The Crawford Chronicles - Book 1

by Clayton Conrad

  “You are very direct and Frank at times, Michael, and that’s good. So let’s skip further unnecessary and phone platitudes,” Timothy said with a smile. “You now have on your desk a contract with Wilson Electric I believe?”

  “Yes, it looks pretty good to me. I say we should go with it. Actually it was pretty straightforward, simple and easy to read.”

  “Well Michael, therein lies the problem,” Timothy said with a smile that could cut steel. “You see Michael, I don’t want you to sign the contract. I would like you to hold off on it for a while longer.”

  “I don’t understand, contract seems perfectly fine. I can find nothing wrong with it.”

  “I not only don’t want you to ratify it, I want you to Doctor up a little, you know, Nick a few simple changes in it so that it looks like it’s been put together rather carelessly.” Tennessee continued as if he hadn’t heard Michael’s protest. “You know how to word things just right, I’m sure.”

  “Tamper with the contract? You must be insane; you’re crazy if you think for one minute I even contemplate such a thing. I won’t do it!”

  “I don’t want you to make any big glaring mistakes. No, just small little ones, so that it looks like the contract was put together rather haphazardly, carelessly, as if Clayton wasn’t quite up to the standards that he holds everyone else to. I want to discredit him, make him look bad, like he’s slipping and starting to lose it.”

  “You’re mad!” Michael said as he got up to leave. “You’re talking nonsense I will have none of it. You should see a doctor and I don’t mean medical doctor.”

  “Sit down Michael. Let’s make this as painless as possible.” The town in Timothy’s voice brought Michael to a dead stop midway up from his chair.

  “You see Michael, I’ve been watching you for some time now. I knew there was something about you that wasn’t quite right, if you know what I mean and I’m sure you do. You see Michael, I’m very perceptive. It’s a gift I have. So anyway, what I did was I hired a private detective and paid him very well to follow you and see how you spend your time. It was to him in his efforts have learned so much about you.” Timothy paused and watched his words sink in.

  The color drained from Michael’s face as he slowly sat back down. A cold chill ran down his spine and it was difficult for him to breathe. “I, I don’t, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered.

  “I’m talking about that little love nest you have for yourself, hidden away deep in the mountains. That old abandoned shack he found probably while you are hunting one day.”

  “That’s absurd,” Michael tried to assert his voice opportunities but it didn’t work. Timothy had him and he knew it.

  “You see Michael, every one of us has things we have done that we would rather have kept secret. And I have found yours. Actually, I have a little something on almost everyone who works here,” Timothy continued.

  Timothy reached in his desk drawer and took out a white envelope containing several 4 x 7 glossies. The first picture was taken through a window and showed Michael sitting on an old threadbare couch, his hand thrown back, his arms out wide and his legs spread wide apart and stark naked. A little boy of about 10, also nude, had his face buried in Michael’s groin. From there they just got worse.

  “I wonder Michael, does your wife or your kiddies know about your extracurricular activity, you perverted little cockroach. Do you know what they do to pedophiles in prison, because that’s where you will be going if you don’t do as I say. They will cut your nuts off and stick them in your mouth, then watch you bleed to death! A lot of his men in prison have children of their own, and the guards also. They would just love to get your tender ass in there, and work you over. Why you would last a week.”

  “There would be no more family trips to the Caymans, I can tell you that, you sorry little turd. You’d lose your wife, your children, that big expensive house of yours, and in the long run your worthless life, you can trust me on that. You’re a dead man if you don’t do as I say, do understand, are we clear, you sorry excuse?”

  “Now get out of my office, the sight of you makes me want to vomit. I really don’t give a rats ass about this kids you been screwing, I’m sure the police will take an entirely different view of things. Now get out!”

  Michael rose from his chair, hoping his knees wouldn’t buckle, and half sick to his stomach, walked slowly to the door, a beaten man. Numb and in shock, he pause, pulled himself together as best he could. He straightened to his full height and turned to face Timothy, his hand still on the doorknob. Reaching down deep inside himself, he found somehow the inner strength he needed.

  “You know Timothy, black males a dirty dangerous game,” he said in a quiet, calm voice that he didn’t feel.

  “Don’t you threaten me, you little son of a bitch. I’ll squish you like a bug. And if anything happens to me everything goes straight to the police,” he shouted. He picked up a paperweight from his desk and hurled it at Michael. Michael simply ducked. The heavy missile slammed against the door as he left the room.

  Michael forced himself to walk slowly down the hall. He came upon a male clerk leaning against the wall, talking to one of the office girls.

  “Hi Mister Lansing, how are things going today?” The clerk asked as the girl scurried away.

  “Bout the same Larry, about the same,” he replied and kept walking, until he got to the mentoring. He pushed open the door and just made it to the first stall where he dropped to his knees and lost his lunch in the porcelain throne.

