Five minute mysteries 2, p.9
Five-minute Mysteries 2, page 9
“Omigod! Are you all right? I thought for sure you ... Omigod! I was right out there on the street! That stupid old truck! And the way they always park! The brakes must have failed, and it rolled right across. Or else – you know what? I bet those clods never even set the parking brake ... Omigod! We’ve got to go after them. That’s a felony! Criminal neglect, at least, probably more!”
“Much more!” Mary Margaret’s voice made it clear that her gloom had been firmly pushed aside. “Assault. Assault with intent! That was no failed brakes affair.”
?
Mary Margaret is right. Why could this not have been a “failed brakes affair”?
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28
A Perfect Witness
“What I don’t understand, young lady, is why I have to go over all this again. I told the officers at the accident what I saw, and they wrote it all down.”
“Yes, I understand, sir, but that was –”
“Father.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Father. I’m a priest. I’d prefer you address me as ‘Father.’”
“Of course, I’m sorry. Now the reason we have to go over this again, Father ... er ... Belcher, the reason we’re doing it again is because, if this goes to trial, I will be prosecuting the case, and the fact is, I really need to be familiar with everything you might say as a witness.”
“Hmpf.” Father Leonard Belcher took off his glasses and began to polish them furiously with the torn lining of his suit coat. “Very well. What do you need to know that isn’t on the police report? That’s what’s on your desk there, isn’t it? I noticed it when I came in.”
“Yes, I have the report. But let’s go back to the –”
“You know, I really should have your surname. I can’t be calling you ‘Serena.’ Not proper, in my opinion.”
There was a pause. “It’s Gelberg.”
“Very well. Miss Gelberg.”
“Ms.”
“Indeed. Ms. Gelberg.” Father Belcher polished even harder and fixed his gaze on the ceiling. Serena, meanwhile, looked down at the report, running her fingernail very slowly down the edge of the police report as though looking for something specific. When she felt the air had thinned a bit, she started again.
“As I understand it, Father Belcher, you were standing on the northwest corner of Brock and Prevost when the accident happened?”
“Yes, I was reading my office.” The priest folded his glasses in one hand and leaned forward. His tone became soft and conspiratorial. “I’d almost forgotten it! Still had a page or so left, and the light was beginning to fade.”
Serena looked confused. “I’m sorry ... your ‘office’?”
“A daily reading. From this.” With some difficulty Father Belcher extracted a leather-bound breviary from his suit coat pocket. “It’s required. Some of the young priests don’t bother to do it every day, but I –”
“So, you were reading your ... er ... office when the car rolled over in the intersection?”
“Yes. I didn’t see the beginning of things, but I heard a very loud bang. I think the car hit something. I didn’t see what – I told the police officer that – but the noise caught my attention, and I turned and saw the car roll over. I think it would have rolled again, but it came to rest against the lamppost kitty-corner from me.”
“The southeast corner.”
“Yes.”
“And you saw the driver, Mr. de Leon, get out of the car?”
“Almost right away he got out. The car was upside down, but the door was wide open. I could smell alcohol.”
“You could smell alcohol from the opposite corner?”
“No, when I crossed the street. Like I said, he got out and leaned against the car. I went over to him then and asked, ‘Are you all right?’; that’s when I could smell the alcohol.”
Serena ran her fingernail down the report again. “The investigating officer wrote here that you said, ‘Are you okay?’”
“No, I said, ‘Are you all right?’ I have a very good memory.”
Serena handed the report to the priest. “The bottom of the page,” she said. “Your words are in quotation marks, and ... er ... aren’t those your initials in the margin?”
The priest said “Hmpf” twice into the ensuing silence before handing the report back. “Yes, perhaps I did say ‘okay.’ But surely that’s a trivial matter!”
“Indeed it is,” Serena agreed, nodding her head. “But the defense will have a copy of this report, too, and it’s important that what you say on the witness stand ... well, no matter for the moment. The truly vital issue is this passenger you saw get out of the car. That’s what the defense will be after and, quite frankly, it’s what may take this case beyond a drunk-driving charge into a whole other issue. Now you’re absolutely certain, Father Belcher, you saw a passenger, an adolescent, a female adolescent?”
“I know what I saw. Before he – this Mr. de Leon – was even on his feet, a young girl crawled out the back window on the other side of the car. Mr. de Leon said, ‘I think you better go make a phone call fast,’ and then she disappeared. Don’t ask me where she went.”
“Please understand if I press you on this, because de Leon swears there was nobody else in the car. And he told the officer he said, ‘I think I better go make a phone call fast.’ You know, don’t you – well, I’m sure you do – that nobody else saw a passenger? But, then, you’re the only eyewitness – at least so far, although I doubt any more are going to show up.”
“I know what I saw.”
