by Don Potter
Roger was prepared for this question and said, “It’s not an uncommon type of policy for a service business like ours. In case of a partner’s death, this allows the business to keep running until a replacement can be found or the company is sold.”
“So you get the money and control of the firm too?”
“Yes, but it’s not going to be easy to keep things going without Howie’s creative flair to give us the competitive edge.”
“I need to ask you again, was the business having money problems?”
“We’ve been having some cash flow issues. International expansion in the recent past and the dog-eat-dog nature of the business domestically, times have been difficult,” Roger said.
“Is that why you and Mr. Bergen have been arguing?”
“Who told you that?”
“It’s no secret. The people that work for you know.”
“Well he is...I mean was...the sensitive, creative type. Always thinking that design alone would bring in loads of money. But it doesn’t work that way. He never accepted the concept that this is a business not a playground. We got into some heated discussions about it on more than one occasion.”
“Did the fighting escalate recently?”
“Like I said, the last few months have been difficult financially. But that didn’t stop Howie from asking for advances.”
“You said he didn’t gamble, right?”
“Well, in a way, I guess he did without knowing it. Howie had an avocation, a passion for refurbishing old houses and selling them. Problem was he treated these places as if they were a work of art and lost money on most of the transactions. Some people have no business sense. We didn’t see eye-to-eye on his expensive and time consuming habit. But I must say he did do beautiful work. His homes were featured in magazines and newspapers around the country.” Roger was pleased with the way he praised his dead partner.
“I wish you had told me about this sooner.”
“Didn’t think it was relevant.”
“Everything’s relevant in a murder case. Do you want to talk about your wife?”
“What’s there to say?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“Please, Mr. Griffin. I’m not here to judge anyone; my job is to find your partner’s killer. So I have to investigate every possibility. Please tell me about your relationship with your wife and the current state of your marriage.”
“I find it difficult to talk about. We have a marriage of convenience. Been that way for the past five years. She was there for business and social activities, but we lived separate private lives. We agreed not to do anything to embarrass each other or affect the public perception of our marriage. The world-famous architect and the charity-volunteer wife are considered one of the Main Line’s happiest couples.”
“Your pictures were in the papers regularly,” Andrews confirmed.
“The arrangement seemed to work until last summer. You see, I have a boat at the Shore.”
“In Stone Harbor?”
“Yes. Both of us like being on the water, so she would spend weekends with me down there. We’d sleep on the boat in separate bunks and cruise up and down the South Jersey coast. Two summers ago, we met a fellow yacht club member, Dr. Richard Martin. He was recently divorced and had a different woman with him most of the time. Before last season began, he acquired the berth across from mine; so we saw him often and had drinks and dinner with him most weekends down there.”
“And?”
“Richard also lives not far from us in Bryn Mawr. So he became part of our life here as well. Near the end of last summer, things started to change. He stopped showing up with dates at the Shore and always seemed to be around, but in the shadows. About the same time, Estelle started to go out more often when we were home. She came in late at night. And there were phone calls at strange hours but no one answered if I picked up. It was obvious they were having an affair.”
“And you chose not to confront them with it?”
I planned to, but I needed proof and I had this growth under my arm which Richard was going to operate on. So I wanted to wait until that procedure was over before taking this thing to the next step. Besides, with the business having its own troubles, this was not a good time to push things too hard.”
“There never seems to be a good time to address such matters.” The detective commiserated with Roger in hopes of learning more.
“But, that day in the hospital, you asked if she was having an affair; and I just lost it. I got mad at you, and then hit them with it later. Their answers were unacceptable. Since then, I feel like a stranger in my own home. Something’s got to give, but I can’t deal with my personal problems until I get a handle on what to do about the business now that Howie’s gone.” Roger dropped his head in his hands as if he were about to cry, but quickly regained his composure, and raised his eyes as if to invite the detective’s next question.
“Did either Mrs. Griffin or Dr. Martin have any dealings with your partner?” Andrews threw what he thought was a softball query to allow Roger to catch his breath and to give the impression that he was a good cop.
“About a year ago, Estelle and Richard got involved in a couple of Howie’s projects. The good doctor put up a substantial sum of money to purchase half-a-dozen really old homes around the Philadelphia area. My wife got the local historical societies to sign off on these restoration projects. Howie did the designs and oversaw the work. I told them there was no money to be made in this kind of venture, because the societies had no profit motivation. They ignored my warning, but my opinion proved to be correct.”
“Do you know how the doctor felt about the situation?”
“He felt like anyone would after being sold on a losing proposition. Soon open warfare broke out between Richard and Howie. I enjoyed watching them battle but lost interest when the two sides brought their attorneys into the fray. They were at the deposition stage last I heard. Guess I should have told you about this too. Sorry, but my brain’s sort of scrambled.”
“No problem.” Andrews got more information than hoped for and saw no reason to push harder right now. He had leads to follow up and believed Roger would be open to more questions as the scenario unfolded. The detective gathered his things and as he left said, “You didn’t eat your hoagie, next time I’ll bring cheese steak sandwiches.”
