A Solitary Evening Read online

  The headlights flickered behind me asking to pass, and I signaled the okay. They never came near. The headlights swerved, and the next thing I knew they were rolling end over end off the road. Slamming on the breaks, I said, “Stay here,” and bolted from the car, gun ready. I didn’t know what happened to make the guy run off the road, blowout maybe?

  The vehicle was upside down and one of the doors was open. Someone was screaming in pain. I’d gotten there well ahead of anyone else on the road. A tommy gun and a wallet were on the ground. I holstered my gun, grabbed both wallet and tommy gun, and bolted back to my car. I tossed the gun into the trunk, shoved the wallet in my pocket, and slid back into the driver’s seat. With a glance in the rearview mirror, I saw plenty of people at the wreckage site.

  “What happened?”

  A state trooper sped by, and I moved the car back onto the road and joined those who wanted nothing but to get where they were going.

  “Just an accident. Someone driving too fast lost control.”

  “Were they hurt?”

  “Probably, I didn’t want to stick around. Plenty of others can tell the police what they saw.”

  Mary looked on the point of crying.

  “Doesn’t the party say you have to be cold and hard? You’re too soft hearted. If it makes you feel better, the ground was soft, the car wasn’t banged up much, and they probably just got knocked out.”

  “You think so?”

  I shrugged in response, and she chewed a nail.

  Not long after, we arrived at the cabin, and she led the way in. I locked the door behind us and watched her throw her feathered coat on the sofa and light the candles on the mantle. When I came forward, she threw her arms around me and kissed me. I kissed her back with a brutal force she’d remember before pushing her away.

  “Your father should have tanned your hide when you started messing with those commie bastards. What do you think your money is really getting you out of playing with them? You saw my badge and—”

  “Kaiser—”

  “Quiet.” I roared, and she flinched. Somehow my mind registered the sound of a gun, and Mary falling to the floor. I turned .45 in hand and shot at the broken window the bullet passed through.

  I almost ripped the door off the hinges getting it unlocked. Once outside, I followed the sound of someone running, crashing through the bushes, and took a couple of potshots at them. With the roar of a car engine, I knew I’d lost them.

  On the ground outside the cabin lay a pork-pie hat with a small notch in it. I’d found the secret policeman, and he was a lousy shot.

  Inside the cabin I found Mary still on the floor. Blood trickled from her shoulder.

  “Mary?”

  Her eyes opened, and she smiled. “You said badge.”

  “Don’t talk.”

  “You’re not one of them.”

  “I’m a detective, and you need a doctor.”

  There was a phone in the cabin located on the bar, and I grabbed the receiver. When the operator came on, I kept my voice as level as I could and asked for a doctor immediately. The operator connected me, and after a couple rings an older voice came over the line. I told him where we were, to get here fast, and hung up the phone.

  I hurried back to Mary and tried to make her more comfortable.

  “I’m not one of them… not anymore.” Mary’s eyes filled with pain, and I shushed her, but she didn’t want to stay quiet. “Didn’t see your badge… didn’t tell… just told…” She passed out, and the only reason I knew she was still alive was her breathing.

  The doctor was an elderly stag. He looked at me with trepidation but set about taking care of Mary. “She’ll need an ambulance.”

  I nodded and used the phone again. When I hung up, I asked, “Will she be okay?”

  The stag was angry, and I didn’t blame him. I wanted to wring the moles neck for shooting her. I was a fool for roaring at her.

  “Hard to tell. Care to explain what happened?”

  The stag’s words brought me back to the present and made me realize something was off with my assumption. The mole wasn’t a bad shot. Not that bad. Had I not roared making Mary flinch away, that bullet would have gone through her heart. The mole was after her, not me.

  “Do you know who I am?” I asked.

  “You look familiar.”

  “The names Kaiser Wrench. I’m a private detective. I need to find the mole who did this, and deal with the guys he works for. In order for me to do that, I need time. Do you mind holding off on your report for a few days? Other people are going to die if I don’t move fast.”

