by Don Potter
“The Medical Examiner is taking a look at him now. But we know one thing for sure, it’s murder. The body was wrapped in a tarp and there were some weights attached to the ropes. With the tides and all, guess there wasn’t enough weight to keep him down.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah. In the guy’s pocket was one of those sportsman cell phones. The kind that doubles as a GPS system. Waterproof, too. Ever see one?”
“No, but I heard about them.”
“Casio made this one. It’s called the Boulder. I’m sorta into electronics; the stuff fascinates me,” Detective Scully volunteered.
“Yeah, technology is something else. But what does this phone have to do with the vic other than he may have been a technophile?”
“Not sure yet, but the GPS was transmitting. That’s how the fishermen homed in on him. They didn’t realize it was a floater sending the signal. Weird huh?”
“You mean the phone’s been transmitting for the past week, and nobody picked it up?” Andrews was disappointed.
“Nah, the battery wouldn’t have lasted that long. I looked inside and saw it was gerryrigged to start sending a signal when a call was received. Someone called the number last night or early this morning and activated the signal.”
“And that someone wanted the body to be discovered before it rounded the cape and maybe washed out to sea.” Andrews was excited again.
“Hey you Philly cops aren’t so dumb after all.”
Andrews did not want to quibble with Scully about being in the suburbs and not the city. He wanted to stay on track.
”We ought to be able to identify the number where the activating call came from, like a pay phone in the city.”
“It could be one of those prepaid disposable phones that can’t be traced,” Scully retorted.
“We need to put our heads together. I can be there in two hours. Can you ask the ME to wait for me?” Andrews asked.
“No problem. Our Medical Examiner is also the pathologist at the South Jersey Regional Hospital but should be here about the time you arrive. You got our address and phone number?”
“I’m all set, thanks. See ya in a couple of hours.”
During the drive to Wildwood, Andrews thought about how important today could be. No one had been murdered within the township in three years -- some hopped-up thug from the city tried to holdup a supermarket and shot the manager when he resisted turning over the money. But this was a high-profile case, one the news media would jump all over. Since the dead man was a prominent Philadelphia business man, the Philly police might want to horn in. And the Montgomery County cops would want to be included as well. Probably the Jersey boys wouldn’t want to do the work necessary to get in on the act. But who knows, ego is a funny thing.
The victim lived in the detective’s township. If he could determine that the crime took place in his township and the killer resided there too, it would be all but impossible for any other department to take the lead away from him. Of course, kidnapping and taking Bergen across state lines before killing him would get the FBI involved. But this possibility would not come into play until the investigation moves further along. No, this was John Andrew’s case. And he was going to solve it.
The drive was easy, once he got over to the Jersey side, not much traffic on the 55 and even less on the 47. After crossing the last bridge, the detective was in the center of Wildwood. A left turn on New Jersey Avenue and Andrews was in front of to the police station. He grabbed his note pad and file folders and went inside. The desk sergeant looked to be significantly over the normal retirement age. The man seemed genuinely happy to see someone new during the slow off-season.
“Help ya?” the sergeant asked.
“Detective Scully, please. I’m Detective Andrews. He’s expecting me.” Andrews showed his badge and waited for a response.
“Oh yeah. You’re the cop from Philly.”
Andrews nodded and smiled.
“Welcome to Wildwood by the Sea,” Tom Scully said, using the beach community’s seventy-five year old ad slogan. This bear of a man was obviously a one-time athlete, but time had added many pounds onto his already large frame. He grinned, reached out his hand and asked, “How was the drive down?”
“It would have been boring if my mind hadn’t spent the entire time reviewing the details of this case. When can I talk to the Medical Examiner?” Andrews was anxious to get going.
“You don’t waste any time. Doc Kahn did the autopsy at the regional hospital and just called to say he got hung up with some emergency. So we’ll have to go to Vineland. Want to stop for a late lunch first?”
“No, I just want to talk to the ME. Why didn’t you meet me there? It would have saved a lot of time.”
“I said he had an emergency. I’ll call and tell him we’re on our way.” Scully did not like being dressed down.
“We better take two cars, and I’ll go back home after we finish,” Andrews said.
“Tell ya what, I’ll ride with you. Doc lives in Cape May, so I’ll ask him to bring me back here when we finish up. That way you and I can talk about the case on the drive.”
“Fine.” Andrews was concerned that Scully had little to bring to the party, but thought it was worth a try.
Both men picked up their files and headed to the front door. Scully said to the old desk sergeant, “Philly and I are going up to Vineland to meet with Kahn; I’ll hitch a ride back with Doc. See ya in the morning, Pop.”
As they were buckling up in the car, Andrews said, “Doesn’t that bother the old man?”
“What?”
“Calling him ‘Pop’ is kinda disrespectful.”
Scully roared with laughter. “Not at all, he’s my father.” The joke caused Andrews to forget about the inconvenience the other detective had put him through.
“Go up a block and turn right on Oak,” Scully instructed. When they reached the corner of Atlantic, the big man said, “There it is.”
“There what is? The Beach Terrace Motor Inn?” Andrews asked.
