I'll Protect You (Clueless Resolutions Book 1) (7 page)

Friday got off to a better start.  It was sunny and dry in East Wayford.  Like most everywhere in the U.S., folks in the community were getting ready for the Memorial Day long weekend.

Maggie and Max were finishing an inspection of a vacant unit of a duplex residential condominium.  It was their last appointment for the day.

“Well, Max, that does it”, she said while locking the entry door, “Are you and the family having the annual cook-out?”

Max shook his head.  “Not this year.” he answered somberly.  “My mother’s heart bypass hasn’t gone as well as expected.  I stopped in last Sunday, on her birthday, and she told me that another operation has been scheduled.  She’s a little down, right now.  It doesn’t look good, so my sisters and I decided to pass the holiday and wait for the outcome before we get together.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Maggie said, sympathetically.  Then, with a sudden impulse, she proffered a suggestion to Max.

“I haven’t got anything planned either.  Do you feel like taking off for Falmouth, or somewhere else on The Cape? Or are you too bummed out with your mother’s heart problem?”

“No, I’m okay, this has been going on for a while now.” he replied.  Then, with a quizzical, one-raised-eyebrow half smile, he asked Maggie, “What else have you got in mind?”

After a quick discussion about her going to her apartment to change and pack an overnight case and tennis racket, and he checking on his apartment building, they agreed to meet at “Jerry’s” for a late lunch.

Twenty minutes later they were at the bar having a one martini lunch, watching TV as they ate.  The local news re-ran a segment from the noon news broadcast.  When it showed the image of Detective Salvadore being interviewed through his police cruiser driver’s window, they both stopped to listen to his comments.

The interview had taken place two days before, as Salvadore was leaving the police station parking lot.

“Here’s your favorite cop on the beat.” Max said to Maggie, teasingly.

After the interview concerning the mysterious killings signed off, Maggie couldn’t contain her incredulousness.

“Do you believe that pompous jerk?” she asked rhetorically.  “That pretentious, arrogant, freaking asshole is talking down to the public like that when he hasn’t got a clue as to who’s responsible!”  “No wonder the State had to be called in.” she said loudly enough for anybody to hear.

Jerry Pippin, washing glasses at the other end of the bar overheard Maggie’s comments.

“Now, now mates, do I hear dissatisfaction with our local men in blue?” he directed toward Maggie.

“Just with one of them, if you can call a jackass a man!,” Maggie quipped.  She knew that Salvadore was a sometimes patron of Jerry’s Jug because she had noticed him there a few times when he was off-duty.  She also knew that Jerry would never take up sides with, or against, a customer.

“Big plans for the holiday, you two?” asked Jerry, tactfully changing the subject.

“Nothing formal, we’re heading out to The Cape for a little R and R. …well, a little
rest
but I don’t know about the
recuperation
” Max jokingly responded,  “Are you ready Maggie?” he asked, as he stood up to pay the tab.

“Let’s hit the road…catch you later Jerry.” she responded with a wave to him.

Within ten minutes they were on highway I-95 north, keeping up with the traffic, typically at 75 mph, ten miles over the speed limit.  Doing what had become almost a habit, of late, Max watched the rear view mirror.

“God dammit!” Max exclaimed, “There’s a dark blue car that seems to be sticking to our ass.  He’s hanging back but keeping a steady pace.”

At that, he accelerated and moved past several cars. Max then pulled to the right travel lane and slowed down after going over a small rise in the road.  When the blue car came along side Maggie and Max strained to see the driver.

“Those freaking tinted windows, I can’t make out what he looks like.” Maggie complained.  As the car swung into the lane directly in front they could see, through its rear window, the silhouette of a woman driver with a cell phone held to her ear.

“Well, he is a she, and doesn’t look that dangerous.” Max said.  The blue car slowed and exited the highway at the next ramp.

“False alarm” said Max tensely.

“Jesus, are we getting paranoid, or what!” Maggie stated in the form of a question.

