The Iniquitous Investigator (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 8)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  The officer scratched his head. "You two fellas live together?"

  I nodded. "Yeah."

  "Huh."

  Carter asked, "You want to take our report, or not?"

  Officer Young looked up at Carter. "What I'm trying to decide is whether to arrest you both for vagrancy. Have a seat."

  I shook my head and sat down on the bench that was against the wall. Carter stood there for a moment and then finally sat down next to me.

  The officer picked up the phone at his desk. "Sergeant? Can you come down here?" He listened for a moment and then said, "Gotcha." He put the receiver back in its cradle. "Sergeant O'Connor will be down in a moment. He'll wanna talk to you."

  . . .

  The sergeant took us upstairs to an interview room. After bringing us each a cup of coffee, he left us there, seated at a small table, and locked the door behind him.

  The room had a narrow window that looked over the street below and was crusted with salt, like windows that close to the bay could get. There was a two-way mirror next to the door. The room was only large enough to hold about four people.

  Carter asked, "Do you think--"

  I shook my head and put my finger to my lips. I'd been on the other side of this equation enough times to know that someone might be listening. This was a small town and likely had a handful of cops, a sergeant or two, and a chief. There probably wasn't anyone watching or listening, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

  After about twenty minutes, the sergeant returned. He was carrying a notebook, a couple of pencils, and his own cup of coffee. He was somewhere around 40. Standing about 5'10" with a lean build, he had watery blue eyes and short salt and pepper hair. He smiled briefly at us, sat down at the table, and opened his notebook.

  "Names?"

  I said, "Nicholas Williams."

  "Carter Jones."

  "Your address, Mr. Williams?"

  "1198 Sacramento Street, San Francisco."

  "Phone?"

  "Prospect 9001."

  "Place of employment?"

  "Consolidated Security, Inc."

  The sergeant looked up. "What's that?"

  "Private investigation."

  He nodded. "Occupation?"

  "Chief Executive Officer."

  He looked up again. "Licensed P.I.?"

  I nodded.

  "You have your license?"

  I reached into my coat, took out my wallet, removed my license, and handed it to the sergeant.

  He looked it over and then wrote down the number. Once he did that, he placed it to the side of his notebook.

  "Your address, Mr. Jones?"

  "1198 Sacramento Street, San Francisco."

  "Phone?"

  "Prospect 9001."

  "Place of employment?"

  "Consolidated Security, Inc."

  "Uh huh. Occupation?"

  "Chief Fire Investigator."

  "That arson?"

  "Yes."

  "You have a P.I. license?"

  Carter pulled it out and handed it over. The sergeant wrote down the number. I noticed that he did not return either of our licenses.

  Looking at me, the sergeant asked, "What was your purpose in coming to Sausalito today?"

  "We came to have breakfast at the Rexall."

  "Why here?"

  "It's a beautiful day. I wanted to take a drive with the top down."

  The sergeant drew a thick line in his notebook and made a couple of notes.

  "And why were you loitering by the bay?"

  I crossed my arms. "We weren't loitering. We walked down by the marina and then along the water's edge after breakfast."

  "I see. Did you engage in any acts of public indecency as you loitered?"

  I said, "No."

  "What about you, Mr. Jones? Why did you come to Sausalito today?"

  Carter looked at the sergeant for a long moment. "For all the same reasons."

  "So, you made plans for an assignation with each other?"

  Carter said, "No. We drove over together."

  "And, after you had breakfast, you decided to cruise the bushes?"

  I said, "No."

  "I wasn't speaking to you, Mr. Williams."

  Carter said, "No."

  The sergeant made a note in his notebook. He looked up at both of us and smiled. "Well, that takes care of that. Mr. Williams, will you please stand up?"

  I did as he asked. He stood up and walked around to our side of the table. Taking out a set of handcuffs, he pulled my hands behind my back and cuffed them together. "Nicholas Williams, I am arresting you for vagrancy in violation of California Penal Code 647. Have a seat." He pushed me down in the chair.

