Tracking A Shadow: A Jarvis Mann Detective Novel, Page 2

  I started carrying a camera with me and taking pictures of him out there in the distance, with a time and date stamp. I gave them to my lawyer, and he got a restraining order that he was quickly served with. But it didn’t stop him and he was arrested twice over the next few weeks. And though I saw less and less of him over the next few months he was still there at times, watching me. I had no life and could make no friends and was always afraid to leave the house. But you know what got it to stop: the divorce. Once that was finalized and we faced off in court, and he heard the things I had to say about my life with him, I never saw him again. He didn’t even try to defend himself in court. I watched and watched, but he was no longer there. It was like he fell off the face of the Earth. I was happy, as I could now live, work and sleep in peace. I had my life back.”

  “And you never found out what happened to him?”

  “No. I didn’t want, need or ask for financial support. I just wanted to enjoy my life.”

  “And now it’s started again,” I said. “Do you think he is the one stalking you?”

  She stopped and mulled over her answer. “I’m not really certain. It’s been five years, so it’s hard to say. Since I’ve not gotten a clear look at this person, I can’t tell positively it’s him. But it could be. And that is what I need you to find out.”

  Before going any further, I knew I needed to go over the standard items I always covered before being hired for a case. There was little doubt in my mind that I would be taking it, but of course she might decide otherwise once she heard my rules.

  “So, you need to understand some things that I will go over with you. I will dig into your life, ask questions of you and your friends. Be a pain in the ass to help me do my job. Some of the queries may be personal, but I’ll require honest answers. If you can’t truthfully tell me what I need to know, I can’t and won’t do the job. I’ll be able to finish the work more quickly and successfully with the proper information while saving you some money. If I find out later items that you didn’t tell me, I’ll drop the case, but you’ll have to pay me for my time up until that point. Do you understand this?”

  She nodded without hesitation.

  “Next, the cost. It’s an hourly rate for every hour I work on the case that I’ll itemize for you, plus all my expenses in doing the job. This includes any meals, mileage or money needed to find the answers. I will provide all receipts and promise not to eat at Elway’s every day. And I’ll need a $1000 retainer to begin. It can get expensive fast. So if you don’t have the means to cover the costs, then we can part now at no expense to you and I can maybe direct you to someone less expensive.” I quoted her my hourly rate, knowing few out there would be any cheaper.

  “Money is not an issue. I will write you a check right now.” She got up and grabbed her checkbook, wrote a check without hesitation and gave it to me. “What else do you need from me?”

  I glanced at the check and admired the excellent script it was written in. I folded it up and placed it in my wallet. “Now the intrusive part: the personal questions.” I pulled out a pen and small notebook to take notes. I used to record this with a digital recorder but determined people were less forthcoming when they knew what they said could be digitally archived forever. I also found that I listened more intently and my recall was better when taking notes.

  “Let’s start with his name and everything you know about your ex-husband. Where he lived when he was growing up, how you met, how long you dated, where he worked, if he has any relatives living and in town I can talk with. Anything else important you can give me to work with. I need the whole scoop.”

  “Well, his name was Mark Remington. Yes, I changed my last name back to what it was before getting married. We met in Westminster, Colorado. It was a setup date by a friend, a co-worker at the time. We dated for about six months before he proposed. I at first was hesitant to say yes, but he persisted and was very charming. He bought me flowers and took me to fancy restaurants. And of course he was easy on the eyes and good in bed. We got married about three months later and rented a house and lived there until I moved out, as I mentioned earlier. He worked for a construction company in that area. He was a foreman for a local contractor whose name I can’t remember. My former lawyer should be able to give you that info, as he had a pretty detailed file on him. He works for the law firm Bristol & Bristol. Tony Bristol is his name.” She got up, walked over to a nearby desk, pulled out a business card and gave it to me.

  “What about any relatives?”

  “His mother lives here in the Denver area, and her name was Mimi Remington. We weren’t very close, and he wasn’t close to his mother either. I’m not certain if she is still living in town or is even alive, as her health always was poor. I also believe he had a sister, but she lived out of state. Tony may have that info in the file as well.”

  “Friends. Places he would hang out. Anything he did regularly that might help me locate him.”

  “He loved slow-pitch softball. Played it all the time. Always wanted me to come watch so he could impress me. I had been a pretty good player myself before we met, but he wouldn’t let me participate. In his mind only dykes played softball; his words, not mine. There were several fields and leagues up north he played at. Also, there was a bar he would drink at afterward with his teammates. Charlie’s, I think it was called. Tony should have that on file as well.”

  “Thanks, this is very helpful.” I finished writing up what I’d heard and flipped to the next page. “Now, how about someone else who might be involved other than your ex-husband? Could be someone you work with or dated recently that didn’t go well. Someone you met at a bar and had a one-night stand with. Anything like that which could create this situation.”

  Her cheeks turned red, as I think I embarrassed her. I knew it had to be asked, as normally you aren’t stalked by a random person. It’s almost always someone you know, dated or had some type of relationship with.

