“I should make you a key,” Jack Healy said as he unlocked the door to Ned’s house. “That way you wouldn’t have to wait until I get off work.” He smiled broadly as he held the door open for me, and I swear he was Burt Lancaster. Spooky.
“Thanks.” After leaving the house on 210 Madison, I had again arranged to meet Jack at Ned’s house so I could have another go-round with the real estate files. The back-up buyer’s file for 210 Madison, if I could find it, seemed to hold the key.
“Man, it gets hot in here,” Jack said, loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves. “I take it your coming back here means you found something.”
“I don’t know,” I said, going straight to the file cabinet in Ned’s office. The office didn’t seem as stuffy as the last time, but Jack cranked open the sole window in the room, then went to the other rooms in the house, opening windows. I immediately felt a soothing cross-breeze.
I dove into the files, searching for the proverbial needle in the haystack. “What are you looking for?” Jack asked when he returned.
“There should be another file for 210 Madison,” I said. “If Ned kept it, that is.”
“Let me help.” Jack knelt down, opened the bottom drawer and started examining files. It was a faster process than the last time we were here, since we now only needed to check the address lines for 210 Madison.
Just as I yanked open the second drawer, Jack stood up, banging his head on the underside of the drawer. He cursed, rubbing his head with the file folder he was holding. “Here it is: 210 Madison.”
I took the folder and sat down at the desk.
“What’s in it?” Jack asked, continuing to rub his head.
“Don’t know,” I mumbled, scanning the pages. I noticed the new selling price first. It was only ten thousand more than Garrett Owens’ offer. That meant Ned would've only made a few hundred dollars more in commission. If that was his reason for sabotaging Owens’ contract, it was negligible. However, given Ned’s apparent financial situation, a few hundred might have seemed more than paltry. If he did this kind of thing a lot, the money would add up.
I pulled out my cell phone and called Cal. “You didn’t find multiple contracts for the same house?” I asked, explaining what I’d discovered with 210 Madison Avenue.
“No, but you didn’t send me all the files either.”
“I’ll send the rest that were on Ned’s computer. He has more files here, too, so I’ll still have to go through those.”
“Oooh, more paperwork. Yuck.”
I hung up and sent an email to Cal with the information. Then I turned to Jack. “I need to go through the files again and see if there are any with more than one contract for the same address. It might take some time.”
“I’ll help.” He pulled open a drawer and grabbed a bunch of files. “You continue with that file, and I’ll do these. I’ve got a good memory, so it shouldn’t take that long to check them.” Having something to do seemed to bolster Jack’s mood.
I kept reading through paperwork on 210 Madison until I found the new buyer’s name: Dominic Saunders. I flipped a few more pages until I found his contact information. He lived in an apartment in Northglenn. A home phone was listed, but no work or cell phone numbers.
“Here’s the new buyer for 210 Madison,” I said, picking up my cell phone again.
Jack glanced up at me from the floor where he was thumbing through stacks of file folders. “What’s this guy going to tell you?”
“I don’t know.” I could tell that the mundane aspects of detective work did not appeal to Jack. If he knew how often I chased my own tail...but we won’t get into that. Let’s just say it’s not all excitement and danger.
I dialed the number for Dominic Saunders. After one ring I heard a recorded message stating that the number had been disconnected. I hit the end button.
“What?”
“Disconnected,” I said. “How was Ned supposed to contact this guy to complete the sale?”
“Is there another number?”
I checked the file thoroughly, but found no other address or phone number. “Wait a minute.” I checked the dates on the file. “Closing was supposed to take place two weeks ago.”
“But Ned was gone by then.” Jack stood up and returned the folders to the file cabinet, taking out more and setting them on the floor.
“Who took over the real estate deals that Ned was working on?”
“There were only two pending deals that I was aware of,” Jack said. “I contacted the clients and they were going to get new agents.”
“But what about this Saunders file?”
Jack examined the papers more carefully before shrugging his shoulders. “It never came up.”
