X - Chapter Thirty Two "The Thirty Percent Solution"

 

"The Thirty Percent Solution" 

Chapter Thirty Two 

      There was a slight drizzle in the air, just small droplets lightly falling over the rolling hills covered with tailored lawns and pebbled paths of the Trinity Cemetery. The temperature was neither warm nor cool, throwing the attendees at Theodore Merritt’s entombment into doubt: raincoat, umbrella or nothing. 

      On the graveled parking area, Gloria Merritt and Steve Bucknell had locked their rented car, but then three steps away, they decided that they should take their raincoats, just to be safe. So they returned to their Hertz rental and opened the trunk. Inside were their coats, along with their suitcases, that they had safely stowed for their flight to Paris. 

      Bucknell removed the two raincoats, handed one to Gloria Merritt, and then slammed the trunk closed with a bang and then a click. Steve slipped on his raincoat, and then turned and examined the rolling hills and groups of trees, to see if anyone had been watching them. He had no head covering; he didn’t like the crease a hatband would leave in his blond hair. 

      Gloria pulled on her raincoat, and from its pocket extracted a canvas hat. She immediately placed the hat lightly on her head, not too tight to ruin the expensive artistry of her hair stylist. As the widow, she was wearing a black, silk suit, with an antique broach on the right lapel. 

      Neither Bucknell nor Gloria noticed the five men in dark suits and fedoras walking separately on the graveled paths leading to the large structure of white marble – the mausoleum. That was where Ted Merritt’s casketed remains would be inserted into its crypt during the ceremony celebrating his life. 

      The five men were members of the FBI and the NYPD’s Detective Bureau. They had been monitoring Steve Bucknell’s and Gloria Merritt’s plans and movements. The law officers knew of the airline tickets and the reservation for the Paris hotel Gloria carried in her purse, and they were getting ready to disable the Hertz rental just in case. The law officers believed they had thought of everything. 

      Gloria and Bucknell were careful to take separate routes over the pebbled paths to the mausoleum, so that they arrived separately and took places among the assembled mourners. The leading members of Winshire greeted Gloria and offered their condoliences.

      Bill Voldman took Gloria’s hand and held it while he said, “Gloria, we are so devastated and so sorry.” Grant Stauffer expressed his condolences and wanted to continue speaking with Gloria, but she was forced to pull away from him so the ceremony could continue. My God! My God! I wanted to explain it to you. There was just no other way. You could give me that, Stauffer recited his monologue, the words he had been saving for Gloria.  There used to be something between us. I owe you some kind of an explanation. You owed me a moment, just a moment. I didn’t have a choice. He wouldn’t apologize. He was just evil. He ruined so many lives, yours and mine. Just one step at a time, I didn’t realize it until I looked back and understood. I lost everything, my standards, my values, my life. He deserved it. He deserved to die. I planned everything, watching you go upstairs, waiting for the two of you to leave, and then confronting him. I looked at him. Steve already did a job on him. Ted was no fighter. And when I saw the pistol there, Steve’s pistol, right there, I knew it was predestined. I had to do it. It was just one second, and it was done. And then my escape, it was easy. I just walked out. And now I have to live with it. At the last moment, a tall, lanky form carrying a yellow legal pad joined the mourners just as the ceremony was starting. 

      Rev. John Bereswell, a non-denominational minister, performed the ceremony. 

First, he thanked the assembly for coming to honor Merritt. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here in sadness to honor a truly singular man. Theodore Merritt, or to his friends just plain Ted, was born into humble circumstances in the Bronx. But through diligent effort, and in the beginning thanks to his aunt Betsy, he pulled himself up by his bootstraps to gain a remarkable education. From the moment he was awarded his degree in psychology, he dedicated his life to the betterment of mankind. He became a management consultant and assisted major companies in improving their operations so they could better serve the needs of all people. Along the way, he earned the leadership position of Winshire Associates, and gained the respect and affection of everyone who served under him. May we honor his memory, and offer our sincerest condolences to his family – most importantly his devoted wife Gloria – and friends.” 

       While the attendees began hugging and shaking each others’ hands, artisans inserted Ted’s remains into his crypt and then placed a granite block at the opening, to be permanently sealed after the departure of the attendees. They comforted each other and expressed their admiration for Ted, the most frequent phrases being “What a wonderful human being,” “His devotion to  making his contribution,” and “I’ll always remember his smile.” 

      Then, the mourners automatically formed a line and filed past Gloria. 

      The line was long, and a frown started to form on Gloria’s forehead. She started to fidget, as though she was impatient. But her expression remained appreciative, even though some of the well-wishers became chatty and went on longer than Gloria had planned for. Stauffer continued talking to Gloria and holding her shoulder, until she was forced to turn to the next person in line. 

      Strangely, Steven Bucknell seemed to have disappeared. He was neither in the line of mourners nor among the people who lingered in front of the crypt chatting with Rev. Bereswell. 

-0-

      At a certain moment, Gloria explained to the people in line to offer their condolences that she would have to absent herself for just a moment, saying, “I’m sure you understand. This has been so difficult. I’ll be right back.” However, instead of using the comfort station not far from the mausoleum, she walked away from the gathering and continued toward a stand of trees. 

