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Barney Collins, PI [MultiFormat]
eBook by Jack Coleman
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eBook Category: Mystery/Crime/Suspense/Thriller
eBook Description: Barney Collins was being chased by someone he'd been following. That's when he ran into Andi, Sheriff of Mayberry and that's how Barney ended up looking for Andi's missing husband. Harold William Taylor had been missing for nearly a year, despite police attempts to find him. So Barney set out on a cold trail, a trail that led to the Firebird Arsenal plant, where Barney begins to uncover just what Taylor was involved in; but finding him was going to be a different matter ...
eBook Publisher: Fiction4All/Fiction4All, Published: 2008, 2008
Fictionwise Release Date: February 2008
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Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [647 KB], eReader (PDB) [171 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [163 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [146 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [159 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [196 KB], hiebook (KML) [377 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [226 KB], iSilo (PDB) [134 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [169 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [206 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [221 KB]
Words: 52609
Reading time: 150-210 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
 
I stopped to get my breath. I was breathless because, ironically, I was running from a man I had been following. He caught on to that fact and took exception to it. The big son of a bitch ran after me for nearly ten blocks. Fortunately, he was in worse shape than I was. My name is Barney Collins. I was bending over in somebody's backyard hoping the reddish haze would soon lift from my eyes. I remember climbing a fence, but little else about the chase. Being a private investigator sometimes gets a little hairy. "Are you going to be all right?' a female voice said from the shadows. I did not think I had any energy left, but I managed to jump about a foot off the ground. "Are you chasing or being chased?" she asked. "Being ... chased," I gasped. "Big ... gang. After ... me." For all I knew there could have been more than one. "You want some water or something?" she asked. "Beer," I said. This was no time to get healthy. When she moved I saw her in the shadows. Now that I wasn't seeing stars from oxygen deprivation, I also saw that there was a swimming pool. If I hadn't stopped when I did, I would have plunged right in. I would have drowned, too, because I didn't have had enough energy to swim out. "Here you go," she said reappearing out of the darkened house. Damned woman must have eyes like a cat. She handed me a bottle of German beer. Not that I have anything against imported beer, but I normally only drink the domesticated type of brew. "Are you a police officer?" she asked. "No, private," I answered. Speech was coming a little easier now. I could tell that she had a nice figure even in the dark. When the moon came out from behind a cloud, I could see that she was wearing a bathing suit. "Thanks for the beer," I said. "Maybe saved my life. You're my hero." "You're welcome. I usually keep some on hand for drop in guests. By private, you mean a rent-a-cop?" "No, I'm a licensed private investigator. My name is Barnabas Collins. Barney to my friends." "PI, huh? That must be an exciting job. How did you get involved with a gang?" "Well, was a barefaced lie? It was only one guy. A big guy, but just one of him." I'm not much on lieing. I'm really not very good at it and I don't even try very often. "What did you do to piss him off at you?" "I'm working for his wife. Maybe more correctly, I was working for his wife. I think the cat's out of the bag now. She suspected him of cheating on her. As a matter of fact, he was and I had the goods on him. Tonight was supposed to be the icing on that cake, but it went south and ... well, he wasn't happy about finding me on his tail. Is there a gate I can get out of? I'm not sure I can climb back out over that fence." Laughing she led me to a side gate. In the glow of the streetlight, I saw she was a very attractive woman. I judged her age at late twenties or early thirties. Any other time I would have been tempted to stay and be better acquainted. I handed her the empty bottle. "Thanks, ma'am," I said. "Looks like the coast is clear so I'll be on my way." "Drop in anytime," she said with a girlish giggle that I found nice. "My name is Andrea Taylor. My friends call me Andi." For a moment, I didn't get it. then I did. Andi Taylor, sheriff of Mayberry. I was a block away when it dawned on me that we were a match. Andi and Barney. I wasn't wild about how it matched up, but what the hell. I made it out of the neighborhood, found my car unmolested, and went home. The next morning, nearly at the crack of noon, I was in my small office, finishing the report on the wayward hubby. I say my office is small, but in reality, it's tiny. One room with a filthy toilet, but it was large enough for my desk and chair that I salvaged from along side the street, a file cabinet, bought fifth hand at a garage sale, and a hip sprung nasty sofa, also salvaged. I had a couple wooden client chairs for those rare times someone actually came in to see me. I looked up when the door opened. It was my friend from last night. She looked a bit different in the daylight and wearing cloths, but I recognized her. "Hello, Barney," she said. "Do you happen to know anybody named Gomer or Goober?" "Hi, Mayberry," I said. "Know a guy by the name of Gomez. Will that work?" She giggled. "No, not even close. Nice place you got here." "No