Murder Wears a Medal

by Donna Doyle

  “But no one can find him.”

  “I know.”

  “So at some point in the past, Chief Stark arrested Kavlick?”

  “Yeah. I should have dug into that when I was searching through Kavlick’s records, but I wasn’t thinking that the arresting officer would have any bearing on his history.”

  “Now?”

  “I think differently now.”

  “But how do we prove it and make it stick?”

  “I don’t know,” Troy admitted. “But if a librarian and a photographer can conduct surveillance on a cemetery, I don’t see why a police officer can’t do the same.”

  “If you’re seen there, they’ll know that we know.”

  “You said that General Porter’s monument is a good hiding place.”

  “Not if you want to see that part of the cemetery up close. Mrs. Hammond has seen them there; she doesn’t know why they go there. Rosa thinks they’re having wild parties. I didn’t see any partying going on when I was there. Mrs. Hammond is going to mention the derelict state of the cemetery to Mrs. Walters, and she thinks that Mrs. Walters will bring it up at a council meeting.”

  “What good will that do? If the word gets out that the cemetery is going to be rehabbed by a bunch of meddling old ladies, the dealers will just find another place.”

  “But doesn’t Chief Stark go to the council meetings?”

  Troy nodded. “And the mayor.”

  “Well, won’t it be interesting to see how they react? If they react? The council meeting is next week.”

  27

  Cemetery Follow-up

  Mrs. Walters, Doug told Kelly and Troy when he met them the day after the council meeting, had a voice like a soprano singer in an opera. “‘It’s a disgrace,’” he quoted her, imitating the high pitch of her voice. “She went on for a good twenty minutes and no one dared to stop her, even though guests are limited to five minutes. Mrs. Walters takes ancestry very seriously and with the 4th of July coming up, she said it was a disgrace that the ‘honored dead’ were not receiving their due.”

  “But how did Chief Stark react?”

  “He said he’d have his officers patrol the area. Mrs. Walters seemed satisfied.”

  “Did he show any reaction at all?”

  “Chief Stark is always in front of an audience at the council meetings,” Doug explained to Kelly. “He’s very reassuring and tells them what they want to hear. Mrs. Walters suggested that it was time for the graves to be taken care of, but that point fell to the wayside. I guess he’ll be sending you to patrol.”

  “Maybe. But not on Sunday afternoons.”

  They were at the diner. Troy was on his break; Kelly was done for the day at the library and Doug was, as usual, on a schedule known only to him.

  “Chief Stark came up to me after the meeting,” Doug said as he sliced his knife through his piece of steak. “He suggested that I not make a big deal out of the condition of the graves. He said that with summer coming, and school out, kids might get into mischief and desecrate the graves. He said that the police would take care of it, and later in the summer, he’d talk to some of the local organizations to see about mowing the grass and sprucing the place up.”

  “Later in the summer,” Troy repeated thoughtfully. “So they have time to find another place?”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “What are you going to write?”

  Doug took out his notebook. “‘Council heard the concern voiced by Mabel Walters regarding the condition of the Settler Springs Cemetery; Chief Roger Stark of the SSPD will schedule regular patrols around the cemetery to prevent inappropriate activity from taking place.’” He grinned. “And of course, I took a photo of him speaking from the council table, reassuring Mrs. Walters.”

  “Are you going to print the photo to give to Mrs. Stark?”

  “Of course.”

  Kelly was at the circulation desk two days later when Doug came in to drop off the photograph of her husband to Mrs. Stark, who thanked him and admired his work. By that time, Troy had been sent to patrol the cemetery—at midnight, when the cemetery grounds were quiet and no one was present. He reported that information to Chief Stark, who told him to patrol at midnight on Thursday, just so he could tell Mrs. Walters that the police force was taking care of the matter.

  Then Trooper Meigle of the state police came into the office. He and Chief Stark would be traveling at the end of the week for a three-day meeting in Harrisburg on the problems faced by small town police departments.

