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A Change of Voice

John Ragusa

    Preston Pyre knew that the only way he’d be able to pay a gambling debt would be to rob a store. He simply did not have the money to pay what he owed to his gambling friends.
    He was going through college, but he didn’t have the money to pay for the tuition. He’d been forced to gamble to get the cash he needed, but he’d lost the card games he’d played most recently, and now he was in debt to his friends.
    He’d learned that old man Strieber owned and ran a small grocery store that did a lot of business. If Preston could rob him, he’d get the dough he needed.
    One day, for entertainment, he listened to an audio book he checked out at the library. It was a horror novel, read aloud by its author. It lasted two hours.
    When it was finished, Preston answered his telephone when it rang. It was a wrong number, but when he answered it, he noticed that his voice sounded just like the author of the audio book! He didn’t know how it happened, but he guessed that he must have a supernatural talent: When he listened to a person’s voice for a long time, his own voice sounded like that person’s voice. It was utterly fantastic!
    Then an idea popped into his head. He would rob Mr. Strieber’s store, and then listen to a recording of his teacher Mr. Milland’s voice (Preston would record his lecture during class). He’d phone police headquarters and, using Milland’s voice, he would confess to robbing Mr. Strieber’s store. The desk sergeant would recognize Milland’s voice and believe that he was the man who stole from Strieber. Milland would get the blame for the robbery, and Preston would go free.
    The next day, Preston brought a tape recorder to Milland’s class and recorded his lecture. Then he went home and listened to Mr. Milland’s voice. After an hour, his voice sounded just like the teacher’s voice.
    That weekend, he purchased a gun, put a stocking over his head, and went into Mr. Strieber’s store just as he was closing up shop. He walked over to the old man.
    “Give me the money from one of the cash registers, or I’ll shoot you,” Preston said.
    “None of that money belongs to you,” Strieber said defiantly.
    “Come on, don’t give me any trouble; just hand me the dough,” Preston said.
    Strieber tried to take the gun from Preston’s hand. They struggled for a while and the gun went off in the old man’s chest. His face became a grimace of agony as he fell to the floor, bleeding profusely. He wasn’t dead yet, but he would be soon.
    Preston hadn’t wanted this to happen. But it did, and it was too late to do anything about it now.
    He went to one of the cash registers and cleaned out its drawers. He fired one last shot into Strieber to make sure he was dead. Then he left the store and drove home in his car.
    When he got home, he phoned police headquarters. The desk sergeant answered his ring. “Police station, Precinct 12. Officer Tindrow speaking.”
    “Hello, my name is Duke Milland. I just robbed and killed Mr. Strieber at his grocery store. I am turning myself in because my conscience is bothering me. Come to my house at 2371 Goldfield Street and arrest me.”
    Now the police would think that Milland was the thief and killer, not Preston.
    A half –hour later, Preston was stunned to see a squad car roll into his driveway. What was going on? Had he made a fatal mistake?
    “Good afternoon, Mr. Preston,” Lt. Bolt said to him.
    “What’s your concern, Lieutenant?” Preston asked.
    “You’re under arrest for robbing and killing Mr. Strieber,’ Lt. Bolt told Preston.
    The latter was bewildered. “Why are you arresting me for those crimes?”
    “We went to question Duke Milland and discovered that he has laryngitis, which means that he couldn’t have called us on the telephone to confess. We figured someone else imitated his voice on the phone so we’d think he was Mr. Milland calling – and confessing.”
    Preston glared at him. “And you think I did that?”
    “Yes. It had to be you. We have Caller Identification on our telephone at headquarters. It showed that the call we received came from you; it gave us your address and telephone number, too.”
    Preston was struck dumb.
    “What’s the matter?” Bolt asked. “Cat got your tongue?”

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