by Ray Flynt
Why? How can I prove it?
Brad sat on a stool in the open center of the room—captain of all he surveyed. He tugged a blue and white striped denim engineer’s cap onto his head, then launched a locomotive with a camera embedded in the front. The flat-screen TV on the console in front of him provided an engineer’s view of its journey toward Philadelphia.
Ellie had said five words in her message which bothered him: “…what that old guy did.” She had to mean Nick. The other police officers were younger. Unless she meant Saul. Nick had reported that Saul had remained in the background, but Phil had observed Saul stepping forward to help lift Sanders off the floor. Brad hoped Ellie’s reference to an old man meant Kasheski.
Brad pressed a button, which gradually dimmed the lighting on the display from day to night. Skyscrapers shone on the horizon while vignettes of suburbia came to life along the tracks: a carnival, a skating pond, and a backyard party complete with miniature Japanese lanterns.
Brad smiled at the magical effects.
Phil’s account of what he’d heard that night matched what Nick had described. For the moment, it was Skull and Barkow’s word against Nick’s.
Did Saul give testimony against Nick to Internal Affairs, and if so, what did he describe?
Brad played with the trains, trying not to think about the case. If he cleared his head, perhaps his thoughts would transcend the clutter. He pressed a button and a steam whistle sounded in the distance. Another switch activated the familiar clang of gates lowering at a busy rail crossing. He felt transported to a carefree place.
Youth! Sanders, Barkow, and Alejandro were young compared to Nick or Phil. Their presence at Ruddigore’s seemed to have sparked an influx of youth. Was it simply due to their turning a blind eye to underage drinking violations? Brad laughed as he imagined what it would have been like to enjoy a brew at age nineteen under the watchful gaze of cops who didn’t care.
Ellie sounded young. Maybe she’ll know.
In the farthest corner of the attic stood a reproduction of 30th Street Station, the end of the line, in front of a backdrop skyline of Philadelphia. Brad wanted his meeting at the station in the morning to mark the end of the line for his investigation on Nick’s behalf.
22
Brad woke to the sound of his alarm at 4:30 a.m. In spite of a short night’s sleep, he felt rested and eager to find out what Ellie might have to say.
He hadn’t gone to bed until after 1:30 in the morning. Playing with the trains constituted therapy that, in a weird way, transported him to a different place while simultaneously grounding him.
Before jumping in the shower, Brad laid out a pair of brown dress trousers and the rust-colored sweater he’d promised to be wearing for the meeting with Ellie.
Brad opened a hinged painting on his bedroom wall revealing a wall safe his father had installed many years earlier. He retrieved five crisp one-hundred-dollar bills from the safe and put them in his wallet. He had promised a reward for information. Exactly how much he would give her would depend on the quality of the information.
As he exited his bedroom and stood on the upstairs landing, Brad smelled the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and saw the glow of lights coming from the kitchen below.
He found Sharon sitting at the breakfast nook, sipping coffee and reading The Philadelphia Inquirer.
“I made coffee.” Sharon pointed toward the kitchen counter as if sharing coffee with him at 5:00 a.m. was their usual routine.
“Beth would be jealous.” Brad poured himself a cup and sat opposite her.
“Who’s Alejandro Elverson?” Sharon asked after he’d settled in.
Brad smiled. “Ah, you saw my note.”
“Last night. I went shopping for a witch’s hat and met up with friends for a cappuccino. I didn’t get home until late. I saw the attic lights were on. Figured you were in ‘thought mode’ and checked to see if you’d left me any messages.
“This morning, I peeked out my window at four, saw your bedroom light on, and guessed you’d be ready for fresh coffee.”
“I appreciate it.” Brad sipped from his cup. “According to Phil, Elverson’s a cop and a billiard buddy of Skull Sanders. I wondered if he might be the young guy you’d seen Skull play eightball with at Ruddigore’s.”
“That guy’s name was Axel, which could be a nickname for Alejandro. He definitely looked like a cop. I would guess early- to mid-twenties.”
