by Nat Williams
David spoke clearly but softly.
“Your dad shot your mom and then shot himself.”
He paused to let that sink in. Janet looked as if someone had just told her she was a zebra living in a nice subdivision on Venus. She was unable to respond.
“I’m sorry,” David said. He watched as Janet attempted to process the information. She finally composed herself.
“What are you talking about? They were both shot … I mean, Dad was shot three times. There was no gun found. How is that possible?”
“Like I said, the FBI got wind of it. I didn’t expect that. They were shaking down everyone who had any connection to your dad. Your dad knew everything was coming apart. He couldn’t take the shame and humiliation of being arrested and charged with a felony. He couldn’t bear the thought of your mom drifting more and more away from reality. Especially without his presence. He was afraid he may spend the rest of his days in jail.”
Janet sat, transfixed.
“I called and argued with him that night. Hell, you and I argued that night about something – I don’t even remember what it was. So I was already in a shitty mood. I was coming unglued. He told me he was going to give it all up, to turn himself in. That meant I was going with him.
“I got in my pickup and drove to their house. I was going to try to talk him out of it, tell him that they probably didn’t have anything on us. We argued some more and he ordered me to leave. He said we’d talk about it tomorrow, when I was sober. I was still pissed, but I finally walked away. I got into my truck and peeled out. I drove around aimlessly for a while, then got to thinking about what he had said. I put it all together and figured maybe he was going to do something foolish, like hurt himself. So I headed back there.”
He told Janet that the front door was unlocked, so he went in after knocking and not getting a response. Her parents were dead, and a pistol was on the floor, next to Dr. Van Okin’s chair. He saw a yellow legal pad on a table.
“It was a suicide note,” he said. “It was hand-written. It said, ‘I’m sorry, Janet,’ or something, and said the cellphone video would explain everything.”
Janet looked on, transfixed.
“I figured he had implicated me in the fraud case. I panicked. I didn’t know what to do. I thought maybe I was going to be fingered for the Medicaid thing, since your dad was the one doing the billing and all. They were dead; I checked. Then something came over me, I don’t know what. I didn’t want to go to jail. I thought maybe there was life insurance or something, and it wouldn’t pay off if it was ruled a suicide. So I …”
Tears ran down Janet’s cheeks.
“I grabbed the pistol, fired it a couple of times, took the note and grabbed the cellphone. I figured there was no way anyone could say it was a suicide.”
David’s eyes tried to meet those of his wife’s, but she would not look at him.
“They were already gone, Janet.”
He put his head in his hands.
“I’m so sorry.”
“You shot my dad? Twice? And Mother?”
“He was already dead, Janet,” David repeated. “And, I don’t know, I was trying to make sure it looked like a murder. I was drunk. I wasn’t thinking straight. And I didn’t shoot your mother. I guess your dad did twice, to make sure …”
He then composed himself.
“I took the battery out of the phone so it couldn’t be tracked. Then I put everything in a small, plastic cooler and hid it somewhere I knew no one would find it.”
“Why did you keep all of that if you wanted it to be ruled a double murder?”
David exhaled loudly.
“As an out card. In case something like this happened. I could produce the evidence that I didn’t kill your parents.”
“But you’re obviously guilty.”
“Maybe of Medicaid fraud, obstructing an investigation and,” he looked up, sheepishly, “desecration of a body or something.”
Janet sobbed.
“But not murder. I didn’t kill them.”
Janet held out the heavy plastic phone, then started banging it against the wall so hard that David was afraid it would get the attention of a guard. He held up his hands, signaling for her to calm down. Then she put the phone to her ear and kept silent.
“You have to get that cooler,” David said. “It’s the only way I can get out of here. Please.”
Janet’s eyes were red and filled with tears. “Where is it?”
CHAPTER 58
“How does your client plead?”
Circuit Judge Max Peregrino’s booming voice filled the courtroom.
“Not guilty,” said Tonya Rudnick, David Purcell’s newly appointed public defender. Rudnick, who looked to be about thirty-five, was quite attractive. She had a welcoming face with a smooth complexion and big, blue eyes framed by a longish, brown pageboy that rested on her shoulders.
It was the preliminary hearing, two days after Purcell’s lonesome First Appearance.
“Your honor, we request that Mr. Purcell be released on his own recognizance, with the provision that he be fitted with an electronic ankle bracelet that will alert law enforcement authorities if he removes or destroys the bracelet or if he leaves his home with the monitor attached.”
“That certainly seems lax for a defendant in a double murder,” Peregrino said. “Reasons?”
“My client is a lifelong resident of Gilbert County. His family has been a fixture here for decades. He is a respected businessman who is responsible for the livelihood of many employees. He is not a flight risk.
“Also, your honor, as you probably know, this is a very critical period for fruit growers in southern Illinois. Peaches are in full harvest and apple harvest is approaching. Mr. Purcell is not asking that he be allowed access to the orchards, packing shed, office or other off-site locations. Only in his home. That way, he can help manage the operation.”
