The Complete Bragg Thriller Box Set

by Jack Lynch

  The rain had let up some but the darkening sky promised more as I drove out onto the Bayshore freeway and headed north. By the time I parked in the alley behind the Chronicle building it was dark and the rain was coming down again. I ducked into Hanno’s, ordered a hot brandy and carried it over to the pay phone. I dialed Shank’s number, and when he answered I told him where I was.

  “I ran into Bryan Gilkerson at the airport,” I told him. “He knows I was a part of it, and maybe some other news people spotted me as well. I didn’t know if you wanted me to come up there just now or not.”

  “Come on up, Bragg. I’ll lie to the little twerp if I have to. We need to talk, then I want you to do something more for me.”

  “I’ve about decided to hang up my bodyguard badge.”

  “Not that, but get up here and I’ll tell you about it.”

  I trotted around to the night entrance to the building, waited for the security guard to check with Shank, then took an elevator up to Harry’s third-floor office. His secretary had left for the day. Harry ushered me to a chair and shut the door. He was about five feet eight inches tall, overweight and slightly short of breath most of the time because he smoked too many cigarettes. He didn’t have much hair left and he wore a pair of heavy-rimmed, thick-lensed glasses. He sat at his desk and leaned forward.

  “That luggage,” he said in a quiet voice. “We have to think of some way to get it.”

  “Polaski’s? What for? There’s nothing in it.”

  He blinked like a frog. “How do you know?”

  “I saw it. At least the investigating officers opened the bags and said other than a revolver they didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. The suitcase had traveling gear. His attaché case was empty.”

  “It couldn’t have been,” Shank complained.

  “Don’t whine at me about it. What was Polaski supposed to be carrying?”

  “As I told you, there is a very sensitive business arrangement we are trying to complete. At the very least, Buddy was supposed to be bringing money with him.”

  “I didn’t see into his wallet, and the cops didn’t say anything about a money belt he might have had.”

  “It wouldn’t have been in his wallet,” Shank replied, getting up and turning to the window. “Or even in a money belt.” He stared across Mission Street at the old San Francisco Mint building. “What was it exactly that Polaski told you after he’d been shot?”

  “It wasn’t much. He said something about getting a car. Then he gasped something like ‘air.’ He could have meant airplane, I suppose. He died before I could ask.”

  Shank stood silently at the window for several more moments, then turned. “All right, this is what I want you to do. I assume you’ll be in touch with the investigating officers.”

  “That’s right, and so will you. I didn’t tell them you hired me, but I’m going to have to, inside another half hour or so, unless you call them first. They want to talk to you. So you might just as well go ahead and call them yourself. Their names are Craig and Bromley.”

  “Isn’t there a way to avoid that? To stall them…”

  “No, Harry, there isn’t any way. They could have made me tell them out at the airport if they’d wanted to be rotten about it. You’ve got to call. They’ll be at their Redwood City office at six. Call then.”

  “Damn,” he muttered, but he sat back down and scribbled a note on his desk pad. “All right. I still want you to do two things for me. One is to find out what Buddy Polaski did with the money he was supposed to be carrying.”

  “How much money?”

  “I don’t know.” He saw the expression on my face. “Well, I don’t. He didn’t tell me.”

  “But you should know how much money it would take to put together this business deal you’re talking about.”

  “There are other things involved. He was to bring as much as he could lay his hands on. I don’t know how much that was. I’m not his accountant and I don’t know what resources he had. Damn it, Bragg, didn’t he give you any idea what he might have done with it?”

  I grunted and thought for a moment. “There is something. I forgot even to mention it to the sheriff’s people. The shooting is what stood out in my mind when I was talking to them. But just before he picked up the luggage, Polaski said he’d take a cab into the city. Said he had an errand to run, and that there was something he wanted me to do as well.”

  “That must be it,” Shank exclaimed, getting to his feet. “What was it?”

  “How do I know? He was going to tell me after he got his suitcase. He was shot before he got back to me.”

