An Original Columbo Story
(Site owner's note: I wish to thank Joann Young for graciously allowing me to use her original Columbo story. JoAnn is a big fan of "due SOUTH" as well as "Columbo." She has cleverly combined elements of each show into this original story. I know all of my Columbo Trivia site visitors will enjoy it as much as I did. You are invited to send her your comments. I hope she can do this again some time. Enjoy!--Granville Cooley)
Welcome to Chicago, Lieutenant
by JoAnn Young (JAYPARKAVE@aol.com)
The tourists were all bewildered as to why this town was called 'The Windy City' ... at least on this particular day. It was one of those hot, sticky, summer days in the heart of Chicago where the nonexistent breeze was necessary to compensate for the rising temperatures. The children were playing in various water fountains in the parks, the heat forcing the truly daring among them to open the fire hydrants, plunging the water pressure to dangerously low levels.
One consolation for the officials, though ... crime was down. Apparently, even the most hardened of city dwellers found the exertion to rob a bank or abuse their neighbor or loved one not worth the effort during these excessive heat conditions. Trash collection was behind schedule ... again, causing an interesting odor to mingle in the air along with assorted chemicals billowing from dozens of smoke stacks randomly placed throughout the city.
But all of these normal occurrences went unnoticed by those who had gathered inside the Chicago Convention Center during this respective week. Representatives from the entire country had infiltrated the city to fellowship with their nationwide comrades, attend strategy sessions, and obtain the latest information on accouterment and accessories to better equip their subordinates back home.
The conference was so widely attended this year, with many bringing their spouses along, that the gathering spilled over into several of the surrounding hotels. It was in one of these hotels, for the economically minded among those attending, that an unusual and deadly occurrence was about to be played out.
His name was John Cassinetti, and he came to Chicago for more than just the Policemen's Convention ... he came to this city with murder in mind. He had been waiting for this day for several months, planning and plotting revenge on a former colleague. It would be so easy. The area was literally crawling with cops carrying their own weapons, trying out new equipment at the various booths and firing ranges, clothing filled with blowback. It would be nigh on impossible for the local police to find out which weapon and which officer was involved in such a heinous crime against one of their own. He loved it when a plan came together!
John smiled and began to hum a child's song as he threw open the small case that was lying on his bed. As he began to assemble his beloved revolver, he stopped a moment, wondering what made that particular tune come to mind. And then he gave a low chuckle when he realized it was the song that frumpy looking idiot was whistling in the lobby across the street earlier that day. What a perfect set-up! The room of his intended victim ... he liked the sound of that ... victim ... was flanked on one side by the stairwell, and on the other, the bumbling idiot.
John completed the task of spinning the silencer in place, giving it a final twist for good luck, and then stood in front of the mirror. He was of average height, average build, average ... everything. But this time, he didn't mind being ordinary because it only made it easier to blend into the background. He practiced the words that he would say, his stance, the way he would surprise hisenemy when he would pull the revolver from his belt and aim it at his body ... how he hated this man for stealing his wife. It never occurred to John that his wife, his former wife, was quite willing to leave him ... leave him for any man, in fact. Ah well, now he would have his revenge and then he could get his life back in order ... back on track.
Unlike many other men, he had no intention of doing himself in once the deed was done. He was too smart to waste his own life just to rot in a grave. He had plans all right ... plans to win back his wife, and then the job he lost because of his lousy partner. He hated walking the beat, directing traffic. He'd get his old position back or he'd ... well ... he'd think about that when the time came. First things first.
*****
The Texas born and raised Tommy Johnson was the kind of man that women killed for. He stood over six feet, four inches tall and weighed two hundred, twenty-five pounds. He had a clean-cropped head of sandy brown hair, intensely vibrant blue eyes, a brilliant set of white teeth, and a slightly crocked smile ... but that only added to his charm. And his southwestern draw ... well, it would melt the heart of the most devoted of women, single or otherwise.
Tommy's one vice as he served on Houston's police force was that he was a collector ... blondes, brunettes, redheads ... he wasn't particularly choosy. He was also a good detective, when he was actually working, and the city's constabulary was proud to have such a fine-looking trophy on their team.
Tommy Johnson was one of several officers chosen to represent Houston's finest in Chicago, and what a whirlwind adventure it was for the detective. Apparently, his penchant for collecting wasn't limited to the state of Texas.
On this particular evening, the second day of the convention, Tommy left the lecture hall a bit early, crossed the street, and headed back to his hotel. He was followed shortly by his former partner, John Cassinetti. As the handsome detective made his way through the lobby, he nodded his Texas-styled hat to a variety of women that he passed along the route. Up the elevator and down the hall, he swung open his door, tossed his hat across the bed, and headed for the bathroom.
He had just gotten out of the shower and was splashing aftershave on his face when he heard a knock at his door. Casually wrapping a towel around his waist, he planted his most devastating smile on his lips as he walked to the door and pulled it opened.
His expression turned to one of puzzlement when he saw his former partner standing in the hall. "John ... what are you doing here?" Tommy placed his hands on the door frame and leaned out, looking first down the hall in one direction, and then the other. He pulled back in the room and crossed his arms over his chest. "I was expecting ... uh ..."
"Someone else maybe? Who is it this time, Tommy ... a tall blonde or a short redhead?" he askedsarcastically as he followed Johnson into the room.
