Chapter Text
"What in the flyin' fu..?" Frank Santana whispered aloud to himself.
He had watched it happen, but had a hard time believing what he saw. The house's appearance, and the Bel-Air neighborhood it was located in, gave the impression of serious money. And that usually meant serious security. But it only took a couple of minutes before the woman he was hired to find had seemingly bypassed that serious security, picked the lock on the front door, and let herself in. He checked his watch to note the time; it was five minutes past one in the morning.
Frank was parked across the street and three houses down from where he just witnessed the hard-to-believe B&E take place. Fortunately there were other cars besides his parked in the area, so his car blended in. Sort of blended in he corrected himself. His two year-old Chevy Caprice did look a little out of place among the two Mercedes in front and the sole BMW in back of him (and the Lincoln and Caddie across the street), but he kept his car clean and in good repair. He hoped if someone had really bothered to care about his 'common' car parked among more expensive ones, they would think one of their rich neighbors had a not-so-rich friend. He certainly wasn't rolling in cash, but he was far from starving. Being a private investigator wasn't a high paying or glamorous job by any means, but he felt fortunate he could be selective in the clients he chose to work for and not constantly worry about money; a nice result of his former partnership with Charles Townsend.
Thinking about Charlie brought back fond memories with a knowing grin. It was a little shy of ten years ago they had begun their partnership, and five since they each started working on their own. Their years together were very productive in building clientele, contacts, and income. However, Charlie eventually got tired of doing investigative work himself, and wanted to start his own service with his own crew to work for him. It didn't take long for the both of them to work out a deal (at a very modest price; thank you very much Charlie!), and set him up with a very healthy investigative agency while Charlie went off and did his own thing. They still kept in touch on a monthly basis, and Frank knew Charlie had started his own agency a couple of years ago with three women as his PIs. He guessed Charlie was really into the woman's lib thing by hiring them (what did he call the PIs; his Angels? Right!), and Frank supposed he was okay with that. Just not something he would do though.
Another look at his watch told him it was now ten past one. He'd give her another five minutes before he concluded she really did take out whatever security system the house had installed; or the wail of approaching sirens would prove she didn't.
Frank tapped out a cigarette from his pack of Camels and pressed in the car's lighter. As he waited for the lighter's element to heat up, he thought about that "woman's lib thing". He had just watched a woman enter into a locked and secured house in less than two minutes, seemingly with little effort. He knew more than a few guys that would love the ability to do that! Hell, if push came to shove, Frank thought he could pick the toughest lock out there in under sixty seconds. He wasn't too sure of bypassing an alarm system as quick though. However, he doubted Gloria Steinem would approve of this particular example of a woman performing a job better than a man.
Frank thought he noticed a car stop behind the Caddie parked in back and across the street from him, but he couldn't be entirely sure. It was a slight glimpse of movement in his rear view mirror more than anything, and turning his head to look out the back window didn't reveal any new cars to the immediate area. Another quick scan in front revealed nothing had changed as well. He wondered about the crime rate in this upper class neighborhood, and couldn't remember much of any crime having been reported around here. He did pass a private security car when he first entered the area, but that was about thirty minutes ago and he hadn't seen it since. Maybe the guy makes his rounds every hour?
The car's lighter announced it was ready for use by popping slightly out of its position, and he grabbed it to light his cigarette. He returned the lighter to its spot on the dash and rolled down his window to allow the smoke an exit path out of the car's interior. Taking his second drag off the cigarette, he started to think about how could the woman he was hired to find acquire the skills he just saw her display. Where did she learn them? How long did it take for her to get as good as she appeared to be? Maybe more importantly, who was her possible teacher?
She had been missing for a year, but according to her parents only out of contact with them for six months. Missing was a relative term Frank later found out, and the truth was a fairly typical story: a young woman (Paula Price) had traveled to L.A. from a small town (Newton, Kansas) looking to find fame and fortune. She found neither, but according to her mother Miss Price had found work assisting a clerk who was employed by a lawyer in Burbank. She had written home three times during the first two months away, then only once more before the letters stopped completely. In her last letter she had told her folks to not worry; she was fine, and she wouldn't be writing anymore. L.A. was her new home; she was her own woman, and she had a new life to start. Apparently mom and dad didn’t believe that story.
They had contacted him through another PI they originally tried to hire who couldn't help due to having a full caseload at the time. Frank had only one other case in work (a simple background check) when her parents had gotten in contact with him, and he accepted their request right away. That was almost a month ago, and now he had just witnessed their little girl break and enter into someone's house (quite easily he reminded himself). That's far removed from life in Newton, Kansas he thought as he took the last pull from his cigarette and tossed the butt out the window.
