story The Case of the Double Identity - The Conclusion

[Pythor 1,354]

                                                                                             

                                                                                                        PREVIOUSLY "IN THE CASE FILES" 

"Asher," there was urgency in the police chief's voice. "Come quick. We caught someone trying to break in..." 

The detective snatched his credit card back and, without a word to the cashier, took off towards the gas station door, leaving his coffee on the counter. In another second he had burst out of the ad covered entrance and into the cool night air beyond. It looked as if he didn't need to set the trap after all. The culprit had come to him.

 

 

                                                                                           PART IV - The Conclusion

 

For the second time in the past two days Asher pulled into the now familiar warehouse parking lot to see a variety of flashing lights and a general buzz of police activity. It was hard to imagine only two days ago he had first been introduced to the case. For the detective, the past 48 hours of his life seemed like a year. All the interviews, questionings, and meetings he had initiated were running together in his mind like the rushing waters of a mighty river. The flow of that river was leading to this very moment. The “molecules” were finally adding up. All he needed was that one last piece of information; the delta that empties out into the wide expanse of the ocean. This would be the defining hour of the case, possibly of his whole career. From each and every person involved in the mystery he had obtained a vital clue; an important fact that when assembled with all of the others, would paint the full picture. It would enable the detective to reconstruct the days and weeks leading up to Fresnow’s time at the warehouse, and allow him to finally understand the details surrounding the incident in office 211. Underwood already had a theory that if proven true, would completely alter the meaning behind those details and explain almost every point related to the case. However, he was still missing something, and that something lay with whoever had just broken into Fresnow’s office. 

 

With a face set with determination and stride filled with adrenaline, Asher gave a brief nod to the deputy stationed out front, then quickly made his way around to the rear of the warehouse. The grassy area behind the building was lit up by both the flashing lights of Darrin’s car, and the powerful flashlight the police officer himself was wielding. One of the back doors of the vehicle was partially open, revealing a disheveled looking man within. He was slouched over, head resting on the metal frame of the seat directly in front of him. The lighting was less than ideal, but Asher would tell that the man’s hands were securely cuffed together. 

 

Darrin and another officer stood nearby, conversing in low tones. Upon hearing the sound of footsteps, the chief jerked his light towards the faint noise, then lowered the beam after realizing it was his friend. As Asher emerged into the circle of illumination, Darrin’s tanned face wore a smug expression. There had always been a friendly rivalry between himself and Underwood. When at all possible, he preferred the police to catch the criminal, not the private detective. 

 

Underwood barely glanced at his friend, however. Whether it was long enough to catch a trace of his intentional smirk, Darrin couldn’t tell. Instead, Asher was gazing across the lawn at the broken window set in the warehouse wall. The flashing blue and red lights of the cop car played a weird array of shapes and shadows on the fragments of glass that still remained. Through the opening the detective could just make out the edge of a desk along with the interior of office 211. 

 

“We got him on his way out,” the police chief's voice shattered the night silence. “Broke in, rummaged around for about five minutes, then reemerged through the window. Luckily I was still here wrapping up the investigation for the day… He didn’t put up much of a fight.” 

 

The detective turned towards Darrin. “Did he take anything?” 

 

“That’s the funny thing. He didn’t. Everything in the office is accounted for. I went in and checked myself.” After receiving no acknowledgement from Asher, Darrin added, “I’m as confused as you are.” 

 

Underwood cleared his throat. “I never said I was confused, but it does pose an interesting question.” He smiled. “Maybe our culprit can help clear it up?” 

 

“Name’s Dirk Liddy. No past criminal record.” The police chief consulted a small file. “Currently works as a part time taxi driver.” 

 

Asher started slightly. “A taxi driver,” he repeated thoughtfully. “I wonder if…” the detective trailed off, then slowly looked back at the remnants of glass clinging to office 211’s window frame. Without another word, he promptly lay a hand on the back door of the police car and pulled it fully open. The man inside looked up, a glazed look in his eyes. A short, scraggly beard populated by a few small clumps of dirt covered the bottom half of his face, giving him the appearance of a hobo rather than a taxi driver. 

 

“Liddy?” 

 

The man seemed to gain some energy after noticing Asher wasn’t a cop. 

 

“Who wants to know?” He forced a cough and attempted to wipe his mouth before realizing his hands were still restrained. This reminder that he had been caught by the police catapulted him into a newfound frenzy. Underwood wondered whether this man was mentally unstable.

