McKenna by Robert F. Clifton (good beach reads .txt) 📕

“Nothing illegal about that pal. It's done everyday in nursing homes, rest homes and old age homes everywhere”.

“That might be, still, did you ever meet Harvey Mason?”

“As far as I know I never heard of him”.

“I see. Have you ever heard of Charles Barnett?”

Bitterman quickly placed the wet end of his cigar in his mouth and chewed two or three times as he searched his mind for an answer. “Ain't he the owner of a hotel over on the beach?”

“Yes, the Regal”.

“I thought so. I know who he is. Never met him”.

“Interesting. Since you say that you're not doing anything illegal I'm sure that you keep accurate records pertaining to your business. For instance, the names of those who have signed their checks over to you are probably listed.. Do you mind if I take a look to see if Harvey Mason was here at one time or another?”

“Listen pal. Do I look like some hick that just wandered in from the farm? First of all, you got no jurisdiction here in Mainland. Township. Second unless you got a search warrant I don't have to show you anything. Next, you're starting to piss me off with your questions and attitude. As far as I'm concerned I'm done talking. Now, I suggest that you leave.”.

“You are right Mister Bitterman. Thank you for your time. You take care of yourself until we meet again.”

“I can't imagine you and me meeting again”.

“Ah, but I do”.

When McKenna got back inside his car he took a moment to take out his small notebook then made notes.” Check on criminal registration, Frank Bitterman, request criminal records from NCIC”.

Back at headquarters McKenna entered the Major Crime Squad office and after removing his suit coat took a seat at his desk. He was just about ready to type his report on the word processor when John Collins came in and took a seat next to him. “How did you make out with Bitterman?”, asked Collins.

“Not bad. I didn't expect him to be co-operative. Since our conversation was brief the only indication I got of him hiding anything was when I asked him if he knew Charles Barnett. That question seemed to jolt him, but he recovered quickly saying only that he had heard of him”.

“So, do you think he's dirty?”, asked Collins.

“Certainly, but so far not in relation to Mason's murder”.

“Then what?”

“Right now I'd say he's involved in a political conspiracy and so far has not committed any crimes. However, I intend to send off to the Nation Crime Information Center for more information on him. If push comes to shove I can put his ass in jail for failing to register as a sex criminal.”

“Based on what?”

“Based on the fact that he was a pimp in Kentucky”.

“Well, if you're finished talking about Bitterman I've got something to report”, said Collins.

“Good, let's hear it”.

“It seems that the good Reverend Howard Simon is a bullshitting, flimflam operator.”

“Really?”

“Yep,” said Collins as he opened the manila folder containing information he had gathered. “That's see. I'll start at the beginning. Howard Simon, date of birth, September 9, 1964.

Place of birth, Clive Iowa. Attended local schools until sophomore year in high school. Worked menial jobs until 1980.

In that year sent away for correspondent course for Bible study and the Christian religion. He then appeared two years later in Des Moines, Iowa as the young, Reverend Howard Simon, pastor of the Sanctuary Of The Needy located on Hickman Road. By 1984-85 he had a congregation of one hundred and fifty worshipers and a treasury worth ten thousand dollars, or so they thought. It seems that someone called for an audit and when all was said and done seven thousand dollars could not be accounted for. Seems the good reverend had a gambling problem, horses and football”.

“Interesting so far”, said McKenna.

“Wait, there's more”.

“Go ahead”.

“During the audit they also were able to determine that some of the food donated to the Sanctuary was sold to two locale butchers. This came about when one of the women in the congregation with whom he was having an adulterous affair blew the whistle on him when he dumped her”.

“And he, a member of the cloth”, said McKenna sarcastically.

“Anyway, Simon left town. He next shows up with an old school bus that he had painted white and toured the bible belt. Somewhere in Texas, I'm still waiting to hear from a guy I know in Orange, Texas, somewhere in Texas he opened another sanctuary or mission. This time for itinerant workers, mostly Mexicans. Supposedly he sold cheap booze to the field hands. He got caught when the wives of the workers went to the county Sheriff with their complaints. Seems he loaded the bus, took three hundred and eight dollars out of the mission account and disappeared during the night. Between his time in Texas and his arrival here in Nautilus Beach I've got nothing. Seems he has learned how to cover his tracks”.

“Is that it?”, asked Kevin.

“Yep”.

“Nice work John. So right now we have a few people of interest, Charles Barnett who dislikes the homeless and is anti- casino, Frank Bitterman who exploits the homeless and is reported to be in Charles Barnett's pocket and the good Reverend Howard Simon who is pro-homeless and friends with Steven Barnett also pro-casino. Unfortunately, right now, none of them can be considered suspects in Harvey Mason's murder”.

“Well, hopefully something will pop up”, said Collins.

“What about the Nautilus Beach Flyers”, asked Kevin.

“Oh yeah. The club has ten members. Steven Barnett is president. They haven't been flying their model planes due to the weather. It seems it's too cold. Did you know that some of those model planes cost between one hundred to nine hundred dollars?

