by Rose Young
Georgi tried to comfort her, “I understand, Marissa. We are all just living life, no one expected this…” Georgi looked at Roxanne for support, feeling helpless to make things better.
Roxanne aired her thoughts, “It seems like there is a huge missing link to this whole story. Someone might have known that Mitch wasn't returning to New London for two or three months. I have a hunch there is a connection to Long Island, where people know you and Mitch very well. The whole story isn’t here in New London. Heck, they've blackmailed you over your daughter. There isn’t anyone here who knows about your daughter, is there?”
Marissa realized Roxanne’s point, “Well, I don't think so, Vanessa has never been here.”
“That's right,” said Roxanne, “we don't have the whole story. I wonder how much more Detective Morrison knows, because until now we didn't know of your blackmail, and you didn't know of Georgi’s.”
Roxanne rose out of her seat, “Where is the detective?” She went to the boardroom door and cracked it open. A guard was outside. Stepping back in, she whispered to Marco, “I’m going to the loo,” then she opened the door. The guard immediately stopped her advance.
“Sorry ma’am, the detective asked that you stay here.”
“Can I use the restroom, please?” Roxanne asked sweetly.
“Sure, down the hall, take a right and it's on your left,” he replied kindly.
She turned back, winked at Marco and said, “I'll be right back.”
Her petite form moved down the hallway took a right and came upon the elevator doors. She pushed the button, entered alone and pressed for the lower level. She remembered there was a big meeting room downstairs. The elevator dinged. She could hear the detective's voice yelling orders.
Roxanne peeked out the elevator door and spied a broad 6-foot-tall multi-stemmed palm tree. It had variegated philodendrons cascading over the large pot. Promptly she scooted behind the plant. Hidden from view she took a deep breath and listened.
An officer on a walkie-talkie reported into headquarters, “We’ve tracked down the man in a silver sedan, detective”
“Take him down, now!” Morrison yelled urgently.
The attending officer affirmed, “Yes sir!”
Morrison stood erect, the tension of the moment being the rod in his spine. Anxiously waiting he loosened his collar further and paced again. With his jacket off, the sweat circles on his blue oxford dress shirt were evident.
“We have him boss! Capture confirmed!”
Morrison lauded the officers, “Good job! Bring that damn bastard in here.”
A cheer rang out in the room, the officers, detectives and clerks on hand didn’t hold back. Unusually buoyant, Morrison yelled, “Finally! Prepare to interrogate the hell out of this perp.” Motioning to Jack he said, “You're with me.” Morrison felt his adrenaline surging. “We’re on the final leg of a marathon, Peabody. Let’s finish this.”
As soon as she heard the man was captured, Roxanne quickly popped out from behind the palm plant. She pushed the elevator UP button and hoped she would escape before Morrison saw her. She made it back to the boardroom without incident and the officer opened the door. Roxanne smiled and went inside.
She whispered to the group, “They caught him. He’s in custody!” They all silently cheered, and quickly settled down.
Roxanne was now encouraged and gently asked Marissa, “If Georgi and I went to Long Island sometime, could we take you to lunch?”
“Oh, that would be wonderful Roxanne,” she said with relief in her voice. “Georgi was telling me, while you were out, that you have actively been trying to help the detective find this horrid man. I can't thank you enough, really I can’t.”
Georgi said coyly “I have something else to ask you, Marissa.” He held his hands to his chest in reverence, “I’d like very much to hold a memorial service for Mitch, on this side of the Sound. There are many people here who did business with him, who learned from him and adored his love of wine. I’d like to hold it at Vinho Verde, of course with your permission, to celebrate his life with those who admired him here. I don't expect you to come…”
Marissa interrupted him, “Oh Georgi, that is so thoughtful of you, of course you can. And I would love to come and meet his friends. Thank you.” Her change of heart through the whole ordeal had softened her towards Georgi and New London. She took his hand and added, “Oddly, now we understand each other, thank you.”
The door to the boardroom abruptly opened and in walked Detective Morrison.
