I'll Protect You (Clueless Resolutions Book 1) (17 page)

At 2:30 PM Inspector Chace had to leave to attend to family obligations.  Chief Devaro closed up the meeting room and after having settled up the costs, met Maggie and Max at the bar of an Irish pub inside the casino.

Max bought a round of drinks and the trio raised their glasses in a salute ‘To-the-Luck-of-the-Draw’, a poker term they borrowed for the sake of a vocal toast.  Secretly, the toast referenced their hope to ‘draw’ a clue, or even a culprit, out into the open during the sting.

Everything seemed normal to Maggie as she checked in at Stanley Realty on this beginning of a bright warm Monday.

“Good morning” she sang in her usual greeting to Francine who was sitting in her office, and one of the saleswomen whose shoe was visible through the opening in the phone duty cubicle.

“Hi”, from Francine was all she got in return.
Par-for-the-course,
she thought,
I guess they bought the act so far.

Maggie was not an actress.  She was usually cordial, straight forward and unassuming as she dealt with other individuals while doing business, but for the near future, she was going to have to ‘play the role’ of normalcy.  She checked messages, noted her appointments for the day, and left.

“Ta-Ta” she said as she waved at Francine and got an expressionless look and a hand wave in return.

My God, now that I know, she really does look like a flophouse Madame!
Maggie thought, as she walked to her car. But then she cautioned herself.
Be careful Maggie, sometimes your thoughts can influence your actions, don’t blow it
.

At noon Maggie met up with Max for lunch at ‘The Jug’.  The conversation turned to the need to get a ‘location’, both of them speaking in code so that anyone within earshot would assume that they were talking business, which they sometimes did at lunch.

Jerry walked by behind the bar and, during a lull in Max’s and Maggie’s conversation he asked, “And how are you mates doing these days, is business keeping you ‘hoppin’?”  Both nodded their heads as they chewed on sandwiches.

“How goes it with you, Jerry?” asked Max thru his mouthful.

“Oh, just ‘slavin’ away, ‘workin’ for the bank.” Jerry replied wearily, “I’m’ holdin’ my own, but I’m upside-down on both this place and my house.  The pressure is on and my credit is squeaky. I was ‘goin’ to ask you Max, how the auction game works if you have to get out real quick.”

Both Max and Maggie were surprised at the question.  Neither of them usually talked business with friends or acquaintances publicly.

“How’s that, Jerry?” asked Maggie, “You’re business is good here, isn’t it?”

“Would you like some suggestions, maybe later during your afternoon slowdown?” asked Max.

“Well, yeah,” Jerry replied, “I’ve got to do ‘somethin’. You both team-up to move property that’s in a jam, don’t you?”

Max and Maggie knew that Jerry had bought a large, older house on a large lot overlooking the village square. It was built circa 1890 by one of the town founders.

The prior owner of the bar, now known as Jerry’s Jug, also owned the old house on the hill just south of the bar. He sold it fully furnished, together with the bar which was located in the commercial section, to Jerry, five years earlier.  It was a good deal for Jerry, he needed a place to live near the bar and he wanted to start his own business.  He had worked tending-bar for the owner for several years.

Maggie and Max compared agendas and could only get together after 9 PM.  Jerry agreed. He could get a part time helper to tend bar from nine until closing.  He suggested that they could talk in the old poker room behind the bar, built back in the ‘Speak Easy Days’ of prohibition. The appointment was set and Maggie and Max departed to their respective appointments.

Max finished earlier than planned.  Maggie was finished, as expected, by 7:30.  They met at Maggie’s apartment for a quick take-out pizza supper before going over to talk with Jerry.

“What do you think Jerry’s problem is?” Max asked Maggie.

“I remember him asking how a private mortgage worked when he was thinking of buying the house and the bar”, she replied. “The owner was to hold the deed while Jerry paid interest and a small principal amount for a few years until he could get a bank mortgage to pay off the ‘balloon balance’ to the seller. As I remember, the owner died and a probate judge transferred the deed, with the mortgage balance due from Jerry, to a relative in charge of the estate.”

