A PRESS CARD TO DEATH

    A PRESS CARD TO  DEATH

A story on the intersection of crime, journalism, and law.

The story of the murder of a journalist. He raised his voice against crimes all his life. His favorite pastime was to mark the black sheep in the city. According to the detective's guess, he was removed forever by a crime professional. But when the face of the killer came out, everyone was shocked.

The police had reached the scene of the incident and were diligently investigating the murder. There were police vehicles along with an ambulance in the street. The name of this area was the Fifth Ward. The walls of the buildings here showed decay, poverty, and failure. Most of the buildings consisted of narrow and dark residences with one room each.

The incident of murder was not a new thing in this area, but seeing the diligence of the police and the manner of their arrival, even the spectators standing in the street understood that the murder of an important person had happened. Of course, he was not a poor man, but an ordinary resident of the same area.

Mike Craig made his way through the crowd and waved his press card in front of a heavy-set policeman standing on the steps. Mike did not look like a press reporter from his looks. He was tall and had a muscular body. His jaw was big and his facial muscles were prominent. At first glance, he looked like a middleweight boxer who wore a clean suit. He has come out of the streets to enjoy life like a common man. 

The policeman took a quick look at his press card and gave him the way to climb the stairs.

Mike felt the smell of dirty torn carpets, rotten wooden boards, and dirty human bodies as soon as he stepped into the building.

The landlady was standing at the end of the stairs of the first floor and with her hands together she was trying to tell some people in a harsh voice that the atmosphere of this building is very respectable and noble. 

To date, no such incident has happened here that the police needed to step in. Mike couldn't help but be surprised to see that the police commissioner David himself was there to greet him at the door to the room where the murder took place. Inside, the police photographer and other staff were busy with their investigation. David's face was overly serious.

  "Good thing you got here as soon as possible, Mike," David said while shaking hands with him.

  "As soon as I got the news, the first thing I did was call your newspaper office and then come straight here."

  Police Commissioner David was a stout middle-aged man with a stern expression on his face. He had joined the police force in the Fifth Ward of the same area. Initially, he was assigned here on patrol. At that time he was just a junior sergeant. 

Due to hard work and outstanding performance, he gradually reached the position of Police Commissioner.

"We informed you in the first place because you know him so well and can accurately fulfill the procedure for his identification. Second, he was a member of your association. 

I just know, Other newspapers have not reported this murder. If you think in a professional manner, your newspaper will take the lead in relation to this news."

  A look of disgust appeared on Mike's face. He was unable to feel the thrill of this good news. Even a newspaper reporter cannot be happy after printing the news of his idol's death or murder, and at that time the victim was the one from whom Mike had always taken guidance in his journalistic life.

The body in a sophisticated suit was lying on an iron bed. His head was bent down by an iron bar and his legs were standing against the wall towards a long and wide old wardrobe. There was a bullet hole in his back from which the blood had flowed and had been absorbed by the bed. 

Mike had covered many murders and now he was used to doing his job without emotion, but now he was finding it a challenge to control his emotions. Barely concealing his feelings, he sat up straight and looked at the corpse's face, and said as flatly as possible,

 "It's Burt, there's no doubt about it. He's definitely working to uncover some big secret. And that's why he must have rented this crappy room.”

He stood up and surveyed the room. The wallpaper was rotten and spiders were crawling all over it.

David said with a deep breath.

 "You must have understood why I came running here myself after hearing the news of Burt's murder."

  "Obviously. The murder of a famous reporter of a major newspaper is not an uncommon thing." Mike said a bit bitterly while running his fingers through his hair.

"Mr. Jackson, the owner of the paper and our boss, will create a commotion through his paper. And of course, he should."

Mike himself desperately wanted to somehow get his hands around the killer's neck and wring it out. 

Burt was, in his eyes, the highest example of honest journalism. With the leprosy of crime that was slowly consuming the city, Burt's pen was always busy in its surgery. 

Burt had always used his typewriter as a most dangerous weapon against the underworld that was slowly spreading its claws.

 He had never acted expediently in bringing to light whatever facts he could access, and he had never been afraid of removing the veil from the face of a great criminal. 

