Hello Stupid: Judgment Call: Hello Stupid Cozy Mystery Series, #1

Prologue

According to the television commentator, the people, the stories, and the verdicts are real. I watched in amazement, one judicial program after another, each depicting different scenarios, different complaints, and all parties suing for ludicrous perceived injustices. Parents sued their children for money loaned to them. Children sued their parents for what they felt were their entitlements. Individuals sued their previous partners for rings, money, household goods, or anything that would make them a candidate for the television judicial system. There couldn’t possibly be that many stupid people in this country, could there? No one seems to be taking any responsibility or accountability for the actions they take, and the decisions they make. Parents raise their children with computers and iPads. Let us not forget the cell phone. Keeping up with the Joneses is not just a slogan from years gone by, but it is very much relevant in today’s society. The Joneses have reared their ugly head once more, but this time with considerably more expensive and technologically advanced toys. Someone has to take charge and get these families back on the right track to uphold the moral code. People have got to understand their actions have consequences.

At least that was the reasoning I used when I started this intervention program. As I look back over the last thirty years of my life, I realize I accomplished much more than I intended, and yet I fell short of my goal, which was to make a greater impact in helping humanity and families. For ten years I was an attorney, and then I ran for a judicial seat in my local township where I was known as the hanging judge. The powers that be thought I was ready to take on a more important role. I was appointed to the family court, filling in the unexpected vacancy of my former friend and colleague who took an unexpected early retirement. Fortunately, I was re-elected and was touted as an honest family court judge, who put the concerns of the citizens first and didn’t tolerate excuses that had no merit.

I had promised an acquaintance, and one of the most honest journalists I know, Maryshia, that when I was ready to relay my life story, she would be the first person I would contact. Maryshia Edwards was a well-known author and writer, who abandoned her pursuit of a law degree to focus on her writing skills. She shortened her name, hoping it would help her career. She was highly recommended by several of my friends, who attested to her discreteness.

I knew Maryshia couldn’t resist because the unsolved cases that followed me into retirement were too much intrigue for any reputable writer to abandon. My revelations might be the catalyst for the recognition and fame she was striving for to achieve the coveted Pulitzer Prize.

I was well aware of her ambitions and decided she was the right person for the job. The fact that she had a brother-in-law who was touted as one of the best detectives and investigators in the police department was also an asset. She may need someone she could rely on.

CHAPTER 1

Decision Made

"H ello , Maryshia , I finally decided to relay my life story. I promised you years ago that when I was ready you would be the only person I would call. It’s time for the truth to come out. I’ve been diagnosed with an incurable disease, and based on my doctor’s findings, with the advanced prognosis, and irreversible kidney failure, I may only have six months.

I could hear her breathing at the other end of the cell phone. Who is this? she asked.

Oh, I’m sorry, I replied. It has been a long time. This is Malcolm, and we spoke years ago after you tried to reach me several times. At that time, you knew I was involved in an intervention program of sorts that had piqued your interest. As of late, there has been much publicity generated by the media due to the ongoing investigations by the FBI, and the local police into the disappearance of certain persons, and the unsolved death of one, possibly two, of the missing persons. Of course, now the media is printing anything that they think they know. As you probably surmise, I’m at the point in my life when it’s time to tell my side of the story, and I don’t want to give out any further details over the phone. Since you and I have only briefly met in passing, you may not recall what I look like. For me to relay the story, I would prefer to keep it that way. I will be wearing multiple disguises, and we will meet at various locations that will not be disclosed. It is imperative to preserve my anonymity and the information I will be divulging to you until I permit you to release it. If you can accept my terms, we can schedule our initial meeting. When are you available to meet in person?

I could hear the hesitation in her voice, but I knew she was intrigued because of the furor that was surrounding the discovery of the most recent body. There was a piece of evidence found near the scene of the accident that potentially tied the unrecognizable body to the disappearance of multiple missing persons years prior. However, this body was so mutilated, and most of it was burned up in the car crash, that the forensic team could not lift any useable fingerprints or dental records to ascertain who the person was. No definitive signs were evident that could assist in the forensic investigation. Until now, no evidence was available in any of the other missing persons cases, and the only similarity in each case was the one piece of evidence left behind.

