A Murder In Parlor Harbor

by Arno B. Zimmer

  “In any case, even though Hitler committed suicide and left instructions for his body to be burned in a pit outside the Reich Chancellery, the Soviets were able to recover jaw fragments from the charred remains and then match them with records secured from Hitler’s dental assistants who they promptly locked up in prison for several years. The objective was to keep the rumors flying - like some conspiratorially-minded folks did with John Wilkes Booth - namely, that Hitler had escaped to Spain or even South America. If I’m not mistaken, Hitler’s teeth are now on display at some museum in the Ukraine. Certainly not on my short list of places to visit.”

  Doc Sauer took a deep breath and sat down. He had been pacing back and forth as he spoke, waving his arms in a theatrical way as is he was on stage performing a one-man show. He was looking off into the distance as if he was dreaming of some faraway land. Meacham got Jerry’s attention and signaled up with his forefinger. “It’s getting late and I’m off to bed. Great stories, Doc” said Jerry. Woody, as if on cue, followed Jerry out of the room and then Meacham nodded for Busbee to stay as he left the room with Gwen, leaving the attorney and the dentist alone together.

  Like everyone else, Busbee had enjoyed the stories but wanted some time alone with Doc Sauer to assess his reliability and to impress upon him the gravity of Woody’s predicament. There was a stern quality to his voice as he looked intently at Doc Sauer.

  “Tomorrow morning, I’d like you to examine a particular photograph from the crime scene that Woody mentioned to you and which is the primary reason why we wanted you to come to Parlor Harbor, Doctor. I think you do but we need to be absolutely certain that you appreciate how critical your analysis could be to Woody’s fate. We are not dealing with an amusing historical anecdote. I also have to ask – have you ever testified as an expert witness in a murder trial?”

  The sparkle was gone from Doc Sauer’s eyes as he looked at Busbee. “Don’t let my penchant for storytelling deceive you, Mr. Busbee. Examine Woody’s mouth if you don’t think I take my work seriously. I’m a perfectionist. Listen, I know my style – maybe even my appearance – can give some folks the wrong impression but let me assure you, I can be counted on. I also know that a certain presence in the courtroom is essential. Juries need to believe that someone giving so-called expert testimony is credible without being overbearing. Who’s going to believe the crazy uncle with the wild hair, right? And no, I have never been called to testify in any trial. Researching dental mysteries is my hobby – not my avocation. But I can give you my opinion and also help you find an expert.”

  Busbee had been closely watching Doc Sauer as he spoke. Meacham had told him about the graduation eve dinner revelation by Mrs. Birdsong regarding his long-deceased wife and Busbee needed to carefully assess Doc Sauer before proceeding. Busbee looked at everything through the prism of Woody’s upcoming trial. He would take no unnecessary risks.

  There was an uncomfortable silence as the two men looked at each other. It was almost as if Doc Sauer sensed the attorney’s caution when he said “Let me examine the photograph tomorrow, Mr. Busbee, and I will give you my opinion. I am too old to let my ego get battered by circumstances beyond my control. Even if I were qualified to serve as an expert witness, I can see the prosecution trying to portray me as a batty old man. We can’t have that, can we?”

  Busbee smiled and reached out his hand to Doc Sauer. “Come by the Inn around 9:00 tomorrow morning. I look forward to seeing you then.”

  Doc Sauer ambled off to bed. Jerry had moved in to bunk with Woody and they heard his heavy steps on the stairs. “He’s an original, Woody”, said Jerry. “I like him.” Jerry was sincere but had already made up his mind to do some detective work of his own with respect to the dentist.

  Downstairs, Meacham emerged from the kitchen and met Busbee at the front door. “Well?” he asked. “Interesting character, Billy. Let’s reserve judgment for now and see how convincing he is in the morning. If his analysis is credible, then we bring in an expert for confirmation.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Follow the Money

  Doc Sauer sat down in front of the display of crime scene photographs spread out on the bed in Busbee’s room at the inn. The attorney handed him the magnifying glass and said, “Just a reminder, Doctor, we are waiting for the D.A. to release the official shots so we can’t be sure that this set is complete.” Doc Sauer nodded and looked back at Billy Meacham standing by the window, then focused in on the photograph of Birdsie’s arm.

