I'll Protect You (Clueless Resolutions Book 1) (14 page)

On Friday morning, the sun pierced through the last of some lingering clouds as they drifted off to the east.  Inspector Chace’s mood reflected the refreshingly clear, bright weather as he drove to his East Wayford temporary field office.

Chief Devaro was on his way to the briefing room as Chace entered the police headquarters and the chief invited him to attend the briefing session.

“I’ll hold up starting for a few minutes so you can get yourself a coffee.” he offered to Chace.

The roll call and morning briefing went as usual.  The chief updated the squads on the homicide investigations, omitting the details and events of the day before, as he and inspector Chace had decided.

There were several contributions from patrolmen as to complaints and sour moods they were encountering on their patrols and traffic duties, and it was always about the unsolved killings.  Inspector Chace suggested that the best response would be to listen, and then ask that the complainers stay alert for any person, or persons, who are strangers to their neighborhoods, especially after dark, and to then point out that a prompt report to 911 about suspicious activity might have made a difference in the recent homicides and could possibly help to prevent another.

“In this way,” Chace said, “you can get them pulling together with us rather than pulling against us.”  The patrolmen seemed to accept that in a positive way.

The chief agreed wholeheartedly and adjourned the briefing with a parting comment;

“Lieutenant Detective Salvadore will be back with us on Monday. That will help us cover more ground with this investigation.”

While walking back to their offices, Chace told the chief that he had picked up a few more interesting tidbits the previous afternoon.  They went into the chief’s office and closed the door. Once seated, Chace took out his note pad and related the story he had gotten the afternoon before.

“Well, that seems to fold right into the F.B.I. report on Francine Stanley,” said Chief Devaro, not surprised, “See that, now you’re getting me to think like a detective”, he added with a chuckle. “Maybe it’s time to have a chat with ‘Mr. Clean’, Carl Jenson.”  Chace agreed and indicated that, as the chief had pointed out the day before, they had enough now to clamp down on the apparent prostitution operation, but their primary problem was finding a murder suspect, or at least a person of interest.

Just before noon, Chief Devaro suggested a private lunch to Chace.  “I’ve got an idea rolling around in my gray old head.” he said with a smattering of confidence.

Rose Devaro was at the tennis club with three of her woman friends.  They were playing a doubles match for exercise.  One thing that they all had in common was that none of them cared who won or who lost the tennis match; it was more about running around on the court to lose some weight so that the lunch they were going to have wouldn’t add to the waistline.

In the meantime, her husband Lou Devaro drove himself and Don Chace to his and Rose’s home located in the town of Hamden, a small town north of New Haven where he and Rose had lived for twenty seven years. Along the way they discussed Lt. Salvadore’s return.

The chief had spoken to Salvadore on the phone twice since he went to Pittsburg.  The first conversation had been after his first day of special training. Salvadore had, as usual, prematurely judged the situation and spoke like
he
was going to teach them about how to handle the media.

Miraculously, by the last day of the training course he had made a transition to a more controlled, calculating, but logical policeman.  Chief Devaro related to Chace that, after the chief had finished that last phone conversation, he had raised his arms to heaven and thanked the “Good Lord” aloud.

The chief and Chace agreed that Salvadore should be taken at face value and put back to work as an asset, if possible, rather than a hindrance.

On the way to his house the chief stopped off at a delicatessen near his street to pick up lunches for the two of them.  One half mile beyond the deli they pulled onto a circular drive in front of his home, a two-story white clapboard-sided Georgian Colonial style house. “What I want to talk about is for our ears only,” he told Chace, “I wouldn’t trust any other place.

While opening the side entrance Lou Devaro explained why they were there; “My wife Rose is at the club playing tennis.  There’s nobody home but ‘Butch’, our dachshund.  The old boy is deaf as a doornail, the poor bastard.”

They took their grinders, along with four beers from the refrigerator, and went out back onto a quiet European-styled patio, where Butch lay sleeping in the sunshine.

