I'll Protect You (Clueless Resolutions Book 1) (15 page)

Chief Lou Devaro was awakened by his cell phone at 3:10AM.

“Chief Devaro?” asked a trembling voice. 

Although groggy, he recognized that the caller was Carrie Slavonic.  The chief went into the bathroom so as to not wake up Rose, who was quietly snoring under her attached eyeshades.

Carrie sounded a little drunk or drugged. She apologized but wanted to know if he could come to her apartment right away.  He asked if she was alone and she said yes.  Sensing that she was alarmed, the chief told her that he’d be there in fifteen minutes.

He left a message for Rose, as to the address of his destination, on their kitchen countertop recorder. This was his custom if called out unexpectedly.

He dressed quickly, including a bullet proof vest, and left.

This could be a little dicey, I should call for a backup,
he thought,
but that would call for an explanation and a report, I can’t risk that. I could call Chace but he’s more than a half hour away. “I’ll just have to be on my toes.”
Chief Devaro decided.

While driving he adjusted the position of his personal .357 magnum revolver in its shoulder holster, opened the glove compartment of the unmarked cruiser, took out his standard-issue Glock 9mm automatic and placed it on the console to his right.

For further reassurance, he reached down and back, between the seats and felt the cold steel barrel of his standard-issue 12 gauge, semi-automatic riot shotgun.

His Kevlar vest felt uncomfortable but he reminded himself that he hadn’t reached his ripe old age of fifty nine years by being foolhardy.

He dialed Don Chace’s number and left a voice mail.  The message indicated where he was headed and, unless he heard otherwise from the chief by 4:15 AM, to call in back-up by New Haven patrol officers.

Upon arrival at the New Haven condo complex, the chief circled the streets around the area and then toured the parking areas around the townhouses. With everything appearing to be normal, he parked near the front entrance to Carrie’s apartment unit.

Holding his riot gun under his open jacket, he rang the doorbell.  Viewing the chief on the video monitor, Carrie opened the door.

The chief stepped into the dimly lit interior quickly and backed against the foyer wall with his riot gun leveled and the beam from its attached flashlight swinging from left to right.

“Thank God you’re here, it.., it’s okay, I’m alone,” Carrie said with a stunned voice.

The chief’s actions alarmed her until she realized that he had to insure that no one was using her for bait or holding her captive.

“Let’s check through the rooms, just to be sure,” directed the chief.  After lighting each space as he checked the seven rooms and two and one-half baths on the first and second floors, along with all closets, the chief checked his watch.  At 4:05 he called Don Chace’s number.

“Are you clear, Lou?” he asked.

“I’m clear, sorry to get you up at this hour, but I had to cover myself here and you know the layout in case you had to direct a back-up action”, replied the chief.  “Get some shut-eye.  I’ll catch you later on.”

Carrie was a mess.  She had obviously been crying, and her eye makeup had run down both cheeks.  The whites of her eyes were bloodshot, her face was pale and her hands were trembling.

“I didn’t know what to do, or who to go to, I’m scared out of my mind!” she said as her legs were going weak and she stumbled slightly.

The chief caught her with one arm and leaned the riot gun against the kitchen breakfast island.  Carrie began to sob as she leaned against the chief for support.  He walked her to a stool where she sat and rested her head in her arms on the granite counter top of the island.

“The chief looked through the cupboards and found the makings for a pot of coffee.  He rinsed out a coffee maker, filled it with coffee grounds and water, set it to dark and plugged it in.

Carrie composed herself as she obviously felt safer with the chief in control of the situation. “I’m sorry”, she apologized again, “I was afraid to fall asleep. Someone was watching me as I got home.”

Carrie went on to relate how, after working on phone duty at Francine’s office, she had stopped off at Jerry’s Jug for a nightcap.  She had been struggling all day with processing the conversations and information about Francine that the chief and the inspector had presented the previous morning.  She continued on about how she was totally stunned.  Francine had been like a foster mother to her and was very supportive, as she had been to other women who needed help.  Francine would line up dates for the other saleswomen and Carrie knew that they took “gifts” for their ‘companionships’.

She felt differently now, and very uncomfortable in light of Francine’s past.  At the office during the afternoon she began to look at Francine in a different light.  Perhaps, in being so helpful, Francine was more interested in lining her own pockets.  That didn’t fit the kind, motherly image Carrie had of her at all.

Like a promiscuous daughter, confronted by her father, she looked pitifully and painfully at Chief Devaro.

