Shadow Stalker

by D W Cooperstein

  Detective Brigham patiently waited on the line while I consulted with Angie. We had nothing planned for the day, so I agreed to meet with him in Cogswell. Brigham wanted to meet at Hollows Pond, outside of town.

  “We’re not meeting at the police station?” I said.

  “No,” he told me. This seemed a bit unusual, but I respected how the police in Cogswell went about their business. Angie had some things to do in the apartment. She was planning to go food shopping in the early afternoon. After eating a hearty breakfast, I kissed my wife goodbye and left for Cogswell. I arrived in town earlier than expected, asked for directions to Hollows Pond and got there within fifteen minutes.

  Detective Brigham was waiting for me. “Hello, Mr. Watson.” The detective shook my hand with a strong grip. We exchanged pleasantries, then got down to business. “I spoke with Captain Goloft yesterday about the murder of your sister-in-law. Sir, you know what you ask of me and this police department is highly irregular.”

  “Yes, I know. I just want to help in whatever way I can to find my sister-in-law’s killer, that’s all.”

  “Well, anyway, this case has us baffled. We still don’t have any clues as to the killer’s identity. The case will remain open, but I can’t see how to continue with nothing to go on. There was a time when I felt like telling my boss to close the entire case down.”

  “You mustn’t close this case. My sister-in-law was murdered. This killer is unusually good at leaving no incriminating evidence behind. Let me help. I need to do this for myself, my wife, and the spirit of my dead sister-in-law.”

  “Okay, let’s talk,” he said.

  I stayed with the detective at Hollows Pond, discussing the details of the case. I agreed to not interfere with the ongoing investigation, or the other detectives working the case. I’d work only with Detective Brigham as my liaison to the police department. I felt awkward in this arrangement, working only with Detective Brigham, but I agreed. “Make sure you clear it with O’Malley,” I told him.

  “Don’t worry; I’ll take care of it.” I left to drive back to town. Brigham stayed at the pond to complete an investigation he was doing for an assault case.

  Before I left Cogswell for Highgate, I did some snooping around town. I revisited the crime scene in the apartment. The murder took place on the first floor in the kitchen. I walked through the rest of the apartment and took notes. I reexamined the entire area outside the apartment and the surrounding buildings and structures. When I finished, I walked back to the center of town and spoke to a few of the residents. I wanted to get a sense of the place. Afterwards, I drove the twenty miles back to my home in the city. When I arrived, my wife was still out doing errands. I prepared a snack and went into my study to think about what I’d seen in Cogswell. I needed to meditate on the case for a while. I took out my pipe and watched the ringed swirls of smoke rise to the ceiling, then slowly disappear.

  In reviewing the case of Angie’s murdered sister, certain facts emerged. It was clear by the position of the victim’s body on the floor that Cheryl didn’t kill herself. The nature of the wound on her body precluded this. Detective Brigham said the police lab had determined that the victim was grabbed from behind by the killer. Her throat was slashed in seconds. In analyzing the depth of the wound, I felt it might be possible to estimate the height, weight, and possibly the strength of the killer. The police lab report stated that the victim was completely relaxed just before she was surprised, then murdered. This suggested that she may have known her killer. She could’ve been engaged in idle conversation and not expecting the violence to follow.

  Robbery had been ruled out as a motive for this killing. Nothing of any value was missing from her apartment. The victim’s own wallet, containing credit cards and over a hundred dollars in cash, was sitting on the kitchen counter in plain sight. Perhaps jealousy was a motive for the killer. According to Angie, that didn’t seem likely. She had a close relationship with her sister and knew of no jealous boyfriends. I was interested in discovering if anyone, including a former lover, held a grudge against Cheryl. My wife told me that her sister was careful in her choice of men. I asked if her sister had recently been seeing anyone. Angie didn’t think so but couldn’t be sure. Cheryl had many friends in town. It seemed that both robbery and jealousy could be ruled out as motives for this killing.

