Hartman Investigations: The Abram Case

By Dean Archer

Private Detective John Hartman and dream girl FBI Agent Jacquelyn Kramer face danger when a six-year-old closed case file is reopened.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dean Archer
• Release date: Nov 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370921355

Dean Archer

I'm an 86 year-old retired computer programmer. This is my first (Last?) book. I was born in Aurora Illinois. I moved to California in 1963 to work for Douglas Aircraft. I live in Garden Grove California. Please tell me how much you enjoyed reading my book.Dean Archer.

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Chapter One

Wednesday June 4th

The Kinder (rhymes with cinder) Building is just a stone's throw from the Staples Center in down town LA. My office is on the fourth floor. It is just two rooms, but I’ve had it professionally decorated with potted plants, water colors and drapes. The outer room is the reception area. So far I have no need for a receptionist. The inner office is well appointed with a sofa, arm chairs and a coffee table. My desk is oak with a built in secret drawer. I have two three drawer filing cabinets (mostly empty). On my desk is a top-of-the-line laptop that I use for searching and a printer/scanner combo for printing and copying. I have a full box of business cards.

John Hartman

Investigations

[e-mail]

The Kinder building provides free WI-FI. In one corner of the reception area is one of those one-cup-at-time coffee makers. The brass plate on the front door reads, John Hartman, Investigations.

At 10:30 in the morning on the first Wednesday in June I was seated at the computer trying to solve a problem I had been working on for a couple of weeks when in walk four men in black. On their backs were three big white letters, FBI. The head black suit introduced himself as Agent Wilson and whipped out a piece of paper he claimed was a search and seizure warrant signed by Federal Judge Stuart. I didn’t argue. They didn’t want a cup of coffee. There wasn’t that much to search and seize. There were only a few incomplete case files. Four agents were definitely overkill. They boxed up everything (They did not find the secret drawer in the desk. Whew!), grabbed my computer and told me I had to accompany them to the Federal Building. On-the-way we had to stop by my place so they could search that. I have a condo on the ninth floor of the Sten high rise residential building. It’s within walking distance of the office. Here again there was nothing for them to find but a few old bank statements and credit card receipts. Virtually all my correspondence is via E-Mail. On my desk is a laptop and printer identical to those in the office. They confiscated that computer as well.

Once they were finished with my place, (I was happy to find they were quite neat about it,) we set out again for the Federal Office. They put me in an interview room and offered me a cup of coffee. I accepted. By this time, it was past my lunch time, but nobody offered me a sandwich. I was nearly finished with my coffee and about to ask for a refill when she opened the door.

I couldn’t believe it. For a moment, I was speechless. She introduced herself as Agent Kramer, FBI. She claimed the reason for my being there was due to suspicious circumstances that needed to be investigated. (Well, she was right about that, because I was certainly becoming suspicious.)

We know some things about you John Hartman, she said. For instance, we know you are heir to the Hartman orange grove millions. We know you have no criminal record; have never been married; and we know you have a Bachelor’s degree in communications from the University of California in Los Angeles. The reason you are here is because of the things we don’t know. For example, why do you carry a picture of me in your wallet? Where did you get this picture? Why were you following me? Why were you talking to law enforcement people supposedly trying to locate me? Why are you a practicing private investigator without a proper license? And last but not least, why do you have a cold case file on George Abram who was murdered six years ago. A case, by the way, I am currently working on which I want no interference from you.

You know a lot about me, I said. But you’ve had a lot of help. I’ve spent the last two weeks trying to find you with no luck. Too bad I didn’t have a Search Warrant, I could have gone through your drawers and found out something about you.

Knock it off Hartman, she shot back. You’re in enough trouble already. You don’t need to add sexual harassment to the list. Now answer the questions.

I’m going to give you rock solid answers to all your questions, I said. (Agent Wilson was kind enough to rustle up a chocolate bar, a bag of potato chips and another cup of coffee for me.) There is a coffee shop on the corner of Fifth and Grand about a block and a half from my office. On nice mornings, I sometimes stop there for a second cup. I sit outside and sip coffee under one of the umbrellas. Two weeks-ago I was there when you came rushing around the corner. You caught me in mid swig. I almost choked on my coffee. You were stunning. A tall gorgeous blond in a power black suit carrying a shoulder bag and an all leather brief case with gold letters J. K. The girl of my dreams.

Hold it right there Hartman, she said. I am not your dream girl and if you don’t give me some satisfactory answers I will be your worst nightmare.

