I'll Protect You (Clueless Resolutions Book 1) (6 page)

On Wednesday morning in late May Detective Salvadore had received a preliminary finding on the cause of death of the second corpse from the medical examiner’s office.  He was not all that surprised that the result was almost a carbon copy of the last report, ‘Death due to blunt force trauma causing a ruptured larynx and a collapsed right side carotid artery and a bruised jugular, within 12 to 24 hours prior to discovery, causing loss of air to the lungs and/or loss of oxygen to the brain.’ The time of death was estimated.

He had instinctively phoned the examiner’s office, as a trained detective, to make certain that they hadn’t mistakenly duplicated the notification from the first sudden death from a few weeks earlier.

With a cool tone in her voice, the assistant medical examiner informed him that their system, designed with built-in redundancy, insured that an error on this type of report would be caught and corrected before it was dispatched.  The report was “accurate, and specific to the present case.” according to her.

The thinly disguised professional insult to Salvadore, for questioning the competency of the medical examiner, was lost on him. He was accustomed to insults and he had never investigated a killing before this. He had been studying some criminal justice text books for accepted police procedures. Besides that, he was only covering his ass prior to passing the information on to the chief.

Salvadore still resented the condescending lecture he had received from his boss and he was jacked up over an opportunity to show the chief, who he knew was politically appointed and had probably handled few homicides, just who was the better detective.

Lieutenant Salvadore had been on the crime scenes of both deaths and had an ‘ace up his sleeve.’  The ‘ace’ was a detected clue that he knew would sound a little weird and, as a result, he had kept it stifled.

Fingerprint scanning and DNA sampling had been completed at the scene in both cases but there was no one on record locally with which to run a match.

Working on his strong hunch, Salvadore had investigated the whereabouts of both Max Hargrove and Maggie Marshall during the time of the deaths. Hargrove was registered at an out of town hotel, attending a two day seminar and obviously was not involved in the second one. However, his cohort, Maggie, was unaccounted for during that time.  He had no other suspects.

In detective books which he had read and in detective movies he had seen, the instinctive hunch of a detective, in the absence of real concrete evidence, had been what sometimes solved cases against the craftiest perpetrators. 
Now was the time,
Carpe Deum
, he thought, S
eize the day!
 
Go to the chief and ask for an arrest warrant or a ‘Detained for Formal Questioning’ order on Margaret, “Maggie” Marshall.

Salvadore was prepared to state his case unequivocally as he strode to the chief’s office.  The headquarters secretary stopped the Lieutenant to inform him that Chief Devaro was out on personal business and would be back late. 
“That’s just fucking great! Fine, I’ll catch him early tomorrow, right after roll call.”
Salvadore
rationalized silently.

“Thanks, no big deal, I’ll catch him another time.” he said to the attractive secretary with a deceptively cheery tone.

At that very moment, Chief Devaro was sitting down for a talk with Maggie and Max, at their request, in a seldom used mezzanine conference room located upstairs above the tennis club lounge.

“I know you have a full plate right now, Lou.  Maggie and I appreciate your making time for us.” Max stated somberly.

“For you two, any time!” the chief said with a laugh.  Then, with an abrupt change in tone and a slight scowl, he continued; “But this had better be really important.”

“It’s really important to us. We have something to tell you and we need your advice”. Maggie said, getting right to the point.

The chief eased up and said, teasingly; “Miss Maggie, you’ve got to come out of your shell and speak right up.”

“Yeah, right” she replied, “Speaking up has gotten me into a few jams, Lou, but in this case we think it might be appropriate.”

For approximately fifteen minutes, Maggie and Max took turns at laying out their business and private life histories in the East Wayford community.  They summarized how they began to work almost exclusively with each other and how their compatibility in business had proved to work smoothly, to the benefit of their employers, their clients, and to themselves.

Max decided, although he and Maggie had not discussed it, to bring up one other point.

“Lou,” he began, “What has occurred to us is that both of the deaths were at locations at which Maggie and I did property inspections.  Both properties were being handled by Stanley Realty, Maggie’s employer, and both were going up for auction by Jenson & Associates auction house, my employer.  This might be a coincidence, but we are a little nervous about that getting around.”

Lou thought that the effort to conceal the personal relationship was a bit over emphasized, but he, admittedly, had very little experience with the ethics involved with their type of work.  He did, however, understand how important public trust was in politics and in his police profession wherein fraternization with the general public was always a tricky line to walk.

