SPOTS Book Two: The People at the Pond Second Chance

SPOTS Book Two:

The People at the Pond

Second Chance

By

David Lawrence Morris

© 2019

All Rights Are Reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between the characters in this work and any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The right of David Lawrence Morris to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.

No part of this publication may be stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronically, mechanically, by recording, or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

Cover Design

Ronald Williams

For more information

Concerning this publication

Please contact:

David Lawrence Morris

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[email protected]

Chapter 1

Mark’s Testimony

Paul

My story started on a Monday morning several years ago. When I woke up that morning, I got out of bed and robotically ran through the things I did every day in the very same order just to get ready for work.

It was one year before my planned retirement. After a lifetime at the police department, I hated my job. At the time I really didn’t understand the resentment I felt, but that would come in time.

I had the respect of my fellow officers, and my work wasn’t particularly dull. I’d been a police officer, then an investigator my entire working life. I liked the little town of Waverly. It was peaceful to most people, but having to deal with the bottom feeders in any community tends to get to you after a while. I guess I should have considered myself lucky, Waverly had fewer than most.

I dried off from the shower, ran a comb through the few remaining hairs I still had, and headed into the office. At least today would be interesting, I thought.

That day I would be taking the testimony of two young men who’d been arrested as suspects for what might turn out to be a very interesting murder case.

It was my job to see whether we had a case or not. The only witnesses were kids and they only heard the gunshot. From what I’d been told, they were hunting birds or rabbits. They turned in the direction of the gunshot to see blood flying through the air, and then ran home to tell someone. Unfortunately, they didn’t witness who shot who.

A cruiser was called right after the call, but was involved in a domestic dispute matter a couple miles away. It was quite a while before they arrived on the scene.

Two of the men were strangers to town and were arrested and held for questioning. There were other people there, but in a small town like Waverly most of us knew just about everybody. They figured they weren’t going anywhere, but the officers brought in the outsiders for fear they would flee.

One of them confessed that he was the guy who shot the gun, then Brad Anderson, the man who owned the farm claimed he was an attorney and told him to shut up.

It shouldn’t have taken our officers such a long time to get there, but since it was only a reported gunshot, and the witnesses were minors who had guns themselves, they didn’t hurry. The whole town knew that those boys had been trouble before. If the initial call to the police had mentioned the blood, they’d have been there in short order. By the time they arrived, it was already dark.

Eventually they used their flashlights and saw the blood on the ground. They got excited and started making arrests. That was before David, one of the strangers, confessed.

The hospitals in Waverly never did report any admissions with gunshot wounds. The confusing thing was the absence of a body, and there was no injured person on the premises.

I had my work cut out for me. I knew I had a shooter and that was all I knew. My ace in the hole is knowing these men didn’t know what the boys might have seen. Maybe I can use that to my advantage, I thought.

On my way into the station house, I made the same promise I made every Monday on my way to work; at least I had for the last few weeks. Today, I’ll watch my diet. This will be the first day of my weight loss program.

My intentions were good, just like they were every Monday. I didn’t want to retire a tired old fat cop. I didn’t want people making jokes at my retirement party about my weight.

What happened to that young handsome officer who entered the police force so many years ago? I asked myself. Is this what an unpleasant job does to a man?

I remembered that when I was so much younger, women were all over me. Now most women don’t seem to notice I’m even in the room. Maybe, just maybe there’s some of that attractive young man still inside of this old flabby shell.

Tonight, I’ll stop at the gym on my way home, I thought. There’s no point in getting thinner if I’m still flabby. I’d have this little talk to myself every week. Maybe this time I’ll actually follow through.

As I pulled into the station’s parking lot, I made a mental note not to eat the cookies or the donuts that were always laid out in the break room.

I stopped by the front desk and sitting on the other side was the young perky receptionist-officer reaching into a file to retrieve a packet. Her name was Mary. She had a sleek tight little body and long blonde hair. She’d been here for years. The younger male officers couldn’t keep their eyes off her.

She handed me the packet. Inside were the standard investigation forms I’d need for today’s investigation, a yellow pad, and a few notes from the arresting officers.

As I reached for the packet, she looked me in the eyes with that ‘don’t really see you as a person’ look. Just a heads up She said, His attorney came in this morning, so this might be a short one.

I wondered why everyone always called me Lee. Why couldn’t someone make the effort to call me Paul? After all, Paul is a nice name. Calling me ‘Lee’ was so impersonal. It’s not like I’m gonna hit on her, I thought, after all she’s half my age!

I went into the break room and poured several cups of coffee from what seemed to be the bottom of the pot and stuck them into the slots of a cardboard carrier.

As I walked out of the room, I could see her from the back, talking to one of the new young officers and using his first name, but to her I’d always just been ‘Lee.’ I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe she thought ‘Lee’ was my first name.

