story The Case of the Double Identity - Part lll

[Pythor 1,354]

 

                                                                                              PREVIOUSLY "IN THE CASE FILES"

The conversation was both quick and one-sided. Asher said scarce more than a couple sentences before hanging up. Slipping the phone back into his breast pocket, he turned towards Darrin. 

 

“That was Travis,” the detective murmured. “It’s been confirmed that Shrewter did in fact leave his house around eight. Which means he couldn’t have been the killer at seven.” 

 

“So…” the police chief remarked with growing excitement, “the guy renting out office 240. By process of elimination, he must be our murderer!”

 

The detective shook his head. “Chase Thorton couldn’t have committed the crime.”

 

“Why not?” Darrin exclaimed. “You just said yourself that someone in the warehouse is the culprit.”

 

“Because of one reason,” Asher took a rasping breath and shot a sideways glance down the corridor. 

 

“Mr. Thorton is blind.” 

 

                                                                                                 PART III - The Breakthrough 

 

 

 

It was only a few hours later that Underwood carried out his original plan. The sun had begun its slow descent across the Californian sky and a light breeze ruffled the palm trees scattered throughout the hilly suburbs of LA. It was that time of early dusk where everything seems a bit hazy, objects and buildings shrouded in the impending darkness. A light fog further obscured vision, heightening the sense of gloom. 

 

Through the fog a rusty orange Jeep Cherokee was making its way down a steep alleyway, swerving now and again to avoid the numerous potholes that dotted the broken pavement. A clustering of houses and small shacks appeared midway down the mountainside, illuminated by a sole street light situated a few yards away from the grass parking lot. Underwood veered off to the right onto an even bumpier limestone street, little more than a bike trail, which led up to the buildings. A couple old Fords were haphazardly parked directly underneath the light, and the corner of an overturned ski boat could just be seen poking out from below the rickety front porch of the nearest dwelling. 

 

Kind of an odd place for the owner of a warehouse company to live, the detective mused, squinting into the gloom to read the address on the mailbox. He double checked, but indeed it matched up with the address he had received. Shortly after wrapping up the interrogation earlier that day, Asher had called the manager of LA Woodstock, the company that owned the warehouse. He had agreed to talk to the detective in person, but insisted the meeting take place at his own home. 

 

After scanning the buildings for any sign of life, Underwood grunted, then warily pulled up next to one of the Fords. He didn’t like the looks of the place, but the potential information he could receive from this man far outweighed the possible risks. Making sure to lock the Jeep doors, the detective stuffed the key into his pocket and crossed the grassy clearing between the lot and the house. When he was a few yards away from the porch, a light flicked on somewhere towards the back of the building and Underwood heard the faint sound of voices over the sudden screech of an owl. 

 

A moment later the wooden door violently swung open, revealing a short, black haired man. With one hand he clutched a large robe around his thin body, and with the other he was in the midst of stirring the contents of a glass bowl. He peered out at Underwood with apparent nonchalance, then as if suddenly remembering the scheduled meeting, the man let out a short cry of recognition. 

 

“Asher Underwood I presume?” He placed the bowl down on a small porch table and stuck out his hand. “Let’s go talk in my office.” 

 

The detective was led into an adjacent barn-like structure neatly furnished with sofas, chairs and a desk. Various busts of deer, elk and antelope lined the walls, and a large poster reading “LA.W&W” was hung above a small fireplace. He was waved onto an ottoman while the other man took a seat behind the desk. Underwood couldn’t help but recall only a few hours earlier when he was the one behind a desk questioning people. His role hadn’t changed, but he was now on unfamiliar turf. 

 

The detective initiated the conversation. “I’ve come to inquire about a certain room in one of your nearby warehouses. More importantly, the person who was currently renting it out.” 

 

“Was?” the other man echoed.

 

Underwood gave a grim nod. “You haven’t heard? A Jay Fresnow was murdered in office 211 yesterday morning. I was under the assumption he was renting out the room, but I came here to be sure.” 