 Mike was always proud of him and he was trying to build his career in his footsteps

"Who discovered the body?" Mike asked.

"The landlady. Burt had been dead for about an hour at that time." David said.

A police sergeant announced the results of his analysis, saying, "Burt was shot in the back from the closet, with a point four five revolver."

Mike peered into the old wall closet. Metal hangers were lying on the floor of the closet and broken spider webs were visible.

"When did Burt get this room?" Mike asked.

"Tomorrow." The police sergeant replied.

"But he came into this room this morning." Then he said while pointing to the door lock.

"The killer must have scheduled an appointment with Burt, but he must have arrived here before the time. After opening the lock with a key, he would have hidden in the closet and waited for Burt."

A detective, scribbling something down in his notes, raised his head and said that the murder of a famous reporter will at least start a process of purification in the city and that too with such a force that perhaps it has never been seen before. not like that".

"And this city is in dire need of purification," Mike said dryly.

He looked at David. Six months had passed since David assumed the post of Police Commissioner, but still, the influential classes had tied his hands in such a way that he could not take any significant action against any major social evil. 

While the dignitaries were repeatedly demanding from the city that the city needs a major clean-up operation.

David took a long drag on his cigar, ignoring the distaste in Mike's tone, and spoke softly.

"I will question every suspect in town."

"Every corrupt, evil and criminal person in this town hated Burt. There must have been at least a hundred of them who hated Burt," Mike said.

  The signs of hardness will be visible on the rough face of the Commissioner. He spoke in a firm tone.

  "But we will definitely find the killer. This is my promise to you."

From there, Mike gave the murder report to his newspaper over the phone. When he came back down the hall to the living room, David was examining the items found in Burt's pockets. Then he said, copying an address in his notebook.

"Mike, you probably know that Burt has a sister."

"no," Mike said in surprise.

"According to my information, he had no relatives in this city. If he has any sister, she should be informed about this tragedy."

"Let us do this unpleasant task," said David, moving towards the door. She lives a few blocks away in the same area."

  Reaching down and moving towards his car, the police commissioner admitted.

"If I can't solve the murder case, I might have to lose my job."

"In this way, Burt's death may achieve the goal that his lifelong writings could not achieve. Mike said bitterly.

  A few moments later, the car stopped in front of a distressed and dilapidated building in the same area.

Mike remembered how Burt wore fine and expensive suits and used everything high-end and sophisticated. His maintenance and living were that of a well-to-do person. Did his sister live in such a poverty-stricken environment? Mike thought.

  "Have we come to the right address?" he asked David.

"No need to be surprised," David said. "Burt's sister is just a waitress at a bar."

She was in her room. There was a coffee kettle on the wall-mounted stove, but the smell of coffee was unpleasant in this room. Seeing Burt's sister...Mike's heart sank.

 Her breath smelled of foul whiskey. It was not difficult to guess how her time would be spent at the bar by looking at her dress, mannerisms, and posture. On her desolate face, one could feel the imprints of countless untold stories.

"We have bad news for you Lorraine," David said hesitantly, taking off his hat and carelessly brushing the cobwebs off of it.

"But I did not commit any such crime," she spoke alertly.

"The news is about Burt," Mike said as if unfolding step by step.

"He is a reporter himself. What news did you bring about him?" Lorraine let out a rough laugh.

 She seemed satisfied with the feeling that the arrival of the police commissioner was not related to her own self.

"Burt has been killed." Finally, Mike spoke.

"Oh... Under the makeup, her face changed just for a moment."

"Who managed to settle the account with him?"

David's face looked tense for a moment, then he spoke in a smooth voice.

"What can be said? He had many enemies." Then he looked at Mike and said,

"You don't seem too shocked by your brother's death, Lorraine?"

"How can it be?" she said.

"Relationships have certain requirements which remain effective only if they are fulfilled. It's been ten years since he met me. I last spoke to him ten years ago. He probably didn't remember. That I also exist in the world." 

"He's been very busy over the years." Mike made a feeble attempt to clean up Burt. 

