The House on Timber Lane, Robert F. Clifton [books to read as a couple TXT] 📗

recorded tape were the sounds of someone supposedly twisting and turning in bed. Then, silence and occasionally the sonancy of breathing. Then, suddenly it could be heard that a door opened. This was followed by loud voices, voices shouting, “Police!…You are under arrest!…Get out of bed and keep your hands up!" Then came the noise of someone screaming, the sound of someone running, a scuffle and then the screaming stopped.

Wallace shut off the recorder. “Who the hell was screaming?”, he asked.

“Gavigan. He thought we were a mafia hit squad sent to kill them.”, said Wallace.

“You said that Shaw was the one that resisted?”

“He thought he could escape by rushing out of the room. I don’t know how far he could get wearing just underwear, but he tried. He also took a swing at Stiles.”

“And?”

“Stiles lumped him.”

“Alright, good job, anything else?”

“Yeah, you were right. So far, these are two of the most stupid bastards I’ve ever run into. We found the bonds in the pocket of one of the mink coats. Naturally, the bonds had the

name of the victim they were stolen from. No professional criminal in his right mind would hold on to stolen items they can’t use, sell or cash.”

“Well, they’re off the street. Again, nice work Bill.”

“Thanks, Cap.”

With the arrest of the two subjects that they followed throughout the summer the Major Crime Squad found practically nothing to do. When this happened they usually reverted to reviewing cold cases, hoping to find either new leads, evidence or information. The only thing that made them deviate from the cold case files was an alleged rape that happened on Labor Day Weekend. The case involved a young attractive blond woman, one Jane Morsey, white female, age twenty-four who stated that she had been raped in the heater room of the Paddock nightclub. Witnesses told police that at about twelve thirty A.M. they heard screams coming from the rear of the building. Several men rushed to the door leading to the heater room. Upon opening the door they found the woman and what they thought being attacked by a man. The man was identified as one, Stanley Lippman, a white male age twenty-seven. The men pulled a naked Lippman off of the woman who was nude at the time and suffered from abrasions. They held Lipka until the arrival of the uniformed officers.

Under questioning, Lippman stated that he had met the woman at the bar in the club, bought her drinks and they danced. Finally, he persuaded her to leave the club. Together, outside, there was much touching and feeling and the subject walked the woman through a side alley that took them to the rear of the nightclub. He saw a door, turned the doorknob and found that the door was unlocked. The pair went inside and again after more lovemaking they both removed their clothing. Lipka then stated that during intercourse Jane Morsey began screaming and twisting her body on the concrete, heater room floor. The next thing he knew he was pulled off of her and held for the police.

Wallace took notes, then played back the recorded tape of Lippman’s statement. Looking at the accused man Wallace said, “Alright, right now you are accused of being a rapist. At this moment you are not being charged or arrested. Sit tight. If you are innocent, you have nothing to worry about. However, if you did it you’re more or less up Shit’s Creek. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir, but I’ve told you what happened. She wanted it, sir…She wanted it”, said Lippman.

Wallace walked out of the room and then entered an interrogation room further down the hallway. When he came into the room he saw Sergeant O’Neil and a uniformed female police officer talking to Jane Morsey.

O’Neil handed Wallace the file involving the case up to this point in the investigation. The Captain browsed through one typewritten report and free handwritten accounts submitted by officers at the scene.

“I.D. is printing photos taken in the heater room”, said O’Neil.

Wallace nodded. Looking at Jane Morsey he asked, “Is it, Miss or Mrs. Morsey?”

“It’s Mrs. Morsey”, the woman answered.

“What brings you to Nautilus Beach?”, he asked.

“Just a weekend getaway”, she replied.

“And, where are you staying?”

“The Drake Hotel.”

“Is your husband with you?”

“No, I came with a girlfriend.”

“And what is her name?”

“Gloria Swain”.

“Was she with you at the Paddock?”

“For a while.”

“For a while? I take it then that she left the club.”

“Yes…She did.”

“Alone?”

“No…She left with a man.”

“I see…what is his name?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t introduce him to me.”

“You don’t know? This is your friend and she’s leaving with a man you didn’t even meet. Didn’t you worry about her?”

“No…She’s a big girl…She can take care of herself.”

“I see”, said Wallace as he read another report. “I see you live in New York City.”

“That’s correct. Actually in the Bronx.”

“And, what does your husband do for a living?”

“He’s a policeman.”

“He’s a policeman in New York?”

“Yes.”

“How do we get in touch with him? You know we look out for each other in our profession.”

“I don’t want him to know about this.” Wallace’s questioning was interrupted by a soft knocking on the door. O’Neil opened it and took four eight by ten photographs from a Crime Scene Investigator. He looked at them and then handed them to Wallace. A frown formed on the Captains forehead as he viewed the photos. Turning to the woman again he asked. “Isn’t it true that you told one of the uniformed police officers, a Patrolman Johnson that the man who raped you told you to disrobe and when you refused he pulled your clothes off of you?”

“Yes…that’s correct.”

“What did he take off first?”

“My dress”

“The one you are wearing now?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Where were you standing when he did this?”

“Right where the patrons found me…with him on top of me.”

“I want you to look at this photograph and tell me what you see”, said Wallace as he handed the woman one of the photos.

