The Railroad (24 page)

“I don’t know. I guess I should try it.”

“The worst it’ll do is get him a little angrier.”

“He’s angry now. What the hell. Okay.”

I dialed Verizon and got shunted through two operators and three customer service reps before I got to the right department. “Security,” I heard a woman say.

“Hi. I’m a Verizon customer and I’d like to report…well I guess I’m being harassed.” Dennis winced.

“Please give me your telephone number, sir."

I gave her the number and she did that new dance, popular around the world, called “please hold while I bring up your information”. I listened to a couple of minutes of soothing music and Verizon propaganda before she came back on.

“Mr. Dobbs. How can I help you?”

“I’ve been receiving harassing phone calls. Usually in the middle of the night."

“Do you know who’s been calling you?”

“Actually I’m reasonably sure. His name is Robert Benoit.”

I answered some more questions until she was satisfied. “I’m going to send a representative out to speak with you and check out your hookup, Mr. Dobbs. Is two o’clock a good time?”

“Definitely.”

“Okay. Thank you for calling Verizon, sir.”

“Thank you.”             

I hung up to find Dennis pulling his keys out of his pocket. “Look, I have to go. Let me know if you need help. You might want to get out of here. At least go to a motel.”

“I’ll be okay.”

He looked dubious, but hugged me and left.

*

Just at two, the doorbell rang. I checked the peephole. On my porch stood a man with a suit, looking very much like an authority figure; I opened the door. “Mr. Dobbs?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m Ted Denello from Verizon.” He flashed some credentials at me. “I hear you’re having a problem.”

“Come in, please.”

Denello took in chez Moosehead without batting an eye. He seemed to be a real telco nerd, not one for stray emotions. “Would you like to sit down?” I asked.

“Sure”. He sat down in one of my ratty chairs and pulled out a pad. “You’ve been getting harassing phone calls?” he began.

“Yes. I’d say that.”

“What’s the nature of the calls?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is the caller blatantly threatening? Are there obscenities used? Do the calls take place late at night?”

“Oh. All three, actually."

“Describe the calls.”

“Well…I guess there are two types. There’s one type where this person calls and threatens me. Sometimes he calls late at night and talks to me just to wake me up. Then there are a lot of calls where he simply calls and says nothing till I hang up.”

“And you think you know who’s making them?”

“I know who’s making them.”

“What’s his or her name?”

“Robert Benoit.” I watched his face for some sign of recognition; it seemed everyone knew Benoit for the big deal he was. But not Ted Denello, so it seemed.

“Okay. You have his address?”

“Actually I don’t. But you can get it from the police.”

He frowned, detecting something in my voice. “Is there something I should know?”

“We’ve had problems.”

“And have you been harassing him?"

“No. I’ve made some accusations against him. Legally, through the police. I suggest you call Detective Wills at the 146th precinct”

“You haven’t phoned his home?”

“No.”

“That’s good because if we find that you’re the one doing the harassing we’ll come after you. I just want you to know that.”

“I understand.”

“All right. What are the nature of the phone calls?”

“He calls me in the middle of the night. Makes veiled threats. Rambles. Ruins my sleep. Sometimes he calls three times a night. He spaces it out so I have no chance of getting back to sleep.”

“What time is he likely to call?”

“It varies a lot. That’s part of his tactic. I’ll never know when he calls.”

“Have you called the police about this?”

I laughed. “I’ve called the police about a number of things he’s done. I don’t think there’s much they can do.”

“I see. Well the first thing we’re going to do is check your phone records. I just want to tell you that so you can save us both some time if he hasn’t actually called you.”

“You think I’m lying?”

“Mr. Dobbs, last month I had a woman call me to tell me that the man next door was calling her and making sexual suggestions. It turned out that she was calling him and that she was interested in him. She’d hoped that if she made charges of harassment she’d get a chance to talk to him and convince him she was sincere in her interest in him. Mind you they were both married.”

“Oh. What happened?”

“That’s going to be decided in court. She ended up being the one perpetrating fraud and being charged with harassment.”

“I see what you mean. Okay. He did call me.”

“That’s fine. Now what we’ll do is check your records first. If he has called you and there’s a pattern of calls late at night, we’ll put something called a Dial Number Recorder on your line. This will let us know if he continues to call you and when. If the harassment continues we’ll monitor the calls digitally, meaning we’ll actually listen in on your calls. I’d like you to sign a waiver giving us permission to do that.”

“I thought that you didn’t need any permission because you own the lines.”

“Technically that’s true. But you’d be surprised how odd people can get, even after they’ve asked for our help. Sometimes we hear things that someone doesn’t want us to hear.”

“I see the point. I’ll sign.”

*

I got through to Penny Jenz a couple of days later. Things had been oddly quiet on the Benoit front which made me more uneasy. Perhaps he’d guessed that it would.

When I called her Penny was very abrupt at first, thinking I was a reporter. She was silent for a moment when I told her about Eileen and Megan. “Wow,” she said. “I remember that case. It was all over the news. But I don’t understand why you’d want to speak to me.”

“Honestly, I’m worried about Eileen and Megan. I can’t be sure that whoever the
Chapter and Verse Killers
are they even know where she is. But I have a feeling that they’re targeting people from this area."

I’d purposely left out my theory that Benoit was one of the killers. And the fact that I wanted to see if there was any connection between the victims and Benoit. I felt like shit being that dishonest, but I didn’t want to scare her off.

