Grimsley was starting to feel resentful when Patchett walked over and patted him on the shoulder, as if to wipe away all the denigration the Sheriff had been subjected to that evening.
“Ever read any Shakespeare” Patchett asked. Grimsley shook his head no and was starting to feel a burn in his stomach. Patchett went on, “The bard of Avon, now that is where my interest lies. He has the ghost in Hamlet tell the prince to revenge this ‘foul and most unnatural murder’. Tell me, Sheriff, are you ready to exact revenge and not let your emotions get in the way? Because if you don’t get wobbly, we will be successful in this upcoming murder case. Otherwise, our efforts will backfire and we will both be finished. And then, my friend, you will have to deal with my grandmother.” Patchett suddenly burst out laughing at his reference to the matriarch. Grimsley managed a weak smile.
Patchett walked over to the liquor cart and poured out two cordials into gold-rimmed snifters and handed one to Grimsley. “My best Drambuie, Sheriff. Helps me relax at night. Now let’s sit down and get our business out of the way so I can get my beauty rest. Tell me where we stand.”
Grimsley briefed the D.A. on what they knew about the murder of Ralph Birdsong and the incident with Woody Meacham. “When can we expect a death certificate?” Patchett inquired. “That’s in the hands of Cecil Ainsworth. A very meticulous guy, as you know. I expect to have his Coroner’s report along with photos within a few days” said Grimsley, having recovered his deep staccato voice.
“Let’s keep a lid on Ainsworth’s report as long as possible. No one sees anything except you and me, clear? The Patchetts have a connection to the Ainsworth family going back a few generations. I will speak to Cecil about the importance of strict confidentiality – at least for now. Unless the kid agrees to a plea deal, all of Ainsworth’s work will eventually come out during discovery and the subsequent trial. “He’s only a suspect at this point” Grimsley said tentatively, as if reluctant to cast any doubt on Patchett’s premature assumption with regard to the guilt of Woody Meacham.
Patchett deflected Grimsley’s cautionary observation with a flick of his hand. “Let’s go back to your witnesses, Sheriff. The recollections of the patrons at Pappy’s might be helpful but in no way conclusive. Half of them were probably loaded. I will reserve judgment on the reliability of the old couple that spotted the Meacham boy until after I interview them but, generally speaking, feeble old farts make me nervous when it comes their turn to deliver testimony on the stand. More often than not, it turns to gibberish when they are challenged by a competent defense attorney. Not too many of them are stalwarts like the matriarch, eh? It sure would make me feel a whole lot better if you could produce another rock-solid witness or concrete evidence that links the Meacham boy directly to the crime.”
Patchett let his last few comments hang in the air as he took a sip of his liquor and gazed at Grimsley. “Exactly what do you mean by ‘produce’ another witness?” the Sheriff asked guardedly. “Okay, let’s say locate another witness before we go to trial” Patchett explained, holding his index finger up to his mouth as if he was contemplating deep thoughts. “Maybe you re-interview everyone that was at Pappy’s who saw the shoving incident. I don’t know, perhaps just one of them saw Meacham with a weapon. Look, I realize its tedious work but it could prove vital.”
Grimsley cleared his throat. He looked at Patchett and hesitated before saying, somewhat defensively, as if any difficulties with the case might be a reflection on his own competence, “The boy’s stepfather is no amateur. The manner in which he handled those murder cases back in Parlor City a decade ago was first-rate detective work. It wasn’t some fluke. If he keeps nosing around, there’s no telling what he’ll uncover. Maybe another suspect to delay matters unnecessarily. I may hate the guy but he’s damn good.”
Patchett looked at Grimsley with genuine surprise. “What could he turn up, Harold? The witness has already identified the boy as near the crime scene, waving around what is likely the murder weapon. There are no other likely suspects, right, plus you have the confrontation at Pappy’s witnessed by a dozen or more patrons? Hey, you’re not getting all weak-kneed on me, are you, just because of this Meacham guy’s reputation? Don’t forget what he did to your nephew.”