"Oh, come on, John ... I thought all that was history with us. You're not one to hold a grudge, are you?" he replied, adjusting the towel and pulling it tighter around his waist.
"A grudge, Tommy? You systematically ruined my life and you thought that I wouldn't hold a grudge?"
Tommy's head snapped up at the menacing tone in his former partner's words. "What do you want, John? Do you want me to say I'm sorry? Because if that's what you want ..."
"No," he replied flatly.
The tall man's mind was racing ... if he could only stall him long enough to think of a way out of this situation. After all, he always could before. It never occurred to Tommy Johnson that there might come a time when the odds would be against him, the consequences to his actions too great to manipulate. "Then ... what is it that you do want, John?"
"I want you dead, my friend," and without hesitating, John Cassinetti drew his gun and shot his former partner point blank in the chest. With a satisfied smile on his face, he walked away. "Looks like I really don't need that target practice after all." John took the stairways to the first floor, retreated out the back door, and returned to the convention center.
Several minutes past before the elevator doors opened and deposited the gum-chewing ... uh ... woman to the floor that she sought. She sashayed down the hall, unnatural red hair swaying as she moved. She stopped in front of the opened door that matched the number on the back of the detective's business card. Intending on making a grand entrance, she pushed the door wide opened and entered the room.
*****
It wasn't a particularly late hour, considering that lectures and round table discussions were still being held at the conference center. Still others chose to take in the sites that the city had to offer ... plays, concerts, operas. But at least one man, along with his wife, was awakened by the blood curdling scream that seemed to come from the room next door.
He swung his legs off the bed, sliding his feet into his slippers, and came to a sitting position, fumbling for the light at the side of the bed. The need to hurry was now dulled by the absence of noise from the next room. The man squinted his eyes, raked his fingers back and forth through his thick graying hair, and eased himself off the bed. He grabbed his rumpled trench coat from the back of the side chair and slipped it on over his pale blue pajamas. Before he walked to the door, out of habit, he reached for the unlit cigar that rested on the night table.
After he opened the door, he turned his head back to answer the question that was thrown at him from the bed. "No, no, you stay there ... I'll go. Why don't you call the front desk," he stated, andgave his wife a pseudo salute before he closed the door.
As he approached the next room, he was nearly knocked aside by the woman who was backing out of the room. The look on her face was enough to explain the seriousness of the situation, and the older man entered the room. He was neither shocked nor alarmed by the dead body that laid across the bed, only disappointed that it occurred while he was on vacation from this sort of occurrence. Squinting his eyes, he clasped his arm across his chest, bringing his other arm up to rest on it, placing the cigar-held hand to his forehead. As his mind raced to encompass all the details of the affair, he slid the same hand down to his chin and rested his head, bring his fingers across his mouth.
After several moments, he shook his head, popped the cigar into his mouth, and flopped his arms down at his side. He returned to the traumatize girl in the hall, and with a fatherly hand on her back, he led her back to his room, and then called the local authorities.
*****
"Okay, listen up everyone!" yelled a highly agitated Welsh to the hurriedly gathered assortment of officers and detectives in the bullpen of the 27th Police District. "There's been a homicide down at one of the hotels surrounding the convention center and ..."
"But isn't that where the Police Convention is being held, Lieutenant?" asked Detective Dewey, stating the obvious.
"That's what I like to see ... my detectives actually remembering where they've been for the past few days!" He rubbed his hand across his face before continuing. "This city's reputation is on the line here, people, so I want everybody working together on this. Vecchio!" called the lieutenant as he walked back to his office, "In my office, now ... and bring the Mountie with you."
Ray Kowalski, a.k.a. Raymond Vecchio, sprang out of his chair, excitement in his step, as he clapped Fraser on the shoulder and the two followed Welsh into his office.
"So what's the deal with this homicide, Lieutenant? Somebody whack a cop or something?"
"That would be correct, Detective," he replied as he leaned back in his chair. "Fifth floor at the Stratford Hotel ... Thomas Johnson, a detective from Houston, Texas."
"Who do they think did it?"
"That's what we have detectives for, Detective," said Welsh as he leaned forward in his chair to hand the detective a slip of paper.
"What's this?"
"That's the name of the guy I want you and Fraser to go see."
"Is he a suspect, sir?"
"No, no, no. He's a Lieutenant from the Los Angeles Police Department. He was the first officer on the scene. I want you two to work closely with him, got it?"
"But I thought you said our reputations were on the line. And you know, Lieutenant ... it's not my style to work with anybody else but Fraser here."
"Do I have to make this an order, Detective?" he said, resting his elbows on the desk. Then as an afterthought, he pointed his finger at Ray and said, "Besides, I think you're gonna like this guy."
"Uh ... what do ya mean by that?"
But the lieutenant just grinned and shooed his hand at them in a dismissive wave. When Vecchio and Fraser left his office, Ray looked down at the paper again. "What do ya think he meant by that, Fraser?"
"I haven't the foggiest idea, Ray, but I imagine that we'll find out soon enough."
"He sounds kinda familiar," he said and read the name and title off the paper. "Lieutenant Columbo, Los Angeles Police Department, Homicide Division. Have you ever heard of this guy?"
Fraser took the paper from the detective, and after scanning the card, he shook his head. "No, I can't say that I have." As the Mountie rubbed his ear, he added, "But you know, Ray ... I once knew a man ... well, it was my father that actually knew him ... named Marshall Sam McCloud, who left the American south-west to liaison with the New York City Police Department. The funny thing was ..."
