Chapter Three
The black Dodge Charger turned off the two-lane highway onto a gravel lane and stopped in front of a relatively new looking green pipe gate. A large, white-on-red “NO TRESPASSING” sign was wired prominently in the middle of the sixteen-foot-long gate. A hundred yards away, three ghostly white outlines were still highly visible on the side of the old paint-bare barn. A metal chicken weather vane pointed to the northeast. Carter jiggled the padlocked chain. "We'll have to climb over the gate. Good thing you wore shorts and not a dress."
Kate grinned mischievously. "As sparse as traffic is out here, showing my panties for a minute wouldn't be a major problem. Unless you would be jealous if someone honked."
Carter smirked and shook his head good naturedly as he squeezed her butt cheek.
At the top of the slight, graveled incline, they stopped to survey the area back to the highway. The weed patch on both sides of the gravel lane had recently been mowed short from the barn to the three-strand barbed wire fence near the highway.
"The report stated there was only a sliver of moon shining the night the bodies were hung here," Kate said. "Visibility would have been almost nil this far from the highway. Unless someone was focused to the west side of the road, and also very observant, they would not have been likely to see anything out of the ordinary. And even if they had seen something, would they have grasped the significance of a person or people working in the dark? I doubt they would have even if they found it a bit strange."
Kate cocked her head and raised her hand for Carter to remain silent. "Hold that thought about the lack of visibility for a second. The two men were scheduled to be here months in advance and Estes was lured away from her office soon after the men arrived." Kate turned to Carter. "It seems to me the position of the moon was by chance. We need to check Barnstein's itinerary to see how long he was scheduled to stay in St. Louis. Bowers was booked in for five days. The killer's opportunity was limited by the shortest duration visit of the two men. Estes was a local and available anytime."
"Good point. The killer might not have had the luxury of picking a moonless night. He would have been forced to work with the opportunity presented to him," Carter agreed.
He motioned down the hill. "The gate is relatively new; it was probably installed later to keep gawkers and the media away when they invaded the crime scene in droves. The report indicated direct access to the barn from the highway; there wasn't any mention of a gate. Imagine it's not there. The murderers would have been able to quickly exit the highway, drive up the lane and park behind the barn in one smooth move when no headlights were visible in either direction. Then they could do their dirty work with little threat of being seen."
As he spoke, Carter watched a man exit a house in the far distance to the south. The tall, large-framed man hurriedly got in a silver Dodge pickup and drove fast in their direction. Kate followed Carter’s gaze as she said, “I think we’ve aroused someone’s interest.” The truck stopped abruptly in a cloud of white gravel dust four feet from the detectives. "I just called the Sheriff's office to have you two arrested. Keep out signs just don't mean a damn thing to you nosey people any—"
"I apologize. We were wrong to trespass without getting your permission first." Carter fingered his Investigator's License from his billfold and extended it to the disgruntled property owner. "We were hired by the parents of the lady who was murdered and displayed here. They want us to find the people responsible for the three deaths."
Kate stepped forward. "What we did was dumb. We should have asked first, but we didn't know where the owners lived." She motioned to the remnants of a stone foundation where a house might have sat. "The property looks to be abandoned. Sorry."
The farmer was heavy set and red faced. His right thumb hooked in the strap of his bib overalls. The sternness faded, and he grinned good-naturedly as he passed the license back to Carter. "I'm Don Jarvis, don't actually own this piece of land the barn sets on. The owner is a little ol’ lady who lives in town and lets me store hay in the old building. I watch the place for her." He extended his hand to shake and introductions were exchanged. "If Mr. Estes hired you, there's no problem. You're welcome to look around all you want anytime you want."
Simultaneously Kate and Carter said, "Thank you." Kate carried on, "If we need to return, we will definitely stop at your house first."
Carter stepped forward and put his hand on the window opening. "From your house, could you have heard a vehicle drive up to the barn in the middle of the night?"
"Not unless they were hell-bent and slinging gravel like a race car. Our bedroom is on the other end of the house, so we likely wouldn't have heard anybody driving normally or real slow like as a killer surely would have."
Don put the truck in reverse and yelled, "If you don't have any other questions, I need to get along." He grinned and snorted. "Don't worry about the Sheriff, I didn't call him. Just wanted to make you city people sweat a little." The truck backed into the weed patch stubble to turn around, then took off up the slight grade. It passed over the ridge trailing a cloud of black smoke from the clattering diesel engine and disappeared from view.
Carter smiled and waved before he turned and strode closer to the barn. "Well, he answered the question about a car driving up here in the middle of the night." He pointed at the middle white painted silhouette. "Back to business. The eyebolts used to suspend the corpses are still up there. It would have taken a ladder to reach that high and a drill to make a hole in those aged oak boards. Probably battery operated. Then they had to screw those three threaded eyebolts in. To do all three likely took no more than thirty minutes at the most. The three bodies then had to be carried to this side of the barn and lifted up at least two feet over their heads to hang them there." He backed up several steps and stood with a pensive look. "It would have taken two people to lift Barnstein and Bowers. One weighed two-twenty and the other hit the scale at two-forty. The ladder would have been needed again to spray paint the three white outlines above the corpses, maybe two ladders. All together that took a lot of time. It could have amounted to several hours from start to finish."
