The Three Monkeys, a Carter A. Johnson & Kate Menke Thriller

by Robert Schobernd

  Luther Westbrook stood in the cabin's doorway and motioned the couple inside. Short, stocky and muscular, Luther sported a thin ugly scar running from his short brown hair down to his left cheek and ending in line with the bottom of his ear. His deep farmer's tan showed long hours spent outdoors.

  He introduced his second in command, John Reynolds. John stretched six inches taller than Luther, lean to the point of rawboned with a half inch of black hair covering his skull. His greeting was guttural and terse. They stood in the cabin's seating area where a round table and six chairs dominated the middle of the space. To their right was a kitchen area. Varnished homemade cabinets crafted from plywood filled two walls. The drywall was painted a dismal shade of baby blue. The same cheap vinyl floor covering stretched into all the other rooms.

  Two open doors in the back led to bedrooms and a closed door between them probably opened to a bathroom. The four of them made introductions then sat at the old scarred and stained round oak table.

  Luther was the first to speak, "Why have you singled our group of patriots out as suspects for those three murders you mentioned?" His tone was harsh and impatient.

  Kate replied, "Your racial remarks make it quite obvious you hate Jews, African Americans, members of the LGBT affiliation and other minority groups. That is a good place for us to start, do you agree?"

  "You're right in that we have no use for those people you listed, but that doesn't mean we're of a mind to torture people and kill them. I wish whoever is behind those murders would eliminate all of the inferior races in this country and turn it back over to us rightful owners."

  Carter bristled, "Rightful owners? What about the Native Americans, the original inhabitants of the country? The European dissidents took the land away from them by force. Why shouldn't current immigrants now shift the balance of power again to a collective group of minorities?"

  John Reynolds jumped up and his wood chair tumbled backward to crash on the floor. His face reddened and he glared hatefully at Carter as he shook his finger at him. "By God, my ancestors took this land from a bunch of ignorant savages and made if fit for decent folks to live here. I won't stand by and let it be stolen from the descendants of my white ancestors. I won't."

  Carter's demeanor remained calm. "But would you torture and kill three innocent people just to make a point because they're in minority groups?"

  John righted his chair and sat. "No, I guess not…but I still don't like what's going on."

  Luther looked at John with disapproval. "Look, in answer to your question, our group has never instigated a violent confrontation, although we've had to defend ourselves aggressively from those who did. We want to raise Caucasian people's awareness to what's happening, but we're not stupid enough to go around killing people in a manner that's going to bring a shit storm of negative attention down on us. The very people we want to inform would turn on us if we were tied to an act that gruesome and senseless."

  Luther leaned across the table, his palms flat to the surface. "You saw our people when you arrived. Only a few are under fifty and two are in their seventies. John's forty-two; he's our youngest member. We don't want young people who are full of hate and violence like the skinheads. We want to stop the brown plague taking over our country, but we want to do it through the ballot box. The trouble is people aren't interested in stopping a change they don't recognize as an immediate threat. We see our role as one of enlightenment, not violence."

  Luther stood and crossed the room to a tall, brown metal cabinet where both doors stood open. Shelves displayed tall stacks of colorful brochures. "These are samples of what we pass out at protest marches and at gatherings where we rent booths. Take these with you." Kate noticed the top glossy was a schedule of where the Patriots would appear at civic centers, convention halls et cetera for the rest of the year.

  They spoke a few minutes more, then the detectives were escorted back to their car. At the gate, their handguns were returned before the gate closed behind them.

  Two miles away Carter broke his silence. "I think they're just a bunch of old fools trying to look tough and important. They probably believe in their cause, but I don't see them as our murderers."

  Kate said, "I agree. Online, they claim an active membership of over two thousand, but there could not have been over twenty on site today. It's more like an old men's benevolent society where they gather to talk about the good old days and how they’ve been screwed over by the establishment."

  "One thing that surprised me was the lack of women and children of any age. That's kind of strange, don't you think."

  "Not really. They are likely rejects of women who got tired of listening to their crazy opinions. The large majority of the men there are well past the child rearing age.” She smirked. "I bet most of them have to pay girls standing on street corners for a thirty-minute date."

  Deline arrived for work a half-hour early the following morning. The sun peeked above the roof of a nearby building to the east and its rays cut through a light early morning layer of mist. It appeared another beautiful but hot July day was on the docket for their portion of the Midwest. At the back-office entrance, she saw something against the building that made her smile. Red roses had been placed beside the storm door. Two long stemmed roses it appeared from a distance. As she drew closer, the smile was replaced with a strong frown. She stood immobilized and removed her cell phone from her pocket.

  "Carter, you and Kate need to come downstairs. — Yes, now, right now. — Robes and slippers will be fine. — I'm outside the back door and need to show you something important. Please hurry.”

  Minutes later, Kate and Carter stepped outside and as the storm door closed walked six feet to where Deline stood waiting. Quizzical expressions highlighted their curiosity. She pointed behind them to the right side of the door. Two short rebar rods stood against the brick wall. Two red roses were attached to the ends of two X'ed rods with thin, black plastic ties. A red envelope hung at the center likely held a greeting card.

