Chapter 49
Jim arrived at 3:15 p.m. at the Rochester Airport. The Ford Fusion that he rented was parked a long football field away from the terminal. As he left the comforting warmth of the terminal building, he was immediately hit with a blast of sub-arctic air. He was not at all sure that he could make the remaining 100 yards to his rental car. When he reached the car after what seemed like an eternity, and pulled on the car’s door handle, he thought his ungloved hand would freeze permanently to the metal. The day was cloudy without any hint of sunshine. Without radiant heat, the interior of the car had stabilized to the same temperature as its exterior. Fortunately, on the first turn of the ignition key, the car burst into life. Jim waited five minutes to allow the heater to kick out something slightly warmer than the sub-zero air encasing the vehicle. Once on his way, he headed directly to the manufacturing company, constantly wiping the windshield to clear off his frozen breath while praying that he would not become a frozen fatality if the car decided to break down.
At the plant of the gun manufacturer, he was greeted at the door by the company’s CEO, Mr. Dunn. Dunn was amicable, and after his salutary greeting he asked, “Shall I take you on the $500 dollar tour or the 50 cent tour?”
“Neither,” Jim said. “I just want to get the information I requested, take a look at it and get the hell out of this God forsaken country.”
“It seems to me that you could have done it by mail or fax.”
“Yes, except if there were any problems with the data you provided we wanted to insure that we obtained the new information immediately. What you are providing to me may be used as evidence in an ongoing murder case.
Dunn said, “I understand.” Then he laughed, and observing Jim’s outerwear he commented, “Perhaps if you used a real winter coat you wouldn’t be so cold. We’re not as hardy a people as you might think. Downtown Rochester is laden with underground tunnels and above ground heated passages; we are well protected from the winter’s wrath.”
Jim said, “Yes, I noticed them driving on the way to your building; in fact I didn’t see any pedestrians on the streets.”
“That’s true, today’s temperature will not even reach zero. But the first day we hit the 40 degree mark, you will observe active people all over the area.”
“Not me,” Jim said. “Once I get my information, I’m out of here.”
Dunn said, “I’m sorry, but I tried to get in touch with you before you left Sarasota. I’m afraid we struck out—we have not sold any weapons of the type you described to anyone in Sarasota over the past year.”
Jim was not about to call it quits. “I brought with me some additional information; please have your ADP specialists revise the sort parameters, in order to broaden the geographical search area. I have the corresponding zip codes, if that is something your personnel can key on.”
“I think we can accommodate you. The basic program is incorporated in a relational data base; therefore, it should take no time at all to have the parameters adjusted to make the minor changes you want.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later Dunn returned with printout in hand. “We only mailed one weapon, to a post office box, in Fort Myers.”
Jim called Fred and revealed that he had only limited success. “I’m taking the redeye back to Sarasota, and I will check out the Post Office where the box had been rented first thing in the morning.”
Fred said, “Great, this may be our first really good break.”
* * *
The next morning Jim arrived at the Fort Myers main post office. Fort Myers was over sixty miles from Sarasota but the name provided by Dunn had been the only match within 500 miles of Sarasota. The postal supervisor in charge was cheerful and helpful, especially when Jim advised her that his inquiry was in connection to a murder case.
She said, “I hope it doesn’t relate to that horrible theater killing. My God, what on earth is this world coming to?”
Jim said, “I wish I knew.”
The supervisor was gone for a short time; she came back with the name and address of the individual who had rented the box. Unfortunately, she said the box had been closed out about a week ago.
“Can you show me a signature card?” he asked.
“Sure, here it is.”
The address provided on the card was Marv L. Saperstein. Jim said, “Could you or anyone here identify Mr. Saperstein?”
The supervisor said, “Yes, I can. I happened to wait on him when he took out the box. I remember him because he had on a bulky coat and a cap, which I found strange because we were experiencing extremely hot weather that day. I remember at the time I thought he must be really cold blooded or sick.
“Let me see, now, I can remember he was quite short, perhaps 5’5” or at most 5’7”. He had a dark mustache, but I could see blonde hair protruding from under his cap.”
“How much would you say he weighed?”
“I guess not more than 150 pounds if that. With that large coat he had on, I can’t be really sure.”
“Anything else?”
“Well, I waited on him a couple of weeks later; he came in again, still dressed as if for cold weather. He had received a very large package which didn’t fit in his box. It was very heavy and I asked him what was in the package, a bunch of weights? He smiled and said, ‘Nothing as dangerous as that.’”
“What was his voice like?”
“He had a deep voice, deeper than one would expect from such a small man. It was almost as if he intentionally tried to lower it.”
Jim suspected that Mr. Saperstein was trying to disguise his whole being.
