The Case of the Missing Department Head

by David Staats

  “Thank you, doctor. Send me your written report.”

  “One other thing. There did not appear to be any signs of struggle. We are going to analyze the scrapings from under the fingernails, but to me the visual inspection did not make it look like anything is going to turn up from that.”

  “Thank you, doctor.” Dure clicked off the call. “That was not helpful for our client,” he said to Ralph. “He told us he left home about 1:15 on Friday. That leaves him at home during the period of time most likely to have been the time of death.” He seemed thoughtful for a moment. “They haven’t arrested him, and it is always to be kept in mind that we – that if the police should arrest him – we don’t have to prove that someone else did it, we only have to keep the prosecution from proving that our client did.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Houlihan brought in the five thousand dollar retainer, all in cash, in twenty dollar bills. Kara counted it and made up a deposit slip. Dure sent her immediately to the bank; he did not want a large amount of cash in the office.

  After lunch, Dure had to go to court, just across the street, while Ralph made photocopies of exhibits for another case. About two o’clock Dure came back. He talked with his secretary for a few minutes in his office, then came out and told Ralph that they were going to visit the County Services Building.

  That grand edifice was out of town in an inconvenient location, all by itself. It was very nearly cubic in shape, six stories high, with windows and synthetic stone on the exterior, and surrounded by an enormous parking lot.

  On account of the misdirection and rigmarole that they encountered, it was some twenty-five minutes before they came to be seated in the office next to the office of the deceased Mrs. Houlihan, talking with a slender woman, perhaps about forty, with large, dark eyes and sunken cheeks. She wore no wedding band, but she had a silver ring on her right thumb. The name plate on her desk read “Nan Shuettler.”

  “We are still in shock,” she said. “I mean, she was just here on Thursday, and now it’s what, Wednes-- no, Tuesday. So the police said she probably was –” here she made her voice a whisper “you know . . . killed –” her voice came back up, “on – well, they weren’t real clear on it, but Friday or Saturday I think it was. And they were here for like two hours this morning, asking everybody questions. My cousin is a police officer, works in a little town in Tennessee. I don’t think he’s ever done a murder investigation. Of course, he’s younger, and they don’t have so many murders down where he lives. Only fourteen hundred people in his town. But there’s drugs there, so you never can tell. Used to be moonshine was the thing down there, but he tells me now it’s all kinds of drugs, Oxycontin and heroin and things I don’t even know what they are. Isn’t that a big problem that we have, with all the drugs? I mean, last week two people – two! – were murdered over in Killington – that’s what some people are calling it. Do you think that –” here she shrank her voice down again to a whisper “Mrs. Houlihan could have been mixed up with drugs?” Back to normal voice: “I mean you just never know, and here she is murdered? It’s just too horrible. But then, these days. I was saying to my landlord, he lives downstairs from me, I was saying, ‘When do you think this drug stuff is going to come into this neighborhood?’ And he says --”

  Dure interrupted. “Ms. Shuettler,” he said, “Since you mention it, do you think Mrs. Houlihan was involved with drugs?”

  “Oh my goodness, no! I mean, I wouldn’t know. I mean, I only see her around here, I don’t know what she does when she’s not at work. She was always nice to me. I never saw her what you would call drugged up. I mean, sometimes she would be kind of snippy, but that’s not a drug effect, is it? The only thing I could say, is that, you know, sometimes, like we would be having a normal conversation, and she would just get up and leave. Right in the middle of it! So that was strange, but that doesn’t mean that somebody is on drugs, I don’t think. Not that I know, really, what people on drugs are like, I mean you don’t see them in my neighborhood, and we hope it stays that way. And my landlord, he says it’s at least ten years away from where we live, and if they can get the city cleaned up, you know, and the thing is, it’s the parents, they don’t pay attention to what their kids are doing. I mean when I was growing up, if I had done some of the things these kids do? You can forget about it. Never would have happened. And even in high school --”

  “Who is the person who is going to take over Mrs. Houlihan’s job,” said Dure, talking over top of her.

