The Case of Laurence Witherspoon (1)

Chapter 1 of a 5 Chapter Short Story

In recalling my days as a detective in New York, no case will ever be as memorable as the Witherspoon case. It was all over the news in October, 2002. A twenty three year old NYU graduate named Laurence Witherspoon had presumably murdered a twenty year old woman by the name of Samantha Johnson. His face was plastered on every news network: sleek black hair, green eyes; tall and handsome, with a dashing smile. Samantha Johnson on the other hand was a truant; her ID showed a pretty face, with blue eyes and long blonde hair, but recent pictures showed her looks had been tarnished with the obvious effects of narcotics, yellowed teeth from cigarette smoking, and sinister looking eyes. The media was leaning heavily on Mr. Witherspoon's side, backing up his innocence with clips showing his Valedictorian speech at NYU with a near perfect G.P.A, professors from all over New York praising him as a man of excellent character, and desperate pleas of innocence from his family and friends. Samantha had no living family; her youth had been a seemingly endless series of transfers from one foster home to another. Never applying for college, she had been doing multiple simple jobs, living promiscuously in the slums of Brooklyn, making ends meet by working the corners. As far as the general public was concerned, there was absolutely no way Laurence Witherspoon could have murdered Samantha Johnson, and especially not in the peculiar way as the police had described.

I was not concerned in the slightest with the media fanfare, however. I had seen plenty of seemingly perfect members of society wind up to be the most calculative, cold blooded murderers, and this case could be no exception. No, what mattered to me were the facts presented, and I was struggling to make any sense of them. According to the police report, on October 2nd, 2002, at around 11:30pm, Samantha Johnson was standing near one of the sides of the Brooklyn Bridge, assumed to be contemplating jumping off the bridge and ending her own life. Simple enough, but here is where it got tricky: at least fifty witnesses insist that, as the police were hurrying to get to the scene, they saw Laurence Witherspoon walk right past where Samantha had positioned herself on the ledge, and push her off without even breaking his stride. Naturally, Laurence had been arrested minutes later and charged with murder, and the next morning the story had spread like wildfire. Nothing stirs the masses like murder, and the case's popularity was accentuated by the accused being an apparent model citizen and NYU graduate, the deceased a drop out hooker.

The date was October 10th, and I was having my usual English breakfast served to me by my wife of twenty one years, Jennifer. She was born and raised in London, and although she had moved to New York at nineteen, she still retained her pride for her country and all the facets they stood by. Sipping her tea as she watched me eat, she asked,

"Have you decided yet?"

I chewed slowly and hesitated, which gave away my answer and before I could begin to explain, she let out a deep sigh and launched into a diatribe,

"I thought you were stepping away from these sort of cases Charles. I hate to break it to you baby, but you're not the hotshot young gun you once were, with your endless energy and knack for escaping sticky situations. I know you still have more than enough wit and intelligence to deal with it, but you heard what Tim said. He suspects that Laurence Witherspoon has some sort of connection to the Mob. These people are still extremely dangerous, Charles. I've seen more than enough bodies in forensics and... I don't want to have to see yours..."

Her words becoming interrupted by soft hiccups and sobs, I took her in my arms as I pondered her words. It had nothing to do with seeing bodies in forensics; Jen had never let her work affect her personally. I knew it was the loss of her close grandmother Vicky just two weeks ago that was prompting such a reaction. There mere thought of me getting involved with anything with the slightest risk of danger was terrifying her. Stroking her hair, I chose my words carefully so as to not upset her further.

"Sweetie you know I don't want to take it, but Rob begged me to. He is good friends with the Witherspoon family, and almost as distraught as they are. Seems like he has a history with young Laurence. Rob is the one that gave me a chance to become who am I am today Jen. I can't turn him down when he is so desperate".

Rob Bernard was my mentor in the NYPD. Recently turning fifty six, he was contemplating retirement soon, and rarely took up cases as of late, usually leaving most of them to be handled by his team. He had been frantic to look into the Laurence Witherspoon case himself, but was fearful of his personal history with him interfering with the case, or possibly being used against them in court, which is why he had pleaded with my team to take it.

"But the Mob, Charles. The Mob. Is your loyalty to Rob worth risking your life? Tell him to find another team for the job, surely the department has plenty of detectives that would be eager to jump at such a big case? I just have a bad feeling honey..."

Jen and I had engaged in our fair share of breakfast table litigation, but this was different. She would not be diffused with my usual light hearted joke and quick dash to the door. I decided to settle.

"Jen, we don't even know if Tim is right. You know ever since we were all students back at St. John's, he's been quick to form wild speculations and theories. Joining the FBI has only made him even more erratic. Rob is depending on me to pull through for him. I'll make you a deal: just let me look into the case first, do some research and find out what I can. If any confirmed connections to the Mob come up, I promise you, I will hand over the case to another team and be back here with you, surrendering myself to your tea and crumpets."