After a few quiet moments Maggie broke the silence.

“I hope the usual back up going through Providence has thinned out a little before we get onto I-195.” she wished out loud.  She hated sitting in heavy traffic.  There were alternate routes having fewer traffic tie-ups but they were not nearly as direct.

As they drove on toward Rhode Island both Max and Maggie began to relax. They felt relieved leaving behind the non-stop pressure cooker that their lives had become.  Once tuned in to their favorite oldies music on a satellite station and feeling a little giddy, they passed the time for a while singing along like teenagers having their first experience with unsupervised freedom, each laughing at the other when the lyrics or the tune were botched up.

The tension lines on Maggie’s face were disappearing.  Max loved that after-hours smile of hers and he was thinking ahead to a relaxing dinner. He stepped up the speed just a notch.

After crossing the state line into Rhode Island and having cruised through portions of Hopkinton, West Greenwich and Coventry, the travelers entered Warwick as they approached Providence, the state capital.

At the point that they passed the exit leading to Green Airport, the traffic began to thicken.  For two miles after that they were in four lanes of an inching along, stop-and-go mixture of commuter cars and semi-trailer rigs.  All were struggling to squeeze through a major highway intersection which was under a re-design construction project.  Also, it was during the Friday-after-work rush.

One way to avoid this bottle neck while driving to Cape Cod from Southern Connecticut, or from New York, was via Interstate 295 around Providence to connect to I- 495 in Wrentham, Massachusetts and then south to the Cape Cod Canal bridges.  The other alternative was by crossing Narragansett Bay through southern Rhode Island to Jamestown and Newport via route RI 138 which crossed I-95 in Richmond. That route was on a two lane, rural road until it reached Jamestown. After that there were two suspension bridges, one of which charged a toll.  This picturesque drive offered travelers a gorgeous view of Narragansett Bay and a hint of what colonial America looked like.  When taking that route, however, travel time was hard to estimate.  This was great for vacationing through New England, but for two pass-through motorists, intent on reaching an idyllic setting on outer Cape Cod in record time, it was a non-choice on this day.

Fifteen minutes after being slowed by traffic Maggie and Max crossed into Massachusetts and were up to speed again on I-195 East, almost half way to one of their favorite long weekend getaways.

They had mutual friends in Hyannis who owned a year-round shingle style cottage near the waterfront. Between their cottage and the water they had a guest house, a swimming pool and a tennis court. The friends were also members of a local beach/tennis club. Although the plan was to stay in Falmouth, Max and Maggie would not turn down an invite to stay with the friends, if asked.

The Memorial Day celebration was in full swing in East Wayford on a sunny, but cool, late-May holiday morning.

Around 8:30 AM, two police squad cars with sirens burping and all lights flashing were heralding a parade.  It started with a local Boy Scout troop, the East Wayford high school band, a platoon of American Legionnaires and two cars carrying senior war veterans.  Then there was a squad of the local police led by Chief Lou Devaro, in full dress regalia, flanked on his left by Detective Joe Salvadore and on his right by Arlene, Chief Devaro’s secretary.  They were followed by Mayor Gene VanDyke, swaying along on arthritic legs, accompanied by five of the seven- member town council.  Next there was a U.S. Coast Guard honor guard and station crew, trailed by the fire chief in his glittering red and chrome fire car.  Two fire trucks with horns blaring, and finally, a totally lit up police squad-car brought up the rear.

As the parade wound through the village heading to the World War I Memorial on the town common, a smallish, spread out crowd of spectators lined the sidewalks.  Many were seniors sitting on aluminum lawn chairs waving small American flags.

A street vendor with his huge, waving, helium-filled balloon bunch had previously hawked quite a few colorful, overpriced mementos of the day to the youngsters.  He was making his second pass when Chief Devaro’s black personal police cruiser pulled up beside the marching chief and his squad.

Police Chief Devaro halted the squad and a brief conference ensued.  The chief turned to Salvadore and instructed him to take over the lead.  The chief entered the passenger side of his cruiser, still closing the door as the cruiser abruptly turned up a side street and sped away.

