For nearly a year, the police were left with a probable homicide for which they had no cause of death - that is, until Michelle’s boyfriend reappeared. Cordell, who had left the area soon after Michelle went missing, was pulled over for speeding near Buffalo. As he also had some cocaine in the car he was driving, the locals were able to detain him until Warren County Sheriff’s investigators could get out there and interview him. After a few hours, Cordell gave it up and told the cops what happened with Michelle, explaining that their argument was over her having spent his money to buy clothes for their baby.
At trial, Cordell denied having confessed, claiming that the police had made the statement up to fit the facts that they had. Oh, and then they had forced him to sign it. As farfetched as it sounded, it only took one goofy juror to begin to believe Cordell and Peter would end up with a mistrial. Peter had put Dr. Michael Brenner on the stand to testify how the absence of findings was entirely consistent with Cordell’s confession. The screwdriver wound to the abdomen would not be visible as there no longer was an abdomen. The defense countered, claiming that there was no blood found in the rental car. Peter had then pulled a rabbit out of his hat, by asking the tow truck operator who retrieved the abandoned car, if he had smelled anything unusual in the car.
“Yes, I smelled blood.”
Cornell’s attorney shot out of his chair to object when the operator responded to the unexpected question.” Peter had then established the man’s credentials as an expert in that particular smell based upon his being a hunter and having also responded to many auto accident scenes in his work as a tow truck operator. The judge ruled that he was a civilian expert in the smell of blood.
Even though several police officers had previously interviewed the tow truck operator before the trial where he told them he saw no blood in the car, he was only asked about what he saw and did. Not surprisingly, it did not occur to anyone to ask about the other senses.
***
Turning right off the connecting strip of the interstate, Ned and Peter headed south on Route 9 into the Village of Lake George, onto what was now Canada Street, the main street through town. The heavy tourist traffic obliged Ned to drive at a civilized pace, and they followed the street as it gradually descended until nearly at lake level by the south end of village. The lake itself was a few hundred feet to the east of Canada Street and the space in between had been filled in by businesses over the years, blocking most of the view of the lake from the street. In fact, the popularity of lakefront views for homes and motels was so great that it was becoming difficult to get even a glimpse of the lake while driving on any of the roads running along the shoreline.
Peter’s childhood hometown passed by outside the police cruiser’s windows, including the brick K through 12 school that he and his siblings had attended, various restaurants and motels where he had worked at during the summers and the tiny library and post office that appeared to have been built from the same load of bricks as the school. The village’s downtown, was bordered on either side by various stores and restaurants, set cheek to jowl, looking pretty much the same as it had when Peter was in Little League, wearing a solid wool uniform, with the name Delavan, the name of the downtown tavern that had sponsored the team. Peter still felt the urge to itch when he thought of that brutally hot uniform.
As they approached the bottom of the downgrade and center of the village, even the bright afternoon sunlight of a haze-free afternoon could not overcome the flashing lights of the police and Forensic Identification Unit (FIU) vehicles. They had converged on the lake side of the street, around the front of the last storefront in a larger, two-story stone-faced building that backed up nearly onto the lake. The FIU was the State Police’s crime scene processing unit.
Ned double-parked next to a Sheriff’s patrol car and Peter looked over toward the entrance to the storefront. Several State Police FIU officers hovered nearby, dressed in their bootie covers and hairnet hats. Peter knew most of them by name, as they were routinely called upon by local police for major investigations. One or two broke away and went into the building, to be replaced by others coming out, the activity resembling a small swarm of yellow jackets near the entrance to their hive.
Peter and Senior Investigator Ned Khoury walked over to the senior Sheriff’s investigators, Lieutenant Bruce Hall and Investigator Tanner Saint who were huddled with Lieutenant Bob Robson, of the New York State Police. Bruce, who headed the sheriff’s Investigators Unit, was a bear of a man, in fact nicknamed “Bear” by his investigators. He had actually been a classmate of Peter’s in Lake George Central School. Tanner was a member of a large family, most of who still lived in Chestertown in the northern part of the county. If pressed, Peter would have to admit that Tanner was one of his favorites, as Tanner was able to combine the tenacity of a good investigator with the laid back and pleasant attitude of a country boy.
“Afternoon, Ned, Peter” said Lt. Robson.
“Lieutenant” Ned nodded.
“Gentlemen.” said Peter, smiling, to the three.
“What’s the story?” Ned cut right to the chase.
Tanner Saint went into a narrative, explaining that this storefront, which had most recently been a tee shirt shop, was being renovated by the new owner. The contractors were redesigning the area to become a restaurant. When they began work to clear what had once been a back entrance to the building that had opened out onto the lake, the workers discovered that the actual doorway at the rear, together with an inner wall were both bricked in. Part way through the process of clearing the inner wall, the workers discovered what appeared to be human remains secreted between the two bricked-in openings.
