Case of the Photo Finish

The Case of the Photo Finish

         You’ve got to have someplace where you can go, someplace where you feel at home, someplace where you have people who care about you. Sometimes you find that place. Sometimes it’s just a dream. If such a place existed, Spam was sure that it was named Jocko’s. It was just an old bar. There never were very many people in the place at any one time, but there was always a welcome for him and a couple of drinks just like he liked them.

         Cassidy put the last file away, grabbed her coat, and winked at Spam on her way out the door. That’s the way the day ended. That’s the way they should end. By the time Spam finally turned the light on his desk off, it was good and dark outside. His was the last light to be turned off in the office. He made sure the door was locked and then made his way across the street to Jocko’s.

         As Spam entered the place, Jocko reached for the Jack Daniels. By the time he reached the bar, his drink was ready.

          “Hey, Spam!” Ruben called to him from the table in the corner as he raised his glass to him.

          “How’s it goin’, Spam?” Jocko quizzed.

          “Another day n’another dollar, Jocko; the same as the day before.”

          “How come you don’t bring Cassidy over here sometime Spam? She’s a classy dame.” Jocko added.

          “Jocko, Cass is too classy for this dive.” Spam smiled at the jab and then added, “Besides, her kid Jerry’s waitin’ at home for her; when you got something to go home to, you don’t stop off at bars.”

          “Suppose so, Spam” Jocko nodded as he made small talk. The telephone under the counter rang before he could continue the aimless chatter. Jocko answered it and looked directly to Spam.

          “Hey, Spam, it’s Dave Frisco. He wants to talk to you.” Jocko handed the phone to Spam.

         Spam finished his drink and greeted his old friend. “How’s police business, Dave? ..… Sure, Dave I can be there in fifteen minutes ..… No, Cass isn’t here. She left a few hours ago .… OK, Dave, see you in a moment—bye.”

         Jocko was astute enough to know something was up as he asked, “Problem, Spam?”

          “I’m not sure, Jocko. There’s been a murder. Somehow Cass is involved in this. I gotta go, Jocko. I’ll fill you in later.”

         Spam tossed a five dollar bill on the counter and nodded to Ruben as he left the bar. Spam knew just how to get to the place where Lieutenant Dave Frisco was waiting. He knew it because it was the house next door to Cass’. He pulled up to the curb. There were several squad cars in the street—all of them with their red lights flashing. The coroner’s van was backed up on the lawn near the front door. Spam made his way through the crowd of police officers. He was stopped twice but permitted to continue when he told the officers that the Lieutenant was waiting for him. As he walked through the front door he caught sight of Dave standing in what he assumed was the dining room.

          “What’s the problem, Dave?” Spam asked as he walked up to Dave Frisco.

         Lying on her back was a middle-aged woman dressed in a pair of pants and a sleeveless white blouse. The white of the blouse was highlighted by the deep maroon stain that covered her chest. Sticking out of her chest was a very large kitchen butcher knife. Spam assumed that it would be no problem ascertaining the cause of death or identifying the murder weapon.

          “Who is she, Dave, why's she got that knife sticking in her chest, and what’s she got to do with Cass?” Spam inquired.

          “Hi, to you too.” Dave shot back but then continued, “Her name is Ginger Snapp.”

         Spam shot a glance at Dave and furrowed his eyebrows.

          “It’s true, her name is Ginger Snapp.” Dave confirmed, “It seems as if she was a professional photographer—free-lance it appears. She snapped photos for magazines and newspapers—the kind that shows people livin’ in everyday life—human interest stuff.”

          “OK, that’s who she is. Now, what’s she got to do with Cass?”

          “Well, the uniform interviewed her neighbor across the street just before I got here. The neighbor tells us that Cassidy and Mrs. Snapp here had words.”

          “What kind of words, Dave?”

          “It seems that they were both pretty angry. The neighbor said that Cassidy and Snapp here were going at it pretty good. There was a lot of name calling and he heard Cassidy say, ‘If you ever touch my kid you’ll wish you were never born!' Four hours later we’re out here standing over Snapp’s dead body.”

         Spam shook his head and asked, “Surely you don’t think Cass is responsible for this. We’re talking about Cass here, Dave. You and I both know that Cass could never do this. Hell, Dave, she won’t step on a bug, much less kill her neighbor.”