  “ – we didn’t have any drugs, at least not the crowd I ran with, and Doug Schwartzwalder, he was our best football player --”

  “Ms. Shuettler – ” said Dure.

  “I used to go out with him, lots of – ”

  “Miss Shuettler, I do appreciate – ” said Dure.

  “Saturdays he’d take me bowling with a bunch of football – ”

  Dure interrupted, “Do you know who is in line to take Mrs. Houlihan’s job?”

  She looked startled, but immediately started off on a new track. “It could be . . . maybe, you know, there are eight branch libraries and it could be the head librarian from one of those . . . or it could be – well, maybe the head librarian at the main branch. And there’s Meghan Rittersreiter, the head of the Acquisitions Department. And you know, it’s a good question – I’d like to know myself.” Laughing a sort of a giggle, as if she were doing something naughty, she picked up her telephone and punched in four numbers. “Hi, Jennifer. . . . Yeah, yeah, I know. Isn’t that crazy? . . . He did? When did he do that? . . . Really? . . . Well, you know how men are. . . .”

  Two minutes later, Ms. Schuettler was still talking, apparently having forgotten about her visitors. Dure began to get out of his chair. Perceiving what he was about, Ralph stood. Ms. Schuettler motioned to them to stay, and seeing that Dure was continuing his process of standing up, put her hand over the receiver and whispered, “I’ll be just another minute. Jennifer likes to talk.”

  Having gained his feet, Dure silently left the office.

  * * *

  The next morning Dure had other matters to attend to, and it was not until the afternoon that he could devote some time to the Houlihan case. Ralph drove him out to Sunderly Chase again to speak with such of the neighbors as might be home.

  The police-line tape was gone and so was the shave-ice trailer. Ralph pulled into the driveway of the Houlihan’s house. He accompanied Dure in walking back to the place where the body was found. Other than by the white outline on the ground, one would never know that a dead body had lain there. There was no flattening of the grass, no disturbance in the chipped bark mulch, nothing that would indicate that some 72 hours ago, a corpse had lain there, food for wild beasts.

  They looked down the groundhog hole. No head was in there, but an irregular dark stain sullied the sloping side of the tunnel.

  They traipsed over to Mr. Loveless’s house. He was at home and invited them in. The house was neat and quiet, the way a lot of old people’s houses are. The living room was a large expanse of light gray wall-to-wall carpeting. Against the back wall was a sofa; and, on either side of the picture window in the front wall, a pair of upholstered chairs. The far wall was completely book shelves, with not many books; a few knickknacks and colored vases punctuated the mostly empty, white shelves. A coffee table was in front of the sofa; on it sat a folio-sized Audubon. A small desk and straight back chair occupied a corner.

  Mr. Loveless sat on the sofa. Dure and Ralph sat in the two upholstered chairs. Loveless had a large, open face. “Yesterday when you were here,” he said, “I didn’t want to say much because Mr. Houlihan was with you. You understand.”

  “Of course,” said Dure.

  In response to Dure’s questions, he said that he and the Houlihans had been neighbors for fourteen years. He did not know of any enemies the family had. It was a good neighborhood, although not an intimate one. People kept pretty much to themselves, he said.

  Mr. Loveless s
at, and leaning forward, said in a voice much quieter than he had been using, “I have long thought that something was not quite right over there.” He paused. “I think father and son are both scared to death of that woman. Once I heard her screaming at him in the backyard. It was the most violent yelling I’ve ever heard. And another couple of times I heard similar screaming from her – when she was inside the house, no less. I was outside in my yard, and I could hear her from inside their house. Now, this is only three times over the course of some fourteen years, but the violence of her screaming was beyond anything I have ever heard.”

  “Do you recall what the screaming was about?” said Dure.

