He was right. The woman getting into the Spyder was the same one I’d seen kissing Matthew Hanson in front of the funeral parlor. We followed her at a safe distance as she made her way to U.S. route 22; and as we followed her, I continued with my questioning into Schwartz’s odd attitude of injustice with the phone company. “What was the suggestion you made? I thought they had no choice but to increase the number of available phone numbers.”
“That’s correct,” Schwartz said as he watched the Porsche weave in and out of traffic. “In some areas, the existing numbers were about to be all used up due to the increase of new accounts. Remember though, it wasn’t the population that had increased causing the problem. It was simply that the same people were asking for multiple numbers to operate their new toys.”
“What’s wrong with that?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “That’s what consumerism and capitalism are all about. I had no problem with that. The thing was that the distribution of the numbers was handled by a government agency which is supposed to work for the people, not the businesses.
“When the numbers began to become scarce, the government had an obligation to come up with a solution. They chose a solution that caused far more confusion and expense for the consumer than it did for the private phone companies, even though those private companies had been legally classified as utilities for years. Even the breakup of AT&T had been predicated on the argument that they were a utility. That decision probably cost me money, but I agreed with it in principle. Possibly because I was raised in the Soviet bloc, but…”
I interrupted, because I still wasn’t sure about an earlier point. “Wait. What decision do you think they should have made?”
“They should have followed the plan which I outlined in my letter to them. I felt that the commission should act to require that all telephone companies upgrade their equipment over a ten year period so that all existing phone numbers could be increased by one digit. The areas in the most urgent need would have to act immediately, but since they were the ones with the most rapidly growing business, they were also best equipped to absorb the cost.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “What do you mean by increasing the numbers by one digit?”
“As it stands, all phone numbers in the US are ten digits; an area code, a regional exchange and a four digit personal code. For example 234-555-6789 might be a number, though 555 is always a bogus exchange. My proposal was to immediately add the digit zero to all personal codes nationwide. The machinery could have been programmed to add the digit automatically whether it was dialed or not, and most people would have had ten years to acclimate to the change before they even had to actually begin pressing the extra digit. Then when an exchange ran out of the ten-thousand possible five digit phone numbers ending in zero, they’d have another ten-thousand they could start with that ended in one.
“No businesses would have had to print new stationary or change the fleet markings on their vans. Businesses that were using phone numbers that spelled things but went beyond seven letters — like 1-800-parsnips — could ask for the number corresponding to their eighth letter to be substituted for the zero. Nobody would have to dial more than one extra digit to call next door, and nobody would have to try to figure out which area code to use when they were calling the upstairs phone versus the downstairs line. And best of all, my system would have increased the possible total numbers for each area code by a factor of ten. Overlaying an area code merely doubles the potential.”
“So why didn’t they take your advice?” I asked.
“My suggestion represented a small expense for the phone companies,” Schwartz said. “The solution they actually chose represents a huge financial boon to those same companies. That is why I refuse to be a party to it. It stinks like bad parsnips.”
***
We’d followed the Spyder almost into Crafton, but rather than take the turn off of the parkway, she continued on towards the Ft. Pitt Tunnel. Had it been November, I might have finally gotten to see the startling and beautiful lights that Beverly had told me about; but since it was July, the sun still had another two and a half hours-worth of air-time. She turned east on 376, and we were headed away from downtown again. “Where did Matthew Hanson live?” Schwartz asked as we crept along in the rush hour traffic. I told him I’d find out, and I called directory assistance again. Once I had the information, I gave Schwartz the address in Oakland; and no sooner had I told him, than we saw the Spyder’s blinker flash for a left turn at the Oakland exit.
“She probably hasn’t heard that he’s dead,” I said, and Schwartz agreed with a grunt. We followed her into the parking area of Hanson’s apartment complex. There were several police cars still milling about, which seemed to give her pause, but she found a place to park and walked into the building. Schwartz turned to me, and told me to see where she was going. I got out of the car and followed her into the building. She pushed the button for the elevator, and I had no choice but to stand beside her and wait with her. When the elevator arrived, we got on together. I made sure to lag back so that she would have to press for her floor first, and then I pressed for the same floor.
If it was Hanson’s floor, there would be police, and she wouldn’t get off; but I would have to so that I might avoid suspicion. I got my press pass out of my pocketbook along with my house key to my apartment in Cleveland and palmed them. When the car stopped, I dropped the key and stooped to get it, so that I’d have a reason not to be the first one out of the elevator. The doors opened, and revealed a uniformed cop talking with a superior. Penny froze momentarily and then pushed a button for the next floor up. I couldn’t let the doors close without exiting, since it would be too suspicious, so I said, “Hold the door. This is my stop.”
I’d planned to get off, then race for the stairs, since Penny would have to ride up a flight before she could redirect the car to take her down, but the best laid plans…
The plain-clothesman turned at the sound of my voice, and as he brushed the hair from his eye, he said, “Well, look who’s here; Gamut Magazine. Still investigating the Hanson thing? I told you already, murder/suicide, the kid Matthew did it. What else do you need to know?”
