by S F Bose
“Nice change after Meagher,” I commented.
“Next profile is for Sharon Hill Meagher,” Mitch said. “Sam mentioned you both knew about the marital problems and proposed divorce so I’ll skip that. It is in our profile, though. You’ve also heard the boating accident story so I won’t repeat that either. As I mentioned, they never found Sharon and the children. We couldn’t find any financial breadcrumbs. From the day of the accident, there's been no sign of her or the children.”
“There’s one point I still don’t understand, Mitch. Meagher said his wife and children wore life vests, but the Coast Guard found the vests floating in the lake. Why would they have taken them off?” I asked. Sam nodded.
“I don’t know why anybody who had been washed overboard into Lake Michigan, would take off their life vest. However, there are other scenarios. Maybe the wife and children weren’t wearing life vests and the storm washed the vests overboard. Or maybe Meagher threw the vests into the water later to hide the fact they hadn’t been wearing them when the storm hit,” Mitch said.
“But the bodies never surfaced,” Sam replied.
“I’ve read of some bodies lost in that lake that were never found. I agree it is strange though, especially with three people. However, another sinister possibility is that the wife and children died before the boat trip and storm. I’ve read all of the police and news accounts of that day and there are no witness accounts that describe Meagher, his wife, and children arriving at the marina and sailing off.”
We sat in silence for a minute. “So Meagher might have killed them and buried them elsewhere. Then he went sailing, concocted the entire lost at sea story, and tossed the life vests overboard?” I asked.
“I’m just offering scenarios that fit the evidence, Liz. One thing to note is that I saw nothing in the case file that indicated a murder scenario was raised and investigated.”
“The sheriff’s deputies never investigated Meagher?” Sam asked.
“They questioned him, but there’s nothing in the file about investigating Meagher as a murder suspect. I think they saw him as the distraught survivor of a terrible accident,” Mitch replied.
My eyes met Sam’s. “I wonder if that’s what happened. Meagher killed them somewhere else and disposed of the bodies,” I said.
“It would explain the lack of bodies surfacing,” he agreed.
After a silence, Mitch said, “I have another more benign scenario if you want to hear it. It has a lot of holes, but it is a scenario.”
“What’s that?” asked Sam.
“Maybe Sharon Hill Meagher took her two children and disappeared somewhere. Meagher drank and had a temper. Maybe this was an abusive situation and she escaped for herself and the children,” Mitch said. “There was no boating accident. She just took the children and went some place where they could be safe.”
“I did interview Sue Barlow, Sharon’s sister. She mentioned seeing bruises on Sharon on different occasions. However, her sister swore her to secrecy,” I replied.
Sam looked at me. “Do you think Sharon just left with her kids?”
“No, not really,” I replied. “If she left Meagher, I think she would have gone home to her parents’ farm. And if for some reason Sharon took her children somewhere else, she would have told her family. My grandmother and great aunt described the family as deeply grieving when Sharon and the children disappeared. When I spoke to Sue Barlow recently, there was still sadness when she spoke about her sister. I don’t think they could have faked being so grief-stricken, if they knew that she and the children were alive.”
“Maybe Sharon left without telling her parents and sister,” Mitch proposed.
I shook my head. “No way. They were a close-knit family. She wouldn’t put them through that pain.”
“I also think if his wife and children left him, Meagher would have reported it. There wouldn’t have been any point in creating a story about them being lost in the lake,” Sam added.
“That’s true, because Sharon and the kids could have returned later and Meagher would have been in a world of trouble for concocting a story like that,” I agreed.
“Like I said, that scenario has a lot of holes. A big one for me is that we haven’t found a trace of her and that’s surprising. When a woman leaves like that, she usually withdraws money from the bank or buys things like gas and food with a credit card,” Mitch said. “We couldn’t find anything like that with Sharon Meagher.”
“That raises another point. Sharon’s car was still parked at her house,” I said. “If she ran away, why didn’t she take her car?”
