by Nat Williams
“Yeah, you’re a real Saki,” Bachelor said.
“Well, I do share his surname. Maybe we’re related.”
“What do you mean?”
“H.H. Munro. That’s Saki’s surname. You are talking about the British author, right?”
“Yeah. I didn’t know his real name.”
“Well, now you do. Anyway, if you were to ask my advice – which you’re not – I would say that Obie is probably open to helping nail his boss. If he’s as close to Janet as I think he is, he probably knows about David’s – shall we say – aggressive behavior.”
“I agree,” Bachelor said. “I’m going to run this by Hilliard.” He paused, then cocked his head and looked upward, gazing at nothing. “Hell, I don’t even think we have the equipment.”
“Equipment for what?”
“You know, audio surveillance. A wire and all.”
“This is the twenty-first century,” Munro said. “That problem can be solved with a quick trip to RadioShack. Just make sure the legal stuff is clear.”
The men finished their meals, dropped a few bills on the table and went their separate ways. Bachelor walked the short distance to the courthouse, where a deputy waved him around the metal detector. He stopped by the state’s attorney’s office on the first floor. Hilliard looked up from his computer, then pushed it aside.
“What’s up, Frank?”
“I need to make sure I’m covered with this surveillance thing.”
“Illinois has been pretty schizophrenic about private recording,” Hilliard said. “Used to be a two-party-consent state.”
“So, both parties had to be aware they were being recorded?”
“That’s right. The state Supreme Court overturned an old law in 2014. The General Assembly fixed it with a new statute. As long as I give my blessing, you’re on solid ground. And you have my blessing. Just to be safe, I’ll have Donna type up something for me to sign. So, give me the particulars.”
“David Purcell is looking better and better, Vern. I believe I’m in a position to produce audio evidence that could blow this thing wide open.”
Hilliard moved his tongue around the perimeter of his closed mouth, a gesture that indicated he was giving it serious consideration.
“Who’s going to wear the wire?”
“Obie Lynch, hopefully. An employee of Purcell Orchards. We - J.C. and I, that is - believe there is big trouble in the Purcells’ marriage. Obie Lynch is close to Janet. Maybe in a romantic way. But he also has a pretty good relationship with David Purcell. I think Purcell’s clueless. He’s got other things on his mind. Like, maybe how to cover up a double murder.”
“Sounds like this Obie guy’s sent from Central Casting,” Hilliard said. “I don’t have to tell you how important it is that we don’t screw this up. Don’t let me down. Please. I have an election coming up.”
“That same ballot will have my name on it,” Bachelor said. “I’m not planning on losing either. Of course, that’s secondary to solving the most publicized crime around here in years.”
“Of course.”
“And delivering justice for the residents of Gilbert County.”
“Always,” Hilliard said. “And don’t make me have to explain stuff that I can’t explain without getting really creative. Got it?”
“Loud and clear.”
CHAPTER 48
Obie Lynch wasn’t alone at Lefty’s at 8 p.m. on a Thursday evening. There were a few other regulars, two sitting at the bar, one inserting a debit card into a jukebox and a few pushing buttons on a video poker machine.
Munro walked up to the bar and ordered a beer. He didn’t waste any time, grabbing the bar stool next to Obie’s.
The FBI guy from Chicago actually had done a pretty good job of making himself look like a local. He was wearing worn Levi’s, a St. Louis Cardinals cap and a white T-shirt bearing the message Illinois: Where our Governors Make our License Plates.
“Hey, Obie,” he said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Good to see you. Got a minute?”
Munro pointed to a corner table.
“Shall we?”
Obie appeared more than a little confused. His eyes scanned Munro carefully, trying to pick something up. He looked around, as if to spot henchmen wearing trench coats and fedoras. But he saw nothing more than the few regulars, the bartender and a jukebox that came to life with the opening strains of Toby Keith’s I Love this Bar. And a stranger who knew his name and wanted some of his time.
Munro held out his arm, gesturing to a corner table. Obie didn’t feel like he had a good play. But, what the hell. He was in a public place. What was this stranger going to do – pull a gun? Come to think of it, the guy looked a bit familiar. He had seen him somewhere, but couldn’t place him.
He carefully picked up what was left of his Corona, stood up and waited for Munro. The two men completed the awkward dance, sidling to the table.
As soon as his voice started working again, Obie peered at the man across the table. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”
“I’m here on behalf of some people who want to see justice done.”
“Look, I’m Presbyterian. I’ll tell you right now, I’m not donating money to some cult.”
Munro produced that at-ease smile again.
“I’m Catholic,” he said. “I’m about as close to being in a cult as you are. Except our guys have fancier duds and job security. Plus, we drink real wine at communion.”
Obie started to take a drink from his bottle, then halted.
“What do you want?”
“The same thing you do. I want justice. And I want to make sure that you’re not standing in the way.”
