Voted Least Likely

By Aaron T Knight

KIRKUS REVIEW   Published review 6/26/2020

A neurotic New Jersey bank president finds himself charged with murder in this mystery.

A bank employee has been killed, and the evidence against Baxter Bindle is overwhelming. Cops discovered his bloody fingerprint at the murder scene, along with some of his hair and the cosmetic he uses to hide acne scars. He also had a motive to kill the victim, John Kingsley, a bank examiner who uncovered money laundering at the Lowersex County Bank, where Baxter is president. Baxter's cumbersome father, Barnaby, has tried molding his son into "a well educated, strong man." But Baxter has become a passive hypochondriac who stutters in his father's presence. Barnaby even hired a bank executive, Belle Logan, who covertly

reports to him and ignores Baxter's orders. Luckily, Baxter has an anonymous ally, who opens up a secret way to communicate with the suspect. Clearing him of the murder charge will entail unmasking the real killer, but time is short. With all the money laundering going on at Lowersex County Bank, the FBI, according to rumors, is aiming for a racketeering charge, which could land Baxter in prison without bail. So his incognito supporter sets about whittling down the suspect list. Copious pages in this murder mystery are spent developing the main character. There's a lengthy but amusing section on Baxter's failed dates and attempt at golfing with his father. These provide a modicum of sympathy for wealthy, privileged Baxter, whose father took him away from the doting aunt and uncle who initially raised him. The entertaining tale spotlights Baxter's ally, whose identity readers eventually learn—though the reason for helping the banker remains unknown until the end. While Knight's wry humor is effective without making light of homicide, the book's extensive punctuation and formatting issues distract from the overall enjoyment. There are sentences ending with two periods; some missing quotation marks; and single quote marks for dialogue.

An appealing but messy character-driven whodunit.

Pub Date: Aug. 27, 2009

This is a witty murder mystery with a cast of suspicious characters. Baxter's  character is well drawn as a bewildered naaive son of a self made tycoon.  The author is clever at hiding the killer until the end of the story. Entertaining read.  Kdp  reviewer

Voted Least LikelyThis is a witty murder mystery with a cast of suspicious characters. Baxter's   character

is well drawn as a bewildered naaive son of a self made tycoon.  The author is clever at

hiding the killer until the end of the story. Entertaining read.  Kdp  reviewer

Voted Least Likely

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aaron T Knight
• Release date: Oct 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393318446

Book preview

Voted Least Likely Aaron T Knight

Published by Aaron T Knight

Voted Least Likely Aaron T Knight

Chapter One

BAXTER BINDLE LOOKED down at the orange jumpsuit clinging tightly to his body. How in the world did I end up in here? he anguished. Look at the horrible color of this prison suit! Prison! Oh my God! Mr. Bindle will be very upset over this. His son, in county jail in the town where he lives. He knew without any effort what his father would say,

Well Baxter, you have to avoid fuzzy thinking. Fuzzy thinking is probably the root cause of your present predicament.

He had learned not to object when Mr. Bindle uttered his admonition about Baxter’s decision making abilities.

He paced in the small enclosure imprisoning him behind steel bars. Only the front of the cell provided a view of the corridor. Blank walls covered the other three sides of the jail cell. Baxter was the lone occupant in order to keep him in maximum security the sheriff had explained to him Jail guards came by several times an hour to check on him. He hadn’t committed any crimes, yet, every time a guard looked in on him Baxter felt guilty. By lowering his head  as he was being scrutinized, he avoided looking at the guard’s searching eyes. Baxter was a pathetic figure sitting in a maximum security cell clothed in an orange prison suit.

Just 48 hours ago he had been a buoyant mood at Newark Airport waiting to board a plane to fly him to Europe. It would be an extended luxury vacation. He was arrested as he stood in line, waiting to board his flight. Baxter was confused, and humiliated when a police detective grabbed his arms, then twisted them behind his back, and  handcuffed him, in front of a curious group of people. He was read his rights as the excited crowd looked on.

In a matter of a few minutes his life had been completely changed. Murder! Baxter was being accused of killing a bank examiner. His corpse had been found in an office on the executive floor of the Lowersex County Bank. He was

shot in the back of the head at close range. A letter addressed to the Board of Directors of the bank was found on his person requesting a special meeting with them re- garding the bank’s affairs. Baxter was the president.

Except for one bloody fingerprint found on the letter to the board there were no clues. Where the killer had entered the bank, and how he exited the building, was a mystery. There was no record in the bank’s surveillance cameras covering all of the ingress and egress areas of the bank. Cameras covering the bank parking lot were also clear of any disturbance. It appeared to the police to be a simple murder case. Lab results proved conclusively the bloody fingerprint was Baxter’s.

He couldn’t prove he wasn’t there, because he had free access to any part of the building as an officer of the bank. Being apprehended at Newark Airport waiting to board his flight to Europe seemed to be the clincher. Only a confident killer could be so cool. Baxter couldn’t understand this horrifying, if not life threatening situation. He hadn’t killed the bank examiner. Although there were times he was tempted to do him in. This was another thing weighing against him. It was common knowledge among the bank employees there was bad blood between Baxter and the

slain bank examiner. Over the years he had confrontations with John Kingsley when the bank was being examined.

