There was some uncomfortable laughter as they all marveled that Woody was putting on such a brave front. Then, Gwen couldn’t contain herself any longer and burst out. “Woody, assault charges aren’t being filed against you. You’re going back to the cottage with us as soon as they can process you out.”
Busbee watched as the Meachams gathered in a group hug. He left the room to make sure Woody’s release paperwork was expedited.
Ten minutes later, the Meachams, Woody and Busbee were following the deputy to the front door. The sheriff was in his office with the door closed, talking to the girl. Her back was to them but had she been sitting at her desk, Woody would have been surprised to see Nellie Birdsong for the second time in as many days.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Waiting Game
After Woody’s release, Gwen announced outside the sheriff’s office that Woody needed to be immediately examined by a local doctor. When Woody insisted he was okay and that Grimsley and the deputy had not really roughed him up that much, the attorney jumped in and explained, “Your mother is right, son. You need to be checked out from head to toe for cuts, abrasions, bruises or any signs of a violent struggle. If you were involved in a vicious knife assault last night, there would presumably be some evidence of it unless the victim, that would be Ralph Birdsong, just laid back and took it without a struggle. We need the doctor’s report now to bolster our case in the event you are charged. Plus, we need a record of how you got that bump on your forehead. The sheriff’s office is in no position to try and suggest that it occurred before they picked you up at the cottage”. When Busbee concluded, Billy and Gwen nodded their concurrence. Woody shrugged and said, “Let’s get it over with.”
On the drive back to the cottage after Woody’s examination at the local hospital, he leaned forward from the back seat and pressed his father’s arm. “We’ve gotta find the girl. She may be Ralph’s cousin but something tells me that if she knows anything about what happened after we all left Pappy’s, she’ll tell the truth.” Meacham nodded in agreement and Woody collapsed back into his seat, his head swimming with a combination of thoughts and emotions, still not grasping the distinct possibility that he would be charged with murder.
That night, there was considerable anxiety at Pritchard Cottage as the Meachams and Jerry waited to see what the D.A. would do. There was intermittent small talk but silence dominated the evening as the gravity of Woody’s situation started to sink in.
***
The next morning, Billy Meacham was up early and when he opened the front door, a white envelope fell to the ground. Inside was the following typed message:
Birdsong had a visitor – a college friend named Drebek. He left for Washington, DC the day before the murder and Birdsong mailed him a box.
Meacham stuffed the note in his pocket and walked into town to meet with Busbee at the Parlor City Inn.
So far, the attorney had no luck finding a local criminal defense attorney to serve as lead counsel. Was the establishment circling the wagons around Patchett to ensure that the lightweight couldn’t possibly lose his first big case? Had pressure been exerted? It dawned on Busbee that he might need to bring in someone from outside the area or handle the case himself. Busbee was a wise and capable lawyer but he knew his limitations. He warned Billy about the danger to Woody – if there was a trial - of his lack of courtroom experience in criminal cases. What if he were to blunder at a crucial moment and be the cause of an unjust, but just as devastating, guilty verdict?
Before Meacham could respond, Busbee went on. “Birdsong’s parents are in town and are shopping around for local counsel, Billy. They will no doubt provide full cooperation to the D.A. and there is always the additional threat of a wrongful death civil suit that could be financially devastating to your family. If the Birdsongs are convinced that Woody did it, they will be delving into every aspect of his life. We need to do the same regarding the victim” Busbee cautioned.
“You are in charge of the legal strategy, Alfred. We have faith that you will figure out what help you need, if any. I will take care of everything else” Meacham said. He showed Busbee the anonymous note to boost his morale and assured him that he would be digging up all available information on Ralph Birdsong and his acquaintances.
***
Billy Meacham had been calm at the sheriff’s office the previous day, particularly in deference to Gwen and Woody. Also, he did not want Busbee to see him erupt.