Kate stood behind him. "Unless part of the preparation was done earlier. The bolts could have been installed days before to minimize the length of time they were on site with the corpses. That reduced timeframe could have lessened the probability of them being observed while they handled the three bodies."
"But then they would have been coming and going twice instead of a single occurrence. Coming off and back onto the highway was their highest risk of being seen. A car could have crested those humps in the road and been on them in seconds." Carter wrapped his arm around Kate's waist, pulled her close in a tight hug. "We've probably got all the information we're going to get here. While we're on this side of the river and close to Jerseyville, let's find Sheriff Frank Kahl and introduce ourselves. Since he's a good friend of John Estes, he shouldn't mind us poking around in his murder case."
Kate looked at him questioningly. “I’m not dressed to meet anyone. Are you sure shorts are appropriate for this?”
“You’re fine, in fact you look damn’d good to me.”
“I swear this is the last time I go with you on a field trip wearing shorts.”
They arrived at the Sheriff's Office, on the west outskirts of Jerseyville, in fifteen minutes. Deline had run an internet search on the colorful county sheriff and Kate brought a copy of her report. They sat in the parking lot with the windows down outside the single-story tan brick building as Kate pulled the report from a black, soft-leather briefcase. Sheriff Kahl appeared to be an iconic local hero.
Kate read from Deline's report. "Franklin H. Kahl, Sheriff of Jersey County, Illinois. Six foot three, two hundred sixty pounds, thirty-eight years old, a star athlete in high school and college. After high school, he attended the University of Illinois on a football scholarship where he earned a bachelor's degree in accounting. After graduating, he played three seasons with the Chicago
Bears as a second string running back before a debilitating knee injury forced his retirement. He's been married twice with no children by either wife and has been single for the past four years. The Jerseyville Police Department hired him as a celebrity patrolman after his football career ended; two years later he ran for the office of Sheriff on the Republican ticket and was elected by a large margin. He's held the office for the past eleven years and has a high approval rating. He's acquired numerous complaints for using excessive force but there are no other blemishes on his record."
Carter chuckled. "Sounds like my kind of guy. Haven't even met him and I already like him."
Kate continued, "He has stock holdings of several million dollars accumulated during his football days. There have been recurring rumors of him being recruited to run for a seat in the Illinois House of Representatives."
Inside the office, they passed business cards through a round opening in a Plexiglas window to a middle-aged department dispatcher. The detectives were asked to take seats in the entrance area until the Sheriff finished a phone call. Eight chairs lined the walls. The reception area was small with apple-green walls, an off-white ceiling and twelve-inch square floor tiles with a black and white faux marble look. The main area of the floor was clean, but minor debris had accumulated in the corners and under tables and chairs. Two cameras with motion detectors were mounted at opposite corners of the room and recorded their movements. Kate rolled her eyes at the “No Smoking or Spitting” signs conspicuously hung on all four walls. That made her wonder about the nasty looking debris built up in the far corners.
After a few minutes, Kate glanced at her watch and let out a deep, impatient breath. The plump, auburn-haired dispatcher grinned knowingly and shrugged to indicate her helplessness but didn't move to speed up the process.
Carter stood and paced in circles, then stopped to study pictures of the twelve-person Sheriff's staff. Two women and ten men in uniforms smiled back at him.
Kate glanced impatiently at her watch and wiggled her cheeks on the hard, plastic seat.
Lieutenant Hattie Miller finally joined them after a twenty-minute wait. She was stern faced as she introduced herself, unabashedly scrutinized Kate, and then escorted them to the Sheriff's office.
Sheriff Kahl stood and walked around his oversized oak desk to meet them and exchange introductions. The detective's business cards were in his left hand. "Sorry to keep you waiting. I was in the middle of a call from the State's Attorney General."
Carter noticed the Sheriff appeared trim and fit as middle age approached. He posed an intimidating presence, and his movements were quick and smooth like he expected a running back to be.
The rectangular room was large and Kate glanced at the round table with four dark green upholstered chairs on rollers at the far end of the room. The paint scheme was the same as the waiting room and the main hallway. A single window behind the table gave a view of a corn field fifty feet away.
After taking seats across from Kahl's desk, Carter said, "We wanted to check in with you because we've been hired by John and Marion Estes to investigate their daughter's death. If your people have gathered any new information or leads in the months since the murders, we'd like access to it and we'll keep your department updated on our progress."
Kahl leaned back in his high back, brown faux leather swivel chair and shook his head. "No, nothing new has surfaced. The FBI arrived late but took the lead since the victims were originally scattered across the country. Two of them were presumed to have been carried across the Missouri state line into Illinois. After securing the murder site and assisting the State Crime Scene Crew, our main contribution was searching Ms. Estes' condo over in Grafton. Unfortunately, the State Crew and my investigator didn't find anything they felt related to her murder. The FBI crew didn't discover anything either when they got around to going there. Whoever murdered those three folks was real careful not to leave any evidence behind." Kahl sat straight. "Damnedest thing ever occurred in this county."
