The Secrets of Ethan Falls

by J. W. Lucas

  I followed her to the elevator which responded quickly to our call button. We rode in silence to the Lobby and stepped out. As we walked across the lobby Lindsey spoke first. “Daryl I’m not sure I’m up to driving right now. I took a room at a hotel downtown for the next few days, it’s nearby. Could you give me a ride, please?”

  “Of course,” I answered, and we walked to the garage and took the elevator to the second floor. We got out, and I motioned to my Challenger parked against the wall. I clicked the door release on the key and opened the passenger side for her. She looked at the car, smiled and said, “beautiful”. She got in and I went around and got behind the wheel.

  “This is you, she said as she felt rubbed the leather seat.”

  “What?” I asked, not understanding.

  “The car. This is you.”

  I pulled out of the parking lot and following Lindsey’s directions arrived at the hotel in five minutes. We walked in, and since I was going to be staying the night, I registered for a room. We agreed we would meet in the lobby at 9 AM. Lindsey gave me a kiss on the cheek and went up to her room. I went out to my car in the parking lot, gathered my luggage and went up to my room. After I unpacked I realized that I hadn’t eaten since morning and went down to the main floor lounge.

  The place was dark, quiet, just three guys were at the bar bantering with a very attractive maiden bartender, and I chose a table in a relatively secluded corner next to a massive stone fireplace. I thought this would be the place to be on a bitterly cold February night in Vermont.

  My waitress came right over, introduced herself as Tammy. I ordered a light beer on tap and asked if I could get a meal.

  She dutifully informed me that the kitchen was busy with dinners, but she was sure they would make my order. She returned with the brew and a bar menu and I selected the slider plate with steak fries.

  My mind drifted off as I waited for my food, musing how my day had gone from girl-watching by the pool to being braced by Nurse Ratchet, to watching a dear old friend dissolve into heartbreaking sadness. I noticed a newspaper on a sideboard; I got up to grab it and see what I had missed in the world. The front page snapped me back to reality. Side by side were two articles, one headline read “Prominent Judge Shot At Court,” the other “Sheriff Responds No Comment in Woman’s Murder Investigation.”

  The article on Judge Moran was short on details, reporting multiple wounds, rushed to the Medical Center, in critical condition, no motive, and the obligatory paragraph on who responded, and praises of cooperation between agencies.

  The woman’s murder case piqued my interest as it was the first I had heard of it. Susan Peterson was a well-known singer with a popular local band and had just received an offer for a recording contract in Nashville. She was reported missing six weeks ago after she failed to return home after working as a volunteer at an immigrant resettlement charity. She was found dead in the woods two days later; the cause of death had been listed as homicide. The sheriff’s “no comment” was in response to the reporter pressing him for an explanation of the lack of communication to the public, citing in his words, “It’s an active investigation.” I put the paper aside as Tammy brought my meal and thought to myself, “What am I getting into here?”

  I wolfed down the burgers and fries and must say that they were delicious. Tammy returned to my table and informed me that she was going off shift but Mandy the bartender would get me anything else.

  She presented me with the check, cleared away the plate and silverware and remarked that she would be back in a few minutes. The meal and beer came to fourteen dollars and change. I put a twenty in the check presenter and slid it across the table.

  When I was promoted to detective many years ago, I bought a leather-bound pocket notebook that I used to record facts about my investigations. To this day the habit of always carrying the notebook and a pen stays with me.

  I opened the notebook and wrote down the County Sheriff’s name, ‘J.B. Hunter’, and the investigator, ‘Capt. Johnny Carpa.’ I saw that both men were also mentioned in the murder article, along with the County Medical Examiner, “Horace Greene MD”, who was said to have performed an autopsy.

  Tammy came to the table, I motioned to the check, told her I was all set and thanked her. She smiled sweetly and said, “Thank You!” I sat alone at my table staring at the paper and notebook wondering if there could be any connection between the two cases.

