“No, I am not protecting anyone!” Trudy sounded indignant. “Quite the opposite.”
“Well, the opposite of protecting is endangering or harming,” I said. “So, how does that definition fit with your connection to Roy Knight?”
“I just wanted to teach him a lesson. He and Midge Kohl both have blood on their hands. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I can’t sleep. I am sick to my stomach. I had to do something. I have spent way too much time talking about cruelty and senseless killing for financial gain. Part of being committed to a cause is to do more than pay lip service to it.”
Trudy sounded like a campaign slogan, and was no doubt quoting verbiage from whatever cultish faction on whose behalf she had acted. “That’s the difference between the truly devout and those who like to wave a flag or hold a banner.” She spoke as if she was explaining why she had committed crimes; as if I already knew what had happened, and she was justifying.
“Devout?” I asked. “A lot of blood is shed in the name of any number of gods. But I suspect that your actions were not driven by a religious calling. I need you to walk me through what you have done.”
“Well, I can start by telling you what I didn’t do,” she snapped, sitting bolt upright. Her attorney shot her a look, and she relaxed back into the seat and sighed. “I had nothing to do with the death of Midge Kohl. In fact, I have never been in her house or inside the plant.”
“I find it hard to believe that you are totally innocent. I have text messages and email evidence. I have a voodoo doll with a PETA pin stuck through its heart. I have the matching sock from your bedroom. I have your computer, your cell phone, should I continue?”
“And we do not argue that,” the attorney interjected. “My client may be guilty of harassment, but you have nothing that connects her to the murder. Look, Trudy needs to get home and organized before heading back to school. What do you need to release her?”
“I need a statement. I need the truth. I want to start with Roy Knight.”
The attorney told Trudy that she had nothing to hide, and encouraged her to be honest and thorough in her statement. Trudy launched into a long explanation of her relationship to Roy Knight. It seemed fairly rehearsed, which I expected. She eventually got to the substance of what I was looking for.
“Roy is a vicious killer. Some islanders are afraid of him, so they turn a blind eye. Others are simply desensitized.” Finally, the long and agonizing boat ride was going to pay off in spades, I thought. “I wanted to stop him.”
“Have you witnessed him killing?” I asked, trying to maintain a flat tone in spite of my mounting excitement.
“Of course. Everyone has. He slaughtered two bucks and a yearling right in our front yard!”
My stomach churned. Deer?
“Roy Knight is a deer hunter?” I asked, putting the pieces of what I had witnessed on Acadia together, and feeling quite deflated. Thank God I hadn’t yet sent the blood and hair samples to the lab, I thought. Although I avoided looking at the sheriff, I sensed his presence.
“Oh yeah. Big time. He sneaks the meat ashore and sells it on some black market. He’s killed so many beautiful and innocent animals … And out of season, too. He is a poacher, but the game wardens will not come to Acadia to bust him.” My heart sunk as I tried to figure out how to salvage this interrogation to get some useful information. “I started following him around and blaring an air horn every time he took aim. The next thing I knew, there was a deer head stuck on a post outside my bedroom window. I want him arrested!”
Trudy had just provided Roy Knight with an alibi for the woods shooting that I had hoped to loop into the Kohl case. Trudy had to give me more than this, I thought. Trudy Proctor was guilty of more than scare tactics and sending a few nasty notes, Roy Knight was off the hook for the time being. But she was not. I needed to play hardball. Back to the basics. Criminal Investigation 101.
“Where were you the night of February twelfth?” I asked.
“Oh, let’s see.” Trudy was back to her cocky, arrogant self. “That was the night they burned old Dixie down, right?” She had misquoted the lyrics, which was annoying in itself. That coupled with her attitude nearly sent me over the edge. I could’ve roughed her up a bit, if only her attorney was not in attendance. I was so disappointed and agitated by the realization that Roy Knight had not shot a human that I was ashamed of myself.
