Pursuit

by: S.L. Kotar and J.E. Gessler

Chapter 7

3:30 P.M.

Stopped at a phone booth to call the Taft residence. Leonard Taft at work. Obtained his work number. (555-9802)

Spoke with L.T. Meeting scheduled for 4:30 P.M. at a malt house across from his work. (Schuyler Electronics, corner of Garfield and Tyler Sts.

 

Leonard Taft was a tall man with a slim build. Gerard guessed he had been a three letter man in college. Slightly receding at the temples, he had enough hair left to make him look youthful rather than aging. He was sitting on a stool at the counter talking with the waitress when Gerard entered. He had a ready smile and had apparently just said something amusing for she was laughing. Seeing the stranger enter, her smile faded and Taft turned quickly. He had to work to keep his.

Taft was the first to hold out his hand. Gerard met it and they shook.

“I appreciate you meeting me here. Dick’s at the house, you know, and Donna’s in a tizzy. It would be awkward for me to see you there.”

“This works out just fine for me. Shall we take a booth?”

“Yeah. Sure. We have about half an hour before the kids descend here like locusts. Once the juke box goes on we won’t be able to hear one another. You have any children Lieutenant?”

“A son and daughter. But they’re not old enough for malt houses. Thank goodness.”

“Bet they like ice cream, though. What about you? Can I order you a cone? Or a shake?”

Gerard shook his head while marveling at the man’s coolness. Rather than let him take to initiative, Taft went after him as though he were the interrogator.

Start friendly and work up slowly to the subject at hand.

    “Cup of coffee.”

Taft turned and held up two fingers. The signal was apparently understood for the waitress nodded. She did not, however, bother to smile.

They sat down opposite one another, two opposing pieces on a chess board.

Neither one, Gerard suspected, was going to play the white knight.

And the black one was already taken.

A young mother with a small boy got out from the booth where they had been sitting and walked toward them. Without speaking she paused long enough to rest her hand lightly on Taft’s shoulder and squeeze it. He nodded thanks.

“You seem to be quite well known here,” Gerard noted as she walked away without so much as glancing his way.

“As you realize, I work across the street. Lots of time I walk over for lunch, or stop by in the evening to gather my thoughts before going home.”

“Must be pretty noisy by that time.”

“That’s the point. Everything at work is so quiet I need to get acclimated to the sounds of cowboys and Indians playing in the front yard; or basketballs bouncing. Or a hundred other sounds children make. They’re noisy little beasts, aren’t they? I certainly don’t remember wreaking havoc like that when I was a youngster. Do you?”

“I suppose we did but as adults we learn to live with denial.”

He struck a bull’s eye with that and Taft flinched.

“That sounds pessimistic, Lieutenant. As though you don’t believe Dick Kimble’s story about seeing a one-armed man. It’s true, you know.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because he’s not a liar. And what’s more, he isn’t a wife killer. It isn’t in him. He’s a physician, for Christ’s sake. He’s sworn to protect life, not take it.”

“Every man has his breaking point.”

Taft leaned closer, eyes darkening.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You didn’t ask one.”

“I did. About believing Dr. Kimble’s eye-witness report of seeing a thief running from his home on the night of the murder.”

Gerard faced him without blinking, making sure there was no mistaking the fire that burned behind his piercing blue orbs.

“My belief or disbelief is not the issue. The verity of his story is for the jury to decide. My job is to investigate. To date, I have interviewed seven one-armed men found in the vicinity.”

“And that’s nine more than you expected to find?”

The question was simultaneously cutting and telling.

“On the contrary. I’d say it was exactly the number I expected to encounter.”

“What scientific measurement did you devise to come up with that?”

“It was elementary, Mr. Taft. I merely took the population of Stafford on the night of September 17 and divided it by the number of known and unknown Caucasian males with their right arm missing above the elbow.”

Taft pulled back, rapidly assimilated the reply and then smiled.

