EQMM 2012-06 by Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine

Author:Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine [Magazine, Ellery Queen’s Mystery]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Randy Disher, Summit police chief and acting mayor, showed up in his Suburban SUV police cruiser twenty minutes after the forensics team, the tow trucks, and the paramedics, whom I’d called for Turek just to be on the safe side. He was in full uniform, and that included a wide-brimmed Ranger-style hat with the Summit police emblem on the front, which not only looked too big for his head, but for his body as well.

Despite the powerful leadership positions he now held, Disher still looked like an eager-to-please boy to me and I had a hard time taking him as seriously as he wanted to be taken, especially since we’d been friends for so long. But I made the effort, because I genuinely liked him and he was, after all, my present employer.

He surveyed the wrecked cars, which the forensics team was examining and photographing, and glanced at Turek, who sat handcuffed in the back of an ambulance, being checked out by the paramedics, before he finally worked his way over to us, where we were standing on the side of the road.

“You caught a murderer before anyone even knew a murder had been committed,” Disher said. “That’s impressive even for you, Monk.”

“Thank you, Chief,” Monk said.

“I wish you could have apprehended her without smashing a quarter of our fleet in the process.”

“That’s her fault,” Monk said, pointing at me.

“Thanks for the support, partner,” I said.

“I also wish you had evidence,” Disher said. “You know, something like a dead body, before you decided to run her off the road.”

“She fled the instant Mr. Monk accused her of killing her husband,” I said.

“Freaking out isn’t quite the same thing as a confession,” Disher said.

“She also asked how we knew what she did,” I said, “which is sort of like a confession.”

“It’s not,” Disher said, “but even if it was, did she ask you the question before or after you read Mrs. Turek her rights?”

“Before,” I said glumly.

“Has she told you where she buried the body?”

I shook my head. “She’s not talking and has demanded a lawyer.”

Disher sighed. “So, in other words, we have nothing but a smashed hundred-thousand-dollar Range Rover, a smashed police car, and Monk’s hunch.”

“There’s more,” Monk said.

“I certainly hope so,” Disher said.

Monk told him about the blister, the missing wedding ring, the bottle of vinegar, the shred of plastic bag, and the leafy mud on her bumpers.

“Which means,” Disher said, “that all we have to hold her on is a speeding ticket and reckless driving.”

I cleared my throat. “We didn’t give her a ticket.”

“Because she sped off before you could write it?” Disher asked.

“Because she wasn’t speeding,” I replied. “That wasn’t why we pulled her over.”

Disher looked at Monk. “Are you telling me that all she had to do was drive by and you knew that she was a murderer?”

“No,” Monk said. “Of course not.”

“Then why did you stop her?”

“Her car was filthy,” Monk said.

“So you pulled her over without any probable cause whatsoever and then you accused her of being a murderer.

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