Murder in Alphabet City - 6. Chapter 6

Ken had barely finished reading the un-encrypted warning letters, when one of the precinct cops interrupted him.

“We found Bart Pearl,” he said.

“Okay, let’s go to my desk.”

As soon as they were back at Ken’s desk, he asked, “Did you bring him in?”

“No. He couldn’t possibly have committed the murders.”

“Why not? How do you know?”

Because the guy is wheelchair bound. He could not have negotiated the four steps which lead to the entrance of the building Hamm lived in, nor could he have made a getaway given his condition.”

“But he lived in Theresa’s building, and it has the same four steps.”

“Exactly. That’s why he had to move. Look, I interviewed him, and I’ll write up my report and get it to you as soon as possible, but here’s the long and short of it. Bart dated Theresa a few times in college, but she had her eyes on Gustav. About three years ago, he rented the apartment below Theresa. He had no idea she lived there until he met her one day in the lobby of the building. He said that she was glad to see him at first, but one day he ran into her, and she started yelling at him to leave her alone. He couldn’t imagine why she would feel that way, but he did indeed leave her alone.

“In the meantime, he began to manifest symptoms of MS. The disease spread quickly, and he had to move to a more wheelchair friendly location. He has a small one bedroom, ground floor, apartment on West 23rd. It’s right next door to a florist shop, and poor Bart works part-time there. He waters flowers and does odd jobs as his condition allows.”

“How come he never had mail delivered to his C Street address? He must have gotten bills at the very least.”

“He has a PO Box which he still uses, but now he has a home health aide a couple of hours a day, and he picks up his mail for him.”

Ken couldn’t wait to tell Joe that his theory was absolutely spot on. The murderer knew that Bart had moved into Theresa’s building, and that they had dated in college. He began to send threatening E-Mails presumably from Bart. What the perp didn’t know about was Bart’s developing medical condition. It all fit. Theresa was glad to see him at first, but she changed her tune when she thought that he was responsible for threatening her.

Joe was right about the perp having a law enforcement background. He must have known that after Gustav and Theresa’s deaths, the police would find all these E-Mail red herrings on Hamm’s computer or typed letters in Theresa’s apartment. That’s why he sent even stronger threats to Gustav.

It didn’t come like an explosion, but it developed slowly in Ken’s brain. The murderer wasn’t jealous of Gustav’s relationship with Theresa; it was Gustav’s relationship with Frank.

Frank was still in a holding cell, and Ken rushed over to speak to him before Calvin got him bailed out.

Before Ken could speak to Frank, the prisoner blurted out. “Cal’s not answering my calls. I’ll have to stay in this hellhole overnight for something I didn’t do.”

“Listen to me carefully,” Ken said. “I may be able to help you, but you have to be one hundred percent honest with me. Except for Gustav Hamm, were you having sex with anyone else outside your marriage?”

“Why is that important? I don’t see what my sex life has to do with any of this.”

“Well, Frank, I have reason to believe that your jealous husband took revenge on Hamm, and if he knew about Hamm, he knows about all your other indiscretions.”

“You gotta be wrong. What about Theresa Sachs?”

“She was going to meet Hamm for dinner. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now are you going to tell me or not. If you help us save another life or two, things will go a lot better for you.”

“There was only one other, I swear.”

“Talk. Stop wasting time.”

“One of my chores at the microchip factory is to make the daily bank deposit. One of the tellers at the bank, Caleb Marshall, is a real hunk. I would always go to his window, and we would flirt with each other. One day he slipped me a business card and told me to call him. His home phone number and address were written on the back of the card.”

“Do you have sex with him regularly?”

“He and I have a go at it a minimum of once a week. Gus and I only used to get together once or twice a month.”

“Where does this guy live? Tell me and be quick about it.”

“He lives in a house on East 54th Street in Brooklyn, not Manhattan. I don’t remember the number off the top of my head, but I still have his card in my wallet, which your guys took away from me, by the way.”

Ken ran to the evidence locker and came back two minutes later with Frank’s wallet. Frank gave him the card, and Ken returned the wallet to the evidence locker immediately.

He ran to his desk and called the bank. It was late, but the staff might still be there. Someone answered the phone, and Ken identified himself fully, right down to his badge number.

“Is Caleb Marshall there?” Ken asked.

“Sorry, he left about ten minutes ago.”

“Do you have his cell number?” Ken asked.

“Just a sec,” and Ken was put on hold, but fortunately not for long.

He wrote down the number and called it immediately. He relaxed when a very manly voice said, “Hello.” Frank told him that the guy was a hunk. He even sounded like one.

“Listen carefully, Caleb. I assure you this is not a hoax. I’m a police detective, and I have reason to believe that your life is in danger.”

“Bullshit. This is a joke.”

“Do you know Frank Browne?” Ken shouted before Caleb could hang up.

Now there was silence at the other end. Finally, Caleb said, “Yeah, I know him. What about him?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just tell me where you are so I can send some cops over to protect you.”

“I stopped at my favourite watering hole for a drink. It’s called ‘Scotch and Rye’.”

“Where is it?”

“It’s on the corner of Church and Schenectady.”