The attorney tugged at her straight black hair. “Just now you said ‘young girl,’ yet in the report you –”
“Yes, yes, I know. I just read it. To the policeman I said ‘young adolescent.’ You have no idea, Ms. Gelberg, how all this politically correct nonsense has made the language confusing for people of my generation. Is it okay to call a woman a ‘girl,’ for example? When is ‘female’ the right word? And this he/she drivel! But that’s beside the point. I know what I saw. Now, could I pick this ... this young person out of a line-up of others her age and size? Not with certainty, unless she happens to be wearing the peculiar little necklace she had on at the time of the accident. Do I know her? No. Have I ever seen her before? Not that I know of. How old was she? I wouldn’t venture to say, but definitely under sixteen. Now, does that help?”
“Very emphatic, very emphatic.” Serena looked at her watch. “And I thank you for being so cooperative. Not least for taking the time to come in.”
Father Belcher recognized a termination signal, for he’d used similar ones many times himself. He stood and put on his glasses, straightened his suit coat, and offered his hand across the desk.
Serena Gelberg smiled. “Now that’s politically correct, Father Belcher! Let me guess: when you were my age you shook hands only with men. Am I right?”
The priest smiled in return. He felt he could get to like this young lady. As he reached the door, he paused for a second with one hand on the doorknob. The smile was still on his face.
“Tell me, Ms. Gelberg. You’re Jewish, right?”
“Yes.”
“When you talk to your rabbi, you address him as ‘Rabbi,’ don’t you?”
“Well, the fact is I’m not ... well, yes, I do. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious; just curious. Nothing more.”
The telephone rang on Serena’s desk just as the door closed behind the priest. It was her department head, and she knew exactly what the call was about.
“No, darn it,” she said, even before she was asked, “not a perfect witness. If the defence has him read something they will definitely be able to weaken his testimony.”
?
What has Serena noted that may weaken Father Belcher’s value as a witness?
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29
Accidental Death?
Belfountain Life & Indemnity Incorporated
July 10, 1968
Mr. Alberto Cantella
Roshmon, Cantella, Burns & Habib
51st Floor, Caledon Place
King City
Dear Mr. Cantella,
I am replying to your letter of May 28, 1968, in which you inform us that you now represent the estate of Xavier P.B. Lutz.
To answer your questions in order:
1. Briefly, the circumstances of Mr. Lutz’s death are as follows: On September 22, 1965, at 9:30 a.m., the body of the deceased was discovered on the second-level landing of a stairwell in the Palgrave Underground Parking Garage. According to the report of the medical examiner, death occurred between 10:00 p.m. and midnight the previous day. This report also states that Mr. Lutz died instantly of a single gunshot wound to the heart from a .32 caliber bullet. Evidence indicates that two weapons were used at the crime scene and three shots were fired. A gun with the deceased’s fingerprints on it was found near the body. This weapon, also .32 caliber, was the property of Mr. Lutz and was duly registered. It had been fired twice, and the spent bullets were found in the stairwell. The weapon used to kill Mr. Lutz was never found.
On the second anniversary of the incident, September 21, 1967, the police department acknowledged that it had not been able to identify a suspect in the shooting of Mr. Lutz, and that it had transferred the case to its “cold files.”
2. The late Mr. Lutz was the owner of whole life policy #97352 with Belfountain Life & Indemnity. The policy has a face value of $100,000 with a double indemnity clause in the event of accidental death, raising face value in such a situation to $200,000.
3. On September 30, 1967, following the announcement of the police force with regard to the investigation, Belfountain Life & Indemnity issued a cheque for $100,000 to the estate of Mr. Lutz.
4. It is the position of the firm that the particulars in this case do not constitute “accidental death,” as defined by the Insurance Act and that, as a consequence, the double indemnity clause does not apply. As stipulated in Section IV(b) ix, of the Federal Insurance Act, a death by murder is regarded as “accidental death” for insurance purposes, provided that at the time of, or immediately prior to, the death the victim is not engaged in activity that is provocative, in whole or in part, of the circumstances leading to the death.
I trust the above is the information you seek.
Yours sincerely,
J. Piers Cutter, V.P. Settlement
Belfountain Life & Indemnity Inc
?
Why does the insurance company not regard Mr. Lutz’s death as “accidental” for insurance purposes?
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30
It's Elementary
Anyway, that’s the good part. About being a cop, I mean. As for the bad part ... I’ve only been out of the academy three months now and the stuff that bugs the older ones, you know, shift work and that, it just doesn’t bother me. Least not yet, anyway. But ... okay, there’s one thing. One really big thing, actually. See, my name is Watson. My surname. Yeah, you can tell what’s coming already, can’t you? Now, you may not think it’s such a big deal, and I’ll grant you, the first time somebody on the force said, “elementary, my dear Watson,” to me, I just shrugged it off. After all, I am the junior member here, and I suppose it’s to be expected. But try putting up with it every day, on every case, on every call!
Like the other morning, when I went out with “Domie” Karges on this shooting investigation. Oh ... maybe I should explain that we’re a pretty small rural police force. Not a lot of major crime here, so we don’t go out in pairs except when there’s a specific thing to look into. Then the sheriff just partners up whoever’s around. I’d signed in early that morning, so I guess he picked me ’cause I was standing closest. Tells me I’m going out on this shooting thing, and then sends me out to the garage to roust Domie.
