He recalled the very first time he caught a glimpse of her, strutting haughtily through the police station in 1955 before she was shorn of her lush blonde hair. He wondered what it would have been like had he met her before she was corrupted and deflowered by Winston Siebert, III. Had he known the cold-hearted Stella as a teenager when she first arrived in Boston to live with her aunt, he would have understood that his romanticized image of Stella never existed. She was certainly not worthy of a quest by a knight errant like John Patrick Fogarty.
***
When Fogarty walked into the Devil’s Corner, Benny Mars mouthed “oh shit” under his breath and steeled himself for a grilling. Fogarty might be a lieutenant now but Mars knew he would never lose his full bore, bulldog tenacity. Fogarty squinted as he looked through the smoky haze hoping to see Rudy Gantz sitting at one of the tables, book-ended by his two cement pillars, the Clintock twins. No such luck but then he seldom expected any.
Mars busied himself at the bar, refusing to look up until he felt Fogarty leaning forward, only inches from his head. He had rehearsed his lines as soon as Fogarty walked in and somehow conjured up an almost cheerful tone when he raised his head and said with feigned surprise, “Oh, Lieutenant. Congratulations on your promotion. What can I do for you today?”
“And congrats to you, Benny, for staying out of prison. I wonder how long it will be before you do something stupid again? Perhaps you’re thinking about setting up another midnight auto supply operation in the back room with your old partner. And let’s cut through the sing-songy bullshit and see if you can, for once in your life, play the role of concerned citizen of our fair city. Of course, I could haul your sorry ass in for questioning for some of the shenanigans that go on here while you conveniently avert your ever-watchful eye. And don’t even start with some cock and bull story that you don’t understand what I’m talking about or that will make me even more inquisitive.”
Fogarty paused and smiled at Mars who reflexively recited to himself “just play out the string, Benny”, hoping for inspiration from his favorite incantation. Mars sighed and calmly asked “What do you need, Lieutenant? I’ll cooperate.”
The bar area was clear of patrons but Fogarty looked over his shoulder, first left and then right, before turning back to Mars. He then very slowly mouthed the words “Rudy Gantz.”
***
When Fogarty left Devil’s Corner, he had learned that Gantz was last seen there several weeks ago when a well-dressed gentleman in his late twenties or early thirties came in with the obvious objective to meet with the redhead. Mars described the conversation as intense with the stranger doing most of the talking. Since the jukebox was playing intermittently and he had retreated behind the bar, Mars only picked up fragments of the conversation but did hear some mention of a boat. The only other thing that Mars remembered, because if sounded odd at the time, was that Rudy at one time called the visitor “M&M”.
Fogarty’s next stop was the old Gantz property. A young couple was out front doing yard work. They had dealt exclusively with their agent and never saw Rudy before or after they purchased the house. Over at the Post Office, there was no forwarding address for mail. It was being held for pick-up but no one had come by to claim it. When Fogarty drove over to the Projects, he expected another dead-end and he was not disappointed. Mr. Clintock opened the door and his massive body encompassed the entire frame. “No” he hadn’t seen his boys for weeks and “No” he didn’t have any idea where they might be. Fogarty shook his head while walking back to his car, trying to imagine if an actual conversation had ever been carried on in the Clintock household.
Feeling stymied, Fogarty sat in his car and thought back to his meeting with Benny Mars. Why would a businessman or lawyer meet with the likes of Rudy Gantz and at Devil’s Corner, of all places? And if he did, would he be called “M&M”? What if it was code or a nickname to avoid the possibility that someone would overhear his real name? If so, it could only mean that Rudy and the visitor were more than mere acquaintances and had spent time together somewhere before the meeting at the Devil’s Corner. Fogarty chuckled to himself. It seemed so obvious now but perhaps it was too easy. He would place a call to the warden up at Strathmore Prison to see if an inmate with the nickname of “M&M” was incarcerated at the same time as Rudy Gantz. It was a long shot but that’s all he had right now and he was determined to report back to the Chief with some helpful information.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Alea Iacta Est
When Caesar left the city of Ravenna in northern Italy in 49 B.C. and led his army across the Rubicon – more like a stream than a river – and commenced a civil war with Pompeii and the reigning powers in Rome, he allegedly said alea iacta est or “the die is cast”. And so it was for “The Oz” and, to a lesser but more tenuous extent, Sheriff Grimsley. The D. A. had made an irrevocable choice, a virtual role of the dice, to go all out to convict Woody Braun Meacham for the vicious murder of Ralph Birdsong. The sheriff was no longer so sure of himself.
