The Medusa File, Robert F. Clifton [primary phonics txt] 📗

a DNA test. In particular he wanted to know the gender of whoever wore it.

As he was walking back to his desk he passed the open door of his commanding officer. Captain Myers happened to see him and called. “Sergeant, do you have a minute?”

“Yes Mam”, he answered as he turned and walked into Carol Myers office.

“Have a seat”, she said pointing to a chair”.

“Is something wrong?”, he asked.

“I don't know yet. I just received a telephone call from the Commissioner of Public Works. It seems that a police officer, a plain clothes officer broke the front door of a house at 1600 Albatross Lane. On top of that he had the audacity to call in and order the Public Works Department crew to not only repair the damage to the door, but to secure the building. Do you happen to know anything about that?”

“Yeah, I'm working a cold case, the Medusa File. I had to go there looking for information and evidence”, Kevin replied.

“And, what did you find, may I ask?”

“Both”

“Both? Like what?”

“Information, the house at that address was supposedly a rooming house for men. Evidence? A woman's shoe. A shoe I found in the closet of the bedroom I think was used by the owner and suspect, Edward Dawson”.

“I see and let me guess. Like the Prince in Cinderella you're going to see if the shoe fits the foot of Mr. Dawson. And, if it does what are you going to prove, that he is a cross dresser or has a girl friend with large feet?”

“Actually, I'm working on the assumption that Dawson is a transvestite”.

“Really, the last time I looked into the Criminal Codes of New Jersey I don't remember seeing that being a transvestite is a crime”.

“It isn't”

“Then why are you dwelling on that theory?”

“It's just a hunch I have”.

“I see. Well, while you're concentrating on your opinions and hunches, concentrate on paying the city three hundred and eighty seven dollars for the work that was done on the front door of 1600 Albatross Lane”

“That's a hell of a lot for nailing a door shut and covering it with plywood”.

“Union rates. Two men, one to hold the door shut and one to nail. Don't pay and the Chief will have to either discipline you or take it out of your pay. Your call”.

“I'll give them my check tomorrow morning”.

“Good. That's all for now, but I suggest that in the future you use a little bit of common sense. You can't go around breaking private or public property unless like everything else related to police work, you have probable cause”.

“Yes Mam”.

“Alright return to your duties. I have your report. I don't know where you are going with your Cinderella hypothesis, but the Medusa File is your cold case assignment. Do it your way, but professionally and legal. Do you understand?”

“Yes Mam”.

Later that day after supper Kevin McKenna sat at the desk and wrote a check for three hundred and eighty seven dollars, payable to the City of Nautilus Beach, New Jersey.He then placed the check in with the copied Medusa File and got up and went to the brown, leather, recliner chair. He took a seat and began reading the reports of then, Detective Robert Wallace.

“February 2, 1968 Norman Peters, Caucasian male, age 37. Occupation, amusement ride operator. Victim. Found dead in rented room, number 207 at 1600 Albatross Lane. Nautilus Beach. New Jersey. No signs of violence. Subject had strange grin on face. Poisoning suspected at this time. Victim sent to hospital morgue for pathological testing and autopsy

“February 13. 1968. Norman Peters, victim, case # 3703. Subject died as result of overdose cocain containing strychnine. See pathologist report attached.”

Kevin turned to the next report page in the copies.

“April 8, 1968 Harry Nichols. Caucasian Male age 40. Occupation laundry worker. Victim found unresponsive in room 209 1600 Albatross Lane, Nautilus Beach, New Jersey. Subject rushed to hospital via ambulance. Pronounced D.O.A. upon arrival at emergency ward. Subject viewed at hospital morgue by the undersigned. Subject had hideous grin on face. Now awaiting pathology and autopsy report”.

“April 16, 1968 Harry Nichols, victim case #37 04. Subject reported to have died as a result of overdose of cocain containing strychnine. See pathologist report attached.

Again. Kevin turned to the next report.

“August 30, 1968 Sheldon Holmes, Caucasian male, age 57.

Occupation taxi cab driver. Subject found unresponsive in bed in room 211, 1600 Albatross Lane, Nautilus beach, New Jersey. Arriving ambulance squad unable to resuscitate. Subject rushed to hospital. Pronounced dead upon arrival, hospital emergency room. Police notified by Dr. Andrew Phillips”.

“September 10, 1968 Sheldon Holmes, victim, case # 3705.

Subject reported to have died as a result of overdose of cocain containing strychnine. See pathologist report attached.”

“Tuesday, October 15, 1968 at 9:15 A.M. police called to room 205, 1600 Albatross Lane. Subject, Michael Winters, Caucasian male age 53, occupation, Time Keeper, Morton hotel, Nautilus Beach, New Jersey. Subject found face down. Was nude. Stab wound in lower left shoulder. Further investigation revealed stab wound abdomen. Evidence of struggle. Body sent to hospital morgue by order of county coroner. Evidence?

“Friday, November 1,1968. Michael Winters, case # 3706. Subject reported to have died as a result of stab wounds which punctured the victims aorta resulting in his death, See pathologist and autopsy report attached”.

“Strange, in his report Wallace typed evidence but with a question mark. Why?”, Kevin asked himself mentally.

