Tom Dayton is Loose Again
Chapter 8
1
Driving back to Ironside's office, Tom Dayton felt a headache coming on. From the time they left the bar to the time they arrived back at police headquarters, his head was throbbing. The pain over his eyes was becoming unbearable. Tom tried to remember if he was suffering from a headache when he was with the woman. He just couldn't recall no matter how hard he tried.
He felt sick to his stomach. Did he do that to the woman? No, Tom was sure he had not. He simply wasn't the type. Certainly, women bosses were the worst. They needed to be punished for the way they treated him. Despite feeling that way, the thought of killing them never entered his mind. He couldn't have done that to the woman. Tom couldn't deny the knot in his stomach. He didn't know what to do. Certainly, he couldn't tell Ironside that he had been there. Tom would be admitting that he left police headquarters without Ironside's permission. If he did that, it would give Ironside an excuse to send him back to the institution. That was the last place he wanted to go. He just wanted to bide his time until the damn detective decided he could be allowed to live on his own and find a job more suitable to him.
He pulled the van into the police garage and parked it in a spot which was labeled with Ironside's name. Dayton got out of the van, went around to the other side, and stepped behind the detective's wheelchair. Ironside waved him off.
As they headed toward the elevator that led up to the chiefs' office, Ironside turned to Ed Brown. "Ed, I want to know who the police officer was that the woman was with. Get a police sketch artist. Have that bartender describe him. Then find out who he was. I want him in this office for questioning."
Tom and Ironside rode the elevator up to the top floor and entered the office. Ironside went immediately to the table. Mark came out of his room and joined Ironside. Looking over at Tom Dayton, he saw what he thought was a look of agony on his face. Dayton was rubbing his temples. Mark walked over to Tom, and asked, "Are you all right?"
Startled, Dayton looked at Sanger. "I'm fine. I just have a bit of a headache."
"I'll get you some Tylenol," Mark told him. He left the room to get the Tylenol from the medicine cabinet. At least, he hoped there was some there. The chief usually requested aspirins. Mark couldn't understand why his stomach wasn't a complete mess between the chili and the aspirins.
"Eve," Ironside called out in a voice that was louder than need be.
"Yes, Chief."
"Find out if that young woman has any family in San Francisco. If she does, see if they know what police officer she was seeing."
"Chief, she might just have met him at the bar. They may know nothing."
Ironside turned and gave her a look that made her cringe. "We won't know that until we ask, will we?"
"No, we won't. Then again, I have been working on it since you left. I have an appointment with her mother," she looked at her wrist watch, " in about a half hour. She doesn't know what happened to Maureen yet." Eve headed for the door.
"Officer Whitfield," Ironside called out gruffly.
"Yes, Chief."
His voice softened considerably. Without looking at Eve, he said, "Break it to her is gently as you can."
Eve smiled. For all his toughness, Ironside had a soft spot for people who were hurting. "I'll do my best." She left the office.
Mark reentered the main room, walked over to Tom, and placed two Tylenol capsules in his hand. "That should help your headache."
"Thanks," Dayton said as he popped the Tylenol into his mouth and swallowed them dry.
"Mr Dayton! How about some lunch?"
Tom headed into the kitchen. He dreaded selecting the lunch menu for the detective. He didn't know him well enough to know what he like to eat, and he never made any suggestions. Dayton wondered if Mark Sanger went through the same thing when he started working for him. He went into the kitchen, open the refrigerator, and check to see what was there.
2
George Millington sat in the seat beside Ed Brown. The sergeant showed up in his office with orders from Chief Ironside to sketch a likeness of a police officer who was seen in a bar. George knew better than to refuse or try to put it off when the order was coming from Robert Ironside. No one refused his orders. It made for a bad career move. Despite having a ton of work to do back at police headquarters, he dropped everything to go with Ed Brown to sketch the police officer who is in the bar.
Sergeant Ed Brown pulled up in front of Bart's Bar. George got out of Brown's Ford. He walked around and joined the sergeant on the other side. The two men walked up the sidewalk, opened the door and went into the bar.
When Alex Thatcher saw them, he rolled his eyes and turned away from them as if he was hoping they couldn't spot him. Unfortunately, they headed directly for him.
