That Which Was Lost

by Samantha Price

  “What did you do?” Myra asked.

  “Here’s your receipt,” he said, handing it to her. “Just in case you have any problems and need to come back.”

  She smiled sweetly. “Thank you. I’ll pay you back just as soon as I can get to the bank. I can’t understand what’s happened to my credit card.”

  “No hurry. I’ll go to the station and go over the evidence again. If you or your mother needs anything at all, please call me right away.”

  “Of course,” Myra replied as Crowley opened the door and got into his car.

  “Crowley.”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you again for everything. You’ve been a rock during the most difficult time of my life. I can’t thank you enough for that.”

  He noticed her right hand was over her heart.

  He smiled. “Anytime.”

  * * *

  Back at his office, Detective Crowley combed through evidence. He had taken over Peter Davis’s missing person’s case from the Lancaster police and had the file in front of him. Despite what Myra had told him, Crowley could see that the police had been quite thorough in their investigations. They had gone over the house for prints. Peter had no cell phone and no credit cards registered to his name. The local police had even sent patrol cars looking for Peter’s missing car.

  As he threw ideas around in his mind, he realized he was missing a key piece of evidence: the stepson’s interrogation. Surely the investigating detectives would have taped the session and they still hadn’t supplied him with the tapes of Mrs. Judge’s questioning as they had promised. He picked up his cell and rang the detective from Randallston.

  “Hello? It’s Detective Crowley. I’m calling about the Preston Judge case.”

  “How can I help you, Detective?” Officer Jenkins sounded as though he was bored.

  “You still haven’t sent me the tapes of Mrs. Judge’s interview, and I'd like tapes of Oscar Judge’s interview. Could I get a copy of them tomorrow? I’ll have one of my officers drive there and pick them up.”

  “There are no tapes, Detective. We haven’t conducted any such interviews with them outside of a few unrecorded questions at the victim’s home.”

  Crowley tapped the pencil in his hand loudly on his desk.

  Jenkins continued, “We’re treating this as a random killing.”

  “Are you serious? The victim was a bigamist living a double life; Mrs. Judge thinks he drained money from her and put them into his other wife’s name. I already know that the stepson had threatened to kill him, and the wife’s brother is in organized crime. How are you not looking into any of them?”

  “Firstly, there is no evidence to suggest that anyone close to the victim is at fault for this crime. Secondly, you’re right, this is our case not yours.”

  “That’s insane! Every single strand of evidence points directly to the wife or a member of her family.”

  “I understand it might be frustrating, Detective, but we just don’t have any proof of that. The case will remain open, but we’ve other cases that need our attention.”

  “That’s bogus.”

  “I’m in charge of this investigation. If you want me to keep you informed of the case, I’ll thank you to leave the running of it up to me.”

  Crowley knew he’d overstepped the mark. “Yes, of course. I’d appreciate being kept informed on anything that might come to light.” Crowley scratched his head in frustration. They had been all over Myra, practically accusing her of being involved in some manner, and not trusting what she told them. But, it appeared Manuel Garcia was being treated as an innocent bystander even though he was a known gangster. “I take it that Myra Davis is no longer on your radar as a suspect then?”

  “We didn’t really suspect her, we just had to speak with her. It’s difficult to accept the fact that she was living with the man for over ten years and never knew about his double life.”

  “Mrs. Judge didn’t know either, did she?”

  “She says that she had no idea.”

  “Yet you don’t find it strange that Mrs. Judge didn’t suspect a thing? But you do find it strange that Myra didn’t?” Crowley sighed in anger.

  “Well, that aside. I’m sorry, Detective, I really am. Our hands are bound too. There’s just not enough evidence to go on right now. When we get wind of something more substantial, we’ll happily take a look into it.”

  “All right; well, thank you for your time. I’ll investigate from this end and if I find anything else out I’ll let you know.”

  “Please do, Detective Crowley. There is a small lead I’m having one of my men follow up on.”

