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Chapter 2 of Jacqueline Pearl |
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Chapter 1 of Jacqueline Pearl |
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A Cold Case
Short
 Created on 12-15-06
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 Story Rating G
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The phone rang loudly early on a Wednesday morning in the Anchorage Police Department. After the first ring Ms. Jeanne Brewer picked up the phone and with a brisk and pleasant voice answered, “Anchorage Police Department, Jeanne Brewer speaking, how may I help you?” Jeanne was a smart young lady, nearly twenty-two, who worked as the main secretary in the Police Department. She had bright blonde hair that swept under her chin and resilient blue eyes reflecting the Alaskan afternoon sky. Listening to the person on the other end of the phone she placed her pencil in the side of her mouth watching the sun begin to lift from the horizon outside the main doors. “I’m sorry but Deputy Duncan is away on another case, would you like me to transfer you to Deputy Bronson?” She inquired glancing at her computer screen as the time at the bottom right hand corner read 6:10 am. “Yes, Deputy Bronson is an excellent detective he has been trained by Duncan himself.” She stated, pausing to listen. Pursing her red lips together she placed the pencil back in the pencil holder on her desk. She then entangled her fingers in her white beads smiling as the person on the other end of the phone informed her of every detail that had happened in that morning alone. “I’m pretty sure he is good with animals, ma’am,” Jeanne replied shaking her head impatiently, “Yes, I will, thank you.” Jeanne pressed the button marked: Transfer, on her phone and typed the numbers: 306, with her newly polished red nails. “Deputy Bronson, Mrs. Carpenter is on line two.” She spoke into the phone before receiving an answer from Bronson and hanging the phone up. The Anchorage Police Department was a long building, starting from the two glass front doors and ending in multiple rooms separated for certain districts of police work. Jeanne was mainly in charge of calls and people who came in the front doors; however few there happened to be. Though Alaska was a growing state not many people used the Police Station as a means to solve their problems, they used their firearms and racing dogs instead. Staring through the glass doors Jeanne saw Deputy Duncan strolling to the doors, Mrs. Merrill following close behind, awkwardly so. The Merrill case had occurred nearly three days before when Jeanne received a call from Mr. Merrill stating that their property had been “ransacked” and their valuables “misplaced.” Jeanne never saw Mr. Merrill but his wife visited Duncan on a regular basis, taking him to lunch, as it were, or meeting with him early in the mornings. “Good morning, Deputy,” Jeanne said as Duncan entered through the doors wiping a smile from his jaws, “Working early, I see, or were you working late?” “Very funny Jeanne,” he replied simply strolling past her and back into his office, a flush Mrs. Merrill following. “I love your outfit today, Jeanne,” Mrs. Merrill said disappearing into Duncan’s office. The blinds around the doors and windows of the office closed momentarily and Jeanne began pulling files from her many labeled drawers. She found Duncan’s recent case and shuffled through the data thereof. Finding the most recent reports and sifting through her data she had jotted down daily on her various colored sticky-pads. Jeanne forced herself to begin her long conceived plan. Punching a few buttons on her phone she lifted the holder to her ear. The phone rang three times before it was picked up by an out-of-breath person recognized as Charlotte Weaver, Jeanne’s roommate. “Charlie?” Jeanne inquired taking a new pink sticky-pad from its stack. “Jeanne, what are you doing calling from the police department?!” Charlotte had a mild but stern voice and the sound of dogs barking followed her question. “I haveta tell you about the Merrill case, Charlie, I know you can figure this one out.” Jeanne wrote on the pad with her elaborately illegible penmanship. “Oh come on Jeanne, you know I can’t get involved with the police any more, you nearly