Better Late Than Dead: Episode 17

This is episode seventeen of the novel Better Late Than Dead. It is the 7th book in the Rich Larsen Adventure Series. An episode will be posted every Monday and Friday. However, it can be purchased on Amazon in the Kindle or paperback versions.  

Rich has returned to the home he ran away from six years earlier. He’s back living with his parents, hoping to make amends for the pain he caused them. Two years have passed since returning home. That’s where this story begins. 

Episode 17 (Originally posted on the Jittery Goat)

Maxine stepped away from the office shortly past noon. She brought back a couple of salads. She placed them on the conference table.

“You guys have been eating terribly the last week or so,” Maxine said. Then she tossed a newspaper on the table. “I don’t know whether you should read and then eat or eat and then read.” Maxine walked out of the conference room.

Rich grabbed the newspaper. “Early edition,” he said. He unfolded it to the front page. “The newspaper seldom runs local headlines on the front page,” Rich said. “It’s usually national or international news. There are rare exceptions.”

He began to read. “Headline: Prime Suspect in Brutal Larsen Double Murder About to be Charged. The News has recently uncovered that a prime suspect in the double homicide of the Larsens is about to be arrested and charged. Seasoned and top detectives from the county sheriff’s department have been conducting an exhaustive and vigorous weeks-long investigation of the Larsen double murder. The News’ crack reporting team has been on this blockbuster case, which has received statewide attention from the very beginning.”

Rich stopped. “I can’t read anymore. This is not written by a crack reporter; it’s written by a cracked reporter. This writing is atrocious.”

“That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen,” Miss Winslow said.

“I have a note to send this to the university journalism school,” Rich said, “reading: don’t send your graduates to The News. They’ll end up writing like this, ruin everything you taught them, and end up with no future job prospects.”

“I bet for every bad newspaper writer there are fifty bad lawyers,” Miss Winslow said.

“And they should be called out,” Rich said. He stood and tucked the newspaper under his arm.

“Where are you going?” Miss Winslow asked.

“I’m going to do something stupid and sorely needed,” Rich said. “Or is it something needed and sorely stupid? It’s probably both. I’ll be back or in jail.”

Before any words came from Miss Winslow’s mouth, Rich was out of the room.

Rich jumped into his Jeep and sped to the newspaper. He pulled into the parking lot. No parking spaces were open. He parked front-first at the newspaper’s side entrance. He slung the door open and stomped up the steps.

He leaned into Briggs’ office. He was not there. He turned toward the newsroom. The room was busy with the clickety-clack of typewriters.

“Where’s Briggs?” Rich called out.

The typing stopped. A half dozen or so reporters stopped typing or dislodged their phones from their ears. Everyone stared at Rich. They were frozen in suspense, not knowing what to expect.

“I’m looking for Briggs!” Rich said.

Everyone turned to a desk at the back of the newsroom. Briggs’ arms supported him as he braced against a desk. He leaned over a young female reporter. He stretched his posture.

Rich took a step.

“Don’t come any closer,” Briggs warned.

“And what will you do if I do?” Rich said. “You’ll be on your own. There is nobody in this room who will help you. But that’s not what I’m here for.”

“I’m calling security,” Briggs said, reaching for the phone on the desk.

“I’ve worked here for two years,” Rich said. “There is no security.”

“I’m calling the police,” Briggs said.

“For what?” Rich said. “I just stopped by to say hi to my old boss. If there’s any crime that has been committed here, it’s bad writing.”

“You don’t work here, and you have no business here,” Briggs said.

“And that’s my good fortune,” Rich said.

“Why are you here?” Briggs asked.

Rich held up a copy of the newspaper. “I’m suing you personally and the newspaper. If there’s one thing I know about reporting, it is this: you have slandered me. I have two years of notes and will have the testimony of at least six former employees of your abusive behavior towards me. Today’s article slanders me.”

“Your name is never mentioned,” Briggs said.

“You have consistently named me as the prime suspect in previous reports,” Rich said. “In a civil case, it only takes a majority of seven to win a case. That leaves five. I guarantee there are not five people in this town who wouldn’t want somebody to stick it to this rag.”