Within the surrounding ivy covered concrete walls and shrubbery, from where they sat down at an outdoor cocktail table, not one other neighborhood structure could be seen except for the Devaros’ own garage.  The abundance of surrounding masonry also eliminated most of the neighborhood sounds. A water feature bubbled and trickled off in a far corner.

“Quite a spot you have here, Lou, it seems like a perfect place to relax.” commented Chace.

“Having been in small-town police work as long as I have, if I didn’t have this hole to hide in every now and then, I’d be up at the rest home sitting in a rocking chair, singing to the flowers.” said the chief.  “I passed up two city-chief jobs that paid better and which I qualified for, but they had residency requirements.  My town didn’t have an opening for chief, and I wasn’t about to move from here. “I’ll give you the grand tour of the house later, right now let’s eat lunch and get down to business.

After the grinders and beers Lou Devaro took two long cigars out of a silver plated holder kept in his hip pocket.  They lit up and each created clouds. Through the thick blue-white smoke, the chief began.

“Time is running out Don. I can see it coming as plain as day. I’ve heard from a few friends in the Police-Chiefs Association who have tried to console me, I can feel it.  All hell is going to break loose on the ‘doddering old police chief from East Wayford’ over these serial killings”, he said with conviction.

Chace listened to what he was beginning to believe was a last- will-and-testament being developed.  Chace knew that a move to drive Lou Devaro from his job would inevitably reflect on him. Don Chace’s only defense would be to join the dissenters and blame the chief.  He had to make a choice here and his inclination, right now, was to go with his gut feelings and hear the chief out.

Chief Devaro, speaking factually, resumed. “It has been over six weeks since the first killing.  There have been three killings.  We don’t have a clue as to who is doing the actual killings.  It seems to surround the prostitution scheme but many of our leads involve prominent citizens, and we have no real proof.  We only have past history and hearsay, that’s only to the prostitution, not murder.”

  “Our back is to the wall because, although murders can, many times, take more than six weeks to solve, our immediate problem is public safety.  We have no idea how to prevent another loss of life.  We have to do something or another victim could die and the game is over.  I lose my job, but more importantly, you have years of what I see as an important contribution to law enforcement at stake, and I don’t take that lightly, believe me!”

Chace chugged on his beer and thought about what he had just heard.  Both he and the chief had played college football and the chief was sounding like a college quarterback who, with the season championship, and a potentially lucrative pro career on the line, and with one second left on the game clock, was about to propose a “Hail Mary” pass into the end zone.  Everything would be riding on one last play to win or lose the game.

Lou Devaro had been a back-up quarter back in college and Don Chace, in a more recent generation, had been a deep pass receiver.  Both had experienced the human ability to, under extreme pressure, be successful and victorious against overwhelming odds. They had also sampled the sour taste of defeat.

Chace was silent for a seemingly long moment and then he asked, “What’s your call, Chief?”

Chief Devaro pulled his patio chair up to the marble-topped table and downed the last half of his second beer. The fierce intensity in his eyes would convince anyone that he meant business. Lowering his booming voice to a hoarse whisper, he spoke, “A sting!” he hissed.

Chace was startled.  He double-thought to make sure he heard correctly.

“How could a sting help us?  Do you mean trying to flush out the killer, or killers?” he asked.  The chief was just staring at Chace without saying anything. It was his way of playing poker, play a card and judge the opponent by the reaction.

“I’ve been involved in a few stings,” Chace said. “Buying guns during an amnesty period and booking known offenders on unrelated outstanding charges, things like that, but it takes a lot of manpower and a lot of time to organize.  We used money as bait.  What bait could we use here to lure a killer who is motivated by something we haven’t figured out yet?” Chase rattled off in a quick sequence.

Easing his intensity now, the chief could see that Chace was on board.

“I’ve got some questions, too, but I can almost hear the wheels spinning in your head.” he said, kidding.  You’ve probably already answered some of your own questions while you asked another.  Here’s my idea so far.”

