by S F Bose
“Did he pay him back?” Matt asked.
“No. The day of the murder, Jimmy went to the Emporium. He said he arrived at 12:30 p.m. and left at 1:15 p.m., although he may have been lying. Justin didn’t have the money yet, but said he was meeting with the buyer later in the day. Long story short, Jimmy was angry that Justin still couldn’t pay him back. When Justin offered him fifty dollars, Jimmy lost his temper. He roughed Justin up, gave him two weeks to pay up, and threatened his parents. But he swore he didn’t kill Justin.”
“You believe him?” Matt asked.
Sam thought for a second. “I don’t know. Jimmy’s probably capable of murder, but he has a timeline and alibi that suggests he didn’t kill Justin. We haven’t confirmed either, so he could be lying. But I think he wanted to keep Justin alive so he’d get his thirty grand back.”
I gave Matt Carlie Tate’s telephone number and explained how she fit into the picture.
“Would this Carlie Tate would lie for him?” Matt asked,
“I don’t know, Matt. It’s a possibility,” I replied. “I do know that Jimmy Dietz is a much better suspect than Ben Katz any day of the week. On top of everything else, Dietz wears a citrus and spice scented cologne. That could be what Mark Sweet smelled at the Emporium.”
I heard Matt grunt on the speakerphone. I exchanged glances with Sam and he shrugged.
Matt said, “Okay, you’ve given us a lot of information here. So I’m going to share something with you. This afternoon we got the ballistics report. They determined that the bullet that ended up in the wall behind Justin was fired from a 9mm Sig Sauer P226.”
I sat up in surprise. “Crap! Both Ben and Sweet own a Sig P226.”
“Any prints on that casing you found?” Sam asked.
“None. We’ll haul Jimmy Dietz in for an interview tomorrow. I’ll bring a warrant for any guns he has. I have one more piece of information for you,” Matt said.
“What’s that?” I asked.
Matt cleared his throat. “We followed up with Nikki Fremont, Sweet’s girlfriend. She said Sweet never came over the day of the murder. When I told that to Sweet, he said she was lying. He got very…exercised.”
“He lied?” I asked.
“It appears so,” Matt replied.
“Are you bringing him in?” Sam asked.
“No. We don’t have any hard evidence that implicates him. I’m waiting for the ballistics on his gun. But the fact that he owns a P226 moves him up the list of suspects.”
I sat back in the chair and folded my arms. “Well, I’m going to tell Mom there are some other, better suspects than Ben Katz,” I said, anger seeping into my voice.
“Don’t tell her who they are. The women’s gossip network around here could reach some relative of theirs and just make our job harder,” said Matt.
I pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t tell Matt exactly what I thought about how he was doing his job. I also happened to know that there were a number of men involved in the gossip network.
Newmont said something to Matt. Matt said, “Oh right. Newmont has another piece of information for you.”
Newmont’s deep voice came across the speaker. “Yeah, I met with Damian Fletcher at his office last Friday. He mentioned he had spoken to you the day before, so he knew about the note implicating him. He said he knew Peter, Martha, and Justin. But he had no idea who would write a letter like that. Evidently, he and his wife are having marital problems, so he speculated a male friend of hers might have written it. He didn’t know the man’s name and he suggested I ask his wife.”
“If you did get the name from her, I wouldn’t give it to Damian,” I said.
“You think he’d go after him?” Matt asked.
“It’s a possibility,” I replied. “Husband scorned and all that.”
After a pause, Newmont continued. “Then we talked about the time of death. He said he’d tell me the same thing he told you. He left work early to spend the afternoon and evening with his wife. He also said she’d confirm that.”
“Did you talk to Sherrie?” I asked.
“Not until today. Mr. Fletcher said he’d ask her to contact me when he got home that night but she didn’t get in touch until today. Mrs. Fletcher stopped by the station and confirmed he was with her that day from around 2:15 p.m. on.”
Sam asked, “She was sure of the time?”
“Yeah. She said something about not being able to watch some TV show to the end because he arrived home early.”
Sam asked, “Did you follow up about the boyfriend?”
