by David Staats
“Mr. Sweet says he worked late the evening of June 5, got home after dark. Didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
“Mrs. Sweet had nothing new to add to what she had told us and the police. She did comment that there was no reason for anyone to be alert to usual occurrences on Friday or Saturday, because nobody found out about the murder until Monday afternoon.
“The two Sweet girls [Kniffe pronounced this phrase without any semblance of awareness that it might have been ironic or punnable] had not been interviewed by the police. They do not recall anything about Friday. Saturday they both played field hockey. They don’t remember anything worth noting the rest of the weekend. They both knew Liam Houlihan and think he is ‘okay,’ but his body-building over the past couple of years is ‘gross.’ Sometimes he visits his parents, driving a small red convertible, and he waves at them.”
Kniffe looked up from the typed report he had been consulting and looked at each of his listeners in turn. No one asked him a question or said anything, so he continued.
“Loveless unfortunately was unwilling to talk to my investigator.” Kniffe sounded regretful. “I therefore went to interview him myself. It was a little tedious. I first had an operative – well, never mind, you won’t be interested in all the details – I found out the name of his homeowner’s insurance company and then I went in the guise of an insurance inspector to his house. I mention this only because this particular ruse limited the type of questions I could ask him. I told him the company had learned of the crime in the neighborhood and that such occurrence might cause a rating adjustment, and that I had been sent out to assess the neighborhood. I was able to question him about the murder, and he assured me that such a thing had never happened in that development before. He said it was a domestic dispute, the husband had done it, nobody from outside was involved, and that it would seem to him on that account the neighborhood itself was not dangerous, just that particular house. He seemed quite intelligent. He had no observations of any strange vehicle or person in the neighborhood around the time of the murder. He did ask me one question, whether if someone stepped in a groundhog hole and broke their leg, would the landowner be liable?
“The last thing you asked me to check was whether one could travel between 9 Cherry Lane and 18 Locust Lane by foot under cover of wooded area. The answer is yes.”
As he had been reporting, Kniffe had turned over one loose page after another in the open manila folder on the table before him, placing them face down on the left side of the open folder. Now he flipped the back of the folder over the same way, closing up the folder as if it were a book.
“With that additional information,” said Dure, “let me go over the possibilities. Normally, I might look at opportunity and alibi as the first factors to limit the number of suspects. But in this case, because of the medical examiner’s inability to pinpoint the time of death, almost everyone had opportunity, and almost no one an air-tight alibi. As you recall, according to the medical examiner, the time of death was between about 9:00 in the morning Friday, to about 5:00 in the afternoon on Saturday. We might be able to narrow that down based on our client’s testimony that she was alive when he left the house at about 1:15, but that still makes for about 28 hours during which death could have occurred.
“If we could say that she was alive at 9:30 Friday evening, as the phone call might indicate, that would get us down to about a 20-hour time span, but that is still quite capacious, and the phone call evidence is ambiguous at best.
“So, we are forced to focus on motive.” Dure did not seem happy. “And motive is tricky because what might be motive for one person would not be motive to another – like that case of the Philadelphia mobster who shot a hat-check girl through the heart because she brought him the wrong coat. To evaluate motive, then, we not only need to look at the objective facts that might give rise to tension in human relations, but also at the subjective state of mind of any particular suspect in relation to those objective facts. And, of course, we never have direct access to someone else’s subjective state of mind, but can only infer what it might be based on our observations of external facts.”
Here Dure allowed himself a smile which seemed to express an ironical appreciation of having outlined an insoluble problem.
Ralph had a new haircut, and he rubbed his meaty hand over the eighth-inch stubble that sparsely covered his red scalp. “If the old man didn’t do it, the kid did. But the old man’s admitted it. Good enough for me.”
“You, Ralph,” said Dure, “are why we need to find another murderer. Most jurors are going to go with the confession, and any other evidence will be ignored. The only thing that will get an acquittal is a confession of somebody else – and that not because anyone will be convinced that our client is innocent, but only because it will create reasonable doubt.”