“I’m being boorish, aren’t I? My apologies, Lieutenant Gerard. I have to keep reminding myself we’re on the same side: two law-abiding citizens interested in seeing justice carried out. I know Richard Kimble is innocent. Your investigation will take you to the same conclusion. It’s just a matter of time.”

“You think so, do you?”

“Of course. This is 1960. Juries just don’t make mistakes.” His smile widened. “I’m sure that sounds a bit naive to you, but I’m just gullible enough – or maybe I should say I have enough faith in the legal system and my fellow man to harbor the unshakable belief that right will prevail.”

“I hope you never have to regret those words.”

“Are you a doomsayer, Lieutenant?”

“Let’s just say I’m a realist. I’ve interviewed seven men, four of whom have already been eliminated. Of the three remaining, two more will be.”

“We only need one, Lieutenant Gerard.”

Gerard nodded in agreement.

“What do you do for a living, Mr. Taft?”

“I’m an engineer.”

“At Schuyler Electronics?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you worked there?”

“Right out of college.”

The waitress belatedly brought them two cups of coffee and they pulled back into their respective corners.

“Cream and sugar?”

“Black is fine,” Gerard spoke. She nodded and faded away.

“You must drink gallons of that stuff in your job,” Taft remarked, trying to put the conversation back on an even keel.

“I do, indeed.”

As he sipped, Taft pursued, “How is it?”

“Good, bad or indifferent, it’s all the same to me.”
“That isn’t much of a recommendation.”

“Doesn’t have to be. I don’t think we’ll need to meet again.”

“Why are we meeting, if I may ask?”

“I wanted to get to know you. Feel you out on your impression of Dr. Kimble.”

“He’s innocent.”

“There’s no doubt in your mind?”

“None whatsoever.”

“How well do you know him?”

“He and Donna are extremely close. He was already married to Helen when I met Donna. If I thought asking Dr. Kimble the elder for her hand was tough, it was nothing compared to the grilling I received from Dr. Kimble the younger.”

“You must have passed the test.”

“Sweating bullets the whole time.”

“They come over to your house often – Dr. Kimble and his wife?”

“They came to our house, we went to theirs. After our first son, David, was born, Dick used to drop by at all hours with toys for him. Or snacks he snuck in when Donna wasn’t looking. You know – he did all the things a favorite uncle would. The boys love him.”

“There’s a younger brother in the Kimble family isn’t there?”

“Yes. Ray.”

“Is he about?”

“I imagine he is. He’s of that age, you know. He’s hither and yon as the spirit takes him.”

“I haven’t met him, yet.”

“I can’t imagine what he has to say that would add to your family picture, Lieutenant.”

“You’re all one big happy group, aren’t you?” Before Taft could agree, Gerard hurried on. “Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for the Waverlys.”

“Oh? I’m surprised to hear that.”

“They haven’t contacted you?”

“No. Why would they?”

“To commiserate; make arrangements. That sort of thing.”

“I imagine Dick will do that. And as far as commiserating, you’ll have to ask him.”

“Mrs. Waverly seems to believe ‘Dick’ killed her daughter.”

For a moment Taft’s guard fell and a look of pure amazement crossed his face. He recovered quickly but at a cost.

“I can’t imagine why she’d think that. It’s preposterous. Richard,” he emphasized, noting Gerard’s inflection, “and Helen were very much in love. Everyone knew that.”

“Not everyone. It seems most of the Kimble’s neighbors tell the tale of constant arguing and bickering.”

“Over adoption, Lieutenant Gerard. No one kills their wife over a dispute on whether or not to adopt a child.”

“I’ve known men to kill over who’s going to pay for a cup of coffee.”

Taft reached into his pocket, withdrew a quarter and slapped it down on the table.

“I’ll pay. Just so there’s no doubt where I stand.”

“I got that message loud and clear.”

“Well, as you say, there’s no need for us to meet again.”

