McKenna by Robert F. Clifton (best android ereader TXT) 📖

Charlies brother who is pro-casino. Steven at present has a slim majority of businessmen behind his push for casino's in Nautilus Beach.

When it comes to the homeless Steven has no problems. Why?

Because of two reasons. The first, is that the homeless are and will not be his problem. The homeless will be a problem for the people of the city, not him directly. The second reason is that he contributes to the Mission House located in the Garwood section of town. His contributions do two things. It keeps the homeless more or less under control which pleases the businessmen that are backing Steven and two it keeps the Reverend Howard Simon and the Mission House open and running. It also keeps the good Reverend Simon happy since it is very possible that

Steven and the Reverend are more than just friends”.

“Do you know that for sure?”, asked Captain Myers.

“No and it really doesn't matter. If same sex marriage is legal in this State then I assume liaisons are legal too. I just mention the fact because it came up in the investigation.

“Then, why mention it at all?”, asked Myers.

“Because of a possible conspiracy”.

“Involving who?”

“Steven Barnett and Reverend Simon”.

“And just how do you think you'll be able to prove a conspiracy?”

“Because I intend to pressure another suspect, Frank Bitterman”.

“Why Bitterman?”

“This I must admit will be a shot in the dark. Nonetheless, it is possible that friction might have developed between Bitterman and Charlie Barnett. It could be over money, maybe a shake down. I don't know. I do know that Bitterman is an ex con arrested for pimping. I'm thinking of arresting him for failing to register as a sex criminal. If I don't, then I'm hoping he can shed some light and give me a motive for Charlies murder”.

“I have a couple of questions”, said Captain Myers.

“Shoot”.

“What about Harvey Mason? What is the murder weapon?”

“Captain, right now I don't know. I honestly don't know, but sure as hell is on fire I intend to find out”, said McKenna.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Eight

Speak of The Devil

 

Two weeks into the month of January Sergeant McKenna

had not made any headway into the investigation of the identical murders of Harvey Mason and Charles Barnett. Still, he knew that he had to be patient, not rush or jump to conclusions. In order to keep his focus on the job at hand he checked and re-examined what physical evidence he had. He viewed the video tapes over and over hoping to see and find something new. Nothing fresh came to him, so he waited and waited.

At home after dinner which was usually a micro-wave heated frozen meal he would clean up the kitchen then walk to the living room pick up the bookmarked “Collected Cases Of Injustice Rectified” and begin reading where he had stopped the evening before.

Song Ci's writings dealt mostly with forensic science and the collecting of the same, but one thing stood out, the necessity of examination of the body either in assault cases or deaths. Kevin

closed his eyes and mentally re-examined his actions in both homicide cases that he was investigating. “ With Harvey Mason, let's see. I remember looking closely at the mans crushed skull. I recall wondering just what in the hell was the weapon used?

Let's look back.. I went to the morgue, met with the pathologist and confirmed that in addition to the plexiglass shards found next to the body a piece of the same material was found in the wound of the victim. O.K. what did I do when it came to Charles Barnett?

Shit! Nothing! Nothing and no where near what I did in the Mason investigation. McKenna, you got lazy. You allowed someone else to do what you should have done. You rushed. You went to the hotel with the belief that all of the answers to your questions could be found there. True, you found some things, but at the same time you developed more questions, questions that now need to be answered.”

Kevin closed the book and placed it on the table next to the chair. Disgusted with himself he got up out of the chair and going room to room shut off the lights and went to bed.

On a bright sunny, but frigid Sunday morning Kevin attended the eight o'clock mass at Saint Mary's. When he saw

Sheila McCormick seated in the same pew, instead of taking a seat in a pew across from her he stood for a moment looking down at her. She looked up at him, smiled and slid across the bench allowing him to sit next to her. They both then knelt, blessed themselves and out of the corner of his eye he watched her for a moment as she prayed and moved the rosary beads with her fingers. He also noticed that with her blond hair now loose and flowing instead of pulled back and tied as when she was in uniform she appeared much different. He lifted his head turned it and gazed upon her, seeing her now as a young woman and not a guard, a hotel employee or a confidant. He also noticed that she was as Irish as they come.

They both sat back and listened to the sermon given by Father Hogan. He followed her to the alter where they both then took communion. Her taking the host and sipping the wine from the chalice. He taking the host and after dipping it in the wine placed it in his mouth.

Out side, on the sidewalk Sheila looked at him. “Well, it was nice seeing you again”, she said shivering in the cold morning air.

“Listen, would you like to have breakfast, or at least a cup of coffee. We can get out of the cold, get warm and talk”, Kevin asked.

“That would be nice”.

“Fine, the Tom Thumb is just up the block. I don't know if you've ever been in there, but it's clean and the food is excellent.”

Ten minutes later the couple slid into a booth at the back of the restaurant. Shelia shrugged off her jacket while seated. Kevin stood, removed his coat and sat down again. He looked at her and smiled. “I bet you're tired or at least sleepy”, he said.

