A Murder In Parlor Harbor

by Arno B. Zimmer

  ***

  Doc Sauer went across the street to a small, octagon-shaped park chuckling about the insufferable Miss Pettebone, confident that he would be the butt of her jokes for the remainder of the day. Meacham had advised him to be discreet but he just couldn’t help himself. There was a gazebo in the center of the park with benches scattered at intervals. He picked a bench that allowed him to watch the front door of the bank and sat down with a contented look on his face. Det. Sauer on assignment, he said to himself.

  Meacham had also stressed that patience and caution were virtues in police work and reminded Doc Sauer that those very attributes naturally led to some very boring stretches where nothing of significance happened. The key was to be alert when it did. To fight off ennui and look casual, Doc Sauer had stopped at a bookstore before going to the bank. He had purchased a copy of Herzog and settled into his role as the eccentric tourist lazing on a park bench. He liked Saul Bellow and would read the novel at his leisure but for now it was a useful prop as he kept a sharp eye on the comings and goings at the Parlor Harbor State Bank.

  ***

  Hap MacQuarrie called Meacham from a payphone at the dock with the news that he walked in on Rudy Gantz filling a duffel bag with small packets from one of the locked cabinets. The redhead was still on the boat with his trusty twins. The Happy Scotsman would set sail in less than an hour. “My guy will be on board, Hap. Nice work. Now keep your head down and captain the boat, okay? No need for more heroics today.” Hap let out a thunderous laugh and said, “Don’t worry, Chief, I promise not to lose me heid with these scunners.”

  ***

  Fifteen minutes later, Jerry hustled out of Pritchard Cottage with a camera and binoculars dangling from his neck. Woody stood at the door and yelled after him, “Stay clear of the Clintocks, Jer, whatever you do. They’re liable to hulk out at the drop of a hat if they recognize you and toss you overboard.”

  ***

  It was getting close to noon and Doc Sauer’s stomach was starting to growl. He glanced at the novel on his lap but was constantly distracted by people walking by. He watched the door of the bank but Melmotte never came out. Perhaps there was a back door, he wondered. Doc Sauer had read a few of the Raymond Chandler detective novels and tried to remember the ever-active Phillip Marlowe sitting on a bench for hours. Someone walked by with a paper bag and the aroma of corn beef wafted into the air, settling in Doc Sauer’s nostrils.

  Meacham was right. This sleuthing business was monotonous, tedious work but he hadn’t been warned that hunger pangs were part of it. Well, if it helped Woody, he would not complain.

  ***

  Jerry struck pay dirt almost as soon as he boarded the Happy Scotsman. He fumbled with the tangled straps around his neck and was finally able to raise his camera when he saw the Clintocks, in a phalanx, come up the stairs to the upper deck. One of them was carrying a duffel bag. At the top, they turned and started walking to the railing, giving Jerry his first glimpse of Rudy Gantz in several years. The person he had once called “toad face” as a kid was now ravaged, an older version of the boyhood punk. People were walking back and forth between Jerry and his target, providing him with a shield of sorts as he snapped several pictures.

  Rudy was dressed all in white and was wearing his captain’s hat. All Jerry could picture was the Good Humor Man. Before he burst out laughing and drew attention to himself, he turned away and walked to the opposite railing. Some children ran toward Gantz thinking he was the boat captain and Jerry heard the brittle, squeaky voice for the first time in years as the redhead turned to the Clintocks and said angrily, “get these ankle biters away from me.”

  On the voyage out, the Clintocks got off the boat at two of the stops and met people at the dock before quickly re-boarding with the new passengers. In each case, the Clintocks reached into the duffel bag and handed packets to their contact and received envelopes in return. Jerry snapped pictures of the transactions but feared that one of them was blocked by a passer-by.

  On the return to Parlor Harbor, the Clintocks completed their ritual on the first three stops and on two occasions, Jerry was able to snap pictures without interference. Up to this point, Rudy Gantz had not been seen since the Happy Scotsman left Parlor Harbor.

  At the penultimate stop, Rudy appeared on the deck and joined the Clintocks. All three disembarked this time and Jerry followed them at a distance, pulling his wide-brimmed hat down a little snugger on his forehead.