"Brown, what are you doing back here? I gave you and Ironside all the information that I had. There is nothing else I can do for you. I wish you would quit coming in here; your bad for business."
Ed looked around the bar. There were only two other people there. They were sitting in the corner nursing their drinks and eating hamburgers. "Yeah, I can see you are just so busy."
"What the hell do you want now?" Thatcher snarled at him.
"This is one of our police sketch artists. The chief wants you to describe the officer that was in here to George. He'll sketch a likeness of him."
"Now why should I do that? I have work to do, and you are interfering with it."
"I can think of a couple of reasons," Ed told him. One, it will help us keep that officer out of your bar. And two, if you don't do it, you can go downtown with me and do it in Chief Ironside's office."
"You can't make me do that."
"I'm afraid I can. You're a material witness in a murder. That alone gives me the legal right to take you downtown. Now, what will it be? Do we do the sketch here or in Chief Ironside's office?"
Thatcher called one of his employees from the back. Cover the bar until I get back"
"Yes, boss."
Alex Thatcher led Brown and Wellington back to his office. "You can sit down at my desk," he told Willington.
George walked around the desk and took his seat. He pulled a sketch pad out of his brief case along with a pencil. "What was this man's face shaped like?"
Thatcher didn't want to help the police. All they did was hassle him just like Ironside had done when he was in earlier. Now he had Ironside's sergeant in here for the second time today. He didn't really care whether they found out who the officer was who came into his bar, so what difference would his description make. "He had sort of a long face. Deep set eyes, a rather large broad nose, and when he took off his hat, he had a receding hairline." Thatcher tried to keep from laughing aloud. It didn't describe the guy at all, but he didn't care. He was sick of the police coming into his bar and bullying him.
George continued asking him questions until he had a composite of the man Alex Thatcher had described. When he finished, he turned the drawing around so Thatcher could see it. Ed Brown looked at it closely. He didn't recognize the man in the sketch. No one in the police department resembled the likeness at all. "Is that the man you saw come into your bar and leave with Maureen Isaiah?" Ed asked him.
Hell no it wasn't the man, Alex thought. Then again, he didn't care if it wasn't. Serves the damn cops right. Thatcher didn't care if they ever found the cop. It was there problem, not his, and he resented them making it his problem. For God's sake, the man came into his bar once as far as he could remember. Did Ironside really think he knew everyone that came into his bar? "Yeah, that's him," he lied.
"Now see, that wasn't so hard, now was it?" Ed said.
"If you are done, Brown, get out of my bar," Thatcher said. He wanted to say it wasn't as hard as it was going to be finding the man with the description he just gave. He could hardly contain himself. He would wait until the cop and his sketch artist left his bar and he would have a laugh at Brown and Ironside's expense.
Ed and George left the bar and got back into his Ford. The sergeant reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone. He called Robert Ironside's office and waited for someone to answer.
"Mr Dayton, are you going to let that phone ring all day?" Ironside grumbled.
"I'm sorry, Chief, I didn't know answering the phone was one of my duties. Tom walked over to the table and picked up the phone. "Chief Ironside's office.
"Tom, I need to speak with the Chief," Ed requested.
Dayton turned to the gruff detective. "It's Sergeant Brown."
Ironside picked up the receiver from the phone. "Yes, Ed."
"Chief, we have the sketch of the police officer who was in Bart's bar."
"Do you recognize the officer?" Ironside asked.
"No, Chief. If he works in the department, I have never seen him."
"Ed, even I don't know every officer in the department. Bring the sketch back here. Send it to every precinct. I want that officer identified. And Ed, pick up a roster of every officer on duty last night. Check out every one of them who finished their shift around the time the officer was in Bart's Bar."
"All right, Chief." Ed hung up the phone.
8.3
The loud blaring horn behind Officer Eve Whitfield's car brought her out of daydreaming. Eve had watched Tom Dayton when the chief was talking about the murder of Maureen Isaiah. She could have sworn his face paled when he saw the pictures of the murdered woman. Was it as he stated? Was his reaction because he had never seen a murder victim before, or was it recognition in his eyes? She wondered. Once again the horn behind her blasted.