Salvadore, caught up in the ceremonial spirit of the day, and feeling very important filling in for the chief, barked the order for attention to the squad, turned on his heel very military-like and ordered the squad to march.

Salvadore was out of step with the band tempo as he strode proudly along with his best official face on.  His following squad marchers were stifling smiles and some of them deliberately double-stepped two or three times to exaggerate the confusion.  A camera man from the local TV channel eagerly caught the action.

As Chief Lou Devaro entered the police headquarters he was met by Inspector Donald Chace, the state police investigator assigned to assist the East Wayford police department relating to the recent homicides.  Chace was starting his fourth day in East Wayford.

“Our main barracks got a call around 7:50 AM from the Town of Sheffield police.  A dead body was reportedly found outside a residence and death by natural causes was doubtful.  They relayed the call to me since I’m assigned here in East Wayford. I spoke to the head constable there and, based on his description of the scene, I thought you would want to check it out.  The body was still warm at the time it was found.” he stated.

“You’re right about that, let’s go.” a grim-faced Chief Devaro said.

They went out to the black cruiser and Chief Devaro proceeded to drive eastward out of town toward the First Selectman’s office at the Sheffield Town Hall.

He knew Everet Franklin, the First Selectman, from the N E A C P meetings, an association of New England police chiefs. A first selectman’s authority was similar to that of a mayor.

Franklin was known as “Doc” Franklin to practically everyone in the area.  Doc was a retired veterinarian in his early eighties and he had been First Selectman of Sheffield for over twenty years.

During the drive to Sheffield Don Chace briefed the chief according to the information he had received about the male victim.  There were some similarities to the evidence in the East Wayford homicides.

He asked Lou if Detective Salvadore, who he been working with, would be ‘pissed-off’ because of not being included.  The chief replied in the negative, the reason being that “the venue was not within Salvadore’s jurisdiction.”  The chief also added that he had left Salvadore in charge of the police detail at the parade, which included the following ceremony, an assignment that was “well suited to him.”  Inspector Chace nodded in acceptance with a wry smile as he diverted his gaze out the passenger side window.  Glancing over, Chief Devaro noticed the smile in a reflection from the cruiser window.

After a fifteen minute drive into Sheffield they arrived at the Town Office Building.

Sheffield was a sparsely populated agricultural town abutting East Wayford on its northeast border.  The town had several appointed constables but the State Police maintained a regular police patrol presence there.

“Hey Doc, how have you been?” Lou Devaro asked, in the form of a greeting, when they entered the First Selectman’s office.

“Fair-to-middling, Lou.” Doc responded in his well-worn, old-time dialect.

After an introduction of Inspector Chace to Doc Franklin, the trio went over some details of the East Wayford homicides and all agreed that there appeared to be similarities.

Chief Devaro and Inspector Chace got directions to the scene from Doc.  As they were about to leave Doc asked if he could “tag along”.  He indicated that if this death was ruled a homicide, it would be the first one in the history of the Town.

“I don’t get many chances at firsts at my age.” he said.

Lou nodded and, with a chuckle, responded, “I hear ya, Doc, we’ll drop you off back here after the inspector finishes.”

On the ride to 410 Old Persia Road, the scene of the dead body discovery, Doc told the chief and the inspector that on Sunday, the previous day, the owners of the residence had gone out of state an on overnight Memorial Day family reunion and picnic.

The house was recently listed for sale by a local realty brokerage.  Doc didn’t recall the name off hand, but the sign at the property would show a telephone number.

He continued on with how the body was discovered in the driveway at around 1:00 AM by the next door neighbor.  As was the local habit, the owners had asked their neighbor to keep an eye on the property while they were away.  The neighbor had noticed head lights moving along the driveway through the shrubs.  When the neighbor wasn’t able to reach the owners by cell phone, he walked over to investigate.

