Broad Headlights. Chapter Six
Later that day, as the two sergeants were at the station completing a missing vehicle report, the detective was near seventh avenue and Broadway, backing the van into a parking spot near a corner dominated by low rise retail, which also just so happened to be within eyeshot of the Governor’s mansion. He could have gotten even closer. The plumber advertising on the sides of the van screamed about a vicious toilet unclogging service that was sure to discourage any neighborly conversations or lines of inquiry. So, it was like having a free pass to park anywhere he wanted, even if it meant driving across multiple people’s yards. But he figured he was close enough.
He put on a pair of overalls, got out, and winched the twin dishes up, until they pointed at an upper window in the Governor’s Mansion. Back in the van, he sat down at the monitoring station and donned a pair of over-foamed ear pieces, then began to get acquainted with all the knobs, toggles, and needle bounces that would help pick up and process the entirely private conversations that the microphone would pick out of thin air.
He didn’t have to wait long at all. Ginger had nothing better to do all day, when she wasn’t harassing homicide detectives, than invent small talk to impress her friends over the telephone. Once the phone started ringing, he hit the record button on the reel-to-reel player. But the person talking on the other end sounded like a fly buzzing around his head. He decided that the equipment was oversold, but that was ok. All the words were pouring out of her end of the conversation, anyway. He sat through the inanity of about five phone calls with nothing to show for it, and was about to fall asleep, when the phone rang yet again. She picked it up, of course. She couldn’t help herself. She needed to tell the world how wonderful she was.
“Oh, hi Marlene…”
”….sure, I’ve got a minute. I was just going down to the Cherry Creek Mall to do some shopping. You wouldn’t believe everything that’s been going on lately. I would love to fill you in, but it’s much too soon….”
“…Well, I’ll tell you if things work out as planned, Tom is going to become an antiquities magnate and we’ll probably move someplace like Monte Carlo and only ever eat Beluga Caviar….”
The detective was about to get up and brew a pot of coffee, but he stopped and jotted down the little bit about becoming an antiques dealer.
“…yes, it is very exciting. I can’t wait to leave this dump of a state. I would love to talk more, but it’s kind of a secret for now, and I have to go shopping. I’m so sorry that you’re feeling down. It’s just like we have this special sisterhood, the both of us being wives of Governors. Maybe someday we can go to the movies. Will you be in town soon? Tom’s favorite theatre is the Mayan on Broadway. We go every once in a while.”
The detective made a note to find out who the governor of Wyoming was. Sure, it was an adjacent state, but it had more cattle than people. He only ever went up there for the rodeo in Cheyenne. When you drove across the countryside, you wondered if the place had forgotten to be settled. Very remote. He might move up there one day, once he was completely tired of dealing with other people. He had a couple of big cases to solve first, though. As he thought of all this, the subject of his surveillance prattled on.
“….No, he just pays the owner enough so that it’s just the two of us. I hate the sound of the hoi polloi munching popcorn in my ear. We saw a crazy little gem of a movie there, not so long ago. I think it might cheer you up, considerably. Oh, what was that thing called…it was like Star Fight, or Star Row, or something like that….no, Star War. It was called Star War…sure, it’s a bit unorthodox. It’s a space opera, silly…like Star Trek, remember that? Except, that no one has a decent haircut. I know that you prefer Robert Redford, but you should give it a try.”
“Well, it’s about a black robot that has a Death Rock, and these innocent little cast-offs get trapped in its sewer system, right after lunch time when everyone on the ship has just used the bathroom. It must smell horrible!”
He shook his head as he listened to her description. He didn’t watch anything but cowboy movies. And nothing made after the mid-1960s. The lady on the other end of the line must have been just as skeptical, because Ginger spiraled into a vicious defense.
“A kid’s movie? Why, I ‘ll have you know that there are some very serious stars in that movie.”
“….Like who? How about Alec Guinness, for one. He pretty much reprises his role as Prince Faisal. They kill him off pretty early, though. He must cost a fortune….”
“….Prince Faisal, Marlene. In fact, the whole movie would have been a remake of Lawrence of Arabia, if everybody hadn’t been sucked into the void of outer space….”
“…Guinness, like the beer….”
“…you never saw Bridge Over the River Kwai? Don’t they have movie theaters in Cheyenne?”
“….well, he is a serious actor. He was in the Royal Navy during World War Two, and took a leave of Absence just to star in Flare Path on Broadway. He missed the entire Battle of the Barents Sea because of that, so I don’t want to hear anything about him not having a serious career. He barely made it back for the Invasion of Sicily and nearly missed out on all that great caponata…”
“…not for me, Marlene. Goat’s milk is horrible…have you ever been to the Henry Miller Theatre on 43rd Street? It’s awfully neoclassical. You would have thought that the United States Constitution had been signed in there…”
He made a note that she seemed to be pretty familiar with Broadway. If he had to follow her out to New York City, and lost her, he could probably loiter around the theaters to pick up her scent again.
