…

Bryson and Worthey confer

…

Detective Worthey arrived at the Bergman residence at the same time as the first team of crime scene investigators.

He had come directly from interviewing Sandra Worsley, Bergman’s daughter.

“The list of suspects is getting longer and longer,” Worthey said, after joining Bryson by his car, having a cigarette, the first in a number of months.

“Why am I not surprised.”

“I thought you gave up smoking.”

“I thought I did too, but this case.  There’s something odd going on here, and I’m sure when I find out what it is, I’m not going to like it.”

“Odd, funny or odd, hairs on the back of the neck?”

“Why does an import/export trader have a rented house in an obscure location with a large basement and a dozen filing cabinets?”

“Can’t be too obscure if his scorned wife knows where it is.”

“She’s been having him followed by a private detective.  Met him just before.  There’s more to him than meets the eye.”

Bryson had dealt with a lot of Private Detectives in his time, and they usually fell into two categories, those that found missing pets, and the photographs of cheating spouses, and those that were proper investigators, ex police, ex FBI, even ex CIA.  Davidson was in the latter category, and he wasn’t simply investigating a cheating husband.

“Will I add him to the ever-growing list?”

“No.  I’ll look into him.  I have a feeling it’s going to end up above our pay grade.”

That was the other thing Bryson noted.  The dynamic between Stacy and Davidson.  It was more than just Investigator and client.  He was either a relative, or they were more than just friends.  Looks and words exchanged between the two were ‘noticeable’ to a trained eye.  How did it go with the daughter?”

“Sandra?  A father’s favorite daughter.  She did not speak badly of him.  Certainly, does not like the wife, Stacey, and speaks kindly of Wendy Anderson.  Appears she had known her for most of her life, in fact, I got the impression Wendy was her mother.  She certainly has some of her physical characteristics.”

“Interesting.  Another question we can put to James Anderson.  I’m willing to bet he knows nothing about her.  What does she do for a living?”

“Schoolteacher, up in Yonkers.  Comes to stay with her father once every few months.  She just happened to be here this week for a conference.  They were supposed to have dinner at her favourite restaurant on the night he died, but he called to cancel, saying he had an unscheduled meeting with a friend who needed to see him.”

“A friend?  Could be the person who shot him.  He didn’t happen to give her a name?”

“No.  We’re not that lucky, but she thought it might be a woman rather than a man.”

“Chances are she is totally unaware of his philandering, other women in his life, and the fact his business was going badly.  Did you ask her if she knew what his business was?

“I did.  She said he told her it was importing and exporting, but she thought that was a euphemism for something else, not necessarily illegal, but she did say he used to be in the army as a Quartermaster, she heard him mention it to another man in a conversation recently.  He never told her what he did, but she assumed that was because he’d been in Iraq or somewhere like that.  When she mentioned his service I did a quick check, and it hit a brick wall.”

“Classified?”

“Like there is no record of him being in the military.”

Bryson looked over at the entrance to the house and saw one of the crime scene investigators coming towards him.

He’d worked with him before, enough to be able to interpret the expression on his face as impending bad news.

“What have we?”

“The filing cabinets, John.”

“Weapons, contraband, or artifacts?”

“What look to be artifacts in several, weapons in another, what you might call the spoils of war.  Nothing earth-shattering, but definitely worthy of the real owners getting slightly upset.  Several of the items appear to match the descriptions of items that were supposedly destroyed by ISIS.”

“We’re dealing with black market artifacts then?”

“Quite possibly.  I’m getting an expert to come in and tell us exactly what the items are.  If you’re looking for a motive for his death, then these items would definitely fit that.  There’s a lot of foreign weaponry too, the sort collectors pay a small fortune for.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll let you know more later.”

Worthey sighed as he watched the man return to the house.  “Why couldn’t this be a simple case of a jealous husband shooting his wife’s secret lover?”

“Why indeed.”

