The Case Of The Barefoot Boys, Robert F. Clifton [read book TXT] 📗

and yours alone. It does come to me however, that the summer semesters are indeed coming to a close. That in itself presents a few questions,” she said.

“Questions? What type of questions?',asked Basham.

“Well, for one, what will I do? Should I go to California?

Should I go back to England and look for an opportunity to work on a dig?”

“Are there opportunities in England?”, asked Alistair.

“Someone is always putting up money in England for research in anthropology. Personally, I think it still has something to do with the discovery of the Piltdown Man conducted in 1912. The English still wish to be the one that finds the so called, missing link. If they find another matching the fossils found in Essex then they are spot on. If they find evidence of an earlier specie, well then imagine how British anthropology will be regarded in the scientific world.”

“Yet, by the tone of your voice I detect there's a problem in you doing that,” said Alistair.

“There is. If such an opportunity presents itself it will in all likely hood mean a dig in Africa. That means surrendering my ideas and stance in paleoanthropology.”

“Knowing you as I do I can see your dilemma. If you were to ask me for advice in the matter I would say this. Return to England. I assume that next to standing up to your bum in dirt, rock and stone looking for old bones your next love is teaching the subject. Go home look for and wait for an opening in one of the schools needing a professor. Take the position, gain tenure and live happily ever after.”

“Unfortunately I have no place to go to in England. My home in Nottingham was sold years ago.”

“Then, I say that you should stay with me until such time things settle down and your future brightens. Stiff upper lip old girl. Stiff upper lip.”

“What would people say?”

“Who the bloody hell cares? My home has a bedroom with private bath. Marjorie Helm used it all the years she served me as housekeeper. Now, she is in a nursing home and the room is vacant. It's yours with no strings attached.”

“Thank you Alistair, you are most gracious.”

“You're welcome love. Now, if we are finished eating I suggest we clear the table and do up the dishes.”

Returning to his own apartment Basham took a long, hot, shower put on his pajamas and pulled down the covers on his bed. When he did the telephone in the bedroom rang. “Blimey! Who in bloody hell is calling me now?”, he said aloud. “Hello?”, he said answering the ring.

“Doctor Basham? Alan Baxter. I've been trying to reach you since six o'clock this evening,” he said.

“And, you didn't get me did you? I was visiting a friend. What can I do for you?”, asked Basham.

“Well fortunately we got to the pathologist in time for him to take hair samples from Ridgeway's head. Evidently they then used a Gas chromatography instrument to identify the substance you noticed in the victims hair. What you saw was zinc residue.”

Basham stood silent for a few moments as his mind raced searching for a situation in which zinc would be a factor. Then it came to him. “Sergeant, if the substance is zinc residue as you say it is then you have identified the murder weapon. In my opinion it is a galvanized pipe.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Eight

School Days

 

At four PM, Friday, August 11, 1950 Alistair Basham

Called the Atlantic City Police Department using the telephone in his living quarters. When connected he asked to speak to Sergeant Baxter. “Sergeant Baxter”, said the detective when he came on the line.

“Sergeant? Alistair Basham here. I want you to know that we will be traveling to your fair city this afternoon. As a matter of fact I'm waiting for my daughter to arrive with the motor car at any moment.”

“Will you be at the Dennis?”

“Oh no old boy. These trips are becoming rather expensive, particularly for two poor, underpaid college professors. My daughter has made arrangements for our staying at the Palmer House. Wherever that is. Seems a member of the faculty has a relative that owns the place, but is in Europe and not using it.”

“The name rings a bell. I think it's in the beach block of Delancy Place,” said Baxter.

“Very good. Anyway, should you need to meet or talk with me that's where I'll be. I shall let you know the address and telephone number. Now, I hear the bloody beeping of the horn in my daughters motor car. I mustn't keep her waiting.”

“Later, Basham stood on the steps that led to the porch of the luxury home and faced the ocean. “Splendid, you only have to walk twenty yards or so to the beach and I can sit and read on the porch as an ocean breeze comes my way. Jolly good, I'd say.”

“What's even better is I will have my own bedroom and bath and don't have to worry about embarrassing you should I forget myself and show a bit of leg,” Joyce replied.

“Oh, I'm never embarrassed my dear. When you see my red face when you're exposed it's caused by the discomfort of an aging man having difficulty to perform.”

“Well, I suggest that we unpack, then go to the market and shop for food. I don't much fancy eating out this time here. The traffic is horrendous, parking fees are high as is the menu items at any fine restaurant. I believe that you will like my cooking.

What say for tonight I make a Shepherds Pie?”

“Oh, I say, with lamb of course,” said Basham.

“Of course.”

The next day Alan Baxter sat on the porch at 120 Delancy Place across from Basham. It was ten o'clock in the morning. The sun was still rising in a powder blue sky and a gentle ocean breeze came in over the beach. “Rather a fine morning hey what?”, asked Basham.

