Blood Is Thicker Than Wine

by Liz Eagle

  “Good Morning, Sir,” the guard at the front gate said as Gus pulled up. “May I see your identification please?”

  Gus produced his FBI identification. He claimed to be affiliated with other agencies, but on this trip, he thought it best to avoid any speculation that other agencies were also interested in what he was investigating. Not even his own daughter knew what he actually did or for which agency he worked. That was how he liked it, and he planned not to rock the boat.

  Gus reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a small, black, folded case. He opened the case, revealing the gold badge of his FBI identification and turned it over to the other side, which showed his full name, black-and-white headshot and right thumb print. “You are approved to enter, Sir,” the guard said. “Just wait for the first gate to open, step inside, and then wait for it to close behind you. The second gate will open in front of you, after which you may proceed from the sally port to the main building straight ahead.”

  “Thank you very much, Sir,” Gus said before entering the two gates and watching as they slammed behind him. He noticed that the armed guards had rifles and scopes at their posts and were positioned above the compound on every corner. He turned and watched as the two gates slammed shut behind him. He approached the main building housing the administrative staff and senior guards and asked to speak to the warden. The warden came out to the lobby, shook Gus’s hand, and asked him to follow him back to his office.

  “So, what brings you back to our fair institution, Gus?” the warden asked. Gus had come to see the warden during his last visit with Jacqueline in the fall, and they had also worked other cases together.

  “Well, since I last talked with you,” Gus said, “the Bureau has decided to formally open the case for investigation, and I have been asked to look into a few things. If you remember, it was about the murders in Warsaw that Inmate Number…” He paused, looking at the notes in his briefcase. “… Number 507 allegedly committed. He was found guilty of two counts of murder last year.” Gus paused and looked up from his notes at the warden.

  “What is going on now?” the warden asked, placing his hands on the desk. “Yes, of course I remember you asking about that inmate when you came here in the fall. I told you all I know, but I will repeat, he is a model inmate, doesn’t get into fights, and works in the library. I think he is researching his case, trying to figure out how to get an appeal, trying to become a ‘jailhouse lawyer’ if you know what I mean. It’s really sad. His lawyer has not visited him, not once since the trial, but he has maintained his innocence ever since he got here. So, what business does the FBI have with that inmate? Is he wanted on another charge?”

  “Oh, no,” Gus responded. “Not another charge, but this time I need to speak privately with the inmate. Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to say anything about my investigation now, Warden, you know the drill. Could I please have a private talk with that inmate? Once the investigation is complete and I have been given clearance, I will be able to discuss the matter with you at length. I am sorry for being so vague,” Gus said, “but you understand the nature of this business.”

  “Well, I would hope the bureau would be a little more forthcoming,” the warden said, “especially when it is about one of the inmates in my institution. I will let you see him if you promise to let me know when you are able to report something. I want to be the first to know any details. I don’t want to read about it in the Wyoming County newspaper. I have a responsibility to keep up with what goes on in this prison with my inmates,” he said as he stood up.

  “I will promise to tell you as soon as I can,” Gus said. He could tell the warden was not pleased at this turn of events, and he was all too aware of the official’s power in New York State and his connection with the governor, but there were more pressing issues to deal with than trying to appease the warden or play politics. There might also be more at stake than just one double homicide.

  Gus was ushered down a hallway with a painted cement floor and dirty green cinder block walls. The prison smelled like rotten cigarettes and urine, and there was standing cigarette fog in the air. He turned into a small room, which he assumed was reserved for attorney visits, and took a seat at the wooden table as the guard shut the door, locking him inside. Gus pulled out a notepad, already knowing what questions he was going to ask.

  He waited patiently while the guards retrieved Inmate Number 507 from his cell, handcuffing his wrists and shackling his ankles before they delivered him. He overheard the exchange of foul language between guards and inmates in the background. Voices echoed all around him, and he heard cell doors slam shut. He could not make out what the inmates and guards were saying, but surmised it was certainly not positive.

  The door opened on the other side of the small room. The inmate, who was wearing light blue shirt and dark blue slacks, looked drawn and thin. He did not appear like much of a murderer, but Gus knew you never could tell.

  “How are you doing, Mr. Harvey?” Gus asked.

  “Who the hell are you?” the inmate replied. “You are not my attorney, unless I have a new one. The other guy was a worthless piece of shit anyway,” Mr. Harvey added as he took his seat in the chair across the table.

  “I am Agent Gaylord with the FBI and am here to ask you some questions about the Warsaw murders for which you were found guilty,” Gus said, slipping one of his business cards across the table to Mr. Harvey.

  “I did not commit any murders,” Mr. Harvey replied. “I kept telling my lawyer that, but he would not believe me. I was just in the wrong place at a very wrong time. And I know that’s what every inmate says. Hey, can you get me an appeal? Can you get me out of here?” he asked, his voice sounding desperate.

  “Not so fast,” Gus said. “Let’s go over the case first, and I will talk to you about other issues.” He needed to take good notes because he was expected to report on all that he had learned. There was a lot to this case, and this was just the starting place.

