It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Murder, page 9
While Tommy talked, he kept an eye on the line growing ever longer at Santa's Workshop. "I gotta go. Thanks." He gulped down the rest of his coffee, searing the roof of his mouth. "Damn."
Cabin Twelve
Little Mack sat on the side of the road and cried. Stop acting like such a pussy. He told himself to just stop crying, but he didn't know how. He didn't get weepy like this very often, but when he did it tore right at the heart of who he was. My daddy was a tough guy. My brothers were tough guys. I'm supposed to be a tough guy. So what am I doing sitting here crying like a friggin' baby?
Oh, shit. In his rearview mirror, Little Mack spotted the police car pulling up behind him, the patrol cop getting out of the squad car, walking up to his driver's side window.
"Is everything okay, sir?"
Little Mack looked at the patrol cop. He couldn't stop crying long enough to answer.
"Are you okay, sir?" the officer repeated.
"I'm . . ." Little Mack wiped his nose, ". . . fine."
The cop was unconvinced. "If you don't mind my saying so, it doesn't look like everything is fine. Can I see your license and registration sir?"
Little Mack reached into his glove compartment and handed the officer his counterfeit documents. The officer took the cards. "Wait here." He went back to his squad car. While the cop called in to check the identification, Little Mack sat in the Town Car and cried.
The officer returned to the driver's side window of the Town Car and handed Little Mack his license and registration.
"Are you planning to drive home to Trenton tonight, Mr. Smith?"
Crying softly, Little Mack nodded yes.
"I am afraid I can't let you do that. Not in your current condition. I'd like you to follow me back to Woodbine, sir."
Little Mack knew that the cop was right. He was in no shape to drive home. He turned the car around and, following the patrol car, made the short drive back to Woodbine, peering out from between his tears. When the cop car came to a stop in front of Bhait's Motel, Little Mack pulled in behind him. He wiped his eyes and blew his nose and managed to reduce his embarrassing display to watery eyes and sniffles before entering the motel lobby. The officer was huddled with the motel manager when Little Mack walked in.
Beejit Bhait examined the large man with weepy eyes and custom-tailored suit. "Ah, my good sir. You will be needing a room?"
Little Mack picked up a whiff of sandalwood. He wasn't sure if it was coming form the incense burner sitting on the shelf behind the check-in counter or whether it was coming from Mr. Bhait himself.
"Yeah, I need a room. Somethin' private."
Beejit Bhait looked at the patrol cop and nodded. "I understand, good sir. You will be wanting cabin twelve. Please to be pulling your car around to the back."
Little Mack took the cabin key and drove his car around to the back of the motel property. As Mr. Bhait had promised, cabin twelve was indeed in a very private location. Little Mack didn't want to be seen crying like a baby.
Cop Humor
Cassie decided it was time for her to pay a visit to the officer handling the death of Teddy Maciborski. It took only a couple of phone calls to determine that the officer handling the case was Detective Eddie Bebedict, but the detective made it clear over the phone that he had no interest in speaking to a member of the press.
"But I'm not a reporter," Cassie had explained, "I write features for the Jersey Knews."
Eddie Bebedict snorted, just one time. "That piece of garbage? I wouldn't use the Jersey Knews to line my bird cage."
Cassie loved the sound of gravel grinding in Eddie's throat as he talked. "But I'd like to talk to you about Oliver Berryhill."
Eddie Bebedict was unimpressed. "Why are you interested? No space alien abductions this month?"
Cassie found herself liking the detective, even though he wouldn't speak to her, quite possibly because he wouldn't speak to her. The Jersey Knews was hardly the most reputable of periodicals. Still, Cassie was not about to be discouraged by the detective's lack of interest. Half an hour later she was standing at the detective's desk, introducing herself.
"I thought I told you I wasn't gonna talk to you," Eddie reminded her.
Cassie pushed. "I figured it was worth the trip to make you turn me down face-to-face."
Eddie, however, wasn't staring at her face. "Oh, what the hell. Take a load off, Ms. . . ."
"O'Malley. But my friends call me Cassie," she said as she took a seat alongside the detective's desk.
