THE SHAKESPEARE MURDERS

by Marshall Huffman

  “Hey, I don’t write em’,” I said, picking up the paper and putting it back in my pocket.

  Before he could say anything the waitress showed up and passed out the plates. No one talked as we chowed down on our food. After we were done we all sat back and just looked at each other for several seconds. Finally it was the captain who spoke first.

  “You know what this means? We have to jump on this right now. It won’t be long before the media gets wind of this and then our rears will be grass. We might as well get it out in the open right now. I’ll fill the Commissioner in and I want you, Dan, and Eric to drop everything else and head this thing up,” he said.

  “Eric?” both Dan and I said simultaneously.

  “I know, I know. Eric is a worthless jerk but you know the politics as well as I do. If we don’t put the little runt on this he will cry to his old man who will cry to the Commissioner who will gripe at me and on and on. He can be there in name only if you want but he has to look like he is doing something important,” the Captain said.

  “You know that anything we tell him will get to the press,” I warned.

  “Keep him out of the loop on the important stuff or use disinformation. Whatever. Just keep his old man happy. Got it?”

  “I don’t like it but I got it,” I said.

  “In that case, I’ll buy,” he said as he reached for the checks.

  I should tell him bad new more often.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The snow had tapered off for the most part but the wind was still whipping snow into insurmountable drifts in places. I decided to try to make it home anyway since the captain had thrown me out of his office. I was just getting all bundled up when the phone rang. I almost decided not to answer it when stupidity kicked in and I picked it up.

  “Detective Bartoni.”

  “Is this Detective Bartoni?”

  Okay, that’s it. I’m going to find out who this is and go have Dan beat them up.

  “Yeah.”

  “Detective, I was told I should talk to you. My name is Robert Evans. My wife Linda is missing. I called and talked to the police but they said I needed to wait at least twenty-four hours. I told them I think something happened to her. The groceries were still sitting on the table but she wasn’t home. I called all the hospitals. I know the roads are bad and all but Linda wouldn’t take off without putting the groceries away or leaving a note,” he said.

  I could detect a good deal of anxiety in his voice.

  “Who did you talk to when you called before?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t think to get a name,” he said.

  “And who told you to call me?”

  “Some guy. Sergeant something.”

  “Sergeant Winters?”

  “I think so.”

  “All right Mr. Evans. Can you give me a description of your wife?”

  “Five-six, about a hundred and thirty-five pounds, brown hair with a few gray hairs. She is forty-three and has a birth mark on her left shoulder. She has a couple of moles on her back,” he told me.

  I pulled the folder I got from Doc Sorenson open and looked at the description. It fit almost exactly. The weight was off by a few pounds but that isn’t all that unusual.

  “Do you have a recent picture of Linda?” I asked.

  “Yeah, lots of them. I got a new digital camera last year for Christmas. I got a bunch on the computer.”

  “Could you email me a couple? That way I can run them through our data base and check the hospitals.”

  “I checked the hospitals,” he said.

  “Well, if she was hurt and couldn’t talk they may not know who she was so I could send pictures,” I said.

  Of course the logic was flawed because she would probably have ID of some kind but I didn’t think he would think of that under the circumstances.

  “Where do you want me to send them?”

  I gave him my email address and I waited while he sent them. It took less than a minute and my computer screen had filled with a picture of Mr. Evans’ murdered wife. I took down his address and promised to call him if I found out anything. It may seem cruel to make him wait, but I wanted to be there in person rather than just telling him over the phone.

  I gathered up Dan and Eric and we went down to the garage and scavenged a four wheel drive Ford Expedition and headed out into the winter wonderland. It was gray and overcast throwing a flat light over the landscape. Depth perception was almost nonexistent making driving an unpleasant task. When you added that to the piles of drifted snow it was as enjoyable as having a root canal.

  That’s when the thought hit me. This guy was probably a dentist. That’s why he liked to inflict pain. They are all sadists. I decided not to share this theory with my companions.

  After a long, long drive, we finally made it to the Evans place. Robert Evans was using the snow blower when we pulled up. He turned it off and quiet suddenly filled the air. We were far from any highways and the stillness was deafening. Even the wind seemed to whisper.

  “Mr. Evans?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Detective Bartoni. This is Detective Roberts and Eric Taylor. I talked to you about your wife earlier.”

  know I should have done better with Eric but he is just such a jerk it is hard to think of him as a detective.

  “Sure, Sure. Come on in. Did you find her? Is she okay?”

  “Why don’t we go inside and I can fill you in.”

  “You bet. I just made a fresh pot of coffee. Come on in. Place is a bit of a mess. I’m not too good at housekeeping. I sent the boys off to my parent’s house for the weekend,” he said as we went in the back door.

  It led directly into the kitchen. It was much cleaner than my place; that was for sure. Only a few dishes were piled in the sink and a cup was on the table. It wasn’t all that fancy but it was a home, not some pretentious showplace. Mr. Evans slipped his heavy coat off and placed it over the back of one of the chairs.

