Ginny Page 6

  “You’re a peach and a pushover …”

  “That I am … Susan tends to my needs just fine and I’m a happy man.”

  The next three months were uneventful for Ginny and passed in quick fashion. The Dodge case Ginny was working dried up when the couple reconciled. There were no more attempts on her life. Herman Walker assumed his duties at his law firm, and Ginny finally returned to her apartment. The heartbreak and disappointment she felt when Reid left the hospital and moved back in with Isabelle waned. And then she’d wait for a phone call that would change her ho-hum life.

  After Ginny moved back into her apartment, her first assignment for Herman came soon.

  Forensic graphologist Molly Cline walked into the living room in her small brownstone apartment. Her husband Jacob, dressed for work, strode through the room and turned, headed toward the garage door. He paused by his wife at the center of the room.

  “See you tonight, honey.” Molly said.

  “Later tonight,” Jacob said, “bye now.” He gave her a light peck on the cheek.

  She turned to head toward the kitchen, when her phone rang. She answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Molly, it’s me!” said the voice on the other end of the line.

  “Yes. Ginny Graves, Private Investigator, at your service.”

  “Ginny, how are you this morning?” Molly asked.

  “Let’s have breakfast; I’m starving.”

  “I’ve had breakfast,” Molly said as the doorbell rang. “Hold on, let me get the door.” She opened the door to the early morning fog, revealing the bright-eyed Ginny, phone pressed to her ear, standing on the landing.

  “I’d like biscuits and gravy, scrambled eggs, French toast, fried potatoes and sausage, with hot coffee,” Ginny said.

  “Hi Ginny, you look great.” Molly embraced her longtime friend. “Welcome.”

  “You have coffee at least?”

  “Of course, in the kitchen,” Molly said.

  Sitting at the table, steaming mugs in their hands, Ginny asked, “Have you been following the news about the young woman’s body found near the college?”

  “I’ve heard about it.”

  “Well, I’ve been hired to investigate,” Ginny said.

  “By whom?”

  “That’s confidential. But if you’ll help me, I’ll spill the beans,” Ginny said, flipping her long, russet hair, flashing a wide smile.

  “So, what do you know that L.A.’s finest does not?”

  “In my sleuthing—that’s detective talk, ha—I’ve come across a piece of crucial evidence,” Ginny said, producing a wrinkled-up yellow Post-it-note.

  Molly took it. “Um … let’s go up to my office.”

  “I found it in Sister’s pocket.” Ginny said, following Molly up to the loft.

  “Sister?” Molly asked over her shoulder.

  “I see; you aren’t up to speed on the case. They identified the body of Sister Mary Agnes yesterday. The police are giving few details pending notification of her death to next of kin. I searched her room and, voila, the note, crumpled up, was in her sweater pocket.”

  “Back up, Ginny. Didn’t the police search her room prior?” Molly asked.

  “Yes, but the bozos are blind and inept.”

  “Was it planted?”

  “Maybe,” Ginny said, “but let’s see what the note tells us.”

  Molly placed the note on her worktable and scrutinized it. “’You won’t be smacking any more knuckles, BITCH!’”

  “Interesting,” Molly said, as she produced a three-page contract. “Before I begin, let’s settle the paperwork.”

  “How about a gentlemen’s agreement,” Ginny said.

  “I don’t see any gentlemen here. Just sign on the dotted line.”

  Ginny picked up the form and pointed to a line on the page. “What’s this number?” she asked.

  “My hourly rate,” Molly said.

  “Now I know why you’re living at the beach and I’m still an apartment dweller,” Ginny laughed.

  “Just sign it, go downstairs, pour yourself a bowl of Cheerios and I’ll be with you in fifteen minutes with a preliminary report, OK?”

  “Read it Ginny,” Molly said, placing a printed sheet before her client on the kitchen table.

  “Molly, tell me what you’ve found out.”

