“Ermeline, this isn’t easy to say. Victor Harrow was murdered last night. Shot to death.”
“Oh my stars!” cried Mrs. Armentrout. She reached and took her daughter’s hand.
“But why me?” Ermeline exclaimed, her voice anguished and frightened.
“Someone carved E-R-M in his forehead.”
“Oh, no!” she cried. “Charlie, on my honor I swear that wasn’t me!”
“Ermeline,” Charlie said softly. “Let’s have an agreement. Let’s have you not say anymore for right now. Is that okay?”
She sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Get Mommy a tissue,” she told Jaime, who climbed off the couch.
“No, son,” said Sheriff Altiman. “You wait right there. Please don’t anyone leave the couch until we’ve finished.”
“Okay,” the Sheriff told his deputy and the two cops. “Search the premises. Remember, we’re looking for a gun. And maybe a knife, which is doubtful.”
The men spread through the small house and began opening drawers, looking behind pictures, kicking aside rugs, and moving furniture, books, potted plants, lamps, knick-knacks, jamming their hands inside the pockets of clothing, turning boots and shoes upside down, and feeling across the top shelves of closets, spreading linens and sweaters on the lower. For the next thirty minutes Ermeline and her mother exchanged whispers and shed tears while the police went about their business. They made her open her closet safe. They counted the money inside and made notes. Then it was locked again.
Then one of the cops called to Sheriff Altiman.
“I think we’ve got something,” he said, excitement creeping in his voice. “But I’m afraid to move things around. Bring a stool.”
Sheriff Altiman picked up the kitchen stool and met the patrolman in Ermeline’s bathroom.
“Top shelf,” he directed. “On top the towels there.”
Sheriff Altiman climbed to the second rung and peered inside.
He recognized it immediately. A .38 caliber snub nose, affectionately known as a “Detective’s Special.” It was silver nickel plate, though most were gun metal in color.
“Somebody hand me an evidence bag,” Sheriff Altiman muttered with his head partly inside the bathroom wall closet. Someone else handed him latex gloves, which he snapped on. The evidence bag followed, which was nothing more than a plastic bag about the size of a woman’s purse, and across the top seal there was a writeable label. Sheriff Altiman withdrew a ballpoint from his shirt and wrote on the label, “Bathroom closet, top shelf. Sheriff Altiman.” With his gloved hand he then withdrew the pistol and carefully laid it inside the bag. He was careful only to touch it once, so that any fingerprints went undisturbed. Then he stuck his hand further inside the cubby and withdrew a ten inch switchblade. There were streaks of blood along the bone handle. “Gimme another bag.” A second bag was handed up and Charlie repeated the same process: into the bag, write the location of recovery, sign name of officer. He stuck his head all the way inside then, and shone his light around, going down shelf by shelf until he was once again standing on the bathroom floor. He switched off his flashlight. “Not good, boys,” he said to the deputy and patrolman who had made the find. “Not at all good.” He was speaking almost in a whisper, as if not to alarm the small family waiting in the living room. The search then continued inside the house.
Thirty minutes later they were finished. The evidence bags were removed through the back door; Ermeline, son, and mother never saw them. “No need to upset them anymore than we already have,” Sheriff Altiman told his assistants. “Mike, you take the seized items back out to Vic Harrow’s bus. The ISP crime lab is there. Please turn it over to them and ask them for the usual workup.”
“Will do,” said Officer Smith, who took custody of the two bags with the greatest of care and tore off in his patrol unit, lights flashing, siren silent. It was just after seven a.m. and the search was concluded.
Sheriff Altiman returned to the living room. “Mrs. Armentrout,” he said, “would you keep your eye on the little guy today? For a while, at least.”
“Why?” said Mrs. Armentrout, her hand at her throat protectively. “What is Ermeline going to be doing?”
Sheriff Altiman turned to Ermeline. “I wonder if you would put on your clothes and ride uptown with me? I’ve got a few housekeeping chores I need to do with you.”