 

“I swear sir, I swear!” His voice rose to an excruciatingly high octave. “Someone put me up to this. I don’t deserve…” 

 

Dirk broke off as Asher firmly gripped his shoulder. The detective’s steady hand helped partially regain the man’s sanity. There was an awkward silence before Underwood released his grip and straightened up. 

 

“You better start from the beginning then. Who sent you and why?” 

 

The man hesitated, then jostled his torso around in short bursts until he was facing the detective. 

 

“It seemed like a simple job.” Asher noticed red spots underneath the man’s eyes indicative of prolonged crying. “I was instructed to break into office…” he paused, trying to recollect the number. “...211. Look for anything the police left behind that I thought would be valuable.” 

 

“Valuable to whom?” Asher inquired, studying the face of Dirk Liddy like a bullfrog ogling a fly. 

 

“That’s just the thing. I don’t know. My employer wasn’t specific; in fact, the person giving me instructions never even told me his name.” 

 

Underwood heard Darrin softly curse behind him. 

 

“He did mention a doctor Fresnow though, come to think of it,” Dirk continued. “I think he was the owner of the office. Anyway, this man threatened that if I refused to carry out the job, he’d release this chemical thing on me. It was the weirdest threat I’ve ever heard.” 

 

Asher’s heart skipped a beat. “Dirk, I need you to concentrate. This is extremely important. Did you hear what the chemical was, or maybe what it’s effects were?”  

 

Liddy shook his head. “I don’t know the name of it, but I did partially overhear the man say it was fatal.” 

 

In a totally unexpected action, Asher fished in his coat pocket and brought out three crisp twenty dollar bills. He motioned for Dirk to stand, then thrust the sixty bucks into the man’s trouser pocket. Anticipating an action from his friend, the detective spun around to look the police chief in the face.

 

“Darrin, trust me on this.” 

 

Without waiting for a response, Asher regained eye contact with the culprit. “Fatal in what way?” 

 

Dirk remained standing, an incredulous expression painted on his face. He quickly attempted to answer. “Toxic fumes…” he bit his lip, then vigorously shook his head. “No, no it was poison.” 

 

It was Asher’s turn to shake his head. “No, I don’t think so. Try again.” 

 

Dirk paused. “Disease…” He hung his head and emitted an exasperated sigh. “I heard it, but I can’t remember exactly.” 

 

Asher wanted this to come first from the lips of Liddy, but the chances looked grim. “What about a type of explosion?” The detective asked so softly that Darrin could barely hear. 

 

A spark of recognition lit up the convict’s eyes, and he jerked his head back up. “Yes! That rings a bell. I believe that was it!” 

 

“Are you positive?” Underwood needed to be certain. 

 

“Yes, yes. Quite sure. I remember now,” Liddy burst out in short, choppy sentences. 

 

Darrin snorted, unconvinced. “What kind of psychopath has an exploding chemical just laying around?” 

 

Asher took a step back and grinned. If Liddy was telling the truth, then this was the final piece. The puzzle was completed. He let out a short laugh. 

 

“The same kind that was looking for Fresnow. Besides, I doubt this person actually had the chemical. He probably just used it as a threat because that’s what was on his mind.” 

 

Seeing the confusion on his friend’s face, Asher lay a reassuring hand on Darrin’s shoulder. “Mr. Liddy was sent here to obtain clues about Fresnow. But why? It’s my guess that he was employed by the same man, or group of people, who’ve been trailing the doctor for weeks. So why send a financially needy taxi driver to get more information about a dead man? And not just any dead man, but a man this person himself had supposedly just killed two days before? Liddy’s mysterious employer should already know all there is to know about Fresnow.” Asher smiled again. “I’ll tell you why Darrin. Because he, or they, didn’t kill Fresnow. Dirk Liddy didn’t kill Fresnow. Mr. Shrewter didn’t kill Fresnow. Mr. Day didn’t kill Fresnow. Neither did anyone else in the warehouse. In fact, nobody killed him.” 

 

Darrin stared at Asher, digesting what the detective was saying. 

 

“So he committed suicide then?”

 

Underwood took his arm off the police chief’s shoulder. “No, my friend. He didn’t commit suicide. From the very beginning of the case you jumped to a hasty conclusion. After hearing some particular information, I too leapt to the same conclusion. I have a hunch those weren’t the doctor’s organs we found on the floor of office 211.” 

 

The detective could tell that Darrin finally understood what he was hinting at. 

 

“Fresnow doesn’t have a killer because he’s not dead.” Asher cleared his throat. “We’ve been investigating a murder that never happened.” 

