I'll Protect You (Clueless Resolutions Book 1) (12 page)

All is right in the world again,
thought Max,
Maggie is back
.

An unusual, seasonably-early heat wave was upon the populace of East Wayford.  This Monday morning started with a hazy red sunrise and no breeze at all.  The humidity was up and people were unaccustomed to the changed atmosphere.

Max’s phone rang before he had completed his morning shower.  It wasn’t the first time Max regretted having a phone extension installed in his bathroom.  Bruce Grover was on the phone telling Max that three tenants had called complaining that their air conditioning wasn’t working.

“Bruce, have you checked any of the thermostats in the apartments yet?” he asked.  Bruce had not.  “Well, Bruce, you’ve been here for a while, what is your thermostat set at?” asked Max.

“Uh.... let’s see, it’s on heat.” Bruce replied.

“For Christ’s sake Bruce,” yelled Max into the phone, “Did you tell any of the tenants who called to set their thermostat to cool?”  There was a silence for a moment and Bruce replied.

“Oh, yeah, I forgot, mine is blowing cool now.” he replied.  Max, talking on the wall phone while nude and dripping onto his bathroom tile floor, was steaming.

“Go to the apartments that complained and ask them if you can check their thermostats.  Set them on cool.  That’s part of
you
r job, dammit, not calling me first!”  Max blasted.  There was a click as Bruce hung up. “What a way to start the day!” Max fretted to himself.

Fifteen minutes later, as Max was leaving for his office he spotted Bruce coming out of the south entrance to the building.  He hailed him and asked if Mrs. Durham’s scratched car had been fixed.  Bruce mumbled that he had taken the car to a body shop in town and it wasn’t finished yet.  With that, he turned and went around behind the building.

The day had not started well for the law enforcement department in East Wayford either.  Irate citizens had been calling in to the police department asking for an explanation as to why there had been no reports of progress on the ‘crime wave’ hanging over the East Wayford area.

The uproar, stoked by a combination of the unexpected overnight heat and humidity and the media deluge of stimulating commentary was, with an election year looming, partly politically motivated.  On the other hand, to logical thinking citizens of a normally quiet and peaceful Northeastern U.S community, it was quite unsettling to have killings taking place one after another within a short period of time.

Mayor VanDyke had called Chief Devaro and requested a meeting with him and his investigation team as soon as possible.  The chief responded by scheduling a Tuesday meeting at the police headquarters building.

At mid-morning he went into Don Chace’s office and, with the door closed they began to prepare the next days briefing outline.

“Gene VanDyke is a hands-off Public Safety Commissioner,” the chief told Inspector Chace.  “Normally he wouldn’t get involved but I know for a fact that he has been taking some flak from the Governor’s office lately.  It doesn’t help matters that the Mayor and the Governor are on opposite sides of the political spectrum.”  Chace understood, his commander was in the same boat.

“All we can do at the meeting, Lou, is layout everything we have on the table and hope for the best right now.” he said in a resigned tone.  The chief was not especially comfortable with that idea.

“I don’t think that we’re ready for that yet.” he said.  “This is a small, tight community we operate in and it doesn’t take more than a sneeze at the wrong time to start tongues wagging. I’ve been witness to that over the years of my tenure here.”  Chace yielded to the chief in this regard.  He didn’t need any extra interference here on the chief’s home turf. He and the chief needed to be in the same corner, for both their sakes.

“Okay, we had better get straight what to present and what not to present,” Chace suggested.

“Especially before Lieutenant Salvadore gets back on the scene.”  Chief Devaro added.

Within an hour they had mapped out a strategy for meeting with the Mayor. It was designed in a way that would give the mayor confidence that everything possible was being done and that the investigation was expanding to some peripheral people and places that could shed further light on the subject.

At the Stanley Realty office an unusual event had gotten Francine a little worked up. 
As if I didn’t have enough to worry about,
she thought.  Carrie hadn’t come into the office for two work days and, when Carrie finally returned the calls she told Francine that she “didn’t feel well enough to deal with the public or the cameras.”

