“That’s how you knew Cassandra Peters was alive. Is that what you were going to say, Carl?” Vilhallen asked.
Carl nodded.
The tin tackle box with its contents was wrapped and re-tagged. The report contained DNA from two of the objects: the hair and one ring. For now, the investigators would continue meticulous research into past cases. Both detectives knew the box had a connection. Of course, it had a connection. Hauk was a serial rapist and a probable murderer.
“Thank you, Mr. Banks,” White said, and he left.
Vilhallen stayed behind with the States Attorney and worked through Carl’s agreement.
Tomorrow, they would start checking out every name from the files. Vilhallen would also look deeper into Hauk’s last case, Cassandra Peters. It all had to be done. What had changed to motivate murder? What point had been reached or line crossed? Why now? Carl was correct in one thing: Martin Webster was the only change in town. He was the only known prospective new name for a private extortion file.
Chapter Twenty-Six
When Maureen crossed Martin’s porch on Tuesday morning at seven AM, the rarely used door to the foyer stood open. The light whooshing sound of a paint sprayer as well as the smell of paint met her before she saw Martin on the scaffolding, painting the foyer walls above the staircase. Her first thought was for Kirby but of course Martin did not have Kirby with him on the scaffolding or exposed to the paint fumes.
The plastic tarp under her feet covered the hardwood floor from front door to the far wall. The banister was wrapped with newspaper and duct tape. The old glass chandelier was covered with a sheet and looked like a huge Halloween ornament. The plaster dust from the old torn down walls put a dry, sticky taste in her mouth and plugged her nose.
Martin painted with focus and did not hear her, so she reached backwards to rap her knuckles on the door. Martin looked down, shut off his sprayer and said, “What do you think of this color?” His voice echoed in the empty space around the high stairwell corner.
Maureen, concerned primarily with Carl’s visit the previous night, had to re-focus her attention. Martin waited, sprayer in hand, for her to answer his question. Maureen tried to visualize the entire space in the warm pale peachy color that covered several feet along the ceiling. Martin was a genius. It was lovely against the dark woodwork. “Perfect,” she answered. He nodded.
“How are you?” she asked, sending her voice toward the ceiling. “Did Carl give you a scare?”
“Fine, now,” Martin said. “Yes, he gave me a scare. I first thought he came to get Kirby.”
Maureen noticed that all of the woodwork was gone. The place looked naked. Normally the wide, high doorframes consisted of several layers of separate pieces of wood, but the doorframes as well as the floorboards and window trim was removed.
Martin told her he was hoping to have it finished in time for Kirby’s baptism. Maureen nodded. She would not express her skepticism about the time this would take. Martin would do what he set out to do. If Kirby wasn’t baptized until he was ten, so be it.
“I wanted to know what the detectives were like,” Maureen said, her neck starting to ache.
“Crook can tell you,” Martin answered. He put his paint mask over his nose and resumed his work. Martin had an air of contentment and satisfaction about himself that made the house seem peaceful. Despite the tension in the town and inside her, Martin seemed peaceful. She watched her brother for several minutes. He was a handsome man, tall and lean and in control.
“Don’t forget to stop and eat,” she called up to him.
“Don’t worry.” His voice was muffled with the mask. “My crew takes a two hour lunch if I’m not there.” He laughed.
Maureen went in search of Crook. She found him in the newly designated family room off the kitchen. From end to end in straight rows across the floor laid the woodwork pieces. Two sawhorses were placed in front of the window and a long piece of doorframe lay across them. This room held the new TV. The bean bag chairs were pushed almost flat against the wall. The only floor space was a semi-circle of dust in front of the closed-up fireplace. A fan in the window blew the fumes out.
Maureen’s eyes smarted instantly. She said, “Oh my gosh, where is Kirby?”
Crook knelt in front of the doorframe brushing on a coat of varnish remover. His head looked to be only inches above the wood and his painstaking, meticulous labor was slow. Across the back of his bald head stretched two thin lines of a surgical mask. Two clean pieces of molding stood in a corner. Crook looked like a little boy playing with toys.
