Back Story (10 page)

Dewey Webb – 1955

I arrived at 1621 Pennsylvania at 8 P.M. Plenty of time to find a hiding place before Walt’s contact showed up at nine. The late August sun was melting down the sky, bathing the western horizon in purple and orange. The address was a large red-brick, two-story mansion that had been converted to offices. A brick wall enclosed a terrace that stretched across the front of the house. Two huge covered porches had archways, one in front and one on the north side, and a second-story covered balcony overlooked Pennsylvania. Letters over the front porch read “Colorado Educational Association”.

As I drove past the building, I mulled over the darker past of the mansion. It had once been the residence of John Galen Locke, a Denver doctor who was also a member of the Ku Klux Klan in the early ’20s. However, Locke hadn’t been intent on bigotry, but on using the Klan to gain political power. And it had worked for a while, as the Klan controlled much of Colorado’s politics in 1924. But Locke’s power didn’t last long. He was jailed for income tax evasion, and the mansion was eventually sold.

I drove up a couple of blocks and around the corner, then parked and walked back down Pennsylvania. I studied the building as I strolled past. All the windows were dark, and not a single car was parked in front. I stopped at the corner, pulled out a cigarette, and smoked it while I waited for the sun to go down. It was hot, and I fanned myself with my hat. The street was quiet, with only the occasional car passing by.

At 8:30, dusk was settling in, leaving everything in shadows. I sauntered around the corner and to the alley, then hurried to the back side of the mansion. The building next door was dark and quiet, so I sneaked between the buildings and stopped at the brick wall that ran along the front terrace. I flattened myself against the wall, then stood up on tiptoe and peeked over the wall. The terrace was dark. I lowered myself back down and waited.

A car drove by, its headlights cutting a path on Pennsylvania, but I stayed hidden in the growing gloom. I wished for another cigarette, but my war experience taught me that the glowing embers of a lit cigarette were a beacon to my position. I scratched my fingers and waited. Then another car turned onto Pennsylvania from 16
th
, and a yellow glow lit the street. It slowed as it neared 1621, then parked across the street. The headlights winked off, leaving the street in darkness. The engine died, and a man emerged from the car. He hustled across Pennsylvania and up the steps to the porch. I peeked over the brick wall. The man had a key in his hand. He unlocked the door and disappeared inside. A moment later, yellow light from two windows near me filtered out into the night. I ducked down and heard the sound of wood scraping as one of the windows was opened. Then the sweet aroma of cigar smoke drifted out to me.

I took off my hat and eased my head up until I could see into the windows. A man of about fifty-five was standing near a long oak desk, staring into space. He was stout, with meaty hands and a soft face. His curly blond hair was parted in the middle, the curls slicked back on his head. He wore an expensive suit with cufflinks that flashed in the overhead light.

I stayed against the wall and watched him as he stood and smoked. A little while later, another car approached, and I dropped back down. It stopped in front of the building, and then the man with the beard got out. He glanced up and down the street, then ambled up the porch and inside the building. I put my hat back on and ran around the front of the house and up the porch steps. I eased along the terrace and up to the window. I peeked in but couldn’t see the men. A few seconds went by, and then I heard voices.

“We shouldn’t be meeting,” one of them said.

I slipped under the window, then pressed to the wall and peered inside. The blond man pointed with his cigar at the other one.

“I talked to Walt today.”

The blond man shrugged. “That’s not newsworthy.” His voice was as soft as his face.

“He’s selling art pieces.”

“That’s what Walt does.” The blond man sucked on his cigar and blew smoke toward the ceiling. Then he trained tough eyes on his cohort. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Walt resold the Chinese statue and the Matisse that were sold to Floyd Powell.”

The blond man’s face turned white. “Powell agreed he wouldn’t do that. He was supposed to keep them.”

“I know.” The bearded man went to the oak desk and perched on the corner, one leg dangling down. The leg started to twitch nervously. “Now we got people asking questions.”

“Who?”

“Some fellow came around Walt’s, asking questions about the statue. He says it was stolen and he was wondering if Walt knew anything about it.”

The blond man began gnawing at the end of the cigar, then spat tobacco bits from his mouth. He studied the end of the cigar, then said, “Did Walt tell him anything?”

“I don’t think so.”

“So who is this fellow?”

