Mayhem, Mystery and Murder

by John A. Broussard

  “Hey, Jill. It’s almost lunchtime. Let’s see what the special is at Brenda’s.”

  “O.K. Her coffee’s a lot better than ours. I’ll settle for that, since I’m not really hungry.”

  Nolan groaned. “I suppose you had a big breakfast.”

  “As a matter of fact, I did. Cereal and orange juice. That’s my usual, but this morning I had two glasses of orange juice instead of one. That really filled me up.”

  “You know, Jill, there are times when I hate you.”

  Waliewiski grinned. “Why don’t you, just this once, not tank up on burgers and fries. Brenda puts out a great salad.”

  “Rabbit food.”

  “Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it.”

  Walking along behind Waliewiski in the cafeteria line, Nolan eyed the Idahoes. What she wouldn’t give for one of them, sliced open, with a big slab of butter on top of it. Better yet, a scoop of sour cream. Closing her eyes, she reached for a thick-rimmed, navy-style bowl, brimful of lettuce, tomatoes, and sundry other raw vegetables. Waliewiski caught her eye as she reached for the blue cheese dressing, so she settled for a splash of oil and vinegar instead. Brenda, herself, was manning the register, and she accepted their payment without comment… though Nolan knew what was going on in the restaurant owner’s mind as she glanced at the sergeant’s choices.

  Her thoughts still on the meatloaf and mashed potatoes she’d passed up, the sergeant half-heartedly speared a green pepper slice. “When we get back, let’s start in on some of the cold cases. I’m caught up with current paperwork and there’s nothing else brewing,” she said. “Besides, there’s one of those old cases I’ve been hankering to get back to as soon as I had a breather.” At that moment, her cellphone went off.

  Waliewiski watched the expression on her partner’s face while she was on the phone and knew it was a good idea to down her coffee. Nolan pressed the end button and stood up. “Hostage situation. Kersage building.” She picked up her salad, saying to Brenda on her way out, “I’ll have the bowl back to you next time I come over.”

  Without cracking a smile, Brenda said, “You better. That’s my finest porcelain.”

  On the ride across town, Waliewiski drove while Nolan tuned the radio to the correct emergency channel, managed to pull the Kevlar vests out of the back seat and finished her salad— grimacing at each bite.

  The scene was already alive with police when they arrived. Lieutenant Calvert was across the street from the Kersage, behind one of the patrol cars. Despite the presence of several officers and the stream of radio communications from the various cars, the block was relatively quiet—the result of the street having been sealed off to traffic. The lieutenant’s first words were, “Kevlar. There’ve been at least two shots. Swat team’s on the way.”

  While Nolan and Waliewiski were putting on their vests, the lieutenant described the layout and what was known so far. “First floor has two office suites. One on the right is vacant. One on the left is where the sound of the shots came from. It’s an insurance company. Wife of one of the owners is in the copy room and has contacted us by cellphone. Her battery’s low, so I had 911 tell her to turn it off and call back in ten minutes when the swats will be here. She’s whispering into the phone to keep from being heard by the shooter. Before she hung up, she said there was only her and her husband’s partner in the office. She went into the copy room to get some files and closed the door behind her—fortunately. She heard someone come into the office and then loud voices. Before she could come out, there was a shot and the sound of what she thinks was someone falling.”

  “You said two shots, earlier,” Nolan said.

  The lieutenant nodded. “One of the office workers from an upper floor was coming out of the elevator, and he says he heard two shots, close together. He called 911 just about the same time as the woman did—his at 12:09, hers at 12:07. From what we can make out, no one left the office after the shots. I’ve got two men standing inside by the office door. They’re holding the elevator on that floor, and we’ve alerted as many offices as possible up above for everyone to stay put. I’d like to evacuate by the rear entrance. Can you handle that?”

  “Sure. Let’s go, Waliewiski. I know the building. It won’t be hard to clear it. But the rear entrance can only be opened from the inside, with a panic bar. We’ll go up the front stairs to the second floor and cross over to the rear stairs. Should be no problem after that.”

