I don't own the characters and make no monetary profit from this story. I'd love to own Peter Gunn but I know that's an impossibility. His heart belongs to Edie Hart and it always will.
Thanks so very much to everyone who has read and enjoyed this story and to those who have contributed with their suggestions and comments. Special thanks goes to Melchy for her answers to a number of important questions I posed for this chapter. When I began this story it was my stated purpose to make it 38 chapters long to coincide with the 38 episodes each season of Peter Gunn has. This being chapter 37, the next will be the last. Well, for this particular story anyway!
A Lifetime in Eight Days
Chapter 37: Statements and Accounts
Peter Gunn sat on the straight-backed chair to one side of the oak table in the familiar little interrogation room at the 13th Precinct, a place where he had spent a number of unpleasant hours with Lieutenant Jacoby during cases in which they'd shared a mutual interest. He'd been offered the subjective comfort of the Lieutenant's office but it was easier in here for Sergeant Davis to take notes. Jacoby filled cups with coffee for each of them and then seated himself on the hard chair directly across from the PI, watching him reach a hand inside his jacket and lift a pack of Lucky Strikes from his shirt pocket. The policeman courteously pushed an ashtray toward his friend as Pete lifted his lighter to the cigarette he placed between his lips. The PI gave a long look at the lighter then set it aside next to the ashtray. This would undoubtedly be a multi-cigarette conference. He shifted a little to one side, crossed one knee over the other, lay his smoke down, folded his hands in his lap and looked expectantly at the policeman. Jacoby stared back at him and finally broke the silence by clearing his throat.
"Is there anything you'd like to say before we get started?"
"Well, I don't know, Lieutenant. Is there something in particular you'd like me to say?" The private investigator reached for his cigarette and took a long drag, releasing twin streams of smoke from his nostrils as he again leaned back, keeping possession of the Lucky this time.
"No, Pete, of course not. I just thought you might want to make some type of statement for the record before we begin with the questions." His voice was soft as he settled his forearms on the table and clasped his hands together and leaned forward.
"You want me to make a statement to begin my statement?" A puckish smile tickled the man's lips as he stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray. "Seems redundant if you ask me."
"No, I don't-" Jacoby heaved an exasperated sigh and loosened his tie. "Stop that. This is serious business." But there was the ghost of a smile on his own face. He'd missed this banter that he shared with Peter Gunn.
"Why don't you just ask your questions and we'll go from there," Pete suggested mildly, copying the Lieutenant's pose but fidgeting with the lighter that lay on the table. "Much as I enjoy visiting your attractive constabulary I don't want to be here all night."
"Fine," Jacoby nodded, pulling a folder toward himself while his eyes remained on his friend. "When we ran into each other at St. Francis you mentioned your appointment with your doctor this afternoon. How did it go?" He gave an unnecessary shuffle to the papers in the folder as he waited for a reply and listened with an attentive ear as the PI responded that both doctors were happy with his progress, he was doing well, he was allowed to drive but was advised to take things easy for another couple of weeks. The policeman tried not to smirk at that last but was afraid from the look Pete gave him that he hadn't hidden it well enough. He hurriedly continued, telling the man sitting across from him that he appreciated that he'd taken the time to come down that evening. When he had mentioned getting his statement to close the file he hadn't anticipated seeing him the same day. "I figured when you had a little time and felt up to it we could sit down together and get it out of the way."
Pete brought his chin up in a slight nod of acquiescence and remained silent as he waited for Jacoby to continue, which he did after motioning toward Sergeant Lee Davis with an explanation that the officer would take notes of the conversation and type up an official statement for the PI to read and sign. The Lieutenant then asked a number of preliminary questions regarding Pete's knowledge of the time immediately preceding the eight days he had been held by Pauly Denner and his hired thugs. Did he remember being asked to meet with the two hoods who supposedly were offering information on the recent rash of heists Jacoby's men had been investigating? Did he have any memory of anything that had transpired immediately before or after that meeting?
Pete admitted to remembering being in Jacoby's office, acknowledged bits and pieces of their conversation. He was sure he made several calls from a phone booth after leaving the precinct but to whom was anyone's guess, knew he dropped in on a couple snitches looking for information and was certain he'd stopped at Stanley's Diner for some supper that he'd taken home to eat. The entire time he was eating he had felt lonely and wished Edie was there. He didn't say that last out loud, that was nobody's business but his own, but he remembered the feeling. And that feeling had been far worse than anything that had come after.