gave me a heart attack calling from there.” “Just listen to me,” she persisted glancing at the secretive office of Duncan. There was a slight pause on the other end as the sound of a door slamming was heard and the barking of dogs was slightly altered. “Make it snappy, I gotta field dress a caribou before the blood gets cold.” “Mrs. Merrill has been visiting lately, like I told you, and so far I haven’t gotten any reports that claim anything about catching the thief yet. Mr. Merrill has called nearly eight times in the last two days inquiring about the stolen goods and I haven’t been able to give him anything to secure Duncan’s doing his job.” Charlotte made a small “mmhmm” and Jeanne continued twisting her beads around her fingers and rapping her pencil on her newly written sticky-pad. “The case is simple; nearly half a million dollars worth of stolen electronics and two thousand dollars worth of damage to a vehicle, Duncan should’ve solved the case hours after it was called in.” Jeanne stuck the note on top of the unorganized assortment of different colored notes already placed all over her desk mantel. “I smell something dangerous going on here and I need your help to figure out what’s going on.” “I’ll need a list of the stolen goods, an interview with both Mr. and Mrs. Merrill, separately of course, and a luncheon with Duncan.” Charlotte answered, “Plus a gallon of milk and a dozen eggs,” “Charlie,” complained Jeanne as she had already made a list of the milk and eggs under “lunch w/ Duncan.” “Oh! And some of that red seasoning salt from Johnny’s store got that?” “Yeah,” Jeanne answered smiling pleasantly as the sun lifted itself completely from the horizon and beamed across the Alaskan snow. “See you in a few hours.” “Remember to stop by Johnny’s store; I don’t want any of that cheap junk, okay? Last time you got me some of that stuff it destroyed my perfect meat.” “Got it, Charlie,” she answered. When Charlotte hung up the phone she looked about the small room she was standing in. She lived in a log cabin that her grandfather helped build; now it was laden with a thin layer of snow that was melting in the morning warmth. The phone, the wall, a counter and the door leading out the back of the cabin were all covered in bloody fingerprints. Unchanged by the red appearance Charlotte proceeded out the back door and into the cool Alaskan wilderness. In the distance before her, miles on miles of tall trees stretched each shedding the snow that had fallen on them during the night. Descending the steps she looked at the mess she had made when the phone rang, a caribou carcass laying in the snow half-gutted. Kneeling before the carcass she took up her six inch knife and began to dress the caribou knowing how to use every part of the caribou. About a foot from the caribou sat three dogs, massive in size but gentle in nature, they lay under an evergreen watching the process. It took Charlotte nearly three hours to fully dress, refrigerate the meat and clean the mess. When she was finished the phone rang and she answered shaking her head at the name on the Caller ID. “Weaver Lodging, how may I help you?” Charlotte said into the phone. “Yes, I’d like to set an appointment for an acquaintance of mine and your manager,” Jeanne said matching Charlotte’s perfect business tone. “That can be arranged, shall I set the place?” “Yes, ma’am you shall.” “Tovar Tavern in ten minutes, does that sound fair?” Jeanne jotted the location and time down handing it to Mr. Merrill who was standing before her desk eagerly. He had received a phone call telling him to come to the Police Department to schedule a time with a detective. “That sounds good, thank you.” “What does he look like?” asked Charlotte, her voice back to the normal half-sarcastic and half-mellow tone that could only suit her. Mr. Merrill was excused and as he left to get into his shiny red jeep a minor swagger to his step. The jeep was beautiful except for the massive dents on the back and the broken gate. Jeanne waved to him as he left flourishing the note he had been given. “He’s nearly forty, has blue eyes, brown hair turning silver, blue jeans, collared red shirt, a grey coat and the complexion of a descendent of Harrison Ford.” Jeanne said. “Hmm, what about his wife?” “His third wife to be exact,” she stated shaking