Murder at Broadcast Park

by Bill Evans

  Pedderman didn’t understand his wife’s muted reaction. He would rather her scream at him, cuss at him, or even hit him. Her silence was killing him on the inside. Then she did something that was so out of character that it scared him. Anna got up from her chair and walked over to the chest that sat on the living room floor. Without saying a word, she opened the chest and pulled out an object wrapped in a blanket. Her husband watched intently, not knowing what the object was or what she was doing. Anna opened up the blanket to reveal a revolver and a box of ammunition. David’s eyes opened wide. He had never seen the gun before and he was afraid what his wife might do.

  She walked over to where her husband was sitting and, without a word, she laid the gun in front of him. Her hands held the box of ammunition and she carefully opened it, took one bullet out, and closed the box. David noticed his wife’s eyes were dark and lifeless. He knew at the moment that he had destroyed her spirit. Anna took the one bullet and placed it next to the gun. Her message was loud and clear. She picked her purse up on the kitchen counter, and just as David had entered the room, Anna left through the kitchen to the garage. Moments later, Pedderman heard his wife drive away, leaving him by himself with a gun and one bullet.

  Pedderman sat at the table contemplating his wife’s message. He never picked up the gun because he was afraid he might actually follow through with his wife’s wishes. He sat through the night, never getting up from the table and believing his life was truly over.

  Several knocks at the door as well as the ringing doorbell startled David. He had barely gotten to his feet when the door popped open with a loud bang. The Santa Barbara Swat Team entered the front room with guns drawn. Seconds later, David Pedderman was on the ground with Detectives Reynolds and Tracy standing over him.

  “Get him up. Cuff him. David Pedderman, you’re not under arrest. You are being handcuffed for our protection right now.”

  “Gun on the table,” shouted Tracy to his partner.

  “David, what’s the story with the gun? Were you thinking about suicide?” Tracy asked.

  David didn’t answer. He was in shock over what had just happened in a matter of seconds. “What is going on, detectives? Tell me something.” His voice was cracking under the pressure of the past twelve hours. “What is this about?”

  “Mr. Pedderman, we have a search warrant for your residence, your car, and your office.” Reynolds placed the paperwork in his cuffed hands. “If you have anything in the house or garage that we’re going to find, you’d be doing everyone a favor by telling us now.”

  “Detective Reynolds, I don’t know what you are talking about. What are you looking for?”

  “Have a seat.” Reynolds guided his suspect down on to the chair. Tracy was going through the kitchen cupboards. Reynolds started in the dining room and living room. The house was full of officers going through every drawer, looking under cushions, and between the mattresses in every bedroom. “David, where is your wife?”

  Pedderman looked up with tears in his eyes. “She left me.”

  “Skip, come out here, will you?” Tracy called, standing in the doorway leading to the garage. There was an officer standing in the garage over a barrel that was tucked away under a shelf and covered by a blanket.

  “What did you find?” Reynolds asked.

  “Take a look. There’s what appears to be an air bag that is all cut up in a plastic bag. Didn’t the medical examiner tell us that the poison he suspected in the murders was a chemical used in airbags?”

  “Yes, he did.” Reynolds took the plastic bag from his partner’s hand and walked it into the living room where his now-murder suspect was sitting.

  “Mr. Pedderman, do you know what this is?”

  “Trash?” he questioned. Trying to figure out what was in the plastic bag held in front of him he quietly stated, “I have no idea.”

  “If I’m not mistaken, it is a cut-up air bag from a car,” Reynolds said.

  “Now, why would you have this hidden away in your garage?” asked Tracy.

  Pedderman had a lost expression on his face. He thought he clearly was losing his mind. “I’ve never seen that before.” Moments of silence followed before he asked the detectives, “And why does it matter? It looks like trash.”

  “David, the medical examiner believes the chemical sodium azide was used to kill Jesse Anderson and Steve Johnson,” Reynolds said.

