As soon as the arrangements had been discussed with the FIU personnel, Dr. Haggard left for his camp and Peter headed home. As he turned into his driveway, the scraggly front lawn was swept by his headlights, reminding him that he had, at one point, made up his mind that he would mow the front lawn this afternoon after work, to free up some of his weekend. One of the great mysteries of Peter’s life was how, despite moving from Albany, where his daily commute was an a half hour a day each way, to here, where his home was three minutes and twenty-two seconds from his office parking lot, he seemed to have less time to maintain their home and be with his family. In fairness, his under four minute commute was only possible if a deer did not jump out in front of his car, which had happened more than once. When asked where he now lived, his usual response was “Queensbury, where deer and the antelope play in the back yard.”
He looked in on Susie and Gary, who were sound asleep. Both bedrooms were furnished, in part with furniture built by Peter. Susie had a long L-shaped desk complete with an adjustable artist easel and a high platform bed that she had requested. Gary had his own long desk of a slightly different design, and his pride and joy was a racecar water bed as his first “big boy” bed. Peter hadn’t built the bed, although he could have.
Peter got ready for bed and cautiously stepped over the two sleeping dogs and into his side of the bed. He was more than ready to sleep, but the day’s events just kept swirling around in his head. The incident at the club would have intrigued him by itself, but was coupled, in his head, with the discovery of the body in the storefront and the utterly baffling possibility that the body may have been placed in that wall when Peter was six years old.
It was not surprising when 3 A.M. came and went on the digital clock next to the bed. He realized that he was developing an irrational but intense hatred for that damned clock, sitting there smug, inflexible and taunting him in the dark with its glaringly illuminated, precise joke. At least its older cousin, with its face and hands, allowed a fellow to lie to himself, a little.
Cooler and clear, the morning arrived way too early. Peter talked himself out of going on a run, which he tried to do several mornings per week. Sadly, he had nearly mastered the art of talking himself out of the run, rather than into one. Instead, he slept a little later and eventually tromped downstairs to find Eileen and the rest at breakfast.
“I am going to be taking Susie to the pediatrician today, so the three of us won’t be around for lunch” said Eileen.
“Is this the same guy who Susie lectured last time?”
“The very same” grinned Eileen.
At her last visit about a year ago, the doctor concluded three year-old Susie’s checkup by telling Eileen that Susie would need her next series of inoculations at her next appointment. When Susie let out a loud sigh, the doctor asked her what the matter was, and she emphatically announced “I don’t like blood tests, I’m not thrilled with hearing tests and I hate shots.”
Looking over his glasses at the girl’s mother, the doctor observed, “Well, there’s nothing wrong with her vocabulary.”
As Susie was their firstborn, neither Peter nor Eileen had any basis for comparison. Each, however, had had occasion to notice indications that they had one bright little girl on their hands. Her little brother, at nearly three, was no slouch either, and was already becoming adept at putting his sister in her place with a clever quip. The icing on the cake for Peter was that they, like their father, both appeared to be left-handed. Peter put together a mug of hot tea and an English muffin, and out the door he went.
Even before his tea had cooled enough to sip, Peter walked into the office, to a minor crisis, as the assistant DA who was assigned to represent the office in the City of Glens Falls Court had just called in sick. It did not take Peter more than a few seconds to realize that, despite the possible homicide and the other cases he was handling, he would have to spend the morning sheparding misdemeanor cases and assorted lesser felonies along their way through the criminal justice system in City Court, where he had been stationed for the first six months of his time in this office, in addition to his other duties.
Peter arrived at the City Hall, an old three story structure dating from the late 1800’s, a few minutes before the judge would take the bench. Just as had been the case a year ago when Peter was last in this building, the single elevator was wide open, with yellow caution tape sagging forlornly across the entrance and an “out of order” sign taped to the door frame. The sign was becoming tattered from overuse. Naturally, the courtroom was on the third floor and Peter adjusted the five-inch stack of case files under his arm and headed for the stairwell, with its well worn stone steps.
After exchanging greetings and a few good-natured jabs about how the 1st ADA was gracing their humble little court with his presence, he sat down to quickly review the paperwork on those new arrests that had occurred since the previous court date two days earlier. Thankfully, the weather outside continued to be cool, as the central air conditioning had been down for over a year. The courtroom was on the top floor beneath a tin and tar roof and boasted temperatures in summer that would violate the Geneva Convention if used for housing war prisoners.
The new cases appeared to be fairly run-of-the-mill, although it seemed a bit sad that so many of the names were familiar to Peter from when he regularly covered this court. It seemed that these “regulars” were not deterred in the slightest by spending time in jail for previous crimes, and Peter suspected that a few of them looked forward to the clean sheets and regular meals of the local jail. Peter smiled to himself, realizing that that was a politically incorrect observation, though probably a fairly accurate one.
