Memories of a Murder Read online

  MEMORIES OF A MURDER

  SID KAR

  Copyright © 2019 SID KAR

  This story is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, events, persons and organizations are fictional and product of author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places and events is purely coincidental.

  EDITOR: Joel Bahr

  All rights reserved.

  Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 1

  Thursday, Day 1

  “The boy must be deader than a cadaver,” Joe said.

  “There are individuals who have survived a head shot,” Frank replied and stopped his car behind a line of police cruisers and an ambulance parked on the shoulder of Route 1 South. Frank had seen that himself on the battlefield in his past life, and it was always a gruesome sight.

  Frank and Joe got out, walked over to the trunk, grabbed couple pairs of latex gloves, and a large torchlight. They walked towards the first trailer in the Oldwood Motor Homes, a community located between the towns of Princeton and South Brunswick. Yellow police tape fenced around the mobile home and two local cops in their early 20’s held back a small crowd of onlookers.

  Frank stepped up to the door, knocked and announced, “State Police.”

  “Come in, we’ve been waiting for you,” a man in his late fifties with a head full of white hair opened the door. “I’m Oldwood Police Chief, Roger Parish,” he added and shook Frank’s hand as they walked inside.

  “Detective Frank Kirk. I work the Homicide Unit of State Police’s Major Crime Bureau,” Frank replied, “and this is my partner Joe Marsh. Let’s see the victim.”

  “All yours,” Chief Roger stood aside, and there in front of them was a man lying flat on his back on the floor, a pool of blood surrounding his head. There were blood splotches scattered in all directions and a major crimson splatter high up on the wall ahead. The man was clothed in brown boots, blue jeans, and a green-blue checkered shirt. Frank and Joe stepped forward to look at his face and saw a hole in the upper forehead and the ejected brain matter was sloshed above his head.

  “There goes my appetite for tomorrow’s breakfast,” Joe nervously chuckled and took a step back.

  The chief grunted in disapproval, but Frank moved forward. An older man in early fifties was kneeling beside the victim and examining his neck, face and the skull. He was the Medical Examiner for the state police – Dr. Evan Smith. Two other members of the Crime Scene Investigation Unit were in the trailer – Jenny Newsome, a Fingerprint Examiner in her mid-twenties sporting a long ponytail and currently dusting for the prints on the dinner table, and Gerald O’Conner – the Crime Scene Photographer busy taking photos of the couch and the television area. Two paramedics were standing a bit further from the dead body and conversing with each other.

  “Give me a quick rundown Dr. Evan,” Frank said. “Your first thoughts.”

  “No second thoughts about it,” Evan pointed with his gloved finger at the hole in the forehead. “Shot through the head. Shot while standing.” He turned around and pointed to the blood splatter on the wall, and Frank nodded. Evan continued, “Poor chap was dead before he hit the ground. The bullet exited out of the top of his skull. It must have been fired at an upward angle.”

  “Our killer is a short man,” Frank nodded again and asked, “What would you say the victim’s height is?”

  “Five feet and nine inches; measured it already,” Evan replied.

  Frank turned his neck and looked down at the door, “Or he fired from the steps.”

  “With the door open, Frank?” Joe asked.

  “Hold that thought Joe. Where is the bullet, Doctor?” Frank asked.

  “Chief is holding it for you,” Evan said and got up on his feet. “I cleaned the blood stains from it.”

  Chief took out a plastic bag with a flattened bullet inside and handed it to Frank who turned the plastic bag in his hand and then passed it over to Joe.

  “What do you say, Joe?” Frank asked.

  “On first sight, I would say 0.45 caliber,” Joe replied.

  “I would too”, Frank said then put the plastic bag aside. “Where is the cartridge?”

  “We didn’t find one,” Chief Roger shrugged. “The killer must have taken it with him.”

  “Smart one, a prepared one, or at least one with a cool head under intense stress,” Frank said. “Who called the cops? Who heard the shot?”

  “No one heard the shot,” Roger replied. “His friend came…”

  “No shot!” Frank exclaimed. “No one heard?”

  “That’s not possible. Look around, how close these mobile homes…”

  “I know, Chief…” Frank said. “A silencer then. One shot in the head, quite accurate, and confident enough to not feel the need for another. Killer had the sense to take the cartridge, but not the bullet.” Frank raised his finger as if making a point. “Great risk analysis. Walking all the way and taking the bullet could get messy, what with the blood stains and the splotches everywhere, DNA risks, risk that someone could just come knocking, risk of stumbling over an object…look how messy this trailer is,” Frank waved his hand holding the torchlight. “A car could drive by. No, forget the bullet, just get rid of the gun. A thorough, professional hit,” Frank shook his head, this would be a tough case. He had solved cases of mob hits in the past, but this smelled almost…military grade.

  “Why we called you,” Roger said. “We’re a small town with a small police force. We don’t have the resources to deal with a regular homicide, let alone to track down a professional killer.”

  “You did right. Now this friend, where is he? Amongst those assembled outside?” Frank asked.

  “Yep, we told him to stick around,” Chief Roger nodded his head.

