The Case of the Running Bag - Chapter 3

Chapter 3

An Uninvited Guest

I turned the corner and started towards the precinct. A paperboy was hawking the latest afternoon edition. Dock strike, bad unemployment, and SF Private Investigator Found Dead in Sacramento.
My blood ran cold. I had a feeling I was about to walk straight into the gates of hell. I half expected the motto above the police station door to read “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”
Running was not an option, the best I could hope for is that either the Lieutenant wasn't here, or I had an ironclad alibi.

Two things struck me when I entered the precinct: every desk sergeant in the country looks the same, and when you don't want to find a cop, you will. I identified myself to the desk sergeant, who was expecting me, and he picked up the phone and got Lieutenant Sanders for me. Moments later the Lieutenant arrived.

“Hello, Lieutenant, I brought the papers.”

“I'm glad you did. Why don't you come into my office?” he said.

The good news was he didn't say I was under arrest; the bad news... I was still waiting for that.

We did go the Lieutenant's office--I had half expected him to haul me into a small room with a single light and a big goon who would persuade me to answer questions the way they wanted me to.

“Sit down, Watcher, we need to talk,” he said.

I sat; so did he. I held out the forms.

“You still want these?” I asked.

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

He briefly read through them, his face took on an air of surprise.

“This is pretty thorough, we don't usually get this much information. You were an MP in the Army?”

I nodded.

“If this checks out, do you still want the license?”

“More than you can know,” I replied. “I take it the kid hawking papers outside was talking about Mickey Philips.”

“He was.”

“Any idea what happened? The kid yelled, "murdered." Any idea who did it?”

The Lieutenant pushed back his chair and eyed me slowly, he was sizing me up; I just wasn't sure if it was for a noose or not.

“Not my case. It happened in Sacramento, and they made it clear they didn't want me butting in.”

“Lieutenant, give me something here. I have had a pretty crazy twelve hours and I got a feeling it's going to get stranger before it straightens out.”

“I know two things,” he said, “He was killed with a thirty-eight, and you didn't kill him, at least not directly.”

“And how do you know the second part?”

“You got an iron-clad alibi: When Mickey Philips was being shot down, I was banging on his office door, and you answered it.”

“It hit the papers that fast?” I asked.

“It's an Extra, the Morning Edition with a new headline.”

Now it was my turn to push back in my chair. The Lieutenant knew I didn't do it, and I'm pretty sure he knew I didn't have it done-- no motive--so just what did the Lieutenant want?

“So, Lieutenant, what's in the wind that you are not telling me?”

“William Mason,” he said.

“Oops,” I replied

“You knew about him?” he asked.

“Someone thought I might be him.”

I cocked my head to one side and stared at the Lieutenant for a moment or two. I don't know whether Mrs. Stanton was playing me or not, but the Lieutenant had been. I needed information, and he wanted something. It was time for us to deal. I indicated, he start.

“Mickey never said anything about a Navy Colt forty-four,” he said. “I lied. The paperwork was for William Mason, but his information wasn't included because I didn't have any, and I sure as
hell wasn't going to fill in any blanks for him, not knowing who he was.

“I decided to make like the forms were for an unknown. Since they weren't filled out, it was easy to do. Didn't know who you were, but you had Mickey's keys and you didn't appear to be hiding anything obvious. But when you mentioned the gun, I decided to throw you off a bit. I was pretty sure you weren't carrying it and, as I said, that baby packs a big punch, so I wanted to know where it was. Also, I needed to know more about you. Mickey didn't hand keys to just anyone, so that was in your favor. Your answers were just straight and vague enough that I had no cause to run you in, but something wasn't right, so I figured I'd see what you were up to.”

“I don't know who actually gave me the keys,” I said, “They came as part of a package that deposited me into the bay.”

He looked at me oddly. I wasn't going to give him the whole story, just enough to be straight with him. I explained about finding the keys, the gun, and the clothes in the bag. I didn't tell him about it being a running bag, or about the passport or the money. I didn't want him to get self-righteous on me and tell me to return it. I wrapped up by telling him I flopped at the office.

“I got some food and checked out the address. It was clean and dry, and I needed a place to stay. I hoped I could talk myself out of any trouble if someone showed up.”

The Lieutenant started chuckling and shook his head.

“That's the damnedest story I’ve heard all year. It's got to be true.” He held up the forms I filled out. “If this is straight, and you weren’t stupid enough to give me something that isn't, you can still have the license, if you want it.”

