Murder! Too Close To Home
Page 17
It was Betty’s turn now, and she stood and went over to a chalk board on the side wall of the room. First making a few lines on the board, she filled in the scene as she described the theory.
“We are pretty sure that he hid his car up here on the tracks. They removed a second track a few years ago, which left an empty roadway that one can easily drive on.”
“Our best guess at this moment is that he probably again used the ploy of having a disabled car on Bonnell road. Once someone came by, the perp more than likely disabled this driver by knocking him out with a blow from something heavy; a baseball bat or tire iron maybe. Doc Elliot will be able to tell us more once he examines the body.”
“After disabling the driver that stopped to help him, we think the perp drove up to the nearest railroad crossing, about a mile away; and then worked his way back down the abandoned roadbed. A car parked in that area would have been unseen from the county road; a perfect position for an ambush. After the murder, Wesley or whoever would only need to continue on the railroad right of way. He could go for miles and exit off of it at any railroad crossing.”
She set the chalk on the tray under the board and sat down. The room was quiet as we sat there digesting the information we had gleaned from all of the sources.
“We have a good bit of information, and we seem to have a viable theory of the events as they happened. Any chance anyone saw the car? I would assume he wouldn’t use his own for this.”
Silence followed again, as we all tried to come up with a way of identifying the car.
“We could check with the railroad company,” I offered, “see if any trains ran through there last night and if the engineer noticed anything”
“Good, you and Frank stay on that, anybody else?” No one else could come up with anything right then.
I had little hope that the quest we were on with the railroad would pan out, but at least we had something to do.
***
We headed across town to the rail switchyard. Hopefully they would be able to tell us something.
The switch office was at the top of a tower-like building that reminded me of a control tower at the airport. The only way up was a series of metal stairs that zigzagged back and forth on the way up.
Huffing a little by the time I got to the top, I stopped for a few seconds to catch my breath. Frank seemed a little better off than I, but he didn’t complain about the short break either.
Entering the too-hot room, I was met by a sight that probably hadn’t changed since the 1940’s. The twenty by twenty room had windows on all four walls, allowing one to see 360 degrees around the whole of the yard. On one wall there was what I would describe as a control panel, handles or levers were everywhere. Two rows of handles, top and bottom, and no more than six inches between any of them.
A man dressed in stripped overalls was pulling down a lever on the far left, then slid quickly to the far right and moved another lever up. Watching out the window for several seconds to make sure everything was moving where it was supposed to go, he then looked over his shoulder with a questioning look before spitting a brown stream into a spittoon.
“Help you fellers?” he said slowly as he looked up again, keeping one eye on us and the other on the yard.
We flashed our badges and I said that we had a couple of questions if he could spare a minute.
“I had you guys pegged as lawmen,” he said before sending another brown stream of liquid to the brass colored urn. “Names Cleat, what can I do you for?”
“We were wondering if you had any trains running last night, specifically along Bonnell Road, we’re looking at the time period around 3:00 AM?”
Cleat took a quick look at the yard before crossing the room and pulling an old clipboard off the wall. “Just checking to make sure we ran last night, but we have one coming back to town from the Honda plant most every night about that time, goes right through there, between 3:00 and 4:00 every morning.”
“Any chance we could talk to the engineer on that run?” I asked while trying to hold back my excitement. “We want to question him on something he might have been witness to in that area last night.”
Cleat nodded and went to the control panel, picking up the mike on an ancient two-way radio and playing with the knobs for a second before yelling into it.
“Tower to Little John, comeback?”
Several seconds passed with no response. Cleat was getting ready to yell again when a tired sounding “yeah?” came over the speaker.
“Got some police fellers here to see ya, make your way over here, will ya?”
Another ten seconds passed before we again heard ”yeah” coming across the speaker as Cleat hung up the mike.
“Might take him a bit to get here,” Cleat said before sending another liquid missile cleanly into the target. “Little John’s been here since 9:00 last night. They work twelve hour shifts, but he had to take an extra run this morning when someone didn’t show up.”
“He’d probably like it if you fellers could meet him at the bottom of the steps, he don’t like cumin’ up here too much.”
We agreed to meet him at the bottom, both of us offering our hands to Cleat for helping us.
“No problem fellers, come back anytime. Maybe next time I’ll let cha play with the handles.”
He let out a laugh that reminded me of a mule, and then happily went back to his work as we turned to go.
We retraced our steps back down the outside of the building, but our progress was blocked at the bottom by a mountain…A mountain by the name of “Little” John.
The man before me could easily be a professional wrestler, being at least six foot five and three hundred fifty pounds of mostly muscle. He was someone you definitely wouldn’t want mad at you.
“John, I’m Gabriel and this is Frank, we work for the prosecutor and have a couple of questions if you don’t mind.”
You could tell he was confused, but nodded his consent.