He was a sly, devious and, unfortunately for Baxter, a highly intelligent man. Kingsley had a pudgy figure and an ailing face. His complexion was a pallor. There were dark circles under his melancholy eyes. His face was fleshy and it sagged deeply. Baxter had often stared at the gloomy counte- nance. He would get a vivid image of turning over a rock and finding Kingsley underneath.

On the occasions when he thought of the man, the first reaction was always, why doesn’t he go outside once in a while, and breathe some fresh air? At the time of the murder, Baxter had no idea he was in town. Kingsley's presence on the executive floor at a time when the bank was closed made no sense. If the examiner was there to meet someone, no bank employee had come forward with any information about a proposed meeting. The victim had examined the bank a month prior to the killing. He wasn’t contacted by Kingsley nor had he seen him since the bank examination. To be accused of the murder of a man he hadn’t seen in over a month was astounding. There were more shocks to come.

At three o’clock in the afternoon county sheriff Clive

Mullins showed up at Baxter’s cell. He was carrying two paper cups. One cup contained water, and the other one held a number of pills.

Hey Bax, I brought up your pills myself. I wanted to check on you and see how you’re doing.

Baxter lowered his head and replied, Not good Clive. Not good at all.. What the hell is all this stuff?

Clive asked him as he stared at the multicolored mass of pills.

The vitamins are C, B, a multiple, Zinc, St. Johns Wort, Ginko Balboa, Selenium and Garlic. Of course, I take Vitamin E too, but at a different time of the day. You can’t take E with B at the same time. Vitamin B destroys the effectiveness of Vitamin E. It’s all the pills I have here

All? Clive exclaimed, There’s enough stuff there to kill a man.

Oh no, Clive, they are all necessary for my health. I have a delicate condition. My Aunt Olga always said, Baxter you have a sensitive nature, be careful."

You look healthy to me. Clive replied. See? It works. The pills keep me well.

Baxter offered as proof.

Clive changed the subject,

You’re still causing a big stir. Reporters and the talking heads from television are dying to get at you. Can I set up a conference?

No way! Baxter replied turning pale at the idea. I have nothing to say to them. I didn’t kill the bank examiner. So what’s to say?

Clive wasn’t pleased by his refusal. He was being deluged with inquiries about the murder.

Alright Baxter, but you’re making my life difficult.

Let them wait until the coroner’s inquest. They’ll get their story then.

Clive waved at him, with his back turned, as he left. Baxter was sure he felt better after ingesting all of the pills in the paper cup. He was a hypochondriac. His medical knowledge was vast. He read medical encyclopedias, the monthly AMA magazine and all of the phar- macy pamphlets. No matter what he read, he was sure he had the symptoms described for whatever illness he was studying.

Dizziness, blurred vision, aches here and there, palpi- tations of various organs of the body, headaches of all varieties: night sweats, day sweats, plain old sweats, twitches, itching, quivers, shakings, trembling, nausea, fevers, cramps, shooting pains, chills, visual spots, tem-

porary deafness, dry mouth, wet mouth, swollen ankles, swollen feet, stiffness in his joints, memory lapses, in- ability to concentrate, etc. Oh, Baxter had them all at various times, depending upon the symptoms described in the latest medical literature he was reading.

Baxter had been to over 100 doctors. Only Dr. Even- right was incisive enough to remain his personal physi- cian. His ability to inspire an enormous amount of trust in Baxter didn’t have anything to do with his medical skills. It was his keen observation about hypochondriac Baxter being a walking gold mine. Evenright was willing to bear his constant phone calls and unexpected office visits. Over time, the doctor performed questionable minor operations to keep Baxter happy, and to fatten his own bank account. These phony operations more than anything convinced Baxter the doctor possessed medical skills lacking in the other doctors, who had told him he wasn’t sick. When Baxter woke up the following morning he was having trouble breathing. He freaked out. He tried to yell for help, but his throat was tightly restricted, only a whistling wheeze and a croak escaped his lips. When the guard came by on his rounds, Baxter frantically waved his arms between the bars to get attention.

What’s wrong? the guard asked him as he examined Baxter’s face.

In a ghostly whisper he pleaded,

Please help me! I must speak to my doctor right away. Please. Please.

The guard didn't know about Baxter’s hypochondria, and he became alarmed. He immediately summoned Sergeant Feldon for help. Within minutes he rushed up to the cell.

What’s going on? he demanded to know.

I’m having an asthma attack, Baxter whispered pitifully.

Sergeant Feldon was well aware of Baxter’s delusional ailments,

You look fine to me Bax. It’s probably all in your head because of the stress of your present situation. Just relax. Dr. Evenright is due to see you tomorrow.

Please he pleaded, "I must speak to him.

I'm suffocating!"

His statement shook Feldon a little. I’ll lay this one on Clive, he thought to himself. He used his cell phone to summon the sheriff. When Clive arrived, Feldon said in a low voice,

"Bax is going nuts up here. Claims he’s having an asthma attack. You know how he is about his health.

