Star Spangled Murder (8 page)

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Authors: Leslie Meier

Tags: #Suspense

BOOK: Star Spangled Murder
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“Not really. Fishing gear breaks off all the time. They could just say they found it floating around.”
“Well shouldn't they return it?”
“They could say they've been too busy.” Barney spit out a seed. “It's high season, you know.”
“So a search is no good?”
“Gotta catch 'em in the act.”
“How are you going to do that?” asked Lucy, who knew the town police department had limited manpower, stretched even thinner by the presence of the naturists in addition to the usual influx of summer visitors.
“We can't, but we've asked for help from the state natural resources people.”
Lucy also knew the state was having budget problems, and had cut back many departments. Natural resources had been one of the hardest hit.
“You don't expect them anytime soon, do you?”
“Nope,” said Barney, tossing his rind into the trash. “No I don't.”
“Mind posing for some pictures?”
Barney grimaced. “I might break the camera.”
She studied his homely, jowly face as he knelt down to show his portable radio to a little boy.
“I'll risk it. Handsome is as handsome does, Barney.”
“Aw, Lucy.” It was going to be a great photo, the big bear-like policeman and the adorable little boy, heads together over the radio. She snapped a couple of shots, just to be on the safe side.
“You'll look great on page one.”
“Sales will drop, I'm warning you.”
“Never fear. Ted's putting the naturists above the fold.”
Chapter Eight
B
ack at the
Pennysaver,
deadline was approaching and Lucy could no longer ignore the pile of press releases that had been growing on her desk all week. A roast beef dinner at the VFW, a square dance in the Community Church basement, a meeting of the Ladies Aid Society, story hour at the library, bingo at the senior center, all these and more had to be added to the community calendar. Some, like the Drama Guild's upcoming production of “Our Town” merited more attention than a listing and Lucy had to write three or four inches of copy for a brief announcement.
“What can I write about ‘Our Town'?” she wondered aloud. “Talk about an old chestnut.”
“Don't you mean ‘classic'?” corrected Ted, sounding a bit sarcastic. As deadline drew nearer he tended to grow increasingly caustic.
“If you say so, but that old thing has been performed by every amateur theatrical group on the coast,” said Lucy. “The entire population must know it by heart.”
“Okay, smarty-pants, do you know it by heart?”
“No, Ted, I don't. But that's only because I keep my brain clear and uncluttered, so I can better concentrate on the intricate details of the bird club's walks. It's the conservation area on Sunday and Quisset Point on Tuesday and I wouldn't want to get them switched.”
“Oh, I don't know,” sighed Phyllis. “They've had the same schedule for years. You'd think anybody who's interested would know it by now.”
“What about visitors? Or new residents?” snapped Ted. “Don't they deserve to know what's going on in Tinker's Cove?”
“Doesn't take long to figure that out,” said Phyllis. “Not much.”
The office scanner cackled just then, contradicting her observation. Something was indeed happening in town, something that required a response from the police or fire department. They all listened intently, but the only word they could make out was “waterfront,” combined with a lot of garbled numbers, police codes for classifying incidents.
“Did you catch that?” asked Ted, screwing up his face.
“Funny, isn't it? When some old guy has difficulty breathing and needs an ambulance it's clear as a bell.”
Ted was on his feet, checking his camera and making sure he had extra film.
“Do you get the feeling they don't want us there?” he asked, heading for the door.
“That would be my guess,” said Lucy, slinging her bag over her shoulder and hurrying to catch up with him.
“I'll stay here and take the messages,” said Phyllis, feeling sorry for herself. But nobody was there to listen.
The waterfront was only a couple of blocks from the
Pennysaver
office but Ted got in his car and started the engine. Lucy hopped into the passenger seat and they were off, chasing a police cruiser that was racing down Main Street with its siren blaring and its lights flashing.
The scanner in Ted's car was also cackling as the dispatcher reeled off numbers and called in units from the far ends of town. The sound of approaching sirens filled the air.
“I don't like this,” said Lucy, who was growing nervous. “Fishing's so dangerous. I hope nobody's in trouble.”
But when they careened into the harbor parking lot it was clear that this was no tragedy at sea. Instead, police officers were busy breaking up a brawl. And as they got closer and had a clearer view of things they discovered that Toby was in the center of the fray, locked in fisticuffs with Wesley Pratt. Lucy was shocked to see her normally peace-loving son grappling with Wesley, his face red and twisted with rage.
She winced as two burly police officers administered a liberal dose of pepper spray before grabbing the young men by their shirt collars and yanking them apart. Toby's eyes were tearing and he was coughing and sneezing but the officers ignored his distress as they clapped his wrists into handcuffs and bundled him into the back of a cruiser.
“He needs a doctor!” exclaimed Lucy, frantic with concern.
“He needs a lawyer,” said Ted, busy snapping pictures of Wesley getting the same treatment.
“Where are they taking them?”
“The station for now. Court's in session today so they'll probably arraign them this afternoon.”
“Arraignment?” Lucy was shocked.
“This is serious, Lucy. Toby's not going to get off easily. I meant what I said about getting a lawyer. Come on, I'll take you back to the office so you can make some calls.” He paused. “You better let Bill know what's happened.”
“I can't,” said Lucy, as they climbed up the hill to the car. “He's over on the other side of the state, picking up some salvaged doors and windows.”
“That's too bad.” Ted was starting the car.
“Yeah,” said Lucy, fastening her seatbelt. But she wasn't altogether convinced. It was probably better that Bill would learn about Toby's arrest after the fact, when things had settled down a bit.
 