Although he had never seen Burt so busy, and as far as his financial situation was concerned, he would lose hundreds of dollars sitting down at press club parties in petty games.

 And if nothing else, at least the same money could have helped Lorraine to improve her condition. But the impression of Burt's virtues was so deep in Mike's mind that he was trying to find some justification for Burt's detachment from his sister.

"When was the last time you saw him?" David asked.

"Two or three weeks ago. At the Derby Club. I work there."

She spoke while running her fingers through her dyed hair.

"He had a quarrel with Jack Samson about something, and Jack Samson picked Burt up with his wolves and threw him out."

Mike's body tensed and David took a deep breath. Some clue about the issues was being found. 

Jack Samson was the overseer of not only the Derby Club but also several casinos in the Fifth Ward area. He used to run the system of these clubs very well. 

At one time he was a professional boxer and was rising so fast that one time Burt revealed through the newspaper the secret of one of his bouts that were taking place under collusion. 

This revelation darkened his future as a boxer and he changed his line. Mike asked, 

surveying the shabby yellow room.

"Did you grow up in the same area?

"Yes," she said bitterly.

 "This is our homeland. Only Burt managed to get out of our family. Probably because he was so quick. He was faster than you think." If you're not sure, ask Jon Barton."

Mike was shocked - the clue seemed to be clear. Jon Barton was the editor and publisher of the Star, a small local newspaper. 

Most people used to remember it as a rag newspaper. The newspaper survived blackmail and somehow managed to maintain its publication for twelve years.

"What does Burt have to do with blackmailers and scumbags like Jon Barton," Mike said in a slightly aggressive tone.

Lorraine laughed sarcastically. Jon Barton was the man who gave Burt his break into journalism. 

Why don't you meet him? He can tell you a lot about my great journalist brother." she gave a rough laugh again.

For a few moments after leaving Lorraine's house, her poisonous laugh continued to echo in Mike's ears. He said while sitting in the car with David.

"If the brut had ended his relationship with a sister like her, he had done nothing wrong."

"Perhaps you are right," David said while turning the car around the corner.

 "First we'll meet Jon Barton, then we'll find Jack Samson. Killing is no big deal to either of these guys."

  The Daily Star's office was in the same old and shabby building that was characteristic of the Fifth Ward area. The corridors were dark. Stairs and walls were in need of cleaning and painting.

Jon Barton's greying head was bent over a pile of papers. He was at his desk in a booth with a glass door. In the office outside there were clerks and proofreaders with mischievous eyes at six or seven desks. 

On one side there were teleprinters and composing machines. There was also a girl receptionist with red hair. A strange smile appeared on Jon Barton's lips after seeing the police commissioner.

  "Hello, Commissioner." He said while extending his hand for a handshake.

"Is your arrival a friendly or professional connection?"

"In a professional context," David replied dryly.

"Then I will not offer you a cigar. I keep cigars only for friends." He said taking out a cigar from the cigar box only for himself.

"What do you know about Burt Link?" David asked.

The smile will disappear from Jon Barton's withered face. He said while making a ball of paper and throwing it in the trash.

"I know a lot. But nothing worth appreciating."

"Is that what you're saying?" Mike said. "This kind of talk doesn't look good from your mouth."

There would have been any discussion before that, David said to Jon in a spotting tone while leaning forward.

"Burt used to work for you, didn't he?"

"Yes. Ten years ago he came to me as a novice. I made him an excellent reporter. After that, he doubled me."

"How," Mike asked in a husky voice. He had an expression on his face as if someone was sitting in front of him insulting his late father and he was inwardly focusing his dangerous reaction on one point.

 The fact was that Burt was like a father to him. Mike learned a lot from him in the field of journalism.

Jon Barton said in a calm tone, "I traced a huge scandal and handed it over to Burt to prepare a report on it. He went and got money by blackmailing the parties concerned and then He took the report to a big newspaper and got a job there after bargaining."

  Mike got up and grabbed the collar of Jon Barton's old coat in his fist and screamed in a loud voice.

"You're lying. Burt couldn't do such a stupid thing."

Jon Barton was a fearless man. Had he not been fearless, a newspaper like the Star would not have run.