  Chief Stark closed his office door. Troy left the station and drove to the state police station. Trooper Callahan was alone.

  “You’re short-handed,” he commented.

  “What can I do for you, Officer Kennedy?”

  “The same thing,” he said. “Any news of Kavlick?”

  “Interesting that you would ask,” she said. “There’s a car registered to him. The driver ran a stop light and was ticketed.”

  “The driver? Kavlick?”

  “So I would assume.”

  “Where did the incident take place?”

  “Warren Borough, outside of Settler Springs.”

  “When?” Troy continued, frustrated by the state police officer’s matter-of-fact responses.

  “Two weeks ago.”

  “Two weeks ago?”

  “That’s what the report says.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this when I came in last time?”

  She raised her eyebrows slightly. “You were having a discussion with Trooper Meigle. It didn’t seem like a good time.”

  “Is the car a gray Subaru?”

  Her expression changed. “You already knew?”

  “I just found out about the car. I didn’t see the traffic citation.”

  “No?”

  Troy shook his head. “Just the registration.”

  “That’s odd.”

  Her eyes met Troy’s. She didn’t say anything more. But she didn’t have to. Someone in the department had deleted the citation record from Kavlick’s registration information.

  Troy left the station with the feeling that, although he couldn’t count on Trooper Callahan as an ally, she was aware that something wasn’t right. He guessed that she might continue to pursue the investigation surreptitiously on her own.

  He needed to find Kavlick. Now, while Stark was out of town and unable to provide either concealment or an alibi for the man who, Troy was sure, had killed Sean. He had nothing to base his suspicions on, but that didn’t make them false.

  On a whim, he drove to the ambulance center.

  Jimmy Patton was on duty.

  “I thought I’d take you up on your invitation to stop by,” Troy said. “Looks like you’re all alone.”

  “They’re out on a call,” Jimmy said.

  “Overdoses?”

  Jimmy shook his head and held up the coffee carafe. Troy nodded.

  “No, normal stuff,” Jimmy said cheerfully. “Irregular heartbeat. They took him to the hospital; they’re on their way back now. Sunday was our day for overdoses.”

  “Sunday? What time Sunday?”

  “Afternoon, evening. Why?”

  “Just wondering.”

  “Cops don’t ‘just wonder’,” Jimmy said. “What’s going on?”

  “Have you heard anything about where the drugs are coming from?”

  “What do you mean? You mean Mexico, China—”

  Troy shook his head. “No, I mean here. The ODs that you get—where did the drugs come from?”

  “They don’t tell us. Local, I know that much.”

  “Any from the cemetery?”

  “The cemetery? No . . . but there were two from a mile away.”

  “Is that usual?”

  “It hasn’t been unusual for the past month or so. Maybe six weeks. Why?”

  “I’ve heard that there’s some activity going on in the cemetery.”

  “The one place addicts should avoid is the cemetery,”
Jimmy said, disgust mixing with sympathy in his voice. “They’re going to end up there soon enough.”

  “Jimmy, you probably know more about the drug scene in town than anyone. “

  “Not by choice. I shouldn’t be the one in town who knows the most,” Jimmy said angrily. “If we had a police force that faced the problem instead of pretending it doesn’t exist, I’d have a little company in what I know.”

  “What should I know?”

  “Look, Troy, I know you’re a good guy. Leo was a good guy, too. I don’t believe he wanted to ignore the problem, not with all that Mia went through to get clean. You know he had to testify against her when the courts took her kids away from her and gave custody to Leo and his wife. It tore him up inside to do that. But he did it for the kids. And in the end, that’s what turned Mia around. Addicts aren’t bad people. But they’re . . . well, they’re addicts. They lose sight of what’s important because they can’t live without the drugs.”

  “What should the police be doing about it?”

  “Admitting that it exists, of course. Chief Stark needs to take off those rose-colored glasses and face facts. His son was an addict and a dealer. But the Starks live as if it never happened.”