“And I did it too.” she blurted out, “Quite a few times.”

She looked intently at the chiefs expression, as if she was waiting for a sign of anger or disappointment, or if some form of punishment was about to be handed out.

“At some of the locations there were...”  The chief raised his hand as a sign to halt her speaking.

He got up and poured two cups of black coffee.  As he sat back down and slid a cup toward Carrie he said softly, “I know.  I’ve known for a while. Inspector Chace and I have both known. It’s okay.  A lot of people sell themselves in one way or another.  It’s not always for money, and it’s not only done by women, either.”

Carrie didn’t expect this. To her the law was always something to hide from, to fear.

“Are you having me followed?” she asked.

“Not yet Carrie.” the chief responded, “We’re doing a homicide investigation, not a prostitution investigation.  Inspector Chace and I are thinking that you might be involved in something that revolves around you, but is not directed at you.”

“Do you mean the killings?” she asked incredulously.

“It’s possible, we aren’t sure, but if someone is following you it could be the one, or ones that are behind it”, the chief answered. “We think we can smoke them out but we are going to need your help.”

Chief Devaro went on to tell Carrie how they could monitor her comings and goings and set a trap for anyone acting suspiciously.  This way it could help their homicide investigation and, in the process, perhaps prevent any further killings.

He told her that when the homicides were solved, the fall-out resulting from the investigation would most likely bring about an investigation into the prostitution angle.  The chief assured Carrie that her help with the homicide investigation could earn her protection from prosecution for her illicit involvement, and possibly she could get placed into the States Witness Program. They went on until dawn with questions and answers on the details of Chace’s and the chief’s plan.

Carrie seemed willing to help.  At last her life of opportunistic wandering, with no chance of final self-respect, may make a turn for the best.  An anonymous rehabilitation program in a confidential location might be just what she needed.

A second cup of coffee had gotten Carrie back to her normal level of alertness. The chief cautioned her to remain unchanged as she went about her usual routine at work with no hint that anything was different, to avoid any tip-off as to what she was really thinking.

“Are you kidding?  I’ve been an actress my whole life,” Carrie stated somberly, but with confidence.

“Okay, keep in close contact with me at that cell phone number.” directed the chief, “I’ll let you know when we’re ready to bait the trap.”

With that, he did a quick check though the front window and left to go to work.

On the way to headquarters he called Rose to let her know where he was and to assure her that everything was okay.

Following the morning roll call and briefing, Chace and the chief hooked up in another private planning session where he briefed Chace on the early morning meeting with Carrie.

“You read that one right on the money, Lou,” Chace said as a compliment.  “After marinating in a ‘bowl of realism’ for a while she softened up. Thanks for the lesson; I had given up on her.”

Chief Devaro accepted the comment and added that he had to react to Carrie’s call early that morning without delay.  Letting her stew in the state of anxiety she was in could have had dire consequences.  He did admit, however, that charging in alone was “a bit of a risk.”  Don Chace let it ride without comment. He didn’t tell the chief that, when he got the all-clear call he had turned around and driven back home.  He had already driven halfway to the scene.

“Do you think we can trust her to help set up the bait?” he asked.

“I’m betting on it,” replied the chief, “That cool act of hers was beginning to wear thin but, as you called it, she is really tough.  After getting the history on Francine that she hadn’t heard before then, and with the pressure we laid on her, she sat there without a trace of panic.  That showed me her toughness.  The little tear trickling down her cheek was the only visible sign.” Chief Devaro remarked.  Chace nodded in agreement.

Inspector Chace was of the mind to suggest involving Max Hargrove and Maggie Marshall in setting up the real estate location but he couldn’t decide what level of involvement to entrust them with.

Max and Maggie were good friends of Lou but Don Chace hadn’t known them for long.  He commented that he had a good impression from the first meeting with Max Hargrove and considered him a solid citizen and a stand-up guy.  Maggie Marshall, on the other hand, gave him some reservations.  Although he believed she had made an honest mistake that day at the bar when she embarrassed herself by mistaking him for Max, it seemed to Chace that a slight lack of personal discretion had been exhibited.

The two police professionals reminded themselves that the instances of the recent homicides and the undertaking of the planned sting was no laughing matter. Even a slight misstep could be disastrous.

Chace was sensitive to the fact that his and the chief’s careers could be on the line, but, more importantly, without a solid police back up, their physical well-being could be at risk as well.  He and the chief agreed that, based on the feedback they had accumulated on Francine Stanley and Carl Jenson, neither of those two could be allowed to pick up on anything that would jeopardize the mission.