“Maybe the balloon payment on the private mortgage is coming due”, Max surmised.

“We’ll find out soon”, said Maggie. “Right now we had better get a move on. It’s 8:30.”

With complimentary drinks for his two friends, they and Jerry sat around a card table in the 1950’s style back room and Jerry told the story about his real estate woes.  It pretty well matched what Maggie had mentioned.  He had procrastinated in trying to get financed with a bank mortgage and now, the question of value was coming into play.

Separate mortgages on each parcel of property were possible but the private mortgage contained a clause stipulating that only a lump sum for both parcels together was acceptable for settlement.  This provision tied both parcels together.  If he couldn’t come up with the amount due within twenty two days, he might have to forfeit his equity and end up with a foreclosure on his record.

Jerry felt better having talked about his problem.  He gave the two real estate professionals the key to a side door of the house, the only key he had.  He hadn’t gotten around to getting locks changed on the other doors.

Max and Maggie agreed to inspect the property. Maggie would give Stanley Realty a short term listing at market value.  Max would estimate a bottom bid amount and submit it to Jenson & Associates for possible auction if no buyers were obtained quickly.

Although Jerry had been paying the taxes, the property was still registered in Town Hall records under the prior owner’s name.  For purposes of the sale attempt, Jerry would be listed as trustee and caretaker for now.

Jerry explained that he had not been living there for one year. He was living with his lady friend in a tenement in Bridgeport, twenty minutes down the coast.

The significant other was not aware of Jerry’s house because he never told her about it. She had children, two teens and a ten year old, by her ex-husband. The youngest lived with her because her apartment was small. Her other two lived with their father. She would naturally want to move into the big old house in East Wayford with all three kids. Jerry wasn’t ready for that. 

The unoccupied house had variable timer lights to simulate occupancy, and motion detecting lights around the grounds.  Jerry explained that he stopped in to collect mail from the mail slot and to make sure the heat, which was set on minimum to prevent freezing during the winter months, was working. Otherwise he checked the electricity by the timer lights when driving by on his way to Bridgeport each night.

The pair of real estate professionals thanked Jerry for the drinks, and consoled him as best they could under the circumstances.

“We’ll get back to you within three days”, Max told him. “Then you will have the information you need, and some options to choose from, so that you can make the right decision.”  Jerry looked tired, but relieved.

“Thanks mates, I hope there’s a way to make it work, or a way for me to at least get-out even.” he said as Maggie and Max went out into the cool summer night.

As they drove away from the pub, both were deep in thought.  Maggie broke the silence.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she asked.

“Do you mean this could be a location for the sting?” he asked in return.  Max turned back.

“Let’s take a ride by for a quick look at Jerry’s house.” he suggested.

In the town center section the property was not hard to find.  The gloomy, two-story gothic styled, ten room mini mansion sat on a hill with a commanding view of the town square below.

There was an ivy covered, eight-foot masonry wall at the street level.

On the sloping front lawn there was a concrete circular water fountain with an anodized bronze statue in the center. A crushed stone drive circled the dried out, unused fountain.

The reflected gleam of a street light shined off the slate-shingled roof.

Weeds were abundant.  A carriage house could be seen to the left and behind the house, and there was a small patch of trees where a garden once existed long ago.

  Max took the next left on a short lane which led uphill to a street parallel to the frontage.  Off the rear street there was access to the rear of the carriage house which was dimly illuminated by a lone street light. Obviously, it was now used as a garage with loft storage space.

“What a spooky place,” remarked Maggie, “it gives me the shivers. This thing is right out of a horror movie!” Max agreed with her.

“A little bright paint and a few more lights would do wonders for the first impression, that’s for sure”, he remarked.

