by Glenn Trust
“No harm at all,” Greene agreed, “and certainly to our benefit.”
“What do you propose?”
“I think we should enjoy our breakfast and then make a call to the governor’s office. He will want this handled correctly. A task force, perhaps?”
Montgomery smiled in appreciation at his colleague. “Yes, an investigative task force, GBI and all, reporting directly to the governor’s office I think would be in order.”
He looked over at Greene who nodded and said “Right, and we will have an inside track on where the investigation is heading.” Their eyes met in a sign of mutual agreement, binding them in a deal, as if they had just shaken hands on it. “Good then. We will make the call after breakfast.”
The two sat tranquilly without speaking further, looking through the sparkling window glass into the pleasant spring morning. The city, at least this part of it, was especially beautiful in the spring. It was easy to forget, for a moment, the undercurrent of power, influence, and financial gain that followed and flowed around these two men, no matter how beautiful the weather. They seemed to be just two friends having breakfast, which of course, they were.
A few minutes later, the waiter returned with their breakfasts. The two enjoyed the food and the service, the fine linens, and the heavy clank of the thick silverware on the china. It was a pleasant place, rich and satisfying. They appreciated that not everyone could eat breakfast in such a fine place.
19. A Bit Too Convenient
Bob Shaklee stood in the clearing in the woods behind the Somerhill’s place looking down at the assortment of shell casings lying amongst the leaves and pine straw. There were a lot. Some had been left there recently. The brass on others bore the signs of exposure to the weather. Calibers from most common rifles were represented. .30-.30, .223, .30-06 and a lot of .22’s.
“That’s a shit pot load of shell casings wouldn’t you say, Sheriff?” He looked over at Grizzard, who stood, hands in pockets, watching the techs mark, photograph, and gather the casings.
Grizzard shrugged without looking up. “No law against it. Far enough off the roads here, no hazard to anyone. Popular place for target practice.”
“Wasn’t referring to the legalities, Sheriff,” Shaklee said, smiling inwardly at the sheriff’s sullen attitude. He had heard about Sharon’s little confrontation with the good sheriff of Hinchfield County the night before. “Just commenting that that is a shit pot load of shell casings, don’t you think? Could take a while to identify the rifles they came from.”
Grizzard hunched over and maintained his watch on the crime scene techs without speaking. He was cooperating with the investigation, he had to, but it was clear that he had competing emotions on the subject of Prentiss Somerhill’s death. It was very likely that he would not be the sheriff of Hinchfield County come November.
Watching him, Shaklee also knew that Grizzard, despite the gruff surliness that he exuded, was a professional. He would not do anything to impede the hunt for Somerhill’s killer. He also knew that, while there had been no love lost between the two of late, Grizzard would never have been a party to the murder. If Shaklee had reason to believe otherwise, the sheriff would be sitting in a GBI office in Atlanta undergoing some serious questioning.
No, Grizzard was not involved, and he would help the investigation, no matter what his feelings about Somerhill were. He was old school and he was a professional with a sense of duty. He just didn’t like Sharon Price. Not an uncommon trait, Shaklee thought smiling.
Sharon was never the most diplomatic of people. Verbally, she could have the same effect on a person as walking bare legged through a patch of stinging nettle. It wasn’t going to kill you, but it could sure put you in a bad mood for the rest of the day. Sheriff Grizzard was suffering from the stinging nettle effect this morning. Bob Shaklee understood completely. He had been there before. Add to that, the GBI staring over his shoulder, possibly doubting his actions and motives, and Grizzard was in a surly humor. You might have even called it pissy. Sharon certainly would have.
The radio on the sheriff’s belt blared loudly in the quiet of the clearing.
“Unit 1, 108 here, copy?”
Grizzard took the radio from his belt, looked through the woods in the direction of where the unseen caller was. “Go ahead, 108”
“Got something here, Sheriff.”
“10-4. Your exact location?” Grizzard’s voice was calm and authoritative.
