Radio Play #2

The Charismatic Burglar

[overvoice]

It was raining cats, dogs and jumpin’ frogs when I walked out of the police

station’s circular door onto Waterston Street. It was named appropriately all right, at least for today. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of Charmaine Hollister running across Cedar Street with an umbrella carrying her in a direction she didn’t seem to want to go. I jumped into patrol car 3, the one I usually have waiting for me in my parking spot, and whipped around the corner faster than the rain hitting my windshield. When I caught up with Charmaine, she didn’t hesitate to accept my invitation for a ride and slid, quite literally, onto the seat beside me, her umbrella folding like a flower at eventide.

       When she exclaimed, “Am I glad to see you,” a funny little ripple trickled down my spine. She shook the last of the rain that clung to her umbrella out the door before pulling it inside and placing the handle over her leg.

Lucky for me, the door wouldn’t cooperate, so I had to reach across her lap, with an apology, as I finished the job. I came back with a soggy sleeve, but it was worth it. My face passed close to hers, and she smelled of orange and cinnamon tea.

“Where in the world are you headed in this downpour? I’d say Noah’s Ark, but I don’t see it parked nearby.”

[overvoice]

Her laugh was husky, a full-bodied burst of air. Two drops of rain fell from her curly dark hair onto her plastic overcoat, slipping down her chest into the patterns of her scarf. I didn’t wait for her to answer, I added quickly,

“Where can I take you?”

“Actually, I was coming to see you, or at least, somebody who could help me at  the station.”

“Oh?”

[overvoice]

She shook herself a little like a wet dog, pulled off the hood and ran her hands through her hair pushing it back loosely behind her ears. She glanced up and seeing my puzzled face, she smiled.

“I got a call from my landlady at the end of my shift this morning. She was in quite a panic. It seems our apartments have been broken into, and she’s missing her Jar-of-Plenty.”

“Her what?”

“Her life’s savings. She keeps her money in a five-pound mayo jar I’ve given her  from the restaurant, the larger ones we use. It was that or see her putting her stash some place where she’d never find it again—such as among the strings of her grand piano—which, by the way, she never plays. She calls the mayo jar her Jar-of-Plenty, because, she tells me, when mentioning it with this reference, she doesn’t think anybody will guess what she’s talking about.”

“Well, that should do it. But there are banks, for heavens sakes.”

“Oh, I’ve been through that suggestion countless times. Good ideas sift straight through sand, you know.”

[overvoice]

I hit the call button on the two-way and informed my partner that I was headed to a robbery site on the corner of Eighth Street and Mulberry Lane—this after Charmaine gave me her address. I told our dispatcher, Samina (better known as Sammie) Joyce, to send backup only if I called asking for assistance. I explained that the robbery had been committed sometime during the night and was not in progress. I turned on the siren, making it to the other side of town in less than five minutes. I told myself it wasn’t to impress Charmaine or to give her the ride of her life. But when I glanced over to the passenger seat, I caught a slight grin on her lips and a wide-eyed stare out the wiper-smeared glass.

Tutterton’s a town of around eighteen thousand souls, with an understaffed police force and an investigative team of two, well, three if you count Sammie, the dispatcher. I go by Officer Weir in the neighborhoods because making the distinction between a beat cop and a crime sniffer seems beyond most folks here. A more homogeneous attitude toward law enforcement seems to work best, down to the vehicles. Police are police, whether it’s a squad car or an unmarked, until you’re the perp and get caught forgetting which is which. We only have a couple of unmarks for our inner city surveillance anyway, unless I’m caught in a situation where I have to use my Plymouth sedan. They pretty much all look alike—squads are black, unmarks are dark blue. My Plymouth, well, it’s a forest green, a real standout.

Charmaine Hollister is our waitress-in-resident. She’s originally from Brooklyn, speaks with a charming accent, at least to my ears, and takes no guff from anybody, including the construction crews who come from across the river to repair highways and truck routes within hopping distance of our Main Street Diner. She normally works the noon-to-eight shift, but has been known to cover a double without complaint. Today, she tells me, she was helping out a friend who was down with the flu, so she had worked from noon through the night, only taking a half-hour for her dinner. And I thought I had it bad. It doesn’t happen often, but some cases don’t allow for any meals or sleep until exhaustion takes you down.

I knew Charmaine only through the diner, but that was enough. Or more accurately, I should say, it wasn’t enough. I wanted to know her better, and now that I had the chance, it seemed as though chance had taken from me any hope of leisure time with her. When she unlocked her apartment door and caught the first glimpse of her shattered dwelling, she leaned against the closed door momentarily before she reached down to pick up a broken vase in front of our path.

“Don’t touch anything.”

[overvoice]

She put the vase down like it was a hot potato.

“We need to investigate and where things fall or where they’re out of place can matter.”

“Oh, of course. It’s just so hard to…realize. Who would do such a thing?”

“That’s what I intend to find out. Perhaps you should contact your landlady while I do the first run-through?”

“Won’t you need me here for that?”

“I do, actually, but… ”

[overvoice]

There was no need for concern, because the landlady showed up on cue. Charmaine introduced her as Mrs. Fogerty, and the moment we shook hands, I knew I had contacted a live wire. She was a woman, by my guess, in her mid-eighties with more vim and vigor than I had in mind for her age. From what Charmaine had suggested about her, I got the idea she was not quite herself in most respects, though, in all fairness, I’d been told very little. But ‘sifting sand’ suggested to me a mind about to dribble down the hourglass into timelessness.

Tiny whip of a thing though she was, Mrs. Fogerty had the energy of a bullfighter and the alertness of my alarm clock. She also wasn’t above cursing like a sailor.

“Who the hell would do a g-d thing like this? Wait’ll you see my place. It’s like a demolition crew drunk on Tequila Sunrises made it their playground. I don’t have a piece of my mother’s china left. I want your report ASAP so I can get my insurance agent in here with reimbursements. How’m I supposed to restore my livelihood in this mess? I live off these apartments, you know that?”

“How many apartments do you have, Mrs. Fogerty?”

“Two.”

“Charmaine and yours?”

“Yes. Isn’t that enough?”

“Has your apartment been broken into the same way?”

“I don’t know what you mean? If you mean that it’s in shambles like this one, yes.”

“Well, yes, Mrs. Fogerty, but I’m asking you if the thief or thieves entered through the door of your apartment without damaging it as they seem to have done at Miss Hollister’s apartment. Even her back door appears to be intact. We’ll have to have a complete, careful look around in both places, of course, but it doesn’t look like any windows have been broken either.”

“My place is a mess, but the doors and windows haven’t been bothered.”

 “I’ll be down as soon as help from the department arrives.”

“Good. I’ll be waiting in my place when you’re done here.”

[footsteps and a closing door]

[overvoice]

I was beginning to catch a bit of the sifting sand. Things she said didn’t quite add  up, but then the damaged goods in front of me, were they mine, would have carried me a bit over the edge. Charmaine was holding up remarkably well. Perhaps now it was her turn to try and impress me.

“Sorry. Mrs. Fogerty misses the PR dimension.”

“No problem, but she’s hardly a case of dementia. More like a bit flaky—”

“She’s got another side.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Right now, we have to get my partner in here with some solid notetaking and photographs if we can get them. Let’s open the curtains for light, and then, I think what you need to do is start writing down as many items you notice missing from among this disarray. Do you have any reason to suspect why your apartment and Mrs. Fogerty’s would be targeted? And where was Mrs. Fogerty while this was taking place? She called you this morning, you said?”

“Yes. And I can’t imagine why we would be the target of such a thing. But Mrs. Fogerty will have to help you with her schedule and her own assumptions about this. I work such erratic hours I really don’t know her well. I have no idea where she was last night. What she does and who she knows, I couldn’t tell you, not really. I know she has a grandson whom I’ve met. He seems like a pretty normal kid to me, in his late teens or early twenties, going to community college somewhere in state. Wait. County Community College, I think he said, on the Hudson. You can get more from her, I’m sure, or maybe not.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll see. She’s not the easiest person to communicate with."  

“Here, take my notebook and pen. Don’t get lost in cherished items you can’t find  unless they have value. They’re probably only misplaced in this mess. Anyway, robbers aren’t much interested in sentiment, unless they know you and want to get even for some reason. They’re looking for things they can sell to a fence.”

