I'll Protect You (Clueless Resolutions Book 1) Page 4

  “I know they are friends of yours, Lou, but both Maggie Marshall and Max Hargrove worked together on those properties.” After staring at Salvadore for several seconds, the chief spoke, sternly, “I think I know these two persons pretty well. Have you got anything definite connecting them to a homicide?”

  “Nothing definite” Salvadore answered, “But I questioned them on both of these cases and I get the feeling that they’re holding something back.” Chief Devaro sat looking across his desk at his only detective for a long, thoughtful moment. Salvadore was starting to fidget in his seat.

  Finally, the chief told Salvadore that he had better spend his time seeking out some solid leads, and not to spend time chasing down theories.

  “The media hawks are circling overhead and without some solid information soon, they are going to pounce.” he went on in his lecturing tone, “I might turn the questions over to my ‘investigating detective’ at the next news conference. If I were you Sal, my boy, I’d want to have something to say that’s meaningful and defensible.”

  With that, the conference was over and both of them left the building for the day.

  Chapter 8

  Sunday was Joseph Salvadore’s day off. He drove east to Westerly, Rhode Island to have Sunday dinner at his parents’ house.

  Joe Salvadore was brought up in a small New Jersey town where his family owned an Italian restaurant. He was a senior in high school when his mother and father retired from the restaurant business and moved to Westerly, a quiet, shorefront community along the Rhode Island southern coast.

  Because of the open Atlantic waters with its heavy surf and sandy beaches, Westerly had long been a prime waterfront destination, much in demand by New York and New Jersey summer tourists. Salvadore’s parents owned a remodeled four bed room, shingle-style cottage, situated on a tranquil tidal pond which was created by a sand bar just south of the property. The senior Salvadores moored their enclosed bass boat in the pond. They lived there for seven to eight months each year between April and December. For the winter seasons they drove to their moderate condominium townhouse located on the Florida West Coast.

  While they were in Rhode Island, it became customary for Lt. Salvadore and his siblings to spend Sundays with their parents for an Italian feast. On this occasion Lt. Salvadore spent a rather quiet and subdued visit and said his goodbyes earlier than usual.

  On the drive back to his East Wayford apartment that evening, the young policeman was fuming over the lecture he had endured from Chief Devaro the day before. In Salvadore’s mind, the connection was obvious between Maggie Marshall and Max Hargrove, the locations of the two recent deaths which were connected with the respective companies they were employed by, and the fact that the two deaths were similar. This had triggered an irrepressible instinct in his detective’s mind. He had been trained to seek out connections exactly like this in criminal investigations.

  The fact that Hargrove and Ms. Marshall were fellow club members and friends of the chief was problematic. That fact had magnified the frustration that he was experiencing. A driving force behind Salvadore’s record of police work and his rise to the position of detective had, in his mind, always been associated with his being hired and mentored by Chief Devaro. Salvadore had been promoted by the chief and had been totally loyal to him over the years. He had built an impeccably clean record during his tenure on the force. The chief was probably close to retiring and his logical replacement would be his protégé, Lt. Joseph Salvadore. Although he would have to be careful in any further official pursuit of his theory about Maggie Marshall and Max Hargrove, he was determined to press forward on his own.

  Salvadore reviewed the state medical examiner’s report in his mind. It had indicated that the cause of the first death was blunt force trauma, a cranial contusion, a collapsed trachea and a ruptured carotid artery. The victim had been dead between fourteen to twenty hours. This information had not been released to the public as of yet. The medical examiner’s office had not finished the forensics on the most recent corpse, but Salvadore, based on his observations of the corpse, felt that the second body would yield a similar cause of death.

  The hard part of his investigation would be checking on the whereabouts of his suspects at the times of the deaths. In a quiet, close community word would spread around quickly if he asked too many questions about the two respected and well liked professionals, Ms. Marshall and Mr. Hargrove.

  During the forty five minute drive home from his parents place, Salvadore decided on a plan of action. His plan would avoid any further spotlight on his inquiries within the community, and possibly push, at least one of the two persons in question, into making the wrong move.

  Already, he had noted an aloof, irritable reaction to his questions by Max Hargrove when he approached him that morning on his way to work the day after the second suspicious death.

  Questioning Maggie Marshall would be less conclusive, and could be somewhat explosive, due to her distinctive, no-nonsense personality. The best course of action, he decided, would be to surreptitiously shadow or have someone shadow, both of them to trace their movements, especially after normal working hours.

  Salvadore realized that the plan involved some risk, but he sensed that these two persons were hiding something. His driving ambition led him to believe that he had to seize this opportunity to go with his instincts. He was sure he was onto something and, if it proved out, his lifetime aspiration of being the chief of police would be practically assured.

  That evening, Salvadore made off-duty contact with two of his regular informants, one in a parking lot behind a commercial shopping strip, and the other at a pool hall in the neighboring city of New Haven. He gave them descriptions of Ms. Marshall and Hargrove, and details on where they lived, their employment addresses and places they frequented.

