by Albert N. Katz
While not a Halloween mystery, it still feels like a perfect fit for Halloween reading!
Inspector Beaumont’s voice was cold. “Tell me what in hell happened, Sergeant Dunbar. Every damn thing!”
Bryce Dunbar looked across at his two companions, Constables Meeker and Johnson. The officers shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
“It was just meant to be a gag. Constable Brooker was a loner, and I felt he was poorly integrated into the unit. I thought a gag would be just the thing to make him feel like one of us. We all went through it in our time, sir.
“This was the second gag that you pulled on Brooker. You lucked out on the first one but, as we well know, the second one led to Constable Brooker’s murder.”
“Not a murder, sir! It was more like an accident. We only planned for one but, well, after Brooker started acting as he did, we felt a second was in order.”
Beaumont sighed tiredly. “Just start with the first episode.”
“As I said, sir, I thought a good bonding exercise would be to pull the old mortuary gag with him. He’d get scared. We’d all laugh, go as a team for a beer afterwards.”
“According to the medical examiner, Dr. Zarbatany, when she arrived after your first so-called gag, Brooker was holding his chest and complaining about pain shooting down his left arm. She gave you a tongue-lashing, didn’t she, and ordered you to never use the morgue for pulling one of your pranks again.”
The three men nodded. “Yes, sir. But he did seem fine after a few minutes.”
“And after she came to see me, still furious, we had a talk at that time, didn’t we, gentlemen? And I ordered you to make it up with Brooker and never, never pull a stunt like that again!”
The three men nodded again, heads hanging.
“If I had listened to Zarbatany then and put you on report, you would now be facing dismissal and Brooker would be alive.”
“Nobody was supposed to get hurt, sir.”
“But someone did, Sergeant Dunbar! Less than two weeks later, you three idiots ignored both me and Dr. Zarbatany and pulled another stunt in the morgue. Why did you ignore orders?!”
“The last two weeks have been hell, sir. Brooker didn’t react like anyone I’ve ever seen before. He didn’t seem to recognize that we were just playing around. He got angry, real angry, and told us that he’d get even, if he had to come from hell to do so!. He told us more than once that we didn’t know who we had screwed around with. And then it started. Daily he did something nasty to the three of us. He pissed in our coffee, ‘accidentally’ destroyed reports we were working on, so we’d have to redo them, that sort of thing. Well, sir, I got tired of it, and came up with a plan to put him in his place.”
“So, this wasn’t going to be a bonding experience anymore, but a retaliation. A premeditated revenge.”
“I wouldn’t put it that way, sir.”
“But I would. Ok, go on. What happened?”
“I thought Brooker would never expect us to pull the morgue gag twice. Of course, we had to give it a twist. We were working on the carjacking death, and I told Brooker that a Rolex watch the victim was wearing hadn’t been found in the evidence gathered, and that he and Johnson should check to see if the victim was still wearing it. Before they left, Meeker went to the morgue wearing a mask and crawled into one of the empty drawers where the bodies are kept. Johnson had a bag of ice in his pocket.”
“What about Zarbatany and the morgue assistant?”
“I had phoned the morgue earlier and was told that Zarbatany had been called away and was expected to be gone for the rest of the day, and I knew when the assistant took his lunch break. So, I knew when the morgue would be empty.”
“How did it go down?”
“I followed them, planning to film the whole episode so we could have a permanent record.”
“You filmed his murder?!”
“Not a murder, sir!” Dunbar shifted in his seat. “I deleted the recording, afterwards.”
“Damn it, Dunbar. On top of everything else, you destroyed evidence! Just tell me what happened.”
“The gag went off as planned. Johnson and Brooker arrived and pulled out the body tray where Meeker was lying. Meeker sat up and reached for Brooker’s throat while at the same time Johnson, taking the ice he had with him, touched the back of Brooker’s neck. You should have seen him jump.” Despite himself, he grinned at the memory.
“I don’t find any of this humorous, Sergeant!”
“No sir. It isn’t.” He started to speak rapidly. “Well, after he jumped, everything went sideways. Brooker grabbed his chest and fell to the ground. Zarbatany, who was supposed to be away, ran into the room. She immediately went to help Brooker and ordered us to ‘get the hell out.’ The last we saw she was trying to resuscitate Brooker.”
“Well, she didn’t, as you know. Apparently, it is rare, but people can die of fright. An adrenaline surge or something like that and bingo! She phoned me in a panic. And damned angry. Two pranks in her morgue in two weeks! If the papers get hold of this, shit will hit the fan. She thinks, and I agree, that hundreds of cases might have to be re-opened if her professional competence is questioned. She could lose her medical license!”
Inspector Beaumont stood up and poured himself a coffee, then walked around with cup in hand. He looked at his three officers.
“In any event, you three would almost certainly be fired. You would lose your pensions, and probably end up with a criminal charge of involuntary manslaughter, if not worse. Zarbatany has made it clear to me that she will not take the fall for your idiocy. And as sure as hell, I won’t either.”
“We didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt.”
“Yeah, the road to hell and all that.”
“May I ask what you plan to do, sir.”
“I am still thinking about that gentleman. I would hate to see the newspapers use the incident as another excuse to attack the department or have our detractors on city council use it to cut back on our budget. But the fact remains that one of my officers is dead because of you boneheads! I plan to talk to Dr. Zarbatany. I think she might be willing to keep a lid on what happened. Since she was not in the room when your so-called gag scared Brooker, she could keep her report factual to what she observed. Keeping this quiet, however, means that you three get off scot-free and frankly, I don’t like that idea. Zarbatany might not like it either and add what she thinks happened to scare Brooker in her report. Frankly, what I do depends on how you behave going forward.”