Look! I’m telling you what took place, and in the end, all of your questions will be answered. If I say you are my dream girl, you are my dream girl and there is nothing you can do about it. Now unless there is something you don’t understand, don’t interrupt. You were obviously in a hurry. I figured you weren’t going far or you wouldn’t be on foot. I decided to follow and see where you were going. I didn’t know exactly what I was going do when I found out, but I was hoping somehow to worm my way into your life. That’s when you whirled around with a gun in your hand and took a shot at me. (Boy, can I pick’em or what?) The bullet pinged off the building behind me and I ducked into the doorway of the Sweetheart Gift Shop. When I got up enough courage to peek out, you were nowhere in sight. I saw two girls chatting in front of the J.&R. Drug Store. They were right about where you took your shot. I decided to ask them if they knew where you went. They said they didn’t know. You just disappeared around the corner. However, one of the girls said she managed to get a picture of you on her cell phone (GREAT!). I asked her if I gave her my E-Mail address if she would send me your picture via E-Mail. She said she would, and she did. At that point began my futile two-week search trying to locate you. Obviously, someone I spoke to recognized your picture and tipped you off to what I was doing. You can accuse me of being a juvenile romantic, but there was nothing sinister about what I was doing.

As for practicing without a license, I don’t need a license because all my clients are dead. Some time ago I read a column in the L.A. Times about the LAPD and the Sheriff’s department setting up special units to focus on unsolved homicides. LAPD homicide Det. Paul Lacey created a website of unsolved cases and compiled a digital library that includes case files for public viewing. Sgt. Betty Hanson of the L.A. County Sheriff’s Department heads up their bureau of unsolved homicides.

The idea grabbed me. Why not? I had nothing but money and time. So, I downloaded six case files at random from Lacey’s database and set up shop in the Kinder building. As you now know, one of those files pertained to the George Abram homicide. To me, there was nothing special about it. It was just one file in six. Actually, I haven’t looked into the Abram case at all. I was going to look into the Sybil Johnson homicide, which coincidentally, was also six years ago, but I haven't gotten around to it. That's it. There you have it. I've answered all your questions.

You're assuming I believe your story. What about you Wilson? she asked. Do you buy it?

I talked to Steve. He's been going through Hartman's computers. He said the girl's e-mail with your picture is still in his in-box. That and the fact that he spent two weeks trying to find you would tend to show a lack of premeditation. As for his story on the Abram case, we just have to take his word for it.

O.K. Hartman, she said. You wait here with Agent Wilson. I’m going to make some phone calls. I’ll be back.

Agent Wilson struck me as being an authentic straight arrow. He is well groomed and his movements indicate he is obviously in good shape. Probably one of those run five miles a day types.

So! Agent Wilson. What’s your name? I asked, as soon as

Agent Kramer left the room.

Frank, he replied.

Hi, Frank. What’s the J for?

The J?

Yeah. On her brief case, the letters J.K. The K. is for Kramer. What’s the J for?

Jacquelyn. Her parents call her Jackie but no one else is allowed to.

How long have you been working together?

About four years now.

She seems pretty up-tight, I said.

I think intense is a better word, he said She’s a good cop. I think it might be a female thing.

A female thing?

Yeah. You know. She has to be quicker, smarter, work harder to compete with the male agents.

Somehow I get the feeling you’re looking out for her Frank. Maybe keeping her from going off the deep end.

Well, I do what I can.

Tell me. How do you manage to keep your hands off her? Or don’t you.

"I do. It’s FBI protocol to not mix business with pleasure. Plus,

my wife Helen keeps pretty close tabs on me. And besides, I do not have a death wish."

Aha! I know I shouldn’t ask, but why is she so touchy about the Abram case?

You’re right. You shouldn’t ask. And my advice is to steer clear of it. And your interrogation is over. Here she comes.

Alright Hartman, she said. I’ve talked with both Det. Lacey and Sgt. Hanson. They are aware of what you are doing and apparently are O.K. with it as long as you turn over any new evidence you find. Personally, I fail to see the wisdom in that arrangement, but if things do not go well, that is their problem. These are unsolved homicides. It therefore follows that the killers are still out there and they will not take kindly to you snooping around. What makes you think you can get anywhere with cases the police have been on for years with no success?

I have no preconceived notions of how successful I’ll be. I’ve tried golf, yachting and tennis. All great fun, but in the end, it’s all meaningless activity. These investigations are interesting and challenging and hopefully some good will come of it. I say challenging, actually it’s very challenging since I don’t have a badge I can wave in peoples faces to scare them into talking to me. I do recognize there is an element of danger, but if things get too dicey, perhaps I will come to you for help.

She said, We’re finished here. I guess I can’t stop you from looking into the Abram case, but I can promise you I will come down hard you if you screw it up. Go sign out your things. Agent Wilson will take you back to your place. You’re free to go. Consider yourself lucky,

With all due respect Agent Kramer, I think that’s a little pompous. I should consider myself lucky? Why? I Should consider myself lucky because you missed? I should consider myself lucky because you are not putting an innocent man behind bars? I should consider myself lucky because you invaded my privacy and didn’t find anything incriminating? I don’t feel lucky. I feel violated. However, I could forgive you. We could go for coffee and you could apologize.

Goodbye Hartman, she said. Agent Wilson will see you out.

