FRANK SPEAKER
by Sam Douglas
"Hey, Harry, did you see the newspaper item on the little rich girl who disappeared?" Frank Speaker asked his partner over their morning coffee in the office.
"I saw it. Why?"
"Well, what did you think about it?"
"I thought it was a crying shame. And it reminded me a little of the JonBenet Ramsey case."
"Exactly! That's the first thing I thought about - JonBenet Ramsey. Except she was murdered and this little girl is just missing so far. Let's see - her name is Elizabeth Ann Hamilton, and a lot of the circumstances are like JonBenet - rich family, beautiful little girl, dead of the night, and no real clues according to the papers."
"What is our interest in this, Frank?"
"The JonBenet case is still unsolved, Harry, but it's a long way from here. This case is right here in our town, and I don't want it to be like JonBenet. I don't want it to be unsolved. I want us to find out what happened to Elizabeth Ann Hamilton."
"Who's going to pay us to find out? We haven't made a helluva lot of money since we opened up, so who's going to pay for this?"
"We haven't made money for a couple of reasons. One is that there are too darn many private investigators in this town already. They're all better at tracking wayward husbands and cheating wives than we are. But the main reason we haven't made much money is that we didn't get into this business for the money. We got into it to do some good. Remember? We got into this business for Elizabeth Ann Hamilton. So I guess, in answer to your question, I'm going to pay us to find out what happened to her."
"Works for me. You've got more money than the king of Fort Knox anyway." Harry paused a moment, then continued, "I assume you don't know anymore about this case than what's in the newspaper."
"That's right. We've got to start at the bottom on this one."
"Yeah, so what's new? I'll put out some feelers. Let you know what I find out."
If anybody can find out what happened to Elizabeth Ann, it's Harry, thought Frank as he watched his partner walk out the office door. He also thought he probably didn't have as much money as the king of Fort Knox, but he did have more than his conscience would accept. He fell into all the money because his best friend in college, Jackson Parsons, had been geekier than Bill Gates and had pulled him kicking and screaming into an information based company at the height of the computer bonanza. They started up a little company called 2geeksnachine.com and ended up with a gold mine involved in all aspects of the technology - hardware, software, and most of the internet applications. Jackson could make the technology do anything he wanted. He could find the tiniest bit of information in the most obscure computer in the world and make that computer do anything he wanted it to do. They made a mountain of money with almost no effort. Jackson loved it. Frank came to hate it. He felt guilty getting all that money without doing anything for it. Finally, he talked Jackson into buying him out and took away more money than he knew how to spend. At that point, he was four years out of college and looking for some responsible way to spend the rest of his life.
Although he now sometimes wondered what he could have been thinking, that search was ended when he ran across Harry Wayne, another old college buddy, in a bar. Harry was barely comfortable with computers. He was much more down to earth, more action oriented. He was a big, ruddy Irish type with reddish hair and a wide, open face. He stood six feet three inches tall, a full four inches more than Frank, and weighed 230 pounds, 50 more than Frank. In college, they were on the football team together. While Frank was a wide receiver, flitting about the sidelines trying to avoid any kind of contact, Harry was an offensive lineman, barreling around in the middle of the field looking for somebody to hit. Jackson, of course, did not play football, except that he could beat both their tails in the video version.
After college, Harry went to work for the police department. When Frank spotted him at the bar, he was a detective second class. As soon as they managed to find a booth where they could talk, he took a long drag on his straight bourbon and said, "I'm fed up, Frank. I've been doing this now for four years, and each year gets more frustrating. We catch a guy dead to rights - a killer even - and he gets off on a technicality. Somebody doesn't read him his Miranda rights or a liberal judge cuts him loose or a nutty jury can't reach a verdict. It's driving me crazy. I tell you, Frank, I'm ready to toss it all. If I had someplace to go, I'd be out of here before you could say 'Protect and Serve'."
"What would you do if money was no object," asked Frank sipping at his Courvoisier.