“I lived in Brooklyn a good deal of my life, Detective. I’ve seen a lot of fences, the movers of stolen goods kind. Oh, I don’t mean it like that. I haven’t used them. It’s just that there’s a pawn shop on every other corner of the business districts. Most are legitimate but some have back rooms for special items.”

“Okay, then. You know what we’re looking for.”

[overvoice]   

So now I’m detective to Charmaine Hollister. I like that. I watch her as she makes her way through the house, coat still on, stepping over the scattered piles of her possessions on the floors, opening drawers, cabinets and then disappearing into her bedroom. I walk around looking at how the items have fallen, where the focus seems to be, what’s left that might have value. Half-an-hour later, my partner, Nicholas Marks walks into the living room and whistles. I look around and notice his wet slicker and plastic cap clamped over his eight-point hat.

“Holy Toledo. It’s like a demolition crew’s been in here.”

“Yeah, heard that one already. Nicky, can you dry off outside the living room and not leak all over Miss Hollister’s rugs?”

“Oh, sure, sure. Sorry, boss. I’ll undress in the hall and—”

“Leave your skivvies on. We don’t want to scare the wits outta her.”

 “Sure ‘nough, boss.”

“Nicky, I’ve told you…”

“I know, I know, Detective. You’re not my boss, but gotta tell ya, it sure feels like it most the time, which is fine with me, you know that, right? Still got a lot to learn. Be back in a shake.”

[laughs noisily at his own joke]

“Yeah, well.”

[Fading footsteps] 

[overvoice]

Nicky’s a young kid, but a good detective. He was assigned to me because there wasn’t anybody else to assign him to. He made detective grade by passing all the tests with flying colors, including making sharp shooter level at the ranges, both inside and out. Socially, he’s as innocent as a naked baby on a blanket, but on the job he’s as smart as a fox in a hen house. He leaves most of the interviews to me, and I leave him alone to prowl and dig around the scene, which was what he was doing now.  He grinned at Charmaine who greeted him warmly with a handshake before she walked back to me, the notebook held out for me to take.

“Nothing of value. I can’t find a bracelet, but I think I left it at Mother’s last visit, and it couldn’t bring more than twenty dollars if it was snitched. Everything else seems to be in place, well, out of place but not taken. I can’t imagine why they did this.”

“They?”

“Well, whoever ‘they’ are. I certainly don’t know anybody who would rob me and take nothing. It doesn’t make sense.”

“When that happens, they—whoever they are—are looking for something in particular, Charmaine. Do you have anything, anything at all, that you think somebody might want?”

“That’s just it. I don’t have anything of value, really. I’ve gone over and over this in my mind, and I don’t know of a thing they’d want.”

“Okay, then. Officer Marks will stay here with you while he assesses the damages, and I’ll go down and see Mrs. Fogerty. Thanks for your cooperation. Is there anybody who can help you with straightening up the place? Oh, a photographer may show up soon, let him take some shots before you start picking up, okay?”

“Sure thing. I’ll call the girls from work. They’ll be here in no time. We count on each other at times like this.”

[overvoice]

I thanked Charmaine again, and took the stairs down to Mrs. Fogerty’s apartment and used the knocker on her front door. There was no doubt in my mind—and the certainty had been there from the start—that some staging had gone on. There was something about how the rooms were ransacked. It looked like a robbery with purpose. I was certain it was somebody either Mrs. Fogerty or Chamaine knew, perhaps both, who wanted something one of them was hiding or owned that they didn’t realize was valuable. Charmaine said Mrs. Fogerty had told her that her life savings in a mayo jar were gone. I was thinking of the Maltese Falcon, feeling only a little bit like Sam Spade when I heard Mrs. Fogerty opening her door, or at least, trying to.

[sounds of chains across locks, several locks, door opening]

“Well, about time. I’ve already called my insurance people. They can’t do anything until you’re done.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Fogerty, but I had to wait for my partner to arrive, and it took Charmaine a bit to look through her apartment to see what might’ve been taken.”

“Lookie here, Officer… what was it again?”

“Weir.” 

“Weir. I don’t have all day. Look around all you want, but it’s not going to change anything. Nothing’s gone far as I can see, although I might find things missing after I start straightening up.”

“I hope you haven’t started that yet, Mrs. Fogerty. We need to look over you—”

“Yeah, yeah. I didn’t move anything worth worrying about. Go on, have a look. I looked it over myself and nothing’s gone. It’s got to be Charmaine. It’s can’t be anything of mine.”

[overvoice]

I decided to play along and see if Mrs. Fogerty would cough up the information about her life’s saving in the mayo jar without my having to let her know Charmaine had told me about her Jar-of-Plenty. I figured I could also find out how near a demented state this old woman was—whether she was deliberately hiding truths from the police or to what degree she was sincerely forgetful. But I found out soon enough she was not going to be forthcoming in either case.

“Uh-huh. My first question is where were you when this break-in took place? It had to’ve happened sometime between noon yesterday and early this morning when Miss Hollister—”

“I went to play bridge with my pals over on the west side, okay? We had our usual glasses of wine, and home-made dinner, but I felt especially tired since Martha’s been having troubles with her hip and had to tell us all about her up-and-coming surgery. It got late, so I slept in Ethel’s guest bedroom and took the taxi back early this morning. How’s that for you? Good enough for an alibi?”

“It’s perfect, if it checks out, Mrs. Fogerty.”

“Ethel’s number is in the emergency section of my address book by the phone.

She’d never lie to the police, regardless if we’re best friends or not.”

        “I’m not doubting your information, Mrs. Fogerty. We just have to follow through on all possible leads, you understand?”

        “Oh, I get the law, all right. Anything else you wanna know? I called Charmaine right away, once I got home.”

        “What made you suspicious that her apartment had been broken into as well?”

        [pause] “Uh, I’m a suspicious kinda person. Nosey, in fact, you wanna know. After seeing my place the way it was, I wondered if she was all right. But when I knocked on her door, and she didn’t answer, I decided to call her at work before I called the police.”

        “Why’s that? I’d think the police would be your first response, after seeing your apartment.”

        “Not in my world, young man. My opinion of the police, pardon me for saying so, but it’s not the best. But never mind that now. I had Charmaine’s welfare in mind is what I can tell you. My place was in shambles, so I wanted to make sure it wasn’t a series of break-ins, which makes sense, right? When she didn’t answer, I used the master key to check out whether she’d been knocked in the head or some such. And my suspicions were correct, weren’t they? I’ve lived in this world a little while, Officer Weir. I know how things work. You wanna sit down? Some coffee? Police like coffee. Don’t have any donuts.”

         “No, thank you, though I will sit down. Right here, okay? [sounds of sitting down, a sigh] Okay, then. My next question, Mrs. Fogerty, is why do you think both apartments were broken into?”

         “Who knows how robbers think? They want to take as much as they can get, is my guess.”

“Since nothing seems to be missing from Miss Hollister’s, I’m wondering about yours?

“Same. It’s like I told ya. Nothing’s gone.”

[long pause]

“Okay. If nothing was taken, as you say, Mrs. Fogerty, wouldn’t you think somebody was looking for something specific then? And not finding it in one place, went looking for it in the other? Now, if you have any idea, any idea at all, about who this might be and what they were looking for, now’s the time to tell me. It’s going to get more and more complicated the longer this stays unsolved.”

“How can it get more complicated than it is already?”

“Your door and Miss Hollister’s were not damaged. You have any ideas about why that’s so?”

“Yes. Burglars are very resourceful these days. When I was a girl, they used crowbars to open the doors of places they were going to rob. Now they have special tools that they put in locks, twists a little this way and that, and they get in like they have a key.”

[overvoice]

Or it was somebody who already had one. But, of course, I don’t tell Mrs. Fogerty this. I don’t think she needs more information to bat around in that already batty little belfry of hers. I opened my notebook and looked at it as though I’d just found something to mention to her.

“Miss Hollister tells me that when you called her, you mentioned a missing savings jar? A Jar-of-Plenty, isn’t that what you call it?”