  “Well, the writer seems to have been extremely agitated when penning this ditty. It looks like parochial school penmanship. See the ‘r’ in ‘more’? Feel the indentation on the back of the sheet from the heavy pressure? If I had more handwriting samples, I’d be better prepared to add to this early assessment.”

  “Do you think this person is capable of rape and murder?”

  “Oh my God, the poor thing,” Molly gasped. “How old was she?”

  “Twenty-seven.”

  “It’s just sick,” Molly added.

  “The man’s a psycho.”

  “Ginny, I’m not one to be the bearer of bad news, but we don’t know if the writer is a man, or if it’s the perpetrator you are looking for.”

  “Molly, look at this,” Ginny said, pulling a color-copied sheet from her bag and placing it on the table.

  “Are you holding out on me?” Molly questioned.

  “This is a blown-up copy of a cell phone picture from Sister Mary Agnes’s classroom blackboard, taken before she went missing. Are there any similarities?”

  The word “BITCH” written on the blackboard appeared in the center of the picture.

  “Yes, there are similarities.”

  “We’re gonna make a great team, Molly.”

  “What other information are you holding back on?” Molly asked.

  “Last night, around six, just after they announced Sister’s identity to the press, the cops picked up Joe for … I mean, Father Joseph Sparks, for questioning.”

  “Joe?” Molly sported a curious smile.

  “It’s not what you think; Father Joseph is just a friend.”

  “Ginny, you old dog, this is me you’re talking to,” said Molly, her smile widening.

  Ginny let out a shriek of laughter. “Get your mind out of the gutter, naughty girl.”

  “I’m a little confused; you say the body was identified yesterday?” Molly asked.

  “No, they knew one day earlier, and I was called in by my clients to investigate last night … Well, you might as well know, since we—you and I—have formed this unholy alliance …”

  “So …?”

  “Herman Walker called me. He’s the lead attorney for Ernst and Ernst, a big L.A. law firm. They represent the archdiocese of Los Angeles. He said that he needed me right away to search the good sister’s room. But, unfortunately, the cops got there first, so I delicately as possible ducked under the yellow tape just after L.A.’s finest left, and did my thing. I’ve been at it all night and slipped out before dawn—undetected of course—and came straight to you.”

  “The room wasn’t locked?”

  “Molly, of course—why do you think they call me, lock-pick Ginny?”

  “Ginny, must you toot your own horn?”

  “What would you suggest we do next?” Ginny changed the subject.

  “You’re the detective!” Molly exclaimed.

  “Right. We’ll start with the college employees and staff. We’ll pull the personnel files today.”

  “And how are we going to do that?” Molly asked.

  “Leave that to me,” Ginny said with confidence.

  “It shouldn’t be too difficult for you to narrow it down. After all, you are the master sleuth,” Molly laughed.

  “This isn’t a laughing matter.”

  “True.”

  Ginny put on a serious frown and said, “I haven’t slept since I got this case. I’ll need some rest.”

  “Ginny, there’s no time for rest. We’ve got to find this maniac before he strikes again.”

  “OK, fill m
y coffee cup. You’re driving,” Ginny said as she pressed numbers into her cell phone.

  “Who are you calling?”

  Ginny held her hand up and said, “Charlie, it’s me, Ginny.”

  Molly watched her friend carrying on an animated conversation with Charlie.

  “Good, we’ll be right over,” Ginny said.

  “Charlie?” Molly said with a broad smile.

  “I’ll fill you in on the way, so let’s go.”

  The drive to the college took all of fifteen minutes, despite the steady light rain, as Molly roared up and down unfamiliar streets in her haste to get to the administration building on Mount Saint Mary’s College campus.

  “OK Ginny, fill me in,” Molly said.

  “The police were notified when the nun went missing but haven’t had any luck locating her. That’s probably when I should have been brought in, but, as you can see, I was left out of the loop.”

  “Who’s Charlie?”

