Bouncer Page 4

  His interest now thoroughly aroused, Nick turned his dark brown eyes to Richard’s watery blue ones. “Another similar murder where the ring finger was removed happened during Fox’s day?”

  “Yes,” whispered Richard, suddenly visualizing the victim. “It was horrible indeed. The victim was a young runaway by the name of Ashley Peebles found buried by an irrigation ditch out near Highway 4. Two scumbag drifters, Luke Cambridge and Deke Rhodes, were convicted of the crime. They’d been working the spinach fields not two miles from the main highway where her body was dumped. It didn’t seem just like the normal murder-rape story; in fact, the girl didn’t seem to have been recently assaulted. The unusual thing was that her left-hand ring finger had been hacked off.

  “Interesting. But you say her murderers were apprehended?”

  “Yup. Sentenced to the Big House for life. Deke died about twenty years ago in prison. Bled to death in some brawl inside the prison laundry, but Luke, he’s still serving time.”

  “So, what was their motive?” asked Nick.

  “Motive?”

  “Yeah, you know, the reason she was killed? Most killings outside sexual assault, robbery, or unbridled passion have a reason.”

  The Chief bristled. “Wise guy, aren’t ya? Of course there was a reason. It was jealousy. One was seeing her, and the other got jealous. Girl got caught in the middle. Simple as that. Don’t go getting any of your weird ideas about a closed case. It was cut and dry.”

  So, the portly police chief had heard the rumors surrounding his methods. Nick ignored the barb.

  “And what did Chief Fox think about all this?”

  The chief shifted his feet. “Well, that’s the strangest part about it all. He was always under the opinion they’d convicted the wrong men. In fact, when he and his boy Lane started Fox Investigative Services, Jeremy said that one of the things he wanted to do was delve deeper into the Peebles’ murder.

  Apparently, both Luke and Deke had contacted him swearing their innocence, but nothing came of it after Fox and his boy were murdered. For the best, really. Those guys were guilty as sin. Deke had her blood all over him.” It was obvious Chief Rollins didn’t agree with his ex-chief’s doubts about the two men’s innocence.

  “Do you still have the file regarding the case?”

  “Of course. Figured the likes of you would still want to dredge up that murder, so be my guest. You’ll find everything pertaining to the case in the Monroe County records at the back of the courthouse. But I’m telling ya, it’s probably just a random coincidence. I’ll walk you over. And, Thayne . . .” He paused on the hot sidewalk. “I want you to be clear. When Roger is fit enough, he’ll take back the case. You’re to relay everything you learn or suspect to me and him. Your pay is $400 a day. No expenses, and it’s a one-time deal. My budget is ten grand. You’re done when the case is solved or the budget runs out. And . . . none of your weird, front page methods, okay? You got that?”

  His barely disguised animosity was real, and Nick pondered the reasons. The man was clearly a traditionalist, and new or shaky methods made men of his type highly uncomfortable. Nick strolled along the long wide sidewalk next to Richard, lost in thought. It should have been only a three-minute walk to the County Records Office, but took closer to six with all the Chief’s huffing and puffing.

  Richard paused in front of the building and pointed. “Take the stairs at the rear. They lead down to the records section. Priscilla Smith is in charge. She might be a bit grumpy, since I asked her to stay late a Friday afternoon. I have to return to the station to phone Mrs. Fisher, who’s going to be devastated by her husband’s death.”

  Nick found the records room without any trouble, but Priscilla Smith proved no pushover.

  “So, you work for the Monroe County Police Department. Then why don’t I know you?”

  “I’m taking over for Roger Chung, who’s in the hospital with appendicitis. We were friends in detective school, and I’m helping him out on a case until he recovers.”

  The sixtyish woman softened somewhat. “I didn’t realize he was ill.”

  “Just happened this afternoon. It’s obvious you don’t know me from Adam, but feel free to call Chief Rollins to verify my identity. I can clearly see you are a woman who is very conscientious about her job. I wish our records clerk in Girard was as dedicated as you.”

  Miss Smith did something no one had ever seen her do before and blushed. Nick smiled his most charmingly, and the lady led him to the stacks like an eager virgin enticing her first lover.