But we weren't done. The Sisters Fate hadn't put in their two cents worth and I was waiting for their next surprise. The Lieutenant didn't take long in delivering it.

“I don't like being frozen out of a case that I know is going to come back to San Francisco, even though it started in the state capitol. That's what's happening here. Mickey Philips wasn't the best
buddy, but he was a straight shamus, and we helped each other out now and again. Until something brings his murder into my jurisdiction, I can't do dick. I got superiors to report to. You, on the other hand, are a private eye, and you have free reign. I can provide you information; you can do the leg work. Bring this case back to San Francisco so I can get on board officially.”

“What about William Mason? Why not contact him?” I asked.

“He’s in the wind. As far as I know, he's a ghost. Besides, he hasn't filed any forms to be a PI, and you have. If he shows up, I'll deal with him then. He may even be a part of all this.”

We talked a bit more, and I now had a firmer handle on... who am I kidding.
This was still an illusion, but at least I wasn't alone. Philips being dead only bought me an ally for as long as it didn't look like I had him killed. I had to get back to the office and dig through
Philips' files. Lieutenant Sanders had me wait for a bit while he got me a temporary P.I. license; the real one would show up at the Discrete Inquiries office in a couple of weeks. When he came back, he had a temporary gun permit, too.

“You'll have to bring the gun in for the boys to run ballistics on it. Relax, there isn't anything outstanding on a Navy Colt forty-four, so you should be in the clear for now,” he said

We had an understanding. He would meet me later in the office and go over what I had learned after I'd done a little sleuthing. That was a laugh, but the best place for me to go was back to the office and dig into Mickey Philips' files. I decided to begin with Mrs. Stanton's case; after all, that one had a two-grand paycheck tied to it.

I grabbed a sandwich and a Coke from the diner and headed up to the fourth floor in the elevator.

The doors opened. It was too quiet for me. I stepped out slowly. A man was coming from the direction of the office, collar pulled up and hat pulled down. He didn't want to be recognized. As we passed, and he stepped into the elevator, the waft of cologne that hit me was overwhelming. I might not be able to identify him in a lineup, but I would be able to smell him coming from two blocks away. I walked past the office like I was going somewhere else until the elevator closed, then I dashed the office door. Someone had tried to jimmy the lock. There were a couple of doors between me and the Colt, and I wanted that gun loaded and in my hand in case my nose started screaming again.

I didn't fumble keys and I slid through the door, planted my sandwich and Coke on the receptionist’s desk, grabbed a chair and jammed it under the doorknob very quickly. Then I set the lock. I went to the desk in the inner office, opened the bag, took out the Colt, loaded it, and then I just sat there for a couple of seconds remembering to breathe. I don't know which I noticed first: the sound at the door or the pungent smell of my visitor. I stood up and decided to see what
he wanted. Breaking glass, the fumbling of the door, and the chair being pushed gave me pause to wait before I offered an invitation.

“Miserable shamus trick!” he yelled.

He busted through the door and raised a snub-nosed thirty-eight in my direction. It was the last thing he did.

When Adrenalin hits, everything goes into slow motion. I already had the Colt positioned. I cocked the hammer and pulled the trigger twice. I didn't really see the bullets leave the barrel and travel
the twelve feet to their destination. I did see as each one hit its target. Although he had busted the door in, he hadn't gotten through it. His single shot went down and wide as he was knocked back by the impact of the forty-four slugs.

I suppose I heard each projectile as it thumped into his chest. I saw what seemed like dust jump from his coat. The look of surprise on his face told me he didn't expect whoever was in here, to be armed. By the time he hit the wall on the other side of the hall, he was dead. He collapsed slowly, sliding against the wall and leaving a blood trail down to the floor.

I walked to the door and slowly looked around. Nobody came out into the hall to see what happened. Curiosity wasn't going to kill any of these cats. I guess they figured they'd find out what was going on when the police arrived. I backed into the office towards the receptionist’s
desk, just in case more than one visitor was waiting to see me. I set the forty-four down on the desk. I picked the receiver from the candlestick and dialed the precinct. When the operator answered I held the mouthpiece up.

“Lieutenant Sanders, please.”

After I reported what happened, I hung up the phone and picked up the forty-four. I got up and walked into what I was beginning to feel was my office. I set the Forty-four on the desk and I sat in the chair. I waited keeping an eye on the inner office door and the door to the hallway. Somewhere in the background, I swear I could hear some women laughing.

Continued...

Chapter 4

Paranoia Doesn't Mean You're Wrong