by Anne Hagan
“The top result is from the Gatlinburg daily newspaper from the day after the shooting reporting that an Ohio woman, Patricia Dunkirk, was shot and killed on the balcony of any area cabin. The body was reported to police by an anonymous male caller. When police arrived at the scene, they found her lifeless, on the balcony wrapped in a towel and wearing a swimming suit that was wet. She had an apparent gunshot wound through the neck. No other persons were present in the area. The caller that reported her body had not come forward at press time. The Gatlinburg Police Department and the Sevier County Sheriff’s Departments are investigating. They are asking anyone with any information to contact the county crime hotline or to come into either station to make a report.”
Dana scrolled down a bit. “That’s it for that article.”
“There’s no pool anywhere nearby,” I said. “If she was in a swimming suit and wet, she was either in the hot tub downstairs at the back, which makes no sense unless she went upstairs to change and went to the balcony for some reason, or she was in a suit in the Jacuzzi, got out and went to the balcony.”
“There’s a whole déjà vu, statement...” Dana smiled and went back to her search results but shook her head several times as she scanned through them. “Most of the reports are from the next day or a day or so after that. Nothing says much more than that.” She paused as something seemed to catch her eye.
“Did you find something?”
“Yeah, a short mention in the same paper. About a week after she was shot, the Sevier County DA ruled Dunkirk’s death ‘Negligent Homicide,’ a Class E felony in the State of Tennessee. Still no suspects though.”
Chapter 5 - Lost
7:30 AM Tuesday Morning, October 14th, 2014
Morelville
Joe Treadway looked from face to face at the group of volunteers assembled outside the Morelville General Store. He cleared his throat and, when all eyes focused on him, he began speaking, “Terry Ford was last seen, as far as we know, here in his store on Sunday morning at approximately 10:10. He left the store for reasons unknown in his blue, F-150 pick-up truck.” Treadway reeled off the plate number for the truck.
“It does not appear that Mr. Ford at any time came back to the store or went back to his home. At this time, we do not suspect any foul play. Mr. Ford may be out there somewhere, injured and in need of assistance. Our job is to mount a search and rescue operation to find him and get him home safely.”
He looked around, “I’m going to divide you into a few teams. Would those of you who know Mr. Ford, please raise your hands?”
Jesse Crane and several others in the gathered crowd raised their hands. Would you all please step over by the SUV to my right? Thank you.”
Addressing the dozen or others left after 20 some people stepped aside, he said, “We’ll be teaming the rest of you up with a couple of the folks who know Mr. Ford and one of our officers. Thanks for coming out to help. Please stand fast while we get everything under way.”
Jesse Crane was chatting with Steven Ford when Treadway moved over to their group to start breaking them down into teams. “Deputy?” he called to get his attention.
“Yes sir?”
“I’m Jesse Crane, in case you don’t remember me, and this here’s Terry’s brother.” Jesse jerked a finger toward Steven.
“We’ve met,” Treadway supplied.
“We suspect he might have grabbed his favorite pole Deputy and headed to one of his honey holes to fish. Something may have happened. I know a few places he might have gone.”
“Okay, great. That’s a good start. I’ll assign you two to Deputy Gates and you can go around with him to all the places you know of.”
Gates stepped forward. Treadway reminded him to report anything they found back to him then he beckoned to the two men to follow him to his cruiser.
Jesse looked at the patrol car and clucked his tongue, “This ain’t gonna work Deputy. We might just need four-wheel drive for some of the places we’re going. We better take my truck.”
“Is that okay with you Mr. Crane?”
“Wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t.”
“Lead on then.”
###
Mama Rossi
8:00 AM Tuesday Morning, October 14th, 2014
Morelville
My, my things sure kick off early out here in the country!
I looked over at the General Store as I passed by. There were people and police cruisers clustered about. Slowing my car, I turned off the state route by the only gas station in the little village my daughter was now calling home and then picked my way back around to the store.
Bypassing the deputies and the folks outside, I went into the store. I was surprised to find The main aisle shelving shoved back into the only other aisle and tables set up inside. Faye Crane and another woman were hovering about behind the counter, getting crockpots set up while Sheila Ford sat nearby, on a bench under one of the front windows, staring off into nowhere.
I hadn’t expected to find Faye there. I’d never said anything to her during the party clean-up about staying on longer but, now was as good a time as any. Before I could frame my approach, she spoke first.
“Why Chloe, this is a surprise. I thought you were headed home last night.” Her smile reached her eyes and I felt instantly at ease. She hadn’t handled her daughter marrying mine very well but, the past few days, she’d been quite friendly toward me. Now that the official festivities were over, that seemed to be continuing.
“To be honest, I’d actually already decided to stay on and sort of, how to explain it, help our girls out. My Dana’s not completely mobile right now and your Mel is just so busy.”
“Help out how dear?”
“Oh, you know, this and that. A lot of cleaning, a little organizing, maybe seeking out some – a few – furniture and décor items...”
“Do they know you’re doing this?” Her eyes narrowed slightly as her overall look took on an air of suspicion mixed with curiosity.
“Um, not actually, no.”