          “All I know right now, Spam, is that they had words, the neighbor’s dead, and Cass is nowhere to be found. She’s a prime suspect.”

         No sooner did Dave get the words out did a uniform officer interrupted the two men. “Lieutenant, the neighbor’s home now.”

         Cassidy’s car slowly drove by the scene and pulled into her driveway next door. Cassidy and Jerry got out of the car and slowly walked to the front door of their house. Cassidy sent Jerry into the house and then stood on her front porch and took in the sight of the police activity next door. Prominent in the scene was the van with “County Coroner” marked on the side.

         Spam quickly asked Dave, “Let me talk to her first Dave. Can you give me just a minute?”

          “You’ve got five minutes, Spam—no longer.”

          “Thanks Dave, that’s enough.”

         Spam walked through the crowd of investigators, out the front door, and across the lawn to Cassidy’s house. Cassidy saw him as he left her neighbor’s house and stepped off her porch to meet him in her front lawn.

          “What’s happening, Spam? Why’s the coroner here?” Cassidy asked as soon as Spam got near.

          “Your neighbor’s dead Cass. Can you tell me what happened here?”

          “Me?” Cassidy asked incredulously, “How should I know?”

          “Your other neighbor, across the street, said you had a pretty good fight with Miss. Snapp and now she’s dead.”

          “You’re kidding me, Spam. You don’t think that I had anything to do with that?”

          “Well, I ain’t laughing, Cass. Tell me what happened. We don’t have much time. Frisco is gonna be talking to you in just a moment.”

         Cass shook her head in disbelief and began, “Sure, Spam, we had some words. Ginger got pretty upset with Jerry because his dog made a mess in her flower bed. He dug up a bunch of her flowers. She told him that if his dog ever came in her yard again she was gonna kill it. I heard her and went out to get Jerry and the pooch. She started in on me. I told her in no uncertain words that she had better never lay a hand on my boy or his pooch, or she’d be sorry. But that’s all there was to it, Spam. Just words!”

          “Where you been, Cass?”

          “Jerry was pretty upset. I took him for a ride and we ended up going to a movie and then by the ice cream shop. What’s going to happen, Spam?”

          “Everything’s gonna' be alright, Cass. You just tell Dave what you told me. We’re gonna’ sort things out and then everything will be alright. Trust me.”

         Dave Frisco eventually got around to taking Cassidy’s statement. The Coroner took the body. One by one the squad cars left the scene to continue their patrol elsewhere. All that was left was a lot of yellow crime scene tape and an empty house. Cassidy was advised to stay in town and be available if they needed her further. She didn’t like the sound of that. But she knew that Spam was working on the case; and, she did like the sound of that.

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

         The next morning Cassidy came into work as usual. She put the box of jelly donuts on the table next to the coffee pot. Spam was there before her. He had begun his day very early. She knew that he would soon be into the jelly donuts. He counted on her for this little touch of breakfast. However, Cassidy usually beat Spam to the office. This was a sign that Spam was worried. She was comforted by the fact that he was concerned and on the job. Spam was good. She trusted him.

          “Mornin’, Doll.” Spam spoke across the room as she set the donuts on the table.

          “Mornin’, Spam. I see you’re already busy. You got any ideas?”

          “I got a few.” Spam grinned at Cassidy. It was a grin that she had become very familiar with—one that melted her heart every time he flashed it.

          “Cass, there’s at least one man in every woman’s life. You know, someone who is there in a major way. Sometime it’s a husband, sometimes a father, could be a brother, or even a good friend. I’ve been thinking about your friend, Ginger. Who was the man in her life? You got any ideas, Cass?”

          “I didn’t know her very well, Spam. She had never been married. Her folks where out of the picture. I’m not sure they’re even living. She was an only child and didn’t have any kids of her own. Her career was her only passion. I gather that she was very good at it. Her pictures have been featured in articles and I think she’s even had a showing at some galleries. She was always taking pictures. She’d snap the mailman or the paper boy. I suppose everybody in the neighborhood can be found in her picture files.”

          “How about an agent, Cass? Do you know if she had an agent?”

          “As a matter of fact she did. His first name was Bruce. He came around a lot. He drives a red Chevy Impala. It’s a convertible. Jerry thinks it’s cool.”

