The Crafty Teddy

by John J. Lamb

  “Please, I surrender!”

  “Two!”

  “I’m unarmed!”

  “Three!”

  Taking careful aim at the roadway in front of the Mountaineer, I began slowly cranking off rounds and saw coppery metallic sparks as the bullets struck the vehicle’s frame. I fired four times, but before I could shoot again, I saw Poole hurl a large blue-steel revolver from the SUV. It clattered to the pavement about ten feet from the vehicle.

  Poole screamed, “You are goddamned crazy! I give!”

  I yelled back, “No more guns, knives, or tactical nukes?”

  “No!”

  “Biblical weapons, like plowshares turned into swords?”

  “No!”

  From somewhere down in the Valley, a siren began to wail and I hoped Poole heard it too.

  I said, “Then here’s how we’re going to do this. As you get out of that SUV, you’re going to move so slowly that I’m going to think you’re a government employee. Then you’re going to lie facedown on the pavement and extend your arms. Got that?”

  “Yes!”

  “And here’s where the jokes stop: Poole, if you so much as even glance at those guns, I’ll kill you.”

  “I won’t!” Poole’s voice quavered with terror.

  “Ash, come here!” I hissed.

  She slipped around the rear of the Xterra and joined me. “What?”

  In a quiet voice, I said, “Once I get him proned out, I want you to take the Glock and cover me as I handcuff him. If he tries to fight, I’m going to fall down and I want you to shoot him. Can you do that?”

  “You’ve seen me at the range.”

  “This isn’t a paper target.”

  “I know. When you’re ready, give me the gun.”

  Turning back to the Mountaineer, I shouted, “Okay Poole, let’s do this. Open that door very slowly.”

  Poole pushed the door open and cautiously stepped away from the SUV. Everything seemed to be going fine, until he shot a furtive glance to his right at the dense forest bordering the road. He turned to take one step to run and I fired a round in his path. Poole stumbled to a stop and stared at the neat hole at belly button height the bullet had just created in the fender of the Mountaineer.

  Poole looked accusingly at me. “I can’t believe you’d shoot me in cold blood.”

  I said, “Pal, the only downside to shooting you is that Ash will be angry, because I didn’t let her drop the hammer on you. Now, lie down!”

  A moment later, I was kneeling on Poole’s upper back and neck, tightening the handcuffs around his wrists. Then I searched him for weapons and was a little surprised not to find any. There were more sirens now and they were getting closer. Ash gave me the gun back and then we pulled Poole to his feet.

  As we walked him over to the Xterra, Poole sniveled, “I’m sorry about crashing into Sheriff Tina’s car. It was an accident.”

  “Right, and isn’t it interesting that you knew Tina was elected sheriff. Gage must have been keeping you very well informed of what was happening in town.”

  “The crash was an accident.”

  “Just like how you and Gage murdered Merrit?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yeah, that’s real convincing. But you might want to keep something in mind before you start lying and denying: Gage has already dimed you off as the killer. That’s how we knew where to look for you,” I lied.

  “But he killed Merrit!”

  “It’s your word against his and he’s cooperated fully.”

  Poole snarled, “The little bastard! Fine, I’ll make a full statement when we get back to the sheriff’s department.”

  “Wise decision.”

  Ash turned to give Poole a wicked smile. “And when this is all finished, you can look forward to joining the Vienna Boys’ Choir. Oh, and don’t worry about hitting the high notes. Sergei Zubatov will fix your voice.”

  Twenty-five

  The first cruiser to arrive was a state police unit. It skidded to a stop and a big trooper helped us shove Poole into the backseat of the patrol car. I asked the cop how Tina was doing and he told me she was being transported via ambulance to Rockingham Memorial Hospital in Harrisonburg. The initial prognosis from the EMTs was that she had at least one broken wrist.

  “What about the man that was with her? Is he okay?” I asked.

