CHUCK HARDING PART ONE: Poor Sportsmanship

Chapter I : One Last Triumph

It had not been a good year for Oscar Partridge. He and his wife were undergoing divorce proceedings, and on March the 2nd, his wife was viciously murdered. In the infinite wisdom of the local police precinct, Oscar was deemed the prime suspect, and was arrested under suspicion of murder. Mr. Partridge maintained his innocence to anyone who would listen. But for the arrogant goons at the Wendonfult Police Department, the truth would fall upon deaf ears.

In fear of a potential death sentence or life in prison, Partridge enlisted the service of a seasoned eighty-two year old lawyer named Cedric Birdman. Judge Arthur Sampson Smith presided over his trial, and it was prosecuted by Gordon Handler, the district Attorney of Wendonfult. Tensions rose to a fever pitch on the final day, as Cedric Birdman propounded the existence of evidence which would exonerate his client.

On the morning of Sunday the 28th of March, the court was in session, resuming on the tail of a recess the previous day. Judge Smith addressed the defense.

“Mr. Birdman” he said. “Have you that witness of yours?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“Good. You can bring him to the stand.”

“Thank you your honor.” said the lawyer as he stood. He approached the stand and summoned his witness, Earl Fulton. Mr. Fulton was escorted to the stand by a bailiff.

“So Mr. Fulton,” said Birdman as Fulton seated himself. “Myself and my private investigator have done some digging into your personal affairs, and from what we can tell, you have quite the fondness for women.”

“I’m a red blooded man. Whoop dee-doo.”

“Yes, do you happen to remember a woman by the name of Lydia Partridge? She would have gone by Lydia Crowley when you two were.. romantically involved.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Fulton was feigning surprise, and Birdman knew it.

“Oh. From what I see here Mr. Fulton.. You and the murder victim were betrothed.”

“I don’t seem to recall-”

“-Oh I’ve got all the proof I need. Title deed for a house you two shared, wedding invitations were printed, and an engagement ring was found among the victim’s personal effects.” cut in Mr. Birdman. “The clerk at the jewelry store confirmed the ring was sold to a man sharing your name. You may as well tell me the truth, you put your hand on that bible, remember?”

Fulton became deathly silent as Birdman pressed him.

“So what happened? Somewhere along the way, the engagement was canceled.” said Birdman. “You’re a wife beater and a drunk, aren’t you Mr. Fulton?”

“Objection your honor!” declared Mr. Handler. “Relevance?”

“With all due respect, your honor, I am trying to prove a potential motive. With the court’s indulgence I promise you my point will become clear.”

“Overruled.” remarked Judge Smith. “I’m giving you one hundred and twenty seconds to reach a point Mr. Birdman. Refrain from further trying this court’s patience.”

“Thank you, your honor.” said Birdman before he continued conducting his witness testimony. “Here is another intriguing fact I have unearthed. This is defense exhibit C, a photograph that a neighbor of my client captured of the street approximately ten minutes before the murder.” Birdman said as he gave the jury and the prosecutor copies of the photograph. “I have also taken the liberty of blowing up a section of the photograph, where a Ford Woody Wagon can clearly be seen.” Cedric Birdman turned his attention toward Earl Fulton. “Mr. Fulton. Please read to us, the license plate number circled on the paper aloud to the court.”

Mr. Fulton leaned forward to get a better view of the paper. Once he had a good look at the license number, his face fell, but he had to read it anyway.

“L18 DFD” he muttered weakly.

“Is there anything familiar about this license plate number?”

“Yes. It’s mine.” said Mr. Fulton as his head slumped down in shame.

“Yes Mr. Fulton. As I have said before, this is a photograph that my client’s neighbor captured of the street, moments before the murder occurred.” Cedric Birdman squatted down to Mr. Fulton’s eye level and continued. “What were you doing eight feet away from the crime scene during the time of the murder?”

Tears began to fall from the eyes of Earl Fulton. “You got me.” he said defeated as he buckled under the pressure of the evidence. “She had to pay when she left me for that swine Partridge.. You bastard!” he remarked as he pointed to the defendant.

This caused a commotion in the gallery. The judge consequently struck the block with his gavel until order was restored. Amid the silence, the prosecutor reluctantly stood.

“In light of these new developments,” he said begrudgingly, “the state motions that the charges against Mr. Partridge be dropped.”

“Motion granted.” declared Judge Smith as his gavel struck the block. “Case dismissed. The court thanks the jury for their service.” he concluded.

Two bailiffs came to the witness box where Earl Fulton was promptly arrested. As the bailiffs marched Fulton to the courthouse’s cell block, they passed Cedric Birdman and Oscar Partridge. Earl Fulton in hysterics.

Like a rabid animal, he screeched and roared, screaming at the top of his lungs. He rabidly dispensed his saliva in all directions. As a direct result of this outburst, the bailiffs began to use more force. As Cedric wiped spit from his face, Earl Fulton was out of the courtroom, and could be heard ranting and raving in the lobby.

Oscar Partridge was vindicated, due in no small part to Cedric Birdman. After everyone left the courtroom, Gordon met Cedric in the hallway.

“Gordon!” declared Cedric as the two attorneys shook hands, while they talked and walked.

“Very well done today Cedric old boy.” said Gordon endearingly. “Another one for the annals, eh?”

“Ah well.” said Cedric with a modest chuckle. “The state held the fort well. Besting you was a rewarding challenge, as always.”

“Glad I could accommodate such a challenge. Still thinking of retiring? You’re still at the top of your game.”

“Well now that’s it, isn’t it? I don’t want to retire, but everyone’s telling me that I need a vacation. I could die tomorrow without ever having enjoyed myself. Complete tommyrot, of course.” scoffed Cedric. “Lawyering is my vacation.”

As Cedric and Gordon spoke, they neared the doors. “Why.. Aren’t you coming to my retirement banquet on Fridee?”

“Got it marked on my calendar.” said Gordon gladly. “We must drink to your unending streak of victories.”

“Now don’t twist my arm!” said Cedric gleefully as they walked outside. “I’ll see you Fridee Gord!” called Cedric as he was getting in his car.

“See you Friday!” reciprocated Gordon, still standing on the courthouse steps.

Chapter II: The Ultimate Retirement

Cedric Birdman had been in law practice since the gay nineties, and chose to retire after 55 years of service. The Heath banquet hall had been rented out for the occasion, and the family and friends of Mr. Birdman congregated there to sing his praises and reminisce.

Before the celebration began, all of the guests were directed indoors. However, the guest of honor was absent. Cedric stood near the front doors waiting for Gordon to arrive. As time passed, Cedric’s valet Antonio decided to light up a cigarette..