Obie’s puzzlement didn’t fade. “You talking about the Van Okins? And what do you mean, stand in the way?”
“Some people can’t shake the feeling that you may have been involved somehow.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I’m not here because I agree with them,” Munro said. “I’m a pretty good judge of character. I think you would help if you could.”
“Help with what?”
“Help bring down the killer. Help yourself. And help your girlfriend.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Well, maybe not a girlfriend. But a friend. A business associate. One who wants to see justice done, even if it comes back to bite her husband. And bite him bad. Because he deserves to be bit.”
“Who did you say you were?” Obie said.
Munro waved him off.
“That’s not important. Just do me a favor.”
He pulled a business card out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Obie.
“Think of this as your Get Out of Jail card. You’d be wise to use it while it’s still valid.”
Obie looked at the card. It was Bachelor’s.
“You want to help, don’t you? By the way, the sheriff doesn’t know I’m here.”
Obie finished off his beer.
“Next one’s on me,” Munro said. He waved to the bartender and pointed to the two bottles in front of the men. Obie’s was empty, but Munro’s still had about a third left. He polished it off with one swig. The bartender brought fresh brews.
“Who said I wanted another beer?” Obie said.
“I have beer-dar. I can tell when someone needs another.”
“How did you know my name, anyway?”
“Facebook,” Munro said.
“Who are you? A private detective or something?”
“You’re warm. I’m just a guy who wants to right the wrongs of this wicked world. I believe you are, too.”
Obie took a swig of his beer and stared straight ahead.
“What do you want from me? What does the sheriff want from me? I was interviewed a couple of days after. I told them what I’m telling you: I don’t have any idea what happened.”
“I know David Purcell is your boss,” Munro said. “And, by extension,
Janet. And I know that David is not an angel. He’s done some bad things. I can’t go into what they are. Anyway, you’re the one who could shed some light on this whole thing.”
Obie looked away, shaking his head.
“Look,” Munro said. “All I’m asking is that you get hold of the sheriff. How could that hurt? And, believe me, it certainly could help. He’s not as convinced of your innocence as I am, and he’s under a lot of pressure to produce a suspect.”
“Then why doesn’t he come to me? Like I said, I’ve been interviewed before on this thing.”
“You’ll find out. Just give him a call, OK?”
Obie held the card in his hand, looking at the scant information: Frank Bachelor, Gilbert County Sheriff. Address. Phone number.
“I gotta go,” Obie said as he finished his beer. He got up and headed for the door, paused and turned back to face Munro.
“Thanks for the beer.”
CHAPTER 49
Frank Bachelor’s cellphone vibrated on his desk and came alive with Danger Ahead, the theme from the television series Dragnet.
“Bachelor.”
There was a short pause on the other end.
“Obie Lynch. I heard you’re wanting to see me again.”
Bachelor sat up.
“You heard right. Can you come down to the office now?”
“Sure.”
Obie was a man of few words, Bachelor thought. Hopefully, David Purcell would be a man of many.
Soon Obie was sitting in the interview room at the Gilbert County Sheriff’s Office.
“Thanks for coming in. Can I call you Obie?”
“That’s fine.”
“I know we’ve already talked to you about this case. But there’s some new information.”
Obie nodded.
“Did you have anything to do with the Van Okin murders?”
“You’re gonna get the same answer you got before. No.”
Bachelor opened a folder and ruffled through some papers.
“Would you be willing to take a polygraph?”
“Like, a lie detector test?”
“Yeah.”
Obie shrugged
“If you think it would help, sure.”
Bachelor picked up the folder and stood up.
“Give me a minute, OK?”
He walked out of the room, around the corner and into his office, where Jerry Carroll and Doug Munro were waiting. They had been watching the live remote feed.
“What do you think?” Bachelor said.
“I think he’s OK,” Carroll said. He then looked at Munro. “How about you?”
“I think he’s OK too,” Munro said.
“I’m thinking about just leaving the poly on the table. Keep the option open. Let him think about it. Then ask him about the wire.”
Munro looked around the office. “I don’t want to intrude …”
“Jesus, it’s OK,” Bachelor said.
Munro gathered himself.
“I have an idea.”
“A better idea?” Bachelor said.
“That’s for you to determine. Let’s say I have a different idea.”
“OK, shoot.”
“Have him take the poly. Tell him the results were inconclusive. Let him think you’re still looking at him. There’s some leverage there. Even if he comes back clean - which I think he will - let him wonder why you made him go through that. Keep him on his toes. That’s the best way to get what you need. Of course, it’s not admissible in court. It’s basically a meaningless exercise, only something that may provide another avenue for investigators.”
“True.”
“I know you’re taking on a shitload of pressure. I know you want to solve this case as quickly as possible. So you want to get on with the strategy. Believe me, I get that. But let him take the poly. He volunteered, after all.”
“And then what?”