  “I could not make out more than a word or two from the backyard argument, and nothing from the indoors ones. So, no, I don’t know. But what makes me think it is something more than just ordinary argument is that both Howard and his son suffer from migraines. And they seem just beaten down. You must have noticed it yourself. I think they both have been so bullied by her that they have gotten physically ill.”

  Dure nodded.

  “That, by the way, is why – just my opinion – Howard runs that shave-ice cart that he does. Because of his migraine attacks, he can’t hold a regular job, and then taking the cart out to shows and festivals and such, lets him get away from her. And their son, Liam, he can’t hold a regular job either and I suspect it’s for the same reason.” Mr. Loveless sat back in his chair, as if to say, Now I have told you everything; do with it what you will.

  “Thank you for your candor,” said Dure “I don’t see any need to disclose any of this to Mr. Houlihan. It may become necessary later, however. Or it may not.”

  Mr. Loveless turned his hands up and made a grimace, as if to say, What can you do? I’ve done my duty.

  “Since you have been so forthcoming,” said Dure, “you won’t mind a few last questions? Routine.” Dure briefly put the standard questions: Did you see anything out of the usual? Did you hear anything? Did you notice any strangers in the neighborhood? All of which got negative responses.

  Dure turned to Ralph. “You can put your notebook away,” he said. “I think we’re finished here. We don’t need to trouble Mr. Loveless any further.”

  * * *

  As Dure and Ralph were getting back into his car, a large black SUV was coming down the street. They paused to watch it. It slowed and then pulled into the driveway of the house across the street.

  Dure had elicited information from Mr. Houlihan about the other neighbors. Across the street, where the SUV had pulled in, lived the Sweets – husband, wife, and two daughters. Out of the black SUV climbed a woman, and from the back seat came two teenage girls.

  Dure walked briskly across the street. Ralph had to hustle to keep up. Dure rang the bell, and in a moment the door opened, but not very wide.

  “I’m sure you can understand,” said the woman, “after what’s happened, the whole neighborhood is on edge.”

  She said they could come back and talk to her husband when he got home.

  They drove the short distance to the Vanderlogens, but there was no car in the driveway, the curtains were drawn, and there was no answer at the door.

  * * *

  After the interview with Mr. Loveless, Dure insisted that Mr. Houlihan come in for another interview right away. It was about 5:00 when he arrived. Kara showed him into Dure’s office as she was leaving for the day.

  “Since we last spoke,” said Dure, “I have talked with our medical examiner. He tells me that the estimated time of death is from 9:00 in the morning on Friday through 5:00 Saturday afternoon. That is, as these cases go, a longish time interval, but it is apparently on account of the outdoor location and the disturbance of the remains by animals. But – and this is important in regards to proving your alibi – the most likely time of death is between noon and 3:00, either Friday or Saturday.

  “Now you have told us that you left your house at 1:15 on Friday or thereabouts.”

  Houlihan nodded.

  “And your wife was alive at that time?”

  “Yes, sir. She was in the kitchen when I left.”

  “And you told this to the police?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That being the case, we can narrow down the likely time of death to the time between 1:15 on Friday and 5:00 on Saturday, and the most likely time of death to between 1:15 and 3:00 on Friday and between noon and 3:00 on Saturday.

  “What this means for us is that if we can establish that your wife was alive at 1:15 on Friday, and that you were away from home between 1:15 on Friday and 5:00 on Saturday, you’ll be in the clear.

  “Your testimony that she was alive at 1:15 counts for something, but obviously in the circumstances it would be good to have some corroborating evidence. So that’s one question. What evidence can we get that would show your wife was alive at 1:15 on Friday – or even later?”

  Houlihan slumped forward, as if he were frustrated by a clue in a crossword puzzle. “Maybe she talked with someone on her phone,” he suggested. “There would be a record of that, right?”

  “There would be . . . on her phone and on the phone of whomever she talked with. Do you know where her phone is?”

  Houlihan shook his head.

