The Red Eagle
Edward D Adams

 

I was having lunch with Raymond Breslin at the Huntington Country Club. The club had just hosted the U.S. Open and there was still a buzz in the air and a glow on the employees’ faces. The dining room overlooked a long fairway where several men were dismantling what was left of the metal bleachers that hugged either side of the fairway. The bright sun came in through the large window highlighting invisible particles in the air.

Raymond Breslin was six one with dark wavy hair and a tan complexion. His thick eyebrows looked like caterpillars perched on his narrow head. He was an aggressive businessman who was uncomfortable expressing human emotions. His hands began fidgeting with his fork as he said,

"The reason I asked you to lunch was because I need you to handle a problem."

"Diamond’s the name, problem solving’s my game."

"I heard you were a wise ass but cut it out."

It was the first assertive statement he made since calling my office earlier that morning. He picked up the glass of wine that sat in front of him and shook it in compact circles before lifting it to his mouth and finishing the few remaining sips.

"Maggie, my daughter," He said as he replaced the glass. "Ran away three years ago. She left without a note or phone call. Since her mother died, she is often prone to these...episodes. Usually, when she’s had ample time to cool down, she’ll come home. On this occasion, it took her about a year and a half." He reached over, pulled the bottle out of the ice bucket, and refilled our glasses. "One day I came home to find a lengthy letter explaining the circumstances of her abrupt departure. She said she couldn’t handle the lifestyle I had given her."

"What kind of lifestyle was it?"

"As you know, I’m quite wealthy. I own Breslin Oil Company."

He left it hang as though its weight was of great importance. Since I hadn’t heard of his company, the gesture was wasted.

"I gave her the best of everything: cars, money, food, and school."

The only thing missing from his superficial laundry list was love. He looked like the type that would often make the mistake of substituting objects for feelings.

"You name it, she had it." He continued. "Only she wanted to succeed without riding on her father’s coat tails and she wanted me to be proud of her for who she was."

"There’s nothing wrong with that. As a matter of fact, it seems very responsible."

"It is. Our relationship is becoming much stronger since she’s gone to Florida to...find herself. Anyway, since her first letter, Maggie has written about every two weeks or at the very least called once or twice a month. I haven’t heard from her in about three months. I want you to go to Florida and bring her home."

"What happened to letting her find herself?" He didn’t seem amused. "All right, I’ll go down and talk to her. But if she’s happy, I can’t force her to come with me. Your money may buy a lot of things but it won’t buy a kidnapping and it can’t buy me."

I wanted to tell him that it couldn’t buy a daughter but refrained when I saw the muscles in his neck tense and the veins around his temples flair. I also enjoyed eating regularly and according to my bank balance, if I didn’t take this case, it would be a while before I ate again.

"Very well, Mr. Diamond. We’ll play by your rules. Only try to remember where your check is coming from."

I let it pass. "For starters, I’ll need her last address and most recent photograph."

He reached into the pocket of his overcoat that was draped over one of the unoccupied chairs at the table and removed an envelope. With his hand over the envelope, he slid it across the table, which made the transaction more suspicious than it really was.

I lifted the photo from the envelope. Maggie was eighteen in the photo, which made her twenty-one, and average looking for someone who supposedly had the best of everything. Her long blonde hair almost completely concealed her innocent blue eyes. Her narrow face resembled her father’s and her smile seemed bereft of feeling and warmth. I explained my fees and by the end of lunch, I was employed.

I had taken the red eye to Orlando and checked into a small hotel about five miles outside Disney. The hotel had a diner and it was crowded with tourists who anticipated a fun filled day with Mickey and Goofy. I found a seat at the end of the counter and ordered the special. The last letter Maggie had written her father was full of promise. She was starting a new job on International Drive for a prominent accountant and was taking classes in accounting at the local college. I finished my breakfast and on the way out, bought a map.

I found the address of her employer through a phone book in the lobby of the hotel. I checked the letter to make sure I had actually read the word prominent. The office was a one-story house that had been converted into an office. Two five-story buildings were on either side of the house and by the looks of the other buildings on the block, the owner of the house held out. A sign in the dirt yard read Ronald Kappman, CPA

I entered through a wooden door, which stuck and required more force than normally necessary to open a door, into a small foyer and then into what used to have been the living room. The wooden floor creaked with every step and the cracks on the white plaster walls made the room look like a life size road map. I approached a desk where an old woman was shuffling some papers. She was old and heavily worn. Her cold blue eyes had lost their fire but a bright ember still flickered. When she spoke, her chins gobbled like a turkey’s.

"Can I help you?"

"I hope so. I’m looking for Margaret."

"I don’t know any Margaret Breslin."

She tried to conceal the slip and I let her think that she had. "I was under the impression she worked here as Ronald Kappman’s secretary."