 

“But, but then who sent this man?” Darrin spluttered, motioning towards Dirk. 

 

Underwood deliberately stroked his chin. “I need you to call all the people that have been involved in the case over the past two days. Tell them to be at the warehouse tomorrow morning at eight. I’ll let Fresnow tell you himself.” 

 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The sun shone brightly through the large east window of the warehouse, bathing a section of the lobby floor with a golden glow. In the middle of the lobby stood chairs neatly situated in three rows, all facing the double front doors. They were occupied by a wide variety of men: a storage manager, four renters, a trucker, a taxi driver, and a first witness. Amidst the silence of the room, each waited with breathless anticipation for a climax to the unusual business of Doctor Fresnow. Everyone had their own personal experience related to the case, and some had even formed opinions on who the murderer was. It was because of these hypotheses that most sat in silence, afraid to socialize with a possible killer. The police deputy stood at the door, poised to admit the final two people to the gathering inside the warehouse. 

 

At exactly 8:10 those two people entered the lobby. Asher Underwood looked extremely pleased, even more so than the previous night after receiving the vital information he needed. Darrin appeared more on the impatient side. True to form, the detective had refused to divulge anything in the car, so he, the chief of police, would be alerted to the full explanation of the mystery along with everyone else. 

 

The crowd sat expectantly as Underwood slowly removed his coat and took his place at the front of the room, the police chief at his side. In another moment secrets would be brought to light, facts methodically explained, and the solution carefully detailed out. 

 

“Thank you for attending this rather unprecedented meeting,” Asher dipped his head in a slight formal gesture. “You all have some sort of connection to our friend, Doctor Fresnow, and I thought it imperative that everyone involved should be present today. Through lengthy interrogation last night both at Mr. Oufa’s home -- Asher nodded towards the manager -- and with Mr. Liddy, I have ascertained the reasons behind the gruesome scene discovered in office 211.” 

 

Shrewter immediately rose to his feet. “You know who the murderer is then?” 

 

Underwood held up a hand. “In time Mr. Shrewter. In time.” 

 

The stout man glanced quizzically around at the other occupants of the room, then hurriedly retook his seat. 

 

“Before I explain what really occurred this past Thursday morning, you first must understand Fresnow’s background and the reason why he was renting out an office in a Los Angeles warehouse.” Asher began to relate the story. “Doctor Jay Fresnow is the well respected CEO and head scientist of Nautilus, a chemistry company based out of San Fransisco. He has held this position for almost four years now, but only recently has garnered wide publicity. In May or June of this year, he began working on a complex formula inside his private San Fransisco lab. What this mixture’s intended purpose was or what Fresnow hoped to achieve through this experiment still remains a mystery to me, but it is beside the point. What’s important is that there is a disastrous outcome if the formula is done incorrectly. Just a small mess up, the addition of a particular chemical, can pose tragic consequences. It is this one fact that the whole case centers around. Whether Fresnow knew of this danger at first is unknown, but he discovered it sometime during his initial testing phase in those preliminary months. One of the doctor’s main fears throughout the whole process was publicity. He wanted to develop the formula without having to deal with contending companies and other outsiders peeping in. However, that was not meant to be…” Asher paused, ran his gaze over the small audience, then continued. “Somewhere along the line a rival company got wind of the operation. They, of course, wanted the money and fame associated with a groundbreaking formula, so the race began. Certain persons acting as spies were deployed near Fresnow’s lab, attempting to steal all the progress the doctor had already made. How long this went on before Fresnow became suspicious, nobody but the doctor himself knows, but by the final week of June he undoubtedly saw that some form of action should be taken. He was close to figuring out the correct recipe, yet he still needed more time. Thus, he started looking for an alternate location to continue his testing. Fresnow wanted to put a good amount of distance between him and his competitors, and was also looking for a secluded area to live.”

 

Jake Oufa grunted in agreement. “He got both from me. Office 211 at the warehouse to do his work, and my barn to eat and sleep in.” 

