Authors: Timothy McDougall
Tags: #Mystery, #literature, #spirituality, #Romance, #religion, #Suspense, #Thriller
Violence (45 page)
Jeannie’s hair, even dirty, smelled like heaven. Like a good shampoo a woman would use. Karen’s hair always smelled that way. He didn’t know why it made such an impression at that moment, or had such meaning, but it did. It seemed to be an indication of the way out. The thought that stuck out the most in Anderson’s mind at that moment was that Jeannie was not going to pay for any of the things that had happened. Seeing her in the center of all those lights, she was the symbol of hope, something to fight for. Anderson suddenly felt himself as a rooted part of the earth again. If she let him he was going to live every day for her happiness. No more darkness. She would not live a life of despair if he could help it. Maybe they could find redemption together. This embrace was the start of their long road back.
When she finally stopped crying, Jeannie kept telling Anderson how sorry she was, that she didn’t understand what he had been saying about an engagement ring over the cell phone. He told her not to worry about it, she did fine, and assured her that he would talk to her later about everything. They both finally agreed to be interviewed separately and gave witness statements of their “accounts” to local detectives to get it out of the way.
Right now they were back together in a “safe area” set-up outside the police tape, waiting for Crotty to officially release them from having to remain at the scene. They clearly weren’t suspects in the deaths that occurred that evening. They were told the Expedition and the Impala were going to be impounded, at least until things were “sorted out” and there was a reconstruction of everything that happened that evening as well as in the entire previous 48 hours. Anderson and Jeannie were running on fumes now. Whether they were going to get a ride or have to get a cab, they just wanted to get out of there and get some sleep.
For the two men who had the unenviable task to haul Ward’s remains, it took over twenty minutes for them to carry his body from the factory to the van for transport to the morgue. They had to stop several times to rest in their biohazard “bunny suits,” pushing up the respirators on their foreheads to breathe unrestricted. Derek’s removal was going to be even trickier and more arduous because of its location but no one was in a hurry, there were still too many issues. The Major Case guys were still trying to figure out just how to get back to Derek. They would have to cut through some barriers and needed more light to properly document the scene and no one wanted to step or fall on something sharp.
Max Franks, the kid detective from Crotty’s station house, had hurried over to help Crotty after he heard what had happened to Peterson. Max was Crotty’s partner in the field now so to speak and was handling some of the routine, making sure they were copied on everything. Max broke away from talking with a local detective and an evidence technician who handled the recovery of Ward’s footwear (along with some other items of Ward’s that were scattered upon his impact with the factory floor).
“He came right out of his shoes.” Max announced out loud as he approached Crotty who had been doing a million things and was just finishing up giving his own “version of events” in an interview. Crotty knew Ward had come out of his shoes. He was there. Crotty also knew Anderson could hear what Max just said because Anderson was even closer to Max than he was.
Crotty was into his second wind. He had just experienced a big evening and a crazy last couple of days, but he knew he was past the crisis and he was out of that heavy uncomfortable bullet-proof vest, and that was a relief as well. That was why he wasn’t going to chastise Max right now and remind him about the importance of not disclosing case particulars outside of the investigative team because
everybody
is a suspect until proven otherwise.
“You want me to ask these guys here to expedite a shoe impression…” Max asked, indicating the local detective and evidence tech who were logging in Ward’s items. “…add it to the list of those other donors we’re collecting?”
Crotty gave Max a look that shut him up, and then stepped over to Anderson and Jeannie.
“How are you two doing?” Crotty asked them perfunctorily.
Anderson said nothing.
“Fine.” Jeannie nodded in reply.
“Mr. Anderson, I’ve had something on my mind, that maybe you could help me with…” Crotty now tried to adopt his best casual interrogation style as he locked his gaze on Anderson.
Anderson knew there was nothing informal about whatever Crotty was going to ask him.
“There were some unique shoe impressions left at the Gabriel Lysander murder scene…” Crotty disclosed. “…actually at both that scene and the Ruben Roney death scene. Not the same impressions at both places, totally distinct from the victim’s wear patterns, but from seemingly two different sets of shoes at each location, as if they were made by two different people.”
Crotty wasn’t just talking: he was searching Anderson’s reaction to each and every word he uttered.
Anderson, for his part, stared right back at him, unblinking.
“Now there have been some clever murderers in the past who have used other people’s shoes to throw the cops off the scent.” Crotty went on. “Even the Unabomber did it. Wore different sized shoes.”
Crotty continued to aggressively look directly in Anderson’s eyes as he spoke.
Anderson never looked away and was, in a word: enigmatic.
“You know how that church you go to, in their office there…” Crotty couldn’t wait to get to this part, because it was his money play. “…there’s those bins there, you know, they take in shoes and clothes for the poor…”
Anderson – showed no reaction.
Crotty continued, “…someone could find a whole bunch of shoes there that would fit them, that would have a different wear pattern, if they were going to kill someone and wanted to confuse a bunch of detectives…” Crotty hesitated for only a moment to give Anderson a chance to speak but:
Anderson – still had no reaction.
“…you know what I’m talking about, right?” Crotty said this more like an accusation, rather than a question.
