I made it to the Conlon home in good time. When I got there the house was dark. I parked on the street and walked quietly up the driveway. At the front door, I listened but heard nothing inside. I rang the bell. No answer. I looked through the front window, but the interior was too dark for me to discern anything.
I was contemplating forcing the front lock when I perceived someone approaching from behind me. I turned to see Troy Conlon coming up the walkway.
“What’s wrong?” he said.
“How long have you been away?”
“Couple of hours. What’s happening?”
“Where’ve you been?”
“I was at the ‘Red Hen’. Why the third degree?”
“Your sister’s inside. She might be hurt. I couldn’t get a response when I rang the doorbell. I’ll explain inside.”
Troy Conlon removed his key ring from his pocket and unlocked the front door. When he flipped on the light switch in the living room, we saw Eileen Conlon lying on the sofa. Her eyes were closed and there was blood flowing down her cheek from a wound on her left temple. She appeared to be unconscious, but opened her eyes quickly as I helped her into a sitting position. Troy Conlon stood there looking at his sister with indifferent, listless eyes.
“Get her something cold to drink,” I said.
Troy went to the kitchen and brought back a glass of tap water.
Eileen Conlon took a moment to regain herself, then took a drink from the glass. When she was through, I pressed my handkerchief against her wound.
“How’d this happen?” I said.
“He hit me,” she said.
“Who?” Troy said.
“Crockett,” I said to Troy Conlon. “He forced his way into the house and tried to coerce your sister into helping him get away.”
“He took the car,” she said.
Troy Conlon removed a cigarette from the crumpled pack in his breast pocket, lit it, took a long drag, and blew the smoke out casually before he said, “How are you involved with this guy?”
“I’m not,” she said. “I thought we were friends, but I guess after tonight, we’re not.”
“Crockett’s running from the law,” I said. “He might be a suspect in the killing of your brother.”
“Might be?” Troy Conlon said.
“We haven’t had anything feasible to charge him with, before tonight anyway. At the very least, now we’ve got: B&E, assault, armed robbery, and grand theft auto, all felonies.”
“Are we in any danger?”
“We”, I thought. This guy seems to be more concerned about himself than his sister.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “Crockett got the wrong idea that your sister would help him, but she nixed that. I doubt he has any reason to bother her again. We’ll have the patrols give extra attention to your house for a while.”
“You’d better take care of that cut,” Troy said.
“I have a medical kit in the bathroom,” she said. “I’ll dress it and then go right to bed.”
“You know how to reach me,” I said to Eileen Conlon.
She nodded and started out of the room as Troy Conlon walked with me to the front door.
After Troy opened the door, I said, “If you were here with your sister tonight, this might not have happened.”
“I’m not her babysitter,” he said.
“I’m talking about someone who might have killed your sister. Your lack of concern is surprising.”
He didn’t respond to that, but said, “I won’t be going out anymore tonight. She’ll be okay with me here.”
“If Crockett comes back, don’t do anything stupid. Call the police.”
“I will,” he said, then closed the door without thanking me. I was surprised by the attentiveness he’d suddenly exhibited for his sister. Maybe my short rebuke had brought it on. I wasn’t sure it was genuine.
***
The “Red Hen” was a bar on 39th Street. It was one of those subterranean places where one had to walk down several stairs to get into the place. I navigated the cracked concrete steps and pushed open the front door. After my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I made my way to the short bar along the left wall. The place was small but neat. There were tables scattered about in no particular order, draped with white linen tablecloths. A small stage was in a far corner; there were instruments on it but no musicians. A jukebox, flashing bright colors, was playing a country song. Behind the bar hung a huge cardboard caricature of a red hen with the name: “Mollie” printed in large red letters beneath it.
I’d decided to do some checking of my own on Troy Conlon. There was something about this guy that I didn’t like, right from the “get-go”. His attitude concerning his sister’s encounter with Crockett seemed less than genuine. I had too many unanswered questions about him that I wanted answered.