He released Mike's hand from the collar and straightened the wrinkles of the collar, spoke to him in a calm and steady voice.

"Belief or not will not change the facts."

David took off his hat and shook it involuntarily again.

"When was the last time you saw Burt?"

  "Why are you asking all this?" Jon looked into David's eyes.

"For your information, Bert has been shot. Do you know anything about this?" David said.

  Jon Barton was silent for a moment, but his face showed no expression or reaction. Finally, he said.

"Burt was lucky that he lived as long as he did. Death had long followed him."

   "And in what form was this death?" David's tone hardened.

"As Jack Samson?"

"I don't know." Jon looked away from her for the first time.

"If you try to hide any clue in this regard, our newspaper will see you well," Mike said.

"My advice is also that you keep your hands completely clean in this matter. In this case, I will also try not to harm you." David said.

Jon Barton thought for a moment then spoke in a very low voice.

"All I know is that Jack Samson has been saying for a long time in his inner circle that he will get even with Burt."

"You haven't met Burt lately," Mike asked.

"The last meeting was six months ago," Jon said.

"He came to me with a business proposition. He had some sensational information about Jack Samson and a few other rich people. He wanted to use my newspaper to blackmail them."

"Surely you would have rejected this offer?" David said sarcastically.

"Obviously," Jon said as dignified as possible. I don't get into that kind of work. I am running a clean newspaper."

Mike was very sad when he came out of the newspaper office with David. 

He didn't want to believe Jon's words. He never thought that such kind of revelations would happen about his idol reporter.

"It seems the most important thing for us to do right now is to meet Jack Samson," Mike said in a tired tone as he sat in the car.

"Yes. I'll send my men to surround him, but first I want to check out Burt's apartment. I have his address."

Mike himself had never seen Burt's residence. Today, when he arrived at the desired address with David, he could not help but be surprised. 

It was a very high-class apartment hotel. Looking at the building from the outside, one could guess that only the wealthy could afford to live there.

David looked up at the glowing building and spoke in a sarcastic tone.

"Mike! It seems your newspaper pays its reporters handsomely."

Mike said nothing. The atmosphere was dominated by fog and the upper floors of tall buildings were not visible.

 A late edition of a newspaper had come on the footpath and the hawker boys were shouting and repeating the headlines about Burt's murder.

Mike enters the building with David. The walls were covered with marble. There were carpets on the floor. The lobby had a beautiful fountain and a tank in which colorful rare fishes were swimming. Somewhere, expensive oil paintings were decorated on the walls. 

Wealth was shining from every corner. Mike couldn't believe that a reporter earning a hundred and fifty dollars a week could afford to live in such a building.

  Arriving at the reception desk, David tells them they want to go to Burt's apartment. 

The clerk looked at them in a slightly bemused manner but said in a gentle tone, 

"Give me your name." I have to report to his apartment."

"Who is there now to be reported?" Mike asked.

Mrs. Burt Link. And who?” said the clerk, as if finding his question silly.

" What does it mean ?" David thought it best to keep his card in front of him now.

"To our knowledge Burt was not married."

The clerk's complexion changed slightly after seeing the card. Taking a deep breath, he spoke indifferently. 

"Well. That lady may not be Mr. Burt's wife. She lived with him anyway. Her name is Jane Simon."

"When did Burt get this apartment?" Mike asked.

  The clerk answered after flipping the pages of a register.

"Six months ago he rented this apartment for eight hundred dollars a month."

  When they reached the top, a servant girl opened the door of the well-decorated sitting room for them. 

The furniture there was expensive and beautiful, but the most beautiful thing was the slender girl who was wiping the moisture from her eyes with tissue paper in her delicate conical fingers.

"You must have come to tell me about Burt." Her voice cracked. 

She was standing with the support of the piano. The expensive housecoat was unable to hide the beauty of her features.

  "Who told you Burt was dead?" Mike asked sharply. David stood still.

Her tears rolled down her cheeks. "That. That I heard the hawker boys shouting in the street."

"Oh…" Mike's mind was racing.

"You must have very good hearing to hear the hawkers from the street below. This apartment is on the twelfth floor."