The media, some from out of town, had taped Carrie coming and going at the office for a week or so, since the investigative reporters had come across the fact that Stanley Realty signs had been posted at the scenes of the two East Hartford killings.  Carrie was, due to her looks, making for good news clips as she sashayed in and out between her Porsche and the office.

Over the phone Francine could sense the panic in Carrie’s voice.  Taking on the mentor role, she attempted to alleviate Carrie’s tension.

“Calm down, stay put and I’ll stop by your apartment as soon as one of the other girls comes in to tend the phone,” she said, “We’ll work out something, don’t worry.”

Francine was far from calm herself, however.  Within the past month, or so, everything seemed to be turning upside down.  At first she was nervous about the effect that the adverse publicity surrounding the homicides might have on her business.  More recently she was thinking that all the TV news clips showing her Stanley Realty signs and her office could actually boost the name recognition.  The homicides would be solved eventually and any residual stigma attached to her company would be unlikely. Carrie, on the other hand, was another story
,
she fretted.

In East Wayford the weather had cooled some, but Chief Lou Devaro and Inspector Don Chace were still on the ‘hot seat’.  The Tuesday morning roll call and briefing had finished and the briefing room was available.  Mayor Gene VanDyke had arrived to meet with Lou and Don for a comprehensive review of the homicide investigation.

The municipal Administrator and Police Officials exchanged greetings and quickly got down to business.  Inspector Chace reviewed the outline of what they knew to date.  Gene VanDyke felt updated but commented that much of it was common knowledge by now.

He asked for specifics and Chief Devaro pointed out that, although there were similarities between all three homicide cases, the Sheffield killing didn’t fit the mold completely.  He indicated that they were keeping First Selectman “Doc Franklin” informed on the Sheffield case, but that some of the investigating details within Chief Devaro’s jurisdiction, including local East Wayford individuals, should be “Kept in East Wayford.”

Inspector Chace showed the mayor his list of those under investigation from his diagram but withheld the graphics showing possible connections and the names of suspects.  Both the chief and the inspector indicated that two of the individuals, Ms. Marshall and Mr. Hargrove had been, to some extent, cleared so far.

The mayor, after asking a few non-consequential questions, thanked the chief and the inspector and got up to leave.

“Has Lieutenant Salvadore’s work notes been of any help?” he asked.

“Oh yes, we’ve incorporated his information into what we’ve shown you, Gene.” answered the chief

“Okay, good, once he gets back from his course, it’ll add another pair of ‘pheet’[feet]
on the ground for you.” said VanDyke in his special vernacular.

After Mayor VanDyke left, the two police professionals reflected on the meeting.

“Do you think that will keep the upper echelon off our backs for a while?” Chace asked the chief.

“Well, maybe for a real little while, let’s say for the weekend.  We’ve got to be careful, Don. Politics creates strange bedfellows. It’s hard to stay consistent in politics. Think of a sailboat sailing upwind; tack this way, tack that way, let out more sail, pull in the sails. There are people I’ve known for years in this town that I wouldn’t say anything substantial to, even if my professional life depended on it.” Lou Devaro pontificated.

“I hear you,” said Chace, “I’ve tried to maintain that caution for myself. What you’re describing is exactly the same on the state level, except multiplied times one hundred.”

After a short time the chief left for the day, leaving word that he would be at the tennis club if anyone needed him.

Don Chace was more determined than ever. He couldn’t recall having had a case where so many individuals could have had possible involvement in homicides such as these. Incredibly, in this instance, in the face of such gruesome crimes within this quiet, close-knit community, there was not one individual who stood out as the most likely suspect.  Being a realist he knew that local residents would, many times, have low expectations concerning their local police and officials, but when the Connecticut State Police were called in, an immediate result would be expected.

Chace had to make a choice, either to call for added personnel from state headquarters or come up with a plan of action before another killing happened.  In trying to predict the mindset of the phantom perpetrator and judging by the tempo of the past occurrences, he had a strong sense that there would be another attempt within two weeks.