Eventually, Gordon’s car pulled in front of the building, and he emerged. Gordon shook Cedric’s hand, and they approached the entrance together. Cedric’s valet was not aware that Cedric and Gordon were ready to enter the building. He smoked his cigarette, staring off into space.

“Petrucci,” said Cedric in a scolding voice.

The valet tossed the smoke onto the ground, straightened his hair and opened the door. Cedric and Gordon walked in, where they were greeted with a banquet packed with friends, family and acquaintances. One of those Cedric spotted was Charles Andrew Harding, the private investigator who worked for the firm.

“Chuck my boy!” exclaimed Cedric as he was about to take his seat. “Very glad you could make it.”

“Well, it’s only right for the new blood to come and send you off.’’ said Chuck.

Cedric laughed. “As I understand it you shall be thirty soon. One day you’ll be as old as I am!” he said before seating himself, to which Chuck followed suit. In a matter of ten minutes, all who were in attendance were sitting comfortably at their tables.

Cedric’s wife Gertrude, and their adult sons Don and Maxwell had speeches prepared, which aroused the audience in a series of laughing spells. It had been decided that after Cedric’s family had a turn to speak, Cedric would approach the podium to relate some of his own words.

Gertrude concluded her speech and returned to the table with her husband. From across the room she spotted Gordon Handler at the bar. She excused herself and approached him.

“Mr. Handler.” she said. “We are most pleased that you took time out of your busy schedule to join us.”

“But of course,” said Gordon. “We didn’t attend law school together for me to snub his retirement party.” he chuckled.

“Oh, yes, how very kind of you.”

Gordon thought Cedric rather fortunate to be married to a catch like Gertrude.

“For you and Cedric?” she said after surveying the drinks.

“Oh Gertrude, how did you know?”

“Allow me to take some of the burden away. I’ll gladly give Cedric his drink.”

“Thank you Trudie.” said Gordon before Gertrude began making her way back to the table. “Oh.” continued Gordon prompting Gertrude to stop and look over her shoulder. “Tell him this is the drink I promised him.”

“Yes I will.” said Gertrude with a smile before walking back to the table once and for all.

Cedric spotted his wife walking toward the table, where she handed him the drink.

“Gordon told me to tell you this is the drink he promised you.”

“Aha.” laughed Cedric. As he held the glass, he spotted Gordon at the bar. Their eyes met, and they shared a toast from across the room.

As Cedric chased down his drink, Don’s speech drew to its close. He left the podium, and Cedric was invited onto the stage. Upon taking his mark, he produced a piece of paper from his inner breast coat pocket. The sounds coming from his mouth would not be the commanding orations he was known for. The banquet could hear Cedric choking, convulsing and pleading for his life. His skin went blue as pints of foam careened from his mouth. He collapsed with his eyes bugged out from a mixture of shock, and excruciation. Those nearest to the podium rushed to his aid. However, the time for intervention was over.

Gertrude ran frantically to the lobby and summoned the police.

Within minutes the sirens of emergency vehicles could be heard, loudening as they drew closer to the scene. A cavalcade of Plymouth police cruisers pulled in front of the building, and the coroner’s hearse joined the assembly of emergency vehicles.

Patrol officers entered the building, along with the coroner and some morticians. The position of Cedric’s body was traced with chalk, and yellow police tape was strewn about the room.

After the morticians sealed the corpse into the body bag, it was laid onto the stretcher and wheeled outside to the hearse. Upon pushing the stretcher along the outdoor pavement, another car pulled up. Out stepped Detective Thomas McLeod and the commissioner of the police department, Albert Jones. By the time Cedric’s body was loaded into the hearse, the homicide detectives entered the building to begin with their inquiries. The first person to be approached by the detectives was Cedric’s wife, Gertrude.

“I sincerely express my condolences.” said Detective McLeod as he and Commissioner Jones approached her. She simply looked down, not acknowledging McLeod or Jones.

“It’s no secret that your husband’s profession made him a.. shall we say.. a target.” put in the Commissioner. “He’s exposed many guilty people who would be more than happy to deliver retribution.”

“Yes, Mrs. Birdman,” cut in Detective McLeod. “Have you and your husband received any threatening letters? Telephone calls?” said the detective as Gertrude shook her head. “Any threats against his life? No matter how meaningless. No matter how small. It will all help.”

“Perish the thought. Can’t say I have.” She took a pause and continued, her head still shaking a no. “This isn’t real.. I did not see what I thought I saw..”

“Mrs. Birdman,” said Detective McLeod. “I can assure you that Mr. Birdman is very dead.”

Gertrude looked down, and covered her tear stained eyes.

So as not to distress Mrs. Birdman any further, the detectives moved on to other witnesses. The next course of action was to ask Cedric’s sons the same set of questions. They couldn’t drum up any names, as the majority of people who would want to harm their father were already in prison, or dead. As the two investigators walked throughout the room examining the crime scene, they were approached by the bartender.

“I have information to declare.” he said once he gained their attention. “Shortly before Cedric died, a gentleman came to the bar and asked for two glasses of champagne. Apparently, the second one was for Cedric.”

“And how do you know this?”

“It came straight from the horse’s mouth.” said the bartender. “Cedric’s wife came to the bar and the man told her that one of the two drinks was for Cedric.” Detective McLeod took note of the testimony with his notepad.

“Can you show us where Mr. Birdman was seated during all of this?”

“Right this way gentlemen.” said the bartender as he led the detectives to the table where Cedric was seated shortly before his death. Sure enough, the detectives found a nearly empty glass of champagne on the area of the table where Cedric would have been sitting. Detective McLeod retrieved a vial from his briefcase, and poured the residue of Cedric’s drink into the container. After the sample had been collected, the detectives left and everyone was permitted to return home.

The sample was given to the coroner to be tested. Detective McLeod waited for the results of the testing, eager to confirm his theory that the champagne glass had something to do with the murder.

Chapter III: Nil Nisi Bonum

An old man was sipping tea in his opulent cottage house, with the morning newspaper on his table. The headline on the front page caught his attention. CEDRIC BIRDMAN DEAD. FOUL PLAY SUSPECTED. He didn’t bother reading the article. The headline alone filled him with childlike joy. He was so thrilled with the news, that he set to work putting the page into a frame, scornfully muttering under his breath.

“Good riddance. Backstabbing, perfidious festering mound of diseased rodent filth.. This is what you get..”

He returned to his table, putting the speaker of a candlestick telephone to his ear.

A telephone rang at a dive bar in the inner city. The bartender answered it.

“This is the Dirty Anchor,” said the bartender.

“Is there a Sydney Phelps among your patronage today?”

The bartender took a moment to look behind him. “Hardly a moment he’s not. The man practically lives here.”

