The Brothers

by Michael Bronte

  Chapter 10… Point Pleasant

  Detective Pruitt sat there for almost half an hour waiting patiently while ADA Monica Brimton was in talking with District Attorney George Wysocki. She knew why Brimton was keeping her waiting and hoped that Brimton would have better luck with Wysocki than she did with her own boss, that being the commander of the State Police Detective Unit operating out of Northampton. His name was Detective Barry Caruso. Ultimately, it was Wysocki who would make the final call on whether to investigate an unexplained death, but Caruso had some significant influence there.

  Unfortunately, Pruitt had already struck out with Caruso—twice—to the point where he’d just thrown up his hands and said, “Catherine, I got cases coming out of my ears, cases with evidence to support an investigation. You’ve heard that word before, haven’t you? Evidence?”

  “Yes, Barry, I’ve heard it before, but I’ve got a feeling about this one.”

  “That’s not good enough, Catherine, and you know it. Now, if you want to go down and convince Wysocki that you’ve got enough to investigate this Hutchinson thing as a homicide, have at it, but I’m not seeing it. I need to see something that suggests foul play, and from what the ME’s report says it’s just not there.”

  “And how am I supposed to obtain more evidence if you won’t give me time to investigate the situation further?” she had asked.

  Caruso had simply thrown up his hands again and called over his shoulder as he purposely left his own office so he wouldn’t have to discuss the matter further, “Not my problem, Catherine. Have a nice day.”

  Pruitt’s ponderings were interrupted by the clacking of Brimton’s high heels as she made up way back up the hall from Wysocki’s office. The look on Brimton’s face was answer enough, but she summarized her conversation with Wysocki by angrily plopping herself into the chair behind her desk. “Fuck,” she said as she slammed down a stack of files.

  Pruitt, a church-going grandmother of four, said, “I guess that means you didn’t score.”

  Sweeping a handful of tousled hair back off her face, “Didn’t even get close,” said Brimton. “And to top it all off he gave me four more cases to handle. I’m going to be in court for the rest of my life.”

  Pruitt calmly took a sip of her tea. She knew Brimton’s reputation as a fair but dogged prosecutor and had worked with her enough to know the reputation was well-earned. Although far better looking, the woman was like a bloodhound: once she got something in her head, it was tough to sway her from pursuing it.

  “You know what really bothers me about this case?” Pruitt asked, hoping to build up Brimton’s curiosity. Up to now, she knew Brimton was pursuing the situation because the deceased was a good friend of her husband. Pruitt’s interest, however, was distinctly different and she needed to make sure Brimton saw it from her perspective.

  Brimton said, “Maybe you weren’t paying attention, Catherine. There is no case.”

  “Not yet,” said Pruitt.

  “You’re worse than I am,” Brimton responded. “What’s on your mind?”

  Pruitt shifted uncomfortably as the nine-millimeter lump on her hip dug into her side. “I’ve already mentioned my theory that the deceased was talking on his cell phone outside the car and reentered it before he died.”

  “Yes. Go on.”

  “I looked back at the list of items found on the deceased’s body—”

  “Call him Hutch,” Brimton interrupted. “Calling him ‘the deceased’ makes it feel so creepy.”

  “Sorry,” said Pruitt. “But the remote entry device for his car was still in the pocket of his blazer.”

  Brimton understood immediately. “That means he had to physically lock himself inside the car by pressing the lock button on the armrest. No one would lock himself in using the remote device and then put it back in his pocket, not if he was trying to get away from someone. That wouldn’t make any sense.”

  “That’s right,” said Pruitt. “And if someone was trying to do harm to Mister Hutchinson, then the question has to be: why then, and why there, at that location?”

  Brimton said, “Maybe it was a mugging and Hutch climbed back inside the car to avoid his attacker.”

  “I thought of that too,” Pruitt shot back. “But I didn’t find any unexplained fingerprints on the driver’s door handle or anywhere else on the car. All of them belonged to Mister Hutchinson and people who found him. If it was a mugging, wouldn’t it make sense that the mugger would yank on the door handle?”

  “Maybe the mugger wore gloves.”

  “A professional mugger, using gloves to avoid laying down fingerprints, in Wallingham, outside a local dive bar? A bit of a stretch, if you ask me. If it was a mugger and he did grab the door handle, it’s more likely that his fingerprints were smudged away by everyone else who touched that handle.”

  Brimton nodded thoughtfully.

  “Besides, Hutchinson died of a massive heart attack, and I doubt a simple mugger would cause a man who was in good health like he was to have a massive heart attack.”

