by KJ Rollinson
I waved my hand, 'Feel free. Let me have it.'
'Robert Lister, born in California, dropped out from school aged 15. Convicted of robbery age 20, and served two years in San Quentin. Five years later he was convicted of smuggling - guess what - methaqualone, amongst other drugs, and served a further two years at the same prison. All seemed quiet for a year or two until he set up a practice as a doctor in Miami.
I’ve checked with the State Medical Board and their records don’t show he was ever issued with a U.S. licence; neither do the records show he took examinations at any of the medical schools. He doesn’t appear to have applied for a licence to possess methaqualone.’
'Wow, you've done real well, Gina.'
'There's more.'
'What, you mean to say I've not heard the juicy bits yet?'
'Nope. Shortly after setting up his practice in Los Angeles, California he married a Miss Elaine Baxter. They eventually moved to Randall's Island. When they divorced, his ex-wife got the house as part of the settlement. No evidence of him setting up a medical practice on the island, or anywhere else, until it emerged he was Tony Marsden's private doctor four years ago.
You remember I mentioned he got booked for illegally smuggling methaqualone into the U.S., and a report here states he obtained it from both Columbia and Canada. I wondered whether he was still involved in that activity which would’ve given him easy access to the drug if he was responsible for giving it to Marsden and to his ex-wife. I checked to see whether any other properties were registered in his name. I found he bought a nine bedroom town house on East 129th, located in a very quiet residential block, with a large basement, at the same time he bought the property on Randall's Island.'
I leaned forward in my chair and picked up the ‘phone. 'Has he now? Hang on a minute Gina – I’ll arrange a surveillance team to be put in place at East 129th.’
I had to wait several weeks before the surveillance team's report showed up on my desk. Quite a few vans had been seen arriving and departing from the premises. Men had been observed carrying large cartons in and out of the building, and they had noticed Lister entering and leaving, and on several occasions assisting in the loading of the vans. Vehicles were followed to San Diego, California and surveillance at that end confirmed trafficking of drugs was highly likely. The surveillance team had not searched Lister's place yet, as they figured I would want to be included in the action. I buzzed Narcotics and arranged to be included when they did their bust, which I was informed would take place on the following day.
I went over to Gina's desk and said, 'We’ve established Lister is a fake; if we find drugs at his East 129th address, this will be a real bonus. He may have issued prescriptions during the time he had a practice in Miami. If you can obtain copies of those it may help our case, particularly if we could find any he issued for methaqualone.’
She shook her head, ‘Nothing on the methaqualone. Although I have been able to obtain several copies of prescriptions he issued to various patients for other drugs, including several issued to a Miss Elaine Baxter, his then future wife.'
‘That’s great, Gina, the net is tightening on Lister. I reckon it won’t be long before we’ve got him.’
I rubbed my chin and squirmed in my seat as I felt uncomfortable with what was going through my mind. Now, I would categorically emphasise I’ve nothing whatsoever against women being in the police force. They do a great job, but I’m still very uneasy if they are in the field where they could find themselves in danger. I was thinking about the forthcoming raid on Lister's place. I didn't want Gina around. Maybe I was being overprotective. I guess this has something to do with my age. In some respects I'm the old school - not actually 'a woman's place is in the home' variety, but I find I can’t concentrate on my job when I’m worried about the safety of a female.
'Gina, I want you to take Detective Ryder with you and visit Lister tomorrow at Randall’s Island, and see what he says about your findings.
I know you can handle the interview just fine. I want time in the office to catch up on some paper work.'
She tried to hide the excitement at my trust in her. I felt a devious heel. I knew whilst she was over at the Island I would be taking part in the bust at East 129th.
*
Six officers from the Narcotic Division together with a sniffer dog were already on the scene when I entered the surveillance building, situated opposite Lister's house the next morning. It was decided I’d knock on the door, show the search warrant, accompanied by the armed police officers and the dog. I was informed that four men, together with Lister were known to be at the premises.
Lister opened the door. His lips tightened as I held up the search warrant. He tried to keep his cool as he led me into a spacious lounge, while the squad investigated the other rooms. The television was showing an old Whoopi Goldberg film, and a cup of coffee was placed on a small table near an armchair.
'What's this all about detective? Why are you demanding to search my house?'
'We have reason to believe you are using these premises to store drugs. You’ve been under surveillance and we know that vans leaving these premises have been trailed to California. Investigations have uncovered a New York to San Diego smuggling operation.’
He shouted something loudly in Spanish and within seconds a Mexican looking guy, appeared in the doorway carrying what looked like a Glock 17, and fired wildly in my direction. I ducked and the shot shattered the television screen. Whoopi got it right in the chest.
Now, I carry a Smith & Wesson Model 10, four-inch barrel, wood grip, nothing automatic, semi - or otherwise, about it. I’m ribbed by my colleagues that it should be in the New York City Police Museum. I’ve never had to use it in the field, but I’m so familiar with this old friend that I quickly moved behind Lister and jammed the gun in his back.
'Tell your sidekick to put down his weapon.'