It was just passed two in the afternoon, and the place was already crowded. Most of the patrons were at the bar. I slid onto a stool as the barkeep approached me. He was a burly guy with a salt and pepper mustache and goatee. I ordered a beer. When he brought the beer to me, I said, “I’m looking for a friend of mine. He comes in here often, name o’ Troy Conlon.”
“You a cop?”
“A friend. Haven’t seen him in a while,” I said. “Trying to catch up with him.”
This guy knew I wasn’t telling him the truth. He knew a cop when he saw one. “Get a new line,” he said. “Every nosey cop uses that one.” Then he said. “Try the guy at the end of the bar with the cowboy hat. He’s here just about every night, name’s Harlan.”
I grabbed my beer mug and walked down to the end of the bar and slid onto the empty stool next to Harlan. Harlan was wearing jeans, a sweatshirt and sported a dark handlebar mustache. His eyes were glassy when he turned to look at me.
“Harlan?” I said.
“Who wants to know?”
“I’m a friend of Troy Conlon. Bartender says you might know him.”
“You a cop?”
“A friend, we served together. I’m trying to catch up with him.”
Harlan didn’t believe me. either. I watched him take a long draw from his bottle of beer, while he thought about whether he wanted to talk to me.
“I know the guy,” he said. “Don’t know nothin’ about him outside this bar, though. Comes in and drinks a few times a week. Some other guys know him too.”
I took a sip of beer. “Wow,” I said. “I’m glad, at least, I found somebody that knows him. Wondering how things turned out for him. Can you tell me where to find him?”
Harlan drained his bottle, then turned on his stool to face me. “Look, mister,” he said. “I don’t like the guy; I don’t have nothin’ to say about him that you would like to hear.”
I finished my beer and ordered another and another bottle for Harlan.
“Anything you can tell me, good or bad would be helpful,” I said.
He took a draw from his bottle. “You look like a cop,” he said.
“A friend,” I said.
Harlan smiled at me, took a cigarette from a pack in his shirt pocket, lit it, and then pulled an ashtray closer to him. He blew out the smoke comfortably, before he said, “The guys a jerk. Gets a few drinks in him and thinks he’s Superman. He’s never happy; complains about everything.”
He stopped and looked at me for a reaction.
“I’m telling ya like it is,” he said. “You asked me.” I nodded. “What’s he complain about?”
“Last week he shot his mouth off about his family. How he hated his brother and his sister. I told him it’s not my business. I didn’t what to hear it. He was pissin’ me off, but he was half in the bag so I let him talk. Carl don’t like no trouble in here.”
“Did he say why he dislikes his siblings?”
“His what?”
“His brother and sister.”
“He said his brother died recently and his sister got most of the inheritance. Pissed him off caused things should have been split equally. H
e was upset about that. He said they always gave him the “shit end” of the stick. I told him it was only money.”
He finished his beer, and said, “That’s all I know, mister, just what he talks about in here. I don’t wanna get involved with the guy.”
I gave Harlan another, “Wow” and said, “He was a nice guy when I knew him. Hope things haven’t gone downhill for him.”
Harlan shrugged his shoulders in a sign of indifference. “If ya wanna know more, check with Regan there, he’s done some drinkin’ with your boy.”
When I looked in the direction Harlan had indicated, I spotted Arnie Regan seated at a table with two of his working buddies. I took a ten-spot from my wallet and slid it in front of Harlan. He picked it up and put it in his shirt pocket without a word. I slid off my stool and headed for Arnie Regan.
Regan was doing shots with two of his friends when I approached the table. There were two bottles of whiskey on the table, one for Arnie and one for his friends. When he saw me, he said, “Man, I can’t keep my ass away from you.”
“Everything’s cool, Arnie,” I said. “Just wanna ask you a few questions.”
“Ain’t I answered enough of your questions?”