Carter made eye contact with the Sheriff. "I know Ms. Estes' office at the church in St. Louis was checked. Did you learn anything of interest from that?"
Kahl nodded. "The St. Louis police took the lead on that and provided us and the FBI with copies of their findings. Her phone calls and emails didn't show any threatening messages or anything suspicious, except for the call to her office the afternoon she disappeared. That call wasn't traceable; it must have been from a pre-paid burner phone.
"We assumed she was grabbed where her car was found parked on the shoulder of the River Road. But that's supposition at best. There's typically not much traffic on that stretch of road during the work week an hour or two after lunch time, so it wasn't hard to accept that no witnesses saw an abduction, if it happened there. There aren't any houses in that stretch because the bluffs run right out near the road. We still don't have a clue why she stopped there or if the earlier phone call set it up for that location and time. That's what we think happened. The car was inspected thoroughly and nothing unusual was found in it. All the fingerprints the Lab Crew picked up were accounted for and those people were eliminated as suspects."
Carter looked at Kate and shrugged. "Unless you have other questions, I guess we're done here."
Kate addressed the Sheriff. "Thank you for seeing us on short notice, Sheriff. If we learn anything, that information will be shared with you."
"I'll take all the help I can get on this one. Good ol’ boy murders around here are infrequent and are never this complicated to solve. Good luck to both of you. Y’all stop in again anytime."
They said their good-byes and exited the building. Kate liked the sheriff's straight forward manner; it spoke of honesty and trust. She felt they could rely on the big man with the brown hair, dark eyes and clean-shaven, square-cut jaw.
Two minutes later, Lieutenant Hattie Miller leaned against the doorjamb at Kahl’s office. "So, we're getting help whether we want it or not?" She shook her head so her long brown hair flowed down her right side and stopped just above the bulge of her breast against her uniform.
She and Frank were the subjects of frequent gossip at the coffee pot in the Sheriff's office. It was no secret she had a major infatuation with the man, and many would bet several cases of beer that she'd been to the big man's bed on more than one occasion.
Sheriff Kahl motioned for her to take a seat. "Been listening outside the door again?" He grinned as he poked fun at her. "Don't get riled up, Hattie girl. Truth is we need all the help we can get on this one. The Estes' case is at a dead-end and we don't have a single lead to follow. Maybe those two can find something we missed."
"Maybe. But I don't believe for one second we missed anything. Whoever murdered those three people was well organized and didn't screw up. As we've discussed before, that speaks to thorough and long-term planning ahead of the execution."
"That's all the more reason to bring in a fresh crew to dig deeper. From the looks of those two," he glanced at the business cards on his desk, "Johnson and Menke, I think they might move the investigation forward. They're not limited by silly-assed rules the way we are."
"Could be, I guess"
"That Johnson looks to me like a no-nonsense head knocker. He may get answers where we couldn't. Not legally anyway. Any time I try that I get in trouble. For now, plan to cooperate with them any way we can and share any information or leads we come across. Make copies of these cards so you can contact them if necessary."
As she left with the business cards in hand, Hattie said with the strong hint of a flirt, "Will do, Big Boss Man."
Carter parked near the north end of town. The sky darkened ahead of forecasted spotty, light rain showers predicted to move north after settling the dust around St. Louis. At a small diner with a big white chicken sign out front, the detectives placed their lunch orders with a smiling, hefty, middle-aged, waitress. They sat in a booth covered in red plastic in the dining area that Kate observed hadn't been redecorated in at least thirt
y years.
She commented, "It's not been thoroughly cleaned in that time either. The same people who clean the sheriff's building must have a contract here, too."
Carter grinned. "A few germs are good for you; it toughens the immune system."
"Then I should be up to superwoman immunity when we leave town."
"Since we're in Jerseyville and have the afternoon free, let's visit a few of Evelyn Estes' relatives. You never know what secrets and opinions relatives will reveal about their so-called loved ones."
As a light rain fell and they finished eating, Kate nagged, “I said you should have brought the other umbrella inside. Now you’ll have to run to the car."
"I'll float through the raindrops like a honeybee. Besides, a little rain won't hurt either of us."
"You believe that will strengthen the immune system, too, I suppose. Sometimes I wonder about you, Big Boy."
At six that evening they drove silently south toward Missouri on their way to a favorite St. Louis restaurant. The brief, light rain had evaporated hours ago and the roadway was dry under the fading sun.
Kate spoke over the radio. "That was a wasted effort. Only the one aunt and uncle out of four had anything positive to say about their niece."
Carter chuckled. "Yeah, the other relatives were unanimous that Evelyn was a radical liberal. They certainly didn't agree with, support or condone her progressive views, especially on abortion."
"That is one of the glaring differences between people in major cities and small-town America. People in major population centers tend to be much more liberal. At least the relatives are out of the way, and we can move on to other people. Hopefully, some of Evelyn's friends and coworkers will have some knowledge of who hated her enough to commit a murder that horrible."
The Three Monkeys, a Carter A. Johnson & Kate Menke Thriller Page 5