Jane Morsey looked at the black and white print and said, “I see a picture of my dress”, she replied.

“Yes you do and it’s hanging on a nail in the wall”

“That’s correct”

“Who placed the dress on the nail?”

“He did.”

“I see…Then, Stanley Lippman, the man you say raped you, took you to the heater room of the Paddock Club. There he ordered you to remove your dress, which you did. Either you handed it to him or he took it from you and then he turned, walked across the heater room and hung your dress on a nail on the wall.”

“I suppose he did. It’s all so confusing.”

“I’m sure. Now, what happened next?”

“What do you mean?”

“Mrs. Morely you were found nude. What article of clothing did you remove next?”

“I think it was my shoes.”

“Did you take them off or did Lipka remove them?”

“I took them off”

“What did you do next?”

“I think I handed them to him.”

“Please take a look at this photo”, said Wallace handing her another photograph.

“It is a picture of my shoes”, replied Mrs. Morsey.

“Notice that they are placed neatly on the floor, left shoe and right shoe, one next to the other.”

“So?”

“I’m trying to understand how Mr. Lippman forced you to remove your dress and when you did he then left you to walk to the far wall in the heater room and then come back to where you stood and you didn’t run, scream or try to escape. Then, you removed your shoes, handed them to Mr. Lippman who again walked to the far wall and you remained stationary and silent. Can you explain your actions?”

“I was afraid.”

“You were afraid. Let’s see just exactly what you are afraid of Mrs. Morsey. I need the number of your home telephone. I think its time we called your husband.”

“I don’t want him involved in this. We’re separated at the moment.”

“Sorry to hear that, but I’m sure as a police officer he would like to be assured that we here are doing our utmost to gather evidence and that we have your attacker in custody.”

“No…I won’t do it”, said Jane Morsey.

“Very well...We’ll just call the N.Y.P.D. have him alerted and he can call us.”, Wallace responded.

After a long silence Jane Morsey, in a low voice said, “Don’t do that…I wasn’t raped…I went with him willingly. When all those people rushed into the room and pulled him off of me all I could think of was my husband and my reputation so I accused Mr. Lippman of rape."

“I thought so. Now, at this time I could arrest you for filing a false police report, but I won’t. what I do want is a statement from you exonerating Mr. Lippman of all criminal charges. That should satisfy Mr. Lippman, nonetheless, I have no control over any civil matters that might arise. Do you understand?”

“Yes…May I speak to Mr. Lippman?”

“Of course…right after I talk to him. Meanwhile, Sergeant O’Neil will take your statement.”

Wallace left the room and walked to the area where Stanley Lippman sat with his head bowed. Wallace looked at the man and said, “Mr. Lippman, you are one, lucky, son of a bitch.”

 

Chapter Four

After the Labor Day weekend, the tourist season in Nautilus Beach ended and the convention season began. Conventions meant extended business for the bars, taverns, pimps and whores and dumb conventioneers fell victim to the tourist traps. Some paid marked up prices for souvenirs. They were the lucky ones. Others were duped into getting drunk in the local watering holes, ending up paying for bottles of cheap champagne with a Don Perione price tag. At the same time, the hookers were plying their trade and rolling as many johns as they could.

During the same time, Robert Wallace continued to date Elaine Benson and the price he paid for her company at dinner, movies, concerts, and the theater was her insistence that Doctor Vernon Gray was planning to kill his fiance, Grace Hodges. Although he thought her ideas absurd, Wallace did, for some reason unknown to him questioned why a man, would have the body of his dead wife cremated when he knew it was against her religious belief’s.

At three thirty on a Friday afternoon, Wallace dialed the telephone number of the County Medical Examiner and was surprised that after three rings Doctor Edwards was the one that answered the telephone.

“What the hell happened doc? Where’s your staff?”

“Robert!…It’s Friday. I sent them home early and don’t tell me you have a homicide that I have to look at?”

“No…Nothing like that. I just need some information and I’d like to pick your scientific mind.”

“What about?”

“The ability for someone to commit a murder using either medications or chemicals, preferably the types that can go undetected during an autopsy.”

“Hmmmmn. An interesting subject. What’s you schedule for tomorrow?”

“I’m free.”

“Good…Has your golf game improved any?”

“No.”

“Meet me at the country club in the morning. Let’s make it at nine. We’ll play a round and I’ll beat your ass while we talk. Afterward, we’ll have lunch.”

“Sounds good.”

“How does a dollar a hole sound?” “Twenty- five cents sounds better.”

“You are a cheap bastard, but it’s a deal.”

“Hey, I’m just a poor cop, a civil servant, if you will.”

Doctor Edwards laughed, “Alright, see you in the morning”, he said as he hung up the telephone.

The next morning Wallace, using a driver sent the golf ball straight down the fairway. He watched the ball bounce once, twice and after the third bounce it rolled up next to the rough.

“Well…I see you still hit it straight. Too bad you can’t hit it long”, said Edwards as he bent over and placed his golf ball on the tee.

“Just hit the ball doc…Hit the ball”, Wallace replied. He then stood and watched as Doctor Edwards drove the golf ball forty feet further than his with the drive.

As Edwards took a seat in the electric powered golf cart Wallace asked, “Have you forgot why we’re here?”

“Not at all. My object is to beat your ass at golf and at the same time answer your questions about the use of chemicals in a homicide