it isn't," I said grinning at her. "It'd be a rat hole if there was anything for a rat to eat and there wasn't holes in the wall big enough for cats to get in. What brings you to my office, such as it is?" "How are you at finding missing people?' she asked wiping the dust from one of the client chairs before sitting down. "Pretty good," I admitted. "Do you have somebody missing?" "My husband," she answered nodding her head. "Can you do better than the police?" "Almost always," I answered modestly. "They have a lot to do and I only have one thing to do at a time. How long has he been missing?" "Be a year next month," she said. "Is that too long to start searching?" "No, it's a cold trail, but I can look," I said. "Look, Mayberry, I have to tell you up front that it may not work out like you want. If your husband has stayed away this long one of two things has happened. One, he's dead and his body hasn't turned up, and two, he's really gone to ground. By that, I mean he's hid himself damned good. It could be expensive and you have to ask yourself if it's worth it and can you afford it?" "I can afford it," she said. "My aunt died a few months ago and left me everything. I'm not rich, but I'm not hurting either. The cops looked around a little, but I got the feeling they just thought he had left me without benefit of a divorce. If he's dead, Barney, I need to know it." "I have to ask you why you waited nearly a year to hire a PI." "Until my aunt passed I couldn't afford it. Also, I didn't know any private detectives until last night." She giggled again. "Okay then, I'll get to digging." I went over my fee and took her deposit. I work off a retainer at seventy-five dollars an hour. Andi wrote me a check for five grand and thereby bought herself a little over sixty-five hours of my time. After she left I started the clock by calling a buddy of mine who still worked for the police. I had the report in my hands in less than an hour. I was at the city police department at a spare desk. According to the report, Harold William Taylor left for work at about seven fifteen on May fifteenth, a Thursday. He kissed his wife, Andrea, patted his dog, and drove away, supposedly to his job at the Firebird Arsenal plant where he was an engineer. He never checked in at the plant and was never seen by anyone again. A check by police of his friends and coworkers indicated that he had not said anything to any of them. In addition, they indicated that he had appeared normal for the days preceding his disappearance. They all reported that Howard seemed to be his usual calm, relaxed, and cheerful self. Andi's official statement pretty well coincided with what she had told me. After Howard left for work, she finished dressing and she too left for work. Apparently, Howard was a reliable person and when he didn't come home that evening, she started checking around for him. He wasn't known to hang out in bars after work so she called his friends. By midnight she was frantic and called the police who checked the local hospitals and of course, the morgue. After that, there were a couple of days the cops did nothing. That's what most police departments do for a missing spouse. Missing people usually show up in a couple of days with a wild and mostly unbelievable story. Four days after his disappearance, Howard's car, a two-year-old Honda, was found in the short-term parking lot at the airport. The abandoned vehicle gave no clues as to what happened to Taylor. A check of the airport surveillance cameras did not show anyone matching Howard's description buying a ticket or boarding an airplane. Of course that didn't mean someone else hadn't bought his ticket. The police kept a careful watch on Howard's credit cards for several months, but there was no activity. Same for the couple's joint checking account. His Mother was dead, but Howard's father, who lived with his sister in Atlanta, didn't know anything and had not been contacted by Howard. He was as mystified as Andi. I spent several hours going over the police report, hand-copying most of it in my notebook. It was time for the heart-to-heart I promised Andi. Nothing in the police report was a surprise to Andi when I told her about it. She showed no emotion as I read it to her. Of course, she had eleven months to get over the emoting stage, so I didn't read anything into it. "Tell me about the day before Howard disappeared," I said. "That would have been the fourteenth, a Wednesday." "I don't know what to say," she said. "Nothing comes to mind about that day. Just another workday for both of us. Oh yes, Howard worked late that night. He didn't get home until after ten o'clock." "Was that unusual?" "No, not really. He worked late sometimes. Maybe a couple times a month. He always called me so I wouldn't worry." "Did he call you that night?" "Yes, of course." "Did he mention anything unusual happening that night?" "No, but that wasn't unusual. Howard didn't talk about his work outside the workplace. The company has a strict policy about that, especially in Howard's department." "What department was that?" "Research and development," Andi said, getting me a beer out of the refrigerator. "Howard worked on a lot of super secret stuff. I learned early on not to even ask him about work." "Okay, Andi," I said. "Now comes the hard part. I'm going to get up-close and personal. How were things between you and Howard?" "Good," she answered immediately. "We were planning a party to celebrate our fifth wedding anniversary. Barney, I know you have to ask these questions. Howard and I were very happy together. I mean Howard wasn't very exciting, but he was dependable." "No children?" "No, neither of us wanted children. I mean sometime, but not while we were having to work the hours we did. I wish..." she shook herself. "No point in crying over spilt