Obviously you do not need a college degree to work in the library. Thank goodness Jean stepped in just then.
“I’m sorry, we’re going to have to confiscate this book as evidence in a murder case. The FBI is taking charge of it and will catalogue it into the evidence system,” She said, taking a large plastic evidence bag out of her purse.
“But you can’t do that,” the librarian said.
“It is either that or I’ll have to arrest you for obstruction in the investigation of a crime. It makes no difference to me.”
“Well..I..”
“What’s it going to be. You’re wasting our valuable time,” Jean said, looking at her watch like that was going to make a difference.
“I suppose you can take it but you will see that it gets returned promptly won’t you?”
“Absolutely,” Jean said and we walked out, yearbook in hand.
Once we got out of prison, I mean the library, we made a b-line to the car and got out of there before she decided to call the rent-a-cops.
“So now what?”
“We will take it to Chad for him to look at. Hopefully he will be able to recognize the guy and we can put a name to the face.”
“It’s been over twenty-five years. People change a lot in that time.”
“Hey, it’s better than what we have had so far.”
“I still think it is a long shot.”
“And I still say a long shot is better than no shot at all.”
“Okay. So what next?”
I looked at my watch. It was going on 5:00 P.M.
I made a quick call to the hospital to see if we could swing by and talk to Chad Litton but the doctor said he was having a lot of pain and that they had pretty much put his lights out. We were going to have to wait until tomorrow.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Dean Beck took off his tie and laid it over the back of his favorite chair. The room was dark as usual. It fit his personality perfectly. The man had little if any sense of humor and tended to see the worst in every situation.
He poured himself a drink of blended scotch and sat down. It had been a horrible week. First one thing then another cropped up. He was certainly ready for the weekend.
He took a drink and sat back with his eyes closed. Only one more year and he could retire. He was so looking forward to the day that he could chuck it all in. No more meetings, no more facility complaints but most of all, no more whining students.
“No matter where; of comfort no man speak: Let us talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; make dust our paper and with rainy eyes write sorrow on the bosom of the earth”
“What the hell?” Beck yelled jumping up from his seat, spilling most of his drink down the front of him.
“Who are you? What are you doing in my house?” he demanded.
“You do not know of what I speak? Shakespeare’s Richard II, surely you know that.”
“I’m calling the police,” Beck said, starting to pull his cell phone out of his pocket.
The sword sliced through Beck’s right arm and he dropped the phone.
“You’re crazy. Who are you?” he yelled, grabbing his arm.
The blade had pierced the fleshy part of his arm, going in the front and exiting the back.
“My God, what’s wrong with you? Why are you doing this? I need to call a doctor,” the Dean said, trying to reach down and pick up the phone with is left hand.
“Ah, Dean Beck. I would not expect you to remember me but I certainly remember you,” he said running the blade through his other arm.
He screamed as the blade sliced through muscle and tendons.
“What do you want? Why are you doing this? What have I ever done to you?”
“I was a student taking theater at the University. You were the Dean, actually, I guess you still are.”
“I don’t understand. What is all this about? Something happened at the college?”
The dean stumbled and almost went down on his knees. The pain was so intense that he thought he would pass out.
“Why don’t you sit down. You look a bit peaked. We have some things to talk about, Dean Beck.”
“I don’t understand any of this. Please. Let me call a doctor.”
“Do you remember what play the theater group put on in 1988?”
“1988? I don’t know. We put so many shows on, I can’t remember from one year the next.”
“It was Romeo and Juliet.”
The dean was holding his arms and rocking back and forth, “I don’t remember but if you say so, then that’s what it was.”
“Do you know who had the lead?”
“Heavens no. That was over twenty-five years ago.”
“Let me refresh your memory. Chad Litton got the part of Romeo. Do you remember Chad, Dean Beck?”
“Not really. I mean I knew Chad’s father.”
“Yes you did. He offered you one hundred thousand dollars for the theater with one small caveat. Chad would get the lead in the play. Of course rather than doing the right thing, you sold out.”
“Yes. Mr. Litton came to me and offered us one hundred thousand to do with as we saw fit providing his son got to play Romeo.”
“And who was supposed to have that role?”
“Heavens, I haven’t the slightest idea.”
“Me,” he yelled, “I was supposed to have that part. That stupid Chad couldn’t even remember his lines half the time. It was an embarrassment to everyone except you. You didn’t care as long as you had the money secured.”
“It was just a play. Half the people that came didn’t know one thing about Shakespeare.”
“I knew. Professor Sikes knew it. Anyone with half a brain knew that Chad was an imbecile. He had no business playing Romeo.”
“That was a long time ago. It is long forgotten. I doubt if anyone remembers a thing about the play.”
“You are wrong. I remember. You cheated me out of being the lead character. Why? Because you have no integrity; you sold the part for a few thousand dollars? You are pathetic.”