Brad filled her in on his meeting with Phil.
“It’s no wonder you’re up early. You’ve had a lot on your mind.”
“There’s another reason.” Brad explained the call he’d received in response to his posted flyer at Ruddigore’s. “Nick has my car. I’m planning to catch a cab to the Bryn Mawr station and take the six-forty train to 30th Street.”
“I could drive us both to 30th Street,” Sharon said. “Then I won’t miss out on the action.”
“Deal. Ellie might be more comfortable talking with me if there’s a woman present.”
At the McDonald’s in 30th Street Station, they found a table large enough for three people. Brad sat, consulted his watch, and saw it was 7:15. “Ellie said she’d get off work at seven.”
Sharon pointed toward the serving counter. “You want something?”
“No. Uh, wait. Maybe I do.”
Sharon stared at him with her hands on her hips.
Brad reached for his wallet, pulled out a twenty, and gave it to her. “Use it for whatever you want. I’ll take a black coffee.”
He’d felt less anxious waiting to confront a suspect in a murder investigation than interviewing this young woman who’d witnessed events at Ruddigore’s.
Sharon returned with his coffee. She’d gotten her own cup and a McMuffin. When she tried to give him back the change, he waved her off.
Brad kept looking at his watch. As he popped the lid on his coffee cup, hot liquid spilled onto the tabletop.
“Relax.” Sharon tossed him an extra napkin. “She’s a nurse, right?”
“Yes.”
“They can’t just walk out at the end of the shift. They have to wait for the incoming nurse and swap information about cases. If there’s a crisis, she could be delayed.”
Sharon was right. Patience wasn’t one of his virtues.
Brad drank his coffee with eyes glued to the restaurant’s entry.
Twenty minutes later, a woman, about thirty years of age, with short brown hair, wearing a purple backpack and pink scrubs with bunnies, walked through the open doorway. Her eyes darted about. When Brad stood and waved, she headed toward him.
“I’m Brad Frame; you must be Ellie. And this is Sharon Porter, my associate; we’re private detectives.”
No handshakes were exchanged. Ellie slipped the backpack off and collapsed into a chair. “I’m Ellie,” she said, not offering her last name. “It’s been a tough night.”
“Everything okay?” Sharon asked in a considerate tone.
Ellie sighed. “I work in the neo-natal intensive care unit. We brought one of the preemies back from the brink about an hour ago.”
“I’m sure the family appreciates what you were able to do. What can I get you for breakfast?” Brad asked.
Ellie held her stomach with both hands. “I’m starving. I’ll take the Big Breakfast with Hotcakes and a large orange juice.”
Brad visited the counter to place the order. When he returned to the table with her tray, Sharon and Ellie were engrossed in conversation like long-lost sorority sisters.
He saw Sharon slip a notebook into her purse, and he presumed she’d already captured Ellie’s last name and contact information. Brad was glad Sharon had offered to come along.
Faithful to her hunger claim, Ellie dug into the food. While she ate, Brad explained their interest in what had happened at Ruddigore’s.
When Ellie finished her last bite, she said, “Like I told you, I couldn’t believe what that old guy did.”
“Which old guy?” Sharon asked.
“The one with the mustache.”
Brad inched forward on his seat. “What did he do?”
“He walked away. After what those thugs were doing to him, he just walked away.”
Brad couldn’t quite relax, yet. He wanted details. “Describe what you saw.”
Sharon added, “The guy with the mustache is our friend. His name is Nick.”
“Well, Nick deserves credit. Those guys were trying to pick a fight with him. Nick stood by the bar. It looked like he was about to leave when two men approached him. I noticed because Todd had visited the restroom, and I was watching for him to come back.”
“Your boyfriend?” Sharon asked.
“No.” Ellie shook her head. “My date that night. Found out he’s into drugs and I dropped him. That’s the last thing a nurse needs to be mixed up with.”
“Go on with what you saw,” Brad urged.