“When the workers stopped pulling out bricks because they didn’t know what was in there, the foreman gave them some crap about being ‘girls’ and stuck his head in the opening along with a flashlight. Apparently he let out a little girl scream of his own when he found himself inches away from a skull that was looking back at him” said Saint with a chuckle. “Our guys responded to the call, secured the scene, called for investigators and we then called in FIU. Ed Carrier can fill us in on what they have found so far.”
While waiting for Ed Carrier to come out of the building, Peter told the others that it was his recollection that this particular part of the building had once before been a restaurant.
“I remember this being Alphonso’s Restaurant, when I was a kid. The owner, whose name was Alphonso Santon, oddly enough, used to sit out on that low wall in front of the entrance during the daytime, chatting with the locals and the tourists. He was always my first stop when I was involved in fundraising for Scouts or school or whatever. He was invariably good for buying several magazine subscriptions or a fist full of chocolate bars. God knows what he did with them all, or what his wife thought about all this extra mail each month. A really nice guy, as I recall.”
Senior Investigator Ed Carrier walked out of the storefront, carrying a 35 mm camera with variable zoom lens and flash unit. In his all-white outfit he strongly resembled the Pillsbury dough boy. The use of white paper jump suits and hair nets, along with the boot covers and latex gloves, were not normally worn by the FIU people at crime scenes, but were being used more and more at suspicious death scenes. After exchanging greetings with the group, Lt. Hall invited him to give the group an update.
“Well, we photo’d the scene as we first found it and took a few shots into the opening that the workers had made. Before we began to clear away the remaining bricks, I walked around and examined the bricked-in back entrance, which looks to have been closed up with the same type bricks used on the inner wall, and done with the same quality of masonry work. They were not just slapped into place. It was done by a pro. It does not look like be recent work though.”
“We then went ahead and cleared the remaining bricks and mortar from the inner wall, which is located in the lower back room, in an area that appears to have once been a large kitchen for a restaurant, judging from the remains of pipes an
d other fittings sticking out of the walls. There is also a large, commercial gas stove, just sitting off in a corner. The gas is not connected up to it.”
“The area exposed when the bricks had been cleared away is approximately four feet wide, three feet to the outer, bricked-in entranceway and seven-and-a-half feet high. The body is sort of sitting, leaning against the outer wall. The clothing, although in tatters, seems to be a suit.”
“We haven’t touched the body, but I saw what may be scar-like marks around his neck. Perhaps, more significantly, it looks as though his teeth have all been removed and he does not appear to have any hands.”
“Did you look around the enclosure for the hands? asked Ned.
“Yes, but I did not see any spare digits lying around, or teeth for that matter.” replied Inv. Carrier.
“Sounds as though somebody did not want us to be able to ID this guy.” Inv. Saint opined.
Carrier continued his report: “In any event, it sure looks like he has been there a long time, but there still seems to be flesh on him. Although dried out. There is no odor in the area. There is also a small pile of something, on the floor next to him. It looks like bits of leather and some bits of rock. Given the strange circumstances and the apparent age of the corpse, I used the phone in the neighboring store and called down to Albany, and spoke to Dr. Haggard. He has offered to come up and take a look at the body in place, before doing the autopsy.”
Peter was pleased to hear this as he had worked cases with Dr. Jeffrey Haggard before and knew he was as good as they get in the world of forensic pathology. “In the meantime, could I trouble you to go through and dust the area, to the extent feasible and document where it is not?” Peter was thinking, as always, of the subsequent prosecution.
Ed Carrier smiled. “Already on it, Peter. As soon as I heard that you had the case, I figured I should have Bill try his best, because I know you always want it done. You know something? The powers that be at headquarters are considering making the dusting for prints mandatory in all cases where we are called in. They seem to think your reasoning justifies the added man hours and cost.”
“I am flattered. It just seems to make sense.”
Peter’s insistence on having the police always dust for prints was contrary to normal police thinking, which was to do as much as necessary, but no more. Traditionally, the fingerprint techie was only called in where the crime was very recent and there were smooth surfaces at the scene. This was because, despite what was portrayed on TV, it was a rare event to find a clear, useable fingerprint at a crime scene. The odds were even longer that such a print would prove to belong to anyone associated with the crime. Peter guessed that less one in a hundred prints found at any scene would have been left on a smooth, clean surface, with the finger pressing straight down and then lifted without twisting or sliding. In any public place, like a store, there would be countless prints on any surface not regularly cleaned.
Peter had never been involved in a case that was ultimately proven by a fingerprint alone, yet he insisted on any crime scene for a significant felony being checked thoroughly for fingerprints. Peter’s reasoning had to do with jury perception. It was becoming more and more apparent that juries relied heavily on scientific evidence, to the point of a nearly religious devotion to any witness appearing before them in a white lab coat, even figuratively. While prosecutors found this nearly blind trust to be helpful in cases where they had forensic or other scientific evidence, Peter believed this to be a two-edged sword, as juries seemed to expect such evidence in all cases and were disillusioned when it was absent.