Chief Devaro went on to explain how the plot could be set up without involving too much time.  The key, he thought, would be secrecy.  No one but himself and Chace would be physically involved.  Like Chace, he felt there was a tempo to the killings and that within a week or so, the sting operation would have to be ready to go.

They could stage all of the things that were common to the three cases.  Time of day, day of the week, place of opportunity, etc.

One of them could be hidden on the inside of the selected structure during the staged event and they could watch for anyone who might approach the site.

After a few puffs on his cigar, Chace questioned, “We would need an ‘unsuspecting victim’ for bait, Lou, am I right?  Who could we get to do that?

“You, Don.” answered the chief.

The inspector and the chief went back and forth with possibilities and ideas about how the sting could be structured.  By 3:30 PM they both had headaches.  Both of them were in deep thought as Chief Devaro drove them back to the headquarters building.

“We’ll sleep on it over the weekend, call me if you get such a hot idea that it can’t wait till Monday.” said the chief as they entered the building. “Salvadore will need to be brought up to speed on Monday, but let’s not go into anything beyond the F.B.I. dossier for now”, he added.

Chief of Police Lou Devaro was not himself on this Monday morning because he had spent the weekend mentally going over the plan that he and Inspector Chace had discussed the previous Friday.

Although he felt it was the best course of action under the circumstances, he had some doubts.  For one thing he realized that the odds, of getting the perpetrator of the recent killings to expose himself, or herself, or themselves, were not good.

The sting would be a long shot, at best, and if not successful, the set-up would have to be repeated.  Considering the arrangements that would have to be made, and made in strict secrecy, they may be able to set it up twice, at the most, before it leaked out.

The other main concern that the chief had was that he had an intuition that Carrie Slavonic fit the mold and was somehow implicated in the killings whether she was aware of it or not.  In order to simulate the scenario of the three killings, she would have to participate.  How could they expect to get her cooperation without Francine being involved?

Don Chace had likewise been digesting the idea of a limited-scale sting operation over the weekend, and the more he considered it, the more he felt that Chief Devaro was right. They were in a box and the box was shrinking.

On the surface the sting idea seemed to have a chance of revealing a person of interest, a motive, or at least a clue to the mystery.  But in order to replicate the circumstances under which the previous killings had occurred, a thorough analysis of the factors in each of the three cases would have to be undertaken.

Chace had gone over and over his diagram of similarities.  The revelations about Carrie, which were fed to him by the transvestite in Grandford, filled in a lot of blank spaces to the puzzle.

Motive for the killings was still elusive but a triangle between Francine, Carrie and Carl Jenson was beginning to come into focus.  Maggie Marshall and Max Hargrove were the visible operatives of Francine and Jenson in the legitimate property sales business.  Carrie was under the direct control of Francine.  Carrie was a flagrant and willing female prostitute who probably commanded fees that only wealthy individuals could afford.

Wealthy, and possibly influential, clients or “Johns” would insist upon complete anonymity, and would need to be able to trust the integrity of the arrangements as well as the arranger.  In order to avoid attention the location of each tryst would have to vary and, at the same time, the setting would have to contribute to the desired mood of the “session”.

To Chace, the locations and settings of the three unsolved murder cases under investigation appeared to meet those criteria.

In order to re-assemble the factors to stage the sting, it would be necessary to involve Mme. Francine, Mr. Jenson, Ms. Marshall, Mr. Hargrove, Ms. Slavonic, and a willing “john”.  Also, a banker client of Ms. Marshall’s with a willing, financially-distressed property owner would be needed.  An agreed-upon time and place would have to be pre-arranged, as usual, with the “john”.

In addition to all that, the killer[s] would have to be motivated enough, stimulated enough, and feel safe enough, to attempt another murder. That is if he, she or they were in their right mind(s). 
That’s a tall order in a short time,
thought Chace. He was typically understating the problem, to himself, with a positive attitude combined with a practical approach.