Paula Price hadn't been too hard to find, and Frank wondered why her parents couldn't have done what they paid him to do. Miss Price had mentioned the lawyer's name (Mark Suiter) in her last letter, who actually had a listing in the L.A. yellow pages. His catch phrase "Make the law Suit you!" yelled at Frank not once but twice in the listing when he looked him up. Didn't Newton's public library have major metro city phone books to look through? Or at least have the books transferred to microfiche? Most libraries Frank had spent time in had quite a few out of state big city phone books. Did Newton even have a public library? Frank made a mental note to find out what he could about Miss Price's hometown after that night's surveillance and a good eight hours of sleep.
After staking out the lawyer's office building for the first two weeks, Frank had figured out who the clerk was. The lawyer didn't have many assistants, and fewer yet that were male. He also put a name to the clerk: Alec Steele. And after tailing him for about a week, he eventually caught up with Miss Price. She hadn't changed much in comparison to the year-old picture her parents had sent him, save for changing her hair color from black to dirty blonde. Miss Price also lived in the same apartment building as Steele, which by looking at the entire complex, and where it was located, seemed to be a fairly expensive place to live. How much money did a lawyer's clerk, and a clerk's assistant, make a month? He wasn't sure, but it seemed to Frank either one were living a bit beyond their apparent means. He also wasn't sure if Miss Price and Steele lived together or not, but that item really didn't matter. He was content to follow her around and wait for the opportunity to approach Miss Price about her parent's concerns when he positively knew she was alone. Which she most assuredly was right at the moment: alone, but not in a place where he could talk to her, that's for sure.
The lack of sirens let Frank know Miss Price was as good as she appeared to be. He grabbed the notebook that had been resting on the passenger seat and opened it to write down the latest events of the evening (early morning now!). Not being parked under a street lamp didn't help in seeing what he wrote, but he felt safer in the shadows than if he was in the light. And he was well versed in the shorthand code he used (an idea from Charlie actually, which they both used when they were partners) he could write in almost complete darkness and still be able to decipher it later. He used a separate notebook for each case in work, and only transcribed them to a more permanent form after a particular case was finished. And he sensed this case might have earned itself a new notebook about fifteen minutes ago.
Another movement (or was it?) seemed to catch his eye in the rear view mirror again. Another look around, accompanied by studious listening from the open window revealed nothing. Why was he so jumpy? The night had been calm and quiet so far; pleasant weather; why the nerves? He was certain it was only Miss Price he had followed, and Frank was sure Steele hadn't been with her at any time after she left the apartment complex earlier that evening.
Going back to his notes, he now knew (and wrote down) Miss Price unlawfully entered a home, and if she exited said home with or without any item from inside would determine if she added thief to her list of crimes. And that knowledge made Frank fairly uncomfortable. He was hired to find Miss Price (and he did), but now he had a responsibility to let the police know what she had just performed fifteen minutes ago. This was the first time she had done something like this while he had been tailing her, but for all he knew it wasn't her first time. And informing her parents of this type of nighttime activity (found her; she's sitting in jail because of me) wasn't something he was looking forward to. But if he didn't notify the police about knowing what she had done, he would be considered an accessory after the fact if she was arrested and his name somehow came up. There was no way he was going to lose his PI license over a twenty-something from Newton, Kansas.
When Frank finished writing he slipped the notebook into the 'hiding place' he had mounted under his seat (another habit he carried over from his time with Charlie), and placed the pen he used in his shirt pocket. During one of their earliest cases together he had misplaced, or "lost" as Charlie always corrected him, a notebook that cost the two almost three weeks of case information. So from that day onwards each car they used had 'hiding places' installed, either under each front seat or under the dash. He wasn't going to misplace a notebook ever again.
He lit up another cigarette and checked his watch; it was now almost twenty minutes past one. Looking towards the house, he asked himself what was she doing in there? Was she a very particular thief, looking for that one specific item? Or was she ransacking the place, filling a bag or pillow case she might've picked up with anything and everything that looked valuable?
Then she appeared, stepping out from around the rear of the house with what looked like a small item in one hand. Add thief to her rap sheet he thought. She seemed very careful in moving away from the house, very deliberate in fact. She also appeared to be looking over towards where he was parked. It was almost as if she was looking right at him. Frank began to get a little nervous, even though he was parked in a fairly dark spot. Could she actually see him? Now was not the time to be introduced to each other! She stopped suddenly, and now he was positive she was looking directly at him. He then heard a noise outside his window, and when he turned his head to find its source, he found himself looking directly into a silencer attached to the barrel of a .38 revolver. He never heard the shot that killed him.