Pulling the Trooth

by Robert P. Wills

  “Right.” Jerry snapped his fingers. “Because they weren’t wearing gloves! Whoever killed him wasn’t planning on killing him. A crime of passion? So they stabbed him and ran off, shocked at what they had done. Then realizing they had left their prints on the knife, they came back and took it.”

  “But they dropped it in the hallway.” Summer said.

  “Sure, sure. Once they wiped it off.” Jerry pantomimed wiping a knife handle off then dropping it. He looked down at the floor. “Then it didn’t matter if it was found or not. They were scott-free.” He pointed at the automatic paper towel holder. “Grab the knife, grab a paper towel, wipe it down as you run off. Drop the print-free knife and you’re scott free.” He waggled his eyebrows. “See what I did there?”

  “Nicely done.” Summer said. “But that does sound exactly right.”

  “But who wanted him dead?” Jerry looked up at Summer. “You said he was having an affair? That’s your prime suspect; whoever he was sleeping with. The spouses and significant others are usually the perpetrators.”

  “He wasn’t the one having the affair.” Summer said. “Stephanie Dixon and Brian Larson were having an affair. It had been going on for years.” She smirked. “They had a standing hook up at conventions. But apparently Scott was trying to blackmail Brian to join his,” Summer made little quotes with her fingers, “dental franchise kingdom by saying he would tell his wife about the affair.”

  “Wow, that really makes him the suspect.”

  Now Summer held up a finger. “But Stephanie was terribly upset about it as well. And she carries a really big purse.”

  “A big purse?”

  “A purse big enough for a kitchen knife.” Summer said.

  “That makes her another suspect. Hey; they may have even done it together.” He turned and pointed at an invisible person. “Did you kill him? Yes. Where’s the knife? I left it behind. You fool, it has your prints on it, you need to get it back!” He said as he pointed back and forth. “Never mind, I’ll go clean it off. Okay, meet you later.” He held his hands up. “Just like that.”

  “But Scott had also cost Terrance Brushwood’s ringer the love of his life. He was pretty upset too.”

  “What? Who?” Jerry said. “Who is Terrance Brushwood? And he had a ringer?”

  “The dentists sometimes bring their own patients with them for the competitions. Bill Volker is the one Terrance Brushwood brought.”

  “Huh. I see. Well, sort of. Who cares?”

  “A few conventions ago, Bill met the love of his life who also happened to be Scott Anderson’s ringer patient and it cost Scott the competition, so he broke them up.”

  “Did I just walk into a soap opera?” Jerry shook his head. “Who’d have thought a simple dentist convention would be so seedy under the surface?”

  “Right? And you haven’t even met Earl.” Summer shuddered.

  “Earl?”

  “He’s not important,” Summer said. “Anyway, Bill was upset with not only Scott for running off the love of his life, but also Doctor Brushwood because...” She smiled. “He put him up at the Ritz Motel for this convention.”

  Jerry grimaced. “The Ritz? Wow. I guess he wants Bill to quit, huh?”

  “You’d think he would just fire him.”

  Jerry shrugged. “Unless Bill has something on Doctor Brushwood.” He tilted his head to the side. “The same dentist who was working with Scott Anderson, right ? In this franchise thing. So maybe he blamed both of them.”

  “Maxine thinks he’s the murderer. Even though Bill told me he wasn’t.”

  “Of course he told you that. Prison is chock full of innocent people. Just ask them.” Jerry pushed himself off the sinks. “Hey, why were you asking about the deceased’s cell phone?”

  “Oh!” Summer said. “While we were following Scott, he looked like he was going into the conference room, then he got a message and he came into the bathroom instead.”

  “So you’re thinking whoever sent him a text was setting him up? That makes sense.”

  “So we need to check his phone.”

  “Hmmm.” Jerry thought for a moment. “Some sneakery is in order, methinks.”

  “Sneakery?” Summer put her hands on her hips.