  It was only a few minutes before he looked up and pronounced, “They don’t look like knife wounds to me and I feel pretty comfortable saying that they are bite marks. In my judgment, the indentations were created by someone with very irregular teeth biting down quite hard on the victim’s forearm. Whoever did it has a vicious, almost savage side to him. Only someone with a raging, uncontrollable temper could inflict wounds that appear quite deep. Of course, you will want an expert opinion from a forensic odontologist. He will conduct a metric analysis and other tests but to me the wear patterns, the chips as well as the gaps between the teeth are pretty distinctive. A plaster impression of likely suspects is essential – including Woody, so as to eliminate him.”

  Meacham and Busbee were impressed and felt somewhat relieved. If Doc Sauer’s preliminary analysis could be confirmed, it could be another plus for exonerating Woody. Doc Sauer knew a few experts and offered to contact them. “Not yet, Doctor” Busbee cautioned. “Remember, we received these photos anonymously. They are not official crime scene evidence – only the ones released by the D.A. will be. As of now, no one is to know that we even have these photographs.”

  After a brief, awkward silence, Meacham said “Doctor Sauer, here’s our dilemma. There are no other suspects at this point and it doesn’t appear that the sheriff is looking for any. That’s why we’ve been forced to take matters into our own hands, so to speak. I don’t have any legal authority in Parlor Harbor and cannot divert resources from Parlor City to complete my unofficial investigation here. Jerry has taken one ride on the Happy Scotsman and is going to take another one in the hopes he can get at least one photo of Rudy Gantz and his cohorts together, preferably completing a drug transaction. We were wondering ----“and here Doc Sauer jumped up and interrupted Meacham. “Whatever the assignment, I’m your man. I just have one condition – that you start calling me Doc.”

  Meacham laughed and proceeded to describe Doc Sauer’s uncover assignment. He was to go to the Parlor Harbor State Bank and, as inconspicuously as possible, identify and then tail a Vice President by the name of Earl Melmotte. Meacham explained that they were particularly interested in one individual with whom Melmotte might meet and showed Doc Sauer the prison photo of Jakob Reisman. Doc Sauer grinned and rubbed his hands together rapidly. “Think of me as a male version of ‘Miss Marple’, gentlemen. Heck, maybe I could pass as her brother.” Meacham and Busbee looked at each other with puzzled expressions and Doc Sauer decided to let it go.

  ***

  Earl Melmotte sat in his plush, handsomely-appointed office, staring out the window. His aging father had started Parlor Harbor State Bank right after the Great Depression and, while he was still officially the chairman, rarely came into work. It was Earl’s bank now, for better or worse.

  Melmotte’s wife was down in Palm Beach closing up the house for the summer and would return soon, severely curtailing his ability to engage in any further nocturnal assignations. He missed playing polo at the club in Palm Beach and had no similar diversion in what he now considered quaint, backwater Parlor Harbor. But Earl Melmotte was in desperate need of more than exercise or feminine distraction.

  As he continued to look out the window, he scowled at the buzzing intercom. When the telephone rang, it was seldom good news. Other than the Florida property which was protected by the state’s homestead provision, all of his other assets were vulnerable and some of them had already been pledged as collateral – including his Parlor Harbor estate adjacent to the Patchett
compound. He still called his neighbor “The Oz” behind his back and was incredulous that such a lightweight, even with political contributions strategically made, could have actually been elevated to D.A. And then it struck Melmotte that it would be best to stay on Patchett’s good side. He cringed at the mere thought that he might need his help in the future.

  Melmotte had invested heavily in some risky penny stocks at the suggestion of one of his polo-playing friends down in Palm Beach and got caught up in more than one classic “pump and dump” grift. To assuage his pain and reverse his fortunes, he made one too many junkets to Las Vegas, hoping for the big score. Invariably, he came home even deeper in debt and, when friends asked how he did, would reply sardonically “I just bought another chandelier at The Dunes but I did get to shake hands with Frank Sinatra”. Now, not only was he facing the looming due dates on several business loans but he was also receiving increasingly strident phone calls from his bookie.