  "Mr. Jones, please stand up."

  . . .

  After we were processed, Officer Young gave me a dime so I could call Kenneth Wilcox, our attorney.

  "What's up, Nick?"

  "Carter and I have been arrested in Sausalito for vagrancy."

  "City police?"

  "Yeah."

  "Hang on. I'll be there as fast as I can."

  "Thanks."

  . . .

  When Officer Young had processed us, he took our watches, along with our wallets and keys.

  I had no idea how long it would take for Kenneth to arrive. We were the only ones in the holding cell. There were only two and they were on the ground floor, all the way in the back.

  There was a long bench against the back wall and a short bench along the side wall. An open toilet sat in the other corner. The place was clean and didn't stink, which was good. We each sat on a bench. Carter had both legs stretched out in front of him. I had to admit he looked mighty nice like that. It was an odd time to be feeling that way, but I did.

  To pass the time, we began to tell each other stories of our childhood antics. He already knew about some of my juvenile delinquency and I started filling him on the details he might not have ever heard.

  We'd been in the holding cell for what seemed like a very long time when Kenneth was let in to see us.

  "How are you?" he asked

  I stood up and stretched. "Not too bad. Glad to see you."

  Carter stood up and walked over. "Yes. Very glad."

  Kenneth looked between us. "What happened?"

  I replied, "We were attacked by some kids. We came to report it. The sergeant arrested us."

  "Did you do it?" He looked at me searchingly.

  I rolled my eyes. "Why would we? We have two airplanes and a yacht. We could go anywhere."

  "Not to mention our own private garden," added Carter.

  Kenneth smiled tightly and nodded. "Of course. I just have to ask. An arraignment judge is coming over from San Rafael and should be here in an hour. They use the interview room for the hearing. Do you have any idea why this happened?"

  I shook my head. "No. I don't think the sergeant or the officer knew who we were. That was my first thought. I can't get my head around any of this."

  Kenneth nodded. "I've represented men over here before. According to the police report, you were in exactly the spot that is the most notorious. They're charging you with vagrancy and lewdness, which is the kind of thing the Marin D.A. uses when they don't have anything specific."

  I shook my head.

  He smiled. "Hold tight. I have to make a couple of calls. I'll be back in time for the arraignment."

  . . .

  It seemed like longer than an hour before we were taken back to the small interview room.

  An elderly man wearing a dark coat that was slightly too large for him was seated at the table. There was a woman stenographer next to him with a pad and pencil. A tall thin man with dark brown hair, dressed in a dark brown coat and trousers, and looking very put out was standing against the window. We waited for a moment and then Kenneth entered the room.

  The elderly man cleared his throat and said, "This is an arraignment hearing for the Superior Court of Marin County in the matters of State versus Williams and State versus Jones." The
judge looked down and frowned. The scrape of the stenographer's pencil continued for a moment after the judge stopped talking. Once he'd put on his glasses and looked at his notes, the judge continued. "One count each of vagrancy. Are the parties represented?"

  Kenneth stepped as forward as much as he could in the tiny room. "Kenneth Wilcox for both parties, Your Honor."

  The man nodded as the stenographer wrote. "Mr. Williams." He looked up, not sure who was who, and finally decided it was me. "How do you plead?"

  "Not guilty."

  "Mr. Jones?"

  "Not guilty."

  "People on the matter of bail?"

  The tall man said, "Mr. Williams has nearly infinite resources at his disposal, Your Honor. The people seek remand."

  Kenneth gasped. "Your Honor!"

  The judge held up his thin hand to Kenneth and looked at the tall man. "Remand? This isn't murder, Mr. Garety. Bail is set at five thousand each. Defendants are not to leave the counties abutting the San Francisco Bay." Kenneth sucked in his breath but didn't say anything. It seemed ridiculously high but I could easily afford it and he knew it. "Trial schedule to be determined and parties to be notified." The judge didn't have a gavel so he said, "This hearing is adjourned."

  Chapter 2

  Offices of Consolidated Security, Inc.

