Chapter 22
AFTER DELIVERING SIX burritos and the contents of the garbage bag back to Big Annie’s alley, DeeLee and I drive my Edge back to the office of Catherine Harlow, Private Investigations. The stench of body odor and alcohol makes driving with the windows open a priority. I would like to take DeeLee to a women’s shelter so she’d have access to a shower, shampoo, and clean clothes but I know she’d never allow that to happen. I can’t help but think about the people who live on the street. The plight of the homeless is a shameful blight on our society; so much more should be done to help them. They fear cops, social workers, and hospitals because they don’t want to lose their freedom. They prefer, and I can’t say I really blame them for this, living precariously on the streets rather than living in supervised shelters. It’s a no-win situation.
My personal connection with the homeless began with Bo, the man who lives near my office in the basement of an empty building. I give him a weekly twenty dollar bill and I know Myrtle brings him food from her home and buys him snack food as well. I count Bo as one of the lucky ones because he has people who look out for him but what about those like DeeLee and her friends? They pretty much fend for themselves.
Once inside my office I tell Myrtle to call Enzo’s and place a large order for ten subs and iced teas. Then I hand DeeLee a burrito and a bottle of water. Myrtle brings over a box of cookies and DeeLee eyes her suspiciously. “Is she a social worker? Some nosy social worker gave cookies and hot coffee to my friend Carl. He went to the shelter with her and we never saw him again.”
“No, this is Myrtle Goldberg Tuttle. She’s my assistant and she will be staying here with us while you listen to the voices. Myrtle, this is DeeLee.” Myrtle extends her hand and, after a second, DeeLee shakes it. She sits down across from DeeLee who is tense at first and then relaxes. Myrtle has always had a calming influence on agitated clients. The windows are closed so that the noise from the traffic passing in the streets below is muted and the air inside my small office is rank with odor and heat. I need this to go as smoothly and as quickly as possible.
After she’s finished with her food, I tell DeeLee that I’m now going to play the recording of the men’s voices. “I numbered the recordings one, two, and three, okay?” Only Myrtle and I know the order of the voices. “Here’s a pen and paper. When you hear the same voice you heard last week down by Luca Memorial, write down the number.”
“The radio voice man?”
“Yes, you said you heard him on my phone two days ago. Think you can remember his voice now?”
She looks at me through narrowed eyes as if I am the dumbest person in the world and says, “I told you that already.”
“Okay, good. I will play each one twice.” I push the button to playback the conversations. “Now listen carefully. This is number one.”
The atmosphere in the room is tense as DeeLee listens intently to each man’s voice. Not wanting her to feel pressured, I deliberately don’t look at her but keep my eyes focused on the phone. Myrtle stands up and walks to the window looking down into the approaching night.
“Okay.” DeeLee looks at me and says, “The radio voice man. I wrote the number down like you said. Here.” She hands me the paper with the word “TWO” in big letters. Myrtle looks at me expectantly. I show her the word and she draws in her breath.
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The radio voice man, the man who picked up the coffin, the one who said, It’s a shame when someone dies so young, has been identified.
Number two is Edward Penn.
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As much as I believe DeeLee when she ID’d the voice, I have to have proof that the coffin was actually picked up by Edward Penn. If it is Edward, what’s his role in this hired kill? Jennifer Brooks-Warren positively stated that she, and she alone, had the contract put out on her life. A contract that was to be fulfilled on her twenty-fifth birthday. How does Edward Penn figure into this? It doesn’t make sense. I have to think this through.
Myrtle comes along for the ride when I take DeeLee back to Big Annie’s alley. Before we left, I had explained to her about having to leave my watch with Big Annie as insurance that I’d bring DeeLee back safely. Myrtle raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips but said nothing.
Three large bags of food and canned sodas from Enzo’s are in the back seat next to DeeLee. She’s anxious to get back and share her goodies. “Big Annie’s gonna be so proud of me,” she giggles. “I never get a whole bunch of food like this!”
