The Rode to Justice (John Rode, 1st grade detective, murder stories)

by KJ Rollinson

  Ken explained to me that Cheryl had requested a loan. He told her because neither of us was working he couldn't give it to her, but she’d get half when he died. She evidently became angry and said because some of the money had come down from her mom she felt she should get more than half. It would be in her interest if I was found guilty of Ken's death so she’d get it all.’

  She licked her very kissable lips and her perfume wafted towards me as she took a step nearer, 'Believe me, Detective Rode, when I say I didn’t kill my husband.'

  I caught myself staring intently into her eyes, and felt the pull of sexual magnetism pass between us. I was kinda glad I had on a new suit and I’d had recently been to the barbers’ shop.

  I saw Gina with an amused expression on her face. I reckoned she, too was aware of Francesca Marshall’s seductive qualities and the little minx was enjoying my male discomfort.

  I cleared my throat and said, 'O.K. Mrs Marshall, that’s all for now. You realise we may have to visit you again.’

  She smiled, looked directly into my eyes, and ran her tongue over her lips again.'I understand, Detective Rode.' She shook my hand. It felt cool as she said her lingering goodbye. ‘You’re welcome to call any time.’ Her eyes twinkled teasingly, ‘if you have any more questions.’

  I was quiet going back to the Precinct. I saw Gina casting me sideways looks but she didn’t say anything. I guess she was waiting for me to speak first. I rested my fingers on my lips and could faintly smell Francesca Marshall's perfume. I didn't move my fingers.

  I heard Gina sigh, and apparently cheesed off by the silence ventured to say, 'What do you think about the case now?’

  I gave her a quizzical look. ‘Do you mean, was it accidental death, suicide, or was it murder - by the daughter, or her wicked stepmother?’

  'I suppose you can't get away from the fact that Mrs. Marshall had the best opportunity to top him as she was there nearly all the time,' Gina said. 'If her stepdaughter is telling the truth that Mrs Marshall didn't like being without money and her old lifestyle, this sounds to me like a pretty good motive for murder.’

  'On the other hand, Gina, you could say the same about Mrs Coates. Mrs Marshall said her husband had refused to loan money to Cheryl, and when she found out about the Will she could’ve had a motive for murder as well. Although in view of the fact she asked for the blood tests I have to admit this is unlikely. We shouldn’t overlook that it could have been suicide. I'm not buying the accidental death. There is another possibility though. Mrs. Marshall could’ve aided her husband's death with his consent because he didn't want to carry on living.’

  'Mm, I kinda get the impression you don’t want to find Francesca Marshall guilty of murder?' Gina said.

  I tried not to sound annoyed as I answered her. 'I'm just trying to keep an open mind that's all. It’s far from a clear cut case and I don't envy any jury no matter who or what we decide was the cause of Marshall's death.'

  Gina shot me another sideways glance with a kinda knowing look. I was fairly certain she was worried that this web of a case was further complicated by what, I suspected, she saw as the alluring 'black widow' in the middle of the web. I was aware of my physical attraction to Francesca Marshall, but goddam it, I was too professional for this to influence my judgement - no way.

  After I dropped off Gina back at the Precinct to pick up her car, I went back to my rented apartment on East 120 Street between 1st and 2nd Avenue. I lived there because it was near the Precinct. When I moved in shortly after my promotion from the Bronx , I’d enthusiastically filled the backyard with flowers in pots, but now their shrivelled leaves silently accused me of constant neglect.

  I shoved my dinner into the microwave. After I was gonna read The Bard. I was halfway through Hamlet, Shakespeare's longest play, and hoped to finish it tonight if my brain could get away from this case for a few hours - or if I was more honest with myself, if it allowed me to discard the image of a beautiful alluring redhead.

  *

  We called on the stepdaughter the following day, and I decided to cut to the chase.

  ‘Mrs Coates I believe you had an argument with your father about money a month before he died.’