“That was the site of the old HofBrau Hotel before they tore it down.”
“So?”
“It was at this very place on Memorial Day weekend in 1954 that Bill Haley & His Comets performed. They played Rock Around The Clock, and rock and roll was born. Pop was twenty then, and this town became Wild, Wild Wildwood. There was the Rainbow Lounge, Hurricane Bar, Surf Club and lots more. Every one of them had a Philly band. The town rocked. My father was a lifeguard here at the time. Wildwood Beach Patrol during the day and clubbing at night. Damn near killed him, but he says he’ll never forget that summer. I was a lifeguard here in the ‘80s, but it wasn’t like the old days. Oh, turn right and head back to the street you came in on. Its Route 47 and we’ll take it all the way to Vineland.”
As they sped along the highway, Scully had more information he wanted to impart about his hometown. “We have the best beaches in Jersey, you know. Our boardwalk is nearly two miles long. Lots of rides and games. Wildwood has less than five thousand year-round residents, but this swells to fifty thousand in the summer.
“That’s got to be a real nightmare.”
“There are forty-five people on our little force, six of us are detectives. We work our asses off for a couple of months. And we kick back the rest of the year, particularly in the winter. Nothing ever happens this time of year.”
“Well we got that homicide we’re working on.”
“We’re not working on it. You are. I want to get this off my desk as quickly as possible. I’m not looking for any work until after Memorial Day. Besides, Wildwood doesn’t need any negative publicity about a dead body washing up on our beautiful beach.”
“You sound like a spokesman for the Chamber of Commerce.”
“Hey, it’s my town. Gotta love it.”
“Okay. I’ll take the investigation off your hands. Now tell me what else you have before we meet the ME.”
“See I told you we could use this time to review the case.�
� Scully displayed a sly smile on his face, like a little boy who thought he just got away with something.
“Can you take it from the top on your end?”
“The Coast Guard and I met the fishing boat when it docked this morning. Seems the knots used to tie the tarp around the body were done by a sailor,” Scully continued.
“Someone in the Navy?”
“Not necessarily. It most likely is someone who works around boats for a living or a hobby,” Scully said.
“There must be plenty of these types up and down the Jersey Shore.”
“Was the vic a boater?”
“No, but his partner is,” Andrews allowed.
“Bingo.”
“Anything else?” Andrews was ecstatic with this news but did not want to jump to conclusions about the possible suspect. The COD and TOD must be established. And, the motive and opportunity were still vague.
“For some reason, whoever dumped the body wanted it to be discovered.”
“The GPS phone indicates that,” Andrews said.
“The Coast Guard knows the tides around these parts. They got out their charts and plugged in the computer programs trying to figure out when and where a hundred and seventy-five pound body, in a tarp with an unknown amount of weights attached, would have to go in the water in order for it to show up where it did this morning.”
“And the answer is?”
“Best guess is someplace north of Avalon. Maybe as far a Sea Isle.”
“When?”
“Could have been late Sunday or early Monday. Doc’s input will help narrow that down. Other than that, I don’t have any more for you.”
“These pieces of information are very helpful.” Detective Andrews was impressed with the police work conducted by Scully. He could not understand why the man had no interest in being part of the investigation as it moved forward, although he was pleased to have the case to himself.
Doctor Kahn’s office and work area where located in the bowels of the hospital. The little man was having a cup of coffee and chocolate Tastykakes when they arrived. He looked up and motioned for the men to sit down while he finished his snack.
“This is Detective Andrews from the Lower Merion Police, outside Philadelphia,” Scully said.
“I know where it is. I’m originally from Mount Airy. Went to Temple, then to med school at Jefferson before deciding on the simple life at the Shore. Problem is I have to work in Vineland three days a week to make a living. But you’re not here to talk about me. You want to know what ended the life of that man I just dissected in the other room.” Doc motioned to someplace beyond his tiny office.
“That’s right, sir,” Andrews said.
“We learned some things that could help you apprehend the murderer. I abhor someone taking the life of another human. No one has that right. Why can’t we learn to accept and tolerate one another? Have you ever killed someone? In the line of duty, I mean.” The doctor looked directly at Andrews.
“No, and I hope I never have to.”
“I hope you never have to either. Want to see what we found out?” Dr. Kahn stood up and the detectives did the same. He strolled out the door and they followed in line.
The room where the autopsies were conducted was a few doors down the hall. Doc removed the sheet from Howard Bergen’s body. Fresh incisions ran from the top of the pelvic area and extended in a “Y” shape to just below the shoulders. These were held together with wide stitches and were the only unnatural marks on the decayed surface of the body, save for a large hematoma on the inside of the victim’s left arm. After giving the detectives time to observe the body, the ME lifted and turned the head to show where several blunt instrument blows had been delivered to the neck and lower cranium.
“He was hit hard from behind. The weapon appears to have been a pipe. The assailant was tall and powerful based on the trajectory of the initial blow to the skull and the force behind it. The direction from which it came suggests the killer was right-handed. By the way, we eye-balled the man’s fingernails and his clothes, they showed no trace evidence. Of course we’ll run everything through the lab to be sure,” the Medical Examiner said.