As the elevator door closed behind me, I looked up at Trevor with what must have been visible disappointment registering in my eyes. I put the lanyard over my head and asked to see the scene. I didn’t know what else to do.
***
Ten minutes later, I left the building and went to find Schwartz. I found him standing with Penny Prince at the side of her famous red sporty car. As I approached, I could hear parts of their conversation.
“And he never drove it?” Schwartz was asking.
“No, he kept it in our garage for years.” Penny was talking with Schwartz, but she seemed distracted and worried. “I kept it there for a while after he died, but a few years ago, I had to sell my other car, and I needed something to drive.”
“Well, if you’ve been driving it for a few years, why does it still have California plates?”
“You ask a lot of nosy questions,” she told him.
“That’s what I do,” Schwartz said as I reached them. “I’m a private investigator. Miss Hoskin, what did you learn?”
“Nothing,” I said, not knowing what role I was playing. “It’s all pretty much as we thought.”
“So Miss Prince wasn’t waylaid by the police?”
“Hey,” Penny said, “how do you know my name?”
“We know a lot about you,” Schwartz said, “but we’d like to know more.”
“I got nothing to say to the cops,” she insisted. “Or to the press,” she added indicating my press pass with a tilt of her head.
“I’m not the cops,” Schwartz said. “As I said already, I’m a private detective.” She was getting into her car, but Schwartz went on. “The police are convinced that Matthew Hanson murdered his father and then committed suicide. I disagree, on both points.”
“Oh yeah?” s
he said starting her engine. “Well, I’d have to agree with that. What makes you so sure?”
“Because I know who did kill them,” Schwartz said.
“Don’t look at me,” Penny said defensively.
“If I’m looking at you,” Schwartz said, “it’s not as a suspect. Can we discuss it? I don’t live far. My house and office is in Squirrel Hill.”
“You’re Lupa Schwartz,” she said in sudden realization. “Matt told me you were investigating for Father Coneely.”
“No,” Schwartz said. “I was investigating for the police. Now I’m acting as an independent agent.”
***
Twenty minutes later, we were gathered in Schwartz’s office while Beverly prepared us a late snack of crab stuffed mushrooms in drawn garlic butter. Penny had followed us in her car, and as we drove, I told Schwartz what had happened in the elevator, and he filled me in on what had happened on his end.
After I had gone into the building, he had driven over and parked in a manner to block Penny’s car in the parking lot. He then got out of his car and began inspecting the outside of the Porsche. He wasn’t worried about Penny finding him examining her car since people who owned exotic cars were used to people asking about them. When after a few minutes he’d seen Penny return without her tail (me,) he decided he’d ask her about the Spyder to delay her. She spotted him and approached cautiously.
“Beautiful car. It doesn’t look like a kit,” he’d said.
“It’s not,” she’d confirmed. “It’s an original chassis and part of the body is original, but the rest is replacement parts, but they’re all over forty years old too.”
“Who’d you buy it from?”
“It was my dad’s. Look can you move your car? I have to go.”
“Oh, sure,” Schwartz said climbing into his own car and starting the engine. “That’s some beautiful machine. If it really is real, it’s worth a lot of money.”
“I can’t sell it,” Penny said. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”
“I know people who would give you a lot of money for it. Is it in good condition?”
“I can’t sell it, I tell ya. If I could, I would.”
Schwartz still hadn’t moved his car, and he continued asking questions. “I thought you said it was your father’s car?”
“It was.”
“Did he give it to you?”
“He left me everything he owned when he died, so that would include the car.”
“Oh,” Schwartz said, “I’m sorry. Did he die recently? Is that what’s bothering you? You seem sort of distraught.” He turned off his engine and got out of his car.
“My father died a few years ago,” Penny said.
“Not in an accident in the car I hope.”
“No, nobody ever drove the car before I started using it as far as I remember, and I wouldn’t have driven it if I didn’t absolutely have to.”
“But you say your father owned the car?”
“Yes,” Penny said.
“And he never drove it?” Schwartz asked, and that’s where I’d come in.
Chapter 24
Schwartz sat across from Miss Prince, and I sat to her right as the master contemplated his questions. Since his eyes were closed, he couldn’t see what I saw only in periphery. She was struggling with her chin to keep her lip from quivering. Tears were welled up in her eyes, and she had her long sweater sleeve pulled up over her wrist, so she might blot the water away as she pretended only to rest her cheek in her palm. When finally Schwartz was ready to begin his interrogation, she sniffled once loudly, and composed herself with admirable decisiveness.
“Miss Prince,” Schwartz said. “I’m sure that you would like for me to tell you how I know that Matthew Hanson did not kill himself or his father. Unfortunately, I’m not prepared to do that at this time. Perhaps, if you will give me some necessary information, I can be tempted to change my mind.”