“Okay. I made a mistake. We really needed the money then. Chad’s father came along just in time. The University was considering letting some of the non-tenured faculty go. I was trying to keep people’s jobs. Surely you can understand that?”
“What I understand, Dean Beck, is that I had never had a chance to excel. You took that away from me that night. I don’t care about all of your excuses. I deserved to be Romeo,” he said and stabbed the blade into the fleshy part of his right thigh.
Beck let out a loud scream and fell to the floor clutching his leg.
“Please don’t do this. I’m sorry if I wronged you. I didn’t know how important it was to you. Obviously I made a huge mistake. Please just let me call a doctor. I’ll find a way to make it up to you, I promise,” he wailed.
“You are not worthy of another word. More of your conversation would infect my brain,” he said, quoting lines from two different Shakespeare plays.
He stood, looking down at the Dean.
“Look at me,” he demanded.
The Dean looked up at him. The sword thrust down right through the Dean’s right eye, pinning him to the floor. He let out a piercing scream and tried to grab for the sword. The man held it firmly, keeping it buried in the floor. The Dean’s screams became faint and finally stopped altogether. A quick check and the man was satisfied.
“Out of my sight, thou doth infect my eyes,” he said pulling the sword out of the Dean’s eye.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Old grumpbutt was there with a thermometer stuck in the poor guy’s liver.
“Is he done yet?” I ask.
“Still kind of rare. Where the heck have you been?”
“Hey, it’s not very nice out there you know?”
“Not very nice in here since you arrived,” he shot back.
If I didn’t love this old fart so much I would have probably shot him by now.
“Obviously he didn’t see ey
e to eye with his attacker,” I replied.
He looked up at me and just shook his head.
“Looks like he got a couple of stab wounds in his arms and one in his thigh as well.”
“Yeah. His cell phone is over there on the floor. My guess is he was trying to call for help and the guy decided that wasn’t a good idea,” the ME said.
“This guy has some real anger management issues.”
“In the worst way.”
“Any note?”
“Yeah. I hope you get this guy soon.”
He handed me the note, thankfully in a clear evidence bag.
As he was valiant, I honor him. But as he was ambitious, I slew him.
It was definitely from our nutcase. The writing was the same. I didn’t have the foggiest idea from which Shakespeare play but I was sure our helpful Dr. Snapp would be able to tell us.
“Shit,” Sorenson said, pulling another note out of the guy’s ear.
He read it twice then put it in a clear evidence envelope and handed it to me.
So farewell—to the little good you bear me.
Farewell? A long farewell to all my greatness!
“What the hell does that mean? Is he saying he is taking a powder? Adios Amigo, I’m out of here?”
“I don’t know Bartoni. Go bother someone else.”
I went and found Dan talking to a bunch of FBI agents. I handed him the note.
“What do you think this guy trying to say?”
He read it several times then handed it to Jean to look at.
“I think he is saying he is happy with his work and is going to fade away now,” Jean replied
“Yeah. I’m happy he going to fade away too. I thought he wasn’t going to stop until we caught him. Eh...I don’t mean it like that sounded,” Dan said.
“Well, that’s what I get from the note. I could always be wrong but essentially it’s a goodbye note,” Jean informed us
“Just like that?”
“So it would seem.”
“Fine. I will track him down. Just because he has called it quits doesn’t mean I will.”
So don’t rest too easy you Shakespeare wannabe.
“I think we need to have a big meeting this afternoon to brainstorm,” Jean said.
“It sure couldn’t hurt any. All we have so far is a collection of some old dead guy’s sayings.”
“Maybe we can connect the dots with all of us working together on it.”
“It’s certainly worth a try,” I agreed.
“I’ll get our people together and you round up your crew and we will meet at the station. What’s a good time?”
“I don’t care. One o’clock okay with you?”
“That should be fine. Everyone can grab lunch before that and we can get down to business.”
“Cool,” I said and looked around the room.
The FBI agents had drifted off and no one was around.
“Dan, do you agree with what she said? He is just going to stop?”
“Honestly? I can’t see it. I mean, he likes what he does. He didn’t get the part in the play so this is his big scene.”
“I’m with you. I can’t see this guy just taking off. Of course if everyone is right he has a considerable amount of money so who knows what he’s up to?”
“You guys busy?” McGregor’s voice came from behind me.
“Eh..just going over this afternoon’s plans. We both think it would be a good idea to get everyone together and brainstorm on this thing.”
“You have a time set?”
“We’re thinking one o’clock.”
“Okay, I’ll be there as well.”
Dan and I decided this would be an excellent time to get the heck out of there.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
After we finished up at the crime scene and I bid my old pal Sorenson goodbye, Dan and I headed to the hospital to try to talk to Chad Litton.
Fortunately we found him awake and mostly coherent.
“Chad, you remember my partner, Detective Dan Roberts. We have managed to get hold of a 1988 yearbook and wanted you to take a look through it and see if you can pick out the guy who murdered your dad and tried to do you in.”
“Man that was a long time ago but I’ll give it a shot.”
