Murder 101

Written: 2003   |   Setting: Contemporary urban setting   |   2,150 words   |   10 Minutes minute read

1

Philip watched as the wallet fell from the strange man’s pocket as the man rounded Philip’s car, fleeing some secret terror. Philip tried to get in the car, but he couldn’t. If he had dropped his wallet, he would want someone telling him. Even if the man did run like a madman from something only he could see.

He tried to get in his car again, but his conscience wouldn’t allow it.

He picked up the black wallet and followed the frantic man. The first impression he received was that of an impending disaster. The stranger looked at him with apprehension and another emotion, a darker emotion which wouldn’t clarify itself.

He hated getting mixed up in this kind of situation. He told himself that as soon as he caught the stranger, his involvement would be over. He could pass the wallet along and get back to his vehicle.

“Can you please stop?” Philip yelled.

It was difficult; he became out of breath as they bolted down the empty street. The other man wore a navy suit. In the streetlight, Philip could tell it was expensive. His shoes were black Hush Puppies, and their polished gleam shone under the lamps. He was obviously a jogger, for his pace never slowed and he wasn’t out of breath.

The man slowed after Philip yelled and looked back over his shoulder. Philip suspected he felt guilty about something; his face registered a look of disgrace. He watched Philip with caution when he turned around.

“Uh, thanks. Sorry I took off like that. Call it stress,” he nervously chuckled. “I’m Desmond, Chuck Desmond. I was unaware I lost my wallet. My absent mind.”

Philip shook his hand. “Nice to meet you. You need to be more careful with your wallet. Not everyone will be so honest,” he lightly admonished.

Desmond nodded and walked away.

Finally, it was over. Desmond seemed unstable; it was hard to tell what he would do or who he was involved with. A man who ran so quickly from someone bringing his wallet had some serious issues.

Philip figured he should’ve given him a card and offered an appointment.

After all, he was a psychologist.

He was almost at his car when he heard the shots. They split the night and shattered the fragile silence that engulfed him. He whirled to make sure no one was behind him and ran to the car.

To his trepidation, police sirens blared in the distance. He slowed his pace. Would they suspect him if they caught him running? What if a surveillance tape had noticed him?

He reached his car as four squad cars raced into the parking lot. He caught his breath and sighed as the officers stepped out of their cars.

“Hello?” Philip asked, strangely afraid. Something was going on that he wasn’t aware of.

“Dr. Philip Carter?” the driver charged.

“Yes, I am. Is there something I can help you with?”

How did the cop know his name? He wasn’t a patient. What was going on?

“Do you know Chuck Desmond?” the first officer barked.

“Barely. I just gave him his wallet.” Philip was defensive as he stood.

“I think you better come with us.”

“What?”

Two uniformed cops walked to him and turned him around. One frisked him while the other slapped a set of handcuffs on his wrists.

Philip grudgingly cooperated. Why didn’t he just leave the damn wallet alone? Why did he have to be honest? If he had left the situation alone, none of this would be happening. His bound wrists left him helpless against such a force. What would be the point in fighting them? He would be caught as soon as he showed his face in public again.

The entire concept of running was pointless and stupid. He wasn’t going anywhere. They would have his accounts frozen, his license on display, and his financial records open before he could make it to the airport.

“What’s this all about?” Philip angrily asked from the back seat.

What the hell was happening? They treated him as if he were a criminal; he had only helped a guy out.

“You’ll find out at the station,” the officer in the passenger seat replied.

“I want to speak with my lawyer, damn it.” Philip feebly attempted to retain some dignity.

“You’ll have plenty of time for that, my friend.” The driver smirked.

The ride was neither friendly nor pleasant, and he longed to be home. He was tired and needed a hot shower.

They took him into the station and into a small room. The stark walls were dimly lit by two bulbs suspended from the ceiling by black cords. He quietly sat at the table.

What was happening to him?

They finally removed the cuffs, and he rubbed his tender skin.

Two men in plainclothes walked into the room. They didn’t spare any time before the inquest. After a brief introduction, the interrogation began.