"When you showed up for the meet with the two hoods did you notice anything out of the ordinary? Were they nervous? Did they act like there was more going on than what you were expecting?"
The PI shrugged and leaned back in his chair, feet flat on the floor, arms folded across his chest. He answered in the negative, whatever had happened with those two remained a mystery to him. He did recall walking down the sidewalk toward his car, searching in his pocket for his keys. Beyond that nothing. Pete again gave Jacoby a no when asked if he recalled hearing any gunshots at any point between the time he left the two hoods and the point he reached his car.
"You don't recall hearing anything or anyone as you were headed back to your car?"
"No."
"Perhaps you weren't in the best frame of mind that night," the policeman suggested, his voice a gentle hum. He was aware that Pete was still having problems with his memory but was slowly overcoming those deficiencies. He didn't want to push too hard but he also wanted as many answers as he could get in order to get a clearer picture of what happened to Pete during those missing days. "Is it possible you weren't paying as much attention to things as you normally would? Maybe missed some signs?"
"What exactly is that supposed to mean?" Pete was beginning to get irritated at the cop. He reached for another cigarette and lit it with a flick of his lighter. Why couldn't Jacoby just accept the answers he was giving him? "You're the one who wanted me to be your middleman so you apparently didn't have any qualms about my mental condition at the time."
"That's not what I meant, Pete."
The PI tapped some ashes then leaned back and shifted in his chair and crossed one knee over the other and gave the Lieutenant his best poker-faced stare.
"You were going through some things personally and it would have been understandable if your mind was on those other things."
"My mind was on my job."
"The entire time? You're sure about that?" Jacoby leaned back and folded his hands in his lap, thumbs tapping thoughtfully against each other as he softly continued. "A woman can do strange things to a fellow, can mess with a man's mind without him even realizing it. I'm not saying there's any shame in that but you have to-"
"What do you think you are, a psychologist?"
Pete gave an exasperated snort and ground out his cigarette in the ashtray, again only partially smoked. He picked up the gold lighter but instead of slipping it into his pants pocket he absently played with it while staring at his friend on the other side of the table. Out of the corner of his eye the PI could see Lee Davis shift uncomfortably on his chair and would swear the policeman rolled his eyes. The pen in his hand hadn't touched paper in a few minutes so at least this little sidetrack of Jacoby's wasn't going into the official record.
"How about you just stick to the case and leave my personal life out of it," he suggested, feeling suddenly tired and wanting the whole thing to be over and done with. He wanted his life back and had a pretty good idea that his own eagerness for the case to be closed topped even Jacoby's.
"Did you have any prior knowledge that Denner was being released from prison? Maybe get a whiff of something from one of your flighty little stool pigeons?"
"No." Pete's tone was one of absolute certainty. He didn't follow up with asking Jacoby the obvious, knowing from the policeman's notes that the powers that be had failed to notify even him of Pauly Denner's early release.
"Were you acquainted with either of the two thugs Denner had working for him? Charlie Malloy or Bennie Marconi?"
"No."
"Never met either one?" the Lieutenant pressed. "Names don't ring a bell?"
"No."
"Do you remember anything about the place where you were held? Anything at all that Denner might have said?" Jacoby's voice had dropped to it's gentle best. "Any threats he might have made?" His thoughts were on that little vial of perfume and the lacy hankie with Edie Hart's initials on it that had been found in the dank basement that had served as Peter Gunn's own personal prison during the week he'd been missing. The policeman didn't blink an eye as his friend continued to stare back at him from across the table. He could swear he saw a shift in Pete's expression, a flicker of awareness in his eyes, but then it was gone. Maybe it was never there to begin with, perhaps it had merely been a shadow from the light as the dark-haired man tilted his head.
"No."
Jacoby heaved a not-so-silent sigh, his gaze shifting to a spot above Pete's head on the wall behind him. Four one-word negative responses in a row didn't bode well. His eyes met the other man's again, stubby fingers tapping impatiently on the table. He'd irritated the PI with the inference to his girlfriend but he hadn't figured Pete would clam up on him. He tried again.
