FOUR
"So you spent a lot of time up in the Yukon, huh?" Disher asked Fraser as they drove toward Lake Michigan.
"About fifty-one percent of my service in the Royal Canadian Mounted Police was spent in the Yukon Territory, yes," Fraser told him.
"You know, when I was a boy, I read all the Uncle Scrooge comics about how he struck it rich up there," Disher said, "For a while I wanted to be a prospector like him. And Yukon Cornelius. I kept thinking if I could find the right route, I could go up to the North Pole and meet everyone in the special. Especially Herbie, I really wanted to meet Herbie."
"When, you've been taken in by a common misconception, Leftenant," Fraser pointed out, "Contrary to popular belief, the dentist elf's name is HerMEY and not HerBIE. And in a way one can't really classify the location of the North Pole as Canada since the special was filmed in Japan—Tadahito Mochinaga was the director. On the other hand, of course, since the voice talent was Canadian, one could make a counter-argument that it actually is. Hermey, in particular, was voiced by Paul Soles, who happened to be the nephew of chief recording supervisor Bernard Cowan…"
"Fraser, does it look like Christmas out here?" Vecchio pointed to the trees along the road, which were just starting to change color for autumn.
"No, but…"
"Then save any discussions on Rudolph until Christmas, OK?" the Chicago cop asked, "So here we are, Lieutenant," he said, parking the car, "is this the site they told you they found the car?"
"It is," Adrian was out of the Riviera before the others, although he quickly jumped over to the sidewalk and scraped his shoes off once he became aware he'd stepped into a patch of mud. The detective went into another one of his routines as he examined the tire tracks of the car leading into the lake. "They drove it in at a high rate of speed," he announced.
"How can you tell that, Monk?" Stottlemeyer asked as he walked over.
"Take a look at the right tread," Adrian pointed to the right tire track, "The one groove has a deformity. It appears here at a high frequency, indicating the car was moving quite fast when it went into the lake."
"So what are you saying?" Disher asked, looking quite concerned, "Are they…dead?"
"No," Fraser had waded out partially into the lake and was tasting some of the water, "There's no blood in the water, and no poison or internal fluids. As far as..."
"Please, please," Adrian held up his hand, "Let's not go into internal fluids. And could you please not taste the water; I can't begin to guess how many pollutants and toxic substances they dump in their each year."
"And look," Fraser strolled out of the lake, toward another patch of mud, "It looks like there was someone dragged this way. A woman, it looks like. Detective Monk, can you identify these shoes as Mrs. Fleming's?"
Adrian looked closely at them. "Yes," he said, "They're Sharona's all right."
"Now how are we sure of that?" Vecchio inquired, "How do we know it wasn't some other woman who was in the kidnappers' party?"
"Well Ray, if you'll look closely, you can see that all the other shoes in this area are of larger size than this set," Fraser pointed out, "And you'll clearly notice that the woman's shoes are elongated, indicated that she was dragged through here not of her own free will."
Diefenbaker strolled over to his master with something in his mouth. "What have you got there for me, Dief?" the Mountie asked.
"It's one of Benjy's sneakers," Adrian answered before anyone else. He quickly skittered in the opposite direction. "They took him this way," he said, pointing to even more footprints, several of them undersized, leading toward more tire tracks, "Now why would they separate him from his mother?"
"Maybe it's two different groups of kidnappers?" Disher suggested, "Maybe they each were contracted to abduct one of them and split them up when they were done."
"Not very likely," Fraser pointed out, "What would be the point of hiring two different groups of people for one job? You would be greatly stretching your financial well-being trying to pay all of them afterwards."
"Maybe we're talking about a very rich kidnapper here?" Disher posed.
"Of course, it's possible they went in separate vehicles so the cops couldn't follow just one of them," Stottlemeyer said, "I've heard of people who've actually got brains doing that."
"I don't think this time, Captain," his former officer said, circling the abduction site, "I just have a feeling deep down that it's something more than…"
Without warning, he slipped on a wet spot and fell on his back into a very large patch of mud. "Oh my God!" he shrieked, scrambling around in a mad attempt to scrape as much of it off him as he could, "Oh my God! It's everywhere! Wipe, wipe, wipe, somebody a wipe please!"
"All right, all right, please just relax Mr. Monk, I'll have it for you if you'll just take it easy!" a weary Natalie dug several wipes out of her purse. As she was doing so, an old man with a long white beard and a much-patched old gray coat hobbled up on a cane. "Excuse me miss," he asked her, "Would you happen to have the time?"
"Uh, sure," Natalie turned to look at her watch, but at that minute a jogger ran into her, causing her to spill her purse's contents all over the ground. "Hey, watch where you're going!" she shouted at him as he ran out of sight without turning around.
"Here, let me help you with that," the old man bent down and picked up her keys and wallet for her. "Wipe!" a still distraught Adrian called out.
"Just a minute," Natalie told him. Thank you," she told the man as he handed her items back to her.
"WIPE!"
"I said just a minute!"
