by Rick Reed
Another picture was of Dick in full diving gear, hood pulled back, a serious expression on his face, posing for the camera. Standing beside him was his best friend, Carl Needham. While they were in their junior year, Needham had taken diving lessons and was certified for deepwater exploration. Dick thought it would be cool. He remembered telling his father he wanted to join the Navy. His father’s answer was, “You already have a fine career ahead of you. You’re going to college. I’m not having any of your sass.” He’d finally convinced his father to let him take diving lessons. He was certified in his senior year and made a few cave dives with Needham.
Carl developed a passion for politics and the law. It suited him. He’d risen through the ranks quickly and was an Ohio state senator. He still practiced law, but politics was his passion. He’d exceeded Dick in all ways, but they remained best of friends.
Dick was proud of where he was now, but those days in high school were his fondest memories. The three of them had all been so tight. And then life happened. They had all gone separate ways. He wondered where he would be, what he would be doing, if his father hadn’t insisted he become a policeman. He might have gone on to play college football, joined the Navy, and played for Navy Midshipmen. Who knows where that would have led?
But he hadn’t played college football. He’d gone to Notre Dame at his dad’s insistence with no time to attend many Fighting Irish games, much less try out for the team. His time was spent earning a dual degree in criminal justice and business administration, then on to an MBA. Even back then his father had been grooming him to become Chief of Police. That had been his father’s dream. Over time, he had to admit, it had become his dream too.
He hadn’t slept well. He hadn’t been allowed to finish his cinnamon roll and coffee this morning due to the intrusion of Murphy and that backwater partner of his. Thankfully, he had an espresso machine in his office and had brought the remainder of the Cinnabon with him. His office was bigger than any in the police department, but he still felt cramped. His was a creative mind and a creative mind needed space, and encouragement, and yes, sometimes praise. How else would a creative person know that their ideas had hit their mark? But this Chief of Police didn’t hand out praise. He demanded loyalty, but gave nothing in return. He didn’t trust that Dick knew the right things to do, or to say, and held him back as if Dick was someone to be ashamed of.
Pope wasn’t the only problem he had right now. He was in a spot. He had always feared the past would come back to haunt him. It had come back with a vengeance and at precisely the wrong time. The persecution inflicted on him by the Day family and the news media was Chief Pope’s doing. Of that he was sure, because it’s exactly what he would have done himself if he had that kind of dirt on Pope. To be fair, Max Day had to share part of the blame. If Max hadn’t tried to steal Ginger, if he’d stayed down, if he hadn’t broken Dick’s nose in front of everyone, if he hadn’t humiliated him, none of this would have happened.
But it had happened. Max was dead. Harry Day was dead. Amelia Day was dead. Reina Day was hospitalized and all of it was so unnecessary. They kept stirring the pot until it had boiled over. One good thing had come out of all this: The persecution by the Day family had ceased.
He felt no pity for that family. They’d damaged his reputation and did their best to keep him from his well-earned promotion. But they hadn’t stopped him. He’d spoken with the incoming mayor. Cato assured him it was going to happen. He would be Chief. And then Murphy and all of that ilk would be forced out of the department. He demanded loyalty and their loyalties would never lie with him. He recognized that. But, unlike Pope, he wouldn’t allow anyone with questionable loyalty to keep their job. It was like leaving a sharp stone in your shoe. You had to remove the stone. Permanently. Murphy would get what he had coming. Just like the rest.
Mayor Cato would let him run the department the way he thought best. A much-needed change in leadership would bring new police policies. No more waste of equipment and manpower within the lower ranks. They didn’t deserve take-home police vehicles, free gas, and free meals and coffee. He would institute a strict policy of no gratuities, take their free rides away, then see how they liked that. And if they rebelled he would replace them until they fell into line. The police department was no place for a democracy.
