Lasting Doubts (The Red Lake Series Book 2) Page 10

  “Don’t take anything and keep everything where I can see it, buddy.”

  Harry nodded and opened the case. It was an odd mix of cotton and satin, faded and new, traditional and slutty. Most of the panties and bras leaned toward lingerie with the exception of some standard whites with Alison’s name inked into the waist. A couple dresses were typical high school attire, the rest were nightclub material. The plain stuff spoke of K-Mart; the other clothes were probably bought outside Red Lake. Beaumont was the nearest town.

  A cosmetics bag contained the usual feminine mix of lotions, eyeliners and assorted lipsticks. It also held a bottle of aspirin, three new tampons, and a disk of birth control pills. The prescription label was dated 6/08/92. The physicians name was Otis Oliver. Harry popped the case open. Five pills were missing.

  He copied down Oliver’s name. Other than that nothing else stood out in the suitcase.

  *

  “See if Dr. Otis Oliver is still in practice, Paula. If he is, get me an appointment.” Harry ordered as he breezed into the office. “Also, go online and see if you can locate Raymond Holland.”

  Paula put her finger nail file down. “Do you have a middle name?”

  “I have an initial. It’s on the copy of his divorce papers.”

  Harry sat down at his desk. Where he ran through his mail and his e-mail. There was an e-mail from Lou at the Clarion. The picture of Doreen Corbett was ten years old. Harry thought she had aged well. He no longer needed it. After deleting a stack of SPAM promoting seminars for investigators, discount ammunition suppliers and purveyors of electronic eavesdropping equipment he turned and stared out his office window as he pondered the verities of life.

  Perhaps I have it all wrong. I assumed it was about sex and betrayal, but maybe this case is about drugs. If Corbett did not pay Alison off, then maybe it was drug money.

  Paula interrupted his thoughts, “Dr Oliver is still in practice. Here’s the address. He had a cancellation and will see you at two.” She put the note on his desk.

  “Thanks.” Harry said distractedly. Suddenly, he hopped up and dashed for the door.

  “Hey you just got in. Where you going?” Paula called after him.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Out on Boyden Street a police cruiser was parked in a red zone, its roof lights flashing. Mitch Conners was writing up an irate tourist for running the red light at the corner. Harry hung back until he was done. The sullen tourist pulled slowly away; as he did, Harry noticed him flip one finger up in front of his rear view mirror.

  “What do you want, Grim? Because, I’ve got nothing to say to you,” Conners said as he put his ticket book away.

  For some reason he and Mitch never hit it off.

  “Who was dealing when you were in high school?”

  “Why should I tell you?”

  “Because you serve and protect,” Harry said pointing at the slogan on the squad car.

  “Get lost.”

  “Listen, if you’re a jerk, I might start asking who sold dope to you when you were a senior, or how many houses Mitch Conners opened up for parties?”

  Conners' jaw grew tense.. “Don’t threaten me, Grim.” He jabbed a finger in Harry’s chest.

  “It’s not a threat. And I’m not dumb enough to let you goad me into taking a swing at you, but unless you kill me first, I will bury you under rumor and innuendo. So why not play nice and tell me something that doesn’t hurt?”

  Mitch wiped his face. “Jimmy Verro. He had a connection somewhere. Mostly he sold pot and coke. Sometimes it was speed or ecstasy. He supplied everyone who used at the school.”

  “Where’s he today?”

  “Hell if I know. Not here, that’s for sure.”

  Harry went back to his office.

  “There is a Raymond G. Holland, age 55 in Denver, Colorado. For thirty bucks we can get a complete history,” said Paula.

  “Do it.”

  Harry picked up the phone and called Sheriff Gaines.

  “Gaines speaking.”

  “Can you run a name for me, he’s a drug dealer named Jimmy Verro?”

  “Nope.”

  “What if I found something you missed in the suitcase?”

  “If you did and don’t tell me, I’ll bust you for obstructing justice.”

  “Now how will that work? Do you really plan to charge me with withholding evidence that was in your custody?”

