The screams could be heard around the block and the police arrived in force. About five squad cars pulled up and completely blocked the driveway to Cary Murdock’s house. The uniforms rushed in, guns drawn, while an elderly lady was screaming, “Leave me alone! Now, damn you!”
Fifty cops were moving in on one centralized location and in the middle of it all was Dan Murdock’s mother.
An obese woman was swinging around a small trowel, she was using to weed her garden, wearing gloves, sweating from the effort she exerted, annoyed she couldn’t get the weeds out by the root. “The roots are too long!” She yelled.
One of the uniform cops, turned to his partner and said, “You mean this was just about weeding her garden?“
“It’s frustrating,” she said, “I can never get the whole root out,”
Moore was trying to calm her down, holstering his weapon, showing her his badge, saying, “It’s all right, just put down the trowel ma’am, put down the gardening tool.”
“Get all these men out of here!” The old lady yelled, “I don’t want these men stomping all over my garden.”
“As soon as you put down the gardening tool.” Moore assured her.
She threw it up in the air. “There, you satisfied? Will you leave now?”
After kicking the gardening tool out of her reach, Moore told the uniforms they weren’t needed here and they “could be going now.” He wasn’t sure why the uniforms were brought in, but he explained things as he went with them to their squad cars.
Now the uniforms were on their way, Cary calmed down a little and asked Cecil what they wanted.
“We want to talk with your son, Dan.”
It disappointed her to hear her son was in some kind of trouble, and she pursed her lips and looked down in shame. She always told Dan, if he got himself in trouble, get himself out of it “and don’t call me,” so he would not use her like a crutch and expect her to get him out of the messes he got himself into; she wasn’t always going to be there for him.
“Look,” she said, “all I can tell you is, he was here yesterday, to see me briefly, he didn’t stay the night and he didn’t hold me hostage… Is he a fugitive?”
“No,” Cecil laughed. “We just need to ask him a few questions…”
“I’ve heard that one before. Listen, he didn’t tell me where he was going, and he was alone. That’s all I know.” She waved her arms over her head to be free of him. He was some else’s problem now.
A dog barked in the distance, then another one started in.
“Is he in the house?”
“No, I told you, he’s not here. I don’t know where he is.”
“Well, then,” Cecil said, “you won’t mind if we look around.”
“I do mind, but you’re not going to let up until you do look around, are you? And I expect you won’t give me a moment of peace either.”
“I’m afraid not, ma’am.”
“Then be my guest, just try not to break anything,” she said, as Moore and Tom went through the house. Cecil waited outside with the old lady and said, “Dan must have told you something that could help us find him, before he gets himself in any deeper.”
She scoffed.
Cecil came in closer, speaking softly to her, “Listen, I know how it is. I have a boy of my own, who gets into trouble himself. You care for them, try and do what’s right by them, but it’s hard to know what to do in times like this, but believe me, we only want to talk with him. We’re actually looking for someone he knows. Can… can you help us out here?”
“I would, but he wouldn’t tell me anything.” She looked at him sincerely, nodding.
Following a lead, Detective Carlos found Dan Murdock had a cellmate that was recently released and they arrived at his residence, the residence of Lorn Parsons. He lived on East Ave. in Livermore and the lead detective knocked on his apartment door.
He was another ex-con with tattoos, looking tough, spat to one side when he saw the cops.
Scrutinizing the guy, Cecil figured inside his hard shell was a soft interior. He asked Lorn if he knew Dan Murdock and he obviously did, though he tried to deny it. The next question was “Where is he?” and the guy pretended like he didn’t know and even if he did, he wasn’t going to tell the police anything.
“You’re still on parole, right?” Cecil asked.
The con nodded, yes. “Step aside, please.” Cecil pushed his way into the apartment, followed by Moore and Tom. The place smelled of sweat and urine and was untidy and greasy and dirty. A mattress on the floor served as a bed and couch for watching television.
As Moore and Tom looked around the apartment, Cecil spoke to the suspect. “You better hope we don’t find any parole violations, or we could stop this right now and you could tell us where Dan Murdock is.”
Lorn was eyeing the closet suspiciously.