  “As far as I know he’s fine. He insisted on riding to RMH in the ambulance with your sheriff and everybody decided it was best not to argue with him.” The trooper nodded toward Poole, whose chin was on his chest. “What do you want me to do with this guy?”

  “You’ll be doing us a big favor if you transport him to the Massanutten County sheriff’s office and tell the deputies to lock him in an interview room,” I replied.

  “My pleasure.”

  “And can you also get a wrecker en route? We need this thing towed down to the crime lab in Roanoke.” I hooked a thumb in the direction of the Mountaineer.

  “I’ll radio my dispatch and get it arranged.”

  “Thanks, and be careful with Jerry Garcia there. He’s a definite escape risk.”

  “And I’m a definite ass-whupping risk. Got that, buddy?” the trooper shouted at Poole, who nodded sullenly.

  Once the state trooper was gone, Ash gave me a hug and said, “Wow, look at how well you’re getting around without your cane.”

  I grimaced. “Thanks love, but don’t get used to me being fully ambulatory just yet. The adrenaline is wearing off and my leg is really starting to hurt.”

  “Let’s get your cane. There’s ibuprofen in the center console.”

  “Yeah, and it might be a good idea to make sure the Xterra isn’t so damaged that we won’t be able to drive out of here.”

  I grabbed my cane from the backseat of the Xterra, while Ash got the pills and I swallowed them dry. Then we went to check out the front of our vehicle. The right front bumper was a little mangled, but otherwise the SUV looked drivable.

  After that, Ash went to search the Mountaineer, while I collected the two guns lying on the pavement. The wheel-gun was a rusty Smith & Wesson .41 caliber magnum revolver with the serial numbers obliterated by some sort of grinding tool—a not-so-subtle clue that it was stolen. It was loaded with hollow-point ammunition, which I was confident the crime lab would positively match to the bullet removed from our living room wall. The other firearm was a .32 automatic that looked as if it was Czech-made. No doubt, it was stolen too. I secured both guns in the Xterra and then returned to the Mountaineer.

  I asked, “Have you found anything, honey?”

  Ash put a largish cardboard package on the hood of the SUV. “He was going to mail that to someone in Florida.”

  “A teddy bear?”

  “I think so. There’s also a checkbook from a bank over in Franklin, West Virginia, in the same name he gave for the post office box.”

  “Any shoes?”

  “Why?”

  “We’re going to want all of Poole’s shoes for analysis.”

  Ash stuck her head into the vehicle again and called, “None that I can see.”

  “Then grab that stuff and let’s head ten-nineteen,” I said, using the old California police radio code for the sheriff’s station. “There’s no telling how long Tina is going to be at the hospital and I need to interrogate Poole before he changes his mind about talking.”

  As we drove down the mountain, Ash said, “I know this is going to sound strange, but even though I despise Poole, I find it hard to believe he might have killed Merrit. I mean, I’ve known him since we were kids and he never showed any signs of violence then. And, my God, he was a preacher.”

  “And Josef Stalin was once a seminary student,” I said. “People change, sweetheart. I’m convinced Poole is the murderer.”

  “Why him instead of Gage? Like you said, maybe Gage went back to the museum to give himself an alibi.”

  “That’s possible, although I don’t think he
’s a good enough actor to have faked the look of shock I saw on his face. But the more important thing is to contrast their criminal profiles. Gage is a conman and a sneak thief, but he hasn’t shown any predisposition toward violence.”

  “And Poole has?”

  “On more than one occasion. He tried to shoot me while robbing our home, thirty minutes ago he committed felonious assaults against Tina and Sergei, and he was prepared to use those handguns if he’d lured me close enough to his truck. By any definition, he’s now a violent criminal.”

  “And the kind of person who would hit someone else on the head with a hammer.” Ash looked sad. “I see what you mean. So, how are you going to get him to confess?”

  “The only thing I can do is to keep pretending that Gage rolled on him and offer Poole the chance to get even. Maybe if he tells enough lies, he’ll trip himself up.”