“Am I under arrest?” Ermeline managed to say. Her mouth was dry; she had had nothing to drink since coming awake and her breathing had been frantic all the last hour. A cold bead of sweat had broken across her forehead and her pupils were constricted with fear.
Sheriff Altiman said nothing at first. Then, slowly, he nodded. “I’m afraid you are. I’m afraid I’m going to have to arrest you on suspicion of homicide.”
“Dear me!” said Mrs. Armentrout.
“Call Thaddeus,” was all Ermeline had to say. Her mother nodded she had heard and would do so. “Let me get dressed.”
Sheriff Altiman sat down on the couch to wait for Ermeline. He was certain she had no access to a weapon of any kind in the bedroom where she was dressing. They had searched every inch of it that morning—not once, but twice.
Ermeline reappeared, purse over her arm, and she told Sheriff Altiman she was ready. She hugged Jaime, kept the tears from flowing, and told him she would be back before he knew it. The little boy cried. This wasn’t how Christmas was supposed to go; he knew that for a fact. Sheriff Altiman looked away.
* * *
Thaddeus had been sitting in the Sheriff’s office while the account of the search and seizure was repeated, by the Sheriff himself. He was holding a Starbucks in one hand and writing furiously on a legal pad as the story was told. Finally, he looked up. “That’s it? Nothing else seized?”
Sheriff Altiman shook his head. “There was nothing else to seize.”
“And the gun and knife. They’re with the Illinois State Police crime lab as we speak.”
“They are. Officer Smith reported in on the radio. I’ll file the return on the search warrant tomorrow when the Clerk’s office opens.”
“Please let me see her now.”
“Thad, one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“She rode up to the office with me. In the front seat, no cuffs. We fingerprinted her, took her picture, and got her some coffee. She sat in my office while I filed out the arrest report. Then we put her in the women’s cell. No one else with her in there. She asked to be let out once, to use the restroom. Most important: we haven’t tried to statementize her. Nobody’s asked her a thing.”
“I appreciate that, Charlie. I’ll tell her what you’ve done. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
They led Thad to the cells along a narrow dark hallway, and opened a second door. Two cells were in a shorter hallway. It too was dark. Ermeline was in the cell on the right, half in and half out of a shaft of Christmas morning light pouring through the window. Her face was tear-stained and she was clutching an empty Styrofoam cup. The coffee was long gone. The cup shook in her hand. She gave out a small cry when the jailer opened the cell and Thaddeus entered. She leapt to her feet and threw both arms around his shoulders. “What is going to happen to Jaime?” was all she said. Then she was weeping uncontrollably. She soon stopped crying and sniffed hard, once, and half-smiled. “Help me.”
“I’ll make sure he’s okay,” Thaddeus responded. “If this goes on beyond today we’ll make sure your mom has temporary custody.”
“Who gets to decide that?”
“Judge Prelate makes the final decision. Actually he just rubber-stamps whatever recommendation is made by Naomi Killen over at DCFS. Department of Children and Family—“
“I know who they are. They helped me when Hector flew the coop and left me without a penny even for groceries. We ate that first week because of DCFS. I know June, too.”
“She’s a good lady. She’ll do the right thing for Jaime.”
Thaddeus took a
seat on the bunk opposite Ermeline’s bunk. They were actually concrete slabs embedded in the concrete walls, on which lay mattress pads, the kind that unroll, probably two inches thick. A folded army blanket covered the foot of each bed. On the far wall was a stainless steel toilet, no lid, with several sheets of toilet paper loose on the floor. He opened his iPad, fired up his litigation software, and started in.
“First off, do you know why you’re here?”
“They think I had something to do with Vic’s death.”
“Did you?”
“Did I kill Vic? Absolutely not. I swear it, Thad. On my mother’s name.”
“I’m sure, but I have to ask anyway.” He made a note on the iPad then again lifted his eyes. “Do you know anything about it at all? Anyone tell you anything? Any rumors at the Dome?”