“May I speak with him.”

“Hey Sydney! Got someone on the blower here for ya!” said the bartender, prompting some blather and gossip from the other patrons. A disheveled man seated beside Sid tapped him on the shoulder. “I bet it oughtta be some pretty broad.”

“Yeah! Like that Rita Hayworth.” said another drunken voice, and the other tosspots howled like dogs.

“Bring the phone’ere.” said Sid, and the bell telephone was passed to Sid’s spot at the bar.

“Yeah?” said Sid.

“Sydney!” exclaimed the old man.

“Frank!” said Sid. “What news do you got from the front of the news.. front.. What the hell am I.. Hahahahaha.” said Sid, melting into laughter as he lost his train of thought.

“I’m cuttin’ you off.” said the bartender.

“Fine, fine,” said Sid. “What’s the news?”

“The scourge in our midst.. The bane of our existence.. The man who ruined our lives.”

“Yeah yeah I follow.”

“Cedric Birdman. Someone zotzed him! He breathed his last! At his retirement banquet no less.”

“No!” laughed Sid with a smile.

“Yes!” We’ve been hoping for this fine day to arrive.”

“Thank you for telling me the great news. Now that the old bastard is dead, we should celebrate.” said Sid, loudly, as eavesdropping patrons did a double take at one another.

“Shh!” exclaimed Frank. “Keep this riff raff between us.”

“Affirmative, your honor,” said Sid quietly. “But yes. This is great news, and I’m grateful you thought to tell me.”

“Don’t mention it.” said Frank as he hung up. Frank Saxon and Sid Phelps were very glad Cedric Birdman was dead.

But they were not alone. The same day, an armored van was passing through the gate of the state pen. Earl Fulton had been transferred to state’s custody after being charged for the murder of Lydia Partridge. He had been in and out of prison for years, but this time there was no coming back out.

After being screened and given his stripes, a public defender visited him in a private room.

“Okay first things first.” said the public defender in a tired voice. “I don’t care whether or not you did it or you didn’t do it..”

“Oh I did it.”

“Then you’ll have no objection to entering a guilty plea?”

Earl Fulton shook his head.

“Good, good.. Although I can’t guarantee you won’t get the death penalty.”

“What?”

“Mr. Fulton, the forensic evidence suggests you continued to bludgeon Mrs. Partridge even after the fatal blow to her skull. If I’m honest, the sheer overkill of it will compel the judge to give you death.”

Earl Fulton began to panic. “No!! .. NO!!” he shouted before squirming in his seat. He shrieked and pleaded, like an oversized three year old. He wasn’t haunted by his terrible crime, but by the prospect of being punished.

Fulton devolved into a tornado of rage and obscenities as the lawyer weaseled his way out, and a pack of prison guards swarmed in. Amidst the looming inevitability of his execution, Earl Fulton took some perverted solace when he learned Cedric Birdman had in fact died.

It took some time for the coroner’s report to reach Detective McLeod. Cyanide poisoning was found to be the cause of Cedric Birdman’s death. This development was confirmed again when forensic scientists found traces of cyanide in the champagne from Cedric’s glass, highlighting the gruesome and extreme nature of his death.

With the evidence to confirm foul play, police were now in the position to pursue suspects.

When Cedric announced he was retiring, he knew that he would lose a colleague in his private investigator. In the wake of Cedric’s death, Chuck not only lost Cedric as a colleague, but as a friend. In lieu of the vacuum Cedric left behind, Chuck took charge of his own private detective agency, taking advantage of his ownership of a license. He had even paid for a few advertisements in the local newspaper. However, it was a long time before any clients showed up at his doorstep. Nonetheless, he was prepared to be called upon, for anyone who required his services.

The telephone on Chuck’s desk rang, and he answered it, hoping it to be from an anxious woman who suspected her husband of adultery, or a former orphan trying to locate their biological parents.

“Hello you’ve reached..”

“ — Chuck?” cut in Gertrude Birdman. Chuck was mildly disappointed that it wasn’t an assignment.

“Gertrude!” exclaimed Chuck. “Have you been faring well?”

“Yes. All things considered. I’ve called though to tell you Cedric’s funeral is on Sunday, and you’re welcome to attend.”

“Thanks for keeping me apprised,” said Chuck as he found a piece of paper and a pen.

“It’s Richards and Edison,” said Gertrude, “and the doors open at two o’clock.”

“Thank you.” said Chuck as he made a note of it. “I’ll see you there.”

Chapter IV: The Shadow of Doubt

A procession of parked cars lined the street outside the Richards and Edison funeral church. Chuck arrived, acknowledged some of the familiar faces who had also received invitations, and expressed his condolences to Cedric’s sons. Donald and Maxwell were roughly Chuck’s age, give or take a few years. Before too long he was approached by Gordon Handler.

“You made it here okay?” said Gordon as he shook Chuck’s hand.

“Yeah yeah.” said Chuck.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to meet you,” said Gordon.

“As did I.. Although, it’s a shame we couldn’t meet under better circumstances.” said Chuck as they began pacing throughout the room.

“Yea verily. One of the greatest legal scholars any of us had ever seen. Gone too soon.”

“Gordon, let’s not forget he was eighty two years old.”

“Maybe so. But he should have gone to at least ninety five.”

“I can’t argue with that.” agreed Chuck.

“According to the autopsy,” Gordon said, “It was cyanide.”

“Cyanide’s a nasty business,” said Chuck. “Cedric showed all the classic signs of cyanide poisoning. How the police didn’t draw such a conclusion sooner is beyond me.”

“Well Chuck I’d expect as much from you.” returned Gordon. “Old Birdy has your sleuthing to thank for all of his wins.”

“I didn’t do it all myself,” said Chuck humbly. “Cedric was also a very gifted sleuth.. Doing the work the PD suits wouldn’t. We had to be good at our jobs.. For our clients.. It was.. a partnership.”

“A fair point Chuck,” said Gordon.

The two friends of Cedric Birdman continued sharing their memories of him, until finally the doors to the chapel opened. Funeral goers scrambled into the room to find their seats. At the altar, the heavily mollycoddled body of Cedric Birdman lay dead in the casket, on display for all who knew him. What was once a man now had features in common with a shop window mannequin — a life sized caricature of Cedric’s likeness. What was supposed to be peaceful and tasteful, was morbid and unsettling.

Meanwhile in a diner in the center of town, Commissioner Jones and Detective McLeod were discussing the Cedric Birdman case over stale coffee.

“I talked to that bartender who served drinks to the banquet.” said McLeod. “And?” said Commissioner Jones as he sipped his coffee.

“Yeah. About the man that ordered the two drinks..”

“One of those drinks was Cedric’s,” said Jones.

