Chloe Boston 15 - Murder by the Book

by Jackson, Melanie

  Alex handed me the first section of the paper. I laid the front page on the tabletop and started to read. I couldn’t help but be distracted by bits and pieces from the Supervisor Daniels murder piece that ran beside the article I was reading. It was full of inaccuracies. The piece on the Rankles and Edwards scandal concluded with the fact that the board of supervisors would be meeting this afternoon at 3:00 to vote on green-lighting the construction project. The article stated that Mr. Randolph Rankles himself would be in attendance to make a statement. I handed the paper back to Alex, fully intending on being there in person at the afternoon meeting to hear Mr. Rankles’ statement.

  I showered and dressed while I ran the data I’d gathered so far through the ANALYTICO processor in my mind. I drew a close correlation between the death of Supervisor Daniels and the upcoming vote on the construction project. The same strength of connection developed between Agatha and the means of murder. I had yet to connect the two vertices. I had only one suspect and I didn’t know who he was. I stored all the information as I stepped out of the bedroom, kissed Alex on the head as I walked by the kitchenette, and gathered Blue to go outside to my tricycle.

  My ride to work was a wonderful symphony of color, crisp clean air, and bright sunshine. I pedaled in a pleasurable cocoon while Blue sniffed the air. I was periodically interrupted from my bliss by someone waving or calling good morning. Other than that, my ride was uneventful.

  The personal pleasure bubble I was in burst the moment I made it to my desk.

  “These are the files the Chief wants you to look through,” Gordon explained, dropping a large pile of case files in the center of my desk. “See you again next spring,” he chuckled as he sauntered away.

  The stack was indeed large, but I set myself to the task, going so far as to skip the morning meeting in my zeal to bring a fugitive to justice. All it took was one case file to convince me of what a horrible task I had ahead of me. I won’t describe the case, but I will say that I hope when they catch the bastard who did it they shoot him and hang him. I began skimming the files while refusing to look at the pictures. I was horrified by the crimes that man could perpetrate upon man, based only on the written descriptions. By lunchtime, I’d had enough. I rose from my seat and took Blue outside for some air. I brought my lunch sack along assuming that my dog might want to share a bite under her favorite tree.

  While I chomped on a ripe red delicious apple I watched the kids playing in the park across the street. Blue watched the children with rapt attention. I could tell she wanted to join them. She was distracted from the play only by the periodic bites of turkey sandwich and a carrot or two. I felt like such a bad owner when I brought her back inside to sleep beside my desk.

  I had just opened the folder of a new case when I spotted a familiar figure walking into the squad room. It was Eddie Springer, decked out in his usual costume. I hunkered down behind my open file and peeked around the stack of files on my desk to watch what the newcomer would do. I had half a mind to challenge his unescorted presence in the squad room. Then Officer Bryce stepped from his desk to greet him. Their exchange wasn’t exactly cordial, but I did see money exchanged for a small paper bag. After the exchange, each of the parties involved looked around the room surreptitiously. It was Eddie who first noticed me. His reaction was to turn and skedaddle out of the room. Bryce tried to ignore the fact that I’d seen the exchange. He simply carried the brown sack into the Chief’s office. He didn’t have the sack on him when he returned to his desk.

  Good Lord, did I really see what I thought I saw? I asked myself. Did I just see Officer Bryce buy drugs for the Chief right in the squad room? No, it couldn’t have been. But then what else would Eddie be selling? Anything really, I supposed. Beer, dirty videos. You name it. In the end the thought of Bryce buying beer and dirty videos for the Chief disturbed me even more than the thought of him buying drugs. I tried to erase the entire incident from my mind.

  Another two hours and I’d made it through the stack of cold murder case files. I’d set aside a handful of case files that seemed like they were based on mystery novel plots for looking into again when my mind was fresh. The Chief stepped out of his office and over to my desk.

  “No luck?” he asked.

  “I have a handful of cases I need to review.”

  “Well, it was worth a try.”

  “I just hope I can sleep tonight with all these horrible images dancing in my brain.”

  “Oh yeah, I hadn’t thought of that. Sorry, Boston.”

  “Don’t blame yourself, Chief. It had to be done. Still, it makes you wonder about the state of human evolution.”

  “How’s that?”

  “We can’t be as evolved as we think if we’re willing to do this to each other.”

  “You’ve got that right.”

  “Say, Chief. Do you mind if I cut out early today to attend the city council meeting at three o’clock? They’ll be voting on green-lighting the Rankles and Edwards construction project. Randolph Rankles is going to be there to say a word.”

  “What’s got you so interested in city politics?”

  “I think the construction project may be linked to the murder of Supervisor Daniels. I wanted to follow this lead on my case.”

  “Your case? The last time I checked, the case was assigned to Officer Bryce.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I meant. I figured Bryce wouldn’t mind if I develop some new leads.”

  “As long as you coordinate things with Bryce, I think that would be a good idea for you to attend this meeting. And if you dig up anything interesting, be sure to pass it along.”

  “Will do.”

  The Chief started to walk away.

  “Chief,” I called, causing him to turn back. “Is everything alright?”