  “So?”

  “Sodium azide is found in airbags.” Detective Tracy was now taking the lead in the conversation.

  The police officer that found the plastic bag containing the air bag waived to Tracy to come over to him in the kitchen. They talked for a minute before the detective returned to his partner and their suspect in the living room.

  The search in the rest of the house didn’t turn up anything. The two detectives conferred several times and then decided they still didn’t have enough to hold the sales manager for murder. They certainly were getting closer, but until they got a lab report back from forensics, they didn’t feel they had enough to charge Pedderman. They hoped the lab would confirm the hidden plastic bag was possibly the murder weapon. They also decided against putting him in protective custody. He didn’t appear to be suicidal, despite the gun.

  20

  DUGAN HUNG UP THE phone and walked into the library where Stewart Simpson was sitting. “Everything is in place, sir. The rest will be taken care of tonight. Would you like your breakfast, now?”

  “Please. Let me have two pieces of whole wheat toast, dry, with two boiled eggs. Anything I need to know about how this will be done?” Stewart asked the question that he didn’t really want an answer to.

  “No, sir. It’s all being handled with very capable contract labor.”

  ***

  Barry got a call from Detective Tracy, who filled him in on the Monday morning raid on David Pedderman’s home. He told him everything. Even about the gun found on the table with one bullet next to it. The two men speculated that the station’s sales manager was probably thinking of suicide, believing he was about to be caught for the two murders but that he didn’t have the nerve to go through with it.

  After hanging up the phone, Barry went down the hall to see his general manager. Lisa was thumbing through papers on her desk when Barry knocked on the door and walked in. He filled her in on his conversation with Detective Tracy. The two TV executives were in somewhat of a shock. They had known David Pedderman a long time, and even though they both thought he was a “sleazy salesman” who fucked around with anyone he could, they never thought he was capable of murder.

  Lisa felt relieved in one way. At least it wasn’t Stewart. She was heartsick over her sales manager, but thankful that her boss and lover was not involved.

  ***

  John Rankin met Barry as he was going back into his office. “Come on in, John. What’s up?”

  “I know about the raid on Pedderman’s house. I know about the trash bag that was found with the air bag. And I know about the chemical that is being thought of as the murder weapon, which is used in airbags. I want to run with this story on the news tonight.”

  The news director was seeing his young reporter grow up before his eyes. He was impressed that this young kid had already gotten his own inside sources and that the information was accurate.

  “You can do the story, but not yet. Besides, no arrest has been made. You can’t name Pedderman as a suspect until the police make it official.”

  John suspected that his boss might be sitting on a story simply because it involved one of their own. “Mr. Burke, we can’t ignore this story because it involves someone who works here.”

  “We’re not ignoring it. I just want you to hold off until an arrest is officially made. You’ll still beat the competition because we’ll know as soon as Pedderman is picked up, if that indeed happens. Besides, I want to give Lisa some time to figure out how she is going to handle this from a PR standpoint.” Barry took a couple of breaths before he continued. “So, who�
�s your source on the inside?”

  “You know I can’t tell you,” John said.

  “Can’t? Or won’t?” Barry asked.

  “Either one, I’m not telling you.” John walked out of Barry’s office. The kid wasn’t about to let this one go. He thought about calling the sales manager, ostensibly to see if he was okay. What he truly wanted was to see was if Pedderman would talk to him. It did worry him that Pedderman might be pissed that he was the one that told about their conversation and that’s what started this whole downturn. Maybe he would just drive over and see him in person. The truth was he’d like to talk to Pedderman on camera before the police arrested him. Everyone at the station speculated his arrest was going to happen—and soon.

