by J. T. Lewis
“You win the grand prize young-un. High dosages of insulin in a healthy body would put him into a coma.”
Being right in cases such as this never gave me pleasure, but it was sure better than being wrong.
“How easy is it to get insulin doc?”
“Easy as pie…if you got a prescription, a normal person would have a harder time, although the perpetrator may be diabetic himself, or maybe he found it in the house.”
I made some notes of the findings, then thanked him as I got ready to leave, only to be stopped by the doctor’s hand on my shoulder.
“It’s my break time; grab your cup and sit with me a spell.”
I was antsy to get moving on the new information, but relented and grabbed my cup for a refill.
We spent the next half hour in the outer office, catching up. It was actually pretty nice to sit down and talk with my old friend, something I hadn’t done in years. I’m sure that the invitation was partly a psychological inquiry as to my mental health by doc, but I guess I didn’t seem suicidal; so he let me go with a handshake and a wink at the end of the break.
“Gotta get back to work,” he said as he stood, taking his cup to the sink. Turning back to me, “You be careful out there Gabriel; this one seems different, ruthless.”
I nodded my acknowledgement as he turned to get back to his bodies.
Old friends, I thought; I had few enough of those left these days. I shook off my revere, and exited the building.
Upon stepping outside, I pulled out my cell, dialing the number I had written down yesterday.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Johnstone, this is Gabriel Celtic; we met yesterday. I was wondering if this was a good time to come over; I have a few questions for you if you don’t mind.”
Chapter 36
August 26, 1998
I pulled up outside the now normal looking house, the police cars gone and the crime scene tape removed. Too bad it wouldn’t stay that way for long. After hearing the results of the autopsy, Allen had given me an hour to get this done. He was sending in the forensic guys again to go over the entire house with a fine-toothed comb now that we knew it was a murder.
Walking up to the door, I was apprehensive. Bothering the families of the dead for information is not an enjoyable duty at anytime, but I had now been assigned the task of letting Mrs. Johnstone know that her husband had not only been murdered, but that we would be taking her house over again. I was not sure if I should hold back that information for last, or blurt it out in the beginning. Knocking on the door, I immediately heard footsteps behind the door. Hearing the lock tumble, the door swung open to an older version of the wife, the little girl clinging to her leg as she stood there.
“Yes?” she said questionably, you could tell she wasn’t sure why I was there.
“Gabriel Celtic… investigator… I called before?”
“Oh yes, I had already forgotten. Please come in. As you can imagine, we are quite scatterbrained around here this morning.” A crooked half smile twisted her face; so you weren’t sure if she was undecided on something or had eaten a lemon.
“Janie is getting dressed; she will be with you in a moment. I’m sorry; can I get you anything, coffee?”
I told her that would be great, if it wasn’t any trouble. She shook her head, saying “No trouble at all,” as she walked out of the room; the little girl, Lexy, following closely behind.
I stood in the entry waiting on Mrs. Johnstone, looking around at the neatly decorated room. There were pictures on all of the walls, views of country life and other old timey scenes. Rusted horse-drawn implements surrounded by tall grass and an old barn in the background dominated a couple of them. An Amish looking buggy in another was seen from behind as it made its way down an old dirt road.
On the small wall beside me, there was a picture of Jesus, with some kind of Latin written above his head within his halo. Below that a crucifix, that Jesus looking down upon a small table with multiple candles in red jars, all of them lit.
Looking back up, I spied Mrs. Johnstone entering the room, wearing a trim black dress, her eyes puffy from crying.
“Mr. Celtic, please come in.”
She led me to a pair of high-backed upholstered chairs, indicating I could take the left one. Sitting down on the right, she folded her hands on her lap, a previously unnoticed handkerchief held between them.
“Janie, I’m really sorry to have to bother you today, and I’m very sorry for your loss.”
Taking the handkerchief up, she daintily dabbed at one of her eyes before responding, “Thank you Mr. Celtic.”
I had removed my notebook from my pocket, opening it up to the list of questions I had written down for her.
‘Ok, you had mentioned to the officers that you had been away on a retreat, is that correct?”
“Yes, a family retreat sponsored by my church. It was in the mountains in Tennessee; it was very relaxing, pretty…” Her voice tailed off, more sadness.
“Why, if you don’t mind me asking, didn’t your husband go with you?”
Sighing, “He was supposed to, but we had a big fight Wednesday before I left, and he refused to go.”
She was welling up now, and I gave her a few moments to collect herself.
