Read Online The Miskatonic Manuscript (Case Files of Matthew Hunter and Chantal Stevens Book 2) by Vin Suprynowicz - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Vin Suprynowicz
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Tales’ that came through when my dad ran the store. I was just a kid, but I remember the great cover art.”
“Were they Barlow’s?”
“I have no idea.”
“Would your dad remember?”
“Gone these many years, I’m afraid.”
“If someone was clearing out a house, different things can get jumbled into the same box. Sometimes there are a few magazines that can’t be sold because they got damp, missing pages, whatever, so the box hangs around. We’re looking for pretty much any handwritten material or notebooks that might relate to Barlow or Lovecraft or Robert E. Howard. Even unsigned fragments.”
“I can look, dad never threw anything away, but we’ve been trying to clear out the clutter.”
Matthew named a price he’d pay for any box of such material, plus shipping — not exorbitant but enough to be worth a few hours’ looking — and gave the nice lady his name and mailing address.
C HAPTER F IVE
ONE WEEK LATER …
Providence Police Sergeant Phil Robichaux had no doubt how it would go. He’d been through it with his union rep and then with Assistant Prosecutor Sturm Wolfson half a dozen times. There would be no cross-examination by any hostile attorney representing the deceased or his family, that was barred, and the judge’s instructions to the carefully screened coroner’s inquest jury would make it a slam dunk.
Still, it was all a pain in the ass. Weeks of worrying about this, when all he’d done was shoot one lousy nigger.
Technically, cops weren’t supposed to parade around in full dress uniform when they were off duty. After all, doctors didn’t generally testify in court in their Operating Room scrubs with a stethoscope around their neck; SCUBA divers didn’t flop up to the stand in their wet suits and tanks and swim fins. But that was easily taken care of — the department simply declared cops were on duty when required to testify in court — even if they were testifying about their having shot an unarmed citizen standing in the doorway to his own home. So Sergeant Robichaux was in his full dress parade regalia, complete with gold braid, as he entered Judge Crustio’s courtroom.
Judge Fidelio Crustio — who normally wouldn’t have pulled this duty — had taken over when the regular hearing officer had declared a conflict of interest. He ordered Phil sworn in. The prosecutor started by having him run through his years on the force, his promotions, commendations for bravery, and so on. No mention was made of his disciplinary problems or the ridiculous “anger management” classes,or the four previous Internal Affairs investigations. Then Wolfson coached him soothingly through the day of the shooting, just like they’d rehearsed.
Perpetrator Leroy Johnson, who owned a local dry-cleaning business, had been a light-skinned black man. Johnson’s common law wife, who’d been breaking up with him and moving out, called police to report he was angrily throwing her possessions onto his front lawn.
Asked whether the subject Johnson had weapons, the woman answered yes, but they were legally owned and secured. No, she reported, he hadn’t been drinking.
Three officers and Sgt. Phil Robichaux responded. Johnson, on seeing them, retreated into his home, refusing to answer questions.
A few minutes later, Officer Stanley Thibodeau, a trained police negotiator, arrived, and as the four other policemen stood close behind him with weapons drawn, he began trying to coax Johnson out onto his front porch.
Johnson had been polite, but reluctant to leave his home, saying repeatedly he was frightened of being killed.
He said “I don’t want anybody to get hurt,” the negotiator told investigators a few months later. “I don’t want to get shot.”
Thibodeau the negotiator told the subject Johnson no one was going to shoot him. Then he asked the subject Johnson if he owned a pistol. Johnson said yes, and fetched it. He held it up, holstered, for Thibodeau to see and then set it
“Were they Barlow’s?”
“I have no idea.”
“Would your dad remember?”
“Gone these many years, I’m afraid.”
“If someone was clearing out a house, different things can get jumbled into the same box. Sometimes there are a few magazines that can’t be sold because they got damp, missing pages, whatever, so the box hangs around. We’re looking for pretty much any handwritten material or notebooks that might relate to Barlow or Lovecraft or Robert E. Howard. Even unsigned fragments.”
“I can look, dad never threw anything away, but we’ve been trying to clear out the clutter.”
Matthew named a price he’d pay for any box of such material, plus shipping — not exorbitant but enough to be worth a few hours’ looking — and gave the nice lady his name and mailing address.
C HAPTER F IVE
ONE WEEK LATER …
Providence Police Sergeant Phil Robichaux had no doubt how it would go. He’d been through it with his union rep and then with Assistant Prosecutor Sturm Wolfson half a dozen times. There would be no cross-examination by any hostile attorney representing the deceased or his family, that was barred, and the judge’s instructions to the carefully screened coroner’s inquest jury would make it a slam dunk.
Still, it was all a pain in the ass. Weeks of worrying about this, when all he’d done was shoot one lousy nigger.
Technically, cops weren’t supposed to parade around in full dress uniform when they were off duty. After all, doctors didn’t generally testify in court in their Operating Room scrubs with a stethoscope around their neck; SCUBA divers didn’t flop up to the stand in their wet suits and tanks and swim fins. But that was easily taken care of — the department simply declared cops were on duty when required to testify in court — even if they were testifying about their having shot an unarmed citizen standing in the doorway to his own home. So Sergeant Robichaux was in his full dress parade regalia, complete with gold braid, as he entered Judge Crustio’s courtroom.
Judge Fidelio Crustio — who normally wouldn’t have pulled this duty — had taken over when the regular hearing officer had declared a conflict of interest. He ordered Phil sworn in. The prosecutor started by having him run through his years on the force, his promotions, commendations for bravery, and so on. No mention was made of his disciplinary problems or the ridiculous “anger management” classes,or the four previous Internal Affairs investigations. Then Wolfson coached him soothingly through the day of the shooting, just like they’d rehearsed.
Perpetrator Leroy Johnson, who owned a local dry-cleaning business, had been a light-skinned black man. Johnson’s common law wife, who’d been breaking up with him and moving out, called police to report he was angrily throwing her possessions onto his front lawn.
Asked whether the subject Johnson had weapons, the woman answered yes, but they were legally owned and secured. No, she reported, he hadn’t been drinking.
Three officers and Sgt. Phil Robichaux responded. Johnson, on seeing them, retreated into his home, refusing to answer questions.
A few minutes later, Officer Stanley Thibodeau, a trained police negotiator, arrived, and as the four other policemen stood close behind him with weapons drawn, he began trying to coax Johnson out onto his front porch.
Johnson had been polite, but reluctant to leave his home, saying repeatedly he was frightened of being killed.
He said “I don’t want anybody to get hurt,” the negotiator told investigators a few months later. “I don’t want to get shot.”
Thibodeau the negotiator told the subject Johnson no one was going to shoot him. Then he asked the subject Johnson if he owned a pistol. Johnson said yes, and fetched it. He held it up, holstered, for Thibodeau to see and then set it
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