On The Way

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It’s harder to murder a dead man than you might think.

Clarence Monroe died of natural causes on the evening of November 12. He was in his late 50’s and not in great health to begin with. He technically died of pneumonia, but there were plenty of contributing factors. But I declared his death to be a homicide. It’s easy enough to do if you are the chief medical examiner.

So, why did I decide he was a murder victim?

He was the first death I ran across which would be easy enough to pin on the bastard who killed my wife.

***** 

Three years before Mr. Monroe’s tragic murder, my wife, Theresa, was killed on her way home from an office event. I had been working late that week, but the truth is I just didn’t want to go, so I didn’t. She texted me “On the way” just as she left the party. Fifteen minutes later she was dead. A drunk driver plowed into her, and she died on the spot. The drunk walked away with little more than a bloody nose from where his airbag deployed.

I like to tell myself that if it had been some kid that hit her, I would have been forgiving. But it wasn’t. It was Ryan Peterson, a 38 year-old finance bro who had already gotten a slap on the wrist for a DUI. He didn’t get much more than that this time around. He spent a few weekends in County, paid some fines, and had his licenses suspended for a six months. He got one hell of a bargain. Six months of inconvenience for my wife’s life. Deal of the century, if you ask me.

And all I got were those last words from her. “On the way”.

Last words are a funny thing. They are almost never profound. We rarely get the moving death bed soliloquy that writers conjure up. It’s usually something ordinary and banal. Like “On the way”.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, I did respond so that her last interaction with me wasn’t a one-way communication. I typed back “k”.

That final conversation ate at me. Still does. So does the fact that I didn’t go with her to that party. Maybe if I had, we’d have left a few minutes earlier, and she wouldn’t have been in the intersection of Oak and Willoughby when Ryan Peterson bolted through that red light and smashed into her.

I grieved - still am - for months. But, even then I wanted to kill Ryan Peterson. I knew I wouldn’t do it. Call me cautious or cowardly or both. In my profession, I am by no means squeamish about death; but causing it is another story.

So, no, I couldn’t kill. But, I also couldn’t live with Peterson not getting the punishment he deserved. You ask me, he murdered Theresa. He may not have targeted her, but with each drink he took that night, he loaded another round in the barrel. The he started his car, he spun the chamber, and he pulled the trigger as soon as he started weaving down the street.

Let him be charged with murder, I thought. And that was where the plan came from.

I researched Peterson and learned who he surrounded himself with. Friends, family, business associates and rivals. The idea was to wait for someone who was closely connected with Peterson to die. That was going to be the part that took time. But it took less than expected. You know that six degrees of Kevin Bacon game? Truth is you can play it with just about anyone.

About a year after Theresa’s death, one of Peterson’s cousins died. I couldn’t think of a plausible way to conjure up a motive for that one. I had a couple of more hits - including a next door neighbor - that tempted me. But, I couldn’t see a way that Peterson could gain from their deaths or show that he needed to seek vengeance on them. I know, I hear the irony there too.

But, I am patient and not overtly stupid. I’d wait for the right opportunity.

Clarence Monroe was it.

Monroe worked for the same brokerage house as Peterson did, and, lo, was Peterson’s supervisor.

Monroe’s death didn’t seem suspicious, but he was young enough that I managed to persuade the powers that be (and the family) that an autopsy was in order. That part was easy.

The hospital transferred the body and his personal effects to the morgue. That included his cell phone. Now, here’s the trick part. Cell phones today usually require a code, a fingerprint or facial recognition to unlock, and despite what you’ve seen on TV, a dead man’s face or fingerprint usually won’t work for that purpose.

Unless you know what you are doing.

I warmed up Monroe’s face with heat lamps and glued his eyelids up. It’s not as bad as it sounds.

Once I had the skin warm, I held the phone up while slightly moving his head. The thermal scan and slight eye movements was good enough to fool the phone. I was in. I promptly changed the passcode to some numbers I could remember so I didn’t have to go through all that again.

I put the phone on airplane mode and reset the clock and date to a couple of hours before Monroe’s death.