Later, over a nightcap and coffee at Maggie’s apartment, a conversation of “what-ifs” went on for some time.

“Jerry wouldn’t necessarily have to know about the set up, he only has the one key, and he isn’t around that much”, suggested Max.

“Yeah, but that seems a little devious”, countered Maggie. “Maybe Lou and Don Chace would consider letting him in on this.”

At that point they were both tired and they decided to sleep on it.  They agreed to meet and inspect the property the next day, and take it from there.

On Tuesday morning the day began with a dreary gray sky and a slight mist in the air.  The weather situation was still the same when Maggie met Max at Jerry’s house on the hill.

Their timing was perfect. Maggie was parked in the circular driveway in front of the main entrance, just getting out of her car when Max pulled up on the north side of the house.  They went to the side entry, the only door that Jerry’s key would unlock.  They went into a hallway which led up two steps to the kitchen, or, in the opposite direction, down to the basement.

The house was darker inside than it was outside with most curtains and drapes closed.  The interior exhibited updating circa the 1970s. It was generally clean and fairly neat.

The basement contained a wine cellar but was otherwise unfinished.  There was no evidence of wine in the dusty racks.  The heating and electrical systems had been upgraded 1990’s style.

The lot was approximately one acre, deeper that it was wide. The out building, of a carriage-house design, was garage space for three cars, a garden tractor and tools.  While Maggie finished her notes and pictures of the interior, Max was outside measuring the house and carriage house.

While they were bidding each other adieu in the driveway, Max’s cell phone buzzed showing a call from Chief Devaro. The request was for a meeting the following day at the tennis club private meeting room.  Max accepted for both he and Maggie.

“I think either the chief or the inspector might have a location to discuss”, Max said, summarizing the call.

“Well, we can suggest this one, it’s a bit ornate but it does have some privacy”, Maggie suggested.

“At least they’ll see that we’ve done our homework”, quipped Max, with emphasis on ‘homework’.

“You are the master punster”, said Maggie, with a groan and a grin.

They each had other appointments and they drove away in opposite directions.

At 9:30AM on Wednesday morning the four plotters were sipping their coffees at the table in the private meeting room of the East Wayford Country Club.

“Don and I have possible properties in mind. Have either of you have any possibilities?” the chief asked Max and Maggie, starting the discussion with no hesitation.

“We both have one,” Maggie said.

“Good, let’s hear about both”, the chief responded.

“No, I mean we literally have one property in mind between us.” Maggie explained.

“Okay, okay, let’s hear it”, said the chief with a hint of gruffness.  Maggie understood.  She knew that Chief Devaro was known to lack a sense of humor in the morning.

She and Max gave a combined description of the property.

“I know that place”, remarked the chief. “That’s the old Hopswich property. Somebody bought it at an estate sale some years back, I forget the name.”

  “Well, Jerry Pippin has it now, with a private party holding the mortgage and the deed”, Max explained.  The chief thought that it could have possibilities.

He then went on to describe a property in his town which he had owned and, in the reverse situation, sold the house and held a private mortgage which was not being paid.  The mortgagee had rented it and the tenant had skipped out on the lease.  The chief had processed a foreclosure and had repossessed it the previous month.  Some furnishings were left and the chief had some odd extra furniture that he could supply.

A third possibility was one that Don Chace suggested.  It was just across the river in nearby New Haven and it was owned, under a pseudo name, by the State of Connecticut.  It was used by The U.S. Attorney General office and had been used as a safe-house for protected witnesses.  It was currently on the surplus assets list. 

“Is this a productive group or what!” exclaimed the chief with mock enthusiasm, “Three possible sites in two days. We should go into business as ‘The Scheme Team’, or something.”

After chuckles all around, they debated the properties’ features. The theme was availability, location, complexity of arranging use, credibility and, most-assured secrecy.