The two were sitting in the D.A.’s office the morning after Woody was hauled off to jail for the second time. Patchett looked slyly at Grimsley, pleased that the sheriff had taken the initiative to produce solid evidence for the D.A. to seek an indictment. How else to explain the sudden and fortuitous bit of luck with the discovery of the apparent murder weapon? Who was this prescient, un-named tipster? Grimsley had admitted that he could call in a favor to produce a witness and he had delivered, Patchett reasoned. The D. A. was gratified and impressed by Grimsley’s fealty but also determined not to ask any questions. Plausible deniability, he thought smugly.
For himself, Grimsley looked at Patchett in a new and sinister light, as someone capable of going to any diabolical length to achieve his objectives. Had Miss Henrietta put her feckless grandson up to it or had she arranged for the anonymous caller to pinpoint the exact location of the bloody knife? That would mean that they had arranged for it to be planted there. Patchett had mentioned his family connection to the coroner without ever saying “he’s my half-brother, you know”. Was Ainsworth a pawn now, manipulated to do the D.A.’s bidding? Others might view Patchett as a buffoon but Grimsley now saw him in a different, more nefarious light.
“I’ll have an indictment tomorrow, Harold. By the way, the Birdsongs came by to see me yesterday and related two fairly recent incidents between the two boys at college that clearly establish motive. It’s no joke; there was definitely bad blood between the two. Turns out Birdsong accidentally knocked out Meacham’s front teeth in a basketball game. A few weeks later, they had a heated exchange during some war protest. The fact that the victim’s wallet was still in his pocket rules out robbery and, of course, now we have what will undoubtedly turn out to be the murder weapon. I would say we are holding four aces in a game of poker.
“We’ll oppose bail, of course, but it could be granted based on the kid’s unblemished record and family ties. You never know with Judge Rozelle. When will we see results on the knife?” Patchett was practically ebullient as rattled off his strategy without a pause.
“It’ll take the state lab about a week, maybe less” Grimsley said almost distractedly, as if he was thinking about something else. After a brief pause, he continued. “I don’t mean to poke holes in your case but how exactly did the tipster know where the knife was buried? Did he witness the murder and then secretly follow the Meacham boy without being seen, first down by the water where the old couple saw the kid and then back to the cottage while he buried the knife?” Grimsley asked, his eyebrows arched, surprising himself with his audacity.
Patchett frowned and wondered if Grimsley was playing games with him. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Sheriff. Everything points to the Meacham boy. You need to bring his friend in for questioning. Grill him hard. Maybe he was there at the murder scene and then ran off to the cottage with the bloody knife while Meacham took a stroll down by the water to regain his composure. In the meantime, the friend buries the knife
then feels remorse and is compelled to make the anonymous call. Far-fetched, perhaps, but you never know. Hey, let’s not get crazy with speculation, okay?”
“But then if the friend is burying the knife, how at the very same time could the old man have seen the Meacham boy waving the murder weapon down by the lake” asked Grimsley.
“Okay, okay. Drop that theory”, said Patchett quickly, as if it had been Grimsley’s idea. He was starting to get flustered and projected his own annoyance onto the sheriff. “Listen, we haven’t had a murder in Parlor Harbor since the Civil War and I can assure you that the townsfolk want this thing resolved fast. Hell, people are starting to lock their doors in the daytime. Plus, I’m hearing it could be bad for tourism.” Patchett stood up and patted Grimsley on the back just like he had in their meeting at his estate, making the sheriff feel uncomfortable once again, like he was the D.A.’s pet who needed to be humored or patronized from time to time. “Nice work, Sheriff. Nice work, indeed” said Patchett, almost jovially, as he walked Grimsley to the door.