  Carter instructed, "Don't touch anything. I'll call Captain Davis and turn this over to her." Deline stood guard while the detectives went to their apartment to brush their teeth and dress.

  Twenty minutes later, Capt. Davis, Lt. Altmon, two police officers and one lab technician were on site. The lab technician took pictures of the placement of the items then carefully transferred them to a plastic box with packing to keep them from shifting inside.

  Capt. Davis said, "It appears your investigation is getting someone's attention. Have you uncovered some evidence that would make the murderer nervous enough to threaten you?"

  Carter turned to Kate. "Not really, at least none we're aware of. Kate was on TV several days ago. Perhaps something she said was more important to the killer than it was to us. We'll review that interview tape and see if we can pick it out."

  "If you pin down what you think may have triggered this, keep me informed."

  Lt. Tyrell Altmon stood aside with a stern expression. It was clear he didn't relish working with private investigators. Capt. Davis said, "Tyrell, have the uniforms interview the neighbors near the alley. Maybe one of them was out early and saw who placed this sick present back here."

  Lt. Altmon nodded and walked away without comment toward the three uniformed officers. The stern expression still dominated his dark features.

  Carter pointed to the security cameras on the brick building. "Captain, there are motion activated cameras facing the alley; we might have images of the person you're after. Come inside and we'll see what was recorded earlier this morning." The three of them went upstairs.

  Carter set the playback to start at midnight and scrolled through the recording searching for a person entering the back of their property. The first three hours disclosed nothing but cats, dogs and one staggering male. At three thirty-five, they were rewarded with a person scurrying down the alley and then turning to approach their building. Carter backed the video up slowly then froze it.

  The
person appeared stocky and moved with fluid grace. A dark cloth watch cap covered the face and gloves concealed the hands. The deliveryman's clothes were nondescript and dark. A white cardboard box grabbed their attentions as the lid raised. The flowers and rebar were carefully lifted from the box and were in sight long enough to verify they were the items Deline discovered. The dark clad figure approached the door and was in plain sight of the camera. He stepped back several feet to observe his handiwork and then turned and strode back the way he'd come taking the box with him.

  Carter let the recorder run in forward mode. Lt. Altmon knocked, then entered. As the four of them watched, a woman dressed in white shoes, pants and short sleeved shirt walked casually down the alley. She would have passed the deliveryman shortly after he set their warning by the door.

  Carter turned to Capt. Davis and Lt. Altmon. "There's a bakery two blocks down that faces on the street behind us. I bet that's where the woman works. Most bakers typically start baking around three-thirty or four o'clock to have goods ready when they open at six or seven." He winked at Capt. Davis. "Of course, policemen know all about donut shops and bakeries."

  Capt. Davis gave Carter a mirthless smirk then turned away. "Tyrell, have two of our detectives search for that woman and interview her if she's found. Maybe she'll recall the person she passed well enough to give a decent description."

  As he left, Lt. Altmon replied, "Now maybe we're getting lucky." The police cleared out and left the J&M detectives alone to discuss the morning's unexpected warning.

  After finishing getting ready to face the day, Kate moved to the kitchen to join Carter. He was on his third cup of coffee. Dirty dishes and pans lay in the sink, debris from his breakfast of sausage, eggs and toast. Kate removed a croissant from the bread drawer and peach marmalade from the refrigerator before sitting across from him.

  He looked up from the sports section of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch and spoke as Kate sat. "We need to be extremely careful from now on. Apparently, we've kicked a sleeping monster awake and he's sent a clear signal that he's upset with us. The three calls to your cell phone were passive actions, but the package by the back door raises the ante a notch to a more aggressive level. We need to take the two rebar rods as a direct threat to our lives. Either he doesn't like being chased by us, or something you said the other day struck a sensitive chord with him."

  They met in Carter's office with Deline an hour later and replayed Kate's last interview segment from the Atkins Report five times. Nothing of importance stood out to them.

  At two that afternoon Lt. Altmon phoned and left a message with Deline. The suspect they were looking for was described by the baker's assistant as being approximately five feet eleven inches, one hundred ninety to two hundred ten pounds, with blue eyes and blond hair, physically fit, and sloppy in appearance. The woman was walking on the same side of the alley as the man approaching her and had to step aside to pass him. He wasn't friendly, but he looked straight at her as if he was surprised to encounter her. The white florist box he carried under his left arm drew her attention to him. One other interesting thing she mentioned was seeing a white panel van parked near the end of the ally. The driver faced away from her as she passed him. She knew the driver saw her approach because he looked directly at her as she turned into the alley. When she drew close, he turned his head away as if reaching for something across the van. He wore a ball cap pulled low to his brow and had a beard and mustache. She had the gut feeling the facial hair was fake. She didn’t notice any unusual features on the van to help identify it.

  Carter, Kate and Deline were in Carter's office having their bi-weekly status update meeting. They reviewed progress on two cases they were working that were fast coming to fruition. Near the last item on the agenda, Kate said, "We are down to Paul Peltier as our lone local suspect in the Jerseyville killings, but I don't see what his motive would be, other than a desire to see politicians adhere to the Constitution."

