By the next day, the rare sunshine that had blessed our town had regrettably reverted to the usual grey overcast and the steady fall of summer rain. Perhaps, had I been a man of greater superstition, I would have perceived the gathering storm, portending of what was to come, and moved on. It was too late, however. You see, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking of Miss Sanford or the case of her father, I’d tossed and turned all through the night. Now I had my goal, and I was determined to see it through. So the first thing that morning, I hurried along to the office and ensured that my entire schedule was cleared. Then, leaving Ms. Mosely with instructions to tell all potential clients that my time was currently occupied, I began the long trip to the police station with only one aim, to acquire the file the police had on Sanford’s death.
Yes, I was giving up an awful lot for this case, and in such a competitive industry, a less zealous man might not have done it, but I did. I suppose I couldn’t deny that the case had captured my imagination, as had the doleful heroine at its center. It was a mystery which needed solving, and by the heavens above, I would be the one to solve it. 486Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUvMqo9ACi9
You may wonder why I was so inclined to this way of thinking, and if I could pinpoint an exact reason, I would have said so. Some may think it was the desire for fame, to be known as the man who solved the "Murder of the Century", a dubious honor given to just about any high profile murder these days, although the murder, if indeed it had been a murder, of Stephen Sanford would have surely been in the running. Perhaps it was the look of utter despair I saw in Miss Stanford's eyes yesterday. The fear that she would never have closure, that her father's death would remain a shadow hanging over her forever, dragging her down to the grave. For a woman so young and beautiful with her whole life ahead of her, it was a cruel injustice. Perhaps it was this thought that animated me. For then that I knew I had to find the truth at any cost.
And so, on that cold, dreary day, I had set out on foot, walking for hours at a pace that was neither a stroll nor a jog so as to not raise suspicion. For one could never be sure when you might be watched or followed in this city, and one never knew who might be lurking within the shadows. Crime was abundant as ever, and the organised variety in particular was booming with the post-war surpluses making prime targets for anyone daring enough to try. The police were a fifty-fifty shot at best to be on my side in this matter, given the rumors of rampant corruption in the department, yet they were my only chance to get crucial information needed to get a solid footing.
I kept my head down just enough to hide my face beneath the brim of my hat. I can only venture to guess what the people who walked by me must have thought, if indeed they had noticed my somber presence at all. The innocent parents rushing with their children to get indoors out of the chilling rain, the men and women spending a lazy Sunday browsing the shops in spite of the weather, the couples enjoying a romantic moment in the soft downpour. In a city full of life, I pursued Death’s victims. I hunted the men in the shadows. These folks would never understand why I did it, and I don’t blame them. They couldn't have known of the tragic nature of my mission on this day. And it was better that way. While some in our trade do inevitably grab the headlines, I had always preferred my work to be done out of the spotlight. My mandate is simple, I do what the client wants, nothing more. I don’t attract attention to myself. To do so can only invite the worst. These instincts allowed me to survive many times when I probably shouldn’t have, they were all I had to fall back upon. This time it wasn’t just for me, it was for Miss Sanford’s sake as well. And so, when several minutes later, I walked into the police station, I made absolutely sure I hadn't been followed...
Sunday, August 10th, 1947
The office of the New York Police Department
"I recognize you...you're Raymond Allison, aren't you?" The woman at the desk inquired of me with a skeptical gaze. "The investigator."
I really should have expected someone would recognize me sooner rather than later, in spite of my attempts to downplay my appearance. It was the golden age of the private eye in New York, with the crime rate as high as it had been since the turn of the century. and the police proving to be inadequate at best and downright phony at worst. We were minor celebrities, but unlike Marilyn Monroe or Joe DiMaggio, we weren't likely to get a rousing cheer from anyone. Certainly not from the cops, whom we were making look even worse. I had been hoping to avoid undue attention here, I suppose that was just a fool's dream. The only way I was getting an audience with the Chief of the NYPD was by revealing my identity.
"Yes, I am. If it's not too much to ask, however, I would prefer to keep my visit as confidential as possible," I responded in a low voice so as to not arouse any further attention. The waiting area was modestly full for a weekend, and it was not unheard of for crooks to stake out police stations.