  “What’s that?” Crowley asked listening carefully. It seemed to Crowley that the Randallston police wanted him to think that they weren’t investigating further, but they were if they were still following leads.

  Jenkins continued, “It may be nothing, but two weeks before Preston Judge’s death, his executive personal assistant, Aiden Addison, quit. It shocked everyone at the firm; he’d been with Preston for over ten years and he offered no reason for quitting. We’ve been unable to locate Addison.”

  Crowley ran a hand through his hair. What could a disgruntled employee have to do with the whole mess? “I’ll keep in touch,” Crowley said before he ended the call. He flung his cell across the room and it bounced off the wall. What was going on? Something wasn’t right. He continued sifting through the files on his desk, looking for that one needle in the gigantic haystack. He dropped his head into his hands and let out a deep sigh. This case was too important to let some knuckleheaded investigators mess it up.

  He called Myra’s cell phone. “Hey, we have a problem.”

  “Hi, Crowley. What’s wrong?”

  “It seems the police in Randallston are chalking the homicide up as a random killing. They don’t feel there’s enough evidence to investigate any of the three suspects we came up with.”

  The tone of her voice grew darker. “You have got to be kidding me. Maybe they’re getting paid off to sweep it under the rug.”

  “I keep coming back to the brother-in-law, but there’s nothing to prove that he was in any way involved.”

  “He could have bribed someone to keep quiet – maybe bribed the police?”

  “I’d hate to think that. We just have to keep our noses to the pavement until we find something solid that can’t be argued.”

  “I understand. Well, thanks for the update, Ronald. I’ll let mom know.

  “Thank you,” he said as he ended the call.

  Looking at his computer screen, the image of Preston Judge was staring back at him. “What am I missing, Mr. Judge? Who did this to you, and why did you drain your accounts and put everything in Myra’s name? Help me find justice for you and Myra. Please.”

  * * *

  Ettie was crocheting a rug when Myra walked in, looking upset. “What’s wrong, dear? You’ve slept in and missed breakfast.”

  “Oh, Mamm, missing breakfast is the last of my problems.”

  “I could fix you some pancakes.”

  Myra shook her head and sat opposite Ettie. “Crowley called me last night and told me that the Randallston police think Peter was killed by some random person and they aren’t continuing with the investigations. They told Crowley that there’s no evidence to link any of our three suspects to his death.”

  Ettie’s mouth pinched together. “So there’s been no development since the last time Crowley was here?”

  Myra shook her head.

  “There’s more than enough probable cause to at least consider the wife, the brother in law and particularly the stepson. The stepson even threatened him,” Ettie said.

  “They won’t even bring them in for questioning. It doesn’t make any sense to me, but I don’t know much about police procedures. Without concrete proof, they won’t go further.”

  Ettie’s face grew stern. “Well, if they won’t do their job, we’ll just have to do it for them.”

  Myra scrunc
hed her eyebrows and studied Ettie. “What do you mean, Mamm?”

  “Her son. What do we know about the little deviant? Let’s look over what we know, and then I think we should watch him.”

  This caught Myra off guard. “Mamm, we can’t just keep going around following and recording these people. What if they catch us? Have you ever heard of ‘the mob’?”

  “Mob of what? What mob?”

  Myra rolled her eyes. “The Mob is a criminal organization – the worst, everyone is afraid of them.”

  “Fear not for I am with you, the Scripture says. If you’re scared, you can stay behind. Elsa-May will come with me.”

  A loud sigh escaped Myra’s lungs. “I just don’t think it’s a smart idea. Let Crowley do that. I’m sure he won’t mind if we just call and ask him.”

  Ettie shook her head. “Nee, let him do his thing. I’m sure he already has his own ideas of how to make some progress in this case. He’s helped us enough. Now it’s our turn to do a little footwork.”

  Myra reluctantly agreed.