Eve looked up. The stop light was green. "Hold your horses," she said as she took her foot off the break and press the accelerator. She moved through the streets as her mind turned to the task at hand. This was one of the hardest things a police officer had to do; inform a parent or a spouse that a loved one had been killed, let alone murdered. Eve had done it before and it was extremely difficult to keep from getting emotional. Chief Ironside told her to be as gentle as possible, but no amount of gentleness would prevent the pain she would inflict on the family with the news she had to tell them.
She slowed the vehicle as she moved into the Isaiah neighborhood. Eve began checking the addresses on the houses. The one she was looking for would be on the left-hand side of the vehicle. And there it was, a brick style home with a metal roof. Eve wondered why someone would put a metal roof on a brick house. They didn't seem to go together. Maybe they lasted longer, but they weren't as attractive as the traditional roof with a color that complimented the house. She certainly wouldn't choose to put them together.
Eve pulled the vehicle to the curb on the opposite side of the street. Turning off the engine, she removed the key and got out of her car. Whitfield crossed the street, went up the sidewalk, and knocked on the door. Moments later, a woman in her 60's appeared.
Looking at Eve, she said, "Yes, may I help you?"
"Mrs Isaiah, Mrs Virginia Isaiah?" she asked.
"Yes. That's right." She gave the policewoman a worried look.
"I'm Officer Eve Whitfield of Chief Ironside's office. May I come in?"
Virginia Isaiah stood there for a moment, her anxiety rising. She stepped back and allowed Eve to enter her home. Eve looked around. The home was decorated in an old country style, one Eve didn't feel match the exterior of the house. A big dog Eve believed was a Great Dane came out of a room and came toward her. She instinctively backed away from the dog before remembering one should never show fear in front of any animal. They could sense it. Eve put her hand down for the dog to sniff, which he gladly accompanied her.
"Bruiser, back off," the woman ordered the dog. "Don't worry, he is nothing more than a very big baby. He's very friendly and he won't hurt you. I have had Great Danes for years. Most people don't realize how friendly they are. All they see is the size. That alone deters burglars and people up to no good. Although, I have no doubt he would protect me if the need did arise." She led Eve out of the hallway into the living room, also decorated in country style. "Please have a seat and tell me why Chief Ironside's office would send someone to see me."
Eve glanced over at the fireplace. On the mantel were pictures of Maureen and a man she thought was Virginia Isaiah's husband, therefore probably Maureen's father. When Virginia notice where her attention was she said, "My husband, Milton. He died of a heart attack fifteen years ago. The little girl in the pictures is my daughter, Maureen. She was very young when Milt died. I raised her on my own. Now, what did you want to see me about?" The look on her face was turning from worry to panic.
Eve pushed back the lump in her throat. She wished the chief had made the trip to handle this himself. "Mrs Isaiah, I . . ." Eve hesitated.
"Please tell me what is wrong. Is it Maureen? Is she all right?"
"I am sorry, Mrs Isaiah, but your daughter was found early this morning. She's . . ."
"Oh my God, she isn't . . . dead, is she?"
"I am so sorry," Eve said. She couldn't get the words out. She only nodded.
Virginia began to sob. "No, not my baby. I have no one left!"
Eve left her seat and went over to the distraught woman. She put her arm around her to comfort her. "Is there someone I can call for you, a relative, a neighbor perhaps?"
"No, there is no one. How did it happen? A car accident?"
Eve shook her head. In a soft voice, she gave her the news no parent ever wanted to hear. "No, she was . . . murdered."
"Murdered! Oh God! Why? Who would do such a thing? Did they catch the monster that did it? Please tell me they did, and he will pay for killing her."
"Not yet. That is why I am here. We are hoping you can help us with that. Do you know if she was seeing anyone?" Eve asked. "A boyfriend?"
