by Arthur Day
“That must have made her jump for joy,” Buckmaster commented drily.
“To be sure. Not. She gave me a chance though, God bless her. She made me take a shower and put my clothes through the laundry and later asked what I wanted to do. I figured I had this one last chance to rescue something from the rubble that was me. I cut back on drinking, followed her up to Compton where we exercised together, at least she exercised, and I did what I could which wasn’t much.”
Okay so Worth admitted that he had the opportunity but there was no obvious motive. Buckmaster looked over the few notes he had taken. Worth was definitely a person of interest, but he had been cooperative and if he had a grudge against Pease why wait until they were both at the lake? He could have killed her, trashed the apartment to make it look like a robbery gone bad and would have had a better chance of getting away with it. No. It simply didn’t hang together unless Worth had flown into a rage and killed her without thinking about it. Buckmaster felt the frustration mounting. He was back to square one finding the murderer.
“When was the last time you saw Mrs. McCall?” he asked
“The day she disappeared. We were out walking early that morning as usual. I was lagging behind. She walked around a curve and, when I got there, she was gone. There were several houses on the left down the slope by the lake. She had said she had a friend coming over later, so I thought maybe the friend was in one of the houses and Pam had decided to stop in for some reason. It wasn’t until I saw the paper that I realized my mistake.”
JACOB WARREN 2014
Jacob had learned explosives in Iraq and he was good at it. He had on his camouflage shirt and pants and had painted his face to break up the blob of white under his cap. He was almost as invisible as a rattlesnake and just as still. He had not moved so much as a muscle in the hours since he had chosen his position on a slight knoll between two farm houses looking down onto Lake Road where the Mays Corner road branched off to the right. He had watched the sheriff take that road up past he big, white farmhouse and along the road until he pulled over at a spot about a half mile from where Jacob had dumped Pam’s body and disappeared into the woods with his men. Jacob could guess where they were going but they would find nothing. He got in his car and drove the short distance remaining to Billy Black’s house. There he waited for another hour until the sheriff reappeared. He had gone inside to talk with the old man. Good luck with that. Black didn’t know shit.
For the past couple of days, Jacob had been watching Pam’s house and McCaall. The other man there had left but apparently, they were on good terms for McCaal came out of the house and waved goodbye as the other guy had driven away. So far so good, Jacob thought, ss McCaal went back into the house. The sheriff had hit a dead end and McCaal was running around in circles chasing his tail like the big dumb ox that he was. Jacob was getting great pleasure watching him get nowhere. Moving so slowly that he hardly seemed to be moving at all, he backed out from behind the tree that had fallen in the woods behind Pam’s house. This was not the time to get careless, he reminded himself as he finally reached the road that continued past Pam’s to the Worth place further down towards the lake.
Striding down the road towards the place where he had parked his car, Jacob Warren was in high spirits. He had paid Pam and her husband back in spades and no one was the wiser.
McCAAL 2014
I drove slowly up the dirt track from my house and pointed the Toyota in the direction of Mays Corners and then Rockmarsh. Sheriff Buckmaster had left a message on my phone asking for a meeting and I had replied immediately. A meeting was probably past due and; I had not gotten to first base and doubted that the sheriff had. Between the two of us we should be able to come up with something. That was my hope at least.
Pushing thoughts of the upcoming meeting to the back of my mind, I indulged in happier memories of my dinner with Dianne the night before. I picked her up at her little blue Cape with black shutters and we had driven into Rockmarsh to Bartholemew’s.
“Wow.” Dianne had looked at me in astonishment. “What’s the occasion?”
“I thought we deserved something more than burgers and fries.” I looked at her. “Would you prefer someplace else?”
Walking into the restaurant I caught some admiring glances at my date. I had asked her to dress when I called to invite her and had worn my best Wall Street suit. Dianne had on a long forest green satin sheath with a little white jacket over it which only served to accentuate her breasts under a push-up bra. Her make-up was perfect, highlighting her features without intruding on the whole picture and she walked into Bartholemews as if she owned the place and. I thought a lot of the men in the room must have thought she did. “You look absolutely stunning tonight,” I told her as we waited for the Maitre d’ who was hurrying towards us with menus in his hand.