In any case, these were unsolved cases, also known as cold cases, because no one was actively looking for the missing persons. So, due to the volume of missing persons each year, unless a missing child was involved, the majority of the cases go into the Cold Case Files, or if they are much older files, after a year or more, they are filed in the National Missing and Unidentified Persons System. There are approximately two thousand three hundred people that go missing daily. With that volume, it’s difficult to focus on a few missing persons.

The evidence that was found at this particular scene raised a red flag with detectives in other states. With this newfound evidence, thanks to the cooperation of the interagency collaboration in law enforcement, and the latest technology, information was starting to leak. There was a country-wide manhunt to find the person or persons responsible for these cases. I wasn’t a suspect, at least not yet, but I had no doubt they would eventually come around to asking me questions. That is if they were fortunate enough to find out my identity before my demise.

Yes, she finally responded. When and where is it convenient for us to meet.

I gave her the name and address of the cottage I had temporarily rented under an assumed name. I intended to set the meetings at different locations to maintain my cover and involvement in the mysteries surrounding these cases. My decision to make my version public was a result of this most recent discovery, and most especially since the FBI got involved.

I had my surveillance cameras turned on from the time Maryshia turned on the private street. Complete anonymity would determine the success or failure of my confession and involvement. I could tell from Maryshia’s demeanor that she was excited. We had scheduled the date and time a week after my phone call, and in that time frame, much more speculation was generated about the cold cases.

I had surveillance on Maryshia from before the time I made that call until the time of our meeting. I wasn’t about to take any chances. Thankfully I possessed the skills and resources for up-to-date surveillance technology.

My background check on Maryshia Edwards provided me with the information I needed to prove I had chosen the right person for this assignment. She was a first-generation American. Her parents were both born in Eastern Europe. Her mother was of Ukrainian descent, and her father was born in Lithuania and had his last name changed to Edwards when he was processed through Ellis Island. Her younger sister Daria was married to Lester Marcone, an outstanding detective and investigator in the town of Tonawanda, New York. He worked his way up through the ranks and received countless commendations on all the cases he solved. I made a notation to myself that I double-checked the contract that I was having Maryshia sign. I needed her to stipulate that she would not divulge to anyone, under any circumstances, and more particularly her sister or her brother-in-law, the assignment she was undertaking.

I greeted Maryshia at the door wearing one of my many wigs, thick glasses, and a scarf wrapped around half my face, covering the lower portion. I was wearing a long robe, with black slacks, and slippers on my feet. (Actually, the slippers were two sizes larger than my real feet and were stuffed with knee highs to maintain their shape).

I offered her some coffee or tea. I did not offer any alcoholic concoctions as I wanted to make sure her wits were about her when I conveyed my story to her. I ushered her into the sitting room and turned the fireplace on to ward off the autumn dampness.

Maryshia, before we begin, I must insist you sign this non-disclosure agreement and the attached contract. What I am about to tell you must be kept under wraps until after my demise. If you choose to accept this assignment, all our meetings are to be kept strictly confidential. We will meet at a different location each time until the completion of your assignment. I alone will have the only original copy of the contract until you complete the assignments and will not relinquish it to you until I am assured my death is imminent. No one else can be involved without prior authorization from me, and I sincerely mean that. This includes your sister and brother-in-law, and those terms are specifically addressed in the contract. You cannot seek advice from anyone, not even an attorney. I will have the original agreement, which will bear both our signatures, and I will have it dated, notarized, and sealed in my vault. I will provide you with a copy of the agreement and contract, which will be your only proof. Do you agree to my terms.?

I watched her face and body language closely to see if she understood the enormity of the restrictions placed upon her, regarding the terms of our contract. My observations of her body language would be a good indication as to whether or not I would move forward with my confession.

When will that be? she asked.

I was pleased to note that there was no sympathetic intonation in her voice. Good, I thought. I know she will be objective, and it would be easier to relay the story without any emotional outbursts from her. I was convinced then that I chose the right person for this task. I didn’t need anyone working with me that was squeamish or judgmental. I had scrutinized her career over the last few years. She was an honest reporter, who prided herself on garnering all the facts before going public. She was also very ambitious, and like everyone else in the media, was taking on the toughest assignments with the hope that one of them would land her the Pulitzer Prize. My final decision about obtaining her services was based on the fact that she had integrity.

