“Of course, Detective.”
Ettie closing the door startled Myra. “Mamm, was that Crowley?” Ettie saw the concern in her daughter’s eyes as she walked toward her. “Did he get a match?” Myra asked.
“Yes, but the prints weren’t Peters. The fingerprints belonged to a person named Preston Judge.”
“Preston? I’ve never heard that name before in my life.” Her brow furrowed. “We just had the entire house repainted, so maybe one of the painters touched things in the garage. You did say the prints were found on a golf club in the garage?”
Ettie nodded. “That’s right.”
“The painters stored their things in the garage. One of them could easily have left the prints behind.”
Ettie let out a disheartened sigh. “Well if that’s the case, I suppose I should call Silvie. We have to find something else to test.”
“Mamm, what about his toothbrush?” Myra said.
“You have his toothbrush?” Ettie frowned. That information might have been useful yesterday.
“It’s at the house, on the bathroom sink. I remember seeing it after I realized most of his belongings were gone. I thought it odd he’d leave only that behind, but I didn’t even consider it being of importance until just now.”
Ettie wondered why they hadn’t thought to look in the bathroom. “A toothbrush should work for DNA testing. Silvie said she’d call over today and when she does, we’ll go back to your house.”
* * *
Two days later, Crowley knocked on Elsa-May and Ettie’s door. Ettie ushered him into the living room where he sat in front of Myra, Elsa-May and Ettie.
“The DNA on the toothbrush was also a match to Preston Judge.” He looked at Myra. “Peter Davis and Preston Judge have to be one and the same person.”
The three women looked at each other in silence.
Crowley continued, “After I received the hit from CODIS, I did some digging and found the last known residence of Mr. Judge. It’s located about fifty miles south west of here. I’m heading out there in the morning.”
Ettie said, “Do you have any other information about him?”
“It seems he was in the services years ago and that’s how his fingerprints wound up in the system,” Crowley said.
Myra scratched her head. “Peter never mentioned anything of the kind.”
“Thank you so much, Detective,” Elsa-May said.
“Anything I can do to help,” he replied with sincerity in his voice. The detective left just as suddenly as he had arrived.
Myra was quiet and Ettie daren’t say anything to her through fear it would end in tears.
Eventually, Myra took a deep breath. “It’s like a nightmare, a bad dream. My whole life has been a lie.” She looked across at her mother. “The last ten years of my life have all been for nothing. I don’t even know the man I was married to.”
Chapter 5.
Wherefore receive ye one another,
as Christ also received us to the glory of God.
Romans 15:7
Crowley drove out to see what he’d find at the home of Preston Judge. He knew by now it wasn’t a simple instance of a missing person.
The beautiful homes and rural scenery filled him with a dread that he couldn’t understand. “Where on earth is King Road?” Flipping through the maps and books that lined the passenger seat while he drove, Crowley grew frustrated.
“Take your next right. Turn now,” his GPS shrieked. Swerving to make the turn, his car veered up a dirt road that led to his destination. A large, Victorian style home, which, according to Google maps, sat nestled in one corner of at least fifteen acres of land, came into view. He parked close to the front door and stepped out onto the property.
Approaching the front door, Crowley swept his gaze across the property. He rang the door bell of the beautiful home noting that homes like that came with a hefty price tag.
After less than a minute, the door swung open and a well-groomed woman said, “May I help you?”
The woman was of slight build with hair too dark for her face. Even Crowley could tell that the woman dyed her hair a shade too dark for her sallow complexion. Permanent worry lines etched into her forehead and in between her brows.
“Yes, Ma’am. I’m Detective Crowley.” He showed his ID. “I wonder if I might talk to Preston Judge?”
“Is something wrong?” Panic swept across the woman’s face.
“No, Ma’am. I was just hoping I could speak with him, if he’s in.”
“He’s at work; he’ll be home tonight.”
Knowing she was too expensively dressed to be the help, Crowley asked, “Can I ask what relationship you have to Preston?”
“I’m his wife.”
The puzzle assembled, piece by piece. The man had to be a bigamist. Crowley knew that he had to get inside and hopefully there would be some framed photos. He also knew that rich people often commissioned portraits, which they displayed in their homes. In his mind, he held a picture of Peter Davis from the photo Myra had shown him days before. “Do you think we could speak inside?”
“Is that completely necessary? I assure you he’s not here right now.”
Mrs. Judge seemed nervous, but instincts told Crowley that he needed to get inside.
“I completely believe you, Mrs. Judge. I’d just like to see how beautiful this house is on the inside.” Crowley did his best attempt at a friendly chuckle. “I’ve been admiring your house since I pulled off the main road.” His eyes grew larger as he glanced through the open door. “It’s truly marvelous. My wife would love a beautiful home like this.” Crowley knew women were always more at ease with him when he pretended he had a wife.
“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt,” she said with a smile. She led him through the living area and showed him a few of the rooms. “My husband and I fell in love with the house as soon as we saw it.”
In the office, Crowley noticed a picture of a middle-aged man and Mrs. Judge. “What a lovely picture. Is that you and Preston?” he inquired.