          “Cass, I want you to find that guy. Call all the agents in town and see if you can locate him. I bet her date-book has his name in it, but Frisco has that impounded in the evidence room. I don’t want him talking to the guy before I do, so I can’t ask him for the book. You’ll just have to find the name the hard way. Can you do that, Cass? Because, all that the cops have right now is an argument with a neighbor—you.”

          “No problem, Spam. Consider it done.”

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

         It had taken an afternoon of calling literary agents listed in the phonebook, but Cassidy finally gave Spam something to go on. It seems that Banyan Literary Agency was owned and operated by Bruce Banyan. It was Spam’s first lead. Cassidy looked up the address and phoned the Banyan agency to book an appointment. The call was not answered by a receptionist; Banyan picked the phone up himself. She made an appointment for Spam to meet with him later that afternoon. He hadn’t asked why and she did not share anything. As far as Spam knew, the guy thought Spam was an author looking for an agent. Spam liked it that way. It meant he would be there when Spam arrived.

         On the way to Banyan’s, Spam stopped by Dave Frisco’s office. Dave was leafing through some of the articles which he'd dumped on his desk from a large brown envelope.

          “Is that the Snapp stuff?” Spam asked as he walked unannounced into Dave’s office.

          “You really have got to learn to knock before barging in here, Spam.” Dave grinned at Spam as he leaned back in his chair.

          “If I did that I’d be taking all the surprise out of your life, and then you’d have nothing to look forward to. Is that the Snapp stuff?” Spam repeated the question.

          “Yeah, I was just going over this package of small stuff. The other stuff is still in the evidence room. Take a look at it if you want. Maybe something here will take the heat off of Cassidy.”

         Spam walked around to Dave’s side of his desk and began looking at the material that had been taken from the crime scene. The knife had been removed by the coroner and was sealed in a separate see-through bag. There was nothing unusual about the knife.

          “Any prints on the knife?” Spam asked.

          “Nope, clean as a whistle. Whoever did this either wiped it clean or made sure nothing was left.”

          “Hmmm,” responded Spam as he picked up a letter that had a spot of blood on it. “What’s this?”

          “Some letter from a book publisher. Seems as if Miss. Snapp was about to sign a book deal.”

          “That could be interesting.” Spam read the letter. He discovered that Ginger Snapp had been approached by Life Magazine to produce a book of human interest photographs about children of the working class. It obviously was one of those coffee-table books that wealthy folks laid out to show that they were attuned to the plight of the more unfortunate working stiffs. Spam knew that he wouldn't buy the book. However, it could mean Miss. Snapp was poised to make a lot of money on book royalties.

          “Did Ginger have an agent?” Spam asked.

          “I’m not sure. I suppose she did. These types always have someone to handle them. Why do you ask? Do you think it may be important?” Dave's curiosity was awakened.

          “You never know, Dave.” Spam shared matter of factly. “Single woman, no ties, an agent may be someone who plays a major role in her life--or at least did.”

          “You’re right Spam. I’ll have the boys check that out.” Dave looked closely at Spam and continued, “You wouldn’t happen to know already, would you?”

         Spam smiled at his friend. “Dave, I gotta' be going. If I find out anything, I’ll give you a ring.”

          “Damn it, Spam, if you know something, tell me!”

         Spam continued to smile as he walked out of Dave’s office.

         “Sure I would, Dave. But you might want to check her date-book. I’m sure you’ve got it down in the evidence room.”

         Spam waved over his shoulder as he walked down the hall and out of the offices to his car.

         It took twenty minutes to get from Dave Frisco’s office to the Banyan Literary Agency. It was a one room office, which reminded Spam a little of his own office. He decided not to judge a book by its cover and just assumed that it had nothing to do with whether or not Banyan ran a successful business. As Spam walked into Banyan’s meager office he noticed that he had something that Banyan did not have—Cassidy. Banyan worked his business alone—no secretary and no girl-Friday. Banyan set his papers aside as Spam closed the door behind him.

          “Yes, what can I do for you?” Banyan inquired blandly.

          “My names, Hummer, Spam Hummer. I had an appointment with you.”

          “Well, at least you’re punctual, Mr. Hummer.” Banyan replied as he glanced to the clock on his desk. “What can the Banyan Literary Agency do for you?”

          “Information, all I want is some information.”