“Yes, that we know,” said McLeod as he took another sip of coffee. “Anyway, I talked to him again so he could disclose the identity of this mystery character, but you’re not gonna like the answer. .”

The commissioner’s brow raised with intrigue, and McLeod went on. “Our very own right honorable District Attorney.”

“Gordon.. Handler..” said the Commissioner, taken aback. “He’s no bent lawyer.. Probably the most strait-laced bluenose this side of the channel — ”

“ — The evidence doesn’t lie commissioner. A lethal dose of cyanide was found in the champagne glass he gave to Cedric, and he had a bitter professional rivalry with the victim. In fact just days before the banquet, the state lost the Partridge case to Cedric. Draw your own conclusions.” said Detective McLeod. “I’m sorry Commissioner, but the conclusions I’ve drawn tell me that this murder is the result of poor sportsmanship.”

“This is certainly no good look for him.” said Commissioner Jones as he slumped back in his chair. “If we have no other prime suspects.. Handler is in very hot water..”

Meanwhile back at the Richards and Edison funeral home, the people sang hymns to the organist’s accompaniment. The stillness of the hymn singing was interrupted, as the dissonant scream of police sirens echoed in the distance. Silence fell in the funeral parlor as the sirens outside grew louder. Finally they stopped, whereupon Commissioner Jones, Detective McLeod and some patrol officers barged into the room.

“Gordon Handler.” said Detective McLeod, his voice echoing through the stone walls of the chapel. “You’re under arrest on suspicion of murder.”

“What?” exclaimed Gordon. “Who authorized this? Where did you get your warrant? I’M the DA!”

“Not anymore. You’re the prime suspect.” said McLeod.

Chuck Harding struggled to collect his jaw from the floor. If Cedric’s murder wasn’t personal enough, Gordon’s arrest made it doubly personal. He’d worked enough cases as Cedric’s clerk to know what a frame-up smelled like. Gordon was never a sore loser, a trait very rare among others in his field. He understood that justice and righteousness always trumped personal satisfaction. He was always a good sport.

At the WPD precinct late that evening, Gordon Handler and two public defenders were alone in a private room. Chuck Harding arrived at the police station shortly before the lawyers had to leave. He was led to the visitation room where he encountered the two lawyers walking out the door. They both put back on their hats as they made their way out of the hallway. Once they left, Harding was let in.

“Come, sit.” said Gordon, pleased to see that Chuck had visited him. “I’m a dead man.” said Gordon frankly as Chuck took his seat. “Those public defenders are going to be my defense team.. I’m toast.” said Gordon as he slumped in his chair out of dread. “I’m charged with a murder I didn’t commit, and all the best lawyers in this town are dead. I ain’t got a prayer.”

Chuck Harding had a moment of careful thought and consideration before he spoke. “You are innocent, aren’t you?” he asked sincerely.

“Yes. What the hell kind of a question is that. Yes I am!” exclaimed Gordon Chuck believed Gordon, who exhibited the righteous indignation shown only by people who are wrongly accused.

“You know just as much as anyone..” Gordon continued. “We didn’t let whatever happened in the courtroom interfere with our friendship.”

“Yes Gordon. Exactly Gordon. That’s why I came to visit today. Because — ”

“ — Because you want to go galavanting off on another wild goose chase hoping you’ll find the real killer, I know. But I’m afraid it isn’t that simple, Chuck.. It was different when you were one of Cedric’s clerks, but this… this is interfering with police work.”

“Gordon, those cops are fuckin’ idiots. Whatever evidence they have is borne from hearsay and tabloid rumors.”

“Well that’s obvious, I didn’t do it.”

“Conspiracies leave a trail.. I’ll find the evidence which proves you were framed, and the right person is gonna go down.”

Gordon begrudgingly agreed. The slight possibility of exoneration was preferable to the alternative.

“Glad you’re on board,” said Chuck happily. “Quite frankly I wouldn’t have to do this for you if McLeod wasn’t such an ignorant prick.”

“Hoh.” laughed Gordon heartily. “I’m beginning to see that more clearly now.”

“Yeah, the commissioner should retire. He’s too old to be holding people’s lives in his hands.”

“Chuck.. As you may have gleaned from your time in this field, the WPD, like most police departments, is a corrupt shell of its former self.”

“Don’t kid yourself Gord, It’s just as corrupt now as it was when it was founded back in ‘79.”

“I’ve long suspected half the PD was bent.. Now I know.. They get fixated on one suspect, and turn a deaf ear to everything else. Perhaps Cedric was right to quit the D.A.’s office.”

“Was he?” asked Chuck.

“Well, in a town like this, a lawman can make a more honest living defending people, instead of sending them to jail. Because as we know, chaos like this.. happens more than we like to admit.”

Gordon looked down thoughtfully, and continued..

“Cedric.. I’ve always thought him mad.. Representing the accused.. He was right all along. I think I now understand why he took such an undertaking.. So go ahead. Take this case. But I implore you to be covert about it. Try not to use any illegal methods to obtain evidence.”

“Quite frankly in my line of work that’s damn near impossible.”

“You know what I mean. Just.. try not to do anything that would make me appear more guilty than I already appear.”

It’s no sweat Gordon,” said Chuck. “This is like another one of Cedric’s assignments.”

“But it isn’t..”

“Don’t worry, being covert is part of my job.” said Chuck as he stood. Gordon also stood and reached out to Chuck, where the two friends shook hands firmly.

Chuck was overwhelmed. His first solo case didn’t have anything to do with orphans or cheating husbands. It was out-and-out murder. The pressure weighed heavily on him, as Gordon ran out of time with each passing moment. Gordon’s first day in court was fast approaching, so Chuck aimed to solve the case as soon as possible. Without the resources of Cedric’s firm, this would be his greatest undertaking yet..

Chapter V: Retaliation

The 1941 Packard Clipper pressed on through the night, as calculations and equations tripped light fantastic in Chuck’s mind’s eye. As was once standard while performing tasks for Cedric.

Chuck considered the obvious, that Cedric might have known his killer. The banquet hall was full of people who knew him on a personal basis, and only those with invitations were allowed in. It was also possible for one of Cedric’s enemies to plant a mole at the scene of the crime to carry out the act. Every conceivable scenario swarmed Chuck’s field of view like a flock of locusts.

Chuck had access to records of every case where he’d lent his services to Mr. Birdman. There were many spiteful people with whom Cedric crossed paths, over his five decades of law practice. Earl Fulton may have hurled death threats toward Cedric after incriminating himself on the stand, but he wasn’t the first killer to vow revenge after being found out. Verbal abuse and threats were par for the course for a man of Cedric’s career. Among his clients who weren’t executed or given life in prison, there was an ensemble of potential suspects, which Chuck sought to rule out. He also sought those, like Earl Fulton, who were exposed as guilty.