“Okay, Dr. Philip Carter, what do you think you’ve been brought in for?”

“I assure you, I have no idea.” Philip held his head up. “Did my wife have more parking tickets she didn’t tell me about?”

The two detectives laughed out loud. Philip felt foolish. He didn’t know what was so damned funny about the situation.

“How well did you know Chuck Desmond?”

“I gave him his wallet after he dropped it at my car.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I would want someone to return my wallet if I dropped it.”

“So this generous outpouring of honesty is something you practice often?”

“I try to. I am a doctor. What would my reputation be if I neglected something so important to another person?” He grew sick of their cat-and-mouse game. “Now, what did I do?”

“Chuck Desmond was murdered.”

Philip was silent for a moment. He had just stood beside the man. He had just talked to him.

Murdered?

“What does that have to do with me, though? I mean, I am sorry the poor fellow died, but I still have no idea why it involves me.”

Detective John Lawson eyed him. “Philip, would you like to speak to an attorney?”

“I guess so. Why? Do I need one?”

2

John didn’t like this case. From the way the doctor acted, you’d think he had no involvement at all. After years, he’d learned to spot liars quickly; he couldn’t see that in Philip. He studied and examined his words carefully, as he’d been trained to do. Yet there were no signs of dishonesty. No nervous twitches, no changes in vocal tone.

He was afraid to completely assume Philip was innocent. In his line of work, they were guilty until proven innocent.

It wasn’t fair, but crime was never fair.

3

They allowed Philip two calls. Being the successful doctor, somehow he talked them into that. He used the first to telephone his lawyer. He got a cup of coffee and waited to call Maggie. Finally, he gave in; he called her and left a message with the maid.

Time crawled by. Maggie wouldn’t respond. He supposed it was because the calls were from jail. She was so quick-tempered lately, she would be disappointed with him.

He passed the hour watching television on the tiny set in the break room. As he finished his fourth cup of coffee, Hugh Price entered.

Philip rose and eagerly took Hugh’s hand. “Oh, God. Hugh, it’s been a nightmare. A pure nightmare.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.” He paced. “I gave the guy his wallet, and before I knew it, I was being arrested. I don’t know what happened. They won’t tell me what motive I could have possibly had to murder a total stranger. They said his name was Chuck Desmond. It’s just a horrible situation.”

Hugh stiffened. “Desmond? Chuck Desmond? Average-looking guy with odd green eyes?”

“He looked average, but it was late. I couldn’t see well. He wore expensive clothing. Wait, how did you know anything about him?” The lawyer eyed him. Philip nervously continued. “I just don’t know, Hugh. How am I supposed to know this man? I’ve never met him before today.”

“You’ve never seen him before?” Hugh was skeptical. “Ever?”

“No. Why does everyone assume I have?”

“Maggie called the station today, Phil.” The lawyer grew somber. “She called and told the police you were going to kill Chuck.”

Philip was taken aback. His loving wife had accused him of murder? She told on him for something he had no reason to do. He had no motive for killing anyone.

“Why?” His voice was barely audible. Hugh strained to hear him. “Why did she do that? Why would I kill him?”

“She said you knew about the affair they were having.”

“Affair? What affair?”

“Oh, Phil.” He rubbed his face with a brisk swipe. “I’m sorry. I must’ve been the first person to tell you.”

“Damn right. Since when was she having an affair? When did it start?”

“Oh, Christ.” Hugh ruefully exhaled. “What a mess. She said you have suspected them since last month. She was worried that you would do something. You had your guns out yesterday.”

“Yes, I do maintain them. I collect antiquated guns, have for years. They need to be oiled and cleaned periodically to prevent corrosion and rust.”

“Ah, I see.” Hugh perked back up. “You do realize that this leaves the perpetrator free, don’t you?”

“I guess so. I can’t really talk right now, Hugh. I have a lot on my mind. I just want to think.”

“I’m sorry for your tragedy, Phil. But we need to discuss this now. If you put it off until tomorrow, the one who did it can get away. Do you have any idea who might’ve done it? Did your wife ever . . . Did she ever, well, that you know of . . .”