Maureen did a quick sweep for Kirby. Crook looked up and gestured toward the kitchen where Maureen found the baby. Kirby slept in his small bed. His fingers curled around the satin trim of his blanket. He also wore a surgical mask and lay beneath a tent. A baby monitor and an air monitor were hooked to his crib.
Despite the fan in the kitchen window blowing in, the radio on classical music and the air monitor hooked to the bed clearly on the blue good, Maureen did not like it. She would talk to Martin about day-care for Kirby if he planned on working. He always planned on working.
From behind her came Crook’s voice. “I’m glad you came early. We have extremely important errands to do today.”
“How did you know I was coming at all?” she asked him, surprised.
“I knew Bill would tell you and Tillie about our late night visitors and you would come. I’m glad to see you. I need your help.” He said this in his habitual matter-of-fact tone. To Maureen he sounded presumptuous.
“Hey,” she answered, glaring at him, “your will is not my command.”
Crook gaped back at her. He didn’t understand and confusion actually crossed his features. Seeing this, Maureen relented. More gently she said, “It is different asking for favors from people who can, if they choose, say ‘no.’”
Crook nodded. Maureen said, “In the outside world, the command structure is handled differently and it is not straightforward.”
Crook changed his tone. “I need your help, Maureen, with some errands, and I need for you not to ask any questions about it.”
Maureen thought about this. She did not flinch nor did she jump onboard. She thought about it, looking at Crook.
“Is this related to Hauk?” she asked.
“That is a question,” he said.
She said nothing more and she did she move until Crook understood he had to answer her.
“Yes.”
Maureen knew that few people had ever withstood his aura of command, but she felt immune. Underneath, she thought that he somehow did not really mean to be so bossy.
“What errands?” Maureen asked. She stepped away from the baby bed, as her voice made Kirby squirm.
“I need a fire to burn some clothing and I need to replace Kirby’s formula.” Crook met her eyes and knowledge passed between them.
“What you are asking could put me in jail,” Maureen whispered her words because she was going to cry and did not want Crook to know it. Like Martin, Maureen did not willingly show emotion. Being vulnerable was one thing, letting on was another thing entirely. Her heart clenched with fear. Crook was in serious trouble and maybe Martin as well. Her lips felt too stiff to form words and her hands felt cold.
Crook stepped toward her and put his hands on her shoulders. An intense spark lit his sea blue eyes. “It is better if you do not know,” he told her. “The law is a line and some of us are on the wrong side of that line without meaning to be. I’ve learned to live with that. I do what I have to do to protect what is important to me and what is fair to me. I do it, no matter where it falls. I know how to protect you.”
Then Crook added as an afterthought, “Damn, a fellow lets one friend inside and the whole world comes storming along for the ride. It makes me a bit angry, but it’s too late now to change things. Besides, I owe Martin, he was my last chance to ever see the outside, and he did not let me down.”
“Sort of the frying pan to the fire for you,” Mau
reen said, trying to be level, fighting to get a grip on what had changed in the last minutes from suspicion to fact.
With a cock of his head and a thin half-smile, Crook said, “Martin made me laugh.”
Maureen’s father called her stubborn. Martin called her determined. No one ever called Maureen impulsive. Maureen struggled with a blind leap of faith.
“I’ll do it,” she said. “I know a good lawyer.”
Without another word, Crook grabbed two garbage bags by the kitchen door and took them to Maureen’s fire red Mustang. “Not exactly a low-key vehicle,” he said as Maureen opened her trunk.
He tossed the bags into the trunk. Then he went inside, followed by Maureen. He told Martin to come down from the scaffolding. It was a blustery day, chilly and windy with occasional rain. The trees dropped their remaining leaves in swirls of wind and the leaves rustled across the driveway. It was too cold for Kirby.