I promise you that this story will be your ticket to obtaining the Pulitzer Prize that you’ve been striving for. Do I have your assurance and your signatures on the non-disclosure agreement and contract, of course? I looked her way.

She nodded in agreement, lifted the pen I had given her, and signed the documents.

CHAPTER 2

The Defining Moment

Isat down on the floor near the fireplace with my back to her. I reflected on the time my mother received a traffic ticket in Lancaster , New York . Once I gathered my thoughts, I told Maryshia I was going to give her some background as to why I chose the career path I did and what influenced my decision.

It started with a traffic ticket my mother received. My mother did not want to accept the consequences for speeding, so she decided to take me to court as her excuse for the speeding violation she received. I was about fourteen years old at the time. She wanted me to testify that I had called her at work and told her I had hurt myself and was bleeding profusely. Of course, that wasn’t the truth.

I recall sitting in that courtroom, looking around at the other people and wondering how many of them were here for traffic violations. Judge Theodore Kawa entered the courtroom, and the bailiff requested we all stand. An elderly woman was called before the judge. If memory serves me, her name was Johanna Benatovich, a most unusual name and the reason I remember it. Or maybe it was her case and the way it was handled that kept the memory intact. She was called to appear before the judge for excessive speeding. She testified that she could not possibly have been speeding at sixty-five miles per hour, as her car had mechanical problems and could not exceed forty miles per hour.

Are you willing to swear to your statement that your car cannot exceed forty miles per hour? the judge asked.

Yes, your honor the woman replied.

I saw the police officer wink at the court clerk, and since I was sitting up front, I could hear him whisper to her Ah-oh, watch this. This lady has made one big mistake.

At this point, the judge abruptly stood up, called a recess for fifteen minutes, and requested the woman’s car keys. He then asked her where her car was parked. The judge then requested that the bailiff make a call to police headquarters to have two police officers accompany him on a trip. One was to ride with him, the other was to drive in a police vehicle behind the vehicle he would be driving, clocking the mileage speed.

I had noticed when my mom and I were entering the courthouse, that the police headquarters were housed in the same building. The judge further ordered the bailiff to stay with the elderly woman, Johanna Benatovich, until his return. The judge then picked up the keys, and before leaving the courtroom looked at Ms. Benatovich, and said, I’m giving you one more opportunity to change your testimony. Ms. Benatovich just shook her head.

After approximately twenty minutes, the judge came back into the courtroom and reconvened the court. He requested Ms. Benatovich to stand before the bench. In a loud voice, he said to her, Ms. Benatovich, may I remind you that you are still under oath. Are you still willing to swear that your car cannot exceed forty miles per hour?

Yes, your honor she testified.

The judge then called one of the two officers who entered the courtroom to come up and be sworn in.

Please tell this court at what speed you clocked me driving in this woman’s car.

Officer Cappy, who was with the judge in the car, testified Your honor, we clocked you between seventy and eighty miles per hour.

Did you notice if I had any difficulty reaching that speed? Did the car sputter or appear to stall? the judge asked the officer.

No, your honor, on both counts the officer replied.

At which point the judge turned to the woman to impose sentencing. I fine you two hundred fifty dollars and one night in jail.

I heard the murmured shock ripple through the courtroom.

Ms. Benatovich sobbed. What will my grandchildren think of their grandmother serving jail time?

The judge responded, You knowingly lied, under oath, to this court. What kind of message would I be sending to your grandchildren and the young people present in this courtroom today if I let you go unpunished? I gave you every opportunity to rescind your testimony, and you chose not to. The fine is for your excessive speeding. We do not allow speeders in this town. The overnight stay in our hospitable jail cell is for lying to the court. Hopefully, this sends a message to anyone else in my courtroom, lying will not be tolerated by this court! He then recited something I found poignant.

"Stupidity is no excuse for this court system you abuse. For previous favors you may have received, from the many you deceived. For not speaking truthfully, a quality you lost, and now it’s time for you to pay