After leaving the attorney, Meacham sat in his car a block from the sheriff’s office when he saw Grimsley walk out alone. He started his car and drifted slowly ahead until he observed the sheriff climb into his vehicle. Meacham then accelerated and pulled slightly ahead of Grimsley’s car and stopped at an angle. He quickly jumped out and, to avoid a physical confrontation, went to the passenger side of Grimsley’s car. The window was half way down and Meacham leaned in.
“In life, we all have a few defining moments, Harold. I’ve had some and may have one or two more. Can’t pretend that I always handle them correctly but I try my best. What happened to your nephew in prison was not right. It wasn’t justice and believe me I’m sorry. But don’t lose sight of the fact that he colluded with a very evil character, Winston Siebert, to forcefully hold down a decent and much weaker man as an entire bottle of cheap booze was poured down his throat. It was an ugly, painful death, Harold.
“Now, I can’t say it was your nephew’s intent to kill – it certainly appears to have been Siebert’s - but he did go along and he could have walked away when he saw what was happening. But make no mistake, he was complicit – and legally, an accessory. So, maybe true justice would have been that he served his time and came out of Strathmore many years later a better man. I can’t argue with that view.”
An observer sitting in the backseat of Grimsley’s cruiser would have seen Billy Meacham in one of his more controlled moments, emotional but with his anger in check. He reminded the sheriff about the eyewitness stories that had come out, not just a few but many, detailing his nephew’s tenure at the Parlor City Institute where helpless patients were repeatedly beaten and tortured at his direction. Was that the Marine code of honor? What would the sheriff have done, Meacham asked, if he was questioning such a man in a murder case? Wouldn’t he have used every trick at his disposal to make him talk?
Grimsley stared at Meacham and said nothing. Meacham looked for a sign of softening but the sheriff’s face was impenetrable. Deciding to take a chance, Meacham changed his tone and added, “Birdsong was joined here by a friend called Drebek who left town the day before the murder. There’s a chance they were involved in drugs. This case requires some old-fashioned detective work, sheriff. I hope you’ll let me help get to the truth before my stepson gets railroaded.”
When Billy walked back to his car, he had a grim look on his face and wondered if he had taken too big a gamble. Time would tell if he had appealed successfully to Grimsley’s better instincts or had, at the very least, chipped away at the wall of suspicion and mistrust. Whatever happened now, Billy Meacham was feeling better than he had just an hour ago.
***
When Cecil Ainsworth got the call from Ozbert asking him to come by the Patchett estate for dinner, he declined immediately. The D.A. was miffed but decided not to reveal his displeasure after convincing the coroner to meet him at Pappy’s.
“Miss Henrietta asked me to pass on her best wishes, Cecil, and to let you know that you are always welcome at our home” Patchett said softly as if his muted, respectful tone would somehow wash away all the painful memories that Cecil had stored up since childhood. Immediately recognizing the insincerity of Patchett’s little speech, it fortified Cecil’s resolve not to accommodate any special request that might be made by the D.A.
Eager to preempt any further stilted speeches by Patchett, Ainsworth said, “I am not sure what you thought to gain by this meeting, Ozbert. Don’t you have enough kiss-ups down at the office? You should know by now that I do everyth
ing by the book. Always have, always will. The death certificate will be issued in a few days and will be accompanied by my report as well as the crime scene photographs. What else would you expect?
“Of course, with your sheriff and that clumsy oaf of a deputy traipsing all over the crime scene, what evidence they compromised or even destroyed is anybody’s guess. For all you know, it could help or hinder your case, right?”
Patchett looked placid but his stomach was churning. He had come prepared to make some vague offer of emoluments that would accrue to Cecil if he helped Ozbert win his upcoming murder trial. Just how Cecil would help him out had not been clear until just now. He wanted to suggest that the coroner might withhold any compromising photographs that might be exculpatory for the defendant. The two men were staring at each other. Intimidated by the Ainsworth’s resolute gaze, Patchett’s lips quivered and he fumbled for words, finally saying, “Well, Cecil, you are a man of impeccable credentials and I admire that quality in you. My office looks forward to seeing your information soon.”