  About ten minutes later, Mandy, the bartender appeared at my table with a draft and said “On the house. Tammy is off shift now and you look like you aren’t finished with your homework!” She glanced at the paper on the table and remarked, “that’s awful,” shaking her head.

  “You a reporter? We’ve had a few staying here lately.”

  “No. The article just caught my eye.”

  “I knew her. She was a sweetheart. And talented? Wow! She could light up a room with her singing and work a crowd? She was amazing.”

  I must have looked puzzled, because she said, “Oh I’m sorry, but this scares me. First Susan getting murdered and now a judge in town getting shot. What’s going on? This is Vermont, not New York or Chicago.”

  “I hear you,” I said, not wanting to minimize her fear.

  As she stood there, I realized that this was one exquisite woman. Tight dark jeans, a crisp white top unbuttoned at the neck just enough to pique the interest of any guy. And she smelled nice! I don’t know what the perfume was, but she wore it very well.

  “Are you visiting ...or...?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I’m in town for a few days visiting friends. How did you know the murdered girl? Friend?”

  “Her band played a lot of wedding receptions that we have here. Over the past couple of years, we got to know each other well and

  became very close. I loved her. She just got a recording contract and the guys in her band are devastated. They want to find out who did this and kill him with their bare hands,” she said.

  She sat down in the chair across from me. “I used to love Vermont. The people, the leaves, the snow. Now we have drug addicts, ODs, gangs, militia nuts, my friends are being murdered. Did you know there has never been a murder in Ethan Falls for over 100 years?”

  She stood up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go off like that, but I really loved Susan.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” I offered, trying not to sound condescending. “It sounds like the police are working on it.”

  “That’s a joke!” she snapped. “That Sheriff is a pompous, self-serving pig. I can’t believe he isn’t in jail himself for some things he’s done.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, taken aback by her sudden anger.

  “Half of his deputies are related to him somehow, and they’re creeps. Most of his guys think they’re God’s gift to the world. He has connections with all the politicians. I grew up in Ethan Falls, I know all about them.”

  Her venting brought a reddish blush to her complexion, and as strange as it sounds, she looked even more attractive. I only had one beer, so I know that it couldn’t be the alcohol clouding my vision.

  “Are you sure you’re not a reporter?” she asked, managing a slight laugh.

  “I’m sure,” I answered with a grin and without elaboration.

  “Are you staying here at the hotel?”

  “Yes, for a few days I think.”

  “Great.! I’m here tomorrow night. Stop in and have a drink.”

  “I will do that,” I said as she walked back to the bar. Midway she stopped, turned and looked at me, and smiled before walking away. I liked the look.

  I folded the newspaper, put my notebook away and finished the beer. I checked my watch and saw it was almost ten. It had been one hell of a day, and I was ready for a good night’s sleep. As I left the lounge Mandy called out “Good Night, see you tomorrow.”

  Chapter Four

  The alarm woke me at 7:00, and I rolled out of bed feeling rested. A quick shower, shave and I dressed in
a dark blue suit, white long-sleeve with an open collar. My plan for the day was to start poking around, hopefully with a visit to the courthouse where the judge worked.

  I went down to the lobby and learned from the desk clerk that breakfast was available in the lounge. Walking in I was struck by the overnight transformation from a dark pub atmosphere to a bright and colorful café. I took the same table as I had the night before and ordered the sausage biscuit, melon medley, and coffee. The order came quickly; the coffee was robust, the fruit fresh and plentiful. I finished about 8:45, paid for the fare and walked back to the lobby.

  Lindsey was sitting on a couch talking on her cell phone. As I approached, she motioned for me to sit and I took a chair across from her until she finished her call.

  “Good Morning! Sleep well?” she asked. I noticed that she looked much more rested and composed than she was yesterday; her makeup and hair looked as if she was ready for a day in court.

  “Yes, I did. And you look rested too.”