"You hate tea and crumpets", she grumbled into my chest, then raising her head and blinking away her tears, continued, "and it's really quite a shame too. You Americans and your obsession with coffee. If this case doesn't kill you, the hundred cups of coffee you drink before it ends surely might do the job".

We both laughed, trying to put the tense conversation behind us. I could tell from her rigidity that she still had her misgivings about the case, but I had placated her for now. Finishing up my breakfast, I grabbed my jacket, gave her a quick kiss, and headed for the door. Closing the door behind me, Jennifer said,

"Charles? You know that even before you made me Mrs. Franklin, from the moment we first met, you've never broken a promise to me, right? I'd hate for you to start now".

---

Waiting for me next to my car was my partner, Halima Mason. With her smooth dark skin, accentuated curves, and insistence upon adding some sort of native trinket to her attire (today it was a pair of sharply coloured bangle bracelets), she drew double takes and glances almost anywhere she went. It was becoming quite a problem in the department as well, where men were eager for any sort of distraction to take them away from their duties, particularly when said distraction was a young, attractive woman. Nodding to me as I unlocked the car and entering the front passenger seat, I started the engine and we set off.

"What do you think, Lima?"

"I don't know, Charles. I mean it makes no sense at all to me" she said, her accent adding a slight inflection to every word, "how a near perfect graduate with no track record would just decide to push some hooker that was about to kill herself off a bridge? It's completely ridiculous."

"That's exactly what makes it a case Lima."

"But to add onto that, her body still has not been found? How could that be? The eyewitnesses saw exactly where she fell from, how could her body have vanished? I don't know whether it is juju or Mami Wata".

I was accustomed to Halima's tendency to resort to usage of her native Nigerian verbiage, so her last statement almost made sense. I had heard her say 'juju' many times before when talking about scenarios that presented no logical explanation, and she had clarified it to mean 'black magic', but 'Mami Water' was a new one.

"Mami Wata?" I asked.

"She's a female water spirit. She abducts people usually when they are swimming or boating." Halima stated in a matter-of-fact tone, as if it were common, accepted knowledge that Mami Wata existed.

"Well I think we should leave that speculation for later, after we have established a base of information. What do we know about the girl, Samantha?"

"Aside from all the crap the media is using to demonize her, from what I found she wasn't quite that bad. An old friend of hers, Latifa Robinson, that I was able to track down through her old high school told me that Samantha was only working as a prostitute to save up for college. She also does not remember her as a smoker, although they last made contact a year ago".

"Time changes people. She probably picked up smoking after they stopped keeping in touch. Anything else?"

"For some reason, she kept repeating how Samantha hated blonde hair. I am not quite sure why she was so fixated on that point", she said while looking around at their surroundings as the car cruised on. "Where are we headed? This isn't the way to the precinct."

"6th Avenue, where Joel and Carey Witherspoon, the parents of our alleged murderer, currently reside. I want to see if we can get a glimpse of what is hidden behind the fake smiles of Laurence Witherspoon."

"What makes you so sure that he is hiding something? " she asked. "All the police have tying him to this murder is the word of the eye witnesses. I am not going to be blinded by any sort of mob mentality, the large number of eye witnesses is no indication of verity. This could be some sort of elaborate set up."

I did not want to speculate yet, so I simply said, "Just call it a hunch Lima".

It was hunch supported by years of dedication in the detective line. As I had been watching the news networks shuffle through images of Laurence Witherspoon all morning, one particular picture kept my attention. It was the only picture he was not smiling or laughing; he was looking outside the window of a classroom, seemingly unaware the picture was even being taken by a classmate. His eyes were dark and empty. I had seen those eyes many times before: they were the eyes of people that lacked emotion, motive, anything to tie them to normal moral reasoning.

Right on cue, Halima chose that moment to turn up the radio, from which a news reporter's voice was saying,

"...eaded guilty. That's right, ladies and gentlemen. Breaking news: Laurence Witherspoon is pleading guilty to the murder of Samantha Johnson".

Reviews

[Syber.Alias]

I like the beginning, when he starts with a recollection. You know he's telling a story but in the course of reading... I forgot.
Mr witherspoon is a strange character, I mean, he raises alot of questions at first, why would you suspect someone that has "everything in order" then again, why would he just push a hooker off the bridge? It makes it look like a deciscion made on impulse, but how can such an evil decision be "impulsive"? He already committed the murder... people saw him do it, why would he do that? In front of everyone no less. And if everyone saw him do it, then that means he must be a really great/kind/well-rounded guy, if people can still vouch for him after this. Which makes me wonder the extent of his evil... but those are just thoughts and questions.
I like the character, Halima, but this might just be me being a little biased. She was a little unexpected.
Aside that, I like the way your writing style manages to be simple without being mechanical.