A Murder In Parlor Harbor

by Arno B. Zimmer

  “Those are not stab wounds on his arm – they’re bite marks. I have an idea who might have killed Birdsie.”

  ***

  “Uh, guess I better explain by starting at the beginning or all of you are going to think I’m cracking up” Woody said as everyone gathered around him at the dining room table. Busbee had picked up the photograph of the victim’s arm and a faint smile creased his mouth. “Is there a magnifying class in the cottage?” the attorney boomed energetically. Everyone looked up and even the otherwise taciturn attorney was surprised by his bellowing voice.

  Jerry went off to search and everyone else adjourned to the living room with anticipation. Billy and Gwen flanked Woody on the davenport and were fixated on his face, each of them nervously tapping their fingers together. Busbee, unable to sit still, went looking for Jerry. Woody was tracing a small area on his forearm repeatedly as if he was trying to conjure up an image. “What is it, Woody?” Gwen pleaded, no longer able to contain herself.

  Just then, Jerry walked into the room triumphantly holding up a magnifying glass with Busbee trailing behind. Everyone took turns studying the photograph and there was unanimous agreement that the forearm wounds looked more like bite marks than knife slashes. “We’re all amateurs at this Woody” said Busbee, “so you are going to have to help us along with your theory.” Woody sighed and said, “Okay, here’s the whole story. Maybe someone will tell me I’m crazy – we’ll see.”

  “Go ahead, son. No one thinks you are wacko” Gwen said encouragingly.

  “You probably don’t remember the incident but when we were around 8-9 years old, Jerry and I had one of our many run-ins with Rudy. Can’t even remember what this one was about and it doesn’t really matter now. Maybe it was when we were flipping baseball cards and I cleaned him out. Anyway, Rudy trips me and I go down with him falling on top of me. We are flailing away at each other and Jerry starts to pull him off when Rudy bites me right here” Woody says, pointing to his left arm. He looks at his mother and she nods her head. “That’s right, Woody, and I took you in for a tetanus shot, just to be safe, remember?” Gwen said.

  “Listen, I know you can’t see anything or maybe just a faint outline but I never forgot that day – or that bite. It was like Rudy had put his mark on me, scarred me for life. So, it all comes back to me in a flash in Doc Sauer’s office when I’m getting fitted for my caps. There’s a picture on his wall depicting the Garden of Eden with Adam sinking his teeth into the apple. The imprint of his teeth in the apple has a halo around it to make it stand out. Weird, right? Some dentist friend of Doc Sauer’s apparently has a hobby painting historical scenes with teeth as the focus. Probably some sort of therapy.

  “So, Doc Sauer explains that bite marks are like fingerprints, no two are the same. Then, he goes on to explain that some dentists are like detectives – or at least they help with crime investigations. They identify criminals and victims by examining their teeth and the bite impressions they make. It’s not hokum” Woody said, looking at his mother for support.

  “Go on, son. No one here thinks you are talking nonsense” she said reassuringly, touching his arm.

  “Well, I’m fascinated by the painting and Doc Sauer’s explanation of these so-called dental detectives so he tells me a few stories that I gotta believe are true. One about Paul Revere and the other about John Wilkes Booth and how teeth were instrumental in solving mysteries connected with both men. So, I’m thinking, if it could be done a couple of hundred years ago, why not now? In fact, Doc Sauer says there are such court cases today.” Woody stopped and looked around the room but no one said a thing. Exasperated, he almost shouted while pointing at the photograph, “Will someone say something? Do they look like a bite marks or not? And could they have been made by these teeth?” Woody had his mouth open and was pushing up his lip to expose an upper row of perfectly even teeth.

  Busbee spoke first. “Assuming those are bite marks, it is pretty obvious that they couldn’t have been made by you, Woody. But even if it was Rudy Gantz, it is going to be an extremely difficult thing to prove. How do we get a judge to grant approval to inspect his mouth? I can’t recall a similar case but will get my law clerk to do some research first thing in the morning.”