***
Grimsley sat in his car outside the D.A.’s office for several minutes and stared blankly through the windshield. He was pretty sure that he still wanted his revenge on Meacham but was no longer confident that he could stomach the way it was apparently going to happen. Damn it, the kid could get life or even the chair and I’m not entirely sure he did it.
He was thinking about his confrontation with Meacham earlier when they might have come to blows if he hadn’t been seated in his car and if Meacham wasn’t standing outside. It dawned on the sheriff that Meacham came to the passenger side for just that reason. Grimsley could not deny that what Meacham had done with his nephew was perfectly legitimate and even justified. Hell, he had bluffed a mendacious suspect or two over the years. Was he now blinded by his blood loyalty to a nephew who didn’t deserve it? Meacham more than hinted that the sheriff’s reputation would be on the line if other, more compelling evidence was ignored or overlooked. What about this drug connection with Birdsong’s friend? Could it somehow be related to the murder? For now, Grimsley wouldn’t do anything overt to thwart Patchett but if new evidence materialized relevant to Birdsong’s murder that pointed elsewhere, he wouldn’t look the other way – even if it came from Billy Meacham. Not anymore.
***
That same morning when Patchett and Grimsley were meeting, Billy Meacham opened the cottage door and another white envelope fell to the ground. Neatly typed was the following message.
The Birdsongs met with the District Attorney. They told him about two incidents at Thorndyke that show animosity between Birdsong and your son.
Meacham was already convinced there would be an indictment but had not shared his certitude yet with Gwen or Woody. He would consult with Busbee again before saying anything. He had already contacted the head of security at Thorndyke, Bud Bosworth, based on the first note stuck in the door. Billy had made a courtesy call on Bosworth during graduation and he was eager to help out the new Police Chief of Parlor City any way he could.
It turned out that there were a few incident reports on a Bradley Drebek, one of them for defacing a statue of a Revolutionary War hero who happened to be the college’s namesake and the other for possession of marijuana. Bosworth said there was strong suspicion that Drebek was a prominent supplier of drugs on campus but security had never been able to produce solid evidence. It was against school policy to give out students’ addresses, Bosworth explained to Meacham. “So Chief, I am absolutely not going to confirm that 1239 36th Street, NW in Washington, DC is the location of the Drebek residence. You can ask me until you are blue in the face and my response will be the same. Sorry I can’t be of more help.” Meacham chuckled and told the security chief he wouldn’t press him any further.
As soon as Meacham hung up with Bosworth, he dialed Lt. Fogarty and was patched through to his car. Chip Sweeney was immediately dispatched to Washington, DC to track every move of Brad Drebek and, if possible, determine the contents of a large box shipped two days ago from Parlor Harbor. With Meacham’s detailed description of Drebek, passed on by Fogarty, Sweeney was confident that he could track the guy down
***
Later that morning, the grand jury did the D.A.’s bidding and indicted Woodrow Braun Meacham on a charge of second degree murder in the death of Ralph Waldo Birdsong. Patchett argued for no bail but Judge Garrett Rozelle was persuaded by Busbee’s argument and set it at $25,000.
By the afternoon, with Pritchard Cottage put up as collateral for a surety bond, Woody was again released from jail but this time with the proviso that he remain at Pritchard Cottage until his trial date. Also, that afternoon, Jerry Kosinski was called into the sheriff’s office and questioned on the events leading up to, during and after the Birdsong murder. Grimsley concluded that he was either an accomplished liar or, as he strongly suspected, knew nothing other than the details of the incident at Pappy’s. So much for Patchett’s wild ass theory, the sheriff said to himself.
Alfred Busbee was invited over to the cottage that evening for a strategy session. He had surprised himself on his successful performance in court that morning and Billy remarked that he was “another Clarence Darrow”, impressing Busbee with his knowledge of the famous trial lawyer.
