“Peter Delaney. Pleased to meet you.” They shook hands.
“I hope the house is all right. If it needs anything, we’ll get on it right away.”
“No, the house is fine,” Gordon said. “But I did have a question about the pale blue house across the creek.”
She nodded. “The Duncan place. It’s cleaned out and ready for quick turnaround. And between us, I think they’d entertain any reasonable offer.”
“I’m not quite ready to buy yet, but I was wondering if you could tell us who’s living there now.”
She blinked and thought a moment before replying.
“I can answer that, but do you mind if I ask why you’re asking?”
Gordon looked at Peter, then back at Carla.
“Saturday morning I was fishing in the creek below the place where we’re staying. I looked up at the Duncan house and saw a young woman in a second-floor window watching me as I played a fish.”
He paused, unsure how to continue.
“Really,” Carla said softly.
“Really.”
“Now that’s interesting. Occasionally, we get a squatter in a vacant house, though that was a much bigger problem in the sixties and seventies. Haven’t heard of it happening lately. Could you describe this woman?”
“I only saw her for a second or two,” Gordon said. “She was young, blonde, fair and attractive. That’s about all I can say.”
“Hmm. I’m wondering if you might have seen something else — a moving drape, perhaps — and imagined it was a woman.”
“No, I’m pretty sure about it.”
“Then I don’t know what to tell you. The house has been vacant since May, and I personally took a prospective buyer through it yesterday. We went through every room twice, very slowly. There was absolutely no indication that anyone else had been in the house recently. Even the dust was undisturbed.”
MOONEY’S WAS AN ESTABLISHMENT based on the principle of diversification. Mooney had apparently figured that in a place the size of Dutchtown, you couldn’t make a living selling only ice cream; you couldn’t make a living selling only coffee; and you couldn’t make a living selling only keepsakes and souvenir items. But put them all together under one roof, and profitability might be an achievable, if elusive, goal. The sign over the door read “Est. 1995,” which meant Mooney had made it through three winters, the acid test for a business in a small mountain town.
Located at one end of River Street, Mooney’s had a back deck overlooking the beach and swimming hole on the Bellota. A flight of wooden stairs led up to the deck from the beach, probably adding 20 percent to the summer trade. By midafternoon, the temperature had risen to the low 70s, so Gordon and Peter joined Len and Gloria at a plastic table with four chairs on the deck.
“It went as well as I could have hoped,” Len said. “The editor interviewed me for 15 minutes, took a photograph, and said they’d run a story in Wednesday’s paper.”
“We both made sure to tell her to ask people to contact Len,” Gloria said. “We gave her his cell number.”
Gordon swallowed a mouthful of delicious lemon custard ice cream. “Did the editor think you’d get much response?”
“She held out hope,” Len said. “Wouldn’t you agree?” Gloria nodded, and he continued, “She said you never know what people might have squirreled away in the attic, or what they might know.”
“That’s very true,” Peter said. “When I was working the emergency room in San Francisco years ago, a fellow came in one afternoon. He’d been cleaning out his attic and came across his great-grandfather’s Civil War saber. It was absolutely beautiful.”
“How do you know that?” Gloria asked.
“Well, he set it down blade up, which probably wasn’t a good idea, then lost his balance, put his hand out to steady himself, and impaled the palm of his hand on the tip of the sword, which was razor-sharp after all those years. It was still attached to him when he came in. After I pulled it out, I took a minute to appreciate the heft and balance of it. You don’t see something like that every day.”
No one had an appropriate response, and after several seconds, Gordon tried to move the conversation back to the original topic.
“So what are you hoping for in the way of a response?”
“Anything would be better than what I have. Best not to hope too much, and take what comes along.”
“Marsha Gunn, the editor, had a couple of good ideas, though,” Gloria added. “She agreed that it was a shame that there’s so little information about Maria, owing to the newspaper office burning down. But she said it might have been a big enough story for a paper outside this area to write something about it. I’m going to make some calls tomorrow morning.”
“That’s not a bad idea. What, exactly, do we know for sure, about Maria at this point?”
“Maria Valdez was reputed to be a loose woman, which was probably true of every single woman in town back then. She stabbed a miner named Barney McManus for reasons unknown …”
“Had to be self-defense,” Len said. “I’m guessing he tried to force himself on her and she resisted.”
“And a few days later, she was hanged by being dropped or thrown off the bridge over Dutch Joe Creek. That’s about it. We know it happened in May of 1852, and you’ve seen the plaque on the bridge.”
Gordon looked down at the river. Upstream, almost out of sight, he could see Dutch Joe Creek running into it.
“I’m curious,” he said. “Does anyone know how Dutch Joe Creek got its name?”
“That we can answer for you,” Gloria said. “One of the founders and leading citizens of the town was a fellow by the name of Joseph Benkelman. He was one of three Dutchmen who got here first and helped give the town its name. They decided to name the creek after him and hired a sign painter to do a sign for the bridge.
“The first time he tried, the painter whiffed, putting two n’s instead of one at the end of Benkelman. The second time around, he spelled the name with an ‘le’ instead of an ‘el.’ If he made one more mistake, he’d be losing money on the job, so he took no chances and made the third sign read ‘Dutch Joe Creek.’ Benkelman was supposedly furious, but it caught on immediately with everybody in town, and that’s the way it’s been ever since.”