Faye’s demeanor changed again, “Ooo, a surprise! I love the way you think!”
The other woman tried to squeeze by Faye with a wrapped tray of sandwich rolls. Faye excused herself to the woman and then turned back to me and said, “I apologize but I really should be helping. Those guys will all come back hungry here in a couple or three hours and we need to be ready.”
“That’s why I stopped. What’s going on?”
The second woman stopped and stared at me, “You mean you haven’t heard?” she asked.
Faye flipped a hand in her direction, “Oh Helen, she’s not from around here. She’s just here visiting.” Lowering her voice and tipping her head toward Sheila, she told me, “Terry Ford is missing. He left the store Sunday and he’s not been seen since.”
I looked at Sheila and caught her attention, “The guy you were in here with on Sunday morning when I came in to buy the sour cream?”
“Her husband,” Helen provided.
Sheila finally broke her silence, “That’s right,” she looked me up and down, “you were the one that was here. He never came back after he dropped those sour creams you wanted.” She started staring off into the distance again.
Faye leaned across the counter toward me and whispered, “She’s got it in her head that he either took off or he’s out there dead somewhere. Terry’s brother convinced her they needed to mount a search and rescue effort so that’s what’s going on this mornin’.”
I was shocked but I quickly gathered my wits and asked, “What can I do to help?”
Faye patted my wrist. “Nothing dear. We’ve got it under control in here and the searchers out there all know the county and, I dare say, Terry, pretty well. They’ll find him and he’s going to be just fine, just you wait and see.” She raised her voice a little for Sheila’s benefit and looked toward her on that last bit.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, of course. Now, tell me, what are you getting yourself
into today with this plan of yours?”
I smiled, “I spent yesterday cleaning. They did a decent enough job when they moved in but, not like I do it.”
Faye nodded knowingly.
“Between you and me, I’ve slept in their bedroom the last couple of nights since they don’t have much furniture. They need some nice guest room and living room furniture but, that’s just such a lovely old place...all of the gorgeous woodwork; I just think they’d love to have a few choice antique or vintage feel pieces to show it all off, don’t you?”
“Oh my word, yes. You’re right.”
“I know my Dana’s tastes but I’m not sure about Mel’s...”
“Mel isn’t picky dear. She tends toward things that will last, like her father. Old and antique for some things will do just fine for her but she likes her comfort too.”
“It’s too bad you can’t come along with me. That would be fun and, you could keep me from making too many mistakes...Hopefully they find Mr. Ford soon and he’s alive and well.”
“I hope so too but, at least, I can give a couple of tips for now.”
“I’m all ears. Tell me where I should go.”
“Well, there are furniture stores in Zanesville, of course, and lots in Columbus too, if you want to go that far. There are Amish furniture makers dotted through the hills around here that you really should check out for wood pieces that will go well with the woodwork in the house and sit well with my daughter.”
“How would I find them?”
“That’s the problem; it’s easier to show you than to tell you. Maybe, we can go out together tomorrow for that. In the meantime, you should head north toward the turnoff for Zanesville, just before you get there, on the left side of this road, there’s a junk shop an old friend of Jesse’s owns, Dale Walters; Dingy Dale we call him.”
“Dingy Dale? That doesn’t sound too promising.”
“Oh, you might be surprised. You never know what you’ll find in Dale’s place and he’s harmless, just a little cuckoo.”
“What makes you say that?”
“He’s, what’s the word...’quirky’, I guess, and he’s always been full of odd ideas. Lately he’s been making what he calls art out of what everyone else calls junk. No one around here buys the stuff of course, but his place is always chock full of all sorts of odds and ends.”
“He usually opens around 9:00. By the time you’re done there, Lucy Sharpe’s antique shop will be open out on 146. Instead of turning left when you get to it to go into Zanesville, turn right and head toward Chandlersville. There’s signs. Her shop’s down about two miles on the right, before you get to the village. Sharpe’s Antiques; you’ll see it.”
Chapter 6 – Bullets and Casings
Mel
Tuesday Morning, October 14th, 2014
Gatlinburg, Tennessee
“You’re liking that tub a lot...we have one at home now...our home, remember?”
Dana turned her head toward the bed where I was lounging, watching much of nothing on the TV. “Yes, I know, but at home, I don’t get used and abused quite so much. You work all day at least five days a week.”
I grinned, “You love it; you know it.”
“Yes, but that’s not the point. I have to recover from each round, see, and prepare for the next one.”
“If you insist but, really, it seems like I’m doing most of the heavy lifting.”
“Are you calling me fat now?”
Whoops! “No, no! That’s not what I meant. Not at all.” At her look, I continued, “I just meant that I do most of the, um, work...”
“Is that right Crane? Keep digging!”
“You’re twisting what I’m saying all around.”
“‘Is that right’ was a question.”
“Not the way you said it, it wasn’t.” I grinned wide, hoping to diffuse what I was picking up might not be so funny to her. When her look softened and she cracked a small sliver of a smile, I shifted my legs over the side of the bed and favored her with my most earnest expression, “Dana, honey, you’re not fat at all. You’re beautiful and I’m so blessed to have you in my life.”