Estelle Griffin was angry, very angry. “I can’t understand how you could be so careless. Our relationship should not have surfaced at this time. Now, instead of attention being fixed on Roger, we’re going to be under scrutiny too.”
“Don’t worry about it. There’s no reason for us to be suspects. We have nothing to gain from Howie’s death. The building project financing is in my name, so the investment becomes a bigger loss without him working on it. Besides, a wife who is having an affair doesn’t kill the husband’s business partner, she kills her husband.”
“It’s not me it’s us! You and I are in this together, all the way. So don’t think about trying to back out of this now.”
“Come on Estelle, you know what I meant. Of course we’re going to see this through together until Roger’s no longer in the picture and we’re free to live the life we deserve.”
“So, Richard, you’re ready for the next steps?”
“Yes, we go forward as planned.”
John Andrews’s desk was a jumble of file folders, individual reports, and canary pads half-filled with notes about the investigation. The mess had spilled over to his side chair and onto the immediate area surrounding his work station.
“Take that stuff into the meeting room and get it organized. Then I want you to give the lieutenant and me a comprehensive briefing on this case. We must get this murder wrapped up. It doesn’t make the township or the police department look good,” Detective Sergeant Salvatore Pellegrino stated. “The Township DA is all over us; he needs to decide if he’s going to handle the case or turn it over to the county. When w
ill you be ready to bring us up to date?”
“Tomorrow.” Andrews hoped this would give him enough time to pull together his thinking, even though there were loose ends to be tied up.
“Make it first thing in the morning.”
After spending much of the night reviewing all the case material and synthesizing his theory, Detective Andrews was ready to put his future on the line. He could hand off the case to the county cops, save possible embarrassment for the DA as well as the department, and life would continue unchanged. Or he could embellish what he had, push a somewhat risky theory, and end up a hero or a bum. John Andrews was tired of the status quo. It was time for a bold move, one that would garner plenty of press coverage and establish his reputation as the best detective on the force, maybe the county.
“Tell us what you know,” Sergeant Pellegrino commanded as he and Lieutenant Waverly entered the room.
“Conventional wisdom suggests Roger Griffin is the one to pursue. The motive is a five million dollar insurance policy on his business partner. Griffin possibly had the opportunity; but we don’t have anything concrete. His home, office and car were all combed after we obtained search warrants. Wildwood cops got a warrant for his boat and included me in that search.”
“And you have the evidence you need to bring in the DA?” the sergeant asked.
“Not quite. Witnesses place Griffin at a local restaurant for lunch on Saturday, and he claims to have stayed home alone that night. Presumably, he was incapacitated most of Sunday by a pre-op laxative regimen. Then Griffin showed up at the clinic on Monday morning for his scheduled procedure. He stayed overnight there and was heading home on Tuesday when his stitches broke and he ended up in another hospital. He was released on Friday. Howard Bergen’s body was discovered at the Jersey Shore the day Griffin went home. Griffin’s bleeding episode occurred earlier in the week and his wife had his car cleaned up right away to eliminate the blood stains in the front seat and floor. We did, however, find traces of the victim’s blood in the back seat of his car and in the trunk.”
“That’s sounds like enough to go after Griffin.”
“Griffin has an answer about the blood. He says the partner used his car the previous week to run a few errands and office witnesses confirm it. Bergen could have cut himself when putting packages in the backseat and the trunk. There were a few small scars on the vic’s fingers; he did a lot of work on those spec houses so cuts and bruises were commonplace.”
“There’s still enough circumstantial evidence to bring in Griffin,” the sergeant said.
“I’ve got a theory that says the wife and her doctor boyfriend could have done it and framed Griffin. They want him out of the picture and could use the money from his business to offset their recent financial setbacks,” Andrews said, almost gleefully. “Can’t you see the headline: Township Police probe solve local murder.”
“The one I envision is: Township Police sued by prominent local residents. You can’t be making these kinds of accusations with nothing to back them up except a gut feeling.” Pellegrino folded his arms and leaned back in his chair.
“Well if you ask me the headline for today should be: Township Police close to solving local murder. There’s no reason to put the department at risk. If we don’t have enough to make the charges stick on Griffin, let Andrews pursue his hunch and see what he can turn up. But whatever we do, let’s do it fast. You’ve got one week detective. Otherwise, we go to the DA with the facts we have on Griffin and we don’t offer any conflicting theories. Understood?” The lieutenant rose to leave.
The sergeant followed his superior’s lead and was about to close the door when he said, “Better not let up on Griffin. Re-interview him, have him watched, and go back over what you’ve got. Forget the shadowy conspiracy crap. He’s the one. It’s a simple case of murder.”
“And I think it’s a complex scheme. By this time next week I’ll prove it.”
“I moved out of my own home,” Estelle Griffin told Detective Andrews. “How could I live under the same roof with a man who killed his own partner? I could be next.”
“There was nothing else for her to do but to come stay with me,” Dr. Martin said, as if he had done an act of humanity. “Can’t the police arrest Roger?”
