“Hey guys, you know I love you and I really appreciate the company, but I don’t want you to worry about me. I have no interest in joining Lisa in heaven, at least not for a very long time. I’ll be fine. Just give me some time.”
“Well of course, of course,” his parents had said, almost in unison. But Tony could see the relief in their faces.
The truth was, it did help when they were there. It helped just to know they were coming. He was especially impressed that Rita made the effort to join them on several weekends. Tony knew she had a full plate now that she had left her first job and was back in school, pursuing a PhD in music at the University of Chicago. It couldn’t have been easy for her to make the trip to Orney. In any case, Tony was grateful. His family’s visits gave him something to anticipate and plan for nearly every week. He tried hard to find interesting things for them to do as a family, primarily for his sister’s sake.
Tony assumed Rita found most of his excursions lame. Visits to the nature center, a tour of the railroad museum, and shopping at the antique mall were not activities high on a young woman’s bucket list. However, Tony had managed to wow her on the most recent visit, the week before last. Without any advance notice, Tony had driven them to the racetrack east of Orney. It was a quarter-mile dirt track used for stock car racing. The Orney Races had been a feature of Friday nights for many summers.
When they arrived, a large, heavyset man in coveralls was there waiting for them. More importantly, Number 24 was there. Sponsored in part by Ben and the Town Crier, Number 24 was a late-model Dodge, deconstructed and rebuilt as a bona-fide racecar. Tony knew nothing about the engine, or suspension, or fuel, or even its top speed. He only knew three things: it was loud, it was equipped with roll bars and all the latest safety gear, and it was available for his family members to drive.
The fact that the paper was a sponsor undoubtedly helped, but the man in coveralls, Del Peterson, was the key. He was the chief mechanic on the car’s team. Del’s day job was working to maintain heavy equipment for the county road crew, such as road graders and dump trucks. However, his passion was building and tuning this car’s racing engine and every other piece of its performance equipment. He had the car positioned on the track and held a helmet in his hand when the Harringtons arrived. When Del handed the helmet to Rita and asked if she would like to drive it, she squealed with delight. For the next two hours the family had oohed and aahed and laughed and high-fived as each of them drove the car in turn. Rita was still talking about it as the three of them parted to return to their respective destinations the next day.
***
Of course the most important person in Tony’s life during the difficult days was Doug. Like a loyal puppy, Doug was there, full of energy and determination, and pulling on the leash, saying “Let’s go. Let’s go.” Several times throughout the week, Doug would show up in the newsroom at dinnertime and take him for pizza or call him at lunchtime to see if he was nearby, asking if they could meet at Willie’s for lunch. Doug never lectured him, never questioned him, and never pulled him beyond where he was ready to go. Doug was just there. The perfect friend, Tony had to admit.
Tony folded the paper and dropped it in the recycle basket next to his desk. Despite his dread of the empty house, he decided to call it a night.
***
The harsh sound of his cell phone once again woke him from a deep sleep. I absolutely have to take the time to change the ring tone, Tony thought as he fumbled for it in the dark.
“Harrington?”
“Rich? Is that you? Again? You do realize there are two 3 o’clocks in a day, right?”
“Sorry pal, but trust me. You’re going to want to see this. Ten minutes.” The phone went dead.
Once again, Tony was ready and waiting in front of his house when Rich Davis pulled up in his state-owned sedan. Tony had gulped down a glass of milk and had a bagel in one pocket, a diet soda in the other. As he climbed in the passenger door, he didn’t wait to ask, “What’s up?”
Davis didn’t hesitate. “Denny Peters is dead.”
Tony was stunned. After a long pause, he asked, “Deputy Sheriff Denny Peters?”
“Yep. An apparent suicide.”
“Suicide? Jesus Lord. Suicide. Really?”
“Well, I’ve been around the block a few times and that’s what it looks like to me,” Davis said.