"Fraser ..."
"Yes, Ray?"
"What does that gotta do with any of this?"
"Not a thing, Ray. It just popped into my brain when you showed me the card."
"Yeah well, pop it out again. We gotta get at 'er. It'll be morning before we get done questioning this Columbo guy."
"Ah ... right you are, Ray."
*****
Talk of the homicide spread like wildfire throughout the convention grounds in a matter of hours. Fraser and Vecchio were forced to ease their way through the crowd in the lobby to reach the elevators, and then the fifth floor beyond. The Mountie was the first of the two to arrive at the scene when Ray was detained by several fellow officers.
The room in question was overfilled with a variety of specialists from Chicago's finest, each tediously gathering specimens, fingerprints, and other evidence for their reports. Fraser made his own set of mental notes while he slowly circled the room. Preoccupied with the scene, he was startled out of his concentration by a gentleman from behind.
"Well, I'll be," said the man with admiration clearly visible in his expression and voice, slapping his hand to his forehead, "A Canadian Mountie here in Chicago. My wife is never going to believe this. Would you mind if someone took our picture?" Without waiting for a reply, the man tapped the photographer on the shoulder and asked him to take his picture with the Mountie. "This is terrific. You don't know what this will mean to my wife."
Fraser was happy to oblige, but he did think it was rather odd that this man should be wandering a crime scene in pajamas and trench coat. After the picture was duly taken, the Mountie interjected, "Excuse me, sir ..."
"Oh, I'm sorry," interrupted the man, realizing that he hadn't introduced himself. "Lieutenant Columbo, Los Angeles Police Department."
"Ah, well it's a pleasure to meet you, Leftenant," he replied, reaching out his hand to shake the superior's. "Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police."
"And you work right here in Chicago?"
"Yes, sir. I first came to Chicago on the trail of my father's killers, and for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, I've remained, attached as liaison with the Canadian Consulate."
"Is that so?" asked the lieutenant, genuinely interested. "Well, isn't that fascinating."
Fraser's partner was finally able to tear himself away from his comrades and joined the Mountie in the victim's room. Ray approached Fraser's side and took in the man who stood opposite him. The detective stared wide-eyed, and after a few moments, he shook his head, thinking that all sorts of nutty types crawled out of the woodwork to gawk at a dead body. "Fraser," he whispered, leaning over to the Mountie, "We can't have civilians hangin' around ... you know, disturbing evidence, that kinda thing."
"No, it's all right, Ray. This is Leftenant Columbo of the Los Angeles Police Department."
"Huh? Well ... then that's okay," he replied with a nervous laugh. And then turning to the lieutenant, he said with his hand outstretched, "It's nice to meet you, Lieutenant. I uh ... I wouldn't have thought that ... Well, what I mean is ... Uh, you know ..."
"Leftenant," interrupted Fraser, "This is my partner, Detective Ray Vecchio of the Chicago Police Department."
Pleasantly returning the handshake, the lieutenant replied, "No, it's quite all right, Detective. I understand your surprise. I was a bit caught off guard myself by this whole situation."
"I've been told that you ... uh ...were the first officer on the scene, Lieutenant."
"Yes, that's right ... but not by choice, you see." The Lieutenant bestowed one of his squinted-eye smiles on the two officers and then proceeded to explain all that had occurred in the last few hours. He also directed the detective and Mountie over to the blanket-draped woman that was quietly seated on a chair in the corner. The superior explained her story while she nodded her head in agreement at his retelling of her version of what she had witnessed.
"Excuse me ... is this Tommy Johnson's room?"
Fraser, Vecchio, and Columbo turned and looked at the man who was now standing in the doorway, and watched as one of the uniformed officers steered him in their direction. The man was of average build, average height ... the type that could blend into a crowd. He seemed genuinely concerned by the activity in the room ... he also appeared slightly inebriated.
When the man approached the officers, Vecchio asked, "Did you know Thomas Johnson?"
"Did? Is Tommy the one that was murdered?" He ran his hand through his hair and then across his face. "Aww, man. That's rough, that's really rough. He was one of the best detectives on our Houston force." He leaned back against the wall and shoved his hands into his front pockets. "Do you know who did this to him?"
"No, not yet. We've just started the investigation, but I take it you were on the force with him?"
"Yeah, that's right. We were partners at one time, but Tommy moved right up the line, he did. I was hoping to catch him for a drink or something. You know, talk over old times. We never seem to have the time at home. I guess he had other plans."
"Plans? How do you mean?" But when Ray saw the man's eyes stray toward the woman, he got the hint. "Oh, you mean his chippy? Yeah well, she came in after the fact." The detective didn't know what it was, but there was something he didn't like about this guy ... and his instincts were seldom wrong.
"You sure about that, detective?" he asked with eyebrows raised. "Tommy had quite a reputation for being the lady's man. It wouldn't be the first time that women fought over him."
"Okay ... well, like I said, we're just in the beginning of our investigation. In case we need to get in contact with you, can I have your name and where we can get a hold of you."
"Sure ... it's Sergeant John Cassinetti and I'm staying across the street at the Bradford Hotel."
"Do ya plan on staying the whole week of the conference, Sergeant?"
