The Newspaper

It was just before 7 am when Tom Wilson strode into the Southampton Police Station and approached the officer at the desk. Sergeant Scott looked up at the sound of the door opening. He sighed at the sight of the familiar face. It was the third time this week that Tom Wilson had come in to lodge a complaint.

“Hello, Mr. Wilson. What can I do for you today?” the sergeant asked, although he knew full well what the man wanted.

“Well, I don’t wanna file another damn report that gets buried. Youse gotta do something this time!” And he threw a folded-up newspaper on top of the sergeant’s desk. “Someone has gotta get this to stop!”

“Look, Mr. Wilson. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but filing these reports helps. We need to make record of this, before we can act. We take this sort of harassment seriously, but obviously, we have to prioritize real crime. We have thefts and other, you know. . . violent crimes, to investigate. They take priority, but…we will get to the bottom of your newspaper issue. Eventually.”

“I’m tired of hearin’ them excuses. I want some action this time. Look, this has been going on for a month now. This here’s today’s paper. I ain’t even opened it, brought it straight here. I’m gonna deliver it every day to whoever is on duty until youse guys get off your duffs and figure this thing out. And you can fill out your own damn report.” With that, Tom turned and walked out of the station, letting the door slam behind him.

Sergeant Scott shook his head and put the paper under his desk. He and the rest of the department thought Tom Wilson was just another pompous, rich idiot. Another low life who used to be the rabble of society, but somehow hit the jackpot. And like all the other new money snobs, he thought the police were at his beck and call. Like they had nothing better to do than chase down a newspaper delivery boy! Some nerve!

Scott wouldn’t have given Wilson the time of day, but the lieutenant insisted everyone be treated like the King of England. “Good riddance!” the sergeant muttered.

A few minutes after Tom Wilson exited the precinct, the door to the back offices opened and Lieutenant Marks approached the desk.

“Still quiet, Steven?’” he asked his sergeant.

“Yes sir, Lieutenant,” Sergeant Scott answered. “Only walk-in all morning was Tom Wilson, reporting he received another newspaper. I mean, whoop-de-doo! It’s just the morning paper, for crying out loud! But the guy won’t stop. Including last week, that’s five times he’s come in. He’s getting angrier, though, Lieutenant - doesn’t think we’re taking enough action on his complaints.”

“All right. Well, I need to stretch my legs. I’ll go talk with him. See if I can calm him down. Get me his address… Meanwhile, just make the usual report. But do me a favor, since it’s quiet, see if you can call the Post and find out why they keep delivering a paper to him. I know he said he tried that, but maybe you’ll have more luck. ‘Police investigation’ sometimes moves mountains, eh!”

***

Lieutenant Marks knocked on the door. He preferred to knock rather than use the bell. Less formal way to announce a visitor. It was a technique he had learned in training years ago, when he was in the academy. It's the little things that build a rapport, his training officer had told him.

Tom Wilson wasn’t often surprised by visitors. As a matter of fact, he couldn’t recall the last time he had a visitor. Not since his wife had passed away six months ago. So, it was a look of genuine shock that greeted the police lieutenant as the door opened. But Tom quickly recovered, and a scowl soon replaced the raised eyebrows.

“Bout time you guys investigated this,” Tom said as he motioned for Lieutenant Marks to enter his house. “Only took me wearin’ out a path to your doorstep.”

“Good morning, Mr. Wilson. I’m Lieutenant Marks. And yes, I’m here to find out what is going on with the mysterious newspapers you have been receiving.”

“OK. Now we’re getting’ somewhere,” Tom said, taking a more amicable tone. “At least you are here to talk about it. Have a seat. Ya want coffee?”

“Please.” And Lieutenant Marks followed Tom into his kitchen, taking a seat at the table. “First, tell me when this all started.”

“It’s in my reports. Guess you ain’t read them yet,” Tom grunted. “Oh well, don’t hurt nothin’ to repeat. About a month ago. I walked outta my house, and the paper was sittin’ there on my front walkway. Well, I don’t read the newspaper. Print news ain’t worth the paper it’s written on no more. I get all my news online or from the boob tube. So naturally, I figured the kid, or whoever, delivered it to the wrong house. But I checked with my neighbors. It wasn’t nobody’s, so I tossed it in the recycle bin.”

“Naturally.” Lieutenant Marks nodded. Tom handed him a cup of coffee and sat across from the policeman.