Chuck remembered the case of Frank Saxon. Saxon was a former judge, who was guilty of inappropriate sexual behavior with a small-time felon he tried in his court. She threatened to report the impropriety, but was silenced. Saxon framed her boyfriend, and pulled some strings to ensure he judged the case. It was his plan to convict the poor soul, and put a lid on the case before anyone got wise.

However, Saxon vastly underestimated Cedric and Chuck’s ability to unmask the perpetrator. Saxon was called onto the witness stand, before his own court, where Birdman revealed all. As if on the drop of a hat, Judge Saxon cracked under the pressure and lost his temper on the stand. Since Cedric Birdman was now dead, it made Judge Saxons following utterance all the more sinister. “You’re a dead man, Birdman!”

At the end of Saxons trial, he was found guilty and sentenced to life in prison. However, Saxon was not the average citizen. Even after his conviction, he was on friendly terms with many influential figures in Washington. Eventually the Vinson court reversed his conviction, and he’d been bestowed a generous retirement pension. He had only served five years in a minimum security prison for white collar offenders.

Since then he’d been living comfortably at his cottage, almost as if the murder never happened. Chuck Harding fetched his notebook and jotted down the judge’s name.

The next morning, he picked up from where he left off. After finishing breakfast, he planned to inquire about Frank Saxon, the disgraced Juris. At eight o’clock that Monday morning, Chuck Harding climbed on board his car and set course for the southern coast of the island. Before Saxon’s cottage was a gravel road surrounded by trees. He parked his car around the corner of Saxon’s cottage, and found a way to break in. Taking advantage of the fact that Saxon wasn’t yet awake, Chuck took his chance.

He hopped the fence to the backyard, and entered through the back door, which was unlocked. Upon entering the living room he took notice of a front page news pressing framed on a wall.

In the aftermath of Cedric’s death, the Wendonfult Herald covered the ordeal in the front page of the following week’s newspaper. To Frank Saxon, Cedric’s death was an occasion worth commemorating.

“Huh.” said Chuck to himself. He retrieved his polaroid camera from his suitcase and captured a photograph of the framed newspaper article. Chuck Harding then proceeded to search the house for evidence of cyanide. He rummaged through drawers, cupboards and cabinets. He even searched for secret compartments and false bottoms. Chuck was so fixated on his investigation, he hadn’t noticed Frank Saxon doggedly shuffling down the stairs. Chuck’s blood ran cold as Frank neared the bottom of the stairs. He turned to Chuck and drew his weapon, prompting Chuck to raise his hands.

“God damn cop! Get the hell off my property!” barked Saxon, with a threatening posture.

“Look. I’m not with the police.”

“That’s even worse!”

“Just.. Hear me out Mr. Saxon. You know Cedric Birdman, right?”

Chuck’s mention of Cedric’s name flipped a switch in Saxon’s mood. He dropped his shotgun and limped slowly to a chair.

“Sit..” grunted Saxon after sitting down.

Chuck deferred to the trigger-happy exploiter of the second amendment.

“Cedric Birdman..” continued Frank. “What about our old friend Cedric..”

“Murdered. Dead. Sure you’ve heard.” said Chuck as he pointed to the framed newspaper article.

“Of course. I haven’t felt such merriment since graduating law school. Quite frankly I’d like to shake the hand of the lad who put down that motherfucker.” said Saxon as he lit his pipe with a match.

“You’re not really making an effort to avert suspicion, are you.”

“Why should I? Even if I did kill him.. They can’t do anything to me. There are many congressmen in DC who would lose their investment should anything happen to me. I’m untouchable.”

“I have to consider all possibilities.”

“You have to consider all possibilities?” repeated Saxon mockingly. “I thought you said you weren’t a cop.”

“An innocent man is about to go down for this murder.”

“So what.. Let him drown.”

“You fucking degenerate..”

“Oh.. There you go.” said Saxon with an officious strain in his voice. “Resorting to ad hominem like the pathetic namby-pamby you are..”

Chuck was seething with fury, but he had to continue asking questions. “Anyway, I can’t rule anything out yet.. The threats you made against Cedric’s life have to be considered. And then there’s that.” said Chuck as he pointed again to the framed newspaper article.

“Oh. Do you honestly believe that I would do anything to risk that level of ridicule in the press.. for a second time? Complete and utter flotsam!”

“Murderers rarely get flattering headlines. Besides.. A moment ago you were about to kill me.” said Chuck as he gestured toward the shotgun on the floor. “Look Mr. Saxon, if you really didn’t do it, tell me where you were on Friday, the second of April. That’s the day after April Fools. In case you didn’t remember.”

“I was at that bar on Wilson and Clearview with my friend Sid. Sid Phelps.”

“Sid Phelps.. The former lieutenant of the WPD who helped you cover up the murder.”

“The very same..”

“And which bar was that? The Dirty Anchor?”

“Yes. That one. Sid will be easy to find. The man practically lives there.”

Chuck got up to leave. “Thanks, and go fuck yourself.”

“If I had a nickel..” muttered Saxon.

“Well you can count your blessings.” said Chuck sarcastically before standing up. “Thank you for not shooting me.” he said before he made his way out of the house. On his way to the door, he clumsily knocked over a vase from a table. Chuck ran out the door as Frank Saxon became unhinged and chased Chuck down the driveway and down the street. Frank emptied his weapon and shouted obscenities as each bullet narrowly missed their target. At last, Chuck evaded the trigger happy octogenarian and entered his car. He made a beeline for the exit of the neighborhood, and headed toward the Dirty Anchor.

The Dirty Anchor was in the inner city, near the eastern coastline, which was plagued by heavy concentrations of gang rivalries and drug rackets.

At the intersection of Wilson and Clearview was a cluster of commercial buildings, including The Dirty Anchor. Chuck found it, a grimy dive bar, the facade adorned with cheap neon signs. As he neared the entrance doors he heard a commotion coming from the inside. When he opened the door, he found Sid Phelps beating a man. The man fell to the floor as a result of the beating Sid had administered.

“Get your own booze,” said Sid before spitting on the man. The would-be drink thief was categorically humiliated, and scampered away.. “That’s right. Run you yellow…” said Phelps as he returned to his barstool. Chuck gulped nervously, but he had no choice but to approach the virulent former policeman. He approached the bar and took a seat on the stool beside Sid. The bartender approached Chuck and he ordered a bottle of beer, so as to blend in with the surroundings. The bartender opened a beer, served it to Chuck, and left to check on other patrons. Chuck took a few swigs from his beer to gain some liquid courage before attempting to probe Sid.