"Absolutely. There are so many things to see and do ... I wouldn't miss it. And if I can help you out with the investigation in any way ... any way at all, don't hesitate to get in contact with me. Tommy was an old friend. It would be a crime not to catch the person who did this ... no pun intended, of course," he said smiling and then moved toward the door.
He would have made it out of the room, too, if the lieutenant hadn't taken the opportunity to speak out. With his hand on his forehead, he said, "Just one more question before you leave, Sergeant." Cassinetti spun around, surprised that the trench-coated idiot spoke with such authority. "You said that you were hoping to catch Detective Johnson for a drink this evening ... not seeming to have the time when you're at home?"
"Yeah, that's right. Who are you?"
"Oh, I'm sorry," said the lieutenant, putting one arm up in an apologetic manner as he searched in his coat pocket and pulled out his identification. "Lieutenant Columbo, Los Angeles Police Department ... Homicide Division." He once again delivered his squinted-eyed smile and asked, "Were you here earlier today to see Detective Johnson?"
"Uh ... no. I mean, yes. I was here, but Tommy was out at the time. Is it important?"
"No, I don't think so. Just making sure the report is accurate. My wife says that I'm compulsive about tying up loose ends," said the lieutenant, smiling. "We're sorry to have taken up your time, Sergeant."
As the officer left the room, Ray leaned over to the Mountie and whispered, "I'm beginning to see what Welsh was talkin about, Fraser. Ya gotta love this lieutenant guy, huh?"
"Indeed, Ray."
"So, Lieutenant ..." asked the detective, barely containing his curiosity, "... what are ya thinkin? You think Cassinetti had something to do with this, don'tcha?"
The lieutenant put his hand on the side of his face, raised his eyebrows, and delivered a quirky smile to the officers. "I think that could be a distinct possibility. What do you think, boys?"
"I gotta gut feeling about this," said Ray. "He's guilty of somethin'. Fraser thinks so, too." Quickly looking at his partner, he added, "Don't look at me like that, Fraser buddy. I can see it in your eyes."
"Well, I'm afraid I have to agree with my partner, Leftenant. Although I think there's more to go on than instincts alone. For instance, it's clear that Sergeant Cassinetti has had a drink ... whiskey I'd say, by the smell on his breath ... but he appeared to want to give us the impression that he had been drinking quite heavily. His eyes were as clear as water."
"Chicago's water, Fraser?" asked the detective.
"No, Ray. Northwest Territories' water."
"Okay, then. Go on."
"He also appeared to want to implicate this woman," he said, gesturing to the woman that a uniformed officer was leading from the room. "Or someone equally wanting in character. And I would imagine that there's more involved to the story about his being the victim's ex-partner."
"Is that it, Fraser?"
"Yes, I believe so ... well, except for the obvious fact that I could also smell gunpowder on him. Although, I'm sure that would apply to about seventy-eight percent of the people at the convention."
"Seventy-eight percent, eh?"
"Yes ... give or take a percent, Ray."
The lieutenant was enjoying the banter that the two officers were displaying and was reluctant to interrupt them, but it was growing rather late ... or was that fairly early? Placing the back of his hand over his mouth to cover a yawn, he said, "Well, boys ... let me just add that I saw the sergeant down in the lobby this morning. Maybe he was coming to see the victim, maybe he had other plans. I'll come down to the station in the morning and fill out a complete report. Would that be all right with you?"
"That would be great, Lieutenant. We're sorry to keep you up so late,"
"It's really no problem, boys. I'll see you then." Lieutenant Columbo took a last look around before casually leaving the room. Shortly, Fraser and Vecchio followed and walked down the hall toward the elevators, but were soon interrupted by a call over their shoulders from the lieutenant. "Oh ... just one more thing, boys," said Columbo from his room, hand resting on the doorknob, "I do think Sergeant Cassinetti had something to do with this."
"Thanks, Lieutenant."
"Yes, thank you kindly, sir."
Columbo smiled, raised his arm to them in a friendly salute, and went quietly into his room so as not to disturb his wife.
*****
The squad room was still abuzz the next morning with the murder of the Texan detective. No rest for the weary until this case was solved. Fraser and Vecchio were engrossed in sorting through the records and results of various information that had already been processed.
They were soon interrupted by Detective Huey. "Here's most of the results from the fingerprints, Ray ... the room, hallway, elevator, back stairway, and fire door."
Vecchio looked up, puzzled. "Who ordered fingerprints of the stairway and fire door?"
Huey shuffled through the file to find the authorization. "A Lieutenant Columbo. Does that make any sense to you? That name sounds sort of familiar."
"Yeah, perfect sense," he replied, taking the folder from his fellow detective. Smiling, he turned to Fraser. "I bet the lieutenant thinks that Cassinetti was staking out the place yesterday morning."
"That would stand to reason, Ray. After all, the sergeant appears to be too intelligent to pull this type of crime during the day while the hotel was full of officers and civilians."
Francesca Vecchio approached the desk. "Hey, bro," and then to a particular Mountie, getting as close as possible, "Hi, Frase."
"Francesca."
"What do you want, Frannie?" asked the annoyed 'brother.'
"Well, you don't have to get testy. Sheesh! There's a homeless guy with his dead dog looking for the two of you. I think I've seen him some place before."
"Homeless guy with a dead dog? Franny ... don't you think it's about time to get the bolts and screws tightened in your head?"
