Tricks of the Trade
Police Detective Rick McDaniel’s of the Maricopa Police Department stood outside
the Las Palmas Apartments on 2nd and Main in Phoenix, Arizona. His hands stuffed
in his pockets, he waited for Sampson to come out of apartment 1080. The wind,
which had begun as a cool breeze, turned cold and now whipped his hair and face,
as it swept through the streets, picking up leaves and tossing them carelessly
on the ground beneath him. "Come on Sampson. You’ve been in there for over an
hour now. What’s up?" He said aloud. His rookie partner Mike Sampson started
with the department two weeks ago and this was his first solo interrogation.
Practically a kid, Mike Sampson was paired with the best: Detective Rick
McDaniel’s; fifteen years experience and one hell of a live wire when it came to
solving a crime. McDaniel’s contemplated if Sampson was ready for this
assignment, but at seven-thirty that morning, they got a call about an apparent
suicide and Sampson was eager to get going. When they got to the apartment, the
scene was like any crime scene, however; the victim was lying face down; he had
been shot in the back. There was no possible way he could have killed himself.
They knew at that point; they were dealing with a homicide.
They went to work, picking up clues and talking to any witnesses. Sampson was
indeed a veritable greenie in the police business.
"Hey let me talk to the girl," Sampson had said. McDaniel’s used to remember
when he was that eager. "She's scared but maybe I can get something out of her,"
he went on. McDaniel’s raised one eyebrow at the rookie and then relaxed his
expression.
"Ok. I’ll wait outside for you. Remember, don't put her on trial. She just heard
a shot fired through her wall. She's in shock.” Sampson nodded and then motioned
for the girl to come speak with him. McDaniel’s grabbed his shoulder. "Smile,
Sampson. She needs that." McDaniel’s then walked out of the building, hoping the
kid had it in him.
McDaniel’s had seen it before. The new kid on the block wanted full control over
the case--eager as a hungry chick waiting for supper. McDaniel’s wanted to hit
himself for getting anxious at the scene. He was a man for hell's sake, not a
sissy. Nevertheless; when McDaniel’s walked into the apartment and smelled the
stench of fresh blood and a bullet hole smack in the stomach, he saw what looked
to be a middle-aged man, tall, gangly with a full head of sandy brown hair lying
face down in a pool of blood. McDaniel’s heart started racing and his forehead
got sweaty, as that fateful night came flooding back to him. The night when his
best friend and partner, Mason Carter was murdered, right in front of him. The
men who murdered him had connections on the outside and oftentimes; McDaniel’s
would come home and see pipe bombs on his porch or threatening messages on his
machine. Someone even followed him a few times, which started his attacks. He
felt breathless; his chest felt tight and he became dizzy and panicky. He had
all the necessary tests done, but they all came back negative. Finally, the
doctor concluded that he was still dealing with his friends' death and was
suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
He suggested he see a counselor. He shook his head and said, "I don't need s
stinking quack. I just need a vacation. McDaniel’s was long overdue for some
time off. Maybe this year he would tell them he was going, period.
He was just about ready to head back in the building, when Sampson flung open
the door and bounded down the stairs shaking his head.
"What took you so long? I'm freezing my butt off while you're up there playing
Mickey-mouse detective."
"I was gathering information Rick. I'm sorry." McDaniel’s could chew this guy up
and spit him out. It bothered him to no end that he kept calling him Rick. Only
Mason was allowed to call him Rick.
"Never mind. What did you find?"
"Well, the girl's like a frightened mouse. She says very little, except that
around 11:30 last night, she heard a couple shots outside her parent's apartment
door. She was the only one home. She called the police a few minutes later.
Apparently, the guy was shot inside his apartment, but the weird thing, his door
was bolted from the inside, so the suspect had to have fled from the window,
right? Except for the windows are locked from the inside as well. Now you tell
me, who can lock a window from the outside and escape through that same window?"
McDaniel’s could tell this was going to be one tricky case to solve, if the
rookie could handle it.