Crook gave Martin the baby-care update. Kirby had two bottles made in the fridge. That was it. He would be fine for a few hours. Crook said, “I will bring back new formula.”
Martin stood in the kitchen. Kirby opened his eyes and Martin bent to lift the baby into his arms. Kirby hunkered down into Martin’s arm perfectly. “Crook,” Martin said, “I don’t want Maureen to be involved in this.” He was still the soft-spoken, gentle man, but there was new awareness in him, an intelligence and strength. His gaze was level and without emotion.
“I know,” Crook answered, “but she already is. The thing is, the cops will find me. Likely they have my file on their desk right now. They will discover that I have a previous violent act. They already know that I have the skills used in this crime. They may have me on their minds as a person of interest, but they can’t prove it. It is always the cover-up that gets people. So we have to be very careful in our cover-up.”
Maureen did not interrupt the conversation. She thought that Crook had completely given up any pretense of innocence, at least to Martin and now to her.
Martin scratched his head and thought about this. “Well,” he said, “there are six people directly or indirectly involved. Any one of us might make a mistake and say something incriminating. That can happen and probably will.”
“That is the bottom line. The absolutely only way they will ever prove anything is if one of us gives ourselves away. But I think we can do it. Say nothing to no one. I think we can do that. What do you think, Maureen?” Both men looked at her; the blush rose on her cheeks and neck.
Maureen said, “You mean if the police ask me questions, I refuse to answer at all? Isn’t that worse than answering something?”
Crook looked at her for a few seconds, glancing at Martin. “It is uncomfortable to say nothing, but it is best. When you lie, they gotcha. When you try to out-smart them, they gotcha again. Say not one word if asked anything pertaining to anything. Not one word.”
Martin said, “These detectives seemed like the real deal to me. When we talked last night I was nervous.”
“You didn’t look nervous,” Crook said.
Martin said to Maureen, “You have no connection.”
“I will,” Maureen said. The truth of this sunk deep like a lead weight.
Martin patted Kirby’s back. He said, “It all depends on the cops doing the investigation, on their own personal agenda, on the victim. In this case, the cops are the real deal. The victim is supposedly one of their own. So this could be one of those cases that never goes away. On the other hand, sometimes it does go away. ‘The victim deserved it’ kind of thing and the evidence is not there, no physical evidence.”
Martin abruptly stopped talking. He looked at his sister, and shrugged. “In for a penny, in for a pound,” he said. Martin took two long strides to the window and shut off the fan. He bent down and pulled Kirby’s blanket out of the bed. The room was chilly.
“Where is my coat?” Martin said.
Crook continued as if Martin had not asked about the coat. “If it is more detrimental to the law to solve the crime than to leave it unsolved, they might choose to leave it. That could happen.”
“Dream on,” Martin said.
Maureen almost repeated the question regarding Martin’s coat, but she looked at Crook and held her tongue. She would ask later when Martin could not hear.
Martin told them he was taking Kirby to the first game that Sandra would play. “If I’m not here that’s where I am.” It wasn’t even eight o’clock in the morning and the game started at seven that night. No one expected to be gone all day.
Outside, Maureen studied the grove of trees. Now some were dead and most had dead branches, but in her youth on many winter mornings those trees covered in frost were clouds of diamonds. Crook had said he needed a fire. As they sat in the front seat of the car thinking of where to go, Maureen told Crook of the picnic area at the Lake Vermillion State Park. The park was abandoned this time of year. And with this weather, likely not a single person would be there. She described the brick grilling pits. Crook nodded.
“Okay,” she said. “We will have a picnic. First stop is the grocery store. We need charcoal.” The danger made her giddy. They were like Bonnie and Clyde. For a woman who always stayed safely within the rules, she felt a rush of freedom, but only briefly. The excitement was replaced with gut-clenching fear before they reached the highway.
Maureen parked her shinny red Mustang in front of the grocery store windows. Crook said, “Maybe park down the block.”
