by A. J. Flynn
“She isn’t hurt too bad physically, but the doctor is worried for her mental condition. He says two shocks in a row like the ones she’s just had can be dangerous.”
“You know, Lieutenant, my job is law enforcement. Even when our society decides to have someone killed, I’m all for doing a clean, quick job, but when something like this happens, I can’t be certain I wouldn’t be right there alongside the mob during a hanging.”
“You wouldn’t be,” McPherson said with confidence. “You’d be right here doing your job. Even if you knew without a doubt that he was guilty, you’d work to protect him, because your way of looking at things promises a fair trial to everyone. As for the old-fashioned laws, I wish I had a nickel for every time a mob of self-righteous citizens hung the wrong man.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I forgot to mention. The guy down at the garage identified the picture. Word came over the radio.”
McPherson sighed. They were entering the home stretch, and it looked like a coast-in.
“Where to?” Taylor asked.
“Let’s find a good restaurant, I’m ordering the biggest steak I can buy, and so long as you’re with me, I’ll buy you the second biggest.”
Taylor grinned. “There’s a place down on Grove where you can go into the kitchen and pick out your cut.”
McPherson looked undecided. “I saw a side of beef that was said to be well-cured once, but it looked spoiled to me. It had a green fuzz over the top of it. I would prefer to enjoy my steak.”
“Boss, I think it’s just that you don’t know much about meat. I’ll pick yours out for you, and anyway I heard this place scrapes the fuzz off before they cut it.”
“I’ll trust your judgement, but you better be right. Now let’s get going.”
As they rode along, the pent up tension McPherson had felt about the case began to wane. Whenever she started one, she was always afraid that the murderer might get away with it. She hated facing people with proof of their guilt, but she’d hate it even more if they never had to pay for their crimes.
XXII
Things were going along as planned, so McPherson felt that it was time to inform the captain on their progress. She gathered up all the papers concerning the case and knocked on Ford’s door. Once inside she looked at the old man with envy. Even though it was late in the day, he looked like he’d just come from a nap and a shower.
She set the cardboard folder on the desk and said, “I think we got him. It may not be enough to suit the DA yet, but we’ve got him.”
The captain opened the folder. “Did you find new evidence?”
“No, just confirmed the old, Captain, but as soon as Miss Priss gets here and finds out what we’ve got on her boyfriend, she’ll spill her guts.”
“I presume you’re referring to Mrs. Johnson?”
McPherson sat down like a woman who’d had a long and hard, but extremely rewarding, day. “That’s our girl.”
“We found a man out in Helter who sold tires to a guy who didn’t need them and refused to trade in the old ones. He picked the customer’s picture out of a lineup. The shoemaker is also pretty sure that he’s the guy who brought the shoes in, and as far as alibis go, he doesn’t have one.”
“Taking this to court on nothing more than personal identification might be risky. I’ve seen more than one witness change their mind. Do you have any idea what he did with the tires? They’d carry a lot of weight in the trial.”
“We’ll find them. Aiden went out and asked him to come down. I sent out the message that we wanted him to look over some pictures. Garrett and Fichte are waiting on the search warrant, and they’ll go in as soon as he leaves.”
“You think a suspect like this would keep the tires around his home?” the captain asked dubiously.
“What else would he do with them? He wouldn’t dare leave them in a public place. I think it’s safe to say the papers took care of that. Besides, four tires are tough to get rid of.”
“Maybe you’re right. What about Mrs. Johnson?”
“She’ll be here soon. I sent a car out for her, so it shouldn’t take long.”
The captain looked dissatisfied as he said, “Well, it’s your case. Handle it as you see fit.”
“Thanks, Captain. I’m sure it will work itself out. He comes off as confident, but there are too many things he won’t be able to explain. What with the tires and shoes, and the fact that he doesn’t have a prayer of proving where he was that evening.”
The captain was nodding his understanding when there was a loud knock at the door, and Aiden burst in.
“The car you sent out for Mrs. Johnson just radioed in for backup. When they got there, Robb Johnson seemed to be losing his mind. He’s locked himself inside his bedroom, and now he’s threatening to shoot anyone who tries to come in.”
The captain leapt up and grabbed his coat. “Did they send for any assistance?”
“Yes, sir. There were two cars within the area. The boy received the call.”
McPherson hurried to the stairs, closely followed by Captain Ford. When they reached the garage they climbed into the front seats of a black police car. McPherson was the driver, and she turned on the lights and siren and started off with as much speed as she dared.
When they slid to a stop in front of Johnson’s home, they could see Mrs. Johnson sitting in the back seat of one of the patrol cars, and one of the officers standing on the parking strip. Both officers hopped out of the car and hurried to the on-duty officer.
“What the hell is he doing?” asked the captain.
“Nothing now, sir. Mr. Johnson just shot himself.”
After such a wild ride, news like this was like a splash of cold water.
“Is he dead?”
“No, sir. He tried to shoot himself in the head, but he must have aimed wrong. He’s severely wounded, but I don’t think he’ll die.”
“Any idea why he did it?” McPherson asked.