  “You have a point. Okay, tell me something I missed and I’ll run Verro. If it isn’t something new, then you promise not to bother me again.”

  “Deal. Alison had birth control pills issued 6/08/92. She only used five. First of all, no women leaves her birth control pills in her suitcase when she travels. Secondly, if she left them there, she would come back for them rather than skip town to a new life without birth control, especially with the reputation for easy sex she seemed to have. You should have known she was dead!”

  “You win. I didn’t put that together. But we didn’t get the suitcase until she was gone a month, so I doubt it makes any difference.”

  The difference is a missing person versus a homicide case, Harry thought but he did not want to rile Gaines.

  “Hold on.”

  Harry waited two minutes.

  “Jimmy Verro is doing time at Harmon State Prison for possession with intent to distribute. He got popped five years ago with a kilo of coke. Second offense, the judge gave him five to ten. His first parole date is next month.”

  “Thanks Sheriff.”

  “Sure, Harry Just don’t forget that to me you are free leg work, nothing more. I have Egan on this, but my budget is tight. I don’t really have money to run a cold case.”

  “If I get lucky and break it, you can have the glory. I’m sure my client wouldn’t want the publicity.

  Harry and Paula went to Marie’s for lunch. The restaurant overlooked the lake. The food was good and Marie was hospitable. She came over to their table shortly after they were seated.

  “Good to see you. I thought you dropped me.”

  “We were in last week!” Harry protested.

  “How’s a girl supposed to get by on once a week?” she replied sassily.

  “What will you have?”

  “I’ll take the Caesar salad.”

  “And I will have the pastrami and kraut on rye.”

  “Chips, fries or salad?”

  “Salad with Bleu cheese.”

  “Don’t be such a stranger,” Marie said and handed their order to a waitress as she walked away.

  Before their food came Lou Harding stopped by and took the empty chair at their table.

  “What do you have for me, Harry? There are tidbits dangling, but I can’t put them together.”

  “I don’t have anything yet, Lou. You’ll be the first to know.”

  “What was up with the Corbett thing?”

  “Nothing. I was trying to track someone down through her. It was a dead end.”

  “I could have told you. She doesn’t go out much and she doesn’t do interviews, at least for reporters. I doubt she would look more kindly on private dicks.”

  “Well thanks for the photo. If I ever see her I’ll know her, but I’ve moved past her.”

  “Don’t forget me Harry.”

  Harry nodded and shot him with a one finger and thumb gun.

  Lunch passed in idle chatter. Paula brought Harry up to speed on local romances, divorces, and innuendo. Harry listened, nodded and thought about how to approach Jimmy Verro.

  Chapter 13

  It evoked New England; the white wooden sign with black lettering read, Dr. Otis Oliver, Internal Medicine. The brick path led past pink and yellow rosebushes to a clapboard house, the windows framed by black shutters and a porch that wrapped around the south side.

  Numerous houses near St. Catherine’s Hospital had been converted to medical offices. The city council lamented these conversions yet permitted them for lack of a developer who wished to build a medical office buil
ding.

  Harry opened the red panel front door and found himself in a waiting room patitioned off from the old living room. Brass lamps with green shades brought the New England motif indoors.

  “I have a two o’clock appointment with the Doctor Oliver.”

  “Please fill out this medical inventory.”

  The receptionist was in her late forties.

  “Have you worked for Dr. Oliver long?”

  “Almost twenty years. I started in the summer of 92.”

  A lot happened that summer!

  “That’s a long time with one employer.”

  “Well, Red Lake is not an easy a town to find work in and the doctor has always treated me well.”

  “I appreciate that, it says a lot about the doc’s character. Who worked here before you?”

  “A woman named Helen Smith.” The receptionist smiled, “From habit, Dr. Oliver called me Helen for the longest time.”

  “Old habits die hard.”

  Harry took a seat and checked random answers on the medical intake. He put down his true name and address lest someone claim he committed fraud or deception.