He lectured them on how, during a probable criminal investigation, knowledge of a discussion such as the one they were having this day could eventually jeopardize the prosecution of the case against the guilty party, or parties.

As Max and Maggie had anticipated, the chief urged them to tell him everything they knew about the mysterious deaths.  They were surprised, however, that he wanted them to include their instinctive thoughts on any curious or unusual actions they had noticed, by anyone involved, even though they could not be proven.  Basically he asked about any hunches they might have regarding the cases.

Max mentioned the incident about Maggie being followed and the chief noted on his pad the plate number and description of the car that Max had spotted and a description of the young looking driver.  Max also explained his puzzlement over his boss Carl’s odd reaction to the news of the first death.

Maggie mentioned how the new trainee at Francine Stanley’s office didn’t seem to fit the image of the typical real estate salesperson and how both Maggie and Max thought it was strange how she had moved in with Bruce Grover, of all people, and had subsequently moved out. They added, however, that Bruce always acted somewhat odd.

Detective Salvadore’s pestering method of questioning also came up during the conversation, but Max suggested that the detective’s suspicions could have been sparked by his detecting some hesitation in Max’s and/or Maggie’s answering of his questions.  This would have been with questions that got close to the secretive, intimate connection that he and Maggie had tried to keep from becoming common knowledge in the community.

Lou Devaro had listened to them, lectured them, and listened further. He had made notes of certain aspects of the conversation. He sat quietly for a long moment and then he spoke, slowly and deliberately, although not loudly.

“I appreciate you both spilling this out, you did the right thing. Your guarded reaction to police questions can raise suspicion in a case such as this. Nothing we discussed today will go any further from me, and I want assurance from both of you that you will do the same. Give me some time to reflect on this and we’ll talk again.”

Both Max and Maggie agreed and, somewhat relieved, left the chief looking intently at his notes.

In the last full week in May, Thursday had dawned with a glowing, orange-red sky and a gentle easterly breeze.  Under these conditions, the old time whaling men sailing out of Connecticut ports would have been keeping a wary eye on the New England weather, hence the old adage; “Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning.”  The inevitable result would be heavy winds and rain, not the best of conditions when out sailing on the open seas.

Here in modern day East Wayford however, the warning signs would be more applicable to the local policemen going out on the streets into a ‘media storm’ which was brewing.

Both the early news broadcasts and the morning newspaper had come alive with multiple articles and items recounting individuals and groups, among the local citizenry, who were voicing concern over the two recent mysterious and unsolved deaths.

Headlines such as; “Many questions – Few answers” summarized the general theme of the escalating outrage in this normally placid community.

The morning TV news broadcast showed reporters from one local station and one from a national network-affiliate station videotaping commentaries.  The reporters were standing outside in front of the police headquarters, using the 1950s style, yellow-brick building as a backdrop.  Word had been circulating within the gathering media huddle that a statement would be forthcoming, around noon time, with an update concerning the progress of the investigation of the two local killings.

Inside the headquarters, at the morning roll call, a gruff-looking Chief Devaro was standing by, while his top sergeant was covering the usual road construction activity and assigning traffic and patrol duties.  When finished, Detective Salvadore detailed what to look for concerning what he felt would help his homicide investigation.

The headquarters secretary approached the chief and handed him a note from Eugene VanDyke, Mayor of East Wayford.  The note suggested that, due to the restlessness and rising concern over the investigation results, the chief should schedule a news conference for the noontime news broadcasts.

When Salvadore finished, a red faced Lou Devaro spoke to the assembled force.

“We’re getting pressure over the homicide investigation.  As can be expected, the public is getting stirred up and looking for answers. I don’t want anyone in the department making any statements outside of this room, to the press, or to anyone else about these cases while an investigation is underway.  If approached, defer all questions to Detective Lieutenant Joseph Salvadore, the officer in charge of homicide investigations.”

A murmuring could be heard among the squad. The chief glared at the group and, after a two second pause, he barked;

“Are there any questions…or am I making myself perfectly clear?”  After a moment of silence he dismissed the squad.

It was obvious that Chief Devaro was losing his patience. He had not been sleeping well of late, partly due to the onslaught of arthritis and partly from the nagging murder cases.  He realized that Salvadore was in over his head with his first homicide investigation and that he might have to request assistance from the State Police DCI, the Division of Criminal Investigations.

As Detective Salvadore drove out of the station parking lot a TV news truck was pulled up across the street where a small crowd of people were being interviewed.

