Connections

by Beth Urich

  “This project is outside city limits,” he said.

  “So I’ve heard. But it is within the jurisdiction of the city of Branson Building Department according to the agreement with Taney County.”

  “I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

  “I’m asking you to comment on these discrepancies. I’m giving you a chance to explain, before I run the article.”

  “Okay. I’ve made my comments. Now, I need to get back to the site. I’m sure a smart girl like you can find your way out.”

  The bile was still churning in her throat when she returned to the newspaper office. It took Kate forty-five minutes to finish the article she’d already blocked out on the newspaper’s article management system. She marked it ready for Helen’s review and made a few phone calls before heading to her boss’s office. Helen motioned for Kate to wait before speaking as she finished reading the item on her screen.

  “I read the article you uploaded. I have some issues.”

  “But it was full of information and to the point.”

  “To begin with, it was supposed to be a follow-up on the crafts fair, specifically, the creator of the crafts fair, Etta Stupholds.”

  Helen closed the door and motioned for Kate to sit down.

  “Etta’s in the article. I don’t know why you’re so upset.”

  “That is precisely why I’m upset. You don’t know why.”

  “Everything I wrote is true. I used direct quotes. I have backup on everything,” Kate said, pushing down on the table with her index finger. “You told me you wanted more Branson history in the pieces.”

  Helen took a deep breath. “I apparently did not make myself clear. I meant to add background on Etta, not to libel Fortune Enterprises and the city of Branson Building Department.”

  “Allen as much as admitted he made deals with city staff to get his project completed. He was rude and defensive. I put in his words verbatim.”

  “Rude and defensive is how you leave many people. I’m not sure we can stretch that to prove Allen’s guilt in any way.”

  Kate stared at Helen, realizing how mad—maybe even how right—her boss was.

  “Tell me you have no argument,” Helen snickered.

  “I guess I don’t know what to say. I see what you’re getting at, but I didn’t make any of this up. The evidence is in the file.”

  “Here’s what I want you to do, Kate. I want you to reread your article word by word. I want you to place the emphasis on Etta and the crafts fair. Leave in what is absolutely necessary about the company. Tone down ... better yet remove ... all your implications. Leave the exposé for a different article on a different day, preferably when you have more proof than suggestions.”

  Helen took another deep breath and folded her hands in front of her on the table. “When you’ve done that, run it by me again and we’ll see if it’s ready for publication.”

  Chapter Nine

  Tom pulled up to the lot as Artie and his passenger exited the coroner’s van. Dr. Fredericks seemed to be about Artie’s age, maybe a bit younger. His salt-and-pepper-every-hair-in-place appearance reminded Tom of the government types he worked with in Kansas City.

  “Detective Sargent Tom Collingwood,” Artie began, “this is Dr. Charles Fredericks. He says he responds best to Chuck.”

  “Welcome to Branson, Chuck,” Tom said, extending his hand.

  “Thanks. I’ve heard great things about your city. Too bad this is a professional visit.”

  “Shall we get started?” Artie said.

  “Looks like the ground is drying out,” Tom said. “No rain predicted for today. What will you need from me and my partner?”

  “Artie and I will do most of the work. Once I survey the area, I’ll know more.”

  Artie added, “I’ve made arrangements for lab space in Springfield. Chuck and I will transport the remains in my van and preserve the chain of custody. I’ll assist him, be his gofer.”

  “You underestimate your contribution,” Chuck said with a smile.

  “I know my limits,” Artie corrected.

  As the group approached the police perimeter, Tom struggled to remember the name of the new recruit who had pulled the two nightshifts.

  “Morning, Sargent Collingwood,” the young man said.

  “Morning, Patrolman Sims,” Tom said, proud of his timely recall. “Anything to report?”

  “No, sir. Nothing but deer and squirrel out this morning.”

  “You can take off. Thanks for pulling the extra shifts.”

  Artie and Chuck were already on the far side of the stump, crouched next to the skeleton.

