Watching The Detectives Ch. 08

--- CHAPTER EIGHT - THIN ICE ---

November 1969

During her long drive back from Bethlehem, Kat decided to reach out to her old boss and mentor, Jacob Kramer. Mr Kramer was retired, but maybe he could pull strings with his partner and help Kat get her old job back. In the meantime, she'd play happy homemaker pretending her marriage was on the mend.

'I'm as big a phony as my husband.'

While leaving the hair salon, Kat was more worried than angry. Billy followed her for several blocks, pulling up close behind her at traffic stops. Kat audibly exhaled in relief when he took a sudden left and he disappeared from her day.

'I need to know if Ray's behind this. I hope he is.'

Raymond came home from work to find his wife lying in wait, hands on hips, standing in the kitchen as he walked in.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Ray, startled, stopped in his tracks. "What do you mean?"

"You put those cops on me again. I've seen Barnes every day since I got back from my trip, and he's tailing me closely." She held up her fingers. "Three straight days."

"I don't know what you're talking about?"

"Oh really?" Kat put her hands on her hips. "Casey was in Bethlehem. You paid that man to keep tabs on me three hundred miles away?"

Ray's tongue-tied. He stammered, "I, I, I..." before a coherent sentence came out. "I'm not paying anyone to follow you around town. I swear."

"You're on thin ice Ray. Don't lie to me."

His shoulders fell. Ray took a seat at the small kitchen table. "I asked Casey to go to Bethlehem, but I swear, I have no idea what Barnes is up to."

Kat put on her coat, grabbed her keys, and walked to the back door.

"Where are you going?"

She looked back, the open door in one hand, purse in the other. "Where I don't have to look at your lying face. I trusted you, Ray. I gave you a second chance and you burned me again. I never should've come back." She paused halfway out the door. "And call off Billy Barnes!"

"Kat, wait, please don't..." The door slammed behind her.

Kat was mad, but her anger was mostly an act to confirm what she suspected, that Raymond didn't hire Barnes. She believed him. She went straight to Glo's place.

Glo was in a new relationship. In the three weeks since Kat went back to Ray, the girls had only one lunch. Kat was too embarrassed to reach out, and Gloria was busy getting busy. When Kat arrived at Glo's place unexpectedly, explaining that she and Ray had another fight, her best friend had a plan.

"We haven't done happy hour since you returned to Jelly."

"I'm not in the mood."

"That's why we're going. No one could use a happy hour more than you."

Glo practically dragged her out of the apartment. They walked two blocks to a neighborhood bar. The Forbes Field Tap was a baseball bar frequented by University of Pittsburgh faculty, administrators, and game-day fans. They sat at the bar and ordered beers

This place is probably not long for this world," Kat mentioned to the bartender. "The new stadium is nearly complete. Oakland is going to suffer."

The bar stood in the shadow of Forbes Field, home of the Pirates. Three Rivers Stadium was due to open in months three miles east of Oakland.

"Not to worry. The university has big plans," he replied. "Businesses are already looking to sell before the team leaves. It will be a fire sale once they're gone." He slid pints in front of the ladies and went about his business.

Glo wasn't interested in stadium talk. "What did you and Raymond fight about this time?"

With Glo knowing about the case Kat was digging into, Kat didn't feel comfortable telling her that Billy was back to tailing her. That reveal would surely set off panic in her best friend, leading to scolding. She pretended to be watching the TV news.

"Well," Glo stared at her. "What's Jelly spinning about this time?"

"About me going back to work," Kat lied.

"Oh, does he expect you to remain tied in the kitchen serving him? The man needs a cook and maid, not a wife. If he could get it up Ray would keep you barefoot and pregnant."

"It doesn't matter what Raymond wants or needs. I'm having lunch with Mr. Kramer next week." She crossed her fingers.

"That's good. Mr. K loves you. I'm sure he'll help you out."

"I'm also seeing John Sousa about filing my divorce papers."

"We can find a bigger place," Glo smiled. "You and me."

"No. If you're getting a bigger place it's with Davy Jones. I have no intention of being the third wheel."

"He doesn't look like Davy Jones," Glo scoffed.

"Sure he does," Kat smirked. "Have you asked if he was a Monkee?"

Glo leaned closer. "Hon, he's not move-in material. I hate to say it, but David lives like a slob. It's like an adult frat house without the parties, a low-key pig sty."

"He's not domesticated." Kat pointed. "That's your job."

"No thanks. Like your husband, the man needs a maid, and I ain't her." Glo motioned to the bartender for another round. "The first one always goes down fast."