         Banyan’s interest collapsed immediately. He turned to pick up the papers that he had set aside. “Information doesn’t pay the bills, Hummer. If you need information you can go to the library. I don’t have time to mess with you. Good day.”

          “Ginger Snapp was a client of yours. Last week she was a healthy photographer; today she’s dead.” Spam watched the reaction that this comment had on Banyan. Banyan flinched—ever so slightly, but it was a flinch. Spam did not know what that meant yet, but he knew that he had Banyan’s attention.

          “Ginger was a good kid. I just found out this morning that she was murdered. I went by the house to drop off some papers and the neighbor across the street told me what happened. Have they arrested the neighbor who fought with her?”

          “Nope, not yet. Did you go by Ginger’s house often? I mean, just drop in on her?” Spam quizzed.

          “I dropped by when I had business. What difference does it make to you?”

          “None really, just curious.” Spam continued, “How long have you been Ginger’s agent?”

          “Hummer, I think this conversation is over. It’s none of your business. I’d like you to leave now.”

          “Sure, I’ll leave. But if I were you, I’d be working on that story. You see a pretty good cop is going to be over here, probably today. He’ll want to know the same thing. Why don’t you practice by telling me? How long have you been Ginger’s agent?” Spam persisted.

         Banyan rose from his chair and walked to the door. As he did he answered Spam’s question. “I don’t know what the cops would want from me, Hummer. But Ginger has been my client for over two years.”

         Banyan opened the door and looked to Spam; it was an invitation to leave.

          “Two years huh? How often do you renew those contracts?” Spam asked without responding to the invitation.

          “We operate on two year contracts, Hummer. Ginger was very happy with our arrangement. Now, don’t you need to be somewhere?”

          “I’m going, Banyan. I’ve about got everything that I needed. Only one thing more.” Spam paused and Banyan waited for this final question. “These contracts give you rights to a percentage of her total royalties, don’t they? How much do you get?—twenty percent…thirty percent?” Spam walked through the door, turned, and waited for Banyan’s response.

         Banyan just smiled and said, “Yeah, something like that. Good day, Mr. Hummer.” He then closed the door.

         Spam had one more stop before returning to his office. He pulled into the parking lot next to Dave Frisco’s car. He grinned at the thought that his friend was still there. He expected him to be going over to Banyan’s soon. He made his way through the station and found Dave still in his office.

          “Spam, what are you doing back here?”

          “What? Not happy to see me, Dave.” Spam grinned at his friend.

          “You’ve been over to the Banyan Agency, haven’t you Spam?”

          “Yeah, I just left him. He’s expecting you. The guy’s a jerk, Dave. Lean on him. I doubt if he’ll tell you much. Those types are slick and seem to slip out of tight situations. But I’ve got an idea Dave. Did you get any of Miss. Snapp’s private documents? You know, contracts and stuff?”

          “Well, we confiscated a locked box. We figured that something of importance was in it. We haven’t opened it yet. You want to take a look?” Dave made the generous offer to Spam.

          “I was kind of hoping that you’d say something like that. Sure, let’s take a look.”

         The two men left Dave Frisco’s office and negotiated the turns in the hallway until they came to the evidence room. It was a familiar room. Spam had in fact visited it before under less than honest pretenses.

         Dave Frisco greeted the corporal at the desk. “We need to see the Snapp material, corporal.”

          “You need to sign for it. You gonna’ look at it here? I can’t let you take it out of the room without an official release.”

          “That’s no problem, corporal. We’ll look at it here.”

          “Who’s this with you Lieutenant? I can’t let them back there without official permission.”

          “He’s with me. I’m giving you official permission right now.”

         The corporal buzzed the two men through the secure door. On the other side, the corporal at the desk looked closely at Spam. “I’ve met you before. Where have I met you?”

          “Don’t think so corporal. I’ve never been here before. Believe me, I’d remember.” Spam remarked as he walked past the corporal and down the row of shelves with the Lieutenant.

          “Here it is.” Dave stopped and removed a basket from the shelves.

         The two men quickly surveyed the material within the basket. Dave Frisco picked out the locked box and placed it on one of the many tables that were placed along the aisles. He produced a small knife from his pocket and fiddled with the lock for a moment. There was a slight pop and Dave opened the lid of the box. He emptied the contents of the box on the table. Spread before them were the usual papers: the lease to her house, her birth certificate, a bank book, certificates of investments, and a contract with the Banyan Literary Agency. Spam picked up the Banyan contract and read through it leafing through several pages.