“Oh, I see, you and Charmaine already talked about me behind my back. I can save my money the way I see fit without being look on as teched in the head. You just wait and see. The minute you turn that big corner in life, they start suspecting you right away. It’s why I stopped driving. You go through an intersection on a green and the kid who hits you broadside tells the cop your light was red. Then the copper take one look at your white hair, and he starts writing the ticket. Same with the doctors. They ask you every time, I say, every time you go in for a visit if you’ve fallen. God, help you if you have and are honest. No, no, just a minute here, Officer Weir, I’m not done. Somebody like you, especially you and especially you in your uniform, by the way…say, why aren’t you wearing it?”

“Mrs. Fogerty, I was only asking about—”

“—your foot falls in a hole, you getting this? and you go down like a board. Well, that’s you, you see, a young thing in a uniform, so they think it’s simply because you weren’t paying attention. I stumble on a stone, drop lightly on the grass, they think I’m losing my mind.

[light footsteps, sitting down in a soft chair with a slight groan] Now, say what you come to say, and then go find the culprit who did this thing to me and Charmaine. But…wait, I’m not done yet, by golly. You look into her and her doings? She appears to be a nice enough lady, she does, and I like her. But she’s got lots of friends. She’s considerate, I say that up front, she doesn’t bring them here for loud parties, but her hours are odd. She comes in after midnight sometimes, lots of times. I’ve not ever seen her drunk, no, I haven’t, but she isn’t exactly a regular young woman either, if you get my meaning. I don’t trust city folks, I just don’t. She comes from Brooklyn, you see. But she’s been with me three years, and I’ve never had a bit of trouble until now. So that’s what I have to say. Now be on with you and let me have a report I can give to my insurance company, ASAP.”

[pause]

“Are you done now, Mrs. Fogerty?”

“Don’t be sarcastic, young man.”

“I’d like to get back to the fact that you told Miss Hollister when you called her at the end of her shift that your Jar-of-Plenty was missing.”

“It is. Nothing is missing except that. I thought you already had that written down as missing. Everything is still here, except that.”

“Okay then, the jar is still missing. How much money was in it?”

“None of your bee’s wax."

[pause]

[sighs] “Mrs. Fogerty—”

“I don’t have to tell you that, do I? That’s personal.”

“But we need to know each and every item that you find no longer in your possession and its value. You will have to do this to get your money from the insurance company, you understand? How much money was in the mayo…your Jar-of-Plenty?”

“Fifty-thousand dollars.”

“Fifty…How can you be certain?”

“You see what I mean? About my age? A perfect example. You think I can’t count, that I don’t know how much money I’ve saved over the years?”

[overvoice]

I tried to keep the incredulity out of my voice, but I had no idea fifty thousand dollars would even fit into a five-pound mayo jar, at least, in the dimensions Mrs. Fogerty was likely to carry around. But I did quick calculations and came to the conclusion that if she had one hundred dollar bills in stacks of one hundred each, it would take only fifty of those to make fifty thousand dollars. It was possible, as crazy as it seemed, it was definitely possible, though the jar would probably be stuffed to the gills, and surely the bank tellers would wonder about her constantly changing lower bills into larger ones, even though there’s no law against it. But someone could have noticed this, and gone on a search to try to find the money.

“Okay. Now, I’m going to ask you once again, as I did Miss Hollister. Is there anybody you can think of who might be looking for something in your apartment other than the Jar-of-Plenty and what that something might be?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“Yes, ma’am. I am simply attempting to understand why the burglar would go through Miss Hollister’s apartment if only the savings jar was being searched for.”

“Isn’t that your job? I have no idea.”

[overvoice]

I had more questions but not the patience to pursue them any further at this

time, and Mrs. Fogerty was beginning to dig in her heels. Charmaine was right. This old woman wasn’t the easiest person in the world to communicate with. It struck me that her edginess could be because she had thrown all her eggs in one basket. She believed the mayo jar of cash was what the robber was looking for, had taken it, and she was covering because she almost certainly knew who that was. But there was another possibility. She might be playing an insurance scam. If that was the case, somebody needed to inform her that undeclared cash in a mayo jar wasn’t going to get her money from her policy. She also may not want me snooting around among the rest of her things. For all I knew, the Jar-of-Plenty could be a fiction covering up a more lucrative heist. But if this were the case, why the disarray of her and Charmaine’s belongings which the police were going to look through with a fine-toothed comb? I was beginning to need a secretary to keep up with this woman’s maneuverings. She was breeding suspects faster than I could keep track of them.

“Thank you. Mrs. Fogerty. Now, what’s the name and address of your grandson? And your daughter?”

[long pause]

“What’d you need to talk to them for?”

“We talk to anybody who has had access to your apartment lately. I understand your grandson stays with you sometimes, that right?”

“He visits.”

“He come often?”

“Sometimes.”

“Mrs. Fogerty, I need your cooperation on this. I will find out the information sooner or later while I’m investigating these break-ins. If you are concerned about your insurance reimbursements, as you say, then your cooperation can help us and shorten the time on all of this.”

“Oh, all right. All right. He’s Andre Falcone.”

“Falcone, you say?”

“Yes, he’s my daughter’s child. She married a Falcone.”

“And his address?”

“45 Fortenwell, in the Garden Lake district. It’s nice down there. My daughter married well. He’s a good boy, Officer Weir. He’s not involved in this, I can tell you beyond doubt.”

“Does he have a telephone number?”

“Here, I can get it for you. [sound of footsteps, stopping and coming back] There. He calls me as well. He visits me more than his mother ever did…does, if I’m truthful.”

“Thank you. Now your daughter. Does she leave nearby? And does Andre live with her, have siblings?”

“My daughter is living out of the country, in Italy. Padua. So there’s no need to contact her, is there? She hasn’t been home since Christmas two years ago. Before you ask any more questions about this, know that Andre is somewhat estranged from his family, especially his father who hasn’t been to The States since he and Katherine were married. When Andre sees his parents, he travels to Italy. You might as well know, because, as you say, you’ll find out anyway, Andre’s name is really Andriano. He changed it recently, undoubtedly to aggravate his father. Katherine gave her permission, but I’m sure her husband doesn’t know that. ”

“This husband have a name? Other than Falcone, I mean? And are Andre’s siblings in The States?”

“No siblings. He’s an only child which makes all this infuriating to Andriano, senior. So you see the nastiness now. You happy?”

“Mrs. Fogerty—”

“It’s Irene, okay. We might as well all be on a first name basis, now that you know the dirty laundry out on the line for the whole town to see.”

“Mrs. Fogerty… Irene, there’s no need for any of this to go beyond me and my working team. We practice discretion and confidentiality in our cases.”

“Why all the digging around in the dirt, then, I wanna know?”

“It’s procedure. We have to ascertain the facts in order to know who’s involved. And before you get your hackles up again, those involved aren’t necessarily suspects. These details help me understand the situation surrounding the crime is all. I will handle this information with great respect. Thank you for cooperating.”

[overvoice]

That seemed to calm her down, and she began answering questions with great clarity and excellent articulation. It was hard to not view her contentious personality as an act, one to distract or mislead. The moment she began speaking about her marriage, her daughter’s life abroad and her grandson, she gained greater and greater command over her verbal expression. She spoke very directly about the acquisition of her apartments, the building her husband purchased early in their marriage that the apartments were in, and the few valuables she had accumulated. Except for the apartment building, much of it was through inheritance on her father’s side. It would be easy enough to check out, but I had no doubt what Irene Fogerty was telling me was right on the money, but that was the trouble. I was having a hard time not only putting such disparate personality traits together but financial facts as well. Mrs. Fogerty had an expensive mink coat hanging from an authentic Victorian vanity in the entrance way, her mother’s antique blue china now in shambles on a nineteenth-century oriental rug in her dining room, and elaborately hand-painted pottery and hand-cut crystal gleaming from hand-carved china cabinets, but then she had a mayonnaise jar holding her life savings hidden somewhere not easily to be found. This together with family connections to an Italian international shipping magnate—oh yeah, I recognized the name Falcone the minute she uttered it, coming out as it did among all this choice domestic finery surrounding me at the moment—well, it gave me plenty to think about. 

“I know you’ve said you don’t know who could’ve raided Miss Hollister and your apartments, but do you have any enemies or persons who might seek revenge on you or your family for any reasons you can think of?”

“None. My friends and I love each other.”

“Yes, well, friends do. I’m talking about enemies.”

“None. I don’t make enemies, not of this kind, Detective. And you can see  whoever did this hasn’t been interested in what little I’ve acquired.”