  Carter rubbed the side of his nose. "If he's a fanatic on the Constitution, it could be reason to pick three people he feels are examples of the intent of that document not being followed."

  Deline said, "I suppose," as she tossed several color photos to each detective. "I delved deeper into his background. Paul Desmond Peltier the third is seventy-six, six feet one inch, one hundred seventy-five pounds, has piercing blue eyes, full head of receding gray hair, is said to exude a full measure of confidence and authority. He is arrogant and can be abusively sarcastic. Newspaper articles insinuate he dresses impeccably in casual or formal wear. One reporter said he is always prepared for a photo opportunity. As the photos show, he wears wire-rimmed glasses and is well groomed. He has a twenty-five-year-old grandson who lives with him. I do not suspect this is important, but Paul divorced his first and only wife when he was forty-eight and never remarried. The legal justification was incompatibility. The only account I could find about the divorce settlement indicated she received an extremely minimal amount considering his net worth at that point. Everything they owned was in his name except for a modest trust fund she inherited at a later time from her parents. I suggest she be interviewed to learn firsthand about his temperament and radical behavior. She remarried and lives in the state capital, Jefferson City. Here is her address and phone number if you decide to follow through." She slid a sheet of paper across the table. "Take your time while I continue with additional information of Mr. Peltier.

  "Paul Peltier is a wealthy lawyer and investor. He sits on the boards of several minor national companies and works two days a week in semiretirement at the firm he founded: Peltier, Harmon & Rossi. He and the grandson live in an old, stately mansion near downtown St. Louis, in the vicinity of the Anheuser-Busch brewery. He has old money from manufacturing heating & cooling electrical products; Peltier and Sons is out of business. His son, John Paul Peltier, was the president and CEO of Peltier and Sons. He, his wife and ten-year-old-daughter died in a plane crash nineteen years ago. He was piloting the plane when it went down in northern Arizona en route to Los Angeles. An investigation by the FFA did not determine the cause of the crash.

  "Paul D. sold the company to a competitor a year after his son died.

  "Paul's grandson, John Jr., has a learning disability, but appears and acts normal to most observers. He is reclusive and avoids being touched or making eye contact. Johnny has held jobs but is eventually terminated because his temperament and idiosyncrasies do not fit in with other employees. He drives a car, is physically active, strong, and likes sports. John Jr. was diagnosed as autistic before age three. Lately, doctors’ reports indicate he is outgrowing the major symptoms. He goes by the nickname Johnny.

  "Since the three murders, Paul has appeared thrice on Channel Two News on the Atkins Report. They have discussed his views on the downfall of today's society and aspects relating to the triple murders and their possible implications." Deline look up to the detectives. "That is all…Oh, I could probe for financial, insurance, mortgage accounts, auto ownership, etc. but see little value in those at this time."

  Kate hesitated then addressed Deline. "Will you contact Laurel for copies of Peltier's appearances with her? We need to review those to understand his views better. I suspect he is like Luther Westbrook and the members of the Order of White Patriots. Another old man who likes to sound off publicly about his pet peeves. I'll consent to another on-air interview with her if that's the price she charges. As for interviewing the ex-wife," Kate looked to Carter, "it seems a good idea. I can call later and try to arrange an appointment to visit. If it can be arranged on a Friday, I can then drive to Mother's house for a weekend visit."

  Chapter Eight

  Twenty-four hours later, Paul Peltier waited impatiently at the Channel Two Newsroom prepared to go on air for another tete-a-tete with Laurel Atkins. He was early, as usual, and waited in her office for the makeup technician to escort him to her space in the studio. A stack of several CDs at the edge of Laurel’s desk drew his attention. With his bac
k to the closed door to block his actions, he picked the three clear, plastic, cassettes up and looked at the black marker writing on them. Peltier, #1, #2 and #3 with the dates of each of his most recent appearances. A piece of paper beneath the disks showed the address for J&M Investigations with instructions to have the disks delivered by the roving reporter later that afternoon. His face turned crimson and contorted in a deep-set frown as he put the disks back as he'd found them. A cursory look at the other items on the desk didn't disclose any similar items pertaining to him. He had underestimated the tenacity of the investigators to continue their search. His status with the detectives had obviously been elevated to suspect and they were delving into his comments and line of thinking. They had ignored his first warning shot across their bow. Now it would be necessary to get even more personal.

  The requested Peltier interview disks arrived later that afternoon, fifteen minutes before closing. The first business of the following morning was to listen to each of them in the small conference room. Carter sat with his eyelids closed listening carefully to absorb Paul Peltier's every word and their possible overall implications. Kate and Deline each took capacious notes as they listened to the rambling diatribes. At the conclusion of the third disk, Deline exclaimed, "Wow! I was definitely mistaken earlier when I stated I did not believe Peltier was a viable suspect. His radical views are scary."

  Kate added, "He is not only a narrow-minded bigot, he is a racist and a control freak.

  Carter sounded exasperated. "His views on the reasons for the Three Monkeys Murders were enlightening to say the least. He vacillated between random killings to racial overtones to tying them to the deterioration of society over the last one hundred years."