  “Please. Sit. I’ll get some coffee,” he said, grabbing an old fashion percolator off the stove.

  He took down three cups and placed them on the table.

  “None for me,” I said.

  “You guys?” he asked and the both shook their heads ‘yes’.

  “So, tell me about Linda. Where did you find her and is she alright?” he asked.

  “Mr. Evans, there is never an easy way to say this so I’ll just come out and tell you. Mrs. Evans was found dead yesterday in the Wilson Creek area.”

  I waited.

  He stood there looking at me like he was waiting for the punch line to a joke but it never came.

  “My Linda?”

  “I’m afraid so. We made positive ID a couple of hours ago,” I said.

  “That can’t be. You’ve made a mistake. I don’t even know where Wilson Creek or whatever it’s called is. Linda wouldn’t go there without telling me. You must be wrong,” he insisted.

  “I wish with all my heart we were wrong but it was Linda Evans we found. She was murdered, Mr. Evans,”

  “No. No. That can’t be. No one would murder Linda. Everyone liked her. She worked at the church. She was a den mother. No one would kill her,” he said, trying to stand but his knees buckled.

  Despite his size he suddenly looked small and weak. I helped him sit down back down. He put his head in his hands.

  “Mr. Evans. Can I call you Bob?”

  “Robert. Bob Evans? Somehow that just doesn’t work does it?”

  “I suppose not,” I admitted, “Robert, have you had any trouble around here lately?”

  “Heavens no. Out here? We pretty much keep to ourselves,” he said.

  “What about your boys?”

  “What about them?”

  “Anyone giving them a hard time?”

  “No way. They are good boys. Straight A students. On the football team and baseball team. Never been in any trouble. They would tell me if they had any trouble,” he said.

  “You’re sure?
Sometimes kids don’t like to tell their parents everything,” I said trying to keep any accusation out of my voice.

  “I know you have to ask, and you are welcome to talk to the boys anytime you want, but I know my kids. I make it a habit to talk to them. Know what’s going on in their lives. We have a deal. Tell me first, before I find out and you don’t get in near as much trouble. If I find out first their ass is grass,” he said.

  Old fashion values I could both relate to and admire.

  “We may need to do that at some point but I don’t think that is necessary just now. What about your neighbors? Anyone talking about having any problems? A stranger around, anything out of the ordinary?”

  “Nothing that I know about. We live a pretty mundane life out here. We work, play a little, go to church and spend time with family and friends. We don’t have any crime to speak of and we all pretty much look after each other. No one that knows Linda would hurt a hair on her head. I’m going to tell you one thing. If I get whoever did this before you do I’ll kill them. I don’t want to hear about how I need to let the law handle this. I find them; they are dead. I will kill them as sure as they killed my Linda. Save any speeches about what will happen to me, I simply don’t care and don’t want to hear it,” he said, standing up and walking into the other room.

  It would appear that the conversation was over.

  * * *

  “You think that was just anger talking?” Eric asked after we got back in the car.

  “No I do not. I think it was determination,” I said.

  “I think he will do it if he gets half a chance,” Dan agreed.

  “But he would go to jail,” Eric said.

  “You heard him. Right now he feels his life is over. They took his life from him so he is nothing more than the walking dead. It is his job to protect his family and he failed. Now he is going to do the only thing he feels he can do at this point. Find the bastard and kill him. I understand how he feels. I don’t condone it but I certainly understand it. With the way the courts treat victims as second rate citizens compared to criminals, it’s surprising that more people don’t want to do what he says he is going to do. He may change his mind after he has time to think it over but right now he means every word. His sons may change his mind for him,” I told her.

  “Or make him decide to follow through,” Dan added.

  “Yeah, there is that possibility too,” I agreed.

  The only thing good about the drive back to the station was that the snow had now stopped completely and the wind had died down. We met snowplows along the main roads but most of the side streets would be a few days from getting cleared off.

  The depressing part was that the weather forecast was calling for more snow over the next two days as another front was swinging down from Canada. I thought about that for a minute. Our good brothers and sisters to the north must really love that cold weather. How else could you stand to continuously live in that climate? I mean, have you ever heard of a warm front moving out of Canada? I don’t think so.

  Global warming my butt. If we are having global warming where is it taking place? Saudi Arabia? It sure isn’t in Indiana. I think the next time I hear about global warming I’m going to hit whoever is whining about it with a snowball.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Back at the station two new developments had occurred. The first was that Doctor Ben Warman had called. That was the good news. The second development wasn’t so peachy. The Commissioner and captain were waiting to give me the exciting news that a press conference had been called for 2:00 p.m. How nice. That gave me exactly one hour to get everything together, including handouts for the press and to be in some condition to go before the cameras. Fortunately I was used to this kind of last minute shenanigans by our beloved brass and had an extra suit in my locker. I got the team together, although I will admit I considered forgetting Eric, but decided there was no use getting the ex-commissioner pissed right off the bat. Better to wait until later. I almost regretted it immediately.