Taft got up and Gerard stood with him.

“I appreciate you taking time out of your busy day.”

“My day is over. And I hope to God yours isn’t: not until you catch that one-armed man and throw him in jail for the rest of his life.”

“If I find him and he’s guilty, I’ll do just that.”

The muscles in Taft’s jaws worked as he debated how to answer. He finally went with the more politic of his thoughts.

“He’s guilty. You can take my word on that.”

“The only way I could take your word would be if you were an eye-witness. And you weren’t.”

“I know the man. I’d trust him with my life – or that of my wife and sons. You… I’m not so sure. You’ve… seen too much of the dark side of humanity, Lieutenant, to know a good, decent man when you see one. I think you need remedial lessons in empathy.”

“I’ll be sure and put that on my to-do list.”

Taft stormed away and Gerard balled his fist in annoyance. He shouldn’t have made that last retort. He had already let the conversation devolve too far. He made an enemy where none was intended.

This case is getting to me, he thought.

And then dismissed it. It was no different than any other. A life had been taken. It was his job to put together the clues, follow where they led and make an arrest. Nothing more and nothing less. Empathy was not part of the formula.

No more so than the “formula” he had concocted to determine how many one-armed men there were in the “Friendly City” of Stafford, Indiana.

 

5:00 P.M.

Arrived back at the office. Four more one-armed men brought in during my absence.

 

• Name Unknown: found at the RR yards in boxcar. Train arrived in from Detroit today. Doesn’t qualify as an alibi. He may have just gotten in the car before he was found although he was using a Detroit newspaper from Sept 17 as a blanket. Found in car? Refuses to give his name. Fingerprints taken and sent for processing. He can be held if need be.
• Rocky Kinkel: turned himself in for a free meal
• Michael Waracheck: left arm missing
• Weezer Brawley: found trying to get on the Greyhound, suitcase in hand. Stated he was going to Cincinnati but had a transfer ticket to Albany NY

Will interview if RK ID’s any of them.

“Mrs. Taft, this is Lieutenant Gerard. May I speak to Dr. Kimble, please?”

“No, you may not.” Even  over the phone he could see her eyes narrow in anger. “He’s resting. When are you going to leave him in peace?”

“When his name is cleared.”
“There’s something wrong with you. Everyone in this town knows he’s innocent but you.”

“Not everyone, Mrs. Taft.”

“And I don’t want you speaking with my husband ever again. He came home so upset he was shaking. We have children in the house.”

“Mrs. Taft, I’m not going to argue with you. I have a line-up of one-armed men I need Dr. Kimble to look at. That is, if he still thinks he saw one outside his house on the night of the murder.”

He thought that would appease her and found himself in error.

“You’re a sadist, you know that?”

“If he’s not at police headquarters in three quarters of an hour I’m going to turn them free. Tell him that or not, at your discretion. Good-bye.”

He hung up the phone, adding after he let the receiver go, “It’s been a real pleasure speaking with you.”

Although her attitude was understandable, if not acceptable considering the circumstances, he couldn’t quite convince himself it was normal. She and her husband were too defensive; too willing to believe the worst of the police. So far, he had treated Dr. Kimble with kid gloves. There was no rational explanation for their belligerence.

Who stands for Helen Kimble? By all accounts she was a well-liked, respectable woman of the community. A nurse. Someone who had suffered a great personal tragedy; someone who deserved a better fate. Why aren’t they shouting, ‘Find Helen’s killer’ instead of, ‘Leave my brother alone’?

    What do they know or think they know?

    Why was Mrs. Waverly so easily convinced he was the murderer? I saw doubt in the old man’s eyes, too. What could he tell me if his tongue was loosened? His daughter was afraid of her husband? That he had a vicious temper? That he blamed her for the loss of their baby? He wouldn’t be the first.

    Maybe the D.A. is right. There isn’t that much separation between saint and sinner, after all.