"Eddie Bebedict," he replied, "My friends call me Eggs."
"Eggs?"
"Eggs . . . Bebedict," he explained. "Get it, eggs benedict?"
Cassie chuckled. "What's that, cop humor?"
Eddie smiled. "Yeah, cop humor. So what can I do for you Cassie?"
"What can you tell me about Teddy Maciborski?"
Eddie opened the file on his desk. "Teddy Maciborski was a goon. Blackmail. Illegal gaming. Dealing in stolen goods. Assault and battery."
"And his death?"
"Why do you ask?" Eggs Bebedict watched Cassie closely.
"I've spent the last couple of weeks at the mall, trying to write a sappy story about the Christmas shoppers."
Eggs was suddenly more interested. "So you were at the mall yesterday when Big Mack died?"
Cassie shook her head. "No, and that's the problem. I was supposed to be. Now my boss thinks I've got this great story for him, and the truth is I've got jackshit."
Eggs was understanding. "So now you're trying to cobble together a story before your boss figures out you screwed up."
Cassie nodded.
Eddie snorted a second time. "I can respect that. Tell you what, Cassie, maybe we can help one another."
"I'll be happy to do whatever I can, Detective."
"Thank you, Cassie. I was wondering if you got to know this Oliver Berryhill in the last couple of weeks."
"I saw him, of course. I guess I talked to him a couple of times. Nothing memorable."
"So here's what I'm curious about, Cassie. Do you think that Oliver Berryhill was capable of killing Teddy Maciborski?"
Cassie was surprised by the detective's question. "I thought it was an accident."
"You're right, Cassie. Of course it was an accident. What I mean is, when you listen to Oliver Berryhill describe the struggle in the men's room with Teddy Macibroski, Teddy coming at him with a knife, can you picture Oliver, in any event, being the one who emerges from the men's room alive?"
Cassie hadn't asked herself the question in quite the same way, but the thought had crossed her mind. "No, Detective. I guess when you put it that way, I picture Teddy walking out of the bathroom very much alive and Oliver sitting on the toilet, dead."
Eggs nodded. "Me too, Cassie. Me too."
For a moment, they sat in the squad room, imagining the scene in the men's room at the Mall of New Jersey.
Cassie spoke first. "So what are you doing with the case?"
Eggs snorted a third time. "Nothing. The captain is satisfied with the outcome. The case is closed."
Cassie rose to leave. "Thank you, Eggs."
"You're welcome, Cassie. Keep in touch, okay?"
"Of course, Detective."
A Light Visible in the Window
When the police car pulled up in front of the Bhait's Motel, Morris peeked out his cabin window, curious to know what had brought the police to this deserted spot on the outskirts of town. During his forced respite at the motel, there had been no other guests. Beejit Bhait kept largely to himself. The arguments between Beejit and his mother that bled through his wall at odd hours of the day and night hardly seemed a sufficient reason for the police presence. Then Morris saw the Town Car pull in behind the patrol car. A very large man dragged his tired body from the car.
Morris had seen that very large body once before. There was something different about the man on this occasion. It was more than just the absence of his equally large partner. It was something else. Morris had the feeling that this man had somehow shrunk inside his very large body. It was not that he looked smaller to Morris. It was as if the man no longer fully filled his very large body. But despite the deterioration, Morris had no doubt that it was the same man. How had he traced Morris to the motel? What were his intentions? Morris was certain that this was a man who preferred to keep his business activities invisible. For what possible reason had he involved the local police? Morris sank back away from the window, only to creep back, needing to watch, as his pursuer checked into the Bhait's Motel.
Morris watched the patrol car depart. He watched the Lincoln Town Car pull to the rear of the motel property. In a panic, Morris realized that his was the only cabin with a light visible in the window. Had his pursuer seen the light in cabin number one? Morris turned the light off and waited.
Morris passed fifteen excruciating minutes alone in the dark in cabin number one. He picked up the telephone and dialed Cassie's number, listening to the ring. Pick up, Cassie, he begged, please pick up.
