Kenneth Lawson, Author, Story Teller

Check Out all of the Writer's United Anthologies I have stories in.

December 31, 2024

Plans? Who's Got the Plans?

A James St.James Mystery

My mood was as black as the night when I pulled onto Wilshire Boulevard. The fear in the late-night caller’s voice brought back memories of the war. I hadn’t heard fear like that since.

Lights from the billboards, streetlights, and on-coming traffic blinded me as I tried to find the address he’d given me. I’d barely got his name and address before he slammed the receiver on the hook.

Even over the phone line, I could smell the terror in him. My blood ran cold, and I shivered in the warm evening night as my mind tried to play out senses from the war.

The red neon sign of Ralph’s Dinner was on my right. A couple of blocks later, I passed Clover Food Mart. At this hour, only the night lights were on. Doran’s Diner on the next corner tempted me for a second, but the fear in my gut took over. Just past Dodd Real Estate was the car lot he said he was at.

I started to pull in when a figure appeared out of the shadow. He was silhouetted against the moonlight and the light from the Sunny Brook billboard behind me for a second. As he reached for the door, the crack of a rifle echoed across the streets. At the same time, I saw a hole in the car behind him. I pushed the door open and dragged him in bodily. He landed half sitting and half lying across the seat next to me. By the time he closed his door, I had pulled back into the street. The sound of car horns blaring at me as I pushed my way into the line of traffic. It all happened before I could even say shit.

I weaved between vehicles for a couple of blocks, then slowed down. Every black two-door coupe looked the same in the dark. By now, the shooter was probably long gone, but there was no guarantee that someone wasn’t following us.

The next couple of blocks were a blur. By then, both of our breathing and heart rates had slowed down. At a traffic light stop, I stuck my hand out to him.
“James St. James.” He took it and tried to shake my hand, but I could tell he was still shaking from the experience.

“Not used to getting shot at, are you?” I asked, half joking. He shook his head no.
“You never get used to it. You learn to react and get scared later.”

“Kevin Kelly.” He muttered quietly.

“I had a lot of questions for you, but now I have even more.” He nodded and looked out the window.

After a while, he spoke. “Where are we going?”

“Someplace safe, where they won’t find you. Somewhere, you can get some rest, and we can talk. You got anyone waiting for you to come home?”

“No, my wife Darlene’s with some club friends in the Angeles National Forest. I couldn’t get away. She won’t be back until next weekend.”

We pulled into the alley behind the Open Door Bar, and I got out and found my keys. Kevin stood back by the car, watching.

“A bar?”

As I turned the lock open, I told him. “Yes, a bar—my bar and office. You’ll be safe here.”

He followed me in, looking around, and spotted the tiny bunk room. “You have a bedroom at the bar?”

“Sorta. It’s where I can stay if it’s not safe to go home, so it’s a handy place to put people out of the way. That’s where you sleep.” I pointed to the bed.

He followed me past the two offices and into the kitchen. I turned on a small light, started coffee brewing, and pulled out a few beers from the cooler. He followed me to the dark main room, and we sat down at one of the round tables.

Neither of us spoke for a few minutes. We concentrated on drinking our beers. I finally got up and went to the bar, where there was a phone. The first call was to Brenda. I told her what happened, that we were all right, and that I probably wouldn’t be home tonight. She said she’d meet me in the morning.

The second call was to my friend Detective Bob Cramer. I gave him the short version and told him there was a car on the lot with what I thought was a hole from a thirty-aught-six. Bob said he’d send a uniform to check it out and guard the place until morning.

Returning to my seat with two cups of coffee, I pushed the half-empty beers out of the way. “Okay, Kevin. Time to talk.” I put on my no-nonsense face, looked at him squarely, and waited. He sighed and looked at his coffee. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Let’s start with the obvious. Why did you call me?”

“I was alone and scared. At the first phone booth I found, I looked up private investigator numbers, saw yours, and remembered seeing it in the paper a while back, where you found some missing woman, so I called you.”

“Okay, but why not call the police?”

“And tell them what? Tell them I saw a strange man handing my boss what I thought was a bundle of money and that I didn’t know what for. They’d laugh me out of the station.”

He had a point. Most detectives wouldn’t give his story a second look. “Okay, what happened that someone wants you dead?”

