Simply Shorts



  Simply Shorts

  by

  Marvin K. Perkins

  Copyright 2012 by Marvin K. Perkins

  The Strange Case of Abigail Smithson

  It was an unusually hot night in October, Doug Peters was out walking his Labrador mix, she was straining at the leash, sniffing in the bushes for a suitable place to take care of her business. “Come on girl, I don't have all night. Please,” he urged the dog but she didn't listen and continued sniffing and dragging him down the street. Doug passed another dog walker heading in the opposite direction, he was wearing dark clothes and sunglasses, which struck Doug as strange but to each his own was all he thought at the time. The stranger was walking a little terrier, the dog barked and growled as they walked by, Doug wanted to smack the little annoying mutt. He hated little yapping dogs, what good were they, what kind of man would own a dog like that. Doug was a dog man, he loved his dogs and felt the kind of dog a person owned said a lot about their owner.

  The man in the dark glasses walked on down the street and disappeared from view, Doug didn't give him a second thought, but went back to the business of walking his own dog.

  Police cars crowded around a little house on the corner down the street from Doug Peters' house the next morning, lights flashing, a group of neighbors stood outside murmuring among themselves. Doug just drove on by, he was in a hurry but extremely curious as to what had happened nonetheless. He pondered about it on the way to his office, quite excited, nothing of any interest ever happened in his little neighborhood, probably just some old lady died of a heart attack or something equally mundane.

  Two men from the coroner's office carried a body covered by a sheet out of the little house and loaded it into a waiting wagon, the crowd really got animated then, everyone with their own theory as to what had happened. The police pushed everyone back to the street, taping off the area with the yellow tape they always used to section off a crime scene. The word quickly spread the lady the coroners had brought out had been murdered or that was the rumor anyway. Why else would so many police cars be there and why would they be taping off the scene if a murder had not been committed? That was the question everyone was asking that morning, as fear gripped the little neighborhood that realized a murderer was loose in their community.

  The victim of the atrocity's name was Abigail Smithson, a recently divorced lady who lived alone, a stranger to most of the residents in this tight knit little neighborhood. She and her husband had lived in the area for two years but kept pretty much to themselves. Abigail had lived in the house alone for a few months after her husband Ron had left.

  The night before Ron had been seen at the house involved in a loud and heated argument with his estranged wife, ending with him leaving the house in a rage and driving off in a hurry in a late model Honda Civic. All signs seemed to point to the husband as the last one who had seen the victim alive. So quite naturally he was the suspect, person of interest and the one the cops very much wanted to talk to about the death of the young attractive lady.

  According to the coroner's office the cause of death had been strangulation, she had not put up a fight, it seemed someone had caught her unaware and choked her to death from behind, probably someone she knew, but it could have been an intruder. There were no fingerprints found at the scene with the exception of the victim and her estranged husband. The crime scene investigators found no forensic evidence, no DNA, no fibers or hairs on the body or fingerprints on the victim's neck, the killer seemingly wore gloves. The only two items they had to work with was a cigarette butt found on the sidewalk in front of the house and a small pile of dog feces found on the front lawn.

  The hunt was on for Ron Smithson, he was back at home in a small town not far away, unaware that his ex-wife was dead. He had gone out that night to have a nice meal and bottle of wine in an attempt to calm himself after the argument he had had earlier with his ex. He dined at little Italian place near his house, the lasagna, bread and the house red wine had been excellent. He bought a five dollar cigar which he would smoke later with a nice cup of coffee made with imported beans he ground himself. He was feeling better already, the hell with Abigail, she's the one who wanted the divorce, so why should he be so miserable, she was the one who had cheated, not he.

  Ron was awakened the next morning by a loud pounding at his door. “Who the hell could that be, waking me up on my day off?” He said out loud as he headed to the door to find out. He looked through the peep hole, but did not recognize the individual standing on his front porch. “Who is it? What the hell do you want? Whatever you're selling I don't want any.”

  “Monroe police sir, open up,” a voice said, shocking the hell out of Ron .

  He slowly opened the door to see two men standing on his porch, two squad cars parked in front of his house, lights flashing.