“What say you, Mr. Hilliard?” the judge said.
Hilliard rose.
“Your honor, the defendant is charged with two counts of a Class X felony, which carry serious penalties. He has not cooperated with law enforcement. The state believes that he would be a danger to the community if he were freed. And to the extent that management of the orchard is an issue, the defendant’s wife is heavily involved in the operation and already serves as co-manager. The workers will be taken care of. The harvest will proceed. The state requests that the no-bond order be extended.”
Peregrino leafed through some papers in a legal-size manila folder.
“I see reason on both sides. That’s increasingly rare nowadays, I’m sorry to say. I hope that if this matter goes to trial, the good lawyering I’ve seen here today will continue. The court grants bail at one million dollars.”
“Thank you, your honor,” Rudnick said. “We would also like to introduce a motion for discovery.”
“So granted,” Peregrino said. “The state shall provide all evidence gathered in this case, including witness statements, audio and video recordings, results of forensics testing and anything else that pertains to this case. I will assume that there is no objection by the state or the defense as to the competence or fairness of either.”
“None, your honor,” Rudnick and Hilliard said, nearly in unison.
“I’m looking at a pre-trial hearing in about six weeks. Does that suit you, Ms. Rudnick?”
“Yes, your honor.”
Peregrino turned to his secretary, Millie Cooper, a thin blonde with a round face and bright eyes. She didn’t need prompting. Like Radar O’Reilly, she was already thumbing through the calendar on her iPad.
“How about October second?”
“That’s a Tuesday, right?” the judge said.
“Yes, your honor.”
“Any objections?” he said, moving his eyes between those of Rudnick and Hilliard.
“None here, your honor,” Rudnick said. Hilliard didn’t respond. The judge knew he was fine with the timeline so far.
“Your honor, with your permission, I would like to confer with my client before he is escorted back to county,” Rudnick said.
“That’s not my call,” Peregrino said. He looked at Bachelor, who was standing at Hilliard’s side. “OK with you, Sheriff?”
“Yes, your honor,” he said.
Bachelor motioned to two deputies. Tonya Rudnick and David Purcell stepped out of the courtroom into an anteroom, followed by the deputies, who milled about outside the room.
“Six more weeks before I can get out of that shithole? What is that thing called again?” Purcell said to his attractive but stern public defender.
“A pre-trial hearing. My job is to get you out of jail, not keep you there,” Rudnick said. “I need time to go over the evidence. I’ll need to find someone to do some background work. We have to come up with a trial strategy.”
“They gave me a cup of coffee for breakfast the other day with no sugar in it,” Purcell said. “Black, unsweetened coffee. And a bagel and a banana. Meanwhile, I’m rotting in this place.”
“Better to rot for a while than rot forever,” Rudnick said. It came across harsher than she intended.
“How about something positive?”
“I like your chances,” Rudnick replied. “The state’s case is a lot weaker than that black coffee they sprung on you. Besides, you didn’t expect things to move very quickly, did you?”
“It may not take very long at all,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“I have something that will get me out of this.”
“You need to tell me everything, David.”
“I will. But first, I have to talk to Janet.”
“Look, David, you have to trust me. You understand that everything we discuss is privileged, right?”
“I do. Just make sure Janet comes to visit me. All this should be over soon. At least the murder charges.”
Rudnick rubbed her index finger across the file folder sitting on the desk in front of her.
“I don’t understand how holding anything from me can be helpful.”
“You’ll know soon enough. Just make sure she comes to see me.”
CHAPTER 59
The Next Day
Tonya Rudnick sat on a folding metal chair at the Gilbert County Jail, across from her client, David Purcell. She plunked her briefcase on the table.
Not much for chitchat, Rudnick didn’t ask how he was doing. If he had any questions. If he needed anything. If he would like to request certain visitors. David figured she was one of those put-the-rubber-to-the-road people. He respected that.
“You have to understand that the state’s attorney is under a lot of pressure. We can use that to our advantage. He doesn’t want to get burned on such a high-profile case. All I need is for you to help me help you.”
Purcell let that one sink in. Help me help you. It sounded like some crappy commercial for a real estate agency. Or a slogan of a politician running for office. Or a law firm.
“So, how is all that gonna get me out of this place? I played poker with two rats and a five-pound cockroach yesterday.”
“Right now, the only way is to somehow come up with a hundred-thousand dollars. That’s the ten-percent cash bond that the state requires on a million bail.”
David didn’t like what he was hearing. What he was seeing - well, that was a different matter. He suddenly appreciated how sexy his reluctant defender was. He wondered if he could get into her pants after all this was over.
Purcell quietly scolded himself. His bleak environment encouraged such wandering, irrational thoughts, he assumed. There isn’t enough to occupy one’s mind. He made a mental note to ask for some reading material or something. That was a concern for later. Right now, he had a more pressing need: Get out of this mess.
“Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem,” David said. “But this fire blight has moved in.”
“What is fire blight?” Rudnick said.
