Chapter 44
METROPOLITAN POLICE, HOMICIDE DIVISION
POLICE CHIEF 456-7654, CHIEF OF DETECTIVES 457-2374
HOMICIDE REPORT
DOCKET NO: A90044-7
OFFICER INVESTIGATING: Det. Harry James BADGE NO. 23Q6
SUBJECT OF REPORT: Theodore Baxter
TED BAXTER: Mr. Grant called me in his office about one thirty P.M. of that September the fourth. He was upset. Mary Richards, one of our finest staff writers at CWJM News, was in trouble. I wasn’t sure what had transpired but judging by Mr. Grant’s appearance, I knew it was serious. I was asked me to perform certain duties. I was pleased with my assignment. For a long time I had missed being down on the street, getting my hands dirty. I had spent too much time in front of the camera; I was ready to get my hands….
Mr. Grant asked me to follow Miss Richards around town to ascertain what company she was keeping. Miss Richards and I had been previously engaged in a … relationship so this task was not without its….
One evening I was slouched down in the front seat of my car in an act of surveillance upon Miss Richards and as yet unidentified second party in a 1965 white Corvette. I took out the opera glasses I’d borrowed that morning from Miss Morgenstern, a friend and colleague at CWJM. It was too dark. All I could see was the silhouette of two heads. I waited. Patience is the first rule of a good reporter. Glancing into my rear view mirror as I was want to do, I spotted a light in a nearby apartment above a restaurant.
It was a small studio apartment. The blind was drawn. A young woman’s silhouette moved across the window. She stopped and began to remove her blouse. Being a red blooded male, I naturally continued to watch. Women are beautiful when they are in the act of… When I turned my attention back to the 1965 white Corvette, it was empty. God, Lou would kill me! I slammed my hand on the steering wheel. The horn went off. I couldn’t get it to stop. Finally when I managed to stop it, I looked up and down the street to see if I had been noticed. The street was still empty.
Stepping out of the car, I took a second glance up and down the block hoping to spot Miss Richards and the unidentified second party who I was pretty sure was this small time criminal Michael… Sorry? I don’t know his last name. I looked back to the apartment over the restaurant. The girl had turned off her light. I slammed the car door angrily, and winced. The sound echoed down the street.
It had been a while since I had… Another light went on, in an apartment near where the 1965 white Corvette Miss Richard’s had been occupying with… Into the shadows of trees that lined the avenue, I slipped, and walked quietly down the street. My confidence was returning. The apartment was on the third floor. The front door of the building was unlocked. Opening the door slowly, I gingerly stepped into the hallway. It was dark inside.
I avoided the elevator, preferring the stairs where I was unlikely to meet anyone. There was a wino passed out on the steps. He didn’t smell too good and he wasn’t quite asleep. Asked me for a buck on my way passed. I didn’t have any change… When I reached the third floor, I tried to calculate which apartment the light was likely to have come from. I put my ear to a door. There was no sound.
At my second choice I was more successful. Taking a credit card from my wallet I slid open the door and quietly slipped in. From down the hall I could hear noises and flashing light. Someone was watching television. Tip toeing down the hail, my back against the wall, I reached the living room undetected. There was no mistaking Miss Richard’s voice. I peeked in.
Laying on the couch was the long gangling figure Mr. Grant and Miss Morgenstern had described to me as the possible unidentified second party – Michael. I checked the photo in my pocket. No doubt about it. I cased the room. Michael was alone. Where was Mary? What had he done with her? I stepped inside. Still I had not been noticed. Christ, what was I supposed to do next?
“I want some answers!” I cried in my deepest announcer’s voice. Michael leaped out of the couch, lost his balance and fell against the wall.
“What!” he cried grabbing his heart, the blood drained from his face.
“I won’t hurt you.” I stepped over to the television and turned down the volume. “I just want some answers.”
“What the… who the hell are you?”
I put my hand on Michael ‘s shoulder and gently pushed him back onto the couch.
“I want some answers!” I repeated, trying to imitate the coolness and steel eyed manner of the countless tough guys I’d seen in the movies. I could tell he was frightened. This was fun.
“I don’t know nothing,” he stammered. “Say, aren’t you supposed to have a warrant?”
Good, I thought. He thinks I’m a cop. I sat down on the coffee table in front of him. I gestured to the television. I reached out and grabbed his face and squeezed. He grimaced but he did not attempt to escape. I released my grip.
“What do you want?” he asked.
I stood up and walked over to the window. I could see his reflection in the glass. Michael looked at the door.
“You’ll never make it,” I said turning around.
He looked down at the floor.
“Let’s talk, Michael!”
“I don’t know what you’re after, man.” He looked up at me again. “But, I ain’t Michael!”
I stepped across the room and glared at him. He winced as if he expected me to hit him. For a moment I thought he was lying. I took out the photo.
“Shit!” I cried. Lou will kill me, I thought. “You could be his double!”
“Ya!” he spat out. “And it’s been nothing but trouble for me!”
“Who are you so scared of?”
“Like you don’t know! First Sheila! Then Bud! Why don’t you guys pick up those fuckers? The curbs are going to be running with blood if you don’t get them off the streets. Michael is steamed.”
What the hell was he talking about? Who were they? Why was Michael steamed? I knew I was over my head. My confidence began to wane.
“Hey!” he cried, a flash of insight crossing his mind. “You ain’t no cop,”
I grinned sheepishly.
He rose to his feet. “You can get the fuck out of here, man, or I’m going to call the cops.”
I grabbed him by the collar, lifted him off his feet, and slammed him against the wall. One of the pictures slid down the wallpaper and shattered on the floor. I almost apologized. But then I remembered Bogart.
“You listen to me you little jerk! You tell Michael to lay off Mary! Understand? Tell him to disappear or he’ll have to answer to me! Kapeach? I’ll shove my fist up where the dead dogs lay!” I released the kid who slid down the wall to his feet.
“Sure, man,” he stuttered.
I straightened out my clothes and glanced at the television. “Good program,” I said then walked quickly and assuredly out of the apartment. It was only when I reached my car and started up the engine that I began to shake. God, what was I going to tell Lou? I’d lost Mary!
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