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2023

…

The visitors at the Bergman Residence

…

Bryson stood, just out of sight, and heard the door open and heard two voices, one of which was familiar.

Stacy Bergman.  The other voice, male, was unfamiliar.

“Like I said,” she was saying, “the bastard had those photographs somewhere, and leaving this address lying around was his second mistake.”

“The first,” her companion asked?

“Cheating on me.  But I should have realized he’s never given up that floozie from school, the one he said had got away.  The one, he also said, he was not having an affair with.”

“What about the other six I found?”

“Well, what can I say.  The man was a fool.  You go upstairs, I’ll look around her, then we’ll both tackle the basement.  What is that smell?”

“Treachery?”

That was greeted with silence, followed by steps trudging upstairs.

Bryson stepped out from behind the wall, gun pointed at Stacy Bergman, and said, “Conducting a little breaking and entering, are we?”

Predictably, she screamed.

Her companion came pounding back down the stairs and stopped when he saw Bryson with the gun.  “You really don’t want to use that.  We are not doing anything wrong here.”

“And you are?”

“Jim Davidson, Private Detective.  I’m assisting Ms Hollingworth in an investigation into her husband’s activities.”

Stacy found her voice, “This is the detective I was telling you about.  Be careful what you say.”

“Why would he have to be careful Mrs. Bergman?  Is there something you haven’t told me?”

“No.”

“You mentioned some photographs when you came in.  What photographs were they?”

He watched her look change from surprise to puzzlement to wary as she realized what she had said, not knowing he had been there.  Now, it was a race to come up with an excuse that didn’t match the reality.  Bergman had something on her too.

A few seconds of silence, and then she said, “He was supposed to be importing some crockery from England and was supposed to show me the supplier photographs.  It’s a present for a friend for her wedding, and like always, he doesn’t follow through.”

“How do you know about this place?”

“I know everything about him.”

“Via the private detective?  How long have you had him investigating Bergman?”  He glared at Davison, who in turn looked at Mrs Bergman.

Bryson looked at Mrs Bergman, and said, “If you are considering telling me a lie, mars Bergman, I will have my assistant get a warrant from a judge to view all of the PI’s documents relating to your case.  As it is,” he looked at Davidson, “I’m going to add you to the list of suspects, and my assistant will be interviewing you, sooner rather than later.”

“I had nothing to do with his demise.”

“That remains to be seen.”  Back to Mrs Bergman, “Now, a truthful answer.”

“About a year.”

“That’s a long and expensive activity for someone who doesn’t have the funds.  You do realize we are aware of your husband’s finances?”

“Any further questions will be answered with a lawyer’s presence, Detective.”

“Fine.  Don’t leave the city.  Unless you can prove that you have legal access to this residence, other than the key you’re holding in your hand, you will be charged with breaking and entering, and if not, for violating a crime scene.”

Bryson saw two uniformed officers arrive and park their car behind Davison’s.  When they reached the doorway he said, “Take these two and escort them from the building.  After that, make sure no one else comes in until the CSI team arrives.  Good day, Mrs. Bergman.  I will let you know when you are to report for another interview.

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2023

…

Detective Bryson goes to Bergman’s residence

…

The address in 84^th Avenue Jamaica, was between Jamaica Hills and Briarwood, and a little confusing because there was an 84^th Avenue, 84^th Drive, 84^th Road.  It led Bryson to a single two-story house with a driveway up the side to a garage.  It was not wide, but long, and painted a rather odd colour, and in need of updating.  It

He parked the car in the side alley and pulled out the key ring that was found on the body, and went up to the front door.  He stepped to the side and looked through the window, where there were several cracks in the Venetian blinds.  It was too dark inside to see anything.

The seventh key he tried opened the outer glass door and the last the front door.  There was no alarm, at least not one that was set.  It was clear, once inside, that no one else was in the building.  He switched on the light and was confronted with a rather untidy room with old furniture, and few modern comforts.

