FIRST STEP MURDER Read online

  “It looks like it sir, I don’t suppose you’d take a look, you know see if you recognize him? I’m sure his family would be grateful.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t have a very strong stomach.”

  “I’ll just uncover his face, he fell on his back. It’s just a little misshapen is all sir.”

  The man held the little dog tight and followed the detective over to the covered corpse. He knelt down and uncovered the head and when he looked up at the man with the dog he heard him gasp.

  “Oh my God, that’s Martin Samuels,” he turned away and the detective wrote the name down on his pad then followed the man and his dog away from the corps.

  “Can you give me any information on Mr. Samuels’s sir, what floor did he live on, maybe a unit number. Did he own a car, what was his occupation?”

  “Yeah, yeah, God it’s so disturbing, do you think he jumped? Suicide, shit I can’t believe it, Martin lived on my floor, tenth floor, unit 22. I just saw him yesterday. He was on his way to work. His family goes way back here in Boston he owns an equipment company or something.”

  “What about family?”

  “I know he has two sons, but I don’t know their names, his wife died from cancer, such a sweet lady, but that was several years ago.”

  “And does he have a car in the garage?”

  “Yeah, a black sedan, spot 1022,” the man said.

  “Well thanks for your help sir. We’ll notify his family right away.”

  The detective called in his report about the deceased. The police public relations office would be responsible for notifying the family. Detective Walker went to the parking garage and the building maintenance man let him in. He couldn’t tell if anyone had tampered with the entry system.

  “You say no one could have gotten in here any other way?”

  “That’s right, and it doesn’t appear there were any unauthorized entries.”

  The detective walked to parking spot 1022 and the black sedan was in its place.

  “Ok, I want to go up to his condo now.” They rode the parking garage elevator up to the tenth floor and the maintenance man unlocked the door. “Who locks their door before they go jump off the roof,” the Detective thought.

  He looked around the condo, nothing was out of place, Mr. Samuels’s wallet and keys were on a small table just inside the door. The remains of a frozen dinner were in the trash with an empty beer bottle on top. In the bedroom there was no blood and no sign of a struggle the covers were pushed over like he had just gotten up and walked out.

  “Let’s go up to the roof.”

  Besides the large AC units and a couple satellite dishes there was nothing up there. John walked over to the edge where Mr. Samuels most likely would’ve gone over. There were no scuff marks on the roof or sign of a struggle. Detective Walker looked over at the scene below, there were several more cars parked along the street now and they weren’t patrol cars. One was the Coroner’s van.

  “Ok, I’ve seen enough.”

  Out through the garage and down the sidewalk he saw someone he knew.

  “Hey, John, what’s the word, how about a quote for the Herald,” asked James Cullen, the crime reporter for the Boston Herald.

  “You’ll have to wait for the press spokesman James, just like always.”

  Everyone walked away except James. He waited at the barricade as Detective Walker was going to his car.

  “Do you know who Martin Samuels was John? Some of the officers said it was suicide. I don’t care what it looks like John, there’s no way Martin Samuels committed suicide.”

  The Detective turned back around and walked over to James.

  “I tell ya James, I couldn’t find anything that would lead me to believe that it was anything else but suicide. Don’t quote me or I’ll never talk to you again. There was no struggle in the room, no drag marks, nothing under his fingernails, I’ve been doing this a long time James, so tell me, what is it you know, and I don’t?”

  “John, word is he’s turned down at least a dozen offers to sell a family piece of property on Wall Street and Broad. He even fought with his sons publicly over the deal. Mr. Samuels had blue prints to build this huge project even a center for the performing arts, there’s no way he would have killed himself.”

  John shook his head, “well don’t be surprised James when it’s reported as a suicide, I’ll check everybody’s alibies, but other than that it’s over.”

  The next morning after James Cullen had talked to several friends and family of Mr. Samuels his article was a tribute to the man and didn’t specify whether his death was suicide or not. No one would say the M word but everyone was unanimous that he showed no depression or public signs of suicide.

  James had met Faxon Bennett one night at Ned Devine’s. They’d had gotten drunk together drinking beer and Irish whiskey.

  The cell phone rang and Faxon rolled over and picked it up,

  “Faxon Bennett Investigations, how can I help you?” He said in a gravelly voice.

  “Damn Faxon you just waking up, don’t tell me you were drinking beer and Irish whisky last night?”

  “James Cullen, Boston Herald crime reporter, no just overslept, and I haven’t chased any of the Irish with beer again and I don’t plan to, how the hell are ya James?”

  “Good Faxon, but I have a client for you.”

  “You’re as good as an investigator as I am James. What you need me for?”

  “Have you heard about Martin Samuels?”

  “On the news,” Faxon said, “patriarch of an old Boston family, owns an equipment company, big man around town, everybody was shocked when he took a dive off that condo.”

  “My editor wants me to drop the story and move on. Detective John Walker is a friend of mine and he told me there’s nothing that would suggest it was anything else but a suicide. But that little voice inside my head says something’s wrong. I don’t believe it, someone threw Mr. Samuels off that roof, and they did a hell of a good job making it look like suicide.”