“Let’s do this,” said Dure. “Let’s assume that everyone did it. Since we don’t have a murder weapon, since we don’t have a well-defined time of death, and since we don’t even have a well-defined set of suspects, because the body was found out of doors – there are no fingerprints in the room, no questions of access through doors or windows – let’s just assume that anyone and everyone did the crime, and then try to figure out each person’s motive. The one whose motive is the most plausible should be our number one suspect.”
No one objected to this manner of proceeding.
“So,” said Dure. “Suppose Rhys Parker murdered Mrs. Houlihan. Why?”
Silence.
“Okay, listen,” said Dure. “You don’t have to believe or vouch for any motive you suggest. We just need to come up with some motive for everybody. Pretend you’re writing a murder mystery novel. How would you motivate this crime?”
Kniffe said, “Suppose the strong hints we have of an affair between them are correct. Then maybe he killed her . . . out of jealousy? He wanted her to divorce her husband, he would divorce his wife, and then they would marry. But she wouldn’t get a divorce, so he killed her.” One could tell from the way that he said it that he did not give it much credit.
“That’s a start,” said Dure. “But why would he kill her because she wouldn’t get a divorce?”
Kniffe shrugged. “Because that showed that she still really loved her husband and that made Parker jealous,” he said.
“But do we know that they were having an affair?” asked Kara.
“It’s hard to tell,” said Kniffe. “One party is dead; the other is not talking. Nobody apparently caught them in flagrante delicto, and the third-party observations that we have are inconclusive.”
“What do you think, Ralph?” said Dure.
“This the guy we saw at that model home?” said Ralph.
Dure nodded.
“Not a chance,” said Ralph. “You could give that guy all the motive in the world, and he wouldn’t do anything. Too much of a wimp. He’s a numb-nuts.”
“Thank you for that insight, Ralph,” said Dure, deadpan. “Alright then, suppose Dawn Parker is the one who did it. What was her motive?”
“Obviously,” said Kara, putting down her pen and looking up to address the table, “if her husband was having an affair, she could be jealous. Killing the woman would not only end the affair, it would get back at her husband.”
“I don’t think I mentioned that Mr. Houlihan said that he thought he saw her at the gun show,” said Dure.
Kniffe made a note on the pad of paper before him.
“Anything else?” asked Dure.
No one volunteered anything. “The female of the species is deadlier than the male,” quoted Dure. “How about any of the co-workers? Let’s say Ms. Rittersreiter did it. What was her motive?”
“To get promoted, obviously,” said Kara, after saying which she frowned dismissively and shook her head.
Dure rattled off a series of names, pausing briefly after each one to allow anyone to suggest a motive. “Chauncey Blackwell? . . . Bruno Snodhuis? . . . Nan Schuettler? . . . Megan Stoltz? . .
.” A sort of silliness seemed to come over him. “Corporal Snyder? . . . Lt. Wisdom? . . . Mr. Preston? . . . Cliff Whittaker? – ”
Here Kara broke in. “I vote for him. Even on the telephone he likes to take people’s heads off.”
Dure calmed down and smiled a wry smile. “How about Liam Houlihan?” he said. “Maybe he doesn’t need a motive. Maybe he did it in a fit of so-called ‘roid rage.’ What do you think?”
“When people do that, get in a ‘roid rage, do they remember afterwards what they did?” asked Kara. “I mean, if Liam did it, why would he let his father possibly be put to death for it – unless he maybe doesn’t remember that he did it?”
“Good question, Kara. When we’re done here, why don’t you get me some medical articles on that question,” said Dure.
“The possibility exists,” said Kniffe, “that not only does Liam not know what he did, but that his father does know, and that’s why he confessed, to protect his son . . . so that, if his father is convicted, it will be just what his father wanted.”
“Hmm,” said Dure. “One might think he’d like to get off, but maybe he figures that if he gets off, the police will re-launch their investigation and then arrest his son . . .. Hmm. Maybe that’s why he sabotaged his case. But then why did he even hire me in the first place? Why not just plead guilty and waive trial?”