"Don't mention it," the old man tipped his hat and limped off quickly, as if something was on his mind.
"WWIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPE!"
"All right, you want the wipes?" Natalie tossed them into the middle of the mud patch, where they quickly all got dirty, "Go and get them. Can't you see I just had an accident? The guy's more helpful than you are."
Adrian gasped in despair as the salvation to his dirtiness got dirty themselves. "No question now," he lamented, "I've got to go back and take a shower, no, two showers. Call me if you get anything."
"Let me guess, one shower as a backup, right Monk?" Stottlemeyer asked him.
Adrian nodded. Just then, Vecchio's cell phone rang. "Yeah?" he said into it, "What is it, Frannie? Oh really? Well I see you might finally be starting to appreciate the mess I have to put up with…don't try that, Frannie, Ma'll be the first….all right, all right, I appreciate this, I'll pay you back for it. Yes, I promise sooner than later, OK?"
He hung up. "Well, good news, everyone," he announced, "My sister the Civilian Aid just told me they're releasing Amanda Graystone after they grilled her for the last three hours. She heard that she's going back to the club she works at, and out of the goodness of her heart, she seducing Ford and Deeter so they and their bozos stay off the trail, so let's get moving if we want to get the real story off our prime suspect."
"I need to shower first," Adrian raised his arm in protest.
"Forget it pal, we've got our window and I'm going through it," Vecchio told him firmly. "No, no, no, you're not getting in my car like that!" he shouted as the former detective tried to get in the Riviera's back seat, "This is mint condition and it stays that way!"
"Well if I had a few clean WIPES, this wouldn't be a problem," Adrian said, looking back at his current assistant as she zipped her wallet shut. Natalie paid no attention to him.
"Well, perhaps we could stop at a gas station and allow Detective Monk to clean himself off?" Fraser suggested.
"Are you crazy?" Adrian protested, "Do know how filthy gas station bathrooms are?"
Muttering under his breath, Vecchio popped open the Riviera's trunk. "Here," he said, tossing Fraser some cord, "We're strapping him to the roof, and we're going to drive him through the first car wash we see. That should make everybody happy."
"Well Ray, strapping a person to the roof of a motor vehicle is, if I'm not mistaken, in violation of Ordinance Code 45-29…." Fraser started to say.
"This is Chicago, Fraser, no one cares about Ordinance Codes," Vecchio told the Mountie, "Fact is, he's not getting in my car covered in mud, understand, he's not getting in."
"My upholstery, my wonderful original upholstery," Vecchio lamented as he examined the mud patches all over the Riviera's back seat outside the less than swank Triple XXX club on the Miracle Mile.
"If it's any consolation, Detective, I feel just as bad as…" Adrian tried to tell him, still wound up that he was still partially mud-covered.
"Shut up, all right, just shut up!" Vecchio cut him off, "My cousin's going to overcharge me for the shampooing, I just know it."
"You wouldn't have to get it shampooed, Ray," Fraser pointed out, "With only a light coating of mud as this, the…"
Vecchio wasn't listening. "I said loud and clear that we should have put him on the roof, but did anyone listen to the nice cop? No, we all had…"
"All right, will everyone just calm down?" Stottlemeyer raised his arms, "We're not here to argue, we're here to interrogate Amanda Graystone. Now let's just walk in here and do our thing before the feds figure us out, agreed?"
"Agreed," everyone said, some more surely than others.
"You're paying for the cleaning, pal," Vecchio continued to harass Adrian about his car as they went into the club. It was Adrian's turn not to listen. The fact that scantily clad women now surrounded him was the most important thing on his mind. Repulsed, he looked straight up at the ceiling as they approached the bar. "Excuse me," Fraser addressed the bartender, "We're here to see Amanda Graystone; is she presented and accounted for?"
"She hasn't come in yet," the bartender told him, "I'll go leave a message when she shows up. In the meantime, sit back and enjoy the show."
"Thanks, but we've got other things to do," Adrian said loudly, fixing his gaze on the colored lights above the stage.
"Haven't you ever seen a naked woman before, pal?" Vecchio asked him.
"Of course not, and I never get why any of these people do," without looking, Adrian pointed around to the various men watching the current display up on stage.
"Monk, you can look over this way, there's nobody nude here," Stottlemeyer put his finger in front of his colleague's face and pointed toward the counter. After turning his head very cautiously, Adrian nodded as he saw no naked women. His attention was drawn by something else, however. "Mister," he called to the bartender, "Are those two beers still being used?"
"Hard to say," the bartender told him, "The guys haven't been back in a while."
"Could you even them out for them, then," Adrian suggested, "They look bad lined up like that and uneven."
"You'd pay to make even beers you haven't even ordered?" the incredulous bartender.
"Well, wouldn't everyone?" Adrian posed.
"If you do, it'll be twenty bucks," the bartender told him. Adrian searched his own pockets to find he didn't have twenty dollars. He glanced at Natalie, who rolled her eyes and dug through her purse. "Now I see why you said Sharona always got upset with you and money," she muttered, "You really know how…my social security card's gone."
