by Nat Williams
It was odd. She quit smoking eight years ago. She had gotten to the point where she never craved cigarettes. Didn’t even think about them. But here she was, fantasizing about tapping on a tight pack until a Doral popped out, then easing it all the way out, placing it between her lips, pulling a lighter out of her purse and getting immediate relief from the hell she was going through. Sure, it would have been a temporary fix – about ten minutes, if that long. But it would have been an oasis in this desert of depression.
It seemed like the cops had been there forever, but it was only about an hour or so. Apparently, they found some things they were looking for. They headed toward the squad cars with plump goodie bags that had been skinny an hour ago.
As she walked back in, Bachelor gave her an empathetic look.
“You’ll get a list,” he said.
“Yeah. Well, that’s really good of you.”
“I’m sorry,” Bachelor said. “I really am. I can’t imagine …”
She slammed the door in his face and immediately felt guilty. Her beef wasn’t with the Gilbert County Sheriff’s Office. It was with … well, pretty much everything in her life. Her parents were dead, the victims of a violent crime. Her husband was in jail, accused of killing them. The fact that the orchard was virtually in its death throes almost seemed inconsequential. But, of course, that wasn’t the case. That, too, was very consequential.
At least there was Obie. He was the one person who understood what she was going through.
CHAPTER 54
It was a Wednesday morning that was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortably warm, even at 9 a.m. Television news vehicles fitted with satellite antennae sat parked in front of the Gilbert County Courthouse, flanked by those of newspapers and radio stations.
Vernon Hilliard was on the landing in front of the courthouse steps, standing behind a lectern fitted with a bank of microphones. Flanking him were Bachelor, Cherokee Camp Chief of Police John Francis, Wendell Brown of the Illinois State Police and Munro.
Hilliard, Bachelor and Munro had decided to include the FBI agent in the press conference. Bachelor had earlier discussed Munro’s role with Hilliard, his deputies and the State Police.
It may have helped Hilliard to finally pull the trigger on the murder charges. He took a folded piece of piece of paper out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket, placed it on the lectern, then tapped the mic.
“Following a joint investigation conducted by the Gilbert County State’s Attorney’s Office, the Gilbert County Sheriff’s Office, the Cherokee Camp Police Department and the Illinois State Police, at 4 p.m. Tuesday, August 13, David Purcell was arrested and charged with the murders of Dr. Elmer Van Okin and his wife, Norma Van Okin.
“We believe we have solid evidence that Mr. Purcell had the means, motive and opportunity to commit the crime. I would like to thank representatives from all the law enforcement agencies represented here. That includes the FBI, which served in a supporting role. We’ll take a few questions.”
There was an immediate response from the journalists, who eagerly raised hands and shouted questions. Hilliard pointed to a reporter from WLLE, the CBS affiliate based in Coleton.
“What is the connection between Purcell and the Van Okins?” Christie McKenzie said.
“He was their son-in-law,” Hilliard replied.
The clamor increased. He pointed to a stringer with the St. Louis Post-Dispatch.
“Can you share some of the evidence?”
“One of the great things about this case is that we not only have evidence, but we have several types of evidence,” Hilliard said. “That includes circumstantial, forensic and testimonial. In other words, we conducted this investigation thoroughly, not being satisfied with hunches or intuition. It is solid evidence that we believe will result in the Mr. Purcell’s conviction.”
“What, specifically, do you have?” another reporter shouted.
“We’re not prepared at this time to divulge the details of the investigation.”
Hilliard pointed to a print reporter holding a voice recorder.
“Are there any more suspects? Or do you believe Purcell acted alone?”
Hilliard motioned for Bachelor to answer.
“We’re convinced that he acted alone.”
Another hand, another question.
“How is the FBI involved in this case?”
All eyes tracked Munro, who calmly strolled to the podium.
“We served in a consulting role in this investigation because it dovetailed with an FBI probe.”
“The FBI was investigating Purcell? For what?” another reporter shouted.
“The investigation is ongoing. I can’t divulge any details at this time,” Munro said. “But it does involve the suspect.”
Hilliard elbowed his way in front of the mic.
“That will be all. We will be announcing another press conference in the next couple of days. Thank you.”
The public address system was turned off and the buzzing journalists began to disperse. A couple of Cherokee Camp cops fended off stragglers intent on asking more questions.
“How do you think it went?” Bachelor asked Hilliard as they walked into the courthouse, leaving the media scrum behind.
“Good,” Hilliard said. “We did exactly what we needed to do. Announce the arrest, provide minimal details and leave them wanting more. Now it’s time to work on the more.”
Bachelor understood. Now came decisions on how much information to release, when to release it and – most importantly – what was the best strategy for the trial. Bachelor had handed the baton to Hilliard. Now it was Hilliard’s race. That’s the way the game is played. He would run the final lap.
“I appreciate you helping out,” Hilliard said to Munro.
“I’ve never been in a backup role like this before,” Munro said. “It feels odd. But also satisfying.”
