The Crawford Chronicles - Book 1

by Clayton Conrad

  “No, I just met him the other day on another matter. How about a man by the name of Downing? I hear he likes to joke around a lot.” Clayton pressed on.

  “Downing, hell yes. He’s old money from way back. I can tell you this much, if you are a friend you have it made. But I wouldn’t want a worse enemy. He was in politics for a while but then found it was more fun being the puppeteer than the puppet. He’s what they call an organizer. He makes things happen. I tell you kid, you’re running with real power players. Wellington and now Downing, those are two very big names, and not to be taken lightly.”

  “Okay. Now let me ask you this,” Clayton continued. “I know this lady who owns a small restaurant over on the East side, off of King Street and something else, but I forgot the name.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Anyway, as I understand it, some big franchise wants to buy it from her, but she’s not selling. So they send this Poindexter to see her. He’s supposed to be a big high-powered lawyer of some sort. Well she keeps refusing his offers, and each offer is sweeter than the last. Well, then he resorts to threats. He says he can call the health department and half are shut down completely, or have the whole building condemned, if he had to. My question is, can he really do that? Or is he just whistling Dixie?”

  “That’s a civil matter kid, and not in my realm of expertise, per se. But if he has enough clout you know, the right juice, he might be able to make it a bit uncomfortable for the lady.”

  “How one uncomfortable?” Clayton pressed.

  “That’s hard to say. It all depends, like I said, on how much clout he has. How did you get mixed up in this anyway? What is she to you?”

  “I stopped in her place for lunch one day and that’s when this Poindexter comes in the room throwing all these threats around like confetti. Tells me I don’t know who I’m up against and that I’m in way over my head, that this is major-league stuff and so on.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question,” Richards persisted. “How did you get mixed up in that?”

  “I don’t really know myself, just one thing led to another, and before I knew it, there I was, having a kissing match with this ass hole Poindexter.”

  “Well, all I can tell you kid, is that you would be far better off in California. Go back home son, it’s a lot safer there.”

  Thanks for the advice, but I think I’ll hang around for a while yet. See you around sometime,” and with that Clayton left the 56th.

  Richards watched Clayton walk away and shook his head. “Poor dumb fuck.” He turned around and picked up his paperwork.

  When Clayton reached the ivory tower he went straight to the blue elevators and up to the fifth floor, passed through the metal detector and into the little reception area.

  The receptionist was a different man this time. He looked like a college student, likely a volunteer. He had an athlete’s build with strong looking shoulders and broad chest, thick neck. His hair was cut high and tight. His short sleeve shirt showed off his muscular arms.

  “I’m Clayton Crawford, and I’d like to see the Senator please. And no, I don’t have an appointment. And yes, it’s regarding my wife’s death. Thank you.”

  The young man” he’d been studying, and with a broad expression, picked up the phone and punched a single digit. “Yes, I have a Mister Crawford out here who wants to see the Senator, regarding –“ he stopped talking and just listened. “Yes I will,” he said into the receiver and hung up. Turning to Clayton again he said, “I’m sorry, the Senator just stepped out and will be gone all day.”

  “I see, is to Howard then, surely he’s in.”

  “No Sir I’m sorry, but Mister Howard is in a conference and can’t be disturbed.”

  “Oh that’s fine. I’ll just wait around for a while, I’m really in no hurry, but all day, as a matter of fact.” Clayton sat down in a little chair across from the receptionist’s desk. Presently he started to hum at the little tune called “Dixieland”. The young man, who is back at his book, looked up at Clayton and cleared his throat.

  “Oh, I’m sorry young man. I didn’t mean to bother you. It’s just I find it so boring in here; I don’t know how you can stand it. Myself, I could never in 1 million years just sit around doing nothing. I’m afraid I’d just stagnate, you know? Like water that has no current.”

  “Please Mister Crawford; I’m really trying to work here.”

  “Oh, why yes, of course, young man. Please don’t let me stop you from your studying, heavens no. By all means, just go on with whatever you were doing and I’ll just sit here and wait for Mister Howard, and wait, and wait, and wait. I really don’t mind, you know, got all day.”

  Keeping up his incessant chatter, Clayton stood up and took off the light blue blazer he was wearing and folded it neatly, placing it on the chair. “Awfully warm in here, don’t you think? It must be near 80° in here. Well maybe only 75?” Then he stretched his arms and back muscles and cracked his knuckles all the while humming another tune again. This time it was the “Battle Hymn of the Republic”. Then he started pacing slowly, back and forth, pausing between each step, while humming “Here Comes the Bride”.

  “Are you having fun Mister Crawford? What is it this time, if I may ask?”

  Lester Howard was standing with his arms folded across his chest with a slight smile on his face. He couldn’t help but be amused at the antics Clayton was going through.

  “Well, here you are!” Clayton said, with fake surprise. “How very kind of you to take me on such short notice.” Clayton said. “I appreciate little things like that a great deal.”