  The stag stared at me for a moment before saying. “Just a few days?”

  “If it takes me longer…” I couldn’t think what would happen if I didn’t catch them soon.

  “I see. Fine. Just a few days.”

  I nodded and left the cabin, hoping I had enough time. On the drive back to the city, I dug into my pocket for the wallet I’d picked up. Inside was an F.B.I. badge. Mary hadn’t fingered me to the communists, but the feds. They’d tailed me hoping I’d lead them to secret documents, but they were tailed by the secret police. Was the mole responsible for their accident? He had to have run them off the road.

  A dozen different things clashed in my head on the drive, but I knew where to go for the help I needed.

  When I pulled up to the curb outside Velvet’s place, I buzzed the front entrance hoping she’d be home. She was. Velvet took one look at me and knew something was wrong.

  “What happened?”

  I didn’t even try to explain.

  “Get your coat. They tried again.”

  Velvet walked back into her apartment and came back with her coat and purse. I figured I didn’t have to ask if she had her gun. She was not happy.

  We drove in silence to Muffin’s apartment and parked on the street in front of the old sandstone building on the edge of Harlem. I took Velvet’s arm, and we walked up the stair. In the vestibule I struck a match, looked at the name plates, and found the doorbell for the maintenance supervisor.

  The face that looked through the dirty glass of the door wore a frown, and at first, I thought it was a pup. When the beaver opened the door, I saw he was hunchbacked. “What you want?”

  The beaver saw the ten-dollar bill folded in my hand and licked his lips with greed. “Only got the one room empty, but for a ten, I’ll let you use my apartment all night.”

  Velvet looked surprised, but I said, “We’ll take the empty.”

  “Suit yourself.” The beaver took the money and gave us the key. His eyes stayed on Velvet longer than I cared for, but since we needed to see Muffin’s room, I didn’t slug him.

  The room was at the end of a dark and musty corridor, but the key worked. Velvet turned on the overhead light when we walked in. “You were saying we had time?”

  The room was trashed. Someone had done a good job of searching and didn’t care if anyone knew what they’d done. The mattress was ripped to shreds, drawers pulled open, and anything that could be taken apart was.

  “Looks like they saved us some time though.”

  Velvet nodded. “True, everything is trashed equally, so they didn’t find what they were looking for. Do you think we’ll find a clue?”

  “Let’s find out.”

  Five minutes into our search, I found the pictures. Rita Lester stood in the photo smiling, on the bottom was written, to E. love R.

  “Who is it, Kaiser?”

  “Rita Lester, Eddie Muffin’s girlfriend and Miles’ nurse. The antelope that chose to jump to her death rather than look at me. The one who started all this crazy mess.” I stuffed the picture in my pocket and lit a cigarette. “I got it wrong, Rita Lester wasn’t Miles’ girlfriend, but he did target Muffin for a reason.”

  “Jealousy?”

  “Wouldn’t that be nice? But no, not likely. Tomorrow, I want you to go out west and check the sanatorium that Miles was locked up in. Gather all the information you can find. My gu
t says that’s the key. Time is something we don’t have, so you’ll be on your own while I pound on things here.”

  “Be careful, won’t you?”

  “I could say the same of you.”

  “I mean it, Kaiser. They could make another try for you.”

  “They will, and I’ll sleep with my gun. If they realize you were the second gun, they’ll be looking for you too, so watch yourself. When you get back, put your information in the trick wall lamp in the office, it should be safe there.”

  The beaver was waiting for us when we left the room and headed down the stairs. I asked, “Who was in there before us? It’s a mess and then some.”

  “The serval who lived there died.”

  “And?”

  “A mole who wanted to bunk for the night.”

  That was all I needed to confirm that the secret police had been there and why the search was so thorough. I drove Velvet back to her place, and we had coffee.

  CHAPTER 9

  Nightmares plagued my sleep with war, death, judges, and Velvet being the only bright spot. When I woke, the morning had gone with only the afternoon and evening remaining.

