Blackmail Plus

ONE

Dave Randle waited in the outer office for Jennifer to complete a phone call. Partners for two years, they had married ten days ago, four days after Christmas. Their new daily routine had become filled with interruptions and unannounced clients walking into the increasingly busy partnership of Jennifer Watson, Attorney-At-Law, and Dave Randle, Private Investigator.

Dave paced around the four-office suite, plus a conference room, they’d occupied yesterday to accommodate Andy Chafin, the young lawyer they’d added to the firm. Portraits and other wall hangings waited to be hung, a week-end task for the two of them. He straightened the six chairs around the rectangular conference table. For a moment he thought about the numerous changes in their lives following his days in the Marines and hers as a corporate lawyer in a New York firm, meeting when they had rented adjacent offices. He was just starting his career as an investigator and she had opened her law practice in Chester. They discovered they’d both grown up in smaller communities near Chester, a growing city, approaching one million in population, in the Midwest. As they interacted and called upon each other for advice and assistance, the outcome had been to unite and form a single business. He recalled their early struggles to keep it on sound financial footing. He thought about his reluctance, perhaps stubbornness, to know her socially, even as he felt a growing attachment for this beautiful and intelligent woman.

The clink of the phone being dropped into its cradle interrupted his reverie. Eager to leave, he picked up his briefcase. As Jennifer reached the door, the phone rang again. Dave picked up the receiver at the paralegal’s desk, Watson and Randle. May I help you?

A short pause, as though the caller might have the wrong number, then a male voice said, Congressman Hankins needs to see you as soon as possible. It’s urgent.

Dave motioned for Jennifer to pick up the extension on her desk, then asked, Tomorrow morning okay?

He’d like to do it tonight at a private location. He needs to see both you and Ms. Watson.

Maybe you can suggest a site he’s comfortable with. Dave looked at Jennifer and shrugged.

Another pause, then, Could you come to his home at 8:00 tonight? It’s 926 Foxworth Road.

We can make that.

You need directions?

I know where it is. In the past two-plus years Dave had traveled just about every street in the city of Chester and surrounding area.

Thanks, and he’d appreciate your complete discretion. The line went dead.

Her eyes on his craggy tanned face, Jennifer asked, What was that about?

Congressman Hankins has some problem he wants to keep quiet. Probably some deal he’s cooked up that got him in over his head and he needs help in getting out.

Jennifer pulled on her heavy tweed coat and flipped off the lights. From what I hear, he’s done some good things, but he walks a fine ethical line. If he’s stumbled onto the shady side, this may be something we should avoid. Any publicity connected to politicians is always negative.

Let’s hear him out before we say no.

On a typical day they drove both cars to the office. Dave was often away on cases and needed his Blazer. Or Jennifer was delayed in a court hearing. This arrangement didn’t leave either stranded at the office for hours.

Nearing the cars in the asphalt lot behind the office building, Jennifer said, Rather than going home and coming back, let’s grab a quick dinner at Gibbons.

Tossing his briefcase into the passenger seat of his vehicle, Dave said, Good idea. You want to walk. Parking might be hard at this hour. He reached for her hand as they skirted a snow pile leftover from a four-inch accumulation three days ago.

Jennifer asked, Has Antonio said anything about being excluded from our wedding?

Nope. He realizes the potential public relations issues he might cause and is content to live with that. Antonio Gibbons, rumored to have connections to the mob, had helped Dave on several occasions as he sought information about outside criminals working their dirty tricks in the city. They’d become friends and confidants, although most of the law enforcement officials in the Chester area shied away from any public association with Gibbons.

But you still feel we didn’t treat him right? They’d debated the pros and cons of having Gibbons at the most important occasion of their lives together. But other friends, including Judge Anita Chandler who’d agreed to marry them, had voiced concerns about the presence of the reputed gangster. Dave had not persisted in his defense of Gibbons as he didn’t want to ignite a major disagreement near their wedding day.

Sometimes I do. He’s become a good friend. I’d stake my reputation, my life, on his word. Can’t say that for most of the public officials we deal with.

Let’s invite him out after we’re more settled. She squeezed his hand through the gloves.

He glanced at her, knowing he’d found the ideal companion to share his life. At the restaurant he held the door open for her and followed her into the warmth of the busy place.