Only the sound of typewriters from other offices and the hum of distant printing presses could be heard.

“Geez, Briggs,” Rich said, “I smell your cologne all the way up here.”

Rich turned around and slowly walked away. He reached the stairwell. Applause came from the sports newsroom. Rich smiled. He returned to his Jeep and drove back to Hiram’s office.

Rich returned to the conference room. Miss Winslow was poring over the files.

“Did you hit anybody?” Miss Winslow asked.

“No,” Rich said. “That’s not my style. Although I contemplated goading Briggs to take a swing at me. And that’s not my style either. But it was entertaining to think about.”

“Hiram tossed a law book at another lawyer a couple of years ago,” Miss Winslow said.

“You know,” Rich said as he sat at the conference table, “dueling is very much underrated.”

Better Late Than Dead: Episode 16

  This is episode sixteen of the novel Better Late Than Dead. It is the 7th book in the Rich Larsen Adventure Series. An episode will be posted every Monday and Friday. However, it can be purchased on Amazon in the Kindle or paperback versions.  

Rich has returned to the home he ran away from six years earlier. He’s back living with his parents, hoping to make amends for the pain he caused them. Two years have passed since returning home. That’s where this story begins. 

Episode 16 (Originally posted on the Jittery Goat)

Over the next two days, Rich, Hiram, and Miss Winslow studied volumes of additional records of evidence. They continued to find holes in the evidence. Hiram stayed late at the office. He looked as if he had slept in his clothes or hadn’t shaved.

On the third day, Rich woke and showered. He dressed for another day at Hiram’s office. He spat into the sink after brushing his teeth. The phone rang.

“Hello,” Rich said.

“Rich, this is Miss Winslow. Have you had breakfast yet?”

“No,” Rich said.

“I’m buying,” Miss Winslow said.

“Then I’m choosing,” Rich said. “Where?”

“There's this diner on Clark Street,” Rich said. “The waitress is an old friend from school. She won’t spit in our food. As for the cook, he spits in everybody's food.”

“Sounds like my kind of place,” Miss Winslow said. “See you in half an hour?”

“Perfect.” Rich hung up.

Half an hour later, Rich and Miss Winslow were sitting across from each other in a booth. Jane approached the table.

“Jane,” Rich said, “this is Miss Winslow. She works for my lawyer, but my lawyer says he works for her. If you ever get in trouble, she’s the one. And Miss Winslow, this is Jane, a friend from school. She’s one of the few folks in town who—I don’t know—who doesn’t treat me like, is that who I think it is?”

“It’s nice to meet you, Jane,” Miss Winslow said.

“Same here,” Jane said.

“Don’t let the high heels fool ya,” Miss Winslow said. “I waited tables for four years. And I worked the back grill when the cook was too drunk to stand.”

“Wow,” Rich said, “a lady with a past. What else?”

“The cook was my ex,” Miss Winslow said.

“We have a lot in common, then,” Jane said.

“You’re married to a drunk cook?” Miss Winslow asked.

“No,” Jane said, “we both have exes. Mine couldn’t hold down a job. He couldn’t even hold his liquor.”

“Sounds like you ladies have a lot in common besides me,” Rich said. “How ‘bout if I find another table and let you two talk it out?”

“I’m not into that crying in my beer routine,” Miss Winslow said.

“That goes for me, too,” Jane said and smiled. “So, Rich, I get you your usual, and Miss Winslow, what do you have?”

“Jane,” Miss Winslow said, “two eggs over easy, but I don’t want them runny. Put ‘em on top of some hash browns because that’s where they’ll end up anyway. And lay three strips of bacon on top of that.”

“I’ll get your coffee,” Jane said and rushed away.

“Did you notice that?” Miss Winslow said.

“What?” Rich said.

“She didn’t write it down,” Miss Winslow said. “I bet she can wait on four tables of truckers and memorize every order. That’s a smart gal.”

“Is that what you can do?” Rich said.

“I made so much in tips as a waitress that I had to think it over before going to work for Hiram.”

“So why don’t you become a lawyer?” Rich asked.

“I take the bar exam next week,” Miss Winslow said.

“So, technically, I have two lawyers?” Rich said.

“I suppose,” Miss Winslow said.