milk is there?" "Not much," I said. "It's easy to second guess yourself. So Howard didn't cheat on you? That you know of?" "No, I'm pretty sure he didn't. Like I said, Howard was predictable and easy going. I'm sure I would have known if he was cheating on me." "Were you cheating on him?" "No!" she answered quickly. Too quickly? Maybe. I'd come back to that subject. "Do you think he's dead, Barney?" "Too early to be guessing, Mayberry. While it's possible, it's difficult for a person to hide and stay hidden very long. Your husband worked in a plant that makes defense material. He was fingerprinted and had retinal scans. If he is alive, he's not working at his profession or any position that requires a background check. Did he have any other skills?" "I don't know if it is considered a skill, but he made model airplanes, ships, rockets and just about anything else of that nature. He loved working with his hands. He made that table over there and that chair beside it. He made it out in the garage." She got that sad look again looking at the table. "He finished it a couple days before ... before he disappeared." Frankly the table wasn't all that good. Better than I could have done, but not the work of a craftsman. I continued to pick her brain for another hour and left. * * * * Chapter 2The follow morning I met with Carl Pickett, the security chief at Firebird Arsenal Company. It didn't take but a few minutes to realize that Ol' Carl wasn't going to be very helpful so I didn't pay any attention when he indicated I should call him Mister Pickett. "Carl," I said, "at least you can tell me, without going into specifics, was Howard Taylor working on anything of a secret nature?" "I'm sorry, sir," he said looking down his nose at me. That was hard to do because he had a bilious nose. In fact it looked like someone had stuck a miniature pineapple on his face. "I can't discuss anything Mister Taylor was doing for the company. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get busy." He escorted me out the front gate, giving my visitors pass to the armed uniformed guard. I made a note of the company name on the guard's shoulder patch. Black Security Company. That was my next port of call. Getting into Black Security office was nearly as hard as getting into Firebird. In fact until I dropped Lamont Black's name I got nowhere. "Barney, long time no see!" Lamont Black bellowed, coming down the hall to the lobby. Lamont and I were rookies on the police department at the same time. His ascent in the department was incredible while mine seemed chock-full of obstacles. Oh, I'll admit that I was my biggest obstacle. All those rules and procedures just kept getting in my way until I saw the light and went my own way. About the time I, at the departments urging, left to become a cunning private investigator, Lamont left to start his own security business. Black Securities. "I sure as hell hope you've decided to come work for me. I have an office all ready for you. Well, I'll have to kick somebody out of their office first. How you doing, man?" He ignored my outstretched hand and had me in a bear hug. "I'm doing great, Lamont," I said barely able to breath and my feet dangling a foot off the floor. "Put me the hell down! You act like we weren't out drinking just a few nights ago." Lamont and I got together often, but my visits to his domain were scarce. Being mauled by Lamont was one of the reasons. "Janet," he said to the receptionist who had watched me being manhandled with a big smile. "This man is the great Barnabas Collins. I'm sure you've heard me speak of him. Barney, to his one or two friends and his multitude of enemies alike." Lamont tends to gush a bit. He has a peculiar idea that I took a bullet meant for him. He told everyone who would listen, including the commendation board, that I pushed him aside and took the bullet, saving his life. I tried to tell him then that I was just trying to find a place to hide and he was in my way. I tried unsuccessfully to convince him that I had not placed my body over his. I just fell on him when I tripped over his big feet and that was how I landed. It was all a bunch of crap, but nobody believed me. They dug the bullet out of my ass and pinned a metal on me. "Come on back to my office, Barney," Lamont said putting his arm across my shoulders and steering me back down the hall. "Coffee?" "Help me, Janet," I said as he dragged me away. "Call the police, quickly. He's going to hurt me." We stopped at every office and cubbyhole where Lamont introduced me and told the story of how I saved his life. He did the same thing every time I went there. If I had saved his life, I would have been sorry of it by the time we got to his office. "Dammit, Lamont," I said when he had installed me in an overstuffed chair and put a cup of coffee in my hand. "Do you have to tell that stupid story to everybody?" "What? The story of a greater love? How you, without regard for your own safety, saved my life? Hell yes, I do! So, when you comin' on board?" "I'm not here for a freakin' job, Lamont." I told him about my new case. He listened without interruption until I was through. "Connie, bring me the reports for Firebird Arsenal for April and May of last year, please," Lamont said into the intercom on his massive desk. His desk was larger then my whole office. "Barney, I know Carl Pickett," he said to me. "He's so far over his head he can't see shit. He makes up for his lack of ability by being officious and obnoxious. I think he may be related to one of the owners." "How long have you known him?" "I got the contract to supply guard service about four years ago. Pickett wanted to give the contract to somebody he knew, but the board of directors over-rode him. His choice wouldn't have worked when they got a defense contract anyway. I'm approved