A Murder In Parlor Harbor

by Arno B. Zimmer

  Then she heard the D.A.’s voice. “Relax, Harold, I am as surprised as you are by this felicitous event. Someone must have broken into Ainsworth’s office or, god knows why, he leaked the pictures himself. As to the photograph of the knife, someone in your office decided to help us out or perhaps the same adventurous individual broke in here as well. Any idea who it could be?” Not waiting for or expecting a reply, Patchett went on almost cheerily.

  “You have to admit, having these photos out there undoubtedly galvanizes public opinion for a speedy trial and conviction. Listen, Ainsworth won’t like it a bit and he is a stubborn sort but I am going to announce that the photos should be locked up in your office for safekeeping. Eventually, they’ll have to be released to the Meacham’s attorney. Now, for appearance sake, you need to decry the publishing of the photos and affirm that your office is continuing to follow-up on leads, tips, that sort of thing. As you so astutely pointed out the other night, the appearance of impartiality is critical with this Meacham guy snooping around town.”

  As Patchett opened Grimsley’s door to leave, Nellie slid further into a recess in the corner near the entrance to the cell area and watched as the D.A. walked to the front with his exaggerated, gangling strides that forced her to stifle a laugh. The sheriff still hadn’t spoken a word but she could see that his face was beet red and he was mopping his brow.

  ***

  When Cecil Ainsworth saw the morning paper, he was seething and rushed to his office to check on the Birdsong crime scene photos. There was no sign of forced entry at the front door and the lock on the bottom desk drawer where he had put his Birdsong folder showed no sign that it had been tampered with. Whoever had broken in was a pro, of that Ainsworth was certain. Still, it had the appearance of an inside job and that did not make the coroner look good. Maybe that was the intent, he surmised.

  Ainsworth pulled out the Birdsong folder and carefully examined every picture, each one numbered in sequence and matching his log. Clearly, whoever broke in brought a camera since the crime scene photographs that appeared in the newspaper were still here. However, three photographs showing multiple shoe and boot impressions around the body were missing. Was Patchett so brazen as to steal and suppress evidence, Cecil wondered, recalling his off-hand comment to the D.A. the day before when they met at Pappy’s?

  As he was packing up the pictures to take home for safekeeping, the telephone rang. It was Sheriff Grimsley advising him that a deputy would be coming by to examine the crime scene, dust for prints and collect all available evidence. “We are proceeding on the basis that there actually was a break-in, Ainsworth” Grimsley said darkly, before adding, “Oh, the D.A. wants the Birdsong file locked up here for safekeeping until after the trial - assuming that you have no objections.” Ainsworth laughed scornfully and hung up the phone.

  The coroner turned on the radio and heard a replay of the D.A.’s press conference. He decided to comply with Patchett’s request as he was now convinced that not to do so would make him look incompetent or, worse yet, complicit. Ainsworth knew that the D.A. would take advantage of either conclusion to try and silence him. The break-in had put Cecil on guard. He now understood that Patchett would do anything within his power to win the Birdsong case and, if he lacked the necessary fortitude, Cecil knew that the matriarch would supply it. Perhaps, she already had, he speculated.

  Cecil Ainsworth decided that the timing was not right to confront Patchett and Grimsley about the purloined photographs of the foot impressions. He had his own cards to play and he would deal out some of them shortly.

  ***

  That afternoon, Busbee filed a motion with the court for a change of venue based on the inflammatory photographs that had appeared in the paper. Patchett protested and Judge Rozelle took the matter under advisement, promising a ruling within a few days.

  ***

  It was shortly before lunch hour when Meacham walked back into Pappy’s for the second time in two days. Buzz was setting up the bar and yelling at a busboy. “No, no, over here, Pablo! Aqui, aqui.” When he saw Meacham, Buzz grinned and said, “None of these Mexicans speak a word of English. Good thing I took a few years of Spanish in high school. They come and go so fast I can’t remember their names so I call them all Pablo. They don’t seem to mind at all. What can I do for you, Chief?”

