MELODY and MURDER (Melody The Librarian Book 1) (10 page)

On Monday, I was at work while the Chief’s suspect was being arraigned in Crawford. Michael was attending the hearing. He’d called Sunday to tell us that he was completely blindsided by the Chief’s statement, and he’d been unable to reach the Chief to get more information. (Apparently, the after-hours emergency number can be quite arbitrary regarding who gets through to the Chief.) Michael promised to update me once he’d had a chance to review the Chief’s case file and interview the suspect. Mom and I promised each other that we’d share any information either of us might receive.

At 3:00, Michael called. He was on his way home and had me on speakerphone.

“What a day,” he sighed. “Well, where would you like me to start?”

“What happened at the hearing?” I asked. He sounded exhausted, or as if the wind had been knocked out of him.

“Ah, yes, the hearing; well, the accused is a guy named Lester Moore. Poor guy didn’t know where he was or why. Fortunately, his court-appointed attorney entered a motion to have a competency hearing. Finding out whether or not he has his mental faculties will probably be the only clear-cut aspect of this fiasco.

“The crux of the Chief’s case is based on the testimony of one Thaddeus Slip, aka Thad Hand, aka Chad the Hammer, and on and on. I ran his name in the system and it nearly blew our server. He has a diverse portfolio, including manufacture of methamphetamine, drug possession and dealing, armed robbery, etcetera. This upstanding citizen, with no fixed address at the moment, claims that Lester Moore admitted to him that he ground up poison and served it up to Jacob Miller. That is the Chief’s case in its entirety.

“But here…let’s have Thaddeus Slip explain, in his own words, why he felt it was his civic duty to come forward and sic the dogs on Lester.”

Between the engine and road noise, and the peculiar acoustic properties of Michael’s sedan, the distorted, mechanically reproduced voice of the accuser was almost indecipherable, but his general sleaziness came through loud and clear.

“Yeah, Jake was a real nice guy. Real quiet; didn’t bother no one. But that’s a liability when you’re living out on the streets ‘cause – a lot of times – you’ve gotta assert yourself, asking for some spare change when you need to. Jake would hardly ever do that. He’d rather go hungry than make folks uncomfortable. Crazy, huh?

“I think he mighta had some kind of disability, though. He got a check every month, but it’d be gone in no time ‘cause Jake liked to share what he had. I used to look out for him when his check came, and make sure no one took advantage of him.”

No one else, you mean
, I thought.

“So that’s why I came forward. I figured I owed at least that much to the man.”

“So what did Lester say to you?” That was Michael’s voice.

“Crazy Lester told me that he poisoned Jake. Put it in some wine and Jake drank it all down.”

“Did he say why he did that? Did he have some grudge against Jake?” Michael asked.

‘No, sir, he didn’t say.” Thaddeus sounded like he was holding back a laugh. “Man, when you crazy, I don’t suppose you need a reason to do something.” He chuckled for a moment, and then asked, “So…is there some kinda reward for this?”

Michael turned off the recorder. “Chief Benson claims that his familiarity with the homeless population in the area allowed him to pick up pieces of information which led to Thaddeus, and once he tracked him down, Thaddeus was eager to assist.”

“So what do you make of all this?” I asked. All this random data just seemed to flutter around my brain, none of it settling to form a cohesive pattern.

“Well, if I were a defense attorney, I would put the star witness on the stand and completely shred his credibility within five minutes. But the accused is in no position to deny the charges or even defend himself. At least there’ll be some justice in that.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, not following Michael’s logic.

“Well, if the trial proceeds, Lester could get the mental health treatment from the state that he obviously needs. He’d be taken care of for the rest of his days.”

“But what about justice for Jacob?”

“Well, that’s a different story. Everything about this turn of events has an odor about it. It’s too easy.”

“What would Thaddeus have to gain by lying about this supposed confession?”

“Oh, it wouldn’t take much to ‘reward’ a guy like that. Ten bucks, a meal, a bottle…or just looking the other way.”

Suddenly, it made sense to me. “Of course! Chief Benson is the only one who benefits from this. It takes the pressure off him, he looks like a real cop, and he’s removed another homeless person from his streets.”

“Two birds with one stone.”

I shuddered. Every time I heard that phrase now, I pictured dead pigeons scattered like leaves along the ground.

“So what’s the next step?” I decided I needed to rephrase that. “Is there a next step?”

“Well, this slows the momentum of the investigation. My headquarters will probably classify this as a low priority and hand me some more cases. We’ve got time while the competency proceeding gets underway, and maybe something will surface. In the meantime, we’ve done pretty much all we can do.”

“I guess so,” I said. “I know that if something were to come up, you’d be sure to follow up. That makes me feel a little better.”

