Hook, Line, and Homicide

by Mark Richard Zubro

  “Did they do a DNA test?” Turner asked.

  “Not that I know of.”

  Fenwick said, “It’s a shame that one instant ruined his career.”

  “I hadn’t given up yet. We were going to see more doctors in Toronto this winter. We had appointments. There were possibilities the leg could be rehabilitated, maybe operated on. He had so much ability. He had so much going for him.” The man’s tears welled up.

  Turner did feel sorry for him. He’d lost his son. He couldn’t imagine losing one of his.

  Turner said, “We had some problems with sabotage on our boat. We were attacked by some kids in a charcoal gray cigarette boat. You have one of those.”

  “There are many of those on the lake. It could have been anyone.”

  Fenwick said, “We talked to Beverly Fleming.”

  “That bitch,” Krohn said. “We tried to get him out of her class. The administrators insisted she was the only one who could handle him. Kids would make up stories about Scarth, and those fascists at the school believed the stories. Those people had it in for Scarth. Oh, sure, there were a few good teachers. Most were assholes. We thought of taking him out of that school, but it was hopeless. Scarth would have had to live in Toronto if he wanted a good enough hockey program. Coach Sterling was a good man. He knew his hockey. That Fleming woman started it. She ruined Scarth’s reputation throughout all his school years. She spent years getting revenge on my kid. She made it a point to bad-mouth my boy to each of Scarth’s teachers.”

  Neither Mr. Krohn nor his wife earlier seemed to be connecting to reality. Not a good sign, Turner thought.

  Turner said, “We heard there were some oddities about his grandfather’s will.”

  “My father was a bit eccentric.”

  Turner asked, “Were you and your wife planning on getting a divorce?”

  “You’re talking about that bullshit part of the will and us controlling his trust. My wife and I both had our son’s best interests at heart. He trusted us.”

  Fenwick said, “I had a little bit of a different impression from Mrs. Krohn.”

  “I’m sure she’s distraught. Probably she should be home where she wouldn’t be distracted. When we got the news, I didn’t think she’d ever calm down.”

  Fenwick said, “We were told Scarth pestered both of you to get a divorce.”

  “He never said such a thing to me.”

  Turner had heard a lot of the people he interviewed tell lies. Usually he could tell. He suspected a lie, but Krohn’s eyes didn’t waver. Maybe he was very good at it.

  Fenwick said, “Did Scarth keep stuff here?”

  “We kept his room as he left it. Once in a while he stayed here.”

  “Could we see it?” Turner asked.

  Krohn hesitated.

  Turner said, “It might give us some kind of clue as to who would hurt him.”

  Krohn still seemed reluctant, but they got a brief nod of acquiescence. He took them up a curving staircase.

  Scarth’s room was almost as stark as the rest of the house. Mr. Krohn stayed in the doorway. Fenwick asked, “Where was he living when he died?”

  “In a trailer just outside of town. He was determined to earn money on his own. I taught him to be self-reliant.”

  Turner would rather the man had left them alone in the room, but Mr. Krohn remained rooted at the threshold. The bedroom was as big as the entire upstairs of Turner’s house. A huge trophy case covered one wall. Turner inspected a few of them. Most Valuable Player hockey trophies predominated. There was a scattering of others. The bed had military corners at the foot. Probably an efficient maid. There were no posters on the walls or books on any shelves. The desk was metallic gray. Turner opened the top middle drawer. When it was out as far as it would go, he felt under the top. He pulled out a plain white envelope. It was stuffed with American cash, nearly twenty thousand dollars in thousand-dollar denominations.

  Fenwick turned to Krohn. “Your boy get a big allowance?”

  Mr. Krohn walked over. “What have you found?”

  Turner showed him.

  “I have no idea where that came from,” Krohn said.

  “How would he have access to that kind of money?” Turner asked. Turner’s first thought was illegal drugs. It was certainly a logical possibility.

  “I don’t know. His mother might have been supplying him.”

  “This much money?” Fenwick asked.

  “I don’t know. I just don’t.” Krohn sat his butt on the bed.