“We were told you had a run through Bonnell early this morning, around 3:00 am? Do you remember seeing any vehicles on the empty roadbed along through there this morning?”
Reaching into the top pocket on his bib overalls, he slowly dug out a dog-eared notebook, his sausage like fingers fumbling with the tiny pages as he opened it to the last page with writing.
“Boss said to keep track of anyone trespassing on the right-of-way. I usually give him my list once a week. There was only the one last night, right there where you were talking about.”
Ripping the page out of the book, he handed me the paper.
“That all you need?”
I assured him it was for now, but we might need to touch base later if we needed more information.
“Ok, but don’t call me today, I’m tired.”
With that he turned and lumbered off toward the exit gate of the yard without another word.
“Friendly sort” Frank uttered dryly, “wouldn’t want to get between him and his bed though.”
Frank’s graphic image stuck in my head for some reason, and I sputtered out a short laugh at the thought. Frank looked at me like I was some kind of crazy until the image apparently played out in his head too, when he also let out a laugh at the thought.
We walked to the exit and our car with our new evidence in hand, both of us watching for approaching train cars as they whizzed passed on their way to make up a train to who knows where.
It kind of reminded me of this case, bits and pieces of information, forming up in a row, but no one knew the final destination of our case, and no one knew who was forming up the train.
Who the hell was our Cleat?
Chapter 59
March 22, 1997
The piece of paper given to us by “Little” John had quite a bit of detail listed on it, with an estimated year (1994), Brand and model (Honda Accord) color and license number listed. I asked Harry to trace the license number when we got back to the office, then Frank and I headed into the conference room.
One inescapable fact confirmed this morning with certainty was that the sheriff’s department was definitely being targeted. The feeling was there before, but this more or less capped it for us.
The gun in the first murder, the deputy’s uniform in the second and the attempted frame of Larry this time, all seeming to point to Wesley trying to involve the sheriff’s office in some perverted game.
“The public’s going to be all over this when it gets out. They are going to be pointing fingers, mostly at Lean McHenry,” Frank pointed out, shaking his head in frustration.
“What do you suppose his or her game plan in all of this is?” he asked me, mystified.
“Not a clue,” I said truthfully, “not a clue.”
“Ok,” I started, surprising Frank as a new idea just hit me. “We know that Jacob Wesley has no previous record, but maybe this woman does. We could look at all of the women arrested in the last…say two years. Go through them, look for anyone that may have a beef with the sheriff, see if anyone fits the profile that we have of the woman. Maybe bring some in for interviews, let you do your thing, see what develops.”
“Best plan I’ve heard all day,” Frank injected with some excitement, “only plan I’ve heard all day really.”
“Let’s call the others in, get some help on this,” I offered.
Nodding his head, Frank got up to go get the rest of the crew.
“I’ll grab some coffee,” I said to the back of my friend as he exited the doorway.
“Thank God for coffee,” I uttered to myself as I grabbed the cups and started out the door for a refill.
Chapter 60
March 22, 1997
When I got back with the coffee, Betty met me with a loving smile, a vision of loveliness indeed for these tired eyes. You could tell she was worried about me, thinking I was wearing myself out, but we all were overworked on this case and a vacation was probably on the minds of each and every one of us.
Squeezing her hand quickly, we took our seats as the others trickled in. Harry started the meeting by confirming that the plates spotted by the train engineer matched the car they were on, and that the car was registered to Wesley.
He had used his own car!
The fact that our perp was getting bolder was not lost on me, knowing the bolder he got the easier it would be to catch him when he tripped up.
I also realized that an emboldened murderer was more likely to pick up his pace, the lust for more becoming all encompassing in their life.
Frank and I were next. We explained how the targeting of the Sheriff’s department had led us to the notion that if the mysterious woman was leading the charge, maybe it was someone that had been previously arrested…maybe wrongly in her estimation.
We next laid out our plan to investigate women arrested in the last two years and see if we could find a correlation. In other words, someone that may have it in for the sheriff and that matched the physical build of the woman on the security footage.
“I’ve been thinking about the two year thing Gabe” Frank offered. “I think we should extend it to maybe five years. Many repeat offenders could have been incarcerated from three to five years and may have just gotten out in the last few months.”
Although this would increase our work load tremendously, we all agreed with the logic and included it in the plan. Harry and Tucker volunteered to weed through the files and come up with a list of suspects, relief probably showing on my face as the thought of getting out of days of mundane file searching reached my brain
“I’ve got some information that may help,” Betty piped in suddenly. “I’ve received the list from the stationary company of customers they’ve sold their pens to in the two counties, actually thirty two names of women in all. Crossing this with the lists from the parochial and private schools in the area, we pare that down to six names. I propose we run these names through our files first to see if any of them show up in our arrests.”
Could it be this easy?