  The Chief looked confused by the question at first. Then he smiled.

  “Of course, Boston. Everything is just fine.”

  I hoped he was right, but I was beginning to get the distinct feeling that things were far from just fine in my hometown.

  Chapter 9

  The city council meetings had always been held at the library in cases where they expected a substantial crowd. Case in point: this afternoon’s meeting. I wouldn’t say that we constituted a mob, but there were a couple dozen of us spectators in attendance. The city council members sat behind a row of tables positioned at the back of the room. There were chairs facing these tables for the audience. A video camera had been set up on a tripod in one corner of the room.

  I expected to see a vacant seat behind the tables, where Janet Daniels should have been sitting, but all the seats were taken. Then I noticed that the chair in the center was occupied by my father, the standing mayor of Hope Falls. I was surprised to see him here since I knew that he was never invited to the city council meetings, nor would he attend if he was invited, especially after the last time he appeared to make a speech. Dad had pretty much refrained from public speaking around the same time. The few times that he had spoken during his term in office had been horrible disasters, so for now he pretty much remained silent. I hoped that he wouldn’t be speaking today.

  I looked around the room for Randolph Rankles. I spotted him with his own seat behind the tables, sitting at the end of the row like he was one of the voting members of the council. He was wearing an impeccably tailored suit. I took exception to this vulgar display of insider access. I’d expected my elected town officials conducted themselves with a little more propriety. I would have approached him and introduced myself, just to show him that I didn’t recognize any social barrier that he might assume stands between us, but the lone bodyguard standing behind him looked to be someone I didn’t want to get to know. I took my seat amongst the rabble of the citizenry.

  A single microphone in a stand sat on one of the tables. It was slid across to my father as soon as the clock struck three. My father tested to see if the microphone was on.

  “Thump, thump, squeal,” went the speakers. “Is this thin
g on? Thump, thump, squeal. Can anyone hear me?”

  “I can hear yah, Chief, loud and clear,” someone bellowed from the audience.

  The bellower most likely knew that my father would continue to thump on the microphone until he got an answer from someone.

  “Good. I’d like to say a few words before I begin.” That won him a titter from me. “I’m sitting this evening in a seat which should be occupied by the recently deceased Ms. Janet Daniels, as I will be acting in her place. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you people on the council or the members of our community who are here today how much we’ve grown to depend upon Ms. Daniels’ guidance in the areas of city planning, contracts and management, distribution of payments, and public safety. I felt safe knowing her steady hand was on the tiller of this city’s financial future. I pray that wherever Ms. Daniels is today, she’s in a better place.”

  This opening address received polite applause. I was proud of my dad for giving such an eloquent eulogy. All he had to do now was ask for a few moments’ silence to wrap things up. Instead he spoke some more.

  “As for my last appearance before the council, I’d like to explain myself.”

  One of the council members started to object.

  “No no, please, let me say this. Any horse’s ass can put his head in his hat, but that doesn’t make him a cowboy. That’s what I was trying to say the last time I was here. I was not trying to tell Supervisor Hayes where to put his head, and if I had been I would have told him to put it in his hat, not in his horse.”

  And that was all that needed to be said about that. I silently pleaded for my dad to move on to a different topic.

  “I’m sure that everyone is here to provide testimony and listen to testimony regarding one issue in particular: namely, the Rankles and Edwards construction project downtown.”

  “Not me. I want to talk about my rent,” a man from the audience complained.

  “We’ll be sure to make time after the hot issue of the day is addressed to review other issues brought before the council, Mr. Evans.”

  Apparently Evans had been here before. Even my dad knew him.

  “I’d like to begin today’s meeting by welcoming a very distinguished individual to speak with us. This individual has taken time away from his busy day to say a few words. Afterward, he will answer a limited number of questions from the council. The audience is expected to listen politely and not comment during the proceedings. Now, if that’s clear, I’d like to slide the microphone to Mr. Randolph Rankles.”

  The microphone was indeed slid to the far end of the table. Mr. Rankles ignored it. As he stood the lights began to dim. At the same time, a ceiling-mounted projector sprang to life. I remembered the extraordinary cost of installing the little used ceiling projector in the library was one of the issues that got Supervisor Daniels into office. She’d lost the fight over the projector but won the subsequent election after the cost of the projector was revealed.

  One entire wall of the library lit up to display the Rankles and Edwards logo and letterhead. Dramatic music swelled and then diminished into the background. A comforting voice began to speak.

  “Rankles and Edwards is here to serve you. Since 1849, this consortium of investors has been dedicated to helping our nation grow.”

  Pictures of farmland, dams, skyscrapers, and shopping malls merged to form a mosaic.

  “At the forefront of industry and commerce, Rankles and Edwards is on the brink of a new era in expansion. Once called urban renewal, we prefer to think of it as a new future.”

  A mosaic of beautiful city centers from around the country formed on the wall.

  “Through a series of development projects to begin over the next several years, Rankles and Edwards sees a bright new future for some of our favorite but aging urban centers.”