And… Anderson – just stared back at him in silence.
“Now… I just have one question for you?” Crotty waited for a second and thought he saw a flicker of movement in Anderson’s face, a revealing sign that showed Anderson knew exactly what he was talking about and was nervous.
“Just one question…” Crotty took a deep breath before making his final inquiry. “…do you think Al Ward would have known about that?”
Max almost blurted out a “huh, what?!!” after Crotty said this.
Anderson pondered his answer for moment, and then simply replied, “I wouldn’t be able to tell you, honestly.”
“That’s what I thought.” Crotty nodded, and hesitated for only a moment before he said to Max as he looked over at Ward’s body bag being loaded into the transport van. “I think we have our man. I don’t believe it would even make a difference to get his shoe impressions on this one.”
“Who’re you talking about: Al Ward?” Max asked shooting a glance over at the transport van and then doing a double-take on Crotty.
“Yeah, he’s the guy who killed them.” Crotty declared.
“All three guys?” Max asked incredulously.
“Yeah…” Crotty answered firmly. “…that’s my take.”
Anderson stared thoughtfully at Crotty.
“Now, Max…” Crotty turned to the young detective. “…could you give these people a ride to wherever they need to go?”
“Sure.” Max answered, still somewhat bewildered by Crotty’s actions.
Anderson made it a point to shake Crotty’s hand.
Jeannie gratefully extended her hand also to Crotty and said, “Thank you.”
Crotty shook her hand and smiled.
Max lead Anderson and Jeannie to his sedan parked somewhere at the edge of the oscillating, iridescent lights.
Crotty watched them as they moved away.
CHAPTER 46
I
t was one of those country club wedding receptions. Nice. Valets. Choice of shrimp something or another and tournedos of beef. Everyone was awaiting the bride and groom again who had moved off to take some more photographs.
The men were mainly miserable like most weddings, hiding out at the open bar when they weren’t being made to dance. The women were all currently engrossed in one of those line dances that required a pre-set knowledge of the basic steps. There was a lot of laughter. The live band was cooking.
Jeannie had moved off to the far end of a long high-ceiling corridor away from the ballroom where she could hear better. She had a cell phone to her ear, and it was hard to miss the large diamond wedding ring on her finger.
“How are they doing?” Jeannie asked into the cell phone. “She’s sleeping?… Great. His sippy cup should be in the dishwasher, clean…” Jeannie waved as the young bride and groom floated past, beaming, in love, hurrying to get back to the reception. It didn’t seem to be one of those marriages gone into just so the two people who were getting married could talk about themselves for a few years: the year-and-a half leading up to and leading away from the event.
Jeannie watched them as they went, and thought about her own wedding. It wasn’t a bash like this. But it was beautiful. Cannova married her and Noel. Anderson would have gotten married in front of a judge. She didn’t want a civil ceremony. She wanted to be sure the person marrying them believed in God. Cannova did. And does.
“…We shouldn’t be too late…” Jeannie finished up her call as she walked towards Anderson who was standing halfway down the large hallway with three other men laughing at some joke one of them just told. “…Okay, thanks.”
Jeannie disconnected, put the cell phone away in her evening bag, and moved up to Anderson, taking his arm as she led him away. “Come on, you owe me a dance.” She cooed.
Anderson nodded good-bye to the three men and started off with Jeannie when one of the men stopped him and produced a business card.
“Say, Noel, you a golfer?” The first man asked as he handed Anderson the card. “I belong to this club… you want to hit it around some afternoon?”
“I haven’t played in a long time.” Anderson admitted.
“Who cares, give me a call.” The first man affably insisted.
“I’ll do that.” Anderson graciously assured him as he tucked the card away in his breast pocket and moved away with Jeannie.
“Nice guy.” The second man remarked once they were out of audible range, genuinely impressed with Anderson.
“You know who that is, don’t you?!!” The first man asked, hushed, as if he were sharing confidential information.
“That’s Noel Anderson!…” The third man interjected.
The name didn’t immediately ring a bell with the second man.
“…his first wife and daughter were murdered! It was about five, six years ago. Some workmen broke into his house, and the rumor is
he
went after the guys and killed them!”
“No kidding?” The second man responded, his brow furrowed thoughtfully and he added, after another moment, “Good for him.”
“Yeah, that’s what we all think.” The first man nodded in agreement.
Anderson and Jeannie mixed in with the other wedding guests on the dance floor. They soon became lost in the celebrating sea of people…
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Timothy McDougall was born in Illinois and grew up on both the South and North sides of Chicago. As a child, he fell in love with story-telling, exhibiting and narrating silent shorts of well-known horror movies for neighborhood friends. He read the great authors, devouring the works of Dickens and Robert Louis Stevenson, among many others, with T.E. Lawrence’s
Seven Pillars of Wisdom
having particular impact due to its evocative and brilliant prose.
Timothy’s love for all things literary continued as he studied acting and filmmaking in Los Angeles after attending the University of Miami in Florida. He won awards for his screenplays, and has written and directed an independent motion picture.
Timothy currently lives outside Chicago with his wife and three children.
Violence
is his first novel.
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