____________________________

Following a dinner of roast beef and mixed vegetables, they drove to the Hankins home. It sat in a grove of oaks and maples, now bare of leaves and color in the winter, five hundred yards from the street. Jennifer eased her Accord along an asphalt driveway, bordered by shrubs and lights, into a circle in front of the mansion. More lights at the front door indicated expected visitors.

They were greeted by an elderly woman, an apron tied around her ample waist. She took their coats and led them down a short hall to the library. The lanky and graying Hankins dropped a book onto a table and rose to greet them as his housekeeper closed the door to the hall. He adjusted his blue cardigan, the cuffs of his white shirt showing.

I appreciate your coming on such short notice. He gestured toward cushioned chairs forming a half-circle around a stone fireplace. Lamps behind each chair provided sufficient light for a reader but shadows hovered in the corners of the immense room.

Hankins dropped into his chair and without any idle conversation, said, I have a serious problem. My associates recommended your firm.

How did they learn about us? Jennifer asked. Hankins usually availed himself of the services of larger, old-time law firms. He had been a partner in the offices of Howard and Jacobsen until he was elected to Congress twelve years ago. Jennifer knew he could resume his active partnership status as soon as his public service career concluded or like many Congressmen, he could obtain a lucrative position with a Washington firm that would profit from the connections he’d made while in Congress. Or he could become a lobbyist as many other former members of Congress had done and rake in big bucks because he had the inside information and political connections necessary to sell the legislators on laws and regulations favorable to his clients.

Hankins smiled. My aide recommended you based on your recent activities involving those workers who’d been discriminated against because of their genetic background. He seems certain you can deal with this mess. His eyes shifted from one to the other as though sizing up this unique pair—an obviously bright and beautiful woman and a muscular, six-foot male whose piercing eyes seemed to bore into your mind.

Tell us about your problem, Jennifer said, and we’ll decide if we can be useful. We’re quite small and at the moment have a heavy case load.

His eyebrows raised at the notion these two relative newcomers to the local scene could reject his request. He cleared his throat with a loud cough. I heard you’re adding a lawyer to your firm. The word around is you’re bringing on Andy Chafin who worked for Judge Young before his retirement.

That’s true, Jennifer responded, acknowledging again how the rumors in the mid-size city of Chester often preceded public announcements. He starts tomorrow, but we have sufficient backlog to keep us busy for some time. Nevertheless, we’d like to entertain your case if we believe we can be useful.

Hankins examined his polished and manicured fingernails for a second. The short version of my problem is I’m being blackmailed. I need assistance in determining who is behind the scheme and guidance in how to react to it.

Dave asked, Have you talked to the police? They’re pretty good at that sort of thing.

Shaking his head and leaning forward, Hankins said, I can’t have the police involved. One, my enemies have threatened to expose some action of mine they perceive as either illegal or unethical. Second, I can’t afford for this get into the media. Things like this destroy careers because the public always believes there’s something hidden even if the person is completely innocent.

Jennifer said, Tell us details. How this threat has been posed?

Hankins reached for a folder on the table next to his chair. I put together material for your use. This contains copies of emails that came last night and this morning. They are identical. The sender demands I pay a first installment of $100,000 by Friday midnight. How and where I am to pay will be revealed later. So I have a bit more than forty-eight hours.

Dave asked, Or what?

Or they will release information to the media that they say will result in my public embarrassment and resignation.

Jennifer asked, Do you have any idea about what they intend to use or is it a complete hoax?

Hankins shifted in his seat, crossed one ankle over the other. Congressmen cast hundreds of votes every session that somebody doesn’t like. You may examine the e-mails. Nothing specific is revealed.

Jennifer said, This doesn’t sound like a disgruntled citizen who typically complains to their neighbors and goes about his daily routine. Have you upset a crank group by some action?

It could happen, Hankins admitted, but those kind of people usually react with public demonstrations or by passing out pamphlets on the street corner.

Any unhappy aide? Anyone in your office fired recently who would be privy to activities that might result in detrimental publicity? Dave asked.