After turning several pages McKenna found the evidence report. In it was the mention of the star shaped blood stains on the victims back, the calendar marked “Met Pat” and the mans Timex wristwatch and broken band. Strangely, a red line had been drawn through the mentioned blood stains and the reporting of the words written on the calendar. There was no reports or mention of interviews with relatives or possible witnesses.

Kevin placed the case report papers back in the manila folder and carried it to the desk. While there he printed a copy of the check he wrote then placed the original check in his wallet. He looked around the room, why, he didn't know. It was just a habit, making sure all ashtrays were cold and electric appliances shut off before he retired for the night. A trait he learned from his mother.

The following Saturday morning McKenna hugged and kissed Mary Wallace on the cheek then seeing his godfather seated in a plush living room chair instead of the wheelchair walked over and shook the old mans hand. “Good morning, Uncle Bob. Good to see you out of the wheelchair”.

“If you think it's good imagine how I feel. For awhile I was beginning to think my ass was growing to the seat. Speaking of feeling good. How much do you weigh?”, asked Wallace.

“A hundred and eighty pounds. Why?”

“Because you're getting fat. Nothing worse then a fat cop. It sends a signal to the public that all you do is sit on your ass doing nothing. Are you exercising?”

“Yep, running, weight lifting, things like that”.

“I hope so. I hate to think that your father and me didn't set an example for you to follow. We exercised all the time”.

“Oh you set an example alright, like don't wear expensive clothes when working. You two never spent more than thirteen dollars for a pair of pants or forty dollars for a suit”.

“And we were right in doing so. Clothes get ripped or torn in all kinds of ways out on the street. If you know what I mean”.

“Yeah, well I've got news for both of you. You can't buy a pair of pants or a suit today at the prices you guys paid back then”.

“Maybe so, but watch your weight. Now, enough of that bullshit even though it's good to see you, I know that you must have something on your mind”, said Wallace.

“I do. I spent last evening going over the Medusa File. There are a couple questions I need answers to”, Kevin replied.

“Such as?”

“In your report where you mention the blood stains and words on the calendar a line has been drawn through those listed things. Why?”

“Because Captain Eppinger was under the opinion that I was full of shit and the things I presented were wrong. Therefore, to teach me a lesson he drew a line through those words in my report with red ink. The son of a bitch treated me like I was a third grade student in elementary school”.

“O.K. that's what I thought. We'll get back to Captain Eppinger later. Now, my next question”.

“Shoot”.

“Why are there no reports or interviews of witnesses or family members of the victims?”

“Once again, I wasn't allowed to do that. Captain Eppinger was responsible for that part of the investigation”.

“Then, what the hell did you do Uncle Bob?”

“Went for coffee, did filing, answered the telephone, things like that”.

“And, that's as far as the homicide investigations went?”

“Yep. What you don't seem to understand is that the Major Crime Squad and I guess you could say the same for the Detective Bureau in general had a lazy ass philosophy. Nautilus Beach, being a summer resort, most of the victims of any crime were from out of town. The general thought was even if an arrest was made victims and witnesses would be difficult to find and testify in court. Therefore, a policy was adopted. Take the victims complaint, assign it to a detective, file it, then close it out after three days. Are you familiar with Wilson's book on Police Administration?”

“Yes sir”

“Than you know that the recommended solvable rate is for a profession police department”.

“Yes I do”.

“Do you know that the Nautilus Beach Detective Bureau solvable rate in 1968 was less than one per cent?”

“It was higher than that when I came on the force”.

“Yeah, thanks to people like your father, Captain Myers, Frank Stiles. These were the police officers who threw off the hands of corruption and corrupt politicians”.

“You didn't include yourself in that group”.

“They did the work, I was just in charge of the investigations”.

“Well you sure as hell weren't like Captain Eppinger”

“Don't bad mouth Captain Eppinger. He made me a reasonably, fair investigator. From him, I learned what not to do”.

“That's all well and good, but let's dwell on the Medusa File”, suggested Mckenna.

“Alright, what do you want from me?”

“Advice. Where do I go from here?”

“I'm not going to bullshit you son. This case is forty seven years old. In all probability any witnesses or relatives of the victims are either dead or have moved away. However, that's where I would start. Try and find those who are still able to talk to you and shed some light on your investigation”.

“I know that much. What I need is that one person that knows what's going down now and what was going down back then”.

Wallace smiled. “You sly bastard, you want my informants, don't you?”

“It would help. Mine are too young to know what happened then or by who”.

“Alright, let me think it over. I don't even know if the bastards still alive. If he is, is he still for sale? Give me a couple of days. I'll call you at home”.

“Thanks Uncle Bob.

“Don't thank me yet. Let's see what happens”.

Three days later at five forty five P.M. Kevin McKenna sat at his kitchen table eating his supper. To avoid having to wash dishes he ate a frozen dinner of Salisbury steak and macaroni and cheese heated in the microwave oven and ate it from it's container. As he did the telephone on the kitchen wall rang. Kevin reached up and removed the receiver placing it next to his ear. “Hello?”, he said.

“Kevin. This is Uncle Bob. In my desk drawer you'll find a key with a plastic tab reading basement locker. On this coming Saturday go down in the basement, unlock the locker. There you will find fishing poles and a tackle box. Take the pole with the spinning reel along with the tackle box. Got it so far?”

“Yes”.

“Good then drive on out to the road that leads to the