“So, this went on for a week or so. Me getting a paper. I didn’t do nothing at first. But then I called the Post to tell them I wasn’t about to pay for no paper that I didn’t order. They said they didn’t deliver a paper to me. To make a long story short, things got a little heated. I mean, I was getting’ the paper, and here’s this dude on the other end of the line, telling me I wasn’t gettin’ no paper. Callin’ me a liar.”

“And the newspapers kept being delivered? Even after your call?”

“Sure as you’re sittin’ here. Every day. So, I was just tossing them. Never opened a single one. Another week or so went by. But it was annoying, see. So, I called the Post again. Different guy answered. He transferred me to a supervisor. The guy was a bit nicer, didn’t call me a liar, but said the newspaper wasn’t theirs. Someone else must be sending it.”

“But you are saying it was definitely the New York Post - had the Post banner on the front, right? It looked like the regular newspaper?”

“That’s right. I ain’t never read the thing, but you couldn’t miss their logo in red, white and black across the top. Listen, I ain’t stupid. Back in the day, my dad used to read it. Just for the sports, he’d said. Not the news. Nobody read the Post for the news. But they had the best coverage of the New York teams. Big sports fan, my dad was. Giants, Yankees, Rangers…you name it! Not so much into basketball. And like any true New Yorker from the big city, he hated them other New York teams. You know - the Mets, Nets, and whatever. He wouldn’t read nothin’ about them, except when they was losing. Which was a lot. Of course, that was back in the eighties and nineties, before everything was online.”

“I see. And after your second call to the Post, that’s when you made your first report to our station?”

“Yeah, last week. But it’s been coming to my house for a couple of weeks before I reported it to youse guys. An the other day, I got up at four in the morning, just to catch who was delivering it. Laid in wait. I stayed by my window, never left, looking out the front until 7am. No one came. Yet the paper was there at 7am. I didn’t do nothin’ but blink. It wasn’t there, then it was. Magic. I don’t know what’s going on, but it ain’t normal. And it’s harassment. I’ve had it. I told your sergeant I was going to deliver it to youse guys from now on…every morning…til it stops.”

“You know what, Tom? If I may call you Tom. You should do that, if it’s not too much trouble. So we can track the deliveries. This may take some time, but we will find an answer for you.” Lieutenant Marks stood up to leave.

As Tom walked him to the door, he handed the lieutenant a sealed envelope. “I almost forgot. This came yesterday. I didn’t open it, thinking it was a bill from the Post. See… ‘New York Post’ is written across the top of the envelope. I ain’t paying no bill, if that’s what it is – just so’s you know that.”

“No worries,” the Lieutenant assured him. “We’ll look into this. It might give a clue as to who is delivering the newspapers. And why. It could still be just an innocent mistake.”

Tom grunted.

Thank you, Tom. We’ll be in touch.” He tucked the envelope in his jacket pocket.

***

As Lieutenant Marks entered the precinct, he saw Sergeant Scott hang up the phone.

“Lieutenant, sir. That was just the Post. I spoke with the rep who is responsible for handling this area, er…a Phil Monroe, and his supervisor, Rory Wilson – no relation to Tom Wilson, our not-so-friendly complainer. Anyway, Phil and Rory have both confirmed they had conversations with Tom. They said quite convincingly that they are not delivering the Post to his address, and they both said they tried to reason with him, but he got quite nasty. Anyway, while I was talking with them, I opened the paper that Tom dropped off this morning, and there’s something very strange about this whole situation.”

“OK, sergeant. Why don’t you come into my office so we can discuss this. Get Sergeant Moody to cover the front desk for a few minutes. Oh, and bring the newspapers that Tom Wilson has brought in so far…and whatever notes you have.”

Sergeant Scott gathered the documents and followed the Lieutenant into his office. Placing several papers on the desk, he started to sit. But Lieutenant Marks motioned for him to close the door first.

That’s strange. He never closes his door … unless he is reaming someone out. Never just to discuss a case. Something’s up.

“Steven. I just returned from Tom’s house. First, I know he comes off as angry but I think he’s more scared than angry. Once he calmed down, he was ok. I get the feeling that this is not just about an errant newspaper delivery. It’s bigger than that, like someone is trying to tell him something. Well, I want you to look into this personally. And not like you are handling a nonsense complaint from some spoiled rich guy. I mean it. Get to the bottom of who keeps sending him these.”

“Sir…I agree. There is something weird going on. I know this is strange, but here is today’s paper. Look carefully.”

“What am I looking for?”

“First thing I noticed - look at the date. It’s Friday, July 10th, but the newspaper says Saturday, July 11th. A day ahead.”

