Chapter 6
Rob and Cindy stopped for a cup of coffee at IHOP on the way home from the President’s press conference. It was raining, so they dashed from their car to the door. Rob felt a little hungry when he sat down at their table, so he ordered breakfast. Cindy objected since they had a babysitter to relieve, but Rob was determined to eat, and there was nothing Cindy could do but urge him to do it quickly.
“What’s wrong with you?” Cindy asked. “You haven’t said a word since we left the hotel.”
“You know, I’m going to bust my butt getting elected state representative, and then the shit’s onna hit the fan over the Thornton mess.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. They can’t do anything to you.”
“Yeah, but they can destroy me by just trying to pin something on me. You know what criminal lawyers cost. That’s one reason I talked to the FBI without a lawyer. The one my dad recommended wanted a $2,000 retainer just to represent me during any preliminary investigation. If I’m charged, they’d want $10,000 more. It’s going to be a damn nightmare being a political candidate with an FBI investigation in progress. Maybe I should withdraw.”
“No. Everything will work out. You’ll see,” Cindy assured him.
Rob looked at Cindy and just shook his head. He was as tired and depressed as he’d ever been in his life. They ate their breakfast silently and then left. Thirty minutes later, they made it home and parked in the driveway, but when they walked up to the front door, they noticed it was ajar. Fear and dread of what they’d find inside shot through them. They rushed inside, and Cindy screamed. On the floor, Maureen Peters, a sixteen-year-old neighbor who had been babysitting was lying on her side in a pool of blood. Rob ran over to her, knelt down, and felt her wrist for a pulse.
“She’s dead,” Rob announced grimly.
Cindy gasped and started running up the stairs to the children’s bedrooms, but before she got there, a man stepped out of the shadows and grabbed her. He put his gloved hand over her mouth, but she still emitted a muffled scream that Rob heard just as clearly as a church bell ringing a block away. He ran up the stairs to defend the wife he loved so dearly, but just as he reached the landing, another man stuck out his foot and tripped him. He hit the ground hard, and while he was down, the man pounced on top of him and pinned him to the carpet.
The first man hit Cindy with the butt of his revolver, and she collapsed to the floor unconscious. He immediately shot her in the head. Her body jumped from the impact of the point-blank shot and then fell limp. The man walked over to where his accomplice had Rob pinned down and positioned the gun just above Rob’s ear so that it would look like Rob had killed himself. Without a second of hesitation, he pulled the trigger, and Rob’s head exploded against the interior wall. A second later, he placed the gun in Rob’s hand, pointed it in Cindy’s direction, and pulled the trigger again.
The two men got up quickly, looked around to be sure the crime scene was staged the way they wanted, and left out one of the upstairs bedroom windows. A neighbor, John Rogers, had heard the shots from his home next door, and he came over to investigate. He gasped when he saw the babysitter lying on the tile floor in a pool of blood. His wife, Molly Rogers, was close behind and began screaming and wailing when she saw her husband hovering over Maureen’s dead body.
Soon sirens could be heard in the distance, and more people from the neighborhood began to gather around the Shepard’s front door. After a few minutes, a police car drove up, and Officers Lynn Jenkins and Sheila Sands jumped out and told the crowd to back away. They went inside, guns drawn, to investigate the situation. They looked at Mr. Rogers kneeling over Maureen’s body.
“Is she dead?” Officer Jenkins asked.
Mr. Rogers nodded.
The two officers went past them into the dining room, the kitchen, and the master bedroom. Finding nobody else on the first floor, they began to climb the stairs.
Two paramedics rushed in and started to examine Maureen. One of them escorted the Rogers out of the house to be questioned. Two more officers came in and scanned the scene.
“Oh, my God!” Officer Sands moaned from upstairs. “What kind of a bastard would murder his own children!”
“Shit!” Jenkins gasped.
Hearing this the two officers’ distress they ran upstairs. Detective Wallace Moore walked in the front door an instant later. He took a hard look at Maureen Peters’ body before he too headed upstairs.