  And then in what could only be called a serendipitous moment, Earl was approached by a Canadian who wanted to secure part ownership in a boat. The Canadian had been down at the dock and had heard the scuttlebutt about a certain steamboat owner who was in financial difficulty. He also learned that Parlor Harbor State Bank held a mortgage on the boat and might be forced to repossess it due to continued late payments.

  Melmotte was puzzled by the Canadian’s interest in owning only part of a boat but, eager to get at least one sour loan cleaned up, quickly hooked him up with Hap MacQuarrie. The last thing Melmotte wanted was to have the bank stuck with a repossessed boat. The deal was consummated very quickly thanks, in part, to the pressure that Melmotte put on the boat’s desperate captain. There was something rich about the banker lecturing Hap MacQuarrie about his financial imprudence but Earl Melmotte had a talent for overlooking his own shortcomings.

  It was only a few weeks after the boat transaction was completed that the Canadian invited Melmotte to join him for lunch over in Port Ryan and, as the banker sipped dry martinis, the two got chummy and Reisman hinted at other business opportunities. A few days later, they met again and the banker, poking the olive in his martini with his index finger, loosened up and revealed his own financial crisis, thereby losing any leverage he might have had in the ensuing discussion. The tea-totaling Reisman just smiled and listened. Before they parted, the Canadian made a highly unorthodox and illegal proposition which, if Melmotte accepted, would help the banker significantly reduce his mounting debts.

  All Melmotte had to do was to wire weekly cash deposits made by the Canadian to an account in the Cayman Islands. In return, the banker was instructed to take twenty percent of the cash off the top for his efforts.

  There was a time in the past when Earl Melmotte would have been offended and sent the Canadian on his way. He might even have reported him to banking authorities. He could afford to be righteous then. But now, he convinced himself that his lack of scruples was a temporary, even forgivable indiscretion. And so Earl Melmotte succumbed to the temptation put before him by the Canadian. After his account was set up, the Canadian made it clear that he did not want to come to the bank to make future deposits. After some mild resistance, basically for form, Earl Melmotte agreed to wait for a weekly call to rendezvous with Jakob Reisman and bring a bag of cash back to the bank. His dutiful surrender to the Canadian was now complete.

  ***

  For Rudy Gantz, a dull, new routine had set in since the blow-up with Reisman over the Birdsong drug deal. If he wasn’t sulking in his apartment back in Port Ryan, he rode back and forth along the coast on the upper deck of the Happy Scotsman, usually in the privacy of Hap MacQuarrie’s sitting room. Occasionally, he disembarked to accompany the Clintocks as they made their deliveries to the dealers that Reisman had set up in the various towns along the boat’s route. Rudy’s only real assignment was to tally the weekly take and deliver it on to his partner.

  The redhead had to admit that he was fortunate in at least one respect as he read with fiendish pleasure the newspaper coverage of the Birdsong murder investigation and the pending trial of Woody Meacham.

  Reisman had earlier hinted at setting up an operation in Florida for Rudy to run but even the redhead sensed that it might be merely a ploy to placate him. He was on the verge of telling Reisman to cash him out so he could set up his own illicit enterprise where he would once again be the kingpin. He understood that the drug money had to be laundered but Rudy wanted to feel it in his hands. While anxious and frustrated, he had to admit that – except for his abortive attempt to strike a side deal with the college kids - the operation was running smoothly. He wanted out but concluded that he should give it a bit more time before demanding that Reisman give him his cut.

  ***

  Lt. Fogarty, agreeing with Meacham that his continued snooping would raise suspicions around Parlor City, had Sweeney surveil Devil’s Corner, the Parlor City Pool Emporium and various other haunts frequented by the town’s sub-culture. Sweeney had shown on the trip to find Drebek that he could handle himself in difficult situations plus he was young and brash, ideal attributes for the assignment. He had a natural swagger that was engaging and added a touch of braggadocio to his patois, enabling him when out of uniform to deflect any suggestion that he might be a cop.