“One of the guys stood between Nick and the front door, blocking his exit. The other one moved closer—stood right in front of him. They taunted him because he hadn’t finished the beer they bought for him. They kept repeating his words back to him. I hated it when my brother used to do that to me.”
Sharon nodded in sympathy.
“The man in front kept poking his finger in Nick’s chest, but he tried to push him away.” Ellie made a parrying motion, which was exactly how Nick had described the situation.
“Then the guy closer to the door howled that Nick had hit him.”
“Did you see Nick hit him?” Brad asked.
“No, but things happened fast. When he hollered about being hit, a couple of guys in the bar stood up—including Todd.” Ellie looked at Sharon as she said, “I told him to sit down. If there was going to be a rumble they all wanted to join in.” Ellie rolled her eyes. “There was a tall dude near the pool table who began moving toward them.”
Brad suspected it could have been Alejandro.
“All of a sudden the guy who stood in front of Nick fell on the floor. ‘Look what you did,’ his buddy screamed. Nick threw his hands in the air, pushed past the guy who was yelling, and left.”
Brad asked, “Have you told this to anyone else?”
“No. I didn’t really think about it much after it happened until I saw your reward notice.”
Brad would give her the reward, but first he wanted assurances of her cooperation in alerting the authorities.
“Would you like anything else to eat or drink?” Sharon asked.
Ellie glanced at her watch. “Not really. My train for Paoli leaves in twenty minutes.”
“We won’t keep you much longer,” Brad said. “Nick, our friend, is a police officer. The other men you saw taunting him are police officers, too.”
“Yeah, I gathered from your posted notice. I didn’t realize it that night.”
“We believe they were setting him up, and Nick has been suspended from his job.”
Ellie’s jaw dropped. “That’s not right.”
“You are the only witness we have to corroborate Nick’s version of what happened that night. Would you be willing to sign a statement we could give to the police?”
“Well, ah…I guess.”
Brad sensed hesitancy.
“What about Todd? Would we be able to contact him? He’d verify what you told us, right?”
“I think so, but—” Ellie reached for her backpack, unzipped a side pouch, and pulled out her smartphone. “Why don’t I just show you the video?”
Brad and Sharon exchanged glances, and a smile grew on his face.
“That sounds great,” Brad said.
Ellie turned on the device, and after a brief search she found what she was looking for.
“I didn’t start filming until these guys were into the taunting phase. It’s about two minutes long.” Ellie pushed the play button. Brad and Sharon stood to watch over her shoulder.
She had one of the latest Android system smartphones, and its high-resolution camera captured the scene better than Brad might have imagined, especially given the low-level lighting conditions at Ruddigore’s. Even the color seemed sharp, such as the bright orange pumpkin lights strung across the back of the bar.
In the midst of background noise from McDonald’s patrons, the sound was not easy to hear. When Ellie saw them straining to listen, she adjusted the volume.
Events unfolded exactly as Ellie had described, with Skull and Barkow easily identifiable. She’d been seated close to the pool table, so the video was shot over Barkow’s left shoulder, and Nick’s arms were visible.
“There’s Nick’s parry,” Sharon announced.
Profanity pierced the air, drawing unhappy stares from other patrons in the family-friendly restaurant. Ellie lowered her phone’s volume.
As he looked past Nick, Brad saw the open door to the bar’s office and Phil glancing back. While Phil wasn’t standing behind the bar, it was clear he could not only hear but observe much of the altercation from the office. Phil had lied to him.
When the video reached the point where the man rushed toward the chaotic scene from the direction of the pool table, Sharon turned to Brad and said, “That’s Axel.”
The video clearly showed that Nick had not punched Skull Sanders.
After Skull fell to the floor and Nick left, Phil emerged from the office. Phil glanced in the direction of the table where Nick had indicated Saul Kasheski had been sitting that night. Perhaps it was Saul’s voice shouting, “Cool it, Jack.”
“That’s it,” Ellie said when the video ended.
Brad reached for his wallet, withdrew all five of the hundred dollar bills he’d placed there earlier that morning. He laid them on the table along with his business card.