"Yeah, yeah, wise guy. What do you call that over there?" She turned and pointed to the man in a rumpled trench coat, carrying, what appeared to be, a dead Bassett Hound. "Do you want to see him or what?"
"Franny ... that's Lieutenant Columbo of the Los Angeles Police Department."
"Yeah, right! (Snort) When pigs swim!"
"Fly."
"What?"
"It's fly, Franny, not swim."
"Fly, swim, walk, crawl ... whatever! Do you want to see him or not?"
"Hmm, let me see ... of course we want to see him!" Franny rolled her eyes and headed across the room. "Fraser ... what's the deal with the dead dog? Who carries a dead dog around with 'em in Chicago? Did you know he had a dog with him?"
"No, not really. But I do remember smelling a certain ..."
"Can it, Fraser!"
"As you wish, Ray." And together, the two officers watched the out-of-state lieutenant approach, nodding his head to those he passed and bestowing them with the friendliest of smiles as he worked his way through the bullpen.
"It's a pleasure to see you again, Leftenant."
"Nice dog."
The lieutenant squatted and laid the dog by the desk and followed-up with the command of "Stay," which hardly seemed necessary. The dog appeared to have no desire to go anywhere, even when approached by Diefenbaker. The wolf nuzzled the hound and then turned to Fraser and let out a whine.
"What a beautiful dog."
"Ah, well thank you, Leftenant. He's half wolf, actually."
"Is that so? Isn't that remarkable," he stated as he reached over to pat the wolf on the head. "I hope you don't mind that I brought Dog with me. Mrs. Columbo is spending the day at her mother's and he doesn't like to be alone ... really puts up quite a fuss."
"That I would find hard to believe," the detective mumbled. But louder he said, "Ya named your dog, Dog, Lieutenant?"
Columbo leaned over to the officers in a conspiratory manner and replied, "It really doesn't matter what we call him. He doesn't listen anyway." Straightening, he crossed his arm over his chest, resting his head in his hand. "So what do we have, boys? Any results from the fingerprints yet?"
Vecchio piped up immediately. "You knew that Cassinetti used the back stairs, didn't you?"
"Well ... I had my suspicions when he showed up at the room last night and I had recalled seeing him in the lobby yesterday morning," he replied, modestly.
The three officers examined more thoroughly the report that Detective Huey had given to Ray only moments earlier and discovered that Cassinetti's fingerprints only appeared on the stairway railings and fire doors at either end, although they were good, clean impressions. The only prints on the room's door and doorknob were from the victim and the woman. No new prints were found in the room.
"Meaning that Johnson willingly opened the door to the whacko. He knew who his shooter was," said the detective.
"Either that or he was expecting someone else, Ray. We already know that he invited Miss Barnett to his room. And given the way that he was dressed, or should I say 'undressed,' when he opened the door, well, that would confirm that point. But it would appear that Detective Johnson backed into the room because his body was found on the bed, not on the floor. That would indicate that he knew or that he was trying to evade his killer." Fraser rubbed his ear and turned to the lieutenant. "Is there anything else that makes you suspect Sergeant Cassinetti, Leftenant?"
"Yes there is, boys," he replied, and crossed his arms over his chest before he enlightened them. "In my experience, I've learned to become suspicious of any man that's too eager to point the finger at someone else, and too anxious to help out in the investigation."
"To be honest with ya, Lieutenant, I think the guy's as guilty as sin, but he didn't do anything more than the other officers that were hangin' around, did he?" inserted the detective.
"Did the other officers come down to the station the next morning to see how the investigation was coming along?" he asked after looking over the boys' shoulders and seeing John Cassinetti enter the room. They both turned to watch with the Lieutenant as the sergeant approached them.
"Well, everybody's here together, nice and cosy-like. That's good 'cause I was hoping to help shed some light on a possible suspect for you."
"That's very accommodating of you, Sergeant," replied the Mountie.
"Yeah well, like I said, Tommy was a good friend of mine." Cassinetti reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. "Here's a list of girls and where they're staying. He's been with each one of them since he came to Chicago."
Ray took the paper from him. "Wow ... he was one busy little beaver, wasn't he? How did you happen to come by this information?"
"I used to be a detective myself, but that's all water under the bridge now. Besides, Tommy wasn't hiding the fact, Detective. It was sort of a hobby with him ... anybody could tell ya that."
Vecchio looked at the list again and then smiled at Cassinetti. "Okay then, thanks. I'm sure this will come in handy."
"Hey, I'm just trying to help," he replied with a shrug of his shoulders as he backed away and then turned to leave.
He managed to obtain fifteen feet or so of distance from them when he was interrupted by the voice of the lieutenant. "Excuse me, Sergeant?"
John froze in his spot and pasted a pseudo smile on face before he turned. "Yes, Lieutenant ... uh?"
"Columbo," the superior finished for him. With his hand to his forehead, he asked, "When you were at the Stratford Hotel to see Detective Johnson, did you use the elevator or stairways?"
"I already told you, Lieutenant ... I didn't see Tommy. He wasn't there."
"That's right, you did. You don't know how relieved I am to hear that." As Cassinetti started to leave, Colombo apparently reconsidered. "Well how about earlier in the day? You know when you said that ..." and the lieutenant paused to remove the small notebook from his pocket and flipped through the pages. Finding what he wanted, he went on. "When you said, 'I was here, but Tommy was out at the time.' How about that time?"