  'Yes I did.’ She sounded annoyed, ‘but I reckon Francesca didn't tell you I 'phoned the next day, apologising to my father and said I understood about the loan. I still expressed the opinion he should change his Will because of my mother's money. He said he would reconsider, as he had time to think about it since my visit and thought I had a valid point.' Her eyes widened. 'I've just thought of something, maybe he told her he intended to alter the Will. Perhaps that's why she killed him before he had time to get around to changing it.'

  I chose not to comment on this, and indicated to Gina we were leaving.

  Gina and I decided to catch a bite to eat at Patsy’s Pizzeria close to the Precinct.

  Between mouthfuls of pizza Gina mumbled, 'Do you think we’ll be able to find out how her husband got hold of the penicillin if he did commit suicide?'

  'Nope, I don’t think we will, but I have a line of questioning we can follow. After we’ve finished eating, we’re gonna visit Francesca Marshall again.'

  On our way to Mrs Marshall's place, I outlined to Gina what was puzzling me and said if this point wasn’t answered satisfactorily, Francesca Marshall could be looking at a murder charge.

  *

  I followed Francesca Marshall's wafting scent like a bloodhound, and watched her swaying hips as she led us into the lounge. Gina and I sat opposite her. She hitched her skirt as she sat, crossed her shapely legs - not quite revealing as much as Sharon Stone, but for a moment she didn't help my concentration or my blood pressure.

  ‘We’ve called on your stepdaughter to clarify some points you both raised at your first interviews. When I questioned her about the argument she had with her father she said she rang him the following day and apologised. He told her he was considering altering his Will as he figured she had a valid point regarding her mother's money. Have you any comments you wish to make on this, Mrs Marshall?’

  I saw her eyes flash, and she answered with a hint of annoyance in her voice, 'I know nothing about Cheryl's phone call to her father, and neither do I know anything about Ken thinking about changing his Will.’

  ‘You said at the last meeting that you woke up to find your husband dead beside you.'

  'Yes, detective, he must’ve been dead for some time, as when I touched him he was quite cold.'

  I smiled at her apologetically. ‘I have to ask my next question - this is an investigation and I have to cover every possibility.'

  She sighed. 'I realise you must ask unpleasant questions. I’ve nothing to hide - please continue.’

  'You know your husband died from asphyxia as a result of severe swelling in his throat, which blocked his air passages. Your husband choked to death, Mrs Marshall. Now, you are a nurse, have you known anyone silently choke to death? Don't you think the sounds of your husband fighting for air - his frantic struggles would have woken you?’ I paused, trying to gauge her reactions to this very crucial point.

  'All I can say, Detective Rode, I didn’t wake up. I was completely exhausted. You don't know what it was like. Ken was very depressed, ill tempered. He often tossed and turned in his sleep; I’d gotten used to that and could sleep through it. On the odd occasion in the past when he did wake me I’d go into the other bedroom. If I had anything to do with his death, don't you think I’d be clever enough to say I slept in a separate bed on the night he died? But no! I’ve been completely honest with you.'

  What she said was true. She needn't have said she slept in the same bed. Was it possible she did sleep through her husband's death throes? I was deep in thought as we drove back to the Precinct. This was certainly no open and shut case.

  'What do you think, Gina, do you think she had anything to do with her husband's death?'

  'Weighing everything up I’d have to come down on the side it was a possibility she murdered h
im. The penicillin must’ve gotten into his body some how. According to the doctor’s report, he was virtually bedridden for the last few months of his life, so I don't think he could have gotten hold of the penicillin himself, with the intention of committing suicide. I reckoned she did know of her husband's intention to change his Will, leaving most of his money to his daughter, and this supplied the motive to bump him off.

  She’s a very clever woman that Francesca. She’s used to using her sex appeal to get what she wants, but maybe found it was wasted on her ill husband. She may have thought she’d only a few years before her looks started to fade. Perhaps she wanted to make the most of them and not be impeded by a terminally ill husband who may have lived too long.'

