The Instrumental Rabbi (A Professor McCauley Mystery)

by R. D. Abruzzese

  “I am right here Professor, nice to see you again!” It was the imposing figure of Karl Heinz Stockmann entering the room. McCauley immediately noticed that the athletically built Stockmann had developed a slight limp and seemed to be favoring his left side since their last meeting. He wondered if this was a recent development.

  “I am sorry that we have to meet again under such sad circumstances,” said Stockmann as he sat down at the table. “I was running late this morning and must apologize for my tardiness.”

  McCauley saw the obvious lie for what it was. The chance of a man like Stockmann “running late” for a murder investigation was about as likely as a precision German timepiece skipping a few hours. Stockmann was covering for something but McCauley did not yet know why, or what.

  “Do you know if Elsinger was out on company business last evening?” asked Jenny trying to take the lead.

  “He left our facility at 5:37 p.m. last evening and was headed home as far as we knew.” said Stockmann ignoring Jenny and directing his reply to McCauley.

  “Then you have no idea why he was in Boston last evening?” she tried again.

  “I believe I just answered that,” said Stockmann, this time turning his head and staring straight into her. She felt a chill shoot down her spine.

  “Forgive my associate,” interjected McCauley shifting his gaze, “She meant no offense. We are simply trying to understand what Elsinger was doing in the library parking lot last evening. Have you any idea?”

  Jenny turned red and Iaconi was surprised. He had never seen McCauley defend an associate before, regardless of the mistake.

  “Perhaps he was looking for a good book to read,” said the Chief of Security, staring at Jenny and twitching ever so slightly as he smiled.

  It was a stupid mistake and he knew it immediately. He had broken his discipline because that girl irritated him. The joke was terribly inappropriate, so much so, that the usually staid Ferris Allen turned quickly to look for Detective Hendrickson’s reaction. Hendrickson just stared at Stockmann with no expression.

  Detective Iaconi kept his cool but simmered inside and wondered how it would feel to punch Stockmann in the face.

  Both Jenny and Stuart McCauley saw something else. After Stockmann delivered his little joke, he winced slightly, but noticeably, from the attempt at laughter.

  There was something wrong with his arm, or shoulder, and it was something bad enough to cause the accomplished weightlifter to recoil in pain. McCauley wondered what had happened to Stockmann last night to cause the security chief to both limp and exhibit such an injury.

  “And where were you last evening, Mr. Stockmann?” asked McCauley while looking over at Jenny.

  “I’m afraid I worked here late into the evening, I did not leave this facility until sometime after 2 a.m.” he said looking back at McCauley coldly.

  “Is that normal for you” asked Jenny, surprised by his answer and convenient alibi.

  “There is no “normal” when you have facilities and people operating all around the world.” said Stockmann. “Unlike other professions, we do not have the luxury of sleep when critical issues arise.”

  Karl Heinz Stockmann was an expert at studying people, having done it for a living over the past 37 years. He had immediately picked up on the glance between the young lady and McCauley. They had picked up on his injury.

  He had made a mistake and he knew it. He would have to remedy it, this was certain. Not now, but soon. As his mind raced to develop some type of excuse to discuss his shoulder injury, Detective Paul Hendrickson’s radio crackled.

  “Detective, we’ve got a 187 at the reservoir,” said the voice on the radio, “a body just floated up.”

  McCauley and Jenny Smith both stared at Stockmann. He didn’t flinch.

  “Alright, I’ll be right there.” answered Hendrickson very routinely.

  With all eyes now upon him, Paul Hendrickson looked at McCauley and said, “Sorry folks but I’ll have to leave you here for a while. We’ve got a problem across town.”

  “Nonsense Detective.” said McCauley in his most cordial baritone voice. “We’ve taken up too much of our host’s precious time and need to leave them to do their work. If you don’t mind, we will accompany you to your crime scene, maybe we can be of some use today.”

  Hendrickson nodded although he was confused. Ferris Allen breathed a sigh of relief while Jenny and Detective Iaconi knew that something was up. This was not McCauley’s style. He would not abruptly leave an investigation for an unrelated murder. Karl Heinz Stockmann sensed that the Professor was up to something.

  McCauley rose and looked directly at Stockmann as he said, “Thank you gentlemen for your time. As I mentioned, we’ll conclude our investigation of Bhermann with our visit to Dr. Scheiter later today.”

  Stockmann stared through McCauley with such intensity that Jenny felt another chill shoot down her spine. Although he said nothing, Stockmann had reacted, ever so slightly, to the Professor’s last statement. His presence, as he remained seated in the corner of the table, was now both menacing and foreboding.

  Stockmann was not happy and he had a problem. He knew that McCauley was forcing him to act. The rest of the guests rose and said their goodbyes, thanking Mr. Allen for his time. Stockmann remained seated and simply stared at McCauley.

  As they turned and walked through the lobby toward the front entrance, Jenny felt that chill once again and turned back to see the ominous silhouette of Karl Heinz Stockmann watching them leave. He was now standing silently behind the frosted conference room glass.