Bibb, who was hanging around, asked Munro a question the media and others did not get a satisfactory answer to.
“No offense, but how did you fit into all this? I mean, I know about the investigation and all, but do you think that will be allowed in court?”
Munro deferred to Hilliard.
“Maybe not,” Hilliard said. “Doesn’t matter. The idea has been planted in the public arena. And that public arena includes potential jurors. Even if the judge rules the FBI’s case isn’t relevant and may be prejudicial, it will always be in the back of their minds.”
“Can’t hurt; might help,” Bachelor chimed in.
CHAPTER 55
Janet Purcell was arguing with a uniformed officer at the Gilbert County Jail. She was demanding to see her husband.
“Visiting hours are Thursday and Sunday,” said the cop, who sat on the other side of a Plexiglas window.
“But my husband has just been arrested. I have to talk to him.”
The guard picked up the phone in his booth and feigned an official call, as Bachelor had instructed him to do. He then hung up and addressed Janet.
“I couldn’t get hold of anybody,” he lied. “But I’m going to make an exception.”
He pointed to a door on her right. “Someone will take you to the visiting room.”
There was a loud clack of an electronic lock being released. Soon, Janet was face to face with her husband. Face to face, that is, with a bulletproof window separating them and dual telephones that they would use to communicate. They both picked up a phone.
“What’s going on, David? What the hell did you do?”
“This is all a mistake,” David said. “I don’t know how this happened, but I can’t do anything about it while I’m sitting here. You have to be my voice. You have to help me. I know I’ve not been behaving well lately. I’m so sorry. You’re suffering, but so am I. I know it’s not the same, but I loved your parents. You know that. I didn’t do this. Please help me. Please.”
Janet’s stoicism faded. She started to tear up.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Ideally, I’d like to get in touch with Lips, but that’s not gonna happen.”
Craig Lipscomb was a lifelong friend of David’s. Handsome and intelligent, he was a running buddy and fellow skirt chaser in high school. And a very successful defense attorney who was climbing the ladder at a prestigious St. Louis law firm. Unfortunately, he was just beginning a hush-hush stint in rehab, weaning off an addiction to opioids prescribed following an injury sustained in a pickup basketball game. The partners liked his talent, so they rolled the dice and kept him on as an associate with a maintenance-level salary while he dried out. Purcell knew that, meaning he knew Lips wasn’t available.
“You need to call John Skyles,” he told Janet.
“John Skyles?
“I met him once. It was at a conference in St. Louis. He spoke at one of the sessions. Liability in an agritourism operation, or something like that. Anyway, I thought it was interesting. I caught up with him at the bar that evening. I think they had an open bar. We hit it off pretty good. He was telling me how he got a client off a cocaine possession charge because of grammar.”
“Grammar? What are you talking about, David?”
“The cop pulled him over on a routine traffic stop. A license plate light out or something. The cop asked if the guy minded if he searched the car. The driver says, ‘Yeah,’ or something like that. So the cop searches the car, finds some coke and arrests the guy. He hires Skyles to defend him.
“In court Styles owns the state’s attorney. He said that when the guy said yeah, he was actually saying he did mind if they searched his vehicle. After all, if someone asks you if you mind something and you say yes, that actually means you don’t want him to. Skyles even called the guy’s high school English teacher to the stand. She testified that the defendant was an excellent student and, in her opinion, he would have taken the question literally. So Skyles gets him off on a technicality. The search wasn’t valid.”
“You want me to get this lawyer?” Janet said.
“Yes, I want you to get me that lawyer.”
“Any idea how much he’s going to ask to represent you?’
David frowned.
“You know, I’m not getting a sense of loyalty from you. I hope I’m wrong. But I’m here in an ugly jumpsuit and you’re out there free, in hip-hugger jeans and a T-shirt. You look pretty hot, by the way. Please get hold of him. This is a mistake.”
Janet glared at her husband.
“But they’ve charged you with murder. They couldn’t do that if they didn’t have some evidence.”
“Janet, I know I’m not a perfect man. You know that better than anyone. But look me in the eye.”
Janet’s head was bowed.
“No, I mean it,” David said. “Look me in the eye.”
She did.
“I did not kill your parents. I swear to God. I swear on the graves of your parents. I swear on the graves of my parents. I did not do this. You have to believe that.”
“But like I said, they have to have something on you. What is it?”
“They wouldn’t tell me.”
“They wouldn’t tell you?” Janet said, incredulously.
“I asked for a lawyer.”
“You lawyered up? Why, if you didn’t have anything to do with it?”
David exhaled loudly.
“I felt … trapped. I didn’t know what was going on. I know I didn’t murder anyone. It felt like a movie, or a dream or something. How would you feel?”
Janet considered that. How would she feel? She began to empathize with her husband. He was a dick. But was he a murderer?
“I’ll see what I can do,” she said. “I need to get going.”
They pressed hands against the glass. Janet grabbed her purse, motioned to the guard to open the door and walked away from her husband. He looked small and unthreatening as he sat there in his orange jumpsuit. Nothing like the violent drunk who assaulted her not long ago.
