A Tangled Web - Mark Kane Mysteries - Book Seven: A Mystery Suspense Thriller Read online

  “What’s the matter, honey?” Marjorie said. “Are you expecting another customer?”

  Marjorie got up to leave; this was going nowhere ― it was hopeless. But as she walked towards the door it suddenly opened. Framed in the doorway was a tall, spare young man in his mid-twenties. The sleeves of his denim shirt were rolled up to his elbows and multi-colored tattoos covered both his forearms. Marjorie and the man stared at each other for a few moments.

  Then he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

  Chapter Two

  The Gift

  It was just before eight in the morning on the second Monday in April, and I was on my third cup of coffee, when a familiar rat-a-tat-tat on my front door announced Lucy’s not unexpected arrival. Lucy had had been visiting her parents for a family gathering over the weekend, to celebrate their move to a new house, just across the state line in a small town in New Hampshire, so I’d been left to my own devices.

  “It’s open,” I called out, and Lucy’s grinning face accompanied her into my living room.

  “You missed a great weekend. Bob and Ruth were there, with the twins, and Sharon came over for lunch yesterday with her new boyfriend,” she said breathlessly, drawing out the word ‘new’ to an unnatural length, in order to place some kind of particular emphasis on it.

  Robert was Lucy’s brother, a surgeon from New York, and Ruth was her sister-in-law, an orthodontist. The twins were just twins, one of each. I couldn’t quite remember who Sharon was, but I didn’t want to spoil the moment, so I pretended I did.

  “Sounds like a lot of fun,” I said, with as much sincerity as I could muster.

  “Had breakfast yet?” Lucy said, as she plonked herself down on the sofa.

  I held up my cup of coffee in reply.

  “No, I mean a real breakfast. I’m famished; shall I fix us some eggs and pancakes? I’ve got some English muffins here, too,” she said, raising a brown paper bag in front of her and jiggling it around.

  “Sounds good,” I said. “We don’t want to go to work on empty stomachs.”

  “Have we got some work, then?”

  “Of course,” I said. “The machine that is Mark Kane Investigations doesn’t just grind to a halt when you’re away for the weekend.”

  “Ooh, what is it? Anything that calls for my special brand of expertise?”

  “A missing person; a possible homicide,” I said.

  “When did this come up?” Lucy said, her eyes as big as saucers.

  “Like I said, while you were gallivanting in New Hampshire over the weekend.”

  “Tell me about it, while I fix the breakfast,” she said, making her way into the kitchen.

  “I had a call from Oliver Davies on Saturday.”

  Oliver was an attorney I’d known for several years, although I hadn’t worked with him professionally before.

  “He’s picked up a new client,” I said. “The client’s wife has gone missing and the police wanted to question him about it. The client called Oliver for advice, so he gave him the usual advice.”

  “As in ‘keep your mouth shut’?” Lucy said.

  “Something like that.”

  “Well the client must have money, because Oliver’s not cheap.”

  “Oliver wants me to dig around a bit ― see what I can find out.”

  “Does this client have a name?”

  “Probably; most people do.”

  Lucy rolled her eyes at me over the kitchen counter. “I mean what’s his name?”

  “Charles Griffiths.”

  “And why do the police suspect him?”

  “I don’t know that they do; family members are usually the first port of call when police suspect possible foul play, unless there are any other obvious suspects.”

  Lucy had finished scrambling some eggs but had failed to find any pancake mix. She set the plates on the table with the toasted muffins and a pot of coffee.

  “If he’s got nothing to hide, why would he need a lawyer?”

  “Police stations can be pretty intimidating places, even if you’ve got a clear conscience,” I said, as I sat down at the table and helped myself to a fresh cup of coffee.

  “But…”

  I held up my hand. “Lucy, that’s all I know at the moment. We’re to meet Oliver at lunchtime and he’ll bring us up to scratch; tell us what he wants us to do.”

  “Okay, I’d better go get myself dolled up after breakfast. Where are we meeting him? Somewhere nice?”

