The Gray Drake

by Charles Cutter

  Cullen walked up to the witness.

  “Dr. Traker, can you tell us the definition of necrophilia?”

  “Necrophilia?” Traker’s cue ball complexion turned from white to cherry tomato.

  Here it comes again. “Objection, Your Honor. Irrelevant.”

  “I will show the relevance, Your Honor.”

  “Continue Mr. Cullen.”

  “Dr. Traker, please tell us the definition of necrophilia.”

  “I don’t know what it is.”

  “Dr. Traker, you spent your entire working life around dead people. Corpses. And you say you don’t know what necrophilia is?” Cullen looked over at the jury. “I find that hard to believe.” He turned back to Traker. “What is necrophilia?”

  Burr jumped up. “Asked and answered. He said he doesn’t know.”

  Cullen turned back to the jury. “I’ll tell you then. Necrophilia is the act of having sex with a corpse.”

  There was a deathly silence in the courtroom.

  Cullen turned back to Traker. “You were accused of necrophilia, Dr. Traker. Isn’t that right?”

  “It wasn’t true.”

  “Isn’t it true that you were suspended for six months because you were suspected of necrophilia?”

  “Objection, Your Honor. This is not only irrelevant, it is an outrage. There was no conviction. Not even a trial.”

  Skinner thought this over. He bent toward the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, you will disregard Mr. Cullen’s questions regarding necrophilia.” Skinner turned to Cullen. “Mr. Cullen, you may continue.”

  “I have no further questions, Your Honor.” Cullen walked back to the prosecutor’s table and sat down.

  Skinner adjourned them for lunch. Twenty minutes later, Burr and company had their heads buried in their menus. Not that there was much to choose from at Spike’s. Burr was grateful that no one had anything to say.

  Jacob looked up from his menu. “Did you know about Traker and his kink?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you called him anyway?”

  “There were no charges brought, nothing on Traker’s record. All he had to do was deny it. We practiced it.”

  “It certainly didn’t help us.”

  “Cullen’s questions were out of bounds. They were inadmissible,” Burr said. “Skinner should never have allowed them.”

  “As far as Skinner goes, you probably should have anticipated he would do something he shouldn’t do,” Jacob said.

  Burr slammed his menu on the table. They all jumped. “It is difficult to anticipate stupidity. At least the jury has a lunch recess to forget about it. The real show is this afternoon.”

  * * *

  Charlie Cox sat in the witness chair looking every inch like an accountant. He had on a three-piece navy suit, with a white shirt and a striped tie. His wire-rimmed glasses couldn’t quite mask his NFL quarterback good looks. He didn’t look a bit like a drug dealer.

  Burr knew he had his work cut out for him, but he didn’t think Cox knew that Jacob had discovered his paramour.

  “Mr. Cox, what do you do for a living?”

  “I’m an accountant. A CPA actually.”

  Burr nodded. “And where do you live?”

  “Mount Pleasant.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Cox. And did you know the deceased, Quinn Shepherd?”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t know Mr. Shepherd?”

  “No.”

  “I see.” Burr looked back at Lizzie. “Do you know Mr. Shepherd’s widow, Elizabeth Shepherd?”

  “No.”

  “Mr. Cox, lying under oath is a serious offense. It can result in five years in prison.”

  Cullen popped up. “Objection, Your Honor, the defendant says he doesn’t know either Mr. Shepherd or Mrs. Shepherd.”

  “Your Honor, I happen to know that Mr. Cox does indeed know both Mr. and Mrs. Shepherd.”

  Skinner glared at Burr. “If you would like to so testify, I suggest you become a witness.”

  “Mr. Cox, do you know Virginia Walker?”

  Cox cleared his throat. “Who?”

  “Virginia Walker.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Mr. Cox, isn’t it true that two nights ago you picked up Virginia Walker and took her to your home where the two of you spent the night?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  Cullen popped up again. “I object, Your Honor. This is totally irrelevant.”

  “Your Honor, I am about to show the relevance.”

  “You are on a very short leash, Mr. Lafayette.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Burr turned to the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, you may recall that Mr. Cullen called Virginia Walker as a witness. She testified that Mrs. Shepherd threatened both her and Mr. Shepherd.” Burr paused. “Because Mrs. Shepherd thought Virginia Walker was having an affair with her husband.” They nodded. “Ladies and gentlemen, let me tell you what really happened that night. Virginia Walker met Quinn Shepherd at the Two Track not because they were having an affair. She demanded money from Mr. Shepherd. After Mr. Shepherd died, Mr. Cox met with Mrs. Shepherd at the Dougherty Hotel in Clare and demanded money.”

  This time Cullen jumped to his feet. “Objection, Your Honor, this is pure speculation.”

  “Mr. Cox, you were selling Mr. Shepherd drugs, weren’t you?”

  Cox stared at Burr but didn’t say a word.

  “And when he didn’t pay Virginia Walker at the Two Track, you followed him to the river and killed him. Isn’t that right?”

  “No.”

  “No, you didn’t sell Mr. Shepherd drugs or no, you didn’t kill him?”