 

There was a visible start from the manager, and Underwood caught a queer expression on the man’s face before he quickly collected himself. The desk’s bottom drawer was subsequently yanked out. 

 

“I don’t remember that name in particular, but if he rented out an office the files should list his personal information and date of purchase.” 

 

The sound of rustling papers filled the room momentarily, immediately followed by silence before the manager looked up at Underwood. 

 

“There’s no Fresnow here in the records.” 

 

The detective rose without a word and leaned over the desk to examine the file. Sure enough, the headers skipped from Forsythe to Frough with no mention of Jay Fresnow. 

 

“Now this isn’t the only way we could check,” the owner flipped to a separate section of papers, filed under the office numbers. A few seconds later he whipped out a file that read “211” with a long list of names and dates printed below. “This sheet has everyone who’s ever rented out this office. If Fresnow is one of my customers, we’ll find him here.” 

 

Underwood had already shifted his gaze to the bottom of the page. Underneath “current” was the name Dale Greenleaf, July 6 - present. The detective bit his lip, harder than he had initially intended. 

 

“Do you remember what this man looked like?”

 

The other man half blushed. “I never actually saw him. He reserved the office over a phone call.” 

 

Obviously. That was a dumb question to ask, Underwood chided himself. This case was draining him of the excess smarts and intelligence he usually possessed and left him feeling… well, normal. The facts were there, yet they didn’t add up. 

 

The detective proceeded to inquire further into the other warehouse renters, but learned nothing new of any importance. It looked as if they were all above the law with no criminal records. Asher left the barn twenty minutes later with his main objective fulfilled however; he now knew who was renting out office 211. How this character fit into the case was still to be determined. 

 

Back in the driver’s seat of the jeep, Underwood rummaged through his briefcase for a moment and brought out a small laptop, decorated with an assortment of stickers and decals. He needed to find out if there was some sort of a connection between the person listed on the records, Dale Greenleaf, and Jay Fresnow. Could they be arch rivals? Possibly even enemies? Could Greenleaf be Fresnow’s murderer? If so, where was he now? Either way, what was a man as renowned as Fresnow, the CEO of a successful chemistry lab, doing in Greenleaf’s office? 

 

Underwood started by simply looking up Greenleaf on the internet. A few bios immediately popped up, but none including Dale as the first name. After searching through multiple profiles, the detective decided to skim back over the Nautilus website, which gave a brief synopsis of the company and, more importantly, a description of Dr. Fresnow. Asher had quickly read through the summary on the first day of investigation, but hadn’t delved too deep into the annals of the website. It was time he learned a bit more about Fresnow and his company. 

 

Adjusting the computer on his lap, the detective leaned forward and began reading. Nautilus was formed roughly five years ago by an unnamed scientist, but within the company’s first year the CEO position was handed over to Dr. Jay Fresnow. It’s main lab was located in San Fransisco, where new chemicals were tested and mixtures developed. Different formulas were then sold to larger corporations or kept in the lab to sell commercially. Asher scrolled down to  where a picture of a newspaper heading had been copied onto the page. He suddenly recoiled in shock. The heading read “Nautilus scientist develops groundbreaking formula - then disappears.” It was dated July 5, a little over a month ago. The detective clenched his jaw, trying to control his frustration. He kept up with current happenings, but never remembered hearing about this update last month. Valuable time could have been saved if he had only found this sooner. 

 

The article went on to relate how Fresnow had been tirelessly working on a new chemical mixture when he had finally experienced a “breakthrough” before suddenly going missing. What that breakthrough was, it didn’t say. Neither did it divulge the use of said formula or mention anything else related to the doctor’s disappearance. However, what surprised Asher even more than the article itself was the logo underneath which was comprised of a simple orange N with test tubes as the “legs” of the letter. He had seen that logo before. In fact, he had seen it not even thirty minutes ago. 