  My next train of thought was to enter the kitchen where the murder took place. What I observed seemed to point to the obvious. Cheryl Compton was apparently standing in the middle of the kitchen with her back to the killer. She was grabbed from behind, murdered, and then fell directly to the floor. The killer must’ve cleaned the room of any telltale signs of his involvement, including wiping away all incriminating bloody fingerprints.

  From the police reports and lab work, it was clear that the killer would have to be a certain height and strength to quickly grab the victim and slit her throat in such a way as to produce that neck wound. The victim’s height suggested this man would have to be around six feet tall. He needed to grab Cheryl from behind to prevent her from turning her head and trying to escape. The necessary height and weight of the killer, including body type and muscle mass required to inflict this wound, suggested that Cheryl’s attacker had to be strong. The speed, angle and depth with which he slit her throat would require agility. I poured myself a drink, scribbled some notes and drawings on paper, then heard Angie return home from her shopping adventure. My driver helped her bring in all the packages.

  Angie told me about all the wonderful things she did in the city. She brought in our mail and I sorted through it. My wife was quite intuitive of my needs, bringing in some juice. She went into the kitchen and started preparing dinner. I could smell the enticing aromas from the food. Angie turned out to be quite a domestic diva in the kitchen and beyond. I appreciated the way that she decorated our home and kept things tidy. Cleaning up after myself wasn’t my forte, although somehow, I managed to survive all the years when I was living alone. Not exactly the best time of my life.

  Later that evening, I suggested Angie and I take a walk in the park and get some fresh air. We grabbed our coats and headed out. During our walk, I told her about all the places I’d go as a young boy. I grew up in the city and had frequented quite a number of haunts. Angie shared her wonderful experiences growing up in Cogswell with her younger sister. Cheryl had been an inquisitive young woman, always looking for new and interesting things to do. Unfortunately, not many things to do in Cogswell. Still, Angie and her sister had a happy childhood. After a while, we returned home and got undressed for bed.

  In the early morning, I returned to Cogswell and continued snooping around town looking for suspects. I spent the whole day talking with local townspeople. I found these people interesting, and very observant. I met with Detective Brigham and filled him in on everything that I was doing. He and I would meet at different locations around town to discuss the murder case.

  Before I left town, I saw the post office on my way out of Cogswell. I slowed the car and happened to notice a mail carrier stepping out of his mail truck. At first, I thought nothing of it, but then I made an immediate and curious observation. Here was a person who fit the physical profile of Cheryl’s killer. He was about six feet tall and muscular. I parked the car and kept watching him carry his heavy mail sacks into the post office. A letter carrier in a small town like this would probably know each person on a first name basis. I got the plate number from the mail truck he was driving and took note of the time, then turned on the car radio and drove back to Highgate.

  I returned to Cogswell the next day. I went into the post office and found out the name of the driver of the mail truck I saw yesterday. His name was Jason Pullman, and he’d recently moved to this area. He’d been working as a letter carrier for only a short time. I discovered he was renting an apartment across from the market. He was friendly enough, but some of the people that I spoke to in town didn’t like him. They said he was too much of a loner.

  I
watched his comings and goings. I wanted to observe him on his day off from work. I hung around the area where he lived and waited for him to either enter or leave his apartment. Soon I saw him walk out and head to the local market across the street. This small market was a favorite with the locals. I watched him from my car, parked a safe distance away. He emerged from the market carrying two bags of groceries close to his chest. This seemed a little unusual. Suddenly an idea flashed before me: I wanted to see if this man had the required strength and agility to murder Cheryl.

  I started up my car and waited. As he was about to cross the street, I slammed on the accelerator and headed straight for him, swerving out of the way only at the last possible moment. As I expected, he exhibited great flexibility and strength, stepping out of the way of the speeding car, while at the same time tightly holding on to the two bags of groceries.

  I immediately stopped my car and rushed over. “My God, I’m terribly sorry. Are you okay? I seemed to have lost control of the car. My foot may have gotten stuck on the accelerator. Let me help you,” I said.

  “No, I’m fine. Watch where you’re driving next time.” Jason crossed the street and walked to his apartment, still holding the two bags of groceries. I watched as he entered his apartment building.