 

“Lieutenant, that Kimble fella is here. With his lawyer.”

Gerard checked his watch.

They made good time, considering he probably had to drag the attorney from his dinner.       

“Thank you, Officer Billingsley. I’ll go out and see them.”

Putting on his suit jacket which he had draped over a chair back, Gerard walked to the front desk where they were waiting. He was relieved Donna Taft was not with them.

“Hello, Phil,” the lawyer greeted, extending his hand. “Good to see you again.”

“How are you, sir?” he replied, putting up a barrier between them. Although the Burnetts and the Gerards no longer lived in the same part of town, the two families had once been neighbors before Tom’s legal practice had taken off and he, his wife and daughter, had moved to a more fashionable and expensive subdivision in Stafford. They had remained friends, however and occasionally shared a 4^th of July barbeque or a card game together.

It had never occurred to him Dr. Kimble would seek out Tom Burnett for representation although he was a logical choice, having a solid, albeit pedantic, reputation and almost more importantly, a good working relationship with the police.

“I’m just fine. I understand you have a line-up you wish Dr. Kimble to review?”

“That’s right.”

“How many?”

“We’ll just let that question go for now if you don’t mind.”

“All right. I’m just hoping we can get this matter cleared up quickly. It’s a tragedy all the way around and the sooner we get Dr. Kimble out from under your shadow, the sooner he can begin to heal.”

“It’s not my shadow,” Gerard objected, feeling the hackles at the back of his neck rise.

Burnett quickly retracted his statement.

“I meant, of course, the shadow of the law. And let me say we appreciate all you’re doing for him.”

“I’m just trying to be thorough. Right this way.” Leading them to the viewing area with the two-way mirror, he made his excuses and left them alone for several minutes before returning. “Are you ready, Dr. Kimble?”

“Yes. I am.”

“I’m going to repeat myself by asking you to take your time. Take a good look at all of them. Don’t hurry. If you see the man you recognize, or even think you do, please point him out. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly.”

“And you’re not too tired? Too fatigued? Your sister said you were taking a nap when I called.”

He looked embarrassed.

“Actually, I was standing right there. She just didn’t want to put me on the phone.”

Gerard grew stern.

“When I call, it’s important. You really should remember that.”

“I will. Next time.”

Gerard scowled and depressed the intercom.

“Send them out.”

Four men appeared, walked to a strip of tape on the floor and stopped. Behind them was a series of short lines indicating their height in feet and inches. Kimble took a step closer. The tension which had built in the brief interim Gerard had been away transformed almost immediately into dejection.

“He’s not there.”

“You’re sure? Take a longer look.”

Forcing his eyes back to the men in the line-up, the doctor went from one to the other. Reaching the end, he worked back the other way.

“The man I saw isn’t there.”

“Don’t be discouraged. I have another set of men for you to look at.” Into the intercom he ordered, “You may go. Send in the second line-up.”

Four more men walked out.

“What do you see?”

Slightly disconcerted, Kimble turned to Gerard.

“The second man there – the one second from the left – he was in the first line-up. And two of the others – they were in the line-up from the other day.”

“That’s right. I have to be certain, you know.”

“Certain of what?”

“That you’re paying attention. So there isn’t any doubt. An excuse made at trial you were in such an emotional state – or too fatigued – to properly identify the one-armed man.”

Kimble’s brows knit.

“I told you. I was standing in my sister’s living room when you called. I wasn’t sleeping. I can’t sleep more than ten minutes at a time. When I do, I’m having nightmares.” His voice broke. “I just lost my wife. My life is in shambles.”

“But you do feel capable of being here and looking at these men?”

“Yes! Yes, I keep telling you!” He turned back to the two-way window and quickly scanned the dull faces who could not see him. “He isn’t here. The one-armed man I saw that night isn’t here.” Slumping back against the wall, he cried, “When are you going to find him? Why aren’t you looking harder? He has to be out there!”