  The detectives began examining the walk-in closet. Scarth had flannel shirts, T-shirts, and hockey jerseys. He had so many of them that Turner thought Scarth might have had one from every team in the NHL. He had eight pairs of hockey skates on the floor of the closet. They were all different. In the skate farthest to the left, he found a bag full of marijuana. The farthest one on the right had a freezer bag filled with white powder.

  Turner brought them out. He showed them to Mr. Krohn. The man reached for them, and Turner gave them to him.

  “What does this mean?” Krohn asked.

  “Your son had a serious habit or he was dealing drugs or since he moved out, you or your wife have used this for your stash.”

  “Neither my wife nor I do drugs.”

  “Then it was your son,” Fenwick said.

  “Maybe his friends left them here.”

  “How would they do that without him knowing?” Fenwick asked. “Or you seeing them come into the house?”

  “I don’t know. Are you going to turn this over to the police?”

  “No,” Turner said. “We’re not official police here. We don’t want to bring trouble to your son. He’s dead. I’d suggest you get rid of that so there are no accidents. The police may want to search the house.”

  “Not without my permission. I still have some say in this town.”

  33

  They returned to the houseboats. Jeff and Ben were in a rowboat about a hundred yards out on the lake. Poles extended from the sides of the boat. Brian was nowhere to be seen. Madge told him he was fishing with the Fenwick girls.

  Turner and Fenwick chatted on the top deck. They snacked on leftover Timbits.

  A gray Volvo pulled up to the parking lot. Ian and Howard Coates emerged. They hustled to the houseboat. Ian grabbed a Timbit, sat down, and declared, “I was lost but now I’m found. I was delivered from evil by a kindly Canadian lawyer.”

  Coates said, “There was no case against Ian. Schreppel is a jerk, but he can’t use Nazi tactics. At least not all the time. We also have news.”

  Ian said, “I don’t like Canadian jails. I don’t like Canadian chiefs of police. I don’t like the lack of logic and sense. Vincent Schreppel is a first-degree moron.”

  “Tell us how you really feel,” Fenwick said. “Try not to hold back.”

  “Although,” Ian added, “the uniforms the police and guards wore were pretty natty.”

  Turner said, “Good to know you have your priorities straight.”

  Ian announced, “They officially arrested Billy Morningsky.”

  “For killing Scarth Krohn?” Turner asked.

  “For killing all of them. They claim he killed Scarth, the girlfriend, and all the college kids who drowned.”

  Fenwick said, “That’s nuts. Saying all those were murders and he did them all is a huge stretch.”

  Turner said, “How do they think he committed them?”

  “They say he’s got a motive,” Ian said. “They say he hated Scarth Krohn.”

  “I’m lost,” Fenwick said. “How does that translate into the other dead drowned kids?”

  “They say he hated all white people and was on a crusade to exterminate them.”

  Turner said, “He’s got to have alibis for some of the times of the murders.”

  “You’d think,” Fenwick said.

  “I’m just telling you what I heard,” Ian said.

  Coates said, “I have really hot news. I just found this out. It�
�s gossip that I got about fifth hand.”

  Ian said, “That’s almost better than truth.”

  Fenwick said, “So said the reporter famed for accuracy.”

  “No, listen,” Coates said, “did you know Evon had an abortion?”

  Turner said, “Mrs. Krohn said Evon’s mother came to try and get money out of her for an abortion.”

  “No,” Coates said, “the way I heard it is that Mrs. Gasple is the one who got the abortion, not her daughter.”

  Fenwick said, “Who was the father?”

  “Scarth Krohn.”

  “I’m finding this hard to believe,” Turner said. “He got both of them pregnant? And they both got abortions?”

  “That’s what I heard.”

  “Who told you this?” Fenwick asked.

  “Christine Jenkins got it out of Marilyn Gwinn after you talked with us the other morning. Gwinn was told by Matalina McMahon.”

  “Evon’s former best friend,” Fenwick said. “We asked her if Scarth had gotten Mrs. Gasple pregnant and she said no.”

