspects and Mark is Emily’s ex-husband with two arrests for stalking her over five years ago. Just need to know if they’ve had other police issues in the past.”

  He raised his head and gave me a hard stare. “Anyone else of the 2.5 million people in the metro area you need me to check?”

  I smiled back and said “no.” Bill didn’t write down any of the names, but with his photographic memory he rarely needed to.

  “I’ll see you at Boone’s at around 3:30 or so,” he stated as he went back to working on the paperwork he had in front of him.

  “Looking forward to it,” I answered as I headed out and back to my car.

  It was pushing lunchtime, so I decided to grab something quick. I hit the Wendy’s near where I lived and grabbed a single with cheese, mustard and ketchup, fries and a large soda. I seemed to live on burgers and fries when on a case. I took it back to my place to enjoy before doing some more research. One of the ladies at the beauty salon was standing outside smoking and I gave her a nod and said hi as I walked down the steps to my home office. I hated the smell of cigarette smoke and was glad it stayed in the great outdoors these days.

  Once more I tried not to wolf down my sandwich and was only marginally successful this time. After washing my hands I went to the keyboard of my desktop computer. Even with the whole technical world being pretty mobile these days, I still had an old fashioned mini-tower CPU with a large 24-inch LCD monitor. You could get a lot of power and storage for less money than a tablet, and I didn’t care if I carried it with me. My smartphone gave me all the mobility I needed and was easier to carry.

  The Internet was a wonderful thing and also a scary one. Need to do research and you could find out pretty much anything with a few mouse clicks. This helped in my job, but worried me that it made it too easy for the bad guys and the government to pry into people’s lives. Social networking sites like Facebook and Google Plus always were the first place I visited to find someone. Few account-holders go to the trouble of going through the privacy settings to find out what they were revealing. So everything you post can be seen by anyone. With my own Facebook and Google Plus accounts I was logged in to comb their databases for information.

  My first search was for Mark Remington. Since I had a five-year-old picture I figured I could find him, because most people post pictures of themselves when setting up an account. It was easier looking for a man, as they generally don’t change their hairstyle much. There were many Mark Remington’s listed, even when narrowing down via Denver and the suburbs. Sure enough he was the seventh one I found, as he looked pretty much the same. I scrolled through and found out that he still was living in the Denver area, as he’d posted the east-side suburb Aurora as his current home, even listing his employer, Ball Construction. I pieced all the information together and printed it.

  Next search was for Rickie Ward. This was a little harder since I didn’t know what he looked like. There were literally fifty or more names listed, when you figured in Rick or Richard. I grabbed my notes and called Emily at work.

  “Hi, Jarvis,” she said. “You’re calling to tell me you solved the case!”

  “I wish. Did you talk with Tammy the HR lady about getting me data on Rickie Ward? I need a basic description of him, as I’m trying to track him down and there are a lot of Rick’s and Richard’s with that last name. Can she scan and email me the info, hopefully with a bio photo of him?”

  “I did talk with her, and I can get my assistant to email. I doubt we have a pict
ure of him, but we would have his last address. He was probably 5’9”, slender build, with brownish-red hair fairly long in the back and short on the sides and front. Almost a mullet style, though not that bad. He wore shirts open in front so he’d show a lot of chest hair and always had a silver necklace with a cross on it. Not really sure why, because he wasn’t religious from what I could tell, and we often had to warn him to button up in front of clients. He felt he was handsome and liked to use that when wooing them, not that it worked well.”

  “OK, that helps. Have your assistant send it to this address.” I gave her my email address. “So that you are aware, Mark is living in Aurora. I plan to pay him a visit, probably tomorrow once I track him down.”

  There was a long pause. “OK, good to know,” she replied. “Well, I have to get back to work. Call me if you need anything else. Good-bye.”

  From her reaction, maybe it wasn’t a good idea to give her that news at this juncture.

  Once I received the email with the info, it was pretty easy to find Rickie. He was still living where he lived before and appeared to be a ladies’ man, from what I could see on Facebook. Lots of pictures of him with various women, most of whom were attractive. Status was Single, his alternate name Single Forever, implying he was a hound, or at least tried to be one. If you worked hard enough at it, you could always find women to sleep with. From everything I read he seemed egotistical and would be a fascinating person to talk with, in a bad way. He was on my list to visit tomorrow as well.

  As 3:00 rolled around I gathered up my things and headed to Boone’s Tavern to meet with Bill. I parked in the back off of Downing Street and walked in. The bartender saw me and pointed his finger at me. I was a regular and was always treated pretty well. He poured me my usual mug of draft beer and slid it down to me. They catered only in locally brewed beers and had a diverse selection. I was checking out what was playing on the nearest of the twenty-seven TVs they had covering the entire bar when I saw Bill stroll in with a slight limp. He sat on the barstool next to me and ordered a beer.