As I started driving back through town, I remembered that Henry had let it slip that he knew my father professionally. All of Dad’s old records were stored with Ralph and Fanny, so I once again headed to the Clean Plate Club to see if I could dig up any old files. They were technically my files now, since I had inherited Dad’s business, and I quickly brushed aside any misgivings about conflicting cases. It just past 2 PM, and for once the Clean Plate Club was closed; it made my smile to think of Ralph and Fanny walking hand and hand along the beach on this lovely afternoon. Fortunately, Ralph had never changed the hiding place for his key, and I thought about all the people – tradesmen and regular customers alike – who know how to let themselves in. I went down into the basement, and turned on the bare light bulb that swung like a slow pendulum above my head.
Ralph and Fanny were definitely collectors and getting access to the filing cabinets was like an archeological dig. I stepped over a pair of rollerblades, probably at least 20 years old. Ralph brought them when he was on a short-lived fitness kick. Dad, Fanny and I had all taken side bets on how long it might last. My estimate of 6 weeks was the winning guess. Fanny wasn’t immune to these spasms of physical fitness. On top of Ralph’s lightly used exercycle was an old VHS tape of a Jane Fonda work out tape. There was all sorts of kitchen equipment, like fondue equipment and fancy hot plates and a stack of unused waitress uniforms, all filed in the basement as Ralph and Fanny slowly realized that their cuisine was going to remain the same, regardless of the trends. Finally I got back to the filing cabinet. A velvety layer of smooth dust was evidence that these files had not been touched for years. I was grateful that my father was so organized, and I found a file named “Henry Murphy” immediately. On an off chance, I then looked to see if there was anything under the name of Sam Todd, and was only mildly surprised when I found another thinner file. I sneezed as I blew the dust off, went upstairs, made myself a pot of coffee and settled in.
I started with Henry Murphy, and saw that he had actually hired my father twice. The first was over 30 years ago; it must have been when my father first started his own business, even before my parents had been married. The intake sheet stated that Henry had hired my father to do surveillance on Sam Todd for three successive Friday nights, and specifically to see if he had gone to an address in Cutter City–422 Timber Lane, and if so how long he stayed there. I quickly fished out Simba and Sam’s engagement announcement from my files, and noticed that the surveillance started shortly afterwards. I bet that Henry had taken upon himself to see who this Cutter City boy was, who was potentially going both besmirch the Murphy name and get his hands on their money. My father had a great expression for men who married rich woman. I could just hear him say, “Boy he really put his ass in a tub of butter,” and then shake his head with a laugh.
I looked at the surveillance notes, and was startled to see that they were in my mother’s handwriting. Could it be that my silly father thought that surveillance was a suitable date? I suppose that he could have made it romantic, nestled in the car together with some wine, listening to music. But really, Dad, couldn’t you do any better than that? When it was just the two of us, Dad understandably hated surveillance since he was faced with the immediate problem of getting a baby sitter for me. There were a couple of times when he was truly desperate and I just went with him. But I loved it. Dad would make me a cozy nest in the back seat and I could read my books with a little flashlight, as long as I stayed down low. I would then drift off to sleep with the sound of Dad’s favorite oldies’ station on, sometimes I would wake up as he whistled or hummed along with the tune. I would pop up to give my father a little neck rub to keep help him stay alert. Occasionally, I would wake up to the gentle swaying of the car, as we tailed a car to a new destination, and then my father would whisper Gotcha! Under his breath as he snapped off a few pictures. Now that I had to do surveillance from time to time, I understood why my father hated it so much. It was relentlessly boring, and I could see the appeal of having a date or even a 6 year old girl in the back seat to break up the monotony.