  Wow! I'd asked for a woman's perspective, and I'd certainly got it! I sighed. 'I'll write up my report and wait for authorisation to bring her in. But I’ll tell you something Gina, I’m not gonna recommend she committed a crime. My report will just state the facts, no more, no less - and for the record my decision has nothing to do with any personal feelings I may have. I honestly feel there is insufficient evidence to charge her, and in my opinion it could’ve been suicide. Mrs Marshall said he wanted to die rather than face a liver transplant. I know he was practically bedridden before he died, but he was a desperate man and he could have hoarded his wife’s penicillin tablets months before, when he was capable of walking and gotten hold of the tablets then.’

  Gina held up her hands. 'OK. John, I get the picture, but I’ve a feeling you’ll get a directive telling you to book her. So just be ready for that.’

  *

  It was with a heavy heart when I arrested and charged Francesca Marshall with murdering her husband.

  I was now sitting in the Supreme Court as a witness for the prosecution. I couldn't help but wish I was a defence witness and hoped for a verdict of suicide. I listened when the Prosecutors began telling the jury that Francesca’s lust for money, her changed lifestyle, and her medical knowledge all pointed to murder of her husband.

  Her defence lawyer argued that there was evidence to support Ken Marshall had been depressed, and referred to the testimony of the psychiatrist who confirmed that he’d been in therapy right up to his death. I hoped the defence had planted enough reasonable doubt in the jurors' minds to consider the death had been suicide.

  The sticking point for the defence was the same point I’d raised myself - that of not waking up when her husband lay along side her choking to death. I could see from the jurors' faces that they did not buy the counter-arguments the defence put forward. I found myself wishing she’d lied. Why the hell couldn't she have said she slept in the other room?

  The prosecution pointed out that no evidence could be put forward as to how Benzylpenicillin had been administered but a pretty convincing argument was put forward that Francesca Marshall was the most likely suspect. The jury was told it was known that she regularly called to visit colleagues at the Harlem Hospital Centre and she may have obtained supplies of the drug there. The prosecution made comments that because she still had her nurse's uniform she could have easily posed as a nurse and obtained the antibiotic fraudulently.

  By the time the defence challenged this statement, which the Judge deemed should be struck from the records, the damage had been done.

  When Francesca was called to the stand, I was puzzled. She was acting strange and seemed sedated. I was concerned she was not answering the questions in her usual logical manner. (I learned later that she had taken several tablets because she was suffering from a severe migraine attack).

  After two hours the jury came back with a verdict. The Judge's words hit me like a shock wave.

  ‘Francesca Marshall you have taken a life. The court hereby sentences you to life imprisonment.'

  My heart went out to her when she was dragged away. She clung onto the side rails of the stand and screamed, 'No, no, I didn’t kill my husband. I didn’t. Please you must believe me.'

  I told Gina the verdict when I got to the Precinct. 'She’ll not be eligible for parole for 30 years. I could sense a lot of people present in the court room thought she’d be acquitted, and a verdict of suicide brought in. I think it was a bad decision having her called to the stand, especially as she was ill and her answers were vague. Also I think the spurious comments about her obtaining antibiotics from the hospital probably influenced the jury in finding her guilty, even though the Judge authorised the comments should be erased. Mrs. Coate’s testimony didn't help either. I feel bad, Gina, about this case, real bad.'

  'You were only doing your duty, John. It’s up to the Courts to dispense justice.'

  'This is a court of law, young man, not a court of justice,’ I quoted.

  She squeezed my arm as she said, 'Who said that - Shakespeare?'

  'No. Not on this occasion. It was said by Oliver Wendall Holmes Junior, Associate Justice of the U.S. Supreme Court.'

  THE DANCING QUEEN

  ‘John can I have a word with you?’

  I looked up and saw the concerned face of Michael Cicarello, junior partner of Detective Kat O’Neil. ‘Yeah, sure, what can I do for you?’

  ‘Do you think we could have Gina on this as well?’

  ‘Yep. What about your partner?’

  He frowned. ‘Er, no this isn’t about a case we’re dealing with. In any case, she’s on vacation for the day.’