Kat exhaled, looking into her nearly empty pint glass. She decided to give Glo a little information, but not the worst of it. "I'm embarrassed Ray put one over on me."

"He didn't, not really," said Glo. "You have a plan."

"I saw Art Casey in Bethlehem."

"What?" Glo's eyes met Kat's. "He's still paying those crooks?"

"It was only for that weekend."

"Who fucking cares? He said he was sorry. Jelly's getting therapy and he's a changed man. He said you could..."

"I know what he said," Kat interrupted before Glo got herself too wound up. "That's why I just said I'm embarrassed. He lied and I believed him. Now I look at that scene in his therapist's office like it's an Oscar-worthy performance."

The bartender delivered two fresh beers.

"He's been playing you for almost three years now, Kat." Glo took a sip.

Kat finished her first pint. "I thought I had the upper hand and it would be easier to plan my escape from home with him thinking we were making up."

"The problem is, you use defense attorney rules in your personal life," Glo pointed at Kat. "You always give Ray the benefit of the doubt. Whenever he's guilty of some malfeasance you excuse his paranoia and tantrums." Glo made a mocking pouty face. "Poor RayRay had a tough childhood. His Mommy abandoned him. His mean ex-wife cheated. Raymond is not a defendant you're representing. You were lenient and gave him a second chance. Life isn't a court of law and Jelly is not innocent until proven guilty. He's guilty as hell. Ray has no rights for you to protect."

"Can I spend the night?" Kat asked. "Just one. I'll go back tomorrow. I want him to think for a day."

"You can stay as long as you wish."

"Tomorrow morning, my first errand is to PNC Bank to withdraw half the cash in our accounts. I'll open myself a new account."

"Oh, did your jailor return the funds?"

"Yes, he did. That will send a clear message. Ray is down to one strike. I'll start looking for a place of my own after I meet with Mr. Kramer."

Glo held her pint up. "I'll drink to that."

.

.

---- THE NEWSHOUND ---

Two days after her fake confrontation with Raymond, Kat walked into the newsroom of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette carrying take-out from the Fifth Avenue Grille. She knew what the man she was about to question liked: hotdogs with grilled onions, raw onions, hot peppers, and too much mustard. Kat called it bad breath on a bun. For years, it seemed every time Kat saw P-G reporter, Jack Mitchell, he had yellow mustard stains on his shirt.

The clacking of typewriters stopped in unison as male reporters caught a glimpse of the busty blonde in the tight white sweater and tight jeans hanging her coat up. Kat smiled and waved at half a dozen admirers. Every man in that room, as well as the women, knew who she was. The sweater and plunging neckline were no random choice, she also knew Jack was fond of cleavage, and Kat had that in spades. She was trading favors for information.

When Detective Smith said his old friend Ronnie was obsessed with the Dwyer case, without mention of the actual case, Kat was reminded of the other man whose Dwyer obsession cost him.

"Knock, knock. Your lunch date is here." Her sparkling smile walked into Mitchell's office.

Jack slid his feet off his desk and sat up. "Hey, hot stuff. I've been looking forward to this all week. I couldn't believe you called."

She placed the brown bag on a pile of papers on his desk because there wasn't a surface free of clutter in his small office. "Did you tell your wife we were having lunch?"

"Hell no! She would've popped in to keep an eye on me." He glanced at the bag. "Is that what I think it is?"

"I know what you like. That shirt looks new. Let's mess it up."

Kat closed the door behind her and pulled a chair up, across from Jack, while he opened the bag and removed dogs wrapped in red and white checkered deli paper. He leaned back, opened a mini-fridge behind him, and pulled out two bottles of Fanta soda pop.

"Wow, look at you," Kat smiled. "a fridge in your office. Was that your thirty-years-of-service gift from the paper?"

"Yeah, right. I got a greeting card and a carrot cake. I don't even like carrot cake. It's the only cake I don't like. I swear they knew that and wanted to stick it to me. Cheap bastards." Jack held his sloppy hot dog at eye level. "Hello, beautiful, come to poppa." He looked at Kat. "Not you, the dog." He opened wide and plowed one end into his face. A glob of mustard and onion fell off the back end onto his shirt. Kat laughed, stifled by a mouthful of her own less messy hot dog.

"You're disgusting." She swallowed. "You'd think after thirty years you'd learn how to eat a hot dog."

"Thirty? More like fifty." He answered with his mouth full.

"Why can't you tuck a napkin in your shirt?

"Because I'd look like an idiot."