  “He’s the human resources director at the college. We used to date,” Ginny said.

  “Is there any man in L.A. you haven’t dated?” Molly laughed.

  “Very funny, Molly; I should be so lucky,” Ginny said, and then a flash of nostalgia hit her. It had been only a few months back that she’d heard Reid’s voice on the phone.

  “Tell me more about Father Joseph,” Molly said, bringing Ginny back to reality.

  “Later,” Ginny said as they pulled up in front of the administration building.

  “Charlie, this is Molly Cline. Molly, Charlie Greene,” Ginny introduced them in the hallway outside of his office.

  “Please follow me, ladies,” Charlie said, leading them into his office. Molly closed the door behind them.

  “Looks like you’re ready for us,” Ginny said, picking up a file from a pile of folders on the table adjacent to Charlie’s desk.

  “Ladies, you’re not the only ones interested in our personnel files. My boss said that the police would be by today with a warrant to search through these files. Then I got a call from you, Ginny,” he said.

  “Mum is the word, Charlie,” Ginny shot him a serious look.

  “Hey, ask me no questions and I’ll …”

  “Thank you, Charlie, you’re a good friend,” Ginny said.

  “Have at it, ladies.”

  “When are the cops coming?” Ginny asked.

  “They’ll be here after lunch.”

  “We’ll order in, I’ll buy,” Ginny said.

  “OK, what are we looking for?” Charlie asked.

  “Charlie,” Molly said, “we have reason to believe that the evil-doer might work for the college.”

  “Creepy,” Charlie responded, “so, roll up your sleeves ladies and let’s get started.”

  After an hour had passed, Molly came upon what she thought was the note-writing suspect’s file. “Look, this could be him,” she said, pointing to the signature on a job application form, “George Dunford.”

  “Charlie,” Molly said. “Please copy these pages.”

  Charlie examined them. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” He gathered the papers, loaded them into the copy machine and when completed, he gave the copies to Ginny.

  “Can you see if this guy, George, is working today?” Ginny asked.

  After a short conversation, Charlie put the phone down and said, “He’s not in today. His supervisor said he’s been out several days now without an excuse.”

  “Interesting, maybe we should phone him,” Ginny said.

  Molly looked at the application. “The contact information on this sheet lists his local address, Fourth and Shatto Place, Los Angeles. His next of kin is a sister in Maine with an address, but no phone number. We have to move on this.”

  “Thank you, Charlie,” Ginny said. “Fourth and Shatto Place, that’s the thirty-two-hundred block. It’s off Vermont. Now, if memory serves me right, we can be there in thirty minutes or less,” Ginny said.

  “You know this town well,” Molly said.

  “We’ll buzz over there now,” Ginny said, putting her hand on Charlie’s arm with a gentle touch.

  “Ginny,” he smiled, “you’ll reward me later.”

  “You know I will and when the fuzz arrives, remember, mum is the word about our little visit.”

  “What about lunch?” he asked.

  “I’ll send you a pizza,” Ginny said as they hurried out of his office.

  Molly eased her vintage 1949 maroon Buick Super convertible up onto the 10 freeway, while the pitter-patter of raindrops hit the canvas top.

  “Exit on Vermont, and if there’s heavy traffic, we’ll take Western. Molly, I feel strange riding in a car without seat belts.”

  “Get used to it,” Molly said as she shifted into third at fifty miles per hour.

  “This is fast for an old tank,” Ginny joked.

  “Ginny, this car belonged to my father, so no more car jokes, OK? Now tell me why the older you get, the younger your boyfriends seem.”

  “Ha, ha. They are boy toys. You could say Charlie was my boy of the month a while back, and he may fill that job again.”

  “It isn’t right, all this banter and laughter during a murder investigation,” Molly said.

  “Levity is all we have sometimes,” Ginny replied.

  They found the address on 4th Street, an older apartment building across from Shatto Park. “How are we going to play this?” Molly asked.

