CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
“I’m sorry to call so late, but there’s been another murder,” Buddy said waiting for Chief Miller to respond.
Miller yawned as he sat up in bed and reached over to switch on the small lamp, “You’re kidding…who is it?”
“All I know is Mike O’Malley called just several minutes ago and said he was at Johnny Hudson’s home, and that he had been murdered. I dispatched two units and called you.”
“Alright, ah…call Det. Fairchild and uh…Doc Otis and tell them to meet me there.” Miller hung up and rubbed his forehead as he finally got out of bed. Looking to Nancy, she was sound asleep and had a soft snore going. That woman cold sleep through an atom bomb he mused.
Picking up the telephone, he dialed the station now that he was thinking more clearly. After Buddy answered, “It’s Chief Miller, have an officer swing by and pick me up.”
“I’m on it, anything else?” Buddy asked.
“No, thanks Buddy.”
Miller no sooner dressed and sat down in the living room, he heard the roar of one of the old Ford Cruiser’s pulling up. They made their way to the crime scene within a few minutes. Miller saw Officer Hendrix standing watch at the front of the house as they arrived.
Det. Fairchild was already on the scene and had posted officers, one in front and one in back of the house. Doc Otis had not arrived yet, so Fairchild radioed dispatch to send an officer to fetch him; knowing full well he was most likely drunk. But, his services would be required since the new coroner wasn’t due to arrive until late afternoon this very day.
Fairchild had put Mike O’Malley in the back of one of the black-and-whites parked on the street, so they could question him later.
Thomas nodded to Sherry as he entered and located Fairchild in the living room.
“So,” Miller began, “what have you got so…?” he stopped dead in his tracks. Now surveying the body that was laying in the middle of the living room; he observed the two bullet holes to his forehead, pants pulled down, bloody kitchen knife, and pecker and balls cut off and laid in a neat little pile between his knees.
Fairchild glanced over, “Just swap Johnny’s body for Earl’s and you’ve got the same, exact, crime scene.”
“Earl was just killed two days ago. What in god’s name is going on around here?” Miller said lighting up a Camel. He drew the smoke deep into his lungs, and slowly let it out through his nostrils in little puffs.
“I wish I had a clue.” Was all Fairchild could muster up.
Officer Hendrix now emerged hauling in Doc Otis who was indeed tanked to the gills. She by-passed Det. Fairchild and went straight to Chief Miller. “Where should I put him sir?”
Fairchild took notice of her insolence, as he saw it, and said as he pointed toward the sofa, “Just sit him over there.”
Hendrix looked to Miller, and he nodded his approval, which, of course, irked Fairchild. Dropping the Doc on the sofa, she pivoted and strutted out like she was cock-of-the-walk, which just added to his loathing of her.
Chief Miller faced Det. Fairchild and looked him in the eye, “I want you and Officer Hendrix to investigate these two murders together. You feel she isn’t up to your standard, then you teach her the ‘Fairchild’ method of crime solving. But you will work with her, not against her. Am I making myself very clear Dick?” His words were somber, yet very direct.
Fairchild stared for several moments, taking to heart what he just said, “You’re the boss Thomas.” He now turned to walk away, then suddenly stopped and turned to face his old friend, “At least for now anyway,” he said with a big cheesy grin.
Miller couldn’t help but smile at his little jab. Both men now converged on the sofa. Doc was simply staring at the floor.
“Doc? Doc, up here.” Fairchild said trying to get him to look up.
Miller sat down next to him and softly spoke, “Doc, we just need you to officially pronounce Johnny dead, can you do that for us?”
Doc mumbled something incoherent and then slumped over onto Chief Miller.
“Well, you heard the man, Johnny is officially deceased,” Miller said shaking his head as he pushed Doc back to a sitting position.
“Sounds good to me, let’s get this show on the road.” Fairchild said smacking his palms together.
Miller went to the front door, “Officer Hendrix, would you be so kind as to retrieve our good friend Mike O’Malley, and escort him into the kitchen. Det. Fairchild and I would like to speak with him.” Miller smiled pleasantly.
Hendrix was not sure what was up with the kind words and smile, yet nevertheless did as instructed, “Yes sir, right away sir.”
Several minutes passed before Mike O’Malley and Officer Hendrix entered the kitchen. Det. Fairchild and Chief Miller were both seated on one side of the wobbly small wooden table; which was covered with beer and food stains, several empty beer bottles and the like. They had set a chair opposite of them for their little chat.
“Please Mike, sit,” Miller said pointing.
“Officer Hendrix, on your way out, take Doc Otis back home.” Fairchild said with a dismissive tone as he looked her way.
“Yes sir,” Sherry turned and pivoted without showing any emotional sign that she took offense; yet, deep down her blood was starting to boil, it was only a matter of time before she would snap.
As Miller retrieved a pack of Camel’s from his shirt pocket, Mike pulled one of his own from behind his ear. Both lit up as Fairchild just shook his head.