I’m lucky this time and find a space closer to the alley where we all get out and help DeeLee carry the bags. Once in the alley, and before DeeLee can share the bounty, Myrtle asks where she can find Big Annie. A jumble of clothing detaches itself from the other women and says, “I’m Big Annie.” The woman is almost as tall as Will. She looks broad but that might just be because of the layers of clothes and blankets she wears. Big Annie towers over the five foot two Myrtle. “I’d like to speak with you,” says Myrtle primly shaking hands with her. “It’s very important.” Big Annie leads Myrtle farther down the blackness of the alley.
They seem to be gone for quite a while. I put my hand on the back of my jeans where I have my gun and wait tensely. Come on, Myrtle! What are you doing back there? A few minutes later I breathe a sigh of relief as I see Myrtle walking toward us. Big Annie is following her. “Let’s go, Catherine.” As we leave I see Big Annie handing out food to the other women but keeping the bags between her and the building, guarding her stash for tomorrow.
Even though I parked close to the alley, the walk back to the car creeps me out and I’m on alert for any danger. Once inside the car with the doors locked and with me maneuvering out into traffic Myrtle touches my arm. “Here. I retrieved your watch.”
“What?” I glance at her hand holding the pretty Tag Heuer. “How?”
“Oh, it wasn’t so hard. When we shook hands I slipped her a twenty dollar bill to get her to talk with me. Then I simply told Big Annie that I would make a deal with the bodega you mentioned. They’ll supply those ladies with all their daily leftovers and twice a week they’ll give them fresh salads. The leftovers will be suitably wrapped in plastic containers, no Styrofoam, and can be picked up by the back kitchen door. With that deal, it was easy to negotiate for your watch. I know how much you treasure anything from your grandmother, Catherine. By the way,” she continues, “we’ll pay for the fresh salads out of petty cash. I’ll call La Quinta tomorrow and get everything started. I am quite sure that they will be very happy to do this community service for the homeless. It’s good PR for the store and I’ll make sure they know that.”
“You slipped her a twenty?” is all I can think to say. I am flabbergasted.
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“Yes, I did, Catherine. I have learned some things working for you and one of them is that people are more willing to talk if you grease their palm.”
You go, Myrtle! When we stop at a light, I reach over and give her cheek a kiss. Then I put Nonna Rita’s most beloved piece of jewelry on my wrist and drive on.
Before I leave for home that night I call Adrian and tell him to make sure Natalie or another female member of his security team is with Jennifer at all times. I don’t tell him my suspicions concerning Edward; solid proof is needed before making an accusation.
“Okay Cate, I’ll tighten the detail. It’s getting close to her birthday, so this is a wise move.”
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The following morning I set my investigative skills on discovering everything I can about Edward Penn, something I failed to do when I met him. I could kick myself for not being more thorough. The first thing I have to do is check out Jennifer’s story about Edward being on the board of Wells and Cummings. Arriving with my Brooks-Warren file at Wells and Cummings, which is an austere building on Water Street, I feel out of place and totally under-dressed. Well-tailored suits and expensive outfits are worn by any and all who are entering the building. Even though my one concession to the corporate world was to wear a lilac Stella McCartney top, my jeans and sneakers make me stand out as “not one of them.” But who knows? Maybe that’s an advantage on my part.
The preliminary phone call I made to the brokerage house inquiring if an Edward Penn was a member of the board notwithstanding, I enter the foyer of Wells and Cummings on the twentieth floor, flash my ID, and ask to see someone who might know about Edward Penn. “This is a legal matter,” I tell the flustered young receptionist behind the front desk. Then comes the lie, which flows so easily from my lips, “The police have been informed concerning this matter.” Maybe not officially informed, but I did tell Will where I was going and that I just might say that bit about having informed the “police.” “Sure, no problem,” he said. “Just do not use my name since this isn’t one of my police cases. My captain would go after my badge if he thought that I was involved in something that is not official business for the precinct. Got it?”
“Yup, got it. I won’t use your name or badge number,” I answered. Not unless it’s absolutely necessary, I thought.