He put on the gloves he had brought, and picked his way carefully through the mess, trying not to disturb anything.  After a cursory inspection, he would call in the CSI team.

It was a room that wasn’t used often, with no television, a setoff shelves with a few books tossed in, and items of clothing tossed on a settee.  The room had a musty odour, as though it was not used, nor cleaned often.  Moving towards the back there was a dining room, with a large table covered in documents, newspapers, connections for a computer, a printer, a USB hub, and leads leading to missing devices, one of which was possibly a phone.  Other than the printer, there was no other hardware.

The kitchen showed signs of recent use, with dirty dishes and cutlery tossed hastily in the sink.  A look in the refrigerator showed a few items, some looking very stale, and a block of cheese that had turned green.  He didn’t check the milk, it looked off.

The papers on the table were haphazardly tossed, perhaps as a result of Bergman looking for something and not finding it.  It didn’t have the feel of someone else looking for something.

Further on was a passage leading to the back of the house and another entrance.  Back in the middle of the house were stairs going up and down.  Visible from the outside was a basement, and Bryson shuddered, a bad experience in his childhood to do with basements came back to haunt him.  It was going to take some effort to go down there.

Upstairs there were two very large bedrooms and a bathroom, the first bedroom showing signs of use, with clothes tossed on the bed, others tossed on the floor.  The closet doors were open, and clothes were hanging, half hanging, or fallen on the floor.  It looked like Bergman was in a hurry to find something that he believed was in the closet.

There was nothing in the other bedroom, nor anything of interest in the bathroom.  Overall, Bergman was very untidy.  The upstairs rooms had faded wallpaper, and in places, it was peeling off.  The roof was stained, and the bathroom had mould.

The whole ground floor and upstairs needed repainting, and the bathrooms modernized. And the wallpaper replaced or removed.  The carpet in the upstairs rooms was both stained and very dirty.

He went back downstairs and pulled out his torch, headed down the stairs to the basement.  At the bottom, there was a door, locked, and the first time through all the keys, not one unlocked the door.  He tried again and found that a little more elbow grease was required to turn the key in the lock.

Just to be on the safe side, not knowing what to expect, Bryson pulled out his gun and was ready, just in case there was a surprise.  He opened the door and pushed it open slowly.

Darkness,  And a very bad smell, like something had died down there.

He reached inside the wall and found the light switch, then turned on the lights.

The area he could see was surprisingly clean, and sparsely furnished, with a long table with boxed neatly set out.  Along one of the walls was a set of filing cabinets.  The floor was uncovered concrete, and the odour was most likely rising damp.

When he crossed the room to the table, he could see, in the other direction, a doorway that looked like an exit, and a free-standing safe, quite large, with the door open.  He went over to look inside, but it was empty.

There was no clue as to what might have been in there, but Bryson suspected whatever there had been, Bergman had taken with him, the day he died, or before that, but recent.

The boxes on the table had power tools in them and were probably part of the stock in trade.

On one box was a folder which Bryson carefully opened and looked at the first page.

Shipping dockets.  Some in the name of Phillip McGarry, and the rest in the name of Avondale Traders, Bergman’s company.

He tried the keys on the filing cabinets but none of them opened any of the cabinets.  Each appeared to be full because Bryson tried moving them and it was very difficult.  CSI would be able to get into them, and he would have to wait.

There was the noise of a car pulling into the alley beside the house and then stopping.  A few seconds later, two doors slammed shut.

He raced up the stairs, closing the door behind him, and reached the top just as the visitors opened the front door.

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2023

…

Detective Bryson goes to Bergman’s residence

…

The address in 84^th Avenue Jamaica, was between Jamaica Hills and Briarwood, and a little confusing because there was an 84^th Avenue, 84^th Drive, 84^th Road.  It led Bryson to a single two-story house with a driveway up the side to a garage.  It was not wide, but long, and painted a rather odd colour, and in need of updating.  It

He parked the car in the side alley and pulled out the key ring that was found on the body, and went up to the front door.  He stepped to the side and looked through the window, where there were several cracks in the Venetian blinds.  It was too dark inside to see anything.