“Not really. I've been working this shift at the hotel for two years now”.

“I thought your shift worked midnight to eight A.M.”

“No, eleven to seven”

“I see. I remember when I was in uniform patrol. We worked twelve to eight. I was like a zombie. I'd get home have breakfast sleep until four get up have dinner, go back to bed get up at eleven and go to work. It seemed that I was always tired.

“Well, when you think about it man is supposed to sleep at night. Anything else is abnormal”.

“I guess so. Here comes the waitress. Make sure you order a good breakfast”.

They both ordered bacon and eggs, hers scrambled, his over light, toast and fried potatoes. When the waitress left the table they both sat in silence and looked at each other. “What are you thinking about?”, she asked.

“To tell you the truth I'm trying to figure out just how you can leave work, go home, change from your uniform. Get dressed again and still be on time for mass”.

“Sheila laughed. I didn't go home to change. We have lockers at the hotel. I change there. I don't like being on the street with the word Security Guard on my shoulder”.

“Why not?”

“Well think about it. It's honest work, but not too glamorous. Years ago the people who held those jobs were called, watchmen. They didn't need to have too much talent then and it's the same now.”

“Are you ashamed of your position?”

“Heavens no. I just prefer leaving my work behind me when I go home, that's all. Now, my turn. Why did you become a cop?”

“That's easy. In my family two things are mandatory. The first is that you will be born an Irish Catholic and the second thing is you will be a police officer.”

“Then I take it that you like it”.

“Yes, although I must admit there are times when I want out”.

“Why?”

“For one thing, man's inhumanity to man. Pardon my language but this world is made up of a multitude of assholes”.

“I'll tell you something Kevin, I agree with you. Here comes our breakfast.”

“Good after we eat I'll take you home”.

“That's not necessary”.

“Let me guess. You don't want to be seen with a cop”.

“Don't be silly. I'm not going right home. I have to stop in and check on my mother. She's been ill lately”.

“Nothing serious I hope”.

“No. It appears to be either bad cold or the flu”.

“I'm sorry to hear that. Be careful that you don't come down with it”.

“Why?”

“Because I want to see you again and don't want to wait until you get better”.

“You're serious. You want to see me again”.

“Yep”

“Fine but our schedules don't mash. You work days. I work nights. You're off on weekends. I'm off Thursday and Friday nights. When will we see each other?”

Kevin shrugged his shoulders, then said, “Well. There's always Sunday Mass”.

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

By Tuesday of that week Mckenna was irritable. No report had come back from the F.B.I. lab in reference to the plexiglass shards. That still left him without any clue as to just what was used to commit the murders. At the same time he had no idea of a motive. There wasn't even a connection between the two victims. One was homeless, depending on handouts in order to survive. The other was an affluent hotel owner. The only thing they had in common was the fact that they were both killed on the boardwalk, both died with a crushed skull and both crime scenes had plexiglass shards. One north of the Regal Hotel the other south of the hotel. At the same time Kevin continued to berate himself for not paying more attention to Charles Barnett's condition at the crime scene.

“O.K. McKenna. Get off of your ass and get to work. You've got no weapon yet, but you can work on finding a motive. Time to bring in Bitterman”,he thought to himself.

Two hours later McKenna parked the unmarked radio car across form the Flemington Hotel. As he did he saw County Investigator Roy Hamilton exit his car. After walking across the street the two men shook hands. “Hello Roy. How have you been?”, asked Kevin.

“Fine. So what do we have here?”

“Right now an ex-con who's running an operation that involves taking Social Security and pension checks from the homeless. He picks them up off of the streets of Philadelphia and Camden and brings them down here to this flea bag hotel he runs”.

“As bad as it sounds his operation might not be illegal”, said Hamilton.

“I know. Actually I want to talk to him about the Charles Barnett homicide. At the same time I know he's failed to register as a sex offender”.

“I assume that you've checked that fact”.

“Yep, that's why I asked you to meet me here. You have jurisdiction. I don't”.

“No problem. I'm ready when you are”.

“Then let's go.”

Together the two men walked between a small row of men two of which asked for money. When Kevin and Roy Hamilton

passed through the front door and into the foyer of the hotel they were met with the mixed stench of urine and unwashed bodies.

One of Bitterman's employees leaned on his elbows behind the dilapidated front desk. When he saw the two men he stood up straight and said, “What do you two want?”

“Frank Bitterman”, said Hamilton showing his badge and credentials.

“Wait a minute. I'll go get him”, said the man.

Five minutes later Bitterman came out of a back room. He was attired in a pair of black trousers held up by tan suspenders. He was shirtless wearing only a sleeveless underwear shirt that contained saliva and tobacco stains from the cigar he chewed on in his mouth. “You again. What do you want now?”, Bitterman said looking at McKenna.

“I want you to put a shirt on, grab a coat or jacket and come with