“Whadiyawant.” barked Sid abruptly, which made Chuck nearly choke on his drink.

“Khem..” coughed Chuck “Having a drink, or two.”

“Malarkey. I know when someone is snooping. I’m a cop.”

“Hmm.. So you wouldn’t happen to be that Lieutenant who helped a bent judge cover up a murder..”

“Well that don’t matter. Once a cop always a cop.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

“Just get to the point. I’d like to know what kind a’dirt you got on me.”

“No dirt. Just a question.”

“mmm All right. It’d better be just one.” “Where were you and what were you doing on the second of April. That’s the day after April Fools in case you didn’t remember.”

“Oh. Second of April.. Second of April.. I was here.” he declared after a moment of ponderment.

“Good. You were here.” said Chuck. “Were you with anyone?”

“That’s two questions..”

“ — Were you with anyone?” Chuck persisted.

“I was with that Judge Saxon.”

“He’s tellin’ the truth!” called the bartender from across the bar.

That was it, he thought. Another dead end. Frank Saxon was not the murderer. It would be factually impossible. He gulped down his beer, gave the bartender a quarter, and left the establishment. Once he entered his car, he retrieved the polaroid photograph he had captured of Frank’s framed heirloom and ripped it to shreds. It no longer counted as evidence.

When he returned to his office, he was standing in the parking lot when a white Mercedes 500k ground to a halt. A masked figure emerged from the roof armed with a tommy gun. He emptied his gun toward Chuck’s direction. Chuck was startled and ran for cover behind a dumpster, with each bullet narrowly missing their intended target. After the weapon was emptied all over the parking lot, the gunman boarded the car again and it sped down the road. Chuck Harding had a good look at the license plate number before it shrunk into the distance. 266411. He quickly wrote it into his notebook. He also retrieved a plastic bag from his suitcase in order to collect some of the bullets and shell casings. He took the samples inside with him. Unfortunately no bystanders called the police, since drive-by shootings were common in this part of town.

After the attempt on his life, Chuck Harding found another lead to follow.

Chapter VI: All Bases Covered

The white Mercedes sped down the road as Chuck feverishly retreated to his office. The gunman was masked, and the driver wore an identical mask. Presently, the car came down a gradient abutting the undersurface of a bridge, slowing to a stop in the shadow left behind by the structure’s concrete ceiling.

“Are you sure you’ve killed him?” the driver said.

“Yeah. After the bullets started flying he fell onto the pavement.” said the gunman. “Say. Why did we even have to kill him anyway? We don’t know for certain whether or not he was investigating us.”

“Trust me.” said the driver. “This is Chuck. His.. interference is most of the reason my husband exonerated all of his clients.” she said before removing her mask. “I talked to that estate lawyer again, and after the formalities and red tape have been expended, the Birdman estate shall be at my disposal to do with as I please. The wheels are turning.”

“Now we can relax and enjoy the fruit of our labors?” said Tony Petrucci, his thick northeastern accent highlighting the brokenness of his English.

“Not right now. We must wait until Gordon Handler has already been convicted, then we’ll move to Russia.”

“The red curtain?”

“If you can suggest a better place we can’t be extradited from, be my guest.”

“Err.. Cuba?”

“I have already made the arrangements,” said Gertrude, irritated.

“Yes ma’am.”

“We shall however stop by my husband’s wine cellar and drink a toast over one of his vintages. I’m certain there was an 1832 Richter that he was saving for his retirement.”

Trudie and Tony laughed as the car reversed from under the bridge, and covertly slipped back onto the empty road.

Meanwhile in the office of Chuck Harding, Chuck was putting the stray bullets and shell casings into a case file. With the knowledge that the gunman was armed with a tommy gun, Chuck approached the city’s Firearm’s outlet to ascertain who had purchased the ammunition. He entered the store holding the plastic bag which contained the collected bullets and shell casings. Upon entering he noticed a clerk with scruffy red hair and a scraggly mustache. Chuck Harding approached the owner of the store, Fred McGowan.

“How might I help you?” asked Fred.

“Can you tell me who this ammunition was sold to?”

“What are you a cop?”

“Something like that. I’m investigating an.. uh.. an attempted murder. I must know where these stray bullets and shell casings came from.”

“All right.” said McGowan. “Bring’em here.” Chuck Harding gave Fred McGowan the bag. McGowan took a bullet from the bag and examined it with a magnifying glass. “This came from a Thompson Submachine gun,” said McGowan. “Your gunman is probably with the mob. They’ve become oddly popular since the war ended.” said McGowan as he returned the bullet in Chuck’s bag. He then looked on the wall behind him to find identical ammo for comparison. He opened the box and took out one of the bullets.

“See?” said McGowan. “Spitting image.”

“Can you tell me if you’ve sold a Thompson Submachine gun and ammo to anyone recently?”

“Yes of course.” said McGowan as he retrieved a book from a drawer underneath the counter. McGowan passed the book along to Harding, to which he opened it. Chuck Harding skimmed through until he found the records of purchases made in the last several months.

“Wow.” said Chuck quietly as he noticed a familiar name on the list. There on the page was Antonio Petrucci — Cedric’s valet.

Tony’s house address and telephone number was also written beside his name. Chuck reasoned that Tony attempted to assassinate him because he was afraid that his murder of Cedric Birdman would be found out. Chuck now planned to check on Tony Petrucci to see if he could catch him doing something incriminating. Since Tony was under the impression Chuck was dead, there was no reason anymore for him to be careful about covering his tracks.

With the newfound knowledge of the gunman, Chuck paid special attention to Tony Petrucci. He set course for the address written in McGowan’s book — 178 Goldrain Terrace. Chuck had a friend who had also lived in that neighborhood. Ursula Barkmann; a field reporter for the Wendonfult Herald.

The packard clipper cruised down the street and pulled into Ursula’s driveway, at 176 Goldrain Terrace. He left his car and made his way to the front porch. He then knocked on the door to which Ursula answered it.

“Charlie! Fancy seeing you here.” said Ursula as she embraced Chuck and let him inside. Chuck took a seat on a chair by a coffee table and Ursula went into the kitchen.

“Would you like some coffee?” called Ursula.

“Sure. Black.” Chuck obliged.

Ursula came to the living room with two cups of coffee.

“So.” added Ursula as she sat. “What brings you here today?”

“Have you heard of Cedric Birdman?”

“That murdered lawyer? I should know. After all, I reported on his death.”

“Yes, well, you must also know that Gordon Handler was arrested for his murder.”

“Yes I’ve heard. Didn’t the arrest happen at Cedric’s funeral?”

“It did. I should know, I was there. Anyway, the police think he did it, but I don’t think so.”