  “Jimmy’s Kitchen. It’s somewhere near the courthouse. He’s got a case on.”

  “And will Mr. Griffiths be joining us?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “Does Oliver know that I’m your partner now?”

  “You mean my assistant? I think the whole world knows that now, Lucy. In fact, it occurred to me that maybe that’s why he called me. I seem to remember hearing, once, that he had a bit of a thing for you.”

  Lucy grinned at me over her mug of coffee. “Well, he’s only human, after all,” she said. “I think I’d have made a good lawyer,” she added thoughtfully.

  “Except that with all the questions you ask the cases would never finish,” I said.

  “My questions are all pertinent ones,” she said, loftily.

  “Better than impertinent ones,” I said.

  “And you’re always stressing about how important it is to have an inquiring mind…”

  This kind of aimless to-ing and fro-ing might have continued for some time had we not mercifully been interrupted by a knock on the door.

  “I must be Mr. Popularity today,” I said. “I wonder who that could be.”

  I opened the door to find a guy in his fifties, dressed in a dark blue gabardine bomber jacket, with a gold lightning bolt logo, and matching colored pants. He had bushy white hair and bushy white eyebrows too. He was holding one of those electronic devices that are impossible to sign your name on.

  “Mr. Kane?”

  “I am he,” I said.

  “Delivery for you; sign here please.” He held out the electronic gizmo.

  “You sure you’re in the right place? I haven’t ordered anything,” I said.

  “Unless there’s more than one Mr. Kane at this address,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  He jerked his left thumb over his shoulder indicating a black Range Rover Sport towing a trailer.

  “Back there, on the trailer,” he said.

  There was something on the trailer covered in a green tarpaulin. I signed a squiggle on the electronic device he handed to me and we both walked over to the trailer together. He unfastened and then pulled off the tarpaulin. I could scarcely believe my eyes.

  “I think you’d better come take a look at this,” I called over to Lucy, whose curiosity had brought her to the open doorway.

  “My God,” she said, as she approached the trailer; “it’s beautiful.”

  It was. It was a gleaming, black, showroom-condition Harley Davidson shovelhead; circa 1980, I guessed. A thin gold stripe ran either side of the front fender and along the edge of the gas tank which bore my name, Kane, in serif lettering, also in gold. On a hunch, I walked around to the other side of the trailer. Lucy’s name was stenciled in gold on the other side of the tank.

  I walked back around the trailer, put my arm round Lucy and gave her a hug. “I guess we both know where this came from,” I said.

  “It’s wicked; it must’ve cost a fortune,” Lucy gasped, squeezing my hand.

  We wheeled the bike down the trailer ramp and onto my driveway.

  “I guess you are the right Mr. Kane then, huh?” the guy said.

  I fished out a fifty and handed to him. “And it’s not even my birthday,” I said.

  He handed me a large brown envelope and Lucy and I walked over to the bike as he drove away.

  “I can’t believe it,” Lucy said. “Is there a letter in there?”

  I opened the envelope and looked inside to find a bundle of various documents, together with a set of keys, and pulled them out. On the top, under my thumb, was another, smaller, envelope which I slit open and, from which, I extracted a letter.

  “Let’s go inside, and I’ll read it to you,” I said.

  Lucy grabbed my hand, and led me back into the house, giggling. We sat down together on the sofa and I read her the contents of the letter

  “Hi Kane, Hi Lucy, it’s your old pal Tommy. Me and Shakes have been working on this in our spare time. We figured you both deserved some kind of remembrance from us and the other Scouts and I remembered that conversation we had in the diner. And I remembered the look on Lucy’s face when you were telling me about the old days back west. It’s a 1979 model, or at least most of it is ―we scrounged a few parts that were missing here and there. I hope you’re not too old to make use of it. See? I remembered what you said about that too! Tommy.

  P.S. Don’t embarrass the hell out of us by telling us thanks. Just take Lucy out and give it a spin. We’ll be thinking of you.

