by Rich Foster
Harold Voss buzzed his secretary, “Sherrill, please reach Alan Chandler at home. Then put him through to me”
Sherrill placed the call but no one answered. She soon reported this to Voss.
“Sir, I let it ring over a dozen times. There was no answer,” she said.
“Thank you, Sherrill. Please try again later. I must speak with him.”
Voss was certainly capable of making the call himself but he wanted a witness to Alan’s absence from home. He then dialed the number himself a half dozen times, letting it ring and ring. If Alan was at home he was certainly a sound sleeper.
Next he called down to personnel and asked the nameless clerk to look up who was listed as Alan Chandler’s physician. Having received an expeditious reply he dialed the doctor’s number.
“Doctor Ames’ office. How may I help you?”
“Yes, I am calling from Voss and Associates. I wanted to check if Mr. Chandler remembered to give Doctor Ames his drug test form yesterday? It’s not extremely important, but his name was up for random testing this week.”
“Did you say yesterday?” the receptionist queried.
“I believe so. I was given to understand he was in yesterday.”
“Could you hold, please?” she said. Music replaced her voice, but after a minute she returned. “He didn’t have an appointment yesterday. In fact he hasn’t been in for over a month according to his file.”
“It’s probably my mistake.” Voss soothed. “Oh, yes. I see now I have the wrong Chandler and therefore the wrong doctor. You’re Alan Chandler’s doctor, right? I must have looked at the wrong line. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”
Harold Voss hung up with a satisfied grin on his face. If the facts were known, he wanted to fire Alan. But, it was so difficult now days to let an employee go. He feared if he sacked Alan for his performance, which had been suffering, he would be sued. Alan might claim he was not being accommodated with his “mental health” problems. But, if Alan were caught in a blatant lie, a dismissal would be much easier.
Voss picked up his phone and dialed 911.
“911-- Please state your location and the nature of your emergency”
Mr. Voss was most apologetic. “This may be nothing, I certainly hope so, but I have an employee who has been out sick for three days and I am unable to reach him. I fear he may be in distress. I would go myself but I can’t leave the office. Would it be possible to send a patrol car around to 3558 Warren Court?’
The operator asked for and obtained his name and the name of his employee. She told him she would send it to dispatch, but it could be a while. Mr. Voss thanked her. It would be such a relief to know that Mr. Chandler wasn’t lying helpless in his home. As he hung up, Voss was pleased with himself. Alan had better be dead or in the hospital, because if he weren’t at home Voss would have a police report to back him up when he fired him.
*
At the police station Candice was still on radio dispatch. She existed largely on donuts and heavily sugared coffee. Consequently, she spread across her chair. Something about the name on the request for service from 911 was familiar. She put out a call to any patrol car in the vicinity of Warren Court to check in. While she waited for a response, she pawed through the file tray on her desk. She knew it had to be there; with a flourish she pulled the paper she wanted out of the stack. The name and address were the same as the missing person report Maddox had given her the other morning. Car eighteen returned her call. She dispatched them.
“Check 3558 Warren Court, see if anyone’s at home. An employer feels a sick employee may need assistance. The subject’s name is Alan Chandler.”
“This is eighteen, should we enter?”
“I’ll check with the captain, probably not until we contact the owner of record.”
“10-4”
When she finished, she pushed the intercom for the squad room.
“Hey Lyle, this is Candice, is Maddox in?”
“He just came back from lunch.”
“Send him back my way would you? I’d like a word with him.”
A few minutes later Sgt. Maddox entered dispatch. He waited for break in the traffic of voices.
“What’s up Candice?”
Candice slid his original paper and the printout from 911 across the desktop to him. He picked it up and read it. She glanced up at him, “Does this seem a little strange to you, Ray?”
“How so?” he asked.
“Well, you’d think the wife would tell the boss or something. If she didn’t talk to him, where did he get the idea the Chandler guy was home sick?”
Maddox grinned at her, “Are you bucking to make detective?” he asked.
“I don’t want to be detective, I like being parked right here!”.
Maddox grinned at her.
“Give me a chance,” said Candice. “Delaney took a call from the Sheriff up at Red Lake in Canaan County where the victim… I mean the missing person has a cabin.”
Maddox rolled his hand in a circle as if to say “out with it.”
“AND SO…?” he asked.
“No one’s seen the guy, but his wife asked the local Real Estate agent to roll past the guy’s house. She told him, that he was returning from a business trip and she had to reach him.”
“What’s this guy’s name?’
“Herb Lanski. According to the Sheriff he’s had the place listed for six months. The Sheriff got the same story from the people at the local market.”
“Thanks Candice.”
As he walked down the hall, Maddox looked at the two papers again; the grin left his face. Back in the squad room he called Delaney over to his desk. Run a check on Chandler, I want to know if there has been any activity on his credit card for the last seventy-two hours. Also find out where they bank, see if there has been any recent activity on their accounts, like cash withdrawals. Delaney returned to his desk and began typing at his computer, calling up the many electronically filed facts of Alan Chandler's life.