  “Mr. Smithson?” Said a big red neck looking character flashing a detective's shield, sporting a fresh flat top haircut, behind him was a little fellow in a wrinkled brown suit showing his as well. “I'm Detective Steve Carter, this is Detective Billy Brooks, we'd like to ask you a few questions.”

  “What's this all about?” said Ron shocked and confused as to why two detectives would be standing on his porch at eight o'clock on a Sunday morning.

  The little guy in the wrinkled suit replied, “This is concerning your wife Abigail.”

  “What's that bitch want now, she's already taken every dime I have?” Ron said getting a little pissed.

  “She's dead, Mr. Smithson. I regret to inform you, sorry for your loss, “ the big guy said solemnly but not convincingly.

  “Abigail is dead?” Ron stammered not knowing what to say, feigning remorse but really feeling shamefully relieved.

  “We need to ask you a few questions.”

  “Come on in detectives. Abigail is dead?”

  The two detectives followed Ron into the living room, he motioned for them to have a seat on the couch.

  “I just saw her last night. We had a terrible fight about her alimony payment,” Ron volunteered hoping to show the detectives he had nothing to hide.

  “That's what we wanted to talk to you about,” Detective Carter continued.”Seems you were seen leaving her house last night in a hurry. Could be you were the last person to see her alive.”

  “I didn't kill her, for God's sake. I still love her,” Ron said, tears in his eyes, head in his hands. “Abigail is dead, are you sure?” He said looking up from his hands.

  “Yes, she is dead, we are quite sure, sir,” Carter said.

  “How did she die?” Ron asked, peeking at the detectives through his fingers.

  “Strangled,” Brooks replied.

  “Did someone break in the house, a prowler, a burglar. Did it look like anything had been stolen? Oh my God, she wasn't raped was she?” Ron asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

  “No sir, just strangled to death, there was no evidence of a break in,” Detective Brooks said solemnly. “Maybe she just forgot to lock the door or maybe it was someone she knew. Was she seeing anybody, that you know of Mr. Smithson.?” Carter continued.,

  “Abigail was too paranoid to leave the door unlocked. She was seeing a guy in the neighborhood, but I never did catch his name. I saw him one time leaving her house a couple of weeks ago when I stopped by to get her to sign some papers, strange looking guy, dressed in black, dark sun glasses,.”Ron said, trying to be helpful, also trying to draw the detective's attention away from him.

  “Mr Smithson we need you to come downtown with us. We need to get a DNA sample and get our medical people to give you a general examination, “ Carter said getting up.

  “I'm a suspect? I want to talk to my lawyer.”

  “You can call him when we
get downtown.”

  “I'm I under arrest?”

  “No sir, we just want to eliminate you as a suspect. We can get a court order if we have to,” Brooks hastened to say.

  “Okay, let me get dressed,”Ron said getting up and heading for his bedroom.

  Cops and patrol cars were everywhere in the neighborhood around the deceased residence, looking for anyone who had seen or heard anything unusual. No one had seen or heard anything, with the exception of the lady next door who had heard the Smithsons arguing and saw Ron leave the house in a hurry.

  Nobody except Doug Peters who came home for lunch, eager to get in on the excitement. He said he hadn't seen anyone but as an afterthought mentioned the man with the dark glasses walking the little terrier. He went on and on about what kind of man would own a little dog like that and proudly put his Lab mix through her paces. He was so proud of her.

  The police left the house not knowing whether the man in the dark glasses was a suspect or not but they passed it along to the detectives.

  Ron Smithson was the likely suspect. He was heard arguing with the suspect on the night she died and seen leaving the scene in a big hurry. But this in itself wasn't enough to hold him, much less put him under arrest for the murder.

  Forensics still had nothing; no fingerprints, no fibers, no hairs, no blood, no footprints, no DNA, in other words, no clues. All they had was a cigarette butt that was found on the sidewalk that could have been dropped by a thousand people. They could get DNA off of it sure enough, but they hadn't found anything to match it to as of yet. Then there was the dog poop found on the front lawn, again could belong to any number of dogs that could have used the deceased's yard for a toilet.

  But a young woman was dead, so the investigation continued.

