THE BUTLER

by Bill WENHAM

  Across the road from the police vehicles, another car was parked. It had been there when they’d arrived and the driver watched them go inside the apartment block. There’d been no reason why any one of them should have taken a particular interest in it. It was merely a parked car on the street, just like many others.

  The driver took a clip board from the seat beside him as they disappeared from his view. This time he’d really got the detective’s attention. The police dearly loved to protect their own and Spicer had failed completely and miserably. What’s more, even though he’d been warned, he still hadn’t seen it coming.

  And this time, he’d even brought the other girl with him! Good God, Spicer, just how dumb can you be?

  It was obviously time to get closer and a lot more personal now. He slipped on a pair of thin surgical gloves and reached into a plastic shopping bag. He withdrew a new package of inkjet paper, tore it open and took out a single page. Then, after placing it on the clipboard for support and taking a cheap Bic pen from his pocket, he began to print his next message. It read:

  ‘You were so near and yet so far today, Detective Spicer, since you drove right past me in your hurry to get here. You do remember my car being parked right across the road, don’t you? No? Ah, preoccupied then, were you? I was sitting there watching you, Detective, and you didn’t even notice me! Up until now, I had thought you were quite smart but I obviously must now revise my opinion of you, mustn’t I? Next time, and believe me, there will be a next time, do try to be a little more observant. Isn’t that what real detectives do

  Yours truly,

  The Butler.

  The man folded the note carefully, picked up a wad of flyers from the seat beside him and got out of the car. He walked casually down the street, slipping a flyer under the wiper of each of the cars he passed.

  When he reached the last one he crossed the road and started back doing the same thing on the other side. As he came to Sandy’s car, he slipped his note under the wiper instead of a flyer and went on to the next one.

  The next one, in this case, was the crime scene van and he continued with his routine of placing a flyer under its wiper and under the wipers of each of the other two patrol cars as well.

  By this time he was directly outside the front door of the apartment block. The uniformed cop from the elevator had seen him approaching with the flyers and had moved outside.

  “And what will be goin’ on inside there then?” he asked the cop, in a thick Irish brogue.

  “Police business, sir. Just move along there please. There’s nothing at all here for you to see.”

  “Right you are, officer. If there’s nothin’ for me t’ see, then I’ll not be lookin’ then, now will I?” he said smiling, as he swaggered briskly away down the block. The cop called after him, “And we don’t need all that crap stuck all over our windshields either, buddy,” he said.

  As the ‘Irishman’ turned the corner, he took a baseball cap and some glasses from his pocket and put them on. Then he removed the bright blue windbreaker he’d been wearing, turned it inside out and slung it over his shoulder. With only the black lining now showing, the coat looked totally different. Underneath it he’d worn an old and stained white Dodgers tee shirt, together with jeans. On his feet were well worn brown boat shoes.

  Once he’d made the changes to his appearance, he crossed the road again to the side where his car was parked. But now, as he walked, he was slouched forward and he merely shuffled along, obviously in a lot of pain. Just some minor changes only but to an accomplished actor, props and body language could be as important as any actually spoken words.

  Across the road, the cop saw an old man get slowly and painfully into a car and drive away. As far as he was concerned, he had spoken to one nosey Irishman delivering flyers on foot. And he’d seen another man, an older one, who seemed to be suffering from some kind of back pain, get into a car and drive it away.

  Later, when he was asked if he could describe either of the men or the car any further, he wouldn’t be able to.

  When he drove away, the man removed the glasses and cap and smiled to himself. The flyers he’d slipped under the various windshields had been legitimate enough. They were advertising a furniture store’s going out of business sale. He had taken a genuine one down from a lamp post and had photocopied a dozen or so copies of it. But only Spicer’s wiper had held the Butler’s note.

  The cop at the door had even watched him do it all and hadn’t even noticed the surgical gloves. It was not really surprising since, after he’d placed the last of the flyers, the man had stuck his hands deep into his windbreaker’s pockets.

