Where the Sun Sets (16 page)

Harold was gazing out the window. He turned
to meet Sharon’s glance. Her eyes told him she felt sorry for him.
This caught him of guard and upset him a little. He barely heard
what she was telling him. “Chester, yeah, that might be a good
idea.”

“Boss, do yourself a favor and get a haircut
and a shave. Call me if you need me. Thanks for the coffee. I gotta
get back to the station.”

Yeah, maybe Chester could be of some help.
The fact that Harold’s stomach stopped hurting told him it was so.
But why would he need a haircut and a shave before going to the
house? Harold threw a couple of bills onto the table as he stood to
leave. A younger couple, looking like tourists, passed him as he
left the snack shop. He turned to watch them walk to their booth
and immediately started missing his wife. As he passed the front of
the shop, he caught his reflection in the chrome siding. He was
stopped in his tracks. How had this happened? He looked like a
street urchin. He pulled the collar of his jacket up, to hide his
face. Tucking his chin to his chest he hurriedly walked home.

Once inside his house, he locked the door
behind him, and raced up the stairs. The image looking back at him
from his bathroom mirror was frightening. It looked more like his
father than Harold. He set himself to work, and thirty minutes
later was on his way to Nick’s for a shave and cut.

By the time he was at the Big House he looked
and felt more like the Chief Inspector he had once been. Chester
jumped to his feet the moment he saw the man. Extending his hand he
patted Harold on the back. “Hello, hello, what is it that brings
you all the way out here?” Chester continued without taking a
breath. “My, but we don’t get many of your type out here. Didn’t
you retire a while back? Three more and out the door for me here.
Yeah, that’s right. Three more and out the door.”

Still the rambler, Harold noticed. Chester
always could talk you to tears. Harold had forgotten that fact;
funny how Sharon hadn’t reminded him of it.

“So, what will it be then? Huh? What could
have you down this way? No, don’t tell me, don’t tell me, let me
guess.” Harold had started to open his mouth to explain but closed
it promptly. It was better just to let Chester finish talking. It
was the only way you could count on him hearing what you had to say
anyway.

“Let’s see, you’re retired. Can’t therefore
be a new case. Hmmm. You have a question. I can see that much, that
much I do know. I got it, I know, you’re looking for something part
time. Yeah, that’s it. They say lot’s of retired folks go out and
try to find some part-time work. Not me, no sir, not me. Three more
and out the door. Yep, no part-time job for me. No sir.” Chester
let that sentence drop as he shook his head to himself.

“No, Chester, I am not here to inquire about
a job; thank-you very much. I need to talk to you about something
that happened back in the seventies.”

Chester let out a whistle. “The seventies you
say, well hell that’s way back there isn’t it?” Harold took a deep
breath.

“Do you remember Salvatore Dal Santo? He was
in here for murdering his wife.”

“His wife you say? Dal Santo, hmmm. Can’t say
as I do. What’s the scoop? Why you so interested in someone from
the seventies. When did he get out or was he transferred?”

“No, he wasn’t transferred. Someone stuck him
a few times in a brawl here and he died before he could get parole.
You sure you don’t remember?”

Chester thought about this intently. He had
been down here near forty years. Seen a lot of inmates come and go.
Seen a lot of fighting and a lot of dying. ‘Dal Santo’, he thought
to himself, as he tried to place a name with the face. “I dunno
buddy, perhaps a little more information. My mind seems to be
begging for a way out. Do you have a picture or a description?”
Harold rolled his eyes. This wasn’t how he had hoped things would
work out here. He felt as if he was being backed into a dark
alley.

“Look Chester, the guy punched his wife’s
head in. He left her with no face. I know you would remember him.
Don’t you guys keep records or something? Perhaps you could...”

“Hey, now why didn’t I think of that? Sure we
keep records. You got time or are you in a hurry?”

“No, I have some time. Do you think you might
have something?”

“Well, why don’t we go and have us a
look-see.”

