MacMillan Wharf

MacMillan Wharf: Chapter Nine

MacMillan Wharf: Chapter Nine

by Richard Gifford

Chief Souza pushed back his grey hair and sighed as he stared at the computer monitor. Not much surprised him anymore, and he was assured that his suspicions about Linda Hanscomb’s partner were well-founded. She was indeed holding something back.

Crimedata File #00934847
RE:
Mary Ellen Johnson, a.k.a. Mary Johansson, a.k.a. Eileen Johnson, et. al.
D.O.B. 8-4-66
Height: 5’8”
Weight: 160lbs.
Hair: Brown
Ethnicity: Mixed
Current address: Unknown
Convictions:
Possession of Narcotics (Cocaine): 12-17-82, (Suspended sentence)
Possession with intent to distribute Narcotics (Cocaine): 4-03-83, (6 months served Nassau County Jail, FL)
 Illegal Possession of Firearms: 7-10-85 (6 months Dade County Women’s Correctional Facility, FL, 4 months served)
Solicitation: 1-23-86 (6 months suspended sentence)
Murder, Second Degree: 5-10-86 (10-15 years Florida State Women’s Penitentiary) 

Each case had a hotlink to a case summary. Chief Souza clicked on the blue highlighted words “Murder, Second Degree.”

It doesn’t quite add up, the chief thought.People vs. Johnson, Mary Ellen

5-10-86
Case Summary:
Mary Ellen Johnson, a.k.a Mary Johansson, a.k.a. Eileen Johnson, et. al., was convicted of Murder in the Second Degree on the person of Roger McNichols of Pensacola, Florida. The State of Florida produced the case that Mr. McNichols solicited Ms. Johnson for prostitution on 4-7-86. Mr. McNichols allegedly assaulted Ms. Johnson, during which time Ms. Johnson discharged an unlicensed firearm, inflicting a fatal wound to Mr. McNichols in the lower abdomen. As a result of recent prior convictions, including Illegal Possession of Firearms, The State of Florida sought the charge of Murder in the Second Degree, not premeditated. This charge was upheld by a jury of Ms. Johnson’s peers. Sentence: 10-15 years at the Florida State Women’s Penitentiary.
Dates of Incarceration: 5-10-86 / 8-19- 97:
Ms. Johnson served her sentence without disciplinary incidents. During this time she engaged in a correspondence course offered through The University of Florida and obtained a Bachelor’s Degree in Fine Arts, majoring in Art History. She worked in the prison library for 9 years as an inmate. The State of Florida approved her parole on 8-17-97, and Ms. Johnson was released on 8-19-97 with six months parole.

Chief Souza leaned back in his chair and locked his fingers behind his head. Mary Ellen has kept herself out of trouble since her release from prison, he thought.  She must have made her way up to Provincetown not long afterwards. She said that she and Linda had been together for almost five years, and she had only been out of prison for about six. He wondered if this was something Mary Ellen told anyone about, or did she come here to start her life over again, as so many others had. Did Linda Hanscomb even know that her girlfriend was a drug dealer, prostitute and murderer? He felt a twinge of compassion for her, as he had seen plenty of young people get caught up in awful circumstances during his career as a cop. He set his feelings of pity aside, knowing that most murder victims know their assailants and are often involved in relationships with them. Mary Ellen sat in his office just an hour ago and admitted they had quarreled the night of the murder. He would have to keep watching her to see if she did anything foolish like try to run or cover her tracks.

It doesn’t quite add up, the chief thought. The body was found over a mile offshore. Most likely it was dumped from a boat. Sure, the currents are strong off of Race Point and a body could easily get pulled out to sea from the beach in a riptide. Maybe it was an accident, or suicide.

He played out a scenario in his head where Mary Ellen and Linda Hanscomb argued. They went their separate ways, one went home, the other to the beach where she drowned herself in the waves. It wouldn’t be the first time he had seen that happen here. Then, he remembered that Dr. Hanscomb’s feet were tied with rope. The chief had seen his share of accidental drownings in the waters around Provincetown, but he knew there was nothing accidental about Linda Hanscomb’s death.

Someone wanted her dead, and he or she didn’t want the body to be found. Dr. Hanscomb spent a lot of time on the water, which always has its inherent risks. Add to that the fact that she was regularly called out to rescue ninety-foot whales weighing a hundred tons that get tangled in fishing gear. The chief surmised that she was probably someone who felt comfortable around boats.

Chief Souza knew that it would be a few hours before he could even get a preliminary report from the County Coroner pointing to a cause of death. In the meantime, he needed to retrace her final steps. Where would Linda have gone after the argument? Mary Ellen told him that Linda had been spending a lot of extra time at work for the EPA report. The chief could certainly sympathize with the idea of her having to return to the office after dinner to finish paperwork. Maybe that’s where she went?