Cassinetti sighed, obviously annoyed with the lieutenant's line of questioning. "No disrespect, sir, but is this another piece of useless information for your report, or, what was it you said ... tying up loose ends?"
"You could say that, Sergeant," he returned, with a sheepish smile.
"Okay then, I guess I used the stairways."
"Both times?"
"What do you mean, 'both times?'" he asked, clearly agitated with the question.
"I mean, when you went up to the room and then came down again."
"Oh ... yeah, I guess so. Both times."
"And that was the only time you've been to Detective Johnson's room?"
"Yeah ... well, except for when I went there after he was murdered ... and I used the elevator then."
"Well, thank you very much, Sergeant. You've been a great help," said the lieutenant, smiling, his arm raised in a goodbye salute. "This has certainly been an enlightening conversation."
John Cassinetti hesitated for a moment, not sure if the lieutenant had 'just one more question' or not. When it seemed that there were none, he turned and left the room.
Ray turned and looked at the older man and began to realize that he was developing quite an appreciation for this nutty LA lieutenant ... even to the point of admiration. He hoped that he could be as perceptive and alert in twenty or thirty years as this guy. But then the detective observed Columbo's appearance again and gave his head a quick shake. No, this was too freaky. It was time to go back to his dress shirts and ties ... or maybe it was just the lieutenant's raincoat. He had no intention of being mistaken for a homeless guy ... with a dead dog!
*****
The next hour or so was spent with Lieutenant Welsh, followed by his quick dealing out of assignments to uniformed officers and available detectives. Armed with a picture of Sergeant John Cassinetti, the police were instructed to infiltrate the convention center, the restaurants and bars, and a dozen other buildings designed to instruct and entertain those that had gathered in this city for the conference. Their instructions were simple ... account for the sergeant's whereabouts, including a description of what he was wearing starting from the time Lieutenant Columbo had seen him in the victim's hotel lobby the previous morning until he was seen by same lieutenant, Fraser, and Vecchio that night.
The mission was made more difficult than imagined, for John Cassinetti had been right on one count ... he did have the look of someone who could blend into a crowd, mix with the common man. In spite of that fact, it was discovered that he had been on the firing range that afternoon, confirmed by the logs, and he was using his own gun and wearing the same clothing as he had that night. Of course, this information was not helpful toward incriminating him. He had been seen at a bar that evening ... at least, they thought it might be him, but no one remembered how much he consumed or when he left. Some were pretty sure that it was whiskey that he drank ... maybe. He was seen entering the Stratford Hotel and using the elevator by a dozen or so officers, but that was at least an hour after the crime had taken place.
Frustrations were running at a fever pitch. The motive for murder was confirmed when Lieutenant Welsh communicated with the Houston police force, via the telephone, but there wasn't enough evidence to justify bringing Cassinetti in for questioning or to search his room and seize his weapon.
The sergeant was uncertain of the game. If the idea of him being a suspect didn't occur to him before he entered the 27th Police District, it was definitely uppermost in his mind when he left. He was tempted to run, but he knew that would only incriminate himself. He decided to wait it out, being convinced that there wasn't enough evidence to bring him in. In fact, he began to enjoy the adventure that was being played before his very eyes. And from time to time, he even saw different people being questioned by officers, uniformed and otherwise. What did they take him for ... a complete idiot?!
As he sat at the bar, his fingers circling the shot glass, he closed his eyes and savored the exhilaration of victory. Plan A was almost complete. It was now time to calculate Plan B. She no longer lived in Houston, but he'd find her ... he knew how to hunt her down.
*****
"Vecchio..."
"What?!"
"Cool yourself down, Vecchio," said the equally frustrated Detective Dewey. "The lab sent this over. Apparently it got lost in the shuffle."
"Sorry, Dewey. Thanks." Ray took the folder from him and started to scan the contents.
"So ... where's the homeless guy ... the one with the dead dog?" The detective glanced around the room and missed the raised fist that Ray held up behind his head.
"Ray!"
Vecchio quickly dropped his hand and said instead, "He is not a homeless guy. He's a lieutenant from LA."
"Yeah sure, Vecchio. (Snort) Whatever you say."
"I wish people would stop doin' that!"
"If I may interrupt here for a moment, Ray," said the Mountie, likewise disappointed by the lack of respect shown to their visiting superior. "Detective Dewey ... are you aware that Lieutenant Columbo has been considered one of the highest esteemed homicide officers, not only in the Los Angeles area, but in the entire country for the last quarter of a century?"
Dewey raised his eyebrows as his mouth dropped opened slightly. "No. No, I wasn't aware of that, Fraser. I uh ..."
"And during that time, he not only solved the murders of a number of common citizens in his city, but he also untangled the attempted homicide of a renowned Los Angeles heart surgeon. He brought to justice and helped convict such persons as a CIA agent, a Colonel from a military academy, a retiring Major General in the US Army, a Senate candidate, a famed Hollywood actress, a multimillionaire art collector, and surprisingly enough, even the Deputy Commissioner of Los Angeles ... to name just a few."
"Wow. I uh ... didn't know. I'm sorry, Fraser ... Vecchio."