Through the windows Maureen could see the middle-aged clerk at the cash register. “Leave me alone, Crook. I can do this. I know these people.”
It was a two check-out store, but there were long aisles of food and a crisp business. “Hello Maureen, long time no see,” the clerk said as soon as Maureen was through the front door. Elsie was the mom of one of Maureen’s classmates. She, like everyone, knew everyone in town or from town. She glanced at the car and the man inside it. “I heard you were on vacation,” Elsie said, in a friendly tone but blatantly nosy.
Understanding immediately that she and Crook were anything but inconspicuous, she decided to do as she would anytime. “Hello, Elsie,” she smiled warmly, “I am on vacation, helping Martin, you know.” Since Martin’s return had taken second place behind Hauk’s murder, Elsie had bigger fish to fry.
“You see that fella there?” Elsie pointed down the second aisle. Maureen saw an unimposing brown-haired man reading the label on laundry detergent. “He is one of those big shot detectives in town investigating Hauk’s murder.” Elsie had lowered her voice to a near whisper. Maureen fought the temptation to run.
Maureen grabbed a cart, forced a parting smile at Elsie and started after her own groceries. She couldn’t think of what it was she wanted. She pulled the sleeves of her sweater over her shaking fingers and tried a couple deep breaths to still her hammering heart. “Focus,” she told herself. She found the new baby formula. Was it Enfamil? No, that was the kind Crook had to throw out. She grabbed Similac. She found the charcoal and lifted two big bags into her cart.
She was rushing now, nearly trotting. She grabbed canned vegetables, pastries and some brats. She backtracked for stick matches and again for charcoal lighter. She put on a lot of miles for a few things. The sauerkraut was in the aisle were the detective now stood with his cart neatly organized. She felt an aversion to meeting him as he glanced her way.
She pretended to think, her finger to her chin. She moved around the canned items in her cart. Still he stood there. She could hardly go past the aisle again. Suddenly sauerkraut did not sound good at all. She asked herself what she would do if she didn’t know who he was. She didn’t know the answer to that. She thought, at the rate I am going, he will never forget me. She decided to check out, now. He came up behind her at the checkout.
Maureen did not glance toward the car. It took every ounce of self-discipline but she stayed focused on Elsie. Maybe Crook would run. This detective would recognize him from last night.
The detective was di
stracted, checking his watch. Standing behind Maureen, he watched impatiently as Elsie keyed in each item that Maureen took from her cart. A kid appeared from no where and grabbed the heavy bags of charcoal. Maureen forced herself to watch the digital display of prices, not that she saw a single one, and Elsie chatted while she keyed. Maureen handed Elsie cash and waited to be told if she needed more, but Elsie handed change back.
“See ya, Elsie,” Maureen said and then moved as quickly as her frozen limbs allowed. She forced a quick smile at the man behind her, trying to give the impression that she did not want to keep him waiting.
“Enjoy your vacation,” Elsie answered as she turned her attention to her next customer. When Maureen glanced back she saw his eyes followed her, but he did not turn to look through the windows. She heard the detective say. “It’s a chilly day for grilling.” The carry-out stood with the charcoal waiting for her to open her trunk and she nearly did.
“Back seat,” she told him and he obeyed.
Crook did not move a muscle. He seemed frozen. He had pulled Martin’s baseball cap down over his face and sat low in the passenger seat staring straight ahead. He looked like a boy.
Maureen started for the driver’s door when she realized she left her keys on the checkout while reaching for her change. Without a word she ran back inside. Maureen smiled and reached across the detective and picked up her keys.
“Big game tonight,” Elsie was saying as Maureen forced her legs to walk slowly from the store.
In the car, Maureen backed out and took off. Crook said, “Cops are the luckiest people on the face of the earth. The good news is they don’t know it.”
Maureen glanced at him and saw the same relief she felt. He sat back and appeared to watch the fall countryside move swiftly past his window. She felt the hammering in her chest slow.
Martin, Crook, & Bill Page 19