It didn’t look like Henry found much of anything in his three days of surveillance. Sam mostly stayed home, went out a couple of times to the liquor store, and it looked like Simba came every night, not leaving until the morning. There were no visits to the 422 Timber Lane address. The second thinner file was from some 15 years later, and this would be right about the time of Simba’s second pregnancy. Again it was for three nights of surveillance, and this time, sadly, the surveillance notes were in Dad’s handwriting alone. Sam Todd was again the target of the surveillance, and this time, Henry had specified whether or not he ever visited a Sylvia Wister, and the address of both her photography studio and her home with the big oak tree was given. According to Dad’s notes, Sam had never visited the photography studio, but did go to her home. Dad describes a pregnant woman opening the door, and Sam Todd handing her an envelope, and then departing. A picture was included in the file, and there was a much younger and pregnant Sylvia Wister. It looked like they were having a very heated debate, with Sylvia pointing her finger only a few inches from Sam’s nose.
I then picked up Sam’s file and smiled when I saw that Sam had hired Dad to do surveillance on Henry. What was with these two men stalking each other? Sam had hired Dad about 6 months after Henry, so it must have been just after Sam and Simba had married in 1986. And here was the surprise; the intake form stated that Sam specifically wanted to know if Henry ever went to 422 Timber Lane, the same address that Henry had requested. This surveillance seemed more productive. Henry had been there 2 out of the 5 nights that Dad had tailed him, and there were a couple of photos. 422 Timber Lane looked like a run down boarding house, and one picture showed Henry ringing the doorbell, and the next picture showed a woman opening the door wearing some sort of negligee, and the final picture showed Henry entering the building. Wow, Henry, I thought, you’ve got a secret life. Well good for you.
I went to the Zilla real estate search engine, typed in 422 Timber Lane and saw from the aerial view that the house looked essentially the same. I then did a reverse search on the address and found that it was now a branch library in Cutter City, and in fact it was called the Sam and Simba Todd Children’s North Branch Library. I knew that if I fiddled around enough on line and got in the county tax records, I could find the name of the previous owner, but I have found that is often more informative to go to the neighborhood and just start asking questions. It was about 2:30 PM at this point, and another trip to Cutter City would just complete my day.
I found 422 Limber so easily with the GPS, and it made me wonder how my father could have ever done without it. The house had obviously been renovated and turned into a very attractive library, blending in nicely with the surrounding residential neighborhood. I’d had pretty good luck with librarians a couple of days ago at the high school, so I thought I’d try again at this library. The library was strangely quiet, but I guess the kids had not yet gotten out of their grade school, and a friendly looking middle-aged librarian looked up as I approached.
“Hello,” I said, “I used to live in this neighborhood when I was a kid, and I don’t think this used to be a library,” I said. “Do you know what was here before?”
“Oh, my goodness,” said the librarian, “Our little library here has had quite a colorful history, but not one that we like to discuss in front of tender ears,” she said with a finger to her lips. “This used to be a boarding house for many, many years. During the war, it was for women who were working at the armory plant that used to be up the road a piece, and then after the war, it was still for women, but they worked at a different type of job, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh my God,” I said, “I must have walked by this house every day on my way to school, and it looked perfectly normal to me.”
“Yes, I did too, and so did everyone. Cutter City perhaps doesn’t have the best reputation because of the prison, you know,” said the librarian, “but there are lots of nice neighborhoods here, and this was one of them. Anyway, it was quite a scandal when the police finally raided the place. I think that they found the mayor of Santa Teresa in there; we all had a good laugh about that. Nobody knew what to do with the building – it is supposedly a historic house, over a hundred years old, but then that nice Sam Todd came in, fixed it up and turned it into this library. At first, I had trouble working here, thinking about what went on, you know, but now I think that it just give this building character. Somebody once told me that they were thinking of making a movie out of it.”
“Wow, we must have just moved away,” I said, “I don’t remember any of that, but maybe I was too young. Do you remember about what year that was? I wonder what my mother thought about having a brothel right in our neighborhood.”
“Let’s see I was about,” she went quiet as her lips moved to do the math. “It must have been around 1986 or so.”
“Hmm, that was right around the time we moved, so we must have missed all the excitement,” I said. “Wait until I tell my mother. She will be so surprised. Thanks for the info.”