  While he waited, he thumbed through outdated magazines. Another patient entered and a few minutes later one came out from the back.

  “The doctor can see you now, Mr. Grim.”

  The office nurse led Harry along a short hall that once let out onto bedrooms. Harry passed a small staff room/ kitchen. Opposite was the doctor’s office. After those came two rooms for exams.

  “Have a seat on the exam table. The doctor will be in momentarily.”

  Dr. Otis Oliver was closing in on sixty. His lab coat puffed out due to an excess of weight around the waist, his hair was gray and combed over in a failed attempt to hide his general baldness. Liver spots showed on the back of his hands when he extended one toward Harry.

  “What seems to be the problem, Mr. Grim?”

  “Nothing. I wanted to see you so I could ask a few questions.”

  “About what? Are you a pharmaceutical salesman? Because I really don’t have the time.”

  “I’m a private detective.”

  Harry saw the familiar wariness he often saw in people’s eyes when his profession came up.

  “I can’t imagine what about. And I am trying to earn a living. So good day.”

  Oliver opened the door.

  “Don’t worry about the money, Doc. I’ll pay your usual fee. I wanted to ask you about Alison Albright.”

  A frisson passed through the doctor’s frame.

  “I don’t discuss my patients. I respect their privacy.”

  “I never said she was a patient. You might know her from any number of places. Do you know her?”

  “I think it's time you leave!”

  “She had a prescription from you for birth control.”

  “I had nothing to do with her disappearance!”

  “So you do know the name.”

  “Of course! I read the newspaper. Perhaps she was a patient of mine, but that was twenty years ago, so there is nothing I can tell you.”

  Oliver grew florid as he spoke.

  Shooting in the dark, Harry said, “Oh, I think you told me a lot.” Then he headed for the door.

  Oliver grabbed Harry's arm as he passed, “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Harry looked down at the hand on his sleeve, then into Dr. Oliver’s eyes. Fear caused Oliver to drop his hand.

  “Bill me, Doctor. Thanks for your time.”

  “What did the doctor say?” Paula asked.

  “I’m fit as a fiddle. Just need more alcohol and frequent sex.”

  “Any more of either and you’ll need detox.”

  Harry chuckled.

  “Seriously,” Paula said.

  “Nothing, Oliver hid behind patient confidentiality while he tried to pretend Alison wasn’t a patient. But he was nervous.”

  “About what?”

  “Alison Albright, me, who knows? It might only be fear of private dicks, or of being drawn into a murder case, but something about the doc put me off. Try to track down a Helen Smith. She worked for him back in '92.”

  “Could you have found a more common name to make it a challenge?”

  “Sorry, I know, there are lots of Smiths, call them all. She may be around or have relatives.”

  “She may be dead.”

  “That’s true.”

  Harry called Harmon State Prison to set up a visit with Jimmy Verro. Visits were scheduled for Saturdays, Sundays, and Wednesdays. Normally he would need to fill out a lengthy questioneer before he could visit an inmate; however, Harry was in the Harmon Penitentiary database from previous investigations.

  He took a chance and booked a visit for the next day. Without submitting a ‘request to visit’ consent form with Jimmy Verro, he might drive up for nothing. The form would put Harry on Jimmy’s approved list. But he could make a visitor’s registration for the next day and try his luck. Verro might come down or he might not. He wouldn’t recognize Harry’s name, but Harry counted upon boredom to bring him out of his cell.

  A short time later Harry said, “I’m off. See you at home babe.”

  Harry kissed Paula’s cheek whiole she asked the twelfth Smith in the phone book if there was a Helen in residence.

  He drove over to the sheriff’s station. When he came in and Gaines saw him, the sheriff rolled his eyes. He left his desk and came out to the counter.

  “Maybe you should apply to be a deputy, Harry.”

  “Don’t care for the hours.”

  “Might be a raise in pay.”

  “Minimum wage might do that.”

  “What now?”

  “Who found the suitcase?”

  “Someone at the bus station. I don’t recall. It's in the file.”

  “Could I see?”