“I did ask about that. Mrs. Fletcher said her husband was jealous and paranoid. It was something they were working on in their marriage. She maintained there was no boyfriend.”
Sam followed up. “Was she credible?”
“She was a little nervous but no alarm bells went off.”
“What about weapons?” I asked.
“Fletcher keeps his weapons locked up in a small room off his main office at work. He moved them to the office because they made his wife nervous. He carries a Smith & Wesson M&P 45 Compact. He does have a 30-30 shotgun at home in a locked cabinet. I verified his concealed carry permit. Aside from the shotgun and the Smith & Wesson, he said he had no guns at home. In the gun case at work, he only had two 9mm pistols, a Beretta 92FS and a Glock 19. I had a warrant with me for any 9mm handguns and brought them back in for testing. But then today we found out the murder weapon was a Sig.”
Sam leaned back in his chair. He looked tired. “What was Fletcher’s mood, Newmont?”
“Up and down. At first, he was fine. When we spoke about the letter, it was clear that it rattled him and he seemed nervous. He was adamant that his wife could provide an alibi. We talked for a bit and he calmed down again. Then when I gave him the warrant for the guns, he got angry and wanted to know if he was a suspect. I explained we were really just eliminating him. He relaxed again after that.”
“So Damian’s a dead end,” I said, feeling relieved.
Matt chimed in. “We have no evidence to connect him to the murder. If it hadn’t been for that anonymous letter, he wouldn’t even be on our radar.”
“Thanks Newmont,” I said and heard him mumble something back.
Sam reached for his phone. “Okay Matt I think we’re done. If we find out anything else, we’ll let you know.”
“Sounds good,” Matt replied. “And Lizzie, no names when you talk to your mom.”
I jumped up and opened my mouth. Sam said, “Okay bye now,” and quickly disconnected.
I glared at Sam and said, “Don’t say a word. He’s such an asshat.” Sam put his hands up in the air.
“Hey I totally agree,” he said. “Give me that guy Einstein’s number and I’ll call him before I leave.”
I checked my notes and gave him the telephone number. Then I stalked out of the room, still angry with Matt Durand. I called back, “Don’t forget Justin’s funeral is tomorrow.”
“Roger that,” he replied.
I went to the conference room and updated the case board with information about Justin’s gambling, his secret deal with some buyer, Eddie Klein, Jimmy Dietz, and Damian Fletcher. I also noted the guns they all had. After that, I went to my office and uploaded the audio interview files to the online case file. I added a brief summary of each interview and included what we’d learned from Matt and Newmont. At the last minute, I added a note about Martha’s mysterious Mr. Smith.
I thought about calling Mom with an update but decided I was too tired. Instead, I headed home to cats, cousins, and several glasses of wine.
Chapter 37
The next morning I overslept thanks to more than a few glasses of wine the night before with Chloe and Olivia. Then I realized I hadn’t picked out anything suitable to wear for Justin Church’s memorial. The somber black suit I wore to Nate’s funeral was long gone because I knew I could never wear it again.
After a quick shower, I scrounged though my closet and found a black, belted,
two-piece pantsuit. I added black pumps and a dressy, black shoulder bag that was big enough to carry my Glock. I decided to leave the Kahr pocket gun at home. After another moment of panic, I found my winter dress coat in the downstairs closet.
When I met Sam in front of Winnberrie’s Funeral home at 9:45 a.m., his jaw dropped when he saw me. He struggled to say something and finally blurted out, “We should dress up more often!”
I laughed and agreed, “We should.” Sam wore a black suit, maroon tie, and gray dress coat. With his ever-present gray Irish cap, he looked both handsome and professional.
The family held Justin Church’s memorial service in the main viewing room of the Winberrie Funeral Home. Cornelia Winberrie had opened the partitions separating the two side parlors from the main parlor. Despite the additional room, the big space could barely accommodate the friends of Justin, Peter, Martha, and their daughter, Joy. It looked like all of Mystic Grove had turned out.
The center aisle led to a draped platform with a large picture of a smiling Justin Church wearing a suit and tie. A black urn with gold eagles in flight sat next to the photograph. Justin’s ashes, I thought and felt sad.