“Maybe,” suggested Kniffe, “he didn’t know at the time he hired you that his son had done it, but found out later.”
“Am I so bad a judge of character, then, that I still believe him to be innocent?” said Dure.
“He is innocent,” returned Kniffe. “He’s protecting his son.”
“So you think the son did it?” said Dure.
“I did not say that,” said Kniffe. “I said Houlihan thinks his son did it.”
“One or the other,” said Ralph. “I always said it’s one or the other.”
“I’m glad you have clarity on the case,” said Dure to Ralph. “To me, things do not add up. I am not prepared to accept this theory. Let’s move on. Let’s take the case of the whole neighborhood conspiring to kill Mrs. Houlihan. Is there a plausible motive for this?”
Kniffe shook his head. “Even granting that she was the proverbial toad in the fruit salad, that’s not enough for murder. Additionally, what would be the reason for a conspiracy? There is no reason why this crime could not have been done by one person acting alone.”
“Are you saying this crime could not have been committed by two or more persons?” asked Dure.
“Not that it is impossible, just that there’s no need for it,” said Kniffe.
“Bingo!” said Ralph, slapping the table. “The old man and the kid did it.”
Kara, sitting next to Kniffe, was doodling on a steno pad.
“Alright,” said Dure, “what about the neighbors, each considered individually? The two teenage girls seem to me to be out. Agreed?”
This statement was met with a couple of shrugs and no disagreement.
“Mr. Sweet?” said Dure.
“No,” said Kniffe. “The only two possibilities among the immediate neighbors are Vanderlogen and Loveless.”
“Vanderlogen?” said Dure.
“Looking at just objective facts,” said Kniffe, “Vanderlogen was around for two weeks after his family had gone to Holland, including the weekend of the murder, and, he has left the jurisdiction. In other words, flight. That makes him a suspect in my book.”
“And the motive?” said Dure.
“He was a Dutchman,” said Kniffe. “Well-known for violent tempers. You’ve heard of the proverbial Dutch Uncle? Mrs. Houlihan’s overzealous enforcement of petty rules got under his Dutch skin.”
“It would be unfortunate if he is the one who did it,” said Dure. “I don’t see how I can get him into court from Holland.”
The telephone rang and Kara left the room to answer it.
After a pause Dure took a deep breath and said, “Contact a PI in Holland. Have him find and interview Vanderlogen. If you think he could be the one, let me know and I’ll try to get the judge to pause the trial until we can --” He broke off.
Kara was standing at the door to the conference room. “It’s for you,” she said to Dure. “Preston.”
“Enough for today,” said Dure as he got up to go to his office and take the call. The session broke up.
“Hello, Walter,” came Preston’s voice on the telephone.
“Roderick.”
“Trial is next week. We could save ourselves work by resolving the case. Suppose your guy pleads and the Commonwealth agrees not to seek the death penalty?”
“You’re not offering much,” said Dure.
“Just your guy’s life,” said Preston.
“My client is over fifty years old. Even if he gets the death sentence, there will be ten years of appeals. There’s an even chance he dies before the sentence would be carried out. So the likelihood is, even if he’s convicted, life in prison. What are you offering that would be worth giving up the chance for an acquittal?”
“You know as well as I do there’s no chance for acquittal. Be realistic.”
“As you know, I am required to discuss any offer with my client. I will do that,” said Dure.
“I’ll just let you know, as you and your client are discussing the matter, that I’ll have a surprise for him at trial.”
“Roderick, that’s no use. It won’t make any impression on him – or me – unless you tell me what it is.”
“I like to keep some surprises.”
“You’d better not be withholding Brady materials,” said Dure.
“This is definitely not exculpatory,” said Preston. “I’ll give you a hint . . . no, actually, I won’t. But you need to let me know soon. I’m only making this offer to save the Commonwealth the resources that would be expended in final trial preparation. In a couple of days I’ll likely withdraw the offer.”