The seventh key he tried opened the outer glass door and the last the front door.  There was no alarm, at least not one that was set.  It was clear, once inside, that no one else was in the building.  He switched on the light and was confronted with a rather untidy room with old furniture, and few modern comforts.

He put on the gloves he had brought, and picked his way carefully through the mess, trying not to disturb anything.  After a cursory inspection, he would call in the CSI team.

It was a room that wasn’t used often, with no television, a setoff shelves with a few books tossed in, and items of clothing tossed on a settee.  The room had a musty odour, as though it was not used, nor cleaned often.  Moving towards the back there was a dining room, with a large table covered in documents, newspapers, connections for a computer, a printer, a USB hub, and leads leading to missing devices, one of which was possibly a phone.  Other than the printer, there was no other hardware.

The kitchen showed signs of recent use, with dirty dishes and cutlery tossed hastily in the sink.  A look in the refrigerator showed a few items, some looking very stale, and a block of cheese that had turned green.  He didn’t check the milk, it looked off.

The papers on the table were haphazardly tossed, perhaps as a result of Bergman looking for something and not finding it.  It didn’t have the feel of someone else looking for something.

Further on was a passage leading to the back of the house and another entrance.  Back in the middle of the house were stairs going up and down.  Visible from the outside was a basement, and Bryson shuddered, a bad experience in his childhood to do with basements came back to haunt him.  It was going to take some effort to go down there.

Upstairs there were two very large bedrooms and a bathroom, the first bedroom showing signs of use, with clothes tossed on the bed, others tossed on the floor.  The closet doors were open, and clothes were hanging, half hanging, or fallen on the floor.  It looked like Bergman was in a hurry to find something that he believed was in the closet.

There was nothing in the other bedroom, nor anything of interest in the bathroom.  Overall, Bergman was very untidy.  The upstairs rooms had faded wallpaper, and in places, it was peeling off.  The roof was stained, and the bathroom had mould.

The whole ground floor and upstairs needed repainting, and the bathrooms modernized. And the wallpaper replaced or removed.  The carpet in the upstairs rooms was both stained and very dirty.

He went back downstairs and pulled out his torch, headed down the stairs to the basement.  At the bottom, there was a door, locked, and the first time through all the keys, not one unlocked the door.  He tried again and found that a little more elbow grease was required to turn the key in the lock.

Just to be on the safe side, not knowing what to expect, Bryson pulled out his gun and was ready, just in case there was a surprise.  He opened the door and pushed it open slowly.

Darkness,  And a very bad smell, like something had died down there.

He reached inside the wall and found the light switch, then turned on the lights.

The area he could see was surprisingly clean, and sparsely furnished, with a long table with boxed neatly set out.  Along one of the walls was a set of filing cabinets.  The floor was uncovered concrete, and the odour was most likely rising damp.

When he crossed the room to the table, he could see, in the other direction, a doorway that looked like an exit, and a free-standing safe, quite large, with the door open.  He went over to look inside, but it was empty.

There was no clue as to what might have been in there, but Bryson suspected whatever there had been, Bergman had taken with him, the day he died, or before that, but recent.

The boxes on the table had power tools in them and were probably part of the stock in trade.

On one box was a folder which Bryson carefully opened and looked at the first page.

Shipping dockets.  Some in the name of Phillip McGarry, and the rest in the name of Avondale Traders, Bergman’s company.

He tried the keys on the filing cabinets but none of them opened any of the cabinets.  Each appeared to be full because Bryson tried moving them and it was very difficult.  CSI would be able to get into them, and he would have to wait.

There was the noise of a car pulling into the alley beside the house and then stopping.  A few seconds later, two doors slammed shut.