“Yes it is. I wanted to meet with you and bring you up to date. First, however, I want to talk about your galvanized pipe theory”, said Baxter.

“Oh, it's not a theory old boy. Can you think of anything else containing zinc that was left in Ridgeway's hair after he was struck. If so, please enlighten me.

“No, I can't. At the same time I can't picture any one walking the streets holding a galvanized pipe in his hand and no one either seeing it or questioning it.”

“What you have Sergeant is an individual with a length of steel pipe that has been galvanized against rust by dipping it in a zinc solution. Have you ever worked with pipe?”

“Yes, at times.”

“Work with it enough and your hands become soiled. It isn't dirt on your skin. More than likely it's zinc residue.”

“Then, how does the killer keep it out of view?”, asked Baxter.

“I would assume that the weapon is approximately eighteen to twenty inches long. That length serves two purposes. The first is that he can conceal it in his pant leg by sliding it between the waistband of his trousers and underwear or skin. He would still be able to walk without discomfort. When the lads had their backs to him he could quickly remove it and strike. The length would be just long enough to create ample force to kill. He then looks for whatever it is that he's after, removes the shoes and disappears. Another thing, while we're on the subject of the pipe. Should you apprehend a suspect check the inside of his trousers for zinc. I'm sure that if I'm correct there will be residue.”

Baxter took out his notebook and took notes. As he did Basham continued to talk. “Now, enough about that. You said that you wanted to bring me up to date on the killings.”

“Yes, so far we have been able to find that all of the boys were highly intelligent. All were enrolled in college preparatory courses. Two of them, Beckmen and Ridgeway were in the same homeroom. All of them lived in the general vicinity of each other.

Lodell as you know lived at Delaware and Atlantic Avenue. Beckmen lived at 20 North Massachusetts Avenue, directly across from Holy Spirit High School. Woolford lived at 120 North Rhode Island Avenue and Ridgeway at 228 North New Hampshire Avenue.”

“I'm sorry old fellow, but I don't follow you.”

“Oh, I keep forgetting that you're not from around here. What it means is that the location of the victims residence means that they probably went to school in the morning on the same trolley car. If they were not the best of friends they certainly knew each other, said Baxter.

“Oh, I see. You are looking for a fraternal, social class. I must agree that it has some merit,” Basham replied.

“I agree,” said Baxter.

“I hope there is more information Sergeant.”

“Yes sir. In checking with the families of the victims we are convinced that the make and model of the shoes are all the same.

The shoes are brown, Thom McAn, loafers.”

“Loafers?”

“Yes sir. It is the shoe that is in style right now in America. The kids like it because they don't have to tie laces. At least, that's my way of looking at it, said Baxter.

“So, we have come to a point in time when the youth of the civilized world is too lazy to bend over and tie their shoes. Bloody Awful if you were to ask me,” Basham replied.

“Also all of the victims worked in the same area of town.

Beckmen on the Steel Pier at Virginia Avenue and the Boardwalk. Woolford at Mammy's Restaurant at Pennsylvania Avenue and the Boardwalk. Lodell worked at Planter Peanuts and Ridgeway worked as an usher at the Virginia Theater, also at Virginia Avenue and the Boardwalk”.

“Ah, that made it very convenient for the killer. We have already determined that the assailant both knew the lads and at the same time their schedule upon leaving work. He laid in wait, enticed the lads to either come to him or struck them from behind. After doing so he moves the body to a place where he can't be seen, removes the shoes and socks of the lads and moves away into the night. I assume he carried the shoes with him. Anything else?”

“Yes sir. We checked the ceiling light in the vestibule of the apartment house on Delaware Avenue. The bulb had indeed been loosened. We took the bulb as evidence, dusted it for fingerprints and found several latent prints that do not match. As a result we have to believe that the prints could be anyone's, the store clerk that sold it, the maintenance man who installed it and hopefully the killer who unscrewed it while it was in the fixture. We sent it to the F.B.I. in hopes they might have matching print or prints in their data base.”

“Jolly good. That could be very beneficial. Is that all?”, asked Basham.

“No sir. I'm hoping that at this point you can at least give me a personality profile of the killer,” Baxter replied.

“I thought I have. Let me reiterate. In my way of thinking your killer is, as I've told you, five foot eight inches or five feet ten inches tall. He is left handed, knows not only his victims but their movements. He is searching for something. What? I don't know at this time, but we must consider that it is in relation to the shoes. The weapon used to kill is the galvanized pipe. And, oh yes, he is in all likely hood a Caucasian.”

“How do you figure that he's a white guy?', asked Baxter.

“Choice of weapon old boy. Blacks normally use a knife or gun. Orientals, prefer strangulation, Hespanics, again although most times they prefer a machete a knife will suffice. Using a galvanized pipe that in all probability was cut and modified to be used as a murder weapon points to a Caucasian. I would say that your killer, known to the lads had to be sure each boy was dead and couldn't revive and appear against