  “How can I be of help to you? I thought we covered everything pretty well in our last meeting.”

  “Well, we did, pretty much. But that’s just it, I’m sorry, but may I speak frankly?” Clayton asked.

  “But of course, but first step into my office where we can talk privately. Ensure that would be better.”

  Once inside Lester Howard’s tacky office, the smile on his face quickly faded into a hard cold stare. “Now Mister Chase, just what more can we do for you? And you’d better make it fast because I’m beginning to lose my patience,” he said, standing behind his cluttered and battered desk.

  “So, you’re running interference for the Senator these days. I’ll bet you 10 to one he’s right upstairs on the next floor, and that you are hiding in this little should hold for the last hour while it was in the reception area being as obnoxious as I could be.”

  “The senator happens to be dealing with very sensitive issues at the moment. And yes, I looked after his best interests. That’s my job. Now, more to the point Mister Crawford, what more do you want from this office? What more can we do for you that we haven’t already done.” Lester continued, “Yes I’m very sorry that you’re young and beautiful wife is dead. That was a real unexpected travesty, a real tragedy for everyone, I’m sure, but life goes on. And as we, the Senator and I, are heading into an election year, we have very little time to spend on things we can’t change or do anything about.”

  “Well, I’ll try not to waste any more of your time. It’s just that I keep getting all these contradictions, these conflicting stories about my wife’s last days before the accident. Her friends say she was fearful of something or someone, that she was nervous and was afraid that she was being followed. That she was even afraid for her life. Now the Senator, and yourself, paint an entirely different picture. All roses and sunshine, everything was just fine. Why is that, Lester? You don’t mind if I call you Lester, do you?”

  “Yes I do, but I can tell it will make a bit of difference. As far as her friends go I can’t help what they say what they think they know. All I can tell you is what I have seen and know of your wife on a personal basis. And that, my friend, we have already stated. You don’t mind me calling you my friend, do you?” Lester said with a sarcastic smirk.

  “What she got herself involved in on her own time, in her own private life, has nothing to do with this office, or the S
enator. To insinuate anything else about the Senator great harm and might leave someone open for a libel suit to choke a horse...if you get my meaning.”

  “She was at a party at the Senators Lodge in the mountains of West Virginia the night –“

  “It was not a party; it was a fundraiser for our upcoming election. The political gathering to help our campaign.”

  “That’s funny Lester, what you call a fundraiser in a political gathering, everyone else calls one hell of a party. It was booze there, drugs and women, if I’m not mistaken, including my wife, whose body showed she had taken drugs just before her death. Maybe a half hour, no more than that. And she got them at your fun, yes I said fund raiser. Now I want a list of all the guests that were there, if I shake them up enough I might get to the truth.”

  “You must be joking, of course. Do you think for one minute that I’d let you bother these people, like you bothering me? That was a private gathering by invitation only. The last thing my constituency wants is to be linked in any way with that unfortunate accident. I will not have you bothering them. Are we clear on the, my friend?”

  “I guess that’s a no then? Well that’s okay; I can get it from detective Richards third at the 56th then. This just isn’t going to go away, Lester, and neither am I.”

  “I believe we’re through here Crawford, now get out before I call security.” For the first time his calm superior attitude began to crack. His demeanor changed, his jaw set in a hard line. His cool gray eyes alight with fire, narrowed to thin slits. His mouth twisted almost to a snarl.

  Clayton walked calmly to the door and with his hand on the doorknob, he turned, “you’re hiding something Lester, I can see it in your eyes. You and maybe the senator also, and I’m going to find out what it is. I won’t go away and I will not stop.” He left the room.

  Chapter 21

  While Clayton was having his meeting with Lester Howard in Baltimore Maryland, Michael Lansing, in San Francisco California, was having a meeting also. His was a very private meeting with the man he defended years ago while he was working as a public defender in Los Angeles. His name was Jeffrey Hunter, a habitual criminal – in and out of trouble with the law all his life, from early childhood. Everything from grand theft auto to burglary, to armed robbery and suspicion of murder.

  Jeffrey was a two-time loser, one more bust and he was going away for a very long time as a guest of the state. Michael had defended him once on the attempted murder charge and had the charges dropped for lack of evidence. Jeffrey was just out of prison after serving three years of a five-year stretch. He was armed and dangerous.

  Michael had been keeping track of Jeffrey and one or two others that he had defended, and used them from time to time. Because, although he was a very successful lawyer, he had his dark side.

  For years now he would go to the train or bus depot in a major city and just hang out a while, looking for young and nice-looking runaways. Male or female, it made no difference, just so they were young, between 12 and 15. He would watch them for a while to make sure no one was coming to pick them up. He could easily tell which ones they were by the way they acted, and by the way they just hung around, wondering what to do next.