Cecil told his partner to look in there.
“No, hold on, all right? Hold on! I tell you what you want to know.” Everyone turned to see what he would say.
“All I know is: he needed a ride to Palo Alto to see a friend of his, ah… Gerald Donaldson. I said I didn’t have a car. He was going to hitch hike.”
Detectives Cecil and Moore, left Lorn’s apartment in a hurry, hit the highway, keeping an eye out for their suspect. Taking the most likely route back to Palo Alto, Cecil was driving faster than he felt comfortable, slowing down a lot and hitting the brake to avoid other drivers. It was dark now and there were only a few cars on the highway.
They didn’t see any sign of Dan Murdock ,or Nigel Mann for that matter, but they did find Gerald Donaldson’s address in Palo Alto and they sat in their car, outside his house and waited.
An hour went by, then the cops saw a man, fitting Dan Murdock’s general description walk up to Gerald Donaldson’s door and knock.
A man opened the front door and let the suspect into his house.
When the police knocked, the man who answered the door, identified himself as Gerard Donaldson: a well groomed man, handsome, fairly well off, he seemed like an unlikely person to associate himself with the criminal element.
They asked to come in and he said he was entertaining at the moment and he wanted to know what this was about.
“We have reason to believe your harboring a fugitive, a man named Dan Murdock.” Cecil asked, “Is he here on the premises?”
Donaldson narrowed his eyes. “I have a right to a certain amount of privacy.”
“Yes, you do,” Cecil said, “and we have the right to camp out here in front of your house and watch it, 24/7.”
“Do what you have to. I’m not letting you in.”
“If you do have Dan Murdock on the premises and you don’t hand him over, we could charge you with obstruction of justice.”
“Do you have an arrest warrant, or a search warrant? …I didn’t think so. This conversation is over.” He closed the door.
Cecil wasn’t done with him and he didn’t mind embarrassing himself and everyone else if that was necessary to solve a case. He stood on the front lawn and shouted toward the living room window, with the curtains drawn.
“Dan, I know you’re in there. We only want to talk. Really, we’re after Nigel Mann. We just want to know where to find him. Now, I could stand out here all night, telling you it’s all right-”
The front door opened. The dark figure of a man stood on the front stoop.
“Are you Dan Murdock?” Cecil asked.
“Yes, but-”
Cecil got a closer look, followed by his partner and Tom. Dan Murdock was a tough guy, with his tattoos and muscles from working out in prison.
“Well, at last we meet,” the lead detective said and introduced himself.
Gerard looked on from inside the house.
“How do you know this man?” The detective asked, indicating Gerard with his head.
Glancing back, Dan look snidely at Cecil, “We know each other from high school: haven’t seen each other in years?”
Cecil looked at Gerard, then back at Dan and asked, “Where’s Nigel? If you know where he is, tell me now.”
“I don’t know. That’s the honest truth: I don’t know.” His sincerity seemed genuine, but Cecil wasn’t buying it.
“All right, you’re coming with us.”
“You said you weren’t here to arrest me.”
“I’m not,” Cecil confessed, “but Tom here,” putting an arm around his shoulders, “Tom is your probation officer and he’s going to arrest you for parole violations, or you could come into the station with us for questioning. So what’s it going to be Dan, door number one, or door number two?”
They put Dan in a small room, with a little table and a couple chairs. A neon light glared down on him and a camera’s unblinking eye caught him on tape. Dan was agonizing over his predicament, pressing the palm of his hand into his forehead and squeezing his eyes shut, taking in a deep breath and letting the air out of his lungs slowly. “Have to remain calm,” he told himself.
Lan and Stuart, as well as Tom watched from behind the one way mirror, as Detective Cecil and Moore stepped inside the cramped room, Cecil in a chair and Moore hovering over the suspect, sizing him up.
“Hey,” Moore shouted, “where did you get these bruises? You look like you were in a fight?”
The con pursed his lips.
“You fight with Nigel over Mary and kill them both? Or were you and Nigel in it together?”
Showing Dan a picture of Mary’s mutilated corpse, Cecil asked, “Did you do this to her, or was it Nigel Mann?”
