Free Fall

60

“Officers, what is the meaning of this intrusion?” demands the mayor.

Ceepak gestures at David Rosen, who is still sitting trapped inside his glass cage and looking more and more like a hamster who lost his wheel.

“Your honor,” says Ceepak, making a pretty loud pronouncement, “we have reason to believe that your Human Resources director, Mr. David Rosen, poisoned his elderly father, the late Arnold Rosen, with potassium cyanide purchased by Sinclair Enterprises.”

Mayor Sinclair looks stunned. The other employees have stopped doing any kind of work. They’re all staring at David.

I notice Bob over at the copy machine. He silently mouths something that looks like it rhymes with “moldy grit.” He heads for the door like he is ready to tell everybody he knows, “Hey, guess who murdered his old man?”

I notice tiny droplets of sweat forming on top of David’s bald dome.

“And tell me, Detective Ceepak,” says the mayor, “do you have any proof to substantiate your accusation?”

“We are currently piecing together a trail of evidence,” says Ceepak, once again telling the truth when I wish he would just say, “Yeah, David did it.”

The mayor scoffs. “A trail of evidence?”

“Yes, sir. Information recently obtained by the New Jersey State Police Major Crimes Unit suggests that the poison-the murder weapon, if you will-was purchased by David Rosen under an assumed name and paid for by a Sinclair Enterprises corporate credit card. We further hypothesize that he placed the order for that chemical compound right here, from one of your computers or telephones. Therefore, we will be requesting a search warrant granting us permission to impound your computers, confiscate your files, subpoena your phone records …”

“Whoa, wait a second, cowboy. It’s summer. Business is booming. You can’t come in here and shut down my back office operations.”

“Yes, sir. We can. Immediately after Judge Rasmussen signs the search documents, which I anticipate happening within the hour.”

The mayor turns to Rosen.

“David?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Did you do this thing the detectives say you did?”

Sweat is dribbling down David’s brow. “Of course not.”

“We’ll also need the complete pay records for one Bartholomew Smith,” says Ceepak.

“Who?” asks the mayor.

Ceepak doesn’t answer.

So the mayor turns to Rosen. “David?”

“Short-timer, sir. Worked here in May. A little bit of June. Had that rodent infestation problem.”

“What? Where?”

“Cap’n Scrubby’s, I think. Could’ve been one of the ice cream parlors, though …”

Panic fills the mayor’s eyes. The last thing he wants is for rumors to start spreading around town about what those brown lumps really are in his Moosetracks ice cream.

“David, I’m wondering if, perhaps, you should take the rest of the day off. Maybe take a few personal days as well-until this police matter blows over …”

“I promise you, sir, what these detectives are saying …”

“Paid personal days, David. Okay? Go home. Spend some time with Little Arnie and Judith. Find yourself a good lawyer.”