  “You were strangers,” Coates said.

  Madge said, “Maybe she trusted someone more her own age.”

  “He was boffing both of them,” Ian said. “I thought I was a total slut but this kid could probably give me a run for my money.”

  “Does this information get us anywhere?” Turner asked.

  Fenwick said, “I’m not sure it gives us more motives for murder. It certainly gives us no forensic proofs or eyewitness accounts.”

  Turner said, “We should try to talk to Morningsky and the cops.”

  Fenwick said, “We’re in this deep already. We might as well get in deeper. Everybody’s going to be uncooperative.”

  “Says sage predictor of the future,” Ian said.

  Turner told them about their recent interviews.

  “Drugs?” Ian mused. “Got to be a connection. Maybe he sold drugs to those six kids. That would make sense. Or maybe they didn’t pay their drug debts. That would be a good way to show any others that they better pay.”

  Turner said, “Maybe we can get some information from Bednars. We’ll see if the autopsies said anything about drugs being found in their systems.”

  “Maybe they weren’t looking,” Ian said.

  “We’ll check it out,” Turner said. “We should try to go to the jail to talk to Billy Morningsky.”

  Ian made to leave with them. “I’m going with,” Ian said.

  Turner held his gaze.

  Ian said, “I’m in this.”

  “You’ll get them more annoyed,” Turner said. “Who got called in today for questioning? Who just got back?”

  “They just wanted to pester me.”

  “I remember they did a pretty good job of it. You’ll simply antagonize them.”

  “Maybe I like antagonizing them. Maybe they need antagonizing.”

  Fenwick said, “Maybe you should blow it out your ass.”

  Ian glowered.

  Fenwick added, “I mean that in the best possible way.”

  Turner said, “No, Ian, sorry.”

  Ian gave it up. “I can mosey around town and see if I hear anything.”

  Turner said, “Mosey carefully.”

  The two detectives drove into town to the police station. They asked if they could visit Billy Morningsky.

  Schreppel said, “I don’t care who he talks to. He did it. He threw his lawyer out. He stopped talking to anyone. He’s hopeless.”

  Fenwick said, “You wouldn’t care to share your evidence with us? You know, as a professional courtesy.”

  “No. I don’t like you.”

  Schreppel assigned someone to escort them to the prisoner.

  To get to the jail they had to pass through the Ontario Provincial Police side of the building. Mavis Bednars saw them and hurried over. She said, “Are you going to visit him?”

  “Yeah,” Turner said.

  “Tell him to get an attorney. He needs one.”

  “Do they have proof?” Turner asked.

  “They’ve got his fingerprints inside Scarth’s daddy’s car. That’s the car Scarth was using that night. It’s an Austin Healy Sprite made back in the fifties. He drove it around town sometimes as if it was his own, trying to impress people.”

  “Did Morningsky say how his fingerprints got inside the car?” Fenwick asked.

  Bednars said, “Well, that’s the question. If there’s an innocent explanation, Billy Morningsky is not giving it. He won’t say anything to anybody.” She glanced around then leaned forward and whispered, “Come see me when you’re done.”

  34

  Billy Morningsky was in a cell by himself. He was lying on a bare mattress. He had his hands behind his head. He was staring at the ceiling. He looked at the two detectives and got to his feet. He spoke very quietly. “I knew they were going to blame me.”

  “Why won’t you talk to a lawyer?” Turner asked.

  “What’s the use? I’m probably never getting out of here. They keep asking where I was at the time of Scarth’s and Evon’s murders. I was home. I have no witnesses. How often can I say I was asleep? They hit at me about how much everybody knew we fought. That isn’t news.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, I did threaten him last Canada Day at the fireworks. Half the town saw us. Not much I can do but wait.”

  “What happened at the fireworks?” Turner asked.

  “It was stupid. Their usual gang was down by the lakeside. We were in line for cotton candy. Then it was the same old crap: shoves, slurs, fists. Who started it?” He shrugged. “It started when Columbus showed up on an island five hundred years ago, and it hasn’t stopped yet.