“What about the bruise on the crook of his arm, was it defensive?” Scully asked.
“Don’t think so. He was struck from behind with extreme force and fell to the ground or floor with no resistance. So I don’t see how the bruise got there. It looks like one that was the result of a lab technician missing the vein when drawing blood. You might check to see if he had any lab work done just prior to his death, being in the water for a week took away any chance of finding a puncture in the middle of the hematoma.”
“I made a note to follow up on this,” Andrews stated then asked, “Is the week in the cold water going to deter you from estimating the TOD?”
“Based on the empty stomach and full intestines, it looks like he expired four to six hours after eating. And the body was held for maybe ten hours before going into the ocean. It looks to me as if the victim was rendered unconscious with the first heavy blow and died several hours later when a series of shorter blows ultimately crushed his vertebrae.”
“So working the timeline back from when the body was recovered would put the vic over the side early Monday morning with death occurring in the late afternoon Sunday, assuming his last meal was about noon,” Andrews theorized.
“I’d want to run the numbers through the computer, but one might say you’re in the right ballpark,” Dr. Kahn replied.
“Now you’re getting somewhere,” Scully said.
“It’s not the TOD that’s puzzling me,” Doc stated.
“Don’t make us guess what you’re thinking. Detective Philly here needs to get home sometime today.”
“Thomas, you have no patience and little concern for detail. If you did this bit of information would not have eluded you. The man was not a true floater. He wasn’t in the water long enough for the body to deteriorate and produce the gases needed to cause the corpse to surface. In the Atlantic this time of year, it might have taken a month or more for that process to take place. I think we have an explanation why the body traveled with the currents the way it did and was close to the surface when the GPS signal was picked up.”
“Was some kind of floatation device employed?” Andrews asked.
“Precisely. There was a rope secured around the tarpaulin in which the body was wrapped. Detective Scully assumed this was for weights to hold the body down. However, after closer examination, it appears as though several floatation bags were used to keep the body high in the water. Remnants of them were found attached to the rope. Several manufacturers make these kinds of things, which you can purchase at most boating supply stores.”
“See, Doc, that’s why you’re paid the big bucks,” Scully quipped.
“And you should be turning over a portion of your salary to me for keeping you from making a fool of yourself,” Dr. Kahn said. He had trouble keeping a straight face as the two of them put on a show for the visiting detective.
“If I had any less salary, I’d be on welfare.” Scully cracked up and was joined by the doctor. John Andrews looked on wishing he had a more congenial relationship with the people he worked with.
“There’s no sense denying it, Estelle. You, and the guy I thought was my friend, are carrying on behind my back.” Roger said. He poured a second cup of morning coffee and continued pacing around the kitchen.
“That’s plain crazy. Get over your paranoia and go back to work. You obviously have too much time on your hands if you’re able to dream up such a ridiculous theory. Besides, what do you care; we don’t have a relationship anymore.”
“We agreed to use discretion. And this is not it.”
“I don’t intend to dignify your accusation by discussing such nonsense.” His wife left the kitchen and soon left the house. Roger was not disappointed.
About eleven, the phone rang. He thought it was his office and was surprised to hear the voice of Detective
Andrews say, “Good morning, Mr. Griffin. I’m sure you heard the sad news about Mr. Bergen.”
“Yes. It was all over the TV.”
“Can we talk or do you still want your attorney present?”
“Exactly what do you want to talk about?”
“I have information about your partner’s murder that might interest you.”
“Suppose you have more questions for me as well?”
“Of course, we’re investigating a murder. But a man with an alibi like yours should have nothing to worry about.”
“When do you want to come over?”
“How about now?”
“Make it noon. I’m not dressed yet. Remember, I’m still recuperating.”
“I’ll be there at noon.”
A few minutes after twelve, Roger opened the door of his substantial Tudor home to find Detective Andrews with a brown paper bag in one hand and a file folder in the other.
“Thought you might be hungry, so I picked up a couple of hoagies.” Roger showed the detective to the kitchen table where Andrews ate hungrily while the host picked at his food.
“Any progress on the case?” Roger asked.
“It’s not solved yet, but we’ve come a long way. Your partner was knocked unconscious some time in the early afternoon on Sunday and bludgeoned to death before six. The body was dumped in the ocean a couple of miles out, somewhere northeast of Stone Harbor early on Monday. It took a week for the tarp-wrapped body to make its way down to the Wildwood shallows. Now we need a real suspect with motive and opportunity. A murder weapon would be nice too,” the detective said. He embellished some facts while leaving out other information so Roger Griffin would not know exactly how much the police knew or didn’t know.
“When do you think the investigation will be over?”
“We need to follow up some leads, prove a few theories, and then we’ll have a complete picture of the crime. That’s when we’ll get our man.”
“Or woman,” Roger added.
“No it’s a man. The angle and force of the blows prove that. By the way, are you right or left handed?”
“I’m a southpaw.”
“I see. When did you and Mr. Bergen take out the Key Man Insurance? Five million dollars is a lot of money for the survivor.”