“How’ve you come to this conclusion? Detective McLeod says he has some very incriminating evidence.”

“Detective McLeod says a lot of things, and he is often wrong. You see, Gordon Handler, Cedric Birdman and I are all on friendly terms. We have been for years. With the inside knowledge I have, none of this makes any sense.”

“And your investigation has led you here?” asked Ursula.

“Yes. Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“It’s a funny story see….”

Chuck Harding recounted everything that happened prior to visiting Ursula. “….So if you see any suspicious activity coming from your neighbor Mr. Petrucci, please keep me posted.”

“In actual fact I have noticed some strange goings on that may be useful to your inquiries.” noted Ursula.

“Oh?” said Chuck with intrigue as he whipped out his notebook and pen.

“A car, which I’ve never seen before last month, has been pulling into the driveway of his house.”

“What car was that?”

“Oh. It’s one of those obnoxious flashy ones. It was a Mercedes.. That I’m sure of.”

“Hmm.. A Mercedes was involved in the drive-by shooting at my office.”

“Could be something to look into. Each time this car pulls into the driveway, a brunette woman in her 40’s or 50’s departs and shows herself inside Tony’s house.”

“Middle aged woman.” muttered Chuck to himself as he made notes of Ursula’s observations. As Ursula was sharing her thoughts with Chuck, a 1935 Mercedes-Benz 500k came slowly up the street, with the license plate number 266411. Transfixed, Chuck retrieved his polaroid camera as the car pulled into Tony’s driveway across the street. When the two passengers disembarked and made their way to the porch, Chuck took a frantic surplus of photographs. His mouth was agape with astonishment, as the mysterious middle aged woman was none other than Gertrude Birdman. He continued taking photographs until Tony and Gertrude were obscured by the outside wall of the house.

“You found your suspects?” asked Ursula?

“Indeed I have.” said Chuck Harding, still surprised at the disturbing revelation. Gertrude Birdman orchestrated the murder of her husband, and all that was left was to prove it.

“Cedric died as a result of cyanide poisoning,” said Chuck. “If I’m right, Petrucci’s got more cyanide hidden somewhere in his house. If I can find it, I can nail them. When the sun goes down, I’ll come back and search the property under the cover of darkness.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“Then I broke into a stranger’s house without probable cause.”

“Risky business, eh Chuck?” laughed Ursula. “You don’t have to go if you’re just going to come back later. Do you have all of your equipment?”

“Oh. Yes I do.”

“Then stay here. I insist.”

Chuck’s eyes perked up. “Wow. Thanks Ursula.”

“Don’t mention it. If there’s a chance that I can stop two murderers, I’ll take it.”

Chuck Harding accepted Ursula’s offer and waited at her house for several hours until the sun went down.

Chapter VII: The Reward of Justice

By seven o’clock, Chuck’s eyes were glued to the house across the street. Gertrude had also spent the day at Tony’s house. Chuck could see them through the window eating dinner, likely celebrating his apparent death. Chuck Harding spied on Tony’s house through Ursula’s window, with the aid of binoculars. He spotted Gertrude and Tony concluding their dinner and heading upstairs. Under the assumption they were going to be alone with one another, Chuck saw the chance to make his move.

“All right. They appear to have entered the bedroom upstairs. I’m going to head out now.” said Chuck as he stood up and set down his binoculars.

“Sounds good,” said Ursula.

“Oh and do me a favor.” added Chuck. “If I’m not back in say.. ten minutes, you should call the police.”

Ursula agreed.

“All right. Here goes nothing.” said Chuck as he made his way out of the house.

Upon making it across the street, Chuck noticed that the gate leading to the backyard was unlocked. He opened the wooden gate and entered Tony’s backyard, where he discovered two other entrances to the house. A side entrance, and an entrance to the patio at the back. Chuck sidled along the patio wall and opened the door without incident. He had successfully entered Tony’s house without blowing his cover. Now that he was inside, the goal was to search the house for further proof Tony and Gertrude were involved in Cedric’s murder. He searched the contents of every drawer, cabinet and cupboard, hoping to find the source of the cyanide. However, the search of the first floor did not yield any results.

He proceeded to the bathroom.

There was just one problem. Tony and Gertrude were together in a bedroom on the second floor, with the bathroom just down the hall. Chuck took a deep breath in and began climbing the stairs. When he approached the first step, an uncomfortably loud creak echoed throughout the living room. Luckily for Chuck, Gertrude and Tony were making too much noise to take notice of anything else. Chuck Harding removed his shoes, holding his briefcase and shoes with both hands respectively.

He quietly climbed the staircase in his sock feet. When finally made the ascent to the second floor, he clearly heard the sounds of moaning and other noises coming from Tony and Gertrude on the other side of the door. He made his way to the bathroom and went over to the sink in order to search the medicine cabinet. He fished around every nook and cranny for any trace of what could have been cyanide. After several minutes of tearing apart the bathroom, he happened upon something.

There in Tony’s medicine cabinet were several glass capsules of cyanide. Chuck was certain that the vial of cyanide that was used on Cedric belonged to this group. He produced his polaroid camera from his suitcase and captured several photographs of the bathroom, including the cyanide capsules on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet. He had officially obtained evidence against Gertrude and Tony. All that was left to do was to report his findings to the police. With that information the police would discover the cyanide capsules after raiding the house.

However, in order for all of this to be possible, Chuck had to quietly return to the bottom of the stairs. Tony and Gertrude had finished and began to chat. Chuck could not make any noise. He was steadily making his way further down the stairs. He had almost made it to the bottom, when Tony got up from bed. He put on a bathrobe and was on his way to the bathroom to wash his face. When Tony opened his bedroom door, he caught Chuck Harding standing in the middle of the staircase. All life and color drained from Tony’s face.

“I.. I killed you!” he declared mortified, while pointing at Chuck.

“Honey, honey, what’s going on?” said Gertrude shuffling disgracefully as she put on a bathrobe. She then joined Tony at the doorway. “Tony.” she scolded, like a domineering Victorian school teacher. “You told me you killed him.”

“I did!”

“Evidently not.. I’ve rewarded you with my affections under false pretenses!. Actions have consequences!” exclaimed Gertrude as she soundly walloped Tony’s face. Chuck looked on, surprised. It was made very clear who was the mastermind of this plot.

As Tony rubbed his cheek, Gertrude looked back into Chuck’s direction. “Stay.. Right.. There..” she ordered with ominous precision.

“Oh good lord.” Chuck thought to himself.

“Tony, get the baseball bat.” barked Gertrude.

“God help me,” said Chuck to himself. Tony returned to the room. He reemerged wielding a baseball bat. He didn’t stop at the doorway however. He went beyond the doorway and charged down the stairs. THWACK!