"Well, you’ve obviously been misinformed! I’ve been Mr. Kappman’s secretary for ten years and we have never employed anyone by that name. Now, if you’d please excuse me, I have plenty of work to do."

"I’m sorry Ms.-?"

"Livingston."

"Ms. Livingston. Is Mr. Kappman available?"

"No. He won’t be in until tomorrow. And even then I believe he has quite a busy schedule." She flipped through her desk calendar. "Oh, yes. He’s quite busy. You can try back towards the end of the week. I’d be glad to set you up with an appointment."

I turned around and left making sure I slammed the door behind me. I compared Maggie’s address to my map and made the drive across town.

She lived in a run down rancher with rotting cedar siding. I macheted my way through waist high grass to a wooden porch that miraculously rotted faster than the house. Behind me, I could hear the rush of traffic on the Bee Line Expressway. I carefully approached the door, for fear of falling through the porch, and before I had the chance to knock, I could smell death. I pulled my shirt up over my mouth and fought down the nausea. I tried the door. It was unlocked. Another bad sign.

I found Maggie in her bedroom lying face up on her bed. She was naked with the exception of a bloody sheet that was draped over her stomach and abdomen. The blood had turned black and hard. She had been stabbed several times. Her outstretched hand dangled precariously over the edge of the bed. The innocent blue eyes stared coldly and emptily at the white ceiling.

"You’re a long way from home, Maggie." She didn’t seem to hear me.

After a couple of hours of answering questions by the city’s finest inept detectives, I was ushered down to the opulent office of Lt. Samuel Gibbons of the Orlando Police Department. Gibbons was young enough to be my son and stupid enough to be my dog. He was five three with crew cut black hair and was too muscular for his medium build. His head was almost swallowed by his thick neck and broad shoulders. He used the weight of his position as Lt. as if it would compensate for not being tall enough to see over the dashboard of an automobile. He threw my wallet at me and said,

"So you’re a detective, huh?"

I said I was.

"What were you doing at her apartment?"

"Looking at her extensive collection of Frank Sinatra albums."

He turned to Vinnie who had been standing silently in the corner. "Jesus Christ. A real big city wise ass. I don’t have enough trouble so Mr. Diamond of Philadelphia comes down for some ball busting. How do you like that?" He turned back to me. "Are you sure you didn’t kill her? Maybe you forgot something that could link you to the murder so you went back to the apartment."

"If I did kill her, which is impossible since I’ve been in this city less than the actual time of the murder, why would I go back to the hotel and be dumb enough to call you?"

"You tell me? It’s the perfect way to avoid suspicion."

"You’re right. I confess. I’m Captain Kirk and I’ve traveled back in time to capture a sacrificial virgin to take back to my leaders-"

"Shut the Hell up. You’re a pain in the ass, Diamond." He looked at Vinnie. "Would you get the file for Captain Kirk."

Vinnie silently left. Gibbons leaned back and propped his feet on the desk. A warm breeze blew in from the small window ruffling some of the papers on the desk. We sat in silence until Vinnie returned. He handed Gibbons the file and returned to his post next to the Lt. I started whistling Stand by Your Man.

He threw the file at me. "She’s no virgin."

He was right. Maggie had been busted at least a half a dozen times for soliciting to an undercover officer.

"He probably did this city a favor. Girls like her are giving this city a bad name."

"She has a name. It’s Margaret. And I would appreciate it if you used it." I threw the file on his desk and as I left, I slammed the door shut. That’ll teach him.

I went back to my hotel to break the news to my client. I told him everything except how Maggie really made her living. In many ways, he was proud of his daughter for succeeding in areas when he failed. I couldn’t tell how affected he was by the sudden realization that his daughter would never come home again.

"I’ve booked myself on the first flight back-"

"What the Hell for? I want you to find the son of a bitch that killed my daughter. I don’t care what it takes just get it done." He hung up.

By the tone in his voice, it sounded like just another routine business deal with a stubborn client. I drug the only lead I had back to Ronald Kappman’s office. His secretary could hardly control her excitement when I strolled through the door.

"Oh, it’s you again." She said as she looked up from her mountain of papers. "What do you want this time? Don’t tell me, let me guess. You want to know whether or not I’ve seen Jimmy Hoffa?"

"Actually, I wanted to ask you out for dinner. The way your chins wiggle really excites me."

"Go to Hell!"

"If I dated you, I probably would." I took a few steps closer and faced her. "Why did you lie to me?"

She returned the stare. Her eyes were cold and penetrating. "I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"This morning I asked you if I could speak to Margaret."

"Has it been that long? Where does the time go?"

I wanted to tell her that it was probably sucked through the nostrils of her enormous nose but I needed some information. Besides, I was tired of trying to think of insulting things to say.