“We need evidence. It appears as if Mr. Griffin was home at the time of Mr. Bergen’s death. He was going through the laxative procedure you prescribed and was in your office first thing Monday. No one can attest differently. So unless you have anything to add to what you already told us, all the police can do is follow the clues we have,” the detective stated.
“Maybe he didn’t take the laxative. I don’t know. Hopefully nothing happens to Estelle or me while you’re just following up or there will be hell to pay.”
“I’ll be happy to explore any new direction, if you have some solid information to offer. In the meantime, I wouldn’t worry about Mr. Griffin. If he is involved, he would not be inclined to harm either of you. That would point the finger of blame right at him. No, although he may be upset with your current living arrangements, it’s in his best interest for both of you to stay alive.” Andrews told the truth and offered no sympathy.
“Tom Scully, this is John Andrews. How are you?”
“Same old same old. What’s cookin’ up in Philly?”
“I was hoping you might be able to help me out on the floater case.”
“Not looking for any extra work, but run it by me.”
“We’ve pretty much exhausted the search possibilities here. My people want to book Griffin, but I think his wife and boyfriend haven’t told us everything. I need to take a look at Dr. Martin’s yacht in Stone Harbor. Can you help me out with a search warrant?”
“You know better than that.”
“I need to get on that boat. Can’t the judge extend the one you got for Griffin’s boat? The doctor’s slip is right next to it.”
“No way.” Scully thought for a moment and said, “How ‘bout this? Drop the word to the doc and the girlfriend that a search warrant is being issued come Monday. If they’ve got something to get rid of, they’ll run down here over the weekend to get it off the boat. All we have to do is stakeout the area and catch them with the evidence.”
“Of course, we’re not there to watch his boat. Our stakeout is in case Griffin shows up, and we just happened to be in the area when something suspicious takes place on the neighboring yacht. It’s brilliant. I don’t care what Dr. Kahn says, you’re okay in my book.” Andrews laughed, feeling that he and Scully had bonded in some way.
“Yeah, it’s an easy way to get around the warrant issue. When are you leaving?”
“As soon as I hit them with the warrant ploy. Figure on me arriving around 4 PM. I’ll call when I’m on my way to Stone Harbor.”
When Andrews broke the news to Richard Martin and Estelle Griffin both were visibly shaken. Without further discussion, he departed for the Jersey Shore and immediately placed a call to Scully.
“Glad you called” the Wildwood detective said. “I found the perfect stakeout location. Meet me at the Stone Harbor marina so we can get ready for these birds when they fly down here.”
The detectives spent the next few hours talking about police work in general and this case in particular. The conversation helped Andrews conclude that Scully had about as much ambition as a jellyfish but the man was pleasant company.
They waited through the night. Andrews was dozing when he heard a car approaching. He looked at his watch; it was 6:15 AM. The other detective was not there.
“Damn,” he muttered. “Where’s Scully?” Andrews slid down in his seat and waited as Richard and Estelle zipped open the cover and stepped on board the vessel as it bobbed in the inlet water.
In less than ten minutes, the couple disembarked. The doctor was carrying a small bag. Fearing he would lose the opportunity to examine what they were taking with them, Andrews jumped from the car and shouted, “Stop. Police. Put the bag down, raise your hands, and do
n’t move.”
Before they could comply with his demands, a shot rang out. Richard Martin clutched his chest and straightened up. Another shot followed. The doctor grabbed his abdomen and fell forward to the dock. Estelle Griffin dropped down next to him and lay perfectly still.
“Did you see that?” Scully cried out. “He was reaching for something.”
Andrews moved to the fallen couple. Dr. Martin was dead. He picked up the woman by the arms. She was trembling uncontrollably as Scully appeared, his gun drawn.
“He was reaching for his car keys. There are no weapons. Why did you shoot him?” Andrews cried out.
“Things happened so fast,” Scully replied.
“Too fast. This is real trouble.”
“Look at what’s in the bag,” Scully said as he began to remove the contents. “A perfume atomizer, a piece of pipe and tide charts. This is all the evidence you need.”
The Wildwood detective’s mistake provided the proof the Lower Merion District Attorney needed to build a solid case against Estelle Griffin and her deceased lover.
The atomizer contained Howard Bergen’s blood and matched the spray pattern found in the back of Roger’s car. The specimen explained the blood traces in the trunk as well. It was concluded that the bruise on the victim’s arm occurred when the blood was draw while Howie was still alive.
The pipe matched the impressions found on the victim’s head. And the navigational charts were for the date the body was dumped in the ocean and indicated where the currents were headed, which coincided with the area where the body was found.
Estelle Griffin claimed the couple was innocent and were warned by an anonymous caller that evidence was planted on Richard’s boat.
The DA had no problem convincing the Main Line jury that she and Richard Martin murdered Howard Bergen and conspired to place the blame on Roger Griffin.
A guilty verdict was returned in less than two hours. The news headlines proclaimed Local Police solve local murder.