“I work at a place called Sinclair Industries. We design and build prototype airplanes and technology for the government and some private industries with special needs. I worked late in the archive vault, checking on some old drafts for use in a current project. I didn’t think anyone was still in the building. I passed my boss’s office on the way back to mine. There was a man with him. As I passed the door, he handed the guy a large cardboard tube like we keep plans in. The man then tossed a fat envelope onto my boss’s desk, and money spilled out—a lot of money. As he picked it up, my boss saw me. I beat it out of there as fast as I could. Kept walking for a few blocks until I got away from the building. Then I found a pay phone and called you.” Kevin looked down at his coffee and took a sip.

“It appears your boss told whoever he was getting paid that you saw them, and they decided you were a loose end to be killed. And they did it fast. They must have followed you far enough to know you called someone. Then, the shooter waited until they had a shot, using my headlights to see you as you ran to the car.”

“Now what?”

“Now you sit tight here and wait. In the morning, we’ll figure out what to do. Meanwhile, give me all the information about your boss and the layout of the building.”

Over the next hour, Kevin gave a rundown on Sinclair Industries and his boss, Russell Lee, chief engineer, how accounts were handled, who has access to the archive vault, and where current projects are kept.

I called Bob and gave him the short version and the boss’s name. He said he’d check it out first thing in the morning, and I was right. Patrol found a thirty-aught-six hole in a car on the lot.

After Kevin settled in the bunk room, I stayed in the bar, thinking and drinking coffee most of the night. I wouldn’t leave him alone in the bar even though I was sure he was safe here. But they got a shooter on him too quickly, which bothered me a lot. Eventually, I dozed off in a chair in the bar.

~

In the morning, I was in the kitchen making breakfast and coffee for Kevin and me, and when he stumbled out of the bunk room, I pointed him toward the bathroom. “There’s a razor and new toothbrush in there.”

While we ate, I told him my wife Brenda was coming over to watch him, and he’d be just as safe with her as with me. I had to go start looking into his boss and Sinclair industries.

It wasn’t long before the back door rattled, and Brenda came in past the offices and into the kitchen. I kissed her and introduced her to Kevin and told him to do what she said, or she would shoot him, Pointing to the faint blood spot in the back area where she had shot Willie Brown a few years before. We never did quite get all the blood out of the floor. Kevin turned white when I pointed out the blood spot. He’d walked over it without noticing. I figured that would put the fear of God in him, and he wouldn’t give Brenda any trouble while I was gone.

I drove past the car lot where I picked up Kevin. A couple of police cruisers were talking to what I assumed was the lot’s owner. There was no point in my stopping and confusing things more than they were. I did, however, spot a likely place where the shooter hid.

Circling back around the block, I noticed the fire stairs for the roof, which appeared to place a shooter in line with the car lot. I knew the police would check it out, but I doubted there would be much there.

The next stop was Sinclair Industries. I parked across the street from the main entrance and watched the foot traffic in and out. It appeared that most visitors entered the front door, and I spotted what looked like executives leaving about noon. On a hutch, I followed them. They parked their fancy car in an upscale restaurant a few minutes later. The kind that doesn’t open to the public until six pm, and you need a reservation six weeks in advance, with references. They were there for a private lunch or something else.

I glanced at my watch. It was about twelve-thirty. Since I couldn’t get in, I returned to Sinclair Industries. I reached behind the front seat and pulled out an old leather briefcase with some paperwork for the bar. I used it last time to see the bank manager a few weeks ago.

Straightening my tie and bushing the wrinkles out of my suit as best I could, I marched in the front door, striding right past the reception desk, and headed for the elevator as if I belonged there. That’s as far as I got. The elevator had a punch card reader next to it and only worked with a punch card. I cut my losses and got out of there. I’d have to go back officially and see the head of security.

I found a pay phone, dropped a dime, and called Brenda. “You okay, hon?”

“Yeah, we’re fine. He’s bored but behaving.”

“Good, I am checking something. I’ll be back a little later.” I hung up and hopped back in the car. It was only a few blocks until I got to the car lot where I’d picked him up. I could see how the late-night shadows and lights would hide him. It would be pitch black from where the shooter was, except for one spot near the billboard and the lights, exactly where I parked, which was the only place to pull off the street.

I backtracked down the street to Sinclair Industries and parked. One of the Cadillacs I’d seen earlier at the restaurant had returned. I didn’t know if it was Kevin’s boss, and I was tempted to see him but decided against it for now.

I wrote the license plate number down for future reference. While driving to the bar, I turned everything Kevin had told me over in my mind. It all made sense. Nothing was out of place based on what he said happened. The gun didn’t bother me. Almost any ex-solider or even a civilian could get a thrifty-aught-six. Hell, it may have been a regular hunting rifle. What bothered me was how they got to him to take the shot so fast.