Busbee smiled and brushed aside the accolade before speaking earnestly. “Something fishy is going on here which is very troublesome. It’s as if the D.A. and the Sheriff don’t want to look any further than the ends of their noses. If we dismiss the absurd notion that some unknown person witnessed the murder and then followed Woody around until he returned to the cabin, then the only rationale for the bloody knife being behind the cottage is because either the killer or his so-called accomplice buried it there. So, either one of you – Woody or Jerry in the prosecutor’s theory – was seen burying it. Or the accomplice suddenly got a conscience – that would be you Jerry – and anonymously tipped off the Sheriff. Both theories are preposterous, of course. But then logic doesn’t always prevail in the courtroom when emotions are running high like they are now in Parlor Harbor. Patchett will play on them, to be sure.”
Billy was going to interject a comment but Busbee held up his arm and continued. “So, we agree that the D.A.’s theories are absurd but here we are. Now, it seems to me that we need some old-fashioned detective work to find the real killer or, at the very least, to poke more holes in the prosecutor’s case, as weak as it appears to be. Woody could get railroaded by a simple-minded prosecutor and a jury eager to convict. Don’t forget, we are in a vacation town that relies on its image as a desirable family destination. In short, the verdict could be an emotional rush job.”
As Busbee’s warning sunk in, the room went quiet and then Woody spoke up. “It may sound crazy or even irrelevant but an image stuck in my mind from that night at Pappy’s. When Jerry and I were leaving, I turned to check on Birdsie, basically to see if he might be following us out. I didn’t want another confrontation that night. When looking back, I saw the top of a head in the crowd. I didn’t see the face – just the red hair combed back in its familiar, distinctive style. You know, like a duck’s ass. It could’ve been Rudy Gantz and I got the eerie sense that he had been watching me all evening. Do I sound crazy?”
“Not at all, son” Meacham interjected. “In fact, I’ve been negligent in not telling you that Rudy is now in Parlor Harbor running an excursion boat operation. He even has the twin ogres with him again. Lt. Fogarty is nosing around the underbelly in Parlor City and if there’s any dirt on Gantz, he’ll find it. It is hard to believe that this hooligan is content to ferry tourists up and down the lake. Going legit is not his MO but with Grimsley watching, I must be careful what I do here in town. One way or another we need to find out what Gantz is up to. If there is a connection to Birdsong and Drebek, we need to prove it.”
Jerry jumped up and got everyone’s attention. “That toadface operating a tourist boat? This I gotta see.” Meacham and Busbee looked bewildered and Woody burst o
ut laughing, remembering how Jerry had said back in grade school that Rudy looked like a frog. “If I’d been more educated, I would have called him a warty amphibian but I was less sophisticated then” Jerry deadpanned.
“Seriously, let me help, Mr. M.” Jerry continued, now in earnest. “Rudy probably won’t remember me. I’ll take a few boat rides, act real casual like I’m out on the water catching some rays – nothing more. I’m confident that I can blend in with the tourist crowds. Otherwise, I’ll be stuck in this cottage watching the boob tube or drive Woody nuts beating him at canasta.” Meacham looked around the room and got unanimous buy-in. Woody looked at Jerry and smiled before playfully punching him in the arm.
Meacham decided that now was an opportune time to reveal the contents of the anonymous notes that had been left inside the cottage door. “Let’s start with the good news. We have a mole inside either the D.A.’s or the Sheriff’s office that wants to help us. Let’s hope the messages continue. Now let’s talk about this Drebek character.
Woody jumped in and said, “If Drebek came here first before going home, someone must have seen him. We should start with the bartenders at Pappy’s or maybe Birdsie’s cousin met him but how cooperative she will be is hard to say. But we do need to talk to her, right?”
“I’ll track her down, hopefully tomorrow. Good thinking, Woody. And your observation about the redhead in the bar that night raises another possibility for us to consider. It might seem pretty farfetched at this point but if the redhead you saw at Pappy’s really was Rudy Gantz, maybe he was there watching someone else – and not you.”
***
That evening, Fogarty called Meacham from a pay phone outside of Strathmore Prison. “I hope you’re sitting down boss because things could get very interesting very fast” Fogarty said, clearly excited as he shouted over the noise from a howling wind. “We can always use some good news, Fogie. Let’s hear it” said Meacham.
A Murder In Parlor Harbor Page 10