"Some clever son of a bitch," McDaniel’s said then walked to the car. His mind
was spinning from one thing to another lately, especially since his housekeeper
of twenty-years up and left one day, telling him she couldn’t handle all the
death threats and that she needed to leave, for her safety. Now, McDaniel’s was
alone. The only thing he could do was go from one case to another, always trying
to catch the bad guys. Of course, the bad guys were always one step ahead of him
that he almost gave up on being a detective altogether.
Sampson parked the car at the department and followed McDaniel’s to his office.
McDaniel’s thought Sampson was trying a little too hard to be his friend rather
than his partner. McDaniel’s knew he had to get used to working with the guy as
his partner, but he didn’t want a buddy anymore than he wanted a wife. Sampson
would just have to understand that.
McDaniel’s got to his office just as soon as the phone started ringing. He
slammed the door, sat down and picked up the phone.
"McDaniel’s." The voice barked over the phone.
"What do you have on the James Neely case?"
The voice was none other than Captain William "Willie" Cale of the 14th
precinct. McDaniel’s was supposed to report any findings with him, but he
couldn't wait till he got to his office before breathing down his neck.
"Hold on. I just got in." He opened up his file and told them the little they
did find. The captain sounded irritated.
"That’s it? You were there all morning and you only came up with a few leads?"
McDaniel’s couldn’t stand his cocky attitude.
"Listen, when we have more information then you’ll be the first to know." He
slammed the phone down while Sampson stared at the floor. He knew when
McDaniel’s was angry; this wasn’t the time to argue with him.
"Should we talk to the other tenants and see if they know anything more?"
"We already talked to half the tenants on that floor Sampson. The only thing the
girl knows is that there were two shots. The other tenants said they heard the
same thing. We have a dead man with no fingerprints, no weapon and no way of
knowing how he was murdered." McDaniel’s rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"Let’s go check out his relatives. Maybe they know something we don’t."
Sampson followed his lead and McDaniel’s stared back at him. The last thing he
needed was a damn puppy dog.
McDaniel’s and Sampson pulled in and rounded the circular driveway of James Sr.
Neely. The place looked immaculate with rose bushes hugging the front of the
house, along with luscious trees that surrounded the massive estate. The father
of James Neely lived in the quiet hills of Scottsdale. The large,
twentieth-century brick home sat on at least an acre and held three stories.
McDaniel’s wondered what kind of relationship the family had. This was the hard
part for any police detective; having to tell people their loved ones died.
McDaniel’s got out of the car and stared at the grand mansion. He whistled low.
"It looks like the father is pretty well off. Come on, let’s do the dirty work."
Sampson nodded and followed McDaniel’s to the door. He rapped hard on the deep
oak finish. A soft tune of Chimes echoed throughout their surroundings.
The door opened and a man stood tall, looking proper. He wore a coal-black suit,
his cerulean blue tie knotted severely at the neck. The very little hair he had
was silver-streaked and as he stared at McDaniel’s and Sampson; deep creases
etched his forehead.
"Can I help you?" The man said. McDaniel’s thought he was obviously the butler
of the house. He didn’t look pleased to have visitors.
"Yes. My name is Detective Rick McDaniel’s and this is my partner, Matt
Sampson." The butler raised one eyebrow. "We need to speak with Mr. Neely. It’s
about his son." the butler showed them in and made them wait in the foyer.
McDaniel’s turned his head skywards and saw a glimmering chandelier that cast
star-like sparkles with large teardrop diamonds hanging down. A large portrait
hung gracefully on the wall beside him. No doubt, the portrait was his family;
the parents sitting in the front row with two sons in the back. The woman looked
beautiful with striking blonde hair and flawless skin. She looked to be no older
than her forties. The sons mimicked their father, each with sandy brown hair and
ivory skin.
The butler came back in, followed by Mr. Neely. He gazed upon Sampson and
McDaniel’s with a look of confusion.
"What can I do for you gentleman? Tanner that will be all." He dismissed the
butler and he stalked off, leaving them alone.
Again, McDaniel’s introduced the two. "Mr. Neely, we have come to talk to you
about your son. I’m sorry to say he was murdered last night." The old man’s
straight stance quickly softened and his eyes clouded over with sorrow.
"What happened?" He said keeping his emotions in check.