  Cox let his breath out slowly. “I didn’t kill him.”

  “But you did sell him drugs?”

  “No.”

  “Perjury is a serious offense, Mr. Cox.” Burr looked back at the jury. “And so is murder.”

  “I swear I didn’t.”

  “No further questions.” Burr stopped at Cullen’s table on the way back to the defense table. Before he sat down, he smiled at Cullen. “Now we have a suspect.”

  Cullen didn’t seem too worried. He approached the accountant. “Mr. Cox, you testified that you are an accountant, is that right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And are you familiar with The Gray Drake?”

  “I am.”

  “How, may I ask?”

  “Everybody knows The Gray Drake.”

  “Of course. We all know The Gray Drake. Have you ever been there?” Cullen said.

  “I have.”

  “Were you there the night of June 21st, the night Quinn Shepherd was murdered?”

  “I was.”

  “And did you stay there that night?”

  “No.”

  “Where did you stay that night?”

  “At my home.”

  “And did you spend the night with anyone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who, may I ask?”

  “Virginia Walker.”

  “And did you go out to the river that night?”

  “No.”

  “Mr. Cox, do you have any business dealings with The Gray Drake?”

  “No.”

  “Mr. Cox, do you know why Virginia Walker met with Mr. Shepherd at the Two Track that night?”

  “No.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Cox. No further questions.”

  Burr stood. “Redirect, Your Honor.” Burr was damned if he’d let Cox get away with this.

  “You had your turn, Mr. Lafayette.”

  “Your Honor, there are a number of inconsistencies in Mr. Cox’s testimony.”

  Skinner shook his head but waved Burr forward.

  “Mr. Cox, earlier you
testified that you didn’t know either Quinn Shepherd or Elizabeth Shepherd. Yet you just testified that you knew both of them.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was a bit flustered, and I forgot.”

  “You forgot?” Burr pointed at Cox. “You didn’t forget. You lied.”

  “Objection, Your Honor.”

  “Mr. Lafayette, if this is your idea of a redirect, stop right here.”

  Burr kept going. “Mr. Cox, you also testified that you didn’t know Virginia Walker, your live-in lover. Did you forget that, too?”

  “Objection.”

  “Mr. Cox, did you also forget that you were selling Mr. Shepherd drugs? And when he didn’t pay, you killed him?”

  Skinner glared at Burr. “That is quite enough, Mr. Lafayette. You may not make this type of accusation.”

  “Your Honor—”

  Skinner raised his hand and cut Burr off. “Do you have anything further?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  Skinner turned to Cox. “As for you, Mr. Cox, while I will prevent you from being abused, your testimony is, at best, inconsistent. What say you to that?”

  “I’m sorry, Your Honor. I was flustered.”

  Burr didn’t think Cox had a flustered bone in his body.

  “Do you have anything further, Mr. Cullen?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “Very well. We are adjourned for the day.”

  After Skinner adjourned them, Burr met Maggie in the courthouse parking lot. This was the first time he had been alone with her since their date. He knew he shouldn’t be with her, but he was getting desperate and needed her help.

  They took I-75 north. Maggie had the plat book open. She told him to get off the freeway at County Road 612.

  The sun had melted the snow from the side of the road, but there were still white patches in the woods. Burr headed east for two miles, and then Maggie had him turn north on a dirt road. About two miles later, she told him to turn on a two-track.

  Here we go again.

  “Let me know when we’ve gone a mile and a half,” Maggie said. She flipped through the pages of the plat book. Back three pages, forward one. They climbed up a hill, a clear cut on the right. Aspen on the left. Then more old growth hardwoods.

  “This is a mile and a half,” Burr said.

  “The first property should start right about here,” she said. “On the right.”

  Burr pulled off to the side of the road next to a stand of aspen.

  “This is too old to hold grouse. There’s not enough stem density,” Maggie said.

  Burr wasn’t here for the finer points of the grouse woods.

  “Why exactly are we here?” Maggie said.

  “We’re here because I can’t think of anything else to do. Every time I think I’ve got this figured out, something happens, and I’m right back where I started.” Burr put his hands on the steering wheel. “Which way to the next piece?”

  Two hours later, they pulled up at the last piece of the trust property. Another woods, this one mixed hardwoods. “Woods, woods, and more woods,” Burr said. “We’ve been all around Robin Hood’s Barn.”

  “The last person I heard say that was my grandfather.”

  “This has been a colossal waste of time.” Burr stopped the Jeep. “Let’s get out and stretch our legs.”

  Burr let himself out and opened Maggie’s door for her. They headed up the two-track, dodging puddles from the melting snow.

  “This was a wild goose chase,” Burr said. He kicked at a stone. “The trust owns acres and acres of woods. So what?”

  “It might matter,” Maggie said.

  “Really?”

  “Listen,” she said. “Hear that? That humming?”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a diesel. From an oil rig. We’re in the middle of the oil patch.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “There are oil wells all around us.”