  The Sheriff let out a weary breath. “Why not? If you clear this case it’s a good thing. If you don’t at least you will stop wasting my time. Go see Detective Egan, he has the file.”

  Gaines nodded down the hall. Harry gave his best cat ate the mouse grin, “Thanks, Sheriff!”

  Harry and Pat were on good terms. Egan was not a law enforcement officer who looked down on the private sector. Pat found Harry useful on occasions and Harry respected Egan’s professionalism and competence.

  The office was small and cramped, the horizontal surfaces were buried under file folders. One corner of his desk was clear where a tri-fold frame of cheap brass held pictures of Egan’s wife, son, and daughter. His coffee mug said, ‘Worlds Best Dad!’

  Harry wondered, what it would be like to have kids? If I took a bullet I know Paula would get by, but with kids? I wonder how Egan does it? Kids could only make me dangerously cautious.

  Pat intruded on Harry’s thoughts. “Here’s the case file. I’m in the process of transferring the info into a murder book.”

  The ‘murder book’ was the official record of a homicide investigation. All reports, evidence, and interviews were recorded in it.

  “I can’t say I have done much. Right now I am working on the Baywood homicide and that is a lot fresher.”

  “I thought that was the ex-husband.”

  “Had to let him go. He had an iron clad alibi.”

  Harry flipped open the Albright file and skimmed the pages.

  “You develop any leads?” Pat asked.

  Harry glanced up. “There are a lot of people who probably wanted to kill her. She was a piece of work.”

  “How so?”

  “This case has sex, drugs, and money. All good excuses to kill.”

  “Anyone particular you like for it?”

  “Any of a dozen classmates or perhaps a former minister.”

  Egan perked up. “What minister? There wasn’t anything in the file about that?”

  Harry figured it was best to let the cops know about Holland. A new lead would keep Egan and the sheriff happy. Beside he could get down to Denver and interview Holland first.

 
“The priest at the Episcopal church was accused of molesting Albright. She tried to squeeze money to go away.”

  “That would explain the cash.”

  “Yea, that’s what I figured, but I don’t think she was paid. The money came from somewhere else.”

  “Such as?”

  “Drugs perhaps, or some other shakedown scheme.”

  Harry held back about Vinnie Tagliero’s claim of an extortion note. There was no reason to send the cops in his direction; it could only hurt Barton’s Las Vegas connections. One never knew when they might be needed.

  “Give me a heads up if you get anything.”

  “Sure, Pat,” Harry said. He almost meant it.

  Going through the file on Alison Albright was a short task. There was the missing person report filed long after she disappeared by her parents, an interview with the bus depot manager, Otto Moyer, one with Charlotte Dawson who sold Alison the suitcase, and a list of people contacted at the high school. The most common statement being, “I didn’t really know her.”

  According to the record, Moyer contacted the police when the suitcase was found in the unclaimed luggage shelf and Alison’s name showed up on the clothing. The baggage tag was for a local woman who claimed she donated it to the Animal Shelter’s Thrift Store. That was where the Sheriff’s office found Charlotte Dawson who identified the buyer as Alison Albright.

  Then there was a report on 'Boxcar’ Calhoun who was arrested in possession of red panties and a bra that belonged to Alison. He claimed to have found them in a trashcan, a story the police could not break. When it turned out that Calhoun was in the county jail when Alison disappeared, the police reluctantly assumed he was telling the truth.

  That was all.

  “What do you have in the murder book, Pat?” Harry asked when he finished.

  “Can’t let you see that. It’s part of an active investigation, sorry.”

  “I understand, thanks.”

  Not much to go on, Harry thought as he drove home. Charlotte Dawson was a dead end. It might be worth talking to Otto Moyer. It bothered Harry that Alison’s birth control pills were in the suitcase but not the money. To a girl striking out on her own, they were equally important. He would expect both to be in her purse. If not it reasoned Alison would have stowed them together for safekeeping. It was apparent that Alison went to the party with the intention of stripping. Hard to hold onto you purse and your cash when your nude.