Genesis of Evil (14 page)

A half hour later the two men Skjelgaard was waiting for came out of the mall and drove away. When the hearse drew up in front of the police station, the reporter pulled to the curb and watched the passenger disembark and enter the building as the hearse drove away. Skjelgaard shut off his engine and climbed from the car.

When he flashed his press card at the girl in the reception area of the police station and asked to talk to someone concerning the problem at the shopping mall, she avoided his gaze and told him she wasn’t aware of any problem at the mall. Her inability to look him straight in the eye told him she knew otherwise. Byron Skjelgaard left the police station and went in search of a cheap motel room.

Skjelgaard spent three days digging through old newspapers at the library and talking to waitresses, barbers, store clerks and anybody else who would stand still for more than thirty seconds. At the end of those three days he knew as much as anybody about what had happened at the mall since it was built. Then he returned to his motel room, sat down at his laptop and went to work.

Chapter Thirteen

October 10, 2004

Virginia Kable felt that she amounted to something in the community. She didn’t want to think about where she would be today if her husband was still on the force in Orlando. It would be better, of course, if Gerhart was Mayor of Trinidad. Virginia intended to push in that direction the minute Gerhart was pushable. But right now, she was busy being Chairperson of the cancer fundraiser and wife of the Chief of Police. It was only a week until the kickoff dinner dance at the country club.

Virginia Kable—as was fitting for the most important woman at the event—was determined to be the belle of the ball. A new dress was required. Although she didn’t put any stock in Gerhart’s opinion that something strange was happening at the mall, she had stayed away. There were times when it was prudent not to cross her husband and she had sensed that this was one of them. It had something to do with his tone of voice.

The problem was that she had shopped the area dry without finding the appropriate dress. Even a trip to Jacksonville one Sunday had proved fruitless. The only place left where she was certain to find what she needed was Chateau de Rachelle—in the mall. And screw the Chief of Police and his tone of voice.

Virginia climbed into her Volvo station wagon and backed down the driveway.

Rachel Kinder had opened her exclusive shop in downtown Trinidad despite dire predictions of bankruptcy from both her ex-husband and her bookkeeper. But she held the theory that a shop would be really exclusive only if it was somewhat remote. After all, everybody knew about the stores in Tallahassee and Jacksonville, but how many ladies shopped in Trinidad? It took a while but her theory proved to be sound. Her out-of-town clients—she refused to think of them as customers—mentioned only to their closest friends that they purchased most of their up-market gowns at an exclusive shop in Trinidad. A lot of the ladies knew nothing of the tiny coastal community but were willing to drive any distance in order to dress like a princess. When the news of the new mall hit the paper, Rachel Kinder was one of the first in line to talk about renting a store. She secured the most remote location in the mall, around the corner from Bonmark’s at the end of the corridor. The rent was quite a bit lower than the rest of the stores and she would still be rather hard to find.

Exclusivity doesn’t come cheap. Most of the women of Trinidad could feel the tug at their purse by merely walking past Chateau de Rachelle. Virginia marched in the front door and through the shop toward the room at the rear where they kept the finest gowns.

As the door opened, Caroline Lambert was standing at the counter next to the cash register. She looked up from an invoice and frowned slightly as she watched Virginia stride through the shop toward the rear. Caroline was one of Rachel Kinder’s first employees and had waited on Virginia many times in the past. But today, the woman’s presence made her uneasy. Her mind flashed back to her first meeting with Virginia.

When the Kables had moved to Trinidad, Virginia needed someone to help clean the house they bought. Caroline Lambert answered the call. In retrospect, it seemed to her that Virginia had demanded a great deal from her. And the more she thought about it, the more she was sure that Mrs. Snooty Kable had taken advantage of her. Scrubbing toilets. Mopping floors. Polishing windows and counter tops. Grunt work. She seethed now at the thought of the indignities she had suffered at the hands of this bitch.

Caroline tossed the invoice onto the counter and stalked toward the back room. Virginia was examining something strapless in a pale blue.

“May I be of assistance, Mrs. Kable?” Caroline inquired with a saccharine smile.

Virginia spent the next forty-five minutes trying on dresses. Caroline thought the stupid cunt would never be finished, but finally she settled on a satin model in wispy peach and spent the next few minutes turning this way and that, admiring herself in the mirror. Caroline, in the meantime, had an idea.

“I’ll be right back, ma’am,” she said, leaving Virginia to her narcissism.

Caroline went out to the jewelry case and selected a heavy, solid gold necklace from the locked section of the case. When she returned, Virginia had unzipped the dress in preparation to removing it.

“Oh, just a moment,” Caroline purred. “Why don’t you try this with the dress?”

Virginia glanced around, smiled. “All right. Zip me back up.”

Caroling pulled the zipper up and slipped the necklace around Virginia’s neck. Then she gripped each end firmly, pulled it tight and kicked Virginia’s feet out from under her. Caroline rode the Chief’s wife to the floor and twisted the necklace tighter. Virginia tried to get a grip on the necklace but failed. The women thrashed about on the floor, Caroline determined to hang on, Virginia frantically kicking and scratching. It took almost five minutes for Virginia to stop struggling. Caroline held on another three for good measure.

When Caroline was certain that Virginia was dead, she went to the front of the store, locked the door, turned out most of the lights and drew the curtain across the display window. Then she returned to the fitting room and dragged her victim’s body to the front of the store. There she removed the mannequin that sat on a park bench in the window, replaced it with Virginia’s body and opened the curtain.

Caroline Lambert, now completely insane, selected a strong leather belt from stock, went into the back room and hanged herself from a sprinkler pipe.

When Gerhart returned home at 9:15 P.M. he wasn’t surprised to find that Virginia was still out. But when 11:00 came and went without her showing up he got worried. He called several of her friends and determined that no one had talked to her or seen her since the previous day. He sat down on the couch and thought about what to do next.

