Case of the Parole Officer

The chronological order of my stories is as follows:

Todd & Melina series, Interludes 1-5, Sperm Wars series, Russian Roulette series, Case of the Murdered Lovers series, Case of the Murdered Chessplayer series, The Swap series, Interludes 6-10, The Murdered Football Player Series, Case of the Black Widow series, Teresa's Christmas Story, The Case of the Black Badge series, A Case of Revenge series, Teresa's Summer Race, The Trilogy series, Dark Side Of The Force series, Caught In The Act series, The Phyllis Files 1-2, Case of the Murdered Bride series, The Credit Card Caper series, The Phyllis Files 3, The Hot Wives Investment Club series, Seriously Inconvenienced series, Case of the Paper Trail series, Christmas Mystery Theater, The Porno Set Mystery series, The Medical Murder Mystery series, The Eightfold Fence series, The Phyllis Files 4, Pale Morning Light series, Silverfish series, Cold As Ice series, Secrets of Apple Grove series, Sting of the Scorpion series, Reichenbach series.

Case Of The Parole Officer, Ch. 01-02.

Feedback and

constructive

criticism is very much appreciated, and I encourage feedback for ideas.

This story contains graphic scenes, language and actions that might be extremely offensive to some people. These scenes, words and actions are used only for the literary purposes of this story. The author does not condone murder, racial language, violence, rape or violence against women, and any depictions of any of these in this story should not be construed as acceptance of the above.

*****

Part 5 - The Perp

"So," I said to Spratt, a parolee. "Your parole officer was there right at the time of this crime. Now that's fortuitous, if true."

"I'm telling ya, I was watching TV, just about ready to go to bed, and in he walks. Unannounced visit." said Spratt.

For those who don't know, a parolee has no rights whatsoever. A parole officer can enter the parolee's home without warning, permission or a warrant, and search the parolee's personal effects and papers at will. The parole officer can go into the parolee's home while he's banging his wife or sleeping, and the parolee has no recourse; he or she is a parolee, and worthless in the eyes of Society and the Law. Jim Brown, the legendary Cleveland Browns running back, took a prison sentence and refused a lighter sentence that included parole, saying (in so many words) that parole makes a man a slave of the State, but he served his time and was then free.

"Okay." I said. "What is your parole officer's name?"

"Ryan Frost." said Spratt. "I've made every one of my appointments, too. You can ask him."

"Oh, we will, no doubt about that." I said. "In the meantime, you can help yourself considerably for the future if you can give me any idea who might know your methods enough to copy them and make a burglary look like you did it."

"I got no idea on that." said Spratt. "I didn't tell anyone while I was in prison. Nobody asked, either. And if I'm going to teach someone how to defeat alarm systems, I'd want to get paid for it. Wouldn't you?"

"An intriguing thought." I said, knowing Spratt wouldn't understand that. "Okay, if your alibi checks out, we'll outprocess you immediately. Any questions from you guys?" I asked.

"Yes sir." Teresa said. "Howie, what do you do now to make money?"

"I drive trucks, make deliveries. Legally, and all legal cargo, too." said Spratt. "And I do odd jobs, transient stuff."

"So you have a CDL?" asked Teresa.

"No, but I don't need it for the trucks I drive." replied Spratt. "I don't drive the big semis, just the smaller delivery trucks."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

After the interview, I called Myron Milton. "Did Spratt have a cell phone?"

"Not on him when he was arrested." said Milton. "But since he's a parolee, you can go into his home and search without a warrant. You might can't take the phone, but we can get a signature."

"By all means, get with Captain Ross and organize that yourself." I said. "It'll be some good field training for you... Supervisor."

"Yes sir." said Milton. "I'll call Sergeant Rudistan now."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Tuesday June 30th, 3:30pm. Cindy Ross, Christopher Purvis, and I were headed to the County Building on the east side of Courthouse Square. Teresa had said she'd have someone interview Parole Officer Ryan Frost, but I said I would take this one myself, and take Purvis with me.

Cindy then asked to come along. "I have to get out of here for a while." she said. I understood. She still was upset about the morning meeting disaster with Chief Bennett.

We walked instead of driving, and it was a hot but nice summer day. The parole officers were housed in an annex building behind the County Building and Courthouse. As we walked, I notice Cindy positioning herself strangely. Glancing over her (it's nice to be a tall Iron Crowbar), I noticed two old ladies on a bench along the sidewalk that led towards the First Baptist Church to the east, and the Catholic Church across the street from First Baptist. I was sure one of the women was old Mrs. Boddiker, but didn't know who the other woman was, and her face was half-hidden by a shawl.