[overvoice]

Now I was no longer Officer Weir. But she was also sliding back into her half-baked, socially-resistant personality fast. I was ready to give this up, as I’d promised myself to do some time ago. Just a couple more questions and I’d be out the door.

“Okay, then. What about enemies of your family? Your daughter’s or Andre’s connections to her husband, his father?”

“I told you Andre has nothing to do with his family, really. He visits when his mother insists on his coming to see her. Other than that, he’s here and stays as far away from them as possible. Why are you nosing around about my family when you should be out there finding the real criminals who did this?”

“I will be through here in just a minute, Mrs. Fogerty. But I need to tell you that my partner will be down, staying for quite a while looking through your things. It is police procedure and not intended to invade your privacy. Your apartment will be labeled a crime scene, which means, me or my partner will be coming back here and to Miss Hollister’s apartment off and on until this thing is sorted out. We hope the preliminaries will be done tonight, you understand? But I will return if necessary to refresh my memory about certain details. This form needs to be signed by you.”

“I’m not signing over permission for you to come any time you want, and take anything you want. No, sir, I will not sign such a thing.”

“It’s not that kind of form, Mrs. Fogerty. This form simply states that we were here, looked over the scene. It’s confirmation that we did a follow up of your call to Miss Hollister and her notification of the crime to us. We don’t need a form signed to let us re-examine the crime scene or ask you more questions. That’s part of police investigatory procedure.”

“Oh, all right. Give it here.”

[sound of scratching of pen] “There now. You satisfied?”

“Yes, this is fine. Again, I thank you for your time. My partner Detective Nicolas Marks will be seeing you as soon as he possibly can. After this, we will be sending you a report that you can forward on to your insurance company. Good day to you.”

[opening and closing of the door, the sound of chains and locks being put into place as he’s talking]

[overvoice]

I didn’t offer her my hand, and she didn’t offer me hers. I did tip my hat and stand outside her door before taking the stairs again and leaving instructions for Nicholas about the inventory of Mrs. Fogerty’s apartment. A few things were adding up, but only a few. There had been a robbery, that’s if Irene was telling me the truth about her jar of cash, though none of her or Miss Hollister’s belongings had been taken, that’s if Nicky verified this was the case. There was a discrepancy between how Mrs. Fogerty wanted the police to view her, how she viewed herself and how she actually lived. Charmaine’s presentation of herself, however, seemed straightforward and without guise.

So the felon seemed to want one of two things—to threaten one or both of the women or to find something one of them or both of them had. My gut told me it was somebody both of them knew, because, if only one of them, why riffle both apartments? I took note that nothing of worth, except Mrs. Fogerty’s china, had been broken. Most items had been turned over and carefully scattered. Once again, I told myself that the whole business looked suspiciously staged or delicately handled. As Charmaine’d said, at least on surface, it didn’t make sense. Well, unless the jar was the only interest. Fifty thousand dollars can buy a lot of interest.

Once a photographer arrived, I left him and Nicholas to Charmaine and Mrs. Fogerty and took a drive to Fortenwell, hoping to catch Andre Falcone before he went out for the evening. I didn’t know a college boy yet who studied in the evening hours, especially on a Friday night. As I touched the bell to announce my arrival, I thought again of the Maltese Falcon. It was clear Mrs. Fogerty had no liking for the man her daughter had married.

[chiming door bell, opening of a door]

[overvoice] 

The young man who opened the door was tall, lean and very handsome by fashion industry standards. He could easily have modeled for ads from Gillette razors to custom convertibles. He greeted me with an expansive smile. I held up my badge as my way of greeting.

“Good morning. I take it you are Detective Weir or is it Officer Weir? Grandmamma addresses you as both.”

“It’s Detective. Your grandmother called you, then.”

“Yes. She told me to put the coffee on. I always do what Grandmamma tells me to do. Come in. Come in.”

[closing of door]

“Cream, sugar?”

“Black, please.”

[pouring of liquid, clattering of cups etc.]

“How can I help you Detective Weir? Please be seated. Sofa chair? Couch?”

“Thank you. Nice digs. [pause] You are enrolled at C3, your grandmother tells me. What’re your major studies?”

“Business, with an emphasis on administration. But I’m only in my first year. A trial, really, to see if it suits me. I’ve a ways to go. If it takes, I’ll transfer to Columbia or NYU. I want to stay near Grandmamma.”

“I see. How much do you know about your grandmother’s recent break-in, then?”

“Only what Grandmamma told me. She called first thing. I wasn’t able to see her apartment as I had a final project that I needed to present to a panel of professors the next morning and had more work to do on it that evening and through the night, and, unfortunately, this morning before I could leave, I was called back for further orals on the presentation. I just got home when Grandmamma called and informed me you had arrived with Charmaine, had seen both apartments, and after questioning them both and was on your way to see me. But I got a pretty good description of the robbery’s affect from her initial telephone call.”

[overvoice]

I wasn’t certain of how much he knew concerning the Jar-of-Plenty, so I proceeded as though cash had not been taken.

“Not certain yet if there actually was a robbery. Since you’ve talked with your grandmother, you know it appears that nothing has been taken, at least as far as we can ascertain at this time.”

“Yes. I am relieved. And more so that Grandmamma wasn’t hurt. Or Miss Hollister.”

“When was the last time you were in your grandmother’s apartment?”

[sighs]  “Oh, it must have been last week sometime. Let’s see, Thursday, yes, I went over the twenty-third for tea and a catch-up. I try to see her at least once a week.”

“Do you work?”

[laughter] “Why do you ask? Oh, my digs, as you called it, and its goodies. You think I might have an addiction to spending, taken her Jar-of-Plenty and staged a robbery, oops, robberies, as cover-up?” [more lighter laughter]

“You know about her savings jar, then?”

“Of course, she isn’t very discrete about her jar, really. I wouldn’t be surprised if somebody came around to try and find it, because she accidentally mentioned it in the grocery store in passing. I’ve admonished her, but to no effect.”

“So why did you act a few moments ago as though nothing was taken?”

“Because Grandmamma didn’t mention her jar as missing. But it was my first thought, of course. It’s a secret but not a secret, you see. I let Grandmamma take the lead on this one. You’ve met her, so you undoubtedly know how every touchy or debatable topic can turn into a filibuster. It works out best if she brings it up, which she rarely does with me. No reason to, really.”

[pause]

“I’m sorry, but I have to ask. Did you do it? Take her jar?”

“Look around, Detective. What need would I have to take Grandmamma’s money? My parents are wealthy. I get all I need from them.”

“Why not Harvard, then?”

“Oh, I see. I’m the major suspect because I know about the jar and I’m slumming by  going to community college? Listen, Detective, if I wanted to stage a robbery, believe me, I’ve seen enough noir films to do a better job than that.”

“So you have seen the apartment since it was riffled?”

“No, I’m going on what Grandmamma told me. Nothing taken. And besides, there’s Charmaine’s apartment, isn’t there? What possible purpose…”

“You know Miss Hollister well? You call her by her first name? She doesn’t seem to know you that well at all.”

“I only call her that because Grandmamma does.”

“Do you live here alone?”

“Yes. Why?”

“No reason. Just inquiring, getting a picture of what I need to know. Do you have any idea as to who might want to frighten your grandmother?”

“No, it’s more likely, like I told you, that she’s not been discrete about her savings in a jar. That’s what I’ve come to about all this.”

“But there’s a whole house full of goods that any dumb-as-a-board thieves would have taken, Andre. I’m not even comfortable calling whoever broke in a thief. Why would a thief leave valuables behind, even if he was looking for a jar full of money? Having dealt with quite a number of thieves, their MO seems to be the more, the merrier.”

“Well, perhaps they were trying to frighten her, as you say. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Do you know of anybody who would want to do such a thing?”

“There’s Charmaine…Miss Hollister’s apartment as well, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what about that?” 

“What about it?”

“Well, why would both apartments be broken into if it was to frighten Grandmamma?”

“Got any ideas about that, Andre?”

“Not really. You’re the detective.”

“Well, I tell you what I think. I think it was to frighten your grandmother. She owns the building, so both apartments being ransacked doubles the fright.”

[pause]

“Guess that could be. At least that makes some sense. As the saying goes, it’s for me and Grandmamma to wonder about, but for you to find out. Well, if you don’t have any more questions, Detective Weir, I’d like to change and get to the gym.”