He raced up the stairs, closing the door behind him, and reached the top just as the visitors opened the front door.

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2023

…

Detectives Bryson and Worthy visit Bergman’s Lawyer

…

Stuart, Stewart, and Barnes, Attorneys-At-Law, had upmarket offices in Queen’s brownstone, the sort of place that upstairs was a residence, and downstairs, offices, for what might be a family business.

There was a girl at a desk inside the front door, which was backed by a glass wall that showed several offices with doors open and a central breakout space that also doubled as a waiting area.

Worthy and Bryson had to push a button beside the front door and announce themselves before the door was opened.  Bryson assumed there was a CCTV camera above the door which showed who they were.

In the time they took to get in and front up to the desk, the girl had called Ray Stuart, Bergman’s legal representative, and he was coming down the stairs to greet them.

“I’ve been expecting you,” he said, approaching the two, then, “Follow me.”

They went inside and into the office on the left.  Once inside, Stuart closed the door, directed the two to seats opposite a large table, and then sat himself.

“I assume you are aware Alex Bergman is dead?”

“Yes.  Otherwise, why would you be here?”

“Are you surprised?  It seems others we have seen are not,” Bryson said.

“He was just a client, one of many.  Not particularly important, but problematic.”

“How so?”

“His financial affairs, and a difficult divorce.”

“Why difficult?”

“His business was bankrupt, he was personally bankrupt, and had he not died, you would be here for entirely different reasons.  The last time I saw him, two days ago, my only advice to him was to disappear.  I jokingly said, in parting, that the best thing that could happen was his death.  I read he died from a gunshot wound to the head.  Was it self-inflicted?”

“We don’t believe so.  No,” Bryson said.  “Rather brutal advice on your part though?”

“He was facing three civil lawsuits over business dealings, each of which had compelling evidence against him.  His wife had ample evidence of his infidelity and her claims would have bene taken seriously, and three other women had sworn complaints of blackmail.  Like I said, if he hadn’t died, you’d be here to arrest him for any one of a dozen other reasons.”

“You have documentation of these complaints?”

“Yes.  I’ll have copies of the relevant documents sent to you”.

Worthey handed him his card.  “Send them to that address, to me, thanks.”

“Did he have a will?” Bryson asked.

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me what was in it?”

“The company goes to Richard Hollingsworth, not that it has any value, or assets, other than working funds and current stock.  What there is will just cover the expenses and current debt.  All that will be left is the company name.  His personal assets go to his daughter, Sandra, from an earlier marriage, but that will not amount to very much.  His current wife, Stacey, gets nothing.  He had transferred all of the assets she currently possesses to her a while back, so they are not her responsibility.  His current residence was not owned but rented, and I’ll be arranging the end of the lease, after, I assume, you do an inspection.”

Stuart scribbled the address down on a piece of note paper and handed it to Worthey.

“Did he have anyone who would want to kill him?”

“I’m sure his PA back at the office could tell you that better than I could.”

“Stacy?”

“No.  She hated him because of his infidelity, but not enough to kill him.  Her idea of punishment was humiliation.”

Bryson stood.  He’d heard enough.  “If there’s anything else you can think of, please call Worthey.  Thank you for your time.”

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2023

…

A deep dive into Bergman’s Timeline

…

Bryson rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.  This was going to be a day that never ended.  For some, the day ended while the sun was still shining, for others, they might as well be vampires.

There were so many potential suspects in the Bergman case, it was rapidly become a case of where to start.

The medical examiner’s report was sitting on his desk when he got back, and it didn’t say much more than he already knew other than the time of death had moved to a more specific window of between 10:30 and 11:00 pm.  It might be a little later, but the cold weather played havoc with the body.

But the time fitted the fact he had a meeting at 10pm, according to Wendy Anderson.  Who was he meeting, and how had it been set up, and why in the car park of the Brooklyn Zoo?  The broken CCTV camera could not be the only reason.