The Mex. turned to flee but was tackled by two cops, who had returned to the room on hearing the shot. One of them forced his hands behind his back and handcuffed him. The dog stood over the prone man, frantically sniffing his hands. I figured this was not because the dog was pleased to see him, but because he could smell some substance.
Three men were arrested in the basement, where boxes were stacked. Other cases were found in six of the bedrooms. The boxes contained cocaine, heroin, and methaqualone.
Lister was arrested, charged with criminal possession of controlled substances with intent to transfer; illegally posing as a medical practitioner; issuing illegal prescriptions; possessing methaqualone without a licence, and aiding and abetting the attempted shooting of a police officer.
Before he was placed in the police van with his accomplices, I said, 'My investigations are still proceeding into your ex-wife's death.’ I smiled at him. 'You won't be going anywhere during the next few days, will you?’
When I returned to the Precinct, Gina was waiting for me. She gave me an icy look.
'You sent me on what you reckoned was a wild goose chase. You knew Lister wouldn't be on the island because you knew he'd be at East 129th, didn't you?'
I should’ve known better than to think the drug bust would get passed her, she must've heard something about it when she returned.
Before I could attempt to explain she said, 'As it happens it wasn't a wild goose chase. Detective Ryder knocked on Lister's door and we were greeted by this smiling attractive brunette, who said, before she realised who we were, ‘Darling, your back early.’
Detective Ryder displayed our search warrant and questioning her as to who she was. I went into a room which looked like Lister was using it as an office, as there were medical books lying around and a laptop on a desk.'
I interrupted her as I was curious about the brunette. ‘Who was the woman?’
‘Ann Randall, 28, girlfriend of Lister. As I was saying - I went into Lister's office, opened his laptop and found a letter in his Documents file, which was a claim to an Insurance company to release th
e monies following his ex-wife's death. He stated he was enclosing a copy of her Will showing he was the beneficiary. I checked the date in the documents file when the letter was typed. The date displayed showed he’d typed it two days before Mrs. Lister died, although the date at the top of the letter showed a date five days after she died. I bagged the laptop as evidence as I knew this....’
I interrupted her again. 'You know what this means, don't you, it’s premeditated murder. We've got him this time. I can't wait to tell Lister we are amending the charges against him to include murder in the ‘first degree’.
NEW YORK TIMES.
In the Manhattan Supreme Court, Mr. Robert Lister, a bogus doctor, was convicted of the murder of his ex-wife, Mrs. Elaine Lister. He admitted to forging her Will and signature.
(Story continued on page 2).
COURTING JUSTICE
I took the call from the coroner's office. ‘Hi John, Bernard Bentley here. I reckoned I’d catch you at your desk this early in the morning.
I looked at my watch, 8.33 a.m. I’d been in my office for an hour. ‘What’s up, Bernard, I don’t hear from you unless there are worms crawling out of the woodwork – or should I say a body.’
He laughed, ‘I was called to a death in the Kipps Bay area, kinda looks suspicious as this poor guy choked to death. I’m gonna send you a full report but I figured I’d 'phone you in case you are free to deal with it immediately.’
'Give me a few details now and I'll start investigations today,' I replied.
'I examined the body of a Mr Ken Marshall, 50 years old. The widow and her stepdaughter were present. When Mrs Marshall left the room, the step-daughter begged me to carry out blood tests. I confirmed with his doctor as to what drugs Marshall was taking prior to his death so when I ran the tests I was surprised to find Benzylpenicillin present in the body, which wasn’t one of the drugs his doctor had prescribed. I checked back with the doctor, who said he had definitely not prescribed any antibiotics to Marshall, and what is more he stated Marshall was allergic to penicillin.’
'Right, as you say Bernard, the death does look suspicious. I’ll see the step-daughter today. What's her name and address?'
He gave me Madison Avenue, East 131 Street. That afternoon Gina and I arranged to interview Mrs Cheryl Coates.
*
'Good afternoon Mrs Coates, I’m Detective John Rode, first grade detective and this is my partner, third grade detective, Gina Morris.'
Mrs Coates an attractive dark blonde, possibly in her middle twenties, slim, and about five-ten, nearly as tall as me.
'Thanks for seeing us at such short notice. I understand you think your father died under suspicious circumstances. Can I ask why you think this?’
She lit a cigarette, exhaled before she started talking. ‘My father was diagnosed with Hepatitis C, and was in liver failure. Before Pop’s illness he and Francesca used to go out a lot, take exotic holidays, entertain friends. She expected the best. When my pop and she had to give up work their money dropped. I figure having to take care of a long-term illness patient was just too much for my stepmother. I'm sure she killed him for the money.’
‘What makes you think that?’ I asked.
‘I reckon she thought she’d inherit most of his money after he died. As I said, Francesca was too used to the good life and all of that stopped when pop became ill. I haven’t seen him as much since I married, but when I did visit I noticed her attitude towards him was different. She was increasingly impatient with him.’
'How long was your father married to Francesca?' I asked.
‘Ten years. I was fourteen when my mum divorced my dad. Pop was an anaesthetist at the Harlem Hospital Centre, and Francesca was working there as a nurse. They started an affair. When my mom found out he was cheating on her she divorced him. She died two years later. I think from a broken heart. My pop and Francesca married within six months of the divorce. I was sixteen when I went to live with them, but I never got on with Francesca.’