  These had all been diversionary tactics, just ploys to give the cop something else to look at so he wouldn’t notice the obvious. As far as he was concerned, he’d seen two totally different people and neither of them had given him any cause for suspicion.

  Under these circumstances, why would he remember a particular car or any of its details? It didn’t really matter if he did, since it had been stolen only a few hours earlier. It would also be abandoned no more than a half an hour later as well.

  It was all a matter of diversion and deceit. The man had read somewhere once, if you wanted to commit a crime, then do it in broad daylight in front of hundreds of people. Chances were that, first of all, no one would actually see you do it and of those that did, as witnesses, they would all describe you differently. Secondly, no two of the witnesses would probably describe what had happened either accurately or in the same way.

  What was it they say? Never let the right hand know what the left is doing, or never let the cop know what the criminal is doing either.

  But in this case, clues had been left to let the cop know what was happening, except Detective Spicer seemed to be determined to ignore any clues that had been left for him. The note he’d placed under the detective’s windshield would provide yet another deliberate clue to the Butler’s identity, but only if the cop was smart enough to pick up on it.

  There was a catch though. He had to do it on his own. The Butler would continue to eliminate any of his squad who gave him too much help.

  Newton Winders would be next, because of his mention of the Wars of the Roses. And also because it was quite obvious Spicer believed Ellie Todd, the female cop he had with him today, was the next target.

  Wrong again, Detective Spicer!

  Chapter Five

  Ellie lost it as soon as she saw Sharon Sullivan’s body laid out on the bed. Fortunately for all of us, I guess, she made it to the bathroom before throwing up. I told Wayne to take her back down to the car when she came out. I’d have to impress on her there was no shame in her reaction to Sharon’s death. I’d done the same thing myself in the early days, just as Wayne had done as well.

  I was the guy in charge and it was me everyone was looking to for further instructions. I made a careful search of the area, not expecting to find a thing, just like all the other times. Once again, the Butler had left nothing except Sullivan’s body. And a white silk rose. Why a white one, I wondered as I removed it into a plastic collection bag.

  All the necessary photographs and dusting for prints had already been done by the time we arrived. The medical examiner had completed his preliminary examination and an ambulance crew was now waiting to remove the body. The forensics crew had already been and was now gone.

  I gave the ambulance guys a curt nod to okay the removal of the body and turned away. My own stomach was churning today just as it had been when I was a rookie. I called two of the uniforms over and asked them to begin an apartment by apartment search for possible witnesses. Had anyone heard anything and more importantly, had anyone seen the intruder. I instructed them, unnecessarily, not to mention what had happened, other than there’d been an incident. They could advise the neighbors someone had died but not to mention how it had occurred. They both gave me a ‘yeah, right’ kind of look and went out to knock on doors.

  I realized it wouldn’t take too mu
ch imagination anyway once the neighbors saw the body being placed in the ambulance. At least no one had apparently notified the media yet.

  I took one more look around, peeled off the surgical gloves I’d put on when I had entered Sullivan’s apartment and put them in my pocket. I would dispose of them later.

  I headed down the hallway to the elevator and rode it back down to the ground floor. As the elevator door opened, I was greeted by a chorus of shouted questions from the gathered media. Of course someone had called the bloody media. Probably all of them had. Who was I kidding anyway? I wouldn’t have been surprised if their very first call had come from the Butler himself.

  I pushed my way through the shouting crowd and out to the patrol car. Even as I got in and tried to close the door someone thrust a mike in my face.

  “Move it or lose it,” I snarled, obviously about to slam the door on the intruding hand. It was quickly withdrawn along with angry fist thumps on my window.

  At a nod from me, Wayne pulled out of the parking space, scattering the assembled reporters.

  Ellie sat in the back, face pale and eyes red rimmed.

  “I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” she mumbled tearfully. “That was pretty damned unprofessional of me. I feel so stupid but it was the first time I’ve ever seen a dead body, and especially a murdered one. Sharon. Someone I knew, even.”