The woman, middle aged with grey hair, nodded and told me that the chief of the NYPD, Vincent Pirelli, would be available to speak with me soon. So I took a seat, picked up a copy of the morning paper, and began to bide my time. Truth he told, I wasn't so much reading as I was deflecting attention. It's pretty well-established that you don't disturb a man with a newspaper unless it's for a good reason. Nevertheless, I could not help but take note of the headlines, or rather, the complete absence of a particular story that should have been splashed all over the papers, the unsolved death of Stephen Sanford, barely three weeks old. And so, with this cover established, I tried to recall all the information I had picked up about the Sanford case up to this point, which had come, incidentally enough, from the intial press coverage of the purported accident. The story had indeed been top line news then. All the major papers couldn’t get enough of it. it was the Times that called it the Crime of the Century. The Post went a step further and said it was the worst day in New York City since the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. All the papers agreed that one of the great heroes of the war had been taken far too soon. Then, just as quickly as the press had grabbed ahold of the story, it vanished, leaving a startled public to twist in the wind.
What did I know? I knew that Stephen Sanford has been in his late fifties, had been wildly successful since inheriting the Sanford Munition Company from his own father, who had, through sheer tenacity and ambition, made the company a household name during the Great War. The time soon came when Sanford the elder decided it was time to pass the torch to his heir, and the son picked up right where the father left off. Although the country was at peace, Sanford sure didn't act like it, as he continued to make cutting edge tools or war and, with the blessing of the government, send them to our allies overseas. It was no secret that Sanford was a major supporter of military intervention, whether it had popular support or not. And if it did have support, it was usually in no small part thanks to lobbyists with deep connections to Sanford and his business. The way I saw it now, assuming it was a murder, and not an accidental or suicidal death, there were three major avenues of criminal theory that Mr. Sanford’s case could fall into. The first being that it was completely random. This seemed the least likely to me because of the circumstances of Mr. Stanford’s death. I was able to practically exclude it from the outset. The second possibility was that of a business motivated crime. Perhaps it had to do with technically legal, but unethical conduct, which Mr. Sanford was known for. Or perhaps it was of a more sinister nature altogether. In any massive corporation, there would always be the risk of corruption and greed eating away until only a rotted core remained. What lengths would Mr. Sanford have been willing go to?
If this had indeed been a business related killing, it would leave plenty of suspects. Everything from the fantastical to the mundane had to be considered within the realm of possibility Communist sympathizers, anti-war groups, anarchists, business rivals, disgruntled clients or employees, gang related violence. On the other hand, there was the third possibility, the one I knew as an investigator I could not simply dismiss. The most basic theory of murder is that the least majority are perpetrated by a person or persons close to the victim. It was certainly just as plausible that one of Mr. Sanford's servants could have been the culprit. Not even Miss Sanford could be ruled out at this point, and I intended to pursue every angle with due diligence. For this case was highly unusual no matter how one looked at it. and I knew I had to be prepared for layers upon layers of investigative work to get to the bottom of it.
The reason I was here was quite simple. I needed something to go on if I was going to determine whether Miss Sanford's murder angle held any truth to it. This meant I would need eyewitness testimony regarding the movements of all on the day of the incident, as well as photos of the scene of the accident. Having these photographs would assist my investigation greatly, as would any statements that had been made by witnesses regarding them. If the police had determined that there was nothing further to go on, then the photos would show what they had seen, and it would become clear whether it was as they said, or if it was all a sham investigation, as I suspected it might be. Finally, it would be a good idea to have a look at their documentation, to see if anything had been overlooked, accidentally or otherwise.
"Mr. Allison? The Chief will see you now."
I glanced up at the sound of my name coming from the woman at the desk and promptly folded my newspaper. It was time for me to take the first steps towards uncovering the truth, whatever it may be.
If you've never had the good fortune of meeting our chief of police, you ought to consider yourself truly fortunate. Even before I walked in that office, I could smell the thick, overpowering smoke hanging like a lead curtain in the hallway In more ways than one, smoke was a good metaphor for Chief Pirelli, a squat, surly man in his sixties with a dour face, a volatile temperament and a reputation for unpredictability. Or perhaps he was predictable, in that the only moral principle to which he steadfastly clung was to take the advice of the only man in the world whom he trusted, that being himself. The Chief's detractors claimed he would strike a deal with anyone who would do his bidding. It was certainly a dangerous quality to have when just about every shady figure in this town had a motive to bribe him, and sometimes it didn't seem like he put up much of a fight.