That bothered me, along with what was going on with his boss and what was in the cardboard tube. It only made sense for it to be what Kevin thought it was. Why else do business late at night?

Pulling into the alley behind our bar, I locked the car and knocked on the back door. Brenda opened the back door, letting me in. I kissed her, then headed to the main bar, where Kevin sat at the same table we’d sat at last night, a cup of coffee and a sandwich before him.

He looked up from his food as I entered the room. “Well?”

“I’m not sure. Everything you told me checked out, but...” I let my response hang there while I sat down across from him. Brenda placed a sandwich and a cold beer in front of me.

“But what?” The worried tone of his voice revealed how scared he still was. I didn’t blame him.

“But there are still a lot of questions.” He didn’t seem satisfied with my answer but said nothing.

I considered my next move while eating my sandwich and drinking my beer. When the phone rang, Brenda answered it at the bar. “Jim, it’s Bob.” She held out the receiver as I got up, taking my beer.

“Yeah, Bob?”

“That Kelly guy still there?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Because they just found his boss dead.”

“Shit. Where?”

“At his place. The maid found him when she came in this morning. She’s still crying like a baby.” The exasperation in his voice carried through the phone. Very few things bothered Bob, but a crying woman was one of them.

“What now?”

“Bring him down.”

“On our way.” I hung up the phone and turned back to Brenda and Kevin.

“Your boss is dead. They found him at home this morning. Come on, we’re going downtown.” I picked up my hat from the end of the counter and headed for the back door. Kevin got up and followed me.
~

Twenty minutes later, we were sitting in Bob’s cramped office. The Police department restructuring and mass firing of corrupt officers and the move to a new building had done little to improve the working conditions of the few detectives that had survived the purge.

Introductions were made, and Kevin told him exactly what he had told me last night. Bob took a file from the top of the stack of files on the side of his desk. Opening it, he pulled out a picture of a dead man.

“This him?”

Kevin swallowed hard and looked pale, nodding yes. “Yeah, that’s him.”

Bob put the picture back. “His housekeeper found him this morning. He’d been shot with a large caliber bullet—one shot close range, straight to the heart. He was probably dead before he hit the floor.”

“Now what?”

“We’re still doing background on him and Sinclair Industries. For the time being, I’d suggest you stay with Jim. I don’t have the manpower to guard you twenty-four seven. Besides that, at this point, I’m not sure who to trust, even in the department.”

I nodded in the affirmative, picked up the phone, and called Brenda to say we were still doing guard duty and to call Walt for extra help.

Once we were back at the bar, I gave her a rundown on what they knew about his boss. She said Walt was on his way. Walt was a friend from the war. We had gotten back in touch several years ago when I needed his help on a case. Since then, we’d become partners on the PI side of the business, and he often helped with the bar.

Walt came in the back door carrying a pump shotgun. Kevin looked surprised to see the gun. “We probably won’t need it, but…,” he tailed off at Kevin’s questioning look.

Introductions were made, and I explained what was happening. A schedule was set so at least one of us would always be at the bar with him. I headed to Sinclair Industries. Something had been bothering me from the beginning and it was time to find out what.

The building seemed quiet for a company whose chief design engineer had been murdered. Only a couple of squad cars parked near the door gave any indication this wasn’t a typical day. I noticed a payphone about half a block from the building, which gave me an idea. I wandered over and checked the phone. It was working. Pulling out a pad and a fountain pen, I wrote down the phone number.

Taking my time, I wandered around the building, looking for entrances and any place to hide at night. At the door marked employee entrance, I noticed another payphone under an awning not far from the door. I checked, and it was working. I jotted down that number as well.

A half-hour later, I was back in Bob’s office. “One thing that been bugging me right along is how they got on to him so fast.”

“Lucky, I guess.”

“No. It was planned.”

“Planned?”

“Not specifically for Kevin to see them, but in case anyone did. Here’s what I need you to do. Check his phone records for that night. See if there are any calls to one of these numbers about the time Kevin said he saw them in the office.”

Bob made a couple of calls and reached for the pad I’d written the numbers on. After waiting a few minutes, he circled one of them. “At eleven-thirteen, there was a thirty-second call to this number. Came from a phone inside Sinclair Industries.” He pointed to it.

“That’s the number for the phone near the employee entrance. That’s how they got on to him so fast.”

