Stump Speech Murder

by Patricia Rockwell

  “Really, Detective,” huffed Brewster, “no one on my staff would do such a thing. Besides, even if Grant got a slight uptick in the polls, we’re confident in our strength to regain our support before the election . . . .”

  “With strong arm tactics,” suggested Pamela.

  “Dr. Barnes,” snapped Brewster, “I believe we’ve been more than gracious to you here today. And you turn around and attack us for no reason. Your Mr. Grant is the one sitting in a jail cell for murdering his own wife. That hasn’t changed!”

  “Actually, Mayor,“ noted Shoop, “I forgot to mention that we petitioned for and received a search warrant for this headquarters. While you and Mr. Baines and Mr. Sturges were here in your control room discussing fake tapes with Dr. Barnes, my men were going through your offices upstairs . . . .”

  “What?” exclaimed Brewster. “You can’t do that!” He surged forward. Baines and Sturges looked at each other with wide-eyed expressions.

  “Harold!” shrieked Katherine, reaching for her husband to restrain him from attacking the detective. The officers at the door moved into the room but Shoop held up his hand. Pamela watched the mini-debacle play out like a movie. The whole event lasted a second but the entire room appeared to explode with emotion.

  “Calm down, gentlemen,” said Shoop, hands up. The officers held their hands on their weapons. “We didn’t find anything.”

  The trio of politicians relaxed noticeably. Brewster turned and motioned for Baines and Sturges to retreat. He shook off his wife who was clinging dramatically to his arm.

  “Of course, you didn’t find anything, Shoop,” sneered the mayor. “There’s nothing to find. I hope you didn’t leave our offices in a mess.”

  “Actually, we didn’t find much of anything,” continued Shoop, “except this.” He removed a small tape recorder from his overcoat pocket. The expressions on the three men’s faces froze. “It doesn’t have much on it, but I think you’ll find what it does have quite interesting.” He pressed the “play” button and the recorded voice of Stacy Grant filled the small room. ‘My husband . . . outside . . . trying to . . . break in. Please help!’

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” cried Brewster as Shoop stopped the recording. “It’s been playing on TV for weeks!”

  “True,” noted Shoop, “but this part hasn’t been,” He pressed “play” again. This time Stacy Grant’s voice produced a different message, “Jim . . . come home . . . hurry!” Shoop stopped the recorder and looked around the room. Every face was riveted to the message that had just emerged from the tiny device. “That recording is definitely the voice of Stacy Grant,” he continued, “but it’s not something she said to 911. It’s a totally different message. Obviously, it’s a message designed to get her husband James to come home. It’s the message that James claims that Stacy sent to him at the rally which caused him to rush home–where he found her dead body. This message was sent to James Grant either immediately before or immediately after the 911 call was sent.”

  “Detective,” said Katherine Brewster, speaking up bravely, “I don’t see how these recordings implicate my husband. He couldn’t have sent them. He was at the rally being interviewed by Ginger Cooper.”

  “True,” noted Shoop. “We don’t know how–or if–your husband is involved in Stacy Grant’s death, Mrs. Brewster. This recording device that holds the specially spliced and editing phrases from Stacy Grant was found on Mr. Sturges’ desk.”

  “Kevin!” exclaimed Brewster.

  “They’re trying to frame me, boss,” cried Sturges, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his face a mass of lines.

  Shoop continued. “We have additional proof from station WRER that indicates that Mayor Brewster could not have made those calls personally, as he was engaged in the interview at the time the 911 call was made.”

  “And Ginger Cooper, the reporter who conducted the interview with your husband and with James Grant, confirms that, Mrs. Brewster,” agreed Pamela. “She is a remarkably observant woman–a good quality to have if you’re a newspaper reporter. Indeed, Ms. Cooper not only remembers the mayor’s presence during the interview, she also recalls seeing James Grant leave–shortly after he received a call on his cell phone. Not only that–she further recalls seeing Kevin Sturges leave shortly before she began interviewing the mayor which occurred maybe ten or fifteen minutes before James received his phone call.”