Hankins looked at the floor, then back toward them, his eyes staring at Dave’s face. I let a young woman go a week ago because of a statement she made about an issue before the House committee I chair. Her comments were premature and inappropriate, embarrassed a fellow committee member, and caused heated debate about an irrelevant piece of the proposal. But this doesn’t sound like her.

I could talk to her, Dave said, if you can give us her name.

Amanda Pryor. Her letter of dismissal is in the file. He handed Jennifer the folder he’d picked up from the table.

Jennifer said, We’ll review the file, begin to ask questions of your staff and others. And you should consider the implications of responding or ignoring these threats. You must know blackmailers are never satisfied. If you pay them, they’ll demand more. And they often don’t have anything really damaging, but hold the unknown over your head until you cave in by refusing additional payoff. Then they disappear with your money and no explanation.

I’ve thought about the ramifications and have concluded I should meet their demand.

Dave said, When you receive the instructions about delivery of the first payment, let us know. And you may want to ask the police to monitor your telephones. They can be discreet about it.

Hankins rose, his feet apart, his arms across his chest. No police. I absolutely forbid their involvement.

Jennifer stood. We’ll call your home tomorrow evening for an update.

____________________________

As they approached the office parking lot near 9:30, Dave switched on the radio. A local news summary interrupted the regular music program. The female announcer said, Breaking news. A young woman identified as Amanda Pryor was found dead in her car on an isolated lane off Route 36 at 7:30 tonight. Preliminary reports from the police indicate possible strangulation. Other details are not being released at this time. But we have learned Ms. Pryor was fired by Congressman Hankins three days ago after working in his office for two years.

So much for interviewing Pryor, Dave said, as he opened the car door. I’ll follow you home.

Two

Nestled close on their couch at home Jennifer and Dave examined the e-mails Hankins had given them. Nothing revealing here except the demands and they wanted to be certain he got the message by sending a follow-up, Jennifer said. And the letter to Pryor is direct, no explanation. Like the line on that reality show—you’re fired.

Pryor likely knew she’d made an error, but her death puts a new angle on everything. Now the cops are involved whether Hankins likes it or not.

He won’t tell them about the blackmail though. There’s something strange in his behavior about the privacy issue. He must know what’s behind the threats and understands the damage it could do to his image, if it’s not an outright crime that would end his career.

Dave said, You sure we should take this on? I have bad vibes about Hankins. You’d think a public figure would rely on the cops and they’d protect his privacy.

But once the police become involved, it’s hard to keep the press out. She took his hand. It’ll be a challenge. She squeezed his fingers. Sorta like marrying your partner and moving to this remote log house. They’d renovated and upgraded Dave’s log home after they’d decided to marry. The house, located three miles from the city, provided a quiet retreat from the hustle and bustle of the noise and traffic. An outbuilding had been converted into an exercise haven with weight machines and a treadmill they used on days the weather prohibited them from running along the trails on the ten acre property.

He pulled her close, then turned her head to kiss her. When she responded by twisting her body and putting her hand inside his shirt, he stood, led her toward the stairs, his arm around her waist.

____________________________

The next morning went quickly in the office as Andy Chafin reported for his first day with the firm. Andy, a year out of law school, had given up a clerkship when the prominent judge for whom he worked had become embroiled in an illegal operation leading to his resignation. Having interacted with him on the case, both Jennifer and Dave thought he’d be a good fit for their partnership with a growing client base. Jennifer showed him around the offices, and introduced him to Eleanor Blackwell or Ellie to them and her close friends, the young woman who served as paralegal, secretary, and all-around aide.

Skipping out on the introductory activities, Dave walked over to the downtown Chester police station. He found his buddy, Bill Rasmussen, at the coffee station.

Rasmussen asked, How you doing? Jennifer got you shaped up already? Bill had been one of the few guests invited to the marriage ceremony. He and Dave had worked together on several cases and had developed a mutual trust and friendship that went beyond the work place. Plus the relationship remained a mystery to those who believed the police and private investigators couldn’t find common ground in the battle against crime.

Pretty much. I came by to ask if you can tell me anything about the Pryor case.

"Let’s go into my office. You want coffee?’

I’ll pass. The last time I had the stuff you guys brew, I couldn’t sleep for two days. Dave followed Rasmussen into a small office. As usual, the desk was piled high with papers and folders with no apparent organization, but Dave had seen Rasmussen pick a document from the middle of the chaos with minimum fumbling through the stacks.