As I carried the coffees past her desk, I wondered why I was so damn sensitive all of a sudden. It wasn’t like me. I stopped for a second to ask her to have the first prisoner brought into room A. Have them bring the guy who isn’t the shooter. I want his story first.

He’s already in there. She said. His attorney is around here somewhere. Oh… I wouldn’t take that coffee if I were you, it’s been sitting there all morning

It’s for a murderer and an attorney. It’ll do just fine.

I scanned the documents she’d handed me. Mark Aaron was the man I’d be interviewing first. All I knew about him was that he was young, had dark hair and eyes. His attorney was Bradley Alexander. He was the owner of the farm where the ‘incident,’ took place!

Waverly was a small town. Brad had been around here for several years. Why would an attorney move to Waverly to be a farmer? I asked myself, making a mental note to find out during this interrogation. I hope this Brad guy knows what he’s doing, I said to Mary as I turned to walk to interrogation room A.

Sitting in the chair was a young man of about thirty five. He didn’t look like the dregs of society I so often found myself having to deal with. He didn’t look like the kind of guy that gets himself hauled in for murder. He had dark hair. It wasn’t black but more of a very dark brown. He was of average height and appeared to be fit. Every hair was in place and he’d apparently shaved that morning. He looked like he’d been trying to sleep while sitting at that table. A red mark on his forehead was in the process of vanishing.

He was sitting in the room alone. His attorney, Brad was nowhere to be seen.

I introduced myself and sat down. As I distributed the coffee paraphernalia around the table I told this Mark Aaron guy that everything he said was going to be recorded. There was a list of questions that had been prepared for me by the officers that brought the two men in, but I had a few as well. I turned on the tape recorder and asked him the standard identification questions. I was about to advise him that he had the right to have his attorney present, when he interrupted me.

Here’s the problem, he said as he leaned forward across the table. I’m willing to tell you this story, but before I do, I want your promise that you won’t get upset and walk out of the room. You need to listen to the entire thing, no matter how long it takes.

I finished reading him his rights all the while thinking, who does this guy think he is anyway?

Interrogation is like a game of chess. I was particularly good at getting my perps to contradict themselves, something the prosecutors loved. Hearing him ask to confess took the fun out of it. All this time, I planned use my skills to pry the truth out of him, by pointing out his contradictions, but then he pressured me to let him sing like a bird. Not only that, but it sounded like he wanted to tell me his life’s story. I thought, this is going to take longer than I’d anticipated.

I was hoping he’d just refuse to speak on the advice of his attorney. That would have made this short and sweet. Now he wanted to tell me everything. That usually meant a lengthy drawn out story, most of which I don’t really need or want to hear.

He continued on, assuring me that I’d believe him in time, if I’d only give him the time to explain. After all I have to tell you today, and what I will show you when this testimony is over, I feel confident you’ll let us all go, he said. If you’re going to file charges, it’s important you know the entire story just as I’d tell it to a jury.

I made a mental note to use his ignorance about the would-be witnesses if necessary, but considered his proposition. While I was disappointed that I couldn’t put my interrogation skills to use, I realized that this might be easier than I thought. If I’m patient, this guy’ll spill his guts and all I’ll have to do is fill in the blanks. With any luck I could sit here all day, have coffee, make a few notes and be done for the day. Maybe I should rethink those cookies.

The door opened and Brad walked in. He introduced himself as Bradley Alexander, Mr. Aaron’s attorney. I already recognized him. He’d become active in town in a number of organizations and while I never met the man personally I’d seen him a number of times in the city offices.

He was one of those people you notice. He had a striking appearance, one of those truly handsome men, something even other men could easily see.

He turned his chair, sat down straddling the seat, and leaned forward against the wooden back for support. Brad was built like a man who works with his hands all day. He had farmer written all over him. He didn’t look like an attorney. He had medium brown hair and light brown penetrating eyes. He had an honest face, the kind of face you just wanted to believe. He was the kind of attorney who’d have an advantage if this ever went before a jury. I could see in a glance that he was no hotshot big-city corporate attorney type at all, but what I didn’t know yet was just how well he knew the law. Much later I’d find out that he knew how to use the law like very few attorneys ever do.

Later I’d come to understand that he was one of those guys with total recall of every case he’d ever read about. If this all came down to a court case, Brad was the right attorney for Mark to have.

Eventually I’d discover that Mark’s wife Deloris found Brad when she needed the best of the best. As compensation for the legal work he did for her she bought him his farm. He owned the place outright.

Her offer was the encouragement he needed to become her attorney in the first place. At that time Brad was straight out of law school. He was one of those kids that breezed through the bar exam like it was nothing. He just had an amazing talent, but on that day all I knew was he was an attorney who threw it all away to raise corn.

