McKenna - Robert F. Clifton (e novels to read online .txt) 📗

Mason, but what was used to kill him. Do you have any ideas?”

“No, I heard that whoever it was knocked his brains out. That true?”

“Just about. Here's my card. You hear anything call me. I'm not going to tell you what to do with the money. That's up to you. I will say this. You're no good to me all liquored up so try and stay off of the sauce”.

“I'll try Sarge, but you know I'm an alcoholic”.

“Yeah, I know, try to take it easy”.

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

After parking his automobile on the street across from the condominium building Kevin entered the lobby and asked the doorman if Whitney had arrived. Assured that she had he then rode the elevator to the sixth floor. With Whitney having his key

he knocked gently on the door. After a few minutes the door opened and she stood in front of him smiling. “Did everything go alright?”, she asked.

“Yeah, fine”.

“Are you hungry?”

“I could eat”.

“Good, I made a pot of coffee and I bought some roast beef from Seven Eleven. How about we have sandwiches for a late meal?”

“Sounds good”.

“Then, I'll go make them. Do you want mayonnaise?”

“Did you happen to get any Coleslaw?”

“As a matter of fact, I did”.

“Then I'll have Coleslaw”, said Kevin as he walked into the kitchen.

“Sit down. I poured your coffee”, said Whitney.

Kevin took a seat at the table, added cream and sugar to the beverage and then sat staring into space as he stirred the drink with his spoon.

“What are you thinking about?”, asked Whitney.

“I'm just going over some things someone told me”, he answered.

“I don't want to pry, but does it have anything to do with the Mission House?”

“In a way. Have you noticed anything different, say in the past few months?”

“Only that it seems we're getting more and more homeless men needing help”.

“Well, to me it appeared to be a successful Thanksgiving.

Now, I imagine the good Reverend has to prepare for Christmas”.

“Yes, and in addition to feeding Christmas dinner there is the need for toys for the children. At the same time the food pantry is always in need for supplies”.

“I'm not too familiar with Mission work. Is it true that in return for food and shelter the homeless are required to attend religious services?”

“It is suggested, but not required. Reverend Simon usually has a congregation on Sundays. I'd say maybe twenty or less attend. There are more in winter”.

“They may just want to get out of the cold”.

“That's possible”.

“It appears to me that Reverend Simon is a very busy man”.

“He is, particularly this time of the year. He does get to relax a bit in summer”.

“Relax how?”

“As I told you, he is great friends with Steven Barnett. Once in a while they fly off to some place. Sometimes to fly fish in Pennsylvania or to what they call a religious retreat”.

“Where are the religious retreats held?”

“I really don't know”.

“Is fishing his only outlet?”

“No, Steven got the Reverend interested in flying. Together they formed the Nautilus Beach Flyers.”

“Never heard of it”.

“The members meet on Saturdays, weather permitting and fly model airplanes”.

“Do you know where?”

“Yes, Willow park. It's the football field for the Pop Warner football team. Since it's not used by the team off season the Nautilus Beach Flyers use it. Steven donates to the team for letting the club use the field.”

“It seems that Steven Barnett is very civic minded”.

“ Yes, I have to agree with you”.

“What else do you know about the good Reverend?”

“Now, all of a sudden you're asking questions like a cop”.

“Am I? I've lived here most of my life. I must admit, like most of the people here I never concerned myself with the homeless and hunger problem. I just figured someone else was taking care of it. Now, I see it for what it is. When it comes to Reverend Simon, I've never heard of him until I met you. So, I'm curious. Where did he come from? Is he married? If so does he have children?”

“I see. As far as I know he is from Iowa. Someplace near Des Moines. He's single, calling himself a bachelor , married to his church”.

“Where does he live?”

“At the Mission. He does have private quarters however”.

“Have you ever been in those private quarters?”

“Just what are you implying?”

“Not a thing. I'm just wondering how much space he's using”.

“I'd say about the same space a three room apartment would take up. He has a living room, bedroom, kitchen and bath”.

“Then you have been inside his quarters”.

“No, one of the women that does his cleaning described the place to me”, said Whitney getting angry.

“Will you just calm down? No one is accusing you of doing anything.”

“I don't like the way you're acting. It's like, you think I'm hiding something”.

“Did it ever dawn on you that I'm asking these questions in an attempt to keep you safe?”

“Safe from what? Reverend Simon? He's harmless”.

“For your sake I hope you're right. Nevertheless, I'm going to do a background check on him.”

“You do what you want or have to do. I won't be a part of it now or in the future”.

“No one's asking you to”.

“Are we going to fight over this? If so, then I'm leaving”.

“Don't go. In fact, let me change the subject. You make a great, roast beef sandwich”.

“Thank you. How's the coffee. I'm not use to that brand”.

“What, Red Circle? It's been around for years. Found in the A&P Store”.

“I use Maxwell House”.

“What does the Mission house use?”

“What ever we can get for free or the cheapest”.

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

On the Monday after Thanksgiving Sergeant McKenna

sat at his word processor typing a report bringing his investigation up to date. From time to time he would stop and take a swallow from the Styrofoam container of coffee that was on his desk. He turned his attention to John Collins who had walked into the office. “Are you just coming in?”, asked Kevin.

