Not my characters, just my story. I only wish I owned Pete. The story is best read if you've seen the series and know the characters. If you haven't seen it lately, watch, enjoy.
A Lifetime in Eight Days
Chapter 11: Going Through the Motions
Seated at his desk, suit jacket and tie thrown over the back of a chair, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, Lieutenant Jacoby stared at the evidence bags containing, among other things, Peter Gunn's personal effects. Reaching for one of the bags he slowly opened it and upended the items it contained onto his desk. They were the things he'd personally removed from the collection in the basement and from Pete's suit jacket.
Breath mints and comb, just ordinary things men carried around with them. Though he had to admit his friend might be just a little more compulsive about those two items than most other men he knew. Jacoby found it quite humorous at times and often wondered if the impeccable hair and minty breath were more for the benefit of all those female clients who seemed to crawl out of the woodwork or for the woman Pete gravitated to every second of his free time. He pulled the laundry ticket out from beneath the comb and made a note of the number on it and then did the same with the receipt from the insurance agent. He picked up the key ring and gave it a cursory inspection, noting that Pete's car keys and apartment key were still attached. He wasn't certain what the other several keys were for – one looked like it might fit a safety deposit box but there were no identifying marks on it, one was most probably the key to Mother's, a third appeared to be another apartment key. Edie's? He made himself another note to stop by her building and check on that. He knew it would be easier to just ask Edie to identify the key but he wasn't certain he was up for that. Just knowing that all of Pete's keys seemed to be accounted for lifted a load off his mind though. Cuff links, collar pin, necktie. He inspected the tie but it looked clean. Of the items from Pete's wallet only the photograph appeared to have blood on it. That was curious. Lastly was the ladies hankie. He got a whiff of perfume as he handled it, noticed Edie Hart's initials embroidered on one corner. He placed the handkerchief to one side, shoved the key ring into his pants pocket and returned the other items to the bag, added notes to the itemized list on the front of the bag then placed it in the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet, next to Pete's jacket and shoes.
The second bag contained the remainder of the items that had been in the drawer in the basement – wristwatch, wallet, vial of perfume. They had been dusted for prints but Jacoby could tell just from looking that nothing legible had been found. He removed the cap from the perfume and brought the small container to his nose. It was the same scent as that on the handkerchief. He picked up the wristwatch. It had wound down at some point, the hands stopped at 2:26 and 44 seconds. Other than that it appeared to be in pristine condition. Figuring the wallet to be empty Jacoby looked through it anyway. Stuck in one corner of the compartment reserved for paper bills, many bills of many different denominations knowing Pete, he found two small pieces of paper folded together. They turned out to be slips from fortune cookies. Curious as to why Pete – or in his opinion anyone for that matter – would hang on to such things he took a look at what they said. The first one read "Be patient, in time even an egg will walk", the second "The love of your life is sitting across from you". A soft smile hinted at his lips as he re-read them. Then he carefully refolded the papers and returned them to the exact location he had found them. He set the perfume aside, placed the rest of the items back in the evidence bag and laid it on top of the other one in the drawer.
A third bag contained Pete's revolver, the notations on the front indicating that it had indeed been positively identified as belonging to the PI, that it had not been fired any time recently and that two sets of legible prints had been found on the weapon – Peter Gunn's on the cylinder and grip and – Jacoby almost pumped his fist in triumph – those of Paul Denner on the barrel. Denner's were only partials but were enough for a positive identification. In a fourth evidence bag were the handcuffs found in the basement. No legible prints were found on the cuffs but evidence of dried blood had been discovered on the inside edges of one cuff. The final bag contained the phonograph records Jacoby had found on the turntable. He placed the LPs aside with the perfume and hankie, added everything else to the collection in the filing cabinet and slid the drawer shut.
Jacoby placed his elbows on his desk, folded his hands together and rested his chin upon them. Then he stared in silent meditation at the items remaining on his desk, all items that had obviously been removed from Peter Gunn's apartment some time after Denner and his boys had grabbed him and before Jacoby's second visit to the apartment, a span of no more than three hours. Jacoby sighed. If only he had thought to put surveillance on the apartment earlier. Then he frowned as a different thought struck him. He knew the LPs had been taken from Pete's apartment, but that didn't mean the other two items had come from there. After all, Denner had been in possession of Pete's keys and, if the one was actually to Edie Hart's apartment, someone could conceivably have removed the other items from her place since she hadn't been there for a week now. He somehow doubted that though and at this point it really didn't matter where they had come from.