“This is different,” I said. “I’d appreciate it.”
One of Regan’s drinking partners stood up. He swayed a bit from trying to keep the amount of alcohol he had sloshing around in his head from knocking him off balance. He was fat, bloated and red-faced and reeked of liquor. His partner, a guy with hair down passed his shoulders, had his face buried in the tabletop. He looked like he was long gone.
“This guy lookin’ for trouble?” the red face guy said to Regan. He gave me what he thought was a threatening look, and said, “Whatta you want, mister, an ‘ass-kickin’?”
I let it go and took a five out of my wallet and tossed it on the table. “Take your girlfriend and buy her a drink,” I said. The guy took the time to focus on the five and then picked it up. Without a word, he helped his partner up from the table and they ambled away toward the bar. I took a seat opposite Regan.
“I don’t want any more trouble,” Regan said.
“No trouble,” I said. “What do you know about Troy Conlon?”
“Sure, I know Conlon,” he said, “the priest’s brother. So what?”
“How well do you know him?”
“We drink together sometime when he comes in here. He drinks too much, shoots his mouth off. Not a good guy to be around.”
“What does he talk about?”
“Bitches all the time, never happy. He thinks he’s the only guy in the world that’s got problems. I can’t listen to him after a while. I try to avoid him.”
I hadn’t gotten much from Regan, other than he had substantiated most of what Harlan had told me about Troy Conlon.
I stood and said, “Have you seen Crockett, lately?”
He shook his head. Arnie was being honest with me. He’d learned his lesson and didn’t want to invoke my wrath.
“How’s Kevin?” I said.
“Happy with his mother.”
“He needs his father,” I said.
He filled his shot glass with whiskey and didn’t answer.
“Instead of sitting here saturating yourself, why don’t you visit your son?”
“I need permission to see him,” he said.
“Get permission.”
“Don’t you think I want to be with my son?”
“I know you do,” I said.
“They won’t let me spend the time with him that I want to.”
“Try cleaning up your act, and being a father,” I said. “Does Kevin enjoy being with you?”
“We get along fine.”
“Then get the permission you need and go see him, Arnie.”
He downed the shot and said, “They won’t let me.”
I took a ten out of my wallet, dropped it on the table, and walked out.
Chapter 28
Sandy and I spent Friday together. Sandy was free, and it was a regular day off for me. In the evening, we took in a movie, ate dinner at Branigan’s and afterward went back to her apartment for dessert, and to watch, “West Side Story” on TV; which she said was her favorite musical. Sandy had baked cupcakes earlier in the day, chocolate with white icing. I ate three while watching the movie and washed them down with a large glass of cold milk. Sandy had one with a cup of green tea.
I wanted to stop thinking about the Conlon case for a while, clear my mind and begin anew when I went back to work, with a fresh perspective of what I had already accomplished. I had made some positive strides, but there were still some questions unanswered.
We were sitting on the sofa in front of the TV with just the light from the screen filling the room. Sandy had fallen asleep beside me. I was contemplating whether I should have another cupcake when my cell phone rang.
“Detective Graham,” a voice said, “this is Gwen Regan.”
“Is there a problem?” I said.
“I’m not sure. I almost feel foolish calling you, but I’m concerned, and somewhat frightened.”
“What is it?”
“Arnie came to see me this morning.”
“With permission?”
“Yes. He phoned me earlier and asked if he could visit with Kevin. I said he could if he decently presented himself. He said he would. When he showed up an hour later, I was surprised by his appearance. He was clean-shaven and dressed in jeans and a freshly pressed shirt. His hair had been cut short and combed neatly. His boots were even polished.”
“And the problem is?”
“I could see that Kevin was glad to see his father. They gave each other a hug and Arnie asked if Kevin would like to go to the park and maybe do some fishing at the lake. ‘If it’s okay with Mom,’ he’d said. I didn’t object. There was something about Arnie that made me feel everything would be all right. Kevin was excited and wanted to go.”