  “So you want me to see what I can dig up? Who’s my client,” Faxon asked?

  “Sara Johnson, she’s Martin Samuels’s sister, her husband is a lawyer, Benjamin Johnson LLC, and he wants her to drop it so you’ll have to meet with her when he’s not around, but she asked if I knew someone that would check it out.”

  “Ya, sure, give me her number and I’ll go talk to her.”

  “It goes without saying if you dig something up Faxon you’ll give me the story, you know for the referral and all.”

  “Of course, we’re friends. I don’t get shitfaced with people I don’t like Cullen.”

  * * *

  “Good afternoon Mrs. Johnson my names Faxon Bennett, James Cullen gave me your number, he thought I might be able to help you.”

  “Oh thank God you called I just need some peace of mind really. That and I don’t believe my brother committed suicide.

  “Well I’d like to come and talk to you in person Mrs. Johnson, and there’s the fee, I usually work with cash or a check advance.”

  “That’s fine, if you’ll just check the facts I’ll feel better knowing someone without something to gain from Martin’s death looked into it.”

  Faxon got the address, and the owner of the bar loaned him one of his cars, Faxon drove the 1946 Willis Jeep again. It was an old Army issue restored, painted Army green. It had a four cylinder engine, three speed stick, with another short shifter next to it that engaged the four wheel drive. The windshield would even fold forward onto the hood. The top was green canvas with matching doors.

  Mrs. Johnson lived in a gated community just outside of town and Faxon punched in the access number she’d given him and the gate opened. He rang the doorbell and soon Sara Johnson opened the door. They sat in the living room, Faxon turned down her offer of tea. She gave him a list of family and friends, and he asked for the name of Mr. Samuels’s secretary, and another executive in the office. Faxon asked about who had made offers on the prop
erty but she said the secretary would have that information.

  Sara Johnson wrote a check from a personal account for five thousand dollars, they agreed on a thousand dollars a day and he would be back in five days to give a report and they’d decide where to go from there. Faxon left and drove straight to the main office, he asked the receptionist if he could speak to Rayna Wilson, Martin Samuel’s personal secretary. She picked up the phone.

  “Ms. Wilson a Faxon Bennett is here to see you, yes ma’am. She said she’d be right here.”

  Faxon stood beside the front counter, and he turned when he heard high heeled footsteps coming down the hall. Rayna Wilson was a woman in her mid-forty’s dressed in a women’s business suit.

  “What can I help you with Mr. Bennett? We’re not giving interviews about Mr. Samuels.”

  “I’m not a reporter but I would like to talk to you about Mr. Samuels Death.”

  “If you’re not a reporter or a detective who are you Mr. Bennett,” Rayna asked?

  “I’m a private investigator. Let’s just say not everybody believes Mr. Samuels death was suicide, and someone has asked me to look into the circumstances.”

  Rayna looked around to see if anyone had heard what he had said, “let’s talk in my office Mr. Bennett.”

  Down the hall to the first office on the right, Rayna closed the door behind them. She sat behind her desk that was cleared of any paperwork, Faxon sat in a chair in front of her.

  “Who hired you Mr. Bennett?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t divulge that information, my client doesn’t want their identity known, but I can tell you they don’t believe Mr. Samuels committed suicide.”

  “And I don’t either, Mr. Bennett, I was Mr. Samuels private secretary for fifteen years, I knew the man better than anyone. There’s no way Martin jumped off that roof.”

  Faxon wrote in a small hand sized notebook that he took out of his pocket.

  “The obvious question Mrs. Wilson did you know anyone that would want him dead? Had he had a disagreement with someone or had he been threatened?

  “Everyone loved Martin. His sons disagreed with him constantly about the way he ran the company. They wanted him to retire.”

  “Do you think either of them could have done this?”

  “I’m afraid not. They both wanted control of the company, but they both were at the ballroom at the Marriot, it was a birthday celebration for our general manager. I was there along with practically all the company. Martin had gone home right after work he had just had a huge argument with both his sons about turning down a generous offer two days earlier. It was over a large parcel of property Martin owned. The party went on till the early morning hours so I can personally alibi them and everyone else from the company.”

  “So Mr. Samuels didn’t want to sell, and everyone else did. What was the offer, and why wouldn’t he sell?”

  “Mr. Samuels had offers four other times by four different investors before the one two days ago. The offer was unbelievable ten times what it was worth, but that was the last piece of property that had been in the family for generations. It was Martin’s dream to build on it himself, a high rise complex with a center for the performing arts, new offices for the Company, and a whole floor suite for the family. There’s several buildings in the downtown area named after wealthy Boston families. He looked at the project as his legacy. Martin wouldn’t have given up on his dream, not for anyone, that’s why no one will ever convince me he committed suicide.”

  A lot of potential suspects had just been eliminated, and after leaving Faxon drove to police headquarters to see Detective John Walker. He wasn’t sure how helpful the detective would be, but a firsthand account of the scene was important.”

  The Sargent at the front desk didn’t ask what his business was or what his name was he picked up the phone and briefly said there’s someone to see you. Faxon walked down the hall, the door was open to a small office, the name on the door said Detective John Walker.