  “Any other eyewitnesses? Anyone who saw anything?” Frank asked.

  “The clerk across Route 1 at the convenience store might have seen the killer,” Roger said.

  “What?” Frank was startled for a second.

  “Don’t get your hopes up, Detective,” Roger replied. “He saw a man, really a figure, dressed in all black, a silhouette, walk up to the trailer.”

  “Send one of your boys over and tell him to stick around too,” Frank said.

  “Don’t worry, he just started his shift,” Roger said.

  “Alright, walk me through the timeline, from when the call came in.” Frank said, “Leave the friend’s and the clerk’s testimony out. We’’ll talk to them afterwards.”

  Chief took out a small notebook from his pocket and flipped a few pages. Frank and Roger stood close to each other as if they were two gamblers comparing bets and odds at a racetrack.

  “Call comes in at 12:33. My boys outside were here in less than five minutes. I got here 12:40,” Chief Roger said. “You see I’m an insomniac, so I often do the night shift, and the station is just down Route 1, one street over. I did a preliminary look and see, talked to the victim’s friend who called, and to the clerk across the street, and then I called the State Police a few minutes before 1:00. They got here pretty fast,” Roger said pointing to the Crime Scene team.

  “We reached here around what…1:30?” Frank looked at his watch.

  “You did,” Roger replied.

  “Dr. Evan, what do you estimate the time of the death?” Frank
asked.

  “Rigor Mortis has barely started to set in the face and the neck,” Evan replied. “No more than two hours, definitely not three. I would say between 11:30 and 12:00 AM.”

  “Did you know the victim perchance?” Frank asked the Oldwood Chief again.

  “Seen him around a couple of times at the town events, small as we are, not surprising,” Roger replied.

  “Alright, Chief, I’m going to let you go now, catch some sleep…”

  “Like I said, it’s hard to sleep even when it’s all quiet. Now, I will be up all night.”

  “Nevertheless, get some rest. Your town will be all over you tomorrow—mayor, council, folks around here and don’t forget those reporters and TV newscasters,” Frank said.

  “Oh, lord. I’m not prepared for that,” Roger said, but then turned to the door. “If I’m not needed…but I’ll be down the road.”

  “Joe, let’s go talk to this friend,” Frank called Joe over and both of them left the trailer right behind the Chief. A chilly wind cut across their face. Frank, dressed in a French Blue coat over Navy Blue pants with yellow side stripes, and standing an inch below six feet was lean and robustly muscular at 180 pounds, with a hard rectangular face and deep set eyes. Joe was three inches shorter than Frank, but much heavier. Close to 260 pounds, Joe had a large and rotund stomach accompanied by big biceps, thick forearms and a thicker neck. His face was round like his eyes, and he had a bald pate. Joe was attired in all black—jacket, shirt, trousers and all, like a town policeman that he was but one on a permanent liaison to the State Police.

  The Chief got in the police SUV, pulled up on the deserted highway and cruised down south. Frank and Joe turned to the small crowd of a dozen onlookers who had assembled outside the tape perimeter.

  “Which one of you heard a gunshot?” Frank asked loudly.

  No one from the crowd as much as flinched nudged. Not a word came out of anyone’s mouth.

  “Which one of you called the police?” Frank asked.

  “I did.” A scrawny old man in his mid-sixties with unkempt hair and an unshaven stubble came forward. He was wearing blue jeans, a white T-shirt, worn tennis shoes, and an unzipped green jacket.

  “Take a walk with us, sir,” Frank said.

  Frank and Joe approached him, and the three of them walked over to the highway shoulder where the police cars and ambulance were parked.

  “You are…” Frank asked.

  “Dave,” the man replied.

  “And the dead man in there?”

  “Adam…Adam Buck,” Dave said.

  “You were good friends?” Frank asked.

  “If you mean if we were anything like high school buddies or the works, no nothing like that,” Dave said. “He was gone most of the time…”

  Frank raise an eyebrow.

  “…Oh he was a truck driver all his life or so he told me, never did nothing else. We really got to be friendly when he retired three or four years ago, about the same time when I retired from maintenance at the high school here in Oldwood,” Dave said, “played Poker, went drinking and bowling, just you know.”

  “Any family?” Frank asked.

  “Laura, his daughter. She doesn’t live with him but comes by every other weekend.”

  “How did they get along?” Frank asked.

  Dave was taken aback a bit and opened his mouth, but no words came out.

  “I have to ask just for the formality,” Frank forced a smile even though he knew it wasn’t just a formality.

  “I mean I heard them arguing a couple of times, but all folks do time to time,” Dave said, “never any fights that I saw or Adam talked of.”

  “When did you last see him?” Frank asked, “Alive.”

  Dave suddenly tensed up after being reminded of the death of his friend.

  “11:00 at night, I can say for sure, because Thursday nights we usually watch movies…”

  “Who is we?” Frank asked.

  “Adam, myself and a couple others,” Dave said.

  “Point to them in that crowd,” Frank said and Dave pointed to two men near his age who were standing just outside the police tape. One of them was smoking a cigarette, and the other one was chewing on a jerky and staring right back at him.