"What?" Disher looked over her shoulder, "Are you sure you had it in there?"
"Of course I had it in here," Natalie said, rummaging through her wallet for the card, which didn't turn up, "I used it just this…that old guy near the lake, he must have taken it after I was run into."
"That's very interesting," Adrian commented, "Why would he take the social security card? I'd go after the money if I wanted to take something. Is anything else missing?"
"No, everything else's here," Natalie said, "I'll have to call in a new one in the morning."
"My advice, Miss Teeger, would be stop by the nearest social security office and fill out…" Fraser started to say.
"You folks looking for Amanda Graystone," asked a man in a suit who'd come up, "She just walked in the back now."
"Thank you kindly," Fraser told him. The six of them headed backstage, Adrian with his eyes squeezed closed against further nude scenes. "That's her over there," Disher pointed to a red-haired woman in street clothes near the back of a crowd of several showgirls, "I got a good look at her when they brought her in."
"Good going Randy," Stottlemeyer patted his aide on the back. He walked up to the suspect. "Amanda Graystone, I'm Captain Leland Stottlemeyer, we'd like to…"
Amanda took one look at Stottlemeyer's badge and took off running. "Miss Graystone, please come back here," Stottlemeyer said as he gave chase, "We're not going to hurt you."
Amanda jerked open the back door, but found the exit blocked by a barking Diefenbaker. Looking around, she immediately turned right and started running up the stairs leading to the upper floors. "Come on," Stottlemeyer said as he led the others after her, "She's not going anywhere up here."
"Indeed," Fraser commented, "This is much like an illogical situation I see often in American films. The villain, instead of staying on ground level during a chase, where he or she would have a better chance of escape, instead chooses to head into the nearest building and go up as far as possible, which makes no logical sense if you intend on getting away. Sometimes I fail to understand the logic American screenwriters use."
"Sounds good Benny; you can point that out the next time we go see a flick," Vecchio said. He activated his radio. "Attention Unit 9, we've got suspect at Triple XXX club heading for roof; please send all units you can to assist in detention."
They ran out onto the roof. "Hold it right there all of you!" Amanda shouted from the ledge she was now standing on, a good five stories above downtown Chicago, "I'll jump if you come one step closer!"
"It's all right, Miss Graystone, we mean you no harm," Fraser told her, "There's certainly a more rational way through this situation than for you to jump off that ledge."
"I've got one," Adrian raised his hand. He was staring at the ground to try and forget the fact he was now high above the Windy City, "Why don't we go back down to the first floor and do your whole suicide 'I'm going to jump' thing from down there?"
"Are you for real?" Amanda asked the former detective.
"We're still trying to figure that out," Vecchio said, "Anyway, why don't we come down off the ledge and…"
"I said not one step closer!" the stripper warned him as he started forward. Vecchio promptly jumped back. "Amanda," Fraser said, "Think this out. Do you really think killing yourself right now would be the best solution for everyone. A young woman and her son are missing, and you can probably help us find them, but only if you cooperate with us. I promise, we will be a lenient on you at the trial for your help as the law will allow."
"I can't help you!" Amanda said, a worried look in her eye, "He'll have known by now I spoke with you earlier. He'll be on me, I just know it."
"Who's he?" Stottlemeyer asked her.
"I can't tell you that!" she told him, "I made a mistake getting in with him, and if I cross him he'll make me pay for it!"
"He wouldn't happen to be a six-fingered man, would he?" Adrian piped up.
"What?" Amanda looked quite puzzled.
"Just pretend he's not here, OK?" Vecchio told her, "Now Miss Graystone, we can offer protective custody for you if you feel…"
"Protective custody won't work!" she cut him off, "He's got friends with the police! They'd find me out no matter where you'd hide me!"
"You won't be found, I can promise you that, Amanda," Fraser said, "We will make absolutely sure you cannot be found. You have my word."
"You're sure about that?" the stripper asked.
"He won't find you whoever he is," Stottlemeyer told her, "Now please, help us. Who kidnapped Sharona and Benjy Fleming?"
Amanda gave a long deep sigh. "All right," she said in resignation, "It's…"
But then a shot rang out. "Who?" the captain asked. But it was already too late. Fatally shot, Amanda slumped backwards off the roof and landed with a thud on a taxi parked below. Everyone but Adrian rushed over to the edge. "We were that close!" Disher grumbled in frustration.
"That's something else I've frequently seen in American media," Fraser commented, "The killer always seems to wait until the very last second before the informant gives away the crucial information before killing him or her."
"Yeah, I'm sure you and Roger Ebert'll have a lot to talk about," Vecchio snorted, "Anyone see where the shot came from?"
"We're in a sound tunnel," Adrian piped up, "Just like in the St. Clair case. It could have been any of the buildings on this block."
"Well we'll search every one of them," Vecchio said, "Maybe they're still there."
"Good, and in the meantime I'll go home and take that bath I need," Adrian said, shuffling toward the door back downstairs without looking up, "Tell me how it goes."