  One of the first things I did was call long-distance and ask to be connected to the hospital outside the city. When the stag came on the line, I identified myself and asked about Mary.

  The doctor paused, and I heard a mumbling sound before he said, “Yes, Mr. Wrench, I can talk now. The patient is no longer in critical condition, and she’s doing well but, as of yet, has not awoken. Quite a few people wish to talk to her.” His voice lowered. “There are police here, Federal males.”

  “Figured there would be. Have you said anything?”

  “No. Since seeing the Federal males, I’ve come to realize what you told me was not only true, but only the surface of whatever is going on. I told them of the anonymous call to the cabin and finding her there. That is all. They seem suspicious, but it’s possible they are that way with everyone.”

  “Thanks. Is Mr. Swimson there?”

  “Once she was identified, he came and has not left her side.”

  “Okay, doc, I’ll call you again.”

  We said our goodbyes, and I finished getting ready for the day. When I got to the office, the place was empty. Velvet had left a note in the typewriter that she’d taken the morning flight out. I pulled the page from the machine, ripped it up, and called Duke.

  “Anything new?” I hoped Duke wouldn’t ask me the same question. The less he knew the better, but I didn’t want to lie to him.

  “Nothing much. I’m going downtown to see the medical examiner if you care to join me. Suicide.”

  Either Duke thought something was up and was hoping I’d say something, or there was something about the suicide that was bugging him but wasn’t going to ask my opinion. Then again, it could be that I was getting overly suspicious of everything. “Sure, I could use the company. Just let me get my car, and I’ll pick you up.”

  Duke was waiting at the curb when I drove up. When he got into the car he asked, “What’s the matter? You look madder than hell.”

  “I woke up cranky.”

  “Does it have to do with...?”

  “Please don’t start. I’ll have a report for him in three days. Can you wait that long?”

  “Okay. Drive down to the foot of Third Avenue.” Duke glanced at me. “Your name’s been cropping up in some interesting places.”

  I grunted a reply. We drove until we saw the morgue wagon, and I stopped behind the prowl car. Duke got out of the car, saluted the officers, and headed upstairs, with me in tow, to see the medical examiner. The German shepherd had his briefcase with him, and that was unusual for Duke. He pulled a manila folder out and handed it to the opossum. The M.E. said he’d take care of everything.

  Duke waved a thumb toward the top of the stairs and asked, “What is it this time?”

  “Suicide. Lieutenant Barnes is on the case. Gas pipe. Want to see the body?”

  “No thanks.”

  Curious as always, I stepped up to the landing and peered inside. The rabbit had a peculiar expression on his face, and his head was partially propped up by the cushioned leg of a chair. The smell of whisky was too strong to miss.

  “It’s a good thing there was no pilot light on the stove, or the place would have been incinerated,” said Barnes. Barnes was also a German shepherd and motioned us into the room. “The rabbits only been dead a few hours. Nobody was home at the time, so when the landlady came in about noon and smelled gas, she smashed the windows out and called the doctor. The door wasn’t locked, and of course the doctor couldn’t do anything.”

  “Did he leave a note?” asked Duke.

  “Nah. The guy probably got disgusted with himself and turned on the gas.” Barnes checked his notes. “Lorenzo Davies. Used to be a vaudeville actor about thirty years ago. From what the landlady said, he was really good at it. Character parts is what he did best. Davies still picked up a few roadshows now and then.”

  My eyes traveled over everything in the room. The only thing reasonably new was a good quality leather chair and lamp. Everything else was broken down or from another era, like the pile of theater posters. The battered makeup kit lay on the dresser with nothing out of place. Cleaned, organized, with mirror polished, and labels on everything, the case was clearly the rabbits most prized possession.

  “What do the processing plants do with those who die like this?” The thought of death when no one else cared about you, had me wondering.

