by KJ Rollinson
THE RODE TO JUSTICE
(John Rode, 1st Grade Detective, Murder Stories)
by
K J Rollinson
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Copyright © 2013 K J Rollinson
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This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.
Published by with the assistance of WordPlay Publishing
Other books by K J Rollinson
The Fallyn Trilogy
Fallyn and the Dragons
Fallyn in the Forbidden Land
Fallyn and the Sea Dragons
A Twist of Fairy Tales
THE RODE TO JUSTICE
(John Rode, 1st Grade Detective, Murder Stories)
CONTENTS
LITTLE JOSIE 4
DOCTOR LISTER - I PRESUME 12
COURTING JUSTICE 21
THE DANCING QUEEN 30
LITTLE JOSIE
I read the Autopsy Report, the deceased a Mr. Joshua Simpson; heart attack during copulation. I called to Gina Morris, my 20 year old rookie partner, who, in her eagerness to read it, knocked my brass name plaque which skidded to the edge of the desk.
‘Whoops, gotcha! Can’t have John Rode, first grade detective, ending up on the floor.’
I smiled ironically. She didn’t realise how much her vibrant personality had stopped my slide into despair since my wife died. I moved from a South Bronx Precinct two years ago to a Precinct in Manhattan. Gina has been with me for six months. I rib her sometimes about the 'old guy' she's hitched up to. It got back to me she was told her partner was a widower and quite good-looking. She was expecting this young stud to walk in. Instead she got me - receding hair, 50, with a middle-age gut. Some of my colleagues call me 'old blue eyes.' Not because I can sing - I've got a singing voice like a cat with its tail caught in the door, but on account of my very light blue eyes. Any paler and I'd be handed a white stick!
‘Mm, little Josie didn’t top her husband then, but I can sense you want to find out more about her, so what gives?’
Gina and I had visited Mrs. Josephine Simpson following the recent death of her husband and because her face looked familiar to me some sixth sense told me to dig into her past.
I said to Gina, ‘When I was a second grade detective in the South Bronx, I spent some time in the Missing Persons department. You know I asked you to get a copy of the Simpson’s marriage certificate to check out Josie’s maiden name; well I contacted my old Precinct to find out whether they had anything on her, and they’ve sent me the whole file. Josephine Courtney, then aged sixteen, had accused her father of trying to have sex with her. The case wasn’t proven and shortly afterwards she left home. Her pop reported her missing but she couldn’t be traced. I remembered her face because in the photo he’d handed in she looked kinda like my daughter. Her father died about a year later; the autopsy report showed he died from cyanide poisoning, he ingested the poison, and the verdict was suicide, possibly because his wife had recently died. Can you do your usual computer magic and check whether there is anything else on her, under her maiden name of Courtney?’
‘Yep, John, sure. I’ll see what I can do.’
This is where Gina is a great help. I accept computers help track crimes and catch suspects, but I'm a complete dinosaur, but Gina is a whiz. She came back with a report from the Special Victims Division, filed four years ago. Josie Courtney was raped by three guys in Marcus Garvey Park, and spent two days in North General Hospital. The case closed - insufficient evidence.
The rapes had occurred at the end of March between 7.30 - 9.30 p.m. It had rained hard at about 10.30 p.m. that night. No evidence at the site. She’d bathed when she got home, so by the time they eliminated her own DNA sample there was no DNA from the perps. I studied the file, and photos of the bite marks, abrasions bruises, punch marks. I read the result of the HIV test – positive.
She’d worked as a receptionist at North General Hospital, and on the night of the rape she’d worked late. She left at approximately 7.15 p.m. Had gone up Madison Avenue, cut across the playground into Marcus Garvey Park, exiting on East 124th to get to her apartment on Fifth Avenue. Fifth Avenue! What the hell was a receptionist doing in a Fifth Avenue apartment?
She’d been engaged to Harold Barton. Maybe the fiancé had paid her rent. The report stated Harold lived with his parents, Mr. & Mrs. Lionel Barton, on Madison Avenue. I decided to check out what Lionel Barton and son were getting up to since the rape four years ago.
*
A maid escorted us to a room where an old man stood hunched over a Zimmer frame; signs of a stroke marked the right side of his face. I decided I'd get down to business before the poor guy pegged out.
'Mr. Barton, I’m sorry to trouble you but we have reopened a file. I understand your son was engaged to the person involved in the case. She was then a Miss Josephine Courtney.’
'You crass idiots,' he thundered, ‘don’t you know my son is dead? Don't you read your own files? If you want to reopen any case, open his.' He sank back into a chair, and I saw tears in his eyes.
Gina took over. 'Gee, we’re real sorry, Mr. Barton. We didn't know. Perhaps it was before our time. She knelt down in front of him and took hold of his gnarled hands. ‘Tell us why you think we should reopen your son's case.'
I saw his face hardened as he spat out, 'Because I think she murdered him, six months after he ditched her.'