  When I had rushed over to Mr. Pullman in the street, pretending to help him after the near collision, my real intention was to get a close look at his arms, shoulders and hands. I tried to estimate the size of his hands and arms, so I could later analyze his physical attributes in my study. I hurriedly scribbled the estimated figures on a scrap of paper and returned home. After spending two hours analyzing Pullman’s physical profile, I sat down to a lovely dinner with Angie.

  The next morning, I returned to Cogswell. For several days, I observed his daily routine until I learned his schedule for the week. I wanted to get a sense of where in the week there would be time when he was totally occupied with his mail deliveries. I needed a solid hour and a half for what I was planning. I had a strong feeling that there might be evidence hidden in Jason’s apartment, and I wanted to check it out. I continued to observe his work habits and routines. I noticed on Thursday he had a mail delivery that included surrounding towns and villages. On that day, he usually got home late. Working with the Cogswell police, I told Brigham that I wanted to enter Pullman’s apartment.

  “Why do you want to go in there?”

  “I’ve got a gut feeling there may be hidden evidence in that apartment.”

  “Yeah, based on what?”

  “Listen, Pullman has the right physical profile of the killer. Besides, I’ve been asking around town, and some people don’t like him. They say he’s a loner, not sociable.”

  “Big deal. Lots of people around here fit that description. We’re looking for a killer. You don’t expect me to let you go into his apartment based on that flimsy evidence?”

  “Okay, I agree, it’s not much, but I really believe this man is our best suspect yet. Besides, when I was in Cheryl’s apartment, I noticed a knife rack in her kitchen. One of the knives was missing.”

  “And you think it might be in there?”

  “Yes.”

  I asked Brigham to get me a search warrant.

  “Okay, why don’t you go into Pullman’s apartment on your own and dig up some evidence? Don’t worry about a search warrant—we’re pretty informal around here. I’ll take care of all that paperwork. If you find anything, just let me know.”

  I glared at Brigham. “You condone breaking into people’s homes without a search warrant? What kind of laws do you have in this town?”

  “Like I told you, if any trouble comes of this, I’ll have the necessary paperwork ready. Besides, he won’t even be there.”

  “Detective, everyone, even a potential killer, has the right of due process.”

  “Okay, I’ll get that warrant,” Brigham said.

  On Thursday, I entered the suspect’s apartment by picking the lock. The locks in these old buildings were easy to open. I searched his apartment for nearly an hour, wearing thin and flexible gloves. I took many pictures and left everything just as I had found it. Soon I found what I was looking for. Hidden away in the back of his bureau was what I believed to be the murder weapon. The knife had a serrated edge and was wrapped in rags. It was tucked under some folded shirts. My suspicion was correct. I unwrapped the knife and took pictures of it from many angles, then wrapped the knife up and put it back in the bureau. I didn’t think it was necessary to dust the knife for prints. That could be done later by the police with Mr. Pullman present. I looked around his apartment one final time, gathered my stuff and left. On the way home, I kept thinking about these sleazy Cogswell police detectives who had absolutely no respect for the law.

  After developing the pictures I’d taken, I compared the serrated edge of the knife and its length to lab photos of the knife wound on the victim’s neck. I’d recently installed more powerful magnifiers in my workshop like the ones in the Bureau; under normal vision, no discernible distinction or connection could be made between the knife and the victim’s neck wound. However, in observing the cleaned edges of the neck wound under high-power magnification, I could clearly see the wavy characteristics of the cut on the victim’s neck, which corresponded perfectly to what I was observing on the serrated edge of the knife.

  I returned to the murder scene. As I observed the kitchen, I noticed the knife rack hanging on the wall near the sink. The missing knife I found in Pullman’s apartment was part of that set. The police missed an important clue, and I wasn’t surprised. I was confident now that the murder weapon was found. Given my discoveries so far, I felt Jason Pullman could be the killer.