  Ash rubbed my arm. “You sound a little worried.”

  “I am. He knows how I operate, and that’s going to make things much tougher.”

  Later, as we were approaching Harrisonburg, I asked, “Hey, how would you like me to drop you off at the hospital?”

  “No. They probably won’t even let me into Tina’s room and I want to go to the station and help you interview Poole.”

  I put my hand on her knee. “Honey, you’re going to have to trust me on this, but I really don’t think it’s a good idea if you’re in the interview room while I interrogate him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because unlike me, you’re an honest and decent person who’s easily outraged by a scumbag like Poole.”

  Ash sighed. “That’s true.”

  “And considering our last conversation with him, back in October, he already knows you hate him. So, if you’re sitting there, all he’s going to do is spout excuses and we don’t have time for that. We need the truth.”

  “And I’d be liable to lose my temper.”

  “You? Lose your temper?” I gave her a puckish smile.

  She put her hand on mine. “You’re right. Why don’t you go ahead and let me off at the hospital. But do me a favor.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Drive a stake through his heart like he’s a vampire. I don’t want there to be even the slightest chance that he can ever violate our lives again.”

  “Just call me Van Helsing.”

  I made the turn into the emergency room parking lot and Ash kissed me before getting out. It took another fifteen minutes to get back to the sheriff’s office and Deputy Bressler was waiting for me in the lobby when I came stumping in. He had a message from Tina: I was to proceed with interrogating Poole and that her deputies had been instructed to assist me in any way I deemed necessary.

  “Where is Poole?” I asked.

  “In the interview room,” said Bressler.

  “Still handcuffed?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Get me a tape recorder and a couple of cassettes.”

  Bressler trotted down the hall and I went into Tina’s office, where I removed my shoulder holster and put it into one of her desk drawers. I also decided to leave my cane behind. Poole was accustomed to viewing me as crippled and the continued absence of the blackthorn would send a disquieting subliminal message that I was now his physical equal.

  I met Bressler in the hallway outside the interview room. He handed me the tape recorder, a power cord, and the cassettes. I quietly instructed him to remain outside the door and not to enter unless he heard the sounds of a brawl. Then I opened the door, gritted my teeth, and strode into the interview room. Poole was seated crosswise in a chair, with his back against the wall. He looked up at me as I put the tape recorder and accessories on the table.

  Pulling my key ring from my pocket, I said, “Stand up, turn around, and let me take the handcuffs off.”

  “It’s about time.” Poole bent at the waist and pushed himself to his feet.

  I unlocked the handcuffs. “Sit down.”

  “What happened to your cane?”

  “Don’t need it anymore. Sit down.”

  Poole slumped into the chair while rubbing his wrists. “Before you start recording, we need to talk.”

  “About what?” I plugged the power cord into the wall socket.

  “I’m not going to say anything unless I’ve got a guarantee that you won’t press charges against me.”

  “Immunity from prosecution?” I snorted with amusement as I yanked the plug back out of the socket. “What, are you on drugs?”

  Poole looked apprehensive as I gathered all the stuff up and headed for the door. He said, “Where are you going?”

  “You’re wasting my time, Poole. I don’t need your statement. In fact, I almost don’t want it, because Gage has already reserved you a window seat on the lethal injection shuttle to hell.”

  “Don’t I have the right to have a lawyer here?”

  “Sure, but you and I both know that if you had an attorney, he or she would tell you to remain silent. That means that Gage’s story of how you brutally killed Merrit becomes gospel. But hey, if you want to lawyer up, be my guest.”

  “All right, dammit. I’ll talk.”

  “So long as you understand that I’m not offering any deals.”

  “I agree—not that you’re giving me any choice.”

  I sat down and re-plugged the power cord into the wall. Then I put a cassette tape into the machine and pressed the record button. I began by stating the date and time. Next, I identified myself and made Poole provide his full name. After that, I recited the Miranda admonition for about the twenty-thousandth time in my life.