      As soon as she entered a dark space between two large evergreens, she was no longer visible to the attendees of the funeral. She continued through the trees, until she saw a break, and then rushed for it. Down the hill, on one of the many roadways that crisscrossed the cemetery, an all-terrain Jeep was waiting. She removed her high-heels and ran over the damp grass, circled the vehicle and jumped into the passenger seat. She immediately kissed Bucknell, and said: “Oh, my God! That wasn’t easy. Go!”

      Bucknell fired up the vehicle, and it lurched forward. It gained speed up the slight incline to the crest of the hill. Right over the crest, Bucknell skidded to a halt. In front of his Jeep was a Black Tahoe SUV. Three FBI agents with weapons drawn were advancing toward the Jeep. 

      Bucknell threw the Jeep into reverse and tried to maneuver the vehicle into a U-turn. But another government vehicle pulled up behind him and blocked his progress. Here, NYPD officers advanced toward the Jeep. 

      Panicked, Bucknell pulled a small caliber pistol, a Glock G42, from his belt, and jumped to the muddy road. He turned left, and then to the right, and saw NYPD officers advancing toward him. 

      From somewhere, a voice came over a bullhorn, “Mr. Bucknell, please don’t do anything silly. You can only make things worse.” Then, Detective Jimenez raised his voice. “Please, what you got there, it’s a toy, little more than a cap gun. It has a range of maybe a few feet.” 

      Gloria jumped from the Jeep and landed on her feet. “Shoot them, you idiot! We’ll get you . . . one of our private lawyers.”

      Bucknell kept the small weapon at his side and surveyed the police officers moving toward him. 

      Jimenez’ voice was both pleading and demanding. “Mr. Bucknell, this isn’t TV or a movie. This is the real thing. Raise that toy,  . . . . Point it at any one, and we have no choice. You have full legal rights! Raise it and you got nothing. Please.” 

      It’s not worth it. No, it wasn’t worth it, the words streamed through Bucknell’s mind. It was a storm, a hurricane, all competition, all control, all ego, and I let myself get caught up in it and almost got carried away. I lost my head, and I beat the shit out of the little prick, and there was nothing he could do. I stopped myself. She wanted me to kill him, I know. But I stopped myself and looked at him, and I told him that he was the loser. He wasn’t worth it. I told him: ‘You can’t create; you need others’ ideas. I already won. The ideas are mine.’ But I respect him in one way: He didn’t beg. He was beat to a pulp, bloody, and he just said, ‘Put down the gun.’ And I left, and Gloria followed me.    

      “Some folks are so smart, but at the same time, so stupid,” said Police Sergeant Wendell Barnes. “Be such a pity if he shoots. He got no choice.” 

      Bucknell dropped the gun, and then released the muscles in his neck and stared at the ground. 

      Gloria shouted, “You fool! I told you!”

      The combined force from the NYPD and the FBI advanced and encircled Gloria and Bucknell. The two suspects showed no resistance, but they stared at each other, as they were being cuffed and marched toward a white police van. Barnes retrieved the weapon and dropped it into an evidence bag. 

      Jimenez, who stayed back to supervise the operation, turned to Sergeant Barnes: “Which one you want for the initial questioning?” 

      Just at that moment, the tall young man in the ill-fitting suit, now wearing a blue arm band with the words ‘Press – New York Times’ printed in white, rushed up to the police van and clicked off as many photos as he could before the two suspects were pushed into the vehicle. He identified himself as Fabio DiAndrea of The New York Times, and the uniformed officers ignored him. 

      “Boss, you did such a good job, I’d like you to have the privilege of the lady, if it’s all right with you,” said Barnes. “They’ll sell each other out, anyway. They always sing to save their skins.”

      Jimenez spoke with a smile, “Why Sergeant Barnes, how elegant of you. I’ll remember your gallantry. And for that, you can read them their rights, and make sure they’re happy with their accommodations at the precinct. It’s not a Paris hotel, but we’ll do our best to give them the class they deserve. And you can tell them that, even if they’d made it to Paris, they wouldda been on their way back to the States rapido presto. France is really good about honoring the international extradition treaty.”

      Both men hitched a ride in a police cruiser back to the marble mausoleum, where the last mourners had gathered around three uniformed officers and a small, rotund man with his hands cuffed behind his back. As they approached, Jimenez and Barnes noticed that the detainee’s face had turned bright red and he was haranguing the officers with threats that they’d be personally sued. 

      Jimenez and Barnes stopped briefly to watch the artisans seal Merritt’s casket into its crypt by cementing the granite block in place. A polished brass nameplate would be affixed later. Thus, the book was closed on Theodore Merritt’s short earthly visit. 

      Then Sergeant Barnes approached Grant Stauffer and said, “Hello, Mr. Stauffer. Can I assist you?”

      “You sure can,” shouted Stauffer. “You can get me out of these handcuffs and clear up this miscarriage of justice.” 

      “I’m sorry, no can do, even though we’re old friends,” Barnes said. “You remember, don’t you? Just a few days ago, we had a beer together at the Café Figaro. Remember?” 

      Stauffer looked confused and started sputtering nonsense. 

      Barnes said, “You’re under arrest, and we’re on our way to the precinct. But you’ll be happy. I hear you’re gonna meet a couple of your old friends there.”