Why the items had been taken was basically a moot point as well at this juncture, but it was perfectly obvious to Jacoby what Pauly Denner had been up to. Not only had Pete been the subject of physical abuse at the hands of Denner and his goons – the mental images provided by Bennie Marconi's statements during interrogation remained with him constantly – he'd also been made to endure psychological abuse. Knowing Pete, and knowing the subject of that abuse – who the perfume, the hankie, the music were associated with – it had been worse on him than the beatings. With that thought in mind Jacoby turned back to the filing cabinet and removed the photo of Edie Hart from the evidence bag, placing it on the desk next to the other items. He wondered how the bloodstains had gotten onto the photo, as the only other blood evidence the lab boys were able to find at the scene was that small amount on the handcuffs. Bennie Marconi hadn't made mention of the psychological aspect so that might have been something Denner was doing on his own. Probably more fun that way. Or maybe he had help from the other guy, Charlie Malloy.
Jacoby had spoken with Marconi upon returning to the precinct house earlier, rousting him from sleep in his jail cell. The man had been unable to tell him much more than he already knew. Except that Pauly Denner was a creature of habit, whatever that meant. And that Charlie Malloy, who was most probably still helping Denner, was a man who didn't like to be messed with, was a man who tended to go overboard rather than rein himself in. He'd been that way as long as Marconi had known him, which was since boyhood. Sometimes that trait came in handy in their line of business, at other times it was a hindrance. Apparently it had been the latter where Peter Gunn was concerned. According to Marconi, if you told Malloy to punch somebody once he'd most likely hit him four or five times. "He has anger issues," Marconi had said. Apparently Malloy had taken some of those issues out on Pete. Remembering the empty garage at the house on Idlwood, Jacoby had thought to ask Marconi about transportation. He was told that there had been two automobiles at the house, a 1954 blue on blue Buick Roadmaster and a black Plymouth sedan, he wasn't sure of the year on that one. The Roadmaster had stolen plates, again he wasn't sure on the Plymouth.
Lieutenant Jacoby leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping nervously on the desktop as he continued to stare at the items on his desk. He fingered the lacy handkerchief and the small container of perfume. Opened a desk drawer and retrieved the covers for the two LPs and slid them home. Pulled Peter Gunn's key ring from his pocket and silently studied those keys he both could and couldn't identify. Placing them on the desk he picked up the photograph of the woman. He looked at it for a while as he slowly came to a decision. Then he reached into his back pocket for his wallet and placed the photo inside before replacing the wallet. Standing, he rolled down his shirt sleeves and donned his tie and suit jacket and overcoat. He dropped the key ring, perfume and handkerchief into the side pocket of his jacket, grabbed the LPs, stuck his hat on his head and walked out of the office.
This time when Jacoby rang the buzzer the door was opened by Mother. It was the first time anyone other than Edie had let him into Pete's apartment. On one hand he wasn't exactly thrilled to see the woman, knowing without having to be told that she blamed him in part for Pete's disappearance and the Police Department as a whole for letting the situation go on as long as it had without finding him. On the other hand he was glad that someone else was here for this particular visit. He had a feeling Edie was going to need and want someone other than him to lean on after he said what he had come to say. The woman who stood aside for him to enter must have noticed his subdued attitude as she simply took one look at him before motioning with her head toward the living room.
"Edie's upstairs getting dressed. She should be down in a few minutes." It was a little after nine in the morning on the seventh day of Peter Gunn's disappearance. "We just finished breakfast. There's some coffee left." It was an offer of sorts.
Jacoby shook his head.
"No thanks. I'll just sit down and wait if that's all right."
Mother shrugged and looked curiously at the LPs the policeman held in his hand. Then she watched as he slowly walked into the living room, placed the records on the coffee table, divested himself of his overcoat and laid it and his hat on the back of a chair near the fireplace and then very wearily sat down in the chair across from the couch. When Edie came quickly down the stairs about two minutes later Mother was still standing in the same spot and was still looking at Jacoby.
"Who-?"
Mother simply nodded toward the policeman, an indecipherable expression on her face, then slowly followed along behind the younger woman as Edie walked into the living room. The very first thing Edie noticed, other than the man in the chair, were the record jackets lying on the table. She picked them up, intent on returning them to their location next to the record player. She was made aware that the LPs had found their way back to the jackets as one began to slip out. She caught it before it was half way out, stared at it for a minute, checked the other jacket then lifted her gaze to Jacoby.
"Where did you find these?" Her heart was beating so fast and so hard that she knew it must be apparent to both Jacoby and Mother, that the sound must be echoing throughout the apartment.
It took a moment for the policeman to answer and when he did it was without looking at her. Instead he stared at his hands clasped on his lap, thumbs gently tapping against each other.
"At a house we raided early this morning." He finally looked up, his eyes unreadable as he looked at the woman.
Edie's glance fell back to the albums then returned to Jacoby. Words formed on her lips several times before she finally got them out.
"Did you-" She stopped then tried again without any better success. "Pete-"
The policeman shook his head.
