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

“Then our killer laying in wait here in front of the tunnel knew Ridgway's schedule and route, along with the approximate

time the lad would be leaving work. There is one more thing worth noting Sergeant.”

“What would that be?”

“You mentioned that the tunnel was actually constructed

for vehicle traffic. The killer must know the times of arriving and departing automobiles from the car park along side of the Steel Pier.”

“I'll go along with that”, Baxter agreed.

“Then, the killer, knowing that he wouldn't be interrupted probably called to the victim who he knows. Ridgeway then walks down to the street level, turns right and walks up to the killer who stands at the entrance to the tunnel. The killer then entices or forces the lad into the tunnel and kills him. What I don't know is exactly how did Ridgeway die”.

“I told you. It was just like the others. A blow to the head,” said Baxter.

“No, you're missing the point old boy. I say, can we go to headquarters where I can by chance look over photographs and the autopsy reports?”

“Certainly.”

After parking the unmarked, radio car Sergeant Baxter and Basham entered the building and walked up the single flight of steps leading to the second floor. There the Detective Bureau was located. Alistair observed the nicotine stained, sea foam green paint on the walls. A cloud of cigarette, cigar and pipe tobacco smoke hung in the air. Baxter made his way to a small desk. Once there he offered Basham a seat then sat down himself. The Sergeant then unlocked a side drawer and removed all four files pertaining to the murders.

“I say. You must admit that you work in rather shabby conditions Sergeant”, said Basham.

“You mean this shit house? Absolutely. I've been told that originally, back in the eighteen hundreds hay was stored in the attic above us. It was for the horses that pulled the fire equipment. Every once in awhile, particularly in a North-East storm bits of hay still filter down. But, hey, as the saying goes, I only work here. Now, where would you like to start?.” asked Baxter.

“From the beginning. Beckmen I believe was the lads name.”

“Yes. Here's the file on Beckmen.”

Alistair looked at the photographs of Beckmen's body taken at the crime scene and at the hospital morgue. When he was finished with the photo's he then read the autopsy report.

Thirty minutes later he closed the manila folder that contained the photographs and reports on the Ridgeway case.

“Well, did you find anything?”, asked Baxter.

“Oh, to be sure sir. Some time ago I told you that in my opinion the killer stands at between five foot eight and five foot ten inches tall. Now, after viewing the photographs and reading the autopsy report I found that there is one thing that is consistent. Each victim received a blow to the left side of the parietal bone in the cranium or skull. To me it indicates that your killer is also left handed. You see if in fact the killer was right handed and attacking from behind the blows would be on the right side of the skull. A right handed person standing in front of the victim would strike the left side of the skull on the

parietal bone but slightly behind the frontal bone. There is no evidence of a right handed assailant. Also I did notice something else.”

“What?”, asked Alan

“In viewing the close up photograph of the Ridgeway lad's

fatal injury there appears to be a light area in and around the point of impact. I don't know what it is, but if possible if I were you I'd collect the hairs from Ridgeway'sd head and have it analyzed.”

Interesting doctor. Do you have a theory about the missing shoes?”

“I'm afraid not. Not at this time. We could narrow it down to one, a shoe fetish, but that would be sexual. You have no evidence of any sexual activity with the bodies, before or after there deaths, do you?”

“No sir.”

“Then, my other interpretation is that the killer is on a mission to find something, something he wants, something of great importance or wealth and he wants it bad. The question is why the shoes?”

“Anything else?”, asked Baxter.

“Not at the moment old boy. Be assured however, now that you have invited me to the party I want to be there for the cake at the end. Now, I must get back to my daughter. Unless there is something else?”.

“No sir, Come, I'll drive you back to the Dennis.”

It was nearly five PM when Alistair unlocked the door to the room in the hotel. As he stood in the bedroom he heard the shower running in the bathroom. He also noticed Joyce's book on his bed. He thought about ordering from room service and having tea sent up to the room, but didn't know what Joyce had planned to do, so he decided to wait and talk with her. Ten minutes later she stepped into the bedroom wearing a white, short, terry robe. A towel was wrapped around her head and wet hair. “So, how was your visit with the copper?”, she asked.

“It went well. I think we made a bit of progress. We still have a way to go however.”

“You say we. That means you're fully involved in these police matters.”

“Yes, I guess I am. I can't very well turn down a request when I'm asked to help, now can I?”

“Oh, it's of little concern to me what you do dear. The university might object, don't you think?”

“Why should they? I'm only available to the police when I'm not teaching. I made that perfectly clear with Baxter at the beginning.”

“Suit yourself Alistair. Now, I must get dressed.”

“Fine, I'll wait out in the hallway while you dress.”

“That's not necessary. I can put on my bra and knickers in the bathroom. I'm sure that you seen a woman in her underwear before”, said Joyce.

