Two Door Mulligan

Don’t you dare start me on Schrodinger's Cat or the Lady or the Tiger or Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken.” because when you get right down to it, it’s all the same, isn’t it? Our lives are filled with choices and our fate is determined by which door we open or which road we choose to walk down.  It all sounds nice and contrite to me, because when you are chasing a suspect of a triple homicide, all that crap flies out the window. My name is Detective Leland Branson Mulligan, but around my precinct, I am known as Two Door Mulligan.  Some names are earned while some names are thrust upon the unforgiven in hopes one day they, too, will see the humor of a backhanded jab.  

As much as I always wanted to be like one of those hard boiled detectives from a Mickey Spillane or Dashiell Hammett dime novel, the truth is I am nothing like Sam Spade either for that matter and I’m not really fond of my current handle, Two Door Mulligan.  For those who like to play with names, a mulligan is a golfing term that is used to describe an errand shot that is so bad, the player is willing to take a one stroke penalty in order to get on the fairway again. There is some doubt in our family three that my great-great grandfather Ian with his thick Irish brogue, fresh off the boat from Cork was able to get the immigration clerk to hear him say his name correctly and that Mulligan was not what he said at all, but it was what the clerk recorded and Mulligan it’s been ever since. 

Don’t get me wrong, I am very proud of my Irish heritage and in my younger days I was quite a respected pugilist. In fact I was recruited by the police chief who was also a pugilist fan and saw me put away a man twice my size during one of those basement contests where the real money is made.   

But the fact is, of all the comparisons, I’d liken myself to Arthur Connan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes who uses his brilliant powers of deduction and logic to solve crime.  But fate is a cruel master, if you know what I mean and that’s how my most famous case turned me into Two Door Mulligan.  

Chicago has always been a tough town to wear a badge ever since the bootlegging days of the Capone Gang before Eliot Ness put him away on the Rock for tax evasion.  It seems there is always someone trying to open up a new umbrella or start some new Ponzi scheme. Chicago is the land of opportunity for any kind of crooked scheme that comes on down the pike. 

The city is also a maze of buildings like the Emerald City along the banks of Lake Michigan that hide and conceal the darkest intentions of men’s wicked hearts.

Our precinct is located across Dealey Plaza from Cook County City Hall.  A two story red brick building that appears almost as an afterthought in one of the most famous city blocks in the country.  While humble in its surroundings, the precinct is like a beehive during most hours and the reams of papers generated by police reports could flood the Sears’ Tower in any given week.  

“I’m shot.” A woman sits on a bench near the intake counter.

“Who shot you?” Officer Stanton asked with a clipboard in hand and a cigarette hanging out a corner of his mouth.

“Who do you think?  My old man.” She sneers.

“Sergeant Alton, can I get an escort and ambulance for...what’s your name, miss?” He asks the bleeding woman as he cradles the phone between chin and shoulder.

“Alice Cooper.” She rolls her eyes.

“Alice Cooper...hey wait a minute…” Stanton shakes his head, “Very funny.” 

“Marge Sepulski.” She is laughing as Stanton’s face turns red.

“Yeah, yeah, Mick Jagger is here with him...very funny.” Stanton rolls his eyes as he puts the phone back to his ear. 

My office is just a few feet from the intake desk which means I get to hear everything that comes through which is not something that I find pleasing. 

“Got an APB.” Nick Folger plops down the paper on my desk that is still warm from the machine.

“What?” I look up from the evening newspaper.

“Shooting. Oak Park.” He reads the address.

“I thought those folks were law abiding. Good neighborhood.” I sniffed.

“Well somebody broke the rules.” Nick put on his suit jacket as I got the keys to the old Ford.

“Hoping for a quiet night.” I followed him out to the parking lot.  Now detectives drive unmarked cars, but there is no guarantee that these cars are in tip top shape and the old Ford had a few defects for a ten year old vehicle. 

“Yeah and I want Barbara Eden to ring my doorbell.” We walked past two ambulance drivers who were dealing with the very high Marge Sepulski who had been gut shot by her less than sober husband. 

Oak Park was one of the nicer parts of town.  Parts of it were in a gate community, but as we rode into the stylish neighborhood, you could sense that something wasn’t right. You could hear sirens echoing through the usually quiet streets.  Nearly a half dozen marked cars were parked out front of the brownstone building with lights still flashing.  

Sergeant Derrick Potter was standing outside the apartment with the door open and officers walking in and out of the open door. 

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Three victims all shot execution style.” He removed his cap revealing his shiny bald head.

“Kidding?” Nick shook his head.

“Older man’s a doctor.” Derrick whistled.

“Doctor?” I was now intrigued. 

