by Greg Enslen
He took a quick shower and left, leaving the key in the room and the “Maid” sign on the door. Lugging his things and the cups of coffee out to his car, he saw that the wind was starting to pick up, and wondered if it was the far, outer fringes of the storm or an unrelated weather pattern. No snow or rain, though, and that was good. He had enough things to worry about.
The onramp carried him back up onto the freeway, this time heading east. David planned to return to Liberty as fast as possible, taking the shortest route. He’d probably have to go through southern Indiana and into Kentucky on I-64.
But he would get back, had to get back, for his Aunt, for Bethany, for himself. Sitting there at the counter at the restaurant, talking to Doris, he’d come to the realization that he had to go back, had to face his problems instead of running from them.
And the horrible news he’d gotten from Bethany only screamed at him to drive faster. Things in Liberty were going into the crapper, and there were also things there that he had to take care of, and being 1,000 miles away only served to drive him on. He needed to get back for Bethany, but he also needed to get back for another, very important reason.
Right now, Liberty was where he belonged.
Chapter 13 - Thursday,
September 22
Sheriff Brown’s small town police force was usually a pretty calm, laid-back bunch of guys. Crime in their little town was rarely exciting, and never something that they couldn’t handle, even if sometimes the Sheriff and his men weren’t exactly motivated to get out there and bring all crime in Liberty to an abrupt halt. Some types of crime were allowed to continue with little attention from the police, so long as they didn’t get out of hand; petty crimes that allowed the people of Liberty to have their fun. On the whole, crime was pretty much under control, though some of the citizens of Liberty would not necessarily agree with that opinion.
But over the past forty-eight hours, things in Liberty had spiraled wildly out of control. Sheriff Brown and his men had never dealt with anything like this before, nothing even CLOSE to this, and had never been faced with the challenges they were forced to face now. The Sheriff, never one trained in public speaking or anything like that, had botched his first press conference on Tuesday while announcing details on the Lisa Stevens case, and now members of his police force were questioning themselves, their training, their level of preparedness.
There had been two more strange deaths in their town and the media, both local and visiting out-of-towners (most of the media people had left to cover the approaching hurricane in the southern part of the state, but a few had stayed, including the Lindsey woman from Pittsburgh who’d asked the question that had throw the entire press conference into a tizzy), was calling for another press conference, something the Sheriff was dreading.
He had always run a loose ship, never really demanding much from the “good old boys” on his force except unquestioned loyalty and a tight ‘closed-lips’ attitude that would have made the Masons look like a local chapter of the Toastmasters. And, of course, the members of the Liberty police force were expected to pass along a small percentage of any “side” activities they might be taking part in, anything that might be considered ‘questionable’ behavior; smuggling cigarettes and alcohol across county lines and avoiding taxes, speeding tickets paid in cash and never reported, bribes made by certain townsfolk - Brown demanded and received a piece of anything that happened.
But now, the members of the Liberty police force were starting to wonder if maybe they were paying for all the good times they’d been having.
Sheriff Brown was in his office right now, lobbying to keep control of the investigation. State Police Lieutenant Blake sat in the chair across from his desk, listening to the latest reports coming in from the Sheriff’s deputies, and keeping his opinions to himself. He had arrived from Richmond early on Wednesday afternoon and was trying to get a grasp on the entire situation - and trying to find anything to change his initial impression that this Sheriff was a complete idiot.
The addition of two more questionable deaths in this town in the last 24 hours was making Lieutenant Blake very nervous. Deaths like this weren’t supposed to happen, and Blake had not even heard of a string of deaths like this in any big towns in Virginia for years. Richmond and the northern cities had their trouble, to be sure, but nothing like this. No, this little town was a very unlucky place to live lately. His coming up from Richmond had started out as a courtesy, but that had changed with these two new deaths, both of which were being tentatively identified in the police department as murders. The man that had fallen from the balcony also had suffered a massive trauma to the side of his head that could not be accounted for from the force of the impact. The woman’s wrists had been bound before she’d been placed in the car. And who ties their own wrists before they kill themselves?
So three homicides in two days, the girls’ death placed on Sunday night and the couple on Monday night. And that all meant to Blake that something was going on here that needed to be looked at.
And this fat man across the desk from Blake was woefully incapable of investigating cases like these. Blake had seen this type before, the small-town Sheriff ensconced in his own private kingdom, working the town’s political figures and arranging for a lifetime position. And as long as he dealt with the criminals and didn’t get too greedy with things, he could remain here for years. It happened all over the state, unfortunately, and Blake assumed it happened all over the country.
But now the big guy was in trouble. This case was way over his head, and Blake could feel the man grasping at straws, trying to conduct an investigation after years of virtual inactivity, trying to stay in control. And the only people that would really suffer from the Sheriff’s incompetence would be any future victims.