  ***

  After listening to the races Clayton went to the phone and dialed the veterinary’s office to see if the dog had survived the night.

  “Yes Mister Chase,” the vet said as he answered on the second ring. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you for asking. I’m glad you called. I believe the dog will make a full recovery. You won’t believe this but I discovered a microchip implanted in the dog’s left shoulder and I know him pretty well. That’s Stephen Driscoll’s dog, he answers to the name of but. Not much more than a puppy, just a year old. Fully grown he can reach 140 or 50 pounds. It’s a Shiloh German Shepherd, or long-haired Shepherd if you like. There are papers on him somewhere; Stephen would know where they are.”

  “I wouldn’t count on talking to Steve right away,” Clayton replied, “Stephen has been missing for almost 3 weeks now. That abandoned house I was telling you about was his house.”

  “What I’d like to know is where in the world Stephen is. He would never in 1 million years just go off and leave his dog to die like that. I mean, you would think they were joined at the hip, the way they were always together. Wherever Steve went buck would be there also. Something terrible must have happened, Stephen would never go off and abandoned Buck,” the vet repeated.

  “How soon can the dog, er, Buck be released?” Clayton asked.

  “I’d like to keep him for another day or so to make sure none of his internal organs have been damaged. That sometimes happens in cases of your starvation like this. I suppose I’ll have to turn him over to the Humane Society when the time comes.”

  “Oh no doc,” Clayton blurted out, before he had time to think. “I mean give me a little time to adjust, to get used to the idea, you know. I may just look after buck until Stephen turns up. And besides, not too many people would want dog that bit around the house. Hell, he’d outweigh the average housewife and her children too,” Clayton chuckled.

  Chapter 18

  Barbara was a plain woman with shoulder length auburn hair. Her makeup was applied with great care in an attempt to highlight her good features and cover the bad. She was around 35 or so, divorced with two children, 10 and 13 who were now in a military academy. Her ex was a full Colonel in the Marine Corps serving in Afghanistan. She was working for a large advertising firm in the city and doing very well. Clayton read her as a board lonely woman; she quickly let him know that she was seeing no one special.

  “Michelle was really upset,” she said.
“The last time I saw her she kept looking over her shoulder. Let’s see, that would have been the day before the accident, and paragraph Barber continued, as a woman deep in thought, trying to remember the things that happened a month or more ago. “She was very nervous and fidgeted with her handkerchief, looking around all the time. I’ve known her for a long time and I never saw herself fretful, not herself at all. Like I said before she wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, and well, I became very worried about her. That was the last time I saw her.”

  “Do you know a Stephen Driscoll?” Clayton asked.

  “Stevey-boy, sure I know him. What a complete loser he is, in more ways than one.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, he and Michelle were real tight for the last year or so. She told me he was getting too serious over her and that she would have to break it off sooner or later. She wasn’t the type to settle down with a simple glorified accountant. She liked to play things free and easy. Poor Stevey was just another name and a long list of names. And then what happens? His golden goose got herself killed in a freak car accident.”

  “Did Stephen know Michelle was planning on dumping him?” Clayton asked.

  “I really couldn’t say one way or the other, but that is an interesting question,” Barbara mused.

  “Taking what you know now and putting it together, I mean Michelle dropping him, for accident, and then him disappearing. Do you think he may have had something to do with her death I should mark”

  “Stephen has disappeared?” She asked with shock.

  “He hasn’t been seen since Michelle’s funeral.”

  “Come to think of it I haven’t seen him either, not for some time now. And as for him being involved in any way with Michelle’s death, that’s really reaching. He is a milquetoast, a mama’s boy and I don’t think he has a mean bone in his body. That’s just about all I’ve got. I can’t think of anything more. What is it you’re looking for? You think maybe Michelle’s death wasn’t just a simple car accident?”

  “I really don’t know, this business with Michelle is getting more complicated by the day. I know what I should do, I should turn it over to the police and let them handle it. But somehow I just can’t.”

  “Well, if ever you find you need someone to talk to or soft shoulder to lean on, please give me a call. You will find I’m a good listener. And, if you find out anything new about Michelle’s accident, or whatever it was.” He agreed and they parted.

  It was after four-thirty and Clayton had an hour to get ready for his date, plenty of time. He laid out his close and made sure his suit was presentable, white shirt and tie. Everything looked all right and all systems were go. After a hot shower and into fresh clothes, he wrote down in the private elevator and into the hotel’s Tiki lounge where he ordered a scotch straight up with ice. Henry was Johnny-on-the-spot, there to pick him up at 5:30 sharp.

  “First thing we need better find is a florist, you know, flowers or something,” Clayton said, as he slipped in beside Henry.

  “You going all out dude. Women really like that kind of stuff, and I just happen to know the right place. It’s a little mom and pop florist called the White Rose. A lady by the name of rows is the owner, well she and her husband. Anyway their last name is white, so they just turned around and called their little shop the White Rose, get it? Rose White – White Rose?”