"Are you under the impression mustard stains are dignified?"

Jack Mitchel was the epitome of a newspaperman, a lifer at The P-G. His long career began immediately after two tours in the US Navy at a time when you didn't need a college degree to be a reporter. Jack started at the very bottom. He had a keen eye for the news, was a good writer, and Jack knew Pittsburgh as well as any man. He worked his way up from desk to desk and spent his best years covering crime, City Hall, and the courts. Jack made the climb all the way to the editor of the Post-Gazette.

At fifty-six, his once jet-black curly hair was half gray, and his hairline receded to a widow's peak. A gin blossom centered his round face like a bullseye, giving away his decades of drinking. Jack's beer belly was a perfect resting place for his hotdog while he sipped his off-brand cola. Kat opted for the Fanta orange.

Kat and Jack enjoyed their lunch talking about the days she worked the law and he covered the city beat at the courthouse. It was Jack who began writing about the blonde bombshell on the defense team making sure his photographers got several photos to choose from to accompany his print. You could say Jack made Kat a local celebrity. His line was, "Sex appeal sells, and if she has brains, it sells double."

Kat laughed, "I'll never forget the time that asshole from The Weekly Mail accused you, in front of twenty reporters, of taking photos of me home with you."

Jack raised a single eyebrow, his trademark. "Did I deny it?"

"You're a pig."

"Hey, you brought it up. I think you were flattered." He gestured to her tight top showing ample cleavage. "Don't tell me that sweater was an accident."

Kat smiled. "What, this old thing?"

Jack wiped his hands and face and took a swig of coke. His face turned serious. "What can I do for you, hon? My gut tells me I'm not gonna like it."

Kat shoved her dog wrapper into the brown bag, took a sip of pop, leaned back, and crossed her legs, smiling. 'He hates that I wore jeans.'

"Okay, I have a lot to say, and you're correct, you're not gonna like some of it. But," she raised a finger with a polished red nail. "It's a topic you'll be very interested in. There's a preamble."

Kat launched into her tail of private detectives trailing her all summer at the behest of her husband, the whole story, including her charades of infidelity. She didn't identify the men. Jack listened attentively, and as reporters do, he jotted notes.

When Kat got to her meeting with Scott Panzek, Jack interrupted.

"How is Scotty doing these days? I haven't seen him around."

"He passed the Pennsylvania bar exam."

Jack smiled. "It's about damn time! He's only ten years late."

"He's a busy father of four. I haven't seen him in weeks. I'm overdue for a visit."

"Scotty's a good man."

"Yes, he is."

Kat continued, telling him of her first meeting with Scott. When she mentioned Billy Barnes' name, Jack sat up. His eyes narrowed as he forced intensely on her every word. Kat was discussing the story that got away from Jack. Like good cops and their cold cases, the stories that got away also haunted good reporters.

Her description of her meeting with Detective Ron McDonald in his metal box of squalor elicited low groans from Jack. He knew Ron well. When she mentioned Daniel Dwyer and the letter Ron had sent him, Jack slapped his desk, startling Kat.

"Okay! You haven't told me a thing I don't already know, but you're the first person to have this much information. What Barnes did to that family was the clincher for me, but I didn't know the extent of his harassment until after the Dwyers blew town. By that time the trial was over, Fonseca was at Rockview, and everyone moved on."

"Except you," Kat noted. "You kept digging."

"Yeah, and look what it got me," Jack flashed a smile. "a set of fake choppers after Barnes and the Hogan boys rolled me; not to mention a broken hand so I couldn't write his name."

"Your questions got too close to the truth," she said.

"My questions made people think beyond the narrative the mayor wanted the public to accept." He took a sip of coke.

"He and Chief Hogan wanted to end the speculation."

Jack nodded. "And they did. They demoted Ron and I stopped chasing the story." Jack took his final bite of hot dog and looked at his notes while he chewed. "It's not a proud day in my career, Kat. They scared me off. I had two young daughters. They threatened my girls and I believed them."

"I don't blame you," Kat said, "and I don't think this case was going to be reopened, so you did the right thing."

"It's still a dark stain on my career." Jack sat forward. "Kat, I get why you dug up info on these men, it's personal for you, but why did you keep pushing after you satisfied that need? And why tell me all this stuff you know I already have? What's your angle?"

"I wanted to bounce it off you."

Jack leaned over his desk and spoke low and slow. "To what ends? As you said, no one is reopening this old wound, certainly not the police. Without them, what's the point?"