“Good. Because in this business, you sure don’t win every game. You let me know if you hear anything, okay? See ya soon, sis.”

And that was it, at least for the time being. It felt anticlimactic, or too easy, as Michael said. Is this the way the wheels of justice roll in small-town Northern Michigan? It was unsettling.

I updated Mom when I got home.

“Well, I think it stinks, too,” she said. “That is the most underhanded…. Does that Chief think he’s doing the public a favor by closing the books on this case? All very neat and tidy for him, but what if someone else drops dead? How would he look then?”

I didn’t have any answers for her. I felt numb. I just wanted to curl up with my cat and not think about any of this anymore.

But I couldn’t help thinking about it. As I lay in bed, something Geri Rafferty said came back to me. Something about how the Chief sometime drove the street people to Crawford, ostensibly to relocate them to a larger city where work and social programs could provide alternatives to loitering in his jurisdiction. I wondered how “voluntary” those relocations really were.

I pictured the Chief and one of his deputies trolling through the streets in their patrol car late at night, and spying someone huddled on a stairway or sleeping on a park bench. I could see them escorting the person to the backseat of the car and having a little talk.

“Now, I’ve told you that you can’t sleep in the park or on someone’s doorstep. Didn’t I warn you what would happen?”

Maybe there would be a threat of some physical retaliation, or maybe they’d take him to the station, but they wouldn’t make it easy for him. Maybe the Chief is schooled in some of those detention techniques they practiced at places like Guantanamo. There would be no peace for the weary.

Or they could offer to drive him to greener pastures and, of course, the vagrant would have to agree, given the choices provided. And who’s to say where the vagrant would end up? In the middle of nowhere, in the dead of winter?

“Crawford’s that way,” the Chief would point, his deputy laughing at their little joke. Or maybe something even more sinister or sadistic would await him once the squad car stopped.

Maybe the Chief would hand him a bottle of cheap wine. “Here, this’ll help keep you warm. Don’t say I never gave you anything.” Perhaps the Chief and his deputy would insist that the vagrant chug the bottle right there in front of them. “Don’t want to add littering to the charges, do we?”

It was a ridiculous scenario, I knew. I wondered how the police tasked with cleaning the streets in Rio de Janeiro of their “homeless problem” approached their mission. When the social “safety net” has been dismantled and it devolves into a law enforcement issue, how far are authorities willing to go to accomplish the mission, especially if no one else really cares?

They were ugly thoughts, and I was glad when the churning slowed and the images came to a halt.

The following Saturday morning, I received an unexpected call. It was Pastor Paul.

“Melody, I’m sorry to disturb you, but I have an urgent situation, and I thought maybe you could help.”

It was barely becoming light outside. I looked at my phone display – 6:00.

“There’s a body on our grounds…dead…in the cemetery behind the church.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, groggily. “Aren’t there lots of dead bodies in the cemetery?” I didn’t mean to sound sarcastic; it just came out that way.

“But this one doesn’t belong there. It’s…one of the homeless people, I think.”

“Oh. Did you call the police?” I still didn’t understand how I could help.

“Yes. I called 911. I think they’re contacting Chief Benson. But… I don’t have a lot of confidence in him…after the last incident.”

“Trust your instincts on that, Donald.” That was meant to sound sarcastic. I was awake now. “How can I help?”

“Well, that detective who interviewed me… I understand he’s your brother. I’d just hate to see this get swept under the rug.”

“Would you like me to call him?” I asked.

“Only if you think it’s appropriate,” he replied. “I just thought that since he was involved with the last case that this might somehow be related.”

“I agree,” I said, swinging my feet onto the floor. “I’m coming over. We don’t want them removing the body. It’s a crime scene, whether or not they want to treat it as such. We’ll need to stall them until Michael arrives. I’ll be right there.”

I called Michael as I dressed and was out the door before we’d finished.

“I’ll contact Central Dispatch and make sure proper procedures are followed, or that everything remains intact till I get there. Unless it turns out he’s not dead. Then the EMTs can have him.”

Donald and I stood over the body as the sun gradually warmed the air. We heard a fire engine emit its distinctive honk; the township volunteers were close.

“Did you find a wine bottle, something like that, nearby?” I asked.

“No. At least, I didn’t notice anything. It was still dark. I was just coming out to do my morning pigeon roundup.”

The man wore a green Army jacket and jeans. He was slumped on his side, obscuring a gravestone. Keeping my distance, I crept around to where I could see his face. It was the man Geri had pointed out that day, across the street from the bakery.

The fire engine parked alongside the church and two of the volunteers walked briskly toward us, first aid kit and a stretcher in hand.

“Careful, guys,” I cautioned. “This may not have been from natural causes.”