  As they walked into the village center of Port Ryan, not unlike Parlor Harbor in its charmingly Victorian architecture, the Clintocks walked close to Rudy as if they were protecting a visiting head of state. Between these two hulking men, Rudy looked like Little Lord Fauntleroy flanked by Brobdingnagians. Even though it was from the back, the scene was so comical that Jerry could not resist the temptation to snap a picture and memorialize the moment.

  As the three approached a small café with outdoor seating, a man wearing sunglasses and a straw hat was seated at a table and signaled them to join him. Jerry stayed back near a tree and started taking pictures, almost certain that he was looking at Jakob Reisman. Rudy sat next to the man but it struck Jerry that there appeared to be no friendly greeting, no handshakes, just a nodding of heads.

  One of the Clintocks handed the duffel bag across the table and it disappeared between Rudy and Reisman. Then, Jerry saw a brown valise on Reisman’s lap which he put on the floor next to the duffel bag. As Reisman stared ahead, Jerry could see that Rudy was bent over between the chairs for about a minute and then popped up, handing the valise back to Reisman. It was obvious that some sort of transfer had taken place and Jerry was certain that he got at least one good shot.

  Jerry was distracted for a few seconds and looked back to see Reisman quickly walking away from the café. After a few minutes, Rudy and the Clintocks got up and walked in the opposite direction. He was tempted to follow the redhead but realized it would be imprudent.

  Jerry looked around for a payphone, knowing that Meacham would be anxiously waiting for him to report in. He was at least five miles from Parlor Harbor and the Happy Scotsman had already pulled away. He would need a ride back to Pritchard Cottage.

  ***

  After leaving the café, Reisman strolled casually around Port Ryan, sometimes doubling back over his route to see if he saw the same faces. Eventually feeling safe, his circuitous route finally brought him to a bungalow on the edge of town. All the curtains were draw and one would have guessed that no one was at home.

  Reisman slipped in the back door and smiled when he saw Brenda at the kitchen table. She was filling up plastic bags from a large container at her feet. When she saw him with the empty brown valise, she jumped up and pointed to two suitcases and a duffel bag in the corner before throwing her arms around his neck.

  “Three down and one to go, my love. If you help me, we can finish quickly and have the rest of the evening to ourselves.” Brenda Halloway was holding him tight and the tips of their noses touched when Reisman whispered, “We will be far away from here in a few days, my dear, and then I will give you whatever you want in the entire wide world.”

  ***

  Everyone gathered at Pritchard Cottage that evening to review the day’s events.

  As Jerry recapped his boat ride, Doc Sauer sat in the corner, looking glum, as if he had somehow failed in his assignment. “Yep, he still looks like a frog, Woody – only an older, uglier version. You would have wet your pants laughing if you had seen him in his all-white captain’s outfit.”

  For Doc Sauer’s benefit, Woody explained the allusion to their childhood nemesis. “We were only ten-years old. Jerry looked right at him and called him toad face. Rudy was so stunned and humiliated, he was speechless.” Not waiting for Woody to continue, Jerry croaked “ribbit, ribbit, ribbit” and everyone roared, including Doc Sauer.

  “Okay, it’s time to get serious, boys” Meacham said sternly, striving mightily to keep a straight face. “Based on what Jerry witnessed to
day, my guess is that tomorrow is a likely day for Reisman and Melmotte to meet” Meacham said. “If the valise that Jerry saw is full of cash, Reisman will want it in a safe place as quickly as possible. Doc, your unproductive day was more typical than you realize. You are back on assignment tomorrow but this time Jerry will be your companion. I want pictures of these two clowns together, hopefully with the valise changing hands.

  “I heard from Lt. Fogarty earlier and it appears that at least some of the drugs are being moved down to Parlor City. Sweeney witnessed the Clintocks deliver two large suitcases to their parents’ home in the Projects. We are watching the house under the assumption that they were not filled with clothes.”

  “And Grimsley?” Busbee asked, looking at Meacham. “I was hesitant before, Billy, but now seems like a good time to confront him with the mounting evidence that I am now confident will eventually exonerate Woody.”

  The room went silent and everyone turned to look at Woody. He had been experiencing dramatic mood swings of late but now had a reason to be somewhat optimistic, even if cautiously so. His face told a different story.