The receptionist disappears behind an inner sanctum of expensive doors for a few minutes. She returns with a member of the board, who ushers me into a spacious office with a commanding view of Water Street and its surroundings. “I’m Harlyn Vanders. How can I be of help?” says this well-dressed woman as she offers me a seat.
In a conversation that takes less than a half hour I find out that the Edward L. Penn on the board of Wells and Cummings isn’t the Edward Penn who is engaged to Jennifer Brooks-Warren. In fact the Wells and Cummings Edward Penn, a founding partner, has been dead for thirteen years. When I question why Mr. Penn’s name is still on the letterhead thirteen years after his demise, Harlyn Vanders smiles and answers, “It is customary to keep the founding partner’s name on company stationery, Ms. Harlow. It honors the member’s legacy and is a courtesy to his or her family who naturally still have stock in the company.”
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When I show her the picture of Edward with Jennifer she says he’s definitely not a member of the board and isn’t the Mr. Penn whose name is still on the brokerage letterhead. Their receptionist gave me the right info when she said an Edward Penn was on the letterhead; she just neglected to tell me the man bearing that name was dead.
“Any other way I can be of service to you?” She looks discreetly at the digital clock on her desk.
“Uh, no, thank you, Ms. Vanders. I have all the info I need.” On the way out of Wells and Cummings I call the bank where Jennifer has her account and make an appointment with her bank business manager.
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Leaving Water Street, I drive to the precinct close to Jennifer’s condo. Edward had said that he filed a report with the police before he and Jennifer came to seek the services of a private investigator and Jennifer believed him. So did I. He lied. When I get to the precinct where Edward said he had gone for help, I find out that no one knows anything about him or any report being made. “The only contact we ever received relating to this case came from you today, miss,” a weary-eyed desk sergeant tells me. “There’s no report about someone trying to murder this Jennifer Brooks-Warren and there’s no report filed by an Edward Penn. We never received a call to send officers to that building, either. Sorry.”
Edward has been lying all along about being in contact with the police. He never talked to the cops in the lobby of the condo building. I’ve been so focused on the Eliminator that I failed to notice anything else.
Walking to my car, I trip over a piece of broken sidewalk and drop the Brooks-Warren file, scattering all Myrtle’s neatly typed pages on the ground. I begin to gather them but an errant breeze scatters everything away from me. A kid handing out flyers bends down to help me and gallantly hands me the scattered papers and the manila file. I thank him with a smile and he winks at me, nodding to the bundle he has handed me.
Parked outside the precinct I begin to put the papers in order by date and notice something that wasn’t with the original sheets; a flyer advertising a Male Strippers Club has been placed between two file pages. I take it out and begin to crumple it when a thought hits me. This advertisement was easily placed inside the file without my noticing a thing. The kid wasn’t helping me as much as he was taking the opportunity to slip an advertisement in with my papers.
That note Jennifer received at her condo! “Have you made arrangements yet?” What had Edward said about finding the note? “Jennifer received a note from The Eliminator. It must have been left at the front desk of our high-rise last night. The manager gave it to me when I went down to get the paper.” But the manager never gave him the note at all. Edward had the note on him all the time!
The manager told me that he had handed the mail and a circular to Edward who had then dropped it all on the floor. Edward Penn bent down to retrieve the dropped papers and that’s when he had the opportunity to place the note in with the mail. After picking it all up, he deliberately held the envelope up so the manager could see it. Anyone would assume the note had been hidden in a circular and had fallen out when the mail was dropped. Of course! The
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question is, why? Is Jennifer’s fiancé somehow working with the Eliminator? Marc Croft did say
to me that he, himself, wasn’t into writing notes. Is Edward writing cryptic notes to terrify
Jennifer on his behalf? What exactly is going on here?
I glance at my watch. It’s time for me to drive to Jennifer’s bank and have that meeting with the business manager handling her affairs.
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Edward Penn is a devious son-of-a-bitch. I find out that he has tried withdrawing money from Jennifer’s account on numerous occasions. That the business manager is an astute man and wary of someone like Edward Penn is to his professional credit.