“So, just a typo? That’s odd but not exactly raising any alarms. Probably just a clerical error.”

“Yeah, well, I looked at the other three papers he brought it. They are logged by the dates he brought them here. All the same. But each paper says it’s the next day’s paper. Weird. And look at the stories in today’s paper. None of this has happened yet. There was no car crash on the Sunrise Highway. We haven’t caught the perp who robbed the Apple Bank on Main Street last week. At least not yet, although I heard the robbery guys are hot on the trail of someone. And the stock market – this Friday’s close is posted. The markets are still open today.”

“Hmmm. Strange, yes… You know, Wilson told me he tried catching whoever was delivering these at his house. Didn’t see anything, the paper just appeared. This may be a joke or it may be harassment. At least, it may not be as innocent as it seems.”

“Sir, look at the obituaries…”

Lieutenant Marks turned to page 17A, where the obituaries were printed. He stared in disbelief. The first obituary on the page read:

Joseph Kenneth Marks, 47, Lieutenant of the Southampton Police Department, passed away suddenly late last night. Police are investigating the circumstances of his death. Born in New York City on March 30, 1979, Lieutenant Marks devoted his entire adult life to serving his community, first as a teacher, and then as a police officer, rising to the rank of Lieutenant. He was slated to be promoted to Captain at the annual police ceremony last night, but he never made it to the event. Sources say he will now be awarded the higher rank posthumously. Mr. Marks will be sorely missed by his family, friends and fellow police officers.

“Well…er, I’m not quite sure of what to make of that,” the lieutenant said, starring at the words, as his grip tightened on the paper. The annual policeman’s dinner was scheduled at the Southampton Lobster Bistro later that night. He was aware that his name was put up for the captain’s position, but he didn’t know if a final decision had been made yet.

“I don’t care what this paper says, I’m sure as heck not going to miss tonight’s dinner.”

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Lieutenant Marks said, tearing his eyes off the newspaper momentarily to look at the doorway. Sergeant Moody entered.

“Sir, just wanted to let you know that there was just a major crash reported on Sunrise Highway. Three cars, some fatalities. I sent Sergeant Liston as the lead with two rookie cops to investigate and direct traffic. All westbound lanes are blocked, so they’ll set up a detour.”

Lieutenant Marks and Sergeant Scott stared at each other.

“Sir, did you hear me? They might need more manpower once they report in. Might be a few more fellows missing from the dinner tonight.”

Lieutenant Marks nodded, and motioned for Moody to leave.

***

“You can’t be serious, sir. You aren’t really thinking of going to the Bistro tonight, are you? After the what is in the newspaper?”

Sergeant Scott watched his lieutenant gather his things.

“Of course I am, Steven. Look, this thing is weird, I agree, but I’m as healthy as any of those big rats in Penn Station. Nothing’s gonna get me! You’ll see - this is just someone’s idea of a joke. You know, maybe we got this whole thing wrong. Maybe that guy, Tom Wilson, is playing us. We haven’t really looked into him or his background. Tomorrow, first thing, let’s see what we can find out about our Mr. Wilson. In the meantime, I’m not letting some stupid jokester scare me. By the way, if the paper is correct, I’ll be a Captain by tomorrow!”

“Sir, if that paper is correct, you won’t live to see tomorrow.”

“Only one way to find out. You’re my bodyguard for tonight! Let’s get to that dinner, shall we?” Lieutenant Marks slapped the sergeant playfully on the shoulder.

“Yes, but sir, before we go, there’s something you need to see. Moody told me they just brought in that bank robber. You know, the one that robbed the Apple Bank last week, er, that the newspaper said we caught before we really did? You should talk with him.”

“Really, he’s here? In lockup? Righto, we have plenty of time to make the dinner. Lead the way, Steven. I want to ask him a few things – maybe he can shed some light on this newspaper business. Give us another piece to this puzzle.”

Sergeant Scott grabbed the keys to the lock-up and led Lieutenant Marks to the holding cells. They appeared empty, save for a pile of papers in one cell.

“Where?” the lieutenant asks, puzzled.

“Moody said he was here,” Sergeant Scott answered. “Looks like he left some papers…”

Lieutenant Marks walked over to see what the bandit left behind. As soon as he was inside, Sergeant Stevens closed the door and locked the lieutenant in the cell.

“What? Steven, what are you doing?”

“It’s for your own protection,” Sergeant Scott said.

“At least that is what tomorrow’s paper will read,” he added, grinning.