  “Well, I don’t go to bars to pick up men or to be picked up!” she said, almost with a smile. Or maybe it was a smirk. “I do hang out at the place down the road with friends from time to time. Occasionally, someone will buy me a drink. But nothing has come of it. No sparks that flew, no hot night of passion with a man I hardly knew. Not my style. Really, I enjoy just being by myself most of the time. No one has really clicked in my head for a while now. And I’m really cautious because of what happened with Mark.”

  She stopped for a second, as if she remembered something long forgotten. “I did have a date with one of my co-workers. He was known around the office as the Hound, always hitting on women at work. There even were a few complaints of harassment. We went out about nine months ago for one date. Just dinner and nothing else, as he really was a bit of an ass. He asked me out several other times, and finally I met him for drinks and flat out told him I wasn’t interested and to stop asking me. I then left and he never bothered me again. There were a few people that said he bragged we’d slept together, though I never confronted him about it. But he moved onto another job about six months ago, much to the relief of all the females in our office. I happily have not heard from or seen him since.”

  “And what was his name, and where is he working now?”

  “Rickie Ward. He is at another consulting company now as a salesman. I believe they made him a partner. Consultants for All, I believe is the name. Our personnel director at work can give you more details.”

  “So where do you work and what do you do? How long have you been there?”

  “I work in the Tech Center for Reliable Consulting. I do consulting work for retail companies. Tell them what to do and how to do it. Straighten them out and make them more efficient and profitable. I’ve been there for thirteen years, and I’m a shareholder.” She gave me the office address and suite number.

  “So you were employed there during the whole divorce mess with Mark. It would be best if I can talk with some your co-workers who worked there during that time. Hopefully that is OK.
If you need to clear it with someone higher up, I will. Just want to hear from others about what happened as they remember it. Always helps to get different perspectives.”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem. We aren’t a huge operation, about forty people. Most weren’t there but some were, including my assistant Jeanine. I’ll talk with Tammy, our personnel manager, to make sure she is OK with it. Since I’m a shareholder I can convince her if she is resistant.”

  We went on for another thirty minutes or so, covering little things, filling in the gaps. Some of her routines, when she shopped and where, her work hours, the time she left in the morning and when she usually made it home, where she ate, where she worked out, if she went for walks or bike rides. All were things she did regularly but with no real obvious pattern and nothing that popped out as problematic. We went over rough descriptions of the man she’d seen again—or men, in this case, as the description varied quite a bit. The types of vehicles she’d seen. I tried to tease out as much detail as possible. It could have really been anyone, but at least we eliminated creatures from Mars as suspects.

  “So what I think I’m going to do is get info from your lawyer and then try to track down these two men. I’d say you should be pretty safe at work, so what I’ll do is from a distance in the mornings and evenings try to spot someone watching you when you’re at home. If you go shopping I’ll either go with you or follow from afar. You can text me when you’re leaving and on your way home. Let’s try to keep your routine pretty regular and not vary it much. While you’re at work I’ll track down whatever leads I can come up with. Hopefully, we will get lucky and find him. If the problem worsens, there are other things we can do. We may need to try and bait him to bring him out in the open, but I don’t expect it will come to that. Do you have any questions?”

  She shook her head. “No. I just want it to be over again. I can’t live like this.”

  “I’ll do all that I’m capable of. I’m good at this, and we’ll get him.” I said it so convincingly, I even believed it.

  Chapter 3

  We’d pretty much covered everything and it was getting close to dinnertime, and I’d not even had lunch. I left her behind, telling her I’d be back later to begin my first watch, figuring she’d be safe for now. I headed down the road, picked up a cheeseburger and vanilla shake, and took it back home. I sat down and resisted devouring the sandwich but failed, trying not to get grease and ketchup on my nice shirt. I knew I had my work cut out for me on this case, and hoped I could come through. I went through all my notes again, trying to fathom a logical sense of order in how I was going to approach this. Many times I overthink what I’m going to do, but I wanted to get it clear in my head. Once finished an hour had passed, and my food had settled, so I needed to get my workout in. I changed into exercise clothes, grabbed my MP3 player, climbed into the car and headed to the gym.

  As the years had gone by I found working out was harder and harder to do. I forced myself, but at times I couldn’t do it. With each case I would get a new sense of commitment to my client and myself. A workout always would clear my mind, sweat me out of that over-thinking mode and give me the stamina I would need to work the crazy hours this type of job required. It also tired me out so I would sleep better, as new cases often kept me awake and disturbed my dreams.

  My workouts usually lasted an hour. After stretching I started on the treadmill, moved on to Nautilus, some small free weights and finished by punching the heavy bag they had until my hands were sore. Occasionally, I’d swim a few laps to work the whole body, but not today. I would work up a good sweat, admire a few tight female backsides in spandex without leering, and try to ignore the sweaty hairy men in spandex that also would disturb my dreams. My 6-foot 180-pound frame ached when I finished, but I always felt better. A good ache! I returned home and showered, hydrated and headed out for the first watch.

