Chapter 13
Honestly, Who Gives A Lady A Gun?
When we got back to my office, I got out of the cab and opened my coat. Just being cautious. I sent Max home and told him he could get back to his usual schedule; I'd call if I needed a cab. I paid him and he waved as he left. I was spending Mrs. Stanton's money like it was going to be an ongoing income, and while it was sufficient to see me through the rest of the year, I was going to need to adjust my expenses. When I wrapped this case up, the well was going to run dry.
I took the stairs up to my office and knocked on the door when I got there.
“Who... who is it?” asked Hart.
“Relax, kid, it's Watcher,” I said.
He slowly opened the door, and looked at me, then looked for the minions that, in his mind, we're ready to rush in on him. I pushed the door open and closed it behind me. I shoved a chair up under the doorknob, bracing it.
“Oh,” he said. “I never thought of doing that.”
“You'll learn…” I said, “if you stay in this business. Let's go to the inner office. I want to talk a little more about forensic accounting, and this time you're going to tell me everything I need to know.”
I sat at my desk and Hart sat in one of the client chairs. I left the door open and the lights in the outer office off. This gave me a view of the outer door, so if anyone came calling this late I would be ready for them. I didn't really expect anyone, but as an MP I had learned that if you were ready and no one came, that was a lot better than not being ready when someone came crashing through your door.
I really wasn't interested in the accounting aspects of the case, but somewhere in Hart's head was the missing piece of the puzzle and I needed it. I didn't let him ramble, I just asked pointed questions and made sure he answered in short, concise sentences. He complained that he felt like he was being interrogated, and I told him it was going to be me or SFPD. He agreed he would rather it was me.
It wasn't just Mr. Stanton he had gathered information on; he was also directed to get information on Mrs. Stanton. It confused him because mostly she was an open book, accounting-wise.
There were some rather high payments to a private boys' school back East, but she had two nephews in the school and she footed the bill for her sister. He commented that he thought the sister was taking advantage of her because the numbers didn't add up. The sister was getting enough money to support three kids in school. He figured the sister was skimming somehow.
The real story seemed to relate to Martin Stanton. He had been working for his father when he skipped the first time to go be an artist. That’s when Hart thought he was going to skip the country. He had been in Miami and was ready to jump to South America when something happened; he started selling his paintings. Not just a few, and not for just a couple of bucks. A gallery in Miami was bringing in several grand a week. That was my missing piece.
I told Hart to take the sofa in the inner office, and I would take the one in reception. I wanted to go over the report and the notes he made. I had a funny feeling that Stanton had done something stupid and it bit him in the gluteus because it turned out he didn't have to do it in the first place. I needed to talk to someone back East with National, someone high up who knew Stanton's father-maybe Stanton's father himself.
It was about two in the morning when I drifted off with a bit of a self-satisfied smug feeling. I had most of it figured out. Now I had to prove it and keep from becoming one of the dearly departed before I could lay it all out for the police.
In the morning, I made coffee and woke up Hart. It was about eight o'clock and I needed to meet Betty at Fritz's before I met with the Lieutenant back here at the office. While we had coffee I laid out my basic plans for Hart. He had a dazed look as he followed my monologue.
“Do you have someplace you can go that is out of the city?” I asked.
“I have friends in the East Bay,” he replied. “I can take the ferry over and have them pick me up.”
“Good, you do that. Call the office when you get there and let my receptionist know you’re safe and sound, and then I’ll put the rest of my plan into action. I don't want you where you can get hurt.”
I called Max and had him pick up Hart; then I left for Fritz's.
Betty was inside when I got there. She was looking around at the different weapons. Fritz came from behind the curtain with a look of disdain.
“She says she's with you,” he said.
“She is,” I replied. “She needs a weapon for the office. I want it set up in the desk behind the modesty panel so she can have quick access in case she needs to deal with a critical situation.”
“You know my rules, she has to be able to break it down, clean it, and shoot it. Is okay, Miss?” he said to Betty.
She nodded, “It's Missus.”
“Close me up, Jonas, and let's see what the lady can do,” said Fritz, motioning for Betty to enter the back of the shop. “You want a twenty-two?”
“I would prefer a thirty-eight,” she said.
“A serious gun,” said Fritz.
We walked into the backroom and Fritz had Betty sit at one of the work areas. He grabbed a gun from the shelf and laid it down before Betty.
“Take it apart, clean it, put it back together; you show me.”
Betty checked that the revolver was empty and then expertly broke it down, placing the pieces on the bench before her. She wiped them down, applied oil, and wiped them down again. She checked the barrel and cleaned it. Then she reassembled the gun.
“Nice,” said Fritz, “I would have placed the bits differently, but I pick a nit there. Let us go down to the range and see if you can shoot.”
Down in the range, Fritz gave Betty six bullets. She loaded and waited for his signal to fire. Betty took aim and fired all six shots. Even from the distance, we were at, I could see Fritz was impressed with her skill level. He had Betty reel in her target and we went back up to the back room.
“You could shoot like this before you were married?” he asked.
“I could,” Betty replied.
“And your husband knew this about you?”
“He did.”
“He must love you very much, and I am sure he is very faithful,” said Fritz. Then he laughed.
“I will have a holster to put under the desktop for you later today at your office. I will keep the gun and bring it with me,” said Fritz.
“Can I come back to shoot some of the other weapons you have?” she asked.
“If you pay for the ammunition and clean up afterward, you may test any weapon I have that fires,” he said.
The walk back to the office was uneventful. We went up in the elevator, exited on the fourth floor and opened up the office, just like any normal business day. Hart had left a note on Betty's desk. It included the address and a phone number where he would be in the East Bay.
“I have one witness safe and sound. Now I need to secure the other one,” I said. “Betty, hold down the fort while I’m away. Fritz should be by pretty soon to set up your desk.”
“If you get any calls?” she asked.
“Take a message. If your husband needs to get hold of me, I'll be at The Palace with Mrs. Stanton,” I replied.