  I looked up at Lucy, who had tears in her eyes, and then I looked at my watch.

  “I think we can spare an hour before we need to get ready,” I said. “You want to go for a ride?”

  Chapter Three

  Jimmy’s Kitchen

  Jimmy’s Kitchen was an old-fashioned steak house in a basement. It was low-lit, and I hoped that wasn’t to prevent you examining the food too carefully. Oliver Davies was already seated at a booth in the far corner, studying a leather-bound menu, and he waved to us as we came down the stairs.

  “Hi Kane,” he said, getting up to shake my hand. “Hi Lucy,” he said, leaning past me and planting a kiss on both her cheeks, in the Contine
ntal way that seems to have become fashionable now; or fashionable with some people, in some places.

  “Good of you both to come. I’ve got about an hour, so let’s order the food first and then I’ll fill you in about the case.” He signaled to a waitress. “I can’t drink, obviously, but the two of you are welcome to a glass of something if you like.”

  “No, we’ll be fine with water, thanks,” Lucy said, before I had a chance to respond.

  The waitress came over and introduced herself to us; she was called Carol. We didn’t tell her what we were called. We ordered steaks and she wandered off.

  “Was it a dream I had?” I said, turning to Lucy, who was sitting next to me, “or did you tell me, before we went to Springfield, that you were going to become a vegan?”

  “It wasn’t a dream, and I said vegetarian, not vegan. How have you been doing Oliver? Won any juicy cases lately?” she said, deftly changing the subject.

  “I’m sure you don’t want me to bore you with that,” he said. “But hey, you’re a fully-fledged P.I. partner now, huh?”

  “Assistant,” I said, with a nod and a smile.

  “Yep; he’s got the full benefit of my organizational skills and female intuition now.”

  “Hadn’t we better get down to business,” I said, looking at my watch.

  “Oh, don’t mind Mr. Grumpy,” Lucy said to Oliver.

  “Well, there’s not a great deal to tell at the moment. The police are at an early stage of their inquiries; I don’t know what, if anything, they’ve managed to find out yet. We might’ve found out a little more if Mr. Griffiths had agreed to an interview but, in my opinion, once a client starts participating in an interview it’s hard to shut him up; so I advised him to keep quiet for the time being. He’s not being uncooperative. He’s flatly told them that he knows nothing about what may have happened to her.”

  “If he’s got nothing to hide, why advise him to keep his mouth shut?” Lucy said.

  “When something like this happens, Lucy, people’s recollection about the details of what they were doing, and when, may be a bit muddled. So they may, quite innocently, make a mistake in their recollection. Later, if what they’ve said turns out to be inaccurate, they may be suspected of purposely trying to mislead the police; so it’s better not to say anything initially. I thought you could check some of the basic facts and, when Mr. Griffiths has had time to consider things carefully, we may decide to volunteer a statement.”

  Oliver reached over and took a sip of water.

  “He likes to be called Chuck, so that’s how I’ll refer to him. Last Tuesday, Chuck’s wife failed to return home. That was unusual, but he didn’t make a report. He called various friends of hers to see if they knew anything, but drew a blank. She failed to contact him on the following day, and in the evening he made a report to the police. The police came to the house the following day ─ that was on Thursday ─ and asked if they could take a look around; which is police parlance for a search, Lucy ― and he agreed.”

  “Did they have a warrant?” Lucy said.

  “They didn’t need one, because he agreed to let them in. Just as well, because if he’d objected that would only have raised a suspicion that he had something to hide. Anyway, needless to say, they didn’t find anything significant. Her car was missing from the garage; otherwise everything was just as it should be. The police later located the car at a downtown lot, so they’ve seized that for possible forensic analysis. Chuck says he’s no idea where she might have gone. On the day she disappeared he got home about five o’clock. Mrs. Griffiths ― Marjorie ― owns a few apartments. She was apparently left the apartments by her first husband, who is now deceased. Chuck had the responsibility for looking after the apartments and he did the rounds that day, making sure everything was okay. You know, calling in at the management offices and checking that the tenants were behaving themselves and that there were no problems. That’s about all I can tell you for now.”