“Cars are sometimes easier to trace. Paying cash for tickets at a bus or train station might be more appealing to some women,” Mitch replied.
“Anything in the case file about the sheriff’s department pursuing the possibility she ran away?” Sam asked.
“None,” Mitch replied. “They believed the wife and children were washed overboard.”
“Can we get a copy of the case file?” I asked.
Mitch hesitated. “That would be problematic. You could try requesting it through the Ozaukee County sheriff.”
Sam shook his head. “No, that’s okay. I don’t want to focus on what happened in 1995. We already have a lot of that information.”
I nodded in agreement.
“Ready to move on?” Mitch asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Next up is Rose O’Ryan,” Mitch said, clearing his throat. “She's thirty-one and originally from Milwaukee. She served in the Marines as a 2nd Lieutenant in Afghanistan where she was a Combat Logistics Specialist. She led large supply convoys for the troops. She also received an honorable discharge. O’Ryan moved to Mystic Grove with her husband, who’s a lawyer, seven years ago. She's been a village trustee for four years. One local paper suggested she aspires to be village president. Finally, she works as a realtor at Danvers Realty.”
"What?" Sam and I said in unison.
"Yeah she works for the same firm as Larissa Meagher,” Mitch replied. “Rose O’Ryan also focuses on residential properties. Most of the Danvers realtors work from their homes. However, they do go to the office for meetings and holiday parties. So it’s likely that Larissa Meagher and Rose O’Ryan know each other.”
“No red flags on Rose O’Ryan?” I asked.
“None. She and her husband are both clean as a whistle,” Mitch replied. “The last profile is for Carol Robinson. She’s thirty-one, married, and originally from Chicago. Carol Robinson has been an EMT-paramedic for five years. Her husband is a firefighter. Again, no red flags.”
Sam and I jotted down some notes.
“Any questions?” Mitch asked.
I shook my head and looked up to find Sam doing the same thing.
“No, this is great work, Mitch. Thanks,” Sam said.
“Mitch, I’m going email you a request for research on one more person,” I said. “His name is MacKenzie Goodman. He’s a student at the university. I’m interested in any priors or violence in his past. Assault, battery, problems with the police.”
“Okay. How do you spell his full name?” asked Mitch and I spelled Mac’s first and last name for him.
“Send me the email, but I’ll go ahead and put this in the queue.”
“Thanks, Mitch,” I replied. The three of us chatted for a few minutes and then we hung up.
I tapped my notebook with my pen.
“What do you think?” Sam asked.
“I’m wondering what the heck Meagher was doing to bank that kind of money,” I replied.
“Yeah, me too,” he agreed. “Maybe Doc Marsden can shed some light tomorrow.”
I nodded. “I hope so, Sam.”
He smiled. “Buckle up, kiddo. Turn that frown upside down. We’re about to go down the rabbit hole on a new adventure.”
I laughed. “That’s what I’m afraid of!”
Chapter 13
At 10:00 a.m. the next day, Sam and I walked into the Purple Pig,
a bar and restaurant outside of Black Earth. After the cool morning air outside, the heat inside felt like a warm hug. I checked my phone and activated the voice recorder application. Sam and I agreed we didn’t want to do anything to spook Doc Marsden.
Inside the front door a long bar sat on the left wall and some tables lined up along the wall to the right. The open dining room was straight ahead. A large, stained glass, purple pig hung high from the ceiling, eight or nine feet over the pass through to the dining room. Knotty pine paneling covered the walls and the wooden floor was scuffed.
I quickly scanned the room. There weren’t many customers. An older man perched on a barstool talking to the bartender. A middle-aged man sat at one of the tables across from the bar, eating pancakes and bacon.
As we walked under the stained glass pig into the dining room, I noted a couple eating breakfast at one table and a man nursing coffee at another table. Doc Marsden sat at a table on the right with his back to the wall. He had finished eating breakfast and sipped coffee from a mug. Doc’s eyes locked on us.