Between sobs, Virginia said, "Maureen was a beautiful girl. Men flocked to her. She, well, she would picked them up in bars. I dont' know why she did it, because she certainly didn't have to." She pushed back the bangs of her silver hair from her high forehead. "I tried to discourage her from it, but she didn't like me, as she put it, meddling in her personal life. I brought her up better than that. I tried to impress upon her morals and . . . " She began sobbing uncontrollably. When she regained her composure, she looked at Eve and told her, "I really don't know if she was seeing any one man, Officer Whitfield. She didn't confide in me about the men she saw. She knew I would not approve of her behavior."
"Is there anything you can tell us that would help us find the man who did this?" Eve asked. She pulled facial tissues out of her purse and handed them to Virginia Isaiah.
Virginia dabbed at her eyes before continuing. "The only thing I can think of was that men in uniforms attracted her. It didn't seem to matter what kind of uniform it was; it only had to be a uniform."
"She was seen last night in Bart's Bar with a police officer in uniform. Would you have any idea who that police officer would be?" Eve asked.
She shook her head. "Like I said, she never talked about the men in her life. I brought her up better than to pick men up in bars and take them home with her. I just don't know where I failed." She began sobbing again.
Eve realized she wouldn't be getting anything useful from the woman, so she decided it was time to terminate the interview. "Are you sure there isn't someone I can call for you?"
"There is no one. Where is her body?" she inquired.
"It is at the morgue. When you are ready, we will need you to come down and identify her. Will you need help with the funeral arrangements?" Eve wondered.
"No, she always said she didn't want a funeral. Besides, I don't know of anyone that would attend. She really was a lost sole. May I have a few days, before I come down?"
"Of course," Eve agreed. She got up to leave. "If there is anything we can do, please call Chief Ironside's office." As she headed for the door, Virginia Isaiah called out after her.
"Officer Whitfield, Chief Ironside will find the man who did this, won't he?"
"We will do our best to see that whoever did this is punished," she answered.
Virginia Isaiah nodded her head. She continued to sob. Eve let herself out of the woman's home. She returned to her car, opened the door, and got in. Putting her hands on the steering wheel, she sat there with her eyes closed. She couldn't imagine the pain the woman was feeling. If only she could have found some small way to comfort her.
They had to find the man who did it. He couldn't be allowed to get away with it.
4
Ironside called the police lab for the third time that day for information that might help them identify Maureen Isaiah's killer. They still had nothing to report to him.
Tom Dayton walked over to Ironside. "Chief, is there anything I can get you?"
Ironside didn't answer him for so long that Dayton began to walk away. When the chief noticed, he said, "Yes, put on a pot of coffee, will you?"
"Sure, Chief." Dayton headed for the kitchen. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Mark Sanger walk into the room. "Is he always like this?" Dayton asked.
"If you mean, is he always somber? He's that way when something is bothering him about a case. There isn't much to go on with this one. The chief gets impatient when the information is slow in coming. You'll get use to it."
Mark followed Tom into the kitchen. "What time should I put on dinner?" Tom asked.
"The chief usually likes to eat around five when Eve and Ed go off duty. Remember, when there is a major case going on, like now, he works them late, so I always fix enough to feed them as well."
"Thanks for the tip. What should I fix them for dinner?" Tom asked.
"The chief loves chili. You can never go wrong with chili. He hasn't had it in a couple days, so it would be a good time to serve it," Mark suggested. "I'll show you how to make it so he won't complain."
"Will he complain?"
"Only if you don't make it his way. Come on, I'll help you," Mark said.
"Mark, I appreciate the way you have - well you know, the way you have been willing to help me."
"Don't mention it. It took me a while to get used to his moods. You'll learn his bark is worse than his bite."
The door to the office opened and Eve entered. She went over to Ironside and sat down. The detective looked at his policewoman and could tell she was emotionally drained. "You told Mrs Isaiah?" Ironside asked, knowing fully well she did since that is what he sent her to do in the first place.
"Yes." She sat there for a moment before continuing. "Chief, does it ever get any easier. Telling people . . . well you know."
"Eve, I have been a police officer for many years and I can tell you with no hesitation, it never gets any easier to tell a person that someone they love has been murdered," Ironside told her. "Was she of any help?"
"Not much," Eve reported. "She knew Maureen picked up men in bars and took them home. She certainly didn't approve of it. Chief, she said one thing that stuck with me."