"Nice day to feed the pigeons, isn't it, Captain Ross?" I said.

"Uh, sure, I guess so." Cindy replied, looking at me strangely as we arrived and entered the building.

The offices of Parole officers were in the basement. They barely had cubicles to do their work. The place was crowded, and many parolees had their monthly meetings on the last day of the month. If the air conditioner was working, it was not working well. The air was dank and smelly. If I didn't know better, I'd say 'Dirty Lennie' lived here.

We came to Ryan Frost's cubicle, and he was sitting at his desk. He had brown hair that was thinning badly on top, a pear shaped body, a reddish/florid face, and black-rimmed glasses that looked bad and made him look even more nerdy.

"Mr. Frost?" I said at the entrance to the cubicle.

"Yeah, what is it?" he snarled, then looked up. "Oh, sorry, I thought it was one of these parolees. What can I do for you, Officers?"

"Is there some place we can talk more privately?" I asked.

"Not really." he said. "Just come on in here."

It was crowded, and I let Cindy and Purvis sit down in the chairs next to the desk, their backs to the cubicle wall. "Mr. Frost," I said as quietly as I could, "I need to confirm that you were making an inspection of one Howard Spratt last week. Last Wednesday, about 9:00pm?"

"Yeah, let me check." he said. He brought up a log on his computer, which was an old model that ran Windows XP. The Office of Paroles was not getting money nor the best equipment from the Council, I noted.

"Yeah." Frost said. "It's right here. Last Wednesday, about 9:15 to 9:45. I've been watching Howie Spratt, but he was at his home, everything was fine, no contraband, no drugs, no guns."

"Does he make all of his meetings? Any problems?"

"He makes every appointment, no problems at all." said Frost. "And that in itself is what makes me wonder about him. Almost no one is perfect, they miss a meeting here and there, get caught with alcohol every once in a while."

"Maybe Spratt wants to clean up, get out of the system." Cindy said.

"Maybe." said Frost apathetically. "But anyway, he was at home that Wednesday night."

"Can I get a copy of that?" I asked. "Or an email confirming it?"

"Sure." said Frost. "But if I may ask: did Spratt do something I need to know about?"

"No." I said. "In fact, your timing was lucky for him. It exonerates him from a crime we're investigating." Frost said no more, but handed me a printed-off sheet of the log. "I've sent the email to the Police Department and A.D.A. as well."

"Thank you." I said. Cindy was about to ask something, but I silently cautioned her not to. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Frost, and we'll get out of your way."

Once outside, Cindy said "How did he know where to send the emails? And especially to which ADA?"

"It's not his first rodeo doing that." I replied. "So Purvis, what did you think of that?"

"Seemed routine." said Purvis. "Guy is overworked, as are all of them, is poorly equipped, and has to work in a basement cubicle with the mold smell all day. Makes me appreciate what we have at Headquarters."

"Yes, me too." I said.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Not much at all." Julie Newton said in Classroom 'C' at 4:30pm. "Mr. Myers had routine bills that were automatically paid. He was a member of the South Florida Yacht Club, the U.S. Golf Association, and the Sterling Society, which is a currency-trading group something like the Hot Wives Investment Club. No debts, no large financial transactions in the last several years."

"And his wife?" I asked. Also in the room were Lt. Croyle, Detective Purvis, and Master Technician Mary Mahoney, who had been brought in by me to listen in.

"You think

he's

boring?" Julie said. "She is the quintessential trophy wife. The Wednesday bridge parties are just about the only thing she really does, at least around here. She puts in an appearance at University functions now and again, seems to know most of the important University people, but not much else there."

"Spending habits?"

"None." Julie said. "Apparently she pays cash for everything, her husband insists upon it. She buys fashionable clothes, expensive but not flashy cars, such as Mercedes sedans and Lexus SUVs, trades them in every two years. Mr. Myers toodles along in old roadsters and Excaliburs, but he does not trade them very often at all, especially if he likes the car and enjoys driving it."

"Any travels?" I asked.

"Only to Florida." said Julie. With that, she handed me the file she'd compiled and I perused it. For such wealthy people, they sure didn't use credit much, nor have many activities.

