“Mr. Randall, I am sure there were plenty of women hanging around Tony when I was absent. He was a handsome man. It goes with the territory. I am certain he had no paramour though. He loved me.”
She was a proud woman and I could see that these rumors were something that had come up before.
“Okay,” I said. “The next item is your stepson.”
“Thomas? What of him?”
“He came to see me. Did you know that?” I asked.
“No. Thomas does not keep me informed of his movements.”
“Well, he was interested in the investigation, only he wants me to make certain that Tony doesn’t come back. He was quite specific about that. He even tried to bribe me to his side.”
“That doesn’t surprise me either, Mr. Randall. I told you that Thomas hates Tony almost as much as he hates me.”
“Uh huh,” I said. “But there was one piece of information he gave me that raised a flag. He told me that the money from your husband and the business are yours only in your lifetime and that it is a trust that reverts to him upon your death. That’s at odds with what you told me.”
She appeared taken aback. She turned and picked up a phone next to her on an end table. She dialed a single number.
“Rodgers, bring Mr. Randall and myself some coffee,” she said.
She hung up the phone. Within moments Rodgers entered with a silver tray with and ornate coffee pot and two cups. He poured for both of us and stood awaiting instructions.
“That will be all for now, Rodgers, and would you make certain that Mr. Randall and I are not disturbed?”
“Of course, madam.”
Rodgers glided out of the room and she turned to me.
“Rodgers will make certain that no one approaches this room and attempts to eavesdrop.”
“What about Rodgers? What if he eavesdrops?”
“There is nothing Rodgers does not already know, Mr. Randall, I assure you. Now, as to the disposition of the estate Thomas, is both right and wrong. My dear husband did set up his estate in that manner and I have always been prepared to carry out his wishes. However, after marrying Tony I began to think that the arrangement was unfair to him, in case I preceded him. I had lawyers investigate the matter and was informed that the will was easily broken and indeed unenforceable. It seemed a side matter so I told you the tale about the charities so as not to sidetrack you from the real issues.
“But, Mrs. Peterson, don’t you see that if Thomas found out about what you had done, it gave him a real motive in Tony’s disappearance?” I asked.
“But, Mr. Randall, I told you before that Thomas is not capable of doing harm to Tony. Besides, doesn’t the fact that he came to you prove he thinks Tony is still out there somewhere?”
“Mrs. Peterson, the double bluff is an old game. If he knows anything of Tony’s background, it could lead him to believe that action is required. Does Tony know that the trust, the real trust, can be broken?”
“I don’t believe so, Mr. Randall. We never spoke of it, and I told you Tony didn’t want my money. He loved me as much as I loved him.”
Once again the proud heiress melted away and she turned into the woman who loved, and missed, her man. The sincerity was obvious. I shuddered to think of what Vitale was capable of if he found out. That is, if he was still alive.
“Is there anything else, Mr. Randall?” she asked drying her eyes. I am anxious for you to resume your search.”
“Just one more thing, ma’am. Do you know a man named Homer Watkins?”
“I don’t believe so,” she said. “I know a Dr. Watkins, but his first name is Nathan I believe. Should I know this man?”
“Homer Watkins is a local private investigator who is also working the Peterson disappearance. Rumor has it a wealthy lady is the client. It occurred to me that you might be guarding your investment by hiring two detectives.”
“I assure you, Mr. Randall, that you are my only agent in this matter.”
“He could gum up the works, but if it’s not you, then someone else is interested enough to drop some money on it.”
“It is not me. That seems to be another lead for you, Mr. Randall. Now, I have pressing matters to attend to and I know that you wish to get back to the matter. Good day, and keep me informed of any advances.”
That was a dismissal if I ever heard one. I don’t know how he knew my time was up, but Rodgers entered the room as she finished speaking.
“Rodgers will show you out now, Mr. Randall.”
I left the room with Rodgers and headed back down the same hallway. Rodgers had his taciturn face on.
“So, do you like your work, Rodgers?” I asked.
“Indeed I do, sir. It is a pleasure to be of aid to madam.”
“I understand you are the employee with the longest tenure of the staff.”
“Well, that is not strictly true, sir. Helen the cook has been here since before myself. Indeed, since before madam,” he said.
“That’s right. Mrs. Peterson did mention that, now that you say her name. Is she available? I would like to talk to her.”
I don’t know, sir,” Rodgers said hesitantly. “She does have duties and lunch is approaching.”
I only need a few minutes, Rodgers, and Mrs. Peterson has engaged me to ask questions”.
“Very well, sir. Walk this way.”
He led me into a dining room.
“Please, wait here, sir and I will bring Helen to you.”
I sat down and pulled a pack of cigarettes form my pocket. There was no ashtray in sight, so I put them back. In a few moments Rodgers returned with an elderly lady in a cooks uniform. Rodgers left us and glided out of the room as if on skates.
“I am Helen. You wanted to talk with me, sir? She asked, with the emotionless mask of the long time servant. “I know nothing of the disappearance of Mr. Tony.”
“No, of course not, my dear,” I assured her. I indicated a chair, but she remained standing. “I only wanted to talk with you because you have been here so long that perhaps you have insight others do not.”