To combat this unrealistic but widespread misconception, even in situations where there were no fingerprints found, Peter would call the technician to testify, in detail, about the steps he took to seek fingerprints and then to explain to the jury why the jury’s expectations were based upon TV and fiction rather than reality. The alternative was to let the defendant’s attorney claim that the police investigation had been shoddy and untrustworthy.
It was Peter’s belief that the public’s infatuation with all things scientific was a phenomenon that was only going to grow as police tapped into the expanding forensic sciences. Peter wondered where it would all wind up and what price would be paid in any search for justice. It seemed too easy for a juror to be overwhelmed by the science and susceptible to jumping to the conclusions suggested by the attorneys or the guys in the white lab coats.
Dr. Haggard was not due to arrive for another three hours or so, so Peter told the others that he was going to go home and get some dinner and would be back around 10 P.M. FIU and the Sheriff’s Department would secure the scene in the meantime, and make arrangements for some motel rooms for the Albany members, as it promised to be a long night. Peter then hitched a ride back to the substation and got his car for the short trip home.
Queensbury, the town where Peter and his family now lived, was a bit of a hodge-podge, with no clear reason for its existence in Peter’s mind. Unlike some of the towns in the county that dated back to the early 1700’s, Queensbury began slowly, as a small Quaker settlement during the Revolutionary War. Peter suspected that the land was available to the Quakers only because no one else wanted it, as it was extremely sandy and was not next to waterways, except the western boundary along the Hudson River.
The area’s growth was limited until after World War II. One area of some residential building took place in the area of the now defunct county airport, Floyd Bennett Field, one of the earliest in the country, which until 1946 was located where the school now sat, across the street from the State Police substation.
As Peter drove east, away from the school, he was aware that the houses were constructed a bit like the rings of a tree trunk, with the older model homes nearer to the former airport and as he got closer to his house, the houses became newer. In fact, up until the mid 80’s, the area where he now lived was forest, much of it consisting of pine trees growing in straight lines with equal space between rows. Peter knew that these trees had been planted by CCC workers during the Great Depression and represented efforts to allow men to continue to support their families and to maintain some level of self respect. Until very recently, this forest was populated by deer and the odd group of high-schoolers drinking beer around a fire and then smashing the bottles. One such party place apparently had been where Peter’s back yard ended, as evidenced by the shards of beer bottles that percolated up through the topsoil each spring. Peter was pleased that wildlife, including the deer still frequented the area.
Peter pulled into the garage and noticed that Eileen and the kids were not out back at the pool, even though the afternoon was sweltering. He got three steps into the kitchen before he heard the sound of thundering hooves as Susie and her brother Gary tore around the corner and into his arms as he knelt on the floor.
After only a few seconds, his nearly three-year old son started pulling him toward the family room to play some “bull-cow”, a nonsensical game that the three of them had developed over time. Peter got down on all fours, started “mooing” and tried to nudge the kids with the top of his head, as if they were matadors and he was the bull and had horns. Gary and Susie ran around to his side and attempted to climb onto his back. It was unclear how anyone “won” this game, but the laughter was worth the effort, especially as it seemed to Peter that the kids would soon outgrow this particular form of silliness. That day would be more than a little sad, he thought.
“Now it’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye!” Eileen walked into the room laughingly reciting the same parental line she always did, whenever Peter and the kids got into their rough and tumble mode. “Once again, you open your mouth and your mother’s voice comes out.” replied Peter, as he always did in turn, reciting a line from the TV show Kate and Alley.
He untangled himself from the kids and got up, kissing his wife and pulling off his tie. “Did you guys already eat?” asked Peter. “Of course”, she answered, “You know I can’t hold these t
wo off until 6:30 or later. Yours is keeping warm in the oven.” “I am going to have to go back out to the scene up in Lake George at around ten, so why don’t I have dinner backwards, and we first go up to ‘that place’ for i-c-e c-r-e-a-m?”
“Ice cream!” yelled Susie to her brother, who in turn let out a whoop.
“Oh, great!” Eileen pretends to be angry with him, but cannot hold back the smile in her eyes.
“We’re gonna have to brush up on our Morse Code, I guess. Or at least stop using words that sound like they spell.”
They sent Susie off to use the upstairs bathroom, while Peter helped Gary, who was in the midst of toilet training and it had all been going well. The training constant was for one of them to say “Good boy, Gary!” whenever he started to piddle while seated on the toilet. The tables had been turned a couple of days ago, when Eileen was sitting on the toilet. Gary, who was walking by, heard the sound of liquid, stopped, patted his mother’s knee and said, “Good boy, Mommy!” and continued walking. Peter fell down laughing and Eileen was too paralyzed with laughter to move off the seat. It was a classic and a taste of things to come form their quick-witted, fun-loving son.
Wiseguys in the Woods Page 4