  “Take your portable, band 4, and we’ll stay in touch.”

  After passing the two patrolmen flanking the office door with guns drawn, the worst was over so far as Nolan and Waliewiski were concerned. The evacuation went like clockwork. By then the swat team was in place, and now the tough part of the operation began for them.

  No longer needed, the sergeant and her partner stood by their car with the radio filling them in, blow by blow. The woman inside had turned her phone back on and was still whispering. She reported no sound from the outer office, no reaction to the bullhorn. The lesser of two evils was to storm the office before the hostage-taker discovered what was going on in the back room. Just before her phone died, the message got to her to lie flat.

  Even though not participating, the two officers could feel the flow of adrenaline as the reports came in from the crime scene. “We’re going in.” The words were followed by the sounds of what had to be a door being smashed. Moments passed. “Two bodies. No signs of anyone else in the office section.” More moments. A woman’s voice. “Thank God!” Then, “Oh, no!”

  It wasn’t until late afternoon that the full story came out. Captain Shaughnessey provided it when he called Nolan into his office. “This is one where you won’t have to do any crime solving. No question about what happened. Donald Scheider and Ray Rossellini had a shoot-out. Scheider died instantly from a bullet through the heart. Rossellini lasted a few minutes longer, according to the doc. We don’t know who shot first or why. Mrs. Scheider is too hysterical to do much talking. She’s under heavy sedation, and probably won’t be up to tell us anything until tomorrow. You and Whisky can take care of that in the morning—just for the record.”

  “Did she see anything at all?”

  “Uh-uh. She kept the door to the copy room shut the whole time. Can’t fault her for that. It’s pretty obvious she didn’t know it was her husband who came in. That’s about all we know so far.”

  Nolan shrugged. “Do you think it’s necessary for me to go along to talk to her? I’m working on an old case and, like you said, there isn’t any crime-solving involved. Just a matter of taking down her statement.”

  Shaughnessey shifted uneasily in his chair. “It may not be quite that simple. It turns out that Rossellini was married to a cousin of Chief Lansky’s wife—or something like that. He wants to find out what was going on between Scheider and Rossellini. Now, I know Homicide is stretched pretty thin, so don’t spend more than a couple of days on it. Pick up the report, make the investigation look good, and then you can get back to some of those old cases the newspapers keep making noise about—if you can find the time. Knowing this town, you’ll probably have at least one more killing this week.”

  Waliewiski looked up expectantly from her computer screen as Nolan returned, skimming through the sheets in a manila folder as she walked. Catching Waliewiski’s eye, Nolan grinned and said, “Easy days. We should drop by the Kersage at soon as it opens in the morning, look over the scene, talk to a few people, then go by to interview Mrs. Scheider when she’s up to it. Can you come in early?”

  “Sure, but why?”

  “I thought we could drop by Brenda’s. She’s having a breakfast special, and…”

  “No way! You’re not going to use me as an excuse to have eggs, bacon and hash browns. I’ll meet you at the Kersage at opening time. Now, what’s in the report?”

  Nolan acted indignant. “This has nothing to do with food. I just thought it would be a good idea to sit down ahead of time and go over the report, then work out a plan of a
ction.”

  Waliewiski pushed her chair back from her desk. “No time like the present. Brief me. I heard the chief wants us to check out what happened.”

  “News travels fast. There isn’t much to go on. We should be able to pick up a preliminary pm report tomorrow, but there doesn’t seem to be any doubt about what happened. Rossellini and Scheider were partners. Owned PacCentral Insurance Brokers. Did most, if not all, of their business online. Mrs. Scheider was a part-time secretary. She arrived at the office in the morning. Don’t know when. That’ll have to wait until we talk to her. While she’s in the copy room, her husband shows up. The partners argue. One of them takes out a gun, then so does the other. They shoot almost simultaneously. Mrs. Scheider reports only one shot. That’s how close together they were, though that outside observer says he heard two, one right after the other.”