Chief Souza opened his desk drawer and pulled out a thick phone book. He looked up the number for the Whale Center, and dialed.

“Hello,” a man’s voice spoke.

The chief looked at his watch and was surprised to find someone answering the phone at 9:00pm, “Good evening, is this the Whale Center?”

“Yes it is. I’m Bruce Waters, director, can I help you?”

“I hope so. This is Chief Souza with the Provincetown Police.”
“You’re calling about Linda?”

“Yes, I am. Are you going to be there for a while? I’d like to ask some questions about Dr. Hanscomb’s death, and maybe look around. Do you know if she was working there last night?”

“I don’t know for sure, but there’s a good chance she was. The light was on in her office when I came in this morning, and the door was left unlocked.”

“Is that unusual?”

“The door being unlocked, no. People are coming and going from here all the time, especially the interns in the summer. They come in at night to check their email. But the light on in her office is out of the ordinary.”

“Do you mind if come down and take a look around?”

“Not at all. Anything I can do to help.”

“I’m leaving now. I should be there in about ten minutes.”

“Okay. I’ll meet you downstairs. Goodbye.

“Thanks. Goodbye.”

As the chief hung up the phone, he noticed the red message light was blinking. He dialed his voice mailbox number and retrieved six messages, all from various reporters asking when there would be a press conference. He deleted them all. On his way out, he said “Carla, tell the reporters that I’ll be holding a press conference here at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”
He strode out of the station and slid behind the wheel of his Crown Victoria. Looking at the clock, he realized that he had been at work for fourteen hours. “Damn.” he muttered under his breath.

Ten minutes later, Chief Souza parked his car in the street next to the Whale Center. It looked like most of the other old, white clapboard houses in the West End of Provincetown, except for a large hand-carved sign depicting a right whale over the front door. He approached the steps and saw someone coming through the door to meet him.

“Hi, I’m Chief Souza. Are you Bruce Waters?”

“Yes.” he said glumly as he extended his hand.

Chief Souza took it and shook twice. “Thanks for letting me come over on such short notice.”

“Sure, anything I can do to help find out what happened to Linda. She meant the world to me. I don’t know what we’re going to do without her around here.”

“It sounds like you two were close.”

“Close. Yeah, you could say that. Linda was my wife.”

Chief Souza repressed a nearly uncontrollable urge to scratch his head. Instead he just stood in the doorway with an incredulous look on his face. “But,” he stammered, “I thought she was, um, you know, gay.”

“She is, only she didn’t know that when we got married. Come on in.”

The chief accepted the invitation. If this was the last place Linda was before she was killed, I might be able to find some evidence here, he thought.

Bruce started talking as he led Chief Souza inside. “We met in graduate school. We were working on our PhDs at the time, and we both shared a love of the ocean. When the director’s position opened up here, I jumped at the chance to have it. We got married just before we moved here, but that was twelve years ago. After working here for a few years, Linda started to have more feelings for women than for me. I guess she felt like she could really be herself here.”

“How’d that make you feel?”

“Well, I wasn’t too happy about it. At first I was furious. I wanted her out of the house and out of my life. But after I cooled down a bit I realized that I still cared about her a lot, and her work was invaluable to the center. I agreed to a divorce, and we were both able to move on with our lives. Until now, that is. I don’t know what I’m going to do without her. We worked as a team to run this place.”

Standing inside the foyer of the old house, Chief Souza could see that this was a busy office. Desks were covered in paperwork, marine charts hung on the walls with colored pushpins marking recent whale sightings, and a fax machine sat in the corner with a pile of new arrivals in the tray. It reminded him of his office down the street. Still, it was nearly 9:30 at night, late even by workaholic standards.

“Do you usually work this late?” the chief queried.

“During the summer, yeah. We’re operating ten whale watch trips a day on two boats; monitoring Coast Guard, fisheries, and shipping radio channels for whale sightings; and we’re always ready to respond to a whale entanglement or marine mammal stranding. Things slow down a bit in the winter. The volunteers and interns are gone, and it was pretty much Linda, me, and two other staff members running the place.”

Chief Souza sympathized with Bruce. He suspected that rather than deal with Linda’s death and allow himself to grieve, he was busying himself with work. He had done the same thing after his own wife died.

“Did you see Linda here last night?”

“Yeah. It was around 8:30 or so. She often came in at night to work on reports and grants. I was just leaving for the night, so I asked her to lock up.”

“Did she look upset at all?”

“No, not really. Not anything that I noticed. She just came in and went upstairs to her office.”

“Hmmm. OK.” Chief Souza was having doubts about Mary Ellen’s story. “Could you show me where that is?”

“Sure, it’s this way.”