Frank and I picked up my stuff and piled everything, including ourselves, into a van and headed for my office. There were a lot of questions I wanted to ask about Jacquelyn but I knew Frank was duty bound not to answer any of them. Consequently, nothing much was said.

Frank helped me lug my stuff into the office. We shook hands and said goodbye. I told him to try to keep Agent Kramer from shooting me. He said he would try, but he could give me no promises.

I dumped everything on my desk except for my home computer

and headed out. My Tesla electric was waiting for me in my spot in the underground garage. (For an extra monthly fee you get a reserved parking place with your own charging station). My parking place at the Sten building also has a plug-in. I like the electric for running around locally. For longer trips, I rent an Avis gas guzzler.

On-the-way home I stopped at Jason’s Coach Diner on 4th Street for scrambled eggs, hash browns and coffee. (The candy bar and potato chips were history.) I asked Jason if he knew Jacquelyn Kramer. (You never know.) He said he never heard of her. (I guess he doesn’t get out much.)

Once at home, (finally!) I set up the computer on the desk, tidied up a little FBI clutter, and headed for the shower to wash Agent Kramer right out of my hair. (Yeah, right).

It was only nine thirty but somehow it seemed like a very long day. I decided to skip the film at eleven. I hit the sac

Chapter Two

Thursday June 5th

The next morning, I was up at 6 a.m. I put together a bacon and egg sandwich on toast, poured a cup of coffee and sat down to check out my computer. As I suspected, the Abram file had been deleted. No doubt the work of agent Steve. (How can they get away with that?) On the other hand, it was a waste of time, because all I had to do was go to Lacey’s database and download another copy. (Oh no!) I searched Lacey’s database and the Abram file was no longer there. Fortunately, in my secret drawer at the office, I keep a one terabyte hard drive containing backups for all my computer stuff. With a little work, I can restore the Abram file. This Abram case must really be hot. My curiosity level was going out of sight.

I called the LAPD and made a 9 o’clock appointment with Det. Lacey. I was five minutes early. They made me wait. At nine o’clock sharp they said I could go in. I knew the way.

Detective Lacey is a tall 40ish man with dark hair (crew cut). He was wearing a pale blue long sleeved shirt with white collar and cuffs (French yet). The silk tie was not low profile.

Good morning Mr. Hartman, he said.

John, please, I said.

O.K. John. For the time being anyway, it’s still Det. Lacey. Have a seat. What brings you here?

The Abram case file is missing from your database. Who? Why?

Special Agent Herman Westcott is 'who'. The 'why' is classified. The FBI now has complete control of the case.

Det. Lacey you’ve presumably been working this open case for six years when suddenly the FBI steps in and now you are history. And you’re O.K. with that?

I’m not exactly O.K. with it, but it is the FBI. Besides, it’s partly your fault. When you started chasing after Agent Kramer you stirred up a hornet’s nest. Now they’re very touchy on the whole subject.

How was I to know? Can you at least tell me when the FBI became interested in the case?

According to my notes, Agent Kramer contacted me on May12th. She wanted to pick my brains about the Abram case. I told her the Abram case was before my time as detective. The best I could do was let her see the case file. She wanted to keep the file. Since I had a digital copy of the file I let her have it.

So when I came by four days ago, trying to identify my picture of Agent Kramer, you played dumb and as soon as I left you tipped her off that I was looking for her.

You put me between a rock and a hard place. I didn’t know about your motivation. I felt I had to let her know you were looking for her before I identified her to you. I’m sorry you got raked over the coals, but there it is. Maybe I owe you one.

Forget it, I said. I wasn’t having any luck trying to find her. Now I know who she is. That’s all I was trying to find out in the first place.

One more question, I said. Were FBI agents involved in the original investigation?

No.

I lied. One more question. Do you and Sgt. Hanson talk to each other?

Yes. Neither of us has any extra manpower to devote to these cases on a permanent basis, but if something new pops up, we’ll assign someone to track it down. So, on the outside chance you come up with something, let us know and one of us will look into it.

Will do. Thanks, Det…

Paul, he said.

Thanks Paul for taking time to see me. I’ll probably be checking in with you from time to time.

No problem.

Chapter Three

Thursday June 5th

My next order of business was to buy a gift for Agent Kramer. (Heaven forbid she should forget me.) I figured flowers and perfume were out, they would just tick her off. She might even consider it sexual harassment. I settled on a nice gun. I located Ben’s Gun Shop at 354 Elm St. in the yellow pages. There was only one car in the little parking lot at the side of the building. (I deduced it was Ben’s car.) Ben is a gunsmith, he cleans guns; repairs them; gives lessons; and has a firing range at the back of his store. How do I know all this? The sign in the window says so.

A little bell jingled when I opened the door to a rustic hunting lodge environment. The setting included beamed ceiling; fireplace with a moose head above; a leather couch facing the fireplace; and the