“You want a physical description?”
“Something like that.”
“Is that all?”
“Look, I know about what we’re looking for. I know a dummy couldn’t quote Shakespeare. I know a jerk can’t pull off these murders without leaving clues. We’re dealing with a sharp cookie. I know he is pissed. Sure he had a rough life, we all did. Anyone can be pissed off at their parents if they want. What I want to know is how am I going to find him and where. When you can do that for me, I’ll come running,” I said.
“They said you were a real hard case,” she said shaking her head.
“That may be so but I’m also a darn good cop and I want to work with people who are willing to go out on the same limb I’m on. No pussyfooting around. No nets to break the fall. I’ll go out and get this creep but I’ll do it the hard way, working the case and looking for clues.”
“Christ, you are obstinate.”
“I would say that is an accurate profile, Ms. Dixon.”
“Come on, I’ll buy you lunch.”
“What?”
“You’re a detective. Didn’t you see that one coming?”
“Uh, can’t say that I did.”
“Working the case, looking for clues. Some hotshot,” she said patting me on the back. This was a strange woman.
* * *
“You know,” I said, as we slipped into a booth by one of the front windows, “I usually don’t make it a habit of being seen with FBI types,” I said.
“How would they know I was with the FBI?”
“People can just tell.”
“Really? Like they can tell cops?”
“That’s different. We drive funny cars and dress really badly. Gives us away every time.”
“What do we do that gives us away?”
“You always wear dark clothes, white shirts, and sunglasses. Kind of like what you have on right now.”
“Bullshit.”
“You do.”
“I don’t wear this every day,” she said.
“Some variation of it, I’ll bet.”
“They can’t tell from that.”
“Excuse me,” I yelled to the man sitting at the booth across from us reading a paper, “Does this lady look she works for the FBI?”
He looked at her then looked at me.
“She does but you don’t. You’re just a common cop,” he said and returned to his paper.
“See?”
She just laughed and shook her head.
“You really are nuts.”
“That’s your professional profiler opinion?”
“Oh yeah,” she said.
We sat and talked about everything and nothing. Mostly small talk about the FBI and how crazy the world was in general. Some important issues like shoes and purses managed to work their way into the conversation. I had to give her credit. She wasn’t full of herself. She had been involved in some fairly high profile cases during her twelve years as a profiler but admitted that she was still learning from every case. She didn’t pretend to know it all. I had met some in the past who thought they could practically walk on water, which to my knowledge had only been done successfully by one person. Of course Marcia Baker was an exception to that. I had really enjoyed working with her in the past.
“Why do you think he put the camera in Kramer’s place?” I asked while we were eating.
“Maybe to see what you guys looked for. Trying to learn what he was up against. Kind of getting to know the enemy,” she said.
“How did he know we would even come back?”
“Do you ever just visit the crime scene once?”
“No, not really. I know I seldom do. I often go back and look at it two, three, sometimes a dozen times. Trying to see it through different lenses.”
“There you go. He figured you would come back. He wanted to see how you operated. He just didn’t expect you to turn on the TV. It caught both of you off guard,” Jean said.
“It sure shocked me.”
“Do you think he learned anything?”
“I don’t know. I just poked around a little. I doubt he got much out of it. I just don’t know. Maybe a few things.”
“You never know. Maybe he feels he learned more about his enemy than you know.”
“That’s a cheery thought.”
“Speaking of cheery thoughts, it’s starting to snow again,” she said.
“Oh goodie.”
“What’s your next move?” she asked.
“I’ve got to find out who represents Kramer in his financial and legal dealings. Something keeps telling me that person is on this guy’s list. The lawyer reference keeps rattling around in my head. I haven’t figured out the skull part. Maybe that isn’t meant to be literal.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. I mean, look at Kramer. He stuck his head in an aquarium so the fish could eat his face. He could have just drowned him if he didn’t want it to be taken literally.”
“Good point. We really are dealing with a nut case.”
“We call them disturbed,” she said.
“I call them nuts,” I said.
“Yes, I suppose you would,” she said and laughed.
She had a fortune in teeth and a nice laugh.
* * *
I was sick of the cold and sick of the snow. Mother Nature was unimpressed. She continued to dump on the city. Once again everything was at a standstill and our investigation came to a halt. The streets became impassable once again as ten more inches of snow blanketed the area. I was tempted to go outside and see if I could find any two snowflakes that were exactly alike but decided against it in the end.
Instead I worked on getting paperwork caught up, filing done, and sleeping on the Captain’s couch when he wasn’t around. We lost power a couple of times but thankfully the emergency generators kicked on so we at least had lights and heat. I felt sorry for the sixty thousand that had lost power and weren’t expected to get it back for three to four days.
