“I know,” Clayton replied. “And that’s more the pity of it, because you’re flushing your life right down the toilet.” With that he left the room.
And that was the night of the Big Bang. The next day she flew to Europe and was out of his life. Clayton had a long talk with Frank. Frank didn’t like the whole idea; he didn’t interfere and tried to understand.
It took Clayton six or seven more months to finish the job. Their breakup didn’t seem to affect his work or his friendship with Frank. At the end they said their goodbyes and promised to write. They kept in touch, right up until, and including the phone call from Frank telling him about Michelle’s untimely death.
Chapter 12
All that was a lifetime ago, she was really dead now and there was no getting around it. That couldn’t be changed. It seemed funny in a strange way though, Clayton always thought Michelle would check out by a self-induced drug overdose or maybe suicide or maybe end up on a funny farm somewhere. He knew she wasn’t wrapped too tightly, that she had a screw loose somewhere, but to be killed in a plain old car accident just didn’t fit. Or maybe it did. He had an uneasy feeling about the entire thing. What if Driscoll was right? What if she was murdered? What then, what would he do about it?
Should he just turned over to the police, and let them handle it? he thought to himself, as he went to the kitchen and got a plastic garbage bag from under the sink. He returned to the living room and picked up all the discs that were marked with an X. He would get rid of them tomorrow; they had to be destroyed. He walked to the phone and called the front desk and left a wake-up call for 6:30 AM. That would give him plenty of time to do his Karate exercises, which were becoming very sparse lately. He would still have time for a quick shower, and grab a bite to eat in the lobby coffee shop before Henry picked him up at 830.
“Shit!” He said out loud. Henry was to pick him up at the Wellington estate. Well, he’d call him in the morning and tell him of the change of plans.
It had been a pretty full day. He went to the guest room and got ready for bed. He couldn’t sleep in the master suite, he just felt too uncomfortable, and especially after seeing those CDs. Yawning, he stretched and stepped into the hot shower and let the hot water pound down on his back and neck. Another day in the life of Clayton Charles Crawford, he said to himself as he collapsed on the bed and fell fast asleep.
The wake-up call came at 630. He rolled out of bed, showered and shaved, using a razor he found there. He did his karate exercises and made it right on schedule down to the coffee shop for a 7:30 breakfast, where he called Henry and told him to pick them up at the back of the hotel.
Henry picked Clayton up right on time and the first thing on the agenda was to dispose of the triple X rated CD’s Clayton found in the penthouse. That done, the next step was to police headquarters. Henry waited for him outside in the public parking lot.
“I’d like to speak to the detective who investigated the car accident of Michelle Wellington Crawford a month or so ago,” Clayton said to the big burly looking desk sergeant.
The man was well over 6 feet, maybe 6’ 6”. Not at all fat, just big. Clayton noticed that his nose had been broken once or twice and his spotless uniform fit him a little too tight.
“What’s your name please, and what your interest in that particular accident?” the sergeant asked as he peered down from the large desk.
“I’m Clayton Crawford and my wife was killed in that accident, and I was led to believe that a detective Carol Richards was the investigating officer on the scene.”
“Yes, of course Mister Crawford. Detective Richards has a desk in the back of the building next to the restrooms.”
“They sergeant,” Clayton said and went on his way through the maze of desks toward the John’s in the rear of the open day. It was one big room with no interior walls, just a clutter of well used, scratched and banged up desks that had seen much better days.
Richard’s accommodations were no better than the others. Clayton stood for a moment in front of a beat up that had once been an institutional gray. It was a cluttered mess with phones, copies of reports, haphazardly stacked and spilling over on one side of a wire basket. Not to mention an old and outdated computer and monitor. Clayton noticed a nameplate hidden under an open folder on the desk.
“I’ll be right with you,” Richards said, as he placed his hand over the phone. “Soon as I finish this call. Have a seat,” he continued and motion to Clayton to a chair at the side of the desk. “They got me on hold, just be a minute or so.”
Clayton sat as directed and had a chance to take a good look around. He had Artie noticed that the 36 precinct was set right down in the middle of what had to be one of the city’s worst slum areas. The building itself fit right in with its surroundings, worn and shabby. The paint was peeling from around the dirty wooden window frames that had years ago been painted shut and stuck fast. Rusted iron bars were bolted to the soot covered exterior brick. The inside wasn’t much better. The slow turning fans that hung from the ceiling were as old as the building itself. The front desk was made of wood, stood higher than the rest and was chipped and cracked from one end to the other. The old linoleum covered floor was cracked and peeling in places, and in some places it was so thin see the subflooring. Kate was peeling from the walls and ceiling and the place smelled of stale cigar and cigarette smoke, Bert coffee and human sweat, common in close quarters.
Richards ended his call, leaned back in his chair, locked his fingers behind his head and waited for Clayton say something.
“It’s hot in here, is it always like this? Must be close to 100,” Clayton said, wiping his brow with his handkerchief.