The timing was just too perfect to be true. A vendetta between Sam and Henry was taking shape. Sam must have found out that Henry was spying on him, and then turned the tables. Somehow he must have know that Henry was a patron at the brothel, and perhaps he used Dad to find out the pattern, and then maybe even arranged a raid the night that Henry was there. Sometime afterward Sam supposedly swooped in and turned the brothel into a community jewel of a library, but I wondered if perhaps he was involved the whole time. Maybe, in fact, he was a pimp. So maybe Henry and Sam had been in a tense stalemate all these years – Henry knew that Sam was a pimp, and Sam knew that Henry was a customer. I would love to know if my father knew more than what was in his notes. Ralph and Fanny might know, but if so, I wondered why they had not spoken up earlier.
I could go to the library and look through old microfiches for the news of the raid, but I know that I could probably do just as well by spending more quality time on the computer. I turned the car south and headed back to the Clean Plate Café. I let myself in the back way, and could hear Ralph and Fanny preparing dinner, and I think that they knew I was here, but had decided to let me alone. This was why our relationship worked so well. I typed in the date of when my father had last seen Henry and crossed it with the words “raid” and “Cutter City” and there was the story in the Santa Teresa Gazette.
Police Raid Cathouse in Cutter City
An early morning raid on 422 Timber Lane, a residential neighborhood of Cutter City, resulted in a surprising catch, our very own major of Santa Teresa, R. “Jonesy” Elvord. Apparently, the police received an anonymous tip that the woman’s boarding house was actually a brothel. Mayor Elvord issued no comment, but was seen going to church with his wife and children the next day. According to the police, the rooming house consisted of at least 6 bedrooms, of which 5 were in use at the time of the raid. The names of the women and other men are unknown at this time. The building is owned by the Catholic Church, who issued the following statement, “We are shocked and horrified at this news. We obviously would never have taken rent for a sex venue. The property is managed by our real estate agent and we have been assured that the building has been managed as a safe home for women, many of whom are seeking temporary shelter to escape difficult domestic situations. We thought that we were offering a real service to the community.” The building supervisor is a John Knox, who has been taken in for questioning.
I leaned back in the chair and stared at the white board that we had created last night. It was getting crowded. Ralph poked his head in. “Busy day?” he asked.
I quickly recounted the day and judging by the way his eyes popped out, I might have embellished Henry’s antics at the park. “Hey Ralph,’ I said, “Do you remember the time back in 1986 when the mayor got caught in a whorehouse in Cutter City? Was Dad involved in that case?”
“Sure I remember the mayor, a real sleaze ball, Jonesy something or other. He still got re-elected, I couldn’t believe it. He had this wild story that it was some sort of sting operation, that he was set up, which never really explained why he was there in the first place. He called it entrapment.”
“Did they ever reveal the names of the other men that got caught – or the women?”
“Geez, I don’t remember, but I think that someone made a big point of not opening up the black book, made it sound like there were all sorts of famous people in there, but it might have just been a marketing gimmick. I don’t know. Why do you think that your Dad was involved?”
“Well, he was doing surveillance on that address the same night that it got raided,” I said.
Ralph saw me pause slightly, and he immediately backed out of the room. “Listen I can see we are getting into sensitive territory, and you know that Fanny and I are on a strictly need to know basis. But we can certainly get together after the dinner service, if you would like to discuss if further.”
I went back to the computer and followed the story as it unfolded over the next couple of weeks. The men’s names were eventually revealed, but I didn’t see Henry Murphy among them. The women’s names must have all been aliases, and included such delights as Krystal Caves and Amber Laurel. Johnny Knox was put on trial for running a prostitution ring and served 4 years of a 10 year sentence.
I didn’t feel like rehashing the case with Ralph and Fanny again. I was beat and headed home. It was only about 9 o’clock, just barely dark, but I got in bed and stared at the ceiling as the fan slowly rotated. I tried to think of an agenda for the upcoming “Come to Jesus” meeting between Simba and her brother Henry “Polly Waddle” Murphy. I began to think that I knew too much, it was getting too cluttered and it was going to be hard to know where to begin.
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