"I don't know, my sense of justice won't let it go. Why did the mayor and chief obstruct the investigation? The idea they simply wanted to wrap it up to preserve the feel-good headlines is thin to me. Why wouldn't they want all the facts?"

"Agreed," Jack leaned back in his chair. "Why would they protect a rookie patrol officer if he was a conspirator?"

"It doesn't make sense. There's got to be another angle."

Jack took the last mouthful of cola. He tossed the can in his wastebasket.

"I appreciate lunch, my friend, and it was lovely to see you again, but I have to get back to work."

Kat furrowed her brow. She wasn't satisfied. "One more thing. When they assaulted you to shut you up, why were the Hogans involved? Does Barnes know them?"

"That's what I wondered back then and as far as I know he had no connection. Barnes never laid a finger on me. He did the talking while Sean and Chris Hogan did the beating. Sean knocked my teeth out. When I went down, Chris stomped on my hand."

"Maybe the chief is the connecting thread, bringing in his thug nephews to protect his hero cop."

"I've considered that. Should I call the police?"

"I'm guessing they had an alibi for that night."

"They were all at a cop bar," Jack rolled his eyes.

"That's one screwed-up family. Half the Hogan's are cops, the other half hoodlums."

"Don't kid yourself, the Hogan cops are crooks too. Think about it. Chief Hogan's older brothers run rackets. How nice must it be to have their baby brother as Chief of Police?"

"Let's say the chief ordered that beating. Why? Everyone says the mayor shutting down the investigation was political. This doesn't feel like politics to me. It seems personal."

Jack stared at Kat without responding. His dead eyes made her feel he was withholding.

"What is it, Jack? You're not telling me everything."

"You said your friend Scott and Detective Ron insisted on repeating one fact, nothing can be proven that ties Barnes to the crime."

"Yeah, so what?"

"They're appealing to your lawyerly instincts. They want you to know how weak these accusations are, so you don't become a Barnes conspiracy theorist."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I'm not a lawyer, Kat, but as a journalist, I have ethical standards. I will never report a story I can't back up."

"So you are withholding information, aren't you?"

"Because I can't prove anything. I've made a connection between Mayor Murphy and the kidnappers."

Kat's jaw dropped. "That would explain everything."

"But I have no proof this connection was involved in the crime."

"Is it a Murphy? Who is it?"

"Kat, I can't tell you, for your own good."

They stared silently at each other. Jack looked over at his notes, swiped his pencil across the page, and peered over his spectacles at Kat. He leaned forward.

"Nobody in this town wants to rewrite that history and you're sniffing around some bad dogs. I think you should check yourself and focus on the disaster of a marriage you're in. Divorce that asshole and get back to work doing what you do best. That will help you forget this Dwyer nightmare."

"I have divorce papers drawn up, signed, and ready to go, but I haven't pulled the trigger. I have to get back to work first."

"When I saw the police report on your husband popping you and then read that Barnes messed him up on the same night, I didn't know what the hell was happening. I appreciate you telling me the whole story Kat. Weeks ago I chose to mind my own business and not print the story out of respect for you. Of course, you know Bob Pitka and..."

Kat cut him off. "I don't read The Mail."

Jack chuckled. "I'm sure slippery Bob was thrilled to have you back, even if it was only one day."

"Are you sure you won't give me a name?"

"Not a chance in hell, hon. It would only get you in trouble." Jack looked at his watch. "I have to get back to work. Thanks for lunch. We should do this again."

.

.

----THE PUBLIC RECORD ---

When Kat walked out the front door of the Post-Gazette, it was snowing hard, big flakes landing on wet ground, the first of the season. She ran her windshield wipers to remove the small amount of slushy accumulation. Billy parked across the street. As she drove away, he waved. In her rear-view mirror, she watched him pull a U-turn to follow her.

Kat was convinced Billy knew who she was visiting at the P-G as well as what they discussed. He tailed her through downtown, too close for wet roads. Snow was accumulating, the roads slowly turning white with tire tracks. At a traffic light, he was a foot behind Kat. She could hear his 440 big block engine revving. When the light changed, Kat punched the gas. Her front tires spun, slipping and getting out of line. Kat pulled it back and rubber found the road. She did zero to forty in half a block. At fifty MPH in a zone marked twenty-five, she looked back at the intimidating Dodge gaining on her. Billy got so close she couldn't see its headlights. Kat braked for a turn. Billy's wheels locked up, tires slipping on the wet road as he steered to avoid rear-ending her. A quarter mile later, he was on her ass again. Kat's heart pounded. If his intention was to scare her, he succeeded.