I started an email to Monroe’s boss - and email address I easily plucked from his inbox - with a cc to Peterson. I copied the style and naming conventions he used and wrote:

“Tom,

Today I put Ryan on a PIP. He was angry and confrontational about it, but I think it’s the best option. I hesitate to add this, because I assume he’s just venting, but he said something to the effect of “I’ll get you for this, Clarence.” Normally, I wouldn’t think anything of this, but there was something very intense about this. Just wanted to let you know.”

I did not press send. Instead, I turned the clock back on. I checked the drafts folder, and the draft saved with the date and time I gave it. I turned off the phone, wiped it down, and put it back in the Ziplock bag.

The next part was pretty easy. I just filed a syringe with a lethal dose of a concoction I made with run of the mill solvents that could trigger pneumonia and death. Decorum prevents me from listing the ingredients to this cocktail, but it would be sufficient to work on someone in non-optimal shape.

My report noted the presence of the chemicals in question. I’d highlight this and list the cause of death as possible misadventure by chemical usage or homicide.

Now, here’s the fun part.

Months ago I broke into Peterson’s back yard - which was not a challenge - planted containers of the chemicals that make up the cocktail in his storage shed. They were nestled in there with all the other containers that no one ever pays attention to. I had emptied them all about 1/4 of the way and just left them there. It was a risk, of course, but the odds of them being disposed of were small. Just as the odds of me getting caught doing it were.

So, everything was in place by the time I turned my report over to the D.A.’s office, as I am required to do anytime there’s even a whiff of foul play.

Then I just sat back. Peterson would be arrested for Monroe’s death soon enough.

***** 

He wasn’t.

The cops did come, but it was for me.

The plan almost worked. Once the D.A. got my report, she turned it over to law enforcement. One of the first places the homicide detectives checked was Monroe’s email, as I knew they would. That obviously led to Peterson, and the D.A. got a warrant for his home.

A search of the premises ultimately led to the containers I had left.

And that should have been the end of that.

But I had missed something. The security camera. It was a stupid error. Those things are everywhere, and Peterson had one in his backyard that captured a video of me breaking into his shed with a small backpack that held the containers.

I guess Peterson thought I was just a random thief out to get his lawnmower. Maybe he thought I was spooked by a dog or something. He testified later that he didn’t call the police because nothing was missing, and the video didn’t seem good enough to identify a random thief. Besides, he stated, he didn’t think the cops would wast much effort on a simple shed break in where the total value of damage and stolen goods was zero.

But, he kept the video. He testified that he didn’t know why, but he just felt like it was a good idea.

Police were able to enhance the video - it didn’t need much - and found me as a match in the state data system. As a government employee, my picture is on file.

It didn’t take much for them to piece together my motive, and the fact that I had access to the phone and had, of course, written the report. A second forensic investigation on Monroe’s body following exhumation revealed that he did have the chemical cocktail in him, but it had not moved throughout his bloodstream as one would expect. It was as if he was injected post-mortem. Which, of course, he was.

I was convicted, of course, of a number of felonies. Fraud, obstruction of justice, fabrication of evidence, filing a false report and so one. When all was said and done, I was convicted to 40 years, and I lost my license, which was really a moot point at that stage.

Shortly after I was sentenced, Peterson came to see me. I was - of course - shocked. But, curiosity got the better of me, so I agreed to take the visit.

He started by telling me he forgives me, and hopes I can forgive him for Theresa’s death. But he didn’t seem sincere - like he was going through the motions. He told me that he had gotten a big promotion at work. In fact, he had taken Monroe’s job. He - naturally - said he was sad that Monroe passed, but it undeniably opened up a big opportunity for him. “And, in a weird way, I think I have you to thank for that. I had some competition, but I think what you tried to do to me really won me some sympathy points. So, you know, no hard feelings.”

I didn’t say anything.

He nodded and stood up, and then he leaned towards me and whispered, “I knew that video was you the second I saw it. I kept it just in case. Smart, don’t you think?”

He had a smug grin as he turned and walked out of the visiting area.

He’d taken Theresa’s life, and I gave him mine. And a nice promotion to boot.

I stared down at the floor and whispered to myself - to Theresa - “On the way”.

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