  “Who is in charge?” Eric asked.

  “That would be me,” I said.

  “Why you?”

  “Because, Eric, I am the senior detective on the case,” I said like he was an idiot.

  Oh, wait, he is an idiot.

  “Dan is older than you,” he challenged.

  “Dan is older by three months but hasn’t been a detective as long; hence, I am the senior detective on the case. Get it Eric?”

  “I guess. What is my part?”

  I knew this was coming. I couldn’t very well say that he would be the jester, the fool.

  So I said, “You are going to coordinate all the incoming messages that pertain to the case so that we have a steady flow of vital information at our disposal.”

  “Is that important?”

  “Important? I wouldn’t trust it to anyone else,” I said, trying not to laugh.

  “Okay then. That’s cool,” he said and went off with a stupid grin on his face.

  What else could he have?

  * * *

  “Ladies and Gentlemen. Media members too,” I said and smiled.

  It got a few isolated snickers.

  “As some of you already know we found a woman’s body in the Wilson Creek area. She had been asphyxiated. The weather has prevented us from getting many useable solid clues. The reason we have called this press conference is that we have found a similarity between this murder and the stabbing victim, Mr. Marvin Farley. While the MO isn’t the same, a common thread does exist linking the two murders. I know you all want to know what that link is but for now we are not going to reveal that part. Right now as far as we know the two victims did not know each other nor were they from the same area. We are working to determine if their paths ever crossed. What is important is that people are especially vigilant and make sure that if they are approached by anyone they are very aware of their surroundings. We believe the latest victim, Linda Evans, was taken from her home during broad daylight. When you leave, lock your doors, even if you live in a safe neighborhood.”

  I could see the questions forming even as I was talking. Half weren’t listening but getting ready to pounce the second I stopped talking. I knew one of the first questions, if not the very first, would be what was the link between the victims? It didn’t matter that I just said we weren’t going to mention that just yet, some jerk would blurt it out anyway.

  “Detectives Roberts and Taylor will be working the case with me. We have already started to work on the leads we have and even with the weather doing its best to bring things to a standstill we hope to continue to make progress. Now I know you all will have a bunch of questions and we will answer them the best we can but I won’t give anything away that might jeopardize the investigation,” I said and braced myself for the onslaught.

  It started immediately. The yelling of questions. Who raised these people? Did they ever discuss manners at home? It finally died down so I could understand what was being said.

  “What is the link between the victims?”

  See. I told you that would be the first thing out of someone’s mouth. What morons.

  “Possible you have too much snow in your ears and you missed the part where I said we were not going to divulge the link at this time.”

  “What about the spouses? Have they been interrogated yet?

  “We interview, not interrogate. But to answer your question, Ms. Kelso, yes. Mr. Evans and Mrs. Farley have been cleared at this time. So have the other members of the immediate families,” I replied.

  It took about another thirty minutes to answer the questions and only two reporters asked about the link again. Less that I had figured on.

  When it was over the ex-commissioner came over with the captain.

  “What is Eric’s part in this?” he asked.

  Crap. I was trapped like a rat.

  “Well, sir. He is going to be coordinating the incoming information and distributing it to us as the case progresses,” I sa
id trying to not give away what I was thinking.

  He looked at me hard for several seconds before rubbing his chin and taking off his sunglasses.

  “Detective Bartoni, I like you. You’re a good bullshit artist. Not many of those left, at least not ones that can get the job done as well. I know Eric isn’t a good cop. Hell, he isn’t even a mediocre cop but he is my son. Just make it look like he is doing his part and I will be grateful.”

  “I’ll do my best sir,” I said, relieved.

  “I know you will. That’s all I can ask.”

  He nodded, put on his sunglasses and walked off. I was one relieved puppy.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  If staying awake on the drive home had been difficult, it was nothing compared with trying to get some sleep with all the snow blowers making their obnoxious noise all up and down the street. I finally resorted to using the earplugs I wear at the shooting range. They didn’t totally block out the noise but it helped enough that I finally drifted off to sleep.

  I didn’t emerge from hibernation for ten hours. Thing was, I still felt sleepy. Sometimes the more rest you get the more lethargic you feel. I finally dragged my butt out of bed, turned up the thermostat to get the frost off the walls and did my business in the bathroom. It was relatively quiet outside. I figured most of the folks must have dug out by now. It wasn’t going to do them much good according to the last weather report I heard before going beddie-by.

  I looked out the front window and sure enough, it was starting to snow. Most of the driveways had a light covering on them already. Did I mention how much I love winter? Not. I bundled up and went out to scrape some of the snow off the Healy. It grudgingly cranked over and off I chugged to the station.

  It was fairly abandoned. Sergeant Winters informed me that most of the officers had gone home and hadn’t made it back in yet. I asked him to roust Dan and Eric out and have them meet me at the restaurant. I was walking that way, slip sliding away, kind of a Neil Simon thing, when a voice behind me yelled out.