The Peace Haven Murders

by M. Glenn Graves

  She hesitated, and then replied, “I finished it this morning.”

  “So where is the empty bottle?”

  “I threw it away.”

  “You didn’t need it to renew the prescription for another round?”

  “It was the last refill in the cycle. The pharmacy keeps records, you know. They can fill it without the bottle being taken to the pharmacy.”

  “Where did you throw it?”

  “In the trash can under the sink.”

  I opened the doors under the sink and took out the small trash can. Some of the items in it looked disgusting and I failed to see the honor of putting my naked hand into that mess. Besides that, there could be some evidence there and I really didn’t want to violate any potential crime scene.

  “Do you have any plastic gloves?”

  Marie opened a drawer nearby and took out two gloves from the box. She handed them to me. Just my size. How fortunate.

  I put on the gloves, dumped the trash on the floor and luckily found the empty potassium bottle without having to rummage through the despicable collection of yucky stuff. Yucky is my favorite technical word in all crime scene investigations.

  “I need another plastic bag.”

  I put the empty potassium bottle into the bag, placed it in the pocket with the syringes, and escorted Marie back to the study where Rowland’s body was found.

  “Did you touch the body?” I asked Marie after we had arrived.

  “No, ma’am.”

  I looked over in the direction of Saunders. I couldn’t read her expression.

  “Miss Saunders, did you touch the body?”

  “Heavens no,” she said emphatically, as if I had asked her if she baited her own hook when fishing.

  “Well, indeed, we do have a situation here. Let’s call Robby Robertson and see if we can find some answers. Shall we?”

  I called Robby and he arrived about twenty minutes later. I decided to let him have his crime scene. I did however look around the room while we waited for his arrival. I found nothing suspicious. There seemed to be something missing, but I couldn’t get it in my head as to what that might be. I noticed Sam walking around the room sniffing at every nook and cranny. It dawned on me that he smelled the Pekinese twins that Preacher Rowland owned.

  “Where are the dogs?” I asked Marie.

  “I don’t know,” she answered.

  When Robby arrived, he had plenty of questions to ask all of us. Ben Pickeral was with him, so we knew that good law enforcement would hold the day and all would be well. I know I felt better with both of them there on the job. We detectives also have an arsenal of humor. Well, the good ones have such an arsenal.

  I told him my story, that is, the reason that Rosey, Sam and I were there. He scratched his head and said “uh huh” and “hmm” a lot. He failed to ask us what time we had arrived at Rowland’s estate, and neither of us volunteered that information.

  Marie told him the same story she told me earlier. At least she had a good memory. Failing that, she was likely telling the truth. At any rate, I believed her. Rosey looked skeptical, but he remained quiet. Sam sat down in a corner and faked sleep.

  Saunders related the same story she had given us, but she left out the part about arriving last night and waiting in her car until daylight. While Saunders was answering Robby’s questions, I took out the plastic bag with the potassium bottle inside and examined it. The date on the bottle was for two days ago.

  “Let’s all go down to my office and see if we can get this sorted out,” Robby said.

  Robby moved towards me and held out his hand. “I believe you have some evidence that is vital to this investigation.”

  I handed him the potassium bottle bag. I reached into my pocket and gave him the three bags of syringes. I hesitated for a moment, smiled at him, and then waited to see if he would ask for anything else. Like playing Crazy Eights. I was hoping to hold onto the glass and have it tested.

  “And the glass?” he said without smiling.

  I gave him the glass and he walked away without another word.

  “Are we under arrest?” Saunders asked.

  “Not yet. But don’t get too excited. I may yet arrest all of you. Something does not smell right here.”

  I had a wisecrack just waiting to be voiced, right on the tip of my tongue. Rosey must have suspected such because he elbowed me just as I opened my mouth to add some mirth to the dismal scene. When I looked at him, he shook his head. “Bad idea,” he whispered.

  “Did I miss something?” Robby asked as he looked in our direction.

  “I think you have it covered, Sheriff,” I said.

  We all walked out to the cars in the front of the house. Sheriff Robertson told Deputy Pickeral to put the two women in the back of his squad car. He then told Ben to call the funeral home and have them come out to verify that Reverend Rowland was indeed dead, and to take care of the body. He told Ben to wait at the house for their arrival.

  “You might want to hold off on having Cuthbert & Boran work their magic on Rowland’s body,” I said to Robby.

  “And why is that Evans?”

  “You might want to autopsy the body to see what kind of poison may have been used here?”

  “Oh, poison is it? You know this for a fact?”

  “No. But the autopsy might reveal some important information about how Reverend Rowland died.”

  “I know that Clancy. Just leave the case to me. Would that be too hard for you?”

  “Not at all, Sheriff. Just merely making a suggestion.”

  “Can I trust you two to drive straight to my office? I’ve had enough of you Evans’ women being involved in dangerous events for one day,” Robby said to us.

  “What does that mean?” I said.

  “It means that your mother was holding an intruder in her home at gunpoint.”

  “She and Sarah are okay?” I said.

  “They’re fine. They’re fine. Listen, you two come straight to my office.”