That's what I found when I looked up the cost of some on the internet”.

“Yeah, but the same can be said for anyone or anything involved in a hobby. Cost becomes incidental”.

“Do you have any hobbies Sarge?”

“I don't know, reading, classical music. I got into those things when I moved into my godfather's place. He has a great collection of both”.

“You're talking about Captain Wallace, aren't you?”

“Yes”.

“Hell. He's a legend Around here. Where is he?”

“Australia, either in Rockingham or Safety Bay”.

“They say he's in bad health”.

“Yeah, diabetes”.

“Shame”.

“If he heard you say that he'd kick you in the ass”.

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

At seven o'clock that evening he dialed Whitney's telephone number. He made it a point in his mind not to mention what he now knew about the so called, Reverend Simon. At this point she would not believe whatever he said about the man.

“Hello?”, she said when she answered the ring.

“Hi, just checking to see how you are”.

“Why?”

“Well for one thing I miss you and second there's a lot of the flu going around”.

“So I've heard. So far I'm O.K., although I have a lot of kids with runny noses in the classroom.

“Other than that how have you been?”

“Busy. Christmas is coming and I've got to grade test papers. That's what I was doing when you called”.

“Speaking of Christmas and the holidays, I know where you'll be on Christmas Day, but I will be working. Those of us who are single allow the married to spend the day with their families. I'm hoping New Years Eve is open. How would you like dinner, dancing and welcoming in the New Year with me?”

“I really don't know. I'm not much for that kind of celebrating. How soon do you have to know?”

“Soon. I want to make reservations at the Glass Menagerie. The tables go quick for that evening”.

“I've heard of that dinner club, but I've never been to it”.

“It's a place that has a lot of tradition with my family. My Dad and godfather use to celebrate the conclusion of police cases they solved, by having a nice dinner with members of the Major Crime Squad, their friends and wives”.

“Other than that, what's so special about it?”

“Good people, good food and drink and great music”.

“So you dance”.

“Well, I'm no Arthur Murray, but I can get out of people's way on the dance floor”.

“Can I think about it?”

“Yeah, sure, no problem”.

Detecting the disappointment in his voice Whitney said, Kevin, I'd love to be with you on New Years Eve, but if we don't go to the restaurant we could still celebrate at your place. We could watch the fireworks being shot out over the ocean”.

“Why don't we do both? We'll have an early dinner at the club then go to my place and watch from the balcony window”.

“That's a possibility. Still, I'd like to think about it”.

“O.K. Let me know. You take care”.

“Are you upset?”

“Me?, No, talk to you later”.

“Look, if it means that much to you we'll go to the Glass Menagerie”.

“Like I said, I'll talk to you later”.

Whitney heard the click and then the dial tone before she placed the receiver on the cradle. In the back bedroom the baby was crying and she still had to finish grading the test papers.

Kevin walked up to the bookshelves and looked at Robert Wallace's collection. He had seen most of them neatly aligned alphabetically, even read a few. “As a matter of fact, there is one I've been meaning to read and haven't got around to it until now”,

he thought to himself. He reached up and removed, “Collected Cases Of Injustice Rectified,” by Song Ci. He carried the book to the dark, brown, leather recliner, took a seat, opened the book and began to read. About the same time someone in the hallway opened a door and the sound of Christmas carols filtered into his room and broke his train of thought. Then, the music was gone and he returned to the pages.

At midnight, January 1, 2014 fireworks exploded in the night sky over the ocean and beachfront of Nautilus Beach. Kevin stood in front of the glass paneled door that led out on to his balcony. Down below on the boardwalk people stood, bundled up because of the cold and watched the colorful spectacles created in the sky.

Alone Kevin toasted the New Year with a half a bottle of beer.

In her home Whitney stood listening to the exploding pyrotechnics which sounded like thunder an cannon shots that woke the baby and made it cry.

In the dark and on a damp boardwalk ramp, Charles Barnett lay face down, dead from a crushed skull.

Chapter Seven

Brotherly Love

The body had been found at approximately one ten A.M.

by party goers leaving the Marine Ballroom of the Regal Hotel.

Just as in the case of the death of Harvey Mason the killer or killers acted in the semi darkness and on or near the boardwalk. This again made it impossible for a true, crime scene investigation forcing the police to wait for enough daylight in order to do their assignments. Mckenna had someone at headquarters check with the weather bureau in order to know at approximately what time the sun would rise. He was told that it would be at seven eighteen A.M. He glanced at his wristwatch and saw that it was two forty five in the early morning. “Hey Sarge. Happy New Year”, said John Collins.

“Thank you. And, it's a hell of a way to start it”, McKenna replied.

“I'll tell you one thing. It's one cold ass morning. I should have put on thermal underwear before I reported for duty”, said Collins.

“I've been colder. I stood guard on a crime scene one January night years ago. It was a house that burned almost to the ground. Arson was suspected so we safe guarded the place for three days and nights. Eight hours of standing in the cold, no food, no coffee and no where to piss. What we have here right now is nothing compared to that”, said Kevin.

“Speaking of coffee, how about