Without anything more to review, they agreed that time was of the essence and they were ready to move forward with their plan.

Maggie met Max for lunch at “The Jug”, as they sometimes called their favorite noontime haunt.  They had both been busy, what with the increase in activity from Maggie’s contacts and the increase in estate settlements and court ordered foreclosures.  As they ate lunch, Max got a beep on his cell phone.

“Max, Lou Devaro here.  There is something really important that I need to discuss with you. Is there a chance we could have a confidential word or two sometime today?”  Max agreed.

“Sure Lou, let me rearrange a couple appointments, will two-thirty work for you?”

“Great, I’ll see you at the club at that time.” said the chief, and he hung up.

“That was the chief.” Max said to Maggie, “He wants to meet with me about something ‘important’ but he wouldn’t say what.” Maggie looked puzzled but guessed it wasn’t for her to pursue.  With no planned inspections together on their agendas, after finishing lunch they bid Jerry adieu and went their separate ways for the afternoon, to do what they did best.

Max had to rearrange one appointment but couldn’t change one other.  He would have to limit his meeting with Lou Devaro to fifteen minutes, tops.

Max explained the time limitation when he met the chief at the bar in the country club lounge.  The chief understood.  He ordered two beers and motioned Max over to a corner table in the dimly lit, mahogany-paneled lounge. Once seated Max asked Lou what was going on. The chief drew a long gulp from his beer glass.

“I’ll be as brief as I can but I’ve got to go easy Max, I’ve been up since three AM”, the chief explained.

“This is not for publication and I know I can depend on your confidence”, the chief said in subdued tones, which was not easy for someone with his resonating bass voice.

“Inspector Chace and I have our asses against a brick wall over the three homicides in the past two months.  Desperate times call for desperate measures.  I could lose my job over this but I have to tell you that your boss, Carl Jenson, is, unofficially for now, a person of interest.”

“No shit?” was Max’s incredulous, rhetorical question.  “No shit.” was Lou Devaro’s unequivocal answer.

Respecting Max’s need for brevity, the chief went out on a limb and filled Max in on the basics of the developing plan for a sting.  Max was amazed at what he was hearing, especially from the normally taciturn Lou Devaro when police matters were involved.

He must be desperate. I know from experience that, when the chips are down, he tends to pull out all the stops.
  Max thought, reflecting on Lou’s sports competitiveness.

As the unexpected disclosure went on, Max realized that this was more important than his appointment with an auction prospect, especially if Carl Jenson was under investigation.  If that was the case, his job efforts may be for naught anyway!

He excused himself for a minute and called his office to cancel the last appointment “due to an emergency.”  Back at the table with the chief, he listened further. The chief picked up where he had left off.

“Our only chance is to re-create the overall scenario of the killings and hope that it will draw out the person, or persons, that can lead us to who in hell is behind it all”, was the chief’s overall summary.  Max, picking up on the main thrust of the conversation, thought it was time to ask why it was necessary to involve him in this plan.

“I’ll be glad to help in any way I can, Lou,” he said, “but where do I fit in?” he asked.  The chief obliged with an answer.

“Inspector Chace and I have discerned that the common threads running through this killing spree appear to involve real estate, the sale of it, the disposal of it and those who have roles in those instances. In that respect, Stanley Realty and Jenson & Associates have been involved in all three killings.”

“But I wasn’t involved in the Sheffield property and neither was Carl Jenson”, Max pointed out.

“But someone from Stanley Realty was”, the chief retorted, “as well as with the other two.”

Max was becoming uneasy.  He began to think that this conversation, in light of the recent revelations to the chief regarding the relationship between he and Maggie, was leading to a place where he didn’t want it to go.  Apparently the uneasiness showed.

Chief Devaro, seeing Max’s adverse reaction to the vein of the conversation, put up his hand. “Let’s stop right here,” he said, “I consider myself a pretty good judge of character.  This is not about Maggie Marshall, if that’s your concern.  If I had a daughter, I would hope to hell she was every bit the woman that Maggie is. After all these years of dealing with the back side of society, I can pretty much sense who I can trust and who I can’t. Knowing you two, when I talk to one, I think I’m talking to both of you.  But I’ve got a partner in this escapade who has as much on the line as I do. He doesn’t know either one of you as well as I do. He seems to be okay with you, maybe it’s the military thing, I don’t know, but he is hesitant where Maggie is concerned. In order to stay true to the scenario surrounding the three crimes we need to replicate a typical ‘mortgage lender-to-Stanley Realty-to-Jenson & Associates’
property transaction. In other words, Maggie brings the lender to Stanley; and, through you, to Jenson.” explained the chief.  “Are you still with me Max?”