  ‘It is possible, however.”

  “It is, and perhaps there are some security cameras in the area that would corroborate that theory.”

  “But you’re not counting on that,” Brimton concluded.

  “Not for a minute,” said Pruitt. “There are simply too many loose ends about this for me to be comfortable with the term natural causes. My theory is that if Hutchinson died of a massive heart attack as the ME says, it had to be induced somehow. Someone or something caused it to happen.” She picked up her tea and let Brimton soak up some of the doubt she had just tossed her way.

  Brimton drummed her manicured fingers on her desk and said, “If we decide to look into this on the side, we’re not going to be able to obtain any search warrants. We would need permission from the various parties every step of the way.”

  “I’m well aware of that,” said Pruitt, “but people tend to give me what I ask for. I guess they figure what harm can come from this old biddy nosing around.” She smiled a grandmotherly smile.

  Brimton smiled back but her grin was short-lived. “I’ve got a place for us to start,” she said. “Do you remember Harry Curlander?”

  “Of course,” Pruitt replied, her eyes narrowing. “He’s maintained all along that Hutchinson’s death is suspicious. Why start with him?”

  “Yesterday he told me about a couple of very interesting run-ins he had with two of Hutch’s coworkers who attended the funeral.”

  “Interesting how?”

  Brimton looked at her watch. “I have to be in court in twenty minutes,” she said. “Why don’t I have him call you?”

  * * * * *

  Suzanne said, “Of course I’ve met Brendan Phillips. Why are you asking all these questions, Harry? What’s going on?”

  Harry thought, uh-oh. He was scaring her. “Sorry Suzanne, I don’t mean to upset you.” He got up and closed the door to his office. After his conversation with Doc and Ducky the night before, he was starting to even scare himself and he imagined his emotions radiated right through the phone line. “It’s just that a couple of funny things happened to me at the funeral and... well, maybe it’s just my imagination, but I feel very uncomfortable about it. Listen, maybe I should call back another time.”

  “Harry, no, it’s okay. The kids all left today and I’m here all alone. This is as good a time as any.”

  He visualized her sitting all alone in that silent house. “Gee Suzanne, it’s not good for you to be alone right now. Maybe you could go spend some time with one of the kids. If you’d like, you could even stay with us for a while. The Jersey Shore is nice this time of year.”

  “Not to worry, okay Harry? I’m going to do just that. Bobby already bought me a ticket to fly out to his place on Saturday. I just don’t want to impose on them.”

  She was calmer now. “Good. It’s the right thing to do, Suzanne, and it’s not imposing.”


  “Why are you asking me about Brendan Phillips?”

  “Well, the funniest thing happened. I met him at the wake, and—”

  Suzanne interrupted and asked, “What do you mean, you met him at the wake?”

  Harry undid the button on his collar and loosened his tie. What a strange question. “In the restaurant, at the reception after the wake. Fish and I went to the bar for a drink and we bumped into two guys there, you know, we were just making small talk and they said they were from the bank. One of them said he was Jerry Brennan, the CFO at the bank.... Do you know Jerry?”

  “Of course I know Jerry. Hutch was the CFO before him and Jerry took the job when Hutch was asked to take the president’s job.”

  Harry leaned back in his chair and gazed aimlessly out his window. “What’s he look like, Suzanne? Jerry Brennan, I mean.”

  “Look like? Jerry? He’s kind of lanky, mid-forties, Ivy League sort. Why?”

  That sounded close enough. “Well, Jerry was with this other fella, taller, darker complexion, and introduced him as Brendan Phillips and as CEO at the bank. So I was wondering—”

  “Brendan Phillips was the CEO at the bank, but he wasn’t at the wake, Harry. Jerry was, and he came over to me to pay his respects, but Brendan Phillips wasn’t there.”

  Bells started ringing inside Harry’s head. “What do you mean was the CEO?”

  “Brendan Phillips is dead, Harry. He passed away about a month ago and the CEO job is still open. Hutch thought he might be in line for it, but the board was doing its due diligence and interviewing other candidates, so we were waiting to see which way it was going to go.”

  Harry’s suddenly felt as if he’d been hit with a hammer. There was no sense in asking Suzanne anything further for fear that it would cause real distress, and his plan to tell her about Jerry following him on the Connecticut Turnpike went right out the window. Suddenly feeling the need to cover up, he backtracked quickly. “I must have misunderstood. How silly, right? Maybe Jerry said the other guy was taking over for Brendan Phillips and I just heard it wrong.” He thought to himself: right. No wonder the guy didn’t have any business cards to hand out.