  Gus glanced at the notes he took after visiting the courthouse in Warsaw. He had copies of Mr. Harvey’s criminal indictment and warrant and wanted to ask him a few additional questions to fill in the blanks.

  “I understand that you were staying at the hotel in downtown Warsaw during the Fourth of July and went to the park that night for the fair and fireworks celebration,” Gus said. “Is that correct?”

  “Yeah, that’s where I was staying,” Mr. Harvey said. “Me and my buddies live in Silver Springs, but we went to Warsaw to go the fair and have some fun. We stayed at the hotel. You can ask my friends. My sorry lawyer didn’t seem to be interested in at least doing that for me. He didn’t do shit.”

  As they reviewed the facts of the case, Gus heard much of what he already knew. He learned that Mr. Harvey and his friends went to the park and saw the two girls. They had met them before, at the hotel, and heard that not only did they have plenty of money to throw around, but a reputation for putting out to boot. When he got separated from his friends in the crowd, Mr. Harvey stayed with the two girls. He knew that they would have sex with just about anyone, so he thought it was a sure thing and ditched his friends for some fun. The girls had led Mr. Harvey up a small hill to a World War I cannon by the pavilion, where they all drank a couple jars of homemade wine. He said the girls had brought the wine and that he didn’t buy any because he only had enough money for the hotel and a few pennies to spend at the fair. They all got pretty drunk, Mr. Harvey said. The girls got sick and passed out, and after figuring out he was not going to get any sex, he had left to find his friends and never saw the girls again. Mr. Harvey said he did not know what had happened to them. The next day, the cops came to his room in the hotel and arrested him on double murder charges. The trial was quick, and Mr. Harvey was found guilty. He was upset that his attorney did not even try to put on any defense. He hardly asked any questions of the state’s witnesses and never called any of the folks
Mr. Harvey had asked him to call to testify on his behalf.

  “Did you know where they got the wine that you drank?” Gus asked.

  “Hell no!” Mr. Harvey said. “It was pretty good stuff though. I only had a few drinks out of the one of the jars. They kept on drinking until they finished the first jar and worked pretty hard on the second. Each bottle was a different color; the wine was a different color, I mean. That was strange, but I didn’t ask any questions. I was hoping to get them drunk and get some sex, but they both threw up and then passed out, so I left. They had a few extra bottles that we didn’t drink, but I just left them there. I’m no thief, by the way, so I walked down the hill and went to find my friends. Just those few drinks I had made me feel pretty good, but not so drunk that I wouldn’t know if I had killed someone.”

  “That is odd,” Gus said. “The police report that I saw at the courthouse did not say anything about bottles or jars of wine, and none were found anywhere near the bodies.”

  “Well, that’s what happened, take it or leave it,” Mr. Harvey said, slamming his fist on the table so hard it rattled his handcuffs.

  “Can you remember what the wine bottles looked like?” Gus asked.

  “Just ordinary bottles, I guess,” Mr. Harvey said. “No labels on the front. I don’t think bottles is right. Most of the wine was actually in jars like the ones my grandmother uses for canning vegetables. With the tin-looking top.”

  “Is there anything else you can remember about that evening?” Gus asked.

  “No, I can’t think of anything else,” Mr. Harvey said. “I got pretty smashed with my friends after I left the girls. I gave all the details to my lawyer. Are you going to get me out of this hellhole? I didn’t do anything wrong, and my lawyer didn’t even try to help me at the trial. It was as if he thought I was guilty all along.”

  “Well, if you can’t recall any more details,” Gus said, “I think we are finished here. Thank you for your time.” He put the pen and paper in his briefcase and closed it. Gus wanted to get back to Warsaw and get a good look at the cellar in the inn and the type of bottles used by the McDougals with their wine-making process.

  “Hey,” Mr. Harvey said as Gus stood up to leave, “what’s going on? Can you help me or not? Am I going to get an appeal? Can you let my lawyer know I want one?” Mr. Harvey also stood up, his hands still handcuffed together but holding the business card.

  “Unfortunately, I believe that the time to file an appeal has passed,” Gus responded. “It should have been done within thirty days of the guilty verdict. Your lawyer probably told you that. Anyway, I will be in touch as soon as I can get more facts. I had to talk with you first. Thank you for your time, Mr. Harvey,” Gus said, picking up his briefcase and pounding his fist on the door to alert the guard that he was finished.

  On the drive back to Warsaw, Gus processed the information he had gotten from Mr. Harvey. He understood why Mr. Harvey was found guilty. He was the last person to be seen with the girls, and there was evidence of alcohol abuse. They were both found dead right where Mr. Harvey said he had left them, by the cannon in the park. But then there was the wine. If he ventured a guess, he would say that not many people in the town of Warsaw made homemade wine. One couple in particular of course came to mind. But how would two random young girls have gotten ahold of the McDougals’ wine? Max had said that he never sold any of it, and thus far Gus had never seen the two do anything with it but drink it and offer it to guests. Maybe the girls had been guests at the inn? It was possible, but why would locals be staying there?