*
In Red Lake, death had occupied Sheriff Gaines’ afternoon. Two kids from over in Dalton ditched school and stole a car from the high school parking lot. As a theft it wasn’t so daring, the owner had forgotten the keys in the ignition. On County Highway 15 they blew past several cars at over a hundred miles an hour before approaching the flashing red signal where it joined Route 12. Whether they didn’t see the logging truck, or thought they could beat it across the intersection, no one would ever know, but the joy ride ended there. One was dead. The other would probably want to be, if he were capable of thinking.
The accidents still got to Gaines, especially the stupid ones. And, most of them were stupid. It wasn’t the mess; he had gotten over that in Vietnam. It was the needless slaughter. People were in such a damn hurry. And kids? Well kids never did believe they could die. He had notified the parents. He saw the fear in their eyes when he approached, “Oh no! My kid’s in some sort of trouble!” When he left, their eyes were too flooded by grief to see him leaving.
Gaines was in a black mood when he returned to his office. He dropped heavily into his desk chair. He took the missing persons printout from his desk and squinted at it with his cheater glasses. A moment later he was dialing the telephone. A young male answered the phone.
“Beaumont Police Department.”
“Yeah, this is Sheriff Gaines in Canaan County, I’d like to speak with Sgt. Maddox.” he said.
“One moment please.”
Gaines fidgeted with his pen as he waited. Several minutes passed, finally Maddox answered.
“This is Sgt. Maddox speaking.”
Gaines liked the sound of Maddox’s voice and a little of his surliness passed.
“I’m calling about your missing person.”
“Do you have something?”
“No. He hasn’t been around, but according to one of our locals, he checked the cabin at the lady’s request the other morning. I went out there myself a while ago.”
&n
bsp; “That’s all you got?” asked Maddox.
“Only that he wasn’t around. My guy said he called the lady back and talked to her”.
“Anything else?”
“No, but it is odd that down your way she called the police, but up here she called a local. Maybe it’s nothing but the stories conflict. Your bulletin says Chandler went missing from his home in Beaumont. The wife told the two locals up here he was coming home from a business trip. She said he might be passing through here.”
“The same thought had occurred to me.” Maddox answered and then finished with, “Sorry for your trouble and thanks for your help.”
“Anytime,” said Gaines. His usual good humor was returning.
Maddox hung up the phone and went to Delaney’s desk.
“You get anything on the Chandler guy?” he asked.
“Nothing! No charges on Visa, Master Card or his gas cards. I talked to the bank manager. He wouldn’t let much go, not without a warrant. But, he did say there had been no cash withdrawals from any accounts, including ATM. He wouldn’t say anything else.”
Maddox murmured a muffled, “Hmm” and walked away down the hall. At the radio room he poked his head in. “Hey Candice, when car eighteen checks in, tell him to see me when he gets back to the station.”
*
When the patrolman Corey Trembal pulled up to the curb at the Chandler residence there was a red Miata in the drive. As he strolled up the walk nothing seemed amiss, but he did see movement in a downstairs window. Lilly had stopped at the house to pick up some papers she had left behind that morning. She hadn’t noticed the patrol car stopping. The bell startled her. So, her cheeks were still flushed, when she answered the door. Seeing a police officer filled her with dread. The fear showed on her face. Something bad must have happened to Alan, she thought.
“Yes?” she said with some anxiety in her voice.
The patrolman looked at his notes. “We had a report from a Mr. Voss that he had been unable to reach an employee of the name, Alan Chandler. He said he knew the man was sick, and though he called several times there was no answer. He asked us to come by in case Mr. Chandler is in distress.”
Lilly was an honest person as a rule. However, she tended to prevaricate when under stress. It was usually a harmless attempt to avoid lengthy explanations or to buy time. Her relief that Alan had not been found dead was followed immediately by horror that Mr. Voss might find out that Alan had simply left town without notice.
“No, he’s okay,” she said. “He took a sleeping pill when I left for work. I just came home to check up on him.”
“May I speak with him?” the officer asked.
“No I’m afraid he is still sleeping, but please tell Mr. Voss everything is okay. Or should I call him myself?”
“You might return his call, we don’t usually report back unless there was a request to do so.”
With that said the officer turned around and left. Lilly pushed the door closed and leaned against it. Her heart was racing. If Alan lost his job, they might lose the house. It had been a hard stretch to buy it, but it was the neighborhood they wanted to live in. Then there were furnishings to be bought and the repairs, which all houses seem to need. Before Alan’s first crises their budget had been strained. After taking time off, it was close to snapping.