“So he had someone watching at the phone in case something went wrong?”

“Yeah, probably the one in front, too.”

“Why not just kill him when he came out?”

“I think it’s because they didn’t want to attract any attention. It’s safer to follow Kevin and go for him when they get the chance.”

“At the car lot?”

“Yeah, they probably saw Kevin call me. They didn’t know who he called. So they waited. When he got to the car lot, he disappeared into the shadows so they couldn’t get a shot at him. They had to wait until he came back into the light.”

“When you picked him up.”

“They had maybe three or four seconds to shoot. One shot, and they missed.”

“Okay, so now what?”

“Not sure yet. But this gives me an idea. I’ll get back to you later.”

With that, I left Bob wondering what I was thinking. I wasn’t sure myself, but the phone call made me wonder about something again.

I went to the car lot and checked the pay phones. There was one at the lot that Kevin had called me on—the other across the street on the corner. I called Bob with the phone numbers, and after checking, one of the numbers hit paydirt. There was a call from the corner right after Kevin’s call to me. Further checking gave us an address. I told Bob I’d meet him there.

The address was a diner shoehorned into a corner next to a brick building and another lot behind it. The flaking yellow and blue paint on the outside looked like it had been touched up many times. On the long side, in Gothic letters, the diner’s name was Blue Moon.

Bob and I went in and took a booth near the counter. The waitress who came to take our order looked about as tired as the paint on the outside.

“Two coffees, and We’d like to speak to the manager.” Bob laid his badge on the table. She turned white for a second before managing an “Okay” and turned to get our coffee. She spoke to someone behind the counter, and he approached us, wiping his hands on a stained apron.

“I’m Carl Timmons, the manager. How can I help you, gentleman?” The nervousness in his voice was unmistakable.

“I’m Detective Bob Crane, and this is my associate, James St. James. You’re not in trouble. We just need to ask you some questions.”

Carl’s hunched shoulders slumped as he relaxed. “How can I help you?”

“Who was here around midnight last night?”

“Shirley and me. Carlos was supposed to be cooking last night, but he got sick, so I was doing double duty.”

“You have a pay phone?”

“Yeah, it’s in the back, by the restrooms.” He nudged his head in that direction.

“Does it get much use?”

“I dunno. I don’t keep track.”

“Okay. Did a call come in last night about midnight, maybe a little before?”

“Yeah, come to think of it, it did. I was going to answer it, but Vic answered before I could.”

I glanced at Bob, nodded, and continued. “Tell me about Vic.”

“Hell, I don’t know, he’s been coming in for a couple of months. Gets coffee and pretty much stays to himself.”

“Last night?”

“Come to think of it, he did stay later than usual. He’s usually out of here before I start closing up. He sat in his usual booth.” He pointed to a booth with a clear line of sight for the pay phone.

“He ordered coffee, but I don’t think he took a drink. Soon as he got the call, he was out of here in two seconds. I’d never seen him move so fast.”

“One more question: Has anyone touched that phone since then?”

He shook his head no. “It’s been slow today.”

“Okay, don’t touch it. Give my friend here a description of Vic. I’m going to radio for forensics to get them out here to check that phone.” Bob disappeared out the front door.

Two hours later, I was in Bob’s office while he read the report on the prints lifted from the pay phone in the Blue Moon Diner. They didn’t come up on the police database. I suggested he check the prints of all of Sinclair’s employees.

After a go-round with the personnel director of Sinclair, who wasn’t in a hurry to give the police sensitive personal information about its employees and their contracts, Bob reminded him that he was investigating the death of Sinclair’s chief engineer. That meant nothing was off limits and threatened a search warrant for all morsels of information about every employee. The threat of a court order worked, and the personnel director promised to have the fingerprint files within a couple of hours. Bob told them an associate and a uniformed office would pick up the fingerprint files and a list of who was in the building in the last twenty-four hours.

The head of security, apparently tipped by the personnel director, cooperated with us and gave us a tour of their security operation. Behind the decorative mirrors in the lobby was a room that monitored everyone coming in and out. He showed me the records for the previous day. Kevin clocked in at eight-five that morning and in and out for lunch between twelve and one in the afternoon. He never clocked out at the end of the day.

He gave me a list of the employees, contractors, and guests who had been in and out that day. Then, I had him show me the process for getting to the vault. He also gave me a rundown of when I snuck into the building. I had been logged in as an unknown, and a picture had been taken. My details were noted in the file.