  Both of the informants had criminal records. The understanding was for them to report back to Salvadore on the movements of either, or both of the two suspects. Salvadore reminded each of them that he was in tight with the local police chiefs and that he would run interference for them with any problems they had with probation or involvement in minor illegal activities.

  Neither informant was aware of the other informant shadowing the couple in question. This way, unknown to them, Salvadore would have a double check on any information they provided.

  Lieutenant Salvadore went to his apartment for a good night’s sleep, congratulating himself on his slick maneuver of monitoring the suspicious couples’ comings and goings at no cost to him, or to the department.

  Actually, he had picked up on this police method from watching a cop movie.

  Chapter 9

  The residential real estate situation in the Southern Connecticut area was not as severely affected by mortgage delinquencies as with the neighboring states of New York, Massachusetts and Rhode Island. Bank foreclosures on homes were, nevertheless, occurring at a historically high rate. Property values had leveled off and had started to decline. Developers had high inventories of unsold new homes and existing home sales were in a slump. More and more home buyers who had purchased their homes during the peak price era were finding that their property was not worth what they had paid for it a few short years earlier. Reduced monthly payment plans for the initial years of new mortgages were expiring and, with those home owners unable to keep up with the higher payments, personal bankruptcies were spiraling. An ever increasing number of foreclosed homes were being auctioned to the highest bidder.

  Jenson & Associates auction activity was running at an all-time high. Max was falling slightly behind with his inspections and value recommendations. He was working with a few real estate brokerages and he was getting a higher-than-usual number of cases from his main source, Maggie, at Stanley Realty.

  A little over three weeks had passed since Max and Maggie’s involvement with the mysterious death on Whitmore Lane had occurred. The “Terrific Twosome” hadn’t had an abundance of recreational time for a month and on the f
ourth Monday in May, Maggie and Max got together for an evening meal at Jerry’s pub.

  As they were sipping martinis while updating each other and waiting for the meals, a news flash lit up the TV screen over the bar:

  “This just in: A report from the East Wayford Police has indicated that the state medical examiner’s office has found that the dead body found in the vacant mill on River Road in mid-May was not the result of a natural, nor an accidental death. The case was now considered the second homicide in East Wayford within the past month.”

  The news reporter went on to show interviews with some local individuals, most of whom were voicing alarm at the apparent killings. Since no progress was being reported by the local police, some were beginning to question whether the State Police should be brought in on the cases.

  “Man, Salvadore has his hands full now.” Max exclaimed. “I haven’t heard from, or seen the Lieutenant since he questioned me at my apartment.”

  “Neither have I,” Maggie retorted with a satisfied half –smirk, “Maybe Lou Devaro told the jerk to back off. Too bad, Salvadore is such a sweetheart of a guy.” she said with obvious sarcasm.

  By 9:30 PM, with a busy day of three scheduled inspections together ahead of them, they called it a day and left the pub, each going their separate way.

  As Maggie drove off a young-looking, slightly built, light skinned man with a baseball cap pulled low over his nose, started a restored, black, 1960’s Trans Am coupe and pulled away from the pub, driving slowly in the same direction.

  As Max drove his recently-repaired auto in the opposite direction, he glanced in his rear view mirror and noticed the black coupe pulling out behind Maggie.

  Hearing about the killings earlier had gotten Max a little jumpy. The young man following in the same direction as Maggie bothered him somehow. He slowed, made a quick U-turn and sped up until he could see the black coupe up ahead. I can’t believe I’m doing this! Max thought.

  Lagging back inconspicuously Max followed behind both cars. When the black coupe duplicated the two turns and followed the route which led to Maggie’s apartment, Max began to feel less foolish and more concerned. When Maggie pulled her car into the driveway of the duplex apartment where she lived, the black coupe went on past the building.

  Max pulled over, stopped and turned off the headlights. He didn’t want Maggie to spot him following her because he had no viable explanation. This was embarrassing!

  Just then, he watched as the black coupe turned around and came slowly back toward him and stopped just short of, and across from, Maggie’s driveway. The headlights went off.

  What the hell? Max thought. This screwball is stalking her!

  Max wasn’t about to take this odd behavior any longer. He turned the headlights on and drove down the street and turned right into to Maggie’s driveway. He slammed on the breaks and opened his door simultaneously. He could hear Maggie yelling; “Max, Max, is that you? She was calling out to him as he ran out into the street to confront the driver of the black Trans Am. Suddenly, with the screeching rear tires spewing back a blue-gray cloud of smoke, the car roared up the street and was soon out of sight.

  Max stood there in the street panting slightly and he turned to see Maggie running to him with an alarmed, puzzled look on her face.

  “What in hell is going on Max?” she asked loudly.

  “I’m not sure, I don’t like this.” he said with a distant look in his eyes.

  7378, last 4 numbers on the plate. Max had memorized the last four digits of the license plate on the black Trans Am. He reached out and grasped Maggie’s shoulders with both hands.

  With a concerned look in his eyes, Max explained to Maggie how he had been uneasy over the way the young driver had obviously been watching them as they were leaving the restaurant, but hadn’t mentioned it to her at the time. Max didn’t want to alarm Maggie but after what had just happened he told her that he felt she shouldn’t be in her apartment alone, especially since her neighbors in the duplex were apparently not home.