“Lemme see.  Doctor Zimmerman.” Derrick read the report he had compiled so far. “They were both shot in the bedroom.  Deidra, their twenty three year old daughter was shot in the kitchen.”

It was like reading a book or something for Sergeant Potter, no emotion of empathy for the victims who would now be on their way to the morgue.  As we stood there one of the three was being wheeled out to an ambulance, but the sheet was pulled completely over the victim.  Nick reached down and pulled the sheet back a few inches and grimaced.

“Daughter.” He mouthed to me as they loaded the gurney into the back of the ambulance.   No hurry.  No siren would be needed. 

Coroners were taking photographs of the blood splatter of one of the victims, most like the daughter since it was all over the kitchen wall. 

“What do you think?” Nick glanced over at me.

“Guy knew what he was doing.” I sighed, “Three bullets, three victims, back of the head.  Not one of them saw it coming.”

“Why three?” 

“Witnesses.” I shrugged.  You never knew until you caught the guy.  If the doc was playing the numbers and got in with the wrong crowd, well it wouldn’t be the first time. Could be the wife was playing around.  From the pictures on the wall, she was one would call a Trophy Wife.  And then there was the daughter.  Who knew what shenanigans she was mixed up in?  All I could tell was something very wrong had happened here. 

Eye witness reports were non-existent since it was dark and nobody saw anything as usual, this was going to an empty net. In bad neighborhoods, you could always rely on somebody to spill the beans, but in nice neighborhoods chances are good people kept to themselves, that’s how they stayed good people.  Pill pushers were becoming a popular target, but something told me that was not the motive.  The late Dr. Zimmerman was clean on the first run through and so was his wife, but living under the radar was not something out of the ordinary.  That’s what I hate about my business, everyone is guilty until proven innocent. 

One of the first things to strike me was when we got back to the precinct and there were some V.I.P’s waiting for us including the city manager.

“What did you find out?” He was sitting at my desk as if it was his desk.  He was a silver fox with glasses, but most of us knew him as a real piece of work.  When something got flushed down the toilet, he expected his finest to go looking for it. 

“Three people dead.” I huffed.

“Dr. Zimmerman was my physician.” He slammed his fists on my desk.

“I am sorry to hear that, sir.” I shot him a glance.

“You are one of the best detectives we have.” He pointed a finger at me like it was a loaded pistol.

“Thank you.” I said sarcastically.

“We need to find who did this.” His face twisted into a grimace.

“Sir, we are working what we know. He and his wife have come up clean.” I looked over at Nick who was cooling his heels against the door frame.

“Mindy.” He mumbled.

“What?”

“Her name was Mindy.” He repeated.

“Sorry again...Mindy.” 

“Find this killer.  Don’t care what it takes.  He needs to be found.” Once again he slammed his fist on my desk and a stack of papers cascaded down onto the floor.  He made no attempt to pick them up.  

The coroner’s report we got three days later did not help much either as it added nothing to what we didn’t already know.  

“Somebody knew them.” Nick mused.

“Why do you say that?” I asked looking over the black and white stills.

“No sign of forced entry.” He put his finger on the report where it had stated that.

“Good point, unless he was hiding out in a closet waiting.”  I shrugged.

“Not likely.  Daughter was home all day from school.  She goes to the university.” He sighed.

“On break?” 

“Spring break.” 

“I see.” I put my thumbs at the corners of my mouth. 

Our next stop was to visit his office, but we could see that everyone was distraught over the matter so we didn’t spend much time there.  We asked a few basic questions, got a lot of tears and sobbing before figuring we were just wasting our time. 

It was when we got to the university when things started to get interesting. 

“Professors Stansbury.” One of Deidra's friends rolled his head and whispered as if he was Deep Throat. 

“Professor Stansbury?” Nick shrugged.

“Yeah, he had a thing for her.” The student actually looked both ways before speaking. 

“Professor Stansbury?” I poked my head into his office.

“What can I do for you.  I’m rather busy.” He smiled, his face so boyish he looked like one of his own students.

“Detectives Folger and Mulligan.” I held up my badge.

“What can I do for you?  Parking ticket?” He laughed.

“No, your late student Deidra Zimmerman.” I nodded.

“Yeah, yeah, I heard about that this morning.” He sighed, “You’d think news would be a little quicker…around this beehive and all.” 

“We heard that you had a thing for her, is that true?” Nick was quick to the punch.

“So, am I a suspect?” His manner cooled down quite a bit.

“Nobody is a suspect.” I held up my hands since the man was bigger and looked in really good shape as well.

“We went out a couple of times, but then that was it.” He slumped in his desk chair and let his head sag into his hands. “I found out she wasn’t into guys.”

“What?” My head snapped around.