Saturday, a break in the weather finally came. It stopped snowing and the sun actually made a guest appearance. The temperature soared to a balmy thirty degrees and the snow plows were able to clear some of the most widely traveled roads. The good news was that it was going to be all the way up to thirty-six tomorrow. Summer at last. At least it seemed like it. That is, if we could trust the weatherman. Sometimes I think they just like to mess with us. With any luck we could get back to the business of solving these murders.
* * *
“I’m sorry; you just didn’t get the part.”
“I don’t understand. I knew every line. I hit my marks. I’ve practice over and over.”
“Yes. Yes. You did a magnificent job but Chad is going to be Romeo. I’m sorry.”
“Why? Chad made a bunch of mistakes. At least five. How can he possibly get the part?”
“I know it doesn’t seem fair but I can’t do anything about it. The Department Chair intervened and said that Chad Litton would play the part of Romeo.”
“I don’t understand. That guy wasn’t even here for the tryouts. How could he know who was best?”
“Please. Don’t make this any more difficult than it is. I don’t like it any better than you do. I have no choice. I’m not tenured. If I don’t go along with this I will never get on full time. Dr. Beck will never approve me if I fight him on this.”
“Professor Sikes. This isn’t right. Did Chad have something to do with this?”
“No. To Chad’s credit, he was totally shocked. He thought you should get the part.”
“Then, I don’t understand.”
“Mr. Litton has donated one hundred thousand dollars to the theater department. Dr. Beck is ensuring that the donation is properly secured.”
“He bought the part for Chad?”
“To have what we would have, we speak not what we mean,” the Professor said.
“Ah, Measure for Measure I believe.”
“Quite right.”
CHAPTER SIXT
EEN
I was reading the paper, something I seldom do anymore. I use to enjoy it but now days I found it so depressing and let’s face it, my job was depressing enough without adding anything to it.
Things had gotten to the point where I was wondering if God had just given up on us. When we get to the point where it is no longer correct to say ‘Merry Christmas’, something is wrong with the world. I’ll bet those same people who object to it sure don’t mind taking that day off. They probably want those Christmas bonuses too. Hypocrites the whole doggone lot of them.
I finished off the rest of my Diet Coke and threw the can and the paper in the trash. I glanced outside and it almost looked pleasant. Maybe we could actually get some work done for a change.
Once I got clear of the neighborhood streets the rest was smooth sailing. The front end on the Austin Healy seemed a little stiff, probably needed new kingpins. They had to be replaced every eight to ten years and mine were overdue. That would have to wait until spring; I was still recovering financially from buying it.
“Ah, the prodigal daughter returns,” Dan said as I came up the stairs.
I did a little bow and kept on walking to my desk. Of the thirty-six law firms I had called, only four had bothered to return my call. Gee, I was so surprised. Returning calls that are not billable are never on the top of their ‘to do’ lists.
After talking to each of the attorneys and getting nowhere I decided I was going about this all wrong. I walked down to see our computer geek, Joe Newman. Joe might be a geek but I mean that in the most complimentary way. He refers to himself as a geek. If it is out there in cyberspace Joe will find it.
“Hey Joe, what’s cooking?”
“Cooking? Nothing. I can’t cook.”
“Never mind that Joe, I need you to find out something for me.”
“Sure Angie. Is this something official or off the record?”
Joe was a good guy. Sometimes I kind of needed information that wasn’t exactly official in nature and he would always come though without questioning why I wanted it.
“Official. Andrew Kramer. He has to have a trail of his dealings a mile long. I want you to dig up everything you can. Who he has dealt with, when, and who handles his legal work, especially the legal work.”
“Heck, that shouldn’t be too hard. If he is doing business legitimately I’ll have that stuff in just a few minutes.”
“That would be great, Joe. I would really appreciate it. Anything I can do for you? Anything you need?”
“Well, if you really want this stuff right away, I’ll miss lunch. I could stand a sandwich when you come back.”
“You name it. What suits your fancy?”
“If it’s not too much trouble, I could really go for a corned beef on rye with brown mustard and a big kosher dill pickle,” he said.
“From Sapperstines?”
“Does anyone else make great corn beef?”
“Not that I can think of. All right my man. Corn beef with brown mustard on rye.”
“And a big kosher pickle.”
“That goes without saying.”
He was right. Corn beef or rye without a kosher dill pickle was punishable by thirty days in the county lockup for failure to have proper taste buds on your person at all times.
When I got back to my desk Dan was waiting for me along with Eric.
“The press wants to know when you are going to hold another conference,” Eric said.
