MacMillan Wharf

MacMillan Wharf: Chapter Nineteen

MacMillan Wharf: Chapter Nineteen

by Richard Gifford

“There’s a few things I’d like to show you in here. Put these on.” Trooper Larchowski handed Chief Souza a pair of latex gloves and shoe covers from a box on the front step. He had over twenty years of investigating homicides for the Massachusetts State Police. Chief Souza knew him both by name and reputation.

“All right, what’d you find?” the Chief said as he ducked under the yellow police tape and entered the Whale Center’s first floor.

“Let’s go upstairs, that seems to be where it all took place.” The two men ascended the squeaky wooden staircase to the second floor.

“Here’s what I think happened. The victim came in and surprised whoever was rifling through this office.” Trooper Larchowski pointed to Linda Hanscomb’s office door. “I don’t think she ever made it to the top. Maybe she saw the person and turned around to run out, but they caught up with her on the stairs. See this damage to the plaster? We found hairs and some blood there that matches that of the deceased. She either tripped or was pushed down the stairs to this landing and her head was slammed into the wall.”

“The autopsy said Dr. Hanscomb was strangled. Are you saying that she was killed by blunt force?” “The autopsy said Dr. Hanscomb was strangled. Are you saying that she was killed by blunt force?”

“All I know for sure is that there are depressions in the plaster of the wall that contained her blood or hair. She was strangled, I don’t dispute that, but she may have already been nearly dead by the time that happened. Then, we found more of her blood on the stairs and at the front door.”

“So they just dragged her out the front door? And nobody saw anything? OK, then what?”

“Then, I don’t know. The blood trail disappears on the street. I’m guessing that her body was put into a car and transported to the boat then dumped at sea.”

“How about fingerprints?” Chief Souza asked hoping that some clue would at least point toward a particular person.

“We found over thirty different sets of fingerprints on the stair rails and the doors. This is a pretty busy place. You’ll need to get fingerprints from everyone who works here so that we can go through and look for a match. We did find just two sets of prints on the stuff that was thrown around the office. One was from the deceased, but the other wasn’t. I’m guessing that’s your killer. I sent them out to be processed, but I haven’t heard back yet.”

“That’s not much to go on, but it’s a start, isn’t it? All right, thanks. I’m heading back to my office to look over the autopsy reports. Let me know if anything else turns up.”

“Sure thing, Chief.”

Chief Souza walked out and ducked under the police tape. As he opened the door to his car, he realized that he was still wearing the booties and latex gloves.

He thought about his first murder investigation, the one that still haunted him. The “Lady in the Dunes” from 1974 who had never been identified or even reported missing. This case was clearly different. Linda Hanscomb was well known and well liked in town. Her death would not pass without notice, and the killer was likely still nearby, or so he hoped.

He removed the latex gloves and boot covers and threw them onto the passenger seat. He started the engine and slowly drove down the narrow street. Turning right, then right again, he was back on Shankpainter Road, and in less than five minutes, walked through the front door of the Provincetown Police Department Headquarters.

“Hey Chief,” he heard Betsy Gilmore squawk from behind him as he entered the air conditioned lobby. “Do you have a second? I’ve got a couple of questions about the Linda Hanscomb case.”

“How do you know about that?” he said gritting his teeth. He just about snapped. “Betsy, I’ve got a lot of questions about this case, too. Until I’ve got them sorted out, I can’t make any further comments to the media. Check with the front desk and they’ll tell you when the next press conference is scheduled.”

“Sure, Chief, I understand. Just one thing, since her hands and feet were bound with polyester rope like they use on the lobster boats, doesn’t that mean her killer was probably a local guy?”

Chief Souza stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face Betsy. He could feel his blood pressure rising, and, from the look of fear on Betsy’s face, he must have appeared as if he was ready to explode.

“How do you know about that?” he said gritting his teeth.

“I have sources.”

“And you won’t tell me who they are, will you?”

“I’m afraid not, Chief. Freedom of the press, you know how it is.”

“Oh yeah, I know how it is.” Chief Souza turned, entered his security code into a keypad next to the door, and stormed down the hall to his office.

“So, Chief, you think the killer’s a local right?” Betsy hollered after him.

He heard her question, but he was too angry to respond. Someone was leaking sensitive information to the media which would inevitably tip off the suspect. In her quest to get a story, Betsy Gilmore was endangering this entire case.

Slamming his office door, he could still hear her question echoing in his head. “Dammit,” he said aloud, “she’s probably right.”

He sat down behind his desk and picked up the receiver on the phone. His massive forefinger pressed the 5th speed dial number which connected him directly to the District Attorney’s office in Barnstable.

“Mark O’Neal” the voice on the line said.

“Mark, it’s Bill Souza.”

“Chief, how’s the investigation coming?”

“It would be better if someone in your office wasn’t leaking autopsy information directly to the media.”

“Hold on a minute. What are you talking about? The pregnancy thing?”

“Yeah, that, and now Betsy Gilmore just informed me that the rope used to tie the hands and feet on the body is the same as what’s used for lobster traps. I’ve barely read the entire autopsy report myself and some local hack reporter is practically quoting it to me. I don’t know where she gets her information, but she’s going to blow this entire case if the leaks don’t stop.”

“And you’re assuming the leak is coming from my people? Think about it. There were over a hundred people on the boat when she was found, then the paramedics, the nurses at the hospital, and the coroner’s office; they all saw the body, they all saw the rope. What are the odds that one of them knew something about lobstering? Pretty good, I would think. Look, I sympathize with you, and I promise that if find that one of my people is leaking to the press I’ll come down on them like a ton of bricks, but a lot of people saw Linda Hanscomb’s body.”

“How about the pregnancy? You couldn’t tell that by looking.”

“No, you couldn’t, but there might have been other people who knew she was pregnant. What about her girlfriend who tried to kill herself?”

“As far as I know she didn’t talk to any reporters before we took her in on the firearms charge. Look, all I’m saying is that we need to be careful. Betsy Gilmore right now seems to know more about this case than I do and I’m not happy about it. She’s getting good information from someone very close to the case.”

“I understand. Listen, Chief, not to change the subject but, do we know who the father is?”

“The father of Linda Hanscomb’s baby? I’ve no idea.”

“That’s important to find out. Mary Ellen Johnson might be able to tell us something.”

“I don’t think she’s going to talk to me right now. Remember, I broke three of her ribs this morning?”

“You also saved her life, don’t forget that. I can go over to the hospital in a little while and try to persuade her to help us out.”

“What do you mean persuade?”

“With prior felony convictions under her belt, she knows she’s automatically facing jail time for illegal firearms possession. How about we cut her a deal that if she helps us investigate the murder, we’ll drop the charges against her?”

“Okay by me, but only if we get full cooperation from her. I feel sorry for her. It seems like she was trying to start her life over after prison. She hasn’t been any trouble at all since she’s been in Provincetown.”

“I agree with you. Let’s give her a chance to do the right thing.”

“That sounds good to me, Mark. Call me once you talk to her.”

“I will. Talk to you later.”

When Chief Souza hung up the phone, he reflected on his years of experience with murders. Those who were closest to a murder victim could provide the best leads or were often the killers themselves. Now that the D.A. was off to talk to Mary Ellen Johnson, he needed to speak with the others who knew Linda best, Annie Macalister and Dr. Bruce Waters.