Harry Bronson Box Set

by L C Hayden

  Mike had offered to come with him, but Bronson refused. He knew Mike hated surveillance work as much as he did. No use both being bored. Let him enjoy an intimate breakfast with Ellen.

  An hour dragged by and still no activity from Miller. Bronson called Carol. She picked up on the second ring. “Hi, honey. I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

  “No, of course not. I’m anxious to get to you, so I’ve been on the road since six.”

  Bronson knew Carol liked to sleep at least until eight. “Be careful. Take lots of breaks.”

  Carol promised him she would and told him she’d see him tonight, maybe by seven. They talked for an hour longer, which made time fly. Bronson regretted having to say goodbye. The idea that they’d see each other tonight made the parting more bearable.

  By nine, Bronson found himself squirming in the seat. He felt tired and uncomfortable. He wished he had brought something to snack on. Cookies. Candies. Anything. He poured the last of the coffee and continued to watch.

  A few minutes before ten, Miller walked out, got in his car, and pulled out of the driveway. Bronson turned the ignition key and followed him at a discreet distance.

  Twenty minutes later, Miller pulled into a parking lot. Bronson parked across the street where he could watch the parking lot and its surrounding buildings. Miller lingered for a few minutes before heading for the building to his right, reaffirming Bronson’s suspicions. The large sign in front of the building read Sam Glass Attorney at Law. As Bronson stared at the sign something—a forgotten thought, a bud of an idea—formed in his mind.

  Sam Glass, Attorney at Law, the sign read.

  Bronson nodded. When he asked Miller if Lorraine already had a buyer, Miller had said, “Yeah. Sa—somebody arranged it. Don’t know who.” Bronson had thought Miller had stuttered as he often did when he was nervous. But he hadn’t. Instead, he had made a mistake from which he quickly recovered.

  Sa-somebody.

  S . . . a . . . as in Sam.

  Sam Glass.

  Interesting.

  *****

  Ellen opened the door wider and allowed Cannady in. “What can I do for you?” Ellen led her to the living room. She indicated the couch and both sat down.

  “Actually, I’m here to see Bronson.”

  “I thought that’s what you were going to say. I’m sorry, but he’s not in.”

  Cannady squinted and her brows knit. “I was hoping he was home. I have two bits of information I’d like to share with him.”

  “If it helps, you can tell me and I’ll pass the information to Bronson, or you can reach him on his cell.” Ellen had been cooking some bacon when the doorbell rang and she could still smell its enticing aroma. “Would you care for anything to drink or eat?”

  “No, but thanks.” Cannady waved her hand as she filled her lungs with air.

  Ellen thought she was probably inhaling the flavor, wishing she could say yes.

  “Or I can come back later,” Cannady said.

  Ellen nodded. “That, too.”

  “I’ve got his cell number, but when I have good news to deliver, I prefer to do so in person.”

  “Don’t blame you there. One sees a trooper at the front door and immediately assumes it’s bad news and most of the times, that’s the case. Seldom do you get to deliver good news.”

  Cannady half smiled. “That’s so true. Sounds like you speak from experience.”

  “My ex is a Dallas detective.”

  Cannady snapped her fingers. “That’s right. Bronson told me that.” She stood up. “I won’t take anymore of your time. Sorry I interrupted your breakfast.”

  “You didn’t. I’m still in the process of preparing it. Mike’s taking a shower.”

  Cannady stood up. “Mike? Your ex?”

  Ellen nodded.

  “Isn’t that awkward for you, him being here at your house?”

  “After all these years, we’re still very much in love. It’s my fault we’re not together. I don’t know how to be a policeman’s wife. Every time he’d go out, which of course was every day, I got sick from worrying. Couldn’t live like that anymore.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s a common happening. Don’t blame yourself. It’s normal.” Cannady stood up. “I won’t take anymore of your time. Tell Bronson that the medical examiner released his sister’s body. If he lets me know which funeral home he chose, I can call them to pick up the body.”