“…who else? The girl with the space buns. Um…Debbie Reynold’s and Eddie Fisher’s daughter. I think her name is Carol. Debbie was great in The Unsinkable Mollie Brown. I know that Eddie was more of a singer, but he could still act a little….”
“…he was in Butterfield 8 and he was always on TV….”
“…Don’t like him? Why not?”
“…cheated on Debbie? Well, yes. With Elizabeth Taylor. What did you expect? She’s a black widow! Greg Luke, the director of Star War, says that she was the inspiration for the tractor beam. Besides, Eddie finally did the right thing and got a divorce and married….”
“…sure, it only lasted about five years, but that was about average for Liz. She’s on number six, you know. It’s those lavender eyes. Number seven, if you count Richard Burton twice. We could all learn something from Elizabeth Taylor. She doesn’t let anything stand in her way. Normal societal conventions were meant to be broken, if they stand between you and what you want. Have you read the latest Cosmopolitan? There’s a great article in there about how it’s equally agreeable for a woman to either remain completely loyal to a solitary man, or to sleep around with so many strangers that you can’t keep them straight in your head without the City Directory. It’s our prerogative as human beings, you know.”
The detective scribbled a note that she was a victim of the free love movement. That fit. It was easy for him to imagine her burning draft cards and braziers with a bunch of smelly hippies, not realizing that she was revolting against the very a system that had coddled her for her whole life.
The detective had begun to wish that the equipment hadn’t worked so well, and that he had been forced to leave empty-handed and ditch the van in the Platte River early, so that he could go home and spend another lonely evening with his prize viola. Perhaps wringing something out of it by a Hungarian composer, this time. But he forced himself to remain glued to the surveillance equipment and looked around for something in the drawers that he could use to scrape his tongue.
“…and she was great in Cleopatra and the Taming of the Shrew, so don’t tell me that there’s no acting chops in Star War. Plus, there was another British actor that played a golden robot. He was about the only character that knew a couple languages, the rest were rubes…”
…sure. He was brave enough to say just how disgusting the lower classes are, which was just about everybody they encountered…”
“…well, because they filmed the movie in some of the worst armpits in the universe. They tried to make him out as a sniveling fussbudget, but he just demanded the proper respect that is due a golden robot—and he was also a bit of a perfectionist, like yours truly. He just couldn’t help but get upset when things were out of place. And the whole joint was full of fallen life forms. They may as well have filmed the whole thing in a bowling alley. If everyone had just listened to him, they wouldn’t even have had to make the movie…”
“…right. Anyway, there was this other dope that could do the Kessel run in 12 parsecs…”
The detective wrote down a note to remind himself to never see the movie named Star Wars and continued listening and shaking his head.
“…What? Sure, we can talk about something else. How about Tom? He has an exciting new contact with a lot of international power. He’s finally being recognized for his genius and unselfish service to mankind, and he’s been rewarded with a trip…”
“…to New York. I’ll get you a souvenir. We’ll be taking in the Tutankhamen exhibit, and then probably meet Sadat and the Peace Delegation…”
“…I know. I’m so excited. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime. I’ll be wearing my green sequence dress and Tom got me the most delicious pair of golden earrings.”
The conversation was finally taking a turn into the boundaries of evidence that he was looking for. Egyptian stuff, time, and place. Any one detail was innocent enough. But a mosaic placing all this information in close proximity would help build the story he needed to outline a crime. He took note after note, hoping for something specific about the shaker to drop out of her mouth.
It didn’t. But, after only a few more minutes of this kind of conversation that could only lead to vague notions the governor’s Cadillac limousine pulled up the long driveway and stopped. The detective could see it through the mirrored glass windows on the van. A couple of very thick men got out and opened the back door and began to escort the governor towards the front door, but he shooed them back to the car and they got in and proceeded to park the car in the oversized carriage house.
“Marlene, I think the hubby is home. I’ve got to go. I’ll send you a post card from the Big Apple. Bye.”
The Governor unlocked the front door and trudged in, just like any other man worn out from a half day of work. Then the microphone picked up the feint sounds of him coming into the house. This better be the goldmine I’m looking for, the detective thought to himself. He fiddled with the knobs in front of him to make sure that he was getting the best possible signal.
“Honey is that you?”
“Yes, dearest.”
“What’s wrong? You sound down in the mouth?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Did you lose money in the stock market?”