“Yeah, the AC is broken down again; it must have come over the pond with Columbus. Well, maybe not quite that old, but at the very least as old as the building,” Richards explained. “And the fans in here aren’t enough to make any difference at all; they just managed to move the hot air around a little. What can I say, just another day in paradise.”
“That’s a good one, another day in paradise. I have to write that down sometime,” Clayton said with a smile.
“One thing I’m sure of,” Richards said, “you didn’t come here to discuss the weather. Not unless you’re some kind of nut case. So let’s have a fella, what can I do for you?”
“I’m Clayton Crawford. My wife was killed in a car accident month ago.”
“Oh yeah, I remember it well.” Richards nodded his head.
“Good, and as I understand it you are the investigating officer.”
“Yes, accident sparked a small fire on the Mountain. The rangers spotted it right away being it was 3 AM in the morning and black as pitch. You know, every cloud cover in no moon at all. Anyway, the rangers called in, the fire department responded and the fire was put out in an hour or two. That’s when the wrecked burned-out frame of the car was discovered. It’s all in the report,” he added. “Right here on my desk somewhere, or maybe in my filing cabinet. I have to look for it.”
“That’s quite all right detective, I have lots of time.”
“Well then,” Richards said, with a sigh, “might as well get at it, eh? Let’s see, Crawford,” he said, more or less to himself, as he paused for a moment, deep in concentration. “That would be under A, I think.”
“A?” Clayton said. “Crawford with a C, he would be under C.”
“No, no, it would be under A, for accident, wouldn’t it?”
Clayton sat back in his chair, dumbfounded, but only for a moment, until he saw the smile and Richard’s face.
“Okay detective, good that time, but if I were you, I’d watch out for paybacks. What goes around comes around,” laughed Clayton.
“I can tell we will get along just fine, now let’s see if I can find that damn report.”
Richards was of average height and build with closely cropped blonde hair, piercing blue eyes and a quick smile. Friendly enough, but Clayton got the impression that he was no one to mess with. H
is white short-sleeve shirt was opened at the neck and already wrinkled and wet from perspiration under the arms and down the back.
“Yes, here it is. I found it just where I lost it last time. I’ll have a copy made up and you can have it before you leave.”
Carol Richards came across as a jokester but if Clayton was any judge of people, Richard’ s eyes told him that he was very alert and missed nothing.
“Yes, I remember now,” he said, glancing at the report. “Her father came in to ID the remains. I mean from the jewelry she wore and there was her purse of course. It was charred black, and badly burned, but there was enough left that was still legible. Driver’s license, Social Security card, etc. Look, Mister Crawford, if I come across a little slip, or crass, I’m truly not. I’m really sorry for your loss. I remember seeing pictures of her now and then in the newspapers. She was truly a beautiful woman and I’m sure you will miss her very much. Although I hear you have been separated from her for some time?”
“That’s true detective, for almost 3 years. But be that as it may, I will still miss her. I haven’t quite figured that part out yet. Tell me,” Clayton continued, what is your take on all this? I mean the accident and all that’s happened since.”
“My take?” The detective thought for a moment. “It was an accident, pure and simple. She was not dark and twisting road late at night, going way too fast for her car to take the curves. Also, there were traces of drugs and alcohol in her blood, the lab reports show that. Further, the road where the accident occurred as no guard rail and the fact that there was no sign of skid marks on the road led us to believe she was going so fast she didn’t have time to apply the brakes.”
Both men faced each other in silence for a moment. Clayton could feel the sweat running down his back and was forced to wipe his four head again.
“Do you know the Stephen Driscoll?” He asked Richards, as the ceiling fans continued their monotonous hum high overhead.
“Yes. There’s a missing persons report on him somewhere around here. His parents came in a week ago and filed it. He came in himself about a month ago. Claimed that something was wrong about her accident, said she was really frightened. Said a thought someone was following her.”
“He told me the same thing. He was certain someone was responsible for the accident, that she was murdered.”
Suddenly there were cheers and clapping of hands from everyone in the front of the building. “Ah, here comes the repairman to fix the AC,” Richard said. “There is a God after all. Watch it just be a breaker for some fool thing like that.” Then he paused a moment. “Now, where were we? Oh yes, Stephen Driscoll. Like I said, he showed up here wanting us to investigate the accident. We checked around, talk to friends of hers and neighbors, which were no help. Nobody wants to talk to the police it seems. We had the car gone over with a fine tooth comb. It hadn’t been tampered with and according to the service records, was mechanically sound at the time of the accident. There just wasn’t anything to go on, just the man’s suspicion that something was wrong.”
“Then he takes off for parts unknown, without telling anyone, and his parents get their knickers in a knot and rush down here filed a missing persons report. Personally, I believe he’s out somewhere nursing a bad hangover and feeling sorry for himself. Maybe even getting laid.”
“There may be some truth to that,” Clayton said. “As I understand it, he was a real party hound. Did you follow up on the missing persons report?”
“As sure as the eagle flies.”
Clayton looked puzzled for a moment.