  Local broadcasting was the worst when it came to rumors, speculation, and just plain lies. This was especially true when it came to lies about co-workers or their peers at other stations. It didn’t seem to matter if it was a station in Los Angeles or New York or a station in Santa Barbara. Broadcast people in general loved to gossip and slam people, especially their own. It was a cruel business from that perspective. People always wanted to feel they were in the know even when they didn’t have a clue as to what the real truth was. When one station had juicy rumors, it would spread through the television and radio communities faster than a New York minute. The CBS Santa Barbara station family was the fodder for all the gossip right now. The truth didn’t matter because it was about whoever had the best story to tell. That became everyone’s truth at least until it was proven not to be true. Then it was just dismissed as if no one had ever brought it up in the first place.

  David Pedderman had not really slept in twenty-four hours, except for the few minutes he got before the police woke him. He looked like he hadn’t slept as he stumbled around the house occasionally picking up things off the floor and putting them back in drawers. The police were very good at going through stuff, but they didn’t make any effort to put things away.

  Pedderman had called Anna’s cell phone at least a dozen times. He wanted to talk to her. She never picked up. He went into the garage and stood over the place where the police found the “hidden” plastic bag trying to figure out how that got there. Who put that in his garage and why would anyone do that? He even wondered if Anna didn’t set him up herself. The mind plays a lot of funny games when you are sleep-deprived and under unmanageable stress. Pedderman had a lot of questions that he would never get answers to.

  The ringing phone brought Pedderman back into the house. He had left his cell phone on the kitchen counter hoping that Anna would, at some point, return his calls. As he reached for the phone, he hoped it would be his wife; it wasn’t.

  “David, Stewart Simpson calling.”

  Pedderman recognized the voice even though he had only heard it a couple of dozen times over the past several years. Mr. Simpson had never called the sales manager before on his cell phone. Things were beyond surprising him anymore.

  “Yes, Mr. Simpson, what can I do for you?”

  “David, how are you holding up? I’ve been worried about you. Are you doing okay?”

  “I’m doing as well as can be expected. I’m a little surprised by your phone call, sir.”

  “Look, you’re one of our family and I’m concerned about you. You’ve done a good job year after year and I know how hard you’ve worked for my company. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Mr. Simpson sounds sincere, David thought.

  Now Pedderman didn’t know what to think. Was it possible that the owner of the station really did know what kind of job he had done for the CBS affiliate?

  “Mr. Simpson, I really appreciate your call, but there isn’t anything you can do for me unless you know a good attorney.”

  “Seriously, are you going to need one?”

  “I don’t think so, but I might. It doesn’t appear that anyone believes me. I’m not even sure Lisa believes me.” Pedderman was fighting back tears.

  “David, I can help you. If you are truly innocent, then I want to help get your life back on track. Let’s do this. I’m going to send Dugan, my assistant, to pick you up. Join me for dinner and you can fill me in on all the details and let’s see if I can’t help you out of this mess.” Stewart was convincing.

  “Mr. Simpson, you don’t have to do this.” Pedderman choked back a sob.

  “I insist. You are part of our station family. Dugan is on his way. We’ll have dinner and try to figure this out.”

  Over the next twenty minutes, Pedderman raced to get a hold of himself. A cold shower and a shave woke him up. Optimism seeped in. He wasn’t quite sure what to wear to Mr. Simpson’s house but he wanted to make a good impression. Maybe, just maybe, this could all go away. He could turn this around. Like most blatant liars, he could even lie to himself.

  “Dugan, this is better this way. I don’t want outside help, no matter how good they might be. The fewer people that are tied to this the better. We’ll just keep this between the two of us. It’s safer that way.” Stewart told Dugan what he had expected to hear.

  “It’s the right call, boss. I’ll go pick him up. I’ve got the rest of it handled.” Dugan headed out the door to the car.

  Twenty minutes later, Dugan arrived at the Pedderman house and went to the door to pick up the sales manager. Dugan was purposely not very talkative. Pedderman tried to start a conversation, but the owner’s trusted assistant was not willing to open up, even the slightest.