I felt the hairs on my neck stiffen. 'Who do you mean, Mr. Barton?'
'Josie Simpson, nee Courtney. My son was supposed to have committed suicide, cyanide. They found a note. It finished his poor mother - I lost her last year. My son was only 24 when he died.'
Cyanide - two deaths, both suicides? First Josie's father, then her fiancé. I felt my unkempt hair do its dance, (I was in need of a long overdue haircut).We assured Mr Barton we’d be reopening his son's file. I called in the maid to make sure he was not on his own when we left.
Gina came back with the report on the death of Harold Barton. He had been found dead in his office. A note clutched in his hand read, ‘I want it to end. Since the rapes, I just don't feel the same way about things.’ He had signed his name.
Perhaps because I was coming to the case from a different angle, it immediately flashed through my mind this could easily be part of a letter, written to Josie to end their relationship. Forensics had carried out tests for fingerprints testing.
The report showed two sets of prints, one set identified as the victim’s, the other prints unidentified.
I said to Gina, 'I think it's time for us to arrange another meeting with Mrs. Simpson. You keep her talking while I pinch one of her cigarette butts or something for t
esting. I've a feeling that so called suicide note is part of a letter Harold Barton sent her. I am hoping it might have her fingerprints on it.’
*
The following day Gina and I visited Josie Simpson.
‘Thanks for seeing us Mrs Simpson. We feel you may be able to assist further in our investigations into some reopened cases.’
‘Of course, detective, although I can’t think why you feel I can be of help. Before you start can I get you both a coffee?’
I accepted on our behalf. As she handed a coffee to me I said, 'Mrs Simpson we know all about your background.' I saw her brown eyes flicker. 'You've had a raw deal in life haven't you?'
'What do you mean?' she answered cagily.
'We know about the problems with your father,' Gina said softly, 'and the rapes.
'Nothing was done about the rapes in the park’, was the swift angry retort. ‘I think my ex-fiancé’s father had something to do with hushing it all up. He didn't want his family name splashed all over the newspapers.
I nodded sympathetically. 'Do you think I could have another coffee?' I handed her my cup and saucer.
When she handed me the coffee, I moved towards the window, where I’d noticed she kept some ballpoint pens in a jug on a coffee table. I prayed some of them would show her fingerprints as I carefully bagged three. I glanced towards Gina who was making a good job of keeping Josie occupied. In a separate bag, I placed some cigarette butts, which were in an ashtray on the coffee table. I shoved the bags into a pocket in my chinos (noticing they could do with a trip to the dry cleaners). We left the apartment before Josie realised we hadn't really asked her much about anything. Now I had to hope that Josie's fingerprints were on the pens and matched the unidentified set on the 'suicide' note.
*
I opened Josie’s rape file and looked at the names of the youths, and the copies of the artist's drawings. One picture labelled ‘Josh’ definitely bore a resemblance to a 'photo I’d noticed in the Simpson's apartment. I got Gina to check up on Josie's dead husband. He’d married a stripper twenty-two years ago, from Detroit. Five months later Joshua junior was born. Joshua and Eileen Simpson were divorced ten years ago; the mother got custody of the son and they moved back to Detroit.
Detroit sent a report. Joshua junior had died 12 months ago, at his mother's home, in Detroit. Suicide, cyanide poisoning. The report mentioned Josh lived at East 125th, four years previously. We checked the rental agreement. The names of an Al Wright and a Geoffrey Bates came up. I decided to cut corners and check on deaths first. If my hunch was right and our little Josie was a serial killer, I figured it was the quickest route to take.
We found nothing on Geoffrey Bates. Al Wright had died at East 125th, five months previously. The verdict - a dose of cyanide because of mounting debt problems. He was employed as a pest controller and because the use of cyanide is used extensively in this field it was assumed he had easy access to the poison. On checking with a work colleague of Al Wright’s we learned Geoff Bates was in hospital dying from Aids.
Gina and I exchanged glances. I figured that's why we hadn't found a death report. Perhaps Josie guessed there was no need to kill him.
*
Geoff Bates was seated in a wheel chair looking out the window when we entered his hospital room. I could see his shoulder blades knifed against his striped pyjamas. His few remaining tufts of hair highlighted in the morning sun. He turned his wheelchair to face us as I spoke. I introduced Gina and myself; I told him straight out we knew about the rapes and the alleged suicides of his friends.
'I didn't know nuffiing about the deaths of my friends, I've been in hospital over a year.' I saw a cunning look creep into his eyes. 'You said something about rapes. I know nuffing about that either.'
So that was how he was going to play it. The lowlife may be dying but he wasn’t going to admit to any involvement in the rapes.
'We traced the likely suspects to East 125th - where you lived before you were admitted to hospital. Now, the only one who hasn't died from cyanide poisoning is you Bates. Would that be because Josie doesn't feel it is worth the hassle as you’re dying anyway? Don't think you've heard the last from us because you haven't. Just because you're in here doesn't mean to say you are above the law,' I said to him coldly.