He’s insisting on speaking to Dr. Even right."

Somewhat exasperated, Clive replied,

Oh, let him, .Give him your cell phone. It’s not like he’s going to use it as a weapon.

Sergeant Feldon handed over his cell phone,

The sheriff says it’s okay to call your doctor. Oh, thank you. Baxter replied.

Dr. Evenright's nurse took his call at the clinic, Good morning Baxter. What’s going on ? Please Ethel, I have to speak to Dr. Evenright. Hold on Baxter.

She entered the doctor’s office,

It’s Baxter from the jail. Says it’s urgent.

He was annoyed about Baxter reaching him from jail. He had been enjoying some peace without his patient’s incessant calling,

Tell him to give you his symptoms. I’ll send something over to the jail.

It won’t work Earl. He’ll only keep calling. I’m enjoying the peace, he whined.

Need I remind you it’s Baxter's medical fees that financed your middle boy’s college education?

Oh alright, give me the call. "Baxter?

Good morning. What is it?"

Doc, I woke up whistling this morning.

Why, it’s wonderful, considering your present cir- cumstances. There you are in jail, accused of murder, and you have the courage to whistle.

No, no Doc, The whistling noise is in my bronchial tubes. It must be asthma, I could die.

Sorry Baxter, I misunderstood you. I’ll send medication over to the jail immediately to relieve your breathing difficulty. Get some rest, and take the medication I’m sending for your breathing.

Oh, thank you doc.

Not at all, Evenright replied grandly.

WHEN HE HUNG UP THE phone, he called his nurse into his office. He said to Ethel,

He thinks it’s an asthma attack. He has never had a breathing problem in his life. Make up an elixir of sugar water and food coloring, with some alcohol added to give it a little zip. The color is your personal choice.

Another medical miracle, Ethel said, as she left the doctor’s office.

When Evenright’s magic elixir was delivered to Baxter’s cell, a guard watched him closely as he took the prescribed

amount written on the label. His imagined asthma attack disappeared within minutes of taking the flavored, alcohol- laced concoction. He began to breathe easily, relief spread across his face. The guard stared at Baxter.

Dr. Evenright is a genius, he said to the mystified policeman. I feel fine now. If you ever need medical help Pete, you should go to him.

Chapter Two

IN THE AFTERNOON, BAXTER’S father arrived with a man unknown to him. Mr. Bindle was a lean man of medium height with an aura of crackling energy. His steel gray hair was combed straight back. His frosty blue eyes regarded Baxter,

This is Mr. Louis Farquart. From now on, he will be your legal counsel. I’ve dismissed the local, bumbling law firm.

Baxter extended his hand to his new legal protector through the cell bars without comment. At the request of Mr. Bindle, a private room was made available for a confidential discussion with the prisoner. Seated in the room, Mr. Farquart opened his briefcase and set a stack of files in front in front of him on the table. Baxter sat across from the lawyer perfectly erect, and looking straight ahead, because he was in the presence of his FATHER.

Farquart, a plump man with folds of flesh sagging here and there on his face, adjusted his expensive tie. Then he let loose a barrage of background questions at Baxter. Sweating, trembling, and stuttering, he did his best to answer the questions as briefly as possible.

And where were you between 6 and 9 on the eve- ning of the killing? Farquart asked him.

Yah yyyyah I I I I wa wa wa WAS.

There was a pause, as Farquart and his father leaned forward expectantly. Meeting their eyes, Baxter became even more panicked,

I I I WAS da da da.

Impatiently, Farquart broke in to help him along, You were dining?

Baxter shook his head violently. Uh, you were dancing?

No response was forthcoming from the frozen Baxter. What Baxter, what? Farquart demanded.

Taking a deep breath he exclaimed,

Driving! I was driving around New York! Then he slumped back in his chair feeling spent.

Did anyone see you between 6 and 9 that night? Anywhere? A gas station attendant, a waitress in a res- taurant? Anybody? I I I d d da NO! he replied.

Farquart made his notes, then he continued his work with his client,

"I want you to make a map of where you drove, like a road map. Mark the time you were at each location as best

you can recall. It may be the only possible approach to finding a witness to your whereabouts on the night of the murder. Right now, we only have your word Baxter."

Farquart was becoming exhausted from trying to wrestle some answers out of his stuttering, panicked, client. Barnaby Bindle gave his son the RESIGNED LOOK, which Baxter had seen many times over the years. The LOOK, communicated far more than words could have. The LOOK said,I wish you were like other men’s sons. You constantly disappoint me. But you are my son, and I am your father. Any hope for some miraculous change in his son had faded a long time ago.

Barnaby abruptly turned to Farquart,

For Baxter’s benefit, recap the murder case. Farquart nodded and opened a file,

The preliminary report from the coroners office reveals more evidence against you than the bloody fingergerprint on the bank examiner’s letter addressed to you. They have discovered several hairs on the deceased’s suit which appear to be yours. There is also a smudge on Kingsley’s jacket lapel. You wear a light, facial make up don’t you Baxter?

His face flushed, and he nodded to the lawyer.

"The smudge matches the cosmetic