‘How did you hear about the death of your father?’ Gina asked.
‘Francesca rang me to say my father had died in his sleep. I rushed over as although he was very ill, his death was still kinda unexpected.’
‘Why did you ask for blood tests to be carried out?’ Gina enquired.
'When he died his face was puffy. I’d only seen him like that once before when he found out he was allergic to penicillin. I guess I was suspicious why his face looked like that when he died. I knew he was terminally ill but I didn’t expect him to die quite so suddenly. Has the coroner been able to tell you the cause of my father's death?'
I told her about the Benzylpenicillin found in his body.
‘Sweet Jesus! Francesca knew my father was allergic to penicillin.’
‘How often did his doctor call to see him? I asked.
‘He called when he was asked to. Francesca was a registered nurse and saw to his medication. The last time the doctor visited my father was about two weeks before he died.'
'Was your father depressed?’
'No he wasn’t although Francesca said he was. I think she said this because it suited her, so she could make it sound as if he took his own life.’
As we climbed into the car to drive back to the Precinct, Gina said to me.
'What do you think, John? Is it possible Mrs. Marshall killed her husband?'
'I can’t make up my mind. The coroner said he figured it was a suspicious death. If Marshall was as ill as his daughter made out, I suppose he could’ve taken his own life. I may be able to make up my mind after I’ve read Bernard's report and spoken to Mrs. Marshall.
I read Bernard's report before we visited Mrs. Marshall, which covered most of the points he’d mentioned verbally. He also stated sometimes hepatitis patients needed antibiotics but as Marshall was very allergic to penicillin there were alternatives that could have been used. He died from asphyxia following an anaphylaxis shock caused by a drug to which he was extremely allergic, resulting in severe swelling of the throat, which closed his air passages.
*
The following day Gina and I visited Mrs Francesca Marshall at a white clapboard clad apartment, overlooking the East River.
She was a looker, about 40 years old. She had long auburn hair, with slanting green eyes, a good figure and spoke in a real sexy voice. She looked shocked as I explained to her that because blood tests had shown penicillin in her husband's body we were forced to treat the death as suspicious.
‘My God,’ she said, clutching her throat. 'He was extremely allergic to penicillin. I know he was very depressed about his illness. He was scheduled for a liver transplant and didn’t want to go through with it, saying he preferred to die. I suppose he could have committed suicide. Why were blood tests carried out - did Cheryl ask for them to be done?'
She looked at Gina and me, and when neither of us spoke she said, 'I figure your silence means she did. I can’t understand her doing that behind my back.’ She sighed, ‘but I suppose I’ve got to accept the results show my husband didn't die from liver failure, which I thought when I woke up and found him dead along side of me.’
‘As a trained nurse Mrs Marshall, didn’t you wonder why his face was puffy?’ I asked.
‘Yes, I did, but I presumed that if his liver had failed, his system closed down, and in the end he had choked to death.’
I noticed she had hazel flecks in her green eyes. 'Now you know the cause of his death, do you have any observations to make on how penicillin may have been administered to him? ‘
She met my gaze steadily. 'The only explanation I can offer is that he must have intended to kill himself. I took Benzylpenicillin myself several months ago, prescribed by my doctor. As far as I know, I completed the whole course of treatment. I suppose he could’ve taken some tablets without me knowing, as he was more mobile then.’
'As your husband's nurse, did this mean you had little need to call in his doctor, even though you said he was depressed and very ill? Don't you
think in view of your husband's mental condition you should have gotten him professional help?'
She answered me heatedly. 'I did arrange for a psychiatrist to visit him regularly, and his own doctor visited about two weeks before he died. You must understand, detective, I couldn’t be with Ken twenty four hours of the day. I did suspect he might not have always taken the prescription for anti-depressants as there was little improvement in his mental health, and I was naturally very concerned about this. We had several arguments because I would plead with him to take them, or accuse him of not taking them. Of course, I feel guilty of my irritability with him now, but sometimes I felt so exhausted.’
That didn't sound to me like the uncaring wife the stepdaughter had made her out to be. Steady on I told myself, don't be taken in by those big green eyes. I knew I was kinda vulnerable as she was the first woman I found attractive since my wife died of cancer several years back. Goddam pull yourself together! I concentrated hard before I asked my next question.
‘How do you get on with your stepdaughter?’
'I must be honest with you, Detective Rode, she resents me, She blamed me for the split between her father and mother. Cheryl was hoping her pop would leave her a large portion of his money.
When she found out he had made out his Will and I was going to get half, she was very annoyed with her father. If you are considering me as a suspect, perhaps Cheryl's motives should also be taken into account,’ she said angrily.
I ignored her outburst. 'Why was Mrs Coates angry about her pop’s Will?'
She narrowed her beautiful green eyes and put an elegant manicured finger to her lip, 'Let me see… Ah, yes I remember it was about a month ago,
I was in the lounge when I heard Cheryl arguing with her father. I went to see what was happening, and she rushed passed me on the stairs without a word. My God, when she banged out through the front door, the whole house shook.