  Some would try to steal money from the phone banks or vending machines. Some would just stare off into space and miss their mom’s home cooking. He would watch them for a while and then, making sure it was safe, he would move in like a cat stalking a little bird. He befriended them with kind words and a soft helpful voice. He would tell them he was waiting for a niece or nephew. If his intended victim was a little girl and he would tell her he was waiting for his niece who is just about her age and who is going to help him on his ranch. And if it were a little boy it was a nephew.

  He would hang out with them and pretend to be looking for whoever he was supposed to meet. Finally, he’d say, in a disappointed voice, “I guess they changed their minds.” Left with no one to help him out, maybe his intended victim would like the job instead? It paid pretty well and with room and board they could save money in no time. Of course they were always so innocent and naïve they would believe anything this nice man was saying. Eager for a place to stay, good food and a warm bed, they jumped at the chance, and always accepted the nonexistent job.

  After he had finished with them he would bathe their bodies from head to toe, even clean their finger and toe nails. Then he would carefully place them in what he called the ‘happy field’ behind the shack, were 30 or 40 bodies lay at rest.

  And that’s the kind of man Michael Lansing was, wealthy lawyer, family man and father of three, devoted husband, pillar of the community and Cub Scout leader. And that’s the kind of man Timothy Holt thought he could blackmail. Poor Timothy, the misguided soul.

  The meeting took place in Jeffrey Hunter’s shabby one-bedroom apartment, directly above the shabby bar in a shabby neighborhood. The place was almost completely bare of usable furniture, saving a worn out, sagging couch, and a filthy chair with frayed threadbare arms and cushions.

  The kitchen table was no better, it had rested chrome finished legs and a scratched from Micah top with cigarette burns around the dirt encrusted surface. The countertop was no better off in the metal cabinets were arrested and yellowed with age. A bare lightbulb hung from the ceiling. No curtains covered the Windows. Everything had been new in the 80s. Smack in the middle of all this mess was a 60 inch flatscreen Sony TV with the best home theater system money could buy. At least $6000 of the newest electronics and sound system dominated the room.

  The two men were seated at the kitchen table facing each other. “First thing,” Michael was saying, “is I want you to find the detective that fuse-nuts hired to follow me. Second, I will need your help with Holt toward the end of things. He’s a really big man and I doubt I can handle him by myself. You won’t have to do any strong arm stuff, just find that detective and then help me with Holt at the end of things.”

  “What do you mean by helping you with him, if not strong-arming?” Jeffrey scratched the stubble on his chin.

  “Loving the bastard, he’s a very big man and he’ll be dead weight also. Don’t worry; I’ll take care of everything else. It will be my pleasure. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. First find that detective. I want you to break into Holt’s house, search his desk, all his filing cabinets and his safe. I know he has one; you’ll just have to find it. We are looking for any paperwork that has anything to do with any detective agency, anything like that. You can take whatever you like one sure in the house, even trash the place if you want. Yes, that would be good. You must make it look like a simple burglary, that’s important. Remember, most of all were looking for canceled checks, bank statements, legal correspondence, and memos, anything that has anything to do with a detective agency. I’ll let you know by phone when the house will be empty. The best would be on a weekend so you would have a lot of time, but regardless, it has to be soon.

  “Well, Jeffrey that concludes our business. Any other any questions?” Michael asked, as he handed Jeffrey a stack of 50s totaling $5000.

  “I may need help cracking that safe.”

  “Get whoever you need, but only tell them what they need to know. And don’t worry about the money. I’ll pay all the freight.”

  “Okay then, I’ll wait for your call.”

  Chapter 22

  While Michael was plotting the long and slow demise of Timothy Holt, Timothy was doing a little plotting and scheming of his own, concocting his own plan to take over the company. He was having coffee with Arthur Miller, the senior accountant for Clayton Alarm Security and Guard Company, Inc.

  “I like you Arthur; I think you’re a man who knows how to get ahead in the world. I was just saying to Mister Crawford before he left what a fine job you’re doing for us here at Clayton’s. You have a solid future with us here and I’m looking forward to working with you for many years to come.”

  “Thank you Mister Holt. It’s always nice to know that a man is appreciated by the
people upstairs, so to speak, if you know what I mean. It makes for better work relations.”

  “Yes of course. However, there are a few little things to be taken care of before this machine can run at its full potential. I’ve been looking back over your resume and I have checked a little more closely, perhaps than anyone had checked before. And you know what I found, Arthur?”

  Arthur sat across from Timothy, not saying a word, but he knew what was coming. The only question he had on his mind was why it took them so long to discover is completely erroneous employment application, his resume. He decided that he would just sit back and see where the smug son of a bitch was taking this.

  “Well Arthur, I found several errors in your application. It seems you never attended the College you stated, or at least they don’t remember you, and somehow must have misplaced your records of scholastic achievement. On the face of things your application looks excellent, but in reality it’s just a figment of your somewhat lively imagination, isn’t it, Arthur? But I have to hand it to you, it took some balls to walk in here and pull it off like you did. Tell me Arthur, how did you get in school?”