“Nothing. I just heard of it this morning.”
“Have you seen or heard anything unusual in the last day or two?”
“Only Hector.”
“Tell me about that.”
“Hector came in the Silver Dome last night. He came over to my place after work. He was gone with I woke up this morning.”
“You’re not getting back together with him, are you?”
“Damn, no. He wanted to be there for Christmas. He paid me over six thousand dollars in past support.”
“Where’s that money?”
“In my purse, I guess. I didn’t look. They took my purse.” She indicated the front of the jail.
“Where would Hector have gotten six grand to pay you?”
“Working, I guess.”
“And you let him come over to your house? Did he sleep with you?”
“He slept on my bed. On top the covers while I was under. He never touched me the entire time. He didn’t see me naked, nothing.”
“What happened once you were in bed?”
“I went straight to sleep. I had just pulled a ten hour shift and was dead.”
“What did he do? If you know.”
“Went to sleep too, I guess. Like I say, he was gone by the time Charlie Altiman came.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“Unknown.”
“Do you have a number for him? Cell phone?”
“No. He was just gonna be there a couple hours this morning then leave. We didn’t trade numbers or anything.”
“What did you find out about him, anything?”
“He told me he was living in the Gulf of Mexico somewhere. Working for some company. Something about cleaning up oil spills.”
Thaddeus typed “BP?” in the margin of his notes, followed by, “Get BP records on Hector.”
“Let me change the subject just a little. Did you see Victor Harrow last night?”
“He hasn’t been back to the Dome since I got cut up. No, he wasn’t there last night, either.”
“You didn’t go out to his bus? Or even to his house, for that matter?”
“No and no. Like I said, I went straight home after work.”
“What time did you get off?”
She thought a minute. “Off at midnight. Left about 12:10, after the tills were counted. Everything balanced and so we left right away.”
“We?”
“Me, Bronco, and Bruce. But Bruce was in the package store mostly. It was just me and Bronco.”
“When did you first see Hector?”
“He came in the Dome. About nine or ten.”
“Did he talk to anyone?”
“I didn’t see him talking to anyone.”
“Did anyone else know he was there?”
“Well…Bronco told me he was there, he had seen him. No, that’s not quite right. Bronco told me someone was there who I might know. That was it.”
“Where was he when you first saw him last night?”
“At the end of the bar. Closest end to the front door. Drinking a tap Bud.”
“Was he talking to anyone?”
“Not that I saw.”
Thaddeus raised a hand. “Let’s get some coffee.” He called to the jailer, a frail-looking older gentleman wearing khaki jeans, boots, and a brown deputy shirt without any of the insignia, chevrons, badges, or other emblements that police wear. “So you’re the stripped down model,” Thaddeus said to the man as he unlocked the cell. Do you think we could get a couple of coffees in here?”
“What do you think this is, the Ritz?” the old gentleman said with a laugh. “I guess so. How do you take ‘em?”
Thaddeus and Ermeline gave their orders and the man shuffled off. “Nice thing about being in jail in a small town. Room service,” Thaddeus said jokingly, but Ermeline’s eyes filled with tears and she sobbed again. It was all too much and the reality hit her again.
“But you get to leave!” she cried. “How long do they plan on keeping me today? And what about Jaime and his Christmas? Am I just going to miss that?”
Thaddeus reached across and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Listen, Ermeline. There’s something else. The police found a gun and a knife in your house.”
“What?” she said incredulously. Her fists pounded the thin mattress. “Hector left those. He—he—planted them! I don’t have a gun!”
“That’s what I think too. That’s why I’m asking you all the questions about Hector. We need to prove he was inside your house.”
“My mom was asleep when we got there. I doubt if she ever saw him.”
“I doubt that too. But I think I see what’s going on.”
“Which is?”
Thaddeus and Ermeline stopped talking when the jailer returned with two steaming Styrofoam cups. “Charlie says with his compliments,” he said.