“Believe me, Dr. Kimble, I’m doing everything humanly possible to find him. If he exists, I’ll find him.”

“Not ‘if’! I saw him. Do you ever think I can forget that face?”

“I don’t believe you can.”

He meant to be kind. It came out sounding like a lie.

“Look again, Richard,” Burnett encouraged. “You were too hasty.”

“He’s not there.”

“All right. He’s not there. Not in either line-up?”

“No.”

The lawyer turned to Gerard.

“Thank you. My client says the man he saw was not in either line-up.”

“Then, he can go.”

Burnett put a hand on the doctor’s arm.

“Step outside and wait for me. I’ll only be a minute. I want to talk to Lieutenant Gerard alone.” Kimble nodded and left. Burnett watched him go then turned to the policeman. “What’s this all about, Phil? You know he’s innocent.”

“I know nothing of the sort. What I do know is that he said he saw a one-armed man outside his house and I’ve been unable to find him. That doesn’t bode well for his defense. I know the neighbors heard the doctor and his wife arguing. And that their shouting was loud and ugly. I know the woman is dead and he has no alibi. What do you know that I don’t? If you’ve got something, then give it to me and I’ll bring it to the D.A. No one wants to see an innocent man charged.”

“Is he going to be charged?”

Gerard took a step back.

“Ask Mike Ballinger.”

“I’m asking you.”

“I have nothing more to say. Just, don’t let him leave town.”

“When?”

Gerard shrugged.

“Until he’s no longer a suspect.”

“Then, he is a suspect.”

“Obviously.”

“He’s a doctor. Sworn to preserve life.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“You disappoint me.”

“Why is that?”

He asked because he didn’t understand the lawyer’s rationale.

“He’s distraught.”

“Killing someone has that effect on people.”

“You can’t possibly imagine he’s guilty.”

“I don’t imagine things, Tom. I work on facts.” He started to turn away, then his eyes narrowed and he sought the other’s eyes. “Since we’re on the subject, you might ask yourself this: did Dr. Kimble just imagine he saw a one-armed man? Because he was so ‘distraught’ he needed a fantasy story to assuage his mind? So he didn’t have to accept the fact he argued with his wife and in a fit of anger, picked up a lamp and struck her over the head with it? That’s a fact the D.A. can wrap his case around because there is precedent in law. He’ll be able to stand before a jury and detail case after case where the killer made up a story – one he even came to believe – that he swore until his dying day was true. He saw a red-headed stranger loitering in the back yard before he went to work; there was a tall, thin man with a scar on his left cheek sitting in a delivery truck across the street. A group of teenagers with switchblades followed him home because they didn’t like his upper-class looks and decided to take their envy out on his wife. You want me to go on?”

“I want you to find Dr. Kimble’s one-armed man.”

“And if there isn’t one?”

The two friends had come to an impasse. Burnett’s shoulders sagged.

“You’re not giving me much to go on, Phil.”

“I’m doing my best.”

“And if it’s not good enough?”

There were any number of ways Gerard could answer that interrogative.

I’m sorry was the first that came to mind.

But that was unacceptable and reeked of personal guilt.

That’s your problem.

    That was a dodge. If an innocent man was convicted it was everyone’s loss. A failure of justice.

Ask Captain Carpenter to put another detective on the case.

    The idea of being relived on a charge of dereliction of duty was unthinkable. It was also unfair. No one in his place would have pursued the search as long or as intensely as he had done. Carpenter had already alluded to that.

Maybe it’s you who isn’t up to the job.

That was cruel and Gerard was not, by nature, a cruel man.

“Go home, Tom. If we pick up any more suspects in the round-up I’ll call you.”

“For God’s sakes, Phil, how many more one-armed men can there be in Stafford?”

“Precisely.”

Which was neither cruel nor sympathetic. Just a fact.

 

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Link to Chapter 8