Blake was very close to stepping in and taking over the case. Officially he had the authority to do it at any time, but Richmond didn’t like that to happen too often - it conveyed the wrong message that the small-town officials could not be trusted to handle the case and investigate it properly. But in this case it was completely true. He was ready to step in in a moment’s notice, as soon as he felt it was necessary. Or if the Richmond boys caught the news of the latest deaths, they might get on the horn and order him to take over, and Blake wouldn’t have a problem with that. And they might send him along a few more State boys to help him investigate, or even send up some FBI guys from the Richmond office.
What Blake didn’t know was that the Sheriff’s deputies were not behind the big man like Blake assumed they were - in most of the departments he had seen, the deputies were always fiercely loyal to their Sheriff, especially when that authority was threatened by an outsider.
But here in Liberty, the general consensus among the police force was that Sheriff Brown would be unsuccessful in prosecuting the case and that Blake would take over, and, strangely enough, there were many on the police force who would welcome such action. The State boys in this part of the state were spread pretty thin already due to preparations for the storm, and many of the State police force were in the Virginia Beach area already, assisting in the coastal evacuation. But the deputies in the squad room also knew that as soon as the weather passed over, this police station would be overrun by experts and officials from all over the state. And the most important things the Liberty Police Department deputies would be doing would be running down to Juanita’s for coffee and donuts. Sheriff Brown would be relegated to a ‘special assistant’ to the State boys, and the FBI would undoubtedly move in and ‘assist’, which was Fed-talk for taking over a case. And although the idea scared some of the men, there were a few other deputies were pleased with the idea - the Liberty Sheriff’s office just didn’t have the expertise to solve this case. And what was going on in this little town was way beyond anything these deputies had ever had to deal with.
But Sheriff Brown was being adamant, stating over and over again on the phone or in public to anyone who would listen to him that they didn�
�t need any outside help, that Lieutenant Blake was only there to ‘advise’ him, that they could track down this killer and bring him to justice. They were well trained and smart and didn’t need the State boys, he told them.
And for now, the public and anyone else he talked to was listening. Some were starting to doubt whether or not they were up to this challenge, but they all listened to their Sheriff and nodded with enthusiasm when he told them they didn’t need anyone else, even if they didn’t believe him.
Norma Jenkins’ stomach was screaming at her, roiling in pain. She was remembering.
The report on the deaths of Abe Foreman and Gloria Thatcher was the lead story in the Liberty Gazette on Thursday morning, and the article had affected Norma more than she had thought possible. The deaths had been reported on the news last night, but the newspaper article was longer and more in-depth and gave a lot more information. The article was long on supposition and short on details, but Norma knew enough to read between the lines - the Liberty Police Department was taking it on the chin and had no idea what was going on.
The deaths had occurred on Monday night but were not discovered until late on Tuesday night, which explained why they weren’t reported on the news until noon on Wednesday and hadn’t made the paper until Thursday morning. But the cops had had all day Wednesday to work the case before the paper had gone to bed Wednesday night, and the few facts they had released to the press were very disturbing.
First, with even a casual reading of the report, it looked like the deaths were anything but accidental.
Of course they were still being reported as accidents, but Norma had seen enough press reports drafted by nervous police officials to read between the lines here. The specifics of when and where and how Abe Foreman and Gloria Thatcher had died were conspicuously missing, replaced by conjecture and supposition on the part of the reporter documenting the case. The exact cause of death had been determined in both cases, Norma was sure - the cops just hadn’t decided to make that information public yet, a sure sign that the investigation was on-going. The bodies had been removed to Fredericksburg, and there the coroners would complete their detailed autopsies necessary to determine the general time of death and to pinpoint the exact means of death or the presence of any outside substances. But any beat cop, even in a town like Liberty, could take one look at a body and have a pretty good idea what had killed the person. The fact that even this routine information was missing from the Liberty Gazette article was enough to make Norma very curious and to send her stomach into fits of rage.
And in a little town like this, two mysterious deaths coming on the heels of another gruesome murder could shake the public up to the point of panic.
She’d seen it all happen before.
Back before Jasper Fines had killed the best damn Sheriff this town had ever had, before or since, this little town had worked itself up into a mad frenzy. People were walking the streets only in groups, and strangers were instant outcasts, shunned by the townspeople and, at the same time, watched very carefully for signs that they might be “The Killer.” Townspeople had walked the day lit streets with shotguns, she remembered. Norma had seen the fear and confusion and the panic that could seize her town, and if these two new deaths turned out to be murders too, she had a good feeling that the panic could happen all over again. It was no wonder the Liberty Police Department was keeping information from the press.
But Sheriff Brown would never be up to the challenge.
She’d left the police force six months after Beaumont’s death because the Sheriff that had replaced him had been nothing like him, a witless bureaucrat hired by the city council and the major to calm the town and restore order to everyone’s lives. He’d done that, all right, but it was common knowledge that Jasper Fines had left after gunning down Beaumont - the murders had ended with his, and Norma had seen the man drive away in Beaumont’s car. The new Sheriff had had no real challenges to face except for following in the footsteps of a truly great peacekeeper. Deputy Norma Jenkins had often wondered what it would’ve been like if Jasper Fines hadn’t left. What would the new Sheriff had done, or any Sheriff since for that matter, if Jasper had come back?