'Yeah, yeah, if you think you can find proof, go for it man - but you’d better be pretty quick because they've given me about a month to live.'
He started to cough. His thin shoulders trembled and his chest heaved as he fought for breath. A nurse rushed in and slapped an oxygen mask on his face, and said we better leave, with a rebuke written all over her face as if she blamed us for her patient's condition. I didn't give her the satisfaction of an apology as we left.
*
Gina and I gave ourselves high fives as we read the Forensic report. The fingerprints on the ball point pens matched the unidentified set on the 'suicide' note and the cigarette butts. Further, the unidentified prints on the note showed they were from a tobacco smoker, as they contained traces of Cotinine, a nicotine metabolite found in tobacco. The DNA on the cigarette butts matched Josie's DNA already in our possession, so we knew she was a smoker. I realised that this latter evidence would be thrown out in Court as being merely circumstantial, but as far as I was concerned this, together with the fingerprints, nailed Josie to the wall.
I persuaded Captain Carson we could arrest her without a warrant as we had enough 'probable cause' to believe she had murdered her ex- fiancé, but I was hoping for more than that when we interviewed her. I wanted her to confess to the murder of the rapists as I was not convinced they were suicides.
Josie's Attorney was present when Gina and I entered the interview room.
I concentrated first on the evidence we had regarding the death of her fiancé. I
then outlined all the facts which we had investigated regarding the death of her father, and the deaths of the rapists. I pointed out to her that they’d all died by the same method. I also added I had filed a report on the possible involvement of Geoffrey Bates in the rapes.
Josie looked me straight in the eyes and smiled. At least I think it was a smile - it kinda looked more like a grimace. She sat there staring into my eyes. I kept mine locked with hers.
She turned to her Attorney and said, 'I wish to make a full confession.'
She held up her hand as her Attorney whispered something to her. ‘No. I want to get it of my chest before I die. You know I'm going to die don't you.'
No one answered her, although I figured she was referring to Aids.
A far away look appeared in her eyes as she said, 'Maybe I thought killing them all would cleanse me, stop my pain. Her eyes hardened, ‘I’ll start with the death of my stepfather first – the bastard.’
She gazed down at her long polished fingernails. No one moved a muscle. She
continued her narrative. 'I visited Pop about a year after I left home with the intention of killing him. He kept cyanide in the garage because we had rats in the house. I laced his coffee with brandy and cyanide. Cyanide is quick you know. Painful, but quick. I enjoyed watching him writhe in agony. He beat up on Mom and me for years. Tried it on since I was six. Not the full sex thing but enough for me to hate him.’
I held up my hand as her Attorney cleared his throat, sensing he was about to speak. Josie continued with her confession without interruption.
‘As you know I was gang raped four years ago. I’d stayed at the hospital to catch up on some work. I was meeting my fiancé at eight and I took a short cut from the hospital through one of the playgrounds in Marcus Garvey Park so I could be home in time to change before he called. I’d gotten halfway when a hand was clamped over my mouth from behind; someone wrenched my arms behind my back and pulled me to the ground. They called each other by their first names. I couldn’t see much - but there was just enough light - and time to make out some of their facial features. The one named Geoff said they’d kill me if I made a sound.
The
boy, Josh, didn't want to do it. When it was his turn he said he'd wait. The others taunted him until I guess nature got the better of his good intentions, and he did the same as the others. Admittedly, only the once, but he still did it.'
I interrupted her, ‘How did you find out Josh was your husband's son?'
'Shortly after we were married he placed a picture of his son on a shelf. My husband mentioned Josh had started to drink heavily several years back, and he’d confessed to being involved in a gang rape in Marcus Garvey Park. I kept my cool and asked certain questions and realised he was the unwilling rapist.'
'How did you track him down?' I asked.
‘I learned from my husband he had moved from East 125th, to live with his mom, who’d lived in Detroit since the divorce. He also told me that because of Josh's drinking he hadn't been able to find a job. I caught a flight to Detroit and when his mother was at work I visited him. I made up some story I’d seen him around and had a crush on him. He invited me in for a drink. During the conversation he said he’d shared an apartment on East 125th, and he mentioned his pals’ names. I got a private detective to check out the names on the original rental agreement. I found out Al Wright was still living there but Geoff Bates had gone into hospital with Aids, so I reckoned I could let him die without me aiding him. Aiding him – that’s quite good, isn’t it?’ She laughed at her unintentional pun.
Josh didn't recognise me. To make sure I wore a blonde wig. I was dark haired when – when they raped me. We drank a couple of whiskeys and when he was nice and relaxed I plunged a syringe containing cyanide into him.’
She seemed to run out of gas but I needed her to continue. I asked her about Al Wright. I gestured to Gina to get her a cup of water as I pushed a packet of cigarettes towards her. Josie lit the cigarette, exhaled and watched the spiral of blue smoke curling upwards. We waited patiently. Gina and I exchanged glances.