"I never mentioned her last name yet you knew which Margaret I was talking about."

"I guess that’s you’re idea of being shrewd and clever." She sighed. "If you must know. She worked here briefly as my assistant. Real brief. She lasted less than a month. She was extremely inept and was quickly terminated."

"Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?"

"Well besides the fact that it was none of your business, I was always told if you don’t have something nice to say then don’t say it at all. I didn’t feel the necessity to trample on a person’s faults. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have plenty of things to complete before Mr. Kappman returns."

She began shuffling and re-shuffling some of the papers on her desk. Her hands were surprisingly quick for her age. I left her shuffling the papers for the fourth time and drove back to the hotel for some much deserved sleep.

As I was cutting the police seal on the back door of Maggie’s home, I could hear the distant sounds of fireworks coming from Disney World. The door led into a dark kitchen whose only light trickled in from the full moon. I felt for a switch and turned on a light that illuminated the back yard. I quickly turned it off and felt around for a less obvious light. Across the door was a wide counter with two chairs in front. The switch underneath the counter didn’t work but the one in the dining room did.

I methodically checked all the rooms in the house and was still no closer to finding a clue than when I was sleeping in my hotel. On my way out, I grabbed a butter knife from the silverware drawer and bent down to the switch underneath the counter. With the knife, I removed the two screws and carefully pried the plate off the wall by wedging the blade of the knife between the plate and the wall. There were no wires. Just a small rectangular box hidden in the wall. It had a lock on it similar to the kind found on a suitcase. I broke the lock off with the knife and removed the contents. A deed to a car, four handwritten letters, and a few other miscellaneous items. I replaced everything but the letters and went outside where there was no sign of a car.

When I returned to my hotel, I had three messages from Raymond Breslin. All of which I ignored. I ordered two sandwiches and a six pack of beer from room service. I took a shower and by the time I was finished, my dinner had arrived. During dinner, I read the letters. There were four total and they were all signed R.K. It wasn’t too hard to make the connection. The last was the only one of interest. It offered Maggie a job working for R.K.’s company. It mentioned that she was taking night classes and how this job would afford her the opportunity to hone some of her skills learned in the classroom. Before I went to bed, I locked the letters in the hotel’s safety deposit box.

"If Gibbons knew I gave you this information, he’d have my stripes." Vinnie said as we were drinking a cup of coffee and eating doughnuts.

We were sitting at a desk that had been partitioned off by invisible walls. It was still early, around eight, and many of the desks in the precinct were vacant. A window to our left was open and a humid breeze blew in from outside. The sun was rising on the other side of the building and the breeze seemed to ward off the unusual chilly morning.

"Does he tell you when to eat and breathe too?"

"I know he’s a hard nose but he’s still my boss. He’s one of those guys that were always picked on in school. Especially because of his height. I think he was the shortest guy in the state." He laughed. "Anyway, now that he’s in a position of authority, he tries to throw it around like it makes up for all the years people abused him. When he’s not trying to part the sea, he’s not really a bad guy. Unfortunately, he works so hard at forcing people to respect him that in the end nobody does."

"You’re right about that." I finished the coffee and threw the paper cup in the trash. "So what do you think?"

"About the case? I don’t know. It’s hard to imagine stabbing someone a dozen times with a letter opener. He must be nuts."

"I don’t think it was a man."

"What do you mean?" He reached over to the box of doughnuts and grabbed another.

"Look at the wounds. Maggie was five two. If you or I stabbed her, or anyone over six feet, the knife would have a sharper downward angle. The angle suggests the killer was either the same height or slightly taller. How many guys do you know that are five two?"

"Only the Lt."

"Un-huh. What do you know about Ronald Kappman?"

"Boy, you really jump around don’t you. I thought you said it wasn’t a guy?"

"It’s not."

He took his annoyed look over to a table four feet from his desk where he refilled his coffee cup. As he sat back down he said, "Well, he’s been in a few scrapes with the law. His father was also an accountant and when Ronald earned his degree, the old man hired him on. When he died, Ronald took over the business. He’s not the smartest accountant or investor for that matter."

"What do you mean?"

"He’s made some recent land investments that have fallen through. He’s not broke but if he doesn’t start investing wisely, he will be."

"What about the law?"

"Nothing that I can remember. Other than adolescent stuff."

"Could you find out?"

"Sure."

When I arrived, Ronald Kappman still wasn’t in his office but his secretary assured me that he was due in at any moment and yes, he had a busy schedule. One that couldn’t spare five minutes to talk to me. I had waited nearly four hours before giving up on seeing him. I walked out and found a pay phone about three blocks away. The sun was hot for midday and sweat began to soak through my shirt. I dropped a quarter in the slot and dialed Vinnie.