  “It’s not true!” cried Sturges, backing away.

  “Yes,” Shoop proceeded with the narrative. “We believe Mr. Sturges snuck out of the rally, drove to the Grant house, gained entrance through some excuse, and while Stacy Grant’s back was turned, hit her with a candlestick from her own fireplace. Then, he quickly used her landline phone to call 911 and also to call James where he played the appropriate fake messages that he had prepared in advance in this editing suite. As soon as he made the calls, he left and returned to the rally, arriving just in time for the conclusion of the interview with the mayor. You probably didn’t even notice his absence, Mayor.”

  “Kevin!” cried Brewster, turning to his young aide. “Why? Why would you do this?”

  Kevin Sturges looked from the mayor to each person in the room. The two officers at the door were a firm guarantee that escape was impossible. A noticeable drop in his shoulders made the young man seem half his normal size.

  “I’m sorry, Boss,” he whispered. “I thought it would help.”

  “Help?” shouted Brewster, “You killed a woman!”

  Then, suddenly, his demeanor changed from defeated to furious. “She was a bitch!” snarled Sturges. Then, hands to his face, he sank to the floor in a heap, blubbering.

  “I don’t understand, Detective,” said Katherine Brewster.

  “We didn’t either,” explained Shoop. “But there’s more to Mr. Sturges’s motive for murder than just his desire to aid his employer’s re-election campaign. According to some intensive investigating by Grant’s defense team, a Mr. Conrad Gates was able to uncover a rather sordid tale of unrequited love during Sturges’s college days.”

  “Yes,” added Pamela to the group who had now apparently ignored the killer sobbing uncontrollably on the floor. “Kevin Sturges and Stacy were friends in college. He evidently desired more than just friendship, but she kept him at a distance. When James Grant came on the scene, Stacy was smitten and never looked back. Apparently, Sturges resented James for stealing Stacy away from him and has been searching ever since for ways to get back at him–and her. His anger continued to build, even as he developed his skills as a videographer and editor. When James entered the race against Brewster, it appeared to become too much of a temptation for Sturges. He saw the opportunity to remove James as a political opponent for his employer as well as an opportunity to get back at Stacy for rebuffing him those many years ago. That’s when he hatched this plot. He’s been planning it for many months.”

  “True,” added Shoop, “and we probably would have never tumbled to it, had it not been for Dr. Barnes and her group of faculty researchers who just didn’t believe the sound on that 911 recording.”

  “So, Detective,” asked Brewster cautiously, “does this affect my campaign?”

  “Mayor,” said Shoop with a shrug, “I have no idea how it will affect your campaign. That’s not my concern. My only concern right now is informing you–Mr. Sturges–that you are under arrest for the murder of Stacy Grant. You have the right to remain silent . . . .” He continued to read Kevin Sturges his rights, as the two police officers stepped over to the young man in a heap on the floor, lifted him up, handcuffed him, and led him out of the room.

  As soon as the officers and Shoop had left with Sturges, Mayor Brewster and his wife, and Victor Baines, came towards Pamela.

  “Dr. Barnes,” said Katherine, “I don’t really know what to say to you. You deceived me into letting you in here, probably knowing that my husband and his aides would follow you down here, allowing the police an opportunity to search their offices. I
find that offensive. On the other hand, Kevin committed a murder–a murder unjustly attributed to another person. I cannot condone his actions.”

  “Neither can I,” said Brewster, beside his wife and arm behind her back. “You are a bit of a snoop, Doctor, and I don’t appreciate you mucking about in my business. But I had no idea what Kevin was up to. It sickens me to think he killed that poor woman–and for what? “

  “He got wrapped up in the campaign,” noted Victor Baines, standing behind them. “It happens. We begin to think we’re infallible–that if we can manipulate voters, we can manipulate anything. We can’t. We all need to stop and smell the roses. Dr. Barnes, I want to apologize to you for my behavior the other day.”

  Katherine and her husband glanced at Baines as he moved forward towards Pamela.

  “You’re one gutsy gal,” continued Baines, shaking Pamela’s hand. “If more women were like you . . . .”