  He began to play the devil’s advocate in his mind. Was Mr. Harvey telling the truth about the other jars of wine? Why hadn’t his attorney questioned him further or even tried to find out what happened to the other bottles? He was not a lawyer, but there seemed to be some holes in the investigation that Chandler could have brought up to make the jury doubt that his client committed the crime. There were a lot of questions and most of the answers were leading him right back to Mr. Harvey’s attorney, Mr. Milton Chandler, and his in-laws, the McDougals. He was trained to go where the investigation led him, and it was leading him right back to their homemade wine.

  As Gus drove, the story of the other jars of wine kept nagging at him. There was no mention of them in the police report, if they even existed. Who should he believe? Now Gus was beginning to understand, but there had to be more to the story. If they wanted someone dead, why? He needed a motive. He understood that the Chandlers were close to the McDougals, he would have to choose the appropriate time to ask them what they knew about the murders without alerting them to his investigation. He would have to be very careful. But, then again, he always was.

  Chapter 11

  Winston-Salem, North Carolina

  Lil had fallen asleep on the couch with papers all over the floor, coffee table and even some laying on top of her. She awoke suddenly upon hearing someone come in the back door.

  “Hi, honey,” the voice said. “It’s me, your handsome husband, Joe.” He made a point of announcing himself because he was keenly aware that she was a federal officer and carried a gun. Though he never thought she would shoot him, he did not want to rock the boat or make her jittery. Lil had been working so hard on her dad’s stuff lately. He loved her dearly. It was his second marriage and her third. That number of marriages did not scare him away because his sister was also on her third marriage and she was a nice person, just like Lil. He knew Lil had had some tough breaks and so he worked hard to make their lives as simple as possible. No drama.

  “Oh, hi, sweetheart!” she called out to him. “I am in here still going through the boxes,” Lil said from the living room.

  Joe put down his briefcase and went into the living room, where he carefully moved some papers and sat down beside her. “So, how is it going?” he asked, kissing her head and putting his arm around her.

  “I think I fell asleep,” she said, “but so far I have gathered that my mom’s father, FBI agent Gus, thinks that the man in Attica Prison was not the man who committed the double murders. He is working on the premise that the inmate is telling the truth and that the girls’ deaths has something to do with the homemade wine, which is leading him back to my aunt and uncle, who made the wine. Not sure, yet, what that has to do with the price of eggs in China. I just read about Gus’ visit to Attica Prison and his talk with the guy accused of the murders. You know, I am just not sure about any of this,” Lil said, sounding exhausted. She put her head on Joe’s shoulder.

  “Wow,” he responded. “That is a lot to take in. I am so sorry. You have been working so hard, and I hate to see you put yourself through all this. It will all come together, I am sure of it. There is absolutely no way on this earth that your family could be involved in a double murder. Someone would have spoken up by now. I have an idea, why don’t we take off and go to the beach house for a few days? We can go anytime you are ready. I think you need a break.”

  “I agree,” Lil said, “but now is not a good time. I want to take the time I need to read more and figure out more about what happened. You know, Judge Stone has even volunteered to help me. Isn’t that nice?”

  “Boy, I’ll say,” Joe said. “You should take him up on any help he offers. He has a lot of connections in this town. I know he thinks a lot of you and your work. He would be a good person to run some theories by. Give him a call. But don’t forget about the beach. They say that sand and surf is very good for the soul. You know that’s what they say, anyway.”

  “Who’s they?” That was their affectionate comeback when one of them said, “That’s what they say!”

  Joe jokingly responded, “They.”

  That made Lil laugh, but she knew Joe was right. Getting away to the beach was a wonderful idea and very appealing. Still, Lil was on the verge of something, she could feel it. She just needed more time with her grandfather.

  Chapter 12

  1945
Warsaw, New York

  The next day, as promised, Phillip drove Jacqueline all the way back to the city and right to her small apartment. Gus was not too pleased, but he had little control over his daughter. Besides, he needed the time alone to sort through the case, the court documents, and write his case notes carefully. He was expected to give a preliminary report at FBI headquarters in Buffalo.

  Jacqueline and Phillip kissed passionately on the stoop of her apartment building as they said goodbye, and Phillip promised he would try to see her again in a few weeks but made no formal plans. He wanted to have sex with her right then and there but surmised he could sleep with someone at law school to satisfy his urges and would leave Jacqueline thinking he was a nice guy. She was definitely worth the wait.

  “Well, how did the trip to Warsaw go this time?” Jacqueline’s seamstress asked.

  “Just fabulous!” Jacqueline said with a smile. “I met someone.”

  “Oh, really, how wonderful for you!” the seamstress replied. “Please tell me all the dirty little details.”

  “Well, his family is rich,” Jacqueline said excitedly, “and they have a house in town and a cute cottage on a lake outside of town.” She proceeded to tell the seamstress all about her weekend, including the sailboat ride and her passionate kisses with Phillip. She decided to leave out the argument she overheard and the double-holed outhouse. Those were things she really needed to keep to herself and give some more thought. She was afraid that hearing those things would make someone jump to conclusions that the Chandlers were a little too eccentric. She certainly did not want anyone to think she was so desperate for a man that she would settle for just anyone, even if he was strange.