 
When they got to the office Lucy immediately put in a call to Bob Goodman, her friend Rachel's husband, who was a lawyer. He promised to meet Lucy at the courthouse for the afternoon session which began at two o'clock.
The district court was located in Gilead, a good half-hour drive from Tinker's Cove and Lucy left early so she wouldn't miss anything. That meant she had to wait. She was too nervous to sit on the benches provided in the lobby, so she paced. A few other worried-looking people were also waiting, some sitting with slumped shoulders and grim expressions. Others could be seen through the glass doors, standing outside and puffing on cigarettes. Lucy had never smoked a cigarette in her life but she suddenly wanted one.
A bailiff opened the doors to the courtroom and people started to drift in. Lucy took a seat right up front. She wanted to know everything that happened. But where was Bob? Minutes ticked by, a few lawyers gathered in the front of the courtroom, chatting casually, but there was no sign of the judge. Or Toby. Where was he? What were they doing to him?
Bob Goodman slipped into the seat beside her and Lucy threw her arms around him. “I'm so glad you're here.”
Bob made a reassuring figure, with his graying hair and rumpled suit. His shoes needed polishing and his briefcase was overflowing with papers, all evidence of his heavy caseload. He was one of the hardest working lawyers in the district with a reputation for fairness that attracted clients from his better-tailored competitors.
“Take it easy Lucy,” he said, seeing her worried expression. “This is just routine. I'll ask for bail and we'll get it. Have you got cash?”
Lucy nodded. “I stopped at the bank.”
“Here they come,” said Bob, squeezing her hand. “I better get down front.”
Lucy watched as the court officers led a straggly line of miscreants into the courtroom. Toby was there, along with Wesley and a few other fishermen. There were also faces she didn't recognize: an older man, a couple of young girls. They were all in handcuffs and looked disheveled and miserable. None of them made eye contact with anyone and a few attempted to cover their faces.
“All rise!” thundered the bailiff and the robed judge hurried in and took his place at the bench. He pounded his gavel and announced that court was in session. The fishermen were the first item of business.
“These young men engaged in a brawl this morning on the docks at Tinker's Cove,” began the assistant district attorney.
He was a clean-cut youth, apparently fresh out of law school, crisply dressed in a spotless summer suit. His sturdy black wingtips were polished until they gleamed and he wore a large, gold signet ring on his pinky finger. Lucy hated him. He'd probably never, ever done anything bad. Never made a mistake. Never got himself into trouble.
“Testimony from police officers who were called to the scene . . .” continued the prosecutor, “one Tobias Stone is charged with assault with a dangerous weapon: a shod foot . . . other charges include disorderly conduct, resisting arrest . . .”
“He didn't resist!” exclaimed Lucy, jumping to her feet. “He was pepper-sprayed. I was there. I saw it.”
Everyone in the courtroom was looking at her, including the judge, who had a very stern expression on his face.
“You are out of order,” he warned her. “If this happens again I will have you removed from the court.” He leaned forward. “Do you understand?”
