Brash Endeavor, A Stan Turner Mystery Vol 3
William Manchee
1
BRASH
ENDEAVOR
A Stan Turner Mystery
BY
WILLIAM MANCHEE
Top Publications, Ltd.
Dallas, Texas
To my wife
Janet
Brash Endeavor
A Stan Turner Mystery
©) COPYRIGHT
William Manchee
1997
eBook ISBN 978-1-935722–03-8
Library of Congress 98-66205
No part of this book may be published or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or information storage and retrieval systems without the express written permission of the publisher.
This work is a novel and any similarity to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.
This work is a novel and any similarity to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.
PROLOGUE
September, 1979
The light of first dawn inundated our bedroom waking me from a troubled slumber. In all the turmoil of the previous evening I had neglected to set the alarm. For some strange reason, neither the boys nor the baby had yet awakened. They must have sensed Rebekah's need to sleep. I looked at the digital display and saw it was 8:15 so I rolled out of bed and started doing some stretching exercises. From the other room I heard Reggie talking to his younger brothers, Peter and Mark. After a minute they must have heard me moving around as they came running into our bedroom.
"Good morning, Daddy," Reggie said.
"Hi, bums. You guys sure slept late. . . . You must be hungry?"
"Uh huh," Peter replied.
Rebekah sat up and looked at us curiously. "What time is it?"
"Eight-twenty."
"Oh geez, it's so late, why did you let me sleep so long? The kids must be starving."
"Why don't you just stay in bed, I'll fix breakfast. Maybe I'll even give you breakfast in bed. How would you like that?"
"Oh no, Stan, you've got to go to work."
"Somehow, I don't think I'll be meeting with Bird and Tomlinson this morning. Not after Sheila died."
Rebekah looked at me and said, "Oh my God. That wasn't a dream, was it?"
"No, honey. I'm afraid it wasn't."
Rebekah fell back unto the bed, put her hands over her face and began to cry. I went over to her, sat on the bed next to her and took her limp hand in mine.
"Why don't you kids go play?" I said. "Mom's not feeling so good. I'll call you when breakfast is ready."
"What's wrong?" Reggie said.
"Nothing, just take your brothers and go play!"
"Okay, okay," he said and ran off with Peter and Mark close behind.
"Maybe you should get up. It's probably not a good idea for you to lie around worrying about what happened last night. Come on, I'll help you get dressed."
Getting no response, I took her hand and gently pulled her to her feet. I looked into her dispirited eyes and wondered if she'd ever recover from the horror of the previous night. After pulling off her nightgown I managed to get some shorts and a T-shirt on her. Then I brought her into the kitchen and made her and the kids breakfast. After Rebekah had consumed a couple of cups of coffee she seemed more alert.
"You look like you're feeling better, honey," I said.
"I'm fine, don't worry about me," she said trying to force a smile.
"I'll take Reggie and Mark to school. I don't think you should drive today."
"That's okay, I can take them."
"No, you stay home. You'll have your hands full with Peter and Marcia."
As I yelled for Reggie and Mark to get ready for school the doorbell rang. I looked at Rebekah and said, "Who could that be?"
1I went to the door, opened it and there stood two uniformed policemen and a man in a suit.
"Stan Turner?" the man in the suit asked.
"Yes."
"I'm Detective Small of the Dallas police department. Is your wife home?"
"Yes. What's going on?"
"We'll need to see her now please," Detective Small said.
"What do you want with her?"
"We have a warrant for her arrest."
"What? You can't be serious."
"We're quite serious. Now step aside and let us do our job."
The two uniformed officers pushed their way into the house slamming me into the doorjamb. They immediately started searching the house for Rebekah. Reggie and Mark stared in shock as they ran by. One of the policeman, having spotted Rebekah sitting at the kitchen table, ran over to her, yanked her up and pushed her up against the wall. She winced in pain as he cuffed her and then jerked her around to face Detective Small who had just entered the kitchen.
"Mrs. Turner, you're under arrest for the murder of Sheila Logan. We're going to have to take you downtown."
"But I didn't kill her! I was downstairs in the ER when it happened. . . . Stan, don't let them do this!"
Anger swelled within me as I watched the officer manhandle Rebekah. "You can't treat her like that!" I said rushing over to defend her. The other officer drew his gun and pointed at my head.
Rebekah screamed, "Don't shoot him!"
Detective Small glared at the officer and yelled, "Put that gun away!" He then turned to me and said, "Mr. Turner, you're an attorney, you know you cannot obstruct this arrest. Now back off!"
"Do what he says, Stan," Rebekah pleaded.
By this time Marcia had been awakened by the ruckus and was wailing from her crib in the next room. Mark and Peter were standing up against the wall in shock, tears streaming from their eyes. I went over to them and held them as we watched Rebekah being taken away. As they were escorting Rebekah to the squad car, Reggie suddenly darted after them screaming, "You can't take my mommy! Leave her alone!
Leave my mommy alone!"
One of the officers intercepted Reggie and restrained him until I got there to get him. I pulled him back to the house yelling and kicking. Then I rushed into the nursery to get Marcia who had been screaming so loud that she was starting to turn blue. I picked her up, held her tightly, and then gazed out the window. Tears welled in my eyes as I watched the squad car disappear around the corner. Why hadn't I listened to Father Henry?
