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Chapter 28: It Was Murder, Not an Accident
Wenner clapped his hands, signaling everyone to gather around the whiteboard.
Prostitute deaths weren't included in the case-solving statistics, so these four cases had never appeared on the 'Red Board.'
Nevertheless, Holt's arrest had brought benefits to the Homicide Team, to Wenner, and to many others, making the case worth celebrating regardless.
Theodore and Bernie had spent the past week organizing case files, only yesterday transferring everything along with Holt to the prosecutor and officially closing the case.
Wenner methodically listed all four cases on the right side of the whiteboard with the same detail as the previous two, and soon the office filled with applause.
As Wenner wrote, the applauding detectives' gazes toward Theodore and Bernie shifted noticeably.
Writing those mysterious sixteen-digit 'passwords' on the whiteboard had become a ritual.
Before the ritual, everyone already knew these two were capable, but there'd always been a vague sense of looking at flowers through fog.
Now, with four consecutive strings of sixteen-digit mysterious 'passwords' listed on the right side of the board, that vagueness was gradually being replaced by concrete reality.
After the 'ritual' ended, everyone dispersed.
Just as several detectives were hesitating about what excuse to use when asking Theodore for help, they saw Sam Latimer already approaching with a case file in hand.
The other detectives laughed and ribbed Sam for being quiet as usual but quick to act.
Sam grinned without offering any defense, then looked at Theodore nervously.
He was of Mexican descent, in a conservative city like this, he wouldn't normally even qualify as a patrol officer.
His case-solving rate ranked first in the Homicide Team. Before Theodore's arrival, he'd been the undisputed ace detective of the unit.
Theodore glanced down at the case file, then up at Sam, before turning to look at Bernie.
The case number was 600113, the oil well miner case he'd seen Bernie studying a few days earlier.
Bernie chuckled knowingly.
Theodore didn't know what these two were plotting, but he began reading carefully.
The case was straightforward:
On January 13th, police received a report from an oil field company stating that one of their workers had been accidentally killed by a falling object while on duty.
The deceased, Hank Wilson, was a veteran oil field worker who'd spent most of his life in the fields.
Samuel's autopsy report showed the deceased had sustained a V-shaped depressed fracture to his skull.
Sam had investigated the deceased's relationships and discovered that Hank had argued with friends Billy and Old Tom, some witnesses had even seen the three fighting.
But Billy and Old Tom had been gambling in a tent with a group of workers at the time of the incident, with at least a dozen people providing alibis.
Sam also found that the deceased had argued with foreman Roy Carter.
Roy Carter claimed that Hank had asked for a salary advance that day, which he'd refused, leaving both men unhappy about it.
However, the next day, Roy Carter had advanced the salary to Hank after all.
Roy Carter explained that Old Hank was highly skilled, they weren't just employer and employee, but friends. He hadn't wanted to lose Hank as a friend, and even less as a valuable worker.
The deceased's family life was harmonious. Though there'd been some squabbles with neighbors, none serious enough to lead to murder.
Seeing that Theodore had finished reading, Bernie finally spoke. "Sam investigated for five months. The week before last, he ruled out his final suspect and was ready to classify it as an accident."
The usually quiet Sam said in a muffled voice, "But I feel this wasn't an accident."
"He brought the case to me, and I also felt it didn't look like an accident, but no matter how I examined it, it did appear accidental," Bernie nodded in agreement. "So I brought it to you."
After a slight pause, Bernie's tone turned serious. "Do you think it was an accident?"
Theodore shook his head. "It wasn't an accident."
Bernie was taken aback, studying Theodore suspiciously.
The more time they spent together, the more he'd discovered that Theodore sometimes made unfunny jokes.
For instance, when an eighteen-year-old girl was about to vomit at the sight of an apple, he'd pretended to be helpful and handed her the bag containing the apple, successfully making her throw up.
Sam didn't harbor such suspicions and immediately asked in surprise, "Really?"
Theodore nodded.
This kind of detective intuition was actually invaluable. Many cases showed no obvious surface clues and relied entirely on that intuitive 'something's not right' feeling to find a breakthrough.
"Why? Have you already examined the body?" Bernie leaned closer, asking curiously.
Theodore pointed to the autopsy report. "The fatal injury to the deceased was caused by a deliberate blow."
Seeing both men look confused, Theodore went to Samuel's desk to retrieve two magazines.
They'd just discussed this topic during a recent conversation with Samuel.
The first was an issue of 'Gray's Forensic Medicine' published in 1953, containing a specialized study on injuries from active blows versus injuries from high-altitude falls.
"...Injuries from active blows have sharp edges and regular shapes; injuries from high-altitude falls have blurred edges and are often accompanied by counter-coup injuries..."
The second was a report released by the American Academy of Forensic Sciences (AAFS) in 1958.
The report examined cases where differences in skull depression shapes had successfully distinguished between hammer murders and construction site accidents.
After reading the magazine contents, both men looked at Theodore with newfound respect.
Theodore flipped through the case file again, feeling they should visit the scene for a firsthand look.
The three headed to the parking lot, where they encountered Councilman Howard's aide.
He stood with Chief Weideke in front of four brand-new patrol cars, each bearing 'Donated by Howard Foundation' painted on the side.
Spotting Theodore and Bernie, the aide enthusiastically approached to greet them, suggesting to Chief Weideke that they test-drive the vehicles first.
Bernie was disgusted by Councilman Howard's transparent political maneuvering, but with Chief Weideke present, he couldn't refuse outright.
As Bernie hesitated, Theodore had already opened a car door and settled inside, looking at Bernie with a puzzled expression.
Seeing Chief Weideke watching him, the smile on the aide's face grew somewhat strained. Theodore reluctantly explained,
"Sorry, we have a homicide case requiring immediate attention. We need to get to the scene."
With this explanation, the aide's expression softened considerably, and he nodded with understanding.
Chief Weideke also nodded slightly. "Then go quickly."
After driving for a while, they discovered the fuel gauge was nearly empty. Bernie slapped his forehead, remembering he'd forgotten to refuel.
He blamed it all on Councilman Howard. "If it weren't for his damn cars, how could I have forgotten to refuel!"
Fumbling through his pockets, he found he hadn't brought a fuel voucher. Still stubborn, he insisted that if it weren't for Councilman Howard and his cars, he wouldn't have forgotten to refuel.
After cursing the councilman, Bernie didn't head to the nearest gas station but took a small detour instead.
After getting out, he spoke briefly with the station owner, who silently filled their tank and waved them on without requesting payment.
On the road, noticing Theodore's curious stare, Bernie chuckled and shook the copper badge in his hand.
"Fuel, exemption, and eternal rest, three privileges, in exchange for never betraying the brotherhood."
He recited the oath from the FOP initiation ceremony.
Theodore couldn't help but glance back at the gas station, spotting three blurry letters on the weathered sign, FOP.
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