I was cautiously hopeful, but knew it was probably a long shot. Betty gave Harry and Tucker her list and they went off to cross reference the names.
“Good work Celtic!” I schmoozed, “that must have taken a lot of time.”
“You know how much I enjoy a puzzle,” she replied. “Just another day on the job,” she finished with a shy smile.
“My hero,” I added, “I knew marrying you was a smart move, makes me look like a genius.”
“I wish I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard that” she replied as she stood to leave, her face nonetheless showing the color of embarrassment. “See you later.”
My heart skipped a beat as I watched her and her uniform leave the room, reminding myself once more what a lucky man I was.
Chapter 61
March 25, 1997
“What’s this all about anyways?” Christine Mattox uttered irritably, smoke darting out of her mouth in little puffs as she spoke. The cigarette held between her slightly trembling fingers created a cloud that hung eerily in the room, her eyes darting around quickly like a rodent.
Ms. Mattox was the winner of our suspect lottery, the one person that fit all of the parameters that we had set to find the mastermind of the recent murder spree. Having now met the lady in person, however, I had a hard time believing this emaciated redhead was capable of pulling together a good party, much less an ingenious string of murders.
Nevertheless we needed to eliminate her as a suspect, a job Frank and I, having volunteered for the duty in haste, were now trying to muddle through.
“We just need to ask you a few questions in relation to a case we are working on,” Frank said in his best professional detective voice. “You were incarcerated for over a year for assault and battery, the particulars involving a black iron skillet and your now ex-husband Hank, is that correct?”
Taking a long drag on her cigarette while giving Frank a look of concern, she blew the smoke out slowly before answering. “Yeah, so…?”
“You were released approximately six months ago, is that also correct?”
This time she didn’t take a drag, but gave Frank a long stare before uttering another, “Yeah.”
“What have you been doing with yourself since your release, Christine?”
She inhaled deeply on the cigarette again, followed that with an amazing display of holding the smoke in her lungs, and finally executed the longest smoky exhale I have ever witnessed.
“I sell Mary-Kay, can’t you tell by my gorgeous skin. Pretty successful at it too, throw in free sex if you buy the deluxe kit.”
She pounded her cigarette butt into the ashtray, taking the time to grind it thoroughly before continuing.
“What the f*** is it to you anyway?”
“Need I remind you of your duty to readily submit to an interview at any time as part of the terms of your parole?”
“Of course I know that, my PO reminded me. I’m here ain’t I? Doesn’t say anything about liking it though…or answering dumb questions.”
“To tell you the truth, Christine, you fit the profile of someone we are looking for. We really don’t think it is you we are looking for however, so if you will cooperate freely we should be out of here shortly. Sound good to you?”
“Let’s go then, gotta important appointment I gotta get to,” Christine replied with resignation.
“Did you order a ‘Writer’s Nirvana’ ink pen from Florida Stationers? Our records indicate you received it at your current address about a week after you got out of the penitentiary.”
A look of confusion crossed Christina’s face before her eyes lit up in recognition. “That fancy pen my crazy ma bought for me?”
A loud cackle escaped from her lips, followed by a coughing fit that lasted half a minute or more. When she had composed herself again, she smiled conspiratorially.
“That crazy old woman thought I coul
d write a book about my time in the big house, like anyone would be interested in that. I told her right to her face she was crazy.”
“Do you have the pen with you?” Frank asked hopefully.
“Sure do, it is a nice pen. Hand me my purse.”
I reached behind me and snatched the purse off of the table, handing it to her with two hands. She dug through the crowded purse for several seconds, finally giving up and dumping the contents on the table in front of her.
“There you are!” she said, picking up the green and black writing instrument from the pile and handing it to Frank. She immediately started grabbing the other pieces and stuffing them back in her purse.
“That’s definitely a nice pen, Christine, you use it much?” Frank asked.
“Nope…never have. Just carry it around to impress my beau’s.”
I snickered at her response, earning myself a sly smile for my efforts.
“We need you to fill out this form for us, just standard policy, you understand,” Frank said as he laid a form in front of her.
The form Christine was filling out was one we had quickly put together for our interview, contrived to force her to unknowingly write out certain key letters we would later compare to the handwriting in the code book.
When she had finished with the form, we told her she could go. Taking up the form, I compared it to the book. The style of the lettering was the same, indicating the parochial school training I suppose, but it was also no surprise to me that the quality of the lettering was not to the same standard as the author of the book.
Before she had left the room, I had nonchalantly praised her writing skills, asking her what kind of grades she had gotten for it in school.
“B’s and C’s mostly. I remember ‘cause that really pissed off my ma. She used to say ‘Good handwriting is the mark of a real lady,’ I guess she was right about that.”
Thinking of the code book sitting next to me, and the implications of the regally drawn letters within it, I thought I might have to disagree with Christine’s mom wholeheartedly on that matter.