  While Mike had been talking, I’d nodded to Gina Morris, my rookie partner to come over. I saw her blush when she saw Mike. I thought she would. She hadn’t gotten over when she’d made a play for him quite some time ago, and then was told by the girls in the Precinct he was gay. To make it easy on her they told her they’d all fancied him because he was such a good looking guy. Most Italians seem to me to be blessed with good looks. He looked so macho you couldn’t tell he batted for the other side. Mike hadn’t shown an interest in any of them.

  I moved some files from two chairs so they could both sit down.

  ‘Right what can we do for you Mike?’

  ‘I think you’ll probably have heard of Julian Lean, the Shakespearian actor, as I know you love your Shakespeare, John.’

  ‘Yeah I do. I saw him in ‘Measure for Measure’ at the Delacorte Theatre in Central Park a few months ago,’ I raised enquiring eyebrows wondering where this was going.

  ‘My sister, Anna, is a friend of his. She and her husband live in the same apartment block and they’re invited to his soirées as he knows they’re open-minded about his gay friends. She phoned me last night because she’d had a call from the theatre to say they hadn’t seen him at rehearsals for three days. As they knew she lived next door to him they’d looked up her number and they were wondering whether she could find out what was happening, as they’d given him a bell and he hadn’t answered.’

  She went around to his apartment and knocked and called out, and didn’t get any answer. She could hear his cat plaintively meowing behind the door, but as she hadn’t got a key she couldn’t do anything. She tried phoning him, no answer. That’s when she phoned me.’

  ‘Why have you come to me?

  ‘Well, I know you spent some time with the Missing Persons Department in the Bronx. You’re the most senior experienced detective here – nothing gets past John Rode. I know you like Shakespeare so thought you’d be interested, and I er, know you, er,’ he looked slightly embarrassed, ‘are broad-minded and don’t knock gays the way some heterosexual guys do. I just thought you and Gina might come around with me to my sister’s and maybe we could get into his place to find out what’s happened.’

  ‘If his poor cat’s been locked in for three days it must be starving. I better take some cat food just in case,’ Gina said.

  We both smiled at Gina as we headed for the door.

  Michael had ‘phoned his sister, Anna, to make sure she’d be there when we called around at her apartment on East 115th. We went next door to Julian Lean’s apartment and knocked and shouted. The only answer we got was a loud howling from the cat.<
br />
  Anna raised her hands to trembling lips. ‘I’m real worried about Julian. When I saw him four days ago he had a black eye, and looked a bit down. I didn’t say anything but I know he’s had run-ins with his boyfriend before. Tom Walker can be quite bad tempered but this was the first time I’d seen evidence of violence – that’s if he was to blame for the eye.’

  I smiled reassuringly at her. ‘We’ll think of a way to get in. I notice the apartments all have fire escapes. Maybe we can get in that way.’

  We made our way to the back of the building and Mike pulled an escape ladder down. When we got onto the small platform outside Lean’s apartment there was a medium size window through which I could see a dimly lit hall. I noticed there were marks on the walls and some wall pictures were askew. Although I couldn’t be sure from this distance, I had a suspicion the marks could be blood.

  ‘Gina, can you go around to the front of the apartment. Mike and I are going to break in. I’ll let you in through the front door.’ I grinned, ‘make sure the cat doesn’t get away. It could be a vital witness.’

  I turned to Mike’s sister. ‘I think you better get back to your apartment Anna. We’ll take it from here.’

  Mike squeezed his sister’s arm and nodded to her. ‘We’ll be around after we find out what’s going on. You go and put the percolator on.’

  While Anna was climbing down the fire escape I balled my jacket around my fist, rammed it against the windowpane, and the glass shattered. I then placed the jacket on the lower edge of the frame, to cover the broken glass, and carefully Mike and I climbed through into the hallway. All the doors to the various rooms in the apartment led off the hallway.

  A tabby cat ran towards us and curled its tail around our legs. I picked it up when Mike went to the front door and let Gina in. She opened the tin of cat food she had brought and scooped it into its empty bowl which she’d found on the floor in the kitchen; the cat ate ravenously. A tap was dripping. Presumably, the cat had gotten water O.K. but the place stank of cat pee. The marks on the hallway walls were blood! This wasn’t looking good.