“And getting an indictment, Ozbert?” Grimsley asked, ignoring Patchett’s provocations and surprising himself that he uttered the D.A.’s first name. It immediately made him think of “The Oz” and he had to acknowledge that Patchett, at least for now, had somehow overcome that disparaging nickname. Maybe it was the potent atmosphere of the Patchett estate that made him act so formidable.
“I already have a grand jury impaneled and they will do my bidding with what we have so far. Hell, I could get them to indict a blind squirrel for stealing acorns. Just need to pick the right moment. As I said, I am looking ahead to the trial. And that reminds me, we need to forget the incident with your deputy. Even if the kid did mean to intentionally pop him in the nose, it is a distraction and akin to piling on. Let it go.” Grimsley’s brows furrowed but he said nothing.
Patchett took the last sip of his Drambuie and stood up, signaling that the meeting was over. As they walked toward the door, Patchett patted Grimsley on the back for the second time that evening. “Let’s get you out of here before my grandmother spots us and tries to shake loose some information. She is something, isn’t she?” Patchett observed with a laugh, as if to signify a budding camaraderie between the two men. Grimsley wasn’t feeling the bond and he wasn’t oblivious to all the veiled insults and threats that he had endured in the last hour.
“Oh, there is one last thing, Harold. Don’t ever call me by my first name in public. It is always Mr. Patchett or Mr. D.A. And thanks again for stopping by tonight.”
***
Grimsley walked across the granite cobblestone circular driveway to his car and felt intimidated by the hard reality of the Patchett wealth beneath his feet. He looked out and saw two men in dark clothing walking around and remembered that Patchett had a team of private security guards patrolling the estate.
As he opened his car door, he glanced up at the house. Only a few lights were still on but he noticed a figure silhouetted in one of the upstairs windows looking down on him. He was pretty certain it was the matriarch.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Cecil Ainsworth
The coroner for Parlor County covered a broad geographical area with only Parlor City carved out and excluded from his jurisdiction. Cecil Ainsworth found no compelling reason to live in Parlor Harbor and, in fact, was happy to escape the memories he had of his hometown. With Ozbert Symington Patchett now the District Attorney, Cecil knew he couldn’t avoid him indefinitely but was determined to do so except on those rare occasions when his job required them to interact.
Cecil’s father, Ramsay Ainsworth, had been the caretaker on the Patchett estate for over 30 years. The boy grew up with his parents in a modest house on the edge of the property, tucked in a corner away from the water as if to isolate it from the rest of the estate. On occasion, as the years passed, young Cecil was summoned to the big house to serve as Ozbert’s playmate. In truth, his mission was to amuse Ozbert by his presence, participate in various pranks and serve as a foil in the event that Ozbert’s behavior was particularly egregious. Taciturn but not obsequious, Cecil took the blame and said nothing.
As the years passed, people started to notice in Cecil a striking resemblance to Ozbert. It alarmed Ozbert’s mother every time she saw Cecil. She finally demanded a divorce, insisting she would otherwise go public with her rakish husband’s increasingly obvious infidelity. Her husband acquiesced on the condition that she move far away from Parlor Harbor. Desirous of putting as much distance as possible between herself and the man she referred to as the “unrepentant rake”, she relocated to California. Shortly thereafter, the reckless, hedonistic life of Symington Patchett III came to a fiery end when he crashed his MG on a twisting road just outside of town after a booze-fueled night of debauchery
.
Ozbert’s mother declined to return to Parlor Harbor and, once again, the matriarch ruled the household. Miss Henrietta was also alarmed by the undeniable resemblance between the two boys and concluded that one of them had to be sent away. When Ramsay Ainsworth, a victim of cuckoldry but still prideful and indignant, refused to cooperate, Miss Henrietta reluctantly sent the self-centered, egotistical Ozbert to a succession of exclusive academies with predictably disastrous results.
If Ozbert’s father did one honorable thing before his death, perhaps it was to assuage his guilt, it was to make arrangements for young Cecil’s education. Unbeknownst to the Ainsworths, he established a secret college trust fund.