“Why thank you sir. You suggested we dress and I hadn’t worn this in a long time. I was a little surprised that it still fit,” she admitted. “You look like quite the Wall Street wizard yourself.”
I acknowledged the compliment for she had meant it as one. There was no sarcasm in her voice or tone. There was, however, something guarded in her manner, perhaps the way she held her body or kept her hands in her lap. Then again, I was probably being overly sensitive and dismissed the thought as we ordered cocktails and dinner. “Anything new in your life?”
“Nope. I’m in one of those periods where I run around and show a lot of houses and stage one or two, but nothing sells.” She stabbed a shrimp with her fork and dipped it delicately into the cocktail sauce. “Still looking for your wife’s killer?” She asked in a soft tone that showed her sadness that something valuable in my life was now gone forever.
“Yes.” Yes. I was still looking for the person responsible but more than that I was looking for a reason behind a seemingly senseless death. If killing Pam was meant to be a message to me I did not understand it. Maybe somebody didn’t have any particular message but that of wanton destruction. That possibility was frightening because it meant that the murderer was insane and following logic no one else could understand. Whoever it was knew of our special place and the fact that we had been married. All these thoughts buzzed around my consciousness like a hive of maddened wasps and I could move neither forward or backwards but was caught in a box made by a person or people unknown.
Dianne stretched her hand across the table and rested it on mine. Her touch was feathery, but I felt the warmth all through my body. Some celestial being had kissed me and granted me a moment of sublime beauty. “MJ when I was a child I was an ugly child. I was fat and had zits and was not particularly good at my studies. My parents despaired. They tried every diet known to man and a few that had never been thought of and probably will never again be thought of. I plastered my face with acne medicine and spent as much time as possible in the bathroom in a stall so that no one would see me. Both girls and boys, sensing weakness attacked me almost every day. The names they called me were way beyond disgusting and I wanted ever so much to beat on my antagonists until they lay bleeding and screaming on the ground. One girl in particular, her name was Heather Baskins, was particularly brutal. She never missed a chance to trip me up in the hallway between classes, or spray paint PIG on my back pack. She ran with a group that delighted in picking on kids they considered less able to defend themselves.” She drew her hand back. “I was hardly unique. Lots of kids have miserable childhoods and many who don’t think that they do. The point of this is that misery is not a permanent state of being. You and I together can get this problem resolved. I did some further checking into Worth LLC. Andrew Worth had two kids, Doug and Bitsy. Doug’s a wastrel and a loser who has spent his life in bars and whorehouses. Bitsy died when she was in her teens, apparently a suicide. Does that help any?”
“Sure. I’m wondering though if Doug could have done this.”
“Point taken. The houses belong to different branches of the family,
but they are on the same tract of land. I suppose there could be an argument about that. These folks have known each other all their lives though. They spent summers up here I’m told. I spent some time in the general store chatting up folks. It’s a small village and there are few secrets. The Peases and the Worths seemed to get along okay. Their kids ran back and forth between the two houses, used the same boathouse and all that. They played with other kids and other kids went over to their compound to play. It all seemed pretty normal, even ideal if you consider the wealth involved. For the most part people seemed to like and respect the two families although one elderly lady whispered to me that she heard that Andrews daughter was impregnated by their uncle and committed suicide. That was quite a while back though.”
“How’d you drive up to Compton and still keep your day job?”
Dianne grinned. “Like I said, this is not a busy time of year.”
I chewed on a piece of veal. Really good. Worth the price I thought. “I suppose that might be a motive for Andrew, but he has an iron clad alibi,” I remarked. There were so many loose threads and none of them seemed to lead anywhere. “That lady say whether the law was called in?”