“Rich, you know I appreciate the call, but I have to ask. Why would you take time out to call me and bring me in on this if you’re convinced it’s a suicide? Usually those things are treated very privately. In fact, why are you involved at all?”
“Well, Tony, let’s just say the suicide is only part of the news. Uh-uh…hold your questions,” Davis said, holding up his right hand. “Let’s just say we’ve learned some things about Deputy Peters this morning that surprised us. It turns out we may have made a mistake, a colossal mistake, and we’re going to need as fair of coverage from the press as possible. My bosses and I agreed that if we brought you in early, and gave you the breaking story exclusively, maybe it would help keep the focus on the real crime and not have this turn into a roasting of the DCI.”
“What does that mean?” Tony asked, with a bit more exasperation in his voice than he intended.
“You’re about to find out,” Davis said, as he turned the sedan down the street on which Denny Peters had lived.
As they pulled up to the curb and scrambled out of the car, Tony first noticed how serene the scene was. No flashing lights, very few cars. Only a couple of uniformed officers were in the front yard of the modest ranch home which mirrored dozens of others in the neighborhood. Built in the ’50s, it was the kind of place you could buy for less than $100,000 in Orney, which made it affordable for people on the public payroll. The lack of commotion typically found around a death scene was evidence of how hard they were trying to control the publicity.
Tony then saw the director of the DCI standing on the front porch. Even with Davis’ comments fresh in his ears, the director’s presence shocked him. Unless by some strange coincidence the director had been nearby already, it meant officers had been working this scene for at least two hours. More to the point, it meant someone early on the scene had realized immediately some magnitude of crisis and had called the DCI without waiting for approvals from up the command chain. Normally, getting the DCI on the scene took hours, and the director would be the last to be called. In fact, Tony realized he couldn’t remember a case where the director had ever been called to the scene of a violent death. Suddenly Tony couldn’t wait to get inside. He was very glad his Nikon was slung over his shoulder and his pad and pen were in his pocket.
As Tony and Davis approached the house, DCI Director William Vandergaard stepped down from the porch and met them in the front yard. He didn’t look like the state’s leading crime official. He was about Tony’s height and had a head full of bushy red hair and pale skin typical of people of Dutch heritage. There were several communities in Iowa founded by Dutch immigrants and were fiercely proud of being Dutch. Many families in those communities stretched back several generations. Tony couldn’t remember from which one of these towns Vandergaard hailed, but he remembered it was one of them. Vandergaard looked, Tony realized, a little like the funny uncle you looked forward to seeing entertain everyone at your birthday party. He shook Tony’s hand, introducing himself and saying, “We appreciate you getting out of bed for us, Mr. Harrington.”
“It’s no trouble,” Tony said. “Please, call me Tony, and no thank-yous are necessary. Rich knows I appreciate the opportunity to get the story early and get it right” (which they both knew meant “get it first and get it exclusively”).
“So what’s going on?”
“In a moment,” Vandergaard said. “First, let’s talk about some ground rules. Can we begin with a conversation off the record?”
Uh-oh, Tony thought, but tried to be patient and agreed to hear him out. Vandergaard must have sensed Tony’s uneasiness. He said, “Let’
s think of this more as a negotiation.”
Davis suddenly interjected, “Would you like me to step away, director?”
“No, Mr. Davis, please stay,” Vandergaard said. “It’s a good idea to have a witness to what Mr. Harrington, uh, Tony, and I agree.” Davis nodded and Vandergaard continued, “Tony, I’m willing to take you into the crime scene. I call it that only because, as you probably know, suicide is classified as a crime in Iowa. You’ll have a chance to see everything we found, just as we found it, except the body of course. The deputy has been removed, and I have the suicide note in an evidence bag in my briefcase, but everything else is exactly how we found it. We will allow you to take pictures and afterward we will follow you down to your office and allow you to photocopy the suicide note. I want to assure you what you’re about to see is going to be a very big story, and it’s going to answer some questions that I’m told you’ve been asking.”