Abashed, Lucy nodded. “I'm sorry, your honor.”
The judge turned to the prosecutor. “Do you have any objection to bail?”
“None, your honor.”
“We'll set the pretrial conference for July 30 and schedule the trial for August 15. Is that agreeable to everyone?”
Both the prosecutor and Bob Goodman nodded.
“Bail is fifty dollars.” The judge banged his gavel, then leveled his gaze at Toby.
“Young man, release on bail is conditional upon your continued good behavior. Bail can and will be revoked if there are any further problems. Do you understand?”
Toby nodded and mumbled something which Lucy didn't hear. A court officer removed his handcuffs and sent him over to the cashier, where Lucy joined him. She handed over the money, the cashier gave her a couple of sheets of paper. Silently, they left the courtroom, only to encounter Pru Pratt in the lobby.
For once, Lucy sympathized with her neighbor. After all, they were in the same position. They were both mothers intent on the defense of their sons. She greeted Pru with a little smile and a nod.
“Don't you smirk at me, Lucy Stone!” exclaimed Pru, obviously offended. “From what I hear it was your son who started the whole thing!”
Toby didn't linger, much to Lucy's relief, but went outside to wait for her.
“I guess the judge will have to sort that out,” replied Lucy. “From what I saw, there's plenty of blame to go around.”
Pru's eyes bulged and her face reddened. “You'd like that wouldn't you? Pin it all on somebody else while your kid goes scot-free. Well, your family's not so perfect as you think.” She waved a long, bony finger in Lucy's face, practically spitting out the words. “And keep your kids and your dog off my property! This is the last time I'm warning you.”
Pru brushed past her, marching straight for the courtroom, and Lucy ran after her.
“What do you mean?” she asked, breathlessly. “My kids?”
Pru whirled around to face her. “You know perfectly well. You sent those girls over to spy on me and don't pretend you didn't.”
“My girls? On your property?” Lucy was stunned.
“Yes indeedy and they've got no right to be there. I won't be responsible for what might happen if Wesley. . . .” This was one thought Pru decided she'd better not voice. “Well, anything could happen.”
“I'm very sorry. It won't happen again,” promised Lucy. “I'll talk to the girls the minute I get home.”
“I've heard that before,” said Pru, stalking off.
 
 
Lucy was wild with worry when she joined Toby in the car.
“Whatever were you thinking?” she demanded, when she slid behind the steering wheel. “You're in big trouble. And I don't even want to think about your father's reaction.” She pounded the steering wheel. “I can't believe it. What did I do wrong? Did I raise you to beat up other people? To get in fights? Did I? Did I ever tell you that the best way to settle differences was with your fists? Did I?”
Toby hung his head.
“This is absolutely disgraceful. And it's going to be expensive. We're going to have to pay Bob to defend you, you know. I am so ashamed. So embarrassed I have to involve friends in this.” A horrible thought struck her. “Your name will be in the newspaper! In the court report! I'm never going to be able to show my face in town. It's absolutely outrageous.” She glared at him, and waggled a finger. “You're going to have to come up with the dough, buddy. There's no way your father is going to pay for this.”

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