Chapter 9 – A discovery

“I’ve seen his office building” I repeated.

“Then you should go and see him and find out what the son of a gun is up to? Give him my best when you do. First, some refreshments would be nice but hurry! Then you might catch him in.”

I needed no second urging. Ignoring the impulse to suggest he get it himself, I made my boss a coffee while he sat back and enlarged on his thumbnail sketch of his ex-colleague’s character. It seemed a long time since lunch so as I bustled about I nibbled some biscuits. Then, although the pangs of hunger had hardly been blunted, I grabbed my purse and with a hasty “See you tomorrow!” sallied forth from the office. I ran down the stair and out to where my two-seater was parked up.

After Guy’s cumbersome pickup it was a joy to be driving my familiar little sportster again. I deftly threaded my way through the end of day traffic and in ten minutes, I was outside the building I’d visited earlier. I hastened inside and examined the names on the wall of the lobby. Price Inquiries was on the second floor. The elevator was signed Out of Order and as I mounted the stairs, I had leisure to wonder what I was going to say when I interviewed the private eye. How would he respond when I questioned him?

I was destined never to know. I reached the second landing and paused to get my breath before walking down a short corridor. The building seemed deserted. No lights were on in the rooms I passed before I reached the object of my quest, but the sleuth’s office was illuminated. The man’s name was stencilled onto the frosted glass, and the door itself stood ajar. I tapped on the pane and called “Mr Price”.

There was no reply. I tapped again and gently pushed the door wide. As it swung open it revealed the figure of a portly bald-headed man seated behind a metal desk. He looked surprised to see me. His eyes started from his head and his mouth gaped. Then I noticed a neat round hole in his forehead from which a dark trickle emerged. Blood!

I was far too late to interview this particular private eye. Raymond Price was dead!

The year was turning out to be a bad one as far as gun crime was concerned. It had been only a matter of weeks since Bobby Kennedy had been shot, just after my twenty-fifth birthday. The news had come as a stunning body-blow, following as it did Dr King’s killing earlier in the year. We were all horrified when we heard of it and now to come face to face with the reality of violent death was an emotional shock for which I was unprepared, even after my witnessing the murder of the policeman not to mention my more recent near brush with mortality. Though I had not as much as spoken to this latest victim I was profoundly affected. It was all I could do to stop myself dissolving into tears.

I tried hard to get a grip on myself and think rationally. I knew I ought to inform the police of the death but how best to go about that was unclear to me. What was paramount was that my undercover identity must remain secret and that made me doubtful of the advisability of getting officers of the law involved. Now, more than ever, I needed the guidance of my mentor. I felt sure that he would know what I had best do. I grabbed the telephone from the desk and dialled the office number, praying that Guy was still there. When he picked up the receiver I could almost have wept with sheer relief.

“Guy? Thank heavens! I don’t know what to do. I’m at Raymond Price’s office and he’s just sitting there. I mean I found him here and he’s dead, shot I think. Of course he’s been shot. You can see…” I sobbed incoherently into the mouthpiece.

My superior interrupted my babble of words. “Jennifer, calm down. You must stay calm. Listen to me, okay?”

“Okay” I sniffed.

“Good. You are sure the man is dead.”

Hesitantly I went over and felt for a pulse. There was none. “Yes” I faltered.

“Now you need to get right out of there but wait. First, you must wipe off everything you have touched, desk, doorknob, telephone. Think carefully. Can you do that?”

“I… I think so.”

“Good girl! Now, can you see a gun anywhere?”

I looked desperately about me. Finally, I saw it, a stubby little revolver. “Yes, it’s on the floor here. It’s quite small.”

“Small? A lady’s gun!” He sounded startled. “Okay. Have you anything so you can pick it up without touching it? A towel, a handkerchief, anything?”

“I g… guess, b… but…” I stammered. I was horrified at the idea. Surely, I ought not to move it.

“Do what I say. Now wrap it up and put it in your purse.”

With extreme reluctance I obeyed. “Okay!”