Brad already advised Mark to tell the absolute truth down to the letter and it looked like he trusted his judgment. Years later Mark told me that his natural instinct told him to lie his head off, but Brad knew a lie wasn’t going to fly this time. Together, he and Brad had to make me believe what turned out to be an incredible tale, a story that would change my life.

Brad took a sip of the coffee I brought him. He made a little face swallowing what little he took and set the cup on a smaller different table behind him. He looked at me waiting for my response. With all the interruptions I’d almost forgotten that Mark had asked me to promise I’d listen to his full story.

I picked up the telephone and asked Mary to make sure we weren’t disturbed. Then, before I hung up I added, But first bring us some decent coffee. Part of me was upset about the coffee, even though I’d been warned, and part of me was still feeling sorry for myself over her indifference. I knew it was petty of me, but couldn’t quite shake it.

That was how it all began. It was on that day that I heard the most incredible story of my career. This young man in the next two days told me the story of an incredible medical trial designed to treat and cure a disorder where skin loses its pigment, called Vitiligo. When he entered the trial he was the oldest person to have ever taken the experimental drug. The side effect was the systematic reversal of aging. He claimed to have experienced a complete and perfect restoration of his youth from a man in his seventies to a man who looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties.

He looked me right in the eye and told me that he’d grown back all of the hair he’d lost, regained his youthful skin, and dropped all of his excess weight. When he told me that his sex drive rebounded with a vengeance, I found myself wishing this detailed fabrication was actually true.

I’d changed over a six-month period, He said. I was rapidly becoming a new younger man. The man I once was with a lifetime of knowledge and experience.

He had me locked into that story the second he told me about his hair growing back. Later, when he told me he had a stockpile of the miracle medication he was willing to turn over as evidence, I was transfixed. Brad told Mark to pull out his old identification. The man in the picture was much older, but the resemblance was uncanny. I assumed the picture on the driver’s license was his dad, but I had him drop it into an evidence bag, sealed it, and waited for his next revelation.

I couldn’t help but think, I’ve gotta get my hands on those pills. If there was really a way that I could get my hair back and my youth restored maybe I’d have another chance at happiness. If I could re-live my life, this time maybe I wouldn’t make the mistakes I made the first time.

When he later testified how he got his hands on millions of dollars selling some of the extra drug from his stockpile, I was determined to personally discover where he was keeping his stash before this was over.

As his story continued, it was harder and harder to keep thinking he was fabricating the whole thing. The detail was phenomenal. I know now that it was all true, but at the time I just hoped his obviously impossible tale about the tablets was genuine.

As the story continued, it got complicated. He soon revealed three other killings. Why would a man who was lying reveal other killings that I’d automatically suspect he was involved in? He claimed they were deaths he was aware of but, had nothing to do with.

He said that the first two murders were committed by a man named Saad, the very man whose death I was investigating. The third killing was a man who worked for Saad and came earlier pretending to be him. He was some kind of servant. When he threatened them with a gun, he didn’t expect Deloris, Brad’s roommate at the time, to take him out with a butcher knife to the throat.

Up until that moment the Waverly police had no idea anything like this was happening. As I continued to listen to his testimony about the killing he was being interrogated for, it seemed likely he was truly innocent of all of the killings he’d reported. His story fit together way too well to be a lie. Earlier I was sure he was either lying or delusional. He could be a highly talented story-teller, but every fiber of my being and all of my years of experience told me he was telling the absolute truth.

If I was right, and he was telling the truth, it served me so much better than a well-constructed fantasy would. I remember thinking, If his testimony is true; I’m going to insist to be the officer that collects the physical evidence. I wanted to see those tablets.

Chapter 2

Collecting the Evidence

I remembered that when I first met Mark, he was trying to get my promise to let him speak. He’d said, What I will show you. He was talking then about what he planned to do after his testimony was complete. I was sure that he was going to show me his stash of medication.

The wheels were turning and it wouldn’t stop, keeping me from sleeping all night as I began to construct my plan to collect the evidence.

The actual shooter, David, was in another cell. He was the next person to be interrogated. If his story matched up, they’d have to be telling the truth.

I knew David wouldn’t be talking to anyone any time soon, because Brad told me he’d been instructed to stay quiet until it was his turn and he could be present.

The night I laid awake after Mark’s testimony, I knew with some certainty that the medication was on Brad’s farm somewhere. I also knew that I needed to get my hands on it before this case moved on to the prosecutor. I needed to collect the evidence soon, so I planned to do it the following day.

The next morning I arrived early to arrange for an armed guard. Don was a friend of mine from the bowling team and I felt like he’d be a little more laid back than some of the other officers I might have asked.

The