“And you don’t feel the police are doing enough?”

“I don’t think they can. And…well I’d like to explain all this in person, if you’d like.”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought you’d want to speak to me face to face. I mean, I don’t know you.”

“I understand. I’d probably react the same way if I were in your shoes. How about meeting in a public place, like a diner?”

“Well I’d have to...”

I heard some muffled conversation in the background. Then she got back on and her tone was a little frostier. “Um… my husband doesn’t like this. If we’re going to meet, he has to come along.”

“I have no problem with that. I just want to ask if anything I’ve found out rings a bell.”

“Do you know something about this? About the…” She had been about to say murders but stopped herself. “You know who might be doing this.”

“I have a theory. And I’m concerned.”

“Well. Okay. My husband works from home so we can come meet you this afternoon.” I heard more muffled conversation. “Do you know where the New York diner is?”

“Uh, no, but tell me and I’ll be there. What time?”

“One?”

“That’s fine.” I took the directions from her.

*

The New York diner was an honest to God chrome diner. I figured someone must have bought it and hauled it from somewhere else. It had over the top art deco styling and faded pictures from old New York City on the walls. The self-conscious stylishness reminded me of stuff I’d seen in New York itself.

I could see Penny Jenz and her husband through the window as I walked up the steps to the front door. She hadn’t described herself, but somehow her fidgety manner and his brooding look of displeasure seemed to fit what I’d heard on the phone. They looked up as I walked through the door, a bit of panic on both their faces.

“Penny?” I asked, reaching their booth.

“Yes. You must be Mike. This is my husband Samuel.”

Samuel, not Sam. Oh well. “Nice to meet you.” I extended my hand to the husband who sat stonily and stared at me.

It seemed my cue to sit down, so I did. Before I could get started Samuel pointed his finger at me. “Let’s set some ground rules right away. You say or do anything freaky, we’re out of here.”

I blew out my cheeks. “I think what I have to say will be of importance to you.”

“I hope so.”

“Shut up, Sam,” his wife said. I could see him wince as he heard the shorter version of his name. “Let’s see what he has to say.”

I was wondering how best to explain my situation without pissing Samuel off more, when a waitress came by. She took in the tension of the scene with a practiced eye. “Can I get you guys some coffee?” she asked brightly.

“I want a burger and fries,” Samuel said like it was a political manifesto.

His wife rolled her eyes. “That’s good news, Sam.” She turned to the waitress, exuding politeness. “I’ll have a bran muffin and tea, please. My husband will have a cheddar burger, medium well with fries. Burn the fries a little?”

Samuel looked pleased. The waitress turned to me. “I’ll have a BLT on rye and a regular coffee. Fries are fine,” I told her.

She repeated our order and added, “Anything else?” I couldn’t help but feel that there was a message implied:
be good children and don’t fight in my diner.

Once she left I launched into my story. “Okay. Basically, I got involved with a woman who was running from the cops and her husband. Her husband was abusing her daughter.”

“What do you mean by involved?” Samuel cut in.

His wife groaned. “Does that really matter?”

“It does to me.”

“Go on, Mike.”

Her husband snorted. “Mike? We’re on a first name basis with some person who calls us out of the blue and talks about your sister?”

His wife glared at him. “We won’t find out if it’s important if you don’t shut the hell up!”

Samuel rocked backwards as if struck. After glaring at her for a few seconds he lapsed into a sullen silence.

“I’ll make this as painless as possible,” I said. “The woman I’m talking about stayed with me. For your sake, Samuel, I’ll tell you I fell in love with her and I’m worried about her. Her husband found out about what happened and, well let’s say he’s not happy. Penny knows the story. She accused him of molesting her daughter.”

“What do you want us to do?” Samuel growled.

I ignored him. “He’s taken to calling me every once in a while and he talks about himself. He talks about his friends who are all self-starters like he is and how, well the way he put it is that they don’t want people taking what’s theirs. He gave me the impression that they were doing something about it.”

“Are you saying you think that this man and his friends have something to do with the
Chapter and Verse
case?” Penny asked.

“I didn’t originally, but something happened.” I told them about the postcards being sent to my house.

“Wait,” Penny said. “You’re getting postcards with
4-5-1
on them?”

“Maybe
he’s
the murderer,” Samuel said, looking at me.

I decided it would be best to let things slide until the food came. I redirected the conversation to some polite chitchat. Fortunately, Penny seemed interested in my exodus from New York and asked me enough questions to fill the time. Samuel seemed interested for the first few minutes, but then his attention drifted and he stared out the window.

When the food came, Samuel launched into his cheeseburger like he wanted to conquer it. The three of us ate in silence for a few minutes; I decided to wait until Penny wanted to talk again and not push it. Finally she seemed ready to speak.

“Okay. So you’re getting these postcards and they have
4-5-1
written on them?”

“Only one of them. That’s the one that was stolen.”

“And you think this man, what did you say his name was? You think he sent them to you?”

“I’m not sure. He might be playing with me. Maybe his stealing the postcard was his way of letting me know that he’s the one, without putting himself in danger. It’s not much in the way of evidence.”

Samuel pushed himself forward, still chewing, and I noticed that he hadn’t bothered to use a napkin on his face. “My wife asked you a question. What’s the man’s name?”