Watching The Detectives Ch. 01

---- Disclaimer: This is my first venture into crime writing. I'm not a cop. I'm not a detective. I'm not a lawyer. I'm not from Pittsburgh. This project required far more research than my previous works. If something seems amiss, forgive me. I'm not a professional writer. ----

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-- CHAPTER ONE - THE TAIL --

June 1969

Pittsburgh, PA

Katherine Price Landry stared into her cup of coffee while her mother prattled about how a grandchild would brighten her life, as well as Kat's. It was a speech Mother had recited hundreds of times since her only daughter graduated college fifteen years ago.

"Mom, stop. I've been trying. I don't know what else to say."

"You said Raymond's given up. The whole reason you married was to start a family because you're both... 'running out of time." Judith Price made sarcastic air quotes.

"Yes, and we're struggling right now."

"How can he give up so easily? What's it been, sixteen months?"

"Yes, sixteen months." Kat glanced at the The Weekly Mail tabloid on the table. It was an opportunity to change the subject. "Why do you read this crap? It's rotting your brain."

"Oh, honey. It's just entertainment. At least you're not on the cover anymore." Mom smiled. "Are you going to make another appointment with that fertility specialist?"

Kat stood up and grabbed her purse. "Look Mom, I have to go. I come over to check in, and every time I do I get the same speech. You're a broken record. It makes visiting difficult."

"There's only one way to fix that?"

"I know, a miracle," Kat said half under her breath as she bent over to kiss Mom on the forehead. "Thanks for lunch. I love you."

"You're welcome. I love you too, sweetie. Drive safely."

"I always do."

"No, you don't, you have your father's lead foot. What did that get him? An early grave."

Kat turned as she opened the back door. "Mom, some respect, please."

"I'm just sayin'."

In the driveway, Kat glanced over at the detached two-car garage set back behind the house. She walked over and peeked through a window. Dad's big red mechanic's toolbox and work benches remained as he left them. The bumper to his 1937 Ford Coupe was leaning in the back corner behind a stack of slick tires. The garage was a shrine, frozen in time for nearly two decades. Mother refused to deal with it.

Kat's mind wandered back, picturing herself at age nine, sitting with Dad in the garage, handing him box wrenches and screwdrivers as he worked on his precious hot rod. He'd send her into the house to fetch bottles of Rolling Rock beer for him and his ever-present, grease monkey pals. One by one, Dad's friends went off to war. David Price stayed behind, a broken leg suffered as a teen disqualified him from service. His left leg never healed properly. It was shorter than his right. David Price had a limp. He could never beat you in a footrace, but behind the wheel and in the garage, DP was the best. She sighed and turned to leave. Memories of her father were a blessing and a curse.

At the end of the driveway, opening the door of her red 1968 Oldsmobile Toronado, she noticed a green sedan parked a few doors down the street. An older man sat behind the wheel.

'Is that the same car from yesterday?' she wondered as she slipped behind the wheel.

Kat knew cars, an interest that remained with her long after her dad had passed. She was pretty sure the pea-soup green Plymouth Valiant was the same car she noticed earlier in the week, parked down the street from her house.

'Why does Mopar have such shitty colors,' she wondered.

On that day, a man reading a newspaper sat behind the wheel. As she walked Petey, her Jack Russell Terrier past the car, he raised his newspaper to obscure his face. Yesterday, she thought she saw the same canned pea-green Plymouth across the street from her doctor's office with an older man at the wheel.

'Is that the same guy?'

Driving away from her mother's Middle Hill home, Kat paused at a stop sign and looked back to see if the green sedan was following. He pulled out of his parking spot. She turned right. Watching her rearview mirror as she merged into traffic, she saw him join the line of cars several spots behind her. She turned left at the next light and observed him mimic her move. She turned left again, reversing her original direction.

'Damn it! He's tailing me.'

At the next traffic signal, Kat was first in line, the Plymouth fourth. She waited for the light to turn, then punched the gas pedal leaving the line like a dragster. She sped down Bedford Avenue, towards the city center, checking her mirror. The green car fell back, stuck behind slower cars. She took a hard left on Crawford Street and slowed down. Again, the sedan followed but was far back.

'Wait, This is stupid. I don't have to outrun him. He's driving a slant six.'