All four of the meeting participants, taking time away from their usual responsibilities without explanation to anyone, pressed to define the best possible location for the sting.  They broke briefly for lunch, on the chief’s club tab, and continued into the early afternoon.

At 1:30PM it was time for a vote.  Max passed out one of his business cards to each participant.  Each wrote the number of the preferred property on the card, in the order presented. 1st was Maggie and Max’s, 2nd was the Chief Lou Devaro’s and 3rd was Don Chace’s. They placed the cards, number down, in the center of the table.

One-by-one the chief turned the cards over to reveal the numbers: 3…3…3…..3.  It was decided. The location of the sting, Don Chace’s submission, was in New Haven.  Security, confidentiality and control were the determining factors.

Jerry Pippin would have had to be in on the plan if his house was used, and he could, for all anyone knew, be involved in the killings, or know the identity of the killer, or killers.  With the chief’s house, he was the original, and now once again, the current owner of record of his rental house.  That could spook any perpetrator if the ownership status was known.  The final decision on the place had been made.  Now it was time to set the date.

Time was of the essence.  Another killing could be attempted at any time.  The media demand for information was causing an up-roar in the community.  There were two days left before the July Fourth long weekend.

“By Friday, people would be getting into a celebratory mood”, predicted the chief, “and attention from the media might be diverted until after the holiday.”

“But then the mood would turn sour,” Chace predicted, “and all hell could break loose if the investigation hasn’t made any progress.” The chief then addressed Maggie.

“We’ve gone over the routine to simulate the scenario. You have to get the ball rolling by turning in a listing to Francine, correct?”  Maggie nodded. “And Max”, he continued, “you and Maggie inspect the property and you turn in a report to Carl Jenson.”

“That’s been our routine”, Max agreed.

The chief continued; “Okay, now, how long will that take?”  Max and Maggie agreed that they could do the inspection later in the day, up until daylight faded, whereby pictures couldn’t be taken.

“I have to get keys from “Property Assets Division” at the F.B.I. Regional Office in Hartford”, Chace stated.  “I can get there and back by around 6:00 PM. Will that work for you two?”

“That should work”, Max replied. “I can get to the address a little earlier to get the exterior work done, and if you can get the keys to Maggie, she can meet me there and we’ll do the interior.”  Maggie agreed to pick up the keys from the chief.

“I’m on my way,” said Chace, gathering up his notes, “you guys finish up and I’ll be back by six.  I’ll call you if there’s any change.”

After the inspector left, Maggie brought up the idea that Francine would want to do a walk-through with her sales staff, possibly as soon as Friday.  The chief thought that would be fine because then “all bases would be covered”, and they could wait to hear from Carrie if a “session” had been set up.  He and Chace would start in the morning to check out the layout and arrange the specifics of the surveillance.

The meeting adjourned and all parties went about finishing up any items left on their agendas for the day.

Back at police headquarters, Salvadore was waiting to talk to the chief.  Once in the chief’s office lieutenant Salvadore opened up with something that had been on his mind.

“Lou, I want to run something by you and Inspector Chace, maybe you can fill him in later.  As I mentioned before, at the scene of the first killing there was a noticeable perfume smell that I didn’t think much of. I just thought it was from the house. Some people use odorants. On the day when I went to question Maggie Marshall at Stanley Realty, I noticed the same, or similar, perfume scent in her office. Then at the second crime scene, the mill office, I noticed the same, or a similar perfume scent. I thought it could have been a men’s cologne but why would Ms. Marshall be using it? I called one of the interns at the State Medical Examiner’s lab to ask about any detectable perfume aromas that they had noted on the corpses and never heard back. After that I left for the classes in Pennsylvania. I got a call yesterday from one of the assistants at the Medical Examiners’ Office and found out that there had been some talk about it and, guess what, they noted it on the third corpse as well!”