          “When was Miss Snapp killed, Dave?”

          “Last Tuesday,” Dave Frisco replied.

          “No, I mean, what was the date?”

          “Let’s see, that would be July 26th—why?” Frisco quizzed.

          “Well, Dave, it appears that Miss. Snapp’s contract with the Banyan Literary Agency expired on July 26th. It’s quite a coincidence that she and her contract both expired on the same day, wouldn’t you say?”

          “That’s true, Spam. But there is nothing here that would tie Banyan to her homicide.”

         Spam nodded in agreement. Then his eye fixed on an item in the basket. “Maybe there is, Dave; maybe there is.”

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

         Spam carried the two drinks over to the table where he and Cassidy were sitting. His drink was a Jack Daniels, his first. Cassidy was drinking Jocko’s best house wine. As a matter of fact it was Jocko’s only house wine, a red Mogen David, something or other. It didn’t matter; anything was fine. Cassidy and Spam were celebrating the close of another case. The fact that it cleared Cassidy from being a murder suspect was extra reason for celebrating.

          “I was thrilled when you called to have me meet you here, Spam. I’m glad you caught the guy. I didn’t know Ginger well, but she didn’t deserve to be murdered. How did you tie it to Banyan?”

         Spam smiled, “I didn’t. Ginger did”

          “I don’t understand”

          “Well, remember when you told me that Ginger was constantly snapping photographs of everybody in the neighborhood?”

          “Yes, so?”

          “Well, when I made the connection that Banyan’s contract with Ginger had expired, I knew that she wanted to enter the lucrative contract with Look Magazine and totally cut Banyan out. That’s motive to be upset if not for murder. The neighbor across the street said that Banyan had dropped by earlier in the morning that she was killed. That in itself was not enough to charge the guy.” Spam paused and drank most of his Jack Daniels. Cassidy took a sip of her wine.

          “Go on,” urged Cassidy.

          “Yeah, well, as I stood there in the evidence room thinking about all of this, I noticed a camera in the basket. I picked it up and examined it. It registered that half a roll of film was still in the camera. I asked Dave to get it developed.”

          “I don’t believe this,” Cassidy smiled.

          “Believe it. When the film came back, one of the frames shows Banyan standing in the kitchen with an open drawer. It happens to be the drawer where Ginger keeps her knives. And get this; Banyan is standing there with his gloves on. It’s July 26th. The temperature outside that day was 97 degrees. Now why does a man wear gloves inside the house on a hot day?”

          “You don’t unless you’re planning on murdering someone.” Cassidy continued to smile and asked another question. “But if Banyan saw Ginger take his picture, why didn’t he destroy the film?”

          “Banyan didn’t see her take it. She always had a camera in her hand. He was used to seeing her with it. It didn’t dawn on him that she caught him getting the murder weapon. She probably didn’t even realize it either.”

          “One last question, Spam,” Cassidy took another drink of her wine and Spam finished his Jack Daniels. “Why did Banyan kill her?”

          “I’m not sure he intended to. He originally went over there to talk her into extending her contract with him. Somewhere along the way, he decided that if she didn’t, well, no one else would make any money off of her. There was even a chance that since his was the last contract that she held; he could continue to draw royalties on any of her future profits from photos that she left behind.”

         Cassidy looked at Spam with affection and softly spoke, “Spam, you are the nicest man I have ever met. You’re a pretty good detective too.”

         Spam returned the smile, “You’re not so bad yourself, Doll. I don’t think I could do it without you.” Then Spam shrugged and said, “But right now, I need another drink. Don’t you go anywhere.”

          “I’m not going anywhere, Spam”

         He walked over to the bar and motioned for Jocko to fix his second and last drink of the evening. As Jocko mixed his drink, he began to grin.

          “What?” Spam responded at his grinning friend.

          “Nothin’, it’s just that you two look pretty good together,” Jocko commented continuing to grin.

          “Yeah, it feels pretty good too.” Spam countered and continued when he saw the grin widen on Jocko’s face. “But don’t get any ideas, Jocko; she just works for me—that’s all.”

         “Sure, Spam, sure.”