The vault was on the second floor towards the back of the building, and anyone entering needed a key card to access the floor from either the elevator or stairs. Each employee had a key card with a different set of punches corresponding to their employee number read by a mechanical reader. Only authorized personnel could get on the floors above the main floor, and authorizations varied depending on their status within the company. The hallway to the vault was lined with offices, conference rooms, and a security room not far from the vault itself. To enter the vault, you need your keycard, know the lock’s combination, and have a security officer use their physical key to open the door once the lock is released. Once you were in, the door locked behind you, and you had to use the intercom to request access to leave. Any file or plans removed had to be signed out and logged back in when returned.

The security chief opened the vault, and it was apparent no one was getting in unnoticed or without authorization. The confidential plans were stored in cardboard tubes with plastic caps and identifying information. He showed me the reference system for keeping track of the file and their inventory. Each tube had a number recorded in a logbook with details about it. I had to admit it was a pretty good system, which it had to be to handle the volume of information there.

The security director gave me a list of all the personnel and contractors who had access to the vault. It was short, barely a whole page. Kevin Kelly was on it, but he only had access to the archive room, a separate vault from where active projects were kept. On the way out, I checked the boss’s office, bypassing the police tape still covering the door, and took a quick peek into Kevin’s office. There are no apparent signs of foul play in either office. I also confirmed that if his boss’s door was open when walking past, you could see the desk and anyone standing in front of it.

I returned to Bob’s office with a list of who was in the building that day and their security card numbers. I explained to him how security was set. So, whoever was in the building had to have signed in at some point during the day.

The only one logged out after Kevin said he left was his boss a few minutes later. So, whoever was with his boss either clocked in, signed in as a guest, or snuck in, with or without help. That gave me another idea. I made a phone call to the head of security for more information.

Bob and I then cross-referenced the employees there that day to the prints on the diner pay phone and came up with a name. Lawrence Block, whose ID photo resembled the description of Vic, the diner manager gave. Block was a contract engineer with a second-floor clearance and access to the vault. Bob pulled his prints, and they matched the pay phone. He was our guy.

Bob, so shorthanded, decided that I’d stake him out first and try to get a sense of him but not approach him until Bob was ready to move. I couldn’t promise that, so I only nodded. Bob knew me well enough that if I had to move, I would.

Lawrence Block lived on the fashionable side of town. The car parked in the driveway was a newer model Ford. Trees and a neatly mowed lawn surrounded the off-white stucco house. After driving around the block and getting a lay of the land, I parked across the street and down just a bit from his house to watch for him leaving again. I intended to follow him.

By now, it was late afternoon, and Brenda would be expecting me at the bar, but I wasn’t able to call her. At least I knew Walt would take over if I didn’t return in time. So, I waited.

Around six, Lawrence and a woman came out the front door and got into the car. I fired up the Ford as they backed out of the driveway and kept them in sight as they turned onto a main drag. Traffic was heavy this time of the day, so I had to weave in and out to keep them in sight.

They stopped at a neighborhood Italian restaurant, and I pulled into a lot across the street where I could watch. The restaurant was small, and I decided not to go in after them. I settled down in the cramped seats of the old Ford coupe and waited.
An hour later, they came out. The woman seemed happy, so they must have had a good time.

I fired up the Ford and waited. They turned right and headed toward downtown, so they were not going home immediately. I pulled in a couple of cars behind them and noticed another car pulling out at precisely the same time as me. Coincidence? I stopped believing in coincidence during the war. I kept an eye on the rearview mirror, and the car seemed to follow one of us, but which one—them or me? I watched for a turn-off on the next block. I sped up slightly to get distance between us and then turned right abruptly onto a side street. I sped up a bit as I watched the review mirror. The car following made a sharp turn to keep me in sight.

The question was answered: They were following me, but why? The obvious answer was Sinclair Industries. I’d been nosing around about the chief engineer’s death, but I wasn’t a cop, so why was I involved? Who knew Kevin hadn’t returned to work? Why was his boss killed? If anyone had done the math, they might think Kevin killed his boss. But there’s no time to worry about that now. I had to deal with the car behind me.

I let the car follow me for a couple of blocks. When they stopped behind me for a red light, I jotted down the car’s plate number and make and model. Spotting an empty parking lot not far away, I loosened the forty-five in its holster while I suddenly made a hard right and pulled into the lot. I hit the brakes hard and spun the car sideways to the entrance. They nearly crashed as they tried to get into the driveway and skidded to a stop not far from me. I stood behind my car’s engine, holding my forty-five leveled at them.