  “Come in sit down, you a reporter? I really don’t have time so make it brief.”

  Papers covered the desk, the box on the right side said, “in” and it was full, seems there were plenty of unsolved crimes that needed investigating.

  “My names Faxon Bennett, I’m a private investigator looking into the death of Martin Samuels, I just wanted to read the scene report. I was told you were there.”

  John stopped what he was doing and looked across the desk at Faxon. “Who hired you?”

  “I can’t say,” Faxon said.

  “Someone in the family, I would guess.”

  “That would be the most logical conclusion. So do I get to read the report?

  “I didn’t have any evidence that would lead me to believe it wasn’t a suicide, my supervisor listed it as suicide and the coroner’s report said it was suicide, and that was the end of the case. As you can see we have plenty to do, you can’t read the report, I’d have to get it from the case files and that would alert my captain. But I’ll tell you anything you want to know. I don’t believe Mr. Samuels committed suicide either.”

  They talked for thirty minutes, and the detective related his investigation of the garage, the condo, and the roof.

  Faxon thought the case over, “so if it was a murder then the guy was a pro. He had to enter through the garage. Did you check any video around the condo from other buildings?”

  “Without any other evidence my superior wouldn’t let me pursue it.”

  “Let’s say he got in and went up the elevator to the tenth floor, there’s a digital record of the elevators movements. If someone did go up to the tenth floor he would have wanted it to stay on that floor until he could get Mr. Samuels out of the condo and into the elevator then up to the roof.”

  “How would he have done that without leaving drag marks, and how did he keep the elevator on that floor,” John asked?

  “Easy enough to keep the elevator on that floor just use something to jam the door open. No drag marks, he lifted the unconscious body and carried him.”

  “That’s quite an explanation, the guy would have to be pretty strong, but I guess it could have been done,” John said, “a pro, a contract killer.”

  “We need to check the buildings around the condo to see if there’s video, and have someone from the elevator company to check the digital record of the movements,” Faxon said.

  “I’ll go with you, maybe my supervisor won’t find out. But you know that even if we find what you’re looking for, it’s still not proof.”

  The two men drove to the condo, John insisted on driving his unmarked car. The building next door had two cameras the one in the front showed nothing. But the other camera on the side of the building caught an image of just the legs of a man kneeling in front of the entry key pad.

  The maintenance man of the building called the elevator repair company and he met them at the entrance to the garage, meanwhile Faxon used a Swiss Army knife to remove the entry keypad cover and there were obvious signs that it had been tampered with. After putting it back the elevator repairman had downloaded the digital history of the elevator and just like Faxon thought the elevator that night at 1:07 am had gone to the tenth floor and stopped there for twelve minutes. The repairman said the only way that could have happened was if someone or something had held the door open. The record showed it went to the roof and stayed there for seven minutes then back down to the garage.

  “Well it was murder, that’s for sure but we can’t prove anything,” John said as they drove back to the station.

  “I have a gut feeling it was over that last offer to sell the downtown property,” Faxon said, “I’ll go back and talk to Mr. Samuels’s private secretary, and get information on all the companies that made offers. I think one of them was willing to commit murder to get that property.”

  Back at the Samuels Company office it was late in the afternoon, Rayna Wilson told the receptionist to send Mr. Bennett to her office. When Faxon came in he noticed her eyes
were red and she held a tissue in her hand.

  “I’m sorry Mr. Bennett I’m having a hard time forgetting Mr. Samuels. We had gotten close about a year after his wife died. What else can I help you with?”

  “Please call me Faxon.”

  He told her about what he’d found. “What we found isn’t proof what I need are the records of all the Company’s that made offers on the downtown property, the amounts offered and the company’s behind the offers.”

  Faxon left the office with a box of five files all containing the contracts, records of the meetings, lawyers involved, and relators that represented the offering Company’s. It was long after dark by the time he got to where he was going.

  Lew Kirin was a friend from high school. He was a private contractor you might say, a recluse, living off the grid, using his skills as a computer hacker for hire dealing in cash only, Faxon knocked on the door.

  “Who is it, and what do you want?” Asked the mechanical voice from a speaker beside the door, the video camera was above so Faxon looked up to be identified, he heard the electronic click inside the steel door letting him know it had been unlocked. He carried the box of files in through the dark front room. It was if a hoarder of electronics lived here. He walked toward the light in the back room where Lew sat at a small table eating cereal from a plastic bowl.

  “Faxon Bennett, good to see you again buddy, still chasing cheating husbands? Whatever you need I hope you brought me some cash I’m down to eating cereal?”

  Faxon explained the job and left Lew with the box of files and then drove back to Ned Devine’s. He took his usual seat at the end of the bar and William set his favorite beer in front of him without being asked. Amy Lindsey, also known as the stalker bitch, walked up and sat down beside him.

  “So, you turned down a high priced hooker.”

  “What the hell Amy, did you follow her when she left?”

  “She was very chatty, told me you refused a client, another married woman grateful for your service. She was free Faxon I’m a little surprised, after all she wasn’t a client.”