“Behave?”
“By showing remorse and respect for Brooker, and the uniform he wore! And for following orders! You will write a report in which you state only that Brooker was sent to the morgue on official business … not quite a lie. I will try to convince Zarbatany to write a report that will not lie either: Brooker showed up, collapsed, and could not be resuscitated. The autopsy should show a garden variety heart attack brought on by an adrenaline surge.
The three men started mumbling thanks.
“Don’t thank me yet! I may still bring you up on charges. Zarbatany might still decide to elaborate on what she believes brought on the adrenaline surge. She is a loose cannon in my opinion. There is a wake at Brookers house tonight, and you will attend. I expect that it will be a small gathering. Mostly family and friends but there will be some from the police force. I will be going, as will Zarbatany, and the captain and probably some others from the precinct. Maybe even the Chief of Police.”
The three men, nodded, “Sir!”
“Each of you buy some whisky. Good stuff, single malt, to bring with you. Dunbar, as his immediate superior office, you write a speech praising Brooker. Each of you come in full dress uniform to show respect. Remember his wife and parents will be there, so I want it to look like we have a serious unified unit that included Brooker. Now get the hell out of here.”
The three men nodded, quite subdued. As they left, Dunbar saw Beaumont pick up the phone and he held back, trying to hear the conversation. As he reported afterwards to Meeker and Johnson, he heard Beaumont ask for Zarbatany and in the ensuing conversation had mentioned how frightened the three “idiots” had seemed, and had ended the call saying, “Let’s see how they hold up to the pressure of dealing with Brooker before writing our reports.”
Dunbar and his men tried to dissect that conversation. They played out the critical events over and over that had led to the situation they were in. They considered options and how best to respond to what they would face, taking special note of the inspector’s warning that their futures hung in the balance.
They talked and talked, until they knew that they’d hold up fine, ready to respond to anything thrown at them at Brooker’s house. Dunbar wrote his speech. Two actually, differing only at the end. He’d decide which one to use at the appropriate moment.
At eight p.m. exactly, the three officers arrived at the house where Brooker and his wife had hoped to build a life together. Removing their caps and placing them under their arm, they joined the small crowd that had already gathered inside.
The three men made their way to Brooker’s wife, sobbing with friends and family around her, and offered their condolences. They did likewise with Brooker’s parents. They nodded at Beaumont and at their captain on their way into the kitchen where they deposited their bottles of whiskey. To their surprise, the Chief of Police was in the kitchen and had already poured himself a drink. The officers knew that he disapproved of the pranks they had pulled in the past and had long been looking for a way to discipline them. So, thought Dunbar, the whole cast is present for the show.
The Chief poured a drink for each of them. “To another fallen comrade,” he said, raising his glass. They drank and he poured another. The Chief shook his head sadly. “Been to too many wakes over the years. What a waste! And his poor wife will hardly get much of a pension given the short time he was on the force. And with a baby on the way,” He sighed, refilled his glass. “I’m going to take one last look at Constable Brooker and raise a glass over his body. Coming?”
They followed him back to the living room, but didn’t go to the casket, not yet ready for that. The open casket was placed at the end of the room, and Dr. Zarbatany was staring into it. On seeing Dunbar and his men, her eyes narrowed into a look of undistilled hatred. Then, with a determined expression, she said loudly, “I have something to say!”
Beaumont sidled up to Dunbar, whispered into his ear, “Shit! She’s going to blow the whistle on what you did to cause Brooker’s death. If you don’t do something quickly, you are going to be royally screwed.”
Dunbar nodded to Johnson and Meeker. They had planned for this contingency. He called out. “Dr. Zarbatany, if you don’t mind, I’d like to say a few words first about my colleague and friend Harold Brooker.”
Surprised, Zarbatany shrugged and said, “If you wish.”
The three men walked to the front of the casket, and faced the gathering, so that they could be seen and heard. Each held a glass of whiskey. Poor Brooker lay quietly behind them.
Dunbar started. “We three knew Harold Brooker better than anyone else in the precinct and so would like to offer a toast in his memory. May I ask you all to fill your glasses.”
Dunbar waited for glasses to be filled, and pulling out some papers from his pocket, he began, “I have a few words I would like to say before we toast Constable Brooker.”
After he’d spoken for almost ten minutes straight, there was hardly a dry eye in the room. There was a slight pause, and Dunbar crooked his head before he continued. He smiled, hearing the sound of movement behind them; time to finish his speech with version two. “Constable Brooker, as we all know, had a great sense of humor, and we three up here are impressed at how he organized this event. Inspector Beaumont, I overheard you talk to Dr. Zarbatany after we left your office earlier today, and we realized that this whole wake thing is a set-up for you, Zarbatany, and Brooker to get even at us for what we pulled in the morgue.”
Dunbar enjoyed the hubbub that swept through the room. He crowed loudly, “Brooker, you are an amateur; never try to pull the dead man’s prank on master pranksters. This is for you.”
And yelling, “Gotcha”, the three men turned as one and emptied their drinks onto the body in the casket.
Constable Brooker did not move.
Months later, at his preliminary involuntary manslaughter hearing, Dunbar uttered the fateful words repeated in the precinct for years afterwards. “As God is my witness, I swear I heard Brooker sitting up behind me.”
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