“‘And the people were singing. They went la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, lalalalaaaa.’” Her attorney interrupted the song and advised that she answer the question. “As you will see when you hack into my computer, I was in my room the entire day and night of the period in question. Can you say WEBCAM? Yup, I video-record my existence—asleep or awake. Looks like you and your theory are screwed, doesn’t it?” She turned to the sheriff, cocked her head to one side, putting on her best coy show, and said, “Lucy’s got some ’splainin’ to do, doesn’t she?” She then put her back to the shell-shocked sheriff and addressed me again. It took all of my restraint to not slap her across the face. “Back to the drawing board, Sherlock.”
TEN
“I guess Captain Cal was right,” Trudy sneered. “The word ‘pig’ does bring bad luck … to you!” Trudy actually gave me the finger; a gesture that I always thought of as the ultimate sign of disrespect. Her attorney appeared to be embarrassed by Trudy’s attitude and actions, but remained silent—something I was certain she wished her client would do. From my seat, the view of the entire situation was poor. If she was telling the truth about being on her webcam at all times, Trudy had not only provided a rock-solid alibi for herself, but had also inadvertently gotten Roy Knight off the hook. And now that I knew the story (which included Trudy’s admitting to tormenting Roy Knight), I could almost sympathize with the deer poachers.
I scrambled to salvage something from this interrogation that might help me move forward with the Kohl case. Of course I would have Deloris confirm that Trudy had indeed been in her bedroom during the time in question. But that seemed to be a formality at this point. I wished the sheriff had not been here to witness the botched interrogation. He sat quietly while I wondered what he must be thinking. Although I was relieved to learn that I had not witnessed a person getting killed, I now had no suspect in the Kohl murder in spite of the overwhelming suspicion that nearly everyone had motive.
“Are you going to arrest Roy Knight?” Trudy asked.
“No,” I answered. She sighed audibly in disgust and rolled her eyes. “On what grounds would I arrest him?” I asked. Might as well continue the fishing expedition before the attorney realizes that they are free to leave.
“Oh, let’s see … Should I make a list for you? Hunting out of season, hunting at night, hunting in posted areas, selling venison illegally. He is a killer who has murdered hundreds of innocent white-tailed deer for profit.”
“That’s a case for the game wardens,” I said. “Not my jurisdiction.”
“Oh, right. I forgot that you are some big-shot detective. Wow, you sure are good at your job,” she said sarcastically. “Well, Roy Knight will never be arrested. The last time a Marine Patrol boat came to Acadia was in 1997. They came to arrest Sid Watson for hauling other fishermen’s traps. The state’s forty-six-foot patrol boat disappeared without a trace while the officers walked to Sid’s house to find him. Very expensive for the state of Maine to lose a patrol boat. That’s just one example of why Islanders are above the law. They are untouchable. And the Hancock County Sheriff’s Department is no exception.”
“Need I remind you that you are doing nothing to help that situation?” I asked. “You could have provided your alibi before things got this far, and you would never have been brought in for questioning. You have not only cost me time that should have been spent looking for the murderer of Mrs. Kohl, but you have cost the state a pretty penny as well. This could be seen as obstruction of justice,” I said.
“Whoa. That’s enough, Detective Bunker,” the attorney spoke up. “Trudy is here
to help. She is cooperating. Do you have any more questions for her? Because if you are done, we will gather her things and leave.”
“I think your client has intentionally led me astray. I think she knows something or is protecting someone. She allowed me to haul her off Acadia Island in a storm rather than provide an alibi,” I accused. “So let’s hear about her relationship to the deceased, shall we?”
“I am not protecting anyone,” replied Trudy. “I just don’t care to help you. I think whoever killed Midge Kohl deserves thanks, not prosecution.” The attorney shuddered. “You know that I was harassing her. You can prosecute me for that. I’m proud of it. She and Roy Knight are both guilty of killing living creatures in the cruelest of ways.”
“Other than you, who else do you think wanted Midge Kohl dead?” I asked.
“Everyone at the plant. Every year-round resident, and most summer people. We have been through this before, right?”
“I understand that Mrs. Kohl was not well liked. I get that many people had an axe to grind with her. But that is far from carrying out a murder. Who wanted her dead, and could actually follow through with killing her?”
“No idea.”
“You have no idea, or you’re unwilling to talk?”
“All of the above.”