  A series of pictures showing our aging downtown had been cut and pasted into the presentation. This was an area that currently housed row upon row of aging apartment buildings. This was where they proposed to build the combination office and shopping complex below and above condominiums.

  “Hope Falls is the project chosen to spearhead our mission of development toward the future.”

  The images on the wall were replaced by an elaborate series of mockups depicting the results of construction. I had to concede the fact that the after pictures looked much better than the before.

  “Together, we will see the future in.”

  The music swelled again as the Rankles and Edwards graphic reappeared. Then the music was awkwardly switched off. Mr. Rankles took his seat. I found it hard to believe, but apparently the short movie presentation we’d just seen was all he had to say to the council and citizens of Hope Falls. There was grumbling amongst the audience and even the council members.

  “Does the council have any questions for Mr. Rankles before we take a vote on proposal 194-10 authorizing Rankles and Edwards to begin construction?”

  The council members murmured amongst themselves.

  “We have no questions, Mr. Mayor.”

  I couldn’t believe it. With all the controversy in the newspaper, the city council was going to ask nothing before committing millions of dollars to a risky construction project.

  “Come now,” my father prompted, “surely some member of the council must have a question or two.”

  I could stand the silence no longer.

  “I have one,” I chimed in timidly. “A question, that is.”

  “What was that, young lady?” Dad asked. “Chloe, is that you?”

  “Yeah, Dad. I have a question.”

  My dad had always told me that it’s better to ask for forgiveness than to wait for permission. So, while he was discussing whether I had the permission to speak with the members of the council, I asked my question.

  “Mr. Rankles, what do you have to say to rumors of corruption, influence peddling, and subpar construction regarding your company and the upcoming project?”

  I’d barely finished my question before my voice was obscured by objections from the city council. This caused the citizens around me to object to the city council’s objections. Tempers in the library briefly swelled until I heard a calming voice call for order. It was the voice from the movie we’d just watched, only this time it was coming from the mouth of Mr. Randolph Rankles. He grabbed hold of the microphone and began hypnotizing us with his wonderful voice.

  “Any rumors of wrongdoing concerning my company or this project are nothing more than vicious attacks from the ultra-extreme wing of the preservationist movement. I assure you, there is nothing to fear from my company or this project.”

  “That’s a lie,” a young voice cried out from behind me.

  I turned and looked to the back of the room and was surprised to see Eddie Springer was the source of the challenge.

  “Young man. I take offense at that slur,” Rankles responded.

  “Yeah? Well I take offense at you, sir.”

  The men who had been guarding the front doors to the library had already moved in on the young man by this point in the name-calling. The kid continued to hurl accusations toward Mr. Rankles regarding payoffs, substandard materials and construction, and overcharges while he was dragged from the library and sent outside to have the door locked in his face. I could still hear him yelling outside the building.

  “That’s not fair,” I complained.

  “Yeah, that’s not fair,” a man beside me agreed.

  It didn’t take long for the two hired guards to come down on me and guide me from the room. I looked back to watch Rankles slip out through a back door.

  “Mayor, perhaps we should have the room cleared,” one of the councilmen suggested.

  “Wait just one cotton-pickin’ minute, that’s my daughter you have there. You take your hands off her!”

  With only this brief warning to announce that he’d thrown his hat into the fray, Dad was out of his seat and tugging at the shoulder of one of the thugs who held me. This left me to deal w
ith a single thug. A single thug proved more than a match for me. I didn’t feel so bad since the other single thug proved more than a match for my father. We were both shoved from the building and the doors were slammed in our faces. I looked but could find no sign of Eddie. We stood alone in the relative quiet. Soon the doors burst open again as the city council members made their escape from the library. They were followed by an irate citizenry pelting them with hoots and catcalls. They were just lucky it wasn’t rotten vegetables as well.

  Later that night I was lying in bed with Alex. I couldn’t get the council meeting out of my mind. I found that I despised Rankles and his company without knowing a great deal about either. I’d been surprised to see Eddie at the meeting opposing the construction project in the absence of Supervisor Daniels. There was something else too: the strong correlation between Supervisor Daniels’ murder and this afternoon’s aborted attempt to green-light the construction project. I knew I was on to something, I just didn’t know what it was yet.

  I had the next day off. It was the day before the wedding in the park. I decided to use this free time to get a good look at the proposed construction site.

  Chapter 10

  I drove to the construction site since it was in a part of town in which I’d rather not have been riding my bike. I also left Blue at home. I wasn’t sure how any construction workers I might encounter would react to a petite woman and a Rottweiler wandering the site. Besides, I doubted they had hard hats in her size.

  I pulled up at the curb early in the morning, assuming that construction workers were early starters. It turned out that I was right; the place was abuzz with lack of activity. And any activity there might have been didn’t look all that productive.

  I parked at the curb as close to the construction workers’ trucks as possible. There was a Mexican roach coach parked several spaces ahead serving well-muscled men in denim jeans, t-shirts, tool belts, and work boots. Some of the men even wore yellow or orange hard hats. I walked past the truck and was actually pleased when I raised a few whistles. I was wearing my tight jeans today. Maybe I would have lunch there later.