  Jerry tilted his head toward his radio which was attached at his shoulder. “Dispatch, Unit Twenty-Three.” When the dispatcher responded he continued: “Dispatch, can you ten-five the unit for the convention center four-five-one with a ten seventy-nine to ten twenty-one me?” He cringed as he waited for a response.

  “What was all that?” Summer whispered.

  “You don’t have to whisper; they can’t hear you,” Jerry said. “I was trying to get a message to the unit that transported the evidence from here without Detective Thorndyke hearing. He doesn’t use call-codes because he doesn’t bother to remember them. He keeps a cheat card in his pocket...”

  “Wait one, Unit Twenty-three; your code nine hundred in process.” the dispatcher said.

  “Ten-four, Dispatch. Thanks.” He smiled. “Nice. Anyway, I asked the dispatcher to ten-five telephone the unit handling the code four-five-one murder here with a ten seventy-nine emergency message to twenty-one telephone me.”

  “Wow.”

  “And she just responded that she was going to have them make a code nine hundred wellness check on me, so they’re going to call.”

  “And the detective wouldn’t catch any of that?”

  Jerry shook his head. “Not unless some other officer told him, and the odds are they won’t because he treats everyone the same.”

  “Serves him right.” Summer said. “Trollop indeed.” She snapped her fingers.

  Jerry’s phone rang.

  “Look at that!” Summer clapped.

  “Mattis,” Jerry said when he answered his phone. “Hey, Tom. Listen, I’m tracking down a lead here and I was wondering if you took a phone into evidence from the deceased.” He nodded at Summer.

  “Nice!” Summer moved beside Jerry and put her head next to his to listen in on the call.

  He obliged by tilting the phone out so they both could hear. “Can you give me the last three calls he made and received?”

  “Text messages.” Summer whispered.

  When Tom repeated that, Jerry held his finger to his lips. “Got another trooper here. We’re just running down a lead, you know. So we can pass it to Thorndyke.” He nodded. “Sure, call me back.” He swiped his phone to end the call.

  “He’s going to do it?” Summer clapped again. “How long will it take?”

  He’s got to open the evidence bag which means he needs someone to witness the opening and checking of the phone, then the resealing of the bag, so it’s going to take a little time.” He pointed at the door. “We should leave before someone finds us in here.”

  “Right!” Summer took Jerry by the arm. “Let’s go wait outside!”

  “It might be a half hour, forty-five minutes before he calls back you know.”

  “What? I thought you said he just had to open the bag.” Summer pulled the door open.

  “Sure, once he gets down to the Evidence Department. He’s not sitting down there doing nothing all day.” Jerry walked out of the men’s room. “He wasn’t even in the station or he’d have called me on his office phone. He needs to drive back to the station, park, walk in, find someone willing to help him, take them to over to the Evidence cage, sign the bag out, turn on the phone...”

  “Okay, okay. So it’s going to be a while.” Summer frowned. “Fine. I’ll run down some other leads while we wait.”

  “What are you two talking about?” Oliver asked.

  “Where are you going to be?” Jerry said.

  Summer took a card from her satchel. “Call me when you get something, okay?”

  “What?” Oliver said.

  “Okay.” Jerry answered. “Be careful out there, we still have a murderer on the loose.”

  Summer turned and squeezed both of Jerry’s shoulders. “Oooh! I’
d kiss you if you didn’t have a serious girlfriend!”

  “I don’t have one of those,” Oliver pointed out. “Just... you know... in case.”

  Summer let go of Jerry and blew a kiss to Oliver as she turned and walked off.

  “That’s one strange, hot gal.” Oliver said. “Who were you talking to?”

  “Tom.” Jerry said. “We’re going to solve the murder.”

  “You and Tom?” Oliver smirked, “Tom and Jerry on the case?”

  “Me and Summer.” He pointed at Summer as she ran up the escalators to the second floor. “And you, partner.”

  “Still bucking for Sergeant, huh?”

  “You know it.” Jerry said.

  “So what did she tell you?”