That thought and others reverberated around inside Norma’s mind as she went about her Thursday morning routine, which was identical to her Wednesday morning routine and those of every other weekday. She packed her lunch, drove to the High School in the rain, climbed aboard her bus, and started her rounds. And all along her route that morning, her passengers climbed up onto the bus, stopping to shake water from their coats or stomp their boots, and they could’ve gotten away with a little more mischief than she would normally allow. Norma Jenkins was deep in thought about a great many things.
After the High School run was finished, she had a break of a half hour or so before she needed to start the junior high school and elementary school runs, so she parked her bus and walked across the wet pavement to the high school to find a pay phone.
“Sheriff’s Department,” the chipper, annoying voice answered after she dialed the number from memory.
She cleared her throat. “Ah, yeah, is Deputy Frankin there?” Norma heard the rustling of some papers and then the voice came back on, utterly businesslike and utterly devoid of human emotion. “No, she’s not in today. Would you like to leave a message?” The voice sounded less than pleased at the prospect, asking only out of politeness.
“No, that’s okay. Thank you.” She said, and hung up, dialing Joyce Frankin’s home number from memory.
“Hello?”
“Hi Joyce, it’s Norma. Taking the day off, huh?”
Joyce answered, her voice thick and sounding very nasal. “Yeah, I’m not feeling too well. How are you doing?”
“Oh, I’m okay. I’ve got a question for you - a work-related one.”
That was the cue that the chatty, friendly part of the conversation was over and the business part had begun. Norma had known Joyce for years, and they had always felt comfortable talking about police work - Norma used to do it and Joyce did it for a living now, and two women involved in law enforcement could always find things to talk about, even if it was only to complain about how the men on the police force treated them. Norma knew that Joyce couldn’t and wouldn’t tell her anything confidential, but they’d been good friends for years, and Norma could usually glean a few interesting tidbits from whatever Joyce said - or didn’t say.
The change in Joyce’s voice would’ve been more apparent had she been healthy. “What’s up?”
The most important piece, the whole reason Norma had called, was whether or not Abe and Gloria had been killed, so she dove right in headfirst. “I was reading in the paper this morning about Abe Foreman and Gloria Thatcher, and I’m betting they are homicides. Do I win any money?”
The other end was quiet for a moment. “What makes you think that?” Norma noted that it was not a denial in any way.
“Well, accidental deaths are rare enough, and double accidentals, the odds are like a million to one. And there’s nothing in the press release about method or time of death, so it sounds to me like they’re still working something up. And if they’re still working something up, then the case would still be considered as foul play until that angle had been eliminated.”
There was a chuckle from the other end, a low, nasally laugh. “You should’ve stayed a cop, Norma. You’re better than most of those people downtown, and you got all that from just the press release.”
The line was silent for a moment, and Norma knew from experience that Joyce was trying to figure out exactly how much she could say, how much they could talk about. She didn’t like Sheriff Brown any better than Norma, but still, that didn’t mean she could break her oath as a police officer.
“Well, you’re probably not far off. Abe Foreman took a thirteen-foot swan dive off a balcony and into a glass table, and Gloria Thatcher spend way too much time sucking exhaust fumes. And the burns around her wrists and ankles indicated she’d been ti
ed up just prior to death, but no rope was found.” It went without saying that this information was for Norma’s use only - they were friends, good friends, but if a word of what Joyce was saying ended up in the Gazette, she’d never talk to Norma again - and probably still get canned and end up an ex-cop, just like Norma.
“Uh-huh.” Norma said, trying to file it all away in her head. She had a knack for remembering things - some people even said she had one of those photographic minds, but she didn’t believe them. “How’s the big man holding up? This must be a big change from covering up drug busts, huh?”
The sniff that followed Norma’s question could’ve been a cold-related noise, but Norma didn’t think so. Deputy Frankin wasn’t one of Brown’s fans, and from what she’d said to Norma, there were a few more like her on the Liberty police force who would like nothing better than to see him gone - even if it meant his being promoted up and out of Liberty. Joyce felt that the sheriff was a petty, power-hungry man who only looked for ways to increase his own power and station, and there were many other people, both on and off the police force, who would’ve agreed with her. And on some level, Norma still partially blamed Sheriff Brown for screwing up and getting Beaumont killed.
“Well, I guess he’s doing okay, but that press conference on Tuesday was a joke and he’s canceled all the others - he was going to have them every day for more publicity, but now he’s changed his mind. Funny how getting embarrassed can do that. Anyway, now he’s playing with the idea of having some kind of a town meeting on Saturday or Sunday, but I don’t know if they can get it all together by then. But it would be a great chance for him to get up there and reassure the town that he’s actually working on solving these cases. Probably be in the paper soon. And he needs to do something or say something - people are starting to freak, Norma.”