The news media would be kept abreast of every change. In fact, he intended to create a place within the department for a new liaison. A civilian. A journalist. His would be the first police department in the country with an embedded reporter. He was sure that would get the attention of the national networks. The public could watch him clean house. The first thing he’d do was—
His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the outer door to the personnel office open and the whoosh sound of the hydraulic-assisted closing. He didn’t need to check the clock. He knew exactly who it was.
He hadn’t realized he’d slumped down in his chair until the knock on his door. He straightened up and brushed a piece of lint from the front of his shirtsleeve. He considered not answering, but that would appear that he was avoiding them. It exuded weakness. Murphy would use that to spread his poison among the rank and file and it would cast more suspicion on him. Murphy already knew about the fight at Rex Mundi and suspected there was a second fight that night at the cemetery. Probably thanks to Mattingly, who had always been jealous of his meteoric rise to power. Mattingly was just as bad in his own way as the Day family. Always watching for a place to stick the knife in. Well, not for much longer. Mattingly would be unemployed with the rest of them.
“Come,” he said and the door opened.
* * * *
Liddell had scarfed down a half-dozen doughnuts, finished what remained of the coffee, belched, and was ready to go upstairs and confront Dick.
Jack put a tiny digital recorder in his suit pocket, along with the high school yearbook photos of Max, Dick, Carl, and Dennis. They went upstairs to the personnel office. Lieutenant Brandsasse’s desk was vacant. A scribbled note lay on the desktop. It read, You’re late. Again. See me when you get in. It was unsigned.
“Uh-oh. Someone’s getting a spanking,” Liddell said.
“Yeah, us,” Jack said.
They knocked on the door and the voice of doom said, “Come.” They came.
Jack Murphy and Liddell Blanchard stood in front of Dick’s oversized desk.
“Can we sit, sir?” Liddell asked.
Dick said nothing. Jack pulled a chair up to Dick’s desk and sat. Liddell selected a chair and pushed it against the wall in the far corner.
Jack began. “As you know, we’re investigating the murders of Maximillian Day and Harry Day. I’m sorry to have to bring all this up again since it happened so long ago and was investigated thoroughly,” he lied. “You were a detective. You know we’re starting at a disadvantage. We could really use your help. Where do you think we should start?”
Jack waited for a response. Nothing came.
“Okay, then. I’ll start. What do you remember about your fight with Max Day at Rex Mundi the evening Max died?”
Dick’s eyes bored in on Jack’s when he spoke. “You will address me by my rank, Detective Murphy. I’m a Deputy Chief of Police. Your attitude is inexcusable and bordering on insubordination. You will not read me the Miranda warnings. I promise you.”
The promise in that sounded like a threat.
“You’re right—Deputy Chief. Sir. I won’t read you the Miranda rights statement because it’s not necessary. You’re a witness at this time, sir. I mean Deputy Chief. Sir.”
Dick’s jaw tightened. “I’m warning you, Murphy…”
Jack jumped in. “We have a common interest in solving these cases, don’t you agree? You want to clear your name and reputation. We want to find the murderer or murderers. Or at the very least, to find the truth and get some justice for the Day family. You were a detective. Right? You know the proced
ure. We can really use your help. Without that, I’m afraid of what will happen.”
Jack hoped he wasn’t laying on the praise too thick, but he didn’t think it would ever be too thick with an arrogant ass like Dick.
“I know exactly what you’re doing, Murphy. I know what you and Blanchard want to ask me and I’ll save you the time and trouble. I don’t know anything. I have nothing to say. You’re wasting your time here. You can’t trick me. You can try to humiliate me. Try. But you will fail. Watching you two running around desperately trying to hold onto your careers is…is pathetic. That’s what it is. This is one case the great Jack Murphy won’t solve. It will be your swan song.”
“Are you threatening us?” Jack asked.
“Take it however you want, Murphy. Now get the hell out of my office. I have important work and we’re done here.” Dick shooed them toward the door.
Jack said, “That’s the exact words your dad used this morning. Did he tell you that we were there? Wow, what a house. I mean, someone could get lost in that place.”