  Hemlock Reservoir Turnout, Easton, CT

  It had happened in an instant.

  Chandler had moved quickly in the darkness and was upon Stockmann before Karl Heinz could draw his gun. Stockmann had grabbed the pistol from the belt at the base of his back but had been unable to bring it around to point it at Chandler before the doctor struck.

  Chandler had lunged at Stockmann with his stiletto aimed at the base of Karl Heinz’s ribcage on a direct trajectory toward his heart but the aging weightlifter’s reflexes were still too quick, even at sixty years of age.

  Stockmann pivoted and dropped down to his left as the doctor’s hand shot the knife forward. The razor sharp stiletto missed its mark but still sliced through Stockmann’s shoulder and lodged above his left arm.

  The wound was extremely painful and had severed the brachial plexus forcing Stockmann to drop his weapon to the ground. It did not matter though, as instinctively, during the attack, Karl Heinz had raised his right hand over his head and formed a fist, and now brought it down with all his strength across the face of Irwin Chandler.

  Chandler fell back stunned from the blow. He felt an intense blast of pain in his eye and nose and almost blacked out for a moment. Falling to one knee, he brought his hands up to his face, leaving the stiletto still wrenched in Stockmann’s arm. Chandler knew he would be no match for Stockmann, not without a weapon. As he attempted to stand, he looked about for the knife, a rock, or the gun, but by then it didn’t matter, it was already too late.

  The Olympic weightlifter had rolled to his left with the knife still dangling from his arm and retrieved his pistol from the ground with his right hand. He raised the weapon and fired a silenced shot directly into the stomach of Irwin Chandler before Chandler could even stand. Chandler let out a gasp of air. His hands clutched at his blood soaked shirt as he felt the warm liquid spill into his lungs.

  Dropping to both knees, Chandler spit out some blood toward his opponent in his final act of defiance. As he felt his heart’s rhythm sputter, he raised his eyes just in time to see the Chief of Security fire another shot directly into his forehead.

  The back of Irwin Chandler’s head blew off violently and the reaction made him fall forward, face down in the dirt. Stockmann lower his weapon and slowly tucked it safely back in his belt while grimacing from his shoulder pain. He cursed at the lifeless body of Chandler as he pulled the stiletto from his arm. He wou
ld have to quickly bandage his wound at home if he was ever to make the meeting this morning.

  Proper medical attention would have to wait until he could visit Dr. Scheiter’s private hospital wing later in the day. He doubted if he would ever regain the full use of his arm, in fact, he never would.

  Stockmann removed all identification from Chandler’s body, picked up the medical bag with its special contents and dragged Chandler’s lifeless corpse down to the reservoir.

  There was no time for a proper disposal. He would simply weigh down the body and float it out as far from shore as he could manage. His priority was to get home quickly, stop his bleeding and bandage his wounds. Then, he would change his clothes and meet with the Professor at RS1.

  Chapter 10

  Hoyden Hill Road, Easton, CT

  The two cars drove down Hoydens Lane toward the reservoir.

  “What are you thinking Stuart?” asked Jenny seated next to McCauley in the back seat of the Iaconi’s car. “What are you up to?” she thought to herself.

  “Stockmann is a liar,” said McCauley in a soft voice, “he is hiding something about this case and he knows much more than we do. This is very clear.”

  “I saw him limp and twinge in pain in the conference room,” said Jenny. “I think he is really injured and tried to cover that up as well.”

  McCauley was pleased with his protégé. “She’s logical and doesn’t miss a thing.” he thought.

  “I don’t know how he ties in with the killings though,” said Jenny, “I don’t really see a motive.”

  “Stockmann is a soldier. Soldiers do what they are told. Soldiers simply do their job to the best of their ability. Somehow, Stockmann is acting on behalf of Scheiter which was evident in his response when I mentioned interviewing the doctor later today.” said McCauley staring out the window.

  “Stockmann is not the “Slasher,” this I am certain. He is an employee, an enforcer, a security chief, but not a madman who spends his time hacking at the dead remains of young women. Stockmann would kill out of necessity, not pleasure, and certainly not as a profession.”

  Jenny studied the Professor as he spoke. He looked very tired and worn as the morning sun and trees flashed against his face. “McCauley is brilliant,” she thought, “but these cases eat away at him.” Jenny made a mental note to get the Professor out of his house for a walk when this case was over.

  Iaconi’s car followed Detective Hendrickson’s and parked on the side of the road shortly after turning onto Hoyden Hill Road. There were two police cars parked there already along with a CSP morgue wagon.

  The forensic team had finished and was just wheeling the bullet ridden body of Dr. Irwin Chandler to the wagon when Jenny, McCauley, Iaconi, and Hendrickson arrived. McCauley and Iaconi went immediately to study the body as Smith and Hendrickson interviewed the first policeman at the scene.

  “Two shots, pretty clean.” said Iaconi. “It looks like an assassination.”