"About 11:30 last night shots were heard inside an apartment. A
fourteen-year-old said she heard shots and called the police. When we arrived,
the door was bolted shut and the girl was visibly shaken. At first, we were told
it could be suicide, but he was shot in the back twice. We are not treating it
as a homicide. There was no gun; no signs of forcible entry and the windows were
locked." The old man stared at McDaniel’s. The more he talked, the more Sr.
James Neely got confused.
"I don’t understand. He was murdered last night, but the door was bolted shut
when you got there and the windows were locked. How did the murderer escape?"
McDaniel’s and Sampson both turned and looked at each other.
"We don’t know," Sampson blurted out. McDaniel’s jerked his eyes toward Sampson.
He was fuming.
Was he not taught that you never tell a person that you don't "know" anything?
McDaniel’s wondered and then angry, he glared at Sampson. Sampson continued, "I
know this must be difficult to talk about, but we need to know if there was
anyone that you might know of that was an enemy to your son. Was he married, any
kids, that sort of thing?" Sampson did the asking while McDaniel’s searched the
man’s face for any clues.
"Well, I really don’t know. I haven’t seen my son in over a year. The last time
we spoke was at his mother’s funeral. He was grief-stricken as we all were. He
wasn’t married and had no children. He worked for a computer company, you know
Bonneville Software. I can’t give you anymore information." No clues. Nothing.
McDaniel’s knew his father would be of no help.
"Please Mr. Neely, did James have friends, colleagues, anyone he did things
with, anyone who he owed money to?" He shook his head.
"He was a private man. He didn’t tell me things like that." He lowered his head.
"Anyway, we weren’t very close. We only saw each other once or twice a year. He
was just busy, that was his excuse most of the time." McDaniel’s could tell his
father wanted more of a relationship with his son. Unfortunately, it was too
late.
The voice was none other than Captain William "Willie" Cale of the 14th
precinct. McDaniel’s was supposed to report any findings with him, but he
couldn't wait till he got to his office before breathing down his neck.
"Hold on. I just got in." He opened up his file and told them the little they
did find. The captain sounded irritated.
"That’s it? You were there all morning and you only came up with a few leads?"
McDaniel’s couldn’t stand his cocky attitude.
"Listen, when we have more information then you’ll be the first to know." He
slammed the phone down while Sampson stared at the floor. He knew when
McDaniel’s was angry; this wasn’t the time to argue with him.
"Should we talk to the other tenants and see if they know anything more?"
"We already talked to half the tenants on that floor Sampson. The only thing the
girl knows is that there were two shots. The other tenants said they heard the
same thing. We have a dead man with no fingerprints, no weapon and no way of
knowing how he was murdered." McDaniel’s rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"Let’s go check out his relatives. Maybe they know something we don’t."
Sampson followed his lead and McDaniel’s stared back at him. The last thing he
needed was a damn puppy dog.
McDaniel’s and Sampson pulled in and rounded the circular driveway of James Sr.
Neely. The place looked immaculate with rose bushes hugging the front of the
house, along with luscious trees that surrounded the massive estate. The father
of James Neely lived in the quiet hills of Scottsdale. The large,
twentieth-century brick home sat on at least an acre and held three stories.
McDaniel’s wondered what kind of relationship the family had. This was the hard
part for any police detective; having to tell people their loved ones died.
McDaniel’s got out of the car and stared at the grand mansion. He whistled low.
"It looks like the father is pretty well off. Come on, let’s do the dirty work."
Sampson nodded and followed McDaniel’s to the door. He rapped hard on the deep
oak finish. A soft tune of Chimes echoed throughout their surroundings.
The door opened and a man stood tall, looking proper. He wore a coal-black suit,
his cerulean blue tie knotted severely at the neck. The very little hair he had
was silver-streaked and as he stared at McDaniel’s and Sampson; deep creases
etched his forehead.
"Can I help you?" The man said. McDaniel’s thought he was obviously the butler
of the house. He didn’t look pleased to have visitors.
"Yes. My name is Detective Rick McDaniel’s and this is my partner, Matt
Sampson." The butler raised one eyebrow. "We need to speak with Mr. Neely. It’s
about his son." the butler showed them in and made them wait in the foyer.