The two men had to walk for about ten minutes
before they came to the records room. It was secured tightly with
three locks. All of which Harold had the keys for. It was dank and
dusty. From the looks of it, many years had passed since anyone had
visited the room. Something scurried across the floor. Harold
couldn’t see it, but from the sound of its claws scraping across
the concrete floor, it had to be a large sized rat. The smell of
mold and mildew intruded Harold’s nostrils and caught in the back
of his throat. Chester inhaled deeply, enjoying the aroma.

“Yeah, it’s been a long time since I have
been in here. A long time indeed. Now that everything is
computerized, well we don’t need to be doin’ all this paperwork.
Everything down here is from twenty years back or more. Dal Santo
came in the seventies you said? He should be over against that wall
somewhere.” He started off in the direction in which he pointed,
kicking something aside as he went. Harold followed behind him like
a younger brother, not knowing where they were going but excited
about the trip, afraid of the rat, but comfortable knowing that
Chester was there with him. “Here we are the seventies. Watergate
and Big Macs, oil shortages and Earth Day. Heh, that was some time
huh, Harry? Exciting times. Yes sir, exciting times.”

“Yeah, whatever. Dal Santo, the name was Dal
Santo.” Harold wasn’t in the mood for reminiscing.

“Right, right, Salvatore you said, right? Got
quite a few Dal Santo’s believe it or not. Oh, well lookie here, we
have two S. Dal Santo’s. Which one is yours, ya think?” Harold
rubbed his temples with one hand while the other fought to keep him
standing by holding onto the top of a filing cabinet.

“Two? Shit, just what I need. What were they
in for? Mine murdered his wife, remember?”

“Ah yes, here we go. Salvatore Dal Santo.”
Chester opened the correct file and viewed the mug shots. “I
remember this one. Sure, I remember him. He had a nasty ass temper
this one. Did a lot of time across the hall there.”

Chester let his finger direct Harold’s eyes
across the hall to a closed door. Behind the door was a hallway
which led to the boxes. Four in all, two on each side. Solitary
confinement.

Chester finished reading the opening page and
handed the file over to Harold. Harold, folder opened and held in
both hands, went about finding a brighter area in the dark and
dismal room. Finding a somewhat brighter spot, directly under the
ceiling light, he read. He pulled a notepad from his left pocket
and began to scribble. Jotting down names and dates of occurrences,
still not feeling that gut pulling he needed to tell him he was
going in the right direction.

Chester meanwhile had been pulling out
cardboard boxes and stacking them up on the side of a wall. After
opening up one of the boxes, he started withdrawing its contents
until he found what he had been searching for. A large manila
envelope taped to a zip-lock bag. He tossed it on top of a filing
cabinet and started to put everything back where it came from.

After a few minutes, one would never have
known anything had been disturbed. Chester was always very
thorough. He picked up his find and walked over to where Harold was
digesting what was in the folder he was studying. Without looking
up he spoke his mind to Chester. “It’s a young man’s game. Not
meant for us old timers to interpret I guess. There doesn’t seem to
be anything in this here folder but bad memories. If only you had
known what his wife had looked like before this.” He tapped his
finger on the photo of the crime scene. “I can hardly stomach it
now. Not that it had been easy back then, but I was younger. It’s a
younger man’s game.” He closed the folder and stared out into
space. In his mind’s eye he saw Antonia at the age of seven. So
small and quiet. She was beautiful then, he could only imagine how
she would look now.

Without thought, he handed the folder over to
Chester. “Maybe I am just an old man trying to hold onto my
memories. Hell, I guess you have to have the bad ones if you want
to keep the good ones.” He dropped his head into his hands and
rubbed away his thoughts.

“What’s eaten at you Harry, can’t be the age
thing. Hell, you’ve been old for years now.” Chester always had a
way with words. He tossed some comfort to Harold as he went about
replacing the file. Turning his attention back to his friend, he
was saddened to see the man slumping in his shoes. Harold seemed to
have aged twenty years in a matter of five minutes. “Weren’t you
the one they used to call Inspector Instinct? Hell, I say if
something’s biting at you, you gotta swat at it. You gotta say what
it is your thinking. If it’s just your imagination, make it
real.”

Chester tossed the envelope and bag onto the
filing cabinet in front of Harold. Harold’s head snapped up as he
claimed ownership of the envelope. “What’s this?”