I scratched my head. “That leaves a couple of possibilities. Either Dominic Saunders went with another real estate agent and he didn’t bother to tell you, or his contract was voided, just like Garrett Owens.”
“You’re not going to blame Ned again.” Jack’s voice rose defensively.
“No, but if Saunders is out of the picture, and there’s now a third buyer, I need to find out who it is. Saunders should be able to clear some of this up.”
Jack was quickly scanning files while we talked. “What are you going to do?”
“I guess I’ll be going to Northglenn.” I got up and returned to the file cabinet. “What’s left here?”
“Just those last few.” Jack motioned to the top drawer. “I better finish, since I’ve looked through all the others.” I handed him the last few files and he perused them. “It’s easy once you know where to find the address information.” After a minute, he closed the last folder and handed the stack of files to me. “I didn’t see any duplicate addresses.”
“So,” I said as I shut the cabinet drawers, “that eliminates any here. I’ll see what Cal finds, but it’s appears that 210 Madison was the only property that had a back-up buyer.” I rested my arms against the top of the cabinet, mulling over my conversation with Garrett Owens. “If there were more duplicate contracts, I could see Ned scamming people to make extra commission. But since there aren’t more duplicates, I’m not seeing how Ned would benefit by sabotaging the Owens contract.”
“Maybe you’re missing something.”
I stared at Jack. “Obviously.”
He threw me a sour look, crossed to the window, and closed it before leaving the room. “Maybe this Saunders guy can fill you in on what’s going on. But I have to tell you, what you’re describing doesn’t sound like Ned. He was always an honest guy. I can’t see him trying to wheel and deal for more commission, or for anything else.”
I snatched up the files for 210 Madison and followed him into the master bedroom. “Maybe so, but this real estate stuff is the only thing I can find that doesn’t seem to add up. And I wouldn’t get my hopes up, if I were you. It’s probably nothing.”
“I’m not,” Jack said as he cranked the handle on the window and shut it. “If you come up with nothing, I can live with that. As long as my concerns are answered. Excuse me.” Jack went into the bathroom and shut the door.
I didn’t know if I could ever answer his concerns, I thought. I didn’t know if anyone could. I stood and stared at the framed The Maltese Falcon poster while I waited for Jack. The poster was a very nice reproduction, the version where Bogie has a gun pointed toward you and he looks so suave. What made this particular poster even more interesting was that his haircut was different than it was in the movie – by the time the poster was produced, Bogie was sporting his shorter haircut from High Sierra. The poster was in great shape. It looked so similar to The Big Sleep poster I had, so film noir, so classic. So my taste. I tried not to drool over it.
I gestured at the poster when Jack returned. “You don’t have any idea where Ned got this?”
“No. Some poster store or eBay, I would imagine.” He took it off the wall with both hands and studied it. “Just a cheap poster, if you ask me. You want it?” He held it out to me.
“Sure,” I said, downplaying my enthusiasm. Not just everyone appreciated film noir as I did. I tucked the poster under my arm, grabbed the folders for 210 Madison Avenue and followed Jack out of the room.
“Keep me posted,” was the last thing he said to me before leaving the house. I doubt he caught the pun in his words.
*****
Forty minutes later I was at the Mountain View Apartments in Northglenn. Located in an out-of-the-way neighborhood dominated by huge pine and aspen trees, the complex of five buildings had an appealing feel of seclusion. Dominic Saunders’ address listed in the file was on the second floor of Building 3, Apartment 2D. I rapped on the door twice and studied the parking lot as I waited. The parking space for 2D was empty.
I knocked again, then glanced at my watch. It was now almost eight o’clock, and the sun was just dipping below the horizon, golden rays filtering through the tree branches to the west of the building.
I looked all around and saw no one, so I cupped my hands and peered into the window near the door. The blinds were drawn, but I thought I could see in just enough to tell the living room was empty of furniture. I tried the door, but it was locked. I knocked once more, but had lost hope of anyone being home. It appeared likely that Dominic Saunders no longer lived there.
I spent a few minutes trying to find a rental office. I finally located it in a separate building across a small courtyard, but it had been closed since five o’clock.