  Once the two arrived at the Home Ranch Estates, Dugan drove the car into the circular driveway, stopping at the entrance. Pedderman’s eyes told the story that Dugan had seen so many times before from first-time visitors. As usual, Mr. Simpson greeted his visitor as Dugan opened the front door. David Pedderman was beginning to feel better and better about his situation. He truly felt like things might be changing for the better. Maybe Mr. Simpson can really help, and maybe I can go back to work, he thought.

  Stewart Simpson was a master at making people comfortable, even though they might be out of their league around him. Pedderman was certainly out of his league with Mr. Simpson. Once Dugan was sure his boss and Pedderman were comfortable, he disappeared out the front door so he could bring the car around to the garage area. This was a familiar scene that had played out only weeks earlier when another station employee visited the home of the station owner.

  “David, tell me, and I want you to be totally honest with me. I can’t help you unless I know the truth.” Stewart Simpson sounded as sincere as the Santa Barbara sky was blue. “Be totally honest. Did you kill Steve and Jesse?”

  Pedderman put his head down, shaking it from side to side, and then he voiced what his head was saying, “No . . . no, no, no. I didn’t kill anyone. I may be a lot of things, but I’m not a killer.”

  “What about the polygraph test? I heard it was inconclusive. Why do you think that was?”

  “I don’t know how to answer that, Mr. Simpson. I answered every question as honest as I could. I never killed anyone.” The conversation was causing David Pedderman to get emotional again. He was a physical mess and no matter how hard he tried to hold it together in front of his owner, he wasn’t doing a very good job. Simpson thought that was the only way a real innocent man would behave.

  “Gentlemen, dinner is ready if you would follow me to the dining room.” Dugan’s interruption was right on cue. It was a welcomed change to a very tense conversation. As the three walked to the dining room, the house phone rang.

  “Excuse me, please. I will answer the phone. Please be seated.” Dugan left the room. A minute later he returned. “Mr. Simpson, it’s a call you should take.”

  Stewart knew from Dugan’s tone that the call was important. “Excuse me, David, I’ll be right back.”

  “This is Stewart.”

  “Stewart, it’s Lisa. Okay if I stop over this evening?” The question caught Stewart off guard. He planned this evening knowing that Lisa was not going to be available to him. “Lisa, it’s not a good nigh
t. What about tomorrow night for dinner?”

  That was not an answer Lisa was used to hearing. She wondered if Stewart was entertaining another lady friend. It bothered her that her jealousy kept creeping into her thoughts about the man she couldn’t have on a full-time basis.

  “I really need to see you tonight. Can I stop by later?”

  Stewart could tell that Lisa wondered what he was doing. He didn’t want any red flags, so he decided it was in everyone’s best interest if he allowed her to stop by.

  “Give me a few hours to finish up some work I’m doing. Why don’t you come around nine?”

  “I’ll see you then. You won’t be sorry. I really need you tonight.”

  Stewart hadn’t heard Lisa express herself this way to him in a long time. She usually kept her passion protected from him. It excited him that she was voicing it, and combined with what he had planned for his guest, it was beginning to turn him on in a sick and twisted way. Stay in control, he told himself.

  Entering the dining room where Dugan had already delivered the salads and poured the wine, Stewart took his seat across from Pedderman. “Sorry about that. David, have you talked to an attorney yet?”

  “No. I didn’t think I needed one, and quite honestly, I don’t have any way to pay for an attorney. I really thought that once I took the polygraph that would clear me and I wouldn’t be a suspect anymore.”

  “Look, the one thing you can’t be, David, is naïve in this situation. This is a matter of your freedom and you’re being looked at for two homicides. You need an attorney, and you needed one yesterday. I’m going to make a call, and tomorrow I’ll set up a meeting for you.” Stewart was trying to comfort Pedderman.

  “Mr. Simpson, I can’t tell you what that means to me. I feel like I’m in this all alone.”

  “What about your wife, David? How is she holding up?” Stewart’s question hurt David to think about it.