“Your credentials have checked out, Ms. Harlow,” says the manager, a sixtyish gentle man in charge of a section called Personal Wealth. “The recommendations of certain law enforcement agencies are also highly praiseworthy of you. You’re bonded and secure. This is why, as a fiduciary, I am willing to speak with you in so blunt a manner.” He adjusts his glasses and moves some papers around before he begins. I take out pen and notebook and wait expectantly. “A month ago, Mr. Edward Penn came in requesting to withdraw $100,000 from Ms. Jennifer-Brooks Warren’s account. Of course, we refused to do so. His name is not on the account even though he has tried several times to convince Ms. Brooks-Warren to have a joint account. He then requested a loan using the Brooks-Warren account as collateral. Said that his fiancée had given permission in a written note. However, the signature purported to be Ms. Brooks-Warren’s was unverifiable. Of course we said no. Speaking to the account holder was an absolute necessity at that point but we were unable to speak with Ms. Brooks-Warren for confirmation at the time. He said that she was ill and unreachable. That naturally made us very suspicious of his request. I must tell you that he was very angry at not being able to get any money.” He looks at me for a long moment then leans forward. “Now, I don’t know if I should be telling you this. Please understand, Ms. Harlow, what I tell you must be kept in the utmost confidence until our investigation is completed but I feel this information may shed a new light on your case.”
“I understand and you can count on my confidentiality.”
“There’s an in-house investigation going on right now concerning one of our bank officers. It seems that he may have broken a fiduciary trust. I have good reason to believe that he may be involved with Mr. Penn in an illicit transaction.”
“May I ask in what way?”
“He seems to have been paid by Edward Penn to supply him with pertinent information about our customers. It is possible that this officer alerted Mr. Penn to Ms. Brooks-Warren’s substantial fortune which came from her father’s $1,200,000.00 life insurance policy. Unfortunately, during the course of our investigation, we are finding out that this is not the first time this man has given financial information to Mr. Penn. It seems that in the past, two other women who have accounts with our bank were in the same position as Ms. Brooks-Warren.”
“They were wealthy, too?” I continue to write down what he is telling me.
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“Not only well-off, but alone. No family, just completely alone, the same as Ms. Brooks- Warren. It seems that Mr. Penn is what my generation calls a shyster. He plays the concerned older man wanting to protect young women, tells them he’s worth a fortune but says he doesn’t like to discuss his wealth—that sort of thing. Of course, at some point in the relationship, there always seems to be a scheme where a man such as Mr. Penn says he needs ready cash for a deal of a lifetime but his assets are all tied up. Nine times out of ten, the woman will readily advance the cash to him and will never see him again.”
I nod. “He plays on their vulnerability and their kind hearts.”
“Exactly. A very sad state of affairs.” I get up, thanking him for his time and his honesty.
“I hope all goes well with your investigation, Ms. Harlow.”
“Yours too,” I shake his proffered hand and smile. “Nail the bastard, will you?”
“You nail that bastard Penn for me. Ms. Brooks-Warren deserves better.” And on that note I leave. I have all the info to confront Edward Penn and get Jennifer out of that condo into a place where she’ll be safe from both the Eliminator and Penn.
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It’s beginning a light drizzle as I leave the bank. Just before I get to my car, my phone beeps once alerting me to a text. The message I receive from the security company is brief. “Cate, this is Adrian. Received your text that the Eliminator has been apprehended. I’m confirming your message that our services are no longer needed and I’ve pulled my detail. Great work, Cate. Just to let you know, we still have not received any payment. Send me a message or call me about our bill.” Someone sent a text to Adrian telling him the Eliminator has been caught and to pull his security people off the job? That doesn’t sound good. Jennifer is unprotected and in danger.
I no sooner put my phone into my back jeans pocket than it beeps with another message. An e-mail from TRUST flashes an urgent message on my phone screen.
“Duchovny has no part in what is going down now - ur client in danger - there is another killer “
Another killer? Only one person comes to mind.
The devil himself, Edward Penn.