“Hands in the air!” I shouted, surprised as two sets of hands appeared behind the windshield. “Keep them where I can see them and get out of the car—slowly.”

They did as requested and slowly worked their way to the front of their car. They stood in front of the grill, hands still in the air.

“Whoa there, go easy with that thing.” One of them cautioned.

“Okay, who are you?”

“I’m Agent Redding, and this is Agent Phelps, FBI,” the older one volunteered.

“Badges?” I didn’t believe them.

“Look, we know who you are, St. James. I’m going to reach into my jacket and get my badge slowly.”

I nodded yes and watched as he carefully opened his jacket and pulled a small leather case from an inside pocket. He leaned forward slightly, handing it to me to see. I carefully shifted the pistol to my right hand and took the leather case from him with my left hand.

Flipping the cover up, I saw a genuine FBI badge with Redding’s name and picture. The other guy handed me his ID, and I decided both were real. Glancing back and forth between them, I lowered my gun and handed them back their IDs.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry.” I apologized as I slid my gun back into its holster. Everyone relaxed and leaned against our cars. “Why are you following me?”

“Sinclair Industries. You’re investigating a death there.”

“Yeah, the senior engineer was killed yesterday. I was asked to look into it.”

“Yeah, Russell Lee.” I nodded yes.

“Who’s your client?” Redding raised an eyebrow.

“Can’t say right now.” I didn’t want to drag Kevin into the FBI unless I had to.

“Fair enough, for right now.” I was surprised he let it go that easy.

I glanced at my watch and looked up at the darkening sky. It seemed to be threatening to rain any minute.

“How about we go get some coffee and compare notes?’ I suggested. I still didn’t completely trust either of them, but it wouldn’t hurt to stay on their good side, especially after pulling a gun on them.

Redding glanced at his watch and the sky and nodded. “I don’t think we want to stand out in the rain. There’s a diner just down the street.” We got into our respective cars. I waited while they backed out and followed them to the diner, where we took a back booth and ordered coffee and a sandwich.

“I assume you saw me at Sinclair’s today?” I started as I waited for my coffee to cool.

“Yeah, we’ve been staking the place out for months.” Phelps gave Redding a side-eye look when he mentioned the stakeout.

“You saw me come and go, then talking to the head of security?”

“I’d already talked to the local cops, and you showed up. I ran a check on you, found out you’re a private dick, and started to wonder what you’re doing here.”

“So, you followed me.” I finished his thought for him. He nodded.

Our sandwiches arrived, and we paused for a few minutes to eat. I considered how much to tell them while I ate. “Lawerance Block?” I threw the name out there between bites, watching for a reaction.

“He’s a consultant and client of Sinclair. We’ve seen the name in the files. What about him?”

“Nothing, Just a name that cropped up yesterday. I wondered if you knew anything.”

I noticed the glance between them. They knew him but weren’t about to tell me anything.

Redding finished a bite. “What do you know about something strange happening the night before Lee was found dead?”

“Strange how? It’s LA. There’s always something strange going on around here.” I ate the last of my sandwich and downed my remaining lukewarm coffee.

“Some car dealer over on Wiltshire had one of his cars shot at. Put a huge hole in a rear fender, went straight through the trunk, and clipped the gas tank.” Phelps explained.

“Yeah, I heard something about that on the news.” I let it lie, offering no details. Hopefully, they wouldn’t connect it with Sinclair or Kevin. I didn’t think anyone knew about Kevin.

By now, we finished our sandwiches and drank our coffee. I straightened up in the booth and started to slide out. “Well, I’ve got a bar to run.” I laid a five-spot on the table. “Nice meeting you boys.” I walked out, and they let me.

By the time I got my car, the sky was darkening, and the clouds were rolling in. It was going to be a thunder-banger of a storm. I hoped I could finish what I had to do before it poured.

I swung around the block, so the FBI thought I was going the opposite way and drove a different route to the Block house. They hadn’t returned. I parked next door and slipped on my leather driving gloves. I made my way through the darkness to the patio in the back. The door there was easy to pop open, and I entered. A quick look around told me the back bedroom was his office.

