Authors: Lorne L. Bentley
“I understand that Mr. Jackson was the division head of the division you now head up. And as you most likely know, he was killed in the downtown shooting.”
“Yes Lieutenant, it was a terrible thing. What are the odds of two of our division heads being terminated like that?”
Strange choice of words, Fred thought, that Flynn had used the term terminated rather than killed.
Responding to Flynn’s rhetorical questions, he said, “I don’t know, perhaps about the same odds as your being able to defy the laws of physics in your experiments.”
Fred realized that he hadn’t gotten anywhere with his real purpose for the interrogation and now the day was almost gone. He could rationalize that what he was doing was getting necessary background information; but he knew he had been captivated by the pure fantasy of what this company was attempting to do. He still didn’t understand how the various actions of the individual divisions would be of practical value to the secret agencies or single agency they were working for. He recalled the theory of Parkinson’s Law in which work expands to fill the time available. He believed there should be a corollary to that in which work expands to match the federal budget, regardless of the value of the activities undertaken. Fred wasn’t sure Schultz’s company was accomplishing anything of value, other than rapidly spending the rush of new monies allocated to the war on terror.
“I have two final questions, “said Fred. “Why did you submit a grievance against your boss?”
“Oh that! It really wasn’t a big deal, Lieutenant. Mr. Jackson had disapproved some trips that I had hoped to take. We resolved it amicably. He explained to me that he really needed my expertise in the office more than out on the road. I never should have filed the grievance. You can check with anybody, and they will tell you that we got along very well.”
“Do you know anybody that would want to kill your former boss?”
“I’m sorry; I wouldn’t have a clue. He didn’t make enemies easily; he had a low key approach to whatever he did, and his method of management was democratic. He really allowed us to do our own thing with minimal interference.”
Chapter 46
When he arrived home, Fred noticed an envelope under his screen door. There was no postmark; the address, written in bold red letters, stated, “To Lieutenant Fred Harris.” Fred said to himself, what the hell is this? He opened the envelope and removed its contents. It was a one-page note also written in red, apparently with a broad marker pen. It said, “Get off the murder cases or you will die.” It was signed
The Marvel
.
Well, he thought, some nut case had apparently gotten my address and decided to play some games with me. He crumpled it and dropped it in the waste basket on his way to the kitchen to feed Molly.
* * *
The chief was not at all pleased with Paul. He had received two recent reports from irate citizens as to how they had been treated. One complaint was from a 95-year-old man. The other related to an alleged suspect in the theater killing, whom Paul had roughed up at his house. That person turned out not to be a suspect at all. These were blatant errors by a person who was almost promoted to lieutenant, he thought. Damn it, I’ve continuously gone out on a limb for him, and this is the thanks I get? At the same time, Harris seems to be proceeding at glacier speed in his handling of his investigation. Isn’t there anyone on my staff who can do something right?
* * *
Paul and the theater ticket taker had resumed checking the list of people who had purchased flowers from Young’s. Paul was frustrated and doubting whether or not a suspect would ever be identified.
At the home of the tenth name on the list, a blonde woman opened the door.
Paul said “Miss, may I please speak to your husband?”
“What about?” she responded defensively. Paul was reluctant to reveal he was a police officer but felt he had no choice. He showed her his badge and said it was police business.
She said “OK,” closing the door behind her. After what seemed like an eternity a tall dark haired man in his late thirties came to the door. Silently reminding himself not to repeat his previous mistakes, Paul said, “Sir, we are—”
The ticket taker interrupted with, “That’s him! That’s him!” Paul wasn’t expecting verbalization from Carl; he was awaiting the distinct sound of the coughing signal. Paul was frozen; if he acted too quickly, he feared another embarrassing situation, too slowly and the man might overcome him. He screamed at Carl, “Are you sure, are you really sure this is the man?”
“Yes, no question.” Carl was shaking visibly.