Jane shivered a little, then a little sparkle appeared in her eyes.

"I heard the news on the radio too. . . . I couldn't believe it . . . Burt was such a good fellow." 

She covered her face with both hands and started crying.

"Yeah. The nice fellow he was for sure," Mike said sarcastically as he surveyed the luxurious apartment.

"Don't say heartbreaking things." David sounded a warning.

"The situation is already painful enough for the girl.

"A point four five bullet stuck in Burt's back must have been painful enough for him," Mike said aggressively.

The girl's sobs intensified. Mike turned on the nearby radio. A New York station was on the radio and a music program was being broadcast from there. Mike's mind was busy trying to solve the mystery.

 In New York, the girl could not listen to the local news bulletin. And it didn't seem possible that first she heard the news of Burt's murder from the local station and then changed the station and started listening to the music program from New York.

"Try to control yourself, Miss Simon," David said in a sympathetic tone.

"Perhaps you can tell us something that will help us track down his killer. Do you have any idea who Burt's enemy was?"

  The girl removed her hand from her tear-soaked face and looked at him. Then spoke in a crying voice.

  "He must have sensed someone was after him. 

When I saw him yesterday, he was worried and nervous. And he also mentioned that he had to meet someone. Jimsan. Or maybe Benson.". He had taken a similar name."

"Not Jack Samson"? David asked eagerly, leaning towards her.

"Yes yes ." The girl suddenly remembered, "That was the name."

Mike stood up and said, "We must meet Jack Samson before he flies off to a healthier place."

"Before that, I'd better look through Burt's papers, etc. Maybe I'll get some important clues." 

David said. Then he looked at the girl and said,

"Would you mind if I search his drawers, etc.?"

"Do whatever you think is necessary to get to his killer."

  Jane replied. David immediately began rummaging through the drawers of the ebony desk. He was looking at every paper. 

A drawer seemed locked to him, but he soon found a key under a file cabinet. A few moments later he stood up straight. 

He had a bank book in his hand and a triumphant smile on his lips. After examining the bank book, he said while extending it to Mike.

"Just take a look at it and then tell me what you think of your idol reporter?"

  The weight on Mike's chest increased a little more. After examining the bank book, his heart began to sink. Six months ago, the account was opened with thirty thousand dollars. Even after that, large sums of money were being deposited, but even larger amounts were being withdrawn, due to which, according to the latest balance, there were only a few hundred dollars in the account.

"He was nearly bankrupt and must have been blackmailing Jack Samson for more money."

  David put the bank book in his pocket.

Once again they came to the road. Stopping near the car, David said.

"I will escort you to your office. After that, I will send a man to call Jack Samson to headquarters. You will be at headquarters this evening."

I hope that if we straighten out Jack Samson, the mystery of this murder will be solved."

On reaching his office, Mike tried to take refuge in the busyness of the office. There was a stir in his mind. 

The puzzle was almost solved but he was not completely satisfied with the solution. For an hour he was busy with various tasks.

 Then he took the typewriter and started preparing a detailed report of the case. Suddenly the phone rang, David was on the other side. It was not difficult to judge from his voice how excited he was.

"Jack Samson killed himself with a revolver some time ago." He informed.

Maybe he got to know that we are coming to arrest him. He shot himself on the temple. If you want to get the details of this sensational story, reach Hydel Hotel quickly. 

Our guesses were correct. The story is the same. Burt was blackmailing Jack. And finally, Jack shot him.

 But then he probably realized how stupid he had been. Killing a famous reporter was not an ordinary thing.

He must have believed that he could no longer survive, so he thought it best to end himself. In this way, he saved himself from other innumerable sufferings before death.

Mike was thinking about how well it had all worked out in David's favor as he drove to the Hydel Hotel in a taxi. By solving the mystery of Burt's murder so quickly, the distrust of the city's nobles, which they had been expressing about David for a long time, could be reduced to a great extent. 

And it would have been difficult for Mike's newspaper to continue criticizing him. However, there was bitterness in Mike's mood. 