The lead man’s eyes looked into mine and he nodded. He and his partner checked for a pulse.

A Lake Hare police sedan rolled up and came to a halt in the gravel. The driver’s door flung open and out stepped the Chief.

“What have we got here, an early service?” he growled, looking my way. “Did you find the body, Pastor?”

“Yes, I did, Chief.”

“Okay, then I want to talk with you,” Chief Benson said, curtly. “And you, Miss, I would like to stand back by my car. You are not privy to this matter whatsoever.”

“I asked her to come over, Chief,” Donald explained.

“Why?” he snapped.

“That’s between me and Miss Reed, Chief Benson.”

The Chief looked Donald up and down while he contemplated a response. “Well, that’s fine, Pastor. You can invite anyone you want over here, any time, but right now I have some questions for you, and your answers will be considered confidential, official police business. Now if I have to tell you again to move back, Miss Reed, I will consider all of the legal options available to me to make you comply. Do you understand?”

I tiptoed backwards as one might after encountering a snarling canine. The Chief probably had a bit of stage fright. It’s hard to portray a police professional when you don’t know your lines. I’d have bet that he would’ve been flustered with me able to listen to his questioning.

The Chief consulted with Donald for a few minutes, committing Donald’s responses to memory, apparently, as I didn’t see any notes taken. He then spoke with the EMTs, who’d appeared to have abandoned their sense of urgency as they spoke, shrugging their shoulders and slowly walking back to their engine.

Since the Chief was no longer questioning Donald, I took a couple of steps closer to crime scene, confident that I wouldn’t compromise his investigation. The fire engine had drawn about 30 people to the church and, not having been personally ordered to stay back by the Chief, they crowded in as close as they could get, while keeping a respectful distance from the prone body on the marble slab. I inched along unobtrusively among them.

“What happened?” a bald man with a halo of white hair asked in a hushed voice.

“I’m not sure,” I replied. “You’d have to ask the Chief.”

“Do you think he’d know?” he asked, an impish smile on his face.

“Alright, people, you’re getting too close. I’ve gotta be able to work here. Go on, move on back.” The crowd took two steps back and stopped, curious to see the Chief in action.

“Where’s my back-up?” the Chief swore. “Reverend, could you keep a little order here, please? I need to use my radio.” The onlookers parted as the Chief stomped to his car. He got inside and slammed the door. He didn’t look happy with whomever he was trying to reach. Deputy Barney must have fallen back to sleep.

Fortunately, reinforcements did arrive in the form of my brother, Michael. He must have flown over those two-lanes to arrive so quickly. He got out, surveyed the surroundings, and spotted the Chief sitting in his car. He rapped on the Chief’s window, startling him. Michael gave him a friendly wave and walked in the direction the crowd was facing. He shook hands with Donald and then squatted near the body.

I had made my way to the front flank and observed Michael. He faced me as he looked at the victim’s face, checking his hands, turning his head slightly, checking for trauma. Michael bent and put his face near the victim’s, perhaps sniffing for signs of alcohol? He patted the pockets, waist and boots of the dead man, reaching into the top of the combat boot and withdrawing a wallet. He looked inside it, but didn’t take anything out of it.

A second city patrol car tore into the churchyard so quickly, with siren blaring and lights flashing, that I jumped back, afraid it would slide into the crowd. Michael stood and walked down toward me. The crowd hushed, expecting he might address them. And he did.

“Folks, something happened here a little while ago, and we need to find out exactly what took place. As you can see, we have a man lying over there, and it appears he’s passed away. There isn’t going to be any more activity on his part, so there’s nothing to stick around and see. We need everyone to leave, at least as far back as the sidewalk, and please do not wander around on any of the church property. We need to look around for evidence, and it’s going to take time and cooperation. Okay? Soon as we know something, we’ll advise the media. Thank you.”

People nodded, acknowledging that the excitement of the unknown had passed, began to disperse and murmur to each other.

“Probably drunk. Fell and cracked his skull.”

“Or heart attack…could’ve been a heart attack.”

“I think I’ve seen him around…somewhere.”

Michael took me by the arm and guided me along the outer edge of the crowd. “There’s someone I want to introduce to you,” he said in a low voice. Then he stopped, and turned me back toward the dead man. “Melody Reed, meet Thaddeus Slip. Thaddeus, Melody.”

I felt a cold shiver run through me. The Chief’s Star Witness! My paranoid, conspiratorial mania was revving up.

“Once the Keystone Kops get done with their slapstick routine,” he said, nodding toward the Chief, who was dressing down his subordinate in the quietest, but most threatening tone, “we can get a search started. I’m pretty sure we’re going to find a bottle of hooch not too far from here.”