"Funny you should ask," said Harry, waving his glass at a passing waitress. "I've thought about that a lot. Without all the limitations and frustrations, I'd love to do police work, to really fight crime. I've often wondered over the past couple of years how it would be to investigate crime without all the restrictions. If I could afford to give up my job, I'd like to get a private investigator's license and try it that way for a while."
"I'd think you'd have some pretty severe restrictions on what you could do as a PI, too," said Frank.
"Yeah," said Harry, "but you'd have the privacy and the flexibility to work around most of them." He wagged his index finger in the air, "Knowing what I know as a cop, I'd be able to handle a lot of the problems without anyone ever knowing."
"So if you didn't have to worry about your police salary, you could do a lot of good as a PI?"
"No doubt about it." Harry had taken on a whimsical look, probably aided by the bourbon. "I'd do a lot more good, and I'd feel a hell of a lot better about what I was doing."
"Well, believe it or not, I've been frustrated with my life lately, too," said Frank. "The computer world with all its gee whiz technology and money raining down on you is great for a while, but you get to looking for some deeper meaning. You see all these wiseass richniks who sincerely believe they deserve everything they've lucked into, and you don't want to be like them. You want something a little more basic, a little more real." Frank giggled a little as the thought flitted through his mind that his philosophical mood was superior to Harry's because it was inspired by expensive cognac instead of common bourbon.
"What's so frigging funny?" asked Harry.
Frank squelched his giggles and tossed off his philosophical mood. "Not a frigging thing," he said. "This is as serious as your mama's dreams for her little boy. What would you think of us starting a PI agency and seeing if we can do some good in this town? I can provide the financing and you can provide the expertise - and the muscle."
"Muscle, huh," said Harry. "That might be the best part."
And that's how Modern Investigations began. They hoped that name and three or four computers scattered about the office would give an atmosphere of technology and efficiency to their operation and that would instill an air of confidence in their clientele. Problem was there hadn't been that many clients yet, so both Frank and Harry spent most of their time looking for things to do.
The phone jangled Frank back to now. As he picked up the receiver, he glanced at his watch; he'd lost another three hours of his life. Harry was on the phone, "I've been talking to some of the people in the Hamiltons' neighborhood. They thought I was a cop. Neighborhood like that, they wanted to tell me everything. I didn't try too hard to correct them. Problem was they didn't have much to tell. No dirt, no rumors, no problems with the Hamiltons. But while I'm talking to them, a real cop showed up. He didn't know me from the force, so he detained me and took me to the officer-in-charge. Get this, Frank, that turned out to be my old sergeant, George Riley. He chewed me out pretty good for nosing around, told me I didn't have any right to be there, but then he told me what they'd found out so far. That's not all that much either. They've got absolutely no physical evidence, zilch, no signs of forced entry, no blood, no tracks, no foreign substance, nothing in Elizabeth Ann's bedroom or anyplace else. Oh, but speaking of JonBenet, Riley was upset because his crime scene had been compromised, too. He said all the relatives and close friends of the Hamiltons had beat the cops to the house and trampled all over everything before their crime scene people got a chance to process it. Sounds just like the JonBenet case, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, it does. I guess that has to be coincidence, but it's still strange."
"To make matters worse, everybody that came into the house felt like they had to go into the little girl's bedroom I guess to make sure everybody else hadn't overlooked her crouching in a corner or hiding under the bed. Riley says they'll have a helluva time lifting all the prints and sorting them." Harry paused and Frank could hear pages of his notebook rustling. "That's about all except for a little background. The father is Thomas Hamilton III, owns an internet company called Buyithere.com. They got in on the computer windfall, so he's loaded. But there hasn't been any ransom demand yet. The mother's name is Ruth Payton Hamilton, daughter in a rich old family in town. She spends her time on civic and charity causes sort of keeping with her class. No scandal or dirt connected to either husband or wife."
"You said Buyithere.com? What does the company do?" Frank heard the notebook rustling again.
"Online commodities," said Harry, "whatever that means."
"Okay, Harry, thanks. Maybe Jackson can tell us something about the company."