  “I’ll second that,” said Katherine with a nod and a smile. She beamed at her husband.

  Chapter Thirty

  This was the second time that Pamela found herself in the bowels of the Reardon City Hall–this time in the small lobby of the city’s jail waiting with Willard, Joan, and Martin, with great anticipation for the release of James Grant. They all sat on very uncomfortable folding chairs lined up against the concrete walls waiting for the return of the clerk who had promised that he would check on the status of “prisoner” Grant.

  She checked her watch and noted that the four of them had been sitting here for over twenty minutes now.

  “They said he’d be released at ten a.m.,” said Martin with noticeable anxiety. “Poor guy. He gets his freedom, but he’s lost his wife.”

  “We’re all going to have to pull together to help him cope,” offered Joan.

  “Definitely,” agreed Willard. “I hope we can convince him to stay in the race. Don’t you think Stacy would have wanted him to do that?”

  “I do, my friend,” responded Martin, patting Willard’s hand, “but he’s suffered a huge loss and it just may take some time.”

  The door at the back of the small lobby opened and the clerk/guard entered, followed by James Grant, no longer wearing his official orange prison outfit. He was dressed in a pair of beige trousers and a light blue short-sleeve shirt. Martin had delivered the clothes to him earlier. James’s face looked drawn and pale.

  The foursome waiting for him in the lobby perked up and rose as a unit.

  “James!” they all greeted him. As James moved towards them, Martin embraced his friend, and Willard, Joan, and Pamela all shook his hand.

  “Let’s get you out of here, buddy,” said Martin, escorting a placid James up the jail stairs and into the bright outdoor sunlight. James covered his face from the glare as Martin led the group to his car.

  “Wait a minute, Martin,” said James, suddenly, standing in front of Martin’s Toyota. “I understand I have you three to thank for my freedom.” He leaned weakly against the car with Martin’s arm around his back. “If it weren’t for you three, no one would have ever figured out about the fake 911 call or that Sturges had faked Stacy’s call to me. I don’t know how you academic people manage to do these things–but I know this was above and beyond the call of duty. I just want to say, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, James,” replied Willard.

  “Of course, James,” agreed Joan. “We’re all in your corner and support you.”

  “We’re glad we could use our specialties to come to your assistance,” added Pamela.

  “True,” noted James, gathering some energy as he spoke. “But the three of you were there for me before this horrible thing happened to Stacy. You were there helping with my campaign.”

  “We believe in you, James,” said Joan, “I’ve known you since I worked with you on the Human Subjects’ Committee. I understand your opposition to the long-term reign of Hap Brewster. This community has suffered enough under his neglect.”

  “I couldn’t argue with you,” agreed James.

  “James,” said Willard, coyly, “I notice that you haven’t removed your name from the ballot. Dare I ask if you plan to stay in the race?”

  “I don’t know, Willard,” replied the harried-looking man, “I need to think about it. But I will promise you this. I won’t remove my name from the ballot without a lot of thought.”

  “Wonderful!” cried Joan.

  “Good,” agreed Pamela. “Do give it some time.”

  “Besides,” added Martin, giving his friend a squeeze, “I really think that Stacy would want you to stay in the race.”

  “I know, Martin. I know,” said James, nodding. “He’s been nagging me with that argument every time he visits” he added to the other three.

  “I am your campaign manager,” exclaimed Dobbs. “It’s my job to see you get elected!”

  “I don’t know,” mused James, arms crossed. “With Sturges gone, Brewster can probably revive his image–and, of course, we know he has tactics that will convince voters that don’t involve persuasion.”

  “Now you’re thinking like a candidate!” shouted Dobbs.

  “Go, James!” cried Joan.

  “Grant for Mayor!” added Pamela. Laughter all around.

