The Widows of Braxton County

by Jess McConkey

  When he reached the Jeep, she rolled down the window and smiled. “Sorry, officer,” she said politely and began to reach for her license and documents.

  “Hands on the wheel,” he said brusquely.

  Perplexed, Kate did as he said and waited.

  “You failed to stop.”

  “I know . . . I wasn’t thinking.”

  The officer peered into the backseat. “What’s that on the floor?”

  Kate looked over her shoulder. “My jacket.”

  “Would you step out of the car please.”

  Again Kate did what he requested, standing nervously next to the Jeep.

  “Do I have your verbal consent to search your car?” he asked, studying her reaction closely.

  Kate’s temper rose. “Are you kidding me? On a traffic stop?”

  “No, I’m not kidding, ma’am.” The sun glinted off his dark sunglasses, and Kate couldn’t read his expression.

  “Sure,” she said with an angry wave of her hand. “Why not?”

  “So I have your permission?”

  Kate grudgingly nodded. “Yes.”

  “Would you step to the front of the vehicle?” He opened the driver’s door and removed the keys, then moved to the left rear passenger door and opened it.

  Kate leaned against the front of the Jeep and crossed her arms. This was ridiculous, she thought as she heard him rummaging around.

  After a moment, she saw him remove a handkerchief from his pocket and, using it, he picked something up off the floor. He straightened, talked into the radio attached to his shoulder, and began to walk toward her. In one hand, he carried the handkerchief, while his other lingered on his sidearm.

  After motioning her to stand in front of the Jeep, he placed the handkerchief on the hood, then unfolded it.

  The silver blade of a long knife glimmered in the sunshine.

  Kate’s mouth dropped open.

  “I found this under the front seat.”

  She snapped her jaws shut as the blood drained from her face. “I’ve never seen that before,” she cried.

  “It’s not yours?”

  “No!”

  “You don’t know how it came to be in your car?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Did you know that a knife over five and a half inches long is considered a weapon?” he asked, rewrapping the knife.

  “A w-weapon?” Kate stammered.

  “Yes, and you had it concealed under the front seat.” His hand gripped his gun. “Please turn around and place your hands on the hood.”

  “What?”

  His hand tightened on the gun. “Do as I say, ma’am.”

  Wordlessly, Kate turned and placed her hands on the hood. From behind her, using his foot, the officer nudged her feet apart.

  Oh my God— He was going to pat her down and arrest her. Kate’s knees trembled.

  “Do you have any other weapons on your person?” he asked as his hands moved up and down her sides.

  She shook her head mutely.

  “Place your hands behind your back,” he said, keeping one hand on her shoulder.

  Hot tears stung her eyes as she felt the handcuffs snap into place and the officer repeated the Miranda warning.

  The drive to Flint Rapids and the county jail was the longest in Kate’s life. Her mind numbly refused to accept what was happening to her. Arrested and her car impounded. She swallowed hard.

  Once they reached the jail, a garage door opened and the patrol car pulled in. It closed and the officer exited, then opened the door for Kate. He escorted her to another door. After it buzzed loudly, he opened it and they entered a hallway with another door at the end. The first door clanged shut, then the buzzer on the second went off. The procedure happened four more times as the officer led Kate deeper into the bowels of the jail.

  With each buzz, with each clanging shut of the door, Kate’s nerves stretched, until she felt like a quivering mass of jelly. When they reached a room with a high counter, he unlocked a small cell in the corner and motioned her inside. After removing the handcuffs, he shut the door and locked it. Kate stared up at him blankly.

  “There’s the phone,” he said, pointing to the wall.

  Sinking down on the small bench, Kate wrapped her arms around herself and bent forward. Nausea swirled through her belly as she heard the officer say “aggravated weapons charge” to the man standing behind the counter.

  Oh my God, oh my God, rolled through her brain as she sat there trembling. With a shaky hand, she picked up the phone and dialed Rose’s number.