“I’m sorry Mr. Celtic, but when I think back to that day…those last words to him…”
Her lip was trembling, and I asked if I could get her some water or something. She nodded yes, but her mom appeared just then with my coffee.
“I’ll get it for her… you ok dear?”
Janie nodded yes, composing herself with some small amount of difficulty. I sipped on my coffee as I waited until her water arrived and she had taken a couple of swallows.
Setting down her glass with a sigh, she said, “Please continue Mr. Celtic.”
“I really have only one more question; does anyone in the house use insulin?”
A strange look crossed her face. “Yes, I’m a Type 1 diabetic…why?”
Here it comes.
“Mrs. Johnstone, Janie, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but it appears that your husband may have been… murdered.”
The tears flowed unrestrained then.
“What are you talking about; why would anyone want to kill my husband?”
“We haven’t found a reason yet, but it appears that someone injected insulin into his bloodstream, putting him into a coma. It would appear that the electrocution was staged, after he was unconscious.”
More tears, whimpering, she was barely holding it together now.
“Please, Mrs. Johnstone, would you have had some insulin here at the house while you were gone; could there be any missing?”
I felt like I was six inches tall as she moved from disbelief to anger. She nonetheless held it unto herself as she stood up and stalked off to another part of the house. I wasn’t sure if she was checking or had just left; so I sat back and sipped more coffee while I awaited the outcome.
I heard her footsteps on the hardwood hallway before she appeared again, plopping down on the chair. She was staring down at her hands as she slowly twirled her wedding band with the other hand, thinking, quiet.
“There is a vial missing,” she said quietly.
She looked up determinedly, “Who killed my Bill?”
“As I said, we are working on it; we don’t know yet.”
She looked scared, her eyes darting for answers, “Are we in danger?”
Thinking through how much to tell her, I decided that easing her mind on this issue would be the least I could do. Leaning forward, I continued in a low voice.
“Please keep this to yourself, but your husband is not the only one; we believe he is only a one of a string of mysterious murders.”
Shock and fear were building on her face; so I quickly continued.
“The only reason I’m telling you this, Janie, is that the victims seemed to be picked specifically; we have had no instances where family members of the other victims have bee
n hurt, or even threatened. Whoever is doing this, for whatever reason they are doing this, it seems they only target a particular person, and never look back once the deed is done. I feel certain you are safe.”
Sadness was there, but relief was also.
“We will need to bring in a forensic team again, to thoroughly go over the house now. I’m sorry, but I have to ask you to leave for awhile; they will be here any moment.”
“I’m sorry Mr. Celtic, but this has all been too much; I need to be with my daughter. Can you see yourself out?”
Before I could acknowledge her request, she jumped out of the chair and left the room. I set the cup down on the saucer, putting my notebook away as I stood. Walking across the room and reaching for the door, my eyes locked on those in the picture beside me. I stood there for several moments, unable to move as we stared into each other’s face.
The kind eyes looking back at me, seemed to be trying to tell me something, imploring me to…what?
A shiver went down my spine, as I was finally able to break my gaze from the painting. Turning quickly, I walked out the door; the warm day seemed not near warm enough to overcome the chill that now penetrated my being.
Chapter 37
August 26, 1998
The forensic guys arrived at Mrs. Johnstone’s house ten minutes later. Janie, her mom and daughter had left a few minutes before, leaving their contact information with me before driving off.
I gloved up and headed in with the crew. Grabbing one of the techs, we went to the basement and found the electrical panel. The one thing I knew our murderer touched was the panel, and I was hopeful that there were fingerprints or other evidence left there.
Next, I went into the garage. Even though we didn’t have enough evidence to determine foul play at the time, I had asked the officers to bag the tools that first day as a precaution. I didn’t know what if anything else we may find here except knowing whether the perp had been in here.
Jacob Baylor, head of the forensic department of the county stuck his head in the door from the house. “There you are,” he said with a smile. “I had heard you were back!”
I waved him over to the tool bench. “We know he got some tools out of the garage here,” I said pointing to some empty places on the pegboard behind the workbench. “I’m hoping he left something for us in trade.”
Jacob grinned at this, “Kind of like a rental fee!”
I smiled at his analogy, but he was already getting to work. Taking out a light and a magnifying glass, he started his slow and methodical search of the tool bench area.
“Problem with a garage and tool benches is there can be so much castoff from whatever the owner has been working on in the past. Grease and oil, metal and wood shavings, paint and…”
Taking out some tweezers, he pulled out a thread from the front of the bench where the wood had splintered a little. Holding it up with the light on it, he examined it with his practiced eye.
“Cotton or linen I would guess, some shade of brown.”