“Salvatore’s personal effects. What he had on
his person when he moved in with us. He passed away, and since
there was no address for his only living relative, we had no where
to send it. It came down here. Anything you need? Will any of it
help you?” As Harold removed the tape, holding the zip-lock bag to
the envelope, Chester thought he saw some color and youth return to
his friend’s face.

Harold went through the bag first. Inside he
found the under garments of Salvatore Dal Santo. A pair of white
calve topper socks. One pair of brown and green plaid boxers. A
tank style t-shirt. Also inside was an index card served as a
receipt for one short sleeved cotton shirt. One pair of brown dress
slacks. One pair of size ten leather loafers. A brown leather belt
size 34. A silver wristwatch with large print face. Harold felt his
stomach tighten with anticipation. He felt he was close to what he
needed. But he still had no idea what that was. Salvatore’s clothes
had been held as evidence in the murder of his wife. If they still
existed they would be held somewhere else.

Harold placed the index card on top of the
under garments and pushed them aside along with the bag they were
kept in. Chester began to re-fold and replace the items back in the
bag and then squeezed out all the air as he resealed the bag.
Harold held up the manila envelope. He shook it and listened to its
contents. Sounded like four maybe five items were held inside. He
tapped the filing cabinet with the corner of the envelope, while he
thought of where the missing clothing might still be housed.
Chester flinched with every tap, which had caused the corner of the
envelope to be crunched. Chester would have preferred the envelope
be returned in the condition with which it was removed. That was no
longer going to be possible.

“Sorry.” Harold offered as he came from his
thoughts and took notice of the anxiety on Chester’s face. He
carefully opened the envelope and extracted the contents. Laying
the envelope aside, he sorted through its inhabitants. A half of a
roll of peppermint certs. One twenty dollar bill, a ten, a five and
two one dollar bills, all of which were paper clipped together. A
book of matches from a local pub. Harold opened it up hoping to
find a phone number or a name scribbled inside. It was blank, void
of any markings. A piece of loose leaf paper, folded tightly into a
finger football. Absentmindedly, Harold kicked the football, across
the room, with his fingers. It fell in the darkness of the corner,
passing through a thick, vacant, spider web.

Harold looked up at Chester. “I guess this
isn’t gonna get me anywhere. I’m going to have to find the
suit.”

“Are you certain it’s the suit? What could be
the connection there?”

“I don’t know, perhaps something as stretched
as the tailor.” He looked again at the items from the envelope. “I
was absolutely sure what I was looking for would be in here.” He
followed Chester’s gaze to the corner housing the now destroyed
web.

“You want it, you go get it. Salvatore sure
as hell isn’t going to complain about it being missing. And his
daughter would probably want it burned. I ain’t going into that
corner. Sorry buddy, no way.” Chester put the remaining items back
into the envelope. Harry was right, who was going to miss the
finger football. He refastened the tape, which held the envelope to
its package and delivered them both back to the box they belonged
to.

“Sorry I could not be of more help to you
Harry. Perhaps we can find one or two guys who were in with him.
Maybe a chat with them might be just what the doctor ordered. Who
knows right? Maybe someone who knew the girl?” Chester offered as
he led the older gentleman out of the room and relocked the door.
Together they walked another ten minutes of the prison to the upper
floors where the main office was located.

When the men had reached admissions, Chester
led Harold to yet another set of filing cabinets. He started to
open one drawer, watching Harold for some sort of reaction. He
closed the drawer without retrieving any documents. Harold wasn’t
even paying him the slightest notion. Mentally he wasn’t even in
the building. Chester shook his head and went over to the computer,
located on a desk in the far right corner of the room.

After hitting a few keys on the keyboard,
Chester managed to locate the attendance records for the year
Salvatore was killed. He hit the print tab and waited patiently
while the old IBM hammered out the document. He then went back to
the keyboard where he punched more keys to retrieve the attendance
for the past month. Again he hit the print key and waited for the
document to come out of the printer. He glanced at his watch as he
handed the documents over to the Inspector. “Look I gotta do the
rounds, but you’re welcome to stay and help yourself to anything
you might need.”