  When I finished, I said, “So, having those rights in mind, do you wish to speak with me?”

  Poole leaned forward to speak into the recorder. “Yes, because I’ve been falsely accused of murder and I want to help the sheriff catch the real killer.”

  “Your commitment to civic virtue is an example to us all. But before we get to the murder, I want to cover some foundational material.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as where you’ve been since October of last year.”

  “After the…uh, trouble…with Sheriff Holcombe, I knew I couldn’t get a fair trial, so I went to go live in the mountains.”

  “On Kimsey Pond Road?”

  Pooled blinked, obviously surprised that I knew where he’d been staying. He said, “There and some other places.”

  “You’ve been living under the alias of Adam Mumford, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m assuming you somehow got ahold of Mumford’s driver’s license.”

  “Yeah, I’ve had it awhile.”

  “And you’re aware that possessing stolen property and identity theft are both felonies, right?”

  “Yes. I’ll accept my punishment, so long as I can clear my name of a murder I didn’t commit.”

  I threw an arm over the back of my chair. “Good, then let’s move on to some more felonious behavior. Tell me about the counterfeit bear and quilt scam.”

  “That was something I began talking about with Neil Gage just before everything fell apart in October. I had no idea how valuable antique teddy bears were until I began making the arrangements to auction that Mourning Bear. And quilts? Americana is hot right now.” Poole’s voice grew unintentionally enthusiastic.

  The bear Poole was referring to was from an extremely limited edition of Steiff teddies made in 1912 to commemorate the victims of the sinking of the Titanic. Back in 2003, one of the black bears had been sold for a cool $165,000 at a London auction. And he was also on the mark about the skyrocketing value of antique quilts.

  I asked, “Whose idea was it to make counterfeits?”

  “Gage’s. I had no money, so I just planned to steal the stuff and split half of whatever I made with him.”

  “But?”

  “But then he suggested combining his access to the bears with my information on the antique bear market.”

  “By producing bogus antiques
. And did Frank Merrit know about this scam?”

  Poole shook his head. “No, he would never have gone along with the deal.”

  I gave him a bland smile. “How old-fashioned. Apparently he thought the Eighth Commandment actually meant something.”

  “I’m not proud of what I did, but I was out of options. I didn’t have any money.”

  Resisting the urge to say, Yeah, you’re a real victim of circumstance, I said: “Okay, so you and Gage decided to go into business making counterfeit antiques, yet you waited until March to begin production. Why?”

  “The original plan was that Gage was going to use some old lady in Pineville to make the bears and quilts.” Poole sighed wearily. “But in December she had a stroke and couldn’t sew anymore.”

  The self-pity was too much and this time I couldn’t rein in my smart mouth. “Wow. How inconvenient for you.”

  He glowered at me.

  “So, Gage had to find a new seamstress?”

  “Yes, and it took him until February.”

  “Did you ever meet her?”

  “I was outside her house once. We never spoke.”

  “Her name is Holly Reuss, by the way, and she’s a nice, if overly-naive, lady. Were you worried that she’d recognize you?”

  “No. One of the first things Gage found out when he met her at that quilt show was that she attended church in Grottoes.”

  “Who came up with the cover story that she was making the bears for the museum gift shop?”

  “Gage. Did she actually believe that?” Poole sounded slightly amused.

  “Yeah. Hilarious, huh? She also thought Gage was in love with her.”

  “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “Of course not. Hey, just to satisfy my curiosity, whatever happened to the antique bears that Gage boosted from the museum?”

  “Once the seamstress—Holly, I guess—had learned to copy them, we sold them.”

  “Do you remember who bought them?”

  Poole gave me an annoyed look. “No. It’s not like I was keeping business records.”

  “Just thought I’d ask. Okay, so Holly started making bears while you pretended to be a representative from the Massanutten Museum of History and searched for potential victims on the Internet. How’d you go about doing that?”