Sam quietly filled me in on his phone conversation with Joel “Einstein” Poston, who had confirmed what Eddie told us about the poker games and Justin's attitude at their last game. I wasn’t surprised. Eddie struck me as a straight shooter.
Sam and I went to the front of the room and hugged Peter and Martha. Both were sad but holding it together. Martha introduced us to Maxine Hudson, Justin’s ex-wife. She was an attractive redhead who looked tired and weepy. She held crumpled tissues with one hand and her husband’s hand with the other. Paul Hudson stood close to her, watching her attentively. When I expressed condolences, she began to weep. Her husband wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her to their chairs.
Then Sam and I spoke briefly with Joy, Justin’s sister, who said his death still hadn’t sunk in. She expected him to walk up at any minute. I told her if she wanted to talk some time, she should call me, and I gave her my cellphone number. Joy introduced us to her son, Paul, who was a young teen, and her daughter, Molly, was about 10. I remembered Grandma saying that Joy had gone through a divorce recently.
When Pastor Will Thatcher of the Mystic Grove Community Church arrived, people moved to their chairs. Sam and I sat in the back of the room where I scanned the crowd. I wondered if Justin’s murderer was one of the attendees.
I was surprised to see Eddie Klein sitting in the front row with the family. I hadn’t seen him arrive. Grandma Addie, Nana, and Grace sat toward the front too. Martin and Cecille Fletcher were one row behind them and I could see them chatting. Dad and Margo moved to seats in the center of our section. Dad and artistic Margo were always a contrast. He wore a conservative gray suit and burgundy tie. Margo wore a black and gray tunic over black pants, large orange beads, and an orange beret on her short, curly, white hair.
Arriving at the last minute, Mom and Ben sidestepped up a row in the middle of our section, to two seats next to Dad and Margo. Mom carried her coat and wore a dark blue pantsuit. Ben wore an old leather jacket, sweatshirt, and blue jeans. I shook my head. How could Ben possibly be wealthy?
I spotted Damian and Sherrie sitting toward the front on the left side of the room. Mark Sweet and his wife, Amy, sat on the right side of the room. Everyone was present, except for Jimmy Dietz and I doubted he knew about the service.
Glancing at the back of the room, I saw Matt Durand and Newmont standing on either side of the door. They were in their winter uniforms with tan shirts, black ties, dark tan pants, olive green patrol jackets, and held their tan Stetson hats under their left arms. It was strangely moving. I turned back to the front.
Pastor Thatcher was in his thirties and had a pleasant face, glasses, and close-cropped black hair. He wore a flowing, white robe and carried a small Bible. Standing behind the podium, he tapped the microphone with a forefinger. Reassured by the thumping sound, he welcomed everyone and launched into a rousing eulogy for Justin Church. He had a good set of pipes on him and really didn’t need a microphone.
He talked about Justin’s childhood, his love for his parents, his sister, and his niece and nephew. He even mentioned Maxine, the ex-wife, in warm terms. The Pastor revealed how Justin had remained close to many of his high school and college friends and was always there when they needed him. I noticed Eddie and other mourners nodding.
Pastor Thatcher went down a Biblical path for a bit and my mind strayed. Then I heard his voice rise as he said that Justin’s loss was painful and confusing. He admitted there were times when we couldn’t clearly see God’s plan, but we had to believe and trust in Him. We never knew how much time we had on Earth. However, Justin had loved and been loved. His parents, Peter and Martha, his sister, Joy, his niece, nephew, and former wife were proof that Justin had been a loving son, brother, uncle, and husband. By all accounts, he had enjoyed a happy and successful life.
“Take the time that God has given you and make the most of it. Love your families. Love your friends,” Pastor Thatcher said with urgency. Everyone applauded him at the end.
Peter rose and thanked everyone for coming. He said that Justin was a wonderful son and a good man. He and Martha would love and miss him forever. Joy spoke next about some of the funny things she and Justin had done and how much she loved him. Finally, three friends from high school and college said a few words. Eddie Klein remained seated.