“Now, you wipe everything off and get out of there. Try not to be seen leaving. You can stop at a pay phone on the way back here and call the police. Don’t give your name. Just say you want to report a murder, where it is, and hang up. Then come right here”

I followed Guy’s instructions to the letter. I scanned the street cautiously before stepping out of the building. I rued my decision to travel in my natty little two-seater in which I would be all too conspicuous, but there was no-one about. I would have to trust to luck. Finding a public telephone was easy enough, however. There was one a couple of blocks away. I somehow managed to stammer out my piece and then put the receiver down directly. That ordeal completed, I drove on, slowly, trying vainly to quiet my nerves.

I was still shaking when I reached the office and entered it to find Guy pacing the floor. I found it strangely gratifying that he was so concerned… about me? Perhaps he did feel something for me after all... I was too upset to explore that line of thought, however. I sank into a chair and dissolved into floods of tears.

What I needed desperately was a hug, a simple hug to quell my upset nerves, but instead of giving me the physical comfort I craved, the man just stood there regarding me uncertainly, as if I might be about to shatter into a thousand pieces. When I didn’t, he gingerly picked up my purse and opened it. He extracted the gun from it by sliding a pencil into its barrel. He held the weapon with extreme care while making note of the serial number stamped upon it. Observing these actions through my tears I felt more than a little piqued to see that the ex-agent’s mind was focussed on his examination of that wretched object. Apparently, my feelings were immaterial!

Soon, however, I made a serious effort and began to recover, scolding myself that this was no behaviour for a budding private eye. I watched, fascinated, as Guy methodically retrieved a leather case from a desk drawer and took from it a brush and a jar of black powder. He put on rubber gloves and laid the sidearm on a clean cloth. My distress receded from my mind as I watched him proceed to dust for fingerprints. By the time he had done I had nearly forgotten my tears. A momentary impulse to indulge them again in the hope of manufacturing some sympathy from my companion came to me, but I sternly pushed it aside as unworthy. No doubt the attempt would have been futile in any case! Instead, I gave vent to my overriding curiosity.

“Are there any prints?” I asked breathlessly.

My boss shook his head. “Nary a one! Either it’s been wiped clean or the assailant wore gloves.”

The negative reply made me feel a bit better about having agreed to tamper with the evidence of a murder case. I’d known that was very wrong. Such practice had been universally condemned in every crime movie I had seen.

He sniffed the barrel and sprang open the chamber, then snapped it shut again. “It’s been fired. One round.”

Business-like as ever, Guy picked up the telephone and dialled a number. When he was connected, the conversation lasted for some minutes. I couldn’t hear everything that was said but I gathered enough to know that he was asking for the gun to be traced. “I’ve called in a favour” he told me as he put the receiver down. “Now we wait.”

I had recovered my composure by this time. While we sat in silence, I chided myself that my earlier breakdown had been beneath me. Minutes passed slowly before the instrument rang. Guy picked it up and listened attentively, signing off with a muted “Thanks buddy. I owe you!”

“I half suspected this.” The former agent shook his head, then continued “Which is why I had you bring the gun away with you. Strictly illegal of course, but we don’t want cops crawling all over us. This gun is registered to a certain Mrs Gloria Simpson.”

I stared at my lead investigator in shock. “Gloria! No, I can’t believe it. Why…? How…? Does she even know this Mr Price?” I wanted to be reassured that my client could not be responsible for this awful crime and despairingly clung to that belief. It may have been irrational, but then weren’t detectives supposed to be guided by gut instincts? It was time I paid attention to my own, I told myself.

“That’s something we have to find out. It’s not looking good for friend Gloria, but we’re not paid to build a case against our clients. The cops will do that without our help!”

He mused for a while before speaking again. “Now, while you were out, another case has come in. It’s a high profile one which will drag me away for a few days and I haven’t finished my last one either, so unavoidably this investigation will have to be solely your pigeon. Go cautiously. It’s now a murder rap and I don’t want you getting in over your head.”

I was glad he hadn’t said that he was going to take charge. After all, this was my very first case. I desperately wanted to solve it myself.

As I drove in to my workplace the next morning, I sought to determine how best to continue with the inquiry. In the end I decided that my most urgent need was to check out my client’s back story. There were too many unknowns there for me to have confidence that she was innocent of the shooting, though I fervently hoped she would prove to be so. I didn’t stop to examine the reasons why I was so ready to leap to her defence, but somehow that was exactly what I knew I had to do.