“Hard to say, ma’am. According to Mrs. Johnson, he lost his head as soon as he saw the police car. Ahem, no pun intended… Anyway, once he spotted us pulling up, he ran into his bedroom and locked the door. We hadn’t even started towards the house yet.”
“Where did he get the gun?”
“Mrs. Johnson told us he had it from the army. It wasn’t supposed to be loaded, but he must have picked up some bullets somewhere. One thing’s for sure, he didn’t make those holes in the door with a water pistol.”
“He shot at you?” the captain said with a burst of surprise.
“Yes, sir. I counted six shots that came through that door. Then there was the report and everything got quiet. We waited for a few minutes before breaking in. Found him lying there on the floor, bleeding out like a fountain.”
“Did you call for an ambulance.”
“Yes, sir.”
McPherson shook her head and said, “Well, you better call in and let them know things are under control, but use another car. I want to speak with Mrs. Johnson.”
The captain started towards the house, and McPherson walked over to the car where the pale-faced Colleen Johnson was sitting.
“I suppose you heard your husband shot himself?” It was a brutal delivery, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel very much sympathy for the woman.
Mrs. Johnson nodded. She appeared to be unnerved, but there were no signs of grief. No pain. No tears.
“Do you have any idea why he did it?”
“No. How could I?”
“Well, you were married. I’d say that’s a pretty good reason.”
Mrs. Johnson hesitated for a moment, like she was trying to find the proper words, then answered. “Robb and I weren’t particularly close.”
“Is that why you were flirting with Hardwood?”
Her face flushed crimson with rage. “What a disgusting thing to say! But I guess being a police officer you must not know any better.”
She didn’t approve of hitting citizens, but this woman, well she was an e
xception to the rule. In that moment, it would have been a pleasure.
“Well, being a police officer, I’ll tell you what I do know,” she snapped back harshly. “Hardwood was here the night before Charlie Turner’s death, and you kept quiet about it. He was spotted entering this house, and you lied about that. I’m not sure what the two of you did, but I know that when Hardwood left, he strangled Charlie, and you were willing to sit back and let him get away with it.”
“That’s not true!” Mrs. Johnson gasped. “Mr. Hardwood isn’t capable of killing anyone. He’s an upstanding good-hearted man. Not the sort you would know anything about.”
“I know a lot of things, Mrs. Johnson. Hardwood is a murderer. I come face to face with murderers all the time and believe me, I know one when I see one. Hardwood is the type of man who sneaks into another man’s house when he’s away, then plays around with his wife. That’s another kind I know. And as for you—you’re the kind who will let the body of a murdered boy lie in the morgue, then lie for the man that put him there. You’re also the kind who can talk yourself into saying it couldn’t have been him because he’s too good-hearted. According to you he’d have to be, just because you approve of him. All that I know.”
It was clear that Mrs. Johnson’s poise was beginning to crack beneath the weight of her tirade. McPherson was beginning to feel as bad as Garrett, but once she’d started in on her, it was too hard to stop.
“You don’t know anything,” the woman protested in a thin voice. “You talk like there’s something wrong with my association with Mr. Hardwood. There wasn’t. We were just friends.”
“Yeah, well if everything’s so good and innocent, why lie about it?”
“Aw, come on! The only thing you can think about is sex,” she bellowed, her confidence returning.
“Mrs. Johnson, your sex life doesn’t interest me in the least. All I would like to know is, was Hardwood the man who was seen entering your house or was it someone else, and what time was it when whoever it was left?”
Her lips pursed at the insult. “Of course it was Mr. Hardwood. You don’t think I’d have another man out here, do you?”
“I don’t know. When did he leave?”
“Shortly before ten. He had to be back home by ten thirty. We spent a lovely evening together listening to music.”
“That’s sweet,” McPherson said sarcastically. “I’ll have you driven downtown for your statement.”
She was a short ways from the car when Mrs. Johnson called her back. “What is it, Mrs. Johnson?”
“Is Robb still alive?”
“Yes. An ambulance is on its way.”
“Thank you. I’m glad. I wanted to ask you about Mrs. Valentine, too. Whatever happened to her?”
“She was assaulted.”
“Sexually?”
McPherson looked at her and thought about how people must have worn that same expression during public hangings.
“No.”
She didn’t bother elaborating any further, just walked away and left her sitting.
To the patrolman waiting by the car she said, “Grab your partner and take her down to headquarters. And unless you want to feel disgusted, don’t bother talking to her.” The man didn’t quite seem to understand what she was saying, but he didn’t ask any questions.
McPherson walked into the house and found the captain examining the door. “What do you think got into him, Captain?”
“I was wondering if maybe he was the person who committed the assault on Mrs. Valentine. From what they’re saying, the first sight of a patrol car sent him off his rocker.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t quite fit. He was a pay-as-you-go kind of guy. Why would he all of a sudden get the idea to beat up a neighbor?”
“Under ordinary circumstances I’m sure he wouldn’t, but something was definitely out of the ordinary tonight. Men don’t just go around shooting themselves for the hell of it.”