“I understand,” Penny began with only a hint of strain in her voice, “that you must be curious about my relationship with Matthew. I also understand that you don’t want to commit yourself to naming a killer until you feel that you can prove it. That’s fine. And if I can be of any help in getting you to that point so that Matthew’s name can be cleared, I’ll gladly help in any way that I can.”
“Very well then,” Schwartz said. “What was your relationship with Matthew Hanson?”
“We were lovers,” Penny said with a break in her voice. She regained her composure and began again. “We met at work when I came to Lighthouse Life. At first we were just friends, and it stayed that way for a while after I left for New World. But none of this is important. Can I just tell you the relevant facts without the questions and answers? You can ask whatever you want if I leave anything out.”
Schwartz’s brow formed a tight ball at the center. She had interrupted the flow of his questions, but she seemed willing to offer up all that she held. Actually, I suspect that he was mostly flustered that all of the manipulative questions he’d dreamed up were going to go unused, but what else could he do? He nodded, and Penny began her story.
***
She had worked for an insurance company in Las Vegas until about two years prior; having moved to Nevada from California when her father had died. Unfortunately, Las Vegas proved to be a bad relocation for her, since she soon developed a gambling addiction. She had gotten into hock on her credit card with the casinos, and she'd had to sell everything she owned except for her clothes and the Porsche she had inherited from her father. She’d decided to leave Vegas, but she wanted to win one last score to help set her up in her new life. She thought she had a sure thing with a system she’d heard of for winning craps, but she had no money to gamble with.
So she found somebody to bankroll her scheme. She showed her Porsche to a loan shark she knew, and he fronted her $4,000 in exchange for the title. He gave her twenty-four hours to return the money plus fifteen percent interest, and he would return the title. The problem was that the sure-thing system fizzled, and the title she’d given the loan shark was a phony. She didn’t actually have the title to the Porsche; her father had lost that years before.
So she couldn’t repay the loan shark, and she couldn’t give him the car since he’d learn that the title was a fake. The only thing she could do was run, so she hightailed it to Pittsburgh where she had a friend from college. She changed her name, and she got a job working as an insurance adjuster at Lighthouse Life and Casualty.
When she’d been working for only a month or two at Lighthouse, one of her co-workers, Matthew Hanson, confided in her that he had some concerns about his father. The father had confided in Matthew that he was considering becoming a vocal advocate of assisted suicide at the urging of his new parish priest, and he was worried about how it might affect Matthew’s career since his life insurance policy was with the company Matthew worked for.
Matthew had tried at first to dissuade his father from the suicide idea, but had finally reconciled to follow his father’s wishes when he’d realized that since it was illegal, his father could never actually go through with it. It was imperative that his father move his policy to another firm, but that the other firm should still be willing to accept a man who was already dying of cancer. The reason that the father wanted to maintain the policy was that his daughter Marjorie had married a fool, and he wanted to be sure that she would get her inheritance so that she could divorce him. Also one of his sons had married a sweet but weak woman, and the son wanted to be able to retire early enough to stay home and care for her.
To this end, Matthew had come up with a plan. He had met secretly with a representative of one of his firm’s competitors, and had worked out a deal. If they would take on his father as a client, he would deliver to them a huge corporate account, the International Airport’s passenger life insurance program. Lighthouse was the insurer for the airport’s passenger kiosks, but the contract was due to expire; and for an extra two percent he knew that the airport wou
ld accept another bid. He hadn’t given the competitor the specifics, because it would mean losing his leverage, so he needed an accomplice to play the part of mole and accept a job at the competitors.
Penny had asked Matthew why he’d picked her. What had made him think that she would be willing to do any of this? He’d told her that he’d noticed that she was driving a pretty fancy car for a girl on an insurance adjuster’s salary, but that she was indiscriminate about where she parked, choosing a different parking place each day in different parts of the lot regardless of weather conditions. He’d thought about it and had decided that it had to mean that she needed money, but that she was hiding from her creditor or she’d simply sell the car and be done with it. If she would agree to help him out, he would give her half of his share of the life insurance policy when his father passed, which shouldn’t be more than several months.
Penny had agreed, seeing this as an opportunity to free herself and start fresh. She went to work for New World, and she submitted the sealed bid for the Airport contract that Matthew had drawn up. Meanwhile, Matthew and his father staged a disagreement for the benefit of his siblings. He’d decided that it would be best if his brothers and sisters thought his father had moved his policy to New World because he was angry with Matthew. He was especially worried about his sister Peggy, who was scrupulously honest and might ruin the whole thing if she suspected.
So that was how things stood for a little less than a year. Matthew and Penny were the only ones who knew the whole scheme, and it brought them into each other’s arms. His father began talking with the press about assisted suicide, and Penny’s new employers never balked. Everything was fine. But then Peggy became concerned about the father’s dwindling bank account. She began to harass him about canceling his life insurance program. She wanted him to live forever, and his medicines cost a lot of money, and he couldn’t afford to continue wasting so much on his life insurance premiums. Finally, when it seemed that he was about to die anyway, Mr. Hanson Sr. decided that he could stop paying the premiums since he’d be gone before the policy lapsed completely.