She blushed at the compliment. “Well, of course, I have been here a very long time, since before Mr. Thomas was born.”
“Precisely why I wish to have your insight. Was it a happy home?”
“Oh, yes, sir. Mr. And Mrs. Hawkins loved each other, and when Mr. Thomas was born they were overjoyed.”
“I have heard Mr. Hawkins could be a hard man.”
“Oh, perhaps in business, sir, but I would not know. However, with his family he was quite gentle.”
“What about after Mrs. Hawkins’ death?” I asked.
“Well, I really could not say. Of course, death always brings change. Sometimes, not for the better.”
“But Mrs. Peterson and her husband were in love, weren’t they.”
“Oh, yes, sir,” she said. “They were very happy.”
“What about Mr. Thomas? Was he happy?”
“He was a young boy when his mother died. He took it very hard, sir, as you might imagine.”
“Cancer is never a pretty way to die. I understand his father did not let him visit her in the hospital. He was shielding his son from the ugliness I would imagine.”
Helen looked at me oddly.
“The missus did not die of cancer, sir.”
“What? Then how did she die?”
“She was in a car accident, sir. She barely survived the trip to the hospital before she died of her injuries. There was no disease, “ she said.
“Does Thomas know this?” I asked.
“Of course, he does, sir. He was in the car with her. Thank heaven, he survived. The doctors said he had a severe concussion. The poor boy had headaches for years afterwards.”
My own head was spinning.
“Helen, do you have any idea why Thomas might tell people his mother died of cancer.”
“I really couldn’t say, sir,” said Helen. The servant mask was coming back up.
“Helen, please, I
don’t want to go to Mrs. Peterson with this. Do I need to have her instruct you to answer me?”
Helen was wringing her hands.
“After the crash, Mr. Thomas blamed himself for the accident. He was talking to his mother and distracted her. She ran a stoplight and was struck by another vehicle. Mr. Hawkins engaged several child psychiatrists because Mr. Thomas became so depressed about his mother’s death. Ever since then Mr. Thomas has liked to tell stories about the accident, sometimes terrible untrue stories. He was such a good boy. The guilt has greatly affected him.”
The story of his mother’s death went a long way in explaining how Thomas turned out the way he had, and the enmity he had for his father and stepmother. Sometimes guilt turns outward into anger.
I thanked Helen for her time and got up to leave. I found Rodgers at my elbow. How much he had heard I didn’t know. He walked me to the door and opened it.
“I’ll see you around, Rodgers,” I said.
“I look forward to it, sir, “ he returned.
I looked for a smile on his face and didn’t see one. He closed the door and I walked to my car.
Chapter Twelve
As the door closed I noticed someone lounging against my car. It was Thomas Hawkins. I walked towards him and could see that he had a drink in his hand. From the way he was swaying, it wasn’t his first drink of the young day.
“I heard you were here, Randall, so I dropped everything at the office and came over,” he said.
“How did you hear that, Tom?” I asked.
“Oh, never you mind, Randall. I have friends in this house, even if my stepmother hates me. My friends still watch out for me.”
I could guess who his “friends” were and I was fairly certain it was just one friend. Most likely the only person here who still remembered him as the sweet boy he was before the accident that took his mother.
“Well, it’s nice to see you again, Tom,” I said sarcastically. The sarcasm was wasted on him in his condition. “But I have to run. Some of us have to work for a living.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said, putting a finger in my chest. “I want to know what you and my dear stepmother have been talking about.”
I took a step back so as to mollify him if I could.
“That’s confidential, Tom. I can’t talk about it.”
I had barely got it out when he swung at me. It was a soft right jab at my face and I blocked it easily. I thought he was played out, but the with his left hand he threw his drink at me. The glass missed, but the liquid, it was scotch, hit me full in the face. He started to rush me and I nailed him with an upper cut to his doughy middle. He made an oomph noise that sounded like football being punted and he went down. He was gasping for air, then stopped, and rolled over. His eyes were closed and he was moaning softly. I realized that Rodgers was at my elbow.
“Can I be of assistance, sir?” he asked in his monotone.
“Yeah, you can,” I said. “I think Mr. Hawkins has eaten something that disagreed with him.”
“That is undoubtedly the explanation, sir. I will take care of him. I believe you have business elsewhere.”
I looked at him again to see if there was a hint of a smile, but nothing. I agreed that matters needing my attention were elsewhere and got in my car and drove down the long drive. I looked in the rearview and saw Rodgers was helping Hawkins to his feet. I went down the drive and the guard raised the gate and waved me through. I guess I didn’t need my ID to leave.
It was just after noon and there was one lead I wanted to follow up on. That was the girl who had set me up on the highway. When Rico’s men jumped me I heard Tommy say it was her fault because of her boyfriend. The boyfriend could only be Vitale. She might have information on his whereabouts or habits. At the very least, if I found her I could thank here for her part in my introduction to Rico and the boys. She had called herself Kimberly Downs, but I was sure that was a false name, however Tommy had called her Carla. Maybe there was something there. I hadn’t been kidding her. I really did think I had seen her before, but I couldn’t recall where. The track was where Peterson had been spotted with a woman so I decided to comb it again.