  “I’ll tell Bronson.” Ellen also stood.

  “The other thing I wanted to tell Bronson—the good news part—is that we caught Lorraine’s killer.”

  “Mind if I ask? I know Bronson would like to know. Was it Mario Serafin?”

  Cannady eyed her. “I guess Bronson has been filling you in.”

  Ellen half nodded and looked away.

  “Tell Bronson that Serafin’s rifle and the cartridge we found at the scene of the crime matched. Not only that, but he had the motive and the opportunity to kill Lorraine.” Cannady headed toward the door and Ellen followed her. “If Bronson wants to discuss it, he knows how to reach me.”

  You bet he’ll want to discuss it, Ellen thought.

  Chapter 28

  The shadowy woods stretched out on either side of the highway, casting a feeling of tranquility on the road. Bronson leaned back on the driver’s seat as he headed toward the Daniel Jenkins School for Boys. He had thought of stopping by Ellen’s and picking up Mike, but decided Mike could better spend his time with Ellen. Those two loved each other, yet spent their lives ripped apart by miles and stubbornness.

  Bronson had also thought of asking Mike to take over the surveillance, see where Miller went after leaving the lawyer’s office. But that wouldn’t be important. Miller, who knew Lorraine, had gone to see Glass, giving birth to the possibility that Glass had lied and was also acquainted with Lorraine. The connection between the three was something Bronson planned to confront Miller about when they met today at three.

  Bronson spotted the exit for the school. He slowed down and followed the signs that led him to a wooded park-like acreage that made up the famous institute. Several three story, red-brick buildings with multiple chimneys spread out, each building separated by the woods. A cluster of boys of various ages occupied most of the benches under the shade of the trees.

  A large portico in front of one of the largest buildings drew attention to the place. Bronson assumed that had to be the Administration Building and headed that way. Kids were everywhere, but he wondered if the building would be open since this was Saturday. He hoped someone would be able to help him. He parked the car and headed for the building.

  He lucked out. The edifice not only housed the administrative offices but also served as a recreation center. To his right, the sign painted on the door read Principal’s Office. He opened the door and let himself in.

  A woman with shoulder-length dark brown hair and a bit on the chubby side looked up across the pile of folders she was filing. “May I help you?” Her warm, inviting smile told Bronson this place catered to guests.

  “I’m looking for Claudine Ramirez.”

  “That’s me.” The smile remained plastered on her face.

  “I’m Harry Bronson.”

  The smile slipped away as she rushed to the other side of the counter. “Mr. Bronson, I’m so sorry about Lorraine.”

  Don’t leave me. A chill covered Bronson. “Me, too.”

  “Would you care for a cup of coffee?” Claudine indicated the large coffee urn.

  Would he care for a cup of coffee? Is the Pope Catholic? “That would be nice.”

  Claudine got busy pouring two cups. “I liked Lorraine. She was quiet, kept to herself mostly, but she was truly a beautiful person, inside and out.”

  Something Bronson never got to experience. “Thank you.” He busied himself opening three packs of sugar and dumping them in the coffee.

  “Your partner—Mike Hoover, that’s his name, right?”

  Not exactly his partner anymore, but Bronson
liked the sound of that. He nodded.

  “He was here yesterday,” Claudine said. “He told me you’d be coming to talk to the boys.”

  “Yes, I’d appreciate it if you could arrange that.”

  “By all means, but I suggest you talk to each one individually. They probably would be more open that way. Otherwise, they might be forced to put up a false bravado for their friends.”

  “Thank you, Ma’am, for the suggestion. I’d like to talk to all three. Which one do you suggest I talk to first?”

  “The leader of the group. He was the closest to Lorraine and can probably address most of your concerns.” She headed toward the main door. “I saw him playing one of the video games just a little while ago. I’ll go get him. You can use the conference room for privacy.” She pointed to the door to their left.

  Bronson finished fixing his coffee. “Thank you. Can you tell me his name?”

  Claudine froze on her way out. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew. It’s Daniel Jenkins, Jr., son of our congressman and our great benefactor.”