"I'm sorry, but I am unavailable to take your call right now. Please leave your name and number, and I'll get back to you as soon as possible."
"Cassie. It's me. Morris. Pick up the damn phone, Cassie. He's here. What am I gonna do, Cassie? Pick up the damn phone. Please."
Morris placed the receiver down on its cradle. He would have to face this on his own. He sat in the dark and watched the clock. Five minutes passed. Ten. Twenty. Thirty minutes went by and nothing happened. The absence of any immediate threat seemed to Morris to be especially sinister. What was his pursuer waiting for? His partner? Morris needed to know what was happening. More stupid than brave, he slipped quietly out of his cabin, and hugging the wall, walked in the shadows down to the end of the row of cabins. As he went around to the back, he spotted the Town Car outside cabin twelve. Morris moved slowly now, careful not to make noise. For just a moment, Morris thought he saw someone hidden in a stand of trees behind the cabins, but he rubbed his eyes and the shadowy figure was gone. Sweating now, Morris crept up to cabin twelve. He knew that what he was doing was stupid, but he'd come this far. Morris peeked in at the edge of the window. What he saw took him by surprise.
Lying on the bed in cabin twelve, this very large man, still wearing his custom-tailored suit and fine Italian shoes, was bawling like a baby.
Oliver Berryhill Day
When Tommy arrived at the mall for another day of Santa duty, he discovered that Santa's Workshop had been dismantled overnight, leaving a small stage and a modest display of Christmas decorations. "Don't worry about it," the mall manager explained. "It's just for one day."
Tommy tried to imagine what event was pushing Santa off the schedule for a day.
"It's Oliver Berryhill Day here at the Mall of New Jersey. Shoppers can get their picture taken with a genuine hero." Something in the manager's tone suggested a lack of enthusiasm for the event.
"So what am I supposed to do?" Tommy wondered.
"Take the day off, Tommy. Have fun. Shop." The manager laughed. "I've got an idea. You could get your picture taken with Oliver Berryhill."
"Maybe I will."
"Just remember," the manager advised Tommy, "don't clock in today. If you stick around, you're doing it on your own time."
Tommy watched as mall maintenance workers put the finishing touches on the display. Oliver would sit where Santa usually sat. The line would follow the same path, shoppers waiting in line to shake Oliver's hand and get their picture taken. The giant candy canes had been removed from Santa's Workshop to create a spot for media. Mall management had invited the local TV station to cover the event, along with the radio stations and the local print media. They were hoping for a large turn-out, good coverage and an upbeat day.
To mall management, Oliver Berryhill was just a prop at the event. The real focus, as always, was the shopper. They hoped that by throwing this day-long event, complete with refreshments, give-aways and unadvertised sales, the mall could negate the loss of shoppers that might otherwise be expected after the fatal encounter in the men's room.
It was obvious that Oliver Berryhill didn't know he was just a prop, sweeping into the mall twenty minutes late, surrounded by his posse (looking on, Tommy wondered about rent-a-cop groupies) and trailed by his own private film crew, who was recording the event for O.B. Productions.
Tommy had to laugh when he got a clear look at Oliver Berryhill. Overnight, his brown Mall of New Jersey security guard uniform had sprouted gold epaulets and trim. Tommy had seen enough. He made his way to the exit, unwilling to waste any more of his unexpected day off hanging out at the mall.
Oliver Berryhill Day started slowly as small children, eager to sit on Santa's hospitable lap, arrived dragging adults behind them. The toddlers were not impressed by a preening security guard. The supervisor of special events, on behalf of mall management and all of the storeowners and their employees, welcomed the disappointed children and their impatient parents to Oliver Berryhill Day. Oliver smiled broadly, causing several small children to break out in tearful sobs and screams. The supervisor gave Oliver a dirty look and gave the children lollipops.
By late morning, the mood began to shift. The mid-day team of Dick Joakes and Lou Spowels showed up from radio station WWEX to do an onsite remote.
"Okay, boys and girls. We're comin' at ya today from the Mall of New Jersey. It's a party down here. So drop whatever you're doing and come down to the mall for Dick Joakes and Lou Spowels. We're gonna be here until two p.m. What've you got there Lou?"