  “Why do you suppose they do that?”

  “It takes a lot of courage to face the truth. If your kid took drugs, sold drugs, and then murdered his pregnant girlfriend, would you want to face that truth? Or would you rather pretend that everything is fine?”

  “I don’t know. But the Starks . . . how long do you think their son was involved in drugs?”

  “If I had a nineteen-year-old son, and he drove an Aston Martin Vanquish, I’m going to wonder where he got the money to pay for it,” Jimmy answered, providing his own answer.

  “The car was registered to his mother,” Troy said.

  Jimmy sat back in his chair. “Lois Stark?” he asked, as if Scotty Stark could possibly have a different mother who owned the car the boy had driven.

  “Lois Stark.”

  “I guess the insurance business must be good,” Jimmy said.

  “I guess.”

  Troy stood up. “Let me know when you have any more overdoses, okay?”

  “Overdoses in general, or just the ones that happen in the vicinity of the cemetery?”

  “Whatever you have.”

  Troy drove through the streets of the town. Daylight lasted longer and that meant that people stayed outside later. But it was still quieter now than it had been during the days leading up to Memorial Day. He checked in at the bars, asking if anyone had seen Eddie Kavlick. No one had, and no one seemed disappointed at the ex-Marine’s absence. Their regulars were back, and strangers were gone. Life was back to normal again. Normal meant that when trouble erupted, they handled it themselves, without the assistance of the police.

  28

  Backlash on Grass-covered Shorts

  “Anything in the graveyard, Kennedy?”

  “Not so far, Chief,” Troy smiled genially.

  “You sound like you expect to find something.”

  “You’re the one who told me to check it out. You wouldn’t tell me that without a reason, would you?’

  Troy’s intonation remained even, and his smile was in place. It was Chief Stark who seemed ruffled.

  “Mrs. Winters must be wearing her girdle too tight. She’s on about inappropriate activity in the cemetery. You haven’t been hanging out there, have you? You and Kelly Armello? Last time I saw her, her shorts were covered with grass stains on her backside. Maybe you and your girlfriend were catching a little private time?”

  As he made a mental note to ask Kelly just what Stark was talking about, Troy kept his tone calm. “Better not let Mrs. Stark know that you’re ogling young women. She might not like that.”

  The equable mask slid from Chief Stark’s face. “You need to learn some respect, Kennedy.”

  “I’m not the one commenting on the librarian’s backside.”

  “You think I don’t know that you two have dinner together?”

  “I didn’t know officers weren’t allowed to fraternize with librarians.”

  “Watch your step, Kennedy. You’ll end up like your friend.” Chief Stark went into his office and, in a rare release of temper, slammed his door shut.

  You’ll end up like your friend.

  Was that a confession that Sean had died, not by suicide, but by the hand of an enemy? It didn’t seem as though Stark could mean that Troy would take his own life because he was unhappy in the police force.

  Troy kept his attention concentrated on the meaning of Stark’s words as he went out to the squad car. It was preferable to thinking that Sean had died through no fault of his own, but because his death was intended to be a warning to Troy.

  Better to ponder the meaning of Stark’s reference to Kelly. Her shorts were covered with grass stains on her backside. Maybe you and your girlfriend were catching a little private time?

  Kelly wasn’t his girlfriend. Even though other people in Settler Springs thought she was. Even though there was something between them, something that he couldn’t define. He trusted Kelly as he trusted no one else. It was different, trusting a woman this way. He wasn’t sure he understood it. He didn’t even know if he wanted to understand it.

  He drove past the library, where Mrs. Stark’s Lexus gleamed in the bright June sunshine. He pulled in behind the Lexus and went into the library.

  Mrs. Stark sat in her usual position, her laptop in front of her, invoices beside the laptop. Carmela sat at the circulation desk. She looked up when he entered. “Hello, Officer Kennedy,” she said cheerfully.