“That’s enough to get him wormy. He’ll do everything he can to prove he’s not the one.”
“But if he agrees to wear a wire, a poly would be unnecessary,” Bachelor said. “Plus, you forget something, Doug.”
They were now on a first-name basis.
“What’s that?”
“This isn’t the FBI. We’re not blessed with the resources you have. We don’t have a polygraph machine and an examiner sitting around waiting for an order. I’d have to request one from state police, then wait for someone to check with someone else, and then decide whether they have someone available to come here and administer the test.”
Munro did a little move in which he tightened his lips and moved his head back and forth slightly.
“Got a point there,” he said. “Sounds like you have the right approach.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, even if that’s not the way you meant it,” Bachelor said.
Munro pretended to lick his finger and made a vertical swipe in the air.
“Not sarcasm. You get a mark for this one.”
Bachelor walked back into the interview room. He opened the door and sat down. Obie had been checking something on his phone. Probably Snapchat, Bachelor thought. Or maybe Facebook. Obie didn’t seem like the Snapchat type.
“So, you’d be willing to help us on this?”
“Who was the guy in the bar?” Obie said.
“It’s better if you don’t know. I’m just trying to protect you here. I’m watching your ass so you don’t have to.”
He purposely let that statement linger. No explanation. No follow-up. No hint of what comes next. No Protect me from what?
Bachelor was forced to make the next move.
“Obie, I’m not asking you to finger David Purcell. But I am going to ask you to do something that may seem … drastic.”
“You want me to wear a wire?” said the taciturn and increasingly helpful orchard supervisor.
Bachelor nodded.
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“I don’t mind. The Van Okins didn’t deserve that.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, Obie. If you’re worried about David Purcell …”
“I’m not worried,” Obie said. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”
This was going easier than Bachelor expected. Too easy? Hopefully not.
“I’d like you to record when you’re with Purcell. Of course, we’ll need you to be one-on-one. You spend some time with David, right? In the orchard? Can you arrange something where you’re alone with him?”
“I can do it.”
Bachelor pulled a key fob out of his pocket. It looked like any standard fob with remote buttons that lock and unlock a car door, and start it honking if the wrong button is pushed. Modern technology. The good with the bad. But this one didn’t perform any of those functions. It did, however, record conversation very well, even filtering out background noises.
“What’s that for?” Obie said.
“It’s a recording device. Put your keys on it and leave it in your pocket.”
Obie was surprised.
“I thought I’d have to wear a wire or something.”
“Nope. All you have to do is press this button when you and David start talking about the murders.”
Bachelor showed him which button turned it on. Obie took the device and looked it over, then put it in his pocket.
“Now what? What do I say?”
Bachelor picked up a folder lying on his desk and opened it. He looked at the contents.
“You said you were at home the night of the murders.”
“Yep.”
“I need to confirm David’s alibi. Bring up the subject of the murders, and ask where he was that night. And when he first heard about it all.”
“That should be easy enough.”
“Don’t push. Let him talk. If you can get him to open up on other things, all the better. We’ll take it from there.”
CHAPTER 50
Obie put his hand in his pocket, fingering the recording device disguised as a key fob. He was r
iding shotgun in David Purcell’s pickup. It had been a long, hard day. The mercury and humidity climbed well above the discomfort level, as Win Romines would say.
“Damn, it’s hot,” Obie said as they entered a peach orchard.
“The misery has moved in, and it’s not in a hurry to leave,” Purcell responded.
“Yeah, we may have to bring the guys in early tomorrow,” Obie said. “We don’t want any health problems. You know, like heat exhaustion or something.”
David tried to find something on the radio. He punched the preset for WSSI. Soon he settled for Free’s Alright Now, which merited a crank of the volume knob.
“Can you turn that down a little?” Obie said. “My ears are kinda sensitive.”
“Since when?”
Obie winced. “It’s because of some shit that happened when I was a kid.”
“What kind of shit?”
“Ever hear the term, ‘box someone’s ears?’”
“Maybe.”
“You know I had a rough childhood. When I’d do something my mom didn’t like, sometimes she’d slap me, like this.”
He made a motion of open hands, whose palms were slapping each ear.
“I think my eardrums are screwed up or something.”
“Bummer,” Purcell said. He turned down the volume very slightly.
Obie, still clutching the recorder in his pocket that was shaped like a key fob, rubbed the “on” button, but decided the music was still too loud. He didn’t want to raise David’s suspicions by saying anything else about the volume.
He had mixed emotions. Was he a traitor? After all, David didn’t have to keep him on after his parents had been killed. He could have preferred a clean slate. Obie began to question his own motives.
Was he truly on the side of justice, or was he using this as an opportunity to get David out of the way so that he could take his place, both at the orchard and in his home? He and Janet had talked before about how David was driving the business into the ground. She had good business instincts, but couldn’t overcome the harm David was inflicting with his poor management.