At the end of the block, Kat pulled to the curb next to St. Benedict Church, forcing the other driver to make a decision. As the sedan passed, she tried to get a look at the driver. His eyes remained on the road. She made note of the license plate, Pennsylvania 45J-732. He turned right at the stop sign. The moment he was out of sight, she flipped a U-turn and headed back to her part of town.

'Maybe I'm just being paranoid.'

Kat went back to her business of the day, her boring, typical housewife, Friday errands. Ninety minutes later, parked in front of her garage, she unloaded groceries. In her periphery, she caught a glimpse of a car slowly passing the house. When she looked up, all she saw was the rear end of the vehicle, it was army green and square. A chill ran up her spine.

She hurried into the house, placed her bags on the kitchen counter, and went to the front window. Kat gently moved the curtains aside. She looked in both directions, noting the cars parked on the street; familiar vehicles belonging to neighbors. She walked out to her front porch to get a better view. There was no green Plymouth.

'It's paranoia. I'm losing my mind.'

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--- JELLY ---

On Saturday afternoon, her husband Raymond watched a Pittsburgh Pirates road game on TV while reading his Golf Magazine. A rainy morning had washed out his plans to play eighteen at the club. Raymond had recently purchased a twenty-five-inch Zenith console color television specifically for his baseball habit. Kat grabbed her purse and walked toward the door.

"I'm heading over to Glo's to drop off this dress pattern. I'll be back in a couple of hours."

Raymond acknowledged with a barely audible grunt.

"Did you hear me?"

"Yes, you're going to Gloria's, to drop off a... something."

As Kat pulled out of the driveway, she scanned the cars parked on her street in both directions; no baby-shit green Plymouths. Turning onto Ellsworth Avenue, in her Shadyside neighborhood, she glanced in her rearview mirror. Every half block she took a quick look behind her. When she made turns, a glance in her mirror let her know if any cars had traced her path.

'What the hell is wrong with me?'

In the neighborhood of Oakland, near Forbes Field, at her best friend Gloria's apartment, Kat made light of her suspicion that she was being followed and suggested it might be time to see her therapist again.

"I haven't seen Doctor Radcliff in a few months. I've been feeling great."

"After what you've been through, I don't think you're being paranoid," said Gloria. "Maybe Jelly is having you tailed. I wouldn't put it past him."

Kat scrunched her nose. "Nah, we've had a few good months. Besides, he has no reason to suspect anything."

"Since when does Jelly need a reason? The man creates guilt from thin air."

"I shouldn't have told you. Now you're going to ruin my visit by beating down my husband."

"Husband, pfft," scoffed Gloria. "He's your jailor."

It was true. Raymond Landry was a difficult husband with a jealous streak. In the twenty months since they had married, Kat endured a dozen incidents where her husband's insecurity led to accusations and arguments. On a few occasions, it had gotten ugly. The nickname Glo gave him, Jelly, was no term of endearment.

"Look, I get it, you hate him, but I'm trying to make my marriage work."

Gloria rolled her eyes. "I don't hate Ray. I feel sorry for him. He's pathetic."

"You understand how he came to this? Maybe you could give him a break."

"You shouldn't suffer for the sins of his ex-wife, and he should be man enough to know that."

Ray was twelve years Kat's senior. She met her future husband during his divorce proceedings nearly three years ago. She was employed by the law firm representing his wife. His first marriage hit the rocks when his spouse cheated, the relationship became hostile, and she filed for divorce. Kat was the attorney representing the petitioner, the alleged adulterer.

During those legal proceedings, Kat witnessed a woman, accused of infidelity, berate and punish her husband. Sandra Landry was caustic, one of Kat's least favorite clients. She went for the jugular, trying to ruin her soon-to-be ex-husband. For his part, Raymond was calm, even dignified, never making matters worse. He just wanted the nightmare to end. Raymond Landry made a good impression on Kat... as she took him to the cleaners.

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--- V6 vs V8 ---

On Monday morning, Kat had errands to run. Listening to the radio, she had almost forgotten about the weenie Valiant while grooving to The Grass Roots' latest hit, Midnight Confessions, singing and seat-dancing behind the wheel. When the boxy little sedan appeared in her side view mirror, taking a right turn behind her, Kat gasped. He was two cars back, behind a pickup truck. The driver followed as she turned right on the next side street and then left onto Shady Ave.

