Hemlar and the Telephone Repair Man Read online

  HEMLAR

  AND

  THE TELEPHONE REPAIR MAN

  A SHORT STORY

  by

  Mobashar Qureshi

  HEMLAR AND THE TELEPHONE REPAIR MAN © Mobashar Qureshi 2011

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, including the right to reproduce this work or portions thereof, in any form.

  Cover Image: Simon Howden / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

  Visit the author’s website:

  www.mobasharqureshi.com

  Visit the author’s blog:

  Mobashar’s Musings

  OTHER WORKS

  RACE

  The October Five

  The Paperboys Club

  Ten Typewriter Tales

  The City

  The Town

  The Village

  Roman Solaire and the Crystal Towers

  PRAISE FOR TEN TYPEWRITER TALES

  Review on Librarything

  [5-star] “Bright, smart, it'll make you laugh and want to punch someone in the same page.”

  Review on Amazon.com

  [4-star] “This collection is a winner in my humble opinion.”

  Review on Amazon.uk

  [4-star] “Really enjoyed this collection of short stories.”

  DEDICATED

  Munawar J. Qureshi

  SPECIAL THANKS

  Mike McElroy and Wajeeha Qureshi

  HEMLAR

  AND

  THE TELEPHONE REPAIR MAN

  He balanced himself on the ladder and with a brush cleaned the sign that was recently placed at the side of the store. The sign read ‘Fawthers and Hemlar’. It was a very old sign, maybe thirty years old. He carefully brushed around the letters. The paint was fading but he had no intention of repainting it. He wanted it in its original condition.

  “Good morning,” a loud voice said from below.

  He looked down.

  “Are you Professor Herman Hemlar?” a man said, holding a newspaper.

  Herman Hemlar came down from the ladder. He was in his early sixties, and even with two heart-bypass surgeries, he was in good condition. Tall, tanned, with broad shoulders, he didn’t look his age. “How can I help you?” Hemlar said.

  “Can we talk alone?”

  “Certainly.”

  They went up from the side stairs to the second floor. Hemlar unlocked the front door and went in. He led the man inside a small room with only one chair.

  “Forgive the décor; I’m in the process of moving in,” Hemlar said.

  The man sat in the one chair and Hemlar returned with another chair.

  “I tried finding you through the phone book…” the man began.

  “I don’t have a phone, yet.”

  “Um… yes…”

  “Tell me everything,” Hemlar said, leaning back.

  “My name is David Bennison,” he started. “My brother, Patrick, has been accused of a murder.” The man waited for Hemlar’s reaction. But there was none so the man continued. “He is accused of murdering a woman named Eva Mennez. The prosecutors believe she was killed five and a half years ago.”

  “Where did they find the body?”

  Bennison took a gulp. “In his basement.”

  “In his home?” Hemlar said, leaning forward.

  “Yes… with the body, they have also found my brother’s blood stained shirt and knife.”

  “Am I correct to say the police have matched DNA between the victim and the shirt and knife?”

  Bennison sighed. “Yes.”

  “Then what do you want me to do?”

  “Find the real murderer.”

  “But all the evidence is against your brother.”

  “I know, but he is not a killer.”

  “Young man, in this society anything is possible. People kill each other for all the small reasons.”

  “He’s not guilty,” Bennison said defiantly.

  “You believe this with all conviction?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Then we can begin.”

  “You’ll take the case?”

  “Yes. But realize I’m not the police. I have no authority to arrest anyone. My methods are far different than those of the modern police. I can only assist in pointing out the real murderer. That is as far as I can go.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good.”

  “Your fees?” Bennison asked.

  “Not yet. Let me first talk to your brother. Have his lawyer arrange a meeting with me.”

  “I’ll have it for this afternoon.”

  Bennison got up and began to leave when Hemlar spoke, “How did you hear about me?”

  “The website.”

  “Website?” Hemlar said, confused.

  “There was a website on the internet.”

  Hemlar failed to recognize what the man was talking about.

  “I think a fan heard about your last case and she made a website dedicated to you.”

  “How can one access this… website?”

  “Do you have a computer?”

  “Oh… yes… one of those. Sorry, those things don’t interest me. And my address is on this website?”

  “No, but I was able to contact this lady…”

  “Ah, now I understand. She gave you my address.”

  “Yes, after much persistence.”

  “Then I’ll see you this afternoon.”

  ***

  On the eighteenth floor of a large corporate office, Hemlar and David Bennison waited. A few minutes later, two men entered the room. Hemlar got up. One was wearing a brown suit and was short. The lawyer, Hemlar deduced. The other was wearing a flannel shirt and was huge. The suspect.

  “Mel Collins,” the lawyer said. “This is my client, Mr. Patrick Bennison.” Hemlar shook both their hands. The brothers hugged.

  The lawyer and his client sat down.

  The lawyer started the meeting. “I’m really not sure why we are here. But it is my client’s wishes, so, Mr. Hemlar, can you tell me why we are here?”