  “It’s all so much to absorb. Sometimes it’s hard to believe I am on the verge of going on trial for murder. A few short weeks ago, I was walking across campus at Thorndyke going to my final exams. Birdsie was being a jerk but he was alive. The next thing we hear, Drebek is murdered in D.C. I thought the worst that could happen to me was to get drafted and be sent to Vietnam but it all seems inconsequential now. This D.A. is determined to convict me at all cost and now we need to trust a sheriff who only a week ago appeared to be in Patchett’s back pocket. A lot of people in this town would probably like to see me fry. Sure, things appear to be looking up but what’s going to happen next to turn everything against me again?” Woody said, shaking his head as he walked out of the room.

  Gwen glanced at Jerry and signaled for him to follow Woody. The room was silent, as if all the hope and positive energy had suddenly been sucked out of it. Finally, Meacham said, “He’s on a helluva emotional roller coaster right now. And don’t forget, he’s been cooped up in this cottage, giving his mind plenty of time to play games with him. He’ll need time to accept that the good news really is just that. And yes, Arthur, it is time for me to see the sheriff. If we don’t convince him to get on board now, we will have to go around him. I will be at his house first thing in the morning.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The Turning Point

  Harold Grimsley looked out the front window and saw Billy Meacham standing by his car. He had some documents in his hand and was looking down, as if deep in thought.

  Grimsley was in a contemplative frame of mind himself. It certainly was rather late in life for self-examination but the middle-aged sheriff was in the midst of it. Initially, it was a shock to his senses and it surprised Grimsley, this awakening process, but at the same time it also felt refreshing, like a cleansing of the soul.

  Lying in bed the night before, he had relived in vivid detail that painful day ten years ago when he sat behind the glass partition at Strathmore Prison and looked at his nephew. One of Burt’s lips was split and puffy and the left eye was half shut, swollen and discolored. The former tyrannical supervisor at the Parlor City Institute railed against the injustice of it all, unable to understand the consequences of his own cruel, perverted actions. All he saw was victimhood.

  Sure, Burt admitted, he had held down the patient while Winston Siebert forced a quart of cheap, rock gut booze down his throat. He didn’t know why nor did he ask the motivation except that Siebert had asked for his assistance. How was he to know that the ingestion of that much alcohol in a matter of minutes would cause unconsciousness and induce vomiting, leading to a miserable choking death? Burt was indignant and it made his uncle wince.

  “They’re gonna get to me, Uncle Harold, and finish the job. You gotta help me” Burt pleaded. At the time, the sheriff couldn’t get an adequate explanation from his nephew as to whom “they” were.

  “I can take the beatings. It’s the other abuse. You gotta get me transferred” Burt implored, looking away in embarrassment from his uncle. Grimsley understood now and it made his sick to imagine it. He did intercede but his efforts came too late.

  Grimsley thought of the fate of a young guy like Woody Meacham at Strathmore and shuddered. He would be defenseless if thrown in among the Sodomites. And as the son of a Police Chief, his treatment would be more brutal than his nephew’s – if that was possible.

  When Meacham had leaned in his car window the other day , he reminded the sheriff how Burt had, on a regular basis, abused and tormented helpless patients for his own amusement, even bragging about it to co-workers. When Burt reached Strathmore after his conviction, friends and relatives of his Institute victims were waiting for him, determined to exact retribution.

  Harold Grimsley was still bitter about his nephew’s treatment but revenge on the Meachams of the kind likely to occur was not looking so sweet after all. He was even starting to question whether or not his anger had been misplaced all these years. This was the sheriff’s frame of mind as he looked out the window at his long-time, imagined adversary.

  ***

  “Invite him in and get it over with, Harold” Lyla Grimsley said softly. She was standing behind her husband and startled him out of his reflections. “Don’t make him wait out there for you to leave.” Lyla gently patted her husband on the shoulder and walked away, knowing that these two proud men, if they were to open up at all to each other, would have to do so in private.

  Grimsley looked back at his wife, almost sheepishly, and caught her smile as she disappeared up the stairs. He took a deep breath and then opened the front door. “The coffee’s on, Chief. Why don’t you come in and have a cup?”

  ***

  The two men gazed at each other through narrowed eyes over their raised coffee cups, partially shielding their faces as they waited to see who would speak first. Finally, the sheriff cleared his throat and, being on his own turf, felt obliged to begin.