“Worse.”
“Is your mother coming to visit?”
“I’ve had a falling out with the Field Marshal. There won’t be any trip to New York.”
“Egads! I’ve already told all my friends that I’m going! You better spill the beans, buster! What happened? Did he find out about all your gambling and drinking?”
“Heaven’s no. It isn’t my fault. Not my fault at all.”
“Then what?”
“He doesn’t like the fact that you were married once before.”
“What? I was barely married at all. Only legally, not in any other way! Why would you tell him that? Can’t anyone make a mistake without the whole world coming down on them?”
“I didn’t tell him any such thing. Your horrible ex-husband told him all that.”
“Cramden? Those two know each other? I thought you were taking care of things!”
“They found each other, somehow. It’s completely blindsided me. What a random universe!”
“That’s going to destroy all our hard work. You better fix it! I have my heart set on being married to a millionaire! The trip to New York! The exclusive territory!”
“Yes. Yes. And the riverboat on the Nile.”
The information was coming so fast that the detective stopped taking notes and starting drawing circles with labels and arrows going back in forth between them to represent relationships.
“Cramden is wanted for murder! You should have had him arrested long ago!”
“We both agreed that leaving him out would let us follow him to the goods. Remember? But being on the loose just seems to play to his strengths. And now he’s endeared himself to the Field Marshal. I’ll never understand the predilections of those revolutionary types.”
“I told you that we needed to arrest him.”
“No, you didn’t. You said that he wouldn’t last very long on the run.”
“That was before. Now he has that artifact.”
“We don’t know that.”
“Why else would he break into the museum?”
“Thinking of that ridiculous relic, again?”
The detective flipped the page on his tablet and wrote down: Salt Shaker, with a question mark after it. Was the whole story about her mother just a cover? Or were there two shakers? One in her possession, and another, taken from the museum, and now in Cooper’s possession? He tried to write down all the possibilities, while still following the conversation.
“What if it was in there, and he’s taken it? The Field Marshal probably told him the same story that he told us! And I believe it. Every word!”
“That it contains god-like power?”
“Yes. That’s why we need to get it at all costs!”
“It’s just an old myth. Besdies there is no evidence that it has survived, intact, for the last five thousand years.”
“The Field Marshal thinks it has, or he wouldn’t be looking for it.”
“Why would he tell Cramden about it?”
“The same reason he told us. To enlist us in seeking it out. Why else would Cramden knock over the museum and kill a man? He has to have it. He has to know what it is!”
“I have no idea why anyone does anything, anymore. But I think that the two of them met after the museum was knocked over, not before. Probably, that sleezy used car dealer met him while trying to fence stolen antiques. But, then how would he even know what it was, or where to get it? It might only be a sick coincidence. Maybe he doesn’t know what he has. Maybe his little girlfriend is in on it. She worked in the museum. She, supposedly found the body. She could be the ring leader.”
“I doubt it. She’s just a washed-up nurse with a case of the nerves.”
“Well, it might make some sense. The war drove them both insane. They’re walking personality disorders, capable of anything. Plus, I think the Field Marshal is delusional, too. That story of his lets him play a Messiah. In his head, he must save the world from certain destruction, by gaining control of that trinket and the powder….food of the gods, from falling into the wrong hands.”
“Well, one way to ensure that it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands, is to make sure that it falls into our hands.”
“Of course, dearest.”
“I want to go to New York next week, Tom. I already told all my friends that I’m going.”
“Yes, dearest.”
“I want to meet the Egyptian President. I want a riverboat half way across the world. I want to be married to a man that has the entire free world as his exclusive territory. I want all the ancient Egyptian relics that catch my whimsy. Especially a very particular one. You know which one, Tom. Did I marry the wrong man the second time, too?”
“No, dearest.”
“Good! Then we both have our work laid out before us. I may be able to put some pressure on the Field Marshal.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“Just never you mind. I ran into some information today. It might be just what we need to get the upper hand. In the meantime, you need to take Cram Cooper out of the picture. Or else.”
With that, the woman stopped talking for the first time all afternoon. By this time, the detective had a separate page describing the shaker and its potential, as well as how many there could be, and in whose possession. He also have a page for Ginger, the governor, the Field Marshal, and the car salesman, and their potential liaisons and motivations. He flipped the page one more time, and wrote down the observation that Ginger had not told her husband that she was in possession of the Akhenaten file. Why was that? He put a big question mark underneath.
Soon after the conversation had winnowed away, the governor slunk off in his limousine and the only sound left, resembled the noises of feminine lips sucking the middle out of expensive French bonbons. And then a bit later, the evening gameshows pipping through the television set.