McDaniel’s turned his head skywards and saw a glimmering chandelier that cast
star-like sparkles with large teardrop diamonds hanging down. A large portrait
hung gracefully on the wall beside him. No doubt, the portrait was his family;
the parents sitting in the front row with two sons in the back. The woman looked
beautiful with striking blonde hair and flawless skin. She looked to be no older
than her forties. The sons mimicked their father, each with sandy brown hair and
ivory skin.
The butler came back in, followed by Mr. Neely. He gazed upon Sampson and
McDaniel’s with a look of confusion.
"What can I do for you gentleman? Tanner that will be all." He dismissed the
butler and he stalked off, leaving them alone.
Again, McDaniel’s introduced the two. "Mr. Neely, we have come to talk to you
about your son. I’m sorry to say he was murdered last night." The old man’s
straight stance quickly softened and his eyes clouded over with sorrow.
"What happened?" He said keeping his emotions in check.
"About 11:30 last night shots were heard inside an apartment. A
fourteen-year-old said she heard shots and called the police. When we arrived,
the door was bolted shut and the girl was visibly shaken. At first, we were told
it could be suicide, but he was shot in the back twice. We are not treating it
as a homicide. There was no gun; no signs of forcible entry and the windows were
locked." The old man stared at McDaniel’s. The more he talked, the more Sr.
James Neely got confused.
"I don’t understand. He was murdered last night, but the door was bolted shut
when you got there and the windows were locked. How did the murderer escape?"
McDaniel’s and Sampson both turned and looked at each other.
"We don’t know," Sampson blurted out. McDaniel’s jerked his eyes toward Sampson.
He was fuming.
Was he not taught that you never tell a person that you don't "know" anything?
McDaniel’s wondered and then angry, he glared at Sampson. Sampson continued, "I
know this must be difficult to talk about, but we need to know if there was
anyone that you might know of that was an enemy to your son. Was he married, any
kids, that sort of thing?" Sampson did the asking while McDaniel’s searched the
man’s face for any clues.
"Well, I really don’t know. I haven’t seen my son in over a year. The last time
we spoke was at his mother’s funeral. He was grief-stricken as we all were. He
wasn’t married and had no children. He worked for a computer company, you know
Bonneville Software. I can’t give you anymore information." No clues. Nothing.
McDaniel’s knew his father would be of no help.
"Please Mr. Neely, did James have friends, colleagues, anyone he did things
with, anyone who he owed money to?" He shook his head.
"He was a private man. He didn’t tell me things like that." He lowered his head.
"Anyway, we weren’t very close. We only saw each other once or twice a year. He
was just busy, that was his excuse most of the time." McDaniel’s could tell his
father wanted more of a relationship with his son. Unfortunately, it was too
late.
After they left the building, McDaniel’s grabbed Sampson by the shoulder and
swung him around. "What gave you the idiotic right to say we didn't know who
killed Mr. Neely?"
Sampson looked shocked. "Well, it's the truth. I was just being honest with the
man." McDaniel’s could have popped him right then.
"Do you want all our clients to think we are ignorant, stupid detectives that
don't know anything? You never tell someone you don't know. How about, 'we are
working on a few suspects.' Did that ever cross your mind?" McDaniel’s stomped
off, leaving Sampson dumbfounded.
McDaniel’s was lost in thought as they slowly pulled away from the driveway of
James Neely Senior.
"Well, his father can’t help us. Let’s head back to the apartment building.
Maybe there are more clues we have missed." Sampson said.
"Not just yet." It was as if he couldn't contain himself. Everything about this
guy irritated McDaniel’s-right down to his coffee-colored suit that looked more
like the seventies revolution.
I want to talk to James McNealy’s boss. Maybe he has something for us."
McDaniel’s pulled out his pad and gave Sampson the directions.
The huge towering Bonneville building was nestled high on Beacon Street in the
Scottsville Valley. Tall, Palo Verde with a line of equally tall Palm Trees
shaded the sides of the building and the budding roses, lavender tulips and
yellow daffodils stretched long and wide in the front. McDaniel’s and Sampson
stepped out, admiring the vast surroundings.