  “So what’s the police angle?” I said.

  “As far as the police can tell she hasn’t used any cards since she disappeared or accessed any of her accounts. I don’t know what else they’ve been able to check. Maybe her cell phone records, but I’m not privy to that information. The inquiry’s just routine at the moment. They obviously want to talk to as many of her friends as possible, although that’s not so easy nowadays.”

  “Why not?” Lucy said.

  “Well it’s not like the days when people kept address books. These days most people store that kind of information in their phones; and Marjorie had her phone with her when she vanished. She didn’t have a job, so that line of inquiry is closed. Chuck says he’s called all her friends that he knows about who might have some idea where she is, but none of them has been able to help. He says there are probably a lot of Marjorie’s friends whose numbers he doesn’t know.

  “Marjorie and Chuck haven’t been married that long. She’s quite wealthy. If anything bad has happened to her then he stands to inherit a lot of property; including the house where they live. Nothing’s known about him, but the police always view close family members as possible suspects in this kind of case.

  “And then there’s the timing. Of course, his delay in reporting her missing can’t be criticized, because the police wouldn’t have taken any action in respect of an adult missing for such a short time. But on the other hand, the way the police will look at it is that the time between when she went missing and her absence being reported would have given Chuck sufficient time to dispose of any evidence that might have incriminated him.”

  “So, in a nutshell, there’s no evidence to suggest his involvement in her disappearance; merely suspicion that he might have been involved,” Lucy said.

  “Yeah, that accurately sums it up ― but naturally Chuck’s concerned; I would be too, if I were in his situation. In a case like this I think it’s best to try and pre-empt the police investigation by doing a little of our own first. Chuck has me on a retainer and he has sufficient funds to pay your fees. He and Marjorie have a joint bank account and he has sufficient money at his disposal.”

  “So hiring me, er, us, to do some investigative work was Chuck’s idea?” I said.

  “No, it was mine. But he’s happy to go along with it.”

  “I assume the police have conducted a forensic examination of the house in addition to their initial search,” I said.

  “What would be the point of that?” Lucy said. “She didn’t disappear from her home. Oliver said that the police found her car downtown after she disappeared, so whatever happened to her must have happened after she left the house.”

  “That doesn’t necessarily follow, Lucy,” I said. “As far as the police are concerned she might have been killed in her home, the body disposed of and her car dumped downtown to support Chuck’s contention that she went missing after she left the house. So they’re bound to look for any possible evidence that suggests that she was, or may have been, killed at home.”

  “But we don’t even know if she’s dead. There may be another explanation for her disappearance.”

  “Sure, there might be. I hope there is. It’s just a matter of covering all bases.”

  “Anyway,” Oliver said, “to answer your question, a forensic sweep of the house and surrounding area has been conducted, although it’s probably too early for them to have the results yet. I think that’s something you can follow up on.”

  “Who’s in charge of the investigation?” I asked.

  “Lieutenant Jim Donaldson.”

  The meal had arrived, so we abandoned talk of the investigation for the time being. Instead, Oliver entertained us with his impersonation of the judge in the case he was trying. At one point, Lucy was laughing so much that she almost choked; but she swallowed half a glass of water and recovered her composure.

  When the coffee arrived, I said, “How about we give this a week to see what we can find out? I think a retainer for five days would be fair. If Marjorie turns up safe and sound in the meantime we get to keep the retainer. If not, then we’ll review things the same time next week.”

  “Good idea. I’ll run it past my client later this afternoon and give you a call.”

  “Please tell him that we’re going to need his full cooperation if we’re to do a proper job. The first thing we’ll need to do is to check his movements on the day of Marjorie’s disappearance to make sure he has a watertight alibi, at least until 5 p.m. After that, he has a problem; unless someone else was in the house and can vouch for his presence there.”