“I don’t know Eric. What do you think we should do? Do we have anything new to tell them?”
“I don’t know. I guess we could tell them we have several leads we are working on,” he said shrugging his shoulders.
“What leads would those be?” Dan asked.
I was glad he asked instead of me.
“Hell, how should I know? We have to make it look like we are doing something. If we don’t they are going to crucify us,” he said, starting to use his ever so annoying whining voice.
“Eric. Maybe we should hold off just a little longer until we actually have something. Why don’t you tell them that we are at a sensitive point in the case and it would be premature to release any information at this point,” I said.
“Okay, sure. Yeah, that should work. Could you write that down so I don’t get it wrong?”
“Be happy to, Eric,” I said, scratching it out on the back of a ‘Missed Call’ message form.
He headed off to make his announcement.
“What a moron,” Dan said as he headed down the stairs.
“At least he hasn’t done anything stupid so far,” I said, “So what’s up?”
“Farley. He has, or had, a bank account in the Cayman Islands. Has a little over two and a half million stashed away. His wife thinks they still owe on the house but it’s been paid off for years. Same for their cars. The guy’s been stashing money away for the last ten years. If his wife does know about it she is one hell of an actress. I think he was going to up and take off at some point. I bet he had a broad stashed someplace and they were going to just up and disappear.”
“You found something to indicate that?”
“Maybe. He stayed in one hotel in particular at least twice a month for almost five years now. The Canton Hotel across from Union Station. It’s a real upscale hotel that doesn’t advertise and has very discrete clientele. They never actually saw Mr. Farley with anyone but then they make sure they don’t. I talked to housekeeping but they were mum about the whole thing. They would only say it appeared that more than one person used the room. I couldn’t get anything further.”
“I’ll be damned. It just never ceases to amaze me. The way people look on the outside is seldom what they are like on the inside. It’s not always that way, I mean look at Charles Manson. He looks like a total nut case but then there is Ted Bundy. He didn’t look like the kind that went around killing just for the sport of it. Farley isn’t a killer but from looking at his picture I would never suspect he was stashing money in an offshore account and shacking up with some chick while his wife was totally unaware. Eventually this is all going to come out and I feel sorry for Mrs. Farley.
“The people left behind are always the ones that get hurt the most.”
“Amen to that.”
“Keep digging. Have you come across anything that links him to Evans or Kramer?”
“Only if Evans turns out to be the other woman.”
“Hey, stranger things have happened.”
“It doesn’t work like that. That would be far too convenient.”
* * *
The theater was packed with standing room only. The first act had gone off with only a few minor lines being flubbed by Romeo. Juliet had been magnificent. Chad had missed his marks twice and skipped one entire line but overall, it had been far from a disaster. The curtain was getting ready to go up on the second act and Romeo was standing just to the edge of the stage ready to go on. The curtains parted and Romeo entered and said:
‘He jests at scars that never felt a wound.’
A light flickers in a window in a room above where Romeo is standing and Juliet appears at the window.
‘But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!
Arise fair sun and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief
That thou her maid are more fair than she….
Chad halts, a slight panic look on his face. He looks at the curtain waiting for a prompt. Finally he starts
‘It is my lady, oh, it is my love!
Oh, that she knew she were!
She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that?
Her eye discourses, I will answer it.
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks.’
‘Oh God,’ the Professor moaned. He forgot part of the lines
but it got worse. Chad stopped again. Sweat was dripping off of his face.
‘What if her eyes were there, they in her head
?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars.
As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright
That birds would sing and think it were not night.’
The Professor was walking back and forth holding his head. Chad had forgotten half the lines. Even worse, he had forgotten the lead in for Juliet. The silence was finally broken by Juliet who was smart enough to realize that Chad was not going to finish his lines.
JULIET:
O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.
The rest of the show was a blur to the Professor. He gave up counting the mistakes, missed queues, the wrong lines. Juliet was brilliant but Chad had been a catastrophe. Anyone who knew the first thing about Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet must be shaking their heads and wondering what play they had just attended.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“James, I don’t understand. Just why do you suddenly have to go off on business? You never do anything on the spur of the moment,” Emily said.
“Emily, I don’t have time to argue. I simply have to do this. My client was very specific about what I was to do in a case like this.”
“A case like what?”
“You know I can’t go into details. Look, you said it yourself. I never do anything on the spur of the moment and I wouldn’t do this now if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. That should tell you how important this really is,” he said, continuing to pack.
“And you’re just going to leave me here at home alone?”
“Emily, this is business. I am not going on a joy ride.”
“I could find something to do while you were doing this so called business.”
THE SHAKESPEARE MURDERS Page 8