Lou Spowels leaned into his microphone. "Hey, Dick. Someone just handed me this." Lou waved a piece of paper, for his radio listeners. "We're supposed to let everyone know that it's Oliver Berryhill Day here at the Mall of New Jersey. Come meet a genuine local hero."
"That's right, Lou. Later we'll see if we can get a few words with Mr. Berryhill. Right now though, we're gonna sit back and listen to some tunes. We're taking requests from our listeners here in the mall."
Actually, Dick and Lou took their song requests from mall management, who had very specific ideas about what music should be piped through the mall's sound system. The first song was the latest single from Kelly Clarkson.
Gradually the crowd grew larger and the mood more festive. A line began to form as shoppers took the opportunity to shake hands with local hero Oliver Berryhill. At noon, the supervisor of special events paused the photo line as well as the pop music. She motioned to Oliver Berryhill to join her on stage.
"We have a very special guest joining us today to read a special proclamation. From nearby DoahTownship, I would like to introduce Mayor Cheyenne Harbrough."
There was a polite smattering of applause, the crowd hoping that this would be a brief interruption.
Cheyenne looked out at the crowd. "Thank you. I am very pleased to be here today representing the wonderful town of Doah." Cheyenne Harbrough took a framed document from her briefcase and began to read.
"Whereas the Mall of New Jersey provides a world class shopping experience for thousands of citizens from all over the great state of New Jersey and beyond; and
"Whereas citizens from DoahTownship travel daily to the Mall of New Jersey for their shopping and entertainment needs; and
"Whereas it is the private security officers who are at the front lines, creating a safe and enjoyable shopping experience for those shoppers from Doah, from New Jersey and beyond; and
"Whereas acting in the face of great personal danger, one security officer, Mr. Oliver Berryhill, demonstrated extraordinary bravery in order to protect shoppers from an armed felon; and
"Whereas that felon has on at least one other occasion accosted unsuspecting shoppers here at the Mall of New Jersey;
"Then therefore, be it resolved that the town council of Doah Township, New Jersey, on behalf of its grateful citizenry, does hereby thank and commend Oliver Berryhill for his act of selfless courage.
"Signed on this fourteenth day of December, 2007, by myself, Cheyenne Harbrough, Mayor of Doah Township."
Cheyenne handed the plaque to Oliver Berryhill. "Thank you, Mr. Berryhill."
Oliver reached past the plaque for the microphone. "Thank you, Mayor Harbrough. This is indeed an honor. As public servants, you and I both have a duty to protect civilians. In that respect, I only did what any security officer is pledged to do."
Oliver was just getting warmed up when Lou Spowels opened up the channel for his own microphone. "Okay, boys and girls, that was Mayor Harbrough and Oliver Berryhill." He popped a cart into the machine, turning the volume up louder. "And this is Kid Rock and the Howling Diablos."
Paternal Pride
Tommy's first stop after leaving the mall on this unexpected day off was the home of his ex-wife Greta. He knocked on the door and was pleased when his son, Tommy Junior, answered.
"Mom's at work."
"That's okay, kiddo. I didn't come to see your mom."
"Hey, Pop, cool. Is this your weekend? Gimme a minute, okay?" Tommy Junior was running to his room before his dad had a chance to enter or answer.
Tommy yelled to his son's disappearing back. "C'mon back, kiddo."
Tommy Junior turned and walked back into the living room, wary of yet another paternal disappointment. "What's up?"
"I'm sorry, Tommy. It's not my weekend. I just came by to get some of my stuff out of the basement."
"Pop, you don't have anything down there. Mom burned it all years ago." Tommy Junior remembered the day his mother built a bonfire in the backyard. It was a violation of a township ordinance, but his mother always said it was the best fine she ever had to pay.
"It's okay. I came by a coupla days ago while you were at school. Your mom stashed a bag in the basement for me. Look, kiddo, I'm in kind of a hurry." Tommy headed for the basement stairs, Tommy Junior following closely.
