The House on Timber Lane by Robert F. Clifton (classic romance novels TXT) 📕

Wallace checked both bathrooms, finding the medicine cabinets empty. Elaine watched him and he turned to her and said, "If he gets the price he wants for this place, combined with Lillian’s insurance money he’ll have half a million dollars before taxes. All I have right now is a motive. I didn’t find what I was looking for.”

“What did you hope to find?”, asked Elaine.

“A couple of chemical compounds. Tell me, did Lillian take any calcium supplements”?

“No, I told you she was healthy, If she took anything it would have been iron when she had her period.”

“Alright, I’m finished here. I hope you made coffee. I need a cup and a cigarette.”

“Smoke outside, then come in for the coffee. Is there anything else you would like?”

“No, just coffee. First I want to take a look outback.”

“What for?”

“I want to check the garbage cans.”

Chapter Five

On Saturday, May 12, 1973, Grace Hodges, the heir to the Shelby Bakery Corporation fortune became the wife of Doctor Vernon Gray. The announcement was carried in all the Philadelphia papers and the one newspaper of Nautilus Beach. Wallace sat at his kitchen table reading the article, noting that the honeymoon would be in the Greek Islands and the happy couple would reside in Nautilus Beach, New Jersey.

The society editor of the Nautilus Press wrote an unflattering piece, wondering if the new Mrs. Gray would be happy and content living in the home of Doctor Gray’s house with its mere four bedrooms and three baths. The writer made it a point to mention that the former Mrs. Hodges was used to living in luxury in a mansion with servants. Now, it was said that she had reduced her staff to only her social secretary, a Miss Joan Applewhite, who would reside in a residence supplied for her.

Attired in just his boxer shorts and tee shirt, Wallace walked barefoot into his living room. To him, the room reeked of cigarette smoke and he opened the drapes and sliding glass door, allowing the ocean breeze to enter the area where it hopefully would remove the odor of stale air. He stood looking down at the shoreline seeing early tourists beginning to fill the sandy beach as they put up their umbrellas to protect themselves from the sun. Others spread their blankets and coated themselves with tanning lotion. Small children raced to the water only to stop short with delightful screams when they stepped into the frigid water. It was the locals who knew that the ocean temperature would only reach seventy degrees near the end of June.

As the gentle wind circulated through the room Wallace, addicted to nicotine reached for a pack of cigarettes, removed one from the pack, placed it in his mouth and lit it using a cheap throwaway lighter. As he exhaled his telephone rang. He walked to his desk and lifted the receiver. “Hello?”

“Cap?…O’Neil…Judge Pierpont was gunned down at his home. Looks like a deliberate hit.”

“Are you at the crime scene?”, asked Wallace.

“No, sir. Stiles is there and uniforms. I figured you would want me to pick you up.”

“I do…Make it in about twenty minutes. I have to get dressed.”

“O.K. Cap…I’ll be out front...Take your time. The judge isn’t going anywhere for a while.”

“Wait…Radio Stiles tell him the body is not to be touched or moved until I say so...Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Wallace dressed hurriedly. On his way out he holstered his Colt Detective Thirty- Eight Special, two packs of cigarettes and a lighter. He rode the elevator down to the lobby, exited the building, saw O’Neil, walked towards the unmarked radio car, opened the door and entered.

“Anything new?”, asked Wallace.

“Not right now.”

“O.K….What do we know about the late Judge Pierpont?”

“Other than that he was dirty?… Well, he was tapping the blond hostess at the Pony club. There’s the rumor that he was on the payroll of Guido Macaluso”, said O’Neil.

“Macaluso probably wanted his Philadelphia family members protected, just in case they got into trouble down here in Nautilus.”

“Possible, but if that’s the case Macaluso wouldn’t order a hit on a judge, particularly one he had in his pocket.”, said, Wallace as O’Neil double parked the car in front of Pierpont’s home.

Wallace exited the unmarked car and walked quickly up the sidewalk that led to the front entrance of Judge Douglas Pierpont’s home. From a distance, he saw the shoe soles on the feet of the body. As he got closer he saw the puddle of blood, a dark, , red, pool of gore coagulating on the white marble floor of the foyer. A uniformed police officer guarded the dead body. Plaiclothes detectives were interviewing family members.

Wallace stepped around the body of the Judge, avoiding The blood on the floor. He looked down and visually examined the corpse. Looking at O’Neil he said, “Bill take notes. First, there appears to be a wound, directly over the heart. However, that doesn’t appear to be the fatal shot. By the amount of blood that flowed out of the wound to the head. The headshot seems to be the mortal wound. He didn’t die instantly. His heart had to be beating to create that much blood. Also, the headshot is a sign of a mob hit. If the victim does survive the hit, he or she is in a vegetative state due to the trauma to the brain and can’t testify to anything. Right now, my guess is that when the judge opened the front door, the hitman fired one shot into the chest area. The force of that bullet knocked the Judge off of his feet. He fell to the floor. The gunman then took two, maybe three steps inside placed the muzzle of the weapon he used directly over the head of his victim and fired at close range. Notice the gunpowder residue where the bullet entered the head. That means the second shot was at close range.”

“Do you want to talk to the family members?”, asked O’Neil.”