"Nice building," Sampson said.
"Well, they are one of the top computer companies around. They can afford to
look grand." McDaniel’s pulled out a piece of paper. "We need to speak to Mr.
Crenshaw. He was James supervisor." the two headed to the massive building. Once
inside, McDaniel’s thought back to the beauty of Mr. McNealy’s place. This
building made James Neely Senior’s look like a cracker box.
The carpet beneath him was ruby red and the walls were a soft ivory, with a
green floral chair rail border. The bottom floor reeked of elegance. McDaniel’s
liked his stuffy office, just enough space for everything. He would feel lost in
a place like this. They walked to a desk; a stately woman of about fifty looked
up from her computer.
"I need Mr. Crenshaw's office." He flashed her “the badge”. She quickly told him
and then stared at the two all the way to the elevator.
It was just their luck that his office was on the tenth floor. Men and women
walked down halls in tailored suits and fashionable attire. McDaniel’s wore
jeans and a pullover. His charcoal black hair lay carelessly flipped to one side
and his muscled frame made him look more like a bouncer. The faded scar on the
left side of his check was a prominent reminder of the night Mason was murdered.
They rapped hard on the door. A man shouted for them to walk in. Inside,
McDaniel’s saw a man, possibly in his late forties, early fifties, and his hair
balding. He was sitting at his desk, a pair of glasses sat beside a mound of
papers. He looked up.
"Hi, I'm Police Detective Rick McDaniel’s and this is my partner, Matt Sampson.
We’re with the Maricopa Police Department. We need to speak with you about an
employee who used to work for you, Mr. James Neely Junior." The man waited.
"Mr. Crenshaw; he was murdered last night in his apartment building. We
understand he worked for you for 3 years. Any information you can give us would
be helpful."
The man's eyes went wide and he slowly sat back down. "I didn't know anything
happened. I guess that's why he's not here for work." He chuckled nervously.
McDaniel’s ignored the comment.
"Mr. Crenshaw, before I look at his file, would you please tell me what you do
know of Mr. Neely." Mr. Crenshaw slowly leaned back in his velvety, swivel chair
and glanced up at the ceiling. Sampson had a pen ready.
"Well, he worked here for 3 years, as you well know. He was a quiet, reserved
man. Came in at seven-thirty every morning and left around six. He wasn't
married, had no kids. Heck, I don't even think he had a girlfriend." He
hesitated then asked, "Are you sure it was murder?"
“Yeah”, we’re sure." McDaniel’s said. "Look, we don't have much to go on. His
father said the same thing. What about other employees. What was his
relationship with them?" They were grasping for anything, a clue, something that
would help in this case.
"Like I said he was a quiet man. He did ok with the other employees, sometimes
joked with them. I guess just a few days ago he came in looking a little tired
and not quite himself." McDaniel’s ears perked up.
"What do you mean, not quite himself? Did he say anything to you or anyone
else?" McDaniel’s had to nag wherever he could.
"He came in late. I'd say around eight-thirty. He never said anything to me,
except, "Sorry I'm late." Then, he went to his office. I didn't think much of it
so I left him alone. Come to think of it, he was like that yesterday too, even
more upset, nervous- like he would jump at any slight noise. I wish now I would
have said something." McDaniel’s looked at Sampson. It was something.
"Mr. Crenshaw, when did Mr. Neely leave the office yesterday?" Sampson piped in.
"Gosh, it had to have been after nine PM. I left around nine and he was still
here." I think he was making up for being late and all.”
"Was anyone else here last night with him?" McDaniel’s asked.
"No. I was the last one to leave." McDaniel’s got up and shook the man's hand.
"Thank you. You have been very helpful." McDaniel’s got up to leave and then
said, "Here‘s my card. If you can remember anything else that would be of help
to us, please call. Oh, before we leave, could we talk to one of your
employees?"
"Sure. Mark Carson's office is next to his. I will let him know you would like
to speak with him." Mr. Crenshaw got on the phone and a few minutes later,
McDaniel’s and Sampson were yet in another office. At least they had something
to go on. Before McDaniel’s could open his mouth, Mark Carson said something
that blew the case right out of the water.
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