Benefaction

Benefaction

September 04, 2025

The first arriving officers secured the scenes. What looked like a pool (from above) had the crime scene tape circumventing the entire parking lot. The sixth floor balcony and room had an officer inside and another outside.

Few wanted to incur the wrath of a Detective. None wanted to incur the wrath of a Captain.

I am Captain Phinn Spencer. My sidekick is Lieutenant Bender. We heard the call over the radio at 2305 hours. In 15 minutes, we arrived at the scene to discover a textbook response from all who arrived first.

We began our investigation in the parking lot. The tarp holding the body was painted to look like water in a swimming pool. It had a painted concrete border of twelve feet around the perimeter. Someone even went as far as hand painted beach chairs and a staircase to add to the authenticity. From 60 feet up, it looked like the pool on the other side of the building. Had it not been for poor attendance, the parking lot would have been filled with vehicles, ruining the tarp illusion. Consequently, the recently deceased would not have jumped. She still might have been pushed, or perhaps thrown, but she would not have jumped.

Lt. Bender (Sarah) led the way to the elevators and the 6th floor. From my high school physics class, jumping from this high up would result in a terminal velocity of 62 feet/second or 42 miles/hour. Impacting concrete (directly below the tarp) would be instantaneously fatal. The young lady should have known. Most do. This one, in the mess she had become, didn’t.

Next to the balcony, was a cell phone with the video still operational. Smart money was on it being without fingerprints. Lt. Bender discovered a second cell phone, next to the balcony’s rail. By tomorrow morning, the lab rats will have emailed the results of their tests: no fingerprints, no DNA, but great videos.

Over coffee, with the sunrise at my back, I began watching what someone wanted me to watch. The young lady used to be named Helen Thomas. She was 20 years old, a high school dropout, some mild recreational drug use, and an aspiring model. Last night, she stood on the balcony rail with her cell phone in hand. She looked clean (still waiting on the autopsy report to confirm) and happy. She spoke of her big break next week. It was an audition. It was her chance to move forward, a clean move. Tonight was the last of her old life. What she never mentioned was her impending fall or the false pool. The first should have saved her. The second only saved her for an autopsy.

Helen Thomas looked like she had missed her goal by a single night. I had seen this before. Too many times before. Pity was all I could muster in her defense. In my mind, she was just +1 on things to do this week.

Lt. Bender arrived with a box full of goodies. I opted to forgo donuts years ago. To schmooze me, she discovered a bakery with those soft pretzels I find delicious. Top it off with another cup of coffee (this time, premium) and I was at her mercy. She wanted to know what I know. I let her see the video from Helen’s last moments while I ate my pretzel and sipped my premium dark roast.

The contents of the second phone showed Helen Thomas tipsy, stammering, and nearly falling down. If I had discovered her behind the wheel of a car, I would have arrested her for DUI. Sarah would agree. It also showed her using the first phone, her phone, to speak to someone about money. She spoke of never needing money again.

I waited for her to finish the video.

“What do you think?”

“Two things. First, while Miss Thomas is wearing the same clothing, the two videos are recorded over two nights. Happy Helen’s clothing is not wrinkled. Her teeth are white. Drunk Helen’s clothing is wrinkled, as if she slept in it. Her teeth are yellowish. The second is the bank in the far background. In Happy Helen’s video, the bank reads 11:10pm. That is five minutes after we received the call of her death. In Drunk Helen’s video, the clock reads 10:45 pm. That corresponds to our initial call.”

I waited a few seconds to savor my last gulp of the premium roast. “Anything else Lieutenant?”

“Not that I see.”

“Then riddle me this Batman. Can the bank clock’s time be changed? And if so, then who could do it? Could the cell phone’s clock be changed? And if so, then why?”

“Obviously to hide someone’s involvement in a crime.”

“Or”, I was searching for another pretzel, if one existed, “To hide something other than a crime. Think for a second. What if Happy Helen’s phone is genuine and Drunk Helen’s phone is not. Toxicology’s preliminary report says she had enough alcohol in her system to have a BAL of .21, perhaps higher. How can she change anything short of her mind? If this is the case, there was someone else involved. However, if Drunk Helen’s phone is correct, then the bank’s clock is not. They should have some record of a repair or time correction.”

Lt. Bender called to the Desk Sergeant to dispatch a car to the bank and ask “politely” (euphemism for demand) to see the clock records.

Once finished, “Either way, none of this explains the painted tarp in the parking lot or why she fell. If someone else was in the room, how did they get out?”

“Perhaps they still haven’t.”

I did not have to even ask. The good Lieutenant picked up the phone again. The Desk Sergeant had two patrolmen and a detective dispatched. They would also ask “politely” for pertinent information.

“OK Captain, now it is my turn. Who painted and deployed the tarp of a fake swimming pool?”

Almost too easy. I had been up since 3am working on that question. “Lieutenant, when confused, what is the usual reason for every crime?”

“Money, it is always about money.”

“Lucky for you, I pulled Miss Thomas’s credit report, bank statements, and medical records. Wanna guess what they include?”

I did not give Lt. Bender the opportunity to answer. “Miss Thomas inherited a large sum of money one month ago on the stipulation that she gets married and has a child by year’s end. She might have succeeded in the first, but with her ovarian cancer diagnosis, she could only fail in the second. Knowing this, her younger sister, Harper would stand to inherit the estate. Her medical records do not indicate a treatment. I believe this means hospice. And hospice means death. Thus, it seems Miss Helen Thomas knew she was going to die. So, I believe she made it happen. If this is true, all she needed was an accomplice, someone with a tarp and an artistic touch.

In two hours, the police at the hotel discovered Harper Thomas trying to check out. They detained her and called for me. I asked them to bring her to the station.

We only had to wait another 10 minutes before her arrival for her lawyer to also arrive. Harper Thomas must have made the call in advance.

With all parties present, Lt. Bender began the questioning.

“Did you paint this tarp?” “Perhaps.”

“Did you deploy this tarp?” “Yes.”

“Why?” “It is not against the law to do so. Do you have any important questions?”

“We know about your sister’s medical condition. We know about the inheritance and its value and the conditions. You stand to gain a great deal when your sister died.”

That is when Miss Harper interrupted the Lt. “It is amusing to think you two actually get paid to do your job. You two are so lost, I am going to help you. You pulled my sister’s records and drew the conclusion I had a hand in her death. What if I told you my sister, Helen, has a twin. What if I told you she is a very good painter, better than me. What if I told you my lawyer will file a lawsuit against the entire police department for an entire array of civil rights violations. So, am I free to go or does someone else wish to become a defendant in civil court?”

Later, I did discover evidence of a Miss Laura Thomas (now Mrs. Laura Alami), twin of Helen Thomas, living in Morocco, only an hour’s drive from Rabat. She is married. She is pregnant. And, she is very wealthy, much more wealthy than Harper Thomas would later become. Unfortunately, she is also beyond extradition laws to be returned to the United States.

In my retirement, I will have numerous opportunities to salve my ego with the consumption of a variety of crow flavored baked goods. They all go down well with premium coffee, but do not taste as good as spread on pretzels.