"And what was that?"
"She said Maureen had a thing for men in uniform. It didn't matter what kind of uniform, just men in uniform."
"So, she would have been attracted to the police officer since he was still in full uniform," the detective said.
"But that doesn't make sense either. Police officers come to work in street clothes and change into their uniforms in the police locker rooms. When they finish their shifts, they return to the locker room and change back into their street clothes. So what was this officer doing in uniform in the bar to begin with? If he was the one who killed her, than he sure sent up a big red flag and brought himself to everyone's attention."
Tom Dayton brought a tray with SFPD mugs full of coffee to the table. He set one in front of Ironside. Mark joined them. He took one of the mugs and placed another in front of Eve. Tom returned to the kitchen to keep an eye on the chili.
The door to the office opened, and Sergeant Ed Brown came down the ramp. He had an manila envelope in his hand. He set it down in front of Ironside. He sat down and grabbed one of the mugs of coffee and began to sip it. "That is the sketch of the police officer from the description Alex Thatcher gave George."
Ironside opened the envelope and removed the sketch from it. He studied it for several minutes. "You're right. It doesn't look like any officer on the force that I know of. What about you, Eve?"
Whitfield took the sketch from Ironside and looked at it. She didn't have to spend any time looking at it as the man in the sketch didn't resemble anyone she knew on the force. "Sorry, Chief. I don't recognize him either."
"What about the precincts?" Ironside asked.
"No luck there either," Brown said. "Everyone has reported back and not one of them said the sketch resembled anyone at their precinct. I am still checking on officers who went off duty about the time the officer was seen in the bar."
"So, we have nothing," Ironside said.
"We have nothing," Ed agreed.
They sat there for a few minutes in silence before Ironside said, "Have we considered the man may not be a police officer at all?"
"Chief," Mark said, "he was wearing a police uniform."
"Was it? Or was it one that was made to look like a police uniform?" The detective tried to stimulate his people into thinking in other directions.
"Well, if it wasn't, it certainly fooled the bar tender," Ed said.
"Not to mention Maureen Isaiah. She certainly thought he was in a police uniform," Eve added.
"Let's go on the assumption that it wasn't a real police uniform," Ironside suggested. Where would he get one that looked like the genuine thing?" Ironside asked to invoke their thought-provoking minds.
"A costume shop?" Mark said.
"Okay, let's start there. Ed, you and Eve check every costume shop in the city tomorrow and see if anyone has rented a police uniform for a costume ball or party of any kind," Ironside said.
"Chief, dinner is ready," Tom Dayton announced. He walked over to the table with a large crock of chili. "I made enough for everyone." Setting it down on the table, he said, "Mark helped me so that I would make it the way you like it, Chief."
Eve, remembering Ironside wanted her to be a bit hard on Dayton, said, "Do you expect everyone to eat it off the table with their fingers, Tom? Have you ever heard of spoons and bowls?"
Dayton swallowed his anger with the policewoman. He was already sick of her. Woman bosses were all alike. They were inferior to men, so they had to try and bully them to make themselves feel better. His face was red with anger, but he wasn't going to let the bitch get to him, at least not so that everyone else could see it. "I'll get them." Dayton headed back into the kitchen for dinnerware.
Later that evening after Brown and Whitfield had gone home, Tom finished washing the dishes, cleaning the stove and counters, and wiping off the main table. Ironside was still sitting at the table reading police reports. "Chief, is there anything else I can do? Will you need help retiring for the evening?"
"No, Mr Dayton, you can return to your room." Turning his chair toward Tom, he said, "You haven't had any time to yourself. Why don't you go out for the evening." Ironside handed him the code to the elevator. "That will get you out and back into the building."
Tom looked at the paper. He knew they were changing the code daily to keep track of whether he was leaving the building at night. He wasn't about to use the code. He wasn't going to leave the building tonight anyway. "Thanks, Chief, but I am rather tired. If you don't require any assistance, I think I'll just go to my room, read a while, and go to bed." He set the paper down on the table beside the detective.
"Suit yourself." Ironside turned back to his reports. Dayton headed for the door when he heard Ironside call out to him. "Tom!"
