Book Four: Part 8 - Rhyming Evil - Chapter 19
Thursday – July 19th
The Squad Room – 8:30 a.m.
“Yesterday is a day many of us would like to forget. Mike’s Haven was nearly destroyed by vandals and several thousand dollars in food and donations were either stolen or ruined.
“From what I have heard, Mike is trying to restore his place back to what it was, but it will take him several weeks before he will be able to reopen.”
“Maybe not that long, Baker. On my way here, I drove by Mike’s place and there must have been fifty people there helping him clean up. They look like the same people who come in there for the free breakfast and lunch. I think they are repaying him for all he’s done for them,” said Lowery.
“That’s a spark of good news. Now, as to last night. There is going to be a televised interview on the double accidental deaths that occurred in Michael Collins apartment. Mayor Marsh is handling that.
“:It’s been established that in all likelihood, Clifford Potter came to Collins apartment with the intent to kill Collins. The motive is unknown since both parties are deceased.”
J.W.’s eyes widened a bit.
“Excuse me,” J.W. said, “but this is the ADA we are talking about, right?”
“One and the same. However, what started out as a potential murder, ended in a series of events that under other circumstances, might have been funny.
“The ME had determined that Collins suffered a heart attack. As he fell, and this part is guesswork, Potter fired a round that would have hit Collins probably in the chest, and because of the sudden recoil of Potter’s weapon causing him to stumble backward where he tripped, fell, and broke his neck on a cocktail bar rung railing.
“Relatives have been notified and will arrive in the next couple of days to take care of the bodies.”
“Anymore riddles come in lately?” asked Banyard.
“No, and that too, is a relief. Lat thing we need is a piddle-diddle.”
Devon jumped in. “That’s diddle-diddle, Baker.”
“Oh, just hush!” she chuckled.
A few other chuckles joined in breaking up a rather tense moment.
“Okay, if there aren’t any other questions or concerns, get out there and stay safe and keep our streets safe.”
Satchell popped his head in and motioned with his finger to Baker to come to his office.
“What’s up, Satch?”
“Ralston’s downstairs. She says she has an interview with you.”
She quickly gave Satchell a rundown of the conversation she had with Ralston last night.
“She agreed to not release any information I gave her until noon. With the press conference set at 11:30, that gives her ample time to have things on air in a timely manner.”
“Collins older brother, Matthew; he’ll be here tomorrow to get his brother’s body, gave me some startling information. Seems both men are, or were, gay.”
“God, what next.”
“What next is what caused their bitter feud against each other most of their lives. Seems like they were doing each other until Potter’s mother caught them in his bedroom. It was Collins who cried wolf and said Potter raped him. Since then, I guess until last night, it had been a bitter hatred that had been brewing that finally ended on a bad note.”
“Who would have ever guessed. Collins never acted like he was gay, at least no signs I ever saw. Then again, I wasn’t looking for that either.”
“When you’re and ADA, Baker, I guess you work harder at keeping some things behind closed doors. I also found out from Blackstone there had been a verbal altercation in Collins office. Potter stormed in, slapped Collins, some ugly words were said. Blackstone said he told Collins if his private affairs were, in his words, ‘made public with another outburst in my building’, he said he would have demanded his resignation.”
“He won’t have to worry about that any longer.”
“No, he won’t. But when you talk to Ralston, as a favor to both families, leave out the part they were gay. You can ad-lib enough on how they fought from childhood on, just leave out their sex life. Dragging that in the open right now doesn’t do anyone any good.”
“So sad. Too bad. But I can do that much, Satch. Fact is, when I leave here, I’ll have forgotten this whole conversation.”
And the day rolled on.
Mayor Marsh went over her notes on the now apparent accidental deaths of two men who had served their community well.
A few questions were asked and answered and for all concerned, Jennifer Ralston had her story. Not a hot story, but it did give the station a little boost in the ratings.
There was one box that sat beside Satchell’s desk of which the contents inside, that only Huey Marx, Officer’s Lucky and Sadowski, witnessed, as well as Satchell himself. He made these men swear to secrecy.
In the box were dozens of polaroid’s of different men in sexual positions taken by Potter, but there were other pictures, some color, some black and white (several of these had faded over time). These pictures were of Potter and Collins together as young kids in rather intimate moments. Who took those pictures will forever remain a secret. Satchell had promised Potter’s eighty-six year old mother, he would destroy everything the box held.
Some memories are worth holding onto—just not this time.
Davenport Animal Clinic - 12:40 p.m.
Patrick’s office phone rang.
“Patrick Davenport. May I help you?”
“This is J.W., Patrick. I only have a minute. Have you heard the news?”
“News? Sorry, no television in the building at all. Why? Did something terrible happen?”
“You could say that. You’ll probably catch it on the news when you get home. Channel 08. Watch it. I have to go.”