  “Not quite,” said McCauley, “there is a significant facial bruise ante mortem (before death) which could indicate a struggle. This combined with no powder burns, means the shots were fired from a distance. That would be hardly indicative of an execution.”

  Iaconi shrugged. He hated when McCauley did this and McCauley always did this.

  “I would wager that this man lost a struggle with another man and was shot first reflexively in the stomach. The second shot, the killing shot, was made with the careful aim of an experienced shooter.” McCauley continued.

  “Since the attempt to submerge the body was done so poorly, we can also assume that it was done in a rush and that the murder occurred very close nearby. I believe, if we search the immediate area, we will find the exact location of the struggle and murder complete with footprints, blood, shell casings and perhaps even a car. We need only walk the shoreline to find the point of entry and follow the blood trail back from there to the kill zone.”

  Jenny and Detective Hendrickson had finished interviewing the first officer on the scene. He was a young patrolman named Raymond Chan who was quite shaken up by the whole event. The station had received a call and Chan was immediately dispatched to the scene and was actually the person who waded in and pulled the body to shore. It was his first homicide and he looked like it was.

  As Jenny walked back toward McCauley and Detective Iaconi, she thought she saw McCauley leaning and whispering something into the Detective’s ear. Although too far away to hear what was being said, she thought it strange that these two men, so often at odds with each other, would stand so close to each other with no apparent need for doing so.

  Chapter 11

  Weston, MA

  “You idiot Stockmann!” shouted the 91 year old industrialist into the telephone. “How could you have allowed things to get so far out of hand? You knew that Chandler was unstable. You should have been watching him more closely! Now, we’ve not only lost Juergen, that poor sweet boy, but you’ve compromised my only source of supply!”

  “I’m sorry Albert,” said the Chief of Security, “it’s all I could do to contain the situation. Chandler had gone over the edge and the police were coming in. I had to sever all of the ties to you.”

  “And you think that you’ve done that?” asked Scheiter quickly.

  “I am certain of it.” replied Stockmann without a moment’s hesitation. “I am sure that no link can be made between Bhermann and Chandler once I clean up the few remaining loose ends.”

  “Then make it fast, and make it thorough.” said Scheiter as cold as ice. “Make him disappear quietly with no traces and no publicity. I cannot have the police poking around here with my supplies running so low.”

  “I will take care of it,” said Karl Heinz without emotion, “you can trust me with your life, my friend.”

  “I already have Karl Heinz…” said Alfred Scheiter quietly. “I already have.” he said, slowly hanging up the telephone.

  Scheiter walked around the corner of his ornate wooden desk and stared out the large, lead-lined windows onto the lush and well maintained grounds. In many ways the grounds at his home resembled those at RS1.

  He had done very well at yesterday’s quarterly meeting. Both colleagues and sycophants commented on his energy and vitality. It was the last public appearance that he would have to make for 3 months and he had looked good.

  Today was a different matter. He could already feel the life beginning to drain from his body. He was beginning to feel the fatigue set in and knew from experience that it would only be a matter of hours before he would have to be back in that damn chair.

  Scheiter had hired Karl Heinz and understood that Stockmann was both his oldest friend and most loyal employee. Stockmann must have done what he had to, but it was of little consolation. Scheiter knew that Chandler was unstable. In fact they all knew it. They knew it 20 years ago. It was the main reason they had chosen him for this particular assignment.

  You had to be a little mad to play a madman they had reasoned. Chandler had performed his tasks very well, both efficiently and theatrically. The costumes and the “clues” were actually all his ideas. He seemed to rather enjoy the theatrics and he had always delivered the goods.

  Now Scheiter felt a slight wave panic set in as he realized that he only had enough serum for one more injection and his source of supply had just abruptly ended. The death of Irwin Chandler only bothered him as it meant that he would have to find new methods and sources of supply.

  Most likely these would have to be foreign sources, sources of supply far removed from the headlines of Boston and the prying eyes of Professor Stuart B. McCauley.

  Scheiter knew that he could reproduce the lab and train a staff at any Bhermann facility around the globe. That was not an issue. He would simply fly the Connecticut team into the country to interview and train a local team and have them remain there until things were running smoothly. Then, the Connecticut team would meet with an unfortunate airplane accident during their return home. Karl Heinz c
ould arrange all that.

  It was finding new sources for the raw ingredients that would take some time. It was time that he did not have.

  He thought about his earlier comment to Karl Heinz. His life really was in Stockmann’s hands. The weightlifter had one more duty to perform before he moved out of the country with the team. It was one last distasteful, but necessary, duty to perform to protect his employer.

  Stockmann had to sever the head off of this investigation. There was no other way to stop McCauley once he locked in on them and they knew it. Afterwards, Stockmann would be sent away, most likely to Australia or New Zealand, to begin finding new prospects for sources of material.

  Chapter 12

  Hoyden Hill Road, Easton, CT

  “I will not!” said Jenny Smith after McCauley informed her that she would need to accompany Detective Hendrickson back to the State Police barracks.