  Suzanne went on cautiously now. “What you’re saying could be true, but I don’t remember Hutch saying anything about the CEO position being filled. Are you sure about this?”

  “Suzanne, do you know how Brendan Phillips died?”

  There was significant silence on the line for several heartbeats, during which Harry could almost hear Suzanne’s over the phone. “He died of a massive heart attack, Harry, but that wasn’t a surprise at the time. The man was sixty pounds overweight and smoked cigars as thick as my wrist.” Her voice was quivering. “What’s going on here? Harry?”

  “Suzanne, do you know where Hutch’s cell phone is located?” Harry held his breath as he waited for her answer.

  “Why are you asking? You’re the third person who’s asked about Hutch’s cell phone.”

  Harry didn’t know what to say next. Should he be the one to tell her that Hutch’s death may not have been due to natural causes? “If you don’t mind my asking, Suzanne, who were the other two?”

  “The first person was someone from the bank.” There was a distinct upturn in her voice now, tighter, more strained. “The second was a Detective Pruitt who explained that she was the police officer who’d investigated the scene after Hutch was found, and you’re the third person. Why is Hutch’s cell phone such a hot topic right now?”

  Not answering the question, Harry asked, “Do you have the phone, Suzanne? Have you looked for it?”

  “The detective lady said that Hutch may have been talking to someone just before he died and she felt it might be important to contact that person. Why would that be, Harry?”

  Not answering her for the second time, Harry asked, “And what about the person from the bank. Why did he want the phone?”

  “It was a she, not a he, and she just said she was from the HR department at the bank and wanted the phone back because it was company property, that and Hutch’s laptop. She sounded very young and it didn’t sound like she knew that Hutch had died. When I said something she said she was very sorry and that she was just doing her job; it was standard procedure to take back company property when someone left the company.”

  “So she was saying that Hutch’s phone was a company phone,” Harry concluded.

  “I guess,” Suzanne replied. “I told her it wasn’t.”

  “Because...?”

  “He had a company cell phone at one time but he turned it back in. It was just too much to keep track of so he just decided to use his own. I think he still got a phone allowance from the bank that paid our cell phone bill. It was one of the little perks of being a senior executive there.... Harry?” There was another very long pause. “Harry, there’s something wrong, isn’t there? Hutch didn’t die from natural causes, did he? That’s what this is all about, isn’t it, all these questions and all this go-around about his phone and who he was talking to before he died?”

  Harry swiveled in his chair and looked straight ahead. Softly, he asked, “Do you have that phone, Suzanne? It could be very important.” He didn’t dare go further about why it was important.

  “I have it, Harry. I have it right here.”

  “Is it turned on?”

  “It is now.”

  “Do you know how to check the call history?”

  “I do. Do you want me to do that now?”

  “I do.”

  “Okay. I have it.”

  “Can you see if there are any calls showing for the late afternoon of May 4th?” Harry waited a minute during which he could hear Suzanne start sobbing on the other end of the line.

  “The late afternoon of May 4th is when Hutch died,” she sobbed. “And there is a call showing. Hutch was talking to someone just before he died, Harry. It shows it right here, at 5:02 p.m.” She broke into a full cry now, and it was tough to listen to.

  “Can I have the number?” he asked, taking one of his business cards from the holder on his desk and jotting it down as she read it off.

  “Should I send this phone to Detective Pruitt before the messenger from the bank gets here?” Suzanne managed to ask between sobs. “She asked if I could to that.”

  Harry flew out of his chair, knocking it hard against the wall. “What messenger from the bank, Suzanne? Didn’t you say it wasn’t a company phone?”

  “The girl....” she sobbed. “The girl from HR said they’d send someone from the IT department over to pick up Hutch’s laptop and would it be okay if he examined the phone briefly so he could unlink it from the company email.”

  “Did you tell this to Detective Pruitt?” Harry asked urgently.

  “No, I didn’t think it was important. The girl said the IT guy would only take a minute or two to do that.”

  “When is this person from the IT department supposed to be there?”

  “I knew I’d be home for lunch so I said around noon would be convenient.”

  Harry looked at his watch. It was twenty minutes until then. “Suzanne, this girl, did she call you on your home number so that you could see her call on the caller ID?”

  “Well, yes, I guess so. She called on the home number but I didn’t look at the caller ID. I guess her number is there.”

  “This girl....” said Harry, “... did she give you her name?”