 

Underwood slammed his laptop down with a jolt and leapt out of the car. The lights had gone out in the nearest house, but Asher could just make out a glimmer underneath the large front doors of the barn he had recently left. Nearly sprinting, the detective reached the entrance in no time at all and slowly pushed the oaken doors in. The manager was still seated behind the desk, and promptly looked up in surprise at the slight creak of the door hinge. For the moment, Asher completely ignored him, took a lengthy step inward, then swiveled around to face back outside. Just above the entryway, on a small shelf amid a whole host of other papers and decorations, there stood a small business card with the Nautilus logo printed neatly in the center. 

 

Asher whipped back around as he heard the desk chair violently skid across the wood floor. The other man was already on his feet, staring questioningly at the detective. 

 

“You want trouble?” the manager growled. 

 

“Never heard of Fresnow? I don’t think so.” 

 

The man didn’t react at first and seemed to be sizing Underwood up for a fight. He took a threatening step in the detective’s direction then answered firmly. “It’s confidential.” 

 

“Something tells me you have more answers,” Asher spoke slowly as he maneuvered himself behind a nearby sofa. “Why did Fresnow come to Los Angeles?” 

 

The man snorted. “I know as much about that as you probably do. He pays extremely well, I don’t ask questions.” 

 

“Not even if it’s someone who was supposed to be missing?” 

 

“That doesn’t concern me.” 

 

“It does now,” Underwood’s mind was racing. “So why the double identity?” Then, almost as if struck by a lightning bolt, it came to him. Not just the answer to the question he had just posed, but the solution to a whole side of this baffling case. It was so excruciatingly simple. There was bleak silence for a moment, the only noise being the low drone of the wind whipping around outside. 

 

“So,” Asher mused aloud, quiet at first, but gaining volume as he assembled all the information together in this brain. “Fresnow didn’t go missing; rather he went into hiding.” 

 

The manager seemed suddenly disinterested. Underwood guessed he didn’t want anything to do with the murder. Another person who feared his connection to the murdered man might incriminate him. A statement of the current facts might persuade him to talk further, if he had any additional information to share. It was Asher’s hunch that he was indeed innocent, bereft of any serious involvement in the actual crime. 

 

“He probably planned this out long before July 5th,” the detective went on. “His disappearance set the wheels in motion and triggered a series of events that held rather an… unfortunate ending for him. The key lies in what Fresnow discovered, Obviously someone else wanted the formula,” Underwood paused. “And would go to great lengths to obtain it. When his enemies originally planned his murder we don’t know, but as soon as the doctor realized the danger he was in, he faked his disappearance. Not his best move I’m guessing.” 

 

Asher cast his mind back to when he first examined office 211. The different vials on the desk could have contained components to this mysterious formula. He tried to recall what chemicals the lab tests discovered were in the vials. Nothing out of the ordinary Asher remembered… odd. Possibly the murderer removed the correct tubes, and that’s when he or she accidentally left a droplet of rainwater in one of the other vials. 

 

“When did you say Fresnow… or rather “Greenleaf” originally booked his office?” Underwood queried. 

 

“July sixth.” 

 

“The sixth,” Asher repeated. “The day after he disappeared. And he was murdered Thursday, August 25th. I wonder where he was holed up all that time…” 

 

The detective gazed around the interior of the barn. Definitely somewhere a person could live in for a couple months. This complex being so secluded up in the LA foothills, someone could hide here for an extended amount of time. Asher eyed the manager. He looked semi-uncomfortable and Underwood guessed his hypothesis wasn’t far off. 

 

“Fresnow needed a place to eat and sleep in during the past two months. He rented the office solely to continue his experiments with the formula, not to live in.” 

 

Without breaking a sweat, the manager spoke coldly. “This wasn’t his original plan you know.” 

 

The detective raised his head. “How so?”

 

The other man sighed, then sat down heavily on the sofa. “He came to me the first of July. Introduced himself as Dale Greenleaf, in need of an office space for the next three months. Room 211 was open, so I gave it to him until October first. Before he left that day, he gave me his card with the logo of his company and a phone number on it. There wasn’t a name.” 

 

Underwood nodded. “He probably blacked it out.” 