* * *
Jim checked out the address the postal worker had supplied. It was a vacant split level house located near downtown Ft Myers; it didn’t appear to have been occupied for an extended time. The grass was at least a foot high. Free newspapers littered the driveway. Jim knocked on the front door.
A neighbor who was getting into his car next door yelled over, “Who are you looking for?”
“The person who lives here!”
“The house is a rental; the last tenant left about a month and a half ago. I talked to the owner, she lives in North Carolina. She was going to come down to get it ready to sell but she suffered a major heart attack and is still recuperating. I’ve been bugging her to get the mess cleaned up, but I guess she has more important things in her life right now.”
Jim obtained the name of the owner to check it out later. Jim said thanks, and headed back to Sarasota.
* * *
Fred was still in his office when Jim arrived. He briefed Fred on all that had transpired. Fred suggested that Jim get in touch with the owner of the Ft Myers house to determine who the previous tenant was. Jim said, “Good idea,” and left Fred’s office to do the research.
While Jim had been talking, Fred seemed to be distracted while playing with a combination of letters on a piece of paper. He called Jim back into the office. “My God!” he cried out. “Look at the name you were given. Mr. Saperstein’s first name is Marv with a middle initial of L. If we connect the first name with the middle initial, it almost spells out Marvel!”
Jim said, “So what?”
“A short time ago someone left me a note at my house indicating that I should get off the case or else. It was signed Marvel in bold red letters.”
Jim’s face turned ashen.
“What’s the matter?”
“I almost forgot, the postal clerk told me that when she asked Mr. Saperstein to sign the form, he rejected the use of her pen and took out one of his own. It was a red broad-point marker.”
“Jim, I believe that what you just said alters the dynamics of the murder cases we are working on. It indicates that Mr. Saperstein, whoever he is, must be directly involved with the killings.”
Jim interrupted, “I forgot to tell you, Fred. I’m in the process of checking out all of the Marv, Marvin, and M. Sapersteins in the southwestern region of Florida.”
Fred said, “Go ahead, but I’m sure you’ll find many. It’ll be just another decoy that Mr. Saperstein, whoever he is, set up for us. He seems to know how conventional police work operates and how time consuming it is. He also understands that we are compelled to go through the hoops and wickets whenever we have evidence to check out. I am sure there are enough Marv Sapersteins in Florida to eat up a massive amount of our resources trying to find the right one, who I’m sure doesn’t exist. Think about it, Mr. Saperstein suspected that we would find the murder weapon; and when he signed for the post office box, he also knew that we would figure out that he was The Marvel, the same person who signed the warning note delivered to my house. He anticipated we would get as far as we did but he placed a series of delays in our way. That’s part of the life and death game he’s playing with us and enjoying thoroughly, I’m sure.”
Jim asked abruptly, “How tall is Mr. Ford, the hypnotist?”
Fred said, “Rather short, maybe about 5”7” or 5’8.” Of course, he doesn’t have blond hair, but at the same time he seems to be an expert at disguises. You’re right if you’re thinking that it could well be him. It seems like he has disappeared into thin air.”
“Could Mr. Saperstein, or whatever his real name is, be acting like a Leopold and Loeb, in other words committing murders just for the thrill of it? Einstein said God doesn’t throw dice, I don’t think Mr. Saperstein does either. I believe he has a specific objective. Think about it, Fred, the only things that have changed with this new information is that our two suspects may not have initiated the killings on their own and those killings may not have been purely random. At the same time, Mr. Saperstein might not have had specific targets in mind. I really don’t think we’re much further along than we were a couple of days ago.”
“You might be right, Jim, but it also begs the question of why our two suspects did what they did. As I have said in the past, if they are hit men they certainly don’t fit any profile I’ve ever seen. One is a well known lawyer and the other a humanitarian businessman. They certainly didn’t need the money; and there seems to be no way on earth could they be sociopaths.”
Jim rebutted, “Well, if they’re not hit men, then what could be their motivation?
“I’m not sure, Jim, but I think the strange fact is that they somehow believe their own alibis.”
“That’s plain nuts, Fred. One of them was caught with an assault weapon but he said that he was not responsible for the killings. And the other lied about where he was during the time of the theater murders. We proved beyond a doubt that he wasn’t there.”
“Yes, strange, isn’t it, that two responsible, intelligent men would concoct alibis that could so easily be defeated?”
Jim had no response.
* * *
Jim left, and returned to Fred’s office within an hour. “Fred, I checked with the owner of the home in Ft Myers that you asked me to research. It turns out the former tenant was over 90 years old and has been admitted to a Ft Myers nursing home with advanced Alzheimer’s. I think that’s a definite dead end on that lead.”
Fred shrugged. “What else is new,” he muttered as Jim left the room.