  “They kept Scarth and me apart, but barely. A couple of adults held us back. We were screaming. That’s when I made the threats.”

  “What did you say?”

  He shut his eyes. “That if I ever got the chance I’d kill him.” He looked at the two detectives. “Not so good, huh?”

  “Not so good,” Fenwick agreed.

  Turner said, “Why not talk to the lawyer?”

  “I think I want to just sit here for a while.”

  “After that?” Turner asked.

  “I guess.”

  “Did they tell you about any specific evidence they might have?”

  “My fingerprints are in Scarth’s car. I was buying drugs from Scarth that night. I’m not admitting I was doing drugs. My family would kill me, and I’d still go to jail. I didn’t kill him, but I did commit a crime.”

  Fenwick said, “It wouldn’t hurt to talk to a lawyer.”

  “Maybe soon. I appreciate you coming by.”

  “Why did you talk to us?”

  “You’re leaving. Trust is one thing. Knowing you’ll be gone helps that.”

  Turner smiled and said, “We’ll do what we can.”

  “Thanks.” He gazed into each of their eyes for a moment then lowered his head. “Thanks,” he murmured again. They left.

  When Turner and Fenwick got to the hall outside Bednars’s office, she spotted them and hurried over. “We need to get out of here,” she said.

  She followed them to their SUV. She hopped in back. “Drive down to the park.”

  Once again they were having a discussion at the fringe of the city park.

  Turner said, “Morningsky didn’t do it.”

  “I know that. Hell, I bet even Schreppel knows that.” She had blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. She wore light makeup and small diamond studs in each ear. She wore a summer business suit as opposed to a uniform.

  Turner asked, “Were the other six murders?”

  “No, genuine accidents. We really did find Morningsky’s fingerprints in the car. He won’t tell us how they got there.”

  Turner and Fenwick didn’t break confidence.

  “What did the autopsies show on Scarth and Evon?” Fenwick asked.

  “Scarth definitely drowned. Evon was beaten to death. It had to be after ten because that’s when Scarth was las
t seen.”

  “She couldn’t have been killed much earlier?”

  “It’s hard to fix the time of death exactly, but certainly the beating happened most likely between ten and twelve that night. She didn’t die right away. She suffered. Her neck was broken, but she was conscious. She probably was conscious when animals started snacking on her.”

  Fenwick said, “Sometimes evil people get what’s coming to them.”

  Bednars replied, “I didn’t know her. I moved here when I got this job. I heard she was an awful person, but does anyone deserve that?”

  Fenwick said, “Everybody says the people who do terrible things eventually get what is coming to them. That’s a crock of wishful thinking. Sometimes the bad live on. Sometimes they die. Just like the good guys. Sometimes it’s not clear how good or bad someone was. Evon was awful. I know nothing good about her. Maybe there was something. Maybe what I said was too harsh, but you know, that’s what people feel. Satisfied when something bad happens to someone truly rotten. And that’s how I feel.”

  Bednars said, “You are a unique man.”

  Turner said, “We’ve been meaning to talk to him about that.”

  Fenwick said, “Screw it. What else can you tell us?”

  “Scarth probably died closer to eleven. It would take that long for the body to drift to your dock.”

  Turner said, “It’s hard to imagine murder was going on that close to us.”

  Bednars said, “It is frightening.”

  “We examined his room at home.”

  “I’ve told Schreppel he should search the house and Scarth’s trailer. He won’t do it. J. T. Krohn is calling the shots there.”

  “You can’t do it on your own?” Fenwick asked.

  “The jurisdiction thing around here can be delicate. We want the OPP contract renewed. We depend on goodwill. No contract, no jobs. I can only push him so far. Did you find anything interesting?”

  “He was a drug connection.” They told her what they’d found out about Evon as a major dealer in the local drug market and the role Scarth and his friends played in it.

  “Figures,” Bednars said. “Wait a sec. That’s what Morningsky was doing. Buying drugs. Got to be. That’s why he won’t talk. And Schreppel would lock him up for as long as he could no matter how minor the charge. No wonder the kid is scared.”