  Meacham showed him the picture of Brad Drebek and Buzz quickly said, “Yep, that’s the little cretin I saw with the dead man. A real panty waist if you ask me. His face was a field of zits. Made you want to look away.” Meacham squinted and thanked the bartender, not sure what a cretin was but certain it wasn’t a compliment. He didn’t like Bigelow’s crass, insensitive style and overbearing personality but felt the need to patronize him.

  Meacham had walked away and was only a few feet from the door when Buzz yelled to him. “Hey, the third guy was no leading man, either.”

  Meacham stopped dead in his tracks and turned back to the bar. Buzz was grinning like a Cheshire cat but went deadpan when he saw the stern look on Meacham’s face. “Talk to me, Buzz. Why didn’t you tell me about the other person?” “You didn’t ask” quipped Buzz. “I thought you were only interested in the cretin.”

  “Okay, do I have to get a court order or are you going to describe him?” Meacham said, using a specious threat to wipe the smirk off Buzz’s face. “Hey, not a problem. Short guy with a ruddy complexion and, oh yeah, red hair. Both of them were scurvy looking dudes. I gotta tell you, he looks out of place in Parlor Harbor, especially wearing that brand-new sea captain’s cap. Bring me a picture if you’ve got one and I’ll ID him for you.”

  Meacham reached over the bar and gave Buzz a friendly cuff on the arm and thanked him again. He maintained his serious cop demeanor until he got outside Pappy’s. Then he clenched his fist and pumped his arm a few times as a broad smile suffused his face. He walked briskly over to the Inn, eager to bring Busbee up to date.

  ***

  Back inside Pappy’s, Buzz was barking “Aqui’, aqui’, por favor, Pablo” to the busboy, who was fumbling with a tray of clean glasses behind the bar. The busboy smiled but said nothing. His name was Jesus and he understood English perfectly. He had been hovering about, looking busy and hadn’t missed a word of the exchange between Bigelow and Meacham.

  ***

  “Okay, Billy, slowly walk me through this whole thing. Emotions are at a fever pitch and please understand that I am not suggesting that they could be influencing your thinking. But, for Woody’s sake, we can’t go off on some wild goose chase.” Busbee perceived Meacham’s agitated state when he first walked into his room. The attorney had an excellent sense of timing, when to exert himself, to make his point and then stop talking. Meacham had just told him about the bartender’s identification not just of Drebek but also of a red-headed character that fit the description of Rudy Gantz to a tee.

  “Thanks, Alfred. There was a time when I would have ignored your advice and charged ahead without thinking. We both know that so I appreciate your steady, level hand. Let me lay everything out the way I see things and then you poke holes wherever you think necessary.” Meacham took a deep breath and continued. “Birdsong and Drebek, an unlikely pair if there ever was one, become thick as thieves during their last semester or so at Thorndyke. Ostensibly, it’s the anti-war protests that bring them together but I contend it’s the drugs with Drebek as the convenient source. My suspicion is that they were also dealing at the school as well – or at least Drebek was.

  “Birdsong comes to Parlor Harbor unannounced to visit relatives he rarely sees, according to what the cousin told Woody and Jerry outside Pappy’s. And, lo and behold, Drebek shows up here, too. Coincidence? Then, Drebek heads to D.C. and Birdsong mails him a box the day before he is killed. Now, neither of these guys appears to have been leaders in the protest movement from what Woody tells me. If so, then why is Birdsong mailing Drebek a box full of flyers? Surely, they can print their own flyers down there. Turns out, according to D.C. police, that the
box wasn’t full of flyers when they found it in the back seat of the Drebek car. My guess is that the flyers were placed on top in a feeble attempt to cover the important cargo – drugs. If so, these two naïve college boys most likely got their supply in Parlor Harbor and planned to make some money when they got to D.C. Who besides Birdsong and Drebek knew that the box contained drugs? Right now, that’s a mystery but my number one candidate is the redhead.

  “That leads us to Rudy and this Reisman character, the elusive one who was in prison on drug charges in a cell right next to our boy. Fogarty went up to Strathmore to see the warden who mentioned the rumor that Reisman hid a large quantity of drugs before he got nabbed by the state police. His car catches on fire and is totally destroyed, supposedly with all the drugs still in it. That by itself is suspicious but we’ll put it aside for the moment.

