Hunt for a Phantom

by Stephen L Brooks

  “You’ll get it,” Banning said, “along with your secret decoder ring.”

  “And how many box tops do I have to send in for that?” she asked.

  Ed glanced at Banning and at his cousin in the rearview mirror. So that’s the way she gets along with him too, eh? “When’s the wedding, you two?”

  They both gave him looks as though he had violated them simultaneously. It shut them up. He grinned as he approached the rental agency and pulled up on their lot.

  There were two or three people in line to rent or return cars so they had to wait a bit. Ed noticed that Banning and Betsy were avoiding each other’s eyes, save for occasional furtive glances. He knew they had gone out a couple of times. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had struck a nerve.

  Peggy’s face came unbidden to his mind. He loved his wife; he would never betray her. He had seen families break up because of infidelity; some of the spouses involved had been fellow officers. He had seen how it affected not just the other spouse but whole families. Dozens of people were always affected by any cheating by husband or wife. Yet he had to admit some kind of feeling for his work partner. He was glad she had volunteered to complete and file the report today while he did the legwork. And he was grateful for Banning and Betsy’s company. He would have especially invited them if Peggy had insisted on coming along.

  There were times when being alone with Peggy made him very uncomfortable. He didn’t always trust himself with her. Yet he didn’t dare ask for another partner; rumor and innuendo at the station had already formed an underlying commentary to the usual shop talk. He didn’t have to hear any of it to know. And he also knew who was probably fueling it. As bad as it was, it would become worse if he were to request a new partner. It might only appear to confirm the rumors, and all it took was for some well-meaning friendly co-worker to make a phone call.

  It was their turn. Ed flashed his badge and explained why they were there.

  “And the car was turned in downtown?” the girl said. She was just a teenager, probably working part time. She was tall and way too thin, her long dark hair accentuating her leanness.

  “Yes, but can’t you access the records from here?”

  “Of course,” she said. “Just a moment.” She keyed in the tag number that Ed gave her and studied the record that came up. “What do you need to know?”

  “The man who rented that car the other day; his name is Bradley Cole, correct?”

  She checked the screen. She may have been new to the job, but seemed to know her computers. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “And his address is this one, right?” He handed her the address they had just visited.

  “No, actually it isn’t.”

  “What’s the address you have, Ed?” Banning asked.

  “Peggy took this from the hotel register while she was sweet-talking our ancient friend. Since I already had it, I didn’t verify it with the other rental office.”

  Betsy clucked her tongue at him.

  “Hey, it had been a long day, I hadn’t had enough sleep, and wasn’t thinking straight.”

  Betsy nodded, reserving her other ammunition for later.

  “What address do you have?” Banning asked the girl.

  She gave him another address, clear across town.

  “Would you like his picture?” she asked off-handedly.

  All three glanced at each other in surprise and Ed said, “You have his picture?”

  “Sure. Ever since 9/11 we take scans of everyone’s driver’s license. Just a moment. She slid her finger along the touchpad of the laptop, clicked a button, and a printer behind her whirled into action. A moment later she had a blow-up of his license, still with enough res to give a clear likeness.

  “Thank you,” Banning said. “Thank you very much.”

  “You’re welcome. What did this man do, anyway?” the girl asked.

  “I can’t really tell you too much,” Ed replied. “He’s wanted for questioning in an investigation; that’s all I can say.”

  “Well, I hope you find him; and the car.”

  “The car?”

  “Yeah; the [characterization deleted] still has it.” The three exchanged glances at her characterization of the customer. It wasn't that they'd never heard the words; it just belied her girl-next-door image. “At this rate he could have bought it,” she concluded.

  “Thanks; I hope so too.” Ed wanted to ask her if she ever met people she had found on the Internet, but decided it wasn’t his business.

  But it was his business to get this man off the streets so he wouldn’t victimize young girls like her.

  And like his own.