“Yes, it was taken years ago.” Mrs. Judge walked up to the picture. “It was on one of our trips to the Bahamas.” After showing him two more rooms, Mrs. Judge said, “Anything else, Detective?”
He knew the truth. Preston Judge and Peter Davis were the same person. Myra’s husband had been living a double life. Shaking off the disbelief and dread of telling Myra, he turned to the woman and said, “Thank you. I appreciate you letting me look around such a nice home.”
“If it’s urgent you could catch him at work.”
Just as Crowley opened his mouth to speak, loud banging on the door echoed through the house.
“Excuse me a moment, Detective,” Mrs. Judge said before she opened the door.
Two uniformed police officers, one male and one female, stood behind a man who was clearly a plain-clothes detective. “Hello. Are you the wife of Preston Judge?”
“Yes. I’m Priscilla Judge.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Did something happen?” Fear vibrated through her words.
“May we come in?” the detective asked.
She opened her mouth, glanced back at Crowley and stepped aside to let them in.
Once they were inside the house, the detective introduced himself and showed his badge. “I’m afraid we’ve got some bad news. We’re sorry to inform you this way, but your husband was found dead early this morning.”
A chilling scream shot out of her mouth and she fell to her knees. Crowley reacted quickly, slowing her fall. Attempting to console the shattered woman, he held her in his arms and spoke calming words. “We’ll find out what happened, I promise you.”
“Are you a friend?” the other detective asked.
“Maybe we should talk outside,” Crowley suggested as the female officer stepped in to take his place.
Priscilla Judge was left in the house comforted by the female police officer while Crowley walked outside to speak to the detective and the male officer. “I’m Detective Crowley
. I know this isn’t my jurisdiction, but I’m here following up on a missing person’s case. A woman by the name of Myra Davis reported her husband missing recently. She claims that he vanished, taking most of his belongings with him. We DNA matched him to Preston Judge and the photo I’ve got of Peter Davis matches a photo of Mr. Judge that I found in the house here.”
Detective Jenkins said, “Your missing person is this woman’s husband? So he’s a bigamist?”
“Yes. May I ask the cause of death?”
The other officer continued scribbling notes on a small pad. “Stabbed in the back; no sign of a struggle, which tells me he might have known the perpetrator.”
Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Stabbed? Where was he found?”
“Not far from his office in an alley. As yet we haven’t been able to locate any CCTV cameras in the area.”
The younger officer continued, “According to his work colleagues he often used to go to the gym before work and this morning he never made it into work. We have the time of death at around eight this morning. His body was found in an alley near the gym. He must have been heading to his car. His wallet wasn’t taken so we can rule out robbery as a motive.”
“Hmm.” Detective Crowley considered the possibilities. “I’m guessing there was no sign of a weapon?”
“We’ve got officers combing the area now.” Detective Jenkins scratched his head and glanced back at the house before he said, “We haven’t told Mrs. Judge yet, but the victim’s face was pretty badly smashed in.”
Crowley took a deep breath. “I think this case will just continue getting stranger. Preston was married to Myra Davis posing as her husband, Peter Davis; Peter Davis was using a fake birth certificate.” Crowley felt sweat beading on his forehead thinking how he would break the news to Myra that not only was Peter a bigamist, now he was dead. He also had to wonder whether someone was trying to hide Peter’s bigamy by destroying his face.
The two men walked away from Crowley. Crowley knew they didn’t want to share the case with him. He watched and listened to them from a distance and could only make out a few muffled words.
Crowley listened for a few more minutes before he noticed Detective Jenkins approaching him.
“Hey, Crowley!” Crowley stood still and hoped that they weren’t going to make investigations difficult for him. “We want to have a talk with Mrs. Davis if you could arrange that for us.”
“Excuse me, Detective Jenkins, but with all due respect, I think I should speak to her in my office so I’ve got a recorded interview. Her case falls under my jurisdiction.” Crowley wasn’t telling the full facts, but first thing when he got back to the office, he would take over the missing person’s case officially. He didn’t mean to be rude, but his many years on the force had solidified his iron disposition. He learned the hard way that nice guys finish last in his line of work.
“Yes, you’re right. We didn’t mean to step on your toes, Crowley. We would love to conduct this as a joint interview if that would satisfy your concerns.”
Crowley thought through the matter carefully; a joint interview might be an advantage. “I’ll speak with Mrs. Davis and bring her in tomorrow. I’ll phone you in the morning and make a definite time. And, of course, you’ll make the interview tapes available to me; and the tapes of the interview with Mrs. Judge and anyone else who might be pertinent?” Crowley knew he had to get as much information as possible so he could make sense of the whole thing.
After Jenkins agreed, Crowley asked all the questions about the Judge family that he could think of before leaving to tell Myra the terrible news. It was obvious that Preston Judge was leading a double life and that he had at least two wives; the question was: ‘Did one of the wives kill him or have him killed?’
Crowley knew that he had to go back to Myra and break the news about her husband. Even though she hadn’t identified the body as her husband, the DNA was a match. Without fingerprints and without visual identification they had to trust the DNA results that Preston and Peter were one and the same. He hated breaking news of death, especially when he knew the people involved.