"I found out that information for you. Oh, and before I forget, the car you asked about turned up on the Bee Line about two hours ago. The car had been abandoned, tags stripped, no registration, etc... They ran the vehicle I.D. number and when they found out that the owner had just been murdered, they called us."

"What they find?"

"Bloodstains in the trunk, which we’ve sent samples to the lab, and the murder weapon wrapped in a bloody towel. It was a gold letter opener, white handle, with-"

"A red eagle on the handle." I hung up.

"You shouldn’t have left the letter opener." I said after barging through the door.

"What are you talking about." She said innocently. "What opener?"

"The one you used to kill Maggie. And when they find him, the one that you probably killed Kappman with."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t killed anyone."

"I think you did. If you didn’t lie to me, I probably wouldn’t have given you a second thought. But you did."

"I simply didn’t want to tell you. Surely that’s no crime. She simply couldn’t handle the job and I let her go."

"You let her go?"

"Yes. Why should that surprise you? I asked Mr. Kappman for an assistant and he allowed me to use my discretion in choosing the proper candidate."

She stood defiantly behind the desk then walked over to a long metal filing cabinet. She inserted a key, opened the top drawer, and looked through the files.

"As far as Mr. Kappman is concerned," she said to the files. "He is very busy, this is the height of the tax season and he is often unavailable for great lengths of time."

"I was under the impression that Maggie was asked by Kappman as a way to help her gain the some experience in the field. At least that is what’s written in the letters from Kappman to Maggie."

I saw her back straighten. "All she was was a two bit whore." Her voice was coarse. "Oh, yes! He loved to have beautiful women on his arm and then when he grew tired of them or they were no longer physically appealing he give them a car or a house or a job. A token to bid them farewell. That bastard!" She slammed the drawer so hard that the bottom drawer became slightly ajar.

Maybe I was so engrossed in the conversation or quick change in attitude and demeanor that made me almost miss the opener in her hand. She abruptly turned around and charged at me like a raging bull. I turned to let her pass and with a closed fist, hit her on the back of the head. She went down with a groan. The letter opener had been freed from her hand and slid to the wall. I never liked hitting a woman but then again; I wasn’t a big fan of being stabbed by them either.

When Breslin walked through the outer door of my office, I had just gotten off the phone with Vinnie. Breslin had come from his daughter’s funeral. His eyes looked like two black holes in his tired and haggard face. He sat down in a chair and removed the black velvet hat that made look more like a pirate than a grieving father.

"I want to thank you for all you’ve done." He said in a tone matching his appearance. "Of course, I would’ve loved to see better results but I’m glad you were able to apprehend the...villain."

He began to say murderer but lost the nerve. He was also showing signs of caring and warmth. Though his diction was business like, his tone was emotional.

"She was too inquisitive for her own good."

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"She began working for Kappman because she was taking night classes for accounting. One night, she was working alone and was putting some files away when she came across another set of books. It didn’t take an accountant to add up what was going on. Kappman was funding several land projects that folded. His secretary, Ms. Livingston, kept the books and she would make the investment for seventy-five capitalizing on the profits of the twenty-five. Livingston would then arrange the books to show a debit of fifty and the profits for only fifty. When the deal was over, she would replace the twenty-five she took. Unfortunately, his last few deals went belly up and she had a hard time replacing the money. Maggie found out, through the books, and confronted her. So, Livingston killed her and tried to cover it up."

"What makes a person do that?"

"Kappman was no saint. In his college years, he and a few of his buddies hired a prostitute. They didn’t feel like paying her, so they raped her instead. She went to the police and had a strong case. Immediately after being raped, she went to the hospital. Kappman’s father had enough influence to bury the case. It helped that she was a prostitute. She took revenge by waiting until Kappman inherited the business and becoming his secretary. She was just going to embezzle the money and leave him penniless but when she found out about the investments, she figured she could cheat him out of the money and he would never know. In a sense, committing a crime without being punished. Just like him."

"What happened to Kappman?"

"I just got off the phone with Vince Kramer of the Orlando PD. Apparently, his secretary couldn’t reimburse his accounts fast enough. He found out and she killed him. They found him in the river. She was kind enough to tie cinder blocks around his feet."

Breslin lowered his head in a finalizing gesture and then lifted himself out of the chair. It looked to take all of his energy to cross the room and walk out the door. I never told him about how Maggie really made her living and how she got offered the job from Kappman in the first place. He loved his daughter. The pain and anguish on his face proved it though he couldn’t find the words to express that love.

I turned around in my chair and faced the window. A hard rain smacked against the window. Beads of water formed and ran down the glass. I watched Breslin cross the street with his head buried firmly into his chest to block out the rain. He unlocked the door of a black Jaguar and drove away.

 

 

Copyright � 1999 Edward D Adams
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"