  “But could it have been something in, say, an airport locker?”

  “I doubt it. I was with him practically from the time he stepped off the plane. The cops didn’t say anything about a locker key on him. But I’ll give it some thought.”

  “Do that. I’ll pay you handsomely if you can recover that money.”

  “What else do you want?”

  “I want you to meet someone. Tonight. And tell him just exactly what happened at the airport.”

  “I already told you what happened at the airport. Why not give him a call and tell him yourself?”

  “No, it will be better this way. Meet him, let him size you up and become acquainted. Tell him what happened this afternoon. He won’t like that, of course.”

  “I haven’t met anybody who does. Maybe he’s already heard about it on the evening news.”

  “Perhaps, but he might as well have it from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.”

  “Where and when do I meet him?”

  Shank told me to meet him at a restaurant down near the Embarcadero, in one of the old warehouses that had been renovated. “The Graf Spee, do you know it?”

  “I know it.”

  “He’ll meet you in the bar at six thirty. His name is Edward Bowman. He’s a man about my age and size, maybe not as heavy. He’ll be wearing gray. After that, why don’t you come out to the beach and have dinner with us? I’ll call my wife. Did you have plans for this evening?”

  “Just to curl up out of the way someplace. That mountain road is kind of tricky in weather like this.”

  “Nonsense. If I can drive it, you can drive it. I will be anxious to hear what Edward Bowman has to say, and probably we shouldn’t make a habit of meeting here. There are some other things to explore as well. After what happened to poor Buddy this afternoon, I need your help more than ever, Peter.”

  “After what happened to poor Buddy, I don’t know how much more I want to do with it.”

  “Ah, but you will, Peter. You will. I’ll tell you things this evening—not everything, mind you, but enough to pique the interest of a man like yourself. We can be of some use to each other. I have other matters to attend to yet, but we’ll meet at the beach, agreed?”

  “Okay, I’m always willing to hear a man’s story. Particularly if it’ll help explain a messy killing I’ve seen.”

  He got up to walk me to a door that emptied directly into the hallway, so I wouldn’t have to go through his secretary’s area and maybe run into some other people. He opened the door.

  “What’s the next thing you’re going to do, Harry?”

  He looked up with a frown. “Look at some page proofs, I imagine.”

  “No. First you’re going to call the San Mateo sheriff’s office and tell them you’re the guy who hired me to meet Buddy Polaski this afternoon. That’s something they really want to hear about, Harry.”

  His jaw sagged. “Oh. Of course. See you at the beach.”

  THREE

  As I told Shank, I knew where the Graf Spee restaurant was, and I had no trouble finding the adjacent cocktail lounge, but I almost missed Edward Bowman. Shank said he would be in gray. But everything about the man was gray; his clothes, complexion, hair and flowing mustache. He was in a corner booth of the lounge, sitting in front of a rendition of an eighteenth century clash at sea on a stormy day. Its predominant color was gray and Bowma
n almost disappeared into it. I might have missed him altogether if it hadn’t been for the young woman sitting beside him. She wasn’t exactly pretty; too intense for that. She was a large-bosomed individual wearing a chocolate brown suit and pale blue turtleneck top. Her hair was honey blonde but she didn’t know what to do with it. It was pinned in a halfhearted bun beneath a blue little pillbox hat that looked as if it must have come out of her grandmother’s trunk. But she had color in her cheeks, as if she spent a lot of time outdoors. I bet myself she’d be wearing high-heeled shoes and would have trouble walking in them.

  They had drinks in front of them and I didn’t see the waitress, so I crossed to the bar, got a gin and tonic and carried it over to their table.

  “Edward Bowman, I take it? I’m Peter Bragg. Harry Shank sent me. All right if I join you?”

  The man’s pallor and attire might have been calculated as a backdrop for his eyes. They were dark and compelling. I suspected he’d been quite a spellbinder in his day.