CHAPTER 56
The Next Day
“Did you get hold of Skyles?” David Purcell asked.
He was in his new threads, an orange jumpsuit with an advertisement on the back courtesy of the Gilbert County Sheriff’s Department. Janet sat on the other side of the glass in the visitation room.
Bachelor had made a point to allow Janet frequent visits to the jail. He understood that her presence would more than likely help the case, maybe getting David to open up more.
Janet looked at her husband with no expression.
“It’s no good, David. He doesn’t work for free.”
“I didn’t expect him to. But you know, you get what you pay for.”
“We can’t afford him.”
“What do you mean?”
“David, he’s not going to touch a case like this for less than fifty thousand dollars. Up front.”
David looked as if someone ate his piece of birthday cake or stole his Christmas presents.
“You mean, he has to have it all in advance? All of it?”
“All of it. And that’s just the retainer. The total bill could be double.”
His lips tightened, as they always did when he was deep in thought.
“We’ll have to figure out how to raise the money somehow.”
Janet shook her head, incredulous.
“You know as well as I do - actually probably not as well as I do, since I take care of the books – that we don’t have that kind of money. Have you forgotten what’s been going on? Poor harvests. Tanking sales because we didn’t position ourselves to take advantage of the new realities of the tree-fruit industry in southern Illinois. Fire blight. Debt. We’re losing money hand over fist. And we can’t borrow any.”
David didn’t have any leverage to use in an argument. He was now at the mercy of Janet’s grace. Did she have any left, or had he peeled it all away?
He looked around, nervously.
“I’m sure they’re recording this conversation. I need to talk to a lawyer. They can’t record a conversation with a lawyer. I have something I need to say. In confidence.”
“David, if you’re innocent, there’s no reason you can’t tell me. Anyway, I don’t think they’re recording anything. This is Gilbert County, not Cook County. Plus, they’d probably have to have a notice or something. You know, a sign saying conversations are recorded.”
“I need a lawyer. And not some court-appointed pimply-faced kid fresh out of law school.”
“Maybe you need a priest.”
His eyes narrowed as he glared at Janet.
“I’m not feeling a lot of love here.”
“Well, I wasn’t feeling a lot the other night in the kitchen.”
He hung his head.
“You don’t have any choice. You’re going to have to bite the bullet and have a lawyer appointed,” Janet said. “And it won’t be some inexperienced kid. I’m sure, in a case like this, you’d get someone who knows what he’s doing.”
She put on a face that conveyed some compassion. At least, that’s how David spun it in his mind.
“David, if you’re innocent, there’s no reason you can’t tell me.”
“OK. I’m not exactly … innocent. I mean, I didn’t kill your folks. But your dad and I were working on something not entirely legal.”
“What does that mean?”
David blew air forcefully from his mouth.
“We were shaking down the government.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
David told her about the Medicaid scam he and her father had been running. How they defrauded the system by using migrant workers from the orchard who unwittingly played the role of patients of Dr. Van Okin’s, whose clinic billed Medicaid for nonexistent office visits, lab tests, prescriptions and medical appliances such as casts and back braces.
The scam touched not only Dr. Van Okin, but also – to a lesser extent - a pharmacist, a chiropractor, a nurse practitioner and a nursing home executiv
e. And, of course, the proprietor of Purcell Orchards.
Janet was flummoxed. She seemed close to pulling her hair, which was already thinning due to stress.
“Why? Why would you do that?”
David looked down again.
“We weren’t the only ones with money problems. Your mother ….” David paused, seemingly overcome with emotion. “She was failing. He didn’t want her disease to be her legacy. But the disease led to a lot of this.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Your mom’s dementia didn’t come on all at once, you know. In the first couple of years she was losing it, but she could still function pretty well. She started going to the casino and got addicted to gambling.
“She racked up some pretty big bills. I mean, really big. The slots became her evil friends. Your dad couldn’t get anywhere with the credit card company. Hell, you know the casinos got cameras everywhere but the urinals, and I wouldn’t doubt if they may have a couple there too. She was losing heavily. He had to find a way to raise a lot of money in a short time. That’s when we came up with an idea.”
“We?”
“Well, yeah. I probably suggested it. I thought about how we could use the migrants to build up a nice fund. This state is pretty lax when it comes to oversight. Not much in the budget. He wasn’t proud of it – neither was I – but we both needed the money. It worked pretty good for a while.”
“But then the FBI got wind of it,” Janet said.
“That’s what a lot of this is about,” David said. “The FBI.”
“Dad never said anything about this to me.”
“Is that surprising? You know how much pride your dad had. He didn’t want to disappoint you.”
CHAPTER 57
David grabbed the arms of his chair, steeling himself. He took a long breath. This was the moment he had wanted to avoid. But he was out of options.
“Are you ready for some harsh truth?”
Janet moved her purse from her lap to the floor beside her chair. She stared straight ahead. Assuming it was a rhetorical question, she did not reply.
