Deadly Compromises by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Chapter 11
Before Kelly called 911, she reflected on what type of act would work best, as the call would probably be recorded and replayed a million times. She would soon be viewed as a rich woman, rid of an obviously fat, annoying slob and a woman still young enough to have a lot of fun. She also supposed that Alan’s demise wouldn’t make anyone gung ho to do their best job, as he wasn’t the most popular person around, except to those depending on him for work, assuming he paid them.
She considered a matter of fact approach and decided against it. She thought; “How do people react to a dead body?
Often they puke and want to get away from it. That approach was of no use here. Let me think about movies I’ve seen. In the ones I remember, the caller is distraught, disorganized, unable to focus, rushing their speech as if quick action could raise the dead. They yelled in the phone. I’ll go with that. If they later decide it sounds phony, so be it. God, I wish I had known someone who answered emergency calls. Not really. Here goes.”
She dialed the number at 8:40PM. A bored, female voice answered. “911.”
“I think my husband has been murdered.”
“Who am I speaking to?”
“Kelly Simburg.”
“What’s your address?”
“239 White Horse Lane.”
“In Castillo?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your phone number?”
She tried the distraught act and blurted in an agitated voice; “I don’t need a phone call, I need a doctor, a cop... and emergency van, or....”
The operator cut her off. “I need that number”
“505 —”
She cut Kelly off again. “I don’t need that.”
She said in a staccato voice; “890-3215,” realizing she was talking to someone who was adept at filling in the blocks.
Kelly used the distraught, agitated tone and said; “Would you please get someone here quickly. He might still be alive!”
“You said he was murdered?”
“I said that I THINK he’s been murdered. It’s the cops’, the coroner’s, or some other expert’s job to figure that out, if you ever get them here! Look, my husband is tied to a chair, not moving. There is blood and half his face is missing.”
“I’m sorry, you’ll have to say that slower. I can’t type that fast.”
“Okay, what are you up to?”
“Tied to a chair.”
“Not moving.”
The operator droned; “Not moving ....” as she typed it.
Kelly slowly said; “There is blood...”
“How much?”
“Lots.”
“Lots of blood.”
“Half his face is missing.”
“Half his face is missing. Is anything else missing?”
Kelly came close to laughing, as she thought how stupid this procedure was. She said; “I don't know. I haven’t yet taken a complete inventory. It looks like at least one ear is gone, too.”
“Let’s leave that out. You say he’s dead?”
Kelly screamed, “I think so. I’ve never seen a dead body before and can’t confirm that.”
“Never been to a funeral?”
“Yeah, idiot, but I never tried to verify their death.”
She was again amused for a second, when she recalled an Edgar Alan Poe story about someone being buried, who couldn’t move, but was still alive. Funny if that would be her “Big Bugga Eyes” fate, condemned to using them to stare at the coffin lid.
Rather than share her reverie she reverted to an indignant tone and charged; “Are you purposely trying to be stupid with me? My husband is an important man in this town.” The merriment returned when she thought; “At least he used to be.” She controlled her sense of humor and didn’t say it. Instead she continued on with; “He pays a lot of taxes and needs help.
Fucking Goddammit.”
“You don’t have to use that kind of language. I’m doing my job trying to help you.” She actually sounded sincere.
“My apologies. Do you have enough information now to get someone here?”
“I need to know if he’s dead.”
“Why?”
“If he’s dead, it’s top priority for the police. If he’s injured, I’ll get the medic first and the police get a lower priority.”
“Okay, say he’s injured.”
“Okay, now can you give me directions to White Horse Lane?”
“From where?”
“The Police Station.”
“I don't know where that is.”
Eventually acceptable directions were given and the call mercifully ended. Kelly realized that it wasn’t necessary to fake being distraught. Talking to some people make it happen naturally. Surprisingly, to her, in another two minutes two cop cars, a medical van and a small fire truck showed up.
She went outside and tried to conjure up some tears. It wasn’t difficult, as putting aside the humorous aspect, that phone conversation could make anyone cry.
Two cops efficiently jumped out of the first car and the one called Sheriff Mack said, “Where’s the injured person?”
Kelly opened the front door and said, “Follow me.” She led them to the library. The first two cops were trailed by two others, two medics and two firemen. The first cop just took a look at the body and said, “He’s not injured. He’s dead. What happened?”
Kelly: “I don't know. I just got here, saw this and called 911.”
One of the firemen entered the room. “Where’s the fire?
Kelly: “There’s no fire.”
Fireman: “We got a report of one.”
Kelly: “Not from me.”
Fireman: “Are you sure there’s no fire?”
Kelly, with a raised, maddened voice, said; “Look around and see for yourself. I don’t know of any fire.”
Fireman, turning to leave: “That god damn dispatcher can’t tell the difference between a fire and a barbeque.”
Conversation with the first cop resumed.
Sheriff Mack: “What time did you find the body?”
Kelly: “I really didn’t look at a clock. Maybe half an hour ago. Around 8:30.” She started to shed real tears, probably out of frustration, without having to fake it.