There was now a Volkswagen Beetle between her and the tail. Kat gripped her steering wheel tight to keep her hands from trembling. Approaching a yellow light, she slowed to a stop. Kat looked both ways as the light changed red, and punched the gas, running the light. In her mirror, she watched the Plymouth attempt to drive around the Volkswagen to follow suit. He was blocked by cross traffic.

'What the hell does this asshole want with me?'

More than five blocks ahead when the light turned green, she turned left and hit the gas hard, making damn sure he wasn't going to catch up. Kat knew a little V6 secretary's car like a Plymouth Valiant was never going to keep up with her Toronado with a 455 cubic inch Rocket V8 - front wheel drive. Her Oldsmobile had a beast under the hood. Merging onto a boulevard she had to slow for traffic. Less than a half mile later, she spied him joining traffic far behind her having taken a different route. Kat took a hard left without warning, causing drivers to honk horns. She put all her weight on the accelerator. The Rocket V8 roared.

Her tail shaken, she went about her daily errands and had lunch. Kat was certainly annoyed that her husband may have hired men to watch her, but she had a skill set to handle the situation. Her legal career did not start in the courtroom. She was an investigator before graduating from law school. Kat contemplated her options sitting alone at the counter of The Carnegie Diner enjoying their renowned meatloaf.

As she left the diner, Kat looked both ways before getting in her car, making note of every parked vehicle. There were no green Plymouths. As she turned down her street, there he was, parked four doors from her home. Any doubt that she was being followed vanished, as did his cover. She was also certain this was the work of her husband.

Raymond was known to check on his wife's whereabouts. For Kat, this was an oddly comforting thought. It meant the man in the Valiant was no threat. He was simply keeping tabs, but why? Kat had done nothing to warrant suspicion. As Glo said, that never stopped Raymond from suspecting.

It started early in their marriage. Kat was a head turner, a voluptuous blonde with thick wavy hair, 5'8", and curvy; a stylish woman who always dressed well. Kat loved fashion. During her legal career heyday, managers in downtown Pittsburgh clothing stores knew her well and catered to Kat's taste for the latest styles from New York. After a lifetime of leers and gapes, she had grown accustomed to being ogled. Raymond noticed the stares of other men, and he hated it. At first, she thought it was cute. Her husband was protective. After so many embarrassing incidents, it was no longer amusing.

When a young busboy made eye contact with his wife and smiled a moment too long, Ray snapped. "What are you looking at?"

The boy stammered, "Umm, nothing, I'm, I'm sorry," and then overfilled Kat's water glass while staring at Raymond.

"Get away from my wife, you clumsy idiot." Raymond stood, towering over the smaller, much younger man.

The restaurant dining room went quiet as patrons turned heads to see what the commotion was. The kid tried to mop up the spilled water but made matters worse by pushing it onto Kat's lap.

Ray stepped closer. "I told you to get away from my wife you dumb..."

"Raymond, sit down," Kat said half under her breath trying to not draw more attention. "What's wrong with you?"

The busboy scurried away. Raymond sat down, seething. The manager came over to see if there was a problem. When Ray began complaining about the young man, Kat shut him down.

"He did nothing wrong. He overfilled my glass because my husband distracted him. Everything is fine." She glared at Raymond.

These episodes left Raymond in a sour mood, ruining nights out. Eventually, his insecurity led to bizarre behavior. When Kat went out with girlfriends she always told Raymond what her plans were. The girls witnessed him drive through the parking lot of a cocktail lounge to see if her car was there. He was seen driving by a movie theater, a restaurant, and Gloria's apartment, keeping tabs. After a while, his jealous antics became a worn-out joke with the girls. Some of the girls found it so creepy they stepped away from Kat.

Kat dismissed Raymond's paranoia as no big deal because she knew he'd never catch her cheating. She didn't fool around. Their occasional fights were exhausting, but no more than shouting followed by his silent brooding, ending with an apology. Sometimes, it felt like she was married to a twelve-year-old, rather than a man twelve years her senior.

Hiring a man to tail her was an escalation, unsettling because it was unwarranted, and that pissed her off. She wondered how long this had been going on. She had first noticed the car a week ago. Kat wasn't sure what to do, but she decided not to confront Raymond... not yet.

The following morning, Kat was up very early. The Plymouth was not there. She looked again shortly after Raymond left for work to find the man parked down the street. Kat went about her business of the day, volunteering at the Catholic Home For The Elderly, and having lunch with Gloria.

"You've got to be kidding me?" Gloria said. "Is he out there now?"