“Hi, Detective,” Jenkins said looking up. “There are five of them up here—three young children. I’m pretty sure they’re all dead. The paramedics are making sure.”
“God have mercy!” Detective Moore said.
“Looks like a murder-suicide,” Officer Sands advised.
“Who are these people?” Detective Moore asked.
“The Shepard family,” Officer Sands said. “You know…Rob Shepard, candidate for state representative.”
“Oh, right. Wasn’t he connected to Brad Thornton?”
“Right. Shepard was a close friend and investor.”
“Huh. I guess he knew what was coming down the pike and decided he didn’t want his family to go through it.”
“Looks that way,” Officer Sands agreed.
“I don’t know,” Jenkins said. “I knew Rob Shepard. I can’t see him committing suicide. I know he couldn’t have murdered his wife and children. He always been a good guy.”
“Well, we’ll let the Medical Examiner decide,” Detective Moore said. “It’s not our call.”
Detective Adam Albright walked in and grimaced at the grizzly sight. “I can’t believe he’d kill the babysitter too. You’d think he’d let her go home before he started executing his family. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“None of this makes any sense,” Jenkins said.
“Jenkins,” Detective Moore said, “there’s nothing for you to do up here. You and Sands go outside and start interviewing the neighbors. See if anybody saw anything.”
“Yes, sir,” Jenkins said, and he and Sands left.
Several members of the Crime Scene Unit came up the stairs and started taking photographs and bagging evidence. Moore and Albright went into the other rooms to look at the children’s bodies. They just stared at the children with identical gunshot wounds to the head.
“How could someone do that to a child, let alone his own flesh and blood?” Detective Albright asked angrily.
“God only knows,” Detective Moore replied. “Let’s go see if we can find out where the Shepards went tonight. Whoever saw them last might be able to give us some clue as to why this happened.”
Detective Albright nodded. “I’ll search his car. Maybe there will be something in there that will tell us something. You go ask the Peters if they know. Maybe Maureen told them where the Shepards were going.”
“Right,” Moore said and left.
A few minutes later, Moore found Albright in the Shepards’ garage. “I found out where they went tonight,” he said.
Detective Albright looked up. “President Ford’s fundraiser,” Albright said, handing Moore an envelope. “I found this invitation sitting on the front seat.”
“Right. Mr. Peters thinks they were meeting Stan Turner and his wife and some other friends there.”
“Alright. I guess we better go talk to Mr. Turner and see if he knows anything.”
“It’s 2:00 a.m.,” Moore said. “Shouldn’t we wait until morning?”
“No. If it were my friend who’d died, I’d want to know right away. Wouldn’t you?”
“I suppose.”
Moore and Albright left the garage and went back into the house. As they walked into the kitchen, the Medical Examiner spotted them and came over.
“What do you think happened here, Detectives?” he asked.
“Well, it’s hard to say,” Detective Moore said,” but I think when the Shepards got home, Mr. Shepard went upstairs and shot the children. His wife heard the shots and came runn
ing up the stairs. He probably let her go by and went downstairs and shot the babysitter. Then he went upstairs and shot his wife and then himself.”
“Why would he kill the babysitter? What did she have to do with anything?”
“Sometimes when you’re depressed or angry, you just want to take down as many people with you as you can,” Detective Albright replied.
“What about an intruder? Did Mr. Shepard have any enemies?”
“There’s no evidence of a forced entry, and none of the neighbors saw any strangers in the neighborhood,” Detective Albright replied.
“That’s true. We’ll have to see if any unidentified fingerprints, fibers, or other evidence shows up. If not, it looks like it’s a murder-suicide.”
“Kind of looks that way,” Detective Moore agreed. “We’re going to go talk to Stan Turner. He and his wife were with the Shepards before all of this went down.”
“Okay. Let me know if you find out anything enlightening.”
“Will do. See you later,” Detective Moore said.
Detectives Moore and Albright left and drove to Stan Turner’s house. It was nearly 3:00 a.m when they rang the doorbell and held their badges in front of the peephole so anyone who looked out would see them. After a few minutes, Stan opened the door wearing a t-shirt and jeans he’d hastily put on.
