YOU BE THE JUDGE

RIGHT OR WRONG

You Be The Judge
author: Milton Pashcow
11-07-14

There was a knock on the door. Paul Bell dropped his newspaper to listen. There it was again. Knock, knock, knock. He looked at his watch. Eight p.m.; Paul expected no one at this hour.

He approached the door gingerly.

“Who’s there?” he asked assertively.

“My name is Jim Frank. I’m from the Social Security Administration Department of Human Resources.” answered a male voice. “Is this the Bell residence?”

Paul answered that it was, but didn’t know of any reason for such a call at this hour. Was it a ruse? He had heard about such tricks to gain entry. He opened the door to the distance the safety chain would allow.

“Let me see your I.D.?” The visitor was prepared and promptly handed it to Paul. He was satisfied, unhooked the chain, allowing the man to enter.

“What is it?” He asked suspiciously, as the stranger entered carrying a small flat attaché case.

Mr. Frank explained, “We require a personal contact with every beneficiary past his one-hundredth birthday, to confirm that he is well-cared for and to be sure that he is receiving all the benefits to which he or she is entitled. We picked this rather evening hour, feeling that the entire family is present to help in answering questions.”

Paul knew this day might come. His father Albert had passed away four years ago, and he could not stand the thought of losing the twelve hundred dollars monthly benefits that Albert always received. Paul saw no reason to inform the government of his father’s passing and prepared his old uncle John who lived with Paul as a passable substitute. All the necessary I.D.’s were put carefully aside. Paul’s wife, Rhoda, thought the idea was dangerous, and felt he was risking a jail sentence.

“You know why I did it, Rhoda. We had no choice. Don’t you remember?”

“Please, don’t remind me Paul,” pleaded Rhoda.

The interview went very well. Uncle John did his part and didn’t miss a beat.

‘That was unusual,’ thought the investigator, who was careful to look for loopholes in responses. Investigators were trained to observe excessive cooperation from family members, or other signs of hidden motivation. Most of the seniors he dealt with were not so well prepared with good memory such as his quick response to ‘What is your grandmother’s maiden name?’ Relatively few knew that. The investigator left, leaving the family mistakenly convinced that there was nothing to fear from the interview.

It was still early enough, thought the investigator, to chance a chat with a next door neighbor. He announced himself, and was invited in.

“Have you known the Bell family very long?” asked Mr. Frank.

“Maybe ten years,” answered Mr. Bader, the father.

“I was just interviewing old man Albert,” said Mr. Frank, “and I couldn’t - - - .”

“Hold it, did you say Albert?” interrupted Mr. Bader, “or do you mean Uncle John?”

“No, I mean the hundred year old Albert.”

“You must be mistaken, sir. Albert died about five years ago. We went to his funeral. You must have been speaking to John, his slightly younger brother. Did he have a scar over his left eye? That would be John.”

“Yes,” said the investigator. “That settles it,” said Mr. Frank slapping his knee, confirming his unrest with the interview.

“Please give me the name of Albert’s undertaker. I would appreciate it if you would not reveal to anybody, this talk we have just had.”

“That’s Collins mortuary, on Second Street, about five blocks from here,” volunteered the neighbor.

Mr. Frank made a quick stop at the mortuary to confirm the truth of the neighbor’s story. The next day the investigator related all the details to his superior. Mr. Frank was told that the boss would need a few days to examine the endorsements on the deceased’s checks, and to wait for further instructions.

Three days later, Mr. Frank was called in to his superior’s office, a Mr. Landow.

“Seems like a simple case of stealing somebody else’s check, and endorsing it, for deposit into his own account.”

“Well,” said Mr. Frank, “I thought he was more clever than that. He probably thought the trail would get lost in the shuffle.

Mr. Frank was told to see Paul Bell and ‘straighten him out’ Not only that, but, he might avoid prosecution if he returned all of the money promptly with penalties.

“This guy is a cutie. He planned this fraud and really deserves jail. But let’s see his reaction. I’d like to get that money back. Don’t pull any punches, Jim.”

It wasn’t often that Jim received such clear marching orders. He could imagine hearing the strains of martial music in the background.

The Bell’s were home on the evening when Mr. Frank called. Paul’s wife, Rhoda, was really upset at the sight of him, and the caller took notice of it. Paul was quiet. Jim Frank spoke up, “Mr. Bell, I think you know why I am back again. There are serious discrepancies found in your last interview. He went on to expose Paul’s contrived fraud.

“Have you any defense for your actions, sir?” Rhoda could not hold back the tears, but sobbed quietly. “I’ll ask you again, sir. Do you have any defense for your allegedly illegal action?” “I don’t think it was illegal,” answered Paul. “In my own way I think what I did was just and fair. I always thought my father’s monthly benefits were fair. I believed a continuation of benefits after his death was not a personal windfall, as I will explain. We considered our reasons as morally justifiable. There must be mercy in justice.”

Mr. Frank answered, in the manner of addressing a closing statement in a jury trial.

“Yes there is mercy in justice, when extenuating circumstances are taken into account and a feeling that justice may be circumvented if not observed. This, however, seems to be a simple case of premeditated fraud,” finalized Mr. Frank.

“Not until you have heard the reason behind my terrible indiscretion,” interposed Paul. “If you had looked further into our family record at the funeral parlor, you would have found another member of the Bell family listed; our dear departed little ten year old daughter, Teresa. She came down with a brain tumor three years ago and lost her battle eight months later, despite the efforts of our finest surgeons. Medical expenses took every available dollar above insurance. We were, of course, desperate. If you are a father I couldn’t blame you for breaking the law in desperation.

Any punishment would gladly be suffered to save your child’s life. We did our best. Now we live with just a memory, and we will never be the same. I do not offer self pity as any defense for my act. I fervently wish that this confession were anther tricky concoction of mine. I would welcome any punishment necessary to finding her in my arms again.”

Paul was exhausted for having to relive the tragedy.

“Well, Mr. Frank, you have given me great cause for relief and I am ready for whatever comes next.” Mr. Frank mustered all his inner strength to continue.

“As a father, I understand you predicament. I wish you had unburdened yourself at our first meeting. But you must understand that we are sworn to uphold the law, and your infraction of it cannot go unpunished.

I will make my reports of the facts. I will assume you want to make restitution of the money, but can’t promise you anything in return. We can’t bring back your Teresa, or relieve your suffering. You can expect me to do my best on your behalf.”

As he passed through the door on his way out, he turned and said,

“Perhaps justice tempered by mercy will bring you the solace you both deserve.”


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