  “I did sleep, and I know I must have looked like hell yesterday. I’m so sorry that I was such a basket case, but I have some encouraging news this morning. I just got off the phone with the nurse manager. Forrest had a good night, his blood pressure is stable, and the plan is to take him off the respirator this morning,” she said.

  “That’s great!” I responded with a tone of relief.

  “And I have a meeting at 1:30 with the surgeon and I would really like to have you there. I can’t tell you how relieved I am that I have your help.”

  “Of course, but I have to warn you medical talk isn’t one of my strengths,” I cautioned her.

  “Me neither, but I need to know how serious his wounds are and how they’re going to treat them. All I know is that he was shot in the shoulder and the back. Thank God no one has said anything about being paralyzed.” She continued, taking a serious tone.

  “Daryl, I would like to offer you a retainer you to find out who did this to Forrest.”

  Her last comment took me aback.

  “Lindsey, I’ll do anything I can to help you, but a retainer is out of the question. We’re friends.”

  “Well thank you, but I do think that when you speak with Forrest, he will want some assurance that your conversations are under attorney- client privilege.”

  “I can understand his request for my confidence, but I’m puzzled. Why would the Judge need a lawyer?” I asked. “He’s the victim,”

  She paused for a moment and looked down before looking me in the eye. “Daryl, I don’t know what Forrest was working on, but I do know that for the past two weeks he seemed very troubled. Maybe that’s not the word, withdrawn. That’s not like him. We never talk about each other’s work, we agreed to that before we were married. But about two weeks ago he said he had to make an overnight business trip to Montpellier and when he came back, he had a briefcase full of files and spent most of the day in his study with the door closed. That’s not him. I asked if everything was all right and he said he had been asked to take on a very complex case. That’s all he said.”

  “What type cases does he normally hear? I can’t imagine that Ethan Falls is a hotbed of crime and passion,” I asked with a smile.

  “Don’t underestimate the passion, my friend. New England isn’t as puritanical as most people may think.” There was a hint of radiance in her smile, something I hadn’t seen in many years. “And to answer your question, complex civil litigation, trusts, land use, environmental issues, things like that.”

  “You took the New England Compact bar exam, didn’t you? And you’re licensed to practice in Vermont, right?”

  “Yes, and yes…. but.” She interrupted before I could finish.

  “Then it’s settled. We want to retain your legal services.”

  “Lindsey I’ll certainly protect your legal interests, but I insist I do it as a pro-bono professional courtesy.”

  “Agreed,” she said offering her hand, and we shook on it.

  “Now that that’s settled, where do you start?” she asked.

  “I thought I’d visit the courthouse, see the layout, and talk to anyone who might have some information on who was at court that day, any problems or unusual things that may have happened before the shooting,” I explained.

  “Okay. I have a voicemail from Dan Petrone, he’s the County Attorney assigned there. He asked about Forrest’s condition and left me his cell number. I’ll call him and let him know to expect you,” she offered.

  “That would be great. What can you tell me about the Sherriff, Huntley… Harper… something like that?” I asked.

  “J.B. Hunter” she corrected me. “Good luck with him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Picture an overweight, overbearing, dismissive Southern sheriff type. The locals, especially the kids, call him Porky,” she answered with a laugh.

  “Good to know. That bears out something someone said to me last night,” I said.

  “Last night? What do you mean?” she asked with a look of confusion.

  “Before I went to bed I went down to the bar and was reading a news story on the shooting. The barmaid saw what I was doing and struck up a conversation with me and talked about the Sheriff. She wasn’t shy about her opinion of him or his department. She called him a pig,” I explained.

  “Pig… Porky… if the shoe fits,” she said shruggong her shoulders.

  “And she also talked about her friend being murdered. A singer? Do you know anything about that?” I asked.

  “Oh God yes. Susan Peterson. An absolute beauty. Her mother Sarah and I are in the garden club together. A wonderful family and they’re devastated. She was an only child, a gifted entertainer. She just got a recording contract offer and….” her voice trailed off.