  “Don’t be sorry, Ellie. You just did what we both wanted to do. And it is something all of us have done before, at some time or another. We’ve all done it before, right Wayne?”

  “Right, Lieutenant, and there’s no shame in showing compassion, Ellie.”

  “There is shame in showing fear though, Wayne, and I was absolutely terrified up there. I still am. I’m supposed to be a cop, not just a female one, goddamn it!”

  “And you are, Ellie. A damned good one at that and let’s not forget we’ve just lost our Sullivan in there. Someone has to show some emotion and I guarantee neither one of us will ever breathe a word of this to anyone, right, Wayne?”

  Wayne nodded vigorously as I continued.

  “Also, if any of those uniforms up there so much as look at you sideways, Ellie, I’ll make damned sure they‘ll be pounding a beat until they take retirement, okay?”

  “It’s just you guys never show any fear, no matter what goes down. Christ, Lieutenant, you even got a medal for bravery. Vince Patino wouldn’t be here right now if it hadn’t been for you, would he? And you know that, don’t you?”

  I gave a derisive snort.

  “And you think I wasn’t scared saving Patino, Ellie? Of course I was bloody scared, scared shitless, in fact. I was terrified of being burned alive in there. But I had to get Patino out, Ellie. Why did I have to get him out? Because I couldn’t get past him any other way, that’s why.”

  I looked back at her over the seat.

  “Let me tell you something, Police Officer Todd. Scared cops survive. Scared cops are careful cops. Scared cops are good cops and don’t you ever forget it, Ellie. It’s the idiots that think they’re invincible that end up dead. Never try to be a female Bruce Willis either. It wouldn’t look good on you for one thing and in any case, if things go hairy for the movie guys, they get to make a few more takes and no one gets hurt. We get only the one shot and we can get hurt.”

  “And we also like you just the way you are,” Wayne chimed in, “Tears and all.”

  “Thanks, guys. I won’t ever let it happen again.”

  I reached back, grabbed her hand and held it.

  “Welcome to the real world, Ellie Todd. Just try not to let it get to you in future and if it does happen again, so it happens. It’s no big deal, so don’t make it into one, okay? We’ll handle it as a team then too so try not to worry about it. You’ll be just fine.”

  She squeezed my hand gratefully, wiped her other hand across her red rimmed eyes and gave me the smallest ghost of a smile.

  Suddenly, as I looked back at her in the rear seat, she seemed to have that trusting, vulnerable look of a tiny frightened child on her tear streaked face. And I also suddenly realized she was beautiful, very beautiful, in fact. She had the kind of look I’ve always found so attractive in a woman. Several movie actresses and entertainers have it. It’s that delightful turn up at the edges of their mouths, like Meg Ryan, Cameron Diaz, Michelle Fiefer, Reba Macintyre and Jacqueline Smith. I’d just never noticed her properly before, other than as a member of my squad, but I’d never felt the need to protect her before either.

  Chapter Six

  A week and a half has now gone by and I’ve achieved absolutely nothing. Naturally no one at the apartment had seen anything or anybody. And equally naturally, no one had heard anything either. Makes you wonder why so many of them called the media when nothing at all was happening, though, doesn’t it?

  The cop on duty at the elevator proved to be worse than useless. He said he’d seen two guys outside and he’d spoken to one of them. He’d even spoken to the guy who’d put the Butler’s note on our windshield, for God’s sake! This idiot had both seen and spoken directly to the Butler!

  But do you think, even with police training, he could describe the guy? No, of course he couldn’t, other than the fact he was Irish! There was no doubt at all in his mind about that, he said firmly.

  English? Irish? What would he be the next time he surfaced? Russian, maybe?

  “Oh, yeah, Lieutenant, and he was wearing a blue windbreaker. At least, I think it was blue.”