  “Please answer . . . please answer,” she prayed softly as she listened to the phone ring.

  “Hello,” sounded Rose’s voice in her ear.

  “Rose,” she cried while tears spilled down her face. “I’ve been arrested—”

  “What!” Rose shouted over the phone.

  “They pulled me over—they found a knife—it’s not mine. I—I . . .” Kate stammered, words continuing to rush out of her mouth.

  “Kate, Kate, slow down. Tell me what happened.”

  Quickly, Kate related the events leading up to her arrest.

  “You’re at the jail in Flint Rapids?”

  “Y-Y-Yes.”

  “Have they booked you yet?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t worry, sweetie,” Rose said gently. “We’ll get this straightened out. I’ll call an attorney and we’ll get him over there as soon as possible.”

  “What should I do?”

  “Hang in there. Cooperate, but don’t volunteer any information until you have a chance to speak with the attorney, okay?”

  “Okay.” Kate wiped her face. “Rose, I’m scared,” she said in a hushed voice.

  “Don’t worry. There’s been a mistake and we’ll fix it,” Rose assured her. “I’m going to hang up now, so I can call the attorney.”

  Reluctantly, Kate replaced the receiver.

  A few minutes later, another officer unlocked the cell and handed Kate a bundle of orange clothing.

  “You can change in there,” he said, indicating a small room next to the cell.

  Once inside, Kate’s fingers trembled as she tried to unbutton her shirt. Finally, she managed to dress in the jail clothing, then she was returned to the waiting cell. Time crawled by until they were ready to fingerprint her and take her photograph. She went through the process as if she were sleepwalking. Part of her brain accepted the reality, but another part refused.

  When one of the officers started to lead her down the hall, every fiber of her being screamed Run! but she knew there was no escape. He led her to a small room instead of a jail cell, and Kate’s eyes widened in surprise when she saw Detective Shepherd waiting for her.

  “Come on in, Kate,” he said pleasantly. “Have a seat.” He pointed to one of the two chairs sitting next to a small table.

  An evidence bag containing the knife lay on the table.

  “You don’t mind answering a few questions, do you?” he asked after she sat in the chair.

  She shook her head.

  “Good,” he said, sitting across from her. He slid the bag across the table until it was right in front of her. “Do you recognize this?”

  “No.”

  “You’ve never seen it before?”

  Kate bowed her head. “No.”

  “Do you know how it came to be in your car?”

  “No.”

  As Detective Shepherd scooted his chair closer to the table, Kate raised her head.

  “We’re not getting very far, are we, Kate?” He slid the knife away from her and removed papers from a folder. “Let’s go over your statement concerning Joe’s murder, shall we? Would you start at the beginning?”

  Swallowing hard, Kate retold the events leading up to her arrival at the hospital the day Joe was killed.

  “You left the office at twelve forty-five, right?”

  “No.” She cleared her throat. “Twelve forty-six. I glanced at the clock.”
>
  He withdrew another paper from the folder and placed it in front of her. “Can you explain these?” he asked, tapping some highlighted lines on the paper.

  Kate picked up the document. It was a copy of her bank statement, and the lines he’d indicated were the checks she’d written to Will for the down payment on her Jeep.

  “I’d borrowed money from Will Krause and these are the payments on the loan.”

  “Why did you borrow money from him? Why didn’t you ask Joe for the money?”

  “Joe led me to believe that he was having financial problems, so I didn’t want to ask him. Will offered and I accepted.”

  He leaned forward. “That’s kind of odd, isn’t it, Kate? Everyone knows that Will and Joe never got along—that there was a grudge between the two families.”

  “The grudge was one-sided. Joe’s family were the ones who resented Will’s.”

  “Since Will is so good at helping you out, did he go with you that day to see Joe?”

  Kate’s chin shot up. “Of course not,” she declared.

  “We, also, found this,” he said, handing her another paper.

  It was a copy of Joe’s life insurance policy.