“She thought it was all hushed up and the town got a new firehouse that apparently was sorely needed.”
“Well people’s dirty laundry always makes for good gossip. I talked with Andrew and his housekeeper and they said about the same thing. I know Pam loved that cabin and would not have sold it even to a relative, but I have no clue about the contents of her current will. I know she must have changed it when we were divorced but I was not privy to the details.” I signaled for the check. “This is on me.” I wondered if property ownership could be motive for murder. Everyone involved seem to have houses and enough money to keep them. Still, it was something to keep in mind. When it comes to wealth a lot of folks lose track of common sense and do stupid things.
“Oh no it isn’t. Let’s go dutch.”
“I’m not Dutch. Don’t ruin a wonderful evening Dianne.”
She nodded her head. “Thank you, MJ. I mean it. The food was delicious and the company even better.”
We maintained a comfortable silence on the way back to her house. We both knew and respected the other’s boundaries. It was the silence of old friends or people married a long time and, like that old shirt in the closet, was both comfortableand a reminder of good times spent. When we got to her house we sat for a moment. I wondered if property ownership could be motive for murder.
“Would you like to come in? I could make some coffee.” She looked at me, her face shadowed and silhouetted by the light from her lamp at the head of the drive.
“Thanks, but no. I should get some sleep. I am meeting with Buckmaster tomorrow. I’ll let you know if anything new turns up.”
I could not tell from Dianne’s expression whether she was momentarily sad or just relieved, but she got out of the car, turned and gave me a small smile, waggled her fingers good bye and disappeared into her house like a green ghost.
I drove into Rockmarsh and the meeting with Buckmaster feeling somewhat happier after the previous evening. Dianne had gone to extraordinary lengths to gather more information and I was hoping that something would break today.
Buckmaster’s office was really a large cubicle with three solid walls and a fourth with a door and windows looking out into the large bay where his deputies worked. There were the usual diplomas, certificates and pictures on the walls, a small book case filled with manuals and two gunmetal filing cabinets. Altogether a sparse and efficient workspace. Even the pictures on the wall looked as if he had put them there because he thought that his office was supposed to have pictures. One was a rather nice print of a small girl in a corner and obviously being punished and her dog who was looking back out into the room as if to ask for forgiveness for his mistress. Another showed a younger Buckmaster in a baseball uniform grinning at the camera as part of the sheriff’s department team. On top of the bookcase was one of those Revell plastic models of an aircraft carrier nicely painted and decaled. Maybe he had been a navy pilot.
“Hi MJ. Come on in.” Buckmaster came out from behind his desk with his hand extended.
I thought that was a good sign that maybe he had made some progress and we shook hands. He went back behind his desk and I took a seat in an amazingly comfortable leather chair in front of it. He saw the expression on my face he grinned. “When I took over this little space the first thing I hated was the department supplied chair in front of my desk. It was so uncomfortable I did not want anyone invited into my office to sit in it, so I brought one of mine from home.”
“Nice,” I admitted. “Good thing I slept well last night, or you might need some help getting me out of it.” There was a moment of silence while we looked at each other across the large desk and wondered who would go first.
“We found out how the killer got Pam to the crime scene. He drove up a creek in an ATV thus leaving no tracks. We found a stone there with a gouge in it”
I thought about that. “If the pan hit a rock, there may be traces of oil as well.”
“That’s possible but I don’t know if that gets us anywhere.”
I shrugged. “Might tell us if the machine was new or an older model. Lots of those vehicles around Compton though.” Such a discouraging thought. I wished I had kept my fat mouth firmly shut.
Buckmaster looked thoughtful. “Yes, there are. I talked with a man named Billy Black who owns a house further up that road. The creek we were looking at runs just in back of it. He didn’t hear anyone riding through his property several days ago. He did say that there were fields and ATV trails in the fields and woods further along the road. The young use the trails for ski mobiles in the winter. Might be something to check out but right now I don’t have the manpower to do it and the state police think it’s a local problem, so it may have to wait a bit.”