Standing in the middle of the room, I looked around. Two walls were covered with bookshelves and a long table under the lone window. A large drafting table sat in the middle of the room. Spotting a pile of tubes with plastic caps on them, I looked them over. They were all labeled for Sinclair Industries. Popping the cap of each one, I checked to see if the plans inside matched the ones on the label. They all did, except for one on the bottom of the pile, the plans inside with a different ID number and stamped ‘Top Secret.’ Hide in plain sight? It made sense, so I took it with me. It had to mean something.

Back in the car, a thought kept nagging at me. Why was the FBI interested in my involvement and my client? Most of the time, agents were careful not to give themselves away. They made sure I saw them following me.

I drove to the police station to see Bob. I kept my gloves on and took the tube to his office. I held out the tube. “You might want to put on gloves before you grab this. It needs to be checked for prints.”

“Do I want to know where you got this?”

“No.”

Bob shook his head but called for a tech to get the tube. I told him about Lawrence Brooks and the FBI while we waited for the results. The results were as I expected. Only chief engineer Russell Lee and Lawrence Blocks’ prints were on the tube, not Kevin’s.

Bob fumed for a minute and then looked at me. “I think I know what you suspect. I’m right there with you.”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense. With the FBI involved, we know we aren’t dealing with petty thieves, not when the stakes are top secret documents. The thing that has always been nagging at me was how the shooter didn’t hit Kevin at the car lot. My grandmother, with her double-barrel shotgun, wouldn’t miss him at that range. He was a clear target in that light. I think my client has been less than honest with me. What if the shooter was someone he knew and trusted to shoot at him but not hit him? His wife? He said she was with some club friends in the national forest. We need to make sure she was there.”

Bob agreed. He ordered a junior detective to run a background check on Kevin’s wife, and we waited for the results. Forty minutes later, the detective returned with news.
“Sir, Darlene Kelly is a member of the Los Angeles Gun Club. She is considered an expert marksman and holds a Distinguished Expert rating from the club. She is currently on a hunting trip with members of the club. I called the lodge where the group is staying. She checked in. So, I asked the clerk to check if she was still there. He said the maid informed him Beckey Kelly checked in but didn’t sleep in the bed for two nights.”

Bob thanked him and dismissed him. He leaned back in his chair. “Only you can get yourself into such a mess.”

“But I’m right about this, and you know it.” He nodded. “Bob, if these people are dealing in stolen military secrets, they wouldn’t have missed killing Kevin Kelly. I think Russell Lee passed the plans to Kevin and was then killed so he couldn’t talk.”

“But where does this leave us?”

“Lee had to die. He’d seen too much. Lee left, and if we are right, Kevin made the call from inside Sinclair Industries.”

“He called someone he trusted, and he knew had the skill to do it.”

“Like your wife?” I prompted.

Bob laughed. “Not mine. She can’t hit the broadside of a barn, but yeah, like a wife.”

I called Redding and Phelps and asked them to meet me at the bar. Before we left, I called Brenda to be sure Kevin was there and to act normally. We were on our way.

The sky broke loose as we arrived at the bar, and the rain fell in torrents. A metaphor for the storm we were about to unleash. I parked as close to the back door as possible and hurried in. Bob had followed me in his car. I noticed Redding and Phelps had beaten us there and were sitting at a corner table near the entrance.

I walked into the bar from the kitchen carrying the tube from Lawrence’s place. Kevin remained stoic, but I saw the flash of recognition in his eyes. He knew we had the classified plans. I held the tube up. “This is what the whole thing’s been about. The theft of top-secret military plans from Sinclair Industries.”

I leaned against the bar, and Brenda handed me a beer. “Thanks, Hun, I needed this.” Shifting around to face Kevin directly. I took my time and picked my words carefully.

“Kevin, you tried to sell me a load of bullshit. I figure about one hundred percent of what you told me last night was crap.”

“What do you mean? Someone did shoot at me.”

“Yeah, we’ll get to that in a bit. Right now, let’s start at the beginning. You needed to get certain plans out of the active vault unnoticed and ideally blame someone else when they turned up missing. So, you took your time. Realizing that Russell, your immediate boss, was ripe for bullying, extortion, or a bribe, you got him to steal the plans, but you couldn’t just hand them over. You had to make it look like they were stolen from the outside. This would cover you and, to some degree, Russell, not that you cared since you planned on killing him anyway. Knowing the security system in place for the vault, you couldn’t just walk out with them. Senior engineers and top brass could do whatever they wanted, so Russel was the perfect choice.”