  “I... I think she said her name was Jennifer. I don’t think she gave me a last name. Why? What’s the matter, Harry? You’re scaring me.”

  Well, that horse was already out of the barn, and maybe this was a good time to be scared after all. “Suzanne, I want you to listen to me very carefully. I want you to take that laptop and Hutch’s phone, and I want you to get in your car and drive down the street and park where you can see your house. Then, I want you to call the number that this girl used to call you. There’s a chance that the number
doesn’t belong to the bank. If it is the bank, then ask for the HR department and see if there’s a Jennifer there. If there is, just hang up. If there isn’t, you’ll know it was an impostor.”

  “Oh my God, Harry, what’s going on here?”

  “Just keep an eye on your house, Suzanne. If someone shows up, call 9-1-1 and tell them someone is trying to break into you house, but whatever you do, do not get anywhere near that person. There’s something very strange happening here, and while I’m no police investigator I think Hutch’s death is tied up in all this. I don’t think there’s any way Hutch died of natural causes, Suzanne, and I’m going to talk to Detective Pruitt about everything we talked about.” And more, Harry thought to himself. Way more.

  * * * * *

  “Good night Karen, good night Jack. I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

  “Are you burning the midnight oil tonight?” Karen asked.

  Harry looked at his watch. “I won’t be here that long, but I’ve got to get through some of these hearing briefs before I go home. I figure you guys can only cover for me for so long. I really want to thank you for doing that.”

  Karen and Jack looked at each other, and while the younger and less experienced Jack didn’t say anything, Karen said, “To tell you the truth, Harry, we’ve been worried about you. It’s not like you to push off work. Is everything okay with you?”

  They were standing in his doorway, expectant looks hanging on both their faces. He knew he owed them an explanation. “Don’t worry about me,” he replied offhandedly, “and everything is okay with me and Denise, but I’m trying to help out an old friend. It’s something that’s very important to me.”

  It was Jack who said, “Is there anything we can do to help?”

  Harry considered how lucky he was. Someone else would be complaining. “Just keep doing what you’re doing,” he responded. “I hope I can get through this soon and get back to normal, but it might take a while. I appreciate everything you’re doing and I won’t forget it.”

  Jack heaved his backpack over his shoulder and called as he turned to leave, “We’re there for you, boss. Gotta a softball game tonight. See ya’ tomorrow.”

  Karen smiled and said, “He’s a good man, you know.”

  “So are you, Karen. Have a good night.”

  Karen turned away and said, “I’ll lock the door behind me. Don’t forget to set the alarm when you leave.”

  Harry heard the door close and noted that Karen had turned off the lights in the outer lobby. It sure looked dark out there. Must be a storm coming. Turning his attention to the stack of work in front of him, he decided to grab a cup of coffee thinking it would help him concentrate on all the legalese he was about to absorb. The stuff never got any easier, he thought. He made his way to the copy room which also served as their lunchroom and popped a coffee pod into the single-serving coffee maker. He pushed the brew button and parted the slats on the mini blinds as he absently checked the sky. Sure enough, a thunderhead was coming off the water, looking like it was going to swallow Point Pleasant whole. No softball game for Jack tonight, he chuckled to himself as he looked up and down the block. Curlander and Curlander was located just up the street from the Point Pleasant Municipal Complex on Bridge Avenue, and usually at dusk and into the evening the activity was headed toward the boardwalk at Point Pleasant Beach. Sure enough, in the thirty seconds that he looked out the window, half a dozen cars loaded with young Jersey Shore partiers headed in that direction, bikini tops and bare chests plainly visible in almost every car that passed by. “You’re gonna get wet tonight,” Harry snickered as he heard the beep of the coffee maker go off. He glanced at the gathering thunder clouds one more time, noting but not paying any specific attention to the dark BMW 750Li that was parked on the street a few spaces down from his building entrance on Bridge Avenue. There was no reason to. His building housed several practices, including another attorney’s office, an engineering firm, and an investment firm, and there were perhaps two dozen other businesses located in the buildings nearby. Harry grabbed his coffee and returned to his desk, glancing at the clock in his office. It was twenty after seven, he still had some time, and he tried to put the thoughts about Hutch, Monica, and Pruitt out of his mind, if only for a little while until he could catch up on his work.

  He tried vainly for the next half hour, but he couldn’t get the conversation he’d had that morning with Suzanne out of his mind. With the curiosity of how her situation had turned out, he decided to call her and find out. There was no answer and he left a message, wondering where she could be at almost eight o’clock at night. Maybe she’d hooked up with a friend for dinner. That’s it; she needed to get out of the house. That was good. He’d try back later. He went back to his work. At eight-thirty, he tried again; still no answer. Hmm. He decided to call Denise and let her know he’d be at the office for at least another half hour.