  Meacham was up off the davenport, rubbing both hands vigorously through his hair as he paced the room. “We need a dentist to examine this photo, Arthur, and confirm that these are bite marks. I think Woody is right. Next, we establish, for the record, the obvious - that the impressions don’t match Woody’s teeth. These two steps would bolster his defense, right? I agree, the bigger challenge would be getting a match with the redhead or anyone else. When we find Rudy Gantz, he certainly won’t be cooperative. We will need more concrete evidence than the contention of the bartender that he saw Birdsong, Gantz and Drebek together in Pappy’s. Sometimes, it all comes down to our hunches and our instincts. I feel that Woody is on to something. Arthur, we need to locate an expert witness, one of these so-called dental detectives.”

  There was silence as everyone absorbed what Meacham had just said when Woody spoke up. “I’m going to call Doc Sauer. He’s an amateur dental historian even if he’s not qualified as an expert. I have a feeling he’ll help out when he understands the jam I’m in. Plus, he’s gotta know at least one of these dental detectives.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Doc Sauer Arrives in Parlor Harbor

  The Mayor was not satisfied with Lt. Fogarty’s terse updates on Billy Meacham’s activities up in Parlor Harbor. What he gleaned from the newspapers and local gossip was that the Chief’s son was likely to be convicted of murder. He was naturally sensitive to the political fall-out, particularly since he had selected Meacham to head the department over the objections of some key advisors who preferred more compliant, bureaucratic candidates.

  Billy knew the Mayor deserved an in-person briefing so he drove down to Parlor City first thing in the morning and spent over an hour providing his boss with all the critical developments in Parlor Harbor. Billy left out the speculation regarding the bite marks on Birdsong’s arms, fearing that the Mayor might conclude that Meacham was grasping at straws. However, a conspiracy involving Gantz, Reisman, Birdsong, Drebek and the steamboat captain along with the enticement of drugs as the catalyst was more than enough titillation and intrigue to assuage the Mayor’s concerns.

  “I guess we are fortunate that things are quiet in town right now, Billy, or your absence would be a potential issue for both of us. I sure as hell don’t want Gantz back down here setting up shop – whether it’s fencing stolen auto parts or pushing drugs. Some people think you’re a miracle worker, Meacham. Well, it’s time to show’em some magic, okay?”

  Meacham liked the Mayor and didn’t take his comments as a threat or a warning. They both understood the pressure was on to clear Woody as quickly as possible. They shook hands warmly, clutching a little longer than normal. As Meacham left, the Mayor observed, more than asked, “In your heart and soul, you’ll always be a detective, won’t you, Billy?”

  Billy headed over to police headquarters to handle some routine paperwork but mainly to show his face. Whatever office he went into, he was greeted with sincere smiles and pats on the back. Few words were exchanged but he understood that people were expressing their support for the Meacham family even if there were no demonstrative displays of affection. He wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Fogarty was out so Billy left him a note, summarizing his meeting with the Mayor.

  By early afternoon, he was back on the road to Parlor Harbor. Doc Sauer was supposed to arrive before dinner and Billy was anxious to size up the dentist. If he was a charlatan, Meacham would send his packing before the night was over. As he drove, he dwelled on the Mayor’s parting comment and wondered if there was some hidden meaning in it.

  ***

  After re-arranging his schedule and cancelling appointments, Doc Sauer’s old Chevy, sputtering loudly, pulled into the driveway at Pritchard Cottage. Woody had been anticipating
his arrival and was sitting on a swinging chair on the open-air porch.

  “Must have hit a rock about fifty miles out and could hardly hear myself think the rest of the way. Put a crack in my muffler or manifold, or something. What I know about cars you could put on the fingernail of this pinky” Doc Sauer said as he exited the car and gave his rear tire a kick. Then he smiled and looked at Woody. “There, that’s better. Feels good to vent one’s frustration on an inanimate object once in a while, doesn’t it?” Woody smiled at the avuncular dentist. He had left Thorndyke without even saying good-bye but Doc Sauer showed no signs of taking umbrage.

  “Now, let’s figure out what I can do to help. Sounds like you’re in a helluva jam, my friend” said Sauer as he patted Woody on the back.