“Did she ever whore around on me?” Phil asked flatly.

There was no need for social graces. If she did it this once, she must’ve done it a number of times during their marriage.

“Yes.” The lawyer wouldn’t meet his glare.

“It’s hard to tell. I would’ve never guessed she was cheating on me in the present. It’s difficult to say how many times she might have in the past.”

4

Hugh watched his client with growing concern. Poor Phil. The love of his life didn’t love him at all. He had a sneaking suspicion why that call had been made. A very foul odor hung about the mere possibilities.

A cheating wife, a dead lover, and a suspected husband.

It couldn’t be too perfect; the ties were too close. They would bind somewhere, and he was determined to find out where.

He went home and into his study, careful not to wake his own sleeping wife. When he sat at the English table, he put himself in Phil’s shoes. What would that be like? Knowing the only person you love was hateful enough to desecrate your bed, your life, and attempt to destroy your future.

He could feel bitter hatred in the pit of his stomach.

Poor Phil.

He sipped his brandy and penciled out the possible motives on his yellow pad. Who could’ve murdered Chuck except Phil?

Phil hadn’t known Chuck to murder him.

That left the only other involved person: Maggie.

But what could Maggie do? She was so queasy she couldn’t handle raw meat. Cooking was usually enough to turn her delicate stomach. She certainly couldn’t handle the appearance of a body after it received a lethal shot to the head.

He telephoned the police station.

“I need copies of all the police reports.”

The call was brief, but Hugh was determined.

5

Morning arrived and Hugh still followed leads. Things had changed for the better; the evidence against Phil wasn’t so great anymore. If anything, it mounted against Maggie.

Chuck had made her the beneficiary of his insurance. The policy was for one million dollars. That was a great deal of money, but she already had money. Philip was a renowned psychologist, one of the most sought-after doctors in the city.

But that was Phil’s money, wasn’t it?

Maggie had been seen in most social circles around Desmond; it was a wonder Phil hadn’t heard long before. If she attempted to divorce him, the rumors would fly, and she would not have Phil’s money.

Hugh called Morning Life Mutual, Desmond’s insurance carrier. After a few briefings, the conversation headed in a direction Hugh expected.

“Oh, yes. It was a week ago when Mr. Desmond changed his policy. He raised the limit and changed his beneficiary to Mrs. Maggie Carter. Isn’t that his sister?”

“I will get back to you soon.”

Hugh set the phone back on the receiver before the secretary could reply.

It became perfectly clear.

He drove to the station with this new knowledge. The authorities still considered Phil the most likely suspect, and detectives still questioned him. Hugh bounded in with confidence and confronted the grilling questions.

Attention turned to Maggie, who became the main suspect.

6

The courtroom was silent as the jury prepared to deliver a verdict. The tomb-like stillness made Phil’s skin crawl. He couldn’t handle the anticipation.

He had divorced Maggie, and due to the popularity of the case and her own admissions of adultery, she received no alimony or benefit.

The woman representing the jury stood, and Phil held his breath.

“We, the jury, find Maggie Ferrell Carter guilty of murder in the first degree.”

The judge handed down a sentence of life in prison, and the courtroom roared.

It was finally over.

7

Phil walked out of the courtroom, so happy to get on with his life. He was free of that treacherous bitch. Instead of mourning as he expected, he walked with a lift in his step.

“Phil!” Hugh called from behind. “Phil, wait!”

He stopped and faced the attorney. “Hugh, good to see you.”

“What do you have to say, old buddy? It’s finally over, and you can get on with your life. You deserve it. How did you make it through this time?”

“Well, Hugh,” Phil began with a strange and wild look in his eye, “you can force yourself to believe anything you want to.”

In the back of his mind, he remembered following Chuck Desmond.

He handed him the wallet which had been left by Maggie’s bed. After seeing there were no witnesses, he fired the old gun. Luckily, the firearm was something she liked; she’d played with it while he cleaned his others.

The fingerprints convicted her.

Hugh looked at him, suddenly uneasy.

“Sure. Of course you can.”