"Pete wasn't there," he quietly said. "According to our source he was there, but by the time we were able to coordinate everything and get inside the place was empty."
"By the time-" The woman swallowed convulsively as she stared at Jacoby. "He was alive- Your person said he was alive?"
"Alive." The Lieutenant nodded reluctantly. "But not in good shape."
"But by the time-" Her jaw tightened and her lips trembled as she stared at the man who remained seated on the chair. "I don't understand. How much time could it take-" Edie glared, her fingers tightening desperately around the albums she still held at her side in one hand. "How long could it take if you knew-" She frowned almost helplessly. "How long did it take?"
Jacoby pushed himself to his feet but kept the coffee table between himself and the very distraught woman. He had a feeling things were about to get out of hand.
"Look, Edie. You have to understand-"
"How long?" There was a look in her eyes he'd never seen before. Overwrought. Frantic.
"From the time we had our source in custody- half a day maybe." Even he could hear the hollowness in his voice. "From the time he was finally willing to talk- too long." Jacoby gave an ambiguous shrug. "Hours," he admitted.
"And now?"
"And now-" Jacoby lifted his chin and heaved a deep sigh. "Now Denner knows we're getting closer, he knows we have a source of information that can help us tie him to Pete and he's probably starting to worry a little bit. He's probably ready to cut his losses and find some nice secure out of the way place where he can hunker down for a while. If he hasn't already." He didn't come right out and say what he meant in so many words, he didn't want to, but he figured Edie could translate what he was talking about. The way the record albums came abruptly flying at him gave him the first clue that she had done just that. Luckily for him they moved awkwardly through the air, hitting the side of the coffee table and coming apart on the floor as he quickly stepped out of the line of fire.
"Why do you keep doing this?" the woman demanded, her words rough and low. There was a quality to her voice that caused Mother to step up next to her, one hand going to Edie's left shoulder, the other grasping her right hand.
"Edie-" Jacoby held up a placating hand but was ignored.
"When Pete disappeared you said that everything would be all right, you promised you'd find him. Then you told me that the more time that went by the less likely it was you'd find him alive. That he might already be dead." Her breath was coming faster as she became more agitated and frustrated with the man standing a few feet from her. "Now you come here and tell me that Pete was alive yesterday and that you knew where he was but you wasted your time getting to him," the rage was evident in her words, "and in the same breath basically admit that he's probably dead!" Her hand tightened on Mother's and the older woman pulled her closer. "How am I supposed to believe anything you say when you can't even do your job-"
Her words came to an abrupt halt as the policeman reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out several items and dropped one of them onto the coffee table. Edie recognized her handkerchief immediately and then watched as Jacoby placed a small vial of perfume atop the hankie. She stared at them and began to slowly shake her head.
"These were found at the same time as the records," Jacoby quietly said, nodding toward the LPs on the floor. He took the key ring from his pocket and quietly placed it on the table next to the other items. "So were Pete's keys," he said. "Along with a few other things – his weapon, his wallet, some other stuff he usually carried around with him, some items he was wearing-"
"Carries," Edie interjected. Jacoby gave her a puzzled look. "You said carried."
"Carries," he corrected, giving a slight nod. He started to say something further but stopped himself as he saw the woman raise a hand to her mouth and sudden tears began to run down her face. With a choked sob she tore herself away from Mother's loose embrace and ran quickly across the room and up the stairs. Jacoby felt the heat of Mother's fierce gaze.
"Did you have to do that?" the old woman growled. "Couldn't you just leave her with a little hope? Leave us all with some hope?"
Jacoby rubbed a hand down his face, not offering up an answer to that question. After a moment his eyes met Mother's.
"The other day Edie wanted to phone Pete's Dad. I talked her out of it at the time. If you can get me his number I'll call him and let him know what's been happening."
Mother gave him a look that clearly told him he was an idiot and shook her head. Why on earth would he have done something like that?
"I'll talk to Edie and we'll call him. She's only spoken with him over the phone but I've met him a couple times when he's come to town to visit Pete. I think we'll be able to take care of that ourselves." With that she turned away from him and headed slowly upstairs.
Lieutenant Jacoby sat in his car for over an hour after leaving Edie and Mother, parked at the curb almost directly behind the unmarked surveillance car. He hated what he had done in the apartment, how he had handled himself, but he hadn't known what else to do. At this point, after the events of the past twenty-four hours, his best guess was that Peter Gunn was dead. That he'd been killed after Bennie Marconi was taken into custody and that his body had been dumped into the river. Only time would tell. The old river kept some secrets longer than others. Some it never gave up. Meanwhile his thoughts kept going back to something Marconi had said the last time they had spoken. Pauly Denner was a creature of habit. Those were his exact words. A creature of habit. Jacoby hit the button on his two-way radio and asked to be transferred to Sergeant Davis.