“Aren’t you at least curious as to what your grandmother is going through? It’s pretty disturbing coming home to find your dwelling in such disarray and when you go to seek help, find your renter’s apartment has been riffled through as well.”

“We’re having dinner together tonight, Detective. I’ll have a chance to see the apartment then and console her, if need be. She seems to be holding up just fine. I’ve called a cleaning crew who is coming in tomorrow to restore things back to normal.”

[sounds of standing, a few footsteps]

“I’d like the names of your professors, if you don’t mind. Simply routine, you understand.”

“I’d rather not get them involved in this…I’m attempting to make a good start of things here and investigating my whereabouts at the time my grandmother’s apartment was being sacked, well, not sure how that will go over.”

“Of course, but I have a job to do, Andre. I can reassure you this far. As I proceed, if I feel I don’t need information concerning your whereabouts, I’ll not contact your professors. In the meantime, I’d like their names please. Just so I don’t have to come back and bother you again if need be.

[overvoice]

He gave me two names, despite the fact there were three on his presentation committee. I took them, although, I was fairly certain I wouldn’t have to use them. My gut told me he took the jar. First of all, he must have a key to his grandmother’s apartment, and, secondly, I knew in my heart of hearts, he was lying through his teeth about how much he knew about the robbery and how connected he was to his family, especially his mother. I simply needed to find out why he was lying and where he’d put the money. It would be easy enough to find out where he does his banking. There are only two banks in town, and my bet is on the bigger one—easier money exchange in large amounts, especially if laundered through daddy’s business somehow, maybe with mommy’s help.

We shook hands. I gave him my number at the station in case he thought of anything he’d missed during our conversation. It was getting late, but I wondered how Nicholas had fared with Irene Fogerty. He wasn’t the best with social situations and she was a handful.

Outside, it was still raining, though not as hard as before, so I decided to head toward the Fogerty apartments again to see if Nicholas had finished his work on the crime scene.

Charmaine met me at the door, a noisy group of women busily chatting as they worked. I told her I was simply making the rounds before calling it a day and wondered how she was doing. She invited me in, but I didn’t want to go through all the introductions and the chitchat that would follow. I told her I’d catch her at the diner at noon tomorrow. She informed me, once again, that as far as she could tell, nothing had been taken from her place. I stood for a moment before she closed the door admiring how she looked with a kerchief wrapped haphazardly around her hair.

Nicholas was just walking away from the door to Irene Fogerty’s apartment when I caught him as I was coming down the stairs.

“What a day. I’ve never heard so much stream of conversation in my life.”

“So you had a chance to get a word in edgewise, now and again?”

“No. That woman’s conversations are with herself, even while she’s looking right at you. She’d talk the hind leg off a giraffe, I tell you.”

[laughs] “I think it’s a donkey, but that’s actually more accurate, longer in the hind quarters. Learn anything from all the chatter?”

“She says nothing’s gone. Here’s the inventory list of all the major items of value. Nothing amiss, she says. But you know, I’m not sure about her jar, the one she claims is filled with her savings that’s missing. She wouldn’t tell me how much had been in it or wouldn’t tell me where she’d kept it. My hunch is she never had one.”

“She has one, all right. Charmaine’s the one that gave it to her, the jar, I mean. From the diner, she said.”

 “Something funny going on there’s, boss. And it was pullin’ hen’s teeth to get her tell me about it in the first place. I threatened her with Article 6 of the Detection Regulations, you know the one that if any evidence pertinent to the case is knowingly withheld, you can serve jail time.”

“Clever man. Used Article 6 myself off and on. And you just confirmed my suspicions, Nicky. I have a theory, but it’s still so vague, it’ll only sound silly if I say. I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve firmed it up. The photographer get his pictures?”

“Yep. He put in a rush on the developing. Coupla days, he figures.”

“Good man. Let’s call it a night.”

“Sounds good. See you tomorrow, bos… Detective Weir.”

____________

             [overvoice]

The next day was all sunshine but with dirty puddles making a walk across the street a hazard. I hopped into car 3 and headed toward Eighth and Mulberry. It was an hour before my lunch, and I decided to have a look at Charmaine’s apartment before I had lunch at the Main Street Diner in case there was anything I needed to ask her. I glanced at my watch. She was already on her shift.

Her apartment smelled richly of Clorox and furniture polish when I entered. I’d called ahead and asked Mrs. Fogerty to leave the key under the scrapper mat outside Charmaine’s apartment door. She was reluctant to do that but said she’d leave it under her own mat outside her apartment door where she could keep a better eye on it. There’s no quibbling with shifting sand, so I agreed. I would be arriving within the half-hour so despite her recent break-in, I felt all would be safe with the key under her mat until I arrived. I was just glad that Fogerty had an appointment, would be leaving before I arrived, and wouldn’t be following me around as I made my way through Charmaine’s rooms. She was reluctant to leave the key where she’d promised to put it, but after I reassured her I was on my way, she left. Punctual lady, Mrs. Fogerty, this time to my advantage.

Charmaine was a practical gal, all right. One pair of shoes for work, play and dress up. The same went for dresses and coats. Not a non-essential in the whole closet, nor the cabinets in the kitchen, dining room and storage closet. I went through everything I could without snooping beyond decent perimeters, well, perhaps with a not-such-a- respectful view of her negligee and undergarments, as I lifted them to see if there were false bottoms and sides to drawers. But I found nothing.

I felt like a heel. If she was involved in any way, I couldn’t see how. But it was the job. Going through the closet the second time, I glanced up and saw a rectangular shape that was not completely flush with the ceiling. Without my flashlight, I would never have seen it, not even with the closet light turned on as it was. After carrying her clothing on hangers and draping them on the bed, I got a chair from the kitchen and using a butcher knife from one of the drawer, pried open the tile which lowered to a small swinging door which, in turn, opened to a crawl space just big enough for a thin person to crawl through. I wasn’t, by any means, that thin person, but when I ran my hand around the edges of the opening, I discovered a container about the size of a small suitcase. Bringing it down I discovered it was a very old and worn leather valise. Opening it on the bedroom floor, I discovered it was full of stacks of one-hundred dollar bills. After counted several rows, I estimated at least $50,000. A terrible shock ripped up my back and settled in the back of my head where an odd juxtaposition of thoughts formed an idea that I did not want to recognize. There was a parallel here between Andre Falcone’s community college academic career and Charmaine Hollister’s waitress in residence in Tutterton, New Jersey. He had called her Charmaine so easily, and she had feigned no knowledge of him so effortlessly. It was slick and made me feel a bit sick. It wasn’t what I’d surmised at all. I’d noticed the discrepancy between Irene Fogerty’s version of Andre’s relationship with his father and the one he’d given me, so I reasoned that he was taking his Grandmamma for a ride all along as he sugar-talked her out of what he could get and then as a final act had stolen her jar full of cash and was headed for the wild blue yonder. Now I saw he wasn’t alone in his planned travels. My hunches aren’t always right. But I’m not usually this easily tricked. Charmaine Hollister was one great actress. I had to hand her that. She had me totally believing not only her story but in the character she had acted out each time I’d seen her both in and out of the diner.

____________

[overvoice]        

I wasn’t a bad actor myself. I’d learned over the years how to get plenty of information from very suspicious, tough criminals, some of them I’d even helped lock up for life. But sitting and waiting for Charmaine to take my lunch order was one of the hardest acts I’d had to pull off in years. When she finally showed up with her pad and pencil in hand, I gave her the best smile I could muster.

“So how goes it?”

“Not bad. It took us all night, but the girls worked their magic. My apartment looks like nobody ever touched it.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“I went around this morning. Didn’t Irene call you?”

“Irene? Oh, Mrs. Fogerty. No, why would she? I told her that if you needed to get in for any reason, she was to give you her key to my apartment. So you saw it then, and you know.”

“I know.”

[overvoice]

I waited, and when she didn’t respond I wasn’t sure exactly how to proceed. It was a public place, she was on the job, and even though I was too, I didn’t want to charge her right then and there. Besides, I was hungry. But there was something in my voice that tipped her off.

“Is something wrong, Detective?”

“It’s… naw, nothing I can’t reason out in time. You’ve had enough questions for now. Bring me the usual.”

“The Benny and Detective Weir special? Where’s Officer Garfield been lately?”