“Just a saying we civil servants have around here, you have to be one of us to understand.”
“Now I think I get it,” Clayton said, while still working it out in his head.
“Anyway, the answer to your question is yes, I sent to uniforms in a black and white over to Driscoll’s residents. The place was shut up tight. Wait a minute, I see Roland now. He’s one of the uniforms I sent over there. Hey Roland,” Richards shouted, “got a few? There’s a man here would like to talk to you,” he waved the young officer over.
Chapter 13
Roland was young all right; he was fresh and bright eyes and looks too young to be allowed to carry a gun. He was certainly big enough though, 6” 2”, or three, and built like a linebacker. He was a good-looking kid with a crew cut, square jaw and dark brown eyes. On his way over to Richard’s desk, he stopped in the middle of the aisle and held out both arms wide and turned slowly in circles.
“Feel that? Do you all feel that?” He shouted. “The AC is working! All glory and power to the greater gods of this technology, who in their infinite wisdom, created for all mankind them miracle of air condition. Glory, glory, I say.”
“Glory, glory your young ass over here for a few minutes,” Richards shouted, “and talk to this guy, will you? Roland, this is Mister Crawford. He wants to know what you found at the Driscoll place last month. Mister Crawford is the husband of the dead girl –“Richards stopped for a minute. “Never mind, it’s too confusing, and along story to boot. Just tell us what you found.”
“Too confusing? I know who he is, I read the newspapers you know. I read in the Times, the Herald and the reporter. I read the –“
“Okay, okay you convinced me Roland,” Richards said, as he held up his hand to stop the young man’s onslaught of words, his voice now with a steel edge to it. “If you don’t cut the crap I’m going to think of something very nasty for you to do. Do I make myself clear, officer? Now please be so kind to tell us what you found at the Driscoll place and try to do it in 1000 words or less, okay?”
“Your word is my command Carol, I wouldn’t dream of –“
“Roland! I’m warning you.” Richards thundered.
“All right chief, you have to get hostile on me. What’s he want to know?”
“He wants to know,” Richards shouted, and in mid-sentence he stopped and composed himself. He turned away with his hands on his hips and said, in a calm voice, “you’re killing me lad, you’re killing me.”
“Okay! Well Jack and I drove over to his place on east side. The house was locked up tight. Just my partner you know, he –“
“Roland!” Richards snarled.
“Yes, well, like I said, the house was locked up tight. Doors and windows locked in shades pulled down. No one was home, at least no one answered the door except for that damn dog. I thought he was coming through the front window at me. We checked the garage, it was empty and newspapers were piled up near the front stoop and the mailbox was stuffed full to overflowing. We interviewed the neighbors on either side of the place and even across the street. They hadn’t seen him around for a few weeks maybe. We asked if anyone was looking after the dog, but they didn’t know and didn’t really care. Didn’t like the dog anyway, said it was always barking. Didn’t care for Driscoll either, too many loud parties.”
“So anyway here we are. This guy Driscoll hadn’t been seen for a week or more and here’s this man eating dog locked up in what appeared to be an abandoned house. So we decided to call the animal shelter and have them take care of the dog, so that’s what we did. All that is standard operating procedure. But while we were waiting for the folks to come from the shelter, we get a call over the radio. Shots fired, officers need help. So we go tearing out of there, lights flashing, horn blowing and siren screaming. The whole shebang. That’s it, and of story.”
Then all three men said in perfect unison, “it’s all on the report.”
About that time the AC repairman came down from the second floor and again they were cheered and slapped on the back.
“Well, what was wrong with it this time,” everyone wanted to know. “Was it a shorter something, like that one?” asked another. “I bet it just iced up like it did last August. Bet you had to Jerry-rig it so wouldn’t run at all.”
“No, none of that. What it was, was just a loose breaker, that’s all. All we had to do was just push it in a little further,” explained the r
epairman.
“You gotta be shitting us! A loose breaker the man says.” One of the men standing around the repairman said, “Unbelievable. A loose breaker… we have been sweltering in this heat all morning because of a loose breaker. Hat it had to be hundred degrees in here.”
“Yeah,” another added, “and half of us are sick from the heat. Wait a minute, we checked the breaker. That was the first thing we did.”
“Who checked that breaker anyway?” One of the detectives asked, as everyone turned around and looked at the desk sergeant.
“Hey, it wasn’t me.” The desk sergeant blustered. “It was the night shift boys just before they one off-duty. Don’t go blaming me for that screw-up. I just took their word that had been checked and was fine.”
“They likely checked the wrong breaker,” a voice in the milling crowd shouted. The comment was followed with a big “Boooo” right behind it, and another, and a cat-call and the hiss. Then someone tossed a paper cup at him, and another, and a waterfall that paper was behind it. Soon the poor man was being pelted with all sorts of things. Milk cartons, sandwich wraps, and banana peelings were sailing through the air with ta storm of boo’s and cat-calls. The sergeant took cover behind his huge beat up desk.
The Crawford Chronicles - Book 1 Page 8