I strolled back to Building 3 and tried the neighbor in 2C. No one was home. The whole complex was as quiet as a cemetery. It took me another minute to find the bank of mailboxes near the office. Most had nameplates on them, but 2D’s was blank. Imagine that.
I turned around to go back to my car just as a Jeep 4X4 pulled up. A young man in faded jeans and Oxford shirt got out, digging keys from his pocket.
“You wouldn’t happen to know if the guy in 2D moved?” I asked him.
He barely noticed me as he opened his mailbox. “No, I don’t. I’m in building 4.”
“Do you know anyone in building 3?” As I asked the question, I stared at the guy. I knew I'd never met him before, but something about him. I couldn't place it.
“Yeah, but she works evenings. You might try the rental office tomorrow.”
I stared at him. “Do I know you?”
“Don’t think so.” He retrieved his mail and hopped back in the Jeep, tires screeching as he drove off.
I walked slowly back to my car, picturing his face, hearing his voice. Then it hit me.
I raced back to the 4-Rrunner, unlocked it, and grabbed the files for 210 Madison. I found it in the file for Garrett Owens. It was right there and I hadn’t even noticed it. Owens lived at the Mountain View Apartments, Building 4, Apartment 3A.
I snatched up the files, locked the car, and jogged over to Building 4. I took the steps two at a time up to the third floor. 3A was at the tops of the stairs. A stereo was playing inside. Jimi Hendrix sang about being a voodoo child as I pounded on the door. A few seconds later, the volume dropped and then the door opened.
Garrett Owens had changed from jeans and Oxford shirt into a pair of black cycling shorts and a light blue jersey. He was pulling on riding gloves and I could see a road bicycle leaning against the wall behind him.
“Oh, it’s you again.” He reached for a blue and white cycling helmet on a coffee table. “I told you I didn’t know whoever you were looking for.”
How could I have missed that deep voice?
“You’re Garrett Owens,” I said.
“Yeah?” He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “How do you know me?”
“I’m, uh,” I had to reach back to recall what name I’d used. “Sam Spade. I talked to you earlier about the house on 210 Madison.”
He had the helmet on, tugging on the dangling straps. “The guy on the phone. I told you everything I know about Ned Healy.” He was pulling so hard on the straps, I thought he might break them. “How did you find me?”
I held up the file. “It wasn’t that hard.” I didn’t want to tell him that it was his voice and not my skill at detection that led me to his door.
“That’s my real estate file? Is that what you’re telling me?” He crossed his arms and glared at me. “Isn’t that private information? How did you get that?”
Oops. “I’m a friend of Ned’s. I’m trying to wrap up his business affairs, which would include his real estate records.” I held up the folders as proof, of what I wasn’t sure, but it felt good to do it. “After I talked to you, I read through the new contract on the house.”
“And that buyer lives here?” Garrett appeared genuinely stunned. Or he was pulling off an incredible acting job. “You’re kidding me.”
“No.” I leaned against the doorjamb. Jimi finished singing, replaced by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. “You want me to believe that you both put a bid on that house, but that you didn’t know each other? Yet you both live in the same apartment complex?”
“Yeah, because that’s the truth.” He tried to stare me down. “What else could it be?” he finally said.
I didn’t say anything.
“You don’t think losing the deal was my fault, do you? Why would I do that?” He took a step forward, pointing a finger at me. “I don’t know who you are, mister, but that contract fell through because Ned Healy told me a pack of lies. Yeah, I was dumb enough to believe him, but being a dumb ass doesn’t mean I did anything wrong. And just who the hell do you think you are coming here and bugging me?”
“Where were you on the night of June 6th?” I asked, sounding just like a bad television cop show. I couldn’t believe I’d just said that.
“What?” He choked back a snort. “I haven’t a clue. Riding, probably.”
I backed up. “You and the other buyer both living here is just a coincidence?”
“Yeah, it is. Now leave me alone.” He slammed the door shut, and this time, I didn’t try to stop it with my foot. Fool me once...you know the rest.