Still determined to be a close shot, through the window of the car, fragments of glass were found in the wound.  Death was instantaneous, a blessing perhaps.  He was in the driver’s seat, keys in hand, so he was preparing to get out.

The weapon could be a Glock 19, and 9mm ammunition.  One bullet was all it took to kill him.  Up close and personal, it was most likely the shooter someone he knew.

So Bergman’s timeline so far looked like this:

09:00 Bergman comes in for a half hour and then leaves

12:00 or thereabouts, pick up a rental car from Atlantic Avenue Brooklyn

Home perhaps in Jamaica?

19:03 Calls Wendy as he is leaving his residence, on his way to James Anderson’s

On average takes 45 minutes to drive from Jamaica to Prospect Park Zoo a few minutes more to Anderson’s

20:30 Bergman arrives at James Anderson’s

21:05 Text message from Bergman to Wendy after leaving Anderson’s.

22:30 Approx, Bergman murdered in carpark

Then the questions:

Why did Bergman rent the car in the name of Megarry?  Was it because he used that name to pick up women, and had he arranged a liaison?  They wouldn’t be the first people to drive to a certain spot, meet, one leaves their car, and they go off to someplace else.

Who was Bergman meeting and how had the meeting been arranged?  The second phone?  The search would have to be widened to near the carpark, though the chances of finding it discarded were little to none.

They would now need the phone records of Wendy Anderson, James Anderson, Stacy Bergman, and Richard Hollingsworth.

More was needed on the relationship between brother and sister Hollingsworth.  Both could want him dead for various reasons.

That was as far as the scribbled notes got when Worthey walked in.  He looked tired and jaded.

“I’m sure the world is mostly populated by assholes,” he said, throwing himself into his chair.

“And this assumption has been caused by?”

“Hotel concierge.  They see everything, know everyone, and yet are happy to cite confidentiality ad their credo when it suits them.  If I offered them a few hundred dollar notes they’d sing like canaries.”

“We don’t have that kind of money.”

“But Stacy Bergman does, or at least her team of PI’s.  He’s had six different women he’s taken to dinner in the last month, and the favourite, Wendy Anderson.  And a week ago they had a very loud bust up in the restaurant.  She stormed out, they haven’t been back since.  Her that is, not him.  He was back two nights later with another woman.”

“How did you come by this tidbit?”

“One of the front counter staff took pity on me.  She didn’t like the concierge, reckons he’s a little handy, so the price of information was to warn him about being more circumspect around the female staff.”

“So, all was not well in paradise.  Probably the photos and veiled threats.”

“A viable suspect, too.”

Worthey looked up at the whiteboard Bryson had been writing on.  “OK, I came up with this brainstorm, that the rental should have a GPS, so I went to the rental office and, success.  We know where the car was from the moment, he picked it up until the moment he parked at the Zoo,”

He pulled out his notebook.

“Left the rental office at 12:08 pm.  Arrived at 84th Avenue Jamaica at 12:43, with one-stop, presumably a gas station, I checked the coordinates.  Left Jamaica at 19:23, stops to get takeaway at 19:40, leaves there at 20:04, and arrives at Anderson’s at 20:43.  He’s there until 20:58, then leaves, drives to the Zoo Car Park arriving there at 21:21.  He doesn’t take the direct route, he just seems to be driving in circles, killing time.”

“Good.  Fill in the timeline to reflect those times.  Then check his phone records for calls, in or out for the time he was home, the time he was getting takeout, and the time after he left Anderson’s.  Any word on the CCTV camera between Anderson and the Zoo?”

“Not yet.  There doesn’t appear to be anyone home.  I’m in the process of finding who lives there so I can track them down.”

“Excellent.  First thing tomorrow, you and I will visit Bergman’s lawyer.”

“Mrs Anderson?”

“She can wait a little longer.  I want more information before I see her again.  she’s going to be the type who needs to be served with a fait accompli.”

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2023