Sheriff Mack: “I can imagine how you feel. Do you think we can go through some basic questions? Are you up to it?
Kelly, sniffled and said; “I think so.”
Sheriff Mack: “So you got here around 8:30, saw the body and called 911?”
Kelly: “About right. I’m really not sure of the exact time. 8:30 is close.”
Sheriff Mack: “So, when you came in the house, you walked directly to this room?”
The question surprised Kelly and now she had to improvise something that would sound good. She thought back to what her routine is whenever she enters the house. She calmly said; “I saw Alan’s car outside, so I knew he was home. I hung my jacket
in the hall closet, went to the bathroom and got something to drink in the kitchen, which adjoins the library. I figured I’d go find out what Alan was up to, entered the library and found him.”
Sheriff Mack: “What did you get to drink?”
Kelly was reminded to stay serious and make no mistakes.
She questioningly said; “Ice tea, why?”
Sheriff Mack: “I don’t see the glass here.”
Kelly thought, “Oh, shit. I’m very unprepared to handle this correctly. I should have done some preparatory work.” She opened her eyes wide, put her hands over her head, bent forward and tried to do a fake cry. She screamed, with her eyes closed;
“I don't know where I left the fucking glass! My whole life just turned to shit and you think I remember the fucking ice tea glass?” It seemed to work. At least it bought time.
Sheriff Mack: “I shouldn’t have pushed this much at this point. I’m sorry. We can discuss this when you’re feeling composed again. Have a seat in the kitchen and let us do our job.”
Kelly silently walked to the kitchen table and took a seat with a partial view of the library.
The second cop, named Steve Elliot, followed her, standing silently near her. She hoped he wouldn’t make conversation.
She had to concentrate for a while. Mercifully, he was silent.
She reflected; “Maybe I made a mistake with the ice tea glass, but it shouldn’t matter much. I’ve got a right to be confused and maybe after making the 911 call, I instinctively took the glass back to the kitchen, washed it and put it back with the others. I really couldn’t be sure in this state. On the other hand, I shouldn’t make too many of these errors. Is my jacket hanging in the hall closet? I can’t remember for sure. I’d love to check, but can’t be obvious about it. I always hang my jacket in the hall closet or the bathroom. Right now I’m the prime suspect, so I have to be careful. The cops have to appear kind to the upset woman, because they know I can stop talking at any time, get a lawyer and have all further communication go through him. However, appearing co-operative is the ideal.
It’s a delicate fit. How's this, Kelly? I continue to be distraught tonight. They’re probably not going to push for anything more now. They have other things to do for a while.
There really isn’t much that I know of to tell them anyway. If they ask specific, unexpected questions, I either cannot remember or I’ll be vague. They’ll probably drop back in tomorrow. In the meantime, I’d like to check on that jacket.”
Kelly: “I have to go to the bathroom.”
Steve Elliot: “Sure, I’ll wait outside the door.”
Kelly was thrilled to see the jacket was not in the bathroom. She did her business, washed her hands and came out feeling somewhat relieved. She walked back to the kitchen followed by wordless Elliot. She sat back down in the same chair. She could see some cops touching things with gloved hands, taking fingerprints and generally looking around. Others were apparently in other rooms. The medics were standing around looking bored. One new person, presumably the coroner, was intently examining the body.
Sheriff Mack: “Can you get a time?
Coroner: “This is very fresh, probably between 8:00 and 8:30.”
Sheriff Mack thought, “Right around the time she came home.” He said; “Can you get more precise when you get to the morgue?”
Coroner: “Maybe. I’ll do my best.”
Sheriff Mack, to the medics: “Okay, get this over to the morgue without messing it up too much.”
First Medic: “Looks about as messed up as you can get already.”
Sheriff Mack: “Funny. You know what I mean.”
Business went on. Pictures were taken. The medics moved the body. Someone was filling in the body’s location with some kind of black tape.
Sheriff Mack: “Did you get the bullet?”
Third Cop: “Yeah. Did you see the two holes in the ceiling?”
Sheriff Mack: “Yeah. Check it yet?”
Third Cop: “Just about to.”
The third cop came back with a ladder and retrieved the two bullets from the ceiling.
Third Cop: “Must have been a terrible shot.”
Sheriff Mack: “Maybe a warning. Maybe scared him with shots to handcuff him. Maybe the murderer tried to convince him to give him some information. Maybe something I can’t think of.
We’ve got a lot of work left.”
People went about their business for about another half hour. Some started to leave. Sheriff Mack entered the kitchen and said; “Do you think you’d be up to an interview tomorrow?”
Kelly winced and said; “Probably.”
“Okay. Let’s make a tentative appointment for 3PM
tomorrow. Here’s my card. Call me if you can’t make it. What are you going to do tonight?”
“Try to sleep.”
“No, I mean, where will you be staying tonight?”
“Here?”
“No, you can’t. This property is now an official crime scene. Only authorized personnel can come in and out. I can’t allow you to stay here. You might disturb something that could have been good evidence. Do you have some other place to stay?”
“Yes. Can I use my car?”
“Sure.”