Ellie’s eyes widened.
“Is there any chance you could send me that video? My email address is on the card.”
“Sure.” Ellie’s fingers flew over the screen of her phone. Moments later she said, “Sent.”
Brad retrieved the iPhone from his pocket, opened his mail app and waited. “Come on…come on,” he muttered till her message arrived. He saw the MP4 format and clicked on the file just to ensure it hadn’t gotten corrupted in transit. “Looks good.”
Ellie scooped up the money. “I don’t know what to say. I was hoping for maybe twenty-five dollars.”
“You deserve it,” Brad said. “Believe it or not you may have saved two lives today.”
23
While Sharon walked Ellie to her train gate, Brad called Nick.
“Pick up…pick up,” Brad urged as the number rang repeatedly.
“Hello,” Nick answered.
“Where are you?” Brad asked.
“Sitting in your Mercedes in my driveway. I haven’t turned it on yet, so there're no scratches.” Nick laughed. “But Ruth’s out walking Aloysius, so I’m concerned about paw prints.”
“Change of plans. Where is Curtis Frank’s office? He’s your boss, right?”
“Yes. He’s one floor above mine.”
“Good. Call him and tell him you’re coming in…that you want to tell him exactly what happened that night.”
“I already told him.” Annoyance rose in Nick’s voice. “You know what hap—”
“Nick, I get it. I’ll meet you there at nine a.m. What are you wearing today?”
“Khakis and an Eagles’ sweater. I’m learning to blend in with you and Sharon.” Nick sounded wounded.
“Change into a suit. I think you’re getting your job back today.”
Brad next placed a call to Ken Matheson, updating him on developments. Due to a prior commitment, Ken wouldn’t be able to join them at the deputy commissioner’s office, but said he could be reached by phone if needed. Ken agreed that Franks should see this new evidence sooner rather than later.
As promised at their Monday meeting, Ken had phoned Curtis Franks. “He knew me from another case where I represented a high-ranking police officer,” Ken said. “Franks assured me Nick would be treated fairly.”
&
nbsp; Brad, Sharon, and Nick cooled their heels in an anteroom to the office of Deputy Commissioner of Police, Curtis Franks.
The chill in the room on the warm September morning was courtesy of an officious gatekeeper named Yolanda. They’d already been waiting twenty minutes. Sharon busied herself texting with Patty about the Halloween party that night, but Brad could tell the wait was making Nick aggravated.
Under the watchful eye of Yolanda, a private conversation would be awkward.
Brad covered his mouth as he asked, “Did you have any more thoughts about Alejandro Elverson?” He hoped to divert Nick’s attention from the delay.
“Yeah,” Nick whispered, “the name Alejandro confused me. I knew him as Axel.”
Nick’s comment attracted Sharon’s attention. She glanced up from her phone with a discerning look.
“He was one of the detectives in that evidence handling case where I suspended Barkow,” Nick added, “We let Elverson off with a written warning.”
“Any issues since with either of them?”
Nick leaned forward and rummaged through a dish of cellophane-wrapped candies on the table in front of them. “None that I’m aware.”
Nick stood, approached the secretary’s desk, and in the pleasantest voice Brad had ever heard him use said, “Could you check the bottom right-hand drawer to see if Denisa left any of those jellied nougats?”
Brad presumed that Denisa must be the regular secretary, one he’d managed to sweet-talk for many years.
Yolanda scowled, reached down, and without looking, opened and closed a drawer. “No nougats,” she declared with a phony grin.
“I see,” Nick said. “Then perhaps you can tell me how much longer we’ll have to wait to see the commissioner?”
“He knows you’re here, Mr. Argos—”
“Captain Argostino,” he corrected.
She frowned. “Like I said, he knows you’re here.”
A young man in a brown suit, with curly brown hair, and wearing wire-rim glasses, entered the suite.
Yolanda smiled. “You can go in, Craig. He’s waiting for you.”
The new arrival brushed past Nick. He took generous strides before pushing open the door to the commissioner’s office.