  “I’ve concluded that I let my personal feelings cloud my judgment, Meacham. Even the wifey noticed it and it’s been eating at me for a week or so now. Started out as an irritating nibble but then it took a chunk out of me” Grimsley said softly, chuckling at his own attempt at humor.

  “When Burt came out of the Marines, I tried to get him to move up here as one of my deputies. Figured I could groom him to eventually be my successor. Sort of a legacy, you see? We never were fortunate enough to have any children of our own. So, after my brother died …. “Grimsley paused and then began again, “When he took a job down in Parlor City at that place you call Crazy Hill, supervising a bunch of drunks, I was baffled. He kept promising me it was temporary but he stayed on.”

  Meacham nodded and Grimsley continued. “I can’t say that I’m prepared or even able to entirely put aside my feelings for my nephew and how he was treated. It would be foolish to deny that there isn’t still some lingering resentment but maybe it’s all mixed up with my disappointment in him – and perhaps, even myself. In any event, I am ready to listen to what you have to say. Now, I know you’ve been nosing around town and can’t blame you so I let it go. Truth is, there was a moment when I was tempted to call your Mayor and lodge an official complaint. One of the reasons I didn’t was because I didn’t like the way the case was developing against your stepson.” Grimsley stopped and gestured to Meacham as if to say, “Okay, I’ve said my piece and it was damn difficult to get it out, humbling myself in front of a man I swore was my mortal enemy. So, go ahead, it’s your turn to talk”.

  Meacham smiled slightly and shook his head in acknowledgement. He put the documents he had been holding on the table and patted them before speaking. He wanted to say something conciliatory about Grimsley’s nephew but knew it would sound contrived so he delved right in, giving the sheriff a complete rundown of everything he had learned since arriving in Parlor Harbor, right up to Jerry’s photographing the meeting of R
eisman and Gantz in Port Ryan. He added the latest news from Parlor City with the Clintocks delivering two large suitcases to their parents’ house and immediately returning to Parlor Harbor.

  Meacham paused when he saw the look of wonder on Grimsley’s face so he pushed the Reisman and Drebek files across the table. Grimsley leafed through them and glanced at the photographs but his mind was elsewhere. “Anybody who knows Hap MacQuarrie was aware that he had a thing for the trotters but I never would have guessed that he got in so deep with the gambling. He’s a good, honest kid. As to Melmotte, I’m having trouble believing he could be handling dirty money for this Reisman character but maybe that’s just wishful thinking. He’s a bit of lady’s man and lives high on the hog, unlike his father, but there haven’t been any rumors about financial troubles – at least not locally. As to these photographs, I have to admit we had no idea either of these characters was in town or what they were up to.”

  Meacham could see that Grimsley was going through a painful confessional of sorts. He nodded sympathetically before saying, “We’re guessing – and hoping – that Reisman will meet with Melmotte today to transfer cash. It seems to be the only plausible explanation as to why they would have a relationship after the transaction with the boat was completed. Sheriff, we’re planning to shadow the banker to their rendezvous. We can back off if you want to handle the situation” Meacham said deferentially. Grimsley shook his head and said, “My boys would be too conspicuous and I don’t exactly have unlimited resources. You go ahead and update me later. Officially speaking, I have no knowledge of what you plan to do.”

  Meacham smiled. He was starting to warm to this guy. “What about Patchett?” It was an open-ended question and Grimsley took his time responding. “He’s hell bent on getting a conviction, but you already knew that, right? The garbled call I got about the knife buried behind your cottage was not the first thing that really troubled me. When I asked him if he knew anything about it, he brushed me off. Hell, he even acted like I might have planted it there to help his case. And then the crime scene photographs which appeared in the paper. I am starting to think that Patchett had them published to intimidate both the coroner and me. If you – or we – can produce solid evidence to thwart him, he’ll buckle. He wasn’t nicknamed “The Oz” for nothing.” Meacham looked puzzled, prompting Grimsley to explain how Patchett got his mocking moniker. “I think I have a way to get under Patchett’s skin. If it works, he will likely do something irrational” Grimsley said. Meacham’s brow knitted but he didn’t ask for an explanation.