Cecil had his suspicions about the source of his largesse when it was revealed to him at the age of eighteen. His father was dead and he was living with his mother in a modest house on the outskirts of Parlor Harbor. She was still consumed by the shame of her infidelity and believed the constant reminder of her sinfulness, mirrored in Cecil’s face, had led her husband to an early grave. When she looked at Cecil, she saw Symington Patchett III. Cecil, glancing back at her, had a glimpse into his mother’s soul. It was unbearable for both of them and so he took the trust fund money and went off to college.
After graduation, Cecil drifted for a few years and ended up in Parlor City where he secured a job working in one of the funeral homes owned by Adelbert Wattle, then the powerful Mayor and influential political deal-maker. Cecil was efficient and trustworthy, two qualities that endured him to the Mayor. When the job of Coroner opened up for Parlor County, Cecil expressed interest and Wattle, at the height of his patronage influence with then Gov. Stewart Traber, secured the appointment for the young Scot.
And now, sooner than he wished, Cecil was in danger of being sucked back into the Patchett vortex, a whirling eddy that he had been striving to avoid all his adult life. A young man had been murdered and he had been called in by the sheriff of Parlor Harbor to examine the body, prepare a report and issue a death certificate. As was his habit, he took abundant pictures at the scene and always printed a separate set for his own personal collection. Cecil would do his job but hoped, by some miracle, to avoid any contact with his childhood nemesis until it was absolutely necessary.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jail House Reunion
When the Meachams arrived at the Sheriff’s office, Busbee was waiting outside for them and Gwen sighed with relief. He pulled Billy aside and reminded him how important it was, for Woody’s sake, that any provocation by either Grimsley or his deputy had to be ignored. “If you explode, it will be all over the papers, Billy, and could impact your standing back in Parlor City, compromising your new position as Police Chief. I understand you are not concerned about yourself but be resolute for the kid.” Busbee was holding down both of Meachams’ arms, not in a restraining manner but to ensure he had his attention. He felt the tension abate as he spoke imploringly not just as legal counsel but as a friend.
Motioning for Gwen to rejoin them, Busbee explained how things would likely unfold. “Okay, let’s deal with the two issues separately, beginning with the alleged assault on the deputy. Based on the account provided by the deputy and corroborated by the sheriff, the D.A. could easily get an indictment in the next few days. We enter our plea of not guilty and ask for Woody’s release on personal recognizance. His clean record and your status as a Police Chief should weigh in our favor. If bail is required, we post it the same day and Woody is set free and we wait for a trial date – unless we can get charges dismissed in the interim which will be our immediate goal.
“Now, with regard to the homicide investigation, remember that Woody was simply brought in for questioning when the deputy got his nose re-arranged. There is no connection between the two incidents. The D.A. will be hard pressed to make a murder case based solely on the confrontation at Pappy’s and the old couple’s testimony. Everything that we know of is circumstantial at this point. So, we go in calmly with the sole objective of showing support for Woody and finding out when we can bring him home.”
Gwen nudged Billy in the side until he nodded his head in acknowledgment. “Okay, now let’s brace ourselves, go inside and see your boy” Busbee said encouragingly while patting Meacham on the back.
***
Grimsley was intentionally tardy coming to work the morning after his late-night visit to the Patchett estate. Uncharacteristically, he did not have a tranquil slumber and was in an agitated state when he awoke. He sat at the kitchen table, his eyes dead behind darkened concentric circles, giving him a raccoon-like expression. He sported a perfectly-hedged crew cut which sat atop an oversized head with heavy jowls and a fleshy nose. His large lips, tightly pursed, gave him the appearance of someone perpetually annoyed. He was a grim, sober man lacking a sense of humor. He took life seriously and was bad-tempered when things didn’t go according to hoyle. To his wife, he was a loveable old bear. She had learned that beneath his gruff exterior was a man who at his core was decent and morally upright.
Grimsley knew the Meachams would be anxious to see their boy but felt duty bound to be there when they did. Partly, he wanted to size up this legend from Parlor City, this vaunted detective esteemed as a crime fighter extraordinaire. And so, his explicit instructions were that no one was to see the prisoner until he arrived.