“Let me just say sorry for your loss, I know you and Johnny were close.” Miller made the little statement in hopes it would bridge the gap between the two men. Especially since they had crossed swords in the past as it were.
“Mike wasn’t that naive, “What questions do ya have, I have a business that ain’t gonna run itself, Laddy.”
“Alright, just tell me in your own words what happened,” Miller began his questioning.
“My own words? Whose other words would I dare speak?”
Fairchild was already growing tired of O’Malley’s bullshit, as he saw it to be, “Hey! Start talkin’ Bud; we ain’t got all night!” Dick’s bite was much worse than his bark, and Mike knew it.
Mike put his cigarette out on the dirty table, “Johnny called to the bar, said meet him later. After I closed, I came here. Was about 1am. Imagine my surprise when I found the front door wide open. My Laddy never left his humble cottage unlocked. I knew right off somethin’ was amiss, as sure as I’m sittin’ here before ya now.”
Fairchild continued, “We didn’t find any doors or windows broken through, and you say he always keep everything secured, then…”
Miller cut in, “Looks like he knew the person, and possibly let them in not knowing their intentions.”
“Johnny have any enemies…well, I know he had enemies, but were there any who would be bold enough to kill him?” Miller asked.
“My Laddy never uttered an unkind word. He was the town’s hero, may the saints preserve us, one and…” Mike was taken aback at Fairchild’s response to his contrived lying.
Fairchild slammed his fist down so hard, the table nearly cracked, “I’ve had enough of that Irish blarney bullshit!” Jumping to his feet, fists doubled up, Fairchild leaned across the table; O’Malley lurched backward and put his arms up as if to shield his face.
Miller stayed seated, but raised his right hand between the two men who were still partly separated by the wooden table, “Alright! Let’s settle down right now! Mike, you knock off the nonsense, or I’ll let Det. Fairchild have a go at you! You hear me?!”
“Yes, sorry boss, it won’t happen again, my word on me father’s grave.” He said lowering his arms as Fairchild sat back down.
“So?” Miller said.
“Johnny raised many a ruckus with most townsfolk, but nary a one who would be so bold, as to slash his manhood from him like that; may god rest his devilish soul.” Mike crossed himself.
“So, after you discovered the body, what did you do?” Fairchild asked.
“I called that dimwit, Buddy Wilson; what a fool of a man he rightly is, truth be told, I had to repeat more than once what I found, I did indeed. Man is a…”
“Alright, so then you waited for Officer’s to arrive?” Miller asked.
“No sir. One of your very own was comin’ into the cottage as I finished talkin’ to that imbecilic dispatcher.”
“Did you recognize the officer?” Fairchild asked.
“Surely, the pretty lass who fetched me in here, but a moment ago. A bit stuffy that one, but nice to look at, yes.” Mike said with an enormous smirk.
Fairchild leaned across the table as he glared at O’Malley.
“No disrespectin’ the lass mind you.” Mike said easing back in his chair.
“Did you touch anything inside the house?” Miller continued.
“I’ve been comin’ here many years, to be sure, so yes constable, I’ve handled quite a few things here and there.”
Miller looked to Fairchild, “You have anything further to ask?”
“Not right now.” Fairchild responded as both stood up.
“Alright Mike, you can take off. If we have more questions, we know where to find you.” Miller said as he lit up.
O’Malley made a beeline for his truck out front. He’d had enough of them for one night. Thomas and Dick both felt Mike didn’t really show that much emotion for his so-called friend. They felt he was probably relieved Johnny was dead; now he could run things his own way for a change.
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SAINT CLOUD GAZETTE
JOHNNY HUDSON MURDERED
Saint Cloud P.D. said his body was found early yesterday morning. The police are investigating, but so far have no leads or suspects in his death. This reporter believes Johnny Hudson will not be missed by the majority of the citizenry; and truth be told, many will most assuredly celebrate his untimely demise.
This brings the death count to 5.
Story by: Jonah McGregor
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“Nigel, come quick,” Mable hollered as she just picked up the Gazette off the porch and brought it inside.
“What’s up sugarplum?” he said coming into the living room.
“God does answer prays after all!” she shouted with a most jubilant tone, as she began hopping and skipping around the living room.
Nigel just stared, as he hadn’t seen her this happy since she won a ‘1st place ribbon’ last year for her white roses; unfortunately, they were the very same roses Thomas ran over just a month ago while chasing Beau.
“That mangy son-of-a-bitch has finally got what he deserves,” she handed the paper to him.
“Well I declare…Johnny Hudson, someone finally punched-his-ticket. Well imagine that, the angels will surely be singin’ in heaven tonight.”
“Where he’s going, there won’t be any harp music playing. He’s gonna burn in hell for eternity, you can bet your bottom dollar on it.”
“You’re probably right dear.”
“Yes I’m goddamn right!” She pranced off into the kitchen singing to herself, as Nigel sat on the sofa happy, that she was happy for a change.