  They gathered at the table where Crowley had sat with them the day before. Myra scattered some pictures and notes across the surface and the two women dived into the maze of confusion and evidence.

  “We know that his name is Oscar Judge. He’s twenty years old and isn’t Preston Judge’s biological son. According to the paperwork that Crowley provided, he’s been in and out of their home since he was young. He stayed with his biological father at times when things at the Judge home were unpleasant.” Ettie breathed out noisily. “There are several 911 calls on record showing that arguments and domestic violence was common in the household whenever the son was in the home. We know he stole Preston’s car, but the charges were dropped for some reason.”

  Ettie shuffled around some of the papers and dove into deep thought. “There were several emergency calls about noise disturbances at the house, but the boy was never charged with any of those. One time an officer heard the boy threatening the stepfather.”

  “Oscar’s record is clean apart from the car incident according to Crowley.” Myra read from a sheet of paper. “According to this, the stepson is currently working odd jobs here and there. He has never held long-term employment.”

  “Do we know where this boy has been living recently?”

  “Crowley thinks he’s staying with his mother while he’s in town. He just came down to attend the funeral apparently,” Myra said.

  “It looks like we’re heading back there then.” Ettie was insistent as usual.

  “To the Judge house?” Myra asked.

  Ettie nodded.

  “All right, Mamm. We can watch him from a distance for a while. If he really is involved in this, he’s far too dangerous for two women to be messing with on their own.”

  “I understand, Myra; I really do. I just can’t let this go unsolved. There are too many unanswered questions hanging around in the air. Like, why would Peter put everything in your name unless he felt something bad would happen to him?”

  Myra pondered the thought for a moment. “That’s a good point, actually. Maybe I should run that by Crowley before we go.”

  Ettie shook her head in disagreement. “Nee. Let’s just try. If we don’t get something after a few hours, we can do it your way and go through Crowley.”

  A loud knock on the door startled them both. Ettie opened the door to see the mailman.

  “I’ve got a registered letter that needs to be signed for.”

  “Who is it for?” Ettie asked the mailman.

  “Myra Davis.”

  “Myra?” Ettie called out.

  Myra stepped forward. “I had my mail redirected.” She signed for the letter. When the mailman left, she took the letter. All strength left her when she saw the handwriting. “Mamm, it’s a letter from Peter; it’s his handwriting.”

  Ettie drew her eyebrows together. “Quick, open it.”

  Myra ripped open the envelope and read:

  Myra,

  If you get this letter, it means that something bad has happened to me. I’ve instructed the lawyers to send this letter to you. If I am dead, I guess you found out the truth about me already.

  I want you to know that I was trapped in a web of lies. I wanted to give you the best life possible, but if I left Priscilla I know that they would kill me. I’m sorry I treated you harshly. I know my life would’ve been easier if you hated me and left me. You were always too good for me and I knew it, but I needed you in my life and couldn’t let you go. If only I’d been completely free, then our lives could’ve been perfect. I would’ve been free to treat you how you deserved to be treated.

  If my plan turns out correctly, I should have left you with enough money to keep you comfortable for the rest of your life. I couldn’t continue in this charade. Forgive me for what I’ve done, but I couldn’t see a way out of the darkness.

  Love Peter.

  Myra passed the note to Ettie. “Part of me didn’t want to believe that Peter was Preston. Now I know that it must be true.”

  Ettie read the whole letter and looked up at Myra. “Sounds like a suicide note.”

  “Do you think so? He says ‘forgive him for what he’s done.’ He would have meant staying married to that other woman.”

  “I suppose you could read his letter either way,” Ettie said

  “But he was stabbed in the back, it couldn’t have been a suicide. Nothing makes sense.”

  “Could he have been planning to kill himself and was killed before he could carry out his plan? Is the letter really from him?”

  Myra studied the note. “It’s his hand writing. And it’s something he would have a lawyer do; he was a meticulous planner.”