"I'm going to see if I can talk to some of the friends and relatives that were in the house. Hope I don't get arrested. Talk to you later."
Frank thought about Googling Buyithere.com, but he knew that would upset Jackson since 2geeksnachine had its own search engine, Callitup.com. He decided to just call Jackson and let him do the search. Jackson loved that kind of stuff, and he was much better at it than Frank, or anyone else for that matter. Under the terms of Frank's sellout, he retained unrestricted use of all the company's databases. He also retained a little non-participating interest in the company that more than replenished the money he spent no matter how much money he spent.
Jackson wasn't surprised to hear from him. They talked often. Jackson had almost as little to do as Frank. The computer company practically ran itself. "So how's the PI business?" he asked.
"Slow as usual, Jack," said Frank. "But I'm starting something new that I hope will pick it up. We're going to start looking at some crimes the police are having problems with. Maybe we can do some good that way."
"Or get yourself arrested."
"Yeah, I think that's a distinct possibility. But if we do it right, maybe we can pull it off. We're starting with this Elizabeth Ann Hamilton case. Did you see that in the papers?"
"I saw it online," said Jackson. He never read newspapers. He got all his news from the internet. "For some reason, it reminded me of the JonBenet Ramsey story."
"Yeah, me, too," said Frank. He could hear Jackson's keyboard already clicking
in the background. "Elizabeth Ann's dad owns an online company called Buyithere.com. I was wondering if you could find out anything about it for me." He heard Jackson grunt at the implication that he might not be able to find out anything, and he heard the keys click faster.
"Frank, this company's in trouble," said Jackson. Man that was fast. "It looks like they're a step away from bankruptcy and trying hard to hide it. Let me look around a little bit more, and I'll call you back."
While he waited, Frank searched Buyithere.com, Thomas Hamilton III, Ruth Payton Hamilton, and Elizabeth Ann Hamilton on Callitup.com and found nothing new. He was in the process of Googling them, wondering idly if Jackson could tell his computer was betraying the company, when the phone rang. It was Harry.
"I don't know what this means to our case, Frank," he said, "but I just found out that our rich little girl was rich in her own right, not just through daddy."
"Well Jackson's got something that says the daddy may not be all that rich anyway," said Frank. "What did you find out?"
"The little girl was the major beneficiary of her grandmother's will. The old lady, Thomas' mother, passed away about a year ago and left most of her money to Elizabeth Ann. Except for token gifts to Thomas and a few charities, the little girl got everything."
"Why'd she do that?"
"The people who told me thought it was just the action of a doting grandma who thought her son was richer than her anyway. She wasn't cutting her son off or anything like that."
"The little girl is what, six years old? Where's the money now?"
"Grandma provided for that, too. The money's in a trust that pays expenses and a small allowance to the little girl until she's 25. Then she gets it all. Grandma's old financial advisors oversee the trust. They're the only ones she trusted, been running her money for half a century."
"Who gets the money if anything happens to Elizabeth Ann?"
"Her father."
"If Jackson is right about Thomas' company being in trouble, that sounds like motive."
"Yeah, and the cops have no idea about any of this. They still haven't turned up any physical evidence. They're still bogged down in processing all the fingerprints they lifted. Oh, and I got a list of all the people known to have been in the house around the
time the little girl disappeared. You think I should give Sgt Riley a hint that Hamilton's company might be in trouble."
"Jackson's still looking, so let's wait to see what he turns up. We'll tell Riley as soon as we know for sure what we've got. We don't want the police working in the dark. Besides it may make Riley more willing to tell us about anything he finds."
"Okay, I've about run out of things to do here, so I'm coming on back to the office."
Later they were going over the list of people at Hamilton's house. The police had compiled the list to eliminate fingerprints, and Harry had added notes as he talked to people. Frank scanned the list hoping something would jump out at him. There was no reason for him to expect that; he didn't know any of these people. About a third of the way down was the name Robert Albertson with the note Financial Manager. "What's with this Robert Albertson?" he asked Harry.