 

“I was immediately suspicious. What kind of person gives out a business card without a name? Anyway, I wasn’t too concerned then, and thought that’d be the last I saw of him. Well obviously I was wrong. He returned five days later, seeking a place to actually live in for a while. By that time his cover had been blown. I had already seen the July 6 newspaper that morning, and connected Fresnow’s face on the cover to this man who claimed to be Greenleaf. He was mad when I told him my discovery, not because I knew who he was, but because his disappearance had made it into the papers. I would have turned him away but for the price he offered to pay me. Ten thousand to let him live in the barn and for me to keep quiet about the whole business. The only thing he told me was that he was running from someone in San Fransisco.” 

 

Asher grunted. “How often did you see him in here?” 

 

“Not much at all. He kept his distance from me and my wife, spending his mornings in the office and the evenings shut up in the barn. I tried to question him more, but he refused to answer anything regarding who was pursuing him or his scientific discovery. Then everything changed about two weeks ago. Fresnow told me that the people he was running from had somehow found him. He wanted extra protection. I naturally advised him to go to the police, but he was abstinent. Whenever I mentioned the cops he would get a funny look on his face, almost like a smile, but not quite. He kept assuring me that ‘He’d handle it’”. 

 

The manager paused for a second, then shrugged. “That’s basically the whole story. I heard about his death only earlier today. I assume whoever he was trying to escape from had indeed caught up with him.” 

 

Asher was silent for a long moment, then straightened his back. “Did he mention anything about a package?” 

 

“No, I don’t think so. Why?” 

 

“A special package was delivered to office 211 roughly two weeks ago by a trucker named Trent Kreur. My guess is it contained some last minute addition to the formula.” 

 

The other man frowned. “He didn’t say anything about that. He probably just wanted to finish the experiment before he was caught.”

 

Underwood nodded and adjusted his jacket. “Is there anything else Fresnow told you?” 

 

“Nothing. And just to be clear, I had nothing to do with his murder.” 

 

The detective cocked his head to one side and peered at the other man. “No, no I don’t believe you did.” 

 

There was silence again as Underwood took one last glance over the room and started toward the door. Just before reaching it he turned around. “What was your name again?” 

 

The warehouse manager let out an uneasy laugh. “Jake. Jake Oufa.” 

 

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A quarter of an hour later Asher was in his jeep, descending the steep incline of the mountain. The detective noted with some chagrin the gas tank reader on his dash. It was dangerously close to empty, and he was still twenty miles from the warehouse. He needed to get back to office 211, and he needed to get there fast. He wanted to test out a nagging thought that had been bothering him. If it proved correct, Underwood would know the murderer. 

 

At the foot of the mountain, the road curved to the left and circled around to join a main thoroughfare. At the corner of the two streets an array of neon lights rose up out of the night sky to light up a local gas station. Underwood pulled alongside one of the pumps and hurried into the small store. He figured there would still be a long night ahead of him, and a cup of coffee would help keep him energized. Just as he was going up to purchase the drink however, his phone rang. Asher was expecting a call from Darrin, so it didn’t surprise him when he recognized the number as his friend’s. 

 

The detective squeezed his shoulder up to his cheek to balance the phone, then quickly inserted his credit card. 

 

“Hey Darrin, what’s…” 

 

“Asher,” there was urgency in the police chief’s voice. “Come quick. We caught someone trying to break into the office…” 

 

The detective snatched his card back and, without a word to the cashier, took off towards the door, leaving his coffee on the counter. In another second he had burst out of the ad covered entrance and into the cool night air beyond. It looked as if he didn’t need to set the trap after all. The culprit had come to him. 

 

 

 

                                                                                                 To be continued...

                                                                        The Case of the Double Identity is a four part series. One part will be released each month for four months. 

 

PyTHOR

 

 

[Gauss-Hornet 489]

On 3/30/2020 at 10:04 PM, pythor20000 said:

Could Greenleaf be Fresnow’s murder?

[Pythor 1,354]

51 minutes ago, Gauss-Hornet said:

fixed 

[Virtue 207]

Great story as always! Thrilling plot, and very well-written. Obviously you spent a lot of time on this. Great job!

[Troll 8]

Nice one