“Please tell Charlie we said thank you. And thanks to you, too.”
“Just whistle when you’re ready to leave.”
Ermeline gave a harsh laugh. “Does that include me too?”
The old man stopped on his way out. “I think you might be our guest for a while Ermeline. They booked you in when you got here.”
“Meaning?” She blew across the coffee cup. “What’s booked me in?”
“You’re being held now for something.”
“Will I get to go home today?”
“Better ask your lawyer about that.” The man disappeared out the door.
“What about that?” she asked Thaddeus.
“You’re being held on suspicion of murder one. Pending the result of fingerprint evidence on the gun and knife. The State crime lab has the gun and knife and they’re dusting them for prints. Probably also looking for DNA. At least on the knife.”
“That’s a relief. They won’t find my prints there.”
“Yes, that’s a relief. We need to keep that hope alive. That they’ll see you haven’t touched the weapons and decide there’s no reason to hold you.”
She shuddered. “How long will it take?”
“Crime lab evidence usually takes two weeks.” He looked down. He took a small sip of coffee.
“Two weeks!”
“Yes. Afraid so.”
“I’ll be locked up for two weeks?”
“We’ll have an initial appearance tomorrow before Judge Prelate. I’ll ask him to release you on your own recognizance. Meaning you would sign a bond and get out.”
“Will he allow that?” She sipped her coffee and made a face. “Instant.”
“He’ll probably want some security. Real estate or a cash bond. Something to ensure you show up for trial. Something to guarantee you don’t flee.”
“I’m not fleeing. This is where I live.”
“I know. But the system looks at it differently. It’s a statutory requirement that bail of some sort be posted in certain cases. Yours is one of those.”
They talked on for another thirty minutes about bail and the possibilities for release. Ermeline asked, at the end of it, “What about Jaime? Does he just stay with my mom?”
“I don’t see any reason why not. That would probably be the court’s first choice.”
“What’s the court got to do with it?”
“Ermeline, sometimes when a parent gets jailed and there’s no other parent around the court has to place the child.”
“Meaning?”
“They look for someone to keep the child while the single parent is being held. Locked up.”
“Well, my mom gets him. That’s a no-brainer.” She began weeping freely now. “Oh my stars,” she repeated over and over. “Oh, my stars.”
“We’ll know once I talk to the District Attorney. He’s the one who would bring a dependency petition for placement of Jaime. I’m sure he won’t want to file. He’ll just let your mom step in.”
“Thank goodness.”
“And there’s one more thing I have to ask.”
“What’s that?”
“Officially, do you want me to represent you in this case?”
“Absolutely. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“I’m just asking because you could probably get the public defender.”
“Why in heaven’s name would I do that? You’re my lawyer, Thaddeus. I chose you.”
“Well, when—and if—charges get filed tomorrow I’ll enter my appearance and a plea of not guilty. I’ll also file a motion for conditions of release and try to get you sprung from here.”
“That would be appreciated.”
“Okay, so we’ve got a lot of work to do. Now I’ll see if I can get you a TV or radio or something in here.”
“Not necessary. I don’t plan to be here that long.”
“I’ll ask anyway. Just in case.”
* * *
Thaddeus’ next stop Christmas morning was Killen’s home. The house itself was a ranch style of salmon colored brick and a red slate roof. It sat on a small hill, set back off Washington 300 yards, with no trees and no landscaping. The horses were fenced off by a white fence that encircled the entire ranch and then made geometric shapes, rectangles and squares, on the interior of the property. The closest they got to District Attorney Erwin’s house was twenty-five yards. The horses often were found close by, grazing along the nearest fences, in hope the Erwin kids would bring carrots and apples as they often did. Thaddeus pulled up on the east side of the house and parked just outside the three car garage. He entered through the garage and rang the doorbell.
The Defendants: Crime Fiction & Legal Thriller (Thaddeus Murfee Legal Thriller Series Book 1) Page 11