Upon arriving on the grim scene he called 911.  The state trooper on patrol responded around the same time as the rescue truck.  They could not get a pulse but the body was still warm.  Resuscitation procedures were started and were maintained on the rescue truck ride until it reached the hospital, but to no avail.  The trooper had filed a report at his barracks at the end of his shift and had left for home.

The trio of law officials turned onto Old Persia Road and drove to the scene of the suspected crime.  As they approached the address they could see an SUV with flashing lights parked across the driveway.  Standing beside his SUV was an old time local constable, looking like a sheriff in a western movie with his wide brimmed hat and a strapped on revolver hanging off his hip.

The chief pulled his cruiser to the side of the road and they got out.   Police barrier tape was strung across the driveway entrance.

“Hello Doc” said the constable as the group approached, “I’ve been standing guard here since the others left, at the request of the trooper.  I didn’t get his name, but he wore badge number 301.”

“Thanks Bill,” Doc responded, “I’ll get relief for you within a half hour, or so.  Will that be Okay?”   The constable agreed and proceeded to explain that they would see a tarpaulin on the driveway where the body had lain.

“I’ll need that tarp back as soon as you folks are done,” he added.

“Okay Bill, I’ll make sure of it”, promised the first selectman. “Has anyone else come by since you’ve been here?” he asked of the constable.

“Yeah, a landscaping crew showed up around quarter to seven. They got here for an early start on a landscaping overhaul operation, which had been pre-arranged for today, at a time when the family was away.” responded the constable.

Inspector Chace nodded knowingly.  He and his family lived in a suburban area.  He knew from his own experience that these could be noisy, smoky, affairs with the power mowers, chippers, clippers and blowers all churning away at the same time.  It was customary to suggest that the occupants be away at the time.

Based on the suggestion from the constable, and since the area had been taped off with the yellow police tape, the landscapers had canceled the operation and left

The chief, the inspector and the first selectman walked slowly down and through a shallow valley, crunching along on a 200 ft. long crushed-stone driveway. It was lined with overgrown shrubbery that practically hid the house from view.

At fifty feet from the house and garage another line of police tape had been staked around the area.  A quick scan of the scene showed a late model Jaguar coupe bearing the Connecticut Vanity license plate MINE, parked on an angle in a turn-around space off to the left side of the driveway.  The driver’s door was open and a set of car keys were on the crushed stone driveway, approximately eight feet away, toward the street.

The matted-down, crushed stone surface around the car and around the tarp where the body had been found was scuffed up and strewn about, indicative of a probable scuffle.

On the breezeway connecting the house to the garage a yellow insect-resistant outdoor light was lit, as was the bronze-caged white door light at the main entrance of the house.

The neat, south facing, one-story ranch style house had gray vinyl siding.  The front door and the imitation shutters were painted rust red.  A row of slightly overgrown shrubbery lined the front side foundation.

The canvass tarp at the spot where the victim had been was approximately six feet from the car, between it and the breezeway door.  Once lifted, it revealed the remains of a cigarette which had been dropped in the driveway.  As evidenced by the ashes, the cigarette had burned almost its entire length, down to the filter, there on the driveway surface.

As the inspector walked back to Chief Devaro’s cruiser to retrieve his leather carrying case, the siren on the vehicle of Constable Bill’s relief could be heard approaching from the southwest.

Inspector Chace returned and was soon busily dusting for fingerprints on the car and portions of the exterior of the house and garage.  He had snapped photos of where the body had been found, the auto keys and the cigarette remains.  He had collected the cigarette butt and keys and placed them, with tweezers, into plastic bags and sealed them.

A call to the Realty Company for access keys to the lock-box on the breezeway door had been made and the license plate on the Jaguar was being run for ownership identification.  A call to the medical examiner’s office had been placed with its answering service.  A state police courier had been dispatched to the hospital to retrieve the deceased’s personal effects and ID.

All this was completed within twenty two minutes!  Chief Devaro was impressed by the display of professionalism.