Paul said to the man, “You are under arrest.” He read him his rights while handcuffing him. Paul’s hands were shaking. Success, he thought. Success at last! Now the chief will regret the day he decided not to promote me!
He forcefully placed the suspect in his patrol car and proceeded to the station, siren blasting all the way, a broad grin etched on his face.
* * *
Without knocking, and ignoring office protocol, Paul brought the suspect directly to the chief’s office. As he entered the office, unable to stifle his feelings, he said, smiling broadly, “Boss, guess who I have with me?”
“Let me guess—could it be Mr. Barry Shepard, the best defense attorney in the whole damn county?”
Paul said, “What?”
“You heard me, now what are you charging him with, Paul?”
“Well, Chief, he’s been identified as the theater murderer.”
“Are you insane? How did you come to that brilliant determination?”
Paul had been full of pride as he drove the suspect to the station; now he was embarrassed. “Well, the ticket taker at the theater identified him.” With false bravado, he added “And it was a positive identification—a totally positive identification!”
Ignoring Paul, the chief said, “Mr. Shepard, I have one simple question for you. Where were you between two and three p.m. on the afternoon of December the 3rd?”
Without blinking an eye, Shepard responded, “I attended an afternoon show of
Hello Dolly
at the Van Wezel. I was there all the time. I was in seat number 18 left, in the first row.”
“Thank you. Now, Officer, please take the cuffs off Mr. Shepard and escort him home. And to you, Mr. Shepard, please accept my deepest personal apology for the great inconvenience that we have caused you.”
Paul was stunned. “But he has been identified, positively identified,” Paul offered, hoping to retain a modicum of self respect.
The chief frowned, “By a very impressionable young man, who was obviously terribly mistaken. Now, take Mr. Shepard home.” Shepard left the station yelling, “I am going to sue the whole damn bunch of you!”
After Paul left, the chief called in Fred. He told him what had just happened. He then said something that stunned Fred. “Fred, I think I am going to have to get rid of Paul. He was at one time one of my bright hopes for the future of this station, but he has made too many bad misjudgments lately. I just can’t have this.”
Fred found himself defending Paul, something he never thought he would have or want to do. “Sir, perhaps he’s feeling the pressure of the homicide investigations like the rest of us.”
The chief ignored Fred’s defense. “Well, we do have to at least go through the motions and check out Shepard’s alibi. I’m sure that a man with that much of a reputation and experience as an attorney, would not give us an alibi that isn’t rock solid. But I want you to verify it anyway.”
“No problem, but it’s almost 5 p.m. and the ticket office will be closed now; I’ll check it out tomorrow.”
“Well, I’ve already released Mr. Shepard—no rush, Fred.”
* * *
On the way back to Shepard’s house Paul was quiet. This was no time for talking anyway; Shepard was glaring at him all the way and the chief had apologized enough for both of them. Underneath Paul was seething. He didn’t know how, but he knew somehow Fred had something to do with the embarrassment he was suffering. I will get even with that bastard if it’s the last thing I do, he muttered to himself.
* * *
The next morning Fred went to the Van Wezel box office and asked them about the performance and who had purchased the seat number that Shepard had provided for his alibi. Barbra Hilton was the office worker who was responsible for the theater files. She came back with the information in a short time. “Oh, yes, here it is. The ticket was bought by Mr. Clark Conners. In fact, he has reserved seats 18 and 19 for the entire season.”
Fred said, “You must be wrong. I am talking about the performance of
Hello Doll
y on the afternoon of December 3rd.”
“Yes Lieutenant, that’s the show I’m talking about. There’s no question, that seat
was purchased by Mr. Connors.”
Fred felt that it was probable that Connors gave Shepard the ticket as a gift; or maybe Shepard purchased it from Connors. Fred obtained the address for Connors and, wanting to resolve the conflict as soon as possible, went directly to see him at his home.