  “Looks like once this is paid out, you won’t have to borrow money again from Will Krause.”

  “If you talked to Larry Wood, I’m sure he told you that I knew nothing about this policy,” she said.

  He took the paper back and picked up the evidence bag. Holding it up to the light, he studied it. “Do you see this?” he asked as he pointed to the knife’s handle. “See those little brown specks? Kind of looks like dried blood, doesn’t it?” He dropped the bag in front of her. “Once we send this in, we’ll know if it’s the murder weapon,” he said softly and folded his hands on the table.

  Kate met his gaze as she moved the bag toward him, saying nothing.

  “Kate, we know Joe was physically abusive, so why don’t you tell me what really happened that afternoon? If it was self-defense, we can work out a deal with the county attorney.”

  She studied the detective as intently as he was looking at her. She was in over her head. Time to keep her mouth shut.

  “I’m sorry, Detective. I’ve told you everything about the afternoon Joe died. I’ve never seen that knife before, and I have no explanation as to how or why it wound up in my vehicle.” She watched him without blinking. “I’m not going to answer any more questions without my attorney being present.”

  He shrugged. “Okay—guess we’ll wait for the fingerprints and the DNA results to come back.” He stood and gathered the papers. “We’re still holding you on the weapons charge.” He nodded to an officer standing outside the room.

  The officer led Kate out of the room and down a hallway. He stopped in front of a door, unlocked it, then swung it open to reveal a small area with another door—one with bars. Opening it, he motioned for Kate to step inside.

  She took a few steps forward, crossing the cell’s threshold. With her back to the door, she tried not to jump as she heard both doors bang shut and the locks turn. Looking up, she noticed a camera pointed down toward the cell. Underneath it and out of its range was a stainless steel toilet with a sink attached to the top. A cot was along one of the walls, well within the range of the camera’s all-seeing eye.

  No privacy. No freedom of any kind. Kate began to pace the confines of her cell. How long had the knife been in her Jeep and who could have placed it there? She never locked it, even when she parked it in Dutton. Anyone could’ve planted that knife. She had no doubt that the knife was the murder weapon, and she wasn’t stupid—someone was setting her up.

  Kate had never felt so alone and so hopeless. Her insides cramped. Running to the toilet, Kate threw herself on her knees as her stomach emptied into the toilet. She heaved until nothing was left except the bitter taste of bile. After wiping her mouth, she curled on her side and laid her head down on the cold, hard floor. She hadn’t the strength to walk to the cot.

  Chapter 36

  Fall 1890, the Braxton County Jail

  A cool breeze blew in through the open window, bringing with it the taste of autumn. Soon Hannah’s trial would be over. Each day Andrew seemed to grow more and more confident of an acquittal. If his prediction came true, she’d finally be reunited with her son. For the first time since this nightmare began, Hannah felt a glimmer of hope. She could make a new life for herself and Willie.

  Hannah tugged at her lip. That meant dealing with Joseph. She’d noticed him out of the corner of her eye as he sat scowling at Andrew and any witness who dared to speak out in her favor.

  She stretched her arms over her head and smiled. The high point for her had been Andrew’s hard cross-examination of Reverend Green. He had the pompous twit stammering on the witness stand before he’d finished with him. Hannah gave a small chuckle thinking of the way Reverend Green’s jaws had come unhinged when Andrew had made his final point. He had asked if he, the good Reverend, would tolerate the beating of a junkyard dog. Reverend Green had responded with a heated “No!” Andrew pressed the point home by asking, “Then why did you turn your back on Mrs. Krause? Did a member of the gentler sex deserve less consideration than a dog?”

  From behind her, Hannah had heard the wave of twitters floating over the courtroom, and she’d had to fight the desire to turn and look at the spectators.

  “Hannah, are you ready?”

  She spun to see Sheriff Winter standing by the door. “Good morning,” she answered pleasantly.

  “Mornin’,” he mumbled.