her head and taking another note from her pad, “She’s a lovely blonde with green eyes and a plump smile, wears long petticoats and skimpy dresses underneath. She is a year older than me.” “I think I have an idea about what is going on here,” Charlotte said as she looked at her outfit, covered in caribou blood. “Do you want a list of the stolen goods?” Jeanne said reading the note that she had written to herself. “Yes, I nearly forgot about that.” “A pool table, a massive TV, a DVD system, an air hockey table and three expensive TV and Radio systems.” “Now I definitely have an idea about what is going on here.” “I knew you would, I’m going to call the tavern in about half an hour, sound fair enough?” “Call in twenty minutes; I shouldn’t need too much time with Mister Merrill.” “Will do,” Jeanne said hanging up the phone. There were three things that Anchorage loved about Charlotte Weaver; she was strong enough to take on any man in her path, she was pretty enough to fool anyone about her cleverness and she could hold her liquor. Jeanne completed Charlotte by adding herself as innocence and giving her the connections that makes the two just short of great. The twenties minutes were done and Jeanne made the call to Mrs. Merrill, trying three phones before finding her at Duncan’s house. “What do you need to speak to her for?” Duncan protested. “Protocol, since you haven’t solved nor have you dismissed the case I need to have a word with Mrs. Merrill to make sure she understands our next step.” Jeanne lied through her teeth. “I can tell her that,” Duncan insisted. “Are you a secretary?” Jeanne asked, now rather angry, “I’m sorry but it is our practice to inform her via secretary.” “I’ll put her on the line,” “Thank you,” she sighed. “Hello?” said a tentative, young, female voice. “Hi is this Mrs. Merrill?” “Yes,” “I’m needed to inform you that your husband is calling off the case and would like you to meet him at Tovar Tavern, so you two can discuss the selling of the house.” “Selling…” “Yes he told me that you two are scheduling to leave early, to head back to California.” Jeanne said hoping what she said sounded accurate. “Oh my,” she said out of breathe, “I need more time, I’m not prepared…” “Not prepared?” Jeanne said not able to contain her suspicions, “Were you not dressed when you arrived at Duncan’s house?” “Oh it’s not that, it’s just that I always dress up nicely when I go to a tavern,” the lie came almost as clear as crystal. “Your husband is waiting, I’m sure you know how to get to Tovar Tavern,” “Yes, I do, thank you.” Jeanne waited for Mrs. Merrill to hang up before dialing the tavern only a clean block away from the Police Department, for good reason. Not many people in Anchorage were against drinking; in fact it was a common meeting place. Tovar Tavern was the first of three bars to be made in Anchorage; it was made to expand four times in forty-three years. “Yes, put Charlie on the line,” Jeanne said after a very nervous bartender answered the phone. Everyone knew Charlotte at the tavern, even the newest bartenders were broken in by her and she was a classic image of womanly power. She sold meat, hides, dogs, knives made of bone and furniture made of the trees growing by her house in the tavern almost every day. She was an intense haggler and never had a good paying job in her life, making her a reasonable bargainer. “Jeanne?” “Yes,” Jeanne answered smiling at the background call for another whiskey, “I got a hold of Mrs. Merrill at Duncan’s house and she will be looking for her husband at the tavern. I told her that he is flying them to California since the case wasn’t closed.” “Well, her husband is drunk as a sailor—” “You weren’t supposed to get him drunk.” “He only had two shots of the Tovar Special.” Charlotte said defensively. Jeanne laughed, “How much did you have?” “I haven’t taken a sip of alcohol, yet.” “Well be prepared, that’s all I have to say, if Duncan comes in call me and I’ll get him out of there for you.” Jeanne said a little fearful of the connection between the young, handsome Duncan and the young, gorgeous Merrill. “Gotcha,” Charlotte answered hanging up the phone. Bronson entered the Police Department just then and plopped himself down in the chair opposite of Jeanne’s desk. Running his hand through his brown hair he stared