"That's it? There's nothing at all you can tell me about those eight days?"
"I was cuffed." Pete's gaze dropped to the faint red bruising on his wrists, almost gone now, that he'd noticed a few days prior. Turning his hands so they rested palm upward on the table he offered the evidence to the policeman. "I remember the sound of dripping water." He remembered a lot of other things that he didn't mention, at the same time absently wondering why Jacoby felt the need to press the issue. He recalled shivering on the damp floor. Vomiting until there was nothing left to vomit. The blinding headache that never ended. The pummeling pain of hard fists to his face and well heeled shoes to his ribs. Sharp-edged gravel biting into his skin, shoulders aching from days of having his hands bound behind his back by steel handcuffs. He rubbed his thumb against the faded marks on one wrist, a thought jumping through his mind that maybe if he rubbed hard enough he could erase the bruise and in the process erase everything it entailed.
Thirst. He'd been thirsty, his lips cracked, his mouth dry, his insides twisted with a need he'd never felt before and hoped he never again would.
He remembered the sound of Pauly Denner's voice whenever he mentioned Edie, always without speaking her name, the soft threat in his words more difficult to handle than the harsh treatment afforded him by Marconi and Malloy. Fear. Anger. Rage. The burning hatred that had consumed him.
Pete's lips tipped in a slightly ironic smile as he briefly wondered at how his main focus in life had subtly shifted to an often exasperating, always complicated, ever bewitching, blonde haired, blue eyed slip of a girl singer. He had known women before Edie Hart but none of them had brought out the side of him that she did, not a single one of them had come close to taking precedence in his life or over his profession. None had been more important to him than life itself. He would do anything for her, would do anything on God's green earth to keep her safe. He would kill for her, he knew that beyond a doubt, had come agonizingly close on more than one occasion. For her he would surely sell his soul if necessary. If Denner had given him that option he would have gladly made the sacrifice.
You don't like to talk about her do you? Your girl?
His head snapped up and his eyes found Jacoby. The good Lieutenant was doodling on the inside of the file folder which lay on the table, his own eyes following the nib of his No. 2 Ticonderoga pencil, either waiting for a further response to his last question or considering his next. Shifting his gaze toward Sergeant Davis, the PI found the young black officer staring back at him, his expression at once benevolent yet gently curious. Pete's hands, which had fisted at the sudden flashback, at the sound of Pauly Denner's voice echoing in his head, relaxed and he leaned back in his seat, the hard wooden slats of the chair a not so comfortable reminder of where he was. Clasping his hands together in his lap he took a deep breath and then released it slowly.
Most guys I know are just the opposite, always bragging about their girls. From what I've seen most of those girls couldn't hold a candle to yours. She's a real looker, know what I mean?
His teeth clenched without any conscious effort of his own and a quick heat blanketed his face as Denner's words continued their tumble through his mind. He could feel the light beads of perspiration that popped out on his forehead and he licked suddenly dry lips and shifted on the hard seat.
I haven't had a chance to visit her yet. Guess that makes you happy, huh? There's always a cop outside watching. That Jacoby's not taking any chances.
Pete pursed his lips and stared down at his hands then pushed away from the table and got to his feet. It really wasn't anybody's business, he decided, what he might remember from that week. Those memories belonged only to him, one way or another, whether he wanted them or not. He had no desire to discuss them with anyone or have them written down in neat little paragraphs and filed away in some police report which anybody and everybody had access to. Maybe he wasn't being completely fair or honest with Jacoby, or with himself for that matter, but he had no interest in talking about what happened to him. Without excuse he suggested that if Sergeant Davis would type up a statement with the information already provided he'd be happy to sign it.
Jacoby appeared flummoxed at the PI's sudden turnaround, pushing his own chair back and standing to look with confused eyes at this friend. When he opened his mouth to say something – he wasn't sure of the words that might come out but he had to try to say them anyway – Pete waved him off, telling him he just wanted it done and over with so he could have his life back. What he might or might not remember, either at that precise moment or sometime in the future, had no bearing on Jacoby's case anymore.
The Lieutenant gave a slow nod, rolling his pencil around in his fingers as he listened to Pete ask Lee Davis when his statement would be ready for his signature, then watching him walk out into the corridor with a promise to be back in an hour.