BACK AT THE HOUSE, Gordon cooked a dinner of grilled teriyaki chicken, pappardelle (bow-tie pasta) topped with parmesan cheese, and steamed broccoli. By the time they’d eaten the meal and washed the dishes it was just before seven o’clock. Peter announced he was heading out to his meeting.
“I thought it wasn’t until eight o’clock,” Gordon said.
“It’s not, but I haven’t had a chance yet to check out the town. I thought I’d take a leisurely walk around it before I head for the church.”
“Suit yourself.”
Peter put on his jacket, then stopped at the front door as Gordon was opening one of the two containers of legal documents.
“I’ve been meaning to say something,” Peter said. “When we stopped at the real estate office this afternoon, did you notice anything unusual about Carla’s behavior?”
“Other than she acted like I was nuts — no.”
“Well, I was watching the other agent, and when you mentioned seeing the woman in the second story of the house, she perked up a bit. I got the distinct feeling that it wasn’t the first time she’d heard of such a thing, and I thought Carla gave her a quick look before she told you there was nothing doing. A little too fast and a little too emphatically, I thought.”
“I didn’t get any of that.”
“It could be that my imagination was running a bit wild, but I think they know more than they were saying.” He opened the front door. “You may not be as crazy as you think you are, Gordon.”
And on that note, he left.
The trial transcript was in the second container Gordon checked. Even given the short duration of the trial, it seemed like a slender enough document. But having sat in on a trial or two in his f
ather’s chambers, Gordon knew that real trials don’t move along at the fast clip shown on TV and in the movies. There are long pauses between questions as attorneys shuffle through papers looking for a name or detail. There are delays between witnesses taking the stand. Witnesses take their time answering questions. There are recesses, consultations with the judge, and matters stricken from the official record (though not necessarily the minds of the jurors). Three hours of courtroom activity can sometimes be read in one hour, with little, if any, skipping.
Gordon sat on the edge of the couch, next to a good standing lamp, and began to read.
With Judge Richard Collingwood presiding, the trial started with an opening argument from District Attorney Bryce Williams. As the first murder trial in the county in decades, Williams was treating it as the crime of the century. He dwelt on the savagery of the attack on Connie Baxter in gruesome detail and spared no effort to paint Gary Baxter as a drunk, a ne’er do well, a spousal abuser and an overall blackguard. By the time he finished reading the speech, Gordon was ready to hang Gary Baxter, and he imagined the jury was feeling the same way.
Pope reserved his opening argument until the beginning of the defense’s presentation.
The first witness was Jane Smathers, the county dispatcher who took the 911 call from Gary. The tape of the call was played, and she confirmed its contents. DA Williams asked her if she had ever received a 911 call to that address, and she replied that she had, adding under additional questioning that it was usually one of the neighbors complaining about noise from a domestic dispute at the Baxter residence, and that a deputy was then sent over to restore peace.
Pope had no questions for the witness. Gordon raised his eyebrows. So far, Gary wasn’t getting any defense at all.
Gordon yawned and decided to get up and make himself a cup of tea. His cell phone rang as the water was coming to a boil.
“Hello.”
“Do I have the honor of speaking with Mr. Quill Gordon?” said the voice on the other end. It was rich, deep, theatrical, and somewhat slurred. “Basil Dill at your service.”
“Mr. Dill. Thank you for calling back.”
“Call me Basil, please. One doesn’t stand on formality in the theater.”
“Basil, then. I was wondering if you and I might get together in the next day or two to discuss the summer theater here.”
“I always have time to discuss the theater, especially when my writing has run into a wall, as it has recently. Could I inquire, then, what particular aspect of the theater you’re interested in.”
Gordon paused, to choose his words more carefully.
“I’ll tell you more when we meet, but I suppose I’m basically interested in discussing the interactions between the actors when they’re not on stage.”
“Ah, so it’s scandal and gossip you’re after, eh? I’m shocked. Shocked!” And with that, he laughed a deep bellowing laugh. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. I am an absolute repository of scandal and gossip. I’ll be happy to tell you everything I know, and some things I only suspect.”
“That sounds delightful,” Gordon said. “When can my friend and I meet you?”
“How about first thing tomorrow morning?”
“That’s great. Shall we say 8:30?”
There was a dead silence for several seconds before Dill spoke again.
“My dear boy, I said first thing in the morning, not the middle of the night. How about a more civilized hour? Say 11:30?”
“We can do that. Where shall we meet?”
“It might as well be my place. I have quite a few materials from our summer productions here, in case they might be of help.”
“That sounds great. And speaking of that, would you by any chance have a program from The Philadelphia Story?”
Dill laughed his deep laugh again.
“That was the year the printer got the order wrong and did a thousand more than he was supposed to. I have an entire box of programs here, and you’re welcome to half of them. Come to think of it, you can have the whole box if you want.”