Rasmussen dropped into his desk chair, shoved aside a set of papers to make space for his coffee cup. We don’t know much yet about Pryor. She was strangled by a cord of some kind. Markings suggest it was a thick rope and it’s obvious she fought back. We’ve obtained several fingerprints from the car, but haven’t matched them to anyone with a record yet. We recovered skin fragments from her fingernails and the lab crew is checking DNA for potential matches.

Did you find the cord or wire?

Nothing. The killer took it with him. Likely dropped it into a trash bin and we’ll never find it.

Sexually assaulted?

We don’t think so. She was fully dressed, no tears or rips in her clothing. Her blouse had been rumpled but you’d expect that to happen during the struggle.

The location suggests she was either driven or led to that isolated place, Dave said. She wouldn’t venture out there alone.

Yeah, and she was behind the steering wheel, so we are assuming she drove herself. Our first guess is she met someone there, they argued, and she got killed. Her car was parked on a narrow shoulder, almost in a ditch. A couple biking passed the car, thought something was strange, stared through the window, discovered the body, and called 911.

Are they suspects?

Not obvious. Their neighbors vouch for them. They’re bike enthusiasts who go out every day after work. They use that lane often because there’s hardly ever traffic.

Dave asked, Any tracks of another vehicle?

Rasmussen sipped his coffee, frowned at the strong brew. Nothing definitive. Other cars and trucks use that road as a short-cut. And there were no signs of traffic on the grassy shoulder. And in the slush something would be obvious.

Before you ask about my interest, I need to tell you something in confidence. He waited until Rasmussen set aside his coffee and leaned forward. Jennifer and I are working on something for Congressman Hankins. He fired Pryor a week ago and we were planning to question her today. She might have been important to the issue Hankins wants us to focus on.

You care to tell me what the problem is?

I’d rather not since Hankins doesn’t want the police involved.

I won’t insist, but you know we’ll find out sooner or later. This murder investigation will involve questioning the Congressman and his staff who worked with Pryor.

I know. Dave stood. Thanks, Bill. If I discover anything about Pryor’s murder that looks promising, I’ll let you know.

Let me know anything, promising or not. Sometimes the smallest fragment of information becomes the key to the puzzle.

Dave turned to the door. Sure, and watch that coffee. It’ll do you in.

Say hi to Jennifer.

____________________________

Jennifer brought Andy into the conference room to meet Henry and Martha Walker, prospective clients, who’d set up the appointment to discuss the death of their daughter. Jennifer intended for Andy to take the case as his initial assignment and wanted him involved from the outset.

The middle-aged couple, both slightly overweight and graying at the edges of their hair, settled across the table from Jennifer and Andy. Jennifer started by introducing herself and Andy and saying, Tell us your concerns and we’ll go from there.

Henry Walker tugged his shirt collar and tie, then said, Our daughter died suddenly last week and we’re certain it was because of poisoning from that Coates Chemical plant that borders our property. From what I’ve read, the process they use involves mercury and that got into our water and killed our Elaine.

Jennifer said, I’m sorry for your loss. Tell me the age of your daughter.

Eight last June and never sick a day in her life. Then she just came down with something and died at the hospital.

Why do you suspect mercury? Jennifer asked, pleased Andy was making notes.

I found out through the health people that Coates had been cited for mercury contamination, so it figures they’d allowed seepage onto our property.

Did the physician at the hospital give a cause of death?

They told us they suspected some kind of poisoning, but didn’t know exactly. She died before they could start any treatment.

"How long had she been ill? Jennifer asked, looking toward Martha for a response.

Taking the cue, Martha said, She’d been feeling bad for several days but kept going to school and church. She didn’t want to eat, and would go to bed as soon as supper was over. Not like her. I thought it was some bug going around and it would run its course in a few days. Then when she wouldn’t get up one morning, we took her to the emergency room. She died a few hours later.

Looking toward Jennifer as though asking permission to become engaged, Andy asked, Was there an autopsy to try to determine the exact cause of death?

Martha spoke up, her voice taking on a challenging tone, No, we don’t believe in desecrating the body after death. We wouldn’t give permission.

"What would