  ***

  Woody and Jerry spent the afternoon with Doc Sauer. Billy had not yet made it back from Parlor City and Gwen was over at the local hospital visiting some classmates from nursing school. It wasn’t long after lunch when Woody asked the dentist to tell Jerry the stories of Paul Revere, John Wilkes Booth and the emperor Nero. As he listened, it seemed to Woody as if Doc Sauer had memorized these three stories they were so perfectly recited. Still, he was enthralled and frequently looked over at Jerry to confirm that he was enjoying himself as well.

  When Doc Sauer finished, Woody said, “You’ve got to tell these stories tonight. I guarantee everyone is going to enjoy them.” Jerry nodded in agreement but Doc Sauer jumped in and said “Now Woody, you’ve heard those stories twice now. Do you think that’s all I have in my repertoire?” Before the boys could ask for details, Doc Sauer held up his hand. They would just have to wait.

  Woody went out on the porch to read, purposely leaving Jerry alone with Doc Sauer. He still harbored some concerns that the dentist might be perceived as a bit strange and he was looking for his best friend’s judgment. Plus, he was fearful that his parents and Busbee might be immediately dismissive of the quirky dentist when they saw that he looked like Dr. Zorba from the popular television series.

  Doc Sauer asked Jerry about his studies at Pythian College and was immediately impressed with the young man’s scope and depth of knowledge. He was determined to get Jerry to open up and speak freely so decided to pose questions which would give the young scholar a platform to extemporize. At some point, the conversation got around to evolution and Jerry got excited.

  “I don’t agree that man is the ultimate species. Things before us have vanished – not just dinosaurs but all forms of plants, fish – so isn’t it possible we will make way for the next version of life? I don’t say these things in a negative, pessimistic way but it is just in the nature of things, don’t you agree? Take the Redwoods, the great Sequoia trees – a vestige of the past in life’s vast continuum. Hey, maybe that’s what God did – and I don’t necessarily mean or even believe that it was a benevolent Christian God - put all the raw ingredients out there and over billions of years let the volatile mix evolve. Whatever the inspiration, deistic or otherwise, why would it all be over now?” Doc Sauer was listening intently with one fist propped on his chin, slowly stroking it. Jerry felt self-conscious and thought he had gone too far when Doc Sauer said, “Very impressive, son. Pythian served you well.”

  When Woody came in from the porch, Jerry and Doc Sauer were sitting on the davenport, chattering away and gesturing with their hands for emphasis. It took a moment for Woody to get their attention and they looked surprised to see him.

  Doc Sauer asked the boys to describe their friendship back to when they were kids. He found it fascinating how two young men so different in temperament and interest had been able to sustain such a close bond.

  When the inevitable topic of Rudy Gantz and the Clintocks came up, Doc Sauer listened carefully. When Woody had called and asked him to come to Parlor Harbor, he had reminded him about the story he told in his office about the fading bite mark and now Doc Sauer knew who had inflicted it. There was no mention of Ralph Birdsong and Doc Sauer understood implicitly that his parents would be irate if they knew he was in Parlor Harbor to help exonerate Woody. It was a topic both of them instinctively left untouched.

  Woody briefly described the Clintocks and said that even after multiple interactions with them over the years, he didn’t think that he had heard them speak ten words in his entire life. “Jerry has a theory about them, Doc. You need to hear it.”

  “Well, it’s pretty simple. I view them as a throwback to primordial man, maybe even pre-man. They have the small, undeveloped brains of our ape brethren – child-like yet dark, brooding, savage and morose. They have no use for language or the gentler thoughts of man. Hell, if they were transported back to the Ice Age, they would feel right at home.”

  Jerry looked at Woody and Doc Sauer and they seemed to be hypnotized. “Hey, I don’t mean to be cruel. It’s just an observation and it’s certainly not their fault the way they turned out. I feel bad for them. But Rudy? Well, that jagoff’s another story.”

  “I think I’d like to take a short nap and freshen up before dinner” Doc Sauer said, stretching and yawning at the same time. Jerry didn’t know what to think but if he had been able to read the dentist’s mind, he would have known that Doc Sauer thought he had the makings of a truly brilliant thinker.