Cecil looked straight ahead and nodded as Patchett rose from his barstool and walked away. He sat on his stool for a while, relishing the moment that had just occurred. He wondered what Ozbert had intended to achieve by meeting with him and concluded that his childhood playmate had no plan at all. He probably hoped that the old Patchett intimidation would work its magic and Ainsworth would willingly step forward to help him.
***
When the call came in to Sheriff Grimsley later that day, the voice was muffled and he had to ask twice to make sure he understood what he was being told. He hung up the phone and sat transfixed for several minutes. Then, he picked up the telephone and called the D.A. Patchett sounded genuinely shocked by Grimsley’s news. “I’ll get the judge to issue two warrants, the first one authorizing the search. If the caller is right, use the second warrant as well. This could be the big break we have been hoping for Sheriff. Don’t blow it.”
***
“The Birdsongs are full of anger right now and looking to blame someone” Gwen said after Billy related his conversation with Busbee from that morning. Woody and Jerry were sitting with them in the living room, mesmerized by the new Mission Impossible series on the television.
“A name came up connected to Birdsie. Someone named Drebek. Ever heard of him, Woody?” Meacham asked casually after waiting for the show to finish. Woody’s head jolted up and he squinted when he heard the name of his obnoxious Thorndyke classmate. “Drebek is a guy who was in a few of my classes. Loud and abrasive for as long as I can remember. Pretty much a nobody, a hanger-on but then he attached himself to the war protest movement on campus and suddenly he was almost a cool guy. Always had a stash and shared it liberally as a way to buy friends – at least that’s how I saw it. I couldn’t understand how Birdsie put up with him but then I am starting to wonder if I really knew Birdsie at all. We need to find Drebek and whoever was supplying them with drugs. Birdsie sure as hell wasn’t killed for protesting the war.”
“Sometimes we think we know people but we don’t. You’re right, though. The important thing right now is to find out all we can about this Drebek character. You’re thinking like a detective, Woody. Can you give me a detailed description, son?” Meacham decided not to mention the box sent to Drebek in Washington, DC. It might be a dead end and he didn’t want to create false hope based on an anonymous note. Meacham got up from the davenport to stretch and there was a loud rap on the door. Everyone froze in place.
The next rap was louder and even more persistent. Meacham opened the door and was confronted by Sheriff Grimsley, flanked by two deputies. He was waiving some folded papers in front of the screen door.
The sheriff’s normally staccato voice was subdued as he said, “Chief, I have a warrant to search the cottage and the surrounding area. Everyone needs to be seated in the living room until we complete our search. Sorry, but it is a court order.”
While the deputies rummaged through drawers, closets, even the freezer, Grimsley leaned against the door and stared at the floor. Meacham looked at him and got the impression that he was embarrassed.
When the deputies returned to the living room shaking their heads to signify that nothing had been found, Grimsley looked non-plused. “Start searching the grounds, boys. Look for any areas where the dirt has been dug up recently.”
Meacham watched Grimsley closely and got a sense that something bizarre was taking place. What could Grimsley have been looking for, if not the murder weapon? Bloody clothes or shoes? He was certainly conducting his inspection by the book and Meacham couldn’t fault him for that. Gwen and Jerry had puzzled looks on their faces but Woody actually appeared calm.
A voice at the door said, “Sheriff, can you come with me. I think we found something.” Grimsley motioned for Meacham to follow him but said “everyone else needs to stay put”.
Out behind the shed, next to a horse chestnut tree, a deputy was holding an evidence kit in one hand and a flashlight in the other. Freshly-dug dirt had been pushed away from a shallow hole in the ground exposing a steak knife with red stains on the blade. The word “Pappy’s” was stenciled in gold on the handle.