  “Glad to see so much of the blanket is intact,” Chuck said. “It will be easier to gather the bones and preserve any evidence wrapped inside.”

  Artie examined the stump end of the root interweaving the blanket and skeleton torso. “We’ll need a power saw, Tom, to cut this root cleanly.”

  “Shovels, too,” Chuck said, adding, “I brought my hand tools, but no large shovels.”

  “I have shovels, clippers, flashlights, body bags, evidence bags, and markers in the van,” Artie said.

  Tom pulled his radio off his belt, “Sid Green, come in. Sid, do you read?”

  Sid’s voice crackled over the radio, “Tom, Sid. Sorry, I got hung up with a call on the complaint case. I’m almost to the site.”

  “Good. Turn around and find a power saw. And bring extra gas.”

  “Ten four. See you in a few.”

  The three men returned to the coroner’s van. Chuck and Artie slipped on white jumpsuits to cover their street clothes, then selected the supplies and tools they would need. They added the smaller items to Artie’s satchel and placed everything next to the vehicle.

  “This will get us started,” Chuck said, as he and Artie each grabbed a shovel and a bag. “Tom, can you bring the clippers and stretcher from the van?”

  Tom complied then caught up quickly to Artie who had stopped several yards distance from the stump.

  Chuck walked around the area several times, making notes and sketches. After several minutes, he stooped down beside the skeleton bundle itself. “I’ve not seen this precise phenomenon before. The bundle is resting on the tree roots that persistently hold the stump to the ground.”

  Artie added, “From this angle, it seems like the blanket is anchored to the skeleton by those roots that worked their way around the wrapping.”

  “Good observation,” Chuck said, coming to his feet. As he approached the other men, he added, “We’ll need to cut both ends of those roots first thing. We’ll want to preserve the relationship to the body. The actual grave lies toward the end of one bunch of roots. I’d say the body was initially buried several yards from the tree toward the creek. The root system continued to grow for many years.”

  “Any idea how many?” Tom asked.

  Chuck reviewed the scene as if making a mental calculation. “Thirty, maybe fifty.”

  “Great,” Tom said, contemplating the number of cases he’d have to read.

  “Where do you want the saw?” Sid said, approaching the trio and introducing himself.

  Chuck said, “Artie, can you please assist me with that? Please leave the gas can there, Sid.”

  The two men examined the stump side of the roots and Chuck showed Artie his notebook. Artie started the saw and positioned it to make the first cut. Chuck kneeled next to the remains and slid his gloved hands under the roots below the skeleton, then nodded toward Artie. After several cuts the roots were free of the stump.

  “These connections into the ground can be severed with the clippers, Tom,” Chuck said as he came to his feet.

  Tom grabbed the heavy-duty clippers and said, “Tell me where.”

  Chuck held out his notebook and pointed to a sketch. “About six inches from the bundle.”

  Tom complied and then stepped back.

  “Artie, we’ll need a large body bag. And Tom, the stretcher, please.”

  The men
carefully lifted and secured the bundle, including the root system, into the body bag and then positioned and secured the bag on the stretcher. Artie held a large evidence bag as Dr. Fredericks shoveled dirt from the grave floor and dumped it into the bag. He then handed Artie a second large bag and added soil from the area close to the tree where the bundle had landed. The coroner marked the bags accordingly.

  “Artie, if you and Sid will take our friend to the van, Tom and I will begin investigating the scene.”

  Chuck turned to a new page in his notebook and sketched the grave, clearly visible now unobstructed by roots and occupant. “If we consider this a rectangular box, I’d say the head was toward this end.”

  “I agree, based on the body’s position after extraction. From what the crew told us, the earthmover skimmed off the top layer of dirt as they pushed the stump over. It was only partially out of the ground, so they pulled from the other side to upend it completely.”