  “Well, it’s after hours , but let me help you. Hmm, the Ashley Peebles’ murder. Quite a sensational case, one of the best we’ve ever had. Of course, the best mystery around here was the Fox murders. Never was really solved you know. Now, that was a tragedy.”

  Miss Smith talked non-stop for the next 30 minutes. At the end of the torturous search, both Nick Thayne and Miss Smith were in equal states of consternation. Nick felt frustrated and highly suspicious while Miss Smith was just plain livid. Ashley Peebles’ records had disappeared, and Nick suspected they couldn’t fault Priscilla’s filing system for the truant records.

  “Could Jeremy Fox have taken them?” asked Nick.

  “Well, he might have, but I’m certain if he did he would have only taken a copy. That man was the most law-abiding, straight-and-narrow police chief and detective you ever met.”

  Nick swore Priscilla Smith was about to set off on a special fantasy just her own. “And look where it got him,” he said between even white teeth. “Thanks so much for your help, Miss Smith. I’ll know who to turn to in time of need. ‘The public does not matter—only one’s friends matter.’”

  “You read Yeats, Mr. Thayne?” Her suddenly interested pale-blue eyes lit up.

  “Cover to cover,” he lied. He read quotation books religiously because an appropriately placed quote seemed to convince people you were well-read and intelligent; something every private investigator needed desperately in his line of work. The only things he read religiously besides those quotation books were the Sunday paper and the daily sports page.

  “He’s one of my favorites. Please do come back for a chat sometime. Maybe we can share our favorite poems.”

  “I’ll do that,” said Nick, gallantly raising her hand to his lips and kissing it. He wasn’t certain that women still swooned (his mother had always said that it was simply a symptom of too-tight corsets) but Miss Smith looked damned close. It was good to know he hadn’t lost his touch after his last fiasco.

  Nick recognized he should tell Chief Rollins the Peebles’ files were missing, but the urge to consume a good meal and check on his old friend Roger trumped everything else. Chief Rollins would just have to wait.

  Roger was resting comfortably when Nick arrived nearly an hour later. Nick had read Philemon Jenkins' statement and listened to Roger’s meticulous oral notes over a greasy burger and an enormous plate of French fries. Later, he’d flirted with the pretty blonde waitress with the gorgeous implants and the outrageous name of Chastity. He’d tucked her number in his pocket and was pleased to note this otherwise sleepy town might have some possible diversions.

  Roger, hooked up to the ominously dripping IV pouch as Susan sat nearby holding his hand, stirred at the sight of his friend. She rose when Nick arrived and gave him a warm hug. She smelled of lilacs and fresh oriental rain.

  “It’s nice seeing you again, Nick. Are you behaving yourself?” she purred.

  Nick had the uncomfortable feeling that Roger may have shared a few too many of his escapades with his curious wife, and grinned sheepishly.

  “Of course not, but at least I’d not horizontal and hooked up to one of these.”

  Roger smiled. “You’ll have your day. Just make sure you have someone sweet to hold your hand.” He shifted uncomfortably. “You sure they didn’t take out the wrong thing, Susan? I feel kinda funny.”

  “Of course not, Roger, they just removed your appendix. Nothing else.” Susan smiled
at Nick. “He’s absolutely paranoid about doctors.”

  “Can’t trust ‘em,” growled Roger. “I wonder what extra charges they’ve added to our bill. You file the papers correctly, Susan?”

  “Yes, love. Everything’s taken care of.”

  “I read just last week about some guy who had cancer. His insurance company dumped him, and he later had to declare bankruptcy.”

  “Your children’s college funds are safe, Roger.” She smiled prettily at Nick.

  Nick remembered what a worrywart Roger was. It felt like old times.

  “So, did you get to the site?” said Roger.

  “I did. And a fine mess they’ve made of it. Footprints and disturbed soil and the usual lookie-loos on the sidewalk. Whatever possible clues were there are history now. The body’s at the coroner with a Dr. Koh. He seems competent enough.”

  “I glad you feel that way,” said Susan smoothly, “since he’s my brother.”

  Nick’s already good-sized feet seemed to expand a couple of inches and inch closer to his mouth. “I’m, er . . . waiting on his report. Dr. Koh says the mayor was probably stabbed with something like a screwdriver. We had to leave before he could get down to real business—the chief was suffering from a little indigestion.”