With a turn of his key Pete pushed open the apartment door and stepped inside, absently pushing it shut behind him as he shrugged out of his suit jacket. The aroma of coffee hit his senses as he lay the jacket over the back of one of the chairs sitting catty-corner to each other beneath the stairs. A fresh pot rested atop the warmer on the bar and two dark brown stoneware cups sat next to it. Edie Hart emerged from the kitchen, a blue dish towel in one hand as she gave him a suspicious look through narrowed eyes.
"And just where have you been, Mr. Gunn?"
"The question isn't where have I been, the question is what are you doing home already? Shouldn't you be singing right about now?" He glanced at his wristwatch then leaned in to give Edie a kiss which she reciprocated with greater enthusiasm than her expression belied. She followed behind him as he retrieved his jacket and turned toward the stairs.
"The electricity is out along most of the waterfront." She tossed aside the dish towel and reached to loosen his necktie and slip open the top button of his shirt, her fingers warm against his throat as she gave him a knowing smile. "Don't tell me you didn't hear about it during your nocturnal wanderings."
"Not a word."
"They said it would be several hours so Mother sent everyone home." Her hands found the back of his neck as her smile turned mischievous. "Mr. Peterson at the bakery started handing out his remainders before they went bad so I brought some home with me. I can make egg sandwiches and we can have Bismarcks for dessert."
"Sure." He placed a light kiss on her lips, his own tilting in the semblance of a smile as she removed her arms from around his neck and found her towel back. His hand slipped down her arm and his fingers tangled with hers and she turned her head and raised her eyebrows as he seemed to want to keep her there. Pete opened his mouth as though to say something, then he seemed to hesitate and just squeezed her hand instead. Her eyes followed him halfway up the stairs then watched him pause as she said his name.
"Is everything all right?"
"Sure it is," the dark-haired man assured her. He'd change clothes and be back down.
After hanging his jacket and slacks on the suit rack he quickly donned more casual gray pants, a lightly striped shirt and blue cardigan. Then he headed for the eye-level shelf at the back of the walk-in closet and pulled down the small metal strongbox he kept there, placing it on the bed before heading into the bathroom for the key he kept in a drawer. He supposed it wasn't the safest place to store the key but he didn't figure a crook would look there for it. Edie knew it was there and what it was for but as far as he was aware she had never used it. The box contained mostly work-related papers as well as his little black book that held the names, phone numbers and addresses of certain people. It was also where he kept a constant supply of cash, mostly five and ten dollar bills, for use when he needed information from those certain people in the little black book. He had also placed a few other things in there over the past few months. With a twist of the key he opened the gray metal box and removed a number of items, made certain the box was locked again, set it back in the closet and went back downstairs clutching his precious possessions.
Their meal was a quiet affair. They ate by the hearth, a small fire burning even though the extra warmth extending from it wasn't necessary. Edie felt a fire made any day more cheerful so they managed to have one whenever possible. Thomas the ginger-haired cat was ensconced on a beige pillow in the corner, watching avidly in case a crumb should happen to fall to the floor. That never happened but he did quite happily lap up the bit of raspberry jam Pete offered him from his filled pastry. The man in question periodically glanced at the blonde seated on the floor just a few feet away, knowing her introspective silence as they ate was his fault for the most part. She intuitively sensed that something was on his mind and that he'd ultimately discuss that something with her.
"June told me there's an apartment coming open in her building next week."
Edie tried to put some enthusiasm into her voice as she relayed this tidbit of information but her tone came out subdued. She glanced through her eyelashes at Pete and found him staring at her with that expressionless poker face of his. His deep blue eyes studied her face, reading messages she didn't know were there or that she was trying to keep hidden. Finally he released a sigh and set his coffee cup down on the raised hearth.
"I hope you don't plan on spending too much time there."
The woman straightened from her inspection of her dessert, pieces that she'd nervously pulled apart scattered around her plate, and scrutinized his expression in much the same manner as he had hers. She relaxed, her shoulders softening as the tension left them, and gave him a tender smile.
"Pete -"
He turned away from her and stretched out a long arm to pull open the drawer of the end table on that side of the sofa. Reaching in he brought out a small stack of items which he placed on the floor in front of his crossed legs before sliding the drawer back. Without a word he picked up the first item and handed it across to Edie, watching as she hesitantly accepted it from his hand and stared into his face before she actually looked to see what it was she held.