"No travels to art exhibits, or purchases of any art?" I asked, handing the file to Mary, who perused it as I talked.

"Not since Mr. Myers's retirement." Julie said. "I also called Mrs. Wellman and asked if the Myers were art connoisseurs or if she'd heard them talking of attending any art exhibits. Mrs. Wellman said neither had mentioned art at all."

"Okay then." I said, handing Julie back the file after Mary returned it to me. "Any word from any art brokers or pawn shops? Croyle, anything from C.I.s?"

"No sir." said Teresa. "I checked with the FBI while you were out interviewing the parole officer. The underground rumor mill is very aware of the thefts at all the houses in the past few months, but so far nothing has turned up to be fenced. The FBI isn't seeing any activity, financial or otherwise, by people who like to buy art on the black market, either."

"What about the other crimes?" I asked. "Fill me in on them while we're here."

Teresa started her report: "Nine robberies, six at the Cloisters. On two of them, including the latest one, the alarm system was shut down by a shunt. You were in Apple Grove in April when the first one occurred. It is also the only other job where any art was stolen, but the worst of that crime was that over five million dollars in negotiable securities with coupons attached were taken."

"In most of the other crimes," Teresa said, handing me a sheet listing the inventories of stolen objects, "it was mostly silverware, firearms, cash, computers and related, television sets, gold coins, golf clubs, some rare old books about the Trojan War in one home, stuff like that."

"Which home had the Trojan War stuff stolen?" I asked out of curiosity.

"Professor Donohue's home." said Teresa. "He occupies the Herodotus Chair of Ancient History at the University. He's visited Turkey and Greece several times, especially the archeological areas believed to be where ancient Troy was. He's also written several articles on the founding of Rome and Carthage in those ancient times."

"Interesting." I said. "I have a painting and a matchstick horse that might be of interest to him. So, what were the various

modus operandi

of these crimes?"

"All were done while the homes were empty, usually over the weekend when the owners were away, but sometimes while there was a function going on at the Clubhouse. Very often keys were used to lock and unlock the house doors. On some, the alarms were disabled by key fobs, like those on car key rings."

"Wow, a lot of inside jobs, wouldn't you say, Detective Purvis?" I said.

"Yes sir." said Purvis. "And someone aware of the owners' various schedules. I checked to see which companies supplied their house staffs, hoping for a connection there, but six different companies were used. Maybe one could be penetrated or bribed, but all six?"

"Yes, that's a thought." I said. "Okay guys, good work. Y'all can go home for the day, and we'll pick up the trail tomorrow. Mary, you're with me."

"I'll come with you for just a second." said Teresa, obviously wanting to tell me something. I sent Mary to my office, then went into Teresa's with her.

"Speaking of schedules," Teresa said, "I told Purvis not to tell anyone else this, but he found out that every single one of those robberies was on a Wednesday, sometimes two on the same day... and on every occasion, Hendricks was the gatehouse guard."

"Consider me not surprised." I said. "Thanks for keeping this quiet. We'll work on that angle of it later. In the meantime, go home and we'll pick it up tomorrow."

I went into my office with Mary, who'd waited in the anteroom. She asked to plug into one of my internet connections. As her fingers flew over the keyboard faster than I could see, she said "There was something not in Newton's report that I want to check... ah yes, here it is."

She showed me her computer screen, filled with items from a credit card. "This is Mr. Myers's S.A.S.S. Mastercard. He used it for hotels, meals, and travel when he went to various S.A.S.S. shooting tournaments."

"Judging by the prices of the meals, and the single seat airline tickets bought, he went alone to these events. His wife did not go with him." I said.

"It's as you were thinking, sir." Mary said. "Julie's report didn't have those items. I don't understand why she could not have found them; it's pretty easy stuff to get."

"Interesting." I said. "Yes, why leave off the gun stuff? Oh well... good work, Mary. For your next assignment, I want you to exercise this warrant that is under seal. It authorizes you to get into the files of the County's various parole officers. Their equipment is old; you may have to hack into each of them, so ask Myron to help if you need it. I especially need Ryan Frost's files and information, but the information of the others would be helpful, as well."

"Yes sir." Mary said, taking the warrant with her as she left the office.

Part 6 - Case Review

"Daddy!" called out my daughter Carole, uttering that wonderful word as I got home around 7:30pm. My mother was keeping Carole while Laura was in her Washington meetings.