  As he walked around his car, I saw him lean into the open back window and speak to Marie. I moved closer so I might hear what was being said.

  “Aren’t you Joy Jones’ youngest daughter?” he asked.

  “I am,” she said.

  “And Henry Smith is your half-brother?”

  “Yes, sir. But my mother doesn’t claim him.”

  Robby smiled at Marie and patted her on the arm. I thought it was a strange encounter considering the whole situation that had just unfolded. I filed it in my super-duper detective memory log in case I might need it someday.

  “What do you make of that?” I said to Rosey when we were alone.

  “Don’t know. Maybe nothing more than a small town Sheriff being friendly.”

  “I don’t know. It didn’t seem to be right or something.”

  “What, the question or the touch?”

  “The question was okay, I suspect. Just substantiating information that he thought he had. Nothing wrong with that. But why the pat on the arm? It seemed out of place considering everything else this morning,” I said.

  “The whole world is out of place or haven’t you noticed?”

  “Outta place in Clancyville.”

  60

  It was still early when everyone gathered at Clancyville’s so-called police station. It was on a backstreet off of the main drag in the area one could humorously refer to as downtown, the heart of the city. The front of the building had absolutely no character, nothing but a brick facing with a door. Windows were obviously scarce at the time that the building was formed. It was one of those unfriendly, uninviting buildings in which the only time you would want to go inside was the time you had to go inside. Official business.

  “Ben, take this,” he handed him the bags of syringes, potassium bottle, and the drinking glass. “Put these in large, separate envelopes and send them to the lab in Richmond. Have all of them tested for whatever.”

  Ben took the five plastic bags and walked out of
the room.

  “Everybody sit down. I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” Robby said.

  The office complex was composed of an outer office and an inner office. The outer office was the home of the secretary whose main job was to fill the coffee pot and answer the phone. We were a good hour or so away from her scheduled arrival. There was no fresh coffee made and it was unlikely that the phone would not be an interruption for a good while. Ben Pickeral also had a small desk in the corner in this outer room. It was good that Ben was a small man since his corner of the room was mostly insignificant.

  We all sat down except for Rosey. He leaned against a wall by Ben Pickeral’s empty desk. Saunders and Marie took the chairs available. I sat on the corner of the secretary’s desk. The Sheriff cut a side glance at me, started to say something, but then apparently changed his mind. He exhaled loudly.

  Ben entered the room after he had swiftly handled his envelope chore.

  “Ben, make some fresh coffee,” the Sheriff said. Ben scurried out of the room once more.

  “Miss Saunders, tell me why you were at the reverend’s home?”

  “I was there on a business matter,” she said.

  “What sort of business?”

  “That’s personal, Sheriff.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. What kind of business were you and the preacher involved in?”

  “I’m sort of a personal secretary for him. I take care of all kinds of matters. Have been for years,” she said.

  “I see. So, what time did you arrive at his home?”

  “Around 6 o’clock,” she lied.

  “Okay,” the Sheriff turned the angle of his head in my direction, “Miss Evans, tell me your story.”

  “Which part?”

  “The part that relates to this serious matter before us,” he answered.

  “Rosey, Sam and I were following clues. The best clue we had was associated with Saunders here and Henry Smith. We were tailing Henry and followed him to Saunders’ place. After an hour or so there, Saunders left. We decided to follow her.”

  “Who’s Sam?”

  “My dog.”

  “Your dog?”

  “Yes.”

  “He normally work cases with you?”

  “Is that relevant?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. But it certainly is odd.”

  “Why? You have Ben. I have Sam.”

  “You comparing the two?”

  “Not really. Sam is smart.”

  Robby wrinkled his forehead as if frustrated with my answer. He exhaled loudly again.

  “Ben, is that coffee ready yet?”

  “Almost,” Ben said.

  “And you have no idea where Henry Smith went?” he asked me.

  “Not until you mentioned him just before we came here from Rowland’s home,” I said. “He was still at Saunders’ house when we left to follow her.

  “But I told you nothing of Henry Smith.”

  “True, but you did tell me that you discovered my mother holding a man at gunpoint in her home earlier this morning.”

  “I did, but I never told you it was Henry Smith.”

  “You didn’t have to. I suspect that Henry went there to kill Sarah Jones.”

  Marie gasped when I said that. She put her hand over her mouth and I watched her eyes open wider. Saunders had no emotion, nor did I expect her to have any.

  “That’s another matter,” Robby said.

  “Not really, Sheriff. This is all related, it all comes back to Preacher Rowland and Marilyn Saunders here. I’m not sure where Marie fits into this. She’s a new chapter.”

  “Indeed,” Robby said as he walked over to the coffee pot sitting on a table by the entrance door to his office. He poured a cup. It was one of those cheap coffee makers that don’t allow you to stop the brewing process when you remove the carafe. Each drop made a sizzling sound on the hotplate below while Robby held the carafe in his hand. He offered none of us coffee. Good old Southern hospitality.

  “Follow me, Clancy,” he said.

  I followed him from the outer office into his office. He closed his office door and pointed to a chair in front of his desk. He made no move to sit at his own desk, so I sat on the corner of it. He stood by the closed door.