  The forensic anthropologist retrieved his camera and a tape measure from his valise. He took several shots of the inside of the box, and then measured the depth of the hole at the center point of each side and several points down the middle. With each measurement, he made a note on the evolving sketch.

  Chuck handed one end of the tape to Tom and said, “Let’s get several measurements length and width.” He added the numbers to his sketch as they moved around the perimeter. “The grave is roughly three feet deep, but this end is slightly deeper and narrower, suggesting two diggers.”

  “Or one who became tired as he dug,” Tom commented.

  Chuck smiled, his focus remaining on the inside of the grave. “Artie and I will have to examine more carefully, but it looks like there might have been different tools used as well.”

  “Three feet is pretty deep for a quick grave even with two men,” Tom said. “The ground is filled with rocks in this area.”

  “They took their time. I’d say they weren’t concerned about being seen.”

  “Maybe they were stupid,” Tom countered.

  “No doubt,” Chuck said, walking back to his tool kit. “I want to get some soil samples and see if anything is buried deeper. You and Sid don’t have to stick around. Artie and I will take everything to the lab and have a preliminary report for you as soon as possible.”

  “Okay,” Tom said, somewhat disappointed.

  “Don’t forget you have homework to do. It will be difficult to identify the deceased without some notion of who he or she was.”

  “Over thirty years ago.”

  “That guess is based on the tree. We’ll have more to go on when we examine the bones and blanket. Won’t be much clothing left. Your open cases will be our best starting point.”

  “I hope someone cared enough about this person to report him, or her, missing. And I hope they reported it in Branson.”

  “Hold that thought. And you might also hope that your victim has a viable candidate still living to confirm the identification,” Chuck said, motioning for Artie to join him by the grave.

  SID WAS ALREADY SIPPING coffee when Tom got back to the office. He grabbed a cup for himself and dropped into his chair. “Tell me about the latest informant. I hope he said more than the other fifty whiners who’ve called in.”

  “Afraid not,” Sid said. “Lots of words, no substance. I made notes, but it boils down to what everyone else says ... you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. No hint of bribery or fraud, nothing close. Maybe a wee bit more good old boy than we’d like, but who’s to say.”

  “It’s occurred to me Porter is mad because he’s not part of that in-crowd. He’s missing out on the deal.”

  “Could be,” Sid agreed. “Frankly, I wouldn’t blame him. The system is unfair and selective. Speaking of which, I set up a meeting for tomorrow afternoon with Leatherman. He’ll have his inspectors attend if possible. Maybe he has some idea why Porter is suing the city of Branson and why he issued a complaint with the state.”

  “Maybe the old boy simply wants to rattle someone’s cage and considers anything more than that a bonus.”

  “Except he seems to be particularly interested in Fortune Enterprises.”

  “Biggest game in town,” Tom commented as Lieutenant Palmer entered the room.

  “Who’s the biggest game in town?” Dan asked.

  “Fortune Enterprises. Sid was saying Porter seems to be directing most of his attention their way.”

  “Strange coincidence,” Dan said.

  Tom asked, “Why so?”

  “Fifteen minutes ago, Larry Allen called me ... for the second time. He spent the next ten minutes chewing my ear off. Bottom line, he wants to get back on his lot and finish the clearing. Do we know when that might be possible?”

  “If he’s going to be pushy, probably another week or two, maybe longer,” Tom said. “We’ll have to consult our consultant.”

  “By all means, let’s do. But try to release the lot before the next phone call,” Dan said, adding on his way out, “Get me a date ASAP. The Brighton family, including Allen, have a lot of sway in this town. I can’t hold them off much longer.”

  Tom waited until the lieutenant crossed the common room to his office, and then turned to Sid. “I’m afraid ASAP will have to wait. We have a date with the archives.”

  “We?” Sid moaned. “That’s your thing.”

  “It was until I realized how long ago and how many years would have to be searched. Besides, that room is dark, dank, and dusty. I need some company, partner.”

  “Where is this mausoleum?”