By this time, Fraser not only had Ray in awe as to the accomplishments of their superior, but the entire room was listening with amazement to the Mountie's tale. "While on holiday in Mexico," he continued as he ran his thumb across his eyebrow, "the lieutenant personally solved the case of a man murdered by a famed bullfighter. And during another vacation, he uncoiled a homicide on a cruise ship. Also, when he was undeservedly sent to London, England, to view and to learn their methods for solving crimes, he surpassed all their expectations by solving a murder that even Scotland Yard couldn't unravel." Fraser glanced around the room noticing that all eyes were upon him. "In conclusion, Lieutenant Colombo not only played the lead role in rescuing his nephew's wife from a deranged kidnaper, but also unwound a plot by a revengeful deviant to murder his wife and himself."
When the Mountie had finished, the room was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. Ray came out of his coma first. "Fraser?"
"Yes, Ray?"
"Where did you get all this stuff?"
"The Internet."
"Huh?"
"Oh Ray, Ray ... next to the library, the Internet is a veritable fount of information if you just take the time to search it out."
"You know," interjected a thoughtful Huey, having arrived in time to hear the dissertation of the Los Angeles lieutenant, "Here we all are, trying to remember where we've seen this character before, and it suddenly hits me ... this guy and his cases must have been plastered across the television for years now."
"It's quite possible, Detective Huey," returned the Mountie as he rubbed his ear. "From the information that I was able to access, he seems to be a fairly well-known individual."
While the room was still in a hushed state, a 'snort' was heard coming from the civilian aid's desk. When all eyes turned upon her, she cried, "What! ... you're not all going to tell me that you believe all this?!" Francesca stood with her arms outstretched, completely exasperated. "Only a total idiot would swallow a story like this. No offense, Frase."
"Francesca ..." said Detective Huey.
"What?" she asked, hands on hips.
"This is Fraser we're talking about. He never lies."
Francesca looked over to the Mountie, who stood quietly with eyebrows raised, and she immediately dropped her gaze. "Oh ... yeah," she whispered and slowly slipped back into her seat.
"Hey, Fraser ... take a look at this." The Mountie turned his head from the red-faced civilian aid and brought his focus in on the file that Ray held before them. "Dewey just gave me this missing fingerprint file. What do ya make of it? It says that Cassinetti also used the back door to Johnson's hotel. Didn't the lieutenant say that he saw the sergeant in the lobby? Do ya think he would remember if the guy used the front door or not?"
"It's quite possible, Ray. I believe the lieutenant is ..." But the Mountie was interrupted by a whistled child's tune coming through the hallway of the police station.
Vecchio's eyes widened when he saw Lieutenant Columbo enter the bullpen, whistling away as he made his way toward them. He stopped in front of them and presented his squinted-eye smile. "How's it going, boys?"
The detective quickly shook his head and said, "Uh. Yeah. We're good, Lieutenant. Doin good." Ray suddenly remembered the file. "Could you take a look at this, sir? It says that Cassinetti's prints were on the back door to the hotel. When you saw him that morning, do you remember if he used the front door or the back?"
The lieutenant crossed his arms over his chest and rested his head in his hand. Smiling deeply ... a smile that reached the depths of his eyes, he said, "The fact of the matter is ..." He paused, almost purposefully for effect. "I saw him leave by the front door, Detective."
Fraser and Vecchio returned his smile with the detective adding, "So we got enough to go in and search his room and check out his weapon?"
"Oh, we have more than that, boys," he replied. He reached into his pocket, withdrawing his small notebook and several folded sheets of papers. Flipping through the pages, he continued. "I have here an itinerary of the work that was done at the Stratford Hotel on the afternoon and evening just before the murder. Did you know that they were refurbishing all the rooms in that hotel? I was surprised to hear that because even though our rooms are very nice, they certainly don't appear to be new. The manager said that they finished the first two floors last week and they're going to do the last two floors next week. But on the night of the murder, they had just finished with the third and fourth floors."
"I still don't get it, Lieutenant."
"Well, you see, boys ... the elevators were off limits to the work crew. They had to carry everything up and down the stairs, not wanting to disturb the guests. You can just imagine the marks on the walls and doors that a task like that would create. The cleaning crew didn't finish their job until about a half hour before the murder."
Fraser took that moment to step in, seeing that Ray still looked confused. "If I may recap, Leftenant. What you're saying, then, is that the cleaning crew washed the stairway walls, railings, all the doors, thereby not only removing any trace of the recent refurbishing, but also any fingerprints that may have accumulated up until that time?"
"That's correct, Constable," he replied, smiling.
"So the sergeant can now be placed at the time of the murder," said the detective, joining in on the smiles. "His fingerprints were as clear as a bell on the railings and doors."
"That would also be correct, Detective."
*****
John Cassinetti was not in his room when the officers entered, search warrant now in hand. They had no difficulty locating the weapon. It rested gently in its felt lined case, lovingly displayed in the center of the dresser bureau. The gun was clearly the same caliber that killed Thomas Johnson. It took longer to discover the whereabouts of the sergeant. They found him at a bar down the street from his hotel, engrossed in phase two of his nefarious plans ... so engrossed, in fact, that the sergeant failed to notice the two men that had joined him at the bar, placing themselves on either side of him.
"Bartender ... our friend, the Sergeant, needs a drink," stated the older man.
The detective, approaching from behind the counter, replied, "Oh is that so. Whiskey, wasn't it, Fraser?"
"Yes. I believe it was, Ray."
The sergeant quickly stashed his notes and pen into his pocket, doing his best to present a nonchalant facade. He failed miserably. "A drink? What ... what's going on?"