  “I’ve been hired by your client to assist you in clearing his name.”

  The lawyer looked at Patrick Bennison, who nodded. “When?” the lawyer said.

  “This morning,” Hemlar replied.

  “I assure you, Mr. Hemlar, had my client spoken to me I would have advised him that this arrangement was unnecessary. I’m capable of handling this case.”

  “I’m sure you are,” Hemlar said.

  “Are you a lawyer?”

  “No. Professor.”

  “Professor?” the lawyer said, startled. “Professor of what?”

  “Mid-Eastern studies.”

  The lawyer was flabbergasted. “How can you help in this case?”

  “In more ways than you think. You’re being paid by the state to defend Mr. Bennison and I don’t care to have any share of it. Your client’s brother is paying me. This is your case. I will not appear before the courts in any way. All I ask is your full cooperation.”

  The lawyer did not like this but he could not go against his client’s wishes. “Again, I have to ask. How can you help?”

  “I can guarantee your client’s innocence.”

  ***

  Patrick Bennison was a burly man. Big hands, big body, big everything. But he spoke with extreme gentleness. “I don’t know how that woman’s body got there. I swear, I’ve never seen her before.”

  “You don’t know how your shirt got there as well?” Hemlar asked.

  “No.”

  “The knife?”

  “No. I would never harm anybody. I’ve a wife and four kids.”

  Hemlar turned to the lawyer. “What’s your defense?”

  “My client has
no prior record of any offense. So that’s good to build his credibility as a family man. He’s on his children’s school board. He’s a volunteer for the local food bank. Also, there is no motive for him to harm Eva Mennez.”

  “The facts against him?”

  “Obviously, the first and most significant, the body found in my client’s home. Second, my client’s shirt, and a kitchen knife, which was used in the household, was also found with the body.”

  The lawyer kept repeating that this was his client and not Hemlar’s. Hemlar was comfortable with that.

  Hemlar turned his attention to Patrick Bennison, “Would it be all right with you if I were to speak to your wife? Just a few questions.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  ***

  Hemlar met Mrs. Bennison at her sister’s. The Bennisons’ home was sealed off until after the trial.

  Mrs. Bennison was a middle-aged woman, who was a little plump from bearing four children. She wasn’t what you called an attractive woman.

  “Mrs. Bennison,” Hemlar started. “I’m here to help your husband. Remember this, always. So I want you to give me straight answers. Is that clear, Mrs. Bennison?”

  She nodded after taking a deep breath.

  “How long have you been married?”

  “Almost thirteen years.”

  “In all those years has your husband ever…” He was careful as to how to phrase the next delicate question. “Steered away from your marriage?”

  She nodded and then began crying. “Twice.”

  “When?”

  “After the birth of our first child, Tom. And then about four years ago, after the birth of our last child, Emma.” She wiped tears. “But it wasn’t that woman.”

  “You mean Eva Mennez?”

  “Yes. It was someone else. I confronted her and told her to stay away from my husband and my family. I’ve never seen her since.”

  “Her name?”

  “Claire.”

  “Last name?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “No matter. Did you know they found a kitchen knife along with Ms. Mennez’s body?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did the knife belong to you?”

  She replied without making eye contact. “Yes.”

  Hemlar thanked her and got up to leave when she stopped him. “My family and my home is everything to me.”

  Hemlar left.

  ***

  “Who is Claire?” Hemlar asked.

  Patrick Bennison was speechless. They were back inside the eighteenth floor office. “H-how did you know about her?”

  “Your wife?”

  “How did she know?” He was speaking to himself.

  “Who is Claire?” Hemlar asked.

  “S-she…” He cleared his throat. “She used to come to the scrap yard. I don’t know why. I met her there. I don’t even know her full name. Things got out of hand. One day she just disappeared.”

  “This looks very bad,” Hemlar said. “You have been unfaithful before. There’s no jury that will believe you were not involved with Ms. Mennez.”

  “I wasn’t,” Patrick Bennison shot back.

  “The prosecutors will make a case that you were involved. This is what they’ll present: one day you decide that the relationship must end. She is against that. She threatens to tell your wife. Fearing this, you kill her, and hide her body in the basement. Sounds plausible?”

  “Y-yes.”

  Hemlar sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. He disliked dealing with domestic problems. They were the worst. He could deal with murders, robberies, forgeries, framing, but never did he like domestic problems. The whole family institution was at stake. It involved innocent children and Hemlar hated it.

  Hemlar opened his eyes. “Now, do you know the whereabouts of Claire?”

  “Yes.”

  ***

  Outside, the lawyer walked with Hemlar.

  “I believe, Mr. Collins, that this case is beyond my control,” Hemlar said. “I think I’m going to have to leave it in your expert hands.”

  “You mustn’t leave, Mr. Hemlar,” the lawyer said. “I feel there is too much my client is hiding from me. I beg that you continue.”