“That’s all we can ask,” Dan said, handing him the book.
He started flipping through it, not really looking at the pictures enough to pick anyone out.
“Chad, this is really important. We need you to take your time. We’ll just go down to the cafeteria and get some lunch while you look through it. Would you do that for us?”
“Yeah, okay, but I doubt I can pick the guy out from twenty-five years ago.”
“Just give it your best shot.”
“Okay.”
Dan and I headed down to the cafeteria. It was tucked into the back corner of the hospital. There was a good reason for that. If I served food like that I would want to hide as well. Nothing they offered looked remotely edible. Dan took some nasty looking quiche and I settled on the round thing that looked like it had a bad case of acne. They called it pizza. I was dubious.
We ate making small talk. I was trying hard to not bring up anything that upset Dan’s delicate digestive system when Jean showed up.
It seemed strange to me. We were meeting in a few hours.
“So what brings you here?” I asked.
“Food. I was starved and the rest of them wanted Asian. That isn’t my cup of tea so I opted to try the food here.
“You should have gone for the Asian,” I said.
She went off and came back with a salad and joined us.
“So what happens after this case is over?” I asked.
“Back to the Chicago office.”
“I would imagine you have to travel a lot,” Dan said between bites,
Quiche, for heaven’s sakes. A big strapping guy like him eating stuff like that.
“Not as much as you might think. Every once in a while I have to travel but not very often. I spend a lot of time at Tamms Super-Max prison.
“What are you in for?” I asked.
“Cute. I interview a lot of really bad people. It helps with the profiling later on.”
“What’s it like?”
“All over the board. Some of the inmates are really polite and are respectful. Others want to see if they can gross me out. Women haters want me to leave crying.”
“Do you ever? Leave crying I mean.”
“Never. I know what they are doing so I just let it go over my head. It’s hard sometimes but so far I’ve been able to handle it. They are the ones that like to stare at your chest and try to make you feel helpless.”
“Yeah, I know some people like that. Some bad dudes.”
“Some of the worst.”
“So, why do you do it?”
“I have to learn and they are the best way. Even the real hardasses give up something. They just don’t know it.”
“I have to say, you have spunk. I don’t know if I would want to be face to face with some of those guys,” I said with a new respect for her.
We went back upstairs and found Chad sitting on the side of the bed.
“I think I got him. This guy here,” he said pointing at a picture in the book.
Underneath the picture was the name Simon Tiller. He was dressed in theatrical clothes and the caption said it was for the play Serrano De Bergerac.
“You’re sure?”
“No, but that’s the guy who wanted to be Romeo.”
“Then I think you have hit a homerun, Chad. This is a huge break. Thanks,” I said quickly and grabbed Dan by the arm. I hustled him down the stairs and out to the car.
“Whoa. If that’s him he isn’t going far,” he said.
“Don’t be so sure. You saw the note he left. I think he is getting ready to flee.”
“Okay, I can buy that,” was all he said.
We slipped and slid our way back to the station and I immediatel
y went to see our resident geek, Joe Newman.
“Joey my man. This is your chance to shine. I need to locate a guy by the name of Simon Tiller, the sooner the better. I think he is getting ready to fly the coop.”
“I’m on it,” he said and started doing his flying finger thing.
I stood behind him and finally he turned around and said, “Go. Beat it. I can’t concentrate with you looking over my shoulder.”
“You know where to find me,” I said and headed to my desk. I really should let the captain know but maybe I could grandstand in the meeting. I am so bad. Sometimes I almost feel guilty; not very often however.
***
We were all sardined in the conference room. If one person moved we all had to move. Fortunately I was sitting next to Dan so it wasn’t so bad.
“Okay. Let’s see if we can make some sense of all of this,” McGregor said. “Bartoni you start.”
Shit. I hate to go first. I had rather pick others apart instead of being the pickee.
“Listen and learn,” I said and was met with a chorus of groans. I think even Dan might have joined in.
“We’re pretty sure our guy’s name is Simon Tiller. I’ve started looking back at everything we have. First of all Chad Litton was stabbed because he got the lead in the college play. It seems Simon believed he should have gotten the role of Romeo. He killed Chad’s father because he essentially bought the part for Chad by making a big donation. He feels he was cheated out of the part. I sent a car to Dean Beck’s house since he was the one who accepted the bribe making it possible for Chad to grab the role.
“Wait. How do you know all of this?” McGregor asked.
Here it comes. What he was really asking was why he didn’t know any of this before the meeting.
“I just found out from Newman right before the meeting started,” I said crossing my fingers.
“Uh-huh...go on.”
“Mr. Farley had sold a number of play props to Simon but what set him off was when Farley sold him a sword called Lobera. It was supposed to be one of the swords used by King Ferdinand the Third of Castile. He represented it as the real thing. He had papers and everything. Unfortunately they were forged. Obviously Simon didn’t take too kindly to that.”
THE SHAKESPEARE MURDERS Page 15