Bruce led the chief up the creaky wooden staircase to the second floor. A long central hallway ran the length of the building with doors on either side. At the top of the stairs was a door with a small sign on it that read:

Linda Hanscomb, Ph.D., Associate Director

“This is her office,” Bruce said as he flipped on the overhead lights.

Chief Souza looked around, then asked, “Does this door lock?”

“No, the only locks are on the front and back doors, and the barn where we keep the Zodiacs.”

“Has anyone been in here today?”

“I don’t know. They told me she didn’t come in at all today. But I doubt anyone would come in here without her.”

“Where were you today?”

“I was out on a whale watch boat all day. I didn’t get back here until almost seven.”
The chief scanned the office for any clues. He noticed that while all the books were neatly arranged on the shelves, there were loose papers strewn about on the floor behind the desk. He bent over to look at some of them. “Could you tell me what these are?”

Bruce squatted and picked up some of the papers. “Research, data on phytoplankton blooms on George’s Bank, whale sightings. What is this stuff doing all over the floor? This isn’t like her.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s a neat freak. Linda always had everything in order. That’s why we worked so well together. I was the one with the big ideas, but she was the one who kept everything running smoothly.” Bruce bit his lower lip and thought for a moment. “You know, I think someone has been in here.”

That was also Chief Souza’s impression. “Mr. Waters, I’m going to call the State Police Crime Lab. They’re going to comb this building looking for clues. I think this might have been where Linda was killed. I’m afraid that we can’t let anyone else in here until they’ve finished.”
Bruce needed a moment to take in the Chief’s use of the word “killed.” “Here? Oh. Wow. Okay. How long do you think that will take?”

“Can’t say. They probably won’t get here until morning.”

“I just can’t believe this is happening. Yesterday she was here, today…” Bruce’s voice trailed off and the chief could see tears welling in his eyes. “Why did this happen to her? I don’t understand. She never hurt anyone.”

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Waters. I’m going to do everything I can to figure out what happened to Linda and bring whoever did this to justice. I promise.”

“Yeah. Okay. Um, what should I do?”

“Just go home and get some rest. Will you be available tomorrow if I need to reach you?”

“I’m always available. I live across the street. Just come over if you need anything. I’ll be around all day.”

“Okay, thanks. Do you mind if I stay here and look around for a while?”

“Sure. Just lock the door when you leave, OK?” Bruce said quietly as he left Linda’s office.

Chief Souza heard Bruce walk down the stairs and, moments later, the wooden screen door slam as he left. Finally, he had a chance to look around. From what Bruce had told him, Linda Hanscomb was meticulous in her work and wouldn’t leave a pile of papers on the floor. They were tossed in a hurry, probably by her killer, while looking for something specific. But what?

He stepped outside the office into the hallway. Looking around for any sign of a struggle, his eyes were drawn to a small shadow cast on the wall next to the stair landing. He kneeled down closer to get a better view. The plaster was cracked in a round depression about the size of an orange. He shined his flashlight on the damaged spot and could clearly see three strands of light blond hair stuck to the impression.

Chief Souza unclipped the radio from his belt and activated the microphone.

“Dispatch? This is Chief Souza. Over.”

“Hi, Chief, it’s Carla. Over.”

“Carla, I’m at the Whale Center in the West End. I need a team down here with evidence kits as soon as possible. Call the State Police Crime Lab, too. We’re going to need them in the morning. Over.”

“Okay Chief, just a moment.” The radio went silent for ten seconds while Officer Thompson switched channels. “I have officers on their way. Over.”

“Thanks Carla. Any word on the Hanscomb autopsy? Over.”

“Not yet, Chief. Over.”

“Okay, thanks. Out.”

Chief Souza waited in silence in the empty building, mentally trying to construct a scenario of what happened the night before. He envisioned Linda Hanscomb struggling in her office with an intruder, being thrown down the stairs, smacking her head hard into the wall. That probably wouldn’t be enough to kill her, he thought, but maybe knock her unconscious.

He could see blue flashing lights outside the windows as his backup arrived. The Chief descended the stairs and stepped out the front door where he looked toward the house across the street. Glancing up, he noticed a light on in an upstairs room. He could clearly see Bruce making a phone call and having what looked like an animated discussion. Chief Souza watched as Bruce slammed the phone down onto its receiver, turned and stared out the window. For just an instant, Bruce Waters and Chief Souza’s eyes met. Bruce backed quickly away from the window and pulled down the shade. Moments later, the lights in the room went out.

Chief Souza pulled his notebook and a pen out of his shirt pocket and began to write a to-do list including fingerprint analysis and a full background check on Bruce Waters.

Just then his cell phone rang. He walked over to his car and leaned on the roof as he answered. “Hello, this is Chief Souza.”