“A private dick?” He held up his hands. “Walt didn’t get a name. But if this fellow is asking questions, it’s only a matter of time before he figures things out.”

“It’s not time to panic yet,” the blond man said. “If he knew what was going on, he wouldn’t just be asking questions, he’d come in with guns blazing.”

The other man shook his head. “I don’t like it.” His leg continued jittering.

The blond man spat more tobacco. “I don’t either,” he finally said. “You know what Bert will do if he finds out. The people we’re dealing with…it won’t be good, for anyone.”

“I know.”

The blond man turned toward the window. I froze, but I needn’t have worried because he wasn’t looking for anyone. “What was Powell thinking?”

“It’s not like he needs money.”

The blond man turned back to him. “That’s not what I hear.”

“Is Powell gambling too much?”

The blond man’s lips twitched in a non-answer. Neither man spoke for a few moments.

“We’ll have to handle this,” he finally pronounced.

“I’ll get –” the bearded man began, but just then a yowl split the night.

Somewhere nearby, two tomcats started fighting, their shrieks and hisses shaking the darkness. The two men whirled around, then flew to the window. I took a couple of steps away from the window, but not fast enough.

“Who’s that?” the bearded man asked. “You there!” he shouted angrily as he kicked the screen out and shoved his frame through the window.

I leaped over the brick wall, stumbled, and planted my face on the ground. I shoved myself to my feet and tore off between the buildings. I reached the alley and turned right.

“Hey!” the bearded man yelled. His heavy footsteps pounded the pavement behind me.

I ran to 17
th
and around the corner, back toward Pennsylvania. Behind me, the bearded man kept pace. I sped up, my breath coming in ragged gasps. My car was up one more block, but I didn’t think I could make it before he overtook me, so I dashed between two cars and up to a building on the other side of the street. I slipped around the north side of the building and dove into some large bushes. I sank to the ground and felt around. My hand closed around a decent-sized rock. A moment later, the bearded man ran by. I held my breath and waited until he passed me, then I rose up and threw the rock into the alley. It clattered into a fence and the bearded man tore off after the sound.

I sneaked backward and out of the bushes, losing my fedora in the process. I didn’t stop for it, but headed in the other direction, back toward 17
th
. I ran a couple of blocks, then sprinted into an alley and stopped near a bunch of garbage cans. I squatted down and waited. After a long time, I figured that the bearded man knew he’d lost me. I stood up, brushed myself off and straightened my tie, then walked up the alley to 18
th
and back to Pennsylvania. I kept an eye out for the men, but didn’t see them. I stopped to retrieve my hat from the bushes, donned it, and then hurried to my car. I drove off and lit a cigarette to calm my nerves, but I didn’t rest easy until I made it home.

Reed – 2015

As I drove back toward Denver from Castle Pines, I thought about my conversation with Shane O’Malley and everything I’d learned so far. As Dewey had observed, Floyd Powell was dirty. He’d done exactly what Beauchamp and Vederman had accused him of: he’d sold the art pieces, reported them stolen, and then tried to get the insurance money for them. Not only that, Powell wasn’t supposed to resell the art pieces, but why? And if Walt Cummings and his father had been involved in selling the artwork to Powell in the first place, the artwork was probably stolen. But why would anyone care if Powell sold the pieces again?

Walt’s edginess reminded me of a fence named Baylock in
The Burglar
, a great film noir starring Dan Duryea as professional burglar Nat Harbin and Peter Capell as Baylock. In the movie, Harbin and a bunch of his crook buddies, including a very sexy Jayne Mansfield as Gladden, rob a spiritualist in the seemingly perfect crime. Things start to unravel as the crooks wait for the heat to die down before they sell a necklace they’ve stolen. Someone is on to them, and things go bad, as they do in most film noir movies, and Baylock’s choices cost him his life.

I turned onto I-25 and headed north, my mind racing. In the process of investigating Powell, Dewey had stumbled onto something much more sinister. Who were those other men and what was their interest in Powell’s art pieces? Obviously they had some kind of art racket going, and Powell had screwed something up. But what? And who was this Bert that the blond man referred to? When I had those answers, I’d know the secret that was worth killing for, after all these years.