Much like the Special Term in County Court the day before, the City Court judge called case after case, taking pleas, imposing sentences, ruling on objections or other motions, and generally acting as referee between Peter and the defense attorneys standing next to their clients. Judge Karl, was a little older than Peter and had been on the bench for several years. He was knowledgeable and practical, which made Peter’s job much easier, and the cases flew by, with only the occasional pause for more in-depth discussion of legal or factual issues.
As usual, there was one slightly different case, where a fellow who had previously punched his girlfriend, was now charged with Criminal Contempt for ignoring the Court’s order of protection by getting back together with her. The defendant, who was clearly upset with the new charges, argued with his attorney, “Sure I was with her, but she invited me over to her place, so what’s wrong with that?” Peter caught the Judge’s slight roll of the eyes and addressed the Court, while actually speaking to the defendant, “Your Honor, it was the Court’s order, not the girl’s. So she cannot overrule it and invite him over. And before Mr. Jamison says anything else about the case, I would like for your Honor to remind him that sound travels.”
They completed the last case on the calendar just after noon, and Peter cut across the side streets of Glens Falls into Queensbury and home for lunch. He could never have done this when he worked in Albany, so it was a real perk to be able either eat lunch at his house or take it back to the office and eat at his desk, while catching up on his reading. When doing so, Peter would sometimes mutter about how TV shows depicting prosecutors never featured this aspect of their work.
It was sometimes a bit dull, but reading was what prosecutors did more than anything else. There always seemed to be new case files to review, whether to determine the viability and importance of the case or to prepare for a hearing or a trial. There were also defense motions to read and respond to and, when time permitted, a never-ending flow of new court decisions from around the state, as well as the US Supreme Court.
These decisions, published routinely, were explanations or interpretations of law, and were written by judges in the context of a particular criminal case. They often served to clarify statutes written by legislatures but also could cause changes in how a law was to be applied. When Peter was in the Albany County DA’s Offi
ce, after his time in the Appeals Bureau, he and the other trial prosecutors would try to keep up on the latest decisions, but relied to some extent on the office’s Appeals Bureau to read all of them and give the rest of the attorneys a ‘heads up’ when a significant decision was published. The fact that the trial prosecutors were being saved a lot of extra reading by this process did not dissuade, Peter’s former mentor, Larry Williams from summing up the work of the Appeals Bureau as being that group of attorneys, sitting around a table and debating whether it should be “who” or “whom”. Larry’s irreverence knew no bounds.
Now, Peter had to cover the role of the Appeals Bureau, as the staff in Warren County was too small to have a separate Appeals Bureau, so Peter was “it”. Peter had been reading these new court decisions, known as advance sheets since his days as a law intern at the Albany DA’s Office. This practice had been recommended to him be George Baker, the head of the Appeals Bureau. Because the advance sheets contained decisions on most aspects of law, George felt this to be a good way to prepare for the bar exam, which Peter later found to be true.
Peter had continued the practice, at least reading those cases involving criminal law. He even had a 3 by 5 card index of cases, which was now more than four feet long. This was one of his only concessions to nerd-dom. This routine often allowed him respond promptly to questions of law, without having to run back to his office to research the matter.
Being able to describe the most recent decisions, sometimes even quoting the pertinent passage greatly impressed defense attorneys and judges, but Peter understood that this was somewhat misleading. The simple fact was that he was not as smart as this talent suggested. It reminded Peter that he, as a youngster, was tested and found to have an IQ of 142. When the school officials reported their findings to his parents, they were shocked at his father’s laughter. As a teacher himself, Peter’s dad knew that the test could be skewed by the amount and type of reading that the youngster did. The Drakes’ owned and ran a small motel along the west side of Lake George. They used the family TV as the backup for the motel and, as a result, there often was no TV to watch. Peter and his siblings read far more than normal and their level of reading was well beyond many of their peers.
After lunch hour, Peter picked up his coffee mug and walked down to the Sheriff’s Office, located in the northeast wing of the Municipal Center. He poured himself some coffee and sat heavily in the government-issue chair next to Inv. Saint’s government–issue desk.
“Well, that was a long day, yesterday!”
“It sure was. I will be heading south for the autopsy at 2:30. If what Dr. Haggard suspects is correct, this is the coldest case I’ve ever seen.”
“Yeah, thirty years is a long way to have to look back. I wonder if any of Alphonso Santon’s descendants are around. I guess we have to wait to hear from the good doctor on a somewhat refined date of death or we will just be shooting in the dark.”
“I will be sure to get copies of the papers in ‘Wally’s’ wallet and anything that might be in his pockets.”
“Wait a minute! You guys have named him already? Why ‘Wally’?”
“Because he was found between two walls, of course. We had to call him something.”
Peter could think of no counter argument to this latest example of cop logic. So, instead, he changed the topic. “Anything new on the shoot-up at the Night Cap bar?”