  I texted Emily to let her know I was there. Time on my smartphone illuminated an hour before dark, so I parked several blocks down and began to walk. Since it was still warm out, I wore blue jeans, a T-shirt and running shoes so I could move quickly. Very few people were out and about, as most had to be up early for the new workweek. A youngish couple came down the street walking their big German Shepherd, which eyed me. I said hello and tried to act as if I belonged. No one jumped out at me or appeared to be hiding in the bushes. The only encounter I had was a swarm of flying small bugs that wanted to nest on my skin and hair, which I did my best to swat away. With darkness creeping in I returned to the Mustang, knowing I’d have to change up the routine daily or a vigilant neighbor would wonder what I was doing. I texted Emily to let her know I was done for the night but to immediately contact me if she saw or heard someone. Getting there quickly was not an issue since I was close by. I then headed home and went to bed with the alarm set for 5AM.

  The next morning I decided to pedal my mountain bike around the neighborhood. I’d ride a block or so, then stop and get a drink. Round and round. I went down the back alley behind her house a couple of times and out front as well. The text came through that she was leaving. No one seemed to care about her at all as she left in her late-model, four-door blue BMW dressed to kill for work: dark slacks and blouse, and high-heeled shoes. She had her Notebook bag in hand and a black purse hung over her shoulder. She drove away, and I tried to act like I wasn’t watching and began the ride back home, knowing the real detective work was about to begin.

  Once again I showered and shaved; I had a granola bar and a glass of 2 percent milk and was off and running. I hit the bank first to deposit her check, happy to see my account balance still in the black. With paper notebook and business card in hand I was off to meet her lawyer, Tony Bristol.

  His office was downtown, so I decided to ride the light rail. Finding an open spot in the Park N Ride at the Santa Fe and Evans station, I waited for the next train. The electric-powered unit pulled in shortly with the bell ringing to warn any idiot who might have wandered onto the tracks. I found a seat and enjoyed the quiet, cool ride to the busy mecca of Denver. The cost was cheap compared to parking downtown, and there were no traffic issues to contend with. In about thirty minutes I got off at California Street and 18th. The second-tallest skyscraper in Denver, with the huge sign at the top of its fifty-six floors, Century Link Towers was where I was headed. The shape of the building resembles two interlocked octagonal sections, which separate near the building’s roof. I looked up in awe of what it took to build this structure: all the hours and manpower that were needed, the danger of working at such heights. The sun reflected off of the hundreds of windows that covered the street-facing side. It was warm and breezy already as I entered the multi-storied building where Bristol & Bristol had a suite on the 10th floor.

  The elevator ride was swift as I got off and found the suite entrance off of the main foyer. Tall walnut-colored doors adorned with the brass logo of Bristol & Bristol opened to an expensive-looking waiting area. Several black leather chairs and two leather couches made for a comfortable wait. Behind a huge walnut U-shaped desk, with another brass Bristol & Bristol logo mounted on the wall behind her, sat a lovely twentysomething blonde receptionist dressed in a black pantsuit, showing just enough cleavage to leave something to the imagination. She smiled brightly at me and asked if she could help me. I tried my best to not giggle like a teenage boy.

  “I’m here to meet with Tony Bristol. Emily White called ahead and told him I would be stopping by today.” I used my semi-pearl white smile to impress her.

  “Please have a seat and I’ll see if he is available,” she answered, not seeming particularly impressed with me.

  Looking at the office and the cost of the surroundings, Bristol & Bristol’s clients must be clothed to the nines, with large expense accounts, new, shiny, expensive European cars and thousand-dollar suits. Since I was dressed via Old Navy today, with dark slacks and a basic single-colored polo shirt, I stood out like a sore thumb. How can Emily afford this lawyer? I pondered. He probably c
harged by the hour what I made in a month.

  I smiled again at the receptionist, which still had no effect, so I sat on one of the chairs and was immediately impressed. It looked great and was very comfortable. I had to get one of these for my office. A classy chair would bring a classy clientele, I told myself. Of course it was like the chicken and egg—I had to acquire one first before getting the other. I wondered if I’d look like a tourist if I tried to find the label on the chair to see who manufactured it, figuring it wasn’t from one of the local cheap discount furniture stores.

  I checked out the magazines sitting on the table before me. Most were finance-focused types like Money, Kiplinger’s and Forbes. I did happen to find a Sports Illustrated buried there. It was the swimsuit issue, and I had to investigate how small the suits were this year and the effort used to cover these skinny models’ private areas. Before I finished finding clues, a striking woman about my age stepped out and called out my name.

  “Mr. Mann?” she said. I stood to acknowledge her. “I’m Mr. Bristol’s assistant, Melissa Diaz. If you’ll follow me, he can meet with you for a few minutes.”

  Her beautiful green eyes I noticed immediately. She had brown straight hair at about shoulder length, with the left side curled over her ear. She wore a black embroidered jacket over a white blouse. Black slacks that fit her legs and rear end perfectly, with dress shoes with a slight heel. Her face was made up lightly but not so much that it hid her natural look. She was the prettiest woman I been this close to in many a day. Of course I’d had a similar reaction when seeing Emily and the receptionist. When you hadn’t had a solid relationship for some time, you tended to see most of the woman you encountered that way.