Or not, I suddenly realized. I had nothing, but time and Dianne had already proved that she could make the time if needed. “I might be able to help out,” I told him trying not to overpromise anything. I did not know Buckmaster very well although Dianne had vouched for him and, as long as he was willing to share information, I did not want to irritate him if I could help it.
Buckmaster grinned. “Extra manpower is usually a big help if they can keep their mouths shut should they find anything. The papers have been all over this and would like nothing better than to get an exclusive. Do we understand each other?”
“Absolutely.”
Buckmaster nodded. “Good. So, here’s what we have to date. Pam was murdered somewhere and brought to the crime scene by persons unknown who transported her body up a creek bed that runs close to the scene. We think the only vehicle that could do that is all-terrain, but we do not know for sure. Neither of the people I talked to who live in that area saw anyone in or out of an ATV. Her cousin was the last to see her alive seconds before she disappeared, but he did not see who did it due to the contour of the road. A canvas of the surrounding houses yielded nothing of interest. A search of the woods around the crime scene yielded nothing, not even footprints leading from the creek, so the perp was probably wearing booties.” He held up a hand. “We don’t know where, but we know how. We do not know who or why.”
“Did the ME confirm cause of death?
“Multiple stab wounds. She’d been dead approximately twenty hours before you found her. There were traces of flesh under her nails, so she fought back. DNA is not a match for anything in the police or federal databases, but we at least have that and can compare it to DNA from whatever suspect we find. The lab found traces of metal in the gouged on the rock we found but there was nothing unique about it. Probably from the undercarriage of an ATV. No oil trace. In short, we have lots of evidence but no suspect. We don’t appear to even be close to one. I talked with Worth, as I said but I don’t think he had anything to do with it. I think he was
in love with her.”
“Love is often the cause of death. Thin line between love and hate.”
“I agree, and you might talk to Worth yourself and see what you think.”
We sat for a minute in silence. Buckmaster fiddled with the folder centered on his desk. I wondered what it was like to be in charge of the sheriff’s department in a county where the major product was corn, tobacco and commuters. Not many years before the county had been rural and agricultural. The people had worked the sometimes rocky and unyielding soil to make a living selling to Stop&Shop, Big Y and other supermarket chains during the season. There had been kinship with other northeastern states of Vermont, New Hampshire and Maine in that the voters tended to be angular, abrupt, slow to warm but friends to the end once they did. Neighbors helped neighbors simply to survive. Change came slowly and people did not put much credence in police or politicians. Then suburbs sprang up as people moved away from increasingly dangerous cities and areas but kept their jobs at Aetna, The Hartford, Carrier and Pratt & Whitney. The state shifted to the democrats and stayed that way. People were okay with ever rising taxes and decreasing services, and decaying public schools in the cities. “Let me see what I can find out. I have a friend who is a PI and might be able to help.”
Buckmaster nodded. The meeting was over. I needed to keep an eye on Worth, but I had to find him first. Also, we needed to explore the ATV trails below Billy Black’s house.
A tall order indeed.
McCAAL
At least Worth had someone driving him around though she looked young enough to be his daughter and maybe too young to be driving. She was probably one of a group of young kids who hung out in the Rockmarsh park and showed up at various public buildings to protest political events about which they knew nothing. They imagined themselves on the cutting edge of social change but, as far as those who had to work for a living were concerned, they were simply a pimply nuisance, a bit like crabgrass. I had seen his car in his driveway and parked a half block down where I could watch. Two hours later, I had fallen in a state somewhere between consciousness and sleep when he and the girl suddenly appeared, got into his BMW 520 and drove off. If what Buckmaster had told me was true he would not be sober for long and I hoped that the girl would drink nothing but soda. They went over to Route 44 and turned left in New Hartford towards Hartford. It was a good thirty minute drive to the “big” city. I hung well back. As far as I knew Worth did not know me or my car, but I did not want to make any assumptions that might screw up my tail.