 

“Precisely,” Underwood exclaimed. “Fresnow chose Los Angeles as his location, securing his office with you on July 1st under the name of Dale Greenleaf. He had his place, now all that was missing was a reason for him to leave San Fransisco. And so we come to the doctor’s first of two charades; he faked his own disappearance. He knew his rivals would see right through the scheme, but Fresnow needed an excuse for his absence at his own lab. Police intervention was the last thing he wanted because that meant immediate publicity. Instead, the doctor took matters into his own hands and arrived back in LA on the 5th. Unfortunately for him, public attention was drawn rather quickly. His disappearance unexpectedly made newspaper headlines on that same day, alerting Mr. Oufa of Greenleaf's real identity. The game was up. At this point the doctor had no choice but to confide in the LA Woodstock manager, and for a considerable sum of money, Fresnow succeeded in keeping his whereabouts a secret. For the next month everything went fairly smoothly. Fresnow remained under the radar and it seemed like he had effectively evaded various prying eyes. He continuously worked on the mixture in office 211, making sure to conceal his face from his fellow warehouse renters. During the evenings and nights the doctor shut himself up in Oufa’s barn. Presently, the public’s eye moved elsewhere and the formula was nearly forgotten about.” 

 

“The calm before the storm, eh,” Trent Kreur chuckled from his seat. “Little did he know what was to come.” 

 

Underwood nodded. “Fresnow’s rivals found him in mid August. It was now clear to the doctor the extent to which these people craved the formula. After over a month of searching, he had been weeded out in a city of millions of people. No doubt he wondered if they would possibly kill for the information. The clock was running out, and it was in these desperate times that Fresnow decided to risk employing a genius idea. His first attempt to throw his enemies off the trail hadn’t been convincing enough. However, if he succeeded this time, there would be no questions asked. In order for this plan to work though, an important item needed to be obtained. It was delivered by you, Mr. Kreur, on August 18th. A specially delivered package to complete Fresnow’s master plan.” 

 

 

Underwood brought out a small sheet of paper from his pocket. He held it up for everyone to see. 

 

“I made one final visit last night to a certain Mr. Dent. He is an old acquaintance of Doctor Fresnow, and also happens to be a coroner in a local morgue. The package delivered to office 211 was sent from him. What did it contain you may ask? I originally thought it was another addition to the formula, but no. Within the crate was the exact thing that forced us all to believe that a murder had occurred -- the organs found on the floor of the office.” 

 

“What?!” Steven Day burst out. “But that means…” 

 

“Yes Mr. Day. That’s exactly what 'that' means. There was no murder, no killer, no death. Fresnow’s second charade was to fake an accident. He knew his enemies were aware of the formula’s alternate effects. It would be easy, then, to convince them that he had made a mistake; his body incinerated by the potentially fatal mixture.” 

 

Silence pervaded the room and everyone began to realize the implications of what the detective was saying. After a moment, Asher picked up the account.

 

“The rest of it was fairly simple really. Exactly a week after the package arrived Fresnow put his plan into action. He anticipated an inevitable strike from his opponents, and in order for his plan to succeed, the doctor required them to commit this strike exactly when he wanted them to. He attempted to use the old bait tactic. For this work, he needed to be able to enter the warehouse completely alone.” 

 

The detective turned towards Clay Redford.    

 

“Last Wednesday, the 25th, our dear doctor stole the key to the front door of the warehouse. He had no doubt been carefully observing you, Mr. Redford, and discovered that you kept the object hidden in the book ‘Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea’. It was no great problem then, to sneak into your office while you were momentarily away and procure this key. He now had the means to enter and exit the warehouse as he pleased. And so we come to Thursday morning…” 

 

Asher hesitated, savoring the rapt attention he was receiving from his audience. 

 

“Very early, it’s my guess around four or five AM, the doctor departed from his room at Oufa’s and drove down to the warehouse. It was imperative that everything be done quickly, else the whole operation might backfire; he could be ambushed before adequately setting the scene for the ‘accident’. Fresnow hid his car nearby and entered the warehouse via the stolen key, making it perfectly clear to anyone watching that he was alone… and vulnerable. His pursuers followed him here that morning, and fell right into the ingenious trap the doctor had set.”

 

Underwood pivoted in the direction of Shrewter. 

 

“You told me that when you arrived at the warehouse Thursday morning at eight o’ clock, the front doors were unlocked. Fresnow intentionally left them like this to provide a way for his rivals to enter the building. The doctor now raced into his office and set the last few touches in place. He unpacked the organs from the crate, where they had been carefully preserved so as to convince the police he had died at about 7:00. He then splattered some of his own blood on the ground and mixed the liquid with the organs. He already had organized the chemicals on his desk within the vials we found, so now all that was left was for him to leave his own door ajar and to break the overhead light. Less light in the room meant less chance for others to guess that it was all a fake. Finally, Fresnow exited the office through the back window and made his getaway.” 