“About ten or fifteen yards inside the tree line directly opposite the back porch.”
“On our way, 108. Standby and secure the area.” Grizzard looked over at Shaklee and spoke to him for the first time. “Coming?”
Shaklee nodded and followed the sheriff out of the clearing and into the dense undergrowth that thrived beneath the tree canopy. It was eight-thirty in the morning, but the day was cloudy and the canopy of green overhead made it seem like twilight.
Grizzard, wearing heavy boots, khaki work pants, and light, waist-length jacket, pushed his way smoothly and steadily through the thickets of briars and vines that covered the forest floor.
Shaklee, wearing loafers, wool slacks, and a sweater, had a bit more difficulty. The briars snagged his pants and sweater, and he kept losing his loafers in the tangled underbrush.
Hearing a rustling commotion behind him, Grizzard turned to see Shaklee hopping on one foot trying to extricate one of his shoes from the vegetation. His slacks were a mass of snagged threads, and it was clear they would be trash by the end of the day.
For the first time since his encounter with Sharon Price the night before, Grizzard smiled. In fact, he burst out laughing.
Shaklee looked up. Hearing the laughter at his expense, he felt, for a moment, about as surly as the sheriff had earlier. Then shrugging, he put his socked foot carefully down and bent over, pulling his shoe from a mass of tangled vines. Holding it up for Grizzard to see, Shaklee smiled good-naturedly and slipped it on.
“Guess I didn’t dress for the occasion.”
“No, Agent Shaklee, I’d say you definitely did not.” Grizzard’s deep rumbling laugh was like a vibrating undercurrent in the quiet woods, and Bob could not help joining in.
“Well, I’m glad I could provide some comic relief.”
Grizzard’s laugh increased a couple of decibels in volume as he turned. “Come on, Bob. We better get moving and see what they found.”
Shaklee understood the value of self-deprecation. His psyche was intact enough, and his self-esteem strong enough, to take some ribbing when necessary. It was a trait that had stood him in good stead on more than one occasion, winning him friends, and psychologically disarming those who were in opposition to him. They needed Grizzard as a friend in this investigation. So be it. He would take the laughter. Whether at his expense, or not, it was irrelevant.
A few minutes later, they had pushed through the deepest part of the thickets and the undergrowth began to thin out. Up ahead they saw a cluster of three Hinchfield County deputies and a firefighter standing in a small, knotted circle looking down.
“Whatcha got?” Grizzard said familiarly to the senior deputy at the scene.
The deputy pointed down. “Three shell casings, Sheriff, .30-06.”
The circle expanded to allow Grizzard and Shaklee to enter. Both men knelt to examine the shell casings without touching them. They would be photographed in position, gathered, and tagged when the techs finished in the clearing.
Having withstood the sheriff’s laughter in the woods, Shaklee had earned a modicum of respect from Grizzard. The sheriff let him express an opinion first.
“What do you think, Bob?”
Still kneeling beside the sheriff and examining the shell casings as closely as he could without touching them, he said, “Looks a bit too convenient for me. Three casings dropped neatly on the ground, as if we were supposed to find them.”
Grizzard nodded. “I agree.”
Shaklee looked over at him. “No hunting accident, then?”
Grizzard shrugged. “Never really thought seriously that it was. Just got my back up last night. I shouldn’t have. It was a long day and we were all under a lot of pressure. Known the Somerhills all my life, and like him or not, he didn’t deserve to go like that.”
Shaklee nodded in understanding. “Yep. Long day for Agent Price too, I expect.”
“I suggest that we go get a search warrant for all the rifles in old man Jackson’s house and speak to the Jackson boys,” Grizzard said. “I‘m not real hopeful that anything is going to come of it. Actually, I hope nothing comes of it. They’re good boys. But it’s the place to start.”
Rising, Shaklee nodded. “I agree. This is not going to be some accident or mean prank committed by some rowdy boys, Sheriff. I believe we have a professional out there who took out the senator for some reason.