I wondered again about Walt Cummings. He knew more than he was telling. I made an impulse decision and exited onto C-470, then headed west to Santa Fe. Whatever Walt was hiding, I was going to find out. Although I didn’t relish the idea of putting pressure on an eighty-five-year-old man for some answers, I needed to know what he was hiding. Ten minutes later, I turned north on Santa Fe and was soon parking in the lot at Walt’s retirement community.

I strolled back across the circular drive and through the common area to Walt’s home. I rang the bell and waited. After a moment, I rang the bell again. Then I knocked on the door.

“He’s not there.”

I whirled around. An elderly woman in slacks and a blouse was watering flowerpots on a tiny porch next door. She’d been so quiet I hadn’t noticed her.

“Do you know where he went?” I asked.

“No, he just waved and said he’d be gone a while.” She picked a dead leaf off a geranium.

“Okay, thanks,” I said.

“You want me to tell him you stopped by?” she asked.

“No, that’s okay.”

She smiled as I walked away. I had no doubt she’d tell Walt about me.

I walked slowly back through the common area, disappointed. Where was Walt? For a guy who said he never went anywhere, he was going out a lot. Had the man I’d seen with Walt come back and taken Walt somewhere? I thought about that guy, wondering why he seemed familiar.

And then it dawned on me. He looked vaguely like Lorraine Fitzsimmons’s husband. I’d only seen her husband briefly, and the guy who’d met Walt had on sunglasses, but it could’ve been the same guy.

Was Lorraine’s husband involved with Walt Cummings? That would mean Lorraine knew more than she was saying. But what was she covering up?

There was one way to find out.

***

Lorraine Fitzsimmons’s eyes grew wide in surprise when she answered her door.

“Mr. Ferguson,” she said, a hint of displeasure in her voice. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m sorry to bother you,” I said, “but I’ve got a few more questions.”

“I suppose if I refuse, you’ll keep bothering me.”

I gave her a wan smile.

She sighed and then opened the door wider. “Come in.”

We went back into the living room but neither of us sat down. Tension rippled through the air. She crossed her arms and stared at me. As before, she was impeccably dressed, this time in tan slacks and a blue blouse. I suspected she never looked anything but her best.

“What’s this about?” she asked.

“Your grandfather did what he was accused of.”

She did a good job of keeping her composure, but her face fell just slightly. “Oh?”

I nodded. “It looks like he sold the painting and the statue, and then made an insurance claim on them. He was laundering money for the Mafia, and he had a gambling problem and needed money.”

She gauged her response carefully. “This isn’t a pleasant thing to hear, but given what I know of my grandfather, I’m not surprised.”

“There’s more to it, though.”

“What?”

I shrugged. “I’m not sure. But Powell wasn’t supposed to sell the artwork. Do you know why?”

“Mr. Ferguson, I don’t know a thing about any of this, so how could I possibly answer that question?”

“Did your grandfather buy stolen art?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know, but I don’t like your digging into his past like this. I think you’d better leave now.”

I held up a hand. “Why? I’m just asking a few questions.”

“Please.” She stepped toward the hallway.

“What about Powell’s other son?” I asked as I followed her. “Your uncle. Is he alive? Can I talk to him?”

“I’m not going to let you bother him,” she said quickly. “He’s old and he wouldn’t remember anything. You need to leave him alone.”

I glanced toward the kitchen. “What about your husband? Is he here?”

“No, he’s gone out.”

“I’d like to talk to him.”

She narrowed her eyes. “He doesn’t have anything to say. I think you should go.”

She held out a hand and motioned toward the door. I dragged my feet but I couldn’t delay any longer. I headed out the door. It slammed with a bang behind me and I heard the deadbolt lock in place.

Interesting
, I thought.

I started down the walk to the street, then glanced back. Lorraine was standing in front of the living room window, watching me. Should I sit in the car and wait for her husband to come home? My cell phone rang. I answered it as I walked back to the 4-Runner.

“Reed, it’s Ace,” he said in a whisper.

“Why are you whispering?”

“I think I saw someone suspicious.”

“Where?” I asked, as I rushed back to my car.

“Well, he’s down the street now, but I saw him go up to your place a few minutes ago.”

“You saw him?”

“Of course I saw him,” he said. “If I didn’t see him, how could I tell you I just saw him?”

Wow, he was actually making sense. And he made me look like the dunce.