  “Guns?”

  “I’m getting to that. Rossellini’s was a Saturday night special. Big sucker. Unregistered. Must have had it in his desk. No ballistics report yet, but he really blasted a hole in Scheider—which fits with what a 9mm would do at that close a range. Scheider’s was a twenty-two, registered in his name. That’s something we’ll have to ask Mrs. Scheider about—why he had it. As to what actually happened, it’s all pretty much guess work now, but…”

  Waliewiski’s guess work kicked in before her boss could finish. “Scheider walked in with a gun intending to kill his partner. When he waved it, Rossellini pulled out his. They fired pretty much simultaneously. Sounds like the O. K. Corral.”

  Nolan nodded. “I think that’s what’s bothering the captain more than the chief leaning on him. He’d like to find out why a couple of ordinary businessmen would suddenly stage a shoot-out in their office. So that’s one of the things we’re going to have to try and figure out.”

  “Good luck. In two days?”

  “Well, at least we don’t have to beat a confession out of anyone. Sure you don’t want to stop by Brenda’s for breakfast?”

  ***

  Marianne Scheider’s appearance convinced Nolan that she should have waited until afternoon before dropping in on the witness. But Mrs. Scheider had insisted she was feeling up to answering questions and wanted to get it over with. Her reaction moved her interview up to the top of the morning’s agenda.

  Marianne Scheider’s voice had sounded strained on the phone, and her appearance made it evident that yesterday’s events and the sedatives had taken a toll on her. The woman might have been attractive under ordinary circumstances—long, blonde hair; an exaggerated Barbie Doll figure; an oval face with a flawless complexion—but the red-eyed, puffy-faced individual still in a night robe, clutching a coffee cup in both hands and leaning heavily on the table across from the two officers seemed at the moment to be much older than her thirty-three years.

  There had been no offer of coffee, and Nolan had expected none. Deciding the best thing to do was to get Mrs. Scheider’s story over with and leave her alone with her grief, Nolan asked her to tell what had happened. Despite the woman’s condition, the description of the previous day’s events required only minor prompting.

  “I got there later than usual. The traffic was miserable. When I got to the office, Rossie was the only one there. Don was off to a computer store getting supplies. I don’t know how much you know about the business, but we’re an internet company that sells insurance information to potential customers. We evaluate insurance offers, list companies, and stuff like that, then make up individualized packages, depending on what the customer is looking for.

  “I had some photocopying to do, so I went into the back room while Rossie was online, catching up on the night’s email messages.”

  “About what time was that?” Nolan asked.

  “It must have been just before noon. While I was back there, I heard some voices in the other room. I wasn’t sure who was speaking, since the door was closed.”

  It was Waliewiski who broke in. “Closed? Why did you close the door.”

  Mrs. Scheider’s face crimsoned. “I’m glad you two are the ones asking the questions. When I leaned over to pick up a ream of copy paper, my brassiere snaps unsnapped. I was wearing a dress, so you can imagine what I had to do then.”

  Both officers’ eyes shifted to the witness’s ample bosom. They said nothing.

  “I closed the door, repaired the snap as best I could. Amazing what one can do with a paperclip. I was just about to punch the button on the copy machine when the shot rang out.”

  “Someone passing in the hall said he heard two shots,” Nolan said.

  A nod. “Now I know there had to have been two shots but, at the time, I was only aware of one. I was so terrified, I must have just blanked out the second one, or they were so close to one another I only heard one. It took me a few minutes to call 911. I was just paralyzed with fear. After the shot, or shots, I couldn’t hear anything from the other side of the door. I didn’t know at the time that my husband was the other person I’d heard talking. We weren’t a company that depended on foot traffic, but there were occasional deliverymen who came by. That’s who I thought it might have been, at first.