[both laugh]

“Yeah, well, he’s busy with school and baseball, when it’s not raining, that is. I saw a game of his last Friday night. The kid’s not half bad.”

“What does he play?”

“Shortstop, of course.”

[light laughter again] 

“I’ll have to see a game of his soon. Let me know when he has the next one, will you?”

“Sure ‘nough.”

[footsteps walking off]

[overvoice]   

By all rights, I should bring Charmaine in, and the sooner, the better. But something was inching its way into the crevices of my mind. The part still in play was why they’d trashed the places, unless they really thought they were making it look like a robbery so they could get away with the money should Irene Fogerty report it missing. She would know they took the money once they were gone, of course, but did they think the sacked apartments would give her a reason to cover for them with the police? Surely she wasn’t in on it. The staged appearance of it still bothered me. Were these two emotionally tied to Fogerty in such a way—as a good, old lady landlord and grandmamma—that they didn’t want to harm her belongings while faking a robbery by  strangers?

And there was a gnawing question about my perception of Charmaine’s character. The notion of her acting, especially over time, simply didn’t fit with all of her reactions, specifically those I saw when she first viewed her ransacked apartment. But then more than one woman I’ve known had enough fake charm to seduce a lot of men to act beyond their inclinations. And Andre had enough good looks to genuinely charm any woman into doing his bidding. At any rate, the view of the crime I had in mind earlier wasn’t fitting this current scenario at all. My focus initially had been on Irene Fogerty, then on her grandson. Now it had mushrooming into a much more complicated situation. I was glad I hadn’t mentioned my earliest suspicions to Nicky. Unfortunately my conclusions now weren’t any less vague than before.

I was thinking that either Andre or Charmaine would ultimately fill in the blanks when they were questioned, but I also caught how much I was hoping that Charmaine would come forward on her own. How this could happen, I wasn’t sure, and the huge amount of cash in the trunk of my car didn’t help. It needed to be turned over to the station, but I knew the minute that happened, all hell would break loose, and I’d lose Charmaine forever. But hadn’t that happened already? Besides we were hardly the couple I was making us out to be. I hadn’t had the courage to even ask her to join me for a cup of coffee in her own restaurant.

I ate my lunch with a nasty internal dialogue going on with myself. Charmaine was busy and didn’t return to my booth until she came to collect my plate, poured me another cup of coffee and offered dessert. Despite the couple of pounds up on the scale after my morning shower, I wolfed down a large piece of cherry pie à la mode, left a skimpy tip on the table and paid my check with the cashier winking me a good-bye. She couldn’t have been over twenty-two. So much for the fleeting halcyon days of my youth. I walked past the diner windows without my usual wave to Charmaine among the lunchtime crowd.

____________

[overvoice]

       The call came in half past three, while I sitting making notes from the inventories Nicky Marks had given me of the items of value in both apartments. I wasn’t sure what scenario I was attempting to put together, but I knew that soon the inevitable was going to come crashing down on me. It was only four and a half hours before Charmaine got off her shift, and I would be confronting her and Andre with their crime.

       When I brought the receiver to my ear, there was intense sobbing on the other end of the line.

       “Detective? Detective Weir?”

       “Mrs. Fogerty, what can I do for you?”

       [sobbing while talking]

       “It’s my grandson, Detective. It’s Andre. He’s in trouble, I just know it, and I don’t know how to help him. He isn’t answering his telephone, and I’m worried sick about him.”

       “Mrs. Fogerty, you’re going to have to calm down so I can hear what you are telling me. All right? Okay?”

       [sobbing subsiding, blowing her nose] “Yes.”

       “Okay, tell me why you think he’s in trouble.”

       “Can you go out and check on him?”

       “I can do that, actually I was planning on doing that this afternoon, but first I need to understand why you’re so upset.”

       “You were? Going to check on him? Then you suspect what I do?”

       “Perhaps it would be best if I came out to your apartment, and we talked face to face about this.”

       “No, Detective, no, if you were here I wouldn’t have the courage to tell you what I must. Andre is everything to me. He’s all I have left. And I wasn’t exactly up front with you, you see? I was afraid if I told you the truth, you’d take him away from me, but now… now I’m afraid if I don’t tell you, I’m going to lose him forever. I just don’t know who else to turn to for help.”

       “Okay, Mrs. Fogerty. Why don’t you slow down and tell me what trouble you think Andre’s in.”

       “He’s gambling again. I can tell by how he’s been behaving. He acts arrogant and self-assured, as though he doesn’t need anybody. He’s gone over the top, this time though. He came in here early this morning demanding that because of the break-in, I give him my savings so he could put it in a safe place for me. He knew I’d lied to him about its being stolen, he said. If I didn’t want it in the bank, then I should give it to him for safekeeping. He owes money, I just know it, to some very … influential people. He’s desperate to find money to pay them. And I’ve lied to you, at the very least, I haven’t told you the truth about all this. I tried to save him, you see? He’s been treated so awfully by his father, I just wanted him to have a safe place to live, be himself without constant humiliation.”

       “All right, it’s good you’re telling me this. Did he take your money, Mrs. Fogerty? Can you tell me that?”

       “No, because after his visit I knew…well, I felt like he’d been the one to stage the robbery to scare me. He used it as a ruse to try and get me to give him my savings so he could pay his debtors or try and make more money on the horses or cards for that purpose.” [pause] “I lied to you, Detective. The money wasn’t taken, and Andre, the clever boy he is, he guessed it. But I didn’t tell him the truth. I knew at least that much—not to tell him where it was, I mean.”

       “So what did you do, Mrs. Fogerty?”

       “I got my husband’s old leather valise, put the money in there and hid it, God help me, in Charmaine’s attic. It wasn’t the easiest thing to do, but for this one time, I figured I could manage to do it and I did. I prayed when you went through her apartment you wouldn’t find it and get her into trouble. It wasn’t likely because nobody knows the ceiling door is there, and it’s impossible to see unless you know where it is. The little hidey hole was my husband’s idea. We kept all our money and inherited items up there for years, until he passed, but I found it harder and harder to get up in there and down again, so I hid the Jar-of-Plenty…well, somewhere else. ”

       “Where, Mrs. Fogerty?”

       “Somewhere else. Does it matter? ‘Cause the money’s safe now. It’s in the valise in the attic hidey hole.”

       “Uh-huh. Clever of you. So Andre didn’t know about your little hidey hole, then?”

       “Never. I never told anybody, nobody. Never. It was Clarence and my secret. We promised never to tell, and I’ve kept my word to him, even after his passing.” [pause] “I’m sorry I lied to you and Charmaine about the Jar-of-Plenty—that it was missing during the robbery, you know. I thought if I went along with Andre’s scheme, it might protect him, getting you to think it was a robbery but not by him, which I’m almost certain he planned and acted out.”

       “Okay, so you think your grandson came and looked for it, that it?”

       “Well, wouldn’t you? If you were in his kind of trouble?”

        “And how much does Andre owe, do you have any idea?”

        “No, he didn’t tell me. Of course not, since he wouldn’t even admit he owed these shysters money. He was too ashamed. But the last time he had troubles, it was tens of thousands. His mother came through for him then. She’s got her own account, you know, and finances all his college and living expenses. But twenty, thirty thousand extra isn’t small potatoes even for her as she depends on Andriano for her replenishments. I think she gets an allowance or something like that, annually, maybe monthly, I can’t remember what she said for sure. But he’d notice any irregularities in her spending, and in this case, her not spending, you know, for giving it to Andre, you see? No clothing receipts and such, you understand? Anyway, last time when Andriano got wind of it, boy howdy, there was hell for her to pay for a long time. He watched her money like a hawk.”

        “When was this?”

        “About two years ago. Andrea was still in high school and was getting into all kinds of mischief. He passes for older, always has, and he’s smart as a whip. He’s been approached to model, you know, but he won’t do it, not if he’s starving to death, he says. He thinks it’s too womanish.”

       “Okay, Mrs. Fogerty. I’m going to look into this right away, and I’ll let you know as soon as I find out anything that I think is relevant to your worries.”

       “What’re you gonna do, Detective? Please be good to Andre. What he’s doing is illegal, gambling like he does, but these people know a soft touch when they see it. Are you going to talk to him?”

       “If I can find him. Is he still around, do you know?”