"His name was just on the list as someone who was in the house the morning Elizabeth Ann disappeared. I think he was there for dinner the night before, too. A couple of the others told me he was the one who called them and told them about the disappearance."
"Why'd he call instead of the mother or the father? Did they ask him to call?"
"I don't know. I haven't been able to talk to the parents. Riley's telling me most of what he knows, but he doesn't want me talking to people - especially the parents. I think the only reason he tells me anything is that he wants to show me he's a better investigator than I am. He considered it some kind of personal insult when I left the department."
"The only reason Albertson's name got my attention is that he's the money man, and Jackson thinks they may have money problems. If some of the people said he called them about the disappearance, maybe a timeline would help bring this thing into focus. It might help to know exactly when they found Elizabeth Ann missing, when the police were called, when and how the friends and neighbors found out, and when they showed up at the house."
"I thought of that," said Harry. "I even tried to line things up, but some of the information was shaky. Most of the people don't remember exactly when they were called. A couple of them don't even remember who called them. Riley told me the Hamiltons said they found Elizabeth Ann missing around 6:30 and they called 911 a few minutes after 8. Between those times, they say they were looking for the little girl. Some of the folks said they were called before either of those times. I mean they think they were called even before the little girl was missed and a long time before it was reported to police. I never did find out who called Albertson."
"Seems like there ought to be something there worth pursuing," said Frank. He looked at his watch. It was past their usual quitting time. "Let's take a fresh look at it tomorrow."
"Okay. I'll see you in the morning."
Next morning they were in their customary positions on either side of Frank's desk, sipping coffee and studiously avoiding the subject of Elizabeth Ann Hamilton since neither of them knew where to go from here. Although Frank had leased a three room suite when they started the agency, an outer office and one for each of them, they spent most of their working hours in his office, him behind the desk and Harry in the easy chair in front of it. Frank had also made a feeble attempt to hire a secretary early on, but he gave up the effort when he realized they didn't have enough for a secretary to do. Besides that, it would give him absolutely nothing to do while Harry was out in the field.
The phone rang. It was Jackson. "Don't ask me how - well, I know you won't ask me how - but I found out a lot more about Buyithere.com. I told you they were on the verge of bankruptcy. I couldn't figure out why. Their sales and receipts looked good. I couldn't find any gross inefficiencies, but the money just wasn't on the bottom line. It was just disappearing somewhere along the line. I couldn't pin down where it was going. It looked like too good a job of hiding it to me, so I figured whoever was doing it must be in the financial management side of the business. I decided to start at the top of that chain and work my way down till I found something. Frankly, it wasn't that hard to do. The financial setup isn't that sophisticated. It's not very deep, and it's not designed for any kind of control or security. I started with a guy named Robert Albertson. He's their Chief of Finance, also listed as Financial Advisor."
"Yeah, his name already came up in other areas. What did you find?" said Frank. "Starting with this guy, I didn't have to go any further. I didn't exactly find a smoking gun, but I found so many simultaneous occurrences and similarities between the company's finances and Albertson's personal finances that it just can't be coincidental. I cross checked company records with his personal accounts. I even looked at other companies they do business with to track some transactions to their source. I looked at Albertson's personal computer and four personal accounts he has in separate banks."
"This is all fascinating, Jack. Even knowing already that you can do this stuff, I'm still amazed. But what is the bottom line for us?" asked Frank. He heard a little chuckle on the other end of the line.
"The bottom line, Frank, old man, is that Robert Albertson has been stealing Buyithere blind. I found over a million dollars in misrouted, unaccounted for, uncontrolled money that should be in Buyithere's account but is instead in one of Albertson's several pockets." Jackson breathed a self-satisfied snort and continued. "I don't know what you can do with this information. It doesn't constitute a smoking gun, and I can't document it to a legal certainty. However, there is no doubt in my mind. This guy has stolen over a million dollars from this company."
"Thanks, Jack. I think we're going to have to look a little closer at Mr. Albertson. I'll let you know what we find."