“It’s a natural disaster, really, except we don’t get crop insurance like the guys who grow other crops. It’s an injustice, really. Farm policy only helps rich farmers. It really screws the little guys.”
David wished he hadn’t gotten so far off target.
“It’s a fungal disease that affects apple trees. If it escapes treatment it can wipe out a whole orchard. You see, those trees are inventory. Investments. It’s not just the seedlings, but the mowing, the pruning, the watering, the constant care. When trees die in an orchard, that eats into the bottom line in a lot of ways. Those trees have to be removed. New ones have to be planted. Meanwhile, the people who come here to buy fresh fruit don’t know anything about that. Or care. Can’t blame ‘em. It’s not their concern. But we’re left wondering how to make ends meet, with no help from Uncle Sam.”
Rudnick not only seemed to be genuinely paying attention, she seemed slightly empathetic. He laid down a pretty good line of bullshit. David Purcell, a victim of two injustices: disease sent by Mother Nature and the little matter of being unfairly fingered for a double murder.
Thank God, he had a backup plan that involved a gun and a cellphone video. If only he could get Janet to produce it.
“Anyway, I appreciate you getting me a bail and all, but I can’t make that much,” he said. “What about a bail bondsman? How does that work, exactly?”
“It doesn’t. Not here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ever see any advertising by bail bond companies?”
David thought about it. Everything he knew about bail bondsmen came from watching reruns of Dog the Bounty Hunter. Man, that Beth really had the hooters.
He didn’t recall ever seeing any commercials or newspaper ads. He figured it was because there isn’t a big demand in rural areas. Plus, he didn’t imagine ever needing the services of someone like Dog.
“I guess not. So?”
“Because there aren’t any.”
“Really?”
“Really. Illinois doesn’t allow them. State law.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“Hell, I didn’t know that.” David seemed strangely calm.
“So, what comes next?”
“The state will present its case at the preliminary hearing. The state’s attorney won’t show all his hand - just enough to move forward. There will be more appearances, eventually moving toward trial. That is, if we decide to go to trial.”
“What do you mean by that? If you think I’m gonna confess to something I didn’t do …”
“Don’t get your spurs tangled up, cowboy. I’m just leaving open the idea of a plea deal. We may get the charges dropped somehow. We don’t know exactly where this is heading. But I’m going to do my level best to keep you out of prison. More than ninety percent of felony cases result in plea deals. I’m not saying this one will. That’s the statistic. But being prepared for every possibility is not a bad strategy.”
She put her hands on the table in front of her and looked Purcell straight in the eye.
“Now, tell me about this Medicaid thing. The state may try to somehow include that as part of their case. They might claim it speaks to motive. If they do, they’re going to start a fight with a wolverine. Not just because I went to Michigan, but because I’ll sink my teeth in them so deep they’ll have a hard time pulling away without breaking ‘em.”
Purcell began to appreciate his counselor more and more. And not only because she was hot.
“I’ll argue against allowing it as evidence,” she said. “The more I know about it from you, the better my chances will be of convincing the judge to throw it out. Unless, of course, it helps you somehow.”
Rudnick’s beautiful blue eyes opened, finally making contact with David’s.
“You want me to tell you what happened?” he said. “What really happened?”
Rudnick sat up straight. The chair creaked.
“Is this the thing you were talking about? Why you wanted to talk to Janet?”
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br /> He nodded.
“Of course I want to hear it.”
He proceeded to tell her the same story he had told Janet, about the fraud case, the argument with Dr. Van Okin, the murder-suicide, and the bullets he put into Dr. Van Okin, who was already knocking on heaven’s door.
Rudnick was spellbound. Her eyes were now focused on David’s. He certainly had her attention.
“That’s quite a story,” she said. “It would be great if we had something more than a story. Do you have anything to substantiate it?”
“We do. Well, I do.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“We have a sweetcorn plot. About a half-acre. Starting from the west, the fourth row from the top. Three rows inside that one. There’s a spot where there aren’t any corn plants. A small cooler – you know, a six-pack cooler – is buried about two feet deep under that mat of stover. There’s a bag inside that cooler. The gun, note and cellphone is in it. Oh, and the cooler itself is wrapped inside a garbage bag. I used a cooler because I figured it would be waterproof and everything.”
“Wow, that’s certainly a complicated hiding place. We’ll need to get it.”
“Well, I obviously can’t get it while I’m sitting in this cage.”
“Have you talked to your wife about this?”
“I really haven’t had much of a chance. They don’t have visiting every day, even for a wife. Can you believe that? Anyway, we’ve talked. But, you know, things aren’t … great right now, like I said before.”
“I can imagine. You are charged with killing her parents. That kind of thing could affect a relationship.”
“But I didn’t kill them.”
Rudnick stood and grabbed her briefcase.
“I guess I need to visit her and see about getting this evidence before we go any further.”
“Thanks,” David said.
Relieved, he left with the guard, got to his cell and fell back onto his bunk. Maybe everything would turn out all right after all. But he had a nagging feeling that Janet was not going to be his savior.