Stunned at his appearance, everyone in the room gawked at the detective. His hair had sweaty spikes which stood on end. His tie was half-cocked, the shirt was loose and his eyes had an unusual steely focus as if he had just been in a wrestling match. It was very apparent he was stressed.
Unperturbed by their stares, Morrison made his mission known, “Okay folks, we have the killer and his helpers in custody. Mrs. Stockman and Attorney Blum, I would like you to come with me and see if you recognize any of them. You will observe them through a mirrored window. They won’t see you. Take a walk with me.”
Marissa glanced at her attorney then squeezed his arm. Barely audible she said, “Jonathan, I’m afraid.” He put his arm around her shoulder and whispered, “It will be alright. It will be quick. We need to do this.”
Marissa and her attorney left, and when they returned, Georgi, Roxanne, and Marco sat silent, anxiously waiting to hear what happened. Choking back tears, she faltered, “I don’t know them. To think one of them killed my husband and that boy... it’s just dreadful.” As her voice trailed off, Georgi came to her side with a tissue.
“We’ll get through this together,” he offered. Consoling her he added, “Anything you need, I’ll be there for you, anything at all.” She crumpled on to his shoulder and wept.
The once distant and reserved woman, with a stiff upper lip and crème brûlée crust, had melted. The horrible events and the support she now was experiencing had softened her. Her new compassionate companions had sweetened her bitter blue-blood attitude.
Morrison entered the room and announced, “You have all been here long enough and I won’t hold you up any longer. Mrs. Stockman, Attorney Blum, please be available, as I may have more questions. We still don’t know the motive. I need to see this case wrapped up neatly. Do not leave the country.”
Attorney Blum confirmed, “Yes, detective, I'll be sure she doesn't, and I will have someone watch over her.” Adamantly he added, “Detective, please contact me with any news, day or night.”
“I will,” Morrison responded, “you can go home, and feel safe and sound, Mrs. Stockman.”
“Oh, what a relief,” Marissa whispered, hand against her heart.
Resolute, the detective added, “I will return the money to both of you, as soon as possible, just be patient.”
Now relaxed, Georgi swished one hand into the air, “Oh I don't care how long it takes, as long as it’s returned. I'm alive, and a crazy man isn’t after us anymore. I suddenly feel light as a feather, and immensely relieved.” His arms stretched out in a fan dancer move and everyone smiled.
Marissa added gratefully, “You’ve all been so kind. I did not know what you have been through. I’m so sorry. Thank you, I don’t feel so alone anymore now that we’ve spent time together. It’s such a relief. Thank you for everything.” She turned to her attorney, “Let's go home Jonathan. I think we can make the 5:30 ferry, and I really need to hug my daughter.”
Chapter 33
Day 4 - 4:30 pm
To help establish their innocence, the three persons of interest, two men and the girl were ready to identify the third look-alike man being detained. Each had claimed they were well paid to pick up a package, yet now realized they were only stooges, set up by the man named, Mr. Silver.
Morrison felt that once they confirmed this third man as being Mr. Silver, he could move on to the final details, such as motive, and if there was any involvement by Georgi and Marissa Stockman.
Individually, each person in custody was escorted behind the one-way mirror and took their turn to identify the man who had set them up for the fall. The first two men, one who was apprehended in the train station, and the second, Mr. V, who picked up the envelope at 4 pm, both positively identified the third man as Mr. Silver.
The young library woman was now ready for her turn to identify all the men in custody. She was very slim and wearing tight black jeans, black boots, and her grey hoodie. She had a small silver nose ring, dark eyeliner and milk-white skin. Morrison noted her black painted nails and a small yin-yang symbol on her wrist. Her stylish short black hair, on one side, swung to a point at her chin and was razor short on the other. Her demeanor reflected an attitude of, don’t mess with me.
In the line-up Morrison placed all three men in their grey suits and added three civilian clothed police officers. All men were of similar features and build. They faced her, and then turned so she could see their profile. She looked at Morrison and the officer next to him, “It's none of them,” she said tersely.