  ***

  That evening, everyone was looking forward to a diversion from the tense atmosphere surrounding Woody’s pending trial. At dinner, Woody, seconded by Jerry, had built up Doc Sauer’s talents as a raconteur and everyone else was anxious to hear him begin. Busbee was in attendance and his first impression was that Sauer was a quirky, odd-ball dentist who he wouldn’t let within ten feet of his mouth. He was determined to scrutinize him for the rest of the evening, fearful that he might be having a Rasputin-like effect on the boys.

  Doc Sauer scanned the room and his eyes lit up. “Well, Woody, it sounds like you have set the stage for me. Hope I don’t disappoint. Let me tell a few stories that typify the best and worst in human nature and both stories involve dental mysteries.

  “George Washington suffered dental misery his entire adult life and was constantly complaining about ill-fitting dentures. By the time of his first inaugural address in 1789, he had only one natural tooth left in his mouth, a bicuspid in his lower left jaw. Ah, but I am getting ahead of myself.

  “Washington was tight-lipped and rarely smiled, often hissing when he spoke because his dentures were perpetually slipping. But the stories about his wooden teeth are sheer myth. Back then, false teeth came from cows, horses, even elephant and hippopotamus tusks. It is most likely that Washington’s fondness for port and Madeira wine caused his dentures, over time, to take on a wooden complexion. That, my young friend, is a lesson in the Occam’s razor rule. Look it up, it will serve you well in life”, said Doc, pointing to Jerry with a twinkle in his eye before continuing.

  “In any event, during the Revolutionary War, a French dentist by the name of Jean-Pierre Le Mayeur was servicing the needs of the British troops stationed in and around New York City. Offended by the continuous disparaging comments about the Franco-American alliance, he fled the city at considerable personal risk and decided to offer his dental services to the revolutionaries. When Washington heard about it, he had Le Mayeur investigated to ensure that he wasn’t a spy and then proceeded to use his services the remainder of his life.

  “But here’s the best part of the story. As the Revolutionary War raged on, a mail pouch sent by Washington from his encampment near New York City was intercepted by the British. It contained a letter from Washington to one of his dentists, John Baker, asking him to send dental supplies to him since the prospects of the general traveling to Philadelphia were negligible. Well, Sir Henry Clinton, commander of the British forces read this letter and was convinced that Washington would stay put in New York and not march to Yorktown, Virginia to attack Lord Cornwallis’ troops stationed there.

  “In fact, Washington was already mapping out a strategy with the French Commander Rochambeau to move south t
o Virginia and trap Cornwallis at Yorktown. Clinton, caught off guard by the letter to Washington’s dentist, failed to reinforce Cornwallis and the decisive Battle of Yorktown was won by the revolutionaries. It turned out to be the final skirmish of the American Revolution.

  “Oh, here’s one more tantalizing morsel to chew on. In addition to Baker and Le Mayeur, Washington used the services of other dentists as well. One of them was a Dr. Greenwood who had offices in New York City. It was Greenwood who pulled Washington’s last natural tooth. The President gave Greenwood the tooth as a memento and it is now on display at some museum.

  Here’s one last tidbit for your amusement and enlightenment to complete the George Washington story. Dr. Greenwood received his dental training from none other than Paul Revere. How’s that for bringing Revolutionary War dental history full circle?”

  Doc Sauer jumped up and vigorously rubbed his hands together before asking if he should continue. Everyone nodded affirmatively.

  “Now, we move on to the arch demon himself although some would say that Joseph Stalin gave him a pretty good run for his money. I’m speaking of Adolph Hitler, naturally. The most feared man in Germany at the height of his power was, in fact, terrified of his dentist – and for good reason. His teeth were a hideous disaster, loaded with several gold fillings most probably extracted from Nazi victims. Hitler also had multiple crowns and extensive bridge work, not to mention that his breath was unbearable. It was said to be so bad that people involuntarily stepped back when he spoke. Maybe near the end, one of his many aides joked with him and said ‘Hey, Feuhrer, halitosis is better than no breath at all’ but I doubt it. Before long, of course, Hitler would be permanently out of breath.