"Pete, I don't – You don't –" A perplexed frown creased her brow as she glanced up from the blue passbook to meet his eyes. Inside the passbook was a checkbook, personalized with both their names, Peter James Gunn on the top line, Edith June Hart on the second line. Printed on a third line beneath their names were the words Personal Account.
"You can do with it what you want. Anything or nothing at all, it's up to you. I've been making a deposit from all my jobs over the past few months and I'll keep doing that. If you want to put something in every month you can but you don't have to." His earnest expression covered for the nervousness he felt in the pit of his stomach. "If you want to move the money in your account over that's fine, if you don't that's fine, too." The man gave a sigh and rubbed the back of his neck as he returned Edie's gaze. "I just want to make sure that if I'm not here and you need something that you're taken care of."
"This is why you were working those extra jobs," the girl murmured, the realization of what he had done suddenly hitting her as she noticed the date the checking account had been opened. She felt tears welling up in her eyes and blinked hard.
The private investigator shrugged.
"That wasn't the only reason," he admitted. His mouth curved in a teasing smile as he reached out and touched her chin with a gentle finger. "There were some other reasons but you'll just have to trust me on those. Okay?"
"Pete... You didn't have to do this."
"I know," he dropped his hand and fidgeted with his half empty coffee cup as he looked at her. "You're a strong independent woman who's been taking care of herself for a long time. That's one of the many things I love and admire about you. But I want to take care of you, too."
"Thank you, Pete." The blonde smiled almost bashfully.
"When we were talking the other day I told you what's mine is yours. I meant that." He watched as she absorbed that thought. "I also gave you access to my individual checking account. Your name isn't on the checks but you can take care of making payments from it and withdraw money if you need to. I hope that doesn't make you uncomfortable."
"Not if it's what you want."
"It's what I want. I know you paid the car phone bill and my regular phone bill the week before last out of your account. You shouldn't have had to do that. You just need to put your autograph on the signature cards for the two accounts and everything will be legal." Pete smiled as she nodded, then picked up two cards and handed them to her. The first was an American Express credit card, the second one was a red, white and blue Esso gas card, both bearing her name. "I added you to both credit card accounts. And I had Jackie Mann add you to my auto insurance," he handed over a third card. "You're legal to drive it all the time, not just under the guest driver amendment. More forms to sign," he continued with a smile.
"Pete..." The blonde released a sigh and shook her head and gave him what she tried to make a menacing frown. So that was the meaning behind the insurance company receipt that had been with his belongings. "Whatever will I do with you?"
He winked and told her they'd think of something. The final item he handed her was his little black book. Edie Hart narrowed her eyes and gave him a what-for look.
"You actually have one of these things? And I'm supposed to want it?"
"It's not what you think, honey."
"And what exactly do you think I think?" she groused.
The PI shifted to sit beside her and took the little book from her hands. He haphazardly let it fall open and held the pages toward her.
"These are the names, addresses and phone numbers of some people who are important to me. I want to make sure you know where to find the information in case you need it sometime." He nudged her shoulder with his own. "Edie, these are my contacts. People I go to for information. Friends. Not just my friends but your friends." He slid a finger beneath a page and flipped it over. "See here? Herman Klip. You've met Herman. And here's Babby." He turned over a few more pages. "Wilbur and Capri. Sylvester."
Edie took the book from him and shuffled through the pages.
"I know there have been times when I've been working a job and you've needed to find me but you couldn't. Remember when June had that problem with Delak? Barney told me you'd been looking all over the place for me. I don't want that to happen again." Pete tapped his forefinger on the page the blonde was perusing. "If there's an emergency and you need me and I don't answer the car phone all you have to do is call someone in this book. Whoever it is will get the word out." He lifted the same finger to tip her chin up so he could look into her blue eyes. "It's always in the strongbox in the bedroom closet and you know where the key is. You got that?"
"Yes, Pete."
"Good." He removed the book from her hands and set it aside. "Now, Miss Hart..." His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled and slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her in for a leisurely kiss. "Have you decided what to do with me?"
The woman offered an innocent yet suggestive smile as she got to her feet and held her hand out toward him.
"Yes, Mr. Gunn. I do believe I have..."