  “Doesn’t have the stomach for it,” stated Roger. Obviously, this wasn’t a new revelation for him.

  “I jotted down a few notes and will leave a copy of Philemon Jenkins’ statement as well as both Officers Phelps’ and Stevens’ interviews of the neighbors for you to read when you’re up to it. I did learn something interesting, but was unable to follow up on it. Thad Fisher’s ring finger was hacked off. Chief Rollins stated a similar thing happened to a young woman murdered 25 years ago. An Ashley Peebles.”

  Roger’s blurry eyes sharpened. “That had to be the most sensational crime to hit the area until the Fox murders. I believe two drifters were convicted and put away. There was something about a missing ring. That’s right. She had a silver rope ring that her father said was missing from the body, and Thad had a ring like that on his pinkie. Did you check the files?”

  “Couldn’t. They were missing as well, and my new girlfriend Priscilla and I searched for over thirty minutes for them in the Records’ Room.”

  “Priscilla? The records clerk? You’ve got to be kidding. She’s an insufferable old prude.”

  “Oh, really? I thought she was quite fetching. Wanted to have my children, she did.”

  “So, you’re already bestowing your undeniable charm upon the women of this otherwise staid town? Watch yourself, Nick. You saw what happened to the mayor when he fooled around.”

  “Ha, Ha, you must be feeling better. Anyway, my gut instinct says this is too much of a coincidence, and unfortunately, I can’t speak to the man who headed the case before our time—the ex-chief of the police department.”

  A burly nurse pushed her way past Nick. “It’s time to send your visitors home Mr. Chung. And here’s your medicine. Open wide.”

  Roger obediently swallowed the two blue tablets and almost immediately his black eyes lost their focus.

  “Great timing,” murmured Nick annoyed.

  “You can still get the records,” slurred Roger. Susan had risen and caressed her husband’s hand. “Lee Fox still runs the P.I. Agency and . . .”

  “Roger, I don’t think . . .” soothed Susan.

  “And . . .” prompted Nick as Roger’s eyes momentarily closed. “Roger?”

  “Yeah. Lee is a handful, but I’m sure the files are there. Lee is . . .” Roger’s eyes closed and didn’t open again.

  “Oh well,” said Nick. “I guess I have to give this guy a call. Thought Jeremy Fox’s son was murdered along with him.”

  “He had another child.” Susan smiled strangely. She tucked her husband’s unresponsive hand under the covers and placed the file Nick had brought for Roger’s review on the side table.

  “I suggest you tread lightly, Nick. Lee Fox doesn’t share information or anything else without a price. There’s a few things you should know before . . .”

  “Leave it to me. There isn’t a guy I can’t persuade.”

  “Right,” said Susan and forced a smile. Nick had the annoying feeling she was mocking him, and he was loathe to know why.

  Chapter 4

  Dr. Koh called before Nick made it to the parking lot and asked him to stop back by.

  “I haven’t finished my complete examination, but so far, some very interesting tidbits have surfaced. Do you see this here?”

  “What is it?”

  “They must be at least ten or so half dissolved barbiturate tables.”

  The white flakes floated in the jar of vomit-colored material. Nick could only hope that Thad had been nearly unconscious when he’d been murdered, since the weapon had been the lethal end of a Philips screwdriver. Dr. Koh illustrated how it had been shoved upwards through the throat embedding itself in the nasal passages behind the nostrils before jutting out the rear of the mayor’s skull. Thad Fisher had bled to death, but mercifully had probably felt little pain because of a brain numbing dose of barbiturates.

  “And look at this.” The coroner pulled back the linen sheet from the bloated feet of Thad Fisher. 15 or so cuts were evident upon his hairy feet and ankles.

  “What caused those?”

  “The mayor was found without his shoes. I speculate he tried to escape his murderer and ran through some rough terrain. I pulled two of these out.” He thrust what appeared like a rose thorn in a pair of tweezers towards Nick.

  “Anyway to tell what kind of rose bush this came from?”

  “Only that the size indicates they were hybrid teas. I’ll call you when I learn more.”

  Voices sounded in the reception area. “Take the back entrance. I’m sure this is Thad Fisher’s wife and the chief. Might not be a pretty scene to witness.”