* * *
Connors answered the door and Fred, not mincing any words, led off by saying, “I’m investigating a murder and I need to know if you were at the Van Wezel Theater during the afternoon performance on December the 3rd? By the way, don’t be worried, you are not a suspect.”
Connors responded immediately. “That was
Hello Dolly,
a great performance. Yes, I saw it.”
“Was your seat number 18 left, in the first row?”
“Yes that’s always my seat; my wife and I are season ticket holders.”
Fred was taken back. “Do you by any chance know a Barry Shepard?”
“I think he’s a local lawyer, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is.”
“Well, yes, I’ve heard of him, I dare say everybody in this area has heard of him. Why do you ask?”
“One more question—is it possible that you might have given your seat to him for that performance?” No, of course not!”
“Are you absolutely sure?”
“Hey, I was sitting in that seat myself. I think I would have noticed if someone else was in it with me, don’t you?”
* * *
Fred returned to the station. He would have to air this out with the chief. The chief looked up as Fred entered. “Boss, I checked out Shepard’s alibi and it turns out he was not the person who purchased the tickets for the seat at that performance; and the person who did purchase the seat was at the performance.”
“Are you sure, Fred; is there any question? If we’re wrong on this, we’ll be the laughing stock of Sarasota.”
“No boss, I’ve no doubt whatsoever. I’ll talk to Shepard again, but I think we may need to bring him in again. I hope he can come up with a better story than his last one.”
“OK,” the chief said, “but don’t include Paul in this. He has all the delicacy of a steamroller. And for God’s sake, make sure that you handle this assignment with finesse. We both know there must be some explanation, Shepard is much too smart an attorney to lie when he knows that his statements will be verified.”
Fred then uttered something he had not intended to. “Chief, to be honest, my gut says that he was in fact the shooter. But at the same time I somehow don’t believe he was responsible for his actions.”
The chief looked up with a puzzled look, not sure what to make of Fred’s remark. “Fred, I remember an old Dracula movie and one of the guards in the movie said something like ‘everybody is crazy around here except you and me—and I’ve got me doubts about you.’ I really don’t know what you’re saying, Fred, and I don’t believe I want to know. Check it out!”
* * *
Fred left for the Shepard home, feeling certain what he was going to find out. As Fred expected, Shepard could provide no additional justification for his whereabouts during the theater shooting. He continued to insist that he was at the theater during the shooting and sitting in seat number 18. Fred had already obtained a ticket stub from Connors which verified that he had used the seat during the day in question. He showed it to Shepard.
Shepard said, “I don’t believe it, this is some type of insane police conspiracy!”
Fred had no option but to take Shepard in, while not believing for an instant that he was really responsible for the melee.
The DA was immediately informed of the arrest. He knew Shepard personally, and although their roles in society were diametrically opposed, he had developed great respect for him over the years. He at first was dubious that Shepard could be the theater murderer; but faced with the strong evidence, he reluctantly capitulated.
As expected, Shepard hired a high profile lawyer to defend him. And his first effort was to get him released on his own recognizance. The attorney contended that Shepard had been a prominent member of the community for over a decade, had contributed to numerous civil affairs both in time and money, and had a spotless police record, not even earning a traffic ticket. The judge, who had seen Shepard in court numerous times, felt that the evidence against him was overpowering. He directed that he be remanded pending trial.
That same afternoon the chief called Paul, Jim and Fred into his office. His office was the largest in the station; and prior to the station’s modernization, it had contained two desks to accommodate both the station’s chief and his lieutenant. The modernization provided the lieutenant’s position with a separate but much smaller office. The chief never had the extra desk removed from his office space. He used it primarily to store administrative papers and local phone books. During this meeting Fred sat at the extra desk, but to avoid looking as if her were asserting authority over the other two detectives, he pulled the chair around to the side of the desk. The chief sat to his right, with Jim and Paul perched on high-back chairs at the opposite side of the room.