  I decided to connect Mr. Pullman to the murder weapon. If he really did kill my sister-in-law, I’d make him pay. I was certain that if the knife had any fingerprints, they’d probably been wiped clean. If the police searched his apartment with him being present and found the knife without his prints, the case against him would never stand up in court, even though that knife was part of the set I found in the victim’s kitchen. I decided to set a trap to bait the killer. I formulated my plan quickly and returned to Highgate. Before I left town, I rented an apartment in the building next to Cheryl’s place, which had a clear view of her kitchen window. That night, I told Angie I’d be away for several days, explaining to her what I was planning. I reassured her that everything would be all right and not to worry. I told her to keep the doors locked, and that I’d return home in about a week.

  The next day, I moved into my furnished apartment. From the outset, I decided to disguise myself as an elderly white-haired gentleman with a cane, hoping to fool the people in town. I dressed up in a wig and colorful garb, but it wasn’t easy assuming the identity of a frail and elderly gentleman. Still, I did the best I could to disguise myself with baggy clothes.

  My next problem was trying to convince Pullman that I’d witnessed his killing the young girl. As the mail carrier, he’d surely know that I wasn’t living in this apartment on the day he murdered Cheryl Compton. He couldn’t know, however, if anyone was in that empty apartment on the day that he killed her. When Cheryl’s body was found by the police, the windows in her kitchen were quite exposed. There were no curtains or blinds on them. This meant that the killer couldn’t be sure if someone had witnessed his killing the girl. I decided to spook Pullman.

  I hurriedly scribbled out the devastating contents of a letter in shaky handwriting and addressed it to Jason Pullman. In the letter, I told him that I was in that apartment checking it out before I had moved in. I explained that I’d seen him killing the young girl, and insisted he immediately turn himself in to the police. I gave him exactly one week to do it; otherwise I’d go to the police and report what I saw. I was careful in how I worded my threat. I described details of what I saw through her kitchen window, details that only the killer would know. I was hoping that my description would be so vivid and true to life that he couldn’t help but believe tha
t I really did see him commit his crime. I put a fake name on the envelope and my address, including my apartment number. Disguised as an old man, I dropped the letter in Jason’s mailbox when he was at work. I hobbled back to my apartment.

  Every day, I’d sit outside my apartment in a rocking chair. I watched the letter carrier come to Cheryl’s building to deliver the mail. My disguise was perfect. I wanted Mr. Pullman to see that I was an easy target to kill. I was hoping that he’d take the bait. When Pullman delivered the mail to my building, I was always outside waiting for him. He silently looked at me and went about his business. I’m sure he could tell by my angry expression that I was waiting for him to turn himself in.

  Six days passed and nothing happened. I felt time was running out and that the murderer would probably try to kill me in my apartment, so I prepared a trap. I wanted to be awake at night in case the killer showed, so I slept during the day. Finally, on the seventh day, I was pouring myself a drink in the living room when I heard some noise downstairs in the hallway in the middle of the night. Was this the killer? As I continued to listen, the noise got louder. Now there was a creaking as someone slowly ascended the staircase. Earlier in the evening, I had arranged a crumpled heap of clothes on my bed to mimic the shape of an elderly man asleep on his side. The ruse was perfect. I pulled out my service revolver, walked back into the bedroom, and quietly hid in the closet, awaiting my guest.

  Sure enough, I heard the gentle fidgeting sounds of my front door lock being picked. I heard the creaking sound of my front door slowly being opened. My heart skipped a beat, mostly out of fear, even though I was prepared to receive the killer. I heard my apartment being surveyed by this intruder. After a few minutes, I could see thin pencil rays of a flashlight scatter around the room like a laser beam as the killer walked into my bedroom. The bright light shone on the bed as the tall figure moved in closer. The gloved hand of the killer raised high above the bed held a large knife. Suddenly the killer’s arm came down hard on the crumpled bundle of clothes under the covers. Without hesitation, I opened the closet door and aimed my service revolver. The knife-wielding assassin quickly turned around to confront me and my gun. He looked at me with complete shock on his face as I turned on the bright light in the bedroom.