  “At the time of the gunfire, I really wasn’t thinking clearly at all. I was absolutely terrified. Thank God for cellphones. I’d hung up my jacket and purse in the copy room. Then, when it started to beep because the battery was low, I was really scared stiff. When the police told me to lie down, that rather amused me. I didn’t need that kind of advice. In spite of my panic I’d been lying down in the corner, with the phone pressed to my mouth from the first sound of the shot.”

  “Do you have any idea why your husband and partner shot each other?” Nolan asked.

  “None.” A vehement head shake. “Sure, they had disagreements, but those never amounted to anything.”

  “Is it possible there was a third person in the office at the time of the shooting?”

  A long pause. “It never occurred to me that there might have been. I suppose it’s possible. As I said, we don’t have any walk-in traffic except for an occasional deliveryman. What mail we get we pick up at our post office box. The office door locks automatically, so they would have had to knock, and I think I would have heard that. Of course, someone may have come in with my husband. I just can’t say.”

  There seemed little point in continuing the interview. Nolan thanked her, said they might want to talk to her again, but that that was unlikely. They found their own way out.

  Even before getting into the car, Waliewiski asked, “You don’t really think there was a third party in there, do you?”

  Nolan grinned. “Just a wild guess. Besides, the captain said to make the investigation look good. If we can eliminate a third party, it will be a nice item on our report.”

  “And how do you propose to eliminate a third party.”

  “To begin with, let’s start with Elias Villard, of Chauncy, Marker and Smith.”

  “The guy who was coming out of the elevator”

  “Right. We’ll check him out as soon as we have a look at the crime scene.”

  The door to PacCentral Insurance’s office bore the name of the company on the opaque window of the office. Ducking under the police tape, Nolan used a key to unlock the door that had been patched together after the forced entry. The room bore little resemblance to the standard office spaces of most professional organizations. There were no cubicles, no inner office, no other door except for what they later recognized as the copy/storage room. The two computers with accompanying peripherals, one file cabinet, three desks and several office chairs took up only a fraction of the space available. It was obvious that this company had graduated into the no-paper, or almost no-paper, office.

  The expected chalk marks indicated the whereabouts of the two bodies, one in front of a chair that had probably been facing a computer, the other some six feet away. The shots had been at pointblank range, obviously doing what they’d been intended to do—kill almost instantly.

  Thinking al
oud, Waliewiski said, “So Scheider comes in. They argue, Rossellini stands up, turns, has a gun in his hand. So does Scheider. They shoot, just about simultaneously.”

  “There’s something wrong with that scenario.”

  Waliewiski nodded. “Yup. Pretty obvious. When you first described the shooting, I figured Rossellini had the gun in his desk. But there’s no desk near his computer. He had to have had the gun out in the open, sitting right in front of him on the computer table.”

  “Mrs. Scheider didn’t mention it.”

  “Maybe he went over and got it out of his desk when she went into the copy room. In any case, it now seems as though he knew when Scheider was coming in and was gunning for him. A phone call beforehand, d’you think?”

  “We’re going to have to talk to her again. If Rossellini was expecting trouble, he must have shown it. We never did ask her what state he was in when she arrived. Not much else we can do here. Let’s look up Elias Villard—after we check out the copy room.”

  The copy room had little to offer. A ten-by-fifteen workspace, a large copy machine, a shredder, two file cabinets packed with copy paper and supplies, and a basket of finished copy. It wasn’t difficult to find the corner Marianne reported having huddled in, since it was the only one not occupied by office supplies or equipment. The detectives could picture a terrified woman, her face turned toward the corner, whispering into a fading cellphone.

  Elias Villard proved to be elusive. That morning he’d phoned in with a cold. He verified that when Nolan called his home. “He sounded like hell,” she said. “I didn’t have the heart to go out and haul him out of bed. Let’s let that ride for now. I’ll get back to him later in the week. We’ll just check a few of these offices and see if anyone knew anything about the partners at PacCentral. By then it’ll be lunchtime.”