  “Let’s say Reisman hides the stash from his Mexican partners before he is arrested and figures the fire plus passage of time will make them forget all about him. Maybe the Mexicans believe the entire load was lost in the car fire. Reisman gets out of Strathmore and needs a new partner, a front if you will, for distribution purposes so that he can stay in the shadows. So, who does he recruit but our friend the redhead, someone he can manipulate and control. And as a bonus, Reisman gets the ever present and intimidating Clintocks as strong-arm enforcers.

  “Now, if Birdsong and Drebek were getting their drugs from Rudy, and why would they be meeting with him at Pappy’s otherwise, something went terribly wrong. Did they owe money and try to skip town without paying? I think it’s a distinct possibility and would certainly explain the murders occurring one right after the other.

  “Of course, this D.A. will not want to entertain any conflicting evidence and certainly won’t want to link the two murders, effectively taking Woody off the hook – unless, he fancies trying to link Woody to a larger drug conspiracy. We must find the means to put intense pressure on this Patchett guy, Alfred, the kind he can’t ignore. During my confrontation with Grimsley the other day when I leaned into his car, I saw a look on his face that surprised me, as if he wasn’t so cocksure of himself. He was acting the same way when he came to the cottage to arrest Woody – almost like he was reluctant to comply with the court order. I’m at the point of taking a chance with him and sharing what I just told you. We’re running out of time and Grimsley might be our best chance to get to Patchett and crack this thing wide open.” Meacham stopped and looked at Busbee, hoping for some sort of affirmation.

  “And the banker, Billy?” asked Busbee, wanting to leave no loose ends. “I’ve just got a bad feeling about him, Alfred. He pressures this unsophisticated and desperate boat owner to accept a bail out from complete strangers. It smells bad. Could he be Reisman’s banker to funnel drug money out of Parlor Harbor? We need to keep digging and find out.” Meacham was getting excited as he built his case for the lawyer’s scrutiny.

  “Billy, what you have laid out is certainly plausible and even persuasive but, despite some solid facts, you are still speculating that Birdsong and Drebek were both murdered for the same reason. The additional problem is that we have no proof yet that Gantz and Reisman are dealing drugs, despite what you just learned from the bartender. You would have to admit that, right? As to the banker’s role, that seems to be a real stretch at this point but I’m not saying it is unfeasible.

  “As to Grimsley, I only had that one interaction with him when we picked up Woody at the jail so not sure I can agree with your strategy to engage him – at least not yet. He certainly does have a very disconcerting lack of interest in conducting a thorough investigation. Hell, look what you’ve uncovered already all on your own.

  “So, my advice is that we garner more evidence before going to the sheriff, facts that are incontrovertible. He is a tough read and may be impenetrable, especially with this apparent obsession to get even with you for something that happened to his nephew over ten years ago. Now, Patchett might be another story. Every attorney I’ve talked to says he will fold up like a cheap tent if there are any cracks in his case against Woody. My assumption is that Grimsley would quickly follow suit.”

  Meacham was chewing on his thumb as Busbee spoke. “You’re right about one thing, Alfred. A little more digging is in order but my gut tells me we’re not just on the right track but close to pay dirt. But don’t forget before you start praising me to the high heavens that we would be at a dead-end right now if not for the excellent work of Fogarty and one of our new recruits, this Sweeney kid. ”

  Meacham left Busbee without mentioning his late-night adventure with Hap MacQuarrie. He wanted to know what was in those locked cabinets in Hap’s office before giving the attorney another hypothetical to shoot down.

  ***

  Grimsley went home that evening with a growing understanding of the ruthless, perfidious nature of the Patchett clan. Is that how they accumulated their vast wealth, he wondered? Venting the pique that should have been directed at the D.A., he had interrogated the girl and even his deputy about the newspaper picture of the bloody knife but both reacted indignantly in denying that they had anything to do with the incident. That picture was now locked up in his desk along with the crime scene photos picked up from the coroner’s office that afternoon. He had gone along with the D.A. but the way he had been encouraged to treat Cecil Ainsworth made Grimsley feel cheap.