Chuck was knocked out and tumbled down like a ragdoll. A few moments later, Chuck came to. He was gagged and bound to a chair. He could see Tony and Gertrude pacing before him. Gertrude curtly ripped the tape from his mouth.

“You’re not going to get away with this.” Chuck said boldly.

“You are aware I am going to kill you, right?” said Gertrude. “You ought to be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” said Chuck. However, Chuck was lying. He was in genuine mortal fear. He attempted to bury it in order to appear calm and brazen. “Even if you kill me, you’ll both go down for the murder.”

“You were the only one who was looking for us.” said Gertrude, almost laughing. “No one would..” said Gertrude as she was interrupted by sirens that came from outside.

Chuck chuckled. “You should have taken the shot while you still had a chance.” finished Chuck as the sirens loudened then stopped.

The front door burst open and several policemen swarmed in. All color drained from their faces. They couldn’t have looked more guilty. The police found Chuck tied to a chair, with Tony and Gertrude poised to kill him. They were immediately arrested and frogmarched outside. Chuck felt grateful, as he ascertained that Ursula had called the police. After Gertrude and Tony were taken outside, a detective walked over to Chuck and untied him from the chair.

“Are you alright?” asked the detective with an insincere mandate.

“Yeah yeah yeah, fine.” said Chuck as he rubbed his hands.

“What happened here?”

Chuck Harding explained the events leading up to the moment he was rescued.

“So. Private detective, eh?” asked the police detective. “And you found out that Gertrude Birdman orchestrated the murder of her husband? Huh. Pity the old man.”

“It’s all true. In the bathroom you will find some cyanide capsules. If you compare it to the cyanide found in Cedric’s champagne, it will match.”

“Okay I’ll send some men up there.”

At that moment, a patrolman approached Chuck and the detective with a suitcase. “Ah..” said Chuck. “That’s mine. I must have dropped it on the stairs when I was knocked out.” The officer gave Chuck the suitcase. Chuck dug through the contents and retrieved a few of the polaroid photographs he had captured that day. “And the proof that Gertrude and Tony were having an affair.” said Chuck as he gave the detective a photograph of Gertrude and Tony kissing. “Then there’s the fact that they tried to kill me because of what I know.”

“God man.. You’ve had a busy couple o’days..” said the detective.

As a result of Chuck’s findings, Tony and Gertrude were not only charged with kidnapping and attempted murder. They also were charged with the murder of Cedric Birdman. After the charges were laid upon Gertrude and Tony, Gordon Handler was released from prison. Thanks to Chuck, the charges against Gordon were dropped before his preliminary hearing. He never went to trial.

Toxicologists compared the cyanide found in Tony’s medicine cabinet to that which was found in Cedric’s esophagus. It was a match. The testimony of the Birdman family lawyer made Gertrude’s motive all too obvious.

All who were present during Cedric’s retirement banquet were also present during Gertrude’s sentencing hearing. At eleven o’clock that day in the courtroom, Judge Arthur Sampson Smith emerged from his chambers and the bailiff called “All rise!”

Judge Smith took his place at the bench, and the proceedings began.

“Mrs. Birdman. You stand here today found guilty by a jury of your peers. This court stands ready to pass your sentence. Have you prepared any statements?”

“No your honor.”

“Very well,” said Judge Smith. “Although I cannot say I knew Cedric Birdman entirely well outside of his legal career, the fact of the matter still remains. His murder was a cruel, senseless, and selfish crime. Mrs. Birdman murdered her husband and framed the district attorney. She has wronged two fellow lawmen.” He then directed his attention to Gertrude. “Mrs. Birdman. As a lawman myself, it is my duty to make an example of you on the behalf of my colleagues, on behalf of law practice, on behalf of Cedric Birdman, and on behalf of justice itself. Mrs. Birdman, for the murder of Cedric Birdman, and the attempted murder of Chuck Harding, this court sentences you to death by hanging.” Gertrude Birdman’s face turned white as the judge wrapped up the proceedings.

“Court is adjourned,” said Judge Smith as he banged the gavel. “The state of Wendonfult thanks the members of the jury for their services during these proceedings.”

Gertrude Birdman was housed in the women’s wing of the state penitentiary, pending her execution. In a separate trial, Tony Petrucci was also sentenced to death for his role in Cedric’s murder, and was hanged accordingly.

On the eleventh of June, several days after Gertrude was sentenced, she was awoken in her cell by two guards.

She was ordered to stand, where the guards adorned her with manacles, which wasn’t Gertrude’s idea of sophisticated jewelry. The prison staff escorted her to the end of the cell block.

In the gymnasium, the scaffold had been assembled. Seating arrangements had been made for those who chose to witness the execution. As Gertrude was led up the stairs, she recognized a few faces in the crowd. Chuck Harding, Gordon Handler, and her two sons Maxwell and Donald. Ursula Barkmann was also in attendance, covering the story for the Wendonfult Herald. Gertrude was placed over the trapped door, and was asked if she had any final words.

“I’m so sorry!” she said crying, while Donald and Maxwell wore betrayed, and cold expressions on their faces. The hangman placed the hood over her head, fastened the noose around her neck, and opened the trapdoor.

The hangman overestimated how much rope was required for the drop to break Gertrude’s neck. The noose decapitated her when it snapped taut at the bottommost point of the plunge. Gertrude’s body produced a loud thud as it fell to the floor, prompting startled spectators to stand from their seats.

The prison physician came later to inspect the body. A formality to confirm the execution had indeed worked. The physician quickly realized the usual checks for vitals and respiratory would be a fool’s errand.. By strict definition it was true that the hangman and his assistants made good on their contract, as indicated by the copious amount of blood welling out from Gertrude’s disembodied head, which rolled three feet from her body upon its impact with the floor.

All was said and done, and the spectators uniformly departed.

“Chuck..” said Gordon. “I can’t thank you enough. You categorically saved my life! It could have been me back there!”

“No sweat Gordon,” said Chuck.

”So,” said Gordon concerned, “what will you do now?”

“I’m offering my services as a private detective to the public, and I’ve just completed my first assignment.” said Chuck as he patted Gordon on the shoulder.

“Good show.” said Gordon as he and Chuck left for their cars.

Chuck returned to his office that afternoon to begin his tenure as a freelance private eye, his nose buried in the Herald’s speedy coverage of the day’s events.

The phone rang, and a strange voice greeted Chuck immediately upon raising the speaker to his ear.

“If you know what’s good for you, you should have just sat there and let her kill you. I’ll make you pay!” said the strange voice before hanging up.

Chuck paid no mind to the threat and continued browsing the paper. He had earned this victory.