  “Let’s move around to the back of the building. Apartment twenty-one should be on the second floor.”

  “Shouldn’t we check with the manager?” Molly asked.

  “Just follow me,” Ginny instructed, as they cased the building and started up the driveway. The light rain subsided. Ginny put her finger to her lips on the way up the back stairway. They found the apartment, and Ginny whispered, “Stand aside.”

  She eased over to the right of Apartment 21 and with her back to the wall. Ginny motioned for Molly to stay put. Ginny grasped the holstered .22 pistol in her left hand and rapped on the door with her right.

  “George ain’t home,” an elderly man said from the opposing doorway.

  “Know where he is?” Ginny asked.

  “Haven’t seen him, last several days,” the man said.

  “That unusual?” Ginny questioned.

  “No, sometimes he’s gone for days at a time; you ladies relatives?”

  “We’ll get the manager,” Ginny said, leading Molly away from the curious neighbor. They went back down to the first floor and found a tall, dark, middle-aged man coming out of the laundry room.

  “Sir, we’re looking for the manager,” Ginny said.

  “That would be me. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m Ginny Graves, this is Molly Cline, and we’re looking for George in Apartment 21.”

  “Cops?”

  “Yes,” Ginny replied.

  “He’s not in.”

  “Would you open his door for us?” Ginny asked.

  “Got a warrant?”

  Ginny pulled out a fifty and placed it the manager’s outstretched hand.

  He smiled, saying, “Works for me.”

  He opened the door, letting them in.

  “Thank you,” Ginny said.

  “I’ll have to stay with you.”

  The apartment was small, neat and clean. Ginny scanned the scene, taking in the sparse surroundings. “Interesting,” she said, as the manager took a seat to her left.

  Molly walked up to a drafting table in front of the only window in the room, picked up and examined some drawings.

  “Ladies, please do not disturb anything. We wouldn’t want George to become upset by breaching his space, would we?”

  “We’ll be careful,” Molly said.

  Ginny opened her cell phone and shot some photos.

  “Looks like he was building something. Ginny, check out these sketches,” Molly said.

 
“Thank God for modern conveniences,” Ginny added, poking away on her phone.

  The manager tilted his chair backwards and leaned against the wall, arms folded across his broad chest and smiled. “Take as long as you need, ladies.”

  Ginny walked up to him, bent at the waist, put her hands on his knees and said, “You’ll call me when George returns?”

  He widened his smile. “I’ll call you even if he doesn’t.”

  Ginny stood back and handed her card to him. “Make sure you do.”

  “Ginny, you have a way with men,” Molly said on their way back to the college.

  “Molly, you’ve got me all wrong. I was just getting information from the hunk.”

  “So, what have we learned today?” Molly asked.

  “Well, I think he’s our man, ole George Dunford. Recluse, loner, keeps pretty much to himself. The drawings, they disturb me. Can you remember in the news recently, there have been several incidences where creeps have kept captives locked up in basement rooms, just like the one we suspect him of building?” Ginny asked.

  “I’d hate to think that’s how Sister Mary Agnes met her end,” Molly said with a shudder.

  “Evidently, you haven’t seen the graphic report printed in today’s paper,” Ginny said.

  “I’m glad I didn’t. Besides, when did you have time to read the paper?”

  “While I was waiting for you in the kitchen,” Ginny replied.

  “What’s our next move, Ginny?”

  “I noticed the drawing of an air vent pipe. Let’s look at some of the outbuildings on campus where an extruding pipe would be visible from the outside. Then maybe we’d be on to something.”

  “Shouldn’t we be informing the police about our suspicions?” Molly inquired.

  “First things first, my dear friend; we’ll check with George’s boss, see if he can help us. He’d be privy to all the buildings on campus.”

  Ginny’s cell phone rang. “Hello,” she answered.

  “Virginia Graves? Ginny?”