Tony was nearly coming unglued from curiosity, but managed to say, “And for all this you want what?”
“Let me finish with what I’m offering first. Lastly, I’m willing to do everything in my power to embargo this story until noon today, giving you a chance to get it on the Crier’s website before the other media has it.”
Tony nodded, but said, “I know that’s a generous offer, but the Crier’s website is read by about a dozen people, and that includes four guys who live in their moms’ basements. I really need an embargo until after the 6 p.m. news. The broadcast media will still beat us at 10, but at least the morning paper won’t be eighteen hours behind the story.”
Looking thoughtful, Vandergaard said, “Five p.m. is the very latest I can promise. We’re trying to manage the media here and I can’t have them all hating me before we even get started.”
“Okay, I’ll have to live with that. Now what else did you want?”
“First the obvious. You must promise not to touch anything inside. There’s going to be enough criticism of this case without problems associated with contaminating the scene.” Tony nodded and Vandergaard continued, “Equally important, and I want you to know I’m sincere in this, what I want most is fair treatment. The DCI was another victim here and not a perpetrator. You’ll see that clearly. I just want your assurances you’ll look at the facts and focus the story on what was done to us, and not what we did unwittingly.” Vandergaard’s voice rose almost to pleading as he said, “We were fooled by a very clever criminal. While I’ll regret that for the rest of my career, I don’t want anyone to blame the fine men and women of the DCI who work hard every day to see that justice is done.”
“Well,” Tony said, “If I can get a quote like that from you for my story, it will go a long way toward creating some sympathy for your position, whatever the he…heck that is. But to get to the point, I’m assuming I’m here because Rich has told you that you can count on me to get the facts straight and to treat you fairly without having to bargain for it. So why don’t we go inside and let me get started?”
“Tony, please,” Vandergaard held out his hand. “This was a negotiation and I want your answer regarding the terms.”
Tony shook his hand once, uttered a terse, “Yes,” and headed for the front door. He was thinking the theatrics unnecessary, but he knew enough psychology to understand why Vandergaard had put him through it. After that formal handshake, Vandergaard knew, as Tony knew, that Tony would move Heaven and Earth to make sure he got this story right.
At the front door, a uniformed Orney police officer and a plain-clothes DCI agent blocked his entry. Vandergaard came up behind him and with a simple nod, the guards stepped aside and let them enter. The front door led directly into the living room, with the dining room to the right and kitchen behind it. A hallway straight ahead led to the bedrooms at the back on the left. Tony paused to look around, but Vandergaard nudged him and pointed over his shoulder at the hallway. “In there,” he said.
Tony walked through the arched doorway and turned left into the first bedroom. It looked like a scene from a bad movie about a serial killer. There was no bed. A small table was in the center of the room with an older personal computer and not much else. On the floor beside the table was what appeared to be a photo album lying on its spine with the pages open. Dangling behind the table was the loose end of what looked like electrical cord. Tony quickly followed the cord up to the ceiling where it had been tied to a light fixture.
He pieced it together in an instant. He assumed the deputy had stepped on the table, tied the cord around his neck and jumped off, kicking the photo album to the floor as he did so. Later, someone, presumably the police or the medical examiner, had cut down the body.
Tony knew these were all assumptions he would have to ask about later, but for the moment his attention moved past all of that and focused on the walls…walls which were covered by large photographs of women.
No, wait. Tony realized every one of the photos papering the walls of this room was of the same woman. All appeared to have been taken without the woman’s knowledge. Photos of her on downtown sidewalks, shopping in stores, hanging her laundry on an outdoor clothesline on what appeared to be a farm, walking her two girls across the street…her two girls.
“Holy Mother of God,” Tony said aloud as the blood drained from his face. Every photograph was of Anne Ennis.