  * * *

  Banning studied the printout as they drove along the Beltway. The man didn’t look like a pervert, but not all perverts looked like slime balls anyway. The face belonged to a man in his early thirties, good looking but not remarkable, with thick wavy dark hair. He was smiling in the picture, but it was a smile that knew secrets, and dared anyone to uncover them.

  “Looks like one of my ex-boyfriends,” Betsy said.

  Banning threw her a look that asked “truth or joke?” She answered only with a smile similar to the man on the printout.

  “No, not really,” she said, settling the unspoken question. “I just mean he looks like a hundred other guys.”

  “Well, we already know the first address we had was phony,” Banning said. “Anyone want to bet this one’s a fake too?”

  “Nothing doing,” Taylor said from the front seat. “And I think Betsy’s too smart to bet against that one, too.”

  “Then neither of you think it’s real either?”

  “Nope. But there’s only one way to find out,” Betsy said.

  And as they reached the address they knew it was, indeed, the only way. All three left the car and went up. It was Banning’s turn this time, and he rang the bell. After a moment or two a woman answered. She had once probably been a tall woman, but was now huddled with age. Her hair had turned an attractive white, and though she was easily at least an octogenarian, and her face bore the experience lines to prove it, her eyes were bright and alert.

  “Excuse me,” Banning said, introducing his companions. “We’re looking for a particular gentleman and were given this address. His name is Bradley Cole.”

  The eyes burned fiercely, and the tears that emerged from them did nothing to cool their fire. “What do you people want?” she said through tight but trembling lips. “Who are you?”

  “I explained that we’re detectives,” Banning said. She must have heard him; it couldn’t be that.

  “But who sent you? Did those high priced lawyers hire you to torture me?”

  “I’m sorry,” Betsy said, stepping forward and hoping to calm her. “I’m sorry if we didn’t explain. You see...”

  “You don’t have to explain,” the woman said, turning her anger on Betsy. “I know who sent you. I told those people at the hospital that I can’t pay any more. Even my lawyer said so.”

  “We’re not here representing a hospital,” Banning said.

  “I don’t care what lies you want to tell! And I not only refuse to pay any more bills, I won’t pay!” The tears came freely now. “You’re looking for Bradley Cole? He was my husband. He was my husband for over fifty years. Maybe you didn’t know that. But there’s something I’d think you would know. My husband’s dead, he’s been dead over five years now. And still you vultures are after him!” Her grief and anger more now than she could bear, she slammed the door in their faces.

  Betsy imagined she heard Mrs. Cole sobbing inside. She wanted to cry herself.

  She looked at the others. Both were moved to silence, and in mute agreement started back to the car. She had figured it out as well as they. Whoever the man was they were seeking, he had stolen the identity of this poor woman’s husband.

  Now this mysterious phantom had added another crime to his accomplishments. She hoped the pain and suffering he was causing made him happy.

/>   It was certainly making a lot of other people miserable.

  * * *

  Rick sat in the front pew next to his mother. Mitch was beside him, though his family sat behind them. This had been their church, though they hadn’t gone often. They made it on Christmas and Easter, but they were never regular church goers.

  This wasn’t right, he thought. How could God not only take my dad but my sister as well? He had been to funerals before, when his grandparents had died. That’s what’s bothering me, he said. Funerals are for old people, not like my dad; and certainly not like Grace. Weren’t people supposed to grow old before they died? He sometimes referred to his dad as “the old man” when hanging with his buddies; but he never meant it. It was just something he said when with the guys.

  The two coffins sat side by side in the center aisle. He had been one of the pall bearers for his dad’s coffin and Mitch was one for Grace’s. Man, that thing was heavy! He had almost stumbled more than once. He knew that part of the reason was from knowing what was inside: the body of the man he had loved as his father.

  He remembered the summer games of catch in the back yard, how he had been pretty bad at first but over the years had improved. For a while, in fact, Grace was catching better than him. That was one of the reasons he worked hard to improve: he didn’t want to be beat by a girl, especially his own sister.