“Does that mean you might go out on your own?” Rich asked.

“Hiram’s going to make me a partner,” Miss Winslow said.

“So, why are we here?” Rich folded his hands on the table and leaned forward.

Jane brought back the coffee. She sensed they were in a deep conversation and said nothing. Rich and Miss Winslow thanked her. And she darted away.

“Tell Hiram he’s looking terrible,” Miss Winslow said. “He needs to slow down. If he continues like he is, I may be running the practice on my own.”

“It takes breakfast to tell me that?” Rich said.

“He worries me,” Miss Winslow said. “I’ve never seen him this focused or aggressive. He’s the kind of guy who can walk like it’s a sunny day in a rainstorm. He has ice water in his veins.”

“Is there something different about this case?” Rich asked.

“He has instincts,” Miss Winslow said. “He keeps telling me there is something about this situation that is different. And I agree, there is something different.”

“What is it?” Rich asked.

“I don’t know if he’s picked up on something or not,” Miss Winslow said. “He’s not talking to me about it, and that’s unusual; he is very forward. He told you that from the beginning, but I feel as if he’s holding something back.”

“I trust what you’re saying,” Rich said. “You know him better than I.”

“I left the office at 6:00 PM last night,” Miss Winslow said. “My mother called last night. She forgot to fill a prescription, so I went out and got it for her. I drove by the office at a quarter past ten. Hiram’s car was still in the parking lot, and the lights in his office were still on.”

“Is he getting out at all during the day?” Rich asked.

“I’ve seen him get intense,” Miss Winslow said, “but he turns it off at the drop of a hat. He has an associate down the hall, and he’s sending everything to him.”

“What do you think I can do?” Rich said.

Jane brought the meals and left without a word.

“She’s savvy,” Miss Winslow said. “She knows something’s going on. Most waitresses would try to say something cute.”

They began eating.

“Maybe you could subtly say something about how hard he’s working, and if he becomes overworked, he’s no good to you.”

“How do you think he’d take that coming from a client?” Rich asked.

“He’d say if you don’t like the way he works, find another lawyer,” Miss Winslow said. “Then you’d say you’re just concerned, and he’ll come back with something smart. You’ll buckle, and after you go, he’ll relax, go home early, take a shower, and get a good night’s sleep.”

“It sounds like you’ve been through this with him a few times,” Rich said.

“I have, but this is different, and I think he might take this better from you,” Miss Winslow said.

“What if he really gets upset and tells me to get out?” Rich asked.

“Get in your Jeep, drive back to your room. The phone will be ringing about the time you walk in,” Miss Winslow said.

“You have really got this down pretty good,” Rich said.

Miss Winslow smiled and sipped her coffee. “I plan to be just like him.”

They finished and drove to the office. Rich waited ten minutes before going in. Rich walked into the office.

“He’s in,” Maxine said, tossing her head to go ahead into Hiram’s office.

Rich walked into the office. He looked at a rumpled and ghastly-looking Hiram. “You look like crap,” Rich said. “And if you don’t take care of yourself, I’m getting a new lawyer. Miss Winslow told me to be more subtle, but that won’t work with you or me.”

Hiram stood. “I’m going home to rest. You and Miss Winslow can take care of things today. I have a whole stack of stuff in the conference room that will take you two at least a day to get through.”

Hiram walked to the door. Rich caught an unpleasant odor. “Hiram!”

Hiram stopped as he grabbed the doorknob. “What?”

“Take a shower.”

“Yeah,” Hiram said. “My wife called last night. She said if I ever decide to come home, I’ve got to get to the truck stop first and take one of those trucker showers before I come home.”

Indeed, Hiram left a couple of stacks of folders on the conference room table.

Better Late Than Dead: Episode 15

  This is episode fifteen of the novel Better Late Than Dead. It is the 7th book in the Rich Larsen Adventure Series. An episode will be posted every Monday and Friday. However, it can be purchased on Amazon in the Kindle or paperback versions.  

Rich has returned to the home he ran away from six years earlier. He’s back living with his parents, hoping to make amends for the pain he caused them. Two years have passed since returning home. That’s where this story begins. 