Lieutenant Columbo gently placed his hand on Cassinetti's shoulder. "We could use your help, Sergeant."
"My help?" he asked, suspiciously.
"If you wouldn't mind," he said smiling. Bringing his hand to his head, he paused a second in thought. "Perhaps I should let Detective Vecchio explain."
The detective crossed his arms over his chest and nodded his head back at Columbo. "No, that's okay, sir. You go ahead."
"Are you sure?" But instead of enlightening Cassinetti, he moved forward to converse with the officer on the other side of the sergeant. "Maybe Constable Fraser here would like to explain."
The Mountie leaned over in like kind and responded, "Ah, well thank you kindly, Lieutenant, but you're more knowledgeable concerning the facts than I am. I believe you were the one who talked directly with the manager at the Stratford Hotel."
"That's true. Well, if you boys don't mind. I could ..."
Deep in suspense and having lost his patience toward the beginning of this debate, Cassinetti could hold his temper no longer. "Will someone please tell me what's going on?!"
"Oh, I'm sorry, Sergeant," said the seemingly sympathetic lieutenant. "It appears that the manager from the Stratford Hotel ... that's the hotel where your friend was murdered ... Oh, by the way, that's where Mrs. Columbo and I are staying, but you already knew that, didn't you, Sergeant."
"Well, I ..."
"Oh, I'm sure you did. You seem to be a very observant fellow ... which is why I'm sure that you can help us with this little problem. It seems that when the workers were doing the remodeling ... you did know that they were redoing all the rooms, didn't you?" When the sergeant shook his head, the lieutenant smiled. "Oh yes. They're doing the whole place, top to bottom. In fact, they had just finished with the third and fourth floors on the night of the murders."
"Will you please get to the point, Lieutenant?"
Fraser and Vecchio were enjoying this little cat and mouse game that their superior was playing. A true genius at work, they thought.
Columbo placed his hand to his head to regain his train of thought. After a moment, he proceeded. "The strange thing is, when the workers were finishing for the day, they realized that they had lost some of the cleaning equipment. You see, the equipment didn't belong to the workers, but to the hotel, and Mr. Harold wants it back. He's the hotel manager."
"And your point being?"
"Oh. Didn't I mention it? You were the first one to use the stairways after the crew had finished, and ..."
"Are you saying that you think I took the equipment?"
A genius he may be, but all this was taking too long for the Chicago detective. "The point being, is that your prints were all over the stairway railings and doors, Sergeant. Whether you saw the cleaning equipment or not ..." And the detective had to give his head a quick shake, wondering how they got off onto this cleaning type stuff. "The deal is, this places you at the scene of the crime. And when we get that revolver checked out at the lab, I'm sure we're gonna find that it was the murder weapon. Now, you can come nice and easy, or we can do this the hard way."
As this whole affair was being played out, John Cassinetti was unaware of the attention that the scene was creating. This, of course, being the week of the police convention, the bar was filled to capacity with a variety of law enforcement agents. As Chicago's finest moved in, they were heartily joined, if only in spirit, by the out-of-state officers.
Lieutenant Columbo purposefully and contentedly placed himself in the background, joiningConstable Fraser, where the two watched their fellow comrades do their duty. After several moments, the superior said quietly, "It's a good thing to see in this day and time."
"What's that, sir?"
"Officers rallying for justice instead of being carried away with protecting one of their own."
"Yes. Yes, it is. But in a sense, they are protecting one of their own ... the memory of Detective Thomas Johnson."
Columbo placed his hand on the Mountie's shoulder. "You're a very perceptive officer, Constable."
"As are you, Leftenant."
*****
Fraser and Vecchio saw the lieutenant quite a few times during the remaining days of the police convention. Sometimes it involved police business, sometimes not. The camaraderie that had developed between the two young officers and their older superior quickly spread and attached itself throughout the squad room. Maybe it had something to do with the Mountie's speech on the lieutenant's character ... truly convincing the most critical among them that looks can definitely be deceiving.
The three officers gathered in the precinct parking lot, the unofficial site where good-byes were often exchanged.
"We'll see ya in a few months, eh Lieutenant? What with the trial and all."
"I'll be here," he replied, shaking the hands of both officers and giving a final squinted-eye smile to each in turn. "You boys hold down the fort until I return."
"Will do, Leftenant. Take care."
The Mountie stood with his hands clasped behind his back, the detective, his arms locked across his chest. As the lieutenant walked away, they heard him whistling the familiar child's tune again. And then he stopped and turned, raising his arm in a goodbye salute. Then he resumed his walk toward the waiting cab.
"Ya know, Fraser? I had a nutty feeling, just for a second there, that he was gonna ask us a question."
"My thoughts exactly, Ray."
This old man. He played one.
He played knickknack on my thumb.
With a knickknack, patty whack, give a dog a bone.
This old man came rolling home.
The End
Special thanks to Granville Cooley and his Columbo Trivia site, reminding me of all those great Columbo episodes.
Copyright July 1999 by JoAnn Young on all original story content/characters. Not meant to infringe on copyrights held by CBS, Alliance Communication Corp., CTV or any other copyright holders of due South. And of course, the charming Lieutenant Columbo is not mine, either. Please do not reproduce for anything other than personal reading use without written consent of the author. Please do not copy to other web sites or electronic forums. Comments are welcome!