A female reporter, not part of that scene, stood on the sidewalk, close enough to the emerging police car that she had to jump back animatedly, in order to avoid having her toes run over.

Salvadore stopped and lowered the driver side window to ask if she was okay.

“Oh, I’m fine, aren’t you Lieutenant Salvadore?” she asked, raising a microphone to the open window.

As a cameraman walked out from behind her with the lens trained on the scene, Salvadore realized that he had been ambushed, but he was flattered that this comely young newsperson, whom he had never met, recognized him.

“Yes I am, I’m Detective Lieutenant Joseph Salvadore. I’m in charge of investigating the recent murders here in East Wayford” he blurted out callously.

The reporter looked and acted as though she was just starting out in the news business. She was actually a seasoned, freelance paparazzi-style reporter, an expert at eliciting unwise statements.  These recorded ‘gotcha moments’ would then go up for sale as TV sound bites.

Salvadore, the perfect, unsuspecting patsy, came across as being not concerned with the victims, or any of the family, or any close associates they might have had, and he seemed to have complete disregard for the growing concern in the community over the deaths.

The “cub” reporter knew that she had Salvadore in the palm of her hand as she pressed him for details on the investigation.

Acting as though he was her big brother, helping her through this assignment to interview a tough, veteran cop about something in which she was totally naïve, Salvadore answered her questions in elementary school level language.  He didn’t think that he had jeopardized the investigation though, or the public perception of it, and he finished by saying;

“I have to get to my detective work now. He was videotaped driving off into a beginning light rain, looking very important.

Chief Devaro left later that morning in one of the standard patrol cars, which was driven by a retired reserve officer so that he could avoid the press people hanging around the headquarters front entrance.  It was raining now and the media crowd was thinning.

The chief was dropped off at a three-story Main Street brick structure, a former retail building which had been converted to two levels of apartments over a first floor law office.  The gold lettered sign on the front window read; Eugene D. VanDyke, Esquire.

As chairman of the Town Council, VanDyke was officially the top public safety officer for the town.  He was technically Lou Devaro’s boss, although he had applied a hands-off approach with the chief, whom he liked and respected

Gene greeted the chief, whom he had known for a long time, with a vigorous handshake.

Mayor VanDyke was a stocky man in his late fifties, standing about five feet, six inches in height, with thinning, yellow-blond hair and a ruddy complexion.  He liked to call himself a “Down East Swamp Yankee, relating to his south-eastern Massachusetts roots and he had a distinct accent typical of that locale.

Gene had a malformed jaw causing a severe under-bite, whereby his front teeth of his lower jaw jutted past his uppers.  Enunciating words which contained the letters f, p or v. gave him trouble.  When speaking he compensated by blowing through closed lips to make those sounds.  Phonetically, ‘F’ sounded like ph.  ‘P’ sounded like wh.  ‘V’ sounded like bph.

Attorney VanDyke was a successful contract lawyer, had a keen legal mind and was well regarded in the community.  If it wasn’t for his speech problem he might have been appointed as a judge in the local or state judicial system.

“Lou, how the hell ‘habph’ [have] you been?  I ‘habphen’t’ [haven’t] seen you this riled up ‘phor’[for] years.  Is it the ‘wphressure’ [pressure] of the killings?” he asked.

“The same kind of heat you’re getting Gene, it’s been quiet around here for too long, I guess.” Lou responded.

The two longtime associates discussed the progress of the investigation, the limited confidence that the chief had in his only detective, Salvadore, and the prospect of calling in the State Police.  They both agreed that another press briefing was necessary, and needed to happen quickly.

“I know that it’s a ‘bphery’ [very] hot spot you’re in and it won’t be ‘phun’ [fun], but, it is what it is”, Gene said as the chief was turning to leave.

“I know somebody in the Governor’s ‘ophice’ [office] ‘iph’ [if] you need any ‘helph’ [help] with the State Cops.” he offered, wiping away a slight drool from his speech defect with his handkerchief.

“Thanks Gene, I’ll make the request and let you know if I run into any resistance.” Lou answered.

Ten minutes later and back at his office, Chief Lou Devaro had his secretary call the local media to schedule a news briefing at noon.  He had the dispatcher summon Lieutenant Salvadore back to the station, “ASAP.”

At noon on this eventful Thursday a local TV news release from the East Wayford Police was shown live, from in front of the police headquarters, in the windswept rain.