  Mitch had started hanging around them soon after his family moved in. Grace and Mitch were both in middle school then, but they hit it off right away. There had even been times when Rick had wondered what it would be like to have Mitch as a brother-in-law.

  He looked at Mitch beside him. He was a pretty big guy, and just as macho as any of them. But he saw the redness of Mitch’s eyes, and knew he had been crying. Mitch sniffed, flicking a glance Rick’s way and suddenly pulling himself up straighter. Rick knew he was ready to cry again, but wanted no one to see him doing it.

  The minister called them all to rise, there was a final prayer, and he slowly walked down the aisle, between the coffins, and toward the back. Rick saw a couple of the other pall bearers look around for each other, gathering toward the front. Mitch turned to him and whispered, “Let’s go,” in a voice that Rick could tell was on auto-pilot. As he followed and they took their respective places at the caskets he realized that he was running on automatic as well. Neither he nor his mother had been eating very well or very much. Casseroles, meat loaves, and Tupperware containers of soup, chili, and spaghetti sauce had been coming regularly from neighbors. The Mitchells were virtually living with them, and Mrs. Mitchell had also cooked a number of meals. Those that they could, they froze. There was also a lot of food wasted, as they just didn’t feel like eating.

  The bearing of the caskets to the hearses and the walk to the churchyard cemetery were a blur, and when he became aware of anything again they were seated at the graveside. It was probably the familiar words of the Twenty-third Psalm which awoke his attention. He mumbled the words of it with the others. “Even though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me.” He wondered if this was true; his father and Grace had surely walked through that Valley, and come out on the other side. He felt he was walking through that same valley now, and wondered if there was a way out. Had God been with them then? Was He with him now? It was something he had lost the habit of doing in the last few years, but now he closed his eyes and prayed that God was indeed with them, and would see them through this.

  There was a light meal in the social hall of the church afterward. Rick didn’t want anything much to eat, but he went to the buffet. There were small sandwiches and several versions of potato and macaroni salads, along with assorted Jell-O molds and various baked dessert goods. He was surprised when he came away with his small paper plate heaped with food. He started with the neatly trimmed half sandwich, and before he knew it had eaten his way through most of the other stuff as well.

  The macaroni salad was salty; it had been made with shrimp, and was probably seasoned with Old Bay. He dropped his empty plate into a nearby trash can and went over to the drinks. He had been warned that the punch was spiked, and avoided it. He opened a canned ginger ale and poured it over ice which he had scooped from the large bowl of it. A deep drink nearly emptied the plastic cup, and he poured more from the can. He looked about him as he finished the little that was left. He recognized Gail Porter, a friend of Grace’s, who had been over the house several times. She was coming toward him.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. She was older than him, Grace’s age, but a little shorter. Her blonde hair was tied up in a fancy knot, and the dark dress she wore was a big difference from the cutoff T shirt and jeans she usually wore over their house. He liked her better the other way.

  Rick mumbled a thank you. Actually, he was always a bit awkward around Gail, because he liked her and was too shy to tell her. The hand on his shoulder was still there, and felt good.

  “You know, Grace and I were very close.” Her smile was sadly nostalgic. “I guess that happens when you’ve been best friends since third grade.”

  Rick nodded. “Yeah; I guess so.”

  Some others came to the drink table, and Gail took Rick’s arm and steered him to a spot that was more private.

  “You know, Grace told me everything. We didn’t have any secrets.”

  Rick’s curiosity impulsively made him momentarily bold. “Then she told you about the guy? The guy she met online?”

  Gail nodded. “Yes. I knew about him.”

  “What did she tell you? I wish I’d gotten that SOB myself. He lured Grace to that hotel, and when dad came to rescue her he shot both of them.”