“Yes, what’s wrong?” Stan asked.
“We’ve got some news you’re going to want to hear,” Detective Moore said. “Can we come in?”
“Okay,” Stan replied and motioned them into a small living room just inside the door.
The two detectives sat on opposite ends of a sofa, and Stan sat across from them in a stuffed chair. A minute later, Rebekah walked in wearing a robe.
“This is my wife Rebekah,” Stan said.
“Hello, Mrs. Turner. I’m Detective Moore, and this is Detective Albright from the Richardson police Department. Sorry to come by at such an early hour.”
“What’s going on?” Stan asked.
“We understand you and your wife went out with Rob and Cindy Shepard last evening.”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Well, we just came from their home, and I’m sorry to report they are both dead, along with their children.”
“Dead!” Rebekah gasped “Oh, my God! . . . No! . . . That can’t be.”
“Yes, I’m afraid it is.”
“But, how?” Stan asked, incredulous. “We were just with them a few hours ago, and they were fine. What happened?”
“It looks like a murder-suicide, but the Medical Examiner hasn’t made a final determination yet.”
“Murder-suicide? That’s impossible. Who are you saying was the murderer?”
“The evidence points to Rob,” Detective Albright replied.
Stan shook his head. Rebekah became pale and started to wobble. Stan stood up and grabbed her arm to steady her. He sat her down in the stuffed chair he’d been sitting in.
“What was Rob and Cindy’s mood when you saw them last?” Detective Moore asked.
“They were happy and upbeat. We just went to a reception and met President Ford, for godsakes. Rob’s running for state representative and has a good chance of winning.”
“Ah. We heard he’s been tied into the Brad Thornton money laundering investigation,” Detective Albright noted.
“True, but only indirectly. He wasn’t involved in Thornton’s business operations. He was just an investor.”
“That’s not what we’ve been told,” Albright replied. “It kind of looks like he was afraid of the investigation and couldn’t face the truth coming out.”
“You think murdering your family and committing suicide is easier to face than being convicted as a money launderer?” Stan asked. “That doesn’t make sense. There must be another explanation for what happened.”
“Well, like we said, the Medical Examiner hasn’t made a determination yet.”
“I hope not. Someone else murdered the Shepard family, and you should find out who it was.”
“You know anybody who would want to hurt Mr. Shepard?” Detective Albright asked.
“Well, the obvious ones are Brad Thornton and his alleged business associate—what’s his name?”
“Rubio. Tony Rubio,” Detective Albright replied.
“That’s right. If Rob did know something that could have connected those two, either would have had ample motive to kill him.”
“That’s a nice theory and one I personally hope is true, but unfortunately, we have no evidence to support it.”
“I’m sure that was the killer’s plan. He wanted to make it look like a murder-suicide, so you wouldn’t come looking for him.”
“How long have you known the Shepards?” Detective Albright asked.
“Just about a year. We only moved to Texas the summer before last.”
“So, there’s a lot about Rob Shepard you probably don’t know, don’t you think?”
“True. He probably didn’t tell me all his secrets, but we were pretty open and frank with each other.”
“Well, we’ll let you get back to bed,” Detective Moore said.
“Yeah, like we’ll be able to sleep,” Stan replied bitterly.
“Have you told Cindy’s and Rob’s parents?” Rebekah asked.
“No. Do you have their numbers?”
“Sure. I’ll get them,” Rebekah said and left the room. She returned a moment later and handed Detective Moore a piece of paper with the numbers written on them. He thanked her, and then the two detectives left.
Stan and Rebekah sat silently for a long time, trying to grasp what had happened. Rebekah was crying softly when Reggie came in.
“What’s wrong, Mommie?” Reggie asked. “Did you have a bad dream?”
Rebekah looked at Reggie and sighed. “Oh God! I wish that were the case.”
Disillusioned, A Stan Turner Mystery Vol 2 Page 6