  “Max, I’m a big girl now and I have been on my own for, well, for longer than I should have maybe.” she said, half-jokingly. Max stared at her without returning the light banter with his usual come backs. He was in a dead serious mood right now.

  Maggie sensed the caring, protective sort of vibes from him that she hadn’t experienced with him before this. She was taken aback by it, and was feeling a warm glow rising up in her as she looked back into his intense eyes. They had never been exposed to any sort of danger together. Softly now, without her usual, self-assured demeanor, she continued, “I do have a dead-bolt lock on the door and a cell phone, so I should be okay, Max.” Then, after a second’s pause, she relented, “Why don’t you come in, we’ll have a nightcap and we can wait until my neighbors come home”

  Relieved at what sounded like the best solution at that moment, Max agreed. He felt a need to keep Maggie close to him at this point in time. He followed her into the apartment as he cast a quick last glance up and down the street.

  The safe, contented feeling they both felt that evening evolved into the first time, since they had met, that they spent the night at Maggie’s apartment.

  Chapter 10

  Dawn broke on Tuesday morning with a bright red sunrise beaming into Maggie’s duplex apartment and awaked Max, early, as always. He quietly got out of bed, went about gathering his clothes and dressed.

  Before leaving, Max peeked into the bedroom. As Maggie was still sleeping soundly, he located a note pad on the kitchen counter and left her a message:

  “Mag, I don’t know about you, but I haven’t had a good night’s sleep like that for a real long time. Maybe my concern about your safety was overdone, let’s hope so. C U later, Max”

  Closing the door, pre-setting it to lock as he left, Max felt the same sense of dread returning which he had experienced the previous evening. When he saw the tire marks on the street where the black coupe had peeled out, he recalled the license plate number, a Connecticut plate, with the last four numbers 7378. He was going to talk to Lou Devaro about it as soon as he could. Right now he had to get home, clean up and get some breakfast on the way to his first appointment where he would meet Maggie, on time as usual, he hoped.

  Maggie awoke with her alarm doing a “song and dance” and, as she readied herself for the day’s activities she read Max’s note. Max, you devil, you really are a freaking romantic, she thought.

  As she jammed down a bagel with a cup of instant coffee, the lingering feeling she felt from the previous night with Max was good. They really had a deepening appreciation of togetherness, it seemed. Whatever the future would bring, she felt that at least she would have experienced a meaningful relationship with a man she respected and she felt that his feelings were reciprocal. It doesn’t get better than that she thought. But now, duty called, and she was out the door and on her way to her office by 7:30AM.

  “Good morning Francine’ she sang as she strode to the key rack to gather the keys to the three properties on her day’s agenda.

  While checking through her messages, she couldn’t help but notice the strong, lingering aroma of perfume that she had become accustomed to whenever Carrie, the new trainee had been around. Maggie appreciated perfumes and colognes used in the way they were designed, but the new girl walked around, many times, in an aroma bubble that could peel paint!

  After checking for messages, she entered her agenda in the office log of appointments. On the way out to her first appointment, she ducked her head into Francine’s office.

  “How is the new trainee working out Francine? Do you think she will be bringing in some new listings?” she asked rhetorically.

  “I think she may be a real producer,” was Francine’s reply, “She really turns heads wherever she goes, and that’s for sure.” I wonder if that’s all she turns. Maggie’s thoughts quipped.

  “Her perfume smells really expensive; do you know the name of it?” Maggie asked with feigned interest. Franc
ine replied, in a distracted sort of way,

  “I think she said it was called ‘Maiden on the Mount’. It was imported from some Slavic European company. She said she will order some for me, I hope it’s not too expensive!” was Francine’s rather rambling response. “Oh, freaking great, I’ll have to wear a gas mask in here between these two!” Maggie fretted silently.

  Maggie was not directly involved with the marketing efforts. There were office sales meetings and regional association meetings that Maggie attended at times, but usually only when she was asked to coach the sales force on providing financial recommendations to owners who were delinquent on their mortgage payments or that were distressed in other ways whereby a forced sale was imminent.

  Although Maggie pretty much tended to her own responsibilities, she did wonder, from time to time, how many listings or sales Francine’s office staff actually produced, compared to the other offices in the East Wayford community. The two saleswomen on the staff, Sheena Greene and Agatha “Aggie” Moran, were seldom very busy, it seemed.

  Maggie’s specialized activity produced many more listings, and there was minimal advertising cost involved, but these transactions provided much smaller fees to the brokerage. Unlike the salespersons she was salaried, rather than on commissions.

  Although Maggie’s specialized expertise had become more in demand in recent years she doubted that she, herself, produced enough revenue to carry the office.

  “I won’t be finished till afternoon, call me on the cell if anyone needs me” she called out, to anyone who was listening. With that, she left the office.

  Maggie was, as usual, punctual with the first inspection appointment with Max. He arrived, uncharacteristically, ten minutes late this time.

  Maggie was at the open front door of a distressed residence which was financed for more than it was currently worth in the slow market scenario. Stanley Realty had not been able to find a buyer and foreclosure was likely.