Lieutenant Salvadore was welcomed back to work during the morning briefing. He received a round of applause from his fellow officers which he acknowledged modestly.  Later in the morning Inspector Chace brought Salvadore up to date on the progress of the investigation and a partial list of those persons connected in the cases.  Salvadore agreed with the similarities but had nothing to add. He was quite surprised at the F.B.I. file, just as the chief had been at first exposure.  This was understandable.  They both knew Francine; both had misjudged and underestimated her.

Any mention of the sting idea and/or the information on Carrie’s background was withheld from Salvadore according to the chief’s direction. When finished, Salvadore thanked Chace for the update.

“Is there anything that you want me to help with or do you want me to proceed where I left off?” he asked.

Chace could see now that Salvadore had developed a different attitude.  He was more subdued and was obviously yielding to Chace’s superior background and experience.  He appeared ready to accept the role of apprentice for the duration of the homicide investigation.

Chace did take him up on the offer to help.  On his to-do list was a low priority task that he had not gotten to during Salvadore’s absence. Referring to the F.B.I. record on Francine, he asked Lieutenant Salvadore if he knew of any previous police involvement with Francine’s two saleswomen, Aggie Moran and Sheena Green, or if he knew of their possible involvement with prostitution.  Salvadore thought that one of them was a lesbian but he “didn’t know for sure.” The other woman was known around town as a ready and willing partner with “any man” after hours, but he didn’t know if it was “for free or for fee”.

At Chace’s chuckle, Salvadore said, “No problem I’ll get on it.  Is there any information in particular that you want me to get out of them?”  Chace asked him to keep it low key and routine in nature, but to ascertain the activity of each of them, according to Francine’s activity log, on the dates of each killing, within twenty four hours before and after each time of death.

“Ask if they were aware of anyone or anything unusual occurring during their phone duty shifts or on any outside sales activities during those times.” he requested.  “If Francine is back at her old trade, they are most likely involved.

You can pass on the trainee; I’ve already questioned her.” Chace added. Salvadore accepted the assignment and went to his office to prepare.

Chief Devaro stepped into Chace’s office to get his take on the lieutenant’s first day back from special training.  They both felt an encouraging new sense of purpose and direction had surfaced within the detective.

Later, after Salvadore had left the building, Chace went to the chief’s office and, with a closed door, they picked up where they had left off the previous Friday at the chief’s house.

They spent a half hour swapping the questions they had struggled with in their minds over the weekend.  Both agreed that it would require the cooperation of Carrie and the isolation of Francine from the actual sting.

“Before we go any further, I think we need to have a serious talk with Carrie Slavonic to find out if she is aware of Francine’s record”, suggested the chief.

“If she is aware of it, and if she’s defensive of Francine, we’re screwed.  I say we roll the dice on that one first.” he directed.

Chace agreed, but added, “I’ve interviewed her once and, as I told you, she’s a cool customer.

The chief asked his secretary to call the Stanley Realty Office, as he listened on the extension, and to ask for Ms. Slavonic.  Francine answered and indicated that Carrie was expected later in the afternoon, and asked if there was any message.  The reply was, “Thank you but no, I’ll call back later today.”  A delayed hang up suggested that Francine was perplexed, and trying to discern the caller’s number. The calling number, of course, was blocked.

“Let’s go, Don,” said the chief, “we’ll catch her at her apartment.”

Within four minutes they were in Chace’s unmarked cruiser and on the way to nearby New Haven. Without lights or siren, but taking advantage of Chace’s expert high speed driving ability, the trip to Carrie’s apartment did not take long.

They parked with a view of both the back door and the front entrance of the end-unit condo apartment.  The chief stayed in the cruiser to monitor any exit from the rear while Chace went to the front and rang the doorbell.  After ringing three times, the intercom came on with Carrie’s sleepy sounding voice.  Although he was aware that there was a video monitor, Chace introduced himself.

“I’m here with a partner, he’s parking the car, Ms. Slavonic, we have some information that you should be aware of, it shouldn’t take long.”

There were some muffled words that sounded like obscenities, and then Carrie agreed, but asked for a few minutes.  Chace motioned for the chief, and they waited at the front door for a long three minutes.