As he hung up the phone, Frank looked over at Harry, "Jack says Albertson's stealing from the company, already over a million bucks."
"So have we got enough on him to turn it over to Riley?" asked Harry.
"Jack says he knows he's stealing but can't prove it. What else have we got? We've got some people who say Albertson called them after the kid turned up missing, but they're not all that sure about when he called. And we don't know who called him. We don't even know how he found out that the kid was missing. We know, but can't prove, that Albertson's stealing from the company. And that's it." Frank shook his head, "I think it's all too shaky. We don't have anything that Riley can use."
"In that case, we'd better not tell him what we suspect. He might lean on Albertson and screw everything up. Maybe our best lead is still the telephone calls. If we can confirm some times, maybe that will clear up some of this."
"I still think it's worth a try," said Frank. "Maybe Jack can help on that, too. I'll give him a call and see if he can tap into the Hamiltons' and Albertson's phone records, see who called who when around the time Elizabeth Ann turned up missing. Why don't you talk to the people that were there and see if they remember anything else."
"Phone records," said Jackson, "I love doing phone records. It's like working a jigsaw puzzle. Who called who when and why. And how does it all fit together. Man, I should have been a PI."
Frank faxed him the list and waited. Harry returned to the office before Jackson called back. "I think we've got another strong indicator that Albertson is up to something," he said. "I found 21 people who showed up at the Hamiltons' house that morning. That's eight couples and five singles. About half of these say they were called by Albertson around seven a.m. The Hamiltons' 911 call came at 8:07. According to Riley, they said they discovered the little girl missing at around 6:30 when they went to get her up. I asked Riley who the Hamiltons called besides 911, and he said it was all confused. He said the people were all calling among themselves, and he couldn't get it straight who called who. But it was obvious that he didn't think it was all that important." Harry paused apparently to collect his thoughts. "They think an intruder took Elizabeth Ann, so they're just not looking too closely at the people they knew were there."
"Do they have any evidence of an intruder yet?"
"No. Still no evidence of forced entry, no tracks, no strange fingerprints. But they committed themselves to this theory early on, and they don't want to give up on it."
The phone rang. It was Jackson. Frank put him on speaker this time. "I don't know what we can prove with the phones, Frank," he said. "I've got incoming calls on quite a few of the people who showed up at the Hamiltons ranging from about 6:35 till 7:00 but no outgoing calls on Albertson's landline. If he made any of the calls, he must have used a cell. Also, I don't have any incoming calls to Albertson's home phone. I have several incoming calls to the Hamiltons from people on the list. Evidently after they got the initial call about Elizabeth Ann, they called the Hamiltons to confirm or tell them they were coming over. The first outgoing call on the Hamiltons' home phone was to 911. So unless they did it on a cell phone, they didn't call anyone to tell them Elizabeth Ann was missing."
"So we still don't know for sure who told Albertson," said Frank. "Thanks, Jack." He punched the speaker button and looked across the desk at Harry with a question mark on his face.
"Dammit, Frank," said Harry, "I think Albertson did it."
"Did what?"
"My cop intuition tells me that bastard killed the little girl and called in the friends and neighbors to contaminate the crime scene."
"Why did he kill her?"
"So the father would get the grandma's money and he - Albertson - would then have it to work with, to cover up his stealing and to steal some more."
"I guess that works for motive," Frank leaned back in his chair, "but then why did he get rid of the body? He would want the body found so the money could pass to the father."
"Yeah, it breaks down," said Harry. "There must be something we don't know to tie it together."
Frank straightened up in his chair and leaned forward, "What if I call Albertson in here and talk to him. Maybe he'll give something away."
"Why in the hell would he come in here?" asked Harry. "We're not the cops."
"If I call him and let him know we suspect something, maybe he'll come in to try to find out what we know. Maybe then he'll let something else slip."
"Fact is, we're at a dead end. So maybe it's worth a try. You want me here, too?"
"No, let me try it one on one. We can hold you in reserve for follow up."