Jack Samson's suite at the Hydel Hotel was full of people besides the police. Most of them were newspaper reporters. A newspaper photographer was taking pictures of the body. David looked very happy.

"We found enough evidence in Jack's drawer that Burt was blackmailing him." He told Mike.

Jack Samson's fat body was lying askew on an armchair. One of his ears was covered in blood. 

The bullet entered the right side of the head and got stuck in a painting on the wall on the other side. The revolver was lying near his feet. David said while taking the revolver from the handkerchief.

"It must have been the same revolver with which Burt was killed."

"Of course," Mike said coldly. But confusingly, Jack Samson is also murdered. He did not commit suicide.

Then he spoke like an expert surgeon pointing to Jack's temple.

"Some people may not know, but many people are aware that Jack used to do all the things with his left hand that people do with his right hand. 

Years ago in the world of boxing, he was the 'Kid Lefty,' That is, he was known as a left-handed youth, then how could he shoot on his right temple?"

Wrinkles appeared on David's forehead and a police detective named Marnie scratched his head with a pen.

"Mike is right."

"So who do you think killed Jack?" David addressed Mike disdainfully. He looked unhappy to have a solved case messed up again.

"Jack is murdered by the man Burt was supposed to meet with. He wanted to protect himself from the massive city cleanup that was expected soon. 

The police detectives and other reporters were all in on it.

  Mike no longer cared that the story would reach other newspapers as well as his. He continued talking.

  "Six months ago Burt opened an account with thirty thousand dollars and six months ago he moved into a luxurious apartment. Six months ago he approached Jon Barton, the editor of the Star, with a blackmail proposal.

He must have obtained the initial sum of thirty thousand dollars by using the star's name and the basis of his blackmail must be the gambling scam that is spreading in the city day by day. If it was not so, Jack Samson's name would not have been involved in this cycle of blackmail.

 This whole matter started six months ago. And how long have you been police commissioner, David?" he asked suddenly.

"Six months," David replied involuntarily. Then his face turned red.

"What are you trying to say?"

"During this entire six-month period, you have not arrested a single person in connection with gambling," Mike said.

"The reason for this is that there is no gambling in the city," David said angrily.

  Even the police detectives could not help but smile at this revelation. The newspaper reporter started coughing as a warning.

The big gambling thugs were paying you off, but you and Jack Samson had to pay Burt's share to keep his mouth shut," Mike said.

"Prove it," David shouted.

"You still have the cobwebs on your coat collar from when you were hiding in the wardrobe waiting for Burt."

  Involuntarily, David's hand went up to the collar of the coat, but then he quickly lowered it.

Mike said.

 "Once the detectives start asking your girlfriend, Jenny Simon, more proof of my position will come." She had gotten the news of Burt's death before the newspapers, and the way you searched through Burt's belongings, it wasn't hard for me to know that you knew everything there was to know. 

 Perhaps that girl was also one of the reasons that led Burt out of the way.”

David looked around, lips parting. Detectives and reporters were looking at him. Mike continued talking.

“You brilliantly turned the tide of events and evidence towards Jack Samson.

He was your poor partner who you double-crossed. But you did not know one more important thing which I also found out a while ago when I did an immoral act in the office. 

Means searched a locked drawer in Burt's desk. In it, I found this manuscript. He took out some papers from his pocket and waved them in front of David.

  "I cannot say when Burt intended to publish this story. But he had all the important points of the gambling scandal written down and kept in his drawer.

"You will never be able to bring me to court," David screamed frantically. 

The next moment he jumped and his heavy body disappeared through the window. There was an eerie silence in the room. No one went forward and tried to look through the window to see what happened to David after falling from the tenth floor to the street.

Mike tore up the draft. Detective Marnie said in surprise.

"Aren't you going to use this information in your newspaper?"

"This is not information, etc. This is an old draft of my own. I just shot in the dark," Mike said wearily, "but I was sure that my guesses were correct."

  However, it was a good thing that David did not have to be brought to court. It was possible that a shrewd lawyer would have saved him. Now he has reached the end he deserved. 

"Maybe now we will get a police commissioner who can really start a clean-up campaign in the city and see it through to completion."

THE END