Lilly’s heart had just slowed to a more normal pace when it dawned on her that she had made two contradictory police reports in one day. Anxiety gripped her chest again. Her first impulse was to explain to the officer and ask him to keep the information from Mr. Voss. However, as she opened the door the patrol car was pulling away. Had she stopped him in time, a great many difficulties might have been avoided. She resolved to phone Sergeant Maddox and explain. She began to dial the number on the business card he had given her that morning when she paused. Maddox’s demeanor when she had been making her report came to mind. Lilly recalled how foolish she had felt. Her hand faltered. The phone found its way back to its cradle. It’s best to hope the right hand doesn’t know what the left hand is doing, she thought. Besides, there is absolutely no reason why Sergeant Maddox should hear of a 911 report.
She called Mr. Voss instead. She told him the police had come by and that she appreciated his concern. It was a tribute to him as an employer. “No,” she had told him, unfortunately Alan was still asleep. “Yes,” she realized he had an important question to ask him, but it would have to wait. He truly was quite sick, feverish and confused. She would tell him to call just as soon as he improved.
Financial panic made the lies flow easily from her lips. If Mr. Voss was suspicious, he held his own counsel. His last words were to wish Alan a speedy recovery. Lilly was on the verge of panic. “Why didn’t Alan call?” And then she asked the question, which had harried her sub-conscious, “Suppose he can’t? What if he is dead?”
Ray Maddox was looking out the window when Patrol Car Eighteen pulled into the department’s lot. It wasn’t until then that he realized just how impatient he had been to hear the results of the patrolman’s call. Cory Trembal's clipboard had barely reached the surface of his desk before Maddox was at his elbow.
“What did you find out on that Chandler call?”
Corey was a bit surprised at Maddox’s interest. After all, Ray was known in the department as a plodder. He was a good cop; there was no doubt about that. He just wasn’t known for going out of his way to find work.
“Nothing to it! The guy’s home in bed. Probably just a case of his boss trying to see if the poor stiff was out playing golf.”
The word “stiff” was coincidental to Maddox’s unspoken thoughts.
“How do you know?”
“About the boss, it’s only a guess. About the guy, I talked to his wife.”
“And she said he was in bed.”
“Right” said Corey.
“But you never actually saw him did you?”
“No. What am I supposed to do, break down the bedroom door?”
“What was the lady like?”
“Kind of hot if you like red hair. She’s tall, fit, and a careful dresser,” said Corey.
“No, I mean how did she act?” replied Maddox.
“Sort of nervous. But you know that’s how most folks act when they see a cop at the door. She just seemed to stay nervous longer than most. What’s your interest anyway?”
Maddox mumbled something unintelligible and returned to his desk. For the next half hour he sat looking out the window, and then he made up his mind. He had always been content to be a beat cop. He had never sought out promotions and consequently they had easily passed him by. For the first time he regretted his rank and lack of diligence. Easing back from his desk, he stood up and walked down the hall. He passed the radio room, caught a cup of coffee in the kitchenette, and proceeded to a door at the end of the hall. Neat gold lettering on the door said “Chief of Police” Ray Maddox opened the door, walked over to a desk, and said to the man who sat behind it, “Chief, I think we might have a homicide.”
The Chief pointed to a chair. As a seasoned cop and bureaucrat he wasn’t about to get too inflamed by the word “homicide.” Maddox sat down heavily in the chair.
Chief Holland could easily move to a bigger and better place than Beaumont. But he was tired of big city life. He had done twelve years on the N.Y.P.D before he decided to move west. After that he had served in Boise. While there he had developed a taste for the outdoors. When Beaumont had an opening for Chief of Police, he decided to toss his hat in the ring. The former Chief was leaving with the smell of corruption lingering behind him. Consequently, promising reform, the City Council had opted to hire from out of town. With elections coming the following year he was offered the job. They promised him free reign to clean up the department. If he succeeded they would benefit, and if he failed they would use him as a convenient scapegoat with the voters. The arrangement suited Holland. Beaumont was a decent sized town, it offered a fair paycheck, and best of all had plenty of open space for h
iking and fly-fishing.
The Chief and then Patrolman Maddox had gotten on well from their first day. New in town, Holland implied it was to be “business as usual” in Beaumont. He said he “wasn’t one to rock the boat” and wanted to know if Maddox were open to a “piece of the action.” All Ray had to do was “keep the gravy train going by turning a blind eye to certain activities in town.” Maddox had risen, leaned across the Chiefs desk and roared, “Go to hell!” He then laid his badge and gun on the Chief’s desk. The Chief knew he had found the man he wanted and stopped him before he reached the door. Maddox was promoted to Sergeant the same day and together they had set to cleaning house together.
“What’ve you got Ray?” asked the Chief.
“I have a missing person, a guy named Chandler. But there’s no money missing, the car hasn’t turned up statewide, and there’s been no action on the credit cards.”
“That’s it?”
“No. The wife has floated three stories. First, she reported him as a missing. Then she told folks up at Red Lake he was coming back from a business trip and she needed to reach him. And then this afternoon when Patrolman Trembal swung by, at the request of the guy’s boss, the wife swears Chandler’s in bed sick.”
“This is all intriguing but very, very thin. What do you want to do with it?”