  “Yes Henry, I think I get it.”

  “Anyway, isn’t far from here, won’t take as long to get there. It’s off King, near Andrew Street. By the way, here’s a little something for you,” he said, and reached into his shirt pocket. He gave Clayton the white sealed envelope. “Five big ones,” he said, “wrapped, sealed and delivered.”

  “Right on my man, right on! What are you just keep it whenever you get that, whatever-you-call-it, put down a couple for me.”

  “Sounds like a plan dude, sounds like a plan.”

  The White Rose was sandwiched between a bakery and an army surplus store. In the window was a beautiful display with a silk flower arrangement that would catch anyone’s I. The mom half of the business was a little plump woman in her 70s, who waddled when she walked and had bad breath periods

  “Why if it isn’t Stockton,” she said. “Hey, Pa, come out here and see who just walked through the door. It’s Henry Stockton for Pete’s sake, just walked through the door. Of all people, where you been keeping yourself these days Henry? Thought you might have left town or something.”

  “I’ve been really busy Rosie, really busy. Rosie, I want you to meet a friend of mine. Rosie this is Clayton, Clayton meet Rosie, who if she wasn’t already married, I’d have carried her off years ago. Everyone knows her as the White Rose. Isn’t that something? And here’s Arnold her husband. How you doing Arnie, long time no see?”

  “Thought you left town or something, sure did, didn’t we Ma?”

  “Arnie, I want you to meet Clayton, Clayton this is Arnie White, the other half of the White Rose.”

  “I’m glad to meet you Arnie, well the both of you really, but I tell you what time –“

  “He’s taking this lady out tonight you see,” Henry broke in. “And it’s their first date, so he wants to get her some really nice flowers or something.”

  “I know just what you mean,” Rosie said. “Don’t you worry Mister Clayton, I know what you need. I’ll fix you right up.”

  And she did, with Arnold’s help. All roses, two dozen, mixed colors – red yellow white and pink. Arnie put together beautifully with a white satin ribbon.

  That taken care of, they said their goodbyes and Rosie made Henry promise not to stay away so long that time, to come back and see his old friends more often.

  Chapter 19

  And it was off to Rachel’s place in Crystal Springs, just inside the DC city limits. To call a house would be a gross understatement. The place was a huge three-story plantation affair, with six white pillars running as high as the porch ceiling, some 20 feet off the wide porch which ran the length of the house and wrapped around either side. It was well lit with spotlights placed around the grounds to highlight the beauty of the mansion. A Butler in tails answered the front door.

  “I’m here to see Miss Downing,” Clayton told the Butler as he peered at the grand chandelier high over his head, held in place by a black ornate rod that jutted out from the side of the house.

  “Whom shall I say is calling, Sir?”

  “I’m Clayton Charles Crawford.”

  “Won’t you please step in while I announce your presence, Sir?”

  The Butler was very distinguished, with a full head of silver gray wavy hair. He was dressed very formally in a black tux, white shirt, black vest and white bow tie.

  “Yes, thank you.” Clayton said as he left the Butler show him into the great entry hall. He felt rather silly, standing there with flowers in his hand and having nowhere to put them.

  The Butler, with a faint smile, ramrod straight back, gracefully turned almost with a regal air about him and walked to the foot of the beautiful winding staircase. He shouted at the top of his voice, “hey Rachel, your dates here.”

  Clayton was so surprised he almost dropped the flowers. He couldn’t help himself, he just burst out laughing. He laughed until he cried, and to his stomach hurt. Bending over with tears running down his face, he held his sides.

  The Butler, still with that very formal air about him, and that same straight-faced expression, looked at Clayton. By this time Clayton was laughing so hard, he was leaning against the wall. The man simply turned and with that same air of royal personage, walked from the room.

  Clayton found a small chair at a little hall table nearby and had to sit down. He wiped the tears from his eyes with his handkerchief.

  “Oh that’s just my father. I swear, sometimes he simply impossible. You will just have to get used to him, there is nothing we can do with him any longer.”

  Clayton looked up to see Rachel, dressed in a beautiful strapless white evening gown,
trimmed in gold okayed piping around her bust line with the little gold belt which was optional, and gold piping at the bottom of the skirt, which fell just above the knees. Gold shoes and handbags set off the ensemble. She wore little jewelry, diamond stud earrings and a diamond ring on her right hand. A yellow choker was around her slender neck set in diamonds. She was more than beautiful, she was over the top.

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute, while I catch my breath. I doubt I can even stand up right now.”

  “I know, he has that effect on people at times. Take your time, it was really my fault. I should have warned you beforehand. I just never know what kind of stunt he will pull next, honestly! But I just love him to death, I can help it. He’s such a brat, such a lovable old goat. And are those flowers for me?”