* * *
Late Friday afternoon, a bald man wearing a lightweight, powder gray suit that was too large for him breezed in the front door of Attorney Dure’s office. The suit jacket was large enough that it could have been buttoned over the protruding midsection that preceded the man, but the jacket was not buttoned, and flapped loosely at his sides. A smell of cow-manure accompanied the man as he strode to Kara’s desk.
“Here you are, darling,” he said to her, flopping a stack of papers on her desk and putting another paper in front of her. “Sign there,” he said, pointing with a pudgy finger to a blank on the paper.
Kara looked at the paper, and instead of signing, picked up the phone and buzzed Dure. “Mr. Whittaker has some papers for you,” she said into the telephone.
“All you have to do is sign acknowledgment of service,” said Whittaker. “It’s not a mortgage.”
“Mr. Dure will be out in a minute,” she said.
“Just sign it! Don’t waste my time,” said Whittaker.
The smell of manure was arousing Kara’s curiosity and she stood up to look around, seeking its source. A set of muddy footprints ran from the front door to her desk. “Look what you’ve done to the carpet!” she said.
Whittaker turned to look at the carpet and laughed. “Oh! Ha, ha, ha. I was out on my farm this afternoon. Ha, ha. Lovely day.”
Dure came out into the reception area. “Cliff,” he said, acknowledging Whittaker’s presence. “What’s this about?” he asked Kara. She handed him the set of papers. He looked them over. It was a Motion to Quash Subpoena. Dure flipped through the papers. “You’re representing Dawn Parker?” he asked.
“What do you think?” answered Whittaker.
“This motion’s on for Monday morning,” said Dure. “You’re supposed to serve the motion ten days before the hearing.”
“Your subpoena calls for my client’s appearance on Wednesday. So I had to put in on for Monday.”
“You could have filed it earlier.”
“Client just retained me.”
“And yo
u serve papers Friday afternoon at 4:30?”
Whittaker shrugged. “What can I do? How about my proof of service?”
Dure nodded to Kara and she initialed Whittaker’s paper and held it out to him.
He took it, gave first Kara, and then Dure, an obnoxious grin and turned to leave. At the door, he stopped, turned and looked at the carpet. He laughed. “Sue me!” he said and went out.
“Dawn Parker doesn’t want to be a witness . . . Hmmm,” said Dure musingly. “In addition to the other things we have to do, now we have to deal with this.”
12.
“We’re out of time,” said Dure. It was Sunday, and trial was two days off. Dure, Kara, and Ralph were in the office working on final trial preparations, as well as Whittaker’s Motion to Quash.
They had interviewed Bruno Snodhuis, the political nut; Chauncey Blackwell, the big, inarticulate oaf; Ms. Rittersreiter, the librarian who was promoted into Mrs. Houlihan’s position; and other people. Dure or Kniffe had interviewed all of the neighbors except for Mr. Vanderlogen, who was still out of the country. Nothing. They had interviewed Mrs. Houlihan’s co-workers, although some would not talk. Results from all of this: nothing.
They had no one they could point to, other than the possibility of suggesting by innuendo that Liam Houlihan had done it, but then Mr. Houlihan forbad even that. In response to Dure’s request for Brady materials, Preston had sent useless junk. So, Dure had nothing, and the trial was to begin. Preston, apparently believing that he had an open and shut case, had withdrawn his plea offer.
The long and the short of it was, that there was no clear and definite proof that anyone had killed Mrs. Houlihan – except, that is, for Dure’s client, who admitted doing it.
Mr. Houlihan would not be convinced that the death penalty was a realistic possibility, and he frankly said, even if it is, I don’t care. I’m old anyway.
Dure told his team that because of Mr. Houlihan’s confession, it would not be sufficient to throw off sparks of suspicion in all directions in hopes of creating reasonable doubt. They would not get an acquittal unless they could show that somebody else had committed the murder.