Pastor Thatcher returned to the podium and led us in singing “Amazing Grace.” At the conclusion, tears sprang to my eyes. After that, Cornie announced that Peter and Martha thanked all of us for coming. They hoped we would spend time with our families and friends. They also hoped we would remember Justin.
“No luncheon?” Sam whispered.
I looked at the horde of people in the room. “They may be too upset or maybe it would cost too much.” He nodded.
After a few minutes, only a few mourners had left the funeral parlor. Many stood in small groups chatting. Others went up to speak with the family. I walked up as Dad and Margo left their row of seats. Dad hugged me almost fiercely.
“Love you, Dad,” I whispered. He released me and kept his hands on my arms.
“I love you too, Lizzie,” he replied. His blue eyes glistened behind wire rim glasses. Dad was tall, thin, and normally more of a hugger than Mom. But his tears moved me. I turned and hugged Margo, his girlfriend. Her green eyes were teary too. I watched them head toward Peter and Martha Church.
Mom and Ben were sitting alone in their row, talking. I sidestepped up the row and sat on the chair next to Mom. Surprisingly, she put an arm around my shoulders and hugged me.
“Mom?”
“What the Pastor said was very moving. We really don’t know how much time we all have left, do we?” Mom asked, looking at Ben and then at me. He took her left hand and I took her right. After a few seconds I said,
“It’s not the best time, but I wanted to give you a quick update. There are at least two other suspects who look way better for the murder than Ben. One of them owns the same type of pistol used in the murder. The other owns a gun but we don’t know what type yet.”
Mom looked at me closely. “Mark Sweet is a suspect for sure. Is the other suspect either Jimmy Dietz or Eddie Klein?”
My eyebrows arched up and my mouth dropped open. “Where did you hear those names?”
Ben’s face turned red and Mom looked amused. “We had lunch yesterday with Peter, Martha, and Abbie. We discussed Mark Sweet in detail then. But Liz, the whole county knows Mark Sweet is a suspect.”
Ben nodded in agreement. “Then a source called us this morning. Said Eddie Klein and Jimmy Dietz’s names came up and the police were looking into them,” he said.
I lowered my voice. “A source? What source?”
Ben’s eyebrows shot up. “Liz, we can’t reveal our sources!”
“Sources? Plural? You have more than one?” My voice rose and a few pe
ople in front looked back at me. They just looked at each other and back at me. I couldn’t imagine Newmont or Joyce Tani spreading gossip. Who else could it be?
I closed my eyes and counted to ten. Then my eyes popped open and I gave them both a stern look. “Listen, you need to keep that information under your hats. We don’t want information leaking out to any bad guys before the police can talk to them.” They glanced at each other and smiled.
“Would this be a bad time to tell you we know the murder weapon was a Sig P226?” Ben asked. Mom elbowed him in the side and he winced. I took a deep breath.
“Your sources told you that?”
Ben glanced at Mom and just shrugged.
“All right. Just please don’t put any of this information out on the rumor mill. It could really impede the investigation,” I begged.
“Liz, I can’t control what other people say or do. My concern is Ben’s reputation and my reputation,” she said. A smile melted Ben’s serious demeanor and he put his arm around Mom’s shoulders.
“So the information is already out there?”
“The horse is out of the barn,” Ben agreed.
“Okay,” I said with a sigh. “What’s done is done. Did you hear anything more about Justin?” I wondered if his gambling and the fight with Jimmy Dietz were now common knowledge.
Ben shook his head. “No. We only heard that suspects were stacking up like cordwood.”
I nodded. “Not quite like cordwood, but I take your point. Hang in there. I think we’re close to the end of this nightmare.” Mom hugged me again and I stood. I took a deep breath. I just hoped the leaked information didn’t somehow get back to Jimmy Dietz before the police picked him up.
I turned to search the crowded room for Sam. Then I froze. Ansell Benedetto a.k.a. Mr. B stood by the back wall near the double doors. Thick white hair combed straight back, thick white mustache, and stern look. It was as if he had walked out of the painting in Paulie’s Poolroom. I swallowed hard. He wore a tailored black suit and black dress coat. He seemed to be scanning the crowd on the right side of the room.