“Was it you?” Moore asked, “Did you kill Mary in a jealous rage, when she told you she wasn’t into a 3-way?”
“You can tell us if you saw Nigel kill Mary.” Cecil said sympathetically. “That won’t reflect badly on you, after all, it wasn’t your fault, was it? Just tell us what happened that night?”
Dan looked like he was about to crack, but he kept his mouth shut.
Moore suggested softly, “You killed her, didn’t you?”
“No,I didn’t kill anyone.” Dan blurted out. I did get into a fight, but it wasn’t with Nigel-“
“Who was it then?” Cecil asked.
“These guys… on his water polo-”
“Oh, come on,” shouted Moore, “where is Nigel now? Is he dead?”
“I don’t know. Last I saw-”
“Last you saw what?” Cecil shouted, “Just tell us the truth. Did you kill Nigel, or did Nigel kill Mary?”
Dan was speechless and agitated.
“Where is he?” Moore shouted. “Where is Nigel Mann?”
“I- I don’t know.”
“Where were you last Friday night?” Cecil asked.
Simply staring, Dan looked like he was hit by a Mac Truck. He opened his mouth, then closed it and until he said, “I want to speak to a lawyer.” He wasn’t going to let the pigs railroad him into jail again.
“Okay.” Cecil reasoned, “You can do what you like, but then we’re going to have to hold you on a parol violation and suspicion of murder, let the DA make up his mind what to do with you, or would you rather cooperate and clean this mess up now, perhaps even go home tonight? If you did nothing like you say, then you have nothing to worry about. Just tell us the truth.”
Dan thought about this and decided to roll the dice. “I got these bruises in a fight with Nigel’s water polo team at Foothill college.” As he said this, the cops were rolling their eyes. “These guys were really going after him. I was just trying to stop them from killing him-”
“Oh, you were the great defender, were you?” Moore was being sarcastic.
Dan was on the defensive, “These guys on his team were a bunch of bullies, who were trying to drown Nigel. Check it out; it’s the truth.”
“So you got into a fight with the players on his team, then what, Nigel… show his savior a… reward for all his help?” Moore asked; more sarcasm.
“It’s not like that. He gave me the slip, while I was trying to protect him from the guys who wanted to do him harm, he got away from me and I never found out where he lives. I haven’t seen him since he drove me up to Foothill College and stranded me without-”
“And I bet that pissed you off, bet you wanted to hurt Nigel for that?”
“Even if I did, I couldn’t find him: didn’t know where he lived.”
Moore thought he should check out Dan’s story, taking a step back and leaning on the wall by the door.
Considering Dan’s answer, Cecil was beginning to think it made sense, Dan trying to connect with people he knew before he went away, hoping to rekindle an old friendship by playing the great defender: it made sense and leaning in, the lead detective took a more friendly approach and asked, “What happened all those years ago between you and Nigel?”
“Nothing.” He fell silent, before deciding to speak, “All these bullies were picking on Nigel because he was a lousy base ball player. Sound familiar?” The detectives listened. “Only they were throwing stones at him instead of dunking him in the water.” Dan remembered Nigel coming up for air out of the water, and all the boys that were throwing stones at him, back in grade school. “He was getting hit in the back and arms… I started throwing stones back at the jocks on the baseball team, aiming for the biggest bully in the bunch. It was an unbelievable shot. I wasn’t even aiming for his head, going for his chest actually, and hit him square in the eye. The rock went through the eye socket and penetrated his brain: after a moment of shock, he fell back… dead. Everybody in the school yard was stunned; one of them took a closer look and so did I. The other boy said, “I think he’s dead,” And he backed away from the corpse, from me, watching me, making sure I didn’t make a move on him. Other were running away, he walked. I wasn’t proud of what I had done, but I told my self, ‘the boy who died had it coming. He shouldn’t have been throwing rocks at us.’ I looked over at Nigel staring at me… too shocked to move. He was still there when the police arrived.”
“What were you doing?” Cecil asked.
Dan looked hard at the detective. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
“I was arranging the body so that the head was pointing north… the place of darkness.”
Copyright 2016 William Leslie
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