“Yeah,” Grizzard said nodding. “Be helpful to know the reason.”
Two hours later, they had tagged and placed six rifles in the back of the crime scene van. The Jackson boys, ranging in age from fourteen to eighteen, had cooperated completely during the interview.
Burle Jackson had looked at his sons gathered in the small living room of their frame house and said, “Boys, I expect you to tell the sheriff and Mr. Shaklee the truth. Every bit of it. Understood?”
The boys all nodded in unison, much more impressed by their father’s admonition than by the credentials of the two law enforcement officers. Then, with their father and mother sitting quietly on the sofa listening, they answered every question put to them, in detail and without hesitation.
Shaklee and Grizzard had no doubt that the Jackson boys had told them absolutely everything they could about their target shooting in the woods. In the process, they had divulged the hiding place in a hollow under a stump where they kept a cache of beer and a Playboy magazine. Mrs. Jackson seemed a bit shocked at this revelation. Burle Jackson’s face revealed a momentary smile before he replaced it with the stern look that had been there during the entire interview.
20. Cross Examination
Sharon Price looked up as Lauralee Somerhill walked into the study.
“Thought I’d bring you some coffee. Take anything with it?” Mrs. Somerhill held a tray with a small decanter that smelled fragrantly of coffee. A small silver bowl with assorted sweeteners and a creamer pot sat beside the decanter, along with a china coffee cup and teaspoons.
“Nope, plain and black. Been working with cops too long.” Sharon said smiling at the older woman. “How are you doing today?” The question was sincere.
Prentiss Somerhill’s high profile and notoriety, some would say infamy, did not make dealing with the situation easier. Looking at Lauralee’s face, Sharon knew that it compounded the pain and grief many times over.
Setting the tray on the side of the desk, Lauralee sank into a heavy stuffed chair. Her eyes were red, and it seemed clear that she had not slept much the night before.
“Good as can be expected, I guess,” she replied to Sharon’s question. “Got up this morning looking for him on the back porch. He always sat out there watching the morning come on, waiting for me to get up.” Her head lowered, eyes staring at her hands clasped tightly together in her lap. Sharon could see tears rolling down her face and plopping softly on top of her clenched fingers.
“I don’t have words to say how sorry I am for you…for all of this, Lauralee.” She could think of nothing else, nothing more comforting to say.
“There is nothing to say, Sharon. He is gone. They took him from me. I have to find a way to live with that.”
As Lauralee looked up from her lap, Price saw the resolve in her eyes. This woman would find a way to live with it. She would go on. But for now, her pain was real and deep, a wound to her heart that would take time to heal.
Seated behind Senator Somerhill’s large wood desk, Price thought to change the subject.
“I have been going through your husband’s computer files, looking for a link, anything that might tie the murderer to him.”
Mrs. Somerhill, listening, nodded her head waiting.
“I can’t seem to find anything,” Sharon continued. “At least not anything definitive.”
“Prentiss had many activities, many friends…” Lauralee paused before continuing. “And some enemies too, I suppose.”
“Many enemies?” Sharon asked, noting that the word had been dropped from the description of Prentiss’ enemies.
“What would be many?” Lauralee shrugged in reply. “Five? Ten? For some people, one would be many enemies. Prentiss was a public figure. Over the years…the decades…he had certainly been opposed on many issues by powerful people. Were those people his enemies? For a time, perhaps, but not permanently. Usually they reconciled and unified on some other issue. I cannot think of one person who so hated my husband that he would have done this.”
Sharon nodded. “Right. I understand.” She paused to allow the emotions to settle for a moment. “So we are back to square one, so to speak. The…” She stopped to consider her next word as delicately as possible under the circumstances. “The shooting then was either a hunting accident, as Sheriff Grizzard intimated last night…”
Lauralee interrupted, “You must understand that the sheriff was not serious about that. He and Prentiss were long-time acquaintances, if not friends. They respected each other.”