Deputy Sheriff Confesses to Murders in Suicide Note
Dennis Peters Found Dead in his Orney Home Friday Morning
Tony Harrington, Staff Writer
ORNEY, Iowa – In a suicide note found on a computer at the scene of his apparent suicide, Quincy County Deputy Sheriff Dennis “Denny” Peters described in detail how he stalked and murdered Anne Ennis and her husband Jerry in their rural Orney farmhouse 20 months ago. The deputy also described how he meticulously planned and carried out the crime in order to frame Ralph Adam Wells of Orney as the perpetrator.
Wells was convicted of the double murder in a District Court trial held in Orney a year ago. He is currently serving two life sentences at the State Penitentiary at Fort Madison.
In the suicide note, Peters said he loved Anne Ennis and had stalked her for months prior to killing her. “I couldn’t bear the thought of her living with another man,” the note states. Peters does not say how his obsession with Anne Ennis began or if he even knew her personally.
Peters’ home was filled with more than 100 photographs of Anne Ennis as she went through her normal daily routines. A digital camera, with the photographs still stored in its memory, was found in a desk drawer near Peters’ body.
The confession apparently was written on a personal computer on a desk in the room where Peters killed himself. While the note was printed and left on the computer printer on Peters’ desk, it was also left on the computer screen.
DCI Agent Richard Davis said Peters apparently died of asphyxiation late Thursday night as the result of hanging himself in his home on Polk Avenue in Orney. However, Davis said that is a preliminary finding and the official cause of death will come later from the county medical examiner.
Peters’ body was discovered by a neighbor around midnight when the man got out of bed to get a drink of water and spotted the shadow on the window shade of Peters’ home. While asking not to be named, the neighbor said, “It was just obvious what I was seeing. I didn’t even go over there. I just called 911 right away.”
Davis led the original murder investigation for the DCI and was one of several investigators who testified against Ralph Wells in his murder trial. When asked about the contents of Peters’ suicide note and home, Davis commented, “Let me say first of all, every piece of evidence and every word of testimony given at Mr. Wells’ trial was factual. The DCI prides itself in bringing facts, not opinions, to the court. Likewise, make no mistake, the DCI will investigate just as thoroughly everything we have found related to Deputy Peters’ apparent suicide. If the evidence and the facts bear out the claims in the suicide note and demonstrate that Mr. Wells indeed was framed by the deputy, we will not
hesitate to support Mr. Wells’ attorney in asking the court for relief for his client.”
Defense attorney Lawrence Pike, upon learning of the contents of the suicide note, said, “As I’ve said publicly for more than a year, I’ve always believed Ralph was innocent of this terrible crime. I will be praying for the investigators to finish their work quickly so Mr. Wells can be returned to his family where he belongs.”
In the suicide note, Peters apologized to Wells for framing him. He said he no longer could live with himself, thinking of a man serving life in prison for a crime he (Peters) had committed. He then apologized to his parents and siblings for any pain he caused them and for being “…too much of a coward to face the music in this life.” Peters was not married and lived alone.
A clerk at the County Sheriff’s Department said Sheriff George Mackey would have no comments at this time about the deputy’s suicide or about any aspect of the Wells case.
Attorney General W. Rodney Nelson, the lead prosecutor of the case for the state, also declined to comment. Nelson currently is running for governor of Iowa on a platform that features a law and order theme.
The note described how Peters had gone to an Orney tavern where Wells was playing pool on the night of the murders. “His car was parked in the alley parking lot, so I knew he was in there,” Peters wrote. He went on to say he entered the back door of the tavern, waited until Wells was between pool games, and then motioned for him to join him in a small party room at the back of the establishment. Peters then engaged Wells in conversation, he wrote, and slipped sleeping pills in Wells’ drink. Once Wells passed out, he pushed him under a table in a row of booths in the unused room.
Peters said he then drove Wells’ car to the acreage rented by the Ennis couple. After parking in a grove of trees near the home, he took the yellow jacket and .22 caliber rifle from the trunk of Wells’ car. He wore the jacket and used the rifle to kill the couple.
Burying the Lede Page 19
