Both cars arrived at 600 Independence Street a few minutes after 2 A.M., although neither-there was little traffic- had used either siren or flashing lights.
While it might be argued that neither Officer Hyde nor Officer Cubellis was a highly experienced police officer-Hyde had been on the job three years and Cubellis four-they had enough experience to know that it was better for officers responding to a “Disturbance, House” call to bring with them calm, reason, and order, rather than the heightened excitement that howling sirens, flashing lights, and screaming tires produce.
“Hey, Wood,” Jim Hyde called as both got out of their cars and started into the apartment complex.
Officer Haywood Cubellis waved but did not respond.
He followed Hyde to the second-floor door of apartment 12B, and stood to one side as Hyde both knocked with his nightstick and pushed the doorbell.
Mrs. McGrory answered the door, in her bathrobe, with Herb standing behind her in trousers and a sleeveless undershirt, looking a little uncomfortable.
Both Hyde and Cubellis made a quick analysis.
Nice people. Looked sober. No bruises or signs of anything having been thrown or overturned in the apartment.
“You called the police, ma’am?” Hyde asked.
“Yes, I did.”
“What seems to be the trouble?”
“I like to think of myself as a reasonable person,” Joanne said. “Live and let live, as they say. But this is just too much.”
“What is it, ma’am?”
“Come in and I’ll show you,” Joanne said, and motioned the two policemen into the apartment. Both nodded at Herb, and Herb nodded back.
Officer Hyde looked at the broken mirror.
“What happened?”
“That’s what we would like to know,” Joanne said. “That’s why we called you.”
“You don’t know what happened to the mirror?” Hyde asked.
“Herb, my husband, and I were sound asleep when it happened. ”
“I told her I thought it was probably a sonic boom,” Herb said.
“That’s nonsense,” Joanne said. “It came from in there.”
She pointed at the wall.
“What’s in there?”
“The next apartment,” Joanne said.
“What do you think came from in there that broke your mirror?”
“You tell the officers, Herb.”
“This was your idea. You tell them,” Herb said.
“Sometimes you make me sick,” Joanne said. “You really do.”
“Why don’t you tell us what you think happened, ma’am?” Officer Cubellis suggested.
“Well, all right, I will. So far as I know, she’s a very nice girl. Her name is Cheryl Williamson. But she… every once in a while she entertains in there, if you know what I mean. Most of the time, there’s absolutely no problem, but once or twice-more than once or twice-she, they have gotten sort of carried away with what they’re doing, and it gets a little noisy, if you take my meaning.”
“What’s that got to do with your mirror?” Officer Hyde asked.
“It broke,” Joanne said, as if surprised by the question.
“And you think the people next door are responsible?”
“Well, Herb and I certainly aren’t,” Joanne said.
“Jim, why don’t I talk to the lady next door?” Officer Cubellis suggested.
“Why not?” Hyde said.
“Maybe something happened to her,” Joanne said.
Officer Cubellis left the McGrory bedroom.
“I don’t know how much it will cost to replace that mirror, but it won’t be cheap, and I don’t see why we should pay for it,” Joanne said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Officer Hyde said.
Five minutes later, Officer Cubellis returned and reported that it didn’t appear anyone was home in the next apartment. He had both rung the bell and knocked at Cheryl Williamson’s front door, and then gone outside the house, up the side stairs, and knocked at her back door. There was no doorbell button there that he could find. There was no response from either place, and he could hear no sounds from inside the apartment, or see any lights.
“I know she came in,” Joanne said. “I woke up when she came in. Her screen door squeaks. It was a little after midnight. ”
“Possibly she went out again,” Officer Cubellis said.
“Or maybe she knows the cops are here and doesn’t want to answer her door.”
“Why would she want to do that?”
“The mirror, of course,” Joanne said. “Somebody’s going to have to pay for it.”
“Ma’am, you’ll just have to take that up with her yourself in the morning,” Officer Hyde said.
“Can’t you just go in and see if she’s there or not?” Joanne asked.
“No, ma’am, we can’t do that.”
“For all we know, she’s in there lying in a pool of blood,” Joanne said.
“Ma’am, why would you say that? Did you hear any noises, anything like that?”
Joanne thought it over before replying.
“No,” she said finally, with some reluctance. “But that doesn’t mean anything. The mirror did get busted.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Officer Cubellis said, patiently. “But that doesn’t give us the right to break into that apartment. Think about this: You and Mr. McGrory are in here, watching a Stan Colt movie on TV. Lots of shooting, women screaming, explosions. Particularly at the end. The lady in the next apartment hears this and gets worried and calls 911. When the movie is over, you and Mr. McGrory go out for a hamburger. So when the police get here, there’s no answer. And they break in. And then you come home, and find the police in your apartment, and the door broken in.”
“Who would have to pay for the broken door if something like that happened?” Joanne inquired.
“The police…” Officer Cubellis began, and then changed his mind about the ending, “… would have to make the lady next door pay for the broken door,” he said. “Because she was the one who wanted the police to break in.”
“Jesus Christ, Joanne!” Herb McGrory said. “Officers, I’m sorry we put you to all this trouble.”
“No trouble at all, sir. That’s what we’re here for,” Officer Hyde said.
“I’m sure you’ll be able to work things out about the mirror, ” Officer Cubellis said.
Officers Cubellis and Hyde left the McGrory apartment, got into their patrol cars, and put themselves back into service. Officer Hyde filled out a Form 75–48, an initial report form for almost all police incidents. On it he stated that the McGrory mirror had been broken, and that Mrs. McGrory believed the occupant of the adjacent apartment was somehow responsible. An initial investigation of the adjacent apartment revealed that there was no response at that location and the premises were locked and secured.
When it was 2:23 A.M. in Philadelphia-the time that Officers Hyde and Cubellis reported to Police Radio that they were back in service after the “Disturbance, House” call-it was 8:23 A.M. in the village of Cognac-Boeuf, a small village in the southwest of France, not far from Bordeaux.
Despite the name, no cognac was distilled in the area, and the local farmers raised only enough milk cows for local consumption. Although sheep were still grown in the area, even that business had suffered from the ability of Australian and Argentine sheep growers to produce a higher grade of wool and a better quality of lamb at a lower price.
What once had been a bustling small village was now just a small, out-of-the-way village catering to what small farmers were left and to retirees, both French and from as far away as England, Sweden, and even the United