“Bag it, deputy” said Grimsley, before turning to Meacham. “Got an anonymous, call, Chief, informing us that the murder weapon was buried back here. Still had to search the entire property for other evidence, you understand. Your stepson’s few days of freedom are over, I’m sorry to say. I have a warrant in my pocket for his arrest.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Lt. Fogarty Does Some Digging
When Meacham called Fogarty with the shocking news of Woody’s arrest for murder, he also told him about his confrontation with Sheriff Grimsley. Fogarty knew that the Chief’s mind was already churning on multiple levels. He didn’t press and just waited for guidance on what he should do.
“I’ve got Busbee helping but he’s convinced that we need local counsel, Fogie. He’s right to be concerned about Grimsley but I’m not so sure he’s our biggest obstacle. This new D.A., a guy called Patchett, is a wild card and may be looking to make a name for himself at the expense of Woody. It’s all fishy, Fogie. An anonymous tipster calls with the exact location of a bloody steak knife buried behind the cottage. It’s a plant, of course, but who’s the instigator? I don’t know if the sheriff was faking it in front of the family but he did seem embarrassed during the search. If it’s not Patchett or him, someone else is playing a dangerous game up here and I’m going to expose it.”
“What can I do, boss, besides come up there and wring that bastard Grimsley’s neck?” asked Fogarty, no longer able to contain himself. Meacham laughed softly, releasing some pent-up emotions. “Listen, Fogie, you know that Rudy Gantz is up here in Parlor Harbor now, running some boat excursion business. It makes no sense to me but perhaps he’s gone legit and I am getting way too cynical. Anyway, I would feel a lot better if you would nose around down there, check the usual haunts, find out anything you can about the creep, okay?
“Also, there’s a college kid by the name of Bradley Drebek who turned up here. He was a buddy of Birdsong who left after a few days and apparently went home to Washington, DC. Birdsong mailed him a box the day before he was murdered. I may want you to send that new recruit down there to ask him a few questions, check him out. According to Woody, both of these guys were active in the war protest movement up at Thorndyke. Not sure it’s relevant but both of them are big pot smokers. Well, one of them still is.”
Meacham let his last comment hang in the air and Fogarty finally said, “if there’s any dirt on Gantz, boss, I promise you I’ll find it.”
***
Lt. John Patrick Fogarty started as a patrolman and then served as a sergeant working with Det. Billy Meacham, Jr. during those turbulent years in the mid-1950s that rocked Parlor City to its very foundation. Like an old soldier and aide de camp, he was loyal to the core. A confirmed bachelor, he loved his time alone at his cottage outside Parlor City, only a stone’s
throw from the retreat owned by ex-Mayor Adelbert Wattle. It burned Fogarty, a man with a stern, ingrained Puritan ethic, that this scheming, corrupt politician, not satisfied with the proceeds from his lucrative chain of funeral homes, had also been the beneficiary of dirty money, some of which was no doubt used to build his luxurious lake front estate. To think that this irredeemable reprobate would likely be released from prison soon and once again be his neighbor was almost insufferable.
When people described Fogarty, they used words like unflinching, uncompromising, tenacious, indefatigable but never evasive or compromising. If there was a man who defined moral rectitude in the Parlor City Police Department, it was Lt. Fogarty.
If he ever lost his cool, it would usually be while watching a baseball game. In May, he had gone down to Yankee Stadium and watched in awe as The Mick hit his 500th home run. The crowd went wild and Fogarty joined in. He looked up into the upper deck to see a white sheet unfurled with “Mickey The Great” spray painted on it. Some fans had come prepared for the inevitable moment of glory. On that day, Mickey Mantle could have been elected Mayor of New York City in a landslide and Fogarty had watched history being made.
If Fogarty did have another weakness, or perhaps more accurately a harmless proclivity, it was an eye for beautiful women. Some people might think it was somewhat ironic that he usually admired them from afar in an idealized, platonic way. More than once, he stood at his cottage door and looked toward the Wattle property and envisioned Stella Crimmons standing there like it was the summer of 1957 all over again. Tan and slender in a simple white summer dress, she was a vision of unparalleled beauty that he had never forgotten.
A Murder In Parlor Harbor Page 9