 

For the first time that day Greg Rangler spoke up. “And I found the remains at 9:00… which gave these people ample time to discover the scene.”

 

“Mr. Shrewter arrived even earlier, at 8:00,” Underwood corrected. “But he went directly into his own office, oblivious to what had happened in 211. So these people entered the building sometime between about 5:00 and 8:00. They probably remained hidden in close proximity to the warehouse for an extended period of time, possibly even an hour or more so as to confirm there were no nearby witnesses. Then, wearing gloves, one or more of Fresnow’s rivals assaulted office 211, but only to find a gruesome mess on the floor. What more could they think than that the experiment had taken a fatal turn? They examined the vials and were evidently convinced of the doctor’s demise. Seeing no additional information in regards to the formula, they quickly left to avoid suspicion. The only shred of evidence left behind was a small water droplet from the gloved hand of one of the intruders. As you all remember, at that time on Thursday it was raining quite heavily.” 

 

The room was silent once more. 

 

“There’s only a few more facts to explain,” Asher cleared his throat. “Sometime after his departure, Fresnow snuck back into the building and slid the key underneath the door, back into Mr. Redford’s office. Yesterday evening Fresnow’s rivals employed Mr. Liddy to break into office 211 and scour the room for any other information about the formula. These people didn’t have enough time to adequately search the premises the day before.” 

 

Jake Oufa made a grating sound with his chair, then straightened up. “There’s only one more question Mr. Underwood. If he is alive, where is Fresnow now?” 

 

The detective smiled. “Ah, I thought you’d never ask!” He looked up at the ceiling, then back at everyone gathered in front of him. “This is the most ingenious part of it all. Doctor Fresnow… he was brilliant. Just in case something went wrong, he left behind a clue; a way for the police to learn the truth straight from the doctor himself. Something that his enemies would not think of, and something the average person would completely overlook.” The detective’s eyes were sparkling now. “This was why he waited for a dark, stormy day, and the second reason why he broke the overhead light in office 211.”

 

The police chief coughed. “But we found no note, nor anything else Fresnow could have contacted us with.”

 

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, Darrin. You overlooked the object just like everyone else. Mr. Liddy blew right past it when he broke in last night. Fresnow’s enemies ignored it because they couldn’t possibly guess that such a profound clue lay concealed within such an ordinary instrument.” 

 

“The papers?” Darrin questioned. “But we searched through them and found nothing.” 

 

“No no. What else did Fresnow’s office contain? In fact, it’s still on the desk as we speak.” 

 

Suddenly the police chief’s body went rigid. Asher had already started for office 211’s door, and Darrin was right behind him. 

 

“The calculator!” 

 

The two men reemerged from the room moments later, bearing the instrument. The audience was all standing now, everyone talking at once, crowding around the detective. 

 

“Indeed! The calculator,” Asher shouted in triumph. “A solar powered calculator. If we shine a bright light onto the panel, it’s my guess we shall see an otherwise invisible message appear.” 

 

Darrin fumbled in his pocket and excitedly produced a heavy duty flashlight. Asher held the object steady as the police chief pointed the beam on the appropriate panel. Everyone held their breath. Slowly, as if my magic, a set of numbers began to appear. 

 

No one spoke until Darrin nearly exploded. “A phone number!” 

 

Asher grinned victoriously. “The phone number of Doctor Fresnow.” 

 

It was the police chief’s turn to smile as he drew out his own cell phone. “Shall we give him a call?” 

 

Darrin carefully typed in the nine faded numbers shown on the calculator that Underwood still clutched. 

 

The detective and chief both lowered their faces to the phone and breathlessly waited as it rang once, twice. Suddenly a sharp ding sounded, and Darrin’s heart missed a beat. Underwood slowly let out his breath as a voice sounded on the other side.

 

“This is Doctor Fresnow. Who’s calling?” 

 

 

                                                                        This concludes the Case of the Double Identity. We hope you have enjoyed this four part mystery story. 

 

PyTHOR

 

 

[kaisdf 3,320]

In the epic conclusion to "The Case of the Double Identity" secrets are finally revealed, mysteries are uncovered, and culprits are apprehended. Who killed the doctor and why? Did you correctly guess the guilty party? Read on to find out...

[3dL 454]

Nice❤

[Person_Random 4,991]

Great story! Pythor's back at it again... will we be seeing a sequel?

to the series, that is.

[Pythor 1,354]

On 5/22/2020 at 5:56 PM, Person_Random said:

Great story! Pythor's back at it again... will we be seeing a sequel?

to the series, that is.