Did that necessarily mean the rumours of corruption were true? The truth was, people couldn't decide if the Chief was simply incompetent or a cunning crook operating right under everybody's noses. It helped the Chief that he had a strong relationship with the attorney general of New York, meaning he really was practically untouchable even if he had been crooked. Whether he was strong or weak, Chief Pirelli styled himself as a man who ruled with an absolute iron fist. He was the silent influencer, the man behind the curtain. No arrest of great consequence in a murder investigation was made in this city until it had his stamp of approval. But I had no grand illusions of recieiving more than mininal cooperation from the Chief, nor from the department.
Known as much in recet years for questionable practices and allegations of rampant corruption as for their legendary crime fighting exploits, I knew better than to simply trust the findings of the NYPD, especially with this man at the helm. The only thing that bothered me was this: if Miss Sanford was right, and it was a cover up, then why? Why would the police have closed the case so quickly and declared it a suicide? If anything, it seemed there would be a greater motive to say it was murder, apprehend a suspect, and win the public's trust. By finding death by suicide, the department had essentially shoved the case under the rug, inviting further suspicion. And it doesn't take a private investigator to know that the death of someone like Stephen Sanford doesn't get shoved under the rug unless it's for a good reason. I just didn't know what that reason was. The question hung over me, frustratingly just out of reach. I could only hope my conversation with the Chief would provide me some sort of answer.
"Raymond Allison, I seem to recall you from somewhere...you worked the Wilson girl's case last year; didn't you? Yeah, that's the one." The Chief went on before I could confirm this. He spoke to me in an accent so thick I could hardly decipher it.
"So they tell me you have an interest in the Sanford case? What can I do you for, pal?" His demeanor seemed casual as he took a long puff of his cigar. I had to figure out his angle before he figured out mine. He held all the cards right now. And perhaps he believed that through sheer force of personality, he could deter me from my aim. But I had made a promise to Miss Sanford that I would at least attempt to conduct this investigation, and I intended to keep that promise with or without the help of the police.486Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡr8EfG2Fv9Y
"Yes, sir," I answered coolly, content to play his game for now. "I've been hired by a certain family member of the deceased to investigate the death of Mr. Sanford. It seems she was ill-satisfied with the work I'd the department."
Chief Pirelli gave me a sleazy grin that made me all at once uncomfortable and angry. "Well now, Mr. Allison, you know that we here at the department do our utmost to ensure justice is delivered in every case. We also have to consider the realities of the situation, however. We cannot afford to waste resources on these...frivolities. That, we leave to your ilk, and as you stand before me, you are living proof that the determination of a PI to get his way at any cost knows no bounds."
I grimaced at his haughty tone. The police often derided us private investigators as little better than vigilantes, so I was accustomed to this sort of backhanded language. All I could do was keep my cool and continue to allow the Chief to direct the conversation.
"I suppose you're right about that,” I conceded grudgingly.
Chief Pirelli smirked as he removed his cigar in order to speak. "Of course I am. I am curious, though. This particular case was closed in rather routine fashion. A clear finding of suicide. What interest does it hold for you?"
I leaned forward, anything that would help me fill the room and put me on something approaching equal footing. For this was the point where I needed to make my case to the Chief for why I needed as many documents from the case file as possible. I might not get another chance.
"That's just it, sir. Truth be told, I'm not so certain that suicide makes sense here."
The chief tossed his old cigar in the ashtray and lit up a new one. "What makes you say that, kiddo? You know I've been working in this department for over twenty years. I think I'd know a suicide when I see one."
He offered me a cigar, which I nonchalantly accepted, and allowed him to light it for me. Socializing with the Chief was the way to earn his trust, this much I had discerned. He liked to hear himself talk, to be seen as in control. I needed to present myself as the humble investigator seeking help from the mighty NYPD, and yet...I could not appear weak, for then the Chief might simply run me over. I went ahead and presented my patchwork case.