Patrick stared at the receiver for a moment, then placed it back on its cradle.
He stood from behind his desk and walked over to Terry’s office and stepped inside.
“Terry? Was there anything on the news today that was important, do you know?”
“Oh, you haven’t heard?”
“I came in around seven. I haven’t a clue.”
“The ADA, Michael Collins and a Cliff Potter were found dead in Collins apartment.
The mayor and the police are calling the death accidental. I’m thinking suicides but then again, I’m not a cop.”
“Aah, thanks, Terry.”
“Are you all right, Patrick?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”
Patrick walked back to his office, set back in his chair as if in a trance.
What were the odds, he thought. Two gay men neither J.W. nor I wanted in a relationship, dead. Was this some sort of design that he and J.W. were to be together?
Why else did he ask him out for lunch, Saturday?
And when J.W. called, was there a sense of concern in his voice? Or joy?
Mike’s Haven – 3:25 p.m.
“Hello, Mike. How goes the clean up?”
“Hi, Lieutenant Baker. It’s going. I had a couple dozen people helping to clean up the front. Throw away broken tables and chairs, clean the floor, walls, and stuff. I’ve inventoried everything and if I opened tomorrow morning, I could feed maybe all of ten people. It’s going to take at least two weeks to replenish the food pantries and meat freezers as well as replace everything that was destroyed in the walk-in coolers. I have paper-plates, Styrofoam cups, and plastic utensils for a good month I can use until I can get enough donations to get all the plates, cups and glasses that were broken—well, you get the idea.
“One good thing was Jasper’s over in Brighton. They are sending me a brand new hood vent at no cost. That’ll save a huge chuck of change there.”
“That’s wonderful news, Mike. And I do get the idea, that’s why I’m here. You do the community a great service and never once have you asked anything for yourself. With what you do, you are an angel and a hero to many of these people that would otherwise go hungry.
“Because of what happened here, because you can count on me as another person who cares, I’m pitching in to help. Here, take this.”
Baker stretched her right arm out and Mike took an envelope from her hand. He opened it.
“You have to be kidding me! A hundred-thousand dollars!”
“And it’s certified. All you have to do is deposit it into your account and you can finish getting this place back in order the way it was, and maybe even better, as well as a lot faster than you planned.”
Tears of gratitude filled Mike’s eyes as he hugged Baker. Then he wiped away the tears, pulled back and started laughing.
“Never hugged a cop before. That’s a first.”
“It’s one time I don’t mind, Mike.”
Baker got back in her car with a smile on her face.
This town could stand to have a lot more people like Mike in it.
Wal-Mart – 6:17 p.m.
Stevie remembered two things Ellie mentioned to him last month. One was about a crescent pendant she saw at Wal-Mart she was saving up to buy, and the other was those new pocket jeans by Tommy Hilfiger. The front pockets look normal but when you unbutton the corners of the pockets, they drop down and rebutton at mid-thigh. It was just the coolest thing she said to him.
He was standing in the Express line with both items. He also bought her something else.
1125 Clearfield Street – 6:55 p.m.
As a cop, he shouldn’t be concerned beyond his duty to have, or show any signs of personal recognition about Collins or Porter, but for him, both men hit close to home in two ways.
J.W. almost started something he was later grateful he ended before it got out of hand. Bur hew wondered if he had been inadvertently the reason behind the cause of their deaths. Legally, he wasn’t responsible, but would he be, morally?
6637 Dusty Lane – 7:40 p.m.
Patrick walked into his house, went to the fridge, and pulled out a beer. He turned and walked into the living room and plopped himself onto the couch. Waiting two seconds, he pulled the beer tab open, listening to the air escape with that “aah” sound, took a few sips and sat back, letting the events of the day wash over him once more.
The evening paper he bought had the story on page one of the Montie press. It was billed as a potential murder scene but ended in an apparent accidental death. Cliff was found with a .357 Remington Magnum inches away from his right hand, with his fingerprints all over the weapon. Michael was unarmed.
Patrick thought back to what Cliff had said to him. Michael said for you to stay away from J.W. Tell me you weren’t seeing him.
All words that could drive Cliff crazy enough to try and do what he almost accomplished. Top that off with him telling Cliff he was too clingy and far too possessive e, might have been the kicker.
Patrick went and grabbed another beer, rubbed the can’s coolness across his brow, then went to the bedroom to change clothes.
As Patrick stripped down to the buff, he turned on the shower, allowing the steam from the hot water to coat the cabinet mirror, then stepped under the rushing water allowing the heat pellets to stab him with a needed desire. As he began soaping himself, he could only think this was all his fault. It wasn’t what he said, but maybe how he said the words that set Cliff off.
Thirty minutes later, changed into a T-shirt and just underwear, he made a tuna salad on rye with potato salad and washed it down with lemon ice-tea. Mentally and physically exhausted, Patrick fell asleep on the couch.