“Are you sucking up now?” She was trying to be serious but she couldn’t keep the hint of a laugh out of her voice.
I played along, pretending to be hurt, “You’re so suspicious! No, I’m not sucking up. I was being honest. Now, I’m being honest about something else, I’m starved. We’ve only tried one Smokey Mountain pancake house. There must be forty more of them out there to try.”
Dana sighed, “I’m hungry too but I sure don’t want to drive all the way into Pigeon Forge yet this morning. Let’s look for one in Gatlinburg.”
“I’ll boot up the laptop, you get dressed.”
“Yes ma’am!” Dana snapped off a salute from her reclined position in the tub.
I pulled my laptop from the case and fired it up. While I was doing that, Dana turned off the jets and released the drain on the tub. I watched as she stood carefully on the slick surface still draining of water and reached for her towel on a hook on the wall just behind and to the far end of the Jacuzzi tub, near the bathroom door. She started to rub and pat herself dry but, when she realized I was watching her instead of focusing on my own task, she laughed and turned her back to me. I liked that view too but Windows finally opening caught my attention and I turned my concentration to the screen.
“Now, what the hell!”
Dana’s words were part question and part exclamation. My head shot back up and my eyes found her standing motionless in the middle of the tub, her back still turned to me staring at the wall behind the tub that divided the bedroom and bathroom. “What’s wrong babe?”
“Come here and look at this.” She pointed at the wall.
I stepped over to the edge of the Jacuzzi and leaned toward her. She moved aside slightly but pressed her finger to the wall just below something that was lodged into the thick, glazed pine paneling.
“Is that what I think it is?” She waited for me to respond.
“If you’re thinking it’s a bullet, then yeah, I think so.”
I retrieved my cell phone and the small pocketknife I always carry from the desk where I’d dropped the contents of my pockets the night before. I grabbed a water cup too and, after stepping gingerly into the tub, I took a couple of quick photos and then I carefully pried out the bullet that was lodged completely into the wall and sunk about an eighth of an inch past the otherwise smooth surface. A small caliber, jacketed shell dropped into the cup.
Dana and I both peered intently at the hardly deformed round.
I was shaking with anger again. “Is everybody around here incompetent? First the cleaning crew and now the cops too?”
“Since it’s a jacketed round, it must have passed through Patricia Dunkirk’s neck Mel and ended up in here. That might explain the dusting powder on the nightstand.”
“Or she was shot in here and somebody is covering something up. This looks like a .22 shell. .22s just don’t have that much range; you know that as well as I do.”
Dana nodded.
“Stand there in front of where it was, facing me.” She did as I asked.
Since I was still standing in the tub myself, I sized up what I was looking at from there, looked toward the balcony door, then I peered over the edge of the tub. “Okay, so if Dunkirk was standing in the tub, facing an open balcony door, when the round came through and it hit her in the neck, passed through and lodged in the wall, she was three, maybe four inches taller than you, even standing up here in the tub where you’ve got 2-3 more inches of height. If she were on the balcony or anywhere else in the room in the line of fire when it hit her, with the door open, then she was probably about your height and we have to account for the round coming in at a lower point like from a shorter shooter or from outside.
Dana stepped out of the tub and began getting dressed while I inspected the wall around the point of impact and below. I didn’t find a trace of any sort of blood spatte
r which doesn’t mean it wasn’t there, if this was where Patricia Dunkirk took the fatal shot.
I inspected the woodwork on the wall. This wood is pretty heavily polyurethane coated here to protect it from water damage. That would make it pretty easy to wipe down quickly and, of course, the tub would clean easily too.
“What are you thinking, Mel?”
“Just that, since she was in a swimming suit – which is odd, granted – and wet when she was found and the bullet was here, she had to have died here,” I pointed at the tub as I stepped out of it. “There’s no evidence of blood there of course with all the easy to clean surfaces but, since the body was found on the balcony, there would have been blood transfer in the process of getting her out there.”
“Why aren’t you considering that she really could have died on the balcony after going out there in a swimming suit?”
“I’m just thinking about the caliber of the round...it’s small...the range of such a pistol or rifle and the angle of the shot if the shooter was outside.” I looked at my wife and shook my head.
“What? You’re thinking something Melissa Crane; tell me what it is.”
“It’s really bugging me babe. I want to check the angles. Will you help?”
“I’m curious too. Go for it.”
“Alright then. I’ll go outside. You stand on the balcony to start with out in front of the door and leave it wide open.”
I went downstairs and out the front door, turned and looked up at Dana whose feet were roughly 9 feet above my head.
“We can establish that if the shooter were outside, say a hunter, from anywhere this close the angle is all wrong.” Dana just nodded. I stepped off about 16 feet to the edge of the parking pull off in front of the cabin then crossed the road and the opposite berm, calculating width in my head. “We’re roughly 38 feet right here, at the base of this hill but we’re not close to the angle of trajectory the bullet would have had to take.”
Wheeling around, I started up the knoll. The slope went from gentle to steep pretty quickly leaving the distance still under a total of 25 yards by the time I reached the top. The copse of trees was thirty more yards behind me.