Kevin shifted in his seat, and I knew I was on track. “Russell transferred the plans out of its tube and into another one with a different ID that was not classified. You accessed the archive vault to justify your presence and met Lee, who gave you the plans. He left, but you placed a call on a phone in the secretary’s area. A call to the payphone at the rear of the building. A call to your wife, Darlene. Time for her to do her work. She went to the lot and hid, waiting while you drove to Block’s house, where he hid the tube.” I took a sip of beer.

“Then you drove to the pay phone, called her, then called me. She headed for the car lot and set up across the street on the roof. When I showed up, she took the shot, barely missing you.

While we were heading to the bar and safety, you started selling the story about the man in Lee’s office. Meanwhile, she used a pay phone near the building she shot from and called The Blue Moon Diner. You two knew that Lawrence would be there waiting for a call. I’m unsure how he was involved yet, but I suspect you were blackmailing him. We know he got a call in the diner and ran out.”

“You’re crazy. None of that happened.”

“While you were safely tucked in the bar with me for the night, Darlene had things to do. The first stop was Russel’s place, where she killed him. Then she returned to your car, drove it to the Sinclair parking lot, left it, walked back to her car, and headed back to the lodge where she was supposed to be. How that?”

Kevin lost his decorum and started to rush me from across the room. Bob and Walt quickly stopped him, gripping his arms and holding him.

“By the way, Kevin, these are Agents Redding and Phelps from the FBI. They’re here to arrest you for whatever Federal law you have broken. They’ve already picked up your wife.” They roughly cuffed him and led him out the back door.

After everyone left, I sat at the bar with Walt and drank my beer. Brenda went behind the bar and poured herself a whiskey.

She took a sip and then sighed. “How did you know he was lying?”

“Well, to start with, I always thought what he said was too complicated and sounded like a setup. If Lee had seen him, I doubt Kevin would have walked out of the building alive. Then I thought, maybe they let him go because security was so tight, so best to kill him elsewhere. Pulling that off would require at least one more person. The more people in a caper, the more that can go wrong.”

Walt nodded. “Sure can. What went wrong that convinced you Kevin was in on it?”

“When I found the tube at Lawernce’s place, I began to wonder. Hiding the tube in plain sight was good but risky. I watched Lawrence leave with his wife for dinner, and he didn’t look like a man worried about cops breaking down his door at any minute. But I couldn’t figure out why the plans were at his house unless he was meant to take the fall in case something went wrong.”

I handed my glass to Brenda, who pulled another glass from the tap for me. I continued my story. “It wasn’t until the FBI followed me and we talked that I began to put it together. They acted like they had no idea who my client or Lawerence Block was. They were not convincing in their ignorance. Redding told me they would follow up with Bob. He’ll fill us in when he knows anything.
Epilogue

I spent several days giving statements to the local police and the FBI. I was anxious to hear what was happening, and three weeks later. Bob stopped by late in the afternoon with news. This time, he took the beer Brenda offered him.

“This afternoon, a Federal grand jury charged Kevin Kelly and Darlene Kelly with unauthorized removal of classified documents and espionage. You already know that a CA state grand jury charged them with murder, accessory to murder, conspiracy to commit murder, theft, and several gun-related crimes. CA has deferred prosecution until after the Federal trial.”

“Did they figure out how Lawrence Block fit into this?”

“Yeah, he’s singing like a little birdy. Seems as though Block had gambling debts and a mistress on the side. Kevin Kelly was looking for soft touches to use and found out about his vices. We suspect Kevin wanted a patsy if anything went south, so he blackmailed Block to leave his back door unlocked so they could store something in his office. Block figured it was classified plans but was too scared to say anything. He’d wait for a call from his girlfriend at the Blue Moon, and Kevin knew it. So after he called you, Darleen used the pay phone on the corner across from the car lot to call the diner. She told Block he was in the clear, to leave the door locked for a couple more nights, and that what they left would be retrieved. Darlene planned all along to sneak in to get the file and kill him.”

I shivered. “All of this for classified documents. Does the FBI know who was behind this?”

“They aren’t saying much other than it was a foreign entity possibly working for the Soviet Union. Redding told me the government came down hard on Sinclair Industries and forced them to completely revamp their security and redo background checks on all employees.”

I raised my glass for a toast. “To the FBI and the LAPD, job well done.”

Bob laughed and returned the toast. “To James St. James, the best private investigator in LA. You deserved a reward.”

I looked at Brenda. “Got the only reward I need. Brenda and I are taking a long weekend. Might go to the lodge in the Angeles National Forest. Seems appropriate.”

Bob raised his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

__________________________________________________________________

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