A copy of Francine’s records of her associates’ recent activities showed that Carrie Slavonic had viewed the listed property on both of the East Wayford sites and had accompanied Francine Stanley on the brokers’ open house in Sheffield.  He decided to re-attempt a questioning of Francine’s trainee since she was the only person of interest other than Francine, in his diagram, who had apparently been at the crime scene in advance of all three killings.  Francine, herself, just didn’t fit the mold of a killer somehow.

In Chace’s calls to the Stanley Realty office, Carrie hadn’t been in for a few days.  Using the address which had been given to Salvadore, according to his notes, Chace decided to try to catch her at home.

The address turned out to be at an upscale condominium complex in the north section of neighboring New Haven.

Upon arrival Chace found that Carrie’s townhouse apartment was at the end of a six unit, vinyl-sided, wood frame structure.  The construction was of a high quality and style.  The landscaping and grounds were well designed and immaculately maintained.

Chace noticed the Porsche parked on the driveway of a two-car attached garage. 
Either she’s living in with someone or she’s doing real well in
a lousy real estate market.  This place is above my salary range,
he thought while ringing the doorbell.

“Who is it?” was Carrie’s answer through the intercom.  After announcing himself and waiting a full two minutes, the door opened slightly with the safety chain still attached.  A dimly lit background framed a female face and an amply endowed upper body.

“Can you tell me what this is about?” asked Carrie.  The inspector proceeded to explain that a few short questions wouldn’t take long if she would kindly accommodate him inside. Carrie, dressed in an expensive looking evening lounging robe, hesitatingly obliged.

Trailing a cloud of heavy musk perfume, she led Chace to a rather huge, lavishly furnished great room with a vaulted, two-story ceiling.  Having seated him on a plush velvet sectional sofa, Carrie took a seat on the opposite side of a widely spaced conversation grouping.

Chace proceeded with his questions and Carrie answered them cautiously, with measured words.

“Did your company have the property on 230 Whitmore Lane in East Wayford listed for sale?” Chace asked.

“Yes, it was up for sale.” was the response.

“Did you personally view the interior of the property?” was the next question.

“Yes, we all go out to see office listings when they first come on the market.”  Carrie answered.

“Did you notice anything unusual about the home or the furnishings?” Chace asked.

“Not that I can remember.” she responded.  Chace hesitated, turning the page of his note pad.

“Did your office have the unused industrial property on Farm River Road listed for sale?” was the next question.

“Yes” Carrie answered brusquely.

“Did you view that property?”

“Yes, it had gone off the market for a time before my employment there and I viewed it with my boss when it came back on.” Carrie responded, going into more detail with her answer.  “I didn’t see inside of all of the structure in the back, some of it was unsafe, but I saw the payroll office and locker room section.”  Chace pursued her willingness to talk more freely.

“Was there anything unusual at that property?” he asked.

“Yes, it was unusual to me,” she said. “I had never been inside an industrial building before.  I was surprised at how modern the inside of the office space was, modern furniture and bathrooms and all.”

“Did your office have the property at Old Persia Road in Sheffield listed?” Chace asked for effect, since he already knew the answer.

“No, that was listed by an office from Sheffield, but they invited all local offices to preview it at an open house for brokers, so I saw it then.”  Carrie answered in a generously informative manner. She was beginning to relax.

“And did you notice anything else unusual there?” Chace asked predictably.  Carrie had caught on to the rhythm of the questioning and was ready with the answer.

“It was occupied but the owners were away for a few days, it seemed normal to me.”

Chace was impressed with how well Carrie was handling the interview. 
I get the feeling that she has been through this sort of thing many times before,
he was thinking,
almost like an audition.

Seemingly ‘accidentally-on-purpose’, Carrie leaned forward to take a cigarette from an elegant crystal holder on the coffee table.  Her gown strategically fell open enough to reveal a generous crevice between her ample breasts.
Here comes the distraction act,
Chace thought,
is she trying to divert a certain line of questioning? This girl is a real pro at something. One thing for sure, she’s not stupid,
he decided. Having nowhere left to go with the line of questioning, Chace strategically changed the subject.

“This is a real nice place you have, is it yours or are you staying with someone?” he asked.

“Oh, no one else lives here right now, I’m ‘house sitting’ it for a professor at Yale University who is away for the summer.” she responded.  “In September I’ll have to be moving somewhere else.”  Chace thanked her for her time and her help and then he made his exit.