An hour later, he knocked on Ettie’s door and Myra opened it.
“Myra, I’m afraid it’s bad news.”
Myra crumpled onto the floor.
Ettie ran up behind Myra and looked up into Crowley’s face. “Is he…?”
Crowley nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
Myra looked up from the floor. “How?”
“Let’s talk inside,” Ettie said.
Both Crowley and Ettie helped Myra to the couch.
“How did he die?” Myra asked.
“I’m afraid that he was stabbed as he was leaving the gym.”
“No, Detective, you’ve got the wrong man. Peter hated exercise I could barely get him to go on a walk with me. Myra put her hands over her face and cried. After a while, she wiped her eyes on tissues that Ettie had handed her and she said, “Ronald, there’s something else, isn’t there?”
“I’m afraid so. I’ve got more distressing news for you,” Crowley said.
“Tell me.” Myra’s eyes fastened on to him.
“Preston Judge, which was your husband’s real name, was living, well, married to another woman.”
Myra looked at her mother. “No, it can’t be possible; we were married for ten years. I’d know if there had been someone else.”
“From what I know about the other wife, he was married to her for close to fifteen years. They live about an hour and a half drive from here.”
“Did they have any children, Detective?” Ettie asked.
“From what the police told me, the woman has a son from a previous marriage. He’s a grown man now, and he moved out on his own a couple of years ago.” He looked at Myra. “I’m sorry to have to tell you all this bad news. The police from Randallston want to speak to you tomorrow.”
“Did he suffer?” Myra asked through tears.
“I think it was fast,” Detective Crowley said.
Elsa-May came into the room and sat with them. “I heard everything. Do they think Myra’s a suspect, Detective?”
“In any case like this, we always look into the spouse first.” Crowley cleared his throat. “In this case there are two of them.”
“I understand. Where’s Peter, can I see him?” Myra asked.
Crowley shook his head. “He’s still having tests run on him for evidence.”
“When can I see him? I won’t believe it until I see his body. What if it’s not him and he’s still out there?”
“Myra, I saw a clear photo of him at the house and I can tell you, he and Preston Judge are one and the same man.” Crowley cleared his throat. “I’m afraid his face was damaged and he’s no longer recognizable.”
After Myra sobbed for a few more moments, she asked. “Does his other wife know about me?”
“I’d say she does by now. I was talking to her when the police arrived to break the news of his death. I left when she was still with the police.”
“So she must be his real wife since he married me in a false name with fake papers.” Tears flowed down Myra’s cheeks.
“It would seem so. Would you be up to talking to them tomorrow? They’ve asked if I can bring you in for questioning.”
“Give her a few days,” Ettie said. “She’s too distressed.”
“No, I need to do this,” Myra said. “Yes, I can go with you tomorrow. I’m just glad you’ll be going with me.”
“Will you be with her during questioning?” Elsa-May asked.
Crowley nodded.
Elsa-May folded her arms across her chest. “Will she need a lawyer?”
Crowley glanced at Myra before looking at Elsa-May. “I don’t think so. It’s just routine questions at this stage.”
Chapter 6.
All that the Father giveth me shall come to me;
and him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.
John 6:37
As light crept through his
squinted eyes, Crowley tossed and turned in the morning sun. Shielding his eyes with a pillow, he looked over at the alarm clock by his bed. A slight frown broke across his stern face as he thought about what the day might bring. It had already been a strange start to his week. Would Myra have been capable of killing her husband? Could she have found out that he was a bigamist and done away with him? An image of Mrs. Judge loomed in his mind’s eye; would she be capable of cold-blooded murder, or of hiring someone to kill her husband?
No, he decided, Myra would not be capable of such a thing. People never change that much. It had been almost an entire lifetime ago when he was close to Myra after she had left the Amish community. She was much younger than he, and she was always outgoing, fun, and absolutely beautiful. At times he wasn’t able to believe that she might have had feelings for him, but his confidence was severely lacking. He wished it would have been different, but he always knew he never had a chance with her. Now, he had to face a harsh reality that Myra might be responsible, or at least accused of a homicide.
He struggled out of bed into the kitchen and flipped the switch on the coffee maker before he jumped in the shower. After his shower, with just a towel around his waist, he poured out a bowl of froot loops. He sat with a large mug of black coffee and spooned the colored cereal into his mouth, all the while knowing he should be eating something more substantial. Maybe he and Myra could stop on the way to eat before heading to Randallston.
As he pulled up to Ettie’s house, he noticed Myra was sitting on the steps, waiting for his arrival. She stood to her feet as he pulled into the driveway.
Opening the car door, she smiled sweetly and greeted him with, “Good morning, Detective.”
He tipped his hat and smiled. “How are you today, Ma’am?”
“So formal. You do remember we used to be friends, Ronald?”
The words felt like a fire, warming his cheeks to a rosy, red color. “Please, Myra. Don’t call me that. Crowley, or detective works fine.”
Once she buckled her seat belt, Crowley’s car moved away from the house.
Myra looked out her window, and said, “I should be dying inside, but I’m not.”
That Which Was Lost Page 3