Frank wasn't used to his villains looking the part, but Albertson was a greasy looking little man who just seemed like a sleazy thief and child killer. But with his balding head and sloped shoulders, he also looked like the stereotype of an accountant.
"I don't understand your interest in this matter, Mr. - what is your name anyhow?"
"Just call me Frank. I'm afraid I can't reveal my interest at this time, matter of client confidentiality, you know."
"You have a client?" Albertson swallowed and his eyes darted about the room.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Albertson, but I can't reveal any more. I just need to clear up your schedule on the day of Elizabeth Ann's disappearance. We understand you called some of the Hamiltons' friends and neighbors to tell them about the disappearance. What we don't know is who called you. How did you find out the little girl was missing?"
"Why her parents called me, of course. I'm probably the first person they called. I'm their closest friend, you know."
"And you were at home when they called?"
"Of course, it was early in the morning after all. I had dinner with them the night before, left their house around ten, and went straight home. That's where I was when I got their call."
"Do you remember exactly what time that was?"
"Not exactly. Around 6:30 I think."
"And who did you call?"
"I don't remember that exactly either. I just called around to see if anybody had seen Elizabeth Ann."
"And you told the people you called that they ought to go over to the Hamiltons' house?"
"Yes. I thought Thomas and Ruth needed the moral support and maybe even some help looking for Elizabeth Ann."
"We've been told that there's no record of a call from the Hamiltons to you that morning, neither on their phone record nor on yours. How do you explain that?"
Albertson looked unsure for a second, then became defiant. "Hell, I can't explain it. The records are probably screwed up. Things are always getting screwed up nowadays. All I can tell you is that's what happened."
"Okay, Mr. Albertson. What exactly is your position with the Hamiltons? You say you're their best friend, but what do you do for them professionally?"
"I'm the Chief Financial Officer of their company, Buyithere.com. I'm also their personal Financial Advisor. We've had a very close personal and business relationship for years. I'm really like a member of the family."
Frank decided to play one of his trump cards to see what kind of reaction he'd get. "As part of our investigation, we've also learned that Buyithere has been losing money lately, a lot of money. The accounting lines are not clear as to where the money went. Do you have any insight into that?"
Albertson hesitated and licked his lips. He stared at Frank for several seconds then said in a precise, measured voice, "First of all, your information is wrong. The company is not losing money. Second, before I talk to you anymore, I demand to know who hired you and what is their interest in this."
"Like I told you, Mr. Albertson, I'm not at liberty to disclose that," said Frank.
"Then, Frank," Albertson spit the name out, "this interview is over. I don't know what kind of wild goose chase you're on, but it appears you have some strange ideas about me. Whatever you think you know falls well short of meeting any legal standard. In other words, you can't prove a damn thing."
"I'm afraid he's right, Harry," said Frank as they sat across the desk from each other later that day. "Watching the bastard fidget and looking into his eyes while he lied convinced me that he's guilty. He robbed the Hamiltons and he did something to that little girl. But we can't prove a thing. All we've is a bunch of he said, she said and curious circumstances."
Harry picked up a pen from the desk and twisted it between his fingers. "That's what it looks like to me, too," he said nodding. "But you don't really have any doubts that this guy did it, do you?"
"Not a one, Harry," Frank shook his head, "not a one."
"Me neither," said Harry and threw the pen back onto the desk with such force that it bounced toward Frank. "Maybe I should talk to him now. We said we were holding me in reserve."
Frank retrieved the pen from his lap, "You think he'll tell you something he wouldn't tell me?"
"Yeah, I think so," said Harry. "My officious police manner will inspire him." Then he shrugged, "We don't have anything else anyway."
"You're right. So be my guest," said Frank raising his hands in a why-not gesture. As he watched Harry walk out of the office, he wondered what else they could do if Albertson didn't break down this time.
The next day, Friday, Harry didn't show up for work. Frank tried to call him, but got no answer on his home phone nor his cell. He also tried to call him several times over the weekend but still had no success. Monday came and went still without Harry. Then on Tuesday morning, right about their usual starting time, Harry walked into the office. "Well, hello, stranger," said Frank, "where you been?"