"Hi Carole!" I said, taking her from my mom and giving her a big hug, then sitting down in the den with her. "How's my big girl today?"

"Daddy, Bowser go out." Carole said. I looked down. Sure enough, a fine looking blonde-coated dog was sitting there, looking up at me.

"Hi Bowser!" I said. "Do you need to go out?" Bowser wagged his tail as he got up and walked towards the back door.

"Carole, want to go out with me and Bowser?" I asked.

"Yeah." she said. We all went out onto the patio while my mother took care of little Jim inside. I sat down on the metal mesh seat on the patio, looking over the Town as Bowser went to do his business, with Carole paying attention to my badge on my shirt. Then I noticed her look up over my shoulder and smile.

"Cin-dee." Carole said. Looking back, I saw that it was indeed my Police Force partner.

"Hi Carole!" Cindy said happily. "How are you?"

"Good!" Carole said, surprising me. "Daddy and Bowser go out." she said, explaining our outdoor mission. That surprised Cindy, too.

"She's been able to talk but hasn't said much until recently." I said. "Now we can't get her to stop. Not that that's a bad thing."

"It sure is a good thing." Cindy said, taking Carole and sitting down with her in the chair next to my seat. Bowser bounded up and came up to sit beside me, watching Carole and Cindy.

"So, Partner," I said as I 'skritched' Bowser, "what brought you up here?"

"I just need to talk to someone." Cindy said. "And I figured either you or your mother would do."

"About the case?"

"That's part of it."

"Okay, shoot." Just then my mother Phyllis came up, holding little Jim. She sat down on the other side of me, ready to listen.

Cindy started. "I finally figured out what's been bugging the sh--, er, the stuffing out of me about this case. I think Mr. Myers is not one hundred percent there, if you know what I mean. And Mrs. Myers has the arts degree, but seemed to have little idea about the value of the art in her husband's collection."

I smiled. Cindy was on it. "Yes." I said. "I'm waiting for Carole's mommy to get back home--"

"Mommy go to meetings." explained Carole, having heard that phrase too many times for our liking. Phyllis was beaming at Carole.

"And when she gets back, I'm going to ask about Mr. Myers." I said. "Look at it this way: Mr. Myers was smart enough to take

two hundred million dollars

out of the bond markets. Now I'm fairly intelligent, but you don't see me taking two hundred million dollars out of the markets. And then this guy makes what really were smart investments in paintings, especially that Greuze and some of the antique firearms... but he then has no emotion about the thefts. That's something for my favorite psychiatrist to ponder, eh Mom?"

"I could not agree more, son." Phyllis said.

"And you're right, Cindy..." I said, "his wife is outwardly intelligent, but I'm not sure she realized how much that Greuze is worth. It's a strangeness, for sure."

"Well," said Cindy, "her husband did tell her it was a replica, and she might not have looked very hard at it... oh, wait..." And I had the pleasure of watching Cindy's first reverie about a case. My mother and I both watched in fascinated silence.

A moment later, Cindy came out of it. "Man, I don't know how you do it."

"Sure you do." I said. "And you're getting good practice now."

"At any rate, I'm sure you'll have the case solved by this time tomorrow." Cindy said. "What do you think, Carole?"

"Daddy smart." Carole said. "Cin-dy smart too."

And so are you, Carole, I thought proudly. So are you...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Come on in, Sonali." Teresa said. Sonali came into Teresa's office and sat down in the chair in front of the desk, opening her laptop computer. The window behind Teresa was going dark as the sun was setting. There was not a lot of room, but it was better than the days the Commander had occupied the office while a Lieutenant, Teresa thought. "What do you have?"

"Two things, ma'am." said Sonali. "First is a list of eight possible suspects in the seven other burglaries in the 3d Precinct. And second, there was another attempted burglary in the Heritage Cloisters, but it did not show up because it is not listed as a burglary. The homeowner was at home, and he shot the intruder dead. The intruder's name was Jonas Grumby, and he was known on the Streets as 'Solomon Grundy'."

"Email me that." said Teresa. "I'll forward it to the Captain."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Cindy's phone rang as we were talking in the den. Carole began crying and hugging me tightly. I understood why.

"Don't worry, baby." I said. "Daddy is not going anywhere. I'm staying right here with you. Now pet Bowser and make him feel better." Carole stopped crying as she was distracted, and she reached down and petted Bowser's head as he sat next to us. Bowser looked up at Carole with pure love in his eyes.