In the last episode of The Crowded Streets, Franklin, the man who had bribed Rocky, drove his car off the pier at San Carlos Beach, most likely under the hypnotic influence of his spiritual advisor, a man named Inglehoff. Rocky continues his investigation at San Carlos Beach:
The sun had dropped beneath the level of the buildings by the time Franklin's Red Chevy resumed life on land, hanging tantalizingly close to the surface on the end of a hook, spilling the gallons of sea water it had just spent the last few hours gathering in. Ten minutes earlier, a set of divers had retrieved Franklin's body from the deep and had shoved it into an ambulance, giving the gathering throng something to talk about the next morning over coffee. A tall policeman with a wandering eye had seen fit to question me about him, who he was, what he thought he was doing driving his car into the ocean, all the while looking over my shoulder, watching his fellow boys in blue as they did their best to haul their catch in to the pier.
“Answer the question, sir,” the tall cop said curtly, as his eyes returned to me. His nameplate read: Gilbert.
“His name was Franklin, that's all I know.”
He wrote it down. “Franklin. First or last?”
“Last.”
“I see. People saw you chasing him. Why?”
“I wasn't chasing. He was driving erratically and I followed him to see if I could stop him before he did some damage to himself or somebody else. I guess I fouled it up.”
Officer Gilbert looked up from his notebook at me. “A man named Inglehoff, George Inglehoff, called the police shortly before we found your Mr. Franklin. He said a man chased Franklin out of his office. Six foot tall, blue suit, black fedora. Sound familiar?”
I smiled at him. “All right, you got me. Arrest me for first-degree running-after-a-guy. How was I to know he wanted to see if his car could do a swan dive?” I showed him my private badge. “I wanted to talk to him for a client.”
He slapped his notebook close. “You mighta said earlier.”
“But then I wouldn't have gotten to know you.”
Officer Gilbert grunted and formed a fist with his left hand, but left me in peace.
The peace didn't last, not as long as George Inglehoff was out there. When Officer Gilbert brought up that man's name, the thoughts jumped around my brain like a cat on hot butter. That quack was probably halfway across the country by now, and it was obvious he was the one who controlled Franklin. Like it or not, he was my stepping stone to finding whomever was pulling his strings. Whatever the case, I needed to retrace my steps, and I decided to start with the very beginning, with the red-head who brought me into the whole mess in the first place. I found a call box at the end of the pier, next to two telephone poles with another call box on the other side of that. Dixon's fingerprints were everywhere.
I dialed the number on her business card. It rang twice. “Wanda Marcellus,” she said, professionally.
“Rocky Stone,” I replied, matching her tone. “I'm at San Carlos Beach, Miss Marcellus, and I was hoping you may have discovered something in your initial research. Did you at any time come across a man named Inglehoff? Balding, perhaps five and a half feet tall?”
It was quiet for a moment as she thought about it. “I'm afraid not.”
“Then maybe another man. Odd sort. Thin mustache, triangular face, goes by the name of...”
“...Carl Franklin.”
I laughed. “It's a little early for us to finish each other's sentences. What do you know about him?”
“Carl is my source in Howard Dixon's office. He saw what was going on and didn't sit on his hands. It's been a while since I've heard from him, but he is in a precarious position. I have the greatest amount of respect for Carl. If Congressman Dixon found out what he was telling me, he'd be out of a job.”
I shook my head. Best to get this over with as quick as possible. “A lot more than a job, I'm afraid. That's why I'm out in San Carlos. He just drove his car off the pier.”
Another pause, much longer. While I waited, I watched the men on the edge of the pier as they guided Franklin's red Chevy safely on to terra firma. I said her name just to make sure I wasn't the only one still on the line and she meekly acknowledged her presence. Death isn't a common occurrence in the halls of government, I reminded myself.
“Why...?” said Wanda, before breaking off.
“He was deep into this, kid. They made the connection and took care of him.” I thought about the part about Franklin handing me the bribe and decided to leave that out. “How high up was Franklin on Dixon's food chain?”
Her voice quietly pushed aside a sob and strengthened. “Legal counsel. Carl is...was...a lawyer.”
The policemen who had retrieved the car began to go over it to see if there was anything inside to indicate what might make a man drive into the ocean. One had slid into the front seat and was going through the glove box, and another was settled halfway in the backseat and halfway out the door in his search for a tell-tale bottle. At the front of the pier, police barriers had been set up to hold back the continually increasing crowd. All eyes followed the actions of the police, as did mine, apart from a woman in a tan overcoat with fur trim at the collar. At first, she appeared to be looking for someone, maybe a kid lost in the crowd, and a man who hadn't seen her before might get the idea that that's all it was, especially due to the concerned look on her heart-shaped face, but I knew she wasn't looking for any lost kid, and that she wasn't concerned with the police because she already knew what had happened.
“Kid,” I said to Wanda Marcellus, “I'll have to call you later. There's someone here I need to see.”
She said her good-byes and I emerged from the call box, because the woman in the tan coat was heading my way. Lauren Walters, the secretary of the building I had left so hastily this afternoon, had been looking for me in the crowd.
Why is Lauren Walters at the scene of Franklin's suicide, and can she help Rocky find George Inglehoff? Find out in the next episode of The Adventures of Rocky Stone!
0 comments:
Post a Comment