  I thought, with anger and exasperation, the guy could’ve been wearing the Stars and Stripes as a skirt, and this dumb cop still wouldn’t be quite sure!

  I sarcastically asked him if he was sure it was a guy he’d spoken to. He said he thought it was a guy, but here in the city you could never be really sure of that either, could you?

  I sure hoped, for his sake, this excuse for a cop had a good second job lined up somewhere because he sure as hell wasn’t going to go too far in this one.

  All in all, it had been a really depressing and useless ten days. The only upside of it was the Butler hadn’t killed anyone else during that time. At least, if he had, we hadn’t heard about it yet.

  Those of us that were able to attended Sharon Sullivan’s funeral. Although she’d been a cop and many of her friends and associates from other divisions showed up, she hadn’t been killed in the line of duty, so the funeral was not as big an event as it could have been. Technically, she was just another murder victim.

  The Mayor and the Police Commissioner made a token appearance and I was glad, although I was her boss, our own Chief gave a beautiful eulogy for her. Somebody else must have written it for him though, since he wasn’t the kind of guy to come up with that kind of emotion on his own.

  The media took numerous shots of the Mayor and Commissioner with Sullivan’s grieving parents and her younger sister. Never a one to miss a good photo op, our Commissioner, no matter what the occasion was.

  I also had the eerie feeling that somewhere out in the crowd the Butler was there amongst us, watching, waiting and gloating.

  The Sullivans invited everyone back to their home for the traditional funeral food and drinks, but most of us begged off. Pressure of work, I said, criminals to catch and all that. I felt such a clumsy and insensitive fool the moment the words were out of my mouth.

  Mrs. Sullivan smiled sadly and gently, put her hand on my arm and kissed my cheek.

  “Thank you Lieutenant,” she said softly, “We understand, but even if you catch him, it won’t bring our daughter back to us, will it? But we thank you for trying anyway.”

  Sharon’s father shook each of our hands as he struggled, lips trembling, to maintain his dignity and composure. His other daughter just stood beside him, head down and sobbed quietly. Finally, and thankfully, the Chief came over to take the three of them away to join the Mayor and his group.

  “You reckon he’s here somewhere don’t you, Boss?” Wayne asked me as we walked back over to the parked cars. We had brought Ellie and Jan Lang
ham with us and we would all go back now to the precinct.

  “Yeah, Wayne, that’s the feeling I’m getting. I don’t think he could bear to miss an opportunity to have us all grouped together like this.”

  Newt Winders and Petrocelli got into the car next to us and also headed back. I was perhaps a little unreasonably pleased at the way Ellie had handled herself today. She had been both composed and dry eyed throughout the entire ordeal. I wanted to tell her this was the right time for tears, even from a cop, but I also knew what a huge effort it was for her to remain calm.

  Jan Langham had made up for it though and had sniffled throughout the whole ceremony. She’d been one of Sullivan’s closer friends on the force and her murder had hit Jan hard.

  It did nothing to improve the mood of our day to find another message from the Butler waiting for us when we got back.

  This one said:

  “I hope you all enjoyed the funeral today, but you are beginning to annoy and tire me, Detective Spicer. You people with your fancy police mandate. What is it now? You maintain law and order and protect the public. That is so completely laughable since you can’t protect anything, not even yourselves, as I’ve already just proven to you. You are doing nothing at all other than running around tilting at windmills, with your faithful sidekick tagging along. Wayne, isn’t it? Well, of course it is. But believe me, your monsters are not imaginary ones like those of poor Don Quixote, are they, Detective? I am so very, very real and I am extremely monstrous. My next victim, however, has nothing at all to do with windmills, but the winds of change will most certainly be blowing! I can see now, though, that I have been idle far too long. So just take a look through a new glass darkly, Detective, to see clearly what is coming next. My next potential victim’s life depends solely upon your action. I do sincerely trust you will not rest easily.

  To make matters so much worse, this message was delivered, not in an exaggerated English accent, but in a thick Irish brogue!