at Jeanne as she clicked on a new site on her computer screen. “How has your day been Deputy Bronson?” She asked smiling in a beautiful way. “It’s gotten better now,” he said, “What about you?” She looked at him, “Are you sure you want to hear what Charlie and I have been up to again?” “I always love the days when you and Charlie are causing trouble,” he laughed. “We are about to bust the Merrill Case wide open,” she said as the phone rang and the Caller ID read: Tovar Tavern. “Excuse me,” she said to Bronson who nodded silently. “This is Jeanne,” she said into the phone. “Get Duncan out of here,” Charlie said, “He’s guarding little Missy Merrill as if he were a wolf.” “I’m on it.” The conversation ended and Jeanne turned to Bronson. “May I ask you a favor?” “Sure,” he stood. “Could you call Duncan away from the tavern, please?” “What should I tell him?” Jeanne shrugged, “Whatever comes to mind.” Bronson unclipped his radio from his shoulder and held the buttons on either side of it. “Duncan?” The radio buzzed. “Duncan here,” answered Duncan’s blurry voice. “I need back-up,” “I’m kind of busy,” “I need you now,” “Where are you?” “The Weaver place,” “I’m on it.” Bronson clipped his radio back on his shoulder and smiled. “I think that’s the only call that would pull Duncan from a tavern.” “You’re right,” Jeanne said nodding, “He’s been after Charlie for nearly three years. Why does he hate her so much?” “Because she can hold more liquor than he can and probably because she’s the only woman in Anchorage not interested in him, besides you.” Bronson smiled, “What do you two have up your sleeves now?” “We’re on to something for sure,” Jeanne answered. A police car zoomed past the Police Department toward Charlotte’s house and Bronson smiled happily. The snow outside was now almost melted, there were buds of grass everywhere and the trees were completely bare. The mountains were visible and the sky gleamed brilliant blue dotted by few small white clouds glistening in the sun. The phone rang again and Jeanne picked it up. “Complete,” Charlotte said, “Neither Merrill can hold much liquor and I got everything out of them both.” “Where’s the stolen stuff?” Jeanne asked and Bronson stepped closer amazement written evidently on his face. “Meet me at Duncan’s place as soon as you can.” After hanging up the phone Jeanne stood and put on her coat. She filed a few papers that were sitting on her desktop and then closed the programs from her computer. Bronson followed her as she came around the desk and started toward the doors. “Where are they?” Bronson asked as Jeanne placed her slender hands on the door knobs. “Duncan’s house, I suppose,” she answered. The radio buzzed. “Bronson what’s your position?” Duncan’s blurry voice echoed. “Meet me at your house,” The radio buzzed but there was no protest from Duncan. “Come on we’ll go in my car,” Bronson said following Jeanne out. The air was wonderful as it filled Jeanne’s lungs, she had been cooped at her desk the entire day and now the air was perfect. It was slightly cool but warm enough to relax her muscles. “Thank you,” Jeanne said as Bronson let her in the car before climbing into the driver’s side and starting the car. Duncan’s house was only a mile away and very easy to find. It wasn’t enormous but it was two-story and very well situated on a hill with a two door garage and beautiful lawn. Bronson parked and helped Jeanne out; they walked to the front door where they found no sign of Charlotte. Duncan arrived shortly and opened the door for them both not questioning why Jeanne was with Bronson. Inside they saw nothing suspicious only a few artifacts messily thrown around. Duncan didn’t care what they saw and took them to the living room not speaking until they got there. “What is this all about Bronson?” “Have you solved the Merrill case yet?” Bronson asked taking a cup of coffee when he was offered it. “I’ve been very unkindly delayed,” he said. There was a rap on the front door and Jeanne excused herself to answer it. There stood a drunken Merrill couple and a sober, smiling Charlotte Weaver her face beaming. “May we intrude?” asked Charlotte sarcastically. “Please do, Duncan is losing his temper.” The four entered the living room where the Merrill’s slouched sickly on the leather couch. Duncan didn’t protest. “What