“What’d he look like?” I asked as I put the 4-Runner in gear and tore up the street.

“He’s all in black. Black jeans, black T-shirt, and black shoes.”

“Great description.” It sounded like what I’d dubbed my Navy Seal look, my default wardrobe when in clandestine mode, and it was easy for Ace to remember.

“I knew you’d ask,” he said. “See, I could make a good detective.”

I ignored that. “And you said this guy is down the street now?”

“Yes. After he left, I went outside. I acted like I was checking for the mail, and I could see him in a parked car. He’s just waiting there now.”

“What kind of car?”

“A black SUV.”

That was the same car that Brad Webb had seen around his house.

“Good work,” I said. “Can you keep watching the car? I can be there in about ten minutes.”

“Yeah, I’ll wait,” he said. “But it’s kind of boring.”

I imagined Ace going outside and getting into an altercation with this guy. “You don’t want it to get exciting.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Just don’t go out there. Call me if the car leaves.”

“Okay.”

As I slammed on the gas and headed down Colfax, I called Willie.

“Hey, hon, what’s up?” she asked.

“Where are you?”

“I’m at Darcy’s. I was about to get in the shower. What’s wrong?” She must’ve sensed something in my voice.

“Ace said someone came by our place and now he’s sitting in a parked car down the street.”

“Do you want me to go look?”

“No! Stay inside.”

“You don’t have to get mad.”

“I’m not mad, Willie. I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” I said.

“I’m fine. The door’s locked, and I won’t open it for anyone but you.”

“Good.” I tried to make light of the situation so she wouldn’t worry. “Maybe it’s nothing.”

“Uh-huh.” She wasn’t fooled. “What’s your plan?”

I gritted my teeth. “I’m not sure.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m a few minutes from the condo.”

“Be careful.”

“I will.”

I ended the call and raced toward home. Then my cell phone rang again. I checked the phone. Ace.

“What’s up?”

“He’s driving away.”

“I’m almost there.”

“He’s going north.”

That was away from me. I ended the call and hit the gas. The 4-Runner shot forward. I barely stopped at the intersection, then raced up past my condo. Up ahead was the SUV. It was turning the corner. I sped after it. By the time I got to 18
th
, it was a couple of blocks ahead and moving fast. I wondered if the driver had spotted me. I floored it and veered around a BMW, receiving a honk as I went by. The SUV suddenly turned on Downing. I shifted lanes and turned after it, then slammed on my brakes so I wouldn’t hit a truck that had pulled into the road. I skidded to a stop and cursed. The truck drove on down the street, took an eternity to come to a stop at the intersection, then turned right. I pulled up to the stop sign and looked in all directions. No SUV. I’d lost him.

I cursed again for good measure as I drove back to the condo. I parked in the alley behind Willie’s building and ran into the back entrance. I took the stairs two at a time to Darcy’s apartment, knocked on the door and said, “It’s me, Reed.”

Willie opened the door and I rushed inside.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

“Yes.” I pulled her close and kissed her hard.

“Reed.” She pushed me away. “Not now. What happened?”

“He took off,” I said. “I followed him but he lost me. I came back here and I wanted to make sure you’re all right.”

“I’m fine,” she said. “I was waiting to hear from you, and then I was going to take a shower.”

All thoughts of the SUV left my mind. I tugged at her robe. “I could help.”

“As tempting as that is, I don’t want to be late for work and don’t you think you should go check the condo?”

I sighed. “Yeah, I guess so.” Willie one, libido zero. “Then I’m coming back here and I’m going to drive you to work.” She began to protest, and I held up a hand. “It may be nothing but it’s not worth taking a chance.” I didn’t believe that, but I didn’t want her to worry.

“Okay,” she said.

She headed toward the bathroom, and I ran across the street and up the stairs to our place. The lock on the door didn’t appear to have been tampered with, nor did it seem like anyone had been inside. From what Ace had reported, I didn’t think that would be the case, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I locked the condo, went back downstairs, and checked in with Ace. He hadn’t seen anything else, and he was heading for work, so I left him and dashed back to Darcy’s. While Willie got ready for work, I sat on the couch and caught my breath.

Brad had been right. Whoever had broken into his house was now coming after me. That meant one thing: I was getting close to something, just as Dewey had been. But what?