  Chapter 29

  The door opened and Daniel Jenkins Jr. stepped in. At first Bronson wasn’t sure that the right person walked in. This seventeen year old looked more like a man than a teenager. Bronze-gold hair framed a square face with ice-blue eyes. Bronson had seen pictures of his father, had seen him on television, and junior didn’t resemble him at all, except for those ice-blue eyes. Same as Dad’s. But unlike Dad’s medium bone structure, junior had a perfectly tanned, athletic body and a powerful build.

  Daniel looked around the small room as though he had never seen it before. An oak table and six cushioned chairs occupied most of the room. “Mr. Bronson?”

  Bronson nodded.

  “I’m Daniel Jenkins Jr.” He offered Bronson his hand. “I feel as if I know you.”

  Bronson accepted the handshake. “Why’s that?”

  “Lorraine spoke of you often.”

  Really? How could that be? “What did she say?”

  Daniel shrugged. “Stuff about both of you as kids, how you were the best detective Dallas ever had, but that you’re now retired. Not that it mattered, she said. You continued to get yourself into trouble.”

  Bronson tilted his head, like a dog at attention. “Did she say what kind of trouble?”

  Daniel pulled the chair closest to him and sat down. “She told me about the cases you’ve been involved in after you retired. She told me about the time your wife was kidnapped and you had to go on a geochaching expedition to get her back. Then there was the time when you got caught in the killer’s den.” He leaned back on the chair as though recalling Lorraine’s words. “Everyone was petrified and prayed for your safety.”

  Bronson flopped down on the chair beside him and rubbed his forehead. What the hell? “Did she by any chance tell you how she knew all of that?”

  Daniel’s eyes widened. “I assumed you told her.”

  “Then you don’t know.”

  “Know what?”

  “Lorraine and I were estranged.”

  Daniel’s eyebrows arched. “Estranged? As in not speaking to each other?”

  Bronson nodded.

  “Wow. That’s heavy.” Daniel sank back into the chair. “I told her I wanted to meet you. Each time she had an excuse for not inviting you.”

  “What can you tell me about her?”

  “She’s—was . . .” Daniel’s voice broke and he cleared his throat. “ . . . the most thoughtful, generous person alive. Sometimes I felt closer to her than to my own mother.”

  “Isn’t that rather unusual?”

  “No, not really. You know my dad—”

  “Not personally.”

  Daniel half smiled. “You know of my dad.”

  Bronson nodded.

  “He’s always wanted to be President, even back then when I was a kid growing up. He was always attending some political function or doing a good deed and making sure he got plenty of coverage. Mom, of course, had to be by his side.”

  “What about you?”

  Daniel raised his hand and swept the air. “We—my brother, my sister and I—we were never neglected. Each one of us had our own separate nanny, someone who would devote one-hundred percent of her attention to each one of us. Mine was Lorraine.”

  A little grunt escaped Bronson as though he had suddenly lost all of his wind. That, he had never expected. “So you’ve known her—”

  “Since I was a baby.”

  Question after question popped into Bronson’s brain like a race car unable to stop. “So there must be a lot of pictures of her with you and your family.”

  “You bet. There’s even some of her with Mom when she was pregnant with me. Mom was huge.”

  Bronson breathed easier. “I’d like to see those pictures.”

  “Sure, but I don’t have them here. They’re in my bedroom, back home.” His eyes watered. “I wouldn’t mind seeing them myself. Lots of good memories there.”

  Bronson reached out and squeezed his upper arm. “Thank you for bringing happiness to her life.”

  “It’s really the other way around. She lit up a room with her smile.” Daniel’s shoulders started to shake and his tongue licked his lips. “When’s the funeral?”

  “The medical examiner hasn’t released her remains yet. Soon as they do, I can make the arrangements.”

  Daniel’s face became ashen. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to go.”

  Bronson nodded, “I’ll personally come pick you up.”