Trudy was not about to budge. And I was beginning to think that she really knew nothing more than I did. She was sly about indicating that she was keeping some information from me. But I now suspected that she was toying with me for her own entertainment. I needed to put an end to this. I needed to cut Trudy loose and get back to Acadia Island to dig up some new leads. There were certainly plenty of possible suspects to question, according to Trudy. I would start at the plant. After all, that is the scene of the crime, I thought as I listened halfheartedly to the attorney explain to her client that I had no evidence with which to keep her any longer.
Trudy may be correct about Roy Knight never being arrested for his illegal hunting and other activities. But someone would be arrested and convicted for the brutal murder of Midge Kohl. I just didn’t know who yet. I would release Trudy so she could catch the late boat back to Acadia, which meant I would avoid sharing the trip tomorrow morning with her. I would regroup, reorganize, get some rest, and make the early boat tomorrow, I thought.
Finally the sheriff chimed in. “Okay, I think we have all we need here from Miss Proctor. If Deputy Bunker is in agreement, you are free to leave.” I nodded and sighed in exasperation.
When the women got up to leave, the attorney asked to have the handcuffs removed from Trudy’s wrists. “No, you can’t wear them back to the island,” she advised her client, who seemed reluctant to offer her wrists to me for unleashing. “And the jumpsuit belongs to the state of Maine.”
“No souvenirs?” Trudy smirked as I removed the cuffs from her frail wrists. “Can I borrow your phone for a quick selfie before I lose the orange outfit?” she asked her attorney as they left the conference room and headed back to the jail to collect Trudy’s clothes.
“Wow,” said the sheriff. “She’s obnoxious.”
“Yes. But unfortunately not guilty of anything substantial enough to keep her here,” I answered.
“Do you think she’s capable of murder?” he asked.
“I did. But now I don’t think so. This was fun and exciting for her. She can go back to school with bragging rights about her fight for the cause. An arrest and handcuffing will set her apart from her bleeding-heart friends.”
“What’s your next move? And what do you need from me?”
“I’ll have Deloris scour the flash drive I recovered from the fire scene at the Kohls’ place. And I’ll have her go through everything on Trudy Proctor’s phone and laptop just in case there’s something there.” The sheriff walked with me to the lobby as I thought out loud. “I’ll go back to Acadia after I get every bit of information that Deloris can dig up. Someone killed Midge Kohl in a cold-blooded, brutal way, and I won’t rest until justice is served.” I realized that I was giving myself a much needed pep talk.
As I opened the main door to leave, I heard a siren. Funny, I thought, I had never noticed sirens or flashing lights in Miami. They were so commonplace that they were just part of the soundscape of life there. As the sirens got louder in their approach, I guessed I wasn’t yet fully acclimated to Maine. I zipped my coat and pulled the hat over my messed-up hair, when an ambulance appeared and pulled up to the entrance of the jail. This would not be remarkable in any way if I had been in Dade County. But here in Ellsworth, Maine, the presence of an ambulance meant something more.
I pumped the Duster’s gas pedal to the floor three times, turned the key, and was pleased that the engine cranked right up in spite of the cold. It seemed that my car had adjusted to Maine better and faster than I had, I thought as I pulled the collar of my coat tighter around the small exposed ring of skin around my neck. I turned the defroster on high, and waited for the ice to melt from the inside of the windshield while I climbed out and scraped the frost that had formed on the outside with a red plastic scraper shaped like a lobster claw, which advertised the Lobster Trappe and had been gifted by the Vickersons. They never missed an opportunity to promote their business, even in the winter, when the gift shop’s door was locked up tight. For people in their eighties, they were high energy. I climbed back into the car, where I had an open view of the ambulance now parked with lights flashing at the front entrance of the jail. As the ice slowly melted, it obscured my view and made it easy to ponder the status of the Kohl murder investigation.