  “I saw that in the paper. The article seemed like the police hadn’t made any progress in finding the killer, or if they did, they were playing it very close to the chest,” I said.

  “Daryl, this has torn the town apart. There are so many rumors; drug-related, jilted lover, a sex crime, just awful crazy stuff. None of that was Susan’s life. From what little I know the leading rumor is that it may have had something to do with her volunteer work with the immigrant resettlement program.”

  “I’m not familiar with any resettlement programs. What’s that about?” I asked.

  Lindsey explained. “We’re a very civic-minded State. Some of our churches got involved with immigration issues right after Vietnam and things expanded when civil war broke out in Somalia. Now with the Middle East crisis, some refugees are seeking asylum in upper New England. We’ve taken the lead on that. In fact, we have a temporary shelter and resettlement village, and Susan was a volunteer caseworker for Abbot County. Oh Daryl, she was such a beautiful and giving young woman. To die so violently so young is just awful.”

  I looked at my watch and saw that it was a quarter past nine. “I’m sorry if I upset you talking about Susan,” I offered in apology.

  “No, that’s okay. It’s troubling to think that her murder and now Forrest being shot is so scary. Things like that just don’t happen in Ethan Falls. They just don’t happen…. but they did.”

  Before I could respond Lindsey leaned toward me and whispered in an excited hushed tone “Daryl, you don’t think these two things are related, do you?”

  “I don’t know, but it should be considered,” I said calmly, not wanting to frighten her.

  “Oh my God! What if they are? Is Forrest in any danger in the hospital? Do they have guards”? Can we get the police involved to protect him?” She asked as suddenly reached over and roughly grabbed my forearm.

  My comments had pushed Lindsey into panic mode and I thought quickly as to what to say to calm her fears.

  “Lindsey, hopefully, I’ll know more when I get back from Ethan Falls. Right now, let’s concentrate on the Judge’s recovery. Why don’t you call the County Attorney and I’ll head up there? I’ll give you a ride to the Hospital first, you left your car t
here last night, remember?”

  “I honestly forgot about that. Thank You,” she said, as she dialed her phone.

  I got my car and picked her up in front of the lobby. She didn’t say anything during the short drive other than “Thank You,” when I dropped her off. I thought that I didn’t want to peek inside her mind right now.

  It was a twenty-minute ride north on Route 7 to Ethan Falls. The Challenger took the curves well on the winding road, and I had to work on it to keep her below fifty-five.

  As I came into the town, I saw neatly kept one-family homes, local merchant stores, a funeral home, a church, general store, post office, and a couple of gas stations that led to what looked like Main Street small town USA.

  A village green complete with a gazebo and a WWII artillery piece was the centerpiece. Classic New England I thought. I pulled into a gas station and filled up at the pump, went inside to pay and got directions to the courthouse.

  When I arrived, it was a seemingly well maintained two story brick building with a peeling gilded dome, just outside the town center.

  The parking lot was small, surrounded by a grove of pine trees, I parked and went up the stairs into the foyer and stood in line to be screened by a uniformed deputy. No metal detectors, the screening process seemed to be only a question-and-answer checkpoint.

  “Do you have a case here today?” asked the deputy at the podium when it came to my turn for an inquiry. “No. I’m here to see the County Attorney.”

  “Is he expecting you?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “OK, down the hall last door on the right,” he directed me as he unhooked the velvet rope blocking my passage. I walked through and thought to myself “You’ve got to be kidding me. Two days ago, somebody shot one of your judges and you didn’t ask me for ID, check me for weapons?”

  I went into the County Attorney office and it was a flashback right out of a black and white fifties movie. An oak wooden floor with a row of folding chairs along the wall, there were about half dozen lawyer types waiting to see the prosecutor, manila files on their laps, briefcases neatly lined up in front of them.