The officer in charge of the line-up said, “Now take your time little lady, and look them over carefully.”
“Ask them to smile,” she said dryly.
The officer grunted, “This isn’t a beauty contest.”
Bluntly, Detective Morrison ordered, “Ask them to smile officer.” He did so.
“It's none of them,” she stated emphatically.
“Why don’t we have them speak to you?” the attending officer suggested.
Her head spun around to look at the officer directly, “I said, it's none of them. He's not there. Look, I'm cooperating. Some guy gave me a $100 bill to push a book cart down the aisle and pull a green envelope to deliver to him. I put it under my shirt. All I cared about was making $100 bucks.” Her tough girl attitude was authentic. Morrison realized the blackmailer knew how to pick his pawns.
“I briefly met that man,” she pointed to one of the men in the line-up, “outside the coffee house. “He was in a silver sedan, and I asked him where was Mr. Silver? He said he was on his way to meet him. I gave him the envelope and he drove toward Starr Street. It’s that simple.”
She fiddled with the zipper on her hoodie in frustration, and then declared, “I want a lawyer. I'm invoking my Miranda rights and not saying another word.” She stared at them with her dark eye-lined eyes. The swagger in her thin framed hips demonstrated her confidence of pushing the limits.
Morrison threw up his hands, left the room and entered the next interrogation. For the third time, Morrison met with a man in a grey suit. He was clean shaven, wore Italian shoes, fancy sunglasses and had dark hair. He had the same build as the other two. Morrison opened, “You’re telling me he calls himself Mr. Silver? And he looks very much like you? How do I know you are not him, and just giving me a line of bullshit?”
“I’m nobody,” the guy answered, “you can check with the food-bank. I’m in there every other day trying to scrounge enough food for my family. I’ve been trying to find a job for months. I was laid-off. I stand in the temporary job line every day. Mr. Silver hired me two days ago to be on-call. He gave me money, $100 in advance, a nice suit and shoes and treated me well. I didn’t know he was shifty. He looked good and it was easy money. Are you kidding? Who, in my position, wouldn’t take the work? He called me today at noon to have me standby and pick up a green envelope after 4 o’clock outside the coffeehouse from a girl with a grey hoodie.”
Morrison considered the other two goons in the rooms next door, “So you said he hired you off the street, cleaned you up and asked you to drive around today and pick up an envelope at 4:15 and you didn’t ask why?”
“Yeah, I didn’t care why. Silver said to meet him on Starr Street after I had the package. What’s the big deal?”
Morrison ricocheted back, “What about the empty green envelope we found in the trunk of your car? The tracking device we planted in it led us to you. So where is the money?”
“Well he fooled us both, didn’t he?” the duplicate snarled back. He took a deep breath and continued, “Look, I gave the man the envelope, he had me pop the trunk as I sat in the car, he took something out and evidently he put something in, then he left. I didn’t know what was in the envelope, and that he left it in the trunk. Hell, it’s his car. I wasn’t watching what he was doing. He told me I could have the car for the rest of the day.”
Begrudgingly he sighed, “Besides a hundred bucks buys you peace of mind and no questions. I was sitting pretty until you guys showed up and slammed me on the hood.”
“Come on!” Morrison emoted, “To put on this charade? What else was in it for you?”
“$100 dollars and some nice clothes,” the man lied. Morrison put the three men and the girl in holding cells until he knew more. He strutted to his office and yelled, “Peabody, where is the red envelope with the money from the ferry office?
Jack faltered, “Boss, we assumed the suspect had it in his satchel. Once we realized the envelope was not on him, we honed in on the transmission of the tracking device that we put inside the fold of the envelope. I sent two officers to search the area near the tugboats but the transmission died. You know the weeds are tall past the docks. I had them question everyone in the area.” Officer Jack Peabody braced, ready for his boss’s backlash.
If Dan Morrison could spit fire, it would have occurred right then. Unloading, he growled, “Who in the hell thinks assuming is a viable excuse in the police force on a homicide case? If those officers were paying attention they would have found out right there and then that he did not have the envelope. Assumed cannot be used as the reason we lost a killer, Jack!”