“There are a growing number of students who are expressing their sexuality…how do I put this...in non-traditional ways.” He sat up and for the first time I got to see his clear blue eyes that were not trying to hide anything.  

“Any idea who...maybe?” Nick asked.

“Oh no, I don’t have a problem dating students, but I sure as heck will not pry into their private matters. “ He put his hands under his chin.

“Thank you for your time, professor.” I tipped my porkpie hat.  

The Two Door thing would happen later that week and all by accident.  The city manager was sending over messages asking if he had any leads yet, but we kept sending them back with one simple word scrawled across the top, “Nope.” 

“You guys working that Zimmerman case?” Rod Bochy head of Special Unit S.W.A.T.  He was a veteran of Afghanistan who still wore the shrapnel of an I.E.D. in his chest. He wore his shirt open just enough to see the top part of the red scar that he claimed drove the women wild. 

“Yeah.” I sipped my vending machine coffee.

“Heard some dope.” He adjusted his shooter sunglasses even though the room was fairly dark.  

“What did you hear, Rod?” Nick put the coins in the machine for his cup of coffee.

“Building down on North Michigan Ave that is running some pills.” He nodded.

“Really?” My interest was piqued.

“Called Bally’s.  Heard there was some good stuff in the bags.” He peered over the top of his shooters and smiled a crooked smile under his thick mustache. 

With a few minutes to spare, we took the old Ford down to the dockside.  The old warehouse known as Bally’s was one an amusement center, but the clown in front missing both of his eyes spoke of an evil place where bad things happen.  Still there was a store front, so we went inside and there was a blonde standing behind the counter wearing skinny jeans and a tight fitting polka dot top.  When we walked in she ran her finger through her long blonde hair.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” She asked, “My name is Muffy.” 

“Muffy, maybe you can.” I leaned on the glass counter while Nick stood behind me with his arms crossed over his chest. “I am looking for some pain killers.”

“What color?” She smiled.

“All colors.  I do not discriminate.” I chuckled. I felt Nick put three fingers on my back followed by eight fingers on two hands.  She was armed with a .38. The murder weapon was a thirty eight.  

“You sure are a ride ‘em cowboy there.” She returned my smile as she put a case on the glass counter.  Slowly she opened it, revealing it was filled with pills of all colors. Reaching over my shoulder, Nick plucked a plastic bag from the open case. “Don’t sweat it.  I’ll pay for whatever he wants, too.” 

“I ain’t sweating it, Cowboy.” She shook her head.

“Hey Cowboy, can I see you for a sec.” Nick whispered, but his voice was a note too high.  When I turned I saw he was holding a plastic back with a small piece of paper on which was written “Dr. Z.” 

My eyes went wide.  Muffy was no ameteur and she flung herself through the door.

Crap!  Armed with a .38 in a dark warehouse.

I drew my weapon and pushed the door open behind the counter that she had gone through.  

“Detective Mulligan, Chicago PD.” I  announced.

Paablammm

The bullet ricocheted off a light fixture. 

Paaablaaammm

I felt the bullet vibrate the wooden wall I was leaning against.

It was dark, hard to see, but she was zeroing in on me.

“Give it up.” I found the courage to say as I fell to my stomach.

Paaablllaaammm

The bullet struck where I had been standing seconds before.  I heard footsteps running up a metal staircase.  I counted to five and decided to follow when I heard a door slam.  Nick was out front putting each member of the ring on the ground with their hands behind their heads.  I was still in pursuit of Muffy. 

At the top of the stairs there were two doors.

Neither door was locked, but behind one of them was an armed suspect ready to blow my head off.

Police training took over or at least it felt like it had. So I tried to remember what I had been taught.  Two doors in a dark warehouse.  What training was I going to resort to?

Einy, meiny, miny, moe.

I shoved moe as hard as I could and heard a dull thud followed by a click.  Muffy was knocked partially unconscious and the click was her revolver skidding across the floor. 

“Got a full confession.” Nick pointed his index finger at me and pretended to fire. 

“Really?” I was pleased.

“Sure, sure there Two Door Mulligan.” The chief patted me on the back. “That was some great police work you did there. Turns out she was hooked up with Deidra and found out her dad had all kinds of pills stashed in his office. Killing them was no big deal to her compared to the payoff she had been promised.”

“Used to be a time when all you had to worry about were the bad boys.” I concluded as I watched Muffy being led away in cuffs.  

“Thanks a lot Two Door, I got a teenage daughter at home, you know.” The chief walked out shaking his head.

“So how did you know?” Nick asked.

“Just a hunch.  Just a hunch.” I shrugged.  I sure wasn’t going to tell any of them as I’d rather live with stupid name Two Door Mulligan than tell the truth, that’s for sure.