  “I was expecting Harry Shank.”

  “If it were good news sitting down here he probably would have come himself.” I pulled up a chair. “But if you’ve seen Harry operate over the years the way I have, you know he’s basically a timid man who prefers to leave the awkward jobs to others.”

  The girl beside him had a tight little expression on her face. She reached down and lifted her handbag up onto the seat next to her.

  Bowman’s expression was a little anxious as well. “You imply that you have bad news.”

  “That’s my guess. I’m a private investigator Shank hired at the request of Buddy Polaski. I was to meet Polaski at the airport this afternoon and be sort of a bodyguard. I met him when he got off the plane, but then things took a bad turn. A couple of guys shot him up badly. He’s dead. Harry indicated he was supposed to be bringing in some money.”

  I had a sip of my drink. Edward Bowman’s hand had tightened on his glass. It looked like Scotch, but he didn’t raise it. His eyebrows were starting to arch and freeze. The girl looked thirsty for a sip of her champagne cocktail, but her right hand was still down at her side in the bag and she didn’t feel sure enough to sip with the other.

  “Well?” Bowman asked.

  “Well, what?”

  “What happened to the money?”

  “I don’t know. That’s something Harry wants me to find out when I can get around to it. Polaski didn’t have it on him or in his luggage.”

  The gray man looked as if I’d elbowed him in the stomach. His head sagged and he closed his eyes a moment before passing one hand over them and taking a healthy portion of his drink. I heard people behind me giving drink orders. I turned and signaled the waitress to bring another round for us as well. I thought the sudden movement was going to bring a scream from the girl. But she managed to hold it to a gasp and some eye widening.

  “I just knew something like this would happen,” muttered Bowman.

  “How do we know it happened like he says?” asked the girl in an English sort of accent that needed some schooling.

  “It happened,” I told them. “I was less than a dozen feet from Polaski when they pumped a lot of bullets into him. I chased the men who did it but they got away.”

  “But the money,” said Bowman. “What could he have done with the money? The whole point in his coming was to bring the money—and some other things.”

  “I’m not sure. I think Polaski tried to tell me that while he was dying. It didn’t make much sense, but I told Harry I’d work on it some and see what I could come up with. Why? Was the money meant for you?”

  “Indeed it was, sir. Indeed it was.”

  The cocktail waitress brought the drinks and I paid. We all waited for her to move away again. Bowman and I both had some of the fresh drinks. The girl still sat there like somebody had nailed her hand to the seat beside her.

  “Look, honey,” I told her, “if you want to put that gun or knife or whatever you have down there up on the table so you can have a sip of your drink it’s okay with me. I won’t take it away from you, not just yet anyhow, because I’m more in the dark about what’s going on than practically anybody alive and I’d like to carry on a conversation with Mr. Bowman here for a while.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Brandi, is that what you’re doing?” fumed Bowman. “Get your hand up here and drink your drink.”

  “But Gretch said to be careful. Most careful.”

  “I know, but she didn’t mean to be silly about it.”

  “What sort of money are we talking about here?” I asked.

  “Shank didn’t tell you?”

  “No, he said he wasn’t sure how much Polaski could get his hands on.”

  “I’m not sure, either,” said Bowman. “All I know is what we asked for.”

  “How much was that? A thousand dollars? Ten thousand dollars, or what?”

  “It was more like ‘what.’”

  “I see, so we’re talking really big money. Fifty thousand dollars, maybe.”

  “No. We would not do business for even twice fifty thousand dollars.”

  I whistled softly to show I was impressed. “Well, anything much bigger than that makes my head ache. And what’s all this money supposed to buy?”

  “No, Mr. Bragg,” Bowman sighed. “I’m afraid you are only a messenger boy at this point.”

  The girl named Brandi, once she got her gun hand free, enjoyed her drinks. Both her glasses were empty. It was brought to my attention when she hiccuped.

  “Would you like another one of those things, honey?”

  “Nope. Two’s my limit.”