Jack didn’t get up. He put his hands on the edge of the desk and leaned toward Dick. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just threaten me.” He added, “Deputy Chief.”
“Get out, Murphy! Leave. Now!”
Jack said, “I didn’t think of you as a real suspect, but your refusal to talk to us makes me think differently. Let me promise you, Deputy Chief Dick. If you do—or say—anything to harm me or my partner’s careers or interfere in our investigation in any way, I’ll be coming for you. You can take that any way you want.”
Jack stood up and headed for the door. Liddell was frozen to his seat for a beat and then followed Jack.
Dick said to their backs, “I have an attorney. You’ll be talking to him.”
Jack turned around and approached the desk so quickly Dick drew back.
“Have your attorney contact me today, sir. This morning, if you please. You know my number,” Jack said. “Better yet, give me the attorney’s number. I’ll contact him.”
Dick smirked. “Senator Carl Needham. I assume you have his number. If you don’t, I’m sure that little girl of yours, Angie, can get it for you. She seems adept at getting things. Illegally, I would guess. Maybe someone should investigate her?”
“You’re right. We are done here. For now.”
Jack and Liddell left the office and went down the hall to the elevator. Jack said, “Let’s take the stairs. I need to burn off some steam.”
“Do you think it was wise to threaten Double Dick? I mean, he is a Deputy Chief. He’s proud.”
“I just wanted to wind him up. An angry man is a foolish man.” Jack called Angelina and asked her to check local hospital records for Double Dick, Carl, and Dennis. He was particularly interested in the dates around Max’s murder. He told her Dick had called her “that little girl, Angie” and she responded appropriately before the line went dead.
“Let’s get breakfast at the war room,” Jack said.
“Now you’re talking, pod’na. “My stomach’s talking to me.”
“It’s talking to me too,” Jack said and patted Liddell’s stomach.
They rode the elevator in silence and left headquarters by the back entrance. Outside, Jack asked, “Did you notice the photos in Dick’s office?”
“The walls were full of awards from kindergarten. Why?”
“There were several photos on the credenza. Dick’s a diver.”
“Dick Diver.” Liddell chuckled and repeated, “Dick Diver. Get it?”
“He hates me enough as it is.”
“Deputy Chief Dick Diver,” Liddell said again. “I like it.”
“Would you stop?” Jack got in the passenger side of the Crown Vic.
“Dick Diver,” Liddell said and sniggered. “Dick—Diver.” He turned south toward the river. “So. What next?”
“I’m going to do something I’ve never done before,” Jack said. “I’m going to take Double Dick’s advice. We’ll call Needham and set up an appointment for later today. It’s about a five-hour drive to Columbus.”
“Aqua Dick,” Liddell said. “The comic book action figure will be a phallus in a Speedo. What do you think?”
Chapter 41
Carl Needham dialed the number Richard Dick had provided. The phone was answered after several rings. “Yeah.”
“Detective Jack Murphy?” Needham asked. It annoyed him when someone didn’t use proper phone etiquette. He didn’t like to have to ask who he was talking to. Evidently, Jack Murphy thought he was above introducing himself in any official capacity.
“You got me. Who is this?” Jack asked.
“This is Ohio State Senator Carl Needham, Detective Murphy.” He said this distinctly, officiously, putting Murphy in his proper social status. Putting the man on notice.
“Carl,” Jack said merrily. “I was just getting ready to call you, man. You must be psychic, but I guess that’s what makes you a good congressman. You’re Dick’s attorney, right?”
“Senator,” Needham corrected Jack.
“You’re Dick’s senator?”
“I am a senator for the State of Ohio,” Needham said, his annoyance rising.
“That’s what I meant. What can I do for you, Carl?”
The senator had been warned Murphy was a disrespectful smart-ass. But a dangerous smart-ass, he reminded himself.
“I was advised you were told to contact me. I wanted to make sure we spoke sooner rather than later to prevent you from further harassing my client.”