“I know,” Sharon replied nodding. “It was a tense moment. I seem to bring those out in people.” She smiled. “So hunting accident, unlikely.” Another pause so that they could check that one off in their minds. “That brings us to some stupid prank that went wildly wrong.”
Lauralee looked at her questioningly. “The Jackson boys?”
“We had to consider it. My partner, Bob Shaklee, and Sheriff Grizzard spent the morning searching the woods opposite the back pasture. They went to the clearing where the boys take their target practice. Found a lot of shell casings, but the shots could not have been fired from there.”
Sharon stopped and sipped her coffee to allow Lauralee to take it all in. “Some of the search team found three shell casings just inside the tree line opposite the back porch. It would have been the right spot to…well, it would have been a place for a shooter to fire from towards the porch.”
Another pause and another sip of coffee. “Bob and the sheriff visited with the Jacksons and interviewed the boys, along with seizing every rifle in the house for comparison to the rounds that…” Again, she was not sure what or how to say what came next.
Lauralee Prentiss helped her. “For comparison to the rounds that killed my husband, Agent Price. I watch television. I have heard about ballistics and forensics, you know.” She smiled to put Sharon’s mind at ease.
“Right.” Sharon nodded appreciatively back, glad not to have had to say it herself. “They don’t expect anything to come of it though. They felt that the boys were honest in answering questions for…a number of reasons.” She had heard about the Playboy magazine, but decided not to mention it. “At any rate, they feel it is doubtful that the Jackson boys had anything to do with the shooting.”
“I would have been surprised if they had,” Lauralee said. “Still I suppose they had to be questioned. Seems a terrible thing for young boys to have to remember the rest of their lives, questioned about a…” This time Lauralee paused, considering her words before continuing. Visibly taking a breath as if to face the reality of what she was about to say, she continued, “Questioned about a murder. A terrible thing to carry with you from such a young age.”
“Yes,” Sharon agreed, “it is terrible. And that brings us full circle, back to some enemy of your husband. Someone so angry, or so threatened by him and his work, or just so crazy that they felt the only way to deal with it was by committing murder.” This time Sharon did not hesitate to use the word that applied. “Who might that be, Lauralee?”
“I honestly have no idea.”
Footsteps sounded on the heavy wood planks in the hallway and then bec
ame soft padding sounds as PT Somerhill came through the door onto the thick carpet. Gazing steadily at Sharon, he crossed the room and sat in a chair beside his mother’s.
“Still here, Agent Price?” He smiled pleasantly.
“Actually, I just got back an hour ago. Had to go report in last night and then caught a few hours of sleep. We have a lot to follow up on in the investigation of…” her voice trailed off.
PT nodded. “I know, my father’s death.” He looked at his mother. “Well none of us want to be reminded, but it can’t be helped. He is dead. Murdered. And we need to know where your investigation is in the matter.”
Sharon briefed him on the discovery of the shell casings and the interview with the Jackson boys. PT listened quietly, asking a pointed question occasionally. Sharon had the uneasy feeling that she was on the stand being cross-examined by a very good, high priced, attorney, which, of course is exactly what PT Somerhill was.
“Is there anything more you can tell us?” PT seemed to be trying to penetrate through any veneer the GBI agent had put up to make sure he was hearing all of the truth, and nothing but the truth.
Sharon returned his gaze steadily and replied with a smile. “Nope. That’s about it, Counselor.”
“Good. So, is there anything we can help you with?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. I have been going through some files on your father’s computer. There is a list of names. I wonder if you know who they are or why your father kept them on this separate and very neatly typed list, and not in his normal address book.”
“No, Agent Price. Unfortunately, I don’t know who they all are or why he kept them on that list. My father was deeply involved in political issues surrounding the elections this year. He had some pretty strong opinions, as you may have heard.” Sharon nodded and he continued, “I was running our law practice, singlehandedly mostly. I didn’t really have time to keep track of all of his activities.”
“Of course you know what it is PT.” Lauralee leaned forward and turned her head sideways to see her son’s face.