  “Grab a couple of flashlights and follow me. You’re going to enjoy this.”

  TOM KNOCKED ON THE counter separating the city admin group from the upper lobby. A young woman, apparently fresh from college, walked to the counter.

  “Is Cindy around?” he asked.

  “I’m Cindy. You must be Sergeants Tom Collingwood and Sid Green. Nice to meet you both. Ready for the tour?”

  The men followed the young woman into the courtroom area next to the lobby.

  Sid whispered to Tom, “We don’t have to do this alone?”

  “She’s going to show us where everything is. Then we’re on our own.”

  “I want to tell you a couple of things before we go into the archives,” Cindy said, stopping at the back of the room next to the podium.

  “Don’t worry,” Tom said, “we’re armed with flashlights and our service revolvers.”

  “Hopefully you won’t need the latter. But keep in mind the records are not very organized. I was hired to figure out what records are in the various department stashes and to organize them for posterity.”

  Sid said, “Part of the new and improved management concept.”

  “Right. So, you are obviously searching for police records. Most of the more current files, primarily since the 70s, are in the basement room under the police department suite.”

  “Basement?” Sid asked.

  “A well-kept secret,” Tom said.

  “Anyway, the earlier file boxes, if they exist, will be behind the courtroom with the building and engineering department records. The public works barn contains some records, but hopefully you’ll find what you want in City Hall somewhere.”

  “That’s reassuring,” Tom said.

  “Sorry. This has never been centralized beyond the department level. We have a five-year plan to organize the records in a special, large, controlled room in the city hall extension, but that’s a few years out.”

  “Unfortunately, we can’t wait,” Sid said.

  “Okay, let’s get started,” Cindy said. She crossed through the small witness room and entered the building department suite, then continued beyond a copier and several file cabinets to a door marked authorized personnel only. She unlocked the door and reached inside and flicked on an overhead light. Looking over her shoulder, she said, “No turning back now.”

  As it opened, the door brushed the end of a row of floor-to-ceiling metal shelf units on the right side
of the room. A small table sat to the left of the entrance abutting the second row of metal shelves on the left side of the room. Each shelving unit was about five feet wide and three feet deep with four shelf levels. A narrow path, less than five feet wide and about twenty-five feet long, spanned the middle of the room, a step stool stood ready for use at the far end of the room.

  “Whoa! I’d forgotten about all these boxes,” Tom said. “Who’d believe this is behind the courtroom.”

  “I know what you mean,” Cindy said. “Sorry about this overhead lighting. The bulbs here and in the center of the room are it, and they aren’t very bright.”

  “Good thing we brought these flashlights,” Sid said.

  Tom said, “Not very bright could describe us. Any suggestions how to proceed?”

  “I’ve already checked the boxes. Some have content lists, but they can be vague. I have a comprehensive inventory, but it may be easier for you to examine each box, which I’ve also coded for department and year. Presumably every call or case was recorded. The journals are here on this table by the door.”

  “They’ll help us get started,” Tom said.

  “Once you see a box you want to explore, you’ll have to get it off the shelf and take it outside. The witness room won’t be in use until next week, so you can occupy it during the day. Unfortunately, you’ll have to return everything to the storage area each night.”

  “You mean, if we leave each night,” Sid said. “I’m all for doing a marathon search and getting it over.”

  Cindy said, “Sorry, I leave at four-thirty each day and the room has to be secured by me at that time. You’ll have an access key during the day.”

  “What if we want a particular file? How do we check it out?”

  “Go ahead and pull the file. Checkout marker cards are on that small table as well. Slip one in the box where the file was and stack the files in the aisle for the night. If the whole box is needed, leave the card on the shelf and put the box in the aisle for the night. I’ll check them out to you officially each night when we close the room. Once files are out of a box, I’ll have to put them back. But they’ll have to be stacked in the storage room each night. When you get to a point you need copies, let me know. I’m sorry this area is so tight, but at least you can work in the witness room during the day.”