Domie is one of the old guys, a veteran. There’s one like him in every police station, I guess. Not a bad guy, and not stupid or anything like that, but lazy. And senior enough to know where all the bodies are buried, so he can get away with snoozing on the old car seats out back. Out of everyone on the force from the sheriff on down, Domie’s the worst for the “elementary, my dear Watson” thing.
Anyway, the shooting. We’ve got this big game farm just off the highway west of town. Some rich guy from Calgary owns it. Full of elk and buffalo and some exotic stuff like eland and gemsbok. Big, high, chain-link fence around it. The farm’s not a real big problem for anybody but us. (Well, maybe it is for the animal rights types. There’s a few of them show up twice, three times a year with placards and hand out pamphlets.) But for us it’s a real pain. You see, we’ve got our share of yahoos in the county – doesn’t everybody? – and of course, they’ve all got rifle racks, and this game farm – well, it’s like waving a red flag. Those animals weren’t out there a week before we had our first incident. Like the sheriff says, “It’s Newton’s fourth law: a yahoo’s got a gun, he’s gonna kill something.”
So, first thing I did that morning was go get Domie like I was supposed to, and sure enough he was snoring away out in the garage. He’s got a great set of antennae though. Before I even opened my mouth, he says, “Did you check that there’s snowshoes in the trunk? If we’re gonna go out there to see where the shooter was standing, we may need ’em. Snow’s still pretty deep.”
I guess I must have looked a bit confused, because he went on.
“This is about the game farm thing, right? The shot yesterday? I was the one who took the call, shortly after noon. Farm manager heard a shot and ran out. One a’ those big African things – what’s it called, eland? – was stumbling around, bleeding. Then he calls us.”
The explanation continued in the car. I drove.
“Nobody else around, so I went out alone. By the time I got there, the vet had already been and gone, and the animal’s still alive! Bullet went right through it.”
Now, it’s probably my own fault for giving him the opportunity, because I asked, “How could that happen?”
“Elementary ballistics, my dear Watson. Shooter used a military round, a hard-nose bullet. The movies like to call it ‘full metal jacket.’ Sexier, I guess. Anyway it went right through the beast. Now a hunter ... a hunter’d use a soft-nose, so’s it could blow a real hole open and stay inside. Kills fast and sure.”
I knew I was risking another jab, but I asked if that helped him figure out where the shooter must have been standing and was that why we needed snowshoes. To go out to the spot and take a look.
“Yeah, from the entry and exit wounds, and the hoofprints and blood spots that showed where the thing was standing, the shot had to come from the south. Watch the road!”
I’d been keen to blurt out a name and had fishtailed a bit on a piece of black ice in my excitement. “Hank Lipsett,” I finally said.
Domie just nodded. Now, any other case I’d have scored a point or two with that call, but this guy Lipsett, he’s on the list every time there’s an unexplained shooting. Real gun nut, and a yahoo’s yahoo. Even the army didn’t want him. They’d parted company some years back – one of those ‘if you leave voluntarily, then we won’t kick you out’ deals. I don’t have all the details.
Domie stretched a bit. “Lipsett’s place is first one south a’ the game farm,” he said, “so he’s a suspect, no matter what. And we know he loads his own ammo. Don’t know why. Probably stole enough from the army to fight a war.”
I was driving slower now since the fishtail. Besides, I was ready to hear more.
“Went over to his place then, straight from the game farm,” Domie went on. “Says he heard a shot all right. Earlier in the day, when he was in the barn. From the sound, he figures it was a .30-06 or maybe a .303. He oughta know; he’s got both. But here’s the thing!”
Domie straightened right up in the seat. Not like him at all. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought he was excited. “Lipsett, he volunteers that he went over there. Over to the game farm, I mean. To the fence to have a look-see. But not till later; in fact, he said he’d just got back when I drove in.”
“And it was getting dark by then,” I chimed in before Domie could point out the obvious. “Too late for you to go out and see for yourself, and that’s why we’re going now.”
As it turned out, we didn’t need the snowshoes. There’d been two, three clear days in a row with bright spring sun and then real cold nights, so, deep as it was, the snow was packed pretty solid, and we were there early enough in the day to be able to walk on top of it without sinking in. There were several sets of tracks along the south side of the big chain-link fence, but it didn’t take more than about ten minutes before we came on a single set leading from Lipsett’s barn and back again.
“Greb,” I said, after I’d crouched down to look at the boot treads. They were in pretty deep. “’Bout size 11 or 12, I’d say. That’d be about Lipsett’s size, wouldn’t it?”
Domie didn’t answer at first. He was a couple of steps farther along, down on one knee, his nose pretty close to the snow. “A .30-06, unless I miss my guess,” he said.
He was staring at a shell casing, a couple, maybe three inches below the surface. I have to admit I’m not sure I would have seen it.
“We better get a picture before I dig it out.” He was all business. “The boot tracks, too. No matter that everybody’s got Grebs this year after the sale at Wal-Mart.”
“Then what?” I asked. “Go confront Hank?”