  “Drama is what we’ve got going on here, partner. Loads of drama.” Jerry said as he started to recount what Summer had told him.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Summer ran up the stairs two at a time. When she reached the top, she looked left and right at the conference rooms where people were going in and out. Even with a murder on the premises- and a dentist at that- the convention was still going on.

  With a sigh, she moved to the closest one, hoping to find Terrance Brushwood. Thanks to speaking to Stephanie, she had lost track of him when he had just wandered off. She not only wanted to get his side of the story, but also was intrigued by his wink.

  She looked in the large conference room. There now seemed to be dental appliances set up on several tables. Large placards explained what each table displayed.

  Summer made a quick circuit of the room, looking for Terrance. She ran into Quincy instead.

  “Quincy!” She said.

  “What?” The man turned and looked. “Oh, Summer.” He frowned. “What’s happened now?”

  Summer moved to the man and whispered. “I don’t know; you tell me.”

  “Don’t make light of the situation, Summer.” He held his hands out. “This is more than just a job, running conventions. It’s what I do as a career.”

  Summer put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry Quincy, really.” She leaned in again. “Has the detective told you anything about the murder?”

  He shook his head. “No, not a word. The man is...difficult.”

  “He’s an ass is what he is.” Summer said. “Do you want me to fill you in on what’s happening?”

  “Is he close to arresting the... one who did it?”

  “I’m not sure,” Summer admitted. “But I’m making progress.”

  “At solving...” He looked around. “It?”

  “There are several suspects.” She leaned in close again. “Do you know about the affair?”

  Quincy shrugged. “That happens at every conference. It’s not anything new. Is that all you’ve found?”

  Summer considered that. “Well, it seems that two dentists were blackmailing another one to join their conglomeration.”

  “Huh; that’s different.” Quincy replied.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah; usually they throw money at people to get them on board, or hold a free fishing trip in Cancun, or skiing in Tahoe as a way to get them. And hookers, of course. Lots of hookers.”

  “Classy. This time they were threatening to tell the man’s wife about his affair.”

  “That’s pretty heavy handed.”

  “And one of the blackmailers is the d-e-a-d one.”

  “I’m pretty sure that the people who come to a dentist convention can spell, Summer.” Quincy smirked.

  Summer pursed her lips. “Mister Klugman, do you want to hear what I have to say or not?”

  Quincy shook his head. “To be honest, no. I honestly do not care about the skullduggery that goes on. I just want all the events to start on time, all the exhibits to be set up properly, and all the presentations to stay on schedule. That, my dear woman, is what makes a successful conference.”

  Now Summer chuckled. “I see. Well, I will leave you to it then.” A thought occurred to her. “In your travels, have you seen Doctor Brushwood?”

  Quincy thought for a moment. “He was in conference room three when I left there. He was talking to a small group of people about franchise ownership.”

  “Still at work, it seems.” Summer said. She smiled at the man. “Thanks Quincy.”

  “Sure, sure. Go get your story.” He shoo’ed her off.

  Summer smiled again then walked out, heading toward conference room three. As she went her phone buzzed in her back pocket. She took it out and read the text from Maxine- ‘Crazy Bill looking for you. FYI.’. “There’s some disturbing news,” she said to no one in particular.

  When she entered the conference room, she was surprised that once again, Terrance was standing -this time on a chair- addressing a small crowd.

  “And the added buying power of being part of a franchise is also translated into advertising,” he was saying. “Being able to afford commercials on radio, or television is very often beyond the means of all but a few dental practices. However, with several dozen offices in a general area sharing the costs, that is no longer the case.”

  A man raised his hand.

  “Yes?”

  “How does a generalized commercial help my particular practice?” The man asked Terrance.