“You might be right. I’m sure Mrs. Valentine can tell us tomorrow. That Johnson woman just admitted that Hardwood stopped by the night Charlie was killed. Says they had a wonderful time together.”
“Then it looks like you’ve placed him at the scene of the crime.”
“Sure does. Let’s get back downtown and listen to his version of how they spent the evening.”
“All right, but remember—you’re a cop, not a judge.”
XXIII
Hardwood was sitting in the far corner of the room poring over mugshots. He was very intent on his task, and with one look at him you might think it was possible that he would point out the murderer any moment. He was so engaged that he didn’t see McPherson and the captain enter the building.
They went straight to the captain’s office, closely followed by Detective Aiden. Aiden was young for a detective, and was overflowing with energy. Every time he went somewhere he acted as if he might be called on to save the castle singlehandedly, and would be able to do it, too.
Aiden made a beeline to the captain’s desk and set a note on it, but he couldn’t wait for him to read it. “Garrett and Fichte found the tires,” he started with a rush. “They’re in the lab as we speak. He hid them in the top rafters of his garage, but the lab says there’s no doubt they’re the ones that fit the casts. They also found a pair of shoes, but they don’t think they’re the ones from the prints. They’re the same size, but they suspect he might be wearing the ones we want. Mrs. Hardwood has been placing calls every few minutes to inform her husband about the search, but we haven’t let him know she’s been calling. He’s in there right now, acting like a good citizen.”
“Good work, Aiden,” the captain cut in. “Can you ask him to come in?”
“Yes, sir,” the young man agreed and hurried off to his task.
“Well, that just about sews him up,” McPherson said. “He’ll be surprised once he finds out why he’s really here. Are you planning on sitting in, Captain?”
“No,” he replied and grabbed his hat. “I have a meeting to attend. A few prominent people want to ask me when we’re going to catch the murderer, and it’ll give me great pleasure to tell them we got him. Go ahead and use the office if you want.”
McPherson grinned. She had sat in on some of the meetings set up for the main purpose of roasting the police force, and it was good to know this time they would get their words thrown back at them.
“Thanks, Captain. The way I’m feeling I could use a little privacy, that way I can let him know my opinion of him.”
“So long as you stick to telling rather than showing. Remember, Aiden will be waiting outside, and it wouldn’t be good to corrupt him.”
McPherson shook her head. “No. With the way I feel, I think I’ve had enough violence to last me the rest of my life.”
“Alright then, I’ll get going, and congratulations. You and the rest of the officers did a damn fine job.”
“Thanks, but maybe if we’d been faster some of those things that happened wouldn’t have.”
“We’re officers of the law, McPherson. Don’t expect too much from any of us, nor yourself.”
Once the captain had gone, McPherson sat down at the desk. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so drained. She was wondering what it might feel like to be starting in on a six month vacation, when the door opened and Aiden entered with Hardwood. McPherson didn’t even bother getting up, just told him to come in and sit down.
Hardwood carried himself with his usual confidence, and his face showed that he was feeling imposed upon. McPherson had to marvel at the man’s audacity. He was an evidenced murderer and he was in a police station, but instead of being frightened, he looked irritated.
“I quite realize,” Hardwood whined in a carping voice, “that it’s my duty as a citizen to help you as much as I can, but I have to admit you’ve chosen the most inconvenient time.”
“Sit down, Hardwood. Wait outside, will you, Aiden? I’ll call you in when I need you.”
Aiden looked disappointed. H
e wanted to take part in the kill, but he left as he was told.
“I was informed you wanted me to take a look at some pictures,” Hardwood said, completely calm. “I don’t see any reason for it, but since you insist, I’d prefer to get on with it.”
McPherson gazed at him with resigned dislike. “We found the tires, Hardwood. Are you wearing the shoes?”
The man grew pale, but he maintained his composure. “What are you talking about?” he demanded.
“The tires we found in the rafters of your garage. The ones you hid away after you bought new ones at Cliff’s Garage, out on Helter.” McPherson read out the details from the paper in front of her.
“Are you saying you’ve been prowling around my home?” Hardwood asked sarcastically, his hand performing a bizarre kneading motion against his cheek that McPherson had first noticed at the school.
“Prowling isn’t the right word. We obtained a search warrant, so it was all good and legal. Why did you kill Charlie?”
McPherson asked the question like she was asking for a cup of coffee.
Hardwood gave a short laugh. “Are you honestly saying that you think I killed the boy?”
“I know you killed him. The only thing I want to know now is why,” she answered back evenly.
“You can’t be serious.” He was nearly laughing in McPherson’s face. “Why would I want to kill him?”
“That was my question, Hardwood. Why?”
Hardwood looked at her stern face, and even he could see that McPherson had meant what she said.
“You really think I did it?”
He seemed to be having a difficult time accepting the fact that someone thought him capable of murder.
“I know you did. What I want to know is why.”
Hardwood sneered, and recrossed his legs. The bluntness of the accusation had jarred him, but his sense of self-confidence was beginning to return.
“I realize that I won’t be able to stop you from accusing me, but I can insist that you prove it.”
He stopped talking, clearly proud of his challenge, then carried on.