  She held her hand to her mouth and gulped unnaturally.

  “Why don’t you go over and ask the bartender for a spoonful of sugar?” I suggested.

  “Why?”

  “Eat it. Sometimes it makes your hiccups go away.”

  She glanced at Bowman. He motioned her away with one hand. She got up and walked awkwardly on high heels over to the waitress station.

  “That your daughter?”

  Bowman made a sound that could have been a shallow laugh, or a groan. “No, sir. She is not my daughter. But my companion seems to have taken a liking to her.”

  “That would be Gretch?”

  “That would be a private matter, sir.”

  The older man seemed to have relaxed some. He looked crestfallen, but relaxed, and now he was studying me with a bit more leisure. “About the money, Mr. Bragg. Do you think you can recover it?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t had a chance to think about it much.”

  “You said Buddy Polaski tried to tell you where it was after he’d been shot.”

  “I don’t know about that, either. He might have been trying to say something about the money. I thought he said something about a car and something like ‘air.’ Only you know how those people back east talk. The car came out more like ‘caw,’ as if he were trying to imitate a crow. But I think car is what he meant.”

  “Those are thin clues.”

  “I’ve had worse. And Harry wants me to work on it.”

  “Good. We had dearly hoped we could conclude our share of things this evening. That is why the girl is with me. They felt it wouldn’t do to be by myself.”

  I started to say something but thought better of it. Bowman was watching me. He cleared his throat.

  “I know what you’re thinking, sir. But she’s not a bad girl. Just a bit stupid. Her upbringing mostly. But what about Catlin? Does he know?”

  “That’s a new one,” I told him. “I don’t know any Catlin.”

  The girl came back and slid into the booth opposite me with her eyes lowered. When she looked up it was at me, with even a brief smile. “Seems to have worked, thanks.”

  I shrugged. “It’s an old bartender’s trick.”

  “When will Shank be in touch again?” asked Bowman. “Did he say?”

  “No, he just wanted me to tell you what went on at the airport. Then I’m supposed to drive
on out to his place for dinner. He hinted he might even tell me a little more of what this is all about. It’d be nice to know that, instead of feeling like such a dummy all the time. Like this Catlin. Who’s he?”

  “Just another figure in a rather complicated set of circumstances,” Bowman told me. “We all knew each other a very long time ago. And as it turns out, we all had something nobody could have dreamt of back then.”

  His eyes were misty and I kept my mouth shut, hoping he’d ramble on, but he brought himself up short, finished his drink and picked up a gray homburg from the seat beside him and clapped it onto his head.

  “Well, Mr. Bragg, perhaps we shall meet again. I think that would be nice. You exude a confidence that belies the day’s earlier misfortune. I wish you success in your quest for the money. For all our sakes.”

  “Thanks, I’ll do what I can,” I told him, rising and pulling out the table so the two of them could get out easier.

  “Excuse me, Edward,” said the girl, blowing at a wisp of hair that had come loose from her bun. “I’d best visit the lady’s place before we go.”

  I watched her struggle her way across the carpet while Bowman tugged on a pair of gray kid gloves with pearl buttons. I gave the slate figure one of my cards and left.

  FOUR

  Stinson Beach is a few miles north of San Francisco along the coast. Once across the Golden Gate Bridge and over Wolfback ridge, there were a couple of ways to get there, either along the oceanside cliffs that offered a spectacular view when it wasn’t foggy and pouring down rain, or by an inland route that climbed over a shank of Mt. Tamalpais. I took the inner route, as I usually did, and dropped down off the back side of the mountain into the village of Stinson Beach at a little before eight o’clock. Shank’s home was on a residential stretch of beach just beyond the national recreation area. The house was built with its front side resting on a low ridge of sand dunes that, depending on the time of year and tidal action, were about twenty to one hundred yards from the water itself. It was a comfortable one-story structure with one extra room Harry had built down below between the stilts holding up the rear of the place.