Harry looked at him much more somber than a morning greeting required. "I've been working on that little loose end we had," he said. "It's all tied up now." He plopped into his customary chair in front of Frank's desk.
"It's all tied up? You are talking about Albertson, aren't you?"
"Yeah, I'm talking about Albertson." The muscles in Harry's jaws tensed, "But for better or for worse, there is no more Albertson."
"What the hell does that mean, Harry? What happened to Albertson?"
"Mr. Albertson suffered the deepest remorse for the terrible crimes he'd committed and killed himself."
"He committed suicide? How do you know this?"
"I just happened to be with him when he realized that he could no longer carry his
horrible guilt." Harry raised his hands to cut off Frank's rushing questions. Then he leaned forward and looked down at the floor between his feet. "Before he squared his accounts, he told me everything. He just had to clear his conscience before he left this life. He told me he'd been stealing from Buyithere and the Hamiltons' personal accounts for years and shifting money around to hide the thefts and allow them to go on living large. His big problem came this year when the company suffered some legitimate losses, and suddenly there wasn't enough money to shift around. He knew that the whole mess could come out into the open at any time. But before it did, Thomas Hamilton's mother died and left all that money to Elizabeth Ann. Albertson knew that if he could get control of that much money, he could cover up his thefts indefinitely. But before he could get control of it, he would have to get rid of the little girl." Harry paused and swallowed. He looked up at Frank who said nothing. "He told me what he did to Elizabeth Ann, too, Frank." He paused again; Frank remained silent. "He had dinner with the family that night. After dinner, he mixed drinks for the adults. Evidently that was habit or tradition. He supposedly has a killer daiquiri that he makes on all special occasions. Anyway, on this occasion, he added a little extra to Thomas' and Ruth's drinks, a little sleeping concoction that would make sure they didn't wake up when he came back later. He said he left around ten, but he didn't go home. He just parked out of sight down the block for an hour or so and then went back. He let himself in with his own key and went straight up to Elizabeth Ann's room. The son-of-a-bitch even told me she woke up and said, 'Hi, Uncle Robert.' He strangled her. He said she was looking at him the whole time." Harry's voice broke, and he fought to control himself.
"What did he do with the body?" asked Frank. "Why did he take it out of the house anyway?"
"Because," Harry said as an audible sob escaped him, "his condom broke." Harry slumped in the chair, his body heaving, "It wasn't enough that he killed this little girl. He wanted to make it look like a sex pervert did it. When his condom broke, he was afraid his DNA would be inside her; so he took the body out into the country and buried it. Then he came back to town, waited outside the Hamiltons till he saw lights, and then started calling folks on a throwaway cell phone. He'd read where all the friends and neighbors contaminated the JonBenet Ramsey crime scene, and that's what he wanted here."
"Do you know where the body is?" asked Frank.
Harry straightened up and said in a stronger voice, " Yeah, Mr. Albertson very thoughtfully left a suicide note where he described all this including the location of the little girl's body. Then he blew his brains out." He stared directly, almost defiantly, into Frank's eyes, "By the way, Boss, I need another backup piece."
Frank lowered his head into his hands and sat still. Across the desk, Harry slouched in his chair and dropped his chin onto his chest. After a while, Frank raised his head and cleared his throat, "Did you read in the newspaper about he old guy in the nursing home who killed one of the attendants?"
Harry looked up and cocked an eyebrow at Frank, "Yeah, I read it. Why?"
"Doesn't sound right to me - a weak old guy killing a strong young guy. Might be more to it. Think we ought to look into it?"
"I know a lady who works in the office that regulates nursing homes. She might be able to tell us if there's anything worth looking at."
"Yeah, why don't you talk to her?"
THE END
Jennifer says:
A well-written story, but Frank and Harry need to struggle more to solve the case. It seems too inevitable.
Plot - 17
Characters - 20
Mechanics - 23
Enjoyment - 20
TOTAL - 80
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