Chief Devaro felt a jolt of panic as he listened, although he masked it.  He knew that Maggie didn’t use heavy perfumes and he had to head Salvadore off before he started pressing the perfume angle with her, or even worse, with Carrie.
Bad timing-that could mess things up, big time,
thought the chief.

“Good work Joe”, the chief had to admit. “Maybe you have something there. Let me check with Don Chace and see if he picked up anything on it. In the meantime, hold off on any action until we all get on the same page.”

Lt. Salvadore was accustomed to being very careful with Chief Devaro.  He was pleased that the chief was receptive to the perfume clue because, based on past experience, it could have provoked ridicule from him.  Lieutenant Salvadore was feeling good about how things were going since he returned from the training course.

Slightly ahead of plan, Inspector Chace returned from Hartford at 5:45 with the keys to the New Haven safe house.  The identification on the key tags read ‘194 Pickering St’.  There were two sets of keys so there would be no need to have extras made.

Shortly thereafter, Maggie showed up at the East Wayford Police Headquarters to get a set of the keys along with the semi-disguised authorization signature on a blank listing agreement for the Pickering Street property.  Once she left on her way to meet up with Max, the chief sat back in his swivel style desk chair and heaved a breath of relief.
So far, so good,
he thought, in a tired but relaxed state, which had become rare lately.

It was a short drive across the river bridge to the address on Pickering Street in New Haven. Maggie spotted Max’s car parked in the driveway and pulled in behind.

“Hey Mag,” called Max as he came from the back yard area, “You’re right on time as usual.”  “But of course.” answered Maggie.

The house was a Greek Revival Style, city home with an older, but refurbished exterior.  The landscaping was basic and well kept.

“How does it look so far?” Maggie asked.  “The exterior looks all good,” replied Max out of habit, “The roof is recent and I can see that the electrical service from the street has been upgraded recently.  Let’s take a look inside.”

The interior of the older home, in contrast with the plain, unremarkable exterior, had been completely refurbished within the previous five years.

An open floor plan with a new gourmet kitchen, half bath, laundry room, great room, entry foyer and den made up the first floor. Three bedrooms and a new full bath were on the second.  There was a new heating & air conditioning system.

The great room and den furnishings were sparse, but adequate, and in good condition. The floors were all newly finished.  Pictures, mirrors and assorted wall treatments were on most of the walls.  A large flat screen TV was hanged on the great room wall opposite the kitchen area.

The windows had all been replaced and had plantation-style blinds.  There was a burglar alarm system and a programmable interior lighting system with a timer.

“The protected witnesses that stayed here were living quite well, I must say”, remarked Maggie, as she finished with the interior picture taking. “They weren’t missing much.”

Max agreed with that assessment.  “I think this will work fine”, he added.

With the inspection completed, Max and Maggie went their separate ways to complete their respective reports.

Maggie was going to drop off the listing agreement, showing “GOVERNMENT ASSET MANAGEMENT DIVISION” hand printed, and initialed “D.F.C.” by Inspector Chace, on the owner[s] line.  It would be on Francine’s desk when she arrived first thing in the morning.

Max, hoping that Carl wouldn’t be in the office, was dropping off two over-due valuation reports at Jenson & Associates. Both reports were on properties which were, at least to his knowledge, not related to the crimes.

How in hell are they going to pull this off?
Max was thinking, relating to Chace and the chief with the sting.
They have no official backup. They can’t trust anybody, but yet they trust me and Maggie.  What if there are several people involved in the killings such as fanatic religious perfectionists against prostitution, or something along that line?

Now that the idea that was presented to he and Maggie was actually coming to fruition, Max was beginning to worry.  A friend of his from his younger days, who he only saw at college reunions now, was a licensed private detective operating in upstate New York.  The friend managed a crew of private security operatives, all U.S. Army Special Services veterans.

Maybe I could suggest to Chace and the chief that I could ask this friend to send down an experienced crew to do surveillance, or something,
he considered
. 
He felt a headache coming on.  It was time to call it a day.