“No problem, yet,” I said.
“Arnie promised to return with Kevin by 5:00 p.m.,” she said.
I looked at the clock on the TV box. It read 7: 50 p.m. I guessed now there was a problem.
“And they haven’t returned yet?” I said.
“Exactly,” she said. “I haven’t heard from Arnie since they walked out the door. I supposed there might have been a delay in their plans, but when it got this late, I started to panic. I’m afraid Arnie might have taken Kevin away from me.”
Her voice was shaky. I could tell she was about to break down.
“Calm yourself,” I said. “We don’t know if that’s the case. Were you able to contact, Arnie?”
“I don’t know how I would. He doesn’t have a cell phone. They could be anywhere. I’ve been upset since five o’clock. I thought of calling the police but decided to phone you.”
“You did the right thing,” I said. “Do you have any idea where they might have gone? Maybe they visited someone.”
“There is no one,” she said. “I have a sister that lives across town, but Arnie and her don’t get along. Arnie’s father lives alone on a couple of acres in North Jersey, but I don’t know what Arnie’s present relationship is with him. They’ve had unkind words for each other in the past.”
“I suggest you wait a while longer, if Arnie and Kevin come home, call me. I’m sure Arnie will have a satisfactory explanation for their delay. They’re probably having such a good time they lost track of time. If you don’t hear from Arnie in the next hour, call the police.”
“I don’t want to involve the police,” she said, “that’s why I phoned you.”
“Then you have no choice but to wait. If you don’t hear from them before morning, call me back.”
I ended the call and looked over at Sandy. She was still asleep. I clicked off the TV and sat in the dark. The TV box clock read, 8:05. I knew I wouldn’t fall asleep waiting for a possible second phone call from Gwen Regan.
I hoped Arnie hadn’t done something stupid, kidnapping is a felony, which carr
ies a severe penalty, even if it’s your own child. Gwen Regan said Arnie looked like a new man. Maybe my advice had somehow gotten through to him. Gwen Regan was, no doubt, in a panic state, but was handling the situation well. I like to think she found solace and strength in the knowledge that I was empathetic to her problem and was willing to help. She had learned to handle crisis well, after all she had been through with her marriage to Arnie. But, when it comes to the welfare of one’s only child, “concern” is a word inadequately used.
***
The ringing phone jolted me out of a deep sleep. I sat up quickly. When my eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight streaming through the front window, I realized I was still on Sandy’s sofa. There was a blanket covering me, but I didn’t see Sandy anywhere. I picked up my cell phone and said, “Hello”. As I did, I glanced at the TV clock, it read, 7:40 a.m.
“He took my child!” Gwen Regan screamed. “Arnie kidnapped Kevin!”
Her frantic scream shot up my adrenalin. I took a deep breath and cleared my head before I said, “Calm yourself and tell me what happened.”
I could hear strong erratic breathing, which told me she was in panic mode. There was a short pause while she composed herself.
“I waited until midnight,” she said, “but they didn’t come back. I─I must have fallen asleep on the sofa. When I woke up a few minutes ago, I realized Arnie and Kevin never returned. I know he has taken Kevin from me. What are we to do?”
“Did you notify the police?” I said.
“I phoned you,” she said. “Please, help me find Kevin.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I said. “Stay put and keep your door locked. If Arnie shows up before I get there, call me.”
“Okay, please hurry,” she said.
I ended the call just as Sandy appeared at the doorway, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
“What is it?” she said.
“Gwen Regan’s got trouble. She believes her husband has taken her son from her.”
“As in kidnap?”
“I’m going to see what I can do.”
***
The majority of child abductions in the United States are parental kidnappings, where one parent takes a child without the knowledge or consent of another parent. I certainly had no intention of imparting those statistics to Gwen Regan.
Other Men's Sins Page 19