It was a sunny day and I spent most of it in the grandstands and the concourse. I spread around a couple of twenties, trying to mine new leads on Kimberly/Carla. The description from most people was vague enough to fit her and about a million other girls. Everyone agreed that she seemed leggy enough to have been a model or a dancer. Peterson was said to like burlesque clubs, so that might have been where he met her. That fit with my meeting with the girl in question. I was running in circles when I decided to call it a day towards seven. On my way home, I stopped at a diner and slipped into a booth for a tough steak and a baked potato. The waitress was pretty good since she talked me into a piece of pie, even though I was stuffed. I perused the evening paper and burned a couple of cigarettes before I paid my bill and left.
I started to head for my apartment when I had the vague feeling I was being followed. I didn’t notice anything in my rear view, but the feeling stuck with me. I made a few a few quick turns and started towards the downtown area. There was still nothing doing in the rear view and I began to feel paranoid. There were so many rough people around the edges of this case that I forgave myself for a little extra carefulness.
After twenty minutes of driving I was reasonably sure that I wasn’t being followed and began to steer back towards my place, when I realized I was on Fourteenth Street. The Club Control was on Fourteenth and it was the biggest burlesque house in town. I thought it was worth a visit to try and run down anything on Peterson, and maybe Carla. The club was an old friend of mine. I had dated one of the dancers there a while back named Susan Maxwell. She danced under the name Susie Max, for reasons that were apparent to anyone who had ever met her. The relationship had gone sideways after a while and the last I heard she had left town, but that had been over a year ago.
I nosed my buggy towards the club and slid into a parking lot across the street. The large neon sign flashing a dancer’s legs with the clubs name, was garishly lighting up the front of the club. I crossed the street in the middle of the block, paid the cover charge, and entered the building.
As I entered all my senses were assaulted. A band was playing a jazzy tune as two of the girls did a fan dance with very small fans on stage. The smell of booze and men’s cologne was in the air, and neither smelled expensive. The club had undergone some remodeling since I was last in. The bar had been enlarged and the runway from the stage had been removed. This made more room for tables on the floor area, I supposed. I had planned on sitting at the bar, but they had a full house, so I grabbed a table away from the action and sat down.
A waitress, who I didn’t recognize, took my order and I was soon sipping a surprisingly good scotch. I drank it a little too fast because it was so smooth. I only had to clink the ice a couple of times before the waitress came over and brought me another.
“Anything else, hon?’ she cooed. “Don’t limit yourself to the drinks.”
She was not only a waitress, but also a drummer.
“No, nothing special just now,” I said. “Would Mr. Martinez be around tonight?”
Rudolph Martinez was the manager of the establishment and we had something more than a passing acquaintance.
“Oh, he’s around, sugar, you can bet on that. Do you want me to send him over?”
I told her that would be fine when he had a chance, but no hurry. I showed her a picture I had of Peterson, and asked if she had ever seen him in the club.
“I don’t think so,” she said, casually glancing at the photo. “But I just started. We have a lot of regulars. I can’t remember everyone just yet.”
She left for another table and I went back to nursing my drink. After a while I saw a man in a tuxedo and a bad comb over making his way through the crowd, greeting customers as he went. He was the picture of the charming host. It was Rudolph Martinez. He gave me a wave from
across the room and made his way over to me. He beamed a smile and shook my hand.
“Mr. Randall, what an unexpected, and overdue, pleasure. We have not seen much of you since Miss Maxwell left.”
“I don’t get around like I used to, Rudy. Will you join me in a drink?”
“But, of course,” he said. He sat and motioned for my waitress. She nodded and went back to the bar. She came back with a bottle of champagne. She sat it on the table with two champagne flukes and drifted away.
“Rudy, I’m drinking scotch,” I protested, as he poured each of us a glass.
“I insist, Mr. Randall. This is a special pleasure to welcome you back to the club and it is on the house.”
“But I invited you for a drink,” I said.
“And this is my establishment, and when Rudolph Martinez wants to buy an old and favored customer a drink, he does.”
Rudy was at his expansive best tonight and we passed the next half an hour in pleasant conversation. Rudy was inquisitive about my health, current events, and the weather. A good host can make any subject pleasant. I finally came to the point of my visit.
“Rudy, I am glad to see you again, but I’m afraid this is a business call.”
“Business? And you a private investigator, my, how cloak and dagger we are.”
“It’s nothing like that, but I’m looking for this man. Do you recognize him?”
He looked at the photo intently.
“But, of course, I recognize him. That is Mr. Tony Peterson. I saw this exact photo in the papers about his disappearance. Very sad for the wife, I believe.”
“Was he a habitué of the club?’ I asked. “Did he come with a female companion?”
“One meets so many people,” he said apologetically. “And alas, advancing age takes its toll.”
“Let me contribute to your retirement fund,” I said, as I slid a fifty-dollar bill across the table.
The Visible Suspect (A Frank Randall Mystery) Page 7