As he was driving out of the condominium complex lot, the inspector recognized Francine Stanley laboriously getting out of her car which had pulled into a parking space across from Carrie’s rear door.  Francine didn’t notice him. She was totally preoccupied with moving slowly and stiffly toward the apartment rear steps.

When Francine arrived at Carrie’s back door she had to knock twice before getting a response.  Carrie was expecting Francine at some point but she hadn’t expected her to come to the back door.  She peeked through the curtain to identify who had knocked, and then opened the door to let Francine in

“Oh my God Francine, I don’t know how long I can keep it together.” Carrie half sobbed as she hugged the closest semblance of a mother that she had known for a long time.  Breaking down slightly herself, Francine consoled this young woman who was her image of an ideal daughter, one which she never had.

The two disturbed women, hardened to life in almost every aspect, were feeling emotions that they had both smothered as young girls, long ago. After a long embrace, they composed themselves and sat down at the kitchen counter.  Carrie poured a glass of coffee-flavored liqueur for herself and poured a glass of Chardonnay wine for Francine, which was her favorite.

“The State Police Inspector was just here, did he see you?” Carrie asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” responded Francine, “but so what if he did.  I’m here seeing my associate trainee who isn’t feeling well.  He has called three days in a row to speak to you.  He had your address so I guess he decided to come over to New Haven and knock on your door.”

“He quizzed me on all three of the properties we’ve used for ‘sessions’ where the murders happened!” Carrie blurted out.  “Francine, I’m totally, fucking, freaked out!  I’ve got some creep going after the clients I see and I’ve got the police nosing around asking questions.  I can keep up with the ‘hard face routine’, I’ve done it before, but I don’t know for how long, this time.” she declared.

Francine consoled her, brought her down to realism, and told her that they were not causing these killings and there was no way they could be accused of them.  Carrie agreed but insisted that the police could have a way, in her words, “of putting you into a corner, guilty or not, if they need to produce a ‘guilty party’ to save their ass.”

Carrie had been plying her erotic entertainment trade in East Wayford since she hooked up with Francine.  Although listed as a sales trainee, and having gone through the motions as one, she called herself a freelance model.  Her male entertainment clients paid a hefty price for a ‘modeling session’ with her.

Francine and she had been utilizing the distressed properties listed for sale by their office as a meeting place for sessions.  They would select properties which were maintained with heat, cooling, electric and hot/cold water and at least minimum essential furnishings.  Sometimes the properties had been “staged”, or temporarily professionally furnished, in order to enhance a fast sale.

By never re-using the same location there was no one place where suspicion of illicit use would occur.  If it happened that a curious neighbor knocked on the door to see who was in the property after normal hours, the ‘sales associate’ (Carrie) would feign showing the property to a prospective client.

“I know that we pushed our luck using the house in Sheffield,” Francine admitted to Carrie, “but Maggie was in a slump at getting listings of vacant foreclosures and short sales.  When I plastic-taped over the lock latch during the open house before the listing broker closed it up, that tape could have broken or slipped off, then you wouldn’t have been able to get into the house that night”

“I still can’t believe you did that,” Carrie replied, shaking her head, “and using this condo for the last few sessions is risky too.  These types of complexes are full of old busybodies with nothing better to do than spy on their neighbors.” she added.

“I know,” Francine answered, “this association doesn’t allow renting either, that’s why I told you not to talk to anyone here.  Technically you’re staying here as a house-sitter for my old friend, the professor.”

“I know all that,” replied Carrie, “but I am really fucking spooked by the creep, or creeps, that are killing these guys.  Somebody must be onto our arrangement.”  Francine agreed that it was possible.

Carrie was relatively new to the operation.  She was able to attract a wealthy level of clients whereas Francine’s other “sales women” serviced a local, working-class client base at highway rest stops, cheap by-the-hour motels etc.  That practice had been going on for several years. Francine told Carrie that she knew the other “girls” well.  They were totally dependent on her and she was sure that they were not so envious of Carrie that they would be involved in murders.