do you have in this Charlie?” asked Duncan a sneer appearing on his clean-shaven jaw just at the sight of her. “I have the whereabouts of several expensive stolen items taken from the Merrill house near three miles from here.” She proclaimed smiling at Bronson who nodded as a greeting. “You stole them!” Duncan said taking out a pair of handcuffs, “I knew you had a part in this.” “Back off Deputy,” Bronson said, “Let’s hear her out before we jump to conclusions.” “Thank you,” She said taking a seat in a Lazy-Boy recliner. “Where are they Mish-ish?” slurred Mr. Merrill. “Right under our feet,” she said smiling at Duncan’s suddenly stern face, “in Duncan’s basement.” “Poppy-cock,” he said laughing unconvincingly, “Why would they be in my basement?” “You say they are not?” Bronson asked, “If they’re not then you do not mind if we take a look in your basement do you?” “Of course not,” he said though his eyes showed great fear. Duncan turned to lead the way but Charlotte called him, “Duncan, let’s have Mrs. Merrill show us the way.” Jeanne smirked but quickly disguised her pleasure. Duncan was silent but glared at her. “Mrs. Merrill,” Charlotte said getting from her chair and helping Mrs. Merrill stand, “Could you take us to Duncan’s basement?” She glanced at Duncan through slightly foggy eyes, he looked away and Bronson made room for Mrs. Merrill to come forward. “Isn’t she drunk though?” he asked. “No, she had a single shot of the Tovar Special; she’ll be completely sober in a few seconds here.” Charlotte explained. “Mr. Merrill is already sober but the alcohol didn’t do so well with his stomach.” Mr. Merrill was also helped to stand and Bronson supported him as they followed Mrs. Merrill pressured to show them the basement. She instinctively found the stairs leading down, behind a door that could easily fool anyone as a closet or pantry. The group followed her, Charlotte second, Duncan third, Jeanne fourth and Bronson and Mr. Merrill trailing. “Here,” she said as the group came down into the basement which was dark and musty. Mrs. Merrill turned on the light and before them was quite a sight. A pool table, a massive TV, a DVD system, an air hockey table and three expensive TV and Radio systems. “Duncan you are under arrest for robbery and falsifying police reports,” Bronson said setting Mr. Merrill against the pool table so he could still stand. “You have the right to remain silent…” Duncan went quietly Bronson placed handcuffs on him and marched him from the basement where Mrs. Merrill began apologizing to her husband who felt deceived. “How did you do it, Charlie?” Jeanne asked smiling broadly. “Simple,” Charlotte answered, “I got Mr. Merrill drunk enough to tell me that he had lost his wives to other men and to tell me the weight and mass of each item stolen. He also showed me his jeep and dents that were upon it. I got Mrs. Merrill drunk enough to confess to loving Duncan and helping him load the red jeep with each item. This explains why the jeep was damaged.” “How did you know it was in Duncan’s house?” “He had been the only one who knew the exact costs of each item, plus he had needs for each item. He could sell the TV’s to the taverns for a rather high price and could easily do the same with the pool table and air hockey table. If he held out enough with the case Mr. Merrill would’ve gotten frustrated and moved back to California with his pretty little wife.” “How did he get the stuff from the Merrill’s house without either of them noticing?” she asked as Bronson returned. “Oh Mrs. Merrill noticed, in fact she helped. She got her husband preoccupied whilst Duncan took the goods in Mr. Merrill’s red jeep. Anchorage is a vast town, she was able to get him across town long enough for Duncan to finish his crime and create his greatest mistake.” “What’s that?” Jeanne asked completely intrigued. “The only mistake Duncan made, was trusted a person who is willing to get drunk when they have guilty consciences.” She said.
“Mrs. Merrill you are under arrest for being an accomplice to a robbery and falsifying police reports.” Bronson said handcuffing the now sober Mrs. Merrill.
this was an assignment for my American Literature class. I give credit to the creativity and excellence of the deceased Edgar Allan Poe.
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