  Lois Stark’s chin rose. “Is there anything I can help you with, Officer Kennedy?” she asked in glacial tones.

  “No, I don’t think so. Chief Stark wanted to know why Kelly had grass stains on the backside of her shorts. I’m not sure why the chief of police is checking out the librarian’s rear end, but I thought I’d better come in and—”

  “What are you talking about!” Mrs. Stark snapped.

  By this time, Kelly had come out of her office, her eyes wide. “Troy?” she inquired, not pretending to a formality that didn’t exist. “Did I hear you say that Chief Stark had a question about how I got grass stains on my shorts?”

  “He had some interesting theories,” Troy said. “But since I know they’re only theories, I thought I’d better investigate. Is there a morals clause in the state library code?”

  Kelly was trying to keep a smile from escaping. Carmela wasn’t even trying; she was grinning from ear to ear, her grin widening as she looked at Mrs. Stark’s stony visage.

  “Noooo,” Kelly said as if she were giving the matter thought. “As I already explained to Chief Stark when he stopped me on the street, I was sitting on the grass reading.”

  One of the patrons who was at the computer station looked up. “Are we paying the police chief to look at your hind end?” he asked. “I would think he’d have more important things to do.”

  Another patron who was standing at the DVD station, joined the conversation. “Would it be cheeky of me to ask if the chief of police makes a habit of this?” he asked.

  Mrs. Stark’s face was ominously frigid. “I assure you,” she said, “my husband was not doing any such thing!”

  “Then how did he know if she had grass stains on her pants?”

  “Shorts,” Troy corrected. “He said she was wearing shorts.”

  “Are you telling me,” inquired a female patron who came in regularly and waited downstairs, reading magazines, while her daughter was upstairs for the weekly story hour that Chloe conducted, “that the police chief of this town is stopping women on the street to inquire about the condition of their clothing?”

  “He wasn’t asking specifically about her clothing,” Troy said helpfully. “He wanted to know what conduct she’d been engaging in that caused grass stains on her shorts.”

  The young mother put down her magazine. “I’ve heard of other cou
ntries having morality police,” she said indignantly. “I didn’t know we had them in Settler Springs.”

  “My husband would not do anything without a reason!” Lois Stark hissed. Her face had taken on an ugly color as crimson dots of anger appeared on her cheeks.

  “There’s a reason for a police officer to stop a woman because she has grass stains on her shorts? That’s news to me.”

  “We didn’t have things like this taking place when Leo Page was running the force.”

  “Leo Page is suspended from the force for coercing a confession from a suspect,” Mrs. Stark said. “That will certainly come out in the trial and will likely influence the jury.”

  “A lot of things might come out in that trial,” Troy offered.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Trials are for finding out the truth, aren’t they, Mrs. Stark? The innocent have nothing to fear, only the guilty.”

  “I find it hard to believe that Leo would threaten a suspect,” the young man at the DVD station said. “He pulled me over once and breathalyzed me when I came home from college last year, but I have to say that he was polite through it all. He still nailed me for a DUI, but I was guilty, and I knew it. He drove me home and let my parents get the car instead of sending it to the impound. I lost points on my license, and I had a fine to pay, but he didn’t threaten me, and I never drank and drove again.”

  “Driving under the influence is not the same thing as forcing a suspect to confess to a murder that he didn’t commit!”

  “How do you know he’s innocent? Because he said so? Don’t all suspects claim to be innocent?” Troy inquired.

  The young man, DVD case in hand, held up his hands as if he were being arrested. “I sure did. I was driving on both sides of the road, and I insisted that I hadn’t had anything to drink.”

  The door to the children’s room opened and the boys and girls began to file down the stairs. By tacit agreement, the conversation ended. As the children, each holding a book, went up to the circulation desk to have it checked out, the young mother said to Kelly, “You know that you don’t have to put up with that kind of harassment,” she said.