Dayton walked back over to the table. "Yes, Chief."
Ironside handed him the sketch of the police officer in the bar. "Have you ever seen this man before?"
Dayton looked at the sketch which he worried about all day. He thought Ironside and his people were playing him. The bartender had looked him right in the eye. Tom sat on the stool for some time before he left with the bitch. There wasn't anyway he couldn't identify him. He was certain Ironside already knew it was him who left with her. To his surprise and relief, the man in the sketch didn't look a thing like him. "No, I don't think I have."
"You either have or you haven't, Mr Dayton," Ironside growled.
"No, I haven't seen him before," Tom said.
"All right then. You can go. Thanks for your help."
Dayton nodded and left Ironside's office. He unlocked his room and laid down on his bed. His heart was pounding. He really thought Ironside was going to show him a sketch of himself. He would have to be more careful in the future. He couldn't allow himself to be identified in a police uniform. What was he thinking? What uniform? Where would he get a police uniform? Confused, Tom picked up a book and started reading. Losing track of time, he read for some time. When he finally looked at his watch, it was 11:30 pm.
With his head pounding, Tom left his room and went back to Ironside's office. He opened the door quietly and poked his head in. Ironside was no where in sight. Tom closed the door without making any noise and went back to his room. Bending down, he reached under his bed and pulled the police uniform out from underneath the bed. He got out of his clothes and put the uniform on. Tom opened the door to his room and checked down the hall. He was met with complete silence. As quickly and silently as he could, he walked down the hall to the stairway door, and put in the code. The door opened and he moved silently down the stairs to the police entrance.
Dayton lowered the cap and dropped his head to keep his face concealed. The garage was busy with officers coming and going with the shift changes. Tom walked out of the police garage and hailed a taxi. Again, he got the feeling of freedom he only got when he got out of Ironside's building. After giving the driver instructions, he rode silently until they arrived at his destination. The driver informed him, and Tom got out and paid him through the window.
Dayton looked around. It was rather a ritzy area of San Francisco, but then where else would he expect to find Eve Whitfield's apartment. He could see the window of her place from the street where he stood. She appeared at the window and closed the blinds.
Suddenly, Tom looked around. Where was he? What was he doing here? His head started to pound harder with pain. His face twisted with agony and he put his hands to both sides of his head. The pain! Make it stop! Where the hell was he?
"Are you all right officer?" a woman asked him.
"What?" Tom lowered his hands, his head still pounding. "I'm fine. Go about your business and leave me alone."
"Well, so much for police. I don't know why I should care when you act like that." She walked off in a huff.
Dayton didn't understand. The last think he remembered was lying on his bed reading a book. He looked down at his clothes. What was he doing in a police uniform? What the hell was happening to him?
"Hey copper, that bitch sure was nasty to you. Don't you just hate women who think they are better than we are?"
"What?" Tom turned around to see a guy about his age. He was right about the same build and size as Tom. "Yeah, you should see the one I have to put up with every day."
"Women are only good for one thing," the man said laughing.
Dayton rubbed his temple. "I have to go." He looked around. "Where am I anyway?"
"You're a cop and you don't know where you are?" the man said in surprise.
"Never mind." Tom walked away from him, heading in the direction the woman had just gone. After a while, he couldn't remember where he was or where he had been. He flagged down a cab and said, "Take me to police headquarters." Dayton kept the police cap lowered to avoid from being identified.
When they arrived at Police Headquarters, Tom paid the cabbie and sneaked back into the building. He went into his room, took off the police uniform and put on pajamas. He had to get rid of the uniform. Tom didn't know what happened to Maureen Isaiah. He was scared; he didn't remember leaving the building, how he got where he was, or where he was for that matter. What was happening to him?
All he wanted to do was get through this business with Ironside and get on with his life. He would get rid of the police uniform tomorrow. After pushing the uniform under his bed, he laid down. His head was still pounding, but not as bad. He thought about Maureen Isaiah. Who killed her? Could he have done it? He couldn't remember much about that either. Dayton closed his eyes and went to sleep.
Back near Eve's apartment building, a young woman lay dead in the bushes, her throat cut.