The sheriff had other than petty or personal reasons for being late as he sat at the kitchen table, recalling his tortuous evening with the D.A. and the matriarch. He didn’t buy the notion that Patchett and he were a team. The grandmother had suggested it but how was that even possible with someone like “The Oz”? And was Patchett telling him, in so many words, to manufacture an eyewitness to the killing to strengthen his case? Grimsley could do it, of course, by calling in a favor, but such a gambit went against his grain not to mention that it was fraught with danger. And if it backfired, Patchett would deny all knowledge of it, leaving Grimsley holding the bag. No, he didn’t trust Patchett or the matriarch but they both made it sound like they were all inextricably bound to each other. One big happy family. Bah! The sheriff had never imagined that revenge could be so difficult.
Furthermore, Grimsley was indignant as he recalled Patchett’s strong suggestion that he drop the assault charge against Woody. It galled him that Patchett would interfere with his prerogatives but Grimsley didn’t possess that quality of introspection that would have prompted him to fault himself for his lack of courage the night before. He wondered if the moment for him to be his own man had slid past and was irretrievable. Grimsley was in a quandary on a number of issues with nowhere to turn for guidance at the very time when he was on the verge on getting long-sought vengeance on the Police Chief of Parlor City.
***
When the Meachams and Busbee entered the Sheriff’s office, the entrance room was empty except for a young girl sitting at a desk. She rose quickly and approached them with her head tilted slightly down, a timid expression on her face.
“Excuse me, but are you the Meachams?” she asked meekly, fidgeting with her hands. “I have a message from the Sheriff. He will be in shortly but insists on seeing you before you can visit the prisoner.”
Busbee gave Meacham a stare and they all sat down in the cheap metal chairs lined up against the wall. The girl was sitting at a desk facing them and looked up furtively from time to time, first at them and then at the front door. Then, she got up as if to approach the Meachams again but stopped abruptly when the door opened and Sheriff Grimsley walked in.
***
The sheriff walked past the Meachams and Busbee without acknowledging them and proceeded to his office, staring intently at the girl the entire time. Billy was seated in the middle seat and started to get up but Gwen and Busbee both reached an arm over to block him.
Through the glass partition walls of his office, they could see Grimsley talking on the telephone. He then slammed down the receiver, loud enough to be heard outside. After a few more tortuous minutes for the visitors, Grimsley
came to his door and signaled for the Meachams and Busbee to come in.
“I wanted a few moments with you before you see your boy to let you know that the news today is not all bad. After careful thought, I have decided to accept the lad’s explanation that he struck my deputy in the nose by accident last night and have advised the D.A. that no assault charges should be filed. You understand, that incident is the reason we held him here last night. We in law enforcement always have to strive to make certain that justice is served, don’t we Chief? Now, the more serious murder investigation proceeds and the boy is a suspect, let’s be clear about that fact. We will want to bring him back in for questioning again as the D.A. reviews the evidence and talks to witnesses. It will be necessary for the boy to stay in Parlor Harbor for the time being.
“And now, I know how eager you must be to take him home so let’s not tarry any longer”. Grimsley forced a half smile as he finished speaking, then went to the door and yelled for his deputy to escort the visitors to an interview room. The entire time, Billy Meacham bit his lip almost to the point of drawing blood but did not utter a single word.
***
When Woody was informed that his parents and attorney were waiting for him, he had already decided that they would not see him break down or show signs of duress.
Gwen rushed to him when he walked in and, as they embraced, he whispered confidently in her ear, “It’s going to be okay, Mom. Don’t worry about me”. Then, turning to Billy, he said “They told me last night it was Birdsie, thinking it would make me confess, I guess. I feel terrible for his family and him but I never saw him again after leaving Pappy’s.” Woody took a deep breath and paced around the room in a circle before stopping and saying “So, what happens next? The incident with the deputy was an accident, I swear. Are you going to be able to get me out of here?”
A Murder In Parlor Harbor Page 8