I wasn’t starting from square one. I had made progress in obtaining evidence and eliminating Trudy Proctor as my prime suspect. I was hopeful that Deloris would extract some key information from the damaged flash drive that would put me back on the scent. I was more determined than ever to ensure that justice be served. I was optimistic, and I had grown to understand that this was exactly what I loved about my job. The next clue, the next witness, the next lab report, the next interrogation …
As small rivulets ran down the windshield and dripped on the dash, I mindlessly mopped them up with the cuff of my coat’s sleeve and thought about how my perceptions of things had changed as I matured. A much younger Jane Bunker would be embarrassed and frustrated with the course of events so far. Jane Bunker of previous decades thrived on the cat-and-mouse aspect of each and every case, and was passionate about the end result, living for the slamming of the cell door. And any obstacle or false lead or misstep was humiliating and degrading. I’d had little or no patience with myself, let alone anyone else. I had been quick to anger. A younger Jane Bunker would have roughed up a brat like Trudy Proctor, and would have accepted punishment and reprimand as part of the deal. Luckily, I had matured into a more patient, rational, and level-headed detective who did not discourage or embarrass easily. Not that it hadn’t taken some restraint to keep myself from slapping Trudy’s obstinate face. The fact that I did exercise restraint was evidence of growth, I thought as I watched the jailhouse door open.
The sheriff appeared and held open the door while an ambulance attendant pulled one end of a stretcher through, quickly followed by the other end of the stretcher pushed by a second attendant. I left the car running and rushed across the parking lot to assist if needed. The stretcher held a zipped body bag. The sheriff motioned for the attendants to put the brakes on as I approached. I asked if I could be of assistance. The sheriff unzipped the top of the bag, and folded back a corner to expose the face of the deceased. I remarked that the lip ring and tattoos were telltale, and I immediately recognized them as belonging to the young guy who had run me off the road and threatened me with a loaded gun in the midst of trying to steal the box of chemicals from police evidence. “And now he has a toe tag to add to his various accessories,” the sheriff said as he zipped the bag back up and opened the ambulance door. “Overdose. There will be a full toxicology done.”
I was horrified to learn that yet another young person had done thems
elves in with a needle. And this time while in the custody of Hancock County Jail! Anyone with even the most tenuous tie with reality must understand that shooting up, snorting, or smoking home-brewed concoctions is suicidal, I thought. This was another unnecessary reminder that my main campaign was and should always be against drugs. I needed to solve the Kohl case and get on with the business of stopping, or at least slowing the manufacturing, trafficking, and selling of opiates and other illicit substances that were mowing kids down like a serial killer on steroids. Now I was pissed. So much for maturity, I thought as I silently renewed my vow to continue to wage my personal war on drugs. First things first. I asked the sheriff for directions to Deloris’s place, where I planned to hang out and wait for her to scour the flash drive that the sheriff had already had delivered to her for evidence that might lead me to Midge Kohl’s killer.
I called Deloris and announced my scheduled arrival five minutes before pulling into her driveway. She was excited to get involved and happy to have “something to do.” Prior to the sheriff’s explanation about Deloris’s education, training, and experience, I had no idea what an asset she could be. I had neither expertise nor patience for sifting through electronic devices on a salvage mission. Her strengths were my weakness. Perfect! The likelihood of finding helpful information or key evidence on the damaged flash drive was high, I thought. I really needed something to propel me back to Acadia. A new lead would be ideal.
A good bang on the front door was followed by a cheerful shout from inside. “Come on in.” As I closed the door behind me, I was relieved to find a very comfortable Deloris propped up in a reclining chair with a portable dinner tray that served as a desk. “Oh, thank God you didn’t bring pastries. Why is everyone compelled to show up with a bag of Dunkin’ Donuts?”
“I guess it’s good I was thoughtless,” I said with a chuckle. “You look good! How are you feeling?”
“Anxious to get back to work. But I can’t put any weight on my right heel for another two weeks. The doc has me on some heavy-duty painkillers. I can see how people get hooked,” Deloris said as she pointed to the couch, indicating that I should make myself comfortable. I tossed my coat and hat onto the far end, and sat where I could see whatever Deloris wanted to show me on her laptop, praying that she had found something. “You know, before I fell through the ceiling, I felt like I was going to find something. My gut was telling me that I was on the right track to uncover something. But I don’t know what.”
Shiver Hitch Page 18