  “That’s okay, sweetheart, I’ll get a sub from Jersey Mike’s on the way home.... No, I won’t be too late.... Bye.... I love you too.” He went back to his work. It was useless. He couldn’t concentrate. He should have followed up with Suzanne earlier, that afternoon, but he was wall-to-wall with appointments all day. He tried again, same result.

  “The hell with it,” he said to himself aloud. “It’ll be here tomorrow,” and he grabbed his suitcoat and was out the door. He tried calling Suzanne one last time on his cell phone as he walked through the back self-locking exit door of his building. Still no answer. Hoping everything was all right with her, he pushed the unlock button on his key remote only to remember that he’d forgotten to set the security alarm to his office suite, which Karen had purposely told him not to forget. “Shit,” he said, now he had to walk back around the building to get back in and set the alarm. Oh well. He came around the access lane from the back parking area, fumbling with his keys in order to unlock the main entrance door when he noticed that the dark BMW he’d seen parked a few spaces down the street was now directly in front of the building with its headlights on. It was too dark to make out the driver’s face.

  After setting the alarm he went through the back self-locking exit door again and made his way onto Bridge Avenue, noting that the BMW was still there. The first traffic light turned red as he approached, and he looked into his rearview only to see the BMW pull up behind him. After the situation on I-95 with Jerry and the Jaguar, this took on special meaning and his nerves were suddenly ablaze. The light turned green and Harry popped it and squealed left through the intersection, putting distance between his Acura SUV and the BMW. The BMW fishtailed through the intersection, its driver obviously caught by surprise and now struggling to catch up.

  “Fuck this!” Harry bellowed inside his car, and he blasted through the next intersection just as the light turned yellow. Behind him, the BMW ran the light, barely avoiding a couple of cars that had entered the intersection. Harry banged a left onto Route 88 which was one of the main thoroughfares through town, and he knew instantly that was a mistake. The street was full of lights and he was quite sure that whoever was driving the BMW wasn’t concerned about the number of points on his license. Looking down and seeing that he was doing close to sixty, he felt the sway caused by the higher center of gravity on his SUV as he weaved around cars, most of which blasted their horns at him as he swerved past them.

  Why were they following him? Then, the thought changed to why were they after him, because that’s what was going on here. Jerry had been following him, but from the recklessness displayed by the BMW, every molecule in Harry’s body told him that whoever was driving that car meant to do him harm. He squealed around a New Jersey Transit bus and was almost into the next intersection where the light was red. In a panic, he jammed on his brakes and swung the steering wheel to the right at the same time, sending his SUV into a sideways skid. Gunning the engine, he sailed up that street, but he didn’t sail for long as his right front tire clipped
the curb, the resulting ricochet sending his SUV to squarely into the side of a pickup truck parked across the street.

  Feeling a burning pain in his side, groggy from the punch-like shot he’d received from the exploded airbag, Harry pushed it away as the pain knifed through his body. Almost unconscious, he noted the flashing blue and red lights of a police car that pulled up almost immediately and nosedived to a stop with its headlights illuminating the interior of his SUV as if he had parked next to the sun. Barely able to breathe, he pushed the window button on his armrest just as huge droplets of rain began to fall from the storm that had been coming on for the last hour.

  With the instant downpour pelting him in the face, Harry squinted up at the police officer that came up next the window and said, “Someone is trying to kill me. Back there, someone was chasing me, trying to kill me—trying to kill me,” he said as loud as he could.

  “Yes, sir,” said the officer. “We saw him too. Try not to move now,” the officer added as he pressed a button on his communicator and called for an ambulance.

  Gasping for air, Harry could feel his broken ribs trying to poke through his side. Suddenly, huge claps of thunder boomed through the night sky and the rain began to come down in sheets. Barely hearing his cell phone go off, Harry managed to reach into his suitcoat, seeing that Denise was calling. “Denise,” he said, coughing up a mouthful of blood all over himself.

  Not knowing his predicament, she started right in. “Harry... Monica called and said it was very important that you call Detective Pruitt as soon as possible.... Harry? Harry, are you there?”

  That call was already on his agenda, Harry thought through his fog. Somehow, he managed to respond to his wife. “Denise, I’ve been in an accident. Meet me at the hospital.”

  “Oh my God! Harry! Are you all right? Harry? Harry...!”