We walked toward him. Marsden was fifty-five or so and looked fit. When we reached the table, Sam quietly said "blood oranges" and Doc rose to his full six feet. He wore a cowboy hat, flannel shirt, and jeans. We all shook hands and introduced ourselves. Then we sat down.
When a waitress appeared and collected Marsden’s breakfast dishes, Sam ordered herbal tea and I ordered coffee. I placed my cell phone on the table, behind the napkin holder. I hoped it would pick up our conversation with Marsden.
“I heard someone murdered Meagher. You’re looking into it? Doc asked. He had a gravelly voice.
Sam nodded. “We are. We’re working for a client who wants the killer found.”
“Good luck with that,” Doc replied.
“Why do you say that?” Sam asked sitting back as the waitress delivered our drinks and warmed up Doc’s coffee.
After she hurried away, Doc replied, “Nobody liked Meagher. There must be hundreds of people who wanted to kill him.”
“Anybody specific come to mind?” I asked, adding cream and sugar to my mug of mud black coffee. I took a sip and was surprised it tasted good.
Doc’s eyes slid to me. “No, I never kept a list.”
Sam sipped his tea and leaned in. “We know he had a bad temper, drank a lot, and pissed people off. We’ve also been told he liked to flash money around. It’s the money angle we’re interested in. Can you help us?”
Doc rested his forearms on the edge of the table. “I’ll share what I know with you, because I never liked the guy. But I don’t want my name used…ever. Agreed?”
Sam and I both nodded. “Agreed,” replied Sam.
“Meagher carried a roll of fifties and hundreds that he liked to flash. He also had a separate engraved money clip with twenties,” Doc said.
“Didn’t that make him a target for robbers,” I asked.
Doc shrugged. “He was mean and carried a gun. Nobody bothered him.”
"Any idea where he got the cash he flashed?" Sam asked.
“I know exactly where he got it,” Doc replied and took a long sip of coffee. This is like pulling teeth, I thought.
I glanced at Sam and he stared at Doc with a slight frown. “Where?” he asked.
Doc Marsden glanced at the almost empty dining room. Then he looked at us. “A year ago, when I still worked as a deputy sheriff, we had a meeting that included the community policing deputies. Meagher attended. After the meeting ended, I headed out to my truck and he walked up next to me. He asked if I wanted to grab a beer. Meagher said he had an opportunity that might interest me. It piqued my curiosity, so I said ‘Sure.’ We went to a bar downtown. After a few beers, he asked if I still played poker. I said I did. At the time, I played at the casinos and in some tournaments. Sometimes other deputies came with me.”
“Had he ever spoken to you before?” I asked.
“Over the years we had some interactions before or after meetings, but I kept them short,” Doc replied.
“What happened next?” Sam asked.
“Meagher asked if I'd like to play in a high-stakes traveling poker game. It was a big-bet mixed venue. He said they played a ten game mix with games like Pot Limit Omaha Flips, Very Crazy Pineapple, Pot Limit 2-7 Razz, No Limit Hold'em, 2-7 No Limit Single Draw, and so on. So it was a combination of different limit and no limit games. The blind structure and antes for each game were also different, of course.”
My eyes glazed over. They may have even rolled to the back of my head for a second. “What does that all mean?”
Doc smiled and ran a finger over his white, walrus mustache. “It means you need a lot of money to get in but can walk out with a lot more.”
“Did Meagher play in these high stake poker games?” I asked.
“He said he did,” Doc replied. “He mentioned they were always at night and he played in games that weren’t too far away.”
Sam asked, "Why'd he pick you?"
Marsden took a deep breath. "I’m a very good poker player. We had annual mandatory outings to build morale and all. A few times, we went to a casino. We all played poker at different tables and I was always the big winner. Meagher may have remembered that.”
My spidey sense told me Doc was holding out. "Are you sure that's it?" I asked and stared at him.