  Sweeney’s instructions also included drifting through The Projects from time to time and, at a moment when hard work and luck sometimes intersect, he observed the Clintocks returning home with two large suitcases. Back at the station a few hours later, Sweeney started to tell his story to Fogarty who, unhappy with the desultory pace, urged him to hurry on. “Nothing suspicious, yet, right Lieutenant? Well, I hung in there for a while waiting for them to come out and sure enough they do. So, I follow at a distance and they get back on the road to Parlor Harbor.” Sweeney paused and let Fogarty complete the story. “Tell me they left without the suitcases, Danny boy” Fogarty said excitedly. “You got it, boss” Sweeney said, beaming from ear to ear.

  Fogarty called Meacham with the news and asked if he wanted Sweeney sent up to Parlor Harbor to track the Clintocks’ activities. “Let’s have him continue to nose around down there for the time being, Fogie. Could be that our boys are moving all or part of the drug operation down there. The situation is very fluid right now so things could change in a heartbeat. Hey, tell the kid good work.”

  ***

  It was still two hours before the Happy Scotsman was scheduled to leave on its daily voyage when Hap MacQuarrie saw Rudy Gantz boarding the boat with the Clintocks dutifully trailing behind. He had promised Meacham he would be careful but was determined to catch the redhead in the office opening one of the cabinets. He prayed that today would be his chance.

  Hap walked down to the lower deck and saw the Clintocks sitting in deck chairs staring out at the water. They could have been asleep, or frozen in place, for there was not a flicker of life from either of them as Hap gingerly passed by. Rudy was nowhere in sight.

  Outside the office, Hap decided that timidity was not his friend and that the best course of action was to burst in and act surprised if he encountered anyone. It worked. Rudy was kneeling in front of one of the cabinets with the door open, stuffing small packets into the duffle bag that Hap had seen one of the Clintocks bring on board. Rudy looked up at Hap with momentary fear which quickly turned to anger. “What is it, MacQuarrie? I’m busy” he snapped.

  “Uh, didn’t know you were in here, dobber” Hap said sarcastically. “I’m looking for the safety checklist for the harbor master. It’s due before we sail.” Rudy padlocked the cabinet, glared at Hap and stormed out.

  Rudy was standing next to the Clintocks when Hap exited the office. They all eyed him suspiciously but said nothing. “Found what I was looking for” said Hap breezily, waving a piece of paper in his hand as he strolled away murmuring boggin bampots just loud enough to make Rudy turn his head. There was no safety report due that day. Hap was clutching the carry-out menu for a nearby deli.

  Hap had leveled
a few choice insults with impunity and felt sure that his father was laughing in his grave.

  ***

  Doc Sauer walked into the Parlor Harbor State Bank and went to the receptionist desk. Soon, he was sitting across from the Branch Manager, a Miss Bertha Pettebone, filling out paperwork to open up an account.

  “Cute little town you have here, Miss Pettebone. I’ve decided to spend some time here and might even be interested in acquiring some property. Who would I need to speak with to discuss financing?”

  “Our loan officer, Mr. Winslow, is out today, Mr. Sauer, but he will be back in the morning if you’d like to stop back then”, she said politely but officiously. “And that gentleman, perhaps he could be of help?” inquired Doc Sauer, gesturing toward a man standing outside an office in the rear of the bank.

  “Oh, heavens no, that’s Mr. Melmotte. He runs the bank, sir. He doesn’t get involved in loan applications until the final approval process.” Miss Pettibone smiled and shook her head. She looked disdainfully at Doc Sauer as if he was a child who had just asked a silly, impertinent question. Doc Sauer bit his lip and smiled benignly but wished he had a pair of dental forceps in his pocket. With one violent tug, he could eject one of her pearly white incisors and wipe that supercilious grin off her face.

  “Very well, then, Miss Pettyness, I will come by tomorrow to see Mr. Windmill” said Doc Sauer, getting up from his chair and starting to walk away. “But about your account, sir. You didn’t complete the forms and ……” Miss Pettebone was flustered and aghast, as she fiddled with the top button of her silk blouse. She was so married to bank procedure and protocol that she didn’t know what to do when they broke down. Finally, she blurted out, “My name is Pettebone and its Winslow not Windmill” but Doc Sauer was already out the door and beyond earshot. “What a peculiar old man” she said, shaking her head dismissively.