“No. I had a larceny complaint at the Gold Coast Motel. Same old shit. Woman claims she took off her diamond ring, went into the bathroom to shower and when she returned the ring was missing. The ring is valued at fifteen thousand and naturally, it's insured. She has filed a police report. Next, she'll contact the insurance company, collect on the policy then have the original diamond either cut or put in a new setting. Meanwhile we're supposed to do a complete investigation questioning all the house keeping workers”.

“Yep, but unless you can prove that the supposedly victim is a fraud, what else can you do?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing”, said Collins in disgust.

“When you're finished with your report I have something else for you to do”, said Kevin.

“Shoot”.

“Run a background check on a Reverend, Howard Simon. He's reported to be from Iowa, either in or near Des Monies”.

“No problem. Anything else?”

“Yeah, look into a club here in town known as the Nautilus Beach Flyers. I want to know how many members there are and who?”

“Got it. No problem”, Collins replied.

Before returning to typing his report Kevin wrote on his notepad, “Do background check on Frank Bitterman.. Also, check Flemington Hotel”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Six

Persons Of Interest

 

On Monday, December 16, 2013 Sergeant Kevin McKenna sat at his desk reading the many page report pertaining to one, Frank Bitterman, The written document began with a description of the man, stating that Frank Bitterman was born in Enlarger, Kentucky on May 17, 1974. That he is a Caucasian Male, five feet, nine inches tall weighing two hundred and ten lbs. Next, June 7, 1992. arrested, charge assault & battery. Verdict, guilty, sentenced 364 days in county jail, sentence suspended fine $500.00. February 9,1980 arrested, Covington, Kentucky, charge, Promoting Prostitution, Permitting Prostitution, Racketeering. Sentence to seven years in Kentucky State Prison. Released June 1983 for good behavior. At present, whereabouts unknown.

Kevin placed the report in a new manila folder and wrote the name, FRANK BITTERMAN in capital letters on the folder surface. Getting up from behind his desk he signed the assignment sheet, indicating that he was going to Mainland Township and the case number 7549768.

Traveling along the Black Horse Pike Mckenna rolled the driver side window down allowing the cold, crisp, December air to enter the unmarked radio car. Although it was cold with the air temperature at a steady forty degrees the sun was shining brightly in a powder blue sky. Cumulus clouds appeared to hang like spun cotton candy moving slowly across the atmosphere. He looked for formations of Canadian Geese hoping to see a late formation, but the heavens were empty. At low tide the emissions of biogenic, sulfur gases from the meadows were carried on the air and were so strong Kevin was forced to close the window.

Entering the Township by passing over a low bridge he turned on to the main street and followed it for four blocks. Ahead he saw the tall, five story building that was the Flemington Hotel.

The hotel had seen better days. It had been constructed in 1942 to cater to the military officers and civilian contractors who traveled to the area where the Garden State Boat Works serviced Navy Patrol Boats and Army Air Corp Crash Boats. The Army Air Corp had taken over the hotels of Atlantic City. England General Hospital was created for returning, convalescing wounded and the Convention Hall was turned into one large PX. Now, sixty year old paint was peeling from the stucco outer walls of the Flemington. Some windows on the first and second floor had visible cracks, a few sealed with Duct Tape, all needed washing, mostly on the inside.

Outside of the building men stood staring into space .One or two talked to each other. Some walked about aimlessly, having no where to go or anything to do. Most of them were smoking cigarettes. “Funny”,no matter how broke they are they still find money to buy cigarettes and booze”,Kevin thought to himself.

McKenna parked the car across the street from the hotel,

after leaving the automobile he walked to where two men sat on a bench near the front of the building. They watched him as he approached. “Hey mister, how about helping a fella out”. Said one of the men.

“Let me ask you something. Where are you from?”, asked McKenna.

“Why? What difference does it make? Are you a cop?”, asked the other man.

“Yeah, who are you and what do you want around here?”, came a voice from the hotel entrance.

Kevin looked towards the sound of the voice. He recognized

Frank Bitterman although he appeared a little different then his prison mug shot. Now, he was much heavier. He was nearly bald with only a growth of hair at the back and sides of his head. He combed what remaining strands he had over the bare scalp. From where Kevin stood he could see the black and brown rotting teeth visible behind a two or three day growth of whiskers. Bitterman held a soggy, unlit cigar in his right hand, soggy and wet with saliva created from the man chewing on it.

“I'm Sergeant Kevin McKenna from the Nautilus Beach Police Department. Are you Frank Bitterman?”, Kevin asked.

“I could be. Depends on what you want”, answered Bitterman.

“Is there some place where we can talk, instead of shouting back and forth out here?”

“Come on in, but make it quick. I'm a busy man”.

McKenna walked up the three steps that led to the main entrance. “So I've heard”, Kevin replied.

Once inside the Detective was met by the strong odor of old, tobacco smoke. A yellow coating of nicotine clung to the once white walls in the lobby. He glanced down and saw that he stood on a faded and worn red rug that needed vacuuming and repair.

In two areas the rugs backing showed appearing as thick woven burlap.

“Well, what do you want?”, asked Bitterman.

“I'm investigating a murder that happened in Nautilus Beach. The victim was a man named Harvey Mason. I was wondering if you knew him”.

“What makes you think that I would know him?”

“Well, our information is that he is originally from Philadelphia. We also