by the DOD." He studied me a while then barked a laugh. "Still taking on the hopeless jobs, Barney. Still trying to buck the system, ain't you?" "Yeah, the system sucks, Lamont. Buck it, I say." He ragged on me until a woman brought the records. "Thanks Bonnie," Lamont told her. She smiled and left. "You called her Connie and then Bonnie," I mentioned. "Which is it?" "Damned if I know," he said with a big smile. "I know it's one or the other so I always call her both when I can. Bound to be right some of the time." I asked him if she was a new hire. "Been here a couple of years. It's too embarrassing to ask her name now. Here you go, sport," he said, handing me the stack of guard reports. "Knock yourself out." Lamont found a vacant office and left me to scrutinize the reports. One thing I noticed right away was some of his guards should learn how to write. I started on May 14 and worked my way backward. I noted that Howard Taylor was regular. He checked in within a few minutes of the same time everyday. I also noted that he wasn't that consistent in checking out. Several times it was late when he left the plant. He also went to work on Saturday and Sunday the tenth and eleventh of May. On Saturday he checked in at ten o'clock in the morning and out shortly after two that afternoon. On Sunday he checked in at two o'clock in the afternoon and out again at five-ten. I couldn't find where he had worked on weekends back through the first of April. Other than that anomaly there was nothing to help me. I restacked the reports and started to leave, but on an impulse I looked at May fifteenth's report. It took several moments for it to soak in. According to the guard's report Howard Taylor checked in at the gate at eight forty-two that morning, nearly an hour later than he had every morning preceding his disappearance. I looked again at the previous day and saw that he left the plant at five ten. Andi had told me he worked late that night. Either Andi lied to me or Howard lied to Andi. Or ... well, just or. For a few minutes I sat and pondered this revelation. Black Securities reports were in direct contrast to what Firebird Arsenal reported to the police investigators. It had been assumed by the police, and everybody else, that Howard Taylor disappeared somewhere between home and work that morning. I scanned the report and noticed that there was no checkout time for Taylor. He apparently went into the plant and never came out again. I knew from my own police experience that the Howard Taylor case wasn't closed, but it was somewhere back beyond the backburner. The cop shop would consider it a cold case to be reviewed every couple of months and put back in the filing cabinet. "How about some lunch, sport?" Lamont asked, sticking his head in the door. "I'll buy seeing how you're probably broke." "Sure, why not," I said. "But first, how well do you know your guard, J. Billings?" "Billings? He was with me a couple years. Moved on sometime last year. Why?" I handed him the report. "Okay, what am I looking for here?" he asked while looking at it. "Firebird Arsenal told the police investigator that Howard never arrived for work on that date. According to the police report, the investigators were shown the official log for that date indicating that fact. Somebody screwed the pooch, Lamont. Firebird lied to the cops or your guard made a mistake." "Maybe so," Lamont said. "Easy enough to check. Anybody coming into or out of the gate has to swipe their ID card on a portable clock. There is an automatic record made. The clock is uploaded to the computer every hour on the hour and sent here to the office." His cell phone rang. "Go ask Connie or whatever, for the time clock printout for the fifteenth while I see who wants to ruin my day." I left him yelling at someone on his tiny phone and went down the hall in search of Connie or Bonnie. "Hi, I'm sorry to bother you," I said when I located her. "Tell me your name again." "I'm Helen," she said showing me a pretty set of dimples and pearly white teeth. I told her what I wanted and she started punching keys on her keyboard. She handed me three sheets of paper that meant nothing at all to me. "Her name is Helen, you dumb moron," I said handing Lamont the papers. "I don't know how to read this stuff." "Helen? You're sure?" he said taking the papers from me. "I don't think so, Barney." "Dammit, I just asked her!" I said. "Don't you think she would know her own name? What does that say?" he looked at it a moment, glanced at the handwritten report and back at the sheets of paper. "It says that your man went in the gate at the same time the report says," he said. "Let's go eat and I'll pull Billings's personnel file when we get back. What kind of shit have you got me into, Barney?" "Beats me, Lamont," I admitted. I told him about the discrepancy of Howard working late the night before. "Don't make much sense that she'd hire you then lie to you, does it?" "Not much," I answered. "But most things people do and say don't make much sense to me. Where are we going to eat?" "Hotdog stand down the road," he said. "I do love a good hotdog, don't you?" Actually I do love a good hotdog, but I complained just as Lamont expected me to do. We were back after nearly an hour of fine dining. "Yeah, I remember now," Lamont said, looking at the file on J. Billings. "Didn't show up one morning and I fired his ass because he didn't call in sick or anything. Just didn't show. Funny, too, because he had a good work record. Bastard didn't even turn in his uniforms or his piece. Bastard," he said again. "When was that? What date?" "May twentieth. Five days after your boy disappeared." Lamont copied the information out of the file and gave it to me. I left him and went in search of John Billings.
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