THE NEXT WITNESS was Scott Burroughs, the sheriff’s deputy who first responded to the scene. Under questioning from DA Williams, Burroughs testified that he arrived to find a distraught Gary Baxter, reeking of alcohol, urine and vomit, and Connie Baxter on the floor, clearly dead. Burroughs said he calmed down Gary Baxter as much as he could and immediately radioed for a detective, the medical examiner, and an ambulance. He said he took Gary Baxter to the rear of the patrol car to get him away from the scene, and the DA continued questioning.
Q. You said you took Mr. Baxter to the squad car. Was this normal procedure?
A. It’s normal procedure to clear out the crime scene so it won’t be contaminated.
Q. Did you have any other reason for wanting to remove Mr. Baxter?
Pope: Objection, your honor. Calls for speculation on the part of the witness.
DA Williams: Your honor, the witness is a trained law enforcement professional. His understanding of what he saw on the scene is relevant.
Judge: I’ll allow you to continue, Mr. Williams, but you’re on a tight leash.
Q. Thank you, your honor. To repeat, Mr. Burroughs, did you have any other reason for removing the defendant?
A. At that point, by virtue of being on the scene, he had to be considered a possible suspect.
Q. Did you have any other reason for considering him to be a suspect?
Pope: Objection! Your honor …
Judge: Save it, Mr. Pope. I’ll stop things if they get out of hand.
Q. I repeat, was there any other reason for considering him a suspect?
A. I had been called to this house before because of complaints about arguments between Mr. Baxter and his wife.
Q. You said before. How often? Once? Twice?
A. I’d say three or four times.
The prosecutor asked several more questions about the details of the crime scene. Gordon didn’t understand their relevance and wondered if he was missing something or if the prosecutor was trying to impress the jury with attention to minor details. Finally, it was Pope’s turn to cross-examine.
Q. Deputy Burroughs, you said you had been called to the Baxter residence three or four times before, owing to arguments between Mr. Baxter and his wife. Did any of those calls result in an arrest?
A. Not that I can remember, sir.
Q. And on any of those calls, did you ever see evidence that Mr. Baxter had physically assaulted his wife?
A. Not that I recall.
Q. So would it be fair to characterize those incidents by saying that there was a loud argument with no assaults or injuries and that the parties involved calmed down afterward?
A. From what I remember, that would be pretty close.
Q. And how were you called to those incidents?
A. I’m not sure I understand the question.
Q. Did the Baxters call you themselves? Did someone else complain?
A. Oh, I see. I believe it was usually a neighbor’s complaint.
Q. Any particular neighbor, or several of them?
A. I seem to recall that on a couple of occasions it was Mrs. Schumer, who lives next door.
Q. And on the night of the crime, were there any calls to the sheriff’s department regarding an argument at the Baxter residence?
A. I don’t believe there were.
Q. So the first call came from Mr. Baxter himself?
A. As far as I know, it did.
Q. And on your previous visits to his home, had he ever been the one to call?
A. Not that I remember.
Q. So it would be fair to say that on the night Mrs. Baxter was killed, there was no evidence of an argument between Mr. Baxter and his wife before the call you responded to?
DA Williams: Objection! Leading!
Pope: I’ll withdraw the question, your honor. That’s all for this witness.
The people then called Detective Norm Stapenhorst, who responded to Deput
y Burroughs’ call for additional assistance. After assuring the judge that questioning could be completed before the end-of-the-day break, DA Williams led Stapenhorst through the sequence of events that culminated in Gary Baxter’s interrogation and arrest.
Stapenhorst described how after briefly interviewing Gary on the scene, he decided to take him to an interview room at the sheriff’s office, where they were joined by Sheriff John Ketch. Stapenhorst said Baxter was Mirandized as a matter of course and declined a lawyer, but that the interview wasn’t taped because at the outset they were simply looking for information. As the interview wore on, and Gary became more confused and contradictory, that, plus the Baxters’ history of fighting, led Stapenhorst and Ketch to believe Gary likely killed his wife. They began pressing him harder and harder, until he finally said, “I must have done it,” four hours into the interrogation. At that point he was arrested and asked for an attorney. The prosecutor led Stapenhorst through a description of the crime scene, the most interesting part of which was that Gary identified the hammer used in the murder as being his, and that hammer was found on the floor near Connie Baxter’s body.
At this point, there was a rattle at the front door, and Peter came in. Gordon looked at his watch. It was 9:10.
“How’s it going?” Peter asked.
“There’s a lot here. I’m trying to wrap my head around it.”
“Can I help?”
Gordon thought about it for a moment.
“I’m going to keep going for another hour,” he finally said. “If you want to be helpful, maybe you could put your fine medical education to work by digging up the autopsy report — it should be somewhere in those two containers — and seeing if anything in it gets your attention.”
“I’m on it.”
Gordon returned to the transcript. Pope was now beginning his cross-examination of the detective.
Q. Detective Stapenhorst, I want to return to the point of my client’s alleged confession. You testified he said, “I must have done it.” Is that correct?
A. Yes, it is.
Q. Are you sure he didn’t say, as he claims, “I guess I must have done it?”
A. I suppose it’s possible. We don’t have a tape.
I Scarce Can Die (Quill Gordon Mystery Book 5) Page 11