At 12:30 A.M. Gerhart drove to the station. He put out an APB on Virginia’s Volvo, notified the Florida State Patrol and the Taylor County Sheriff’s Department and sat in his office for the rest of the night staring blindly at the darkness outside his window, his thoughts a roiling cloud of fear.

Rachel Kinder normally got to her shop about 9:00 in the morning, which gave her an hour to get ready for the day’s business. But she had some bookkeeping to do in order to fend off the IRS, so she decided to get an early start. Just before 7:30 she stopped in front of the door and reached out to put the key in the lock. But something was wrong.

Caroline must have taken it upon herself to redo the right hand display window, Rachel thought. She stepped over to the window, looked up and blinked. There was something about the mannequin. Its face was purple, its tongue was hanging out (tongue?) and it had an ugly red mark around its neck. Rachel leaned a bit forward and squinted up at the display. The blood in her veins slowed to a crawl and she swallowed noisily. Her left eyelid started to quiver. She dropped her keys and backed slowly and awkwardly away from the window, fumbling in her purse for the cell phone as a silent scream formed in her throat.

Gerhart arrived seven minutes later followed closely by Dee Dee and Brock. He ran into the mall and almost stepped on Rachel Kinder, who now sat on the floor just inside the door. She was hyperventilating and mumbling to herself between breaths.

“Are you Rachel?” Gerhart asked.

She looked up at him, took a deep breath, choked and nodded.

“Where’s your shop?”

Rachel pointed.

“Do you know who it is?”

Rachel shook her head no.

Gerhart reached down and gently lifted the shattered woman to her feet. She hung in his hands like a damp towel.

“Give me the keys,” Gerhart said.

Rachel nodded mutely and pointed a shaking finger at the purse that still lay on the floor. Gerhart released Rachel, dumped the purse over and rummaged hastily through the contents. Finding no keys, he set out at a dead run.

Brock glanced at Rachel who had sunk once more to her knees.

“You better get an ambulance for her,” he said to Dee Dee. “She doesn’t look too good,” he yelled over his shoulder as he went after his boss.

When Brock got to Chateau de Rachelle he found Gerhart sitting on the floor in front of the display window. He was staring up at his wife, clenching and unclenching his hands and rocking back and forth as tears streamed down his cheeks. Brock squatted next to him and gently took the keys that Gerhart had picked up from the floor before looking at the window. Gerhart slowly turned his head to stare at the patrolman.

“It’s my fault, Brock. I should have made her understand. I should have made her stay away. I killed her, Brock. I killed Virginia.” Then he dropped his head into his hands and sobbed uncontrollably.

What began as a mystery with the discovery of Virginia’s body became clear when the police found Caroline Lambert hanging from the sprinkler pipe in the stockroom. There were enough fingerprint partials on the necklace to connect it to Caroline and there was enough of Caroline beneath Virginia’s fingernails to close the loop. As the shop was locked from the inside, the case was made. What no one could understand, however, was the reason for the tragedy. As far as anybody could remember, other than the occasional encounter, the paths of the two women had never crossed.
 

That was little comfort for Gerhart, who continued to blame himself, unreasonable though it was, for Virginia’s death. There had been no great love between Gerhart and Virginia for a number of years, but that only made it worse. Finding his spouse dead under such horrible conditions weighed on him like nothing he had ever experienced. He cried for their lost love and her lost life. He cried for the good times they spent with each other, and for the bad times he felt were wasted. He cried for the children they never had and, therefore, for the nonexistent grandchildren. Then he exerted a mighty effort and pulled himself together. Although he had to constantly push thoughts of her to the back of his mind, he forced the grieving to end.

Virginia’s funeral took place on one of the brightest days Trinidad had experienced in several weeks. Virginia’s mother attended, as did Gerhart’s parents, Esmond and Waltraut Kable. Of course Caroline’s husband, Raymond, was there. At first he rejected the notion that Caroline had killed Virginia. He couldn’t understand how his wife could kill anyone. But ultimately he believed the findings of the police and the coroner and was truly sorry for Gerhart and his family.

There was a large turnout at the funeral. Most of Trinidad’s citizens liked their Chief of Police and knew that Virginia had done a lot for the community, even if she had been a bit overbearing at times.

When the service was over, Gerhart stayed for a few minutes to say a last farewell before they filled in the grave. As he walked back toward the limousine he noticed a large wreath standing above one of the newer graves in the cemetery and was startled to realize that the wreath was made entirely of black flowers. A policeman’s curiosity took over and he wandered to the grave for a closer look. There was a blood-red ribbon across the wreath with the words “Von Hexenbrut” stamped on it in gold letters. Gerhart came to an abrupt halt when he saw the headstone.

The wreath stood above the grave of Joseph Lucas.

Chapter Fourteen

October 19, 2004

During the week that followed Virginia’s funeral, Gerhart alternated between fits of boundless energy and bouts of total listlessness. Although he was certain that the mood swings were related to his feelings of guilt about her murder, he seemed powerless to control or suppress them. It was during one of these fits of energy that he thought about the wreath that stood above the grave of Joseph Lucas. After considering the problem from several angles he picked up the phone and called his opposite number in Dunedin, Lt. Orselli. He explained the wreath to Orselli and spelled out the name, Von Hexenbrut, that was printed on the ribbon. Orselli promised to see if he could find reference to any Von Hexenbruts living in the Tampa area. There the matter rested.

Two days later, as Gerhart sat in the Trinidad Lunch Box trying to eat a hamburger without the grease dripping down his chin, somebody tapped him on the shoulder. He looked up into the eyes of Roberta Valentine, who leaned on her crutches as she balanced a tray in one hand.