“Not really. I was out on another matter with Abe Dorn and he was telling me about it. He said he was waiting for a call back from your buddies at Colonie P.D. They don’t have any more information that might help them ID the guy the shooter was arguing with,” said Tanner.
“You do realize, of course, that these two events constitute a crime wave for this county, even though one of the crimes may have occurred when we were little kids,” observed Peter.
“Actually, you are probably right. It might not amount to much down in Albany, but it is a handful for us.”
Peter got up from his seat, and started for the door. “I’ll see you in the morning, and you can fill me in on Dr. Haggard’s findings.”
“Sure thing, Peter. Sure you don’t want to join us?” Tanner playfully invited.
“Cute!”
When he returned to his office, Peter called County Clerk’s Office and requested a rundown of all of the owners and occupants of that Lake George storefront, from 1950 to present. The Deputy County Clerk, with whom he spoke, made it quite clear that this might be a significant project, but that they would do it and have an answer for him in the next couple of weeks.
Peter figured that as a result, he would have to add the Clerk’s Office to his Christmas list for receiving one of Eileen’s famous nut wreaths. What had once been a holiday novelty was turning into a major annual event for Peter’s wife, but she still hadn’t told him that she would no longer make these in-demand treats for the various offices with whom Peter worked.
Sr. Inv. Ned Khoury was so enamored with these nut wreaths that, when Peter delivered the large one for the SP substation just before Christmas, Khoury would go into his ritual of eating a small slice and then heading down to the basement for 15 minutes on the free weights in the small gym, and then go back upstairs, cut another small slice and repeat the process. The secret recipe for the wreaths was in such demand that last December, Eileen took a phone call from one of the female NYSP investigators, who very politely requested the recipe, even more politely reminding Eileen that she carried a gun for a living. Eileen stood firm.
Chapter 5
Traffic was unusually heavy in the area where I-90 met up with the Northway just outside of Albany, so Inv. Tanner Saint was a few minutes late pulling into the parking lot of Albany Medical Center, where the autopsy was to be conducted. This facility was located across the street from Albany Law School where Tanner knew Peter had received his law degree. Tanner made his way to the morgue area and met with Dr. Haggard and Ed Carrier from FIU.
After donning gowns, paper booties, paper hat, gloves and face shields, the three went into the autopsy room, where an assistant was setting up instruments for Dr. Haggard’s use. There, on the furthest table, looking quite gaunt and more than a bit neglected, lay “Wally”, still on the plastic tarp in which they had transported him.
“Before I forget, Peter asked me to mention to you, the idea of taking samples for possible DNA analysis or comparison, whatever that means.” Tanner had been given a brief explanation by Peter, but still had no real idea of what he had just requested.
“I suppose I can try. It is not so hard to take samples, but it is a real question whether the DNA in the samples will still be present in a mummified body and whether it would be viable for testing. Perhaps samples from the brain and bone marrow, which I will then freeze.
“You probably do not know much about this science yet, but Peter and I were actually talking about it a few weeks ago, when he read that a rape case was going to trial and DNA evidence was going to be allowed by the trial judge. The ability to use a person’s DNA for identification and for familial comparison was only developed a few years ago in Britain. The basic idea is that a person’s unique DNA is contained in most all of the cells of his body.
“A crime scene sample of someone’s DNA, say blood or semen, can be analyzed and compared with a DNA sample taken from a person, either matching or excluding the suspect, with a very, very high degree of certainty. At present, it seems that the researchers have been working with fresh specimens containing DNA. There is speculation that the day will come when samples from bodies long deceased can be taken and used to confirm identity, as for example the remains of the infant who was believed to be the Lindburgh baby.
“Leave it to Peter, though, to come up with the Doomsday scenario in DNA. As he correctly pointed out during our discussion, all living things are shedding microscopic DNA samples all over our surroundings and each other constantly, in skin cells, sweat saliva, hair to name the obvious sources. If the testing becomes sensitive enough, a
ny crime scene is going to be a veritable smorgasbord of DNA, suggesting the presence of dozens, even hundreds of people and any number of animals at any particular crime scene.”
Dr. Haggard ran his fingers through his hair. “Perhaps I had best contact a few of my colleagues and get their thoughts on what samples might be best, and how best to preserve them.”
Tanner Saint’s brain was in a whirl with this new universe of potential evidence that the doctor had just described.
“It appears that our friend made it through the trip from Lake George without a problem. That notch of wood fell off of his sleeve, but the plastic tarp did its job and caught it. The paper bags on his wrists are still intact.” Dr. Haggard, with the help of his assistant began with an examination of the entire body, fully clothed. Although he could now examine the entire surface, no additional marks, or wounds were apparent. The two then began to carefully cut away the suit and other clothing that still hung from the body.
“As we do not yet know with any certainty how long this fellow was between those walls, we need to preserve everything associated with him that might provide clues. When cutting away his clothing, we will avoid cutting along seams in order to preserve the original stitching.”
Wiseguys in the Woods Page 6