  “Got it,” voiced Nick gratefully. He hated hysterical scenes involving women. Tears made him feel helpless, and they were so goddamn useless anyway. The stoic Dr. Koh seemed used to weepy women and plastered a sympathetic smile upon his pleasant face as Nick scooted towards the back alley.

  He settled into the front seat and closed his eyes before reaching for his pencils. Twenty minutes later, he recognized how imperative the Peebles’ records were. It was time to call Lee Fox. Nick just wished he had something to bargain with in case the man proved to be difficult, which made him reflect on a far less important mystery. Why had he been called in when the city had its own private investigator?

  Within the hour, he had checked into Louise’s Boarding House. Nick had actually stayed here nine months before during a missing person’s case. He lugged in his suitcase and the large portfolio containing his drawings and pencils and placed them on the business-sized desk provided by the red-cheeked Louise.

  “It’s so nice to have you here again, Mr. Thayne. I’ll make sure I make more of my special rhubarb and cherry pie you enjoyed so much last time,” gushed Louise.

  Louise Martin was a poster ad for Dexatrim. She was, however, the cheeriest and most generous of hostesses. He smiled back, examining her bottle-blonde hair. Marilyn Monroe was alive.

  “I’ll certainly look forward to that, Louise.”

  “You’ll want breakfast and dinner each day?”

  “Most likely. Let’s start tomorrow. Tonight I’ll be busy.”

  She smiled prettily, lipstick staining her upper teeth. “I’ll make some Eggs Benedict.”

  “I can hardly wait.”

  “Ohhh! You draw?” Her chubby fingers reached for his packed portfolio.

  “A little.”

  “Can I see?” She actually clapped her hands in anticipation.

  “No!” he responded more gruffly than he’d meant. “That is, I’m shy about my drawings, being such an amateur, and all. Maybe some other time?”

  Louise didn’t take offense. “Well, I’ll be waiting for that. Hope you enjoy the room. It’s the best in the house.” She t
oddled off, and he grinned at her outfit, which consisted of a short, flowered dress pulled too tightly over her heavy breasts and exposed masses of cellulite. She wore bright, matching pink sandals with spiky heels. Louise had style, all right, and seemed to have no trouble with body image.

  The room was indeed spacious, offering Internet access as well as a cable TV with a large screen. It possessed a small sitting area as well as a tiny kitchen equipped with two burners, a microwave, internet access, and best yet, a huge coffee pot. The king-sized bed fit comfortably into the beige wallpapered room. This would do just fine. He put some coffee on before settling himself down to call Lee Fox.

  After the second ring, the clear, strong voice of an efficient secretary resounded even though it was well after normal business hours.

  “Fox Investigative Services.”

  “Hello,” said Nick without preamble. “My name is Nick Thayne from Thayne Investigations in Girard, and I’d like to make an appointment with Lee Fox. This evening, if possible. I know it’s late, but I’ve heard his father spearheaded a case regarding one Ashley Peebles—a seventeen-year-old runaway who was murdered about 25 years ago. It’s come to my attention that certain specific details from that case are similar to one I’m working here, and I thought maybe your agency could help me out, since the original casebook seems to be missing.”

  After a long pause on the other end of the line, the efficient voice returned. “At what time would you like to stop by?”

  “9:30 p.m.? I know it’s late but would that work for Mr. Fox?”

  “That would be fine. And you are, again?”

  Nick ground his teeth exasperatedly. “Nick Thayne of Thayne Private Investigations in Girard,” he repeated. “I’m on special assignment with the Monroe Police Department. Tell your boss I’ll see him promptly at 9:30.”

  Lea Fox hung up the phone and leaned back in her chair, her thin hands clasped before her. Nick Thayne wasn’t the first man to have mistaken her gender and wouldn’t be the last. She recognized the case he’d inquired about and sat for a full five minutes thinking furiously before removing the file from the top drawer of father’s old wooden filing cabinet and settling herself down to read. Her eyes widened, and she nodded. After a few minutes, she tossed the well-read file upon the too-clean desk and fired up her computer, her short fingers punching in the noted P.I.’s name. When the facts and surrounding speculations came up, the information caused her to grin broadly. Well, well, Mr. Thayne.