  “Tell me what you have,” he said.

  “Basically, I have already told you just about everything I have. But here’s what little I know as of this moment. Rosey and I were doing surveillance on Henry. We followed him to Saunders’ place late last night, a little before midnight. Then, around 12:30 or so, Saunders left. We were forced to choose since we had only one car to follow in. We decided to follow Saunders since we had already concluded that she was the brains between the two of them. My theory is that Preacher Rowland was giving the orders which Saunders was carrying out.”

  “You think Saunders killed those people in the nursing home?”

  “That one is harder to answer. I don’t believe Saunders did the actual killing in Peace Haven, but I do think that Saunders had an inside person. My guess is that Saunders gave the orders to someone who had access to the rooms, someone who would not appear out of place, someone who could come and go easily from room to room. The orders didn’t originate from Saunders. She was like Rowland’s foreman. ‘Personal secretary’ is what she called it. He gave the orders; she found the people to carry them out. She found the people to do his dirty work,” I said.

  “Proof?”

  I shook my head, “Nothing that would hold up in court. Lots of facts, lots of loose ends, but nothing that ties it together.”

  “You think Saunders killed the preacher?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. From what she said out at the mansion, and the way she said it, I have some doubt that she killed him. Apparently, if she is telling the truth, he was already dead when she got there.”

  “So, Marie killed him?”

  “Maybe. I think Marie was doing her normal duties and something went wrong after Preacher Rowland received his daily medicines.”

  It then dawned on me what could have gone wrong. It was one of those moments when you are investigating a particular case and the investigation is going nowhere. Then, suddenly, some breeze blows by you or a twig snaps, and you know. Or, as in my case most of the time, I think I know. It all falls together in one beautiful, horrible moment. The answer is there and all I usually have to do is go to the source. Something must have appeared in my eyes or my expression when this happened.

  “What?” Robby said.

  “What do you mean what?”

  “You look like you know something.”

  “I’ve told you what I know. Now you can tell me what you know about my mother, Sarah, and Henry Smith.”

  Sheriff Robertson told me their stories and what he found when he arrived at the house. I was relieved, of course, and also rather amused at my mother. Apparently my father had taught her well. Perhaps she was better with a gun than I had imagined.

  “May I go and see my mother and Sarah?” I said to the sheriff.

  “Stay close. I may have more questions.”

  “You gonna hold Saunders and Marie?”

  “Yep. They’re going nowhere. Material witnesses or something like that.”

  “May I have a moment or two to speak with Marie?”

  Curiosity was evident on his face. I had the impression he wanted to refuse my request. He took a sip of coffee, studied me for a moment or so, and then overcame whatever reluctance he was nursing. He nodded.

  “Go ahead. But in this room,” he said as he opened his office door and asked Marie to come out. Marie entered and he exited. He left the door open. I closed it behind Marie.

  She sat down without my asking her. Her hands were folded in her lap. She was scared and I felt some pity for her.

  “Do you know what happened?”

  “You mean to Reverend Rowland?”

  I nodded.

  “No, ma’am. Not really. I did everything I usually do. I cook his breakfast and th
en I give him his pills and his injections after he finishes eating. The only injection I added this morning was his B-12. I follow the same routine each morning. He does not like to vary his schedule. He’s a disciplined man.”

  “Are all of his meds filled at the local pharmacy?”

  “Yes. I pick up the prescriptions myself. He gave me clearance to do that. I keep all of his medicines on hand at the house. Everything except the vitamin is a prescription.”

  “He must trust you a lot.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I expect he does … or did. But I have training for this. Like I told you earlier, I have my LPN license. He hired me to be his household nurse and manager. I think he knew that he might one day need my skills. I hope to become an RN soon.”

  “When you said that you keep his meds on hand at the house, you meant Rowland’s house, right?”

  “That’s correct. But, I also have some B-12 at my own house. My mother takes it, so we keep an ample supply on hand for her.”

  “Have you ever used her prescription for Reverend Rowland?”

  “That would be dangerous,” she said.

  “True, but have you ever done it?”

  “Are you going to report me if I say yes?”

  “No,” I said. “I simply want to know if you have ever utilized your mother’s prescription for your employer.”

  “I did it once. The pharmacy shorted us a dosage and I didn’t realize it until he was out of his B-12. It happened last week. He’s only been taking the B-12 for about three weeks. I didn’t want him to miss a dosage, so I got some of my mother’s B-12 to use. She keeps extra stuff on hand anyway. Our house is like a regular pharmacy.”

  “What type of stuff did your mother keep?”

  “Lots of medical supplies – extra gauze, tape, droppers, ointments. She always wanted to be a nurse, but she couldn’t afford to go to school. She had too many mouths to feed. That’s what she always said. We used to tease her about having the Joy Jones Drugstore.”

  “Did this happen with any of his other medications?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did you ever run out of any of his other prescription medications and be forced to use another source, like your mother’s supply?”

  It seemed to me that she flinched at my question. I could not tell for sure; but, at any rate, she took longer than I thought necessary to answer my question.