A Hole In One Paul Weininger (list of ebook readers .TXT) 📖

they called it a “probable accident.” Some coincidence, he thought, somebody shoots up in the air and both bullets land next to each other in the same wall just inches apart.“Bullshit,” he yelled loud enough for neighbors to hear. He figured the cops were bullshitting about the accident because the complaint came from a Black man.

Detective Pratt heard of this fourth incident happening to another member of the golf foursome, forcing him to reprimand the two officers for writing a report that was “unadulterated crap.” He directed them to inform him of any shootings, especially involving a .45, angrily pointing out that people in Sedona do not take practice shots up in the air when trying out their new guns, and that it could be no coincidence that both bullets landed on the same wall of a person’s home.

“Hold on,” the second officer said, “the marshal told us to report it that way.”

Stunned, Pratt asked the two officers if the victim happened to be Black or Hispanic. They confirmed Pratt’s hunch. “So, I suppose you would you have shot him in the knees if the marshal told you to do so?” Pratt asked, extremely angry with the officers.

“I guess we wouldn’t have, but this was different, and we didn’t see a big issue with it,” one of them replied, adding to his bigot list by two.

That prick Whitaker, thought Pratt, he’ll do anything to undermine the minorities. We’ve got to get him out of office and soon as possible before he ends up causing someone’s death. If I ever do get promoted and become their boss, those two idiot cops will be fired, too.

Marshal Whitaker was a burly and prejudiced local marshal, affecting an upscale cowboy look with heavily starched white shirt, highly polished boots, and crisply creased jeans, topped by a white cowboy hat with a feathery decorative hatband and sweat stains bleeding through the bottom of the crown. The marshal had a theory that Tony might have shot Jack Green and put bullet holes in his own house as a cover-up.

“After all, what else can you expect from their kind?” he said to Johnny.

Pratt had to use every ounce of self-control not to punch his boss in the mouth. The stupid bigoted asshole, Pratt thought. Whitaker exhausted Pratt, not only for his bigotry, but the marshal’s only concern was his own career while expecting others to make him look good.

The dilemma that Marshal Whitaker had to acknowledge, however, was that Tony’s alibi was foolproof. He was ninety-six miles away at the time of Green’s shooting. His business partner confirmed Tony was on the job in Scottsdale at the time of the shots at Jack. To the marshal’s chagrin, he also learned that Pilaris is only half Black, the other half being of Greek heritage. But to him, half Black was no different than all Black.

Sixteen

Two lower-level detectives, an older, gray-haired, timeworn man and a younger man who appeared to have recently been promoted off the street beat, were sent to interview Todd Stern at his office.

The older detective asked, “Mr. Stern, can you please tell me where you were between approximately 12:00 p.m. and 2:00 p.m. the day Mr. Green was shot at the synagogue?”

“Please call me doctor, I am a dentist.”

“I’m sorry, sir. Dr. Stern, can you please tell me where you were between 12:00 p.m. and 2:00 p.m. the day of Mr. Green’s shooting, and, more recently, where you were you when Tony Pilaris was shot at?”

“Ask your uniformed police officers, they confirmed my alibis for both dates with my receptionist and three patients. I was treating patients in my office. I told them on the day Jack was shot, I had one patient in the chair for a cavity filling, while two others were in the waiting room. Same answer, different patients for the second day in question when Tony was shot at.”

“We were told of your alibis by the uniformed officers,” the older detective chimed in. “Would you please give me the names, addresses and phone numbers of the first three patients? You do understand that this would not fall under doctor-patient confidentiality unless you discussed their dental conditions with us. We just want to confirm your alibi for the record.” The detective thought if the first three confirmed his alibi then there’d be no reason to check out any other patients.

“Absolutely,” Todd replied, going to the file cabinet behind his receptionist’s desk containing patients’ records. Todd searched through files and retrieved the information for the requested patients. He had double checked the dates and found that Shirley Metzger was in the chair; Enrique Hernandez was the second patient; and the third patient was George Gerwig. Todd gave the detectives the addresses and phone numbers they requested.

“Would you have any objection to my letting each of these patients know that I obtained their names from you?” the detective asked.

“Not at all, if you don’t discuss the reason other than being a witness for me. I’m sure they’ll all be willing to confirm my alibi again.”

“You often play golf with Rabbi Bloom, Jack Green and Tony Pilaris, don’t you?” asked the younger detective.

“Yes.”

“Did any of them mention that they thought someone must have been pissed at all four of you, or do they believe that anyone might want to harm Mr. Pilaris and Mr. Green?”

“No, they didn’t, but we think we might be harmed every time Neil Bloom tees-off,” Todd replied with a lame joke.

Perplexed by the sound of the questioning, Todd responded somewhat angrily: “Do you think that I have the name of a possible shooter and that I’ve been withholding it from you for some nefarious reason?”

“No need to be caustic, Dr. Stern, we’re here to try to narrow down possible suspects and your sarcasm won’t help.”

“That’s great, you mean to tell me that you already have a few suspects when you say, ‘narrow down’?”

“Dr. Stern, unless you know who the shooter might be, all police investigations must be kept confidential.