Book Three: Part 6 - Facing Evil - Chapter 8

Tuesday - December 27th

The Squad Room – 8:30 a.m.

“We managed to survive a holiday with no one being shot or killed. No accidents or traffic fatalities. Probably for most of you, the worse it got was cleaning up after dinner and working off the weight of all the food you ate.

“Now, we have New Year’s coming up. We have one thing in our favor just with years past; all our local pubs and clubs will be closed New Year’s Eve by nine, and remain closed until noon January second.

“Fireworks may be canceled as per last year if we get more snow by Saturday. Last reports are for an additional two to four inches. If it isn’t canceled, we will look for sixteen officers to work the park for overtime comp.”

“Is that time and a half, Baker,” spoke up Clausen.

“Nope. Double-time this year. Mayor Marsh sees it as a bonus for a job well done.”

“Her words or yours,” said Devon.

Baker laughed a little.

“Call it fifty-fifty. Anyway, any of you who want the extra duty, there’s a sign-up sheet downstairs by the front desk. If, for some odd reason you can’t find it, ask Dewey where it is.”

More laughter.

Sergeant Dewey McDaley wears coke-bottle glasses and is a year away from forty years served. Dewey is the senior man of the entire Twenty-Second. The last ten years has been served behind the front desk in the lobby when his eyes started going bad, preventing him from doing his job on the street. But when it came to having questions answered about policy and procedure no one else could, then Dewey was where you turned to for answers. His ideas and opinions were highly regarded. Dewey was teased because of his glasses, but not one person could say they didn’t have respect for him.

“Anything else?”

Quiet filled the room.

“Then get out there and be safe and keep our streets safe.”

As everyone was pairing up and leaving, Baker thought it may have been her imagination, but she thought Prescott and Andrews seemed to be walking away hand in hand. Not really her concern if they were, if their personal life didn’t get in the way of their job.

Although, if there was something going on, to Baker, it was too soon after Dianne’s husband passing away to get involved with anyone, especially another cop.

Shaking her head just second, she also thought, of yeah, and hear I am married to a cop.

Her cell phone rang.

“Baker.”

“Good morning, Lieutenant Baker, Daniel Watson here. I am about three minutes away from your office. I hope this will be a good time for you?”

She looked at her watch: 8:45. Then she looked up to see Ed standing in front of her desk with two coffees.

“Mr. Watson, now is as good a time as any.”

She shut off her smart-phone, telling Ed that Watson was on his way, and that she wanted him to be with her for whatever Watson was going to tell her, he couldn’t tell her by mail or phone.

8:53 a.m.

Daniel Watson made his way easily enough to the Twenty-Second, spoke with a rather aging policeman behind a desk larger than life, with thick glasses, and was informed to go up the stairs, turn left, and Baker’s office was the second door on the right. When he arrived, he knocked twice.

“It’s open.”

Twisting the knob, he opened the door to a small office with three filing cabinets to his right, side-by-side. In the middle of the room was a beat up oak wood desk, that had seen better days; three chairs to his left, and behind them was a bookcase, half-filled with law books. On the wall behind the desk were several certificates and awards.

Seated behind the desk sat Baker. The other man, Daniel hadn’t a clue, and it registered in his eyes.

“Mr. Watson, not too worry. This is my husband, Ed Manning. Whatever you have to tell me, can be said in front of him; and please, have a seat.”

“Thank you. Forgive me, but I wasn’t aware you remarried. So much has happened over the last year.”

“I won’t argue that,” she said. “Now, what can I do for you and what brings you here to tell me, you couldn’t tell me over the phone?”

“This.” He opened his briefcase, pulling out a file-folder. “This is a separate policy naming you as the sole recipient to an insurance policy for ten-million dollars.” He handed her the file-folder which was forty pages in length.

At the mention of ten-million, the folder lingered in mid-air for a few seconds before Baker broke out of her frozen trance and took the folder and laid it open on her desk.

Looking at the policy, she said, “Ten million? Are you sure you have the right Janis Baker?”

“Your parent’s names were Larry Arnet Baker and Margaret Janis Anderson Baker, correct?”

“Yes, but what do they have to do with this? They’ve been deceased for quite some time.”

“Yes, I know. They have a great deal to do with this. They both paid into one insurance policy with a provision indicated they both must die accidently, and too insure, as it is originally worded … prompt payment.”

“It’s been years since they died,” spoke up Ed. “What caused the delay until now?”

“The delay was due to criminal intent to defraud Lieutenant Baker. It wasn’t found out until the week before Christmas. It had been found out that the former president, and several board members agreed not to pay. They felt that since you never spoke up about a, or any policy, other than the standard issue, they would keep mute for at least ten years, and then, because the statute of limitations is no longer relevant, they could in turn, reinvest the policy value in mutual funds and stocks.

“After we paid you on the insurance for both you and your son through your ex-husband’s policies; as a lark, I started doing a little digging when I came across a few file notes while I was clearing out my own filing cabinet. Even though no one mentioned this policy, payments continued to be made for sixteen years fulfilling the mandatory payment to cover the cost of the policy payout, almost eight-hundred thousand.”

“That sounds about right. It’s been that long since they both died. But I never knew about this other policy at all.”

“You weren’t meant to know. But charges have been brought up, and our new acting president, Alan Harper, instructed me to contact you privately, to first offer his apologies, and that second, for you to receive a lump-sum amount for ten-million dollars.”

Daniel again reached into his briefcase and pulled out a certified check made out to Janis Lorraine Baker and handed it to her.

Baker’s mouth dropped open.

Ed’s eyes bulged.

They looked at each other and started laughing.

“I’m sorry. What’s so funny?”

“Mr. Watson,” explained Ed, “just this morning we were talking about buying Stevie a car after he gets his drivers license and we were trying to figure out our expenses. This just took care of that problem.”

Baker, controlling her laughter said to Daniel, “What happens from here?”

“You simply deposit the check. Our office will handle the immediate clearance when your bank calls. As to the rest, those who tried to swindle you from what I’ve learned; they are facing at least ten to twenty years in a federal prison once they are found guilty and they will be found guilty. I can assure you that much.”

And that was the start of the last week of the year for Baker and Manning. One thing that would remain a puzzle was why such a high policy. Another thing would be that no one would ever worry financially for any reason.

Where the day was getting started for Baker and Ed; it was a day of moving on for Daniel Watson. He had fulfilled his job as asked.

From the Twenty-Second, he drove back to his motel, called his office informing them the policy was delivered, and that he would be leaving Montie first thing in the morning, and be back in his office by no later than one.

Then he called Patrick, and they talked well over an hour, closing with, “I love you and see you soon.”

Before sleep came that night after watching a movie, he was quite happy with himself for doing the right thing.

It would be the last “right thing” he ever did.

Oh, and the rest of the day?

Quiet. Perhaps too quiet.