Abandoned. John Schlarbaum
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to do, what to do?” she asked the walls, thinking a cat might not be a bad idea after all, as she’d have a constant companion to talk to.
Soon enough Jennifer located Jeffrey’s green Windstar van parked in a lot across from an apartment building. Due to the darkness and the streetlight’s glow reflecting off the front windshield, Jeffrey was invisible sitting in the driver’s seat, binoculars in hand.
“Which unit are we surveilling tonight?” Jennifer asked as she climbed into the passenger seat. The interior lights didn’t come on.
“304 – second in from the left,” Jeffrey said, pointing upward. “The lobby board lists the girlfriend’s name as the current tenant.”
“And that’s a problem?” Jennifer edged forward hoping to see the couple doing something wrong, illicit or both.
“It could be if the signature on the condo deed is my client’s ex-husband’s. A pre-divorce date would be best for us as it would prove he’s hiding assets ... and I’m not referring to the lovely ones gracing his girlfriend’s body,” Jeffrey said with a hearty laugh.
The P.I. set the binoculars on the dash and turned his bulky frame to face Jennifer. A former athlete in his youth, the decades hadn’t been kind to Jeffrey Hamill. Pushing fifty-five, when he entered the private investigations field in the 1980’s he’d figured on having a cushy corner office job in a big insurance company downtown. However, the path taken bypassed downtown, midtown and uptown, only to stop at every drive-thru fast food window along the route. After hitting the 250-pound mark, Jeffrey quit weighing himself and ordered his doctor not to reveal the number during his yearly physicals. Although far from the stereotypical jolly fat man, Jeffrey had retained his humour, which in the face of aneurism-inducing stress each day felt like a victory. Plus, he had more street connections than an agency that employed a hundred investigators.
Jennifer reached into her purse and produced a small paper bag. “A gift for you,” she said handing Jeffrey the bag.
Jeffrey opened it but didn’t peer inside, inhaling its aroma instead. “Boston cream.”
“The cronut place was closed, so I went with the second best option,” Jennifer replied. “Real friends know these things.”
“That they do,” Jeffrey said, taking a bite out of the doughy present and placing its remains back in the bag. “It could be a long night. I’m going to save it for a midnight snack.”
“So ... with the pleasantries dispensed and in your case, ingested, what’s the deal with Becky’s blackmailing the press?”
“I’m not sure ‘blackmail’ is the correct term. Either a reporter pays for her titillating tale, or no one does and her sleazy story gets bigger with each passing week in seclusion,” Jeffrey offered.
“Do you think she’s still sitting pretty, hoping that her one big pay day won’t pass her by?”
“Her day is coming, Jennifer. All she has to do is count the weeks until the election.” Jeffrey raised his binoculars toward his subject’s balcony after a light in a room came on. “Time for bed.”
Jennifer glanced up. “I hope you’re talking to yourself.”
Jeffrey laughed. “Malone, you couldn’t handle a man like me.”
“Ha – I can’t handle any man for more than a week!”
“Men scare easily, that’s all.”
Jennifer turned to Jeffrey. “I’m scary?”
“To a lot of men, yeah. You’re beautiful, you’re without a doubt smarter than most of us Neanderthals, and you’re aggressive due to your profession,” Jeffrey said.
“I intimidate guys, is that what you’re implying?”
“Only the wrong guys,” Jeffrey replied waving his finger at her. “You need to find a man who will push back when you push forward – psychologically, not physically, of course.”
“And where are these men, wise one?”
“From what I hear, you could begin with the chamber where Councilman Tilley works. You might not agree, but you and the Hot Beckster have a few things in common.”
“Such as?”
“You’re both easy on the eyes, tenacious and know what you want. Becky set her sights on Tilley and wore him down. He told a mutual friend that every time he tried to end her advances, she countered with something new, and after a while he began to enjoy the game they were playing.”
“And the next thing you know, he fell right into her vagina while vacationing with his family in Florida,” Jennifer said with a wide grin.
“Getting back to my point about Neanderthals, some are further down the evolutionary line than others.”
The light in the apartment bedroom went out.
“I’ll keep that in mind when I cover a city vote,” Jennifer said. “So ... Mitch was wondering if there’s any word on the street where Becky is biding her time?”
“Speaking of cave men,” Jeffrey chuckled, “tell him I appreciate the compliment, but my informants have come up empty-handed. My guess is she’s sitting on a private beach at a resort her daddy owns. Now that’s the kind of man to set your sights on, Jennifer. He recently cracked Forbes Top 100 list of wealthiest men in North America.”
“I’ll send him a Facebook friend request in the morning.”
Jeffrey reached for a thermos and poured himself a cup of tepid coffee the colour of tar. “Want some?” Jennifer shook her head side to side. “Are you working on any other stories?”
Jennifer reclined her seat to view the bedroom window, while wondering what had really happened at the hospital earlier. “Maybe.”
“I’m all ears,” Jeffrey said, attempting to recline his seat without much success.
“I went to Met Hospital to find out about that guy they dragged out of the river. Until further notice, John Doe will remain John Doe,” Jennifer began. “Then I found myself in conversation with a young couple – he’s a hospital transporter, she’s a security guard – who believe an old lady was murdered while having hip surgery.” Jeffrey gave her a questioning look. “Yes, it sounds farfetched, but the transporter swears that prior to the surgery the patient begged him not to let them kill her. He sloughed it off as jitters and pain meds until she died first on the operating table – they rescued her from the light – and then for the last time in I.C.U.”
“How old?”
“Late 80s.”
“Forgetting the kid’s account, is there anything else that points to foul play?” Jeffrey asked. “Old people die in hospitals. It’s not exactly breaking news.”
“There were flowers in her room although she’d only been in for a short time,” Jennifer answered. “Luke – he’s the transporter – didn’t believe the patient had any family with her. I’d need to find out who sent them.”
“So you are working on it?”
“I’m undecided,” Jennifer said noncommittally. “I’m hoping the security guard girlfriend can get the camera footage from the 8th floor or gift shop where the flowers were purchased.”
“Check the Telegraph’s obituary section in a couple days too. There may be a full list of family members you can contact after the funeral.”
“We’ll see.”
Jennifer’s cell phone rang, startling both of them.
“Malone,” she answered.
“Hi, Jennifer?” the male voice asked tentatively. “It’s Luke from Met Hospital.”
“Your ears must