  Barnes answered. “It’s not like he poisoned himself. It’s natural gas and he inhaled the stuff. If anything, only the lungs would be affected, and don’t they get thrown out?”

  “I thought lungs were one of those things that ended up in sausage along with all the rest of the unmentionables.” I couldn’t help smiling at the disgusted looks on both Barnes and Duke’s face.

  The buzzards were taking the body out when the landlady came in. The old flamingo’s pink feathers were mostly white. “The evil of drink. Lost two husbands and now a boarder to drink.”

  “Did he owe you anything?” I asked.

  “No. Mr. Davies was a nice rabbit who always paid his rent. If it wasn’t for the inheritance he received, he probably would still be alive. If he didn’t have the money, he didn’t drink.”

  “How long has he been on the binge?”

  “Let’s see, the letter came about a week after the Legion Parade. He paid me for the months owed and two in advance before he decided to stay drunk. Then he would start mumbling lines from old parts. How that rabbit could drink.”

  I leaned over to Duke and whispered, “Pre-marinaded.”

  Duke scowled with ears lowered.

  With nothing more to do, we left the building, and I dropped Duke back off at the station before going to the bar to think. Several of the pieces were now fitting into place. Some of them were still problematic, but I had to be certain of every little piece. This time I wasn’t dealing with city hoods and problems, two nations were involved. As much as I wished this was just about a simple murder, I was dealing with war.

  But I needed more information. Leaving the bar, I drove over to the building that held the police communication center. The only indication of what it was, were the radio antennas on top the building. No one bothered to stop me when I walked inside, I’d been seen with Duke on several occasions, and they’d figured I was okay. A low railing divided the room, and I waited until the Dalmatian I wanted to speak to, came my way.

  “Hi, Kaiser.”

  “Hi, Mike. Don’t you keep a record of all the incoming calls?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “There should be one from a few days ago I’d like to know about. George Washington bridge, a prowl car crossed over from New York.” I gave him the exact date and time, and Mike sifted through the filing cabinets until he found what I was looking for.

  Mike looked at me with curiosity as he read the sheet. “An unidentified female called and asked
to have a police car meet her. I remember this one. She was in a real hurry and didn’t give an address, just that she’d be on the walk of the bridge. A car was dispatched, but then called back saying it was a hoax.”

  “That it?”

  “Afraid so. Does it help any?”

  “Maybe.”

  The police car hadn’t been on the bridge by chance, but the weather had slowed them down. Maybe that was a good thing. What would the sable have done? The guy certainly had no qualms about killing me, and probably would have done the same to a uniformed cop.

  I climbed back into my car, checked my notes for Rita Lester’s address, and drove over. The antelope lived off Eighth Avenue in a four-story affair that housed three apartments over a shoddy looking groomers. The sedan parked outside had U.S. Post Office Department emblazoned on the side.

  While I was coming in, the postal inspector was coming out. A large Red falcon stood with her feathered hands planted on her hips. The female didn’t look happy. I said hello to her, anyway.

  “What do you want? You’re not from the post office.”

  I looked past her into the vestibule of the building. One of the mailboxes had been torn out of the wall, and from the looks of it, that someone used a crowbar.

  “You the police, come about the room?”

  I smiled and nodded. The Red falcon turned and led me up the stairs. “The scoundrel tore everything up, even the good cushions.”

  She wasn’t wrong, the place was trashed like Muffins place had been. When they couldn’t find anything in the apartment, they took the mailbox. The papers had to have been in the mailbox. I walked through the devastation the person had left behind but didn’t see anything. The guy had come through the window, gouging chunks out of the sill in an attempt to get the sash up. I poked my head out the window and saw the overturned trash can he’d used as a stool to get to the roof of the extension and from there the window.

  The phone line ran out the window to the pole outside but was slacker than it should have been because the insulator that held it to the wall was pulled out. Climbing out onto the roof extension, I examined the wire and noticed a slit in the insulation. Someone had put a tap on Rita Lester’s phone and when they removed it, they had pulled too hard.