"See the putrid green four-door just past the work van? That's him."

"That's so creepy. Is he a detective?"

"I don't know. I assume so."

"What are you going to do? You've got to tell Raymond to call him off."

Kat shrugged. "I might mess with this guy, have some fun."

"Like what?"

"I don't know yet. For now, I'm watching him watch me. After yesterday, he must know I made him. It seems dumb that he's using the same car."

"Be careful hon, you don't know for sure that Raymond sent this guy."

"C'mon, Glo. A few days ago you were convinced it was Ray, now you're not sure? Make up your mind?"

"Sorry, I just worry about you. It's probably his doing, but be careful."

"I'm sure this is Ray's bullshit. Remember, he did this to his first wife."

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--- HIS PANTS ARE DOWN ---

When Kat got home after lunch with Gloria, her not-so-secret admirer arrived a minute later and parked several doors down. Kat walked out to her front porch and stared directly at him. Two boys threw a baseball in the street while their sister played in the front yard. Kat went inside and picked up the phone.

"Good afternoon, Pittsburgh Police Department, zone four, Sergeant Kowalski speaking."

"Hello, officer. I'd like to report a man parked on my street in Shadyside."

"Is he doing something suspicious?"

"There are kids playing in the street. He's watching them."

"That's not illegal, ma'am."

"Well, I think his pants are down and he's... well, you know."

"His pants are down?"

"I think so."

"What's your address?"

"921 College Street."

"What kind of car is it?"

"It's an ugly green Plymouth, four-door."

"Okay. I'm sending a squad car."

"Thank you, officer. I'm concerned for the children."

A patrol car rolled up alongside the Plymouth. A young officer got out and approached the man as Kat watched from her window. The cop made him get out of the car, patted him down, and checked his ID while the children watched. Their mother came to the front yard to see what the commotion was.

Kat peeked through her curtains like Mrs. Kravitz, chuckling as the older man was visibly agitated and got mouthy with the officer, who then roughly shoved him back into his car for his insolence. The young cop pointed down the street. The older man protested. The officer pulled his handcuffs from his belt, a final warning.

The next morning, the green car didn't report for duty. Kat peeked out the window every few minutes. He never showed up. She took Petey for his morning walk. It was doubtful she could shake the man off that easily, so Kat kept her eyes open. As she and Petey walked north on College Street, she made note of every parked car.

It was a gorgeous day, so she walked her long route around the big block, returning home from the opposite direction. In sight of her house, Petey had to stop to sniff a fence post. There was no Plymouth in sight, but she noticed a younger man sitting in a black car. When she got closer, he slumped in his seat. She noted the make, model, and license plate, a 1963 Ford Falcon, Pennsylvania Q88-212.

'Hmm, the old guy in the Valiant has a partner. They're professionals.'

As she walked past the Falcon, she wondered if it was the V6 or the V8.

Kat rarely ventured into Raymond's office. It was his manly domain, a fact he made clear early in their marriage. The room smelled of stale cigar smoke, not her favorite fragrance. While he enjoyed playing the man of his house, making many rules and decisions, Ray agreed to keep his stinky smoking habit confined to his office and outdoors. A large bay window faced the backyard, shades were drawn, darkening the room. One wall was entirely consumed by oak bookshelves containing volumes of literature on her husband's passions; architecture, world wars, golf, fishing, and baseball. Not a word of fiction occupied his space.

Raymond's massive oak desk covered a quarter of the floor area. On the wall behind the desk hung photos of his youth, playing baseball, and fishing with his father, as well as architectural renderings, photos, and paintings of buildings he and his dad had designed and built; a branch of the Carnegie Library, The Mellon Theatre, and downtown Pittsburgh office buildings. All these projects were within four miles of their home in Shadyside, an upper-middle-class neighborhood east of downtown.

When she sat behind the desk and pulled on a drawer, Kat was surprised it wasn't locked. Raymond was not one to leave his affairs vulnerable to snooping. He typically locked everything, because Ray's default was mistrust. The lower right-hand drawer, where she knew he kept his prized stainless steel Colt 1911.45 caliber with an ivory grip, and two Rolex watches, was locked. When nothing in the desk drawers satisfied her curiosity she fixed her gaze on his desktop humidor.

Inside the dark wooden box were a half dozen cigars, a Zippo lighter, golf tees, and several books of matches. She looked through them, golf course, diner, golf course, Italian restaurant.