  “Do you know with whom she might have talked?”

  Houlihan shook his head. “I keep away from that. I don’t want to know.”

  Dure looked long at Houlihan. “We’ll work on the phone angle,” he said at last. “Anything else?”

  “Not unless maybe a neighbor saw her outside.”

  Dure nodded. “Okay,” he said, “The other question is: what evidence can we produce to corroborate that you were away from home from 1:15 on? Do you have receipts? Gas station receipts with date and time? Restaurant receipts?”

  “I don’t have any receipts,” said Houlihan. His voice was loud.

  “But you would need receipts for tax purposes, your trip being for your business?” said Dure.

  “I just use the standard mileage rate for my truck and I don’t bother to keep track of meals. Its not a big expense, and my accountant tells me they’re only half deductible anyway, and they can trigger an audit. So I stay away from it.”

  Dure did not show any surprise or alarm at these answers.

  “It’s a cash business,” volunteered Houlihan, as if that explained matters.

  “Do you ever use credit cards?” asked Dure

  “My . . . wife has . . . or had, one, more than one, and I have a – what do you call it? – companion card, through her. I use it sometimes.”

  “Did you happen to use it on this trip we are talking about?”

  “Since it’s a cash business, I usually take care of all my minor expenses with cash.”

  “Do I then conclude, that for the whole of the weekend, you do not have a single receipt?”

  “My truck has a four-door cab and I have the back rigged up so I can sleep there. For just a two-day outing, I don’t need to shower, so I save the hotel cost.”

  “Do you keep a mileage log?”

  “Yes, I use it for the standard mileage allowance.”

  “Alright,” said Dure “Let us consider. What proof can we show that you were at this gun show during the time that your wife was killed?”

  “Now that I think about it, I did pay one thing with my credit card. I had to pay a vendor’s fee to the promoter, and I did that on-line with my credit card.”

  “That is something. How much was the fee?”

  “Seventy-five dollars for an outdoor space in the parking area.”

  “Not a major expense?” said Dure

  “No, sir.”

  “You wouldn’t consider that it would break your bank if you blew off the show and wasted the fee?”

  Houlihan laughed and winced and gave a shy smile as if he were being forced to admit something nice about himself. “No, not that,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Did you pack your meals, or did you buy them while you were out?�
�

  “I used to pack them when I first started out. I did. But now I mostly just go to some other vendors at the show. I get the stuff early and keep it in my cart so I don’t have to close up to go eat.”

  “Could you get the people from whom you bought your food to testify that, yes, on such-and-such a date, at such-and-such a time, this man came to my wagon and bought such-and-so?” said Dure

  Houlihan adjusted himself in his seat. “Maybe I could,” he said. “If they could remember. If I could find them. I don’t know.” He shook his head in doubt. “I remember what I had and I remember the location of the wagons in relation to where I had my trailer, but I don’t . . . can’t right at the moment remember the names of them.”

  “Can you get a list of food vendors from the promoter?”

  “Probably can.”

  “Do that. If you have success in finding a witness, call me. We’ll work up an affidavit to memorialize the testimony. Do you ever get headaches?”

  “I do get bad migraines sometimes.”

  “Do you get headaches when you’re out of town with your shave-ice cart?”

  Houlihan bent forward, to his left, and put his hand to his chin, appearing thoughtful. “I can’t remember any . . . don’t know,” he said.

  “How did you and your wife get along?”

  Houlihan shrugged. “Fine. No problems.”

  “Arguments?” said Dure

  “Rarely. Probably the same or less than most people.”

  “Any physical violence?”

  “No.” Houlihan drew the word out, making it sound as if the suggestion were absurd. His face wore a sad expression.

  “If the prosecution checks the Family Court for any cases or orders involving you or your wife, will they find anything?”

  “No, nothing of that sort at all. My wife and I got along fine.”

  Dure jotted a note. “You’ve got your assignment,” he said.

  Houlihan nodded.