  “We’ll have to show it to Crowley. It’s evidence. It says there that he feared he’d be killed if he left her.”

  “I’ll drive to Crowley’s office and show him in person,” Myra said.

  “I’ll come with you,” Ettie said.

  When they showed Crowley the letter. He rang and confirmed with Preston Judge’s lawyer. The lawyer had been instructed to send the letter on the event of Preston’s death. Crowley took the letter as evidence and drove to the Randallston police who were handling the murder investigation. Detective Crowley told the ladies he’d meet them at Ettie’s house that evening.

  Chapter 12.

  Truly my soul waiteth upon God: from him cometh my salvation.

  He only is my rock and my salvation;

  he is my defence; I shall not be greatly moved.

  Psalm 62:1

  Ettie and Elsa-May invited all the widows to come to the house that evening to hear what Crowley had to say when he came back from Randallston.

  Elsa-May walked into the living room from the kitchen holding a large cake. “What we need is cake and kaffe.”

  “Gut. I’ll get the kaffe, Elsa-May, you cut the cake,” Ettie said. When Ettie came back in the room with the coffee, she sat on the couch. “There must be something we’re missing.”

  “The girls are coming tonight for a widows’ meeting. We can go over all the evidence then,” Elsa-May told Myra.

  “That’s good,” Myra said.

  The three younger widows, Emma, Maureen, and Silvie breezed through the door. They’d arrived in one buggy. Once they were all brought up to speed with recent events, they expressed their sympathies to Myra.

  Myra looked down at her hands.

  “He did make sure you were looked after,” Elsa-May said.

  Myra nodded. “It makes sense now.”

  “What does?” Ettie frowned.

  “Sometimes he used to be so cruel to me, but now I know that he loved me. I wish I’d understood. I wish he’d told me.”

  Ettie scoffed. “You say that now, but I don’t think you’d taken too kindly to the knowledge of another wife.”

  Myra sighed.

  “From what Ettie told us of his letter, it sounds like he thought his life would be in danger if he left the other marriage,” Maureen s
aid.

  “That’s right,” Emma said.

  “He was taking money from his wife and giving it to you. Sounds like a reason for the family or someone close to the wife, to have him killed.” Emma gave a sharp nod.

  “I will give the money back to her,” Myra said with tears glistening in her eyes.

  “I don’t think so.” A deep voice sounded from the front door.

  All eyes turned to Crowley as he walked into the house. He took a seat on an old wooden chair. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, his cell phone sounded. Pulling it out of his pocket, he said, “Excuse me, ladies.”

  The ladies fell silent as the detective walked into the kitchen speaking to someone on his cell phone.

  When he finished and came back into the room, Elsa-May asked, “What is it, Detective? Is it something about this case?”

  “It seems that Preston’s assistant has also gone missing. He quit two weeks before the murder and now they can’t locate him. They want to ask him questions about some missing money.” A beep sounded on Crowley’s phone. “That’ll be the photo of the assistant.” He looked at the photo and then breathed out heavily. “If you ladies will excuse me, I’ll just have to make a quick call.”

  He stepped out of the room, but the ladies fell silent and listened to the detective. They heard him say, “Jenkins, it appears you’ve sent me a photo of Preston Judge in error rather than his assistant. What? Are you certain?” Two minutes later, Crowley ended the conversation and walked back into the room and sat down.

  “What is it, Detective?” Elsa-May asked. “You look like you’ve been punched in the stomach.”

  He leaned over and handed his phone to Myra. “Do you recognize this man?”

  Myra took the phone and studied the image on the display. “Of course, that’s Peter, well, Preston.”

  The detective took his cell phone back. “According to the police, that is Aiden Addison, Preston’s assistant.”

  Myra’s face scrunched. “What?”

  “Myra, how much money is in your bank account, if you don’t mind me asking?” the detective asked.

  “I don’t know exactly to the dollar, but there’s over six hundred thousand.”