       “He was here early this morning, is all I can tell you. But he hasn’t much money, I’m sure of it, if any at all. Initially, I refused to give him any on the pretext that I had money problems to do with the apartments, not knowing when the insurance would come through. I finally relented and gave him fifty dollars to live on, which he took begrudgingly, but he left pretty upset, especially since I wouldn’t give him the money from the jar. He’s never called me names, but he did on his way out the door. He didn’t mean it, I know, but it hurt.”

       “Stay where you are in case he calls or comes back, okay? If he’s desperate enough, he might get aggressive, and we don’t want that, so I’d like to send Nicky Marks out to your place, if that’s all right.”

       “Okay, but Andre won’t hurt me, Detective. I just can’t believe he would.”

       “Maybe not, but some of those influential men he’s angered might, just to let him know how influential they are, you understand?”

        “Well, Detective Marks can’t stay here forever. So when will this get resolved, is my question?”

        “I can’t tell you that, Mrs. Fogerty, as much as I’d like to. But I’m on the case right now because you called. You did the right thing. I’ll try to locate Andre, and then we’ll proceed to the next step. When I’ve located him and also your money, I’ll give you a call. By the way, how do I gain access to the hidey hole?”

        “Oh, I hate this. I’ll pray Clarence will forgive me. [pause] It’s in the crawl space through a small door in the ceiling of Charmaine’s bedroom closet. That used to Clarence’s study, you see. I made it into an apartment to rent in order to have extra income, beyond the life insurance he left me.”

“I’ll simply check to make sure it’s still there, okay?”

       “Fine. Just don’t take it. And make sure the door is in place so it can’t be found. I don’t trust anybody, absolutely nobody, these days, as you can tell. My husband lost everything in the crash, you know. After that we didn’t cotton to banks or anything like them. Clarence had to work his way back up from nothing, and he did it in less than ten years. It’s what killed him to my way of thinking, him working his heart to death for our future.”

       “Your funds are safe with me, Mrs. Fogerty. I promise.”

       [overvoice]

       I was making a promise I wasn’t sure I could keep. After her call I wanted to rush to the squad car and see if the money was still in the trunk. I made sure car 3 was unavailable, even if an emergency arose. I had the keys in my pocket where they were going to stay until I could unload the cash back to Mrs. Fogerty’s hidey hole when her grandson and his nasty buddies were out of its reach, well, and when Charmaine wasn’t around. Then there was going to be a long, hard talk with Irene Fogerty about banks and investments and such.

       My mind was awhirl, but one thing was sure. I was tremendously relieved that Charmaine was not involved in this mess—at least it was looking more and more like this was the case. And I was go glad I hadn’t brought her in for questioning. If luck continued on my side, I might be able to settle this whole situation without her ever knowing how close she came to being charged for a crime.

       I grabbed my jacket and headed for the stairs. It took only seventeen minutes in afternoon traffic to make it to the Garden Lake District and Fortenwell Street without sirens blaring. It was my hope to catch Andre Falcone by surprise.

       But as luck would have it, he was the one to surprise me. He opened the door immediately upon my knock. My guess was that his grandmother alerted him, once again, of my arrival. But, for once in her life, Irene Fogerty had used her head. I saw right away that Andre was totally unprepared for my being at his door. He was skunk drunk, leaning against the knob as though it was his only life support.

       “Well, well. Hello, Detective Weir.”

       “Andre. May I come in?”

       “Why the hell not? I’m expecting company any minute so you might have to make a hasty retreat out the back door if you don’t want a battle with the bad boys.”

       [sounds of footsteps and closing of a door]

       “Your grandmother gave me a call and alerted me of that fact.”

       “Good old Grandmamma. She has saved me more times than I can count, and, now, once again trying a rescue, though her money could have guaranteed my salvation with a little more certainty than sending in the local constabulary. But the big rescue days may be coming to a close regardless.”

       “Who are you expecting, Andre?”

       “Bad, bad people, Detective. I’d like to think you can protect me, but alas, nobody gets past these fellows. They thumb-screw, break bones with a block and hammer, slit throats with butcher knifes on a regular basis. What’s one more little, ole rich kid to them? Unfortunately what they don’t know is that Mother Falcone won’t come to my aid this time. Or any other time, for that matter. I’m a rich kid without a bankroll. Sit down. Sit down, Detective. Rest your flatfeet. That’s if you want to stay and watch them do the things they do so well.”

       [sigh] “Okay, Andre. While we wait, why don’t you give me your side of the story and make me some coffee and some for yourself?”

       “Oh, why not? What’ve I got to lose? Where ya wanna start? With the faux-robbery?”

       [footsteps and clinking of ware for making coffee]

       “Good a place as any.”

       [overvoice]

       I trailed him to the kitchen and listened while he clumsily made coffee for the two of us, leaving a trail of grounds and water across the counter. I assisted with wipe up as best as I could.

       “I started out by simply going to Grandmamma’s apartment when I knew she had bridge with her ladies and looked for ‘The Jar.’ I have a key, of course, and come and go without—”

“Impunity, it would appear.”

“Okay, she’s good to me, too good to me, that’s true. But she’s a fox, I tell you. I looked everywhere, not taking the time to be careful but not wanting to destroy her things either. Let’s go to the living room. I gotta sit down.”

[pause, sitting and pouring of the coffee while Andre talks; he stumbles over words once in a while]

“I got angrier and angrier the more I looked without success. So then, I decided to frighten her into coughing up her jar of cash on the pretext of putting it in a safe place for her. Ha! Some investment! I knew she’d need some encouragement, so I messed up the place some more. That’s when I broke the china, which I hadn’t planned to do, but I was getting desperate, and I thought of all her things, this would be the best idea to bring her around. She wouldn’t guess I’d do that. I’m too nice to her, she thinks.”

       “Why didn’t you simply take some of her valuables, like the china which was worth a great deal, I would think?”

       “I didn’t want to mess with a fence. That’s traceable, and anyway, it’s a lot of trouble getting stuff like that out of the apartment—anybody coming along could catch me at it. And it takes more planning than I’d time for. Don’t you understand? They were coming for me. I’d gone intending to simply find the money and get out of there with it, just messing up the place enough to give her the idea that a robber took it. If she suspected me, she suspected me, but she’d have no proof.

“But before I gave up completely, I decided to go to Hollister’s apartment and look around up there. Grandmamma is just clever enough, well, and trusting enough, too, to maybe either hide it in Charmaine’s apartment or have Charmaine in on the hiding of it—though I doubted that was the case. I’m ashamed to admit it, but it didn’t matter to me if Charmaine became a suspect or not. I knew if it was in her apartment and it was found by the police, it could look like she knew about the jar, found it because Grandmamma had told her about it, hid it for herself and did the cover-up robberies. It’d throw the suspicion off me. But despite what I told you before, Grandmamma really didn’t let many people know about her jar. Far as I know, it was only Charmaine and me, and now you, well, and anybody within the police she might have told during the investigation. But anyway, I never found it.” [sighs deeply, almost weepy] “Guess I’ve made a mess of things, haven’t I? And I’m not just talking about the apartments.”

       “Yes, you have, young man. You’re in a lot of trouble…”

       [loud pounding at the door and calling out] “Open up, Andre Falcone. We know you’re in there.”

       “…and sounds like trying to pinch your grandmother’s money jar is just the beginning of it.”

       [panic in Andre’s voice] “What’ll we do? What’re we gonna go now?”

       “What were you going to do before I got here?”

       “Give in to them…just, well, give in to them. Let them beat me up, kill me, whatever they do.”

       [banging louder, calling out threateningly] “Don’t make us break the door down, Andre. We hear you in there. Open up.”

       [slow opening of the door]

       “There. That’s better…what the…”

       “Hello gentlemen. Nuh, nuh, hands up in the air, slowly, very slowly. Hey, you, yeah, you with the revolver. On the floor, yep, nice and easy. Good, very smart move. And you, don’t reach for it fellah, you don’t wanna lose an ear and bloody up your beard and mustache. Yeah, I’m that good. Okay then.

        “Nicky, retrieve the gun and handcuff them one by one. Hands behind your heads. That’s the good boys." [pause, to Nicky] "Arrived just in time, my man. What took you so long? I called you a good half-n-hour ago, just before I got to Andre’s apartment.”

        “Mrs. Fogerty. She wouldn’t let me leave without her. She’s out in the car…”

        “Not on your life, Detective Marks.”