  “John and Vinny; Vinny is the smoker,” Dave said.

  “Go on,” Frank turned back to look at Dave and then at his notebook.

  “So I go over to his trailer at 11:00, and tell Adam to join us for our usual movie night, tell him we got beers and chips and jerky’s. He says he was busy and will come by later,” Dave said, “It got late, and he never came so I call him, maybe 12:15 or 12:30, and no answer. I think maybe he is answering the call of nature or maybe he flat out fell asleep. I will give him ten minutes, I say to myself, then I am going over and knocking.”

  “Look in your phone for the exact time of your call,” Frank said.

  Dave took out his cell phone from the back pocket of his jeans, tapped the screen a couple of times and then said, “12:22, that’s when I called.”

  “When did you go over?”

  “Exactly 12:30 because I remember looking at the clock when John and Vinny started cribbing to start the movie without Adam. I decided to knock right then and walked outside. My trailer is just one over, so I was there in double time, but when I go to knock the door was open.”

  “Did you step in? What did you see?” Frank asked.

  “A couple of steps maybe, the door wasn’t locked and not like Adam to leave it open. Then I see him on the floor, all the blood, I knew he was shot,” Dave said, “I run out, almost stumbled and fell on the steps myself. I hop on one leg going crazy scared. I holler for John and Vinny, and as they come running. I call 911, tell them to send the police, docs, everyone.”

  “The exact time of that call?” Frank asked.

  Dave looked at his cell phone again and said, “12:33.”

  “Alright, Dave, you can go back now, we might be coming by again,” Frank said.

  “Glad I could help in some ways. I will help all I can. Adam was a good man, sir. He was…” Dave was welled up with tears as he turned around and returned to the crowd.

  “Why did you ask him for the time, Chief had told us…” Joe began to ask.

  “Can’t hurt to confirm,” Frank replied, “Let’s go talk to that clerk at the convenience store.”

  Frank and Joe crossed the three southbound lanes of Route 1, hurdled over the concrete divider and crossed the three northbound lanes and reached the local mart and the convenience store therein right across from the Oldwood Motor Homes community. There was nary a vehicle on the road at this time. Frank turned to look up north and saw a red light, and then he turned south and saw another red light.

  “Interesting,” Frank said.

  “What?” Joe asked.

  “Will tell later.” Frank walked up the steps and entered the store followed by Joe.

  “I already talked to the Chief,” the clerk behind the counter said, “unless you want a coffee officers. I am afraid I won’t be of much help.”

  “I’m a detective from the State Police, and we’re taking over the investigation,” Frank said. “I want to hear everything that happened from the very beginning.”

  The clerk was a short man wearing a red baseball cap and a green sweater over jeans who alternatively looked at Frank and Joe for a few seconds. Then he threw up his hands and nodded.

  “Why not, it’s not as if I have a lot of customers at this hour,” the clerk replied, “I work the night shift – midnight to eight in the morning. But I came in a bit early today, like 11:50; I was just getting setup behind the counter when I looked out the window,” he pointed to the large glass window on his left looking out on the highway, “just a glance. I saw a man walk up to Adam’s trailer and go up to his door, but it was nothing suspicious at the time. Many residents living over there also work the night shifts and have guests over at odd hours. I heard nothing. I didn’t realize anything was wrong till the
police cars stopped over there. One of them told me and asked if I saw anything.”

  “What time did you look out the window?” Frank asked.

  “I don’t know, maybe 11:55 or 12:00. It was just a few minutes after I got here,” the clerk replied.

  “And this man, what did you see?” Frank asked. He walked around the counter and looked out over the clerk’s shoulder at Adam’s trailer. The glass was clear and he could see the two Oldwood policemen but couldn’t make out their faces.

  “I saw nothing, like I told the Chief. He was wearing black clothes and a black ski mask. He appeared to be tall, that much I guess I could say,” the clerk said.

  “What car did he have?” Frank asked.

  “A black car, just like his clothes and parked on the shoulder.”

  “What make and model?”

  “I don’t know…” the clerk replied getting slightly irritated, “a black sedan, not a SUV, not a pickup truck, but look for yourselves. You can’t make out a car.”

  “Fine. Now you seemed to know Adam’s trailer, did you know him?” Frank asked.

  “Of course. My store is right across the street, and he would run over here, jaywalk without a care, for his daily run of cigarettes and occasionally a six pack,” the clerk replied.

  “You have a surveillance camera in your store?” Frank asked.

  “Yes, but it’s not working,” the clerk replied. “You know, a bunch of punk teenagers come around here shoplifting, being a nuisance, but you guys don’t bother to do anything about them. They must have broken it to hide evidence of their presence. Me and Chief saw nothing on the screen. Perhaps if you had taken care of those punks, you would have your tape with the killer on it.”

  “Next time those little punks come around, just whack them upside the head,” Joe said.

  “No, don’t do that,” Frank interjected, and Joe chuckled. “Where is this camera located?” Frank asked.

  “Just outside, behind this wall, it looks out on the sidewalk in front of our door but also captures part of the highway,” the clerk replied.