Marsden took a big gulp of coffee, put the mug down on the wooden table, and looked at us.
“Okay, I also came into a big inheritance and I had been waffling about retiring early. One night, I went out with a couple of the guys for drinks. I made the mistake of mentioning the money and that I was thinking about retiring. Word got around, I guess. This was right before Meagher approached me.”
"Did you go to the high-stakes game?" Sam asked.
Doc shook his head. "No. My gut told me to walk away.”
“Why? It sounds like it would have been easy money,” I said.
Marsden smiled. “Let me count the ways. It would have been illegal money and I didn’t want to worry about that. Connected guys often run the private, high-stakes traveling games and I didn’t want to get caught up in some federal raid. Finally, Meagher probably got a bounty for bringing in new blood and I didn’t want to help him out. It all added up to a bad situation so I told him I wasn’t interested.”
“How’d he take it?” I asked.
"He tried to pressure me. I told him I was a good player, but I played more for fun. Any big wins in a private game would just mean more taxes."
“Did he buy that?” Sam asked.
Doc shook his head. “He laughed and said the games he was talking about didn’t report any winnings to the government. He bragged that he easily made fifty grand or more a night when he played and never paid taxes. He assured me that I wouldn’t have to report anything to the IRS either.”
“What was his scheme?” asked Sam.
“Meagher said all I had to do was buy bitcoin with some of my winnings and store them in different online accounts,” Doc replied. “He cautioned me to not put all my eggs in one basket, though. Meagher offered to introduce me to people who buy and sell bitcoin all the time. To be honest, I didn’t really follow all of it. He offered to show me the ropes. Again, I declined.”
“Did you report him?” Sam asked. Doc Marsden barked out a short laugh.
“No I did not. Meagher was a dangerous man and I didn’t want him as an enemy. Besides, it would have been his word against mine. Reporting him would have been pointless.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because for all the times people had filed a report against Meagher, he was never disciplined. If I reported him, I would have lost one way or the other.”
Sam nodded. “I get it. It was a lose-lose situation.”
“Exactly,” Doc agreed.
"Weren’t you a little tempted to take easy, tax-free money?" I asked Doc.
Doc Marsden frowned. "Poker isn't easy. But no, I wasn’t tempted at all. The beauty of following the law is that I
get to sleep like a baby at night. I’m retired now and can spend time with my wife, kids, and grandkids without looking over my shoulder all the time. I plan to be around a good long time doing family stuff."
“Wise choice,” I agreed. There was a pause in the conversation.
“So Meagher's extra money was from unreported gambling winnings?” Sam asked.
"Yeah if he was telling the truth," Doc replied. "And I think he was."
“Was he a good poker player?” I asked.
Doc nodded. “On our outings to play poker at casinos, he was always the second biggest winner. I sometimes thought he underplayed, so he didn’t attract attention.”
“What do you mean?” Sam asked.
“I think he played good enough to come in second, but could have given me a run for my money,” Doc replied.
"Were there any rumors about him being a dirty cop?" I asked.
"On the take you mean? I heard rumors from time to time, but never any details. Again, he was in community policing. We didn't see him a lot."
“Doc, did Meagher give you any names of the people running the traveling games?” I asked.
He looked surprised. “No, no names.”
“Game locations?” Sam asked.
“They’re traveling games, so obviously the locations change. He didn’t say anything about specific addresses.”
“Anything else you can think of that might help us find the killer?” Sam asked.
Doc thought for a minute and then shook his head. “No, that’s all I got. Hope it helps. But again, keep my name out of it.”
“You have our word,” Sam said.
We shook hands, thanked him, and left the Purple Pig. I turned off the voice recorder and pocketed my phone.
***
When we walked into the office, Neville sat at the reception desk staring at his computer. Flip ran to meet us at the door. Sam and I both greeted Neville.
“Morning,” he replied standing. “I added those profiles to the case file.”
“Great. Any problems?” I asked.