“Just to be clear, Carl, I assume by your client you mean Dick, the son; not Dick, the father.” Jack motioned at Liddell to record the call. He put the call on speakerphone.
“Yes, I’m referring to Richard. Your Deputy Chief. Richard Dick. I also received a call from his father. I understand you trespassed onto the father’s private property this morning and created quite a disturbance.”
Jack said, “Hey, what’s the father’s name? I forgot to get it.”
“Retired Captain Thomas Dick. Were you at his home extremely early this morning?”
“He was up, but, yeah. We were there early because Dick Sr. wasn’t answering his phone.” Needham probably wouldn’t check phone records.
“Why were you calling him?”
“Well, I’m not supposed to talk about an open investigation, but since you’re a state representative, I guess I can make an exception.” Jack heard a sigh on the line. “I guess Dick—the son, my Deputy Chief—didn’t tell you that a buddy of his old man was killed early this morning. The victim had some things that belonged to…Tom Dick. Did I get that right?”
Needham didn’t answer.
“Anyway, we wanted to be sure Tom Dick wasn’t dead also. But he’s not. I assume you’re representing him too?”
“You know what they say about assuming things, Detective Murphy. It will make an ass out of you and me. In this case you assumed right. However, you could have sent a Warrick County sheriff’s deputy to make the welfare check.
“I think you’re confused, Carl,” Jack said. “It had nothing to do with a welfare check. We were just trying to ascertain the health of the gentleman.”
“Why did you feel the need to drive all the way to Thomas Dick’s house?”
“We’re also federal agents, Carl. Hey, that means we both work for the federal government. How about that. I mean, you’re more important than I am, but what a coincidence.”
“Detective Murphy…”
“So anyway, we got there and we had to walk all the way up to the house because he didn’t have a doorbell out there at the road. Right? Have you seen that place? Holy cow!”
“Detective Murphy, I don’t see—”
“We were there on police business. We knock and he comes around the side of the house holding a big pair of loppers that I thou
ght was a machete at first. We felt threatened and when he told us to leave we got out of there. If he told you any different, he’s lying. Maybe he wasn’t lying because he’s old. He might have just had—a moment. You know? If he’s calmed down now we’ll go back out there and apologize.”
Needham said, “You will absolutely not bother Mr. Dick again!”
“Excuse me, Senator, but which Dick are you referring to now? My boss or the older one?”
“Detective Murphy, I’m speaking on behalf of both Dicks, Richard and Thomas. They are both my clients. I’ll have to take your word for it that no harm was done. Do I need to remind you of the Fourth Amendment? The U.S. Constitution says…”
Liddell snickered and said, “Did he just say ‘both Dicks’?”
Jack interrupted again. “Senator, we’re aware of all those rules. And let me assure you the Dicks are not prime suspects,” he lied.
“Excellent,” Needham said. “You were directed by my client—Richard Dick—to speak to me in future about any questions you may have for him concerning the case you’re investigating. That goes for his father as well. May I ask what case you’re investigating?”
“Let me ask you a question first, Senator. You’re a possible witness in the case in question. Doesn’t that create a conflict of interest? I mean with you representing both Dicks?”
“I wasn’t aware that you’ve had legal training, Detective. Where did you go to law school?”
“Just street training,” Jack replied. “You know. Cop 101 and 102. A murder here, a murder there.”
“No offense, Detective Murphy. Maybe you should let people who have had legal training make the legal decisions? I have every right to know why you want to question my client. You’re fishing, Detective Murphy, and in dangerous waters.”
He’s the one fishing, Jack thought. “Okay. You got me there. We’ve been assigned to investigate the murder of an old friend and classmate of yours, Maximillian Day, and the murder of his father, Harry Day. And since we started digging into this, Max’s sister was beat up and shot at, and the mother was shot and killed. Can you believe that? And then the original detective on the cases was murdered last night. I mean, it’s crazy. Right?”