  Gail was searching his face, an odd look on her own. Thoughts were organizing into words in her mind; Rick could almost see the phrases coming together through her eyes.

  “What is it?” he asked. “What is it you know?”

  Her eyes left his for a newcomer, who she saw over Rick’s shoulder. Rick turned; it was Mitch.

  “Hi, Gail,” Mitch said. “I know you miss her too.”

  They embraced, and Rick caught a murmur of their voices a moment. When they released each other, there seemed to be further communion between them through some silent medium.

  “What is it?” he asked again, this time of both.

  “I guess we feel the loss almost as much as you do, Rick,” Mitch said. “You know, we loved her too.”

  Rick frowned. “Yeah; yeah, I know.” Mitch gave him a one-armed hug and he and Gail drifted away. He watched as they faded to another quiet spot, sharing some secret known only to them.

  Rick’s frown continued, its darkness reflecting the thoughts that were trying to form in his brain. It was like the words that Gail seemed to be trying to piece together a moment or two before; there was something she had wanted to say to him, and it was difficult to find the means to say it.

  Was it something that she knew about Grace that Mitch knew too? He and Mitch had always hit it off. Mitch was like a brother to him. Was he keeping secrets, secrets about Grace? Was there something Mitch and Gail knew that Mitch felt he must protect him from?

  He started forward, to confront them; but decided this wasn’t the time or place. It might become an argument, or perhaps something might come out that was better left unsaid today. Whatever it was, he decided Mitch would tell him in his own good time. And if he didn’t, perhaps Gail would.

  * * *

  That evening Grayson received an email from Taylor with the driver's license attached. Taylor wrote that the corpse/presumed perp in the hotel room may have had an accomplice. He added that this “was in the spirit of cooperation between our department and yours.” Grayson received that with a grin that more resembled a sneer and a snarled, “Yeah, right.” It was enough for them to request Upton’s presence at the station to work identify the photo. Upton stubbornly refused; repeatedly.

  So the mountain had of necessity come to Mohammed, since
Upton refused to leave the security of his comfort zone in the hotel. It might not have been normal procedure, but it wasn’t a problem. At least not for Grayson's boss who didn't have to make the trip and wouldn't have to deal with Upton.

  Grayson's partner had the photo loaded on his iPad. They showed it to Upton who, true to form, first spent considerable time laughing off the tablet as “crazy Buck Rogers stuff,” some toy from a science fiction show rather than a real device.

  Upton was crotchety; Ed Taylor could have told them that, if he had been invited along. And Peggy might have sweet-talked an identification out of him; but the City detectives didn’t have access to her assistance. Obtaining information from Upton turned out to be as slow a process as filling a bathtub with an appallingly low-pressured plumbing system. And Grayson was legendary for the shortness of his patience.

  Finally Upton said, “Yep; that's him. That's such a bad picture I had a hard time. Don't you have a better one?”

  “No, it's the only one we have,” Grayson said. “It's his driver's license. You know how bad those photos can be.”

  Upton shook his head. “Nope; no, I don't. Didn't never have a driver's license. Don't need one. Never had a car.”

  Grayson nodded. “Well, thanks Mr. Upton.” Though Grayson wasn't sure what he was thanking him for.

  “Anytime, fella. You know where to find me.”

  Grayson smiled without meaning and looked at his watch. It was nearly 12:30 AM. They had been at it all evening. Well, at least this time he was going to be late getting home for a work-related reason. That wasn’t always the case.

  His cell phone rang. “Grayson.”

  “Where the hell you been all this time?” It was his lieutenant. Quite often, however, his wife had asked him the exact same question in nearly the same words.

  “We finally got an ID,” Grayson replied. “Took us all night. This guy’s a tough old bird.” He glanced at Upton whose smile conveyed that he took the observation as a complement. “We’re headed back now; hold on.” He signaled to his partner who was putting away his iPad. They started walking to the door and Grayson resumed the call. “OK, I’m back.”