"Here's my working theory of the case sir. And keep in mind that I haven't seen any of the evidence yet. Only what's been reported in the papers. We know that Mr. Stephen Sanford, his co-chair Mr. Alistair Burton, and Sanford's chauffeur, Graham Godwin, left the estate for a drive at about eleven in the morning. The destination wasn’t known. An hour later, the vehicle crashes into a tree and bursts into flames. Somehow, both Mr. Burton and Mr. Godwin managed to escape the car in time, leaving Mr. Sanford to his fiery demise."486Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRO3lUmzMvk
"Yes, that's about how it went," the Chief concurred coolly, taking another drag of the cigar. “I commend you for the ability to read, Mr. Allison, but I’m afraid I’m not following your argument.”
I brushed aside his derisive remarks and charged on. "Yet by the papers' own admission, the only firsthand account of the incident is that of Mr. Burton. The chauffeur hasn't spoken a word. We are to take Burton's word, and his word alone, for the entire account of this incident?"
"We can only make judgments based upon what is real, Mr. Allison. If Burton is lying, then the evidence would reveal that. Yet you come here with nothing but a hare-brained theory. We demand a higher standard to re-open a case, Mr. Allison.”
"Then don’t re-open it, sir. Allow me to investigate. The police had their theory, and they closed the case. Surely there’s no harm in letting me have a go at it now.”
The Chief settled into his chair and blew another noxious gust of smoke. “All right, pal, I’m listening. What’s your theory?”
“My theory, Chief Pirelli, is that Stephen Sanford did not in fact commit suicide that day. Something else occurred, something so vile that had the public known of it, they would have rioted in the streets until justice was done."
"All right, suppose you’re right, and it wasn’t suicide. Tell me this, what do you suppose it was then? An accident? Murder?" He accentuated the word in such a way that told me that he wasn’t taking my claims seriously in the slightest. I wasn’t ready to give up, however. The thought of Miss Sanford’s downcast figure prodded me onwards.
"I have a reasonable belief that it was murder, sir. And I think that one of the other men in that car is responsible."
The Chief seemed to size me up with his eyes, they were hot with the fire of a man who was not used to being crossed in this manner. Perhaps now he was beginning to realize that I would not give up on my inquiry so easily. Of course, we both knew he was in the ultimate position of power. He alone had the ability to grant me access to the case file, and he might just do it for the right price. And yet I was decidedly not going to participate in any acts of bribery, as many must have been tempted to do. I would depend only on my own wits to get what I needed.
"That's an awful bold theory, buddy. You know I usually don't bother giving out police resources to any Average Joe with a law degree who partakes in such brazen levels of speculation."
"With all respect, sir-"
"I wasn't finished," Chief Pirelli said with another drag of his cigar. "I like you Ray, can I call you Ray?" Just as before, he didn't wait for me to answer, and simply continued to talk. "Truth be told, I do like you, pal. You’ve got moxie. That underdog spirit that keeps you pursuing a hopeless cause, always believing things will turn out all right in the end. You know, you even remind me of my younger self in some ways. That's why even though I think you're completely deluded, I'll let you review the case file."
He'd completely disarmed me. I couldn’t believe the Chief had folded that easily, when he’d held all the cards of a winning hand. It seemed unreal...the one eventuality I had not prepared for.
"Pardon?" I asked, incredulous. It must have seemed to be one of those comedy sketches you see in a cartoon, where the clueless villain realizes his hare-brained scheme has actually succeeded, only now he has no idea what to do next, thinking to himself, I never thought I'd get this far.
The Chief waved his hand wildly through the smoke. "Hell, take it all, we don't need it anymore. Far as I'm concerned, this case is closed. I see no harm in lettin' you poke around if it'll make you feel better."
And that was it. Within a few minutes, with the Chief's blessing, I had the entire case file loaded into my car and was all set for the next part of my journey. It had all been so remarkably easy, almost too easy...
In fact I suspected right away that it had been too easy, I'd certainly been expecting more of a fight from the chief than that. For him to suddenly give in to my request aroused a great suspicion in me almost as bad as if he would have turned me down. Perhaps worse. I'd walked into the station under the impression that the police might have covered the Sanford case up. Now here was Chief Pirelli essentially giving me the keys to the kingdom. It didn't make any sense. This case was getting more peculiar all the time. But I had quickly put these thoughts out of my mind at the time. My first task had apparently been a resounding success. I had access to everything the police had uncovered about Sanford's death. Photos, reports, witness testimony, if any. Now that my business with the police was over for the foreseeable future, it was time to pay my first visit to the Sanford estate...
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