  Hannah started, watched him, and was perplexed. As the trial had progressed, his demeanor had brightened, but today he seemed grim.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked as he unlocked the cell door.

  “No,” he replied in a curt voice. “Mr. Lubinus is waiting for you at the courthouse. He’d like to meet with you before today’s testimony begins.”

  Hannah accompanied the sheriff on the short walk to the courthouse. On the way, confusion swept through her. Then she noticed a change in the people that they passed. Lately, she had witnessed a growing sympathy on their faces, but today everyone turned away, refusing to look at her.

  Once inside the courthouse, they found Andrew waiting in one of the courtroom’s small adjacent rooms. Immaculate as always, he stood at the window with his hands clasped tightly behind his back. He turned when they entered and motioned for her to take a seat at the table.

  “Hannah, we need to talk before the trial convenes.” He glanced toward the sheriff.

  “I’ll be waiting in the hallway if you need me,” the sheriff said then left, quietly shutting the door.

  “Andrew, you’re frightening me! Has something happened to Willie?”

  “No, Hannah . . . It’s about the trial.” He took a chair next to her and leaned forward. “I’ll be direct. They’ve found additional evidence.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “What kind of evidence?”

  “Cutlery.”

  “Cutlery,” she repeated like a parrot.

  “Knives, Hannah . . .” He paused. “Knives with a pattern that matches the one used to kill Jacob.”

  Hannah gripped her hands tightly. “I don’t understand.”

  Andrew sighed loudly. “Abe Engel returned to the farm to see if anything had been missed and found the set of cutlery wrapped in an old dish towel.”

  “But . . . I’ve never owned a set like that.”

  “Really?” One eyebrow shot up. “They were found hidden in the bottom of Willie’s dresser.”

  Hannah’s hand flew to her throat. “Wait—you don’t think—h-he’s a child,” she stammered.

  “Simmer down,” he said sternly. “No one is suggesting that Willie is in any way involved in his father’s death.”

  Hannah gave a gasp of relief and dropped her hand.

  “Charles Walker believes you were the one to hide them there.” His eyes drilled into Hannah’s. “I want you to tell me the truth. Did you kill
your husband?”

  The flash of hope Hannah had felt earlier died. Andrew had lost faith in her. She bowed her head. “No.”

  “You still claim never to have seen the knife used to murder Jacob?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you explain then how they came to be in your house?”

  She rose abruptly. “Isn’t it obvious? . . . Someone planted them there to make me appear guilty.”

  Andrew sat back in his chair and stared at her. Gone was his charming demeanor. “How?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied, pacing around the table. “Ida and Louis have been in the courtroom every day while Fannie Thompson watches Willie at her home. Anyone could’ve entered the empty house and planted them there.”

  “I don’t know if a jury is going to swallow that one,” he replied skeptically.

  Hannah came to an abrupt halt beside his chair. “Why not?” she asked in an angry voice. “Abe and Sheriff Winter didn’t find them the first time they searched the house. How can Charles Walker explain the sudden appearance of this new evidence now?”

  “Willie’s room was never searched.”

  Hannah sank onto a chair and bowed her head while a cold sweat trickled down her back. If her lawyer didn’t believe her, how could she expect a jury of twelve men, men who had known Jacob and considered him a friend, to find her innocent?

  Andrew stood and helped Hannah to her feet. “The knives are circumstantial at best—just like the rest of the evidence. We can still win this.” He guided her toward the door. “Are you ready to take the stand?”

  Hannah walked back and forth across her cell, her dress swishing around her ankles. She didn’t need Andrew to tell her that she’d failed to make her case on the witness stand. Instead of concentrating on Charles Walker as he grilled her unmercifully, she worried that regardless of Andrew’s assurances, suspicion might somehow fall on Willie. Rubbing her forehead, she remembered an incident only last year where an eleven-year-old boy in northern Iowa was found guilty of killing his stepmother. No doubt Charles Walker was familiar with that case, and if he failed to convict her, he could set his sights on Willie.