“See? That’s why I couldn’t do your job,” I said. “Starting the day smelling the breath of dead winos is beyond my capacity.”

“Somebody’s gotta do it. Okay, look professional. Here comes the Chief!”

“Well, Detective Reed,” the Chief observed. “It amazes me how fast bad news can travel.”

“Almost as amazing as a murder taking place a week after you arrested the murderer, Chief.”

“Aren’t you jumping to conclusions? You’ve spent – what? – five minutes with the corpse and you’re trying to tear apart my case?”

“Jumping to conclusions? No, I’m not. A safety patrol cadet could take one look at this and see the similarities. And as for your case… I’m afraid it’s dead in more ways than one.”

The Chief followed Michael’s eyes toward the dead man.

“Or maybe it’s a copycat killer, Chief. Maybe someone wanted to emulate Crazy Lester’s homicidal flair. Except that they wouldn’t know any of the details…other than what’s been leaked to the press.”

“Oh, is that what this is about?” Chief Benson cackled. “You’re here to show up us local lawmen, to show us the error of our ways. Well, by all means, Detective, take charge. We are here to serve.”

“That’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said this morning,” Michael deadpanned. Deputy Jimmy tried stifling a snicker but tightening his lip only made the expelled air explode all the louder. The Chief shot him the stinkiest of stink-eyes. I was
so
glad I had a front-view to all of this. “Deputy, I hope you brought some crime scene tape.”

“Yes, sir! I got a roll in the trunk never been used.”

“Well, today’s your big day. Why don’t you rope off the area from the side of the church to that big tree over there, you see it? And then, we’ll section off the other side. We want to keep people from entering this graveyard from either side, okay? Thanks.

“Chief, once we get the tape up, I want us to do a sweep through the back of the church, all the way through the graveyard. We’ll be looking for a beverage bottle, probably of the alcoholic variety, but anything that’s found will be bagged and tagged and handled with gloves, understood?”

“Yeah, I understand…perfectly. I’ll just grab my gloves and meet you on the other side of the church. I want to get a good place for the start of this Easter egg hunt of yours. Unless you’ve got any other ideas.”

“Matter of fact, I do,” Michael replied. “I see members of the news media over there. I’m sure they’d like some sort of statement, even if it’s a non-statement. Issuing press releases seems to be your area of expertise, Chief. Why don’t you go take care of that?”

The Chief glared at me as he walked toward Proctor and Bergman. Proctor (or was it Bergman?) had given me his card in the event I cared to discuss the first murder with him. I hadn’t, but could see no reason for him not getting in on the ground floor of this latest event. Even if the Chief wasn’t in a position to relay much information on this new homicide, I was sure that Proctor would be satisfied hearing whether the Chief had any updates on the previous murder.

By the time the search party formed a line on the north side of the church, a television crew had arrived with their satellite truck in tow, and were beaming live transmissions of this “latest violent crime to rock the tiny tourist town of Lake Hare,” as the photogenic female reporter so alliteratively phrased it.

The three men set off across the grass, and hadn’t traversed 30 feet before Deputy Jimmy bent to pick something up. The others froze as Jimmy rose, holding a dead pigeon above his head. I heard Bergman’s camera clicking away.

“Don’t touch that thing, Jimmy!” the Chief admonished. “It’s poisoned!” Despite wearing gloves, Jimmy flung the bird away like a red-hot briquette. There was laughter from the crowd, reassembled with the arrival of the TV crew. The men continued their trek.

“Excuse me,” a woman’s quivering voice said softly. “Miss Reed?”

I looked over and saw Mrs. Wilson, the church cleaning lady. Pastor Paul stood next to her, his hand on her shoulder.

“How are you, Mrs. Wilson?” I stepped back so that she could have a better view of the search.

“Oh, I’ve been better, believe me,” she smiled nervously. “Pastor Paul told me I should talk with you.”

“Oh? About what?” She seemed agitated, troubled.

“Well, I’m afraid I’ve done some very bad things. I’ve tried to be good, but I’ve had…lapses.”

I looked at Donald. “This sounds like it would be more up your alley, than mine.”

“Please, hear her out, Melody,” Donald said.

I looked down at her beefy, aged frame and the sadness in her eyes, and a creepy feeling came over me. “What sort of bad things, Mrs. Wilson?”

“You know…” she said, not finding the words. She pointed out at the three men in the grass. “This!”

I knew what she was saying, but a part of me couldn’t compute the correlation between this barely ambulatory, elderly, stooped woman and the activities being undertaken by the three men.

“You poisoned the two men?”

She nodded her head, not looking at me, not looking at anything, her eyes closed as if avoiding staring into the future that awaited her.

“But why? Why would you do that?”