  * * *

  Burr dropped Maggie off at the courthouse, then drove back to The Gray Drake. He followed his nose to the sweet, smoky smell drifting out from under the door to Jacob’s room.

  He knocked twice.

  “Go away, Burr. I’m busy.”

  Burr walked in. “How did you know it was me?”

  “Everyone else respects my privacy.”

  Burr stood in a cloud of smoke. He thought he might get a buzz just standing here. “Jacob, you’re going to burn this place down.” He coughed. “I’m surprised the smoke alarms haven’t gone off.”

  Jacob exhaled. “Smoke alarms haven’t made an appearance here, yet.”

  “Jacob, I need you to do something while I’m in court tomorrow.”

  “What is it this time?”

  Burr was shocked Jacob agreed so quickly. It must be the marijuana. “There’s something going on with the property the trust owns. I need you to find out what it is.”

  “And how am I supposed to do that?”

  “I’d start with the plat book.” Burr left before Jacob could answer.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The next morning, the bailiff swore in Harley Hawken.

  Burr had no real plan for Hawken. He was buying time, hoping that Jacob came up with something. Burr knew he was grasping at straws, but there was something more than fly-fishing going on with Hawken, and he was sure there was something going on with Charlie Cox. But what?

  Burr walked up to the witness.

  “Mr. Hawken, you were at The Gray Drake the night of June 21st. Is that right?”

  “Yes.” Hawken’s lips barely moved when he spoke.

  “And why were you there?”

  “I was there for the charity auction.”

  “And did you bid on anything?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “And did you buy anything?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Hawken, in your own words, please tell us what you bought.”

  Hawken pursed his lips. He looked annoyed he’d actually have to string a few words together. “I was the winning bidder of Quinn Shepherd’s guided Hex float trip.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Hawken. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Burr smiled at Hawken, who didn’t smile back. “And how much did you pay?”

  “Twelve thousand dollars.”

  “Twelve thousand dollars. That’s a lot of money,” Burr said.

  “It was for charity.”

  “Of course, it was,” Burr said. “What happened with the trip?”

  “How could I take it?”

  Burr thought he was getting under Hawken’s skin, which was the point. “And what about your check?”

  Hawken didn’t say a word.

  “I assume you let the Friends of the Au Sable keep the check,” Burr said.

  A stony silence.

  “Mr. Hawken?”

  “Yes?”

  “Your check.”

  “I stopped payment on the check.”

  “That was generous of you.”

  “Objection, Your Honor. There is no point to any of this,” Cullen said.

  “I will show the point, Your Honor.”

  “Do it in a hurry, Mr. Lafayette,” Skinner said.

  “Mr. Hawken, you paid twelve thousand dollars for a fishing trip, for charity. Then you stopped payment on the check. Is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Because I couldn’t take the trip.” Hawken looked at him, his face blank.

  “Mr. Hawken, is it possible that there was more going on with your bid than just a fishing trip?”

  The blank stare continued.

  “Were you paying off Mr. Shepherd for something—drugs for instance—and when he was killed there was no
reason to continue with the charade?”

  Still nothing.

  “Or perhaps you killed him, and then there was no reason to let the Friends of the Au Sable keep the money.”

  “Objection, Your Honor,” Cullen said. “These are wild accusations. Pure speculation. These are the rantings of a desperate man.”

  “Sustained.”

  Good point. I am nothing if not desperate. “Mr. Hawken, what did you do after the auction?”

  “I went to the bar with Mr. Osterman and Mr. Gleason. I had a scotch, and then I went to bed.”

  “And did you leave The Gray Drake that night?”

  “No.”

  Burr turned on his heel and walked back to his table. “That was a complete and total failure,” he said mostly to himself. “Your witness.”

  “Mr. Cullen?”

  “No questions, Your Honor.”

  Burr called Kathryn Kennedy, the cellist from the string quartet. Burr didn’t think she’d have much to say either, but as long as he was still grasping at straws, he thought he might as well keep grasping and keep stalling in the hope that Jacob could come up with something at the Register of Deeds Office.

  Kathryn Kennedy had doe eyes, creamy skin and full lips, an altogether comely young woman.

  “Ms. Kennedy, you performed at the auction on the night of June 21st? Is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “What instrument do you play?”

  “I play the cello.”

  “A lovely instrument. And where did you stay that night?”

  “At The Gray Drake.”

  “Really? May I ask where?”

  “I stayed on the third floor.”

  “The third floor. I didn’t know the lodge had rooms on the third floor.”

  “It’s an attic really. But there are a few rooms up there. It’s stuffy, but it was free.”

  “Ms. Kennedy, did you happen to see any of the guests that night, coming or going?”

  “Yes.”

  “Really?” Burr said. Maybe this wasn’t going to be a wild goose chase. “Ms. Kennedy, did you happen to see Mr. Gleason?”

  Burr pointed at Gleason, about halfway back in the gallery.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “How about him?” Burr pointed at Osterman.

  “I saw him.”

  “Let the record show that the witness is pointing at Noah Osterman.” Burr turned back to the witness. “How do you know it was him?”