Morrison marched the floor as his thoughts raced over what this blackmailing outlaw would do next. You’ve left your imprint somewhere Mr. Silver. I will track your ass down. The detective’s thoughts were interrupted by Sergeant Maggie O’Malley overseeing dispatch.
“Detective, they found Charlie Brass! He’s at the Old Town Mill. He’s been called in as an unresponsive man down.” Morrison raced to the scene with Peabody in his SUV. Chief Samson heard the call and arrived on the scene with the Emergency Medical Service crew.
Chapter 34
Charlie Brass was undoubtedly dead. His Greek fisherman’s cap was pulled down over his face. He was seated, leaning against the historic Old Mill. He’d been positioned to look drunk and passed out.
Chief Samson stood beside Morrison looking down at the untouched body. Upon closer inspection the two men saw the notorious pattern.
“Morrison, is that a plant in his mouth? And look at the white flower in his shirt pocket. It’s positioned like a decoration.” The flat white umbrella flower and lacy green foliage looked benign.
The detective commanded the officers, “Cordon off this scene with a tarp wall. I don’t want anyone watching us.”
Morrison spoke in a low tone, away from the crew, “Chief this guy, who killed Stockman, is a serial killer. Charlie Brass is his third victim. The boy, Johnson Jones, was found at Riverside Park last night. He was wrapped in bittersweet vine. I have three men who are look-a-likes in custody with a young woman. I just sent Roxanne, Georgi and Mrs. Stockman home, thinking I had the guy. Obviously I don’t. I have mayhem, instead.”
Chief Samson stared at the corpse, “This is extreme, Morrison. A serial killer in New London and my wife is involved?”
“He’s playing a bait and switch game with us,” Morrison informed further, “using locals, street pawns and coercion to throw the investigation off the trail. This mastermind is using the 80-10-10, Chief.” Sam knew exactly what he meant. He’s picked up his working crew, off of the streets.
Frustrated by the dilemma, Morrison watched the police and forensic crew preparing the crime scene for the investigation. Suddenly his irritation sparked an unconventional decision.
Morrison ordered the crews, “Everyone, gather round.” In a firm but quiet tone he said, “Charlie Brass, ladies and gentlemen, i
s not dead until I say so. He is in critical condition. Does everyone understand?” he looked over the officers and emergency responders.
“Yes, sir,” they all replied.
He continued, “We have a serial killer, and I need 24 hours before we declare Charlie Brass dead.” Morrison scanned the area, “Forensics, make a plaster of those tire tracks and footprints on the edge of Mill Street. And where is this plant from?”
One of the Crime Scene Investigators (CSI) peered down toward the wooden water wheel turning in the flow of Briggs Brook. Deep in the gulley, a tall branching plant with white flowers grew along the embankment.
“That seems to be the plant,” one of them claimed.
“Take a sample, and compare it,” Morrison commanded.
Chief Samson decided this was a good time to leave him to his investigation, “Morrison, if there is anything you think I need to know, give me a call, will you? And we’ll keep this all in mind while we prepare for the president’s arrival in two days.”
“Sure thing, Chief.” They shook hands and Morrison added, “I’m on this like a Pit bull and I’m not letting go until I have him.
“I know, Dan, and my wife depends on it,” Chief gave him a knowing nod and walked toward his red and white SUV.
Morrison continued to observe the terrain. The Old Town Mill, that Charlie Brass was leaning against, was originally built in 1650 and established by Governor John Winthrop, Jr. This grist mill ground corn and wheat for all of New London County until it was set afire by the infamous traitor, Benedict Arnold in his 1781 raid. The grist mill, being a hub for their primary source of bread flour, was immediately restored by industrious colonists.
By 1957, Interstate 95 and the Gold Star Bridge were installed high above the Old Mill, which became overcast by their shadow. The mill was relegated like a troll in a storybook, to dwell under the bridge.