Jeff Sherratt - Detour to Murder

My God, I thought, that’s the same bank that repo’ed my Corvette.

“Are you sure?” I asked

“Of course I’m sure. Why do you seem so surprised?”

The name, Los Angeles Bank and Trust, rattled around in my brain. Maybe it was just a coincidence about my car. Yeah, it was a big company, but…

“I don’t know. The name just sounds familiar. Anyway, thanks, Gayle.” I picked up the form and slipped it in my pocket.

There was something else I knew about the bank, something that tied it in with the goons. But what was it?

“I’m glad you came out here, Jimmy. Saved me a trip to Downey to see you.”

“See me, why?”

“I have something to give to you. Might help you with the Roberts case-but then again, maybe not. It’s really just a bunch of junk. I was about to throw it away, but then I thought you might find something useful.”

“Throw what away?” I asked, but my thoughts remained focused on the Los Angeles Bank and Trust, trying to place the connection.

She reached down and pulled up a shoebox that must’ve been on the seat next to her. She set it on the table.

“My aunt’s old shoebox. She gave it to me a few days before she died. Said to hide it. But there’s nothing important in it. I think it’s just personal effects that belonged to the woman who was murdered at the motel. Very macabre. A movie magazine, an old newspaper, some cosmetics. A few receipts, stuff like that. I don’t know why she kept it all these years. I guess she was kind of weird.”

“Wait a minute, Gayle, isn’t that the box the cops thought was stolen the night she was killed?”

“No, a big soap carton was missing.” She smiled. “Aunt Ida’s file cabinet.”

“You mean to tell me the thieves stole the soap carton, but the shoebox wasn’t in it?”

“She kept her records in a White King box: old tax returns, insurance policies, and God knows how many receipts. Remember I called you about her insurance?”

“Yeah, but didn’t she keep the shoebox inside the White King carton too?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. She took it out of the carton and gave it to me for safekeeping. The robbers didn’t get it.”

She slid the shoebox across the table.

“Here, take it with you,” she said. “When you have time look through it. Maybe you’ll find something I missed. Maybe some reason why Aunt Ida wanted me to hide it.”

“Gayle, this could solve the case! I think the people who killed your aunt were looking for something in this box.” I took a deep breath and rummaged through it. To my disappointment nothing of use immediately popped out at me.

Gayle asked, “Do you see anything that helps?”

“No, I’m afraid not. Just a bunch of Vera’s odd and ends; the same things that were in the box when Mrs. Hathaway opened it to get the phone bills for me. I’ll take the box and go over the stuff more carefully when I have time.”

“Okay.”

I sat back. “Your aunt didn’t happen to give you anything else, did she? Maybe a safe-deposit box key, something like that?”

“No, I’m afraid not. Sorry I couldn’t have been more helpful.”

“Gayle, you’ve been a great help.”

I laid a buck on the table for the coffee and started to get up.

Then it hit me.

“Goddamn!” I exclaimed.

“Jimmy!”

“I’m sorry, Gayle, gotta go.” I grabbed the shoebox and ran to the pay phone.

“Sol!” I said when he came on the line. “I know who hired Danny and Rollo.”

I remembered that Raymond Haskellowned the Los Angeles Bank and Trust. But that alone didn’t prove he was responsible for the murders, or was involved in my kidnapping and torture. The fact that he owned the bank didn’t in itself tie him in with Danny and Rollo. Only one thing did…

I drove as fast as I could heading back to Downey, hitting eighty in stretches where the traffic was light, sixty where it was heavy. I leaned on the horn, passed cars on both the left and right, and prayed that I wouldn’t be stopped. The shoebox rested on the seat next to me. I’d take one more look at the stuff inside when I was alone in a quiet place-a place where I could think.

By the time I arrived at the Silverman Building and took the elevator to Sol’s office on the top floor, Rita was already there. “Sol told me you’d called. He said to be here where you arrived. Said it might be important. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m great. I figured it all out.”

Sol sat behind his desk, looking a little skeptical. With the glowing tip of his cigar, he pointed to a burgundy leather armchair. “Sit. Tell us what you figured out.”

I sat in the leather chair and Rita sat in the other chair facing the desk. A glass coffee table bigger than Delaware separated us. I set Mrs. Hathaway’s shoebox on the table, and Rita picked it up. “What’s this?” she asked, removing the lid.

“A shoebox, but that’s not the important thing. Now, get this-”

“Get what?” Sol asked.

“The Tower,” I said.

“What Tower?”

“Remember when I had my car repo’ed?”

“Yeah, sure. The day you ate all my crumpets. But what’s that got to do with the murders?”

“When I called the bank to work out a plan to get my car back-the bank owned by Haskell, Los Angeles Bank and Trust-they said no.”

“Yeah, so? You didn’t make your pay-”

“The guy said the repossession order came directly from the Tower. That’s where the executive offices must be located. Where Haskell has his office suite.”

“Yeah, we know Haskell was on your ass. The way you spoke to him at the dinner-”

“Sol, listen,” I interrupted. “It finally came to me. I overheard Danny at the warehouse tell the driver to call the big boss. Tell him they’ve grabbed me. He told Morelli to call the boss at the Tower! That means the goons worked for Haskell!”

“Hmm…” Sol said.

“If the goons murdered Mrs. Hathaway, then they did it on his orders,” I added.

Sol stubbed out his cigar and stood. “Are you sure? Are you absolutely certain that Danny said to call the Tower?”

“Yes, I am. He said ‘ the boss at the Tower .’ Not only that, Los Angeles Bank and Trust is the bank that handled old Mrs. Hathaway’s trust account. We know that Haskell and Byron are as thick as thieves.”

“As thick as murderers,” Rita said. “But what about Vera? Did Haskell kill her too?”

“Of course. Vera had something, some kind of paper that she tried to blackmail him with. He killed her in ’45. Mrs. Hathaway just recently discovered whatever it was that she had. She probably found it while she was rooting around looking for the phone numbers she gave me. So naturally, she tried to blackmail him as well, and she met the same fate. She had been successfully blackmailing Byron, so why not tap Haskell, too?”

Sol listened intently, paused for a moment then grabbed the phone. “Get the Los Angeles Bank and Trust headquarters on the line.” He put his hand over the receiver. “Got an idea,” he told Rita and me. Then back to the phone: “Connect me with the Executive Tower, please, Raymond Haskell.”

“You’re calling Haskell?” I asked.

Sol held up his hand. “Yeah, I want to see if he even has an office there.” He tapped a button on a small black box sitting next to the phone. “Here, I’ll put the call on the speaker.”

“Hey, that’s pretty nifty,” Rita said. “We ought to get one of those things.”

“I’d like to speak with Raymond Haskell,” he said, after a succession of operators finally connected him to one of Haskell’s secretaries.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Haskell is not in his office today. Can I tell him what this is regarding?”