“Of course, but I can't remember why or when”, Basham replied.

“Really, you're not that old”.

“I'm twenty years older than you.There are times like this that being old makes me want to cry. What are our plans for this evening, starting with dinner?”

“I was talking with the beach attendant while you were away. I asked about quality restaurants and he recommended either Trench's Neptune Inn or The Knife And Fork. We'll take a cab of course.”

“And, on which one did you decide?”, asked Alistair.

“What are you in the mood for?”, she asked.

“A Beef Wellington, but you can bloody well have a time finding it. I don't care. Where ever you wish to go and try is fine with me,” Basham answered.

“Let me think about it.”

******************

Alistair's pet peeve was being overheated and to him this Monday afternoon of August, 7, 1950 the room was stifling. Still, he saw young women attired in shorts and knew that lowering the temperature in the room would cause them to break out in goose pimples, require sweaters and force a few to use the ladies room. So, he endured. He cleared his throat and began his lecture for the day. “ Today, I think it is about time that we discuss the Classical School of thought in relation to criminology.

For your notes, and I suggest that you take notes. For your notes then, the Classical School was developed in the eighteenth century. It was based on utilitarianism. Which defined is, a form of consequentialism which states that the consequences of any action are the only standard of right and wrong.”

Basham stopped speaking when the door to the classroom opened and Maxwell Shieble entered and took a seat in the rear of the room. “Good afternoon Doctor Shieble”, said Basham.

In response Shieble raised one hand and smiled.

“To continue. The Classical School of Criminology is based on the utilitarian philosophy of one Cesare Beccaria, author of,

“On Crimes And Punishments”, written in or about 1763 or 64.

He and others argued that, people have free will to choose how to act. Punishment can deter people from crime as the penalties outweigh benefits. Finally, the more swift and certain the punishment the more effective it is in deterring criminal behavior,” said Basham.

When the lecture was over the students walked out of the classroom. Maxwell Shieble got up out of the chair and walked to the lectern where Basham stood placing his notes in his brief case. He saw Shieble approaching, raised his head and said, “I doubt very much if you're interested in the Classical School of Criminology. At the same time you know my credentials, so I doubt if you are here to critique my lectures. That leaves only the fact that you wish to speak to me about something,” said Alistair.

“Oh, to be sure. Did I or did I not tell you that you were not to get involved in any police investigation while you are here under contract to the university?”, asked Shieble.

“You did.”

“Then, how do you explain this article in today's Philadelphia Inquier? It says and I'll read it to you. It says,

“The Atlantic City Police have announced that they have asked the famous, British Criminologist, Doctor Alistair Basham of Princeton University to help with the recent homicides in the city. During the past several weeks four teenage boys have been found bludgeoned to death in the uptown region consisting of Virginia, Pennsylvania and Delaware Avenues. The latest death occurred at Virginia Avenue and the Boardwalk. I'll stop there doctor Basham. Is this article correct?”, asked Shieble.

“No.”

“No? Then please explain”.

“Simply put, I'm not at all famous. Someone is exaggerating.”

“But, you are working for the police.”

“Wrong again old boy. I'm working for the university, however I am working with the Atlantic City Police Department.”

“What's the difference?”

“I'm not financially compensated by the police nor do I expect to be.”

“By you doing so, the university is mentioned. Have you any idea what that could mean?”

“Off hand, I'd say the possibility that sociology students will be signing up for criminology next semester.”

“Fortunately for you there are only three more weeks until the summer courses end. I should dismiss you, but I'll let you finish under our agreement. After Labor Day your contract expires. Then, you can do whatever you wish to do with the police. Right now you will concentrate on your lectures and only your lectures. Do you understand?”, asked Shieble.

“Oh, right on. Allow me if you will to offer a bit of advice.

I could if I chose to do so resign immediately. That would mean that those students who have paid the tuition for the course would not receive a final grade or credits. I dare to say that the university would dislike refunding money to those that attended my classes. If I am as famous as the news article says I am then I'm sure that upon my return to the seashore and knowing that I am there the reporters in all probability will request an interview. I'm sure one or more of their questions would be in relation to Princeton University. Imagine how I would answer. Now, I'm finding our conversation tedious and you sir overbearing. I will end it by saying that I will teach to the best of my ability while here on campus. Off campus and on my own time I shall do as I wish and that might, just might mean working with law enforcement. I suggest you think over the ramifications of your thoughts in this matter.”

“You'll never teach here again Basham.”

“What's the old saying? It's a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there?”

Later that evening Joyce sat quietly at the kitchen table listening to Basham as he related what had taken place earlier in the day. As she did she slowly stirred the coffee in the cup before her on the table. When Alistair was finished she said, “I think you were right in the way you dealt with Maxwell. You might have been just a bit too harsh when you threatened to resign. Of course the decisions you made are yours