  Hemlar wasn’t sure but there were some questions he needed answering. “Why didn’t the prosecutors speak to Mrs. Bennison?”

  “I didn’t let them near her, stating that the family was going through so much and I didn’t want anything to affect the children. Also, the prosecutors have physical evidence and they are eager to get this case to the courts.”

  Hemlar rubbed his eyebrow. “I will only stay because I believe Mr. Bennison is not guilty.”

  ***

  Hemlar placed a loaf of bread in his basket along with a raisin muffin. He went to the cashier.

  “Hello,” a young woman said with a smile.

  “Good weather,” Hemlar said.

  “Yes, beautiful.” She punched amounts into the cash register.

  Hemlar placed a newspaper on the counter top. “Did you hear that they found a woman’s body in a family’s basement?”

  She had no reaction. “That’ll be two-sixty-two,” she said.

  “I’m helping Patrick Bennison and I need to talk to you,” Hemlar said as quietly as possible.

  “Not here,” Claire said.

  They met a block away from the bakery she worked at. She was nervous and she lit a cigarette. After a puff, she felt calm.

  “I don’t know anything about it,” she started. “But I can tell you Patrick would never harm anyone.”

  “I know. What I’m interested in is what did Mrs. Bennison say to you when she confronted you?”

  Claire took another puff. “She somehow found out about us and she came down to…” Claire pointed in the direction of the bakery. “There she told me that her family was everything to her and that I stay away from Patrick.”

  “She was angry?”

  “At first. But then she began crying. She told me Patrick was her life and she couldn’t think of raising a family without him. After that I broke up with Patrick.”

  Hemlar listened carefully.

  “Do you think she killed that woman?” Claire finally asked.

  “That’s a possibility,” Hemlar said.

  ***

  On a rainy night, Hemlar and Collins went to the scene of the crime. The lawyer had arranged for Hemlar to survey the house. One officer stood outside guarding the scene. It was a two-floor house with a basement.

  Hemlar wanted to see the upstairs first. Start from the top and then go to the bottom, he believed.

  The house was old. It creaked and squeaked. The wooden floors looked as if they would give away at any moment.

  Hemlar gently made his way up. He could see two bedrooms: one for the children and one for Mr. and Mrs. Bennison. The children’s bedroom was very small; Hemlar could only imagine how four of them slept in it. Mr. and Mrs. Bennison’s room wasn’t that much bigger, either.

  Next Hemlar surveyed the kitchen, which was clean and orderly. The living room contained old furniture.

  Downstairs, beside the front entrance, a door led to the basement.

  In the basement there was a large room to the right, a hall in front and the kitchen and washroom to the left. Hemlar could see damp spots around the corner of the carpet. Up ahead, Hemlar stared at a door, which was surrounded by yellow tape. They went across the poorly lit hall.

  Hemlar went underneath the yellow tape and gently opened the door. He pulled a string and the light bulb flashed on. There was an inch of puddle on the floor. There was a water heater on the left and a gas furnace on the right. Behind the water heater was a large hole. Hemlar pulled out a flashlight and removed photographs from his coat pocket.

  He compared the photographs of the body of Eva Mennez and the now empty hole. Hemlar moved the light around the hole and then to the false wall. The victim’s body had been placed inside, sealed by a drywall, which was then layered with cement.
>
  In the pictures, Hemlar could see the decomposed body, the murder weapon and a red flannel shirt.

  “How did they find the body?” Hemlar asked.

  Collins said, “The Bennisons were having trouble with their water heater and while trying to replace it, one of the workers slipped and the water heater fell on the wall, making that big hole.”

  “The Bennisons never knew there was a false wall there?”

  “Never.”

  ***

  That night Hemlar locked himself in his office. A desk and two chairs had been delivered earlier. He began pacing around the furniture. He wished he had all his books. They were going to be delivered soon. He wanted to pick one up and read it. Reading took him to a place in his mind where he was able to reflect. He would start reading the first sentence and by the end of the page his mind would be elsewhere.

  He couldn’t just pick up any book or magazine. No. He had to find a book that would challenge, stimulate, and provoke his mind in some way.

  He should’ve brought a book with him, but he hadn’t expected to be involved in a case any time soon.

  He had all the clues he needed. It was just a matter of putting them together. He closed his eyes and began thinking of the scene earlier. Eva Mennez, the knife, Patrick Bennison, Mrs. Bennison, the house, the basement, the hole, the body, the shirt, the leaky roof, the puddle of water, the damp spots.

  The leaky roof, the damp spots, the puddle of water: those images kept reappearing. The clues were somehow in there.

  Hemlar opened his eyes and decided to call it a night. Perhaps in the morning he’d find what he was searching for.

  ***

  The next morning, Hemlar came back from his morning walk to find the ground floor door open. He hurried up the stairs and found his office door slightly ajar. Through the opening he could see someone hunched over, but they were hidden behind the desk.