  “That won’t be necessary. I bet you, Dad and Mom, as well as my sister and brother, will want to be there too. We’ll go as a family.”

  “I’m sure Lorraine would want you and your family to sit up front with me and my wife.”

  Daniel’s lips trembled. “We’d like that.”

  “Did Lorraine ever tell you anything that might help me find her killer?”

  Daniel hung his head. “About a month ago, she started acting very agitated. I asked her what was wrong. She said she had money problems. I told her my parents would help. She refused.”

  “Why did she need money?”

  Daniel shrugged. “Dunno.”

  “Did she say or do anythin’ else?”

  Daniel shook his head.

  “If you think of anythin’ . . .” Bronson handed him his business card.

  Daniel pocketed it without looking at it. “I’ll let you know.”

  “One more thing.”

  Daniel looked up.

  “She had an original François La Carcé paintin’. Do you know anythin’ about that?”

  Daniel shook his head. “No, sorry.”

  “Are you going to be alright?”

  “I’m almost eighteen. I don’t need my nanny anymore, but I wish to God, she hadn’t been taken from me.” He broke down and wept, his hand plastered to his face.

  Bronson stood and bent down so they were eye-level. Daniel looked at him and they stared at each other for several seconds. Bronson reached out and hugged him. Both cried like babies.

  Chapter 30

  Bronson and time played a race and the latter seemed to be winning. He had stayed longer at the school than he should have. Not that it mattered. In fact, it had been good for him. All of this time, he had carried the frustration, the guilt, and the anger associated with his sister’s death. To safeguard himself, he had locked those emotions in his heart.

  Today, with Daniel, he had released them so that now he could focus on the task at hand without carrying the extra baggage. He still felt the pain and the guilt, but hoped he could control them when they surfaced.

  Bronson thought about the interview with the other two boys. They hadn’t been as emotional and he had learned nothing new other than the fact that the two boys deeply loved her and respected her. As far as they were concerned, she was the best teacher around.

  The car’s digital display read 2:32. Less than half-an-hour to pick up Mike and get to Miller’s by three. Maybe he should call
Miller, let him know they’ll be late. Bronson reached for his cell and stopped. Once he and Mike were on the road, he’d have a better idea of their arrival time.

  Bronson stomped on the accelerator, and the Cruze shot forward, the tires squealing in protest. If he hurried, they might still make it on time. The scenery around him blended into one large blur.

  Seventeen minutes later, he pulled into Ellen’s driveway and honked. Both Mike and Ellen walked out. Now what? He stepped out of the car. “Ellen, what?”

  “Cannady was here.” She seemed breathless from fear or excitement, Bronson couldn’t tell.

  Bronson held his breath, bracing himself. “And?”

  “They caught Lorraine’s killer. They closed that part of the case.”

  “Who killed my sister?”

  “Mario Serafin.”

  That son of a bitch. “She’s sure?”

  “He had no alibi, had the means and motivation, plus they matched the cartridge case to the rifle they found hidden under his bed. They’re sure Serafin did it.”

  Bronson sighed and looked up toward the sky.

  “I’m so sorry about Lorraine,” Ellen said. “But it’s over now. You can relax.”

  What about the alleged child and the painting? He needed answers to those questions.

  Ellen placed her arm on Bronson’s shoulder. “Cannady also said that the medical examiner has released Lorraine’s body. They need to know which funeral home you’ve chosen.”

  “Carol will be here tonight at seven. We’ll choose one then.”

  Ellen nodded, kissed Mike, hugged Bronson, and stepped away.

  Bronson tossed Mike the keys. “You drive.”

  “What else is new?”

  Soon as Mike pulled out of the driveway, Bronson called Miller. The answering machine came on after the fourth ring. “Miller? Bronson. We’re running a bit late but we’ll be there in about twenty minutes. It’s now 2:53.”

  “Ouch!”

  Bronson disconnected and looked at Mike. “Ouch?”

  “This thing stabbed me.” He handed Bronson a fingernail file, the old fashioned type with a sharp point.