  As he approached his house, Grimsley was consumed with an overwhelming sense of helplessness and despair. He felt the sudden urge to keep on driving, to get as far away from Parlor Harbor and the Patchetts as possible. It was a strange and uncharacteristic feeling for a homebody like Grimsley but he had momentarily entertained it, if only fleetingly. As he lumbered into the house, he wondered if he was in so deep now that he didn’t have any way out.

  ***

  When Meacham got back to the cottage, he went over everything that he had discussed with Busbee that afternoon. Gwen was back from Parlor City and her face blanched when she heard about the sighting of Rudy Gantz at Pappy’s. Woody took the news as if it was inevitable

  After dinner, Busbee showed up at the cottage unannounced. He looked grim when Gwen opened the door. “Don’t tell me the judge already turned down your request, Alfred?” Meacham asked, standing behind his wife in the doorway.

  “No, at least not yet, Billy. But I did receive an envelope at the Inn about an hour ago. No markings on it. Inside was a set of the crime scene photographs – including the two that made it into the paper this morning. There was also a note indicating that the photograph of the bloody knife was taken by the sheriff’s office and not the coroner. What in sam hill is going on in this town? – it’s a regular Peyton Place.” Busbee was a man who appreciated order, decorum and protocol. He had been a disciple of Randall DePue, a former law partner who was the epitome of discretion when not saturated with booze. His murder over a decade ago at the Parlor City Institute still haunted him and now he was faced with the uncle of his friend’s killer, a sheriff no less, as an adversary. Busbee dearly missed DePue and wished he could consult him now.

  Busbee exercised propriety in all aspects of his life, professional and private, and it distressed and exasperated him mightily to see the traditional order not just uprooted but abused. He had only been in Parlor Harbor for a few days but it made him think of Parlor City as idyllic by comparison.

  “It looks like we have an old-fashioned battle raging in this town between good and evil” Busbee continued haltingly when Meacham interrupted. “Alfred, someone – or someones – feels the need to counterbalance the efforts of a reckless D.A. hell bent on getting a murder conviction. I’m not so sure anymore that he has a lackey in the sheriff’s office that will do his bidding. I don’t respect Grimsley but never pegged him to be a sycophant. And don’t forget, we have our own anonymous tipster leaving us helpful clues in the door at night and now, just maybe, an honest coroner trying to tip the scales of justice back into balance. These are good signs. We need to take any help we can g
et, counsellor. After all, we can’t lose sight of the fact that Woody’s life is at stake here.” Meacham was staring fiercely but Busbee understood that the look was not intended for him.

  Woody had been sitting silently in a chair in the corner of the room, listening to the conversation between Busbee and his stepfather. He stood up and announced very calmly “I want to see the photographs, Mr. Busbee”. Gwen and Jerry had just walked in from the kitchen and now everyone was staring at Woody.

  “I understand the situation is serious if not grave. I’m not naïve. It’s important for me to see what I am alleged to have done, okay? It will prepare me for the worst and, if there is a trial, the photographs will be on full display in front of me, right? Birdsie and I were never close but he was my friend until almost the very end and …….” Woody’s voice trailed off as he scanned the room and stared resolutely at everyone, looking for support.

  Meacham looked around and said “Woody makes a lot sense and it’s his call. Let’s go into the dining room, Arthur, and get it over with. Who knows, maybe one of us will pick up a clue that’s helpful. I suspect some of the shots are pretty gruesome so if anyone would rather not look at them, stay put”.

  Everyone followed Busbee and watched as he spread out the crime scene photographs around the oval dining room table. There was utter silence as they all made the solemn trek around the table as if they were at a wake and paying final tribute to the deceased.

  Woody was the last one to complete the circle and shuddered more than once when he saw the wounds inflicted by Birdsie’s vicious attacker. Then, he stopped suddenly and stared. His jaw dropped and he tried to talk but his mouth was pasty and nothing came out.

  Gwen was the first to notice and said “What is it Woody? Are you okay?” Woody said nothing but stretched out his arm and pointed to the photograph directly in front of him. Gwen and Billy leaned in for a better view but didn’t understand. Both of them turned to Woody with puzzled, beseeching looks, waiting for an explanation.