“No, what can they tell me? The doorbell rang, the Judge went to answer, he opened the door and they heard two shots. I’ll read Stiles report. Have the body removed after the coroner releases it. Have our crew in my office at eight in the morning. Bring coffee and donuts.”

“You paying?”, asked O’Neil.

“Don’t I always?”

“Yep, every time. Every major crime. Every homicide, every rape, seems there’s no end to it.”

“Appears that way, but it beats the hell out of being in uniform patrol. See you in the morning Bill.”

The next morning Wallace met with his squad. As he sipped his coffee and smoked cigarette after cigarette he listened to the thoughts and suggestions of his men. When they were finished expressing their ideas Wallace looked at them and said, “Alright, right now it appears that the hit man might be a soldier in the Guido Macaluso Family in Philadelphia. Guido Macaluso’s interest in Nautilus Beach at present is narcotics, tax free cigarettes that they hijack and cigarette vending machines where they place them. It is thought and rightfully so, that he had Judge Pierpont in his pocket, just in case he ever needed him for a favor. So, right now it seems that someone made the hit on his own. The only connection we have with the Judge is the broad working at the Jockey Club. What I want now is for all of you to talk to your informants find out as much as you can about her. I want to know who she’s hangs with. Is she a hooker? While you’re doing that I’ll concentrate on Philadelphia. Any questions? No? Talk to you later.”

After the men left his office Wallace glanced at his wristwatch and noted the time. It was ten past nine A.M. he decided to wait for a while before he made a telephone call to Philadelphia. While he waited he reached into the white, paper bag and removed the last Styrofoam cup containing coffee. It was lukewarm, but he drank it anyway. Looking in the bag his eyes searched for any remaining donuts. The bag was empty. “Free loading bastards ate them all.”, he said to himself.

Wallace lit a cigarette, inhaled, exhaled ,then placed the burning tobacco in an ashtray which was filled with old butts that was ready to spill over. He picked up the receiver of the telephone on his desk and dialed the number of the Philadelphia Police Department. After three rings a female voice said, “Philadelphia Police Department, Nineteenth District, how may I help you please?”

“Detective Sheldon Hamilton please”, said Wallace.

“May I ask who is calling?”

“Captain Wallace, Nautilus Beach Police Department, Nautilus Beach, New Jersey”,

“One moment please.”

Wallace reached for the burning cigarette and placed it in his mouth. As he inhaled a voice came on line. “Robert!.. What’s up at the seashore?”

“Hello Sheldon. I’ve got a county judge who right now should be on a marble slab in the morgue.”

“A homicide?”

“Looks like a mob hit.”

“Any suspects?”

“That’s why I’m calling. What can you tell me about any of Macaluso’s soldiers?"

“How was the hit made?”

“Two shots, one to the chest, one to the head.”

“Sounds like Nuncio Vergasi. Here’s what I can tell you. He’s been arrested multiple times, two times for murder. He is definitely a mob soldier. The first homicide arrest we made he received ten years at the State Correctional Institute Fayette. That’s in La Bell Pennsylvania. He was out in two. The second arrest we made he was found guilty and sentenced to twenty years at the state Prison in Frackville. He was out after eighteen months. In each case our charges were down graded from first degree homicide to involuntary manslaughter. So, just between you and me the fix was in, both in court and in the penal system.”

“Anything else?”, asked Wallace.

“In both of our cases he killed because he was pissed off because the guys he killed made passes at his girlfriends.”

“Sounds like a sick son of a bitch”, said Wallace.

“He is, but he usually surrenders meekly when arrested. He knows the family will take care of him. And, that’s about it Bob.”

“Thanks Sheldon, I appreciate your help.”

“No problem. Talk to you later. Bye."

It was after lunch time when Detective Stiles knocked on the office door of Captain Wallace. Wallace looked up and seeing Stiles told him to come in.

“Do you have anything?”, asked Wallace.

Stiles removed a small notebook from his inside blazer pocket, opened it and looking at his notes said, “The woman working at the Jockey Club is one June Florio, Italian American female, age twenty-six, born Philadelphia Pennsylvania, July fifteen, ninety forty-seven. She is five foot four inches tall, weighs one hundred and twenty pounds. She has naturally brown hair, but is at present a bleached blond. She is currently a B-girl receiving a hundred dollars a week salary, plus a return on how many drinks she can get patrons to drink. She’ll turn a trick if she likes the guy and he can pay. The word is her price is high.”

“Anything else?”, asked Wallace.

“Oh yeah…Seems the Judge set her up in an apartment, mink coat, groceries, the whole bit.”

“Where?”

“The Golden Arms, apartment three zero seven” “And she lived happily ever after, a faithful mistress”, Said Wallace.

“Not really. Seems like a guy named Nuncio Vergasi was there when the judge was away. My informant says that the judge found out about Vergasi and raised hell with June. He might have even slapped her around a bit. On his way out he threatened to toss her out of the apartment.”

“So, let me guess. Our girl goes crying to Vergasi shows him her bruises and complains. Vergasi being the sociopath son of a bitch that he is decides to go after the Judge.”, said Wallace.

“That’s the way I see it”, said Stiles.

“Well. Right now we have a victim and a suspect. I just got off of the telephone with the Philadelphia P.D. They think our hit man is Vergasi. Probably he did it, but we haven’t the evidence. Looks like we have to keep working…nice