Chief Lou Devaro introduced Detective Lieutenant Joseph Salvadore as the officer in charge of the recent homicides.  Salvadore was wiping rain from his face and glancing at notes on wet paper in his hand.

In a rather high-pitched tenor voice, the Lieutenant began his announcement;

“The investigation is proceeding quite well.  We have identified similarities between both of the recent deaths, and have persons, or a person of interest in mind.  Further information pursuant to the cases cannot be discussed so as not to hamper, or jeopardize the investigation. Thank you.”

With that, six or seven reporters started simultaneously shouting out questions rapidly and boisterously.  Salvadore was losing his composure because he did not count on answering any questions.  He stood dumbly looking at the rain soaked media pack with a blank, startled look.

Chief Devaro, waiting for a few seconds which seemed an eternity to Salvadore, stepped in front of him and, in his calm, commanding deep voice he addressed the throng.

“Lieutenant Salvadore is following standard procedure here.  He is working diligently gathering facts which will be helpful as the investigation goes forward.  I have asked the Connecticut State Police for assistance.  Their files are more complete on a state-wide and a state-to basis than ours here in East Wayford.  An officer, or officers, from the State police Homicide Investigation Unit will be on hand by tomorrow.  We will release further information as it becomes verified.”

The chief abruptly turned, grasped a transfixed Salvadore firmly by the arm and escorted him back into the headquarters foyer

Once the main doors closed behind them Chief Devaro glared at his stunned, dripping homicide detective and said sternly; “In my office, now!”

After six or seven minutes of taking care of incidentals, getting himself a cup of coffee, and allowing Salvadore to ‘marinate’ in his own sweat, Lou Devaro strode into his office. He got seated in his high backed leather swivel chair, set the coffee cup down on the desk facing his nervous underling and glanced up.

Salvadore was fidgeting and sitting on the edge of his chair facing the chief’s desk.

“Lou, I didn’t…”he started, but Lou Devaro put up his hand as if stopping traffic, interrupting him.

“Hold it” he boomed. Then he lowered his voice and, with a steely stare at his self-declared protégé, he went on, “Right now you will address me as ‘Chief Devaro’ or ‘Sir’. Do you understand me?

“Okay..er,….yes sir.” Salvadore replied meekly.  The chief sternly continued,

“Now you listen to me.  I warned you that I’d throw you to the wolves at the next press release if you didn’t stick to detecting and forget throwing your weight around on some hunches you got into that pig head of yours.  I found out that you decided to sic one of your stoolies on Max Hargrove and Maggie Marshall to tail them after hours one day last week.  The dumb ass was in plain view and they got his plate number.  Did your goon tell you that?”

Salvadore gulped and turned pale. After a few seconds hesitation he spoke;

“Not about being spotted” he admitted.

“Okay, so did this brilliant detective work produce enough solid evidence for those two to be considered ‘persons of interest’?” the chief asked, imitating Salvadore’s voice as he mimicked the statement given at the press briefing, fifteen minutes earlier. With nothing but a blank stare in return, the chief pressed on with a slightly louder tone.

“Well, detective, did you get any solid evidence… you block- headed bastard, Did you?”  Salvadore lowered his eyes and shook his head.
Oh, my God, what’s going to happen if he sees the interview I did earlier, after roll call, when I was leaving!,
he was thinking.

“I can’t hear you!” the chief boomed, becoming even more agitated now, with Salvadore, for not standing his ground.

“No…s-sir.” Salvadore stammered, warily looking up at the chief.

“Then, when I get pressed to produce the ‘person’, or ‘persons’ of  ‘interest’, is there any other ‘party’ or ‘parties’ that I should know about?” the chief yelled, making quote marks in the air with his fingers.

After a pause, Salvadore replied, resignedly, “No Sir.”  Calming down, Chief Devaro finalized the ass-chewing session;

“Alright, if you had the sense to ask, before the live news release, you would have been told about my request for assistance from the State Police people.  They’ll be in here by tomorrow afternoon.  I expect you to brief them fully and stand by to assist them from that point on.”

The chief then lowered his voice and almost whispered to Salvadore;

“Now, get your sorry ass out of my sight and go try to become some semblance of the public servant that you’re paid to be.”

Shame faced, and pale, Salvadore rose slowly and, after hesitating to determine that the chief was finished, walked quietly out of the office, gently closing the door behind him.

Alone now, the chief, with his elbows resting on his desk, held his lowered head in both hands as he let out a long, heavy sigh.