  “Name recognition, first of all helps your particular practice,” Terrance answered. “And the commercial, which I admit is generic, does end with just over five seconds of ‘offices near you’.” He held up a finger. “Just like the advertisements on public busses drive business to not only you but your fellow dental practices.” He hopped off the chair and sat in it. “Remember that you are part of a family. The success of one office aids the other offices, a failure of one office also affects the other offices.” He leaned forward in his chair and looked to his left. “Well, Miss Laurel, we’re sorry you have to move, but the good news is we have a sister office near your new home. We can transfer all your records and future appointments for you if you would like.” He looked to the right. “That would be great thanks. At least we don’t have to add finding a new dentist to our list of things to do.” He looked back to his left. “We’re glad to help. All the insurance transfers right over, and if you have any questions or issues, you can always call us here.” He now looked at the man. “And those other offices do the same thing for you.” He brought his hands together and clasped them. “That’s the power of a franchise.”

  The man nodded. “Yeah, I suppose I see that.”

  Terrance looked at Summer. “Ahh. It seems it’s time for my interview.” He stood. “I believe the local paper is writing an article about the practice.”

  “Something like that, Doctor Brushwood.” Summer said. She smirked. “You know, my photographer’s little brother had his braces done at one of those franchise places.”

  He pointed at Summer. “Ahh, see that? That’s exactly what I’m talking about!”

  Several of the people sitting in front of him clapped.

  “Just grab a pamphlet and if you have any questions either contact me directly or call the number on it.” Terrance gestured at the stack of pamphlets on the table. “Miss Schauers, if you’re ready?” He smiled and gestured to a far end of the room.

  “You bet.” Summer moved to where the man had gestured.

  “Please,” Terrance pointed at a chair. “After you.”

  “What a charmer.” Summer sat. “Mind if I record you?” She pulled out her digital recorder.

  Terrance shook his head. “Not at all; hate to be mis-quoted.”

  Summer thumbed it on. “Interviewing Doctor Terrance Brushwood.

  Terrance leaned forward, toward the recorder. “Hello lovely readers!” He sat back and smiled. “So...”

  Summer hesitated. “I’m...”

  “You’re not asking about buying a franchise?”

  “Wouldn’t I need to be a dentist to do that?”

  “Not at all. In fact, a lot of times, if we can’t get one of the dentists to act as the office manager, we
have to hire one. Having a business management degree is actually more important to running a successful clinic than anything else.” He shrugged. “You can hire the best dentists around, but if the front office is a disaster area, folks will stop coming to you pretty quick.”

  “Huh, I never thought of it that way.” Summer said. “Still...” She pointed at herself. “Journalism degree, not business marketing.”

  “You’re still doing pretty well, I’d imagine.” He winked. “You seem pretty sharp.” He got serious. “So what are you interested in, Miss Flowers.”

  Summer smirked. “It’s Schauers, actually.”

  “Oh! I’m sorry. Honest mistake, really. Summer Schauers, of course.” He gestured at her.

  “Okay, Doc,” Summer said. “The deal is...” She stopped. “You do know that Scott is dead, right?”

  Terrance nodded. “Yes. I heard.”

  Summer expected him to tell her who had informed him. When he didn’t, she pressed on. “And the two of you were partners, right?”

  “We were, yes. Very successful partners. We have signed up eight more dentists at this conference.”

  “Eight? Wow, that’s a lot of new offices.”

  “I wish.” Terrance laughed. “No, that’s not how it works. Out of the eight, only two or three will actually pass the financial checks, and have the collateral to put up. And we have positions to fill in established clinics as well as opening new ones. These two or three might mean just one more clinic, if any at all.”

  “And these eight dentists are all willing participants?”

  “Why wouldn’t they be?”

  Summer steeled herself. “Because the word on the street is that you were blackmailing Brian to join your franchise conglomerate.”

  “Just franchise. A conglomerate is a business made up of other businesses working in different fields.” He smiled. “All we do is dentistry. And we do it right.”

  She nodded, catching that he didn’t actually address the question about blackmailing Brian, she asked again: “And Brian was not interested in joining your franchise even after you threatened him?”

  “I didn’t threaten anyone,” Terrance said curtly. “Ever.”