  777 Bush Street, Third Floor

  Tuesday, July 6, 1954

  Around 9 in the morning

  "Before we start, I want to make something clear." I looked around the room as I said this.

  We were all packed in my office. I sat behind my desk. Carter was leaning against the wall to my right. Mike was seated in a chair across the desk from me. Greg Holland, his squeeze, a former cop, and a new hire, was standing against the wall next to Carter.

  Also present was another guy couple who worked for us. Dawson Runson was a short fireplug of a man who had been a lieutenant in the Washington, D.C., Metropolitan Police before he quit a year earlier. He was standing behind the chair where his lover, Beauregard "Andy" Anderson, a former F.B.I. agent, was seated.

  All of them had worried frowns on their faces. It was like looking at tryouts for "Concerned Man #1" in some movie.

  "What?" asked Mike.

  "Carter and I have never engaged in public sex. Ever. Neither of us are interested."

  Mike nodded gravely and said, "What exactly happened?"

  Carter and I repeated the story. When we were done, Mike, Greg, and Dawson all spoke at once, tripping over each other.

  We all laughed and Mike said, "I'd bet we all have the same question. Did you ever admit to anything illegal?"

  I shook my head.

  Carter said, "Never."

  Greg asked, "So, this O'Connor had his own narrative and ran with that?"

  I nodded.

  Carter added, "No matter what either of us said."

  Mike asked, "Did you ever push back?"

  "No. I know better."

  Dawson asked, "What about these kids? Did they ever take a report on the assault?"

  "No. O'Connor never asked about that."

  Andy leaned forward in his chair. "When was the last time you were in Sausalito?"

  Carter answered. "Summer of '48. We went to the same drugstore counter the day Nick bought his first car."

  Mike sat up. "Was that the day of the infamous right hook?"

  I smiled. "Yeah. That was the day Carter first told me he loved me so, of course, I slugged him." Everyone laughed as I said that.

  Dawson asked, "Do you think this has anything to do with those articles in the Examiner?"

  Carter snorted. "Nick told Kenneth that he didn't think O'Connor knew who we were. But I say he did."

  I turned and looked at my husband. We hadn't talked about any of this. After we were released, we'd driven home, eaten dinner with his Aunt Velma without telling her anything, taken a long hot shower together, and had really gone at it before both collapsing from exhaustion by 9 at the latest. I asked, "What makes you say that?"

  "You notice he didn't blink an eye when I gave the same address, same phone number, and same workplace as you?"

  "Now that you point it out, I do."

  Dawson crossed his arms and leaned against the partition behind him. "If I didn't know you two, I would say that you were making this all up. I've never heard of an interrogation like this, much less a prosecutor who thinks he can make a case from that little. Also, why did the son of a bitch ask for remand?"

  Mike replied, "Right. Five thousand is excessive. These are misdemeanors."

  I looked around the room. Some of the best cops who ever wore the blue were in this room. "Any other ideas about why?"

  Greg sighed. "It's the damnedest thing I ever heard of. Sounds almost..." He thought for a moment. "Like O'Connor was reading from a script."

  I looked over at Greg. "A script?" I thought for a moment, playing the scene over again in my mind. "Yeah. You may be right."

  Mike asked, "What does Kenneth say?"

  "I haven't talked to him since the arraignment. To be honest, I just wanted to go home, take a hot shower, and, well..."

  All the guys looked at Carter, who smiled and shrugged.

  . . .

  After everyone tossed around a few more ideas, Mike said, "OK, guys. We can speculate all we want. But we need to get some facts. Marnie?"

  "Yeah, Mike?" Marnie was the best secretary a guy ever had. She was also my step-sister. Her mother had married my father a few months earlier.

  "Can you take notes?"

  "I've been taking notes all along, Mike." Her desk was behind the partition and next to the front door of the office.

  "Thanks." He looked around the room. "First, we need to get a lead on these kids. Who were they? Why were they in Sausalito? You know the drill. Who wants that one?"