Episode 15 (Originally posted on the Jittery Goat)

Rich walked into his motel room. The phone was already ringing.

“Hello,” Rich said.

“Rich, this is Hiram. Get back to the office right away.”

Rich didn’t reply. He hung up. He rushed out the door. He climbed into the Jeep and paused. His stomach turned. Hiram sounded dreadfully serious. He started the Jeep and paused again. He was now feeling sick.

He pulled out of the motel’s parking lot and onto the state highway. There was no traffic. And if there was, Rich still would not have noticed it. His heart pounded, and he felt as if his neck was swelling. At one point, he pulled into a parking lot and sat for a couple of minutes.

This is like going to the doctor’s office, and you already know he’s going to tell you that you have six months to live, he thought. At least Hiram could have tried to hide his foreboding. He smiled. If I see them erecting a gallows, I just drive on by.

He drove on from the parking lot and continued toward Hiram’s office. He arrived at the office and parked. His legs felt weak as he made his way to the office. He walked in. Maxine smiled and told him to walk in.

Rich caught immediate sight of Hiram’s face. It looked as if he was struck with grief. It was red. He glanced over at Miss Winslow. Normally, she would at least force a smile. She appeared glum. Rich swallowed and tried to take a deep breath to relax. He sat down.

“It’s not good news,” Hiram said.

“What?” Rich asked.

“There was a bloody knife at the scene,” Hiram said. “It has your fingerprints on it. It matches the wounds on your father and mother.”

“Mom set the table with three knives,” Rich said. “We had a roast that night, and each of us cut our own piece of the roast. I’m not surprised they found my fingerprints on a knife.”

“Specifically, the murder weapon,” Miss Winslow said.

“There has to be a mistake,” Rich said, “because I did not stab my mom and dad.”

“They found the gun used,” Hiram said.

“Don’t tell me my fingerprints are on it,” Rich said.

“It was wiped clean of prints,” Hiram said.

Rich held his head down. My prints might as well have been all over it.

Miss Winslow cleared her throat. “This is why there has been so much secrecy, and it has taken so long. The gun and knife were sent to the state lab.”

Hiram handed Rich a folder. “This is the evidence they have and the crime scene report. I want you to take this to our conference room and go over it.” He handed Rich a red pencil. “Circle everything you think is sketchy and put an X next to things completely wrong.”

Rich stood.

“Remember,” Hiram said, “we still believe you are innocent. As I look at this evidence, it can all be challenged, but it is for a jury to consider. Some juries think, others feel, and others daydream.”

It took an hour for Rich to read over the information Hiram gave him. After considering it, he couldn’t imagine anyone thinking he was innocent. It seemed complete and compelling. He leaned back in his chair.

How did I ever get to this point? he thought. I’m doomed. What am I going to say, I saw a man with one arm running from the house?

The conference room door opened. Miss Winslow leaned in. “I hope you’re hungry.”

Rich was so deep in thought that the words sounded like gibberish, just a bunch of syllables.

“Burgers and fries,” she said.

“Yeah, great,” Rich said.

They all sat at the conference room table and ate.

“How did you do with the red pencil?” Hiram asked.

“Pretty good,” Rich said, “but it seems like it comes down to my word against the evidence.”

“Some of this stuff is inadmissible,” Hiram said. “They know that. Lawyers always overpromise and underdeliver.”

“I hope that’s not true with you,” Rich said.

“I told you from the beginning, we speak plain at this office,” Hiram said. “If I thought right now, after seeing this, that you are guilty, I’d tell you. I’ve been presented with much better evidence than this, and when all is said and done, it looks like a pile of pigeon dung.”

“I think the biggest problem they have,” Miss Winslow said, “is the alibi. They can’t produce anyone to refute your timeline.”

“Don’t forget,” Rich said, “nobody can verify it either.”

“They can’t leave the timeline open,” Hiram said. "Anything other than two witnesses is reasonable doubt. Juries love timelines. It gives them something to measure on their own.”

“I don’t know if this is important,” Rich said, “but it’s strange. I’m looking at all the physical evidence they have cataloged. It lists two knives at the scene. There were three at the table. Maybe it’s just me, but if you’re looking for a gun, you might pass up a knife.”