“I’m okay Lou, go on.” Max answered, more relieved.

“Okay.” the chief went on, “Plus, we have a person of interest, who shall remain nameless for now, who has been involved, unwittingly we believe, in all three of the scenes of the killings. I’m ready to go but I’ll need to convince my partner about Maggie’s participation. Then I’ll need you two civilians to volunteer your participation in a potentially dangerous police action.” The chief stopped to let Max digest what had been said.  After a pause, Max responded.

“Lou, Maggie and I consider you a friend.  We don’t treat that lightly.  I can’t speak for her but I’m in, and I’ll talk to Maggie, unless you want to do it yourself,” he said.

The chief pondered that and said, “I know Maggie can handle herself quite well, Max. The inspector will be convinced after seeing her in action.  Will you people be available over the weekend?”  Max responded positively to the chief’s request.

Max called Maggie after meeting with the chief.  He invited her over to his apartment for a “catered dinner and a martini.”

“Did you say one martini? Let me check my social calendar.” she shot back.

“I’m thinking one bottomless martini,” quipped Max, being as suave as he could under the circumstances.

“Oh, great, I see that I’m free this evening”, exclaimed Maggie, playing along with faked enthusiasm.  “Is there a special time?” she asked.

“My time is all yours, babe.” was the response.
I don’t like to spring things on her without notice,
Max thought,
but I can’t get into the reason for this get-together on the cell phone, that’s for sure.

At 6:20 PM Maggie rang Max’s door bell.

“Who is it?” asked Max.

“It’s me, you ass, do you get that much company out here in the boondocks?  Open the god damned door.” Maggie said with feigned irritation.

Once inside, Max asked her to be seated on the sofa in his living room.

“Let me get started with the martinis he said, the dinner should be arriving soon.”  Maggie gave him a skeptical look.  After five minutes of glancing through a magazine, while she heard china clanking, ice cubes being shaken in a mixer and microwave beeps, in came Max with a towel draped over one arm, wheeling an oversized catering cart loaded with two steaming TV dinners, a pitcher of mixed-martinis in an ice bowl, napkins, chilled glasses and silverware.

Maggie was at a loss for words at this intricate but corny exhibition.  Max set up two snack trays in front of the couch and turned on the wall-mounted TV.

With a foolish grin, he poured the martinis and, raising his glass as a toast, he announced; “Bon appetite.”  Maggie was still uncharacteristically wordless.  She couldn’t conceal that generous after hours smile of hers, however.

After eating their “catered” dinner Maggie made Max clean up the mess all by himself. “Good caterers always clean up as part of their service.” she pointed out chidingly, knowing that it would only take four or five minutes.

“Max”, she called out to him as he was finishing up in the kitchen, “What was that call from the chief about, are you going to jail, or is it none of my business.”

Max came back to the living room wiping his hands with a towel.

“It is very much your business”, he said with a serious look.

“What, is he planning a surprise birthday party for me in advance?” she asked with a humorous coyness.

“Oh, he’s planning a party alright,” he answered, “and you’ve got it right, it’s a surprise party. The thing is, he doesn’t have a clue as to who the party is for.” Max had Maggie’s attention now.  She knew he was about to divulge something ominous.

Max did his best to relate the conversation between himself and the chief.  Maggie was startled at the reference to Stanley Realty and Jenson & Associates.

“Hey, Max”, she said, “I have no problem with helping Lou Devaro out. I made a fool out of myself with the State Police Inspector that day at the “Jug,” so he probably thinks I’m a real dip-shit. I can see that they are in a real squeeze, though, with three unsolved killings right under their noses. I’ll help as much as I can, you know that.”  Max smiled at this woman who, as he knew, had more ‘balls’ than most men he had known.

“I do know that,” he said, “Lou, with the inspector, is setting up a brain storming session between the two of them and us. I told him that, although I couldn’t speak for you, I was willing to work with him and that you probably would be too.

“Why, you bossy male chauvinist, you!” she said with faked indignation.  Noticing Max’s blank look, Maggie reconsidered and responded, “Seriously, I’m okay with that, Max.”