  Greg said, "If you don't take it, I will. My guess is that they were from the City. Since I've been here the longest, except you and Nick, of course..."

  Mike nodded. Looking at me, he asked, "That OK?"

  "Yeah." Since the two were together as a couple, Greg worked for me.

  "Greg, you get Sam to help you with this. Seems like he knows everyone in this town. And that new kid, Walter." Sam Halversen was the oldest member of our team. He had been around a while and knew the score. He'd been working with us since the beginning of the year. His squeeze was Ike, who we'd help beat a murder rap in December and whose mother was our housekeeper, Mrs. Kopek. I had no idea who Walter was, which made me feel good. It meant I was doing a good job of letting Mike be in charge of the team.

  "Next up we need to find out what's going on with the city police in Sausalito. Is there some new procedure they're following? Dawson?"

  "Sure thing, Mike. I can do my 'aw, shucks,' routine and see what I can find out."

  We all laughed. Dawson had an amazing ability to get people to admit to almost anything. It was downright spooky.

  Andy looked around. "What about me?"

  I said, "I have a special request for you. But maybe we can let the rest of these guys get started while Carter and I talk to you and Mike about it."

  Mike nodded. "Yeah." Looking at Greg and Dawson, he said, "You two go on and get started. This is 'A' priority."

  I looked at Mike as the two of them slipped out of the office. "What's that?"

  "We have a priority system. 'A' means highest. There's also a 'B' and a 'C.' 'C' is for background checks and skip trace, which anyone can do. 'B' is for everything else. 'A' is like ringing an alarm." This sounded like something Mike had said several times. I was impressed.

  . . .

  Once we'd all had time to get coffee, we re-assembled in my office. Mike and Andy were seated while Carter was sitting on the left edge of my desk and distracting me by being so close the way he was. I was sure he knew it and was doing it on purpose.

  Mike asked, "So what's the deal, Nick?"

  "You know that place Mildred's at Van Ness and Ellis?"

  He nodded. H
e reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigar. He bit off the end, spit it on the floor, and pulled out his Zippo.

  "Cuban?" I asked.

  "You bet. Gift from the boyfriend." He smiled as he said that and puffed on his cigar to get it going. Carter stood up and opened the window behind me.

  "Seems like Mildred has skipped town."

  Andy asked, "Skipped?"

  Carter said, "That's just Nick doing his Raymond Chandler talk. We went over there yesterday morning." He gave them the details while I tried not to watch him move around as he talked. I noticed it was getting warm in the room. I loosened my tie.

  Andy asked, "You want me to ask questions over there?"

  I shook my head. "Unless Mike objects, I wanna go talk to this Patty myself. Then I'll hand off what she says."

  "Where in Texas?"

  I shrugged. "I got the impression it was somewhere like Abilene or El Paso. Someplace dry and barren."

  Mike laughed. "That's half the state."

  "I know. Lemme talk to Patty first and then we can go from there. OK?" I directed my question to Mike.

  He puffed on his cigar and stood up. "Fine by me. When are you going over there?"

  "After the lunch rush."

  Andy stood up. "I should be here all day, Nick. I'm working on background checks."

  I nodded and said, "Thanks."

  They both put on their hats and walked towards the front door. Andy left while Mike stopped to ask Marnie for her notes. She replied, "I'll have a report for you this afternoon."

  "Fine, Marnie. Thanks." With that, he left.

  I looked at my watch. It was half past 10.

  "Marnie?"

  "Yeah, Nick?"

  "Do I have any appointments this morning?"

  "No."

  "Robert?"

  Carter stood up and stretched. I could feel my palms starting to sweat.

  "Yes, Nick?"

  "You busy?"

  "No. I'm about to head over to the Oakland airport to take a look at a Convair 240 that's for sale."

  "Fine. Can you two come in here?"

  They both walked in. Robert stood back to let Marnie pass.

  She asked, "What's up, Nick?"

  I pulled out some cash and handed them each a hundred.

  "What's this for?" asked Marnie.

  "I need you both to leave right now and not come back until after lunch."