Carrie opened the door and motioned them to enter. They all walked into the great room that Chace was familiar with from his last visit.  Missing this time, the inspector noticed, was the cloud of heavy perfume. He didn’t know if he was pleased or relieved.

Carrie was dressed in a T shirt and jeans and was barefooted. She apparently hadn’t gone through her makeup routine. Chace was surprised at the fact that she was a much more attractive young woman in her natural state, as opposed to the decorated, hardened woman he remembered from the first interview.

The chief had never met Carrie face-to-face before this.  After introducing the chief, who was in plain clothes but showing his wallet badge, the conversation began.

Violating recommended police procedures but in a very official mode of speech, Chace went through the pages of the F.B.I. dossier, showing Carrie the mug shots and fingerprints of Francine.  Chief Devaro was watching Carrie for any signs of nervousness or anxiety.  While Chace was going through some of the narrative of Francine’s New York past activities, the chief noticed that, although Carrie remained very calm and composed, the trickle of a tear started down her cheek.  She wiped it away and her shoulders began to sag. Sitting forward on the edge of her chair she put up her hands to signal Chace to stop.

“I don’t understand why you’re telling me all this.” she said. Carrie’s face was becoming red and blotchy.  “Are you here to arrest me?” she asked.  Chief Devaro spoke up in a sympathetic, fatherly manner.

“Calm down, young lady, you don’t have anything to fear from us. We have a job to do and one of the things we are expected to do is protect the people in our town. We are probably being insensitive but we feel that this information might be very important to you in doing your real estate work. There are times that you have to meet with strangers while you are learning to show houses and we want you to be careful.”

Carrie was composing herself as she listened to the chief, somewhat mesmerized, and completely ignoring Chace.  Chace, at that point asked if he could impose himself on her hospitality by using the bathroom.  Carrie nodded and pointed to a door of a wash room located off the entry foyer while she wiped off the rest of the tears with her T shirt sleeve.  The chief leaned across a coffee table and offered her a handkerchief.

“Do you have family here?” he asked. Carrie shook her head indicating no.

“It must be tough to be on your own”, the chief continued, “my wife and I were never fortunate enough to have children, but we keep in touch with our family members. Sometimes you need it.” the chief commented.

Carrie was taken back. Her father was very strict and her mother was submissive. She was never able to understand why girls that she was friendly with were able to have close relationships with their fathers.  She could feel herself letting her guard down talking with the chief and it was making her nervous.

Chace returned from the bathroom and Carrie reverted back to her cool demeanor.  Chace asked if Carrie would mind helping them to understand Francine’s operation.  There was no response so he went ahead and wanted to know if Francine had asked her to go to any of the listed properties on her own.  Carrie became rather defensive.

“Francine has helped me a lot”, she said, “I came here not knowing anyone and Francine seemed so warm and understanding. I didn’t know about her past and I don’t care. If she is in trouble I don’t know anyone else I could go to.  Right now I have to get ready for work so, if there isn’t anything else,” she trailed off, as she got to her feet.

The interview was over. The chief thanked her for her time and handed her his card.

“This is a private number, if you need any help, just call”, he said.

On the way back to East Wayford, there was silence while Chace was mentally processing how far he had stuck his neck out by showing Carrie the F.B.I. file. Then he spoke,

“That didn’t go too well. I don’t get the feeling that we can expect too much cooperation from her. She was real cool toward me.  Did you get anything from her, ‘Dad’?” Chace asked, kidding the chief about his part in the “good cop-bad cop performance”.

“I thought for a minute that she was opening up,” replied the chief, “but expecting her to break down completely and spill the beans on the spot, is probably not realistic. God only knows what that kid has gone through with men over the years. From what we’ve heard about her she probably wouldn’t trust us under any circumstances.”

“Where does that leave us?” asked Chace.

“Just let her marinate right now, we’ll check back in a day or so.  We might have to use a female to get to her.” Chief Devaro replied, “It will be better to have her in our corner, but, let’s move on to the next set of problems. I think I know how we can short-cut some of the steps in the set-up.”