  The detectives called Ron Smithson in for another face to face, this time of course he brought his attorney. They were hoping they could get him to change his story, catch him in a lie or somehow trip him up, but his story of that night's events was rock solid. Besides Ron had an alibi, witnesses saw him at the Italian restaurant eating the night of the murder at the time the coroner estimated his ex-wife Abigail was killed. But Carter and Brooks were convinced he knew something, so they kept after him, but after an hour of intense questioning they still had nothing.

  Just on a whim the detectives decided to call Doug Peters and Ron Smithson in for a session with the police sketch artist in an attempt to come up with a composite of the man in the dark glasses that both of them had seen. The artist did an outstanding job and they all marveled at the results when the sketch was completed. Both Doug Peters and Ron Smithson actually thought it looked like the man they had both seen.

  Meanwhile the DNA lab had a hit on the cigarette butt from the military database. The saliva found on the butt was a high percentage match for a Michael Croak, who had did four years in the Navy a few years back Of course this in itself didn't mean anything, not being a crime to leave a cigarette butt on the sidewalk and certainly no proof that this Croak was involved in the murder of Abigail Smithson. However, it was a piece of the puzzle, a piece that the detectives at this point didn't know how or where it might fit or if it would fit. They had the name but no address, and they needed it so they could pay this guy a visit.

  Carter and Brooks got busy showing the drawing of the man in the dark glasses to everyone they could find in the neighborhood, but after showing the sketch to at least a hundred people still had nothing. Just when they were about to give up, a lady who lived down the street from the murder victim recognized the man in the dark glasses. The lady said she didn't know his name but said she knew where he lived, she had followed him one night because his little terrier had left his calling card in her yard and she wanted to know who the man was and where he lived. She went with the detectives and pointed out the house where she said the man lived. She also mentioned that everyone in the neighborhood had been requested to have their dog give a DNA sample so habitual transgressors could be hunted down and disciplined for not cleaning up their dog's poop. It was a voluntary program but many of the residents did comply.

  Another piece of the puzzle fell into place when they got their lab people to compare the DNA of the dog feces that was found in the yard of the murder victim with those in the neighborhood registry, their was positive match. The dog poop in question's owner was indeed a man in the neighborhood however his name was listed as Fred Jones, but he resided at the house the lady had pointed out to the detectives. Was this Fred Jones in fact Michael Croak who had left the cigarette butt on the sidewalk and was he the owner of the dog that had left the feces in the yard as well and was he the man in the dark glasses depicted in the sketch that had been identified by three people; the detectives were going to find out.

  All the information the detectives had didn't mean anything. It only put the man in the neighborhood around the time Abigail Smithson was killed and was possibly the man Ron Smithson thought she might be having an affair with, very thin but it was all they had.

  It was just getting dark as Detectives Carter and Brooks pulled up in front of the house. It was a routine call, they were just going to ask this Fred Jones a few questions. More than likely all they would find out was the man was walking his dog, the dog took a dump in lady's yard and he smoked a cigarette and dropped the butt on the sidewalk in front of the dead woman's house. They knocked on the door, no answer. they knocked again a little louder.

  Brooks was standing right in front of the door, Carter was standing to the side to the left of his partner. Suddenly the door swung open, a man in dark glasses raised a shotgun and blew a hole in Carter's chest, he fell to the ground bleeding profusely. He turned to unload a round into Brooks but he had reacted quicker than the man in the glasses had predicted, rolled on the ground pulling out his Glock 9 from his shoulder holster and pumping two well placed round into the man with shot gun. He fell backwards from the force of the blast and was dead before he hit the floor.

  Checking his partner's pulse he determined he was still alive, thank God he was wearing his vest, so Carter quickly got on his radio calling for an ambulance to be dispatched to scene.

  Brooks was lucky due to the quick actions of his partner and lived to tell about the bizarre incident. The whole thing didn't make any sense, why the hell did this Fred Jones/Michael Croak character open fire on them just for stopping by to ask him a few routine questions. Turns out this man who's real name was Michael Croak was wanted for a double murder in another state and had been hiding out in the little neighborhood. When the detectives knocked on the door, he panicked presumably and opened fire on them. But the question remained, had he killed Abigail Smithson? The case was closed, he was blamed for the murder but was he guilty? Some cases get solved, some don't.

  UFO 1955