        “Mrs. Fogerty, I told you…”

        [panicky] “Andre, Andre, are you all right?”

        “Yes, Grandmamma. Oh, I never meant to drag you into this, not really.”

        “Now gentlemen, down the hall. Nicky, I’ll take Bald-Beard-n-Stash here, and you take Beretta Boy. Andre, you stay with your grandmother until I return. I come back and find you gone, you have no idea what calamity will befall you.”

        “No, sir. I’m going nowhere.” [pause] “Detective?”

        “Yes, Andre?”

        “Am I off the hook now? I mean, will they stop coming for me?”

       “Well, I’m not sure about the hook. We’ll have to see how this shakes down at the station, but if I have anything to do with it, the bucks stops here. You won’t be left hanging out on a limb. There will be some charges at your ends of things, but I’ll keep you informed. That’s all I can tell you for now.”

        “Okay, sir. Thank you, sir.”

        “Get yourself to the kitchen, young man. Ooooh, you reek of whiskey. We’ve more sobering up to do.”

        “Yes, Grandmamma.”

____________

        [overvoice]

        Four days later, I went to check on Irene Fogerty and Andre Falcone. Falcone got a free pass because neither Charmaine Hollister or his grandmamma pressed charges. There was the illegal betting to be dealt with, but Judge Ronald L. Peterson III gave the young man a swift kick in the pants, sent him to jail for a night without paperwork and had him escorted by yours truly back to his grandmother’s guardianship for the next six months. If he’s caught within two hundred feet of any gaming event—gambling or not, he will be fined and left to rot in jail—Judge Peterson’s own words.

        Contrition didn’t begin to describe the demeanor of the arrogant young man I  first met in the Garden Lake District only weeks earlier. And Mrs. Fogerty had taken her role as assigned guardian very seriously. She had Charmaine type out a weekly schedule of AA meetings and classes at C3 on her Smith Corona which Fogerty taped to the back of her grandson’s bedroom door. I knew because she showed me when Andre was in the kitchen putting together the cookie plate for our coffee klatch, her tiptoeing down the hall with a finger over her lips to communicate to me our secret. I wasn’t sure how long Andre would put up with her regimentation, but I intended to monitor the situation with regular visits and telephone calls, at least until I knew he was going to hold the line drawn by the department and Peterson.

        The visits wouldn’t be hard for me to do. Charmaine was home until noon and mid-morning coffee at the Fogerty residence gave me a chance to see her outside the

diner.

        Luckily, the influential gamblers weren’t so influential after all. They were a half dozen street thugs coming from the City into Tutterton to engage in some mid-level profits from vulnerables around town. They ran their table in the back of the barber shop, with Kermit McDormand getting a cut of the take for the lease of the room.            They were indicted for illegal gambling and sent back to jail in Bronx County where their residences were located. A dumb, dumb buncha dopes. Seems that they had a traveling circuit throughout New York, New Jersey and along the eastern border of Pennsylvania, meandering and not well unorganized, but the feds were brought into the case because of the involvement of illegal profits crossing state lines. Once they took over, our work at the police station was primarily one of paperwork.

I returned the valise full of cash to the hidey hole using Charmaine’s key on the pretext of having to double check on the locking of a window from the inside that I’d unlocked to examine its access to the fire escape as a possible route the robber might have taken. I was planning extensive sermons to deliver personally to Mrs. Fogerty on the advantages of money stored in banks and in investments for her future. In the meantime, I would let Mrs. Fogerty’s money take its chances against fate and the limited grapevine. I wasn’t the happiest to put Charmaine in such a vulnerable position with Mrs. Fogerty’s hidey hole in her apartment, but I had no doubt that it wouldn’t be long, even with her money in the bank, before Irene would attempt to store other valuables there.  It wasn’t likely to be another jar of money, because her difficulty in getting up and down as often as she’d need to, might curtail that altogether. If and when the time was right—this being when I knew Charmaine better—I’d inform her in confidence of Irene’s little stash-away. I never learned where Mrs. Fogerty had hidden the Jar-of-Plenty before she took the money and put it in the valise that she hid back in the attic.This was one woman who knew how to keep a secret. Clarence would be proud.

       Benny Garfield came walking into the precinct this morning and asked to see me. He’d been reluctant to enter the station since the time he spent there after his run-in with Leonard Vlamos and Vlamos’s theft of his precious Schwinn bicycle, even though the police had rescued it for him. I greeted him with great enthusiasm. I hadn’t seen him for two weeks.

        “Hey, Benny. What brings you into my world?”

        “Hallo, Officer Weir. I come to see if we could share a malted at lunch.”

        “Of course. I’d like that. Things okay, then?”

        “Okay ‘nough, I ‘pect. Ma’s talking about relocating, and I’m not for it a’tall. She says she’s only thinkin’ ‘bout it, but I knows her thinking pretty good by now.”

       “Relocating to where?”

       “Ah, she says back to London, now that my aunt’s all better, but she don’t mean it, not really. She just can’t, sir, can she? I got me friends and the baseball team and the like. I’m doing good, really good at school.”

       “So you’d like for me to talk to her, that it?”

       “Would you, sir? I means, just feel her out, not necessarily help her come to her senses or anything as vigorous as that.”

        [laughs] “Vigorous as that, huh? Okay, I’ll see what I can do. You think a possible job might help?”

       “Oh, that would be ever’thing, sir. Her sewin’ just isn’t bringin’ in enough.”

       “Does your mother type?”

“She knows it, sir. She’s tried to find somethin’ with typing but nothing’s available.”

“Well, I’m thinking of a possibility right now. But let’s keep it under wraps until I get it all firmed up, okay?”

       “Me mouth’s zipped tight.”

“So let’s see, then. Oh, my, it’s after one o’clock. I think the luncheon specials might still be on the board if we hurry.”

       “It’s my invitation, sir. I’m not meaning for you to pay. I got enough from the route to buy us malteds.”

       “You can do that, if you like. But the roast beef and gravy sandwich is on me for standing you up so long, how’s that?”

       “Oh, that’d be mighty keen, sir.”

       “My pleasure, Benny. My pleasure, beyond doubt.”

        [overvoice]

        Charmaine greeted us with one of her warmest smiles, shaking hands with Benny before she handed him the menu.

        “Don’t think we need this, Miss. Officer Weir done decided for us at the station, if it’s still on the specials board.”

        “For you and the detective, Benny, there’s always a special on the board. I hope there weren’t any irregularities that brought you to the police, Mr. Garfield.”

        “Oh, no, Miss. Officer…that’s Detective Weir’s going to do some field work for me, he says.”

        “Well, that sounds intriguing. Is that anything like following up on a case of some kind?”

        “Researching a case, is all, Charmaine. Strictly by the book. Master Garfield’s book.”

        [overvoice]

        I gave her our order, the usual roast beef and gravy sandwich with chocolate  malted on the side, extra ice cream, and while Benny took a break to the gentlemen’s room, I reached for Charmaine’s arm and stopped her from leaving the booth. It was the first time I’d touched her, except for the brief reach across her lap to close the squad car door before the whole Fogerty-Falcone case swallowed us up. I let go of her arm slowly and looked into those clear hazel eyes looking back at me in wonderment.

        [clearing his voice] “I…I was wondering if you like the movies, go to the movies, ever at all.”

        [light laugh] “I love the movies, especially the ones with Bogart and Bacall. Key Largo is playing at the Tutterton Palace. I’ve been wanting to see it.”

        “Would you see it with me?”

        “I’d love to, Detective. But only if we don’t turn it into an extension of the  investigation.”

        “Oh, no, that’s over, at least your part of it. We don’t have to even mention your landlady and her grandson. It’s a date, then?”

        “Long as it’s a date. When can I expect you to come calling?”

        “Saturday night at, well, I was thinking dinner before at the Harbor Grill. Maybe six? I’ll check the movie times and let you know for sure. That okay? That’s if you don’t have to work.”

        “That’s just fine. One of the gals can cover for me. I still have plenty of favors to call in, believe me, even after the clean-up of my apartment.”

       [Benny’s return]

“Anything interesting happen while I was gone? You know, anything I should be brought up to speed on?”

“Only the current price of malteds and the thickness of the roast beef on our luncheon plates, my man.”

[laughter to fade out]

____________