“Or stop as soon as the gun is found,” Hiram said.

“But why look for a third knife?” Miss Winslow said. “They didn’t know there were three to begin with.”

“Miss Winslow,” Hiram said, “let’s give Jason Kirby a call.” He looked at Rich. “Kirby is an investigator we use. Have him look for another knife. You’re sure there were three, Rich?”

“Absolutely,” Rich said.

“There’s one thing I’ve noticed,” Hiram said. “A couple of days after the murder, the newspaper reports the time of death around midnight. In the report we have, the time of death is between seven and eight. To me, the change is obvious; they can’t find anyone who was in your room. So the time had to be adjusted to place you at the scene at the approximate time. So we will have to see if there are other reports and see where and how the reporter got the time of death.”

Miss Winslow turned to a page. She gave a side glance at Rich. “Let’s say you just shot somebody. And you flee the house going south. Do you have that pictured in your mind?”

“Yes,” Rich said.

“You jump in your Jeep,” Miss Winslow hypothesized. “You’re driving along. You want to get rid of your gun. Are you thinking of it?”

“Yes,” Rich said.

“Okay,” Miss Winslow said. “Where do you toss the gun?”

“I would stop at the bridge that goes across the river,” Rich said.

Miss Winslow smiled. “It was found in a cornfield a quarter mile from your home. The field was muddy, yet it lay there. The murderer would have had to stop their car, walk forty-five feet into the field, and lay it down. A murderer would have tossed the gun, and it would have stuck in the damp soil. You see, if it was tossed, it would have slid a little, also. That would show up. And there was hardly even an imprint in the mud. That is planted evidence.”

“Is it too early for champagne?” Rich said.

“Way early,” Hiram said. “If we continue thinking we've got this thing won, we are misleading ourselves. All games are won in the fourth quarter. We have to play as if we’re behind.”

“You’re right,” Rich said.

“We’ll have Kirby look at this,” Hiram said. “He can find a rat in a cat factory.”

“I don’t want us to lose focus,” Rich said, “but is it too taxing to wonder or speculate on who really did it?”

“Shifting blame can be a trap,” Hiram said. “Sometimes the only logical suspect beyond the defendant is a seventy-year-old grandma who bakes cookies for her grandchildren. The defense ends up looking like ghouls, willing to sacrifice a lovely old lady to get a murderer free at any cost.”

Rich grinned. “What if it really is the grandma?”

“I’d want to be her lawyer,” Hiram laughed. “She’d be easy to defend, and she’d pay me in her wonderfully delicious cookies.”

“What next?” Rich asked.

“We continue to go over the evidence report,” Hiram said. “Even if we see what might appear as an error in grammar, note it. Sometimes those are written Freudian Slips. We are looking for any weakness. A small crack in the dam, that’s how the valley was flooded.”

“Look at this!” Miss Winslow said, holding up an 8-by-10 photograph. “This is a photo of where they found the gun.” She handed it to Hiram.

He looked at it and clicked his tongue. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing? Two shoeprints.” Hiram handed the photo to Rich.

He examined it. “This is two days after the murder,” Rich said. “The ground was not muddy. The shoeprint was made when the ground was muddy.” Rich scratched the back of his head. “Can’t they see that?”

“They not only see it but they have already explained it away,” Hiram said. “I don’t know how clever this prosecutor is. He may not be, and he’s getting a lot of help. But we must caution ourselves. They may want us to feel as though we are winning.”

“Here’s a tough one,” Hiram said. “You didn’t show a lot of emotion. They will make a lot of that.”

“Two years ago,” Rich said, “the most precious thing in my life died. We were just married. Brain aneurysm. She was eighteen. One time, I saw two men fight. One man hit the other so suddenly that the man who was hit stood motionless until he dropped. Sometimes things happen so suddenly. After Bridgett died, I swore nothing would ever affect me like that again. It’s like being buried alive. I don’t want to ever feel that way again.”

“If they interview you again,” Hiram said, “say it just that way.”

“I will never use her memory to save me,” Rich said.

“I think she would want you to,” Miss Winslow said.

“They are playing like they’re behind,” Hiram concluded.

“How ‘bout them hamburgers?” Rich said.