  “Yippee!” concluded Willard. A general air of goodwill pervaded the little confab that had gathered beside Martin Dobb’s car as James Grant and his most vociferous supporters began a strategy session. After a few minutes, Pamela looked up and saw a van entering the city hall parking lot. On the side of the van, the text “WRER” alerted her to the arrival of a news crew that had probably just gotten wind of Grant’s release. She tapped Martin Dobbs on the shoulder and pointed to the newly arrived vehicle. Dobbs motioned for James to get in the car. Pamela, Joan, and Willard all hustled into Pamela’s Civic nearby just as Ginger Cooper alighted from the passenger side of the van followed by several crew men out of the side doors.

  “Mr. Grant!” yelled Cooper, running towards the departing cars. “Mr. Grant! Now that you’re out of jail, are you planning to remain in the race? Can you let our viewers know, Mr. Grant?” She ran up to the passenger window of Martin’s car, a videographer filming her movements.

  Martin backed out of the parking space, then stopped suddenly. James abruptly rolled down his window and leaned out and looked directly at Ginger Cooper.

  “Yes, Miss Cooper,” he replied. “I am thrilled to be out of jail and delighted to finally be exonerated in my wife’s murder. I am more than happy that the true killer–Kevin Sturges–the mayor’s communication director, has confessed, I understand.” James continued discussing his desire to seek justice in his wife’s killing. Eventually he said, “And–here’s your scoop, Ginger. I will stay in this race and not only that, I will win it!”

  Epilogue

  It was another popcorn in bed night for Pamela and Rocky. As usual, Candide was vying for kernels as he pranced from one corner of the mattress to another, stopping every once in a while to nuzzle in between his mistress and master when they dropped a crunchy nugget between them. The late night news had just started, and as usual Pamela had turned to WRER to see anchor Ginger Cooper deliver the bombshell of the day that James Grant had just been released from jail and that he had announced that he would remain in the race for mayor.

  “This has been quite a busy day for young Mr. Grant,” said Rocky, a handful of popcorn being stuffed in his mouth. “Gets out of jail, announces to the press that he intends to stay in the race.”

  “Quiet!” Pamela whispered to her husband, a hand gently to his face. “I want to hear it. Maybe you’ll see me. I’m off to the side.”

  “Behind the scenes, as usual,” sighed Rocky.

  The telephone rang.

  “Oh, no!” cried Pamela. “Whoever it is, I can’t talk. I have to see this,” she ordered her husband in a hushed voice, her eyes intent on the screen at the foot of their bed. Rocky lifted the receiver and said “hello.”

  “WRER has an exclusive interv
iew with James Grant, released today from jail for the bludgeoning death of his wife Stacy,” announced Cooper, her somber face presenting the introduction to her reporting coup.

  “Hey, Angie!” said Rocky in greeting to their daughter on the phone line. He listened as Pamela continued to focus on Ginger Cooper on the screen.

  The picture on the television changed to that of this morning’s parking lot location where Ginger Cooper had acquired her brief interview with James. James looked frazzled but joyful as he spoke directly into the camera, Ginger Cooper’s microphone visible at the bottom of the picture frame.

  “Mr. Grant,” asked the reporter, “can you tell us your plans now that you have been exonerated in your wife’s death.”

  James spoke for several minutes about his intentions to see justice done and Kevin Sturges convicted for his wife’s murder.

  “What?” cried Rocky into the phone. “What did you say?” he repeated. Pamela turned her head in response to the change in his voice. He put his hand over the receiver and looked at her. “Angie’s foundation is sending her to Africa.”

  “What?” exclaimed Pamela. “Africa!”

  “Yeah,” he replied, returning immediately to the phone to listen to his daughter. Pamela was riveted to her husband’s conversation with their young, inexperienced, totally unsophisticated daughter. Ginger Cooper was asking James whether or not he would stay in the mayoral race.

  James replied as he had that afternoon, just as Pamela remembered it, “And–here’s your scoop, Ginger. I will stay in this race and not only that, I will win it!” Pamela again felt the same gratification that she had experienced, knowing that she had contributed to helping this young politician make their town a better place to live. However, her joy was short-lived as her attention was drawn back to her husband’s conversation with Angie. How on earth could Angie even consider going to Africa? Rocky was listening and nodding.