“Stay put and don’t move until the police arrive. I’m going to hang up now and call them.”

Ken called the precinct nearest the bar. He gave the clerk Caleb’s name and location.

“For his protection, please pick him up and take him to the station. His life is in danger.”

“We’ll take care of it as soon as possible,” the desk clerk said.

“I’ll get there as quickly as I can,” Ken said. Given the amount of traffic that leaves Manhattan every rush hour, he didn’t think it would be very soon.

When Ken finally arrived, he confronted Caleb. “Give me your house key, jacket and baseball cap.”

Caleb reluctantly surrendered his belongings.

“I want directions to your house,” Ken requested.

Ken asked for backup to sit discreetly in an unmarked car in front of the house. Finally, he took the cell phone number of the cops on the stakeout.

“What’s going on?” the chief of police asked.

“I’m going to be bait for a murderer,” he told him.

“Be careful,” was the response.

Ken pulled the baseball cap down as low as he could and went into the house. About fifteen minutes later, his phone vibrated. One of the cops in the car alerted him that someone was approaching the front door. Ken advised the cop to stay alert in case he needed him.

There was a knock at the front door. Ken looked out a window and he could see that the two cops on the stakeout had gotten out of the car and were standing between the car and the front steps. He drew his weapon, and asked, “Who is it?”

“UPS delivery,” someone replied curtly.

“I didn’t order anything. You must have the wrong house.”

“Is your name Caleb Marshall?”

“Yes, it is.”

The package was sent by someone named Frank Browne.”

“The son-of-a-gun must have sent me a gift.” Ken yelled loud enough to be heard through the door.

He opened the door, and the delivery man tried to come in. “You have to sign for it,” he said.

“Okay,” Ken said.

The moment he was in the house, the UPS man tried to close the door, but Ken put a gun to his head.

“I don’t think you should close the door. It’s not a wise thing to do,” Ken said, as the two policemen rushed into the house.

Ken was still holding a gun on the perp, so one of the cops handcuffed him.

“What should we do with him?” the cop asked.

“Well, let’s take off the false beard and eyebrows, throw away the phony eyeglasses, and see who we have here.”

It was no surprise to Ken that he was standing in front of Cal Davenport. He relieved Cal of his gun and put it in an evidence bag for forensics.

Ken looked at the two policemen. “Do you think you could transport this piece of shit to my precinct? He killed two fine people there, and I want to get justice for them.”

“Sure, Detective Hall, we’ll take him down in the car out front.”

“If you ever want to commit murder again,” Ken said to Cal, “make sure the guy you’re pinning it on, isn’t in a wheelchair.

Cal looked surprised, but he didn’t say anything. He wasn’t about to give up the scowl on his face.

The cops gave Ken a ride back to the station house to pick up his car, and they then proceeded to take Cal back to Manhattan.

Ken gave Caleb back his hat, jacket, and house keys. His final words to Caleb were, “The next time you have an affair, make sure you’re not sleeping with a married man.”

******

They threw Cal in the same holding cell as his husband, Frank. The two men immediately started yelling at each other and accusing each other of causing this whole debacle.

“It’s your fault for cheating,” Cal yelled at Frank.

“So, what if I cheated? That’s no excuse for murder.”

Ken wisely recorded the whole thing, and it was direct evidence of Cal’s guilt. There was nothing circumstantial about it.

By the time all the paperwork was completed, it was close to 10 PM. Ken called Joe to let him know that they caught the murderer, and he was on his way home.

“Have you eaten?”

“No, I’ve been too busy. I’ll tell you all about it when I see you.”

“Good, the boys should be home from work in about an hour and you can fill them in

Later that evening, they were all sitting in the living room, and Ken began to talk. Looking at the boys, he said, “It was your Daddy Joe helped me solve the case.” He jumped up and gave Joe a hug. Joe turned red.

“He got me thinking that someone with a law enforcement background was second guessing everything I did. He was feeding me red herrings and false evidence. It made me think. If the murderer wasn’t jealous of Gustav fucking Theresa, who was he jealous of, and did I know anyone with a law enforcement background?

“When Frank Browne’s semen was found in Gustav’s anus, and the ME said that it was consensual sex, all the pieces fit together. Cal Davenport was angry and jealous of Gustav for fucking his husband. Fortunately, Frank was forthright in naming his other extra-marital affair, and I was able to lay a trap for the murderer.”

“But why did he kill Miss Sachs?” George asked.

“It was an unfortunate situation that worked in his favour. Theresa showed up while the murder was being committed, so Cal killed her also. Her death added credence to the red herring that Bart killed Theresa because his sick mind believed she was unfaithful to him.”

“The letters to Theresa were all unsigned. Why did she suspect Bart?”

“When she found out he had moved into her building, and the letters started coming, she must have suspected him of stalking her. Cal made it look like Bart killed Gustav for being the instrument of her betrayal. He didn’t know that Bart had become disabled and was forced to move from Theresa’s building.”

Ken started to laugh. “See boys,” he said. “That’s why you should always do your homework.”

Tom jumped up and threw his arms around George. “I’ll never be unfaithful to you,” he assured George.

Ken broke out laughing. He threw his arms around Joe and said, “Nor I to you.”