Taking out an evidence bag from his kit on the floor, he deposited the thread, sealed it and wrote on the front with a marker.
“Probably nothing,” he intoned as he stored the bag in is kit. “We’ll compare it to any other cloth in the house, probably just a piece of a rag he used to wipe something off.”
I nodded my head, realizing that it would be many hours or days before the house revealed anything of importance, if it revealed anything at all. I was getting antsy; so I decided to leave the work to the experts and see what else I could find out elsewhere on the case.
Saying goodbye to Jacob, I went out to the Jeep, pulling out my cell as I looked up the number. I was hoping to make a trip to the next county, if my witness was home. Allen was working on an exhumation order for Martha Jackson, and I thought it might be good to talk to her neighbor before word got out. You never know how people will react to disturbing the dead.
I dialed the number and let it ring. After six rings, I was about to hang up when a raspy voice answered, out of breath.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Collier? This is Gabriel Celtic, an investigator looking into your neighbor’s death. Would it be possible to come over and ask you a few questions?”
There was silence, followed by, “You mean Martha?”
“Yes, Ms. Collier, I have some questions concerning the death of Martha Jackson.”
“But that was an accident, you with the insurance company or something?”
“I’m sorry, I’d prefer not to talk about it over the phone; can I meet you there sometime?”
“Well, I guess, I’m home today on vacation if you want to come now. I’ve been working in the yard.”
Looking at my watch, I estimated how long it would take. “I can be there in a half an hour.”
“That will be fine; just walk around the back of the house.”
I thanked her and told her I would be there. Getting into the Jeep, I was hopeful that the interview would lead to something, a break in the case. As I turned the key and the motor roared to life, I started having second thoughts on my positive outlook.
Up to this point, any added evidence had led to nothing. I knew from experience that this is how it went with investigations, bits and pieces that would hopefully mesh together into something. But this time, it was personal, and my measure of patience was small compared to investigations of the past.
Sticking the car in gear, I accelerated up the street, thinking of Frank.
“Help me out here buddy.”
***
Pulling into the driveway, I was greeted by a well kept old two-story frame house. There were plants and lawn ornaments all over the place, as well as a multitude of flowers everywhere you looked. Most of the flowers were well past their prime, getting ready for the winter ahead; many of these had been cut back all neat and tidy.
Grabbing my notebook, I exited the Jeep and started around the back of the house. I smelled the smoke long before I found the source; a long thin cigarette dangling from the mouth of who I assumed was Ms. Collier.
On her hands and knees, the slightly overweight woman with bushy red hair was working on a large bundle of daylily bulbs with a kitchen knife, deftly dividing them for replanting into smaller groupings. The smoke from the cigarette floated up and under the bill of the straw hat she was wearing, then worked its way though the small holes in the hat, giving her a halo of bluish smoke around her head.
“Those were always my wife’s favorites,” I said before thinking.
Glancing around slightly and eyeing me from the corner of her eye, she responded in a raspy voice, “Your wife has good taste… at least in flowers.”
Standing, she took a few steps toward me, giving me the once over. “As to her choice in mates, that’s yet to be determined I guess.”
Pulling off one of her gloves, she offered her hand to me, “Martha Collier.”
I took her hand in mine, offering a firm grip to match hers. “Gabriel Celtic. And as to my wife’s choices, at least most of them were good ones. She died last year.”
A grimace, followed by her looking down, shaking her head. “I’m always spoutin off when I shouldn’t be. Please, let’s get out of this heat.”
She led me through a screen door that squeaked noisily when she pulled it open, loudly banging closed behind me as I entered a cool screened in porch.
“Please have a seat, would you like some iced tea?”
I agreed to the tea and took a seat on a white wicker chair on one side of a small metal table. She returned in a few minutes, carrying a tray with a plastic pitcher of tea and two glasses filled with ice. Pouring the tea, she said, “I hope you don’t mind sweet tea; it’s the only kind I make.”
Taking a sip of the cool liquid, my taste buds were assaulted by the super sweet tea, not a bad taste, but I would probably develop diabetes if I drank it all of the time.
“So Mr. Celtic, what is your interest in my old friend?”
“Ms
. Collier…”
“Marti.”
“Ok, Marti, I’m an investigator with the prosecutor in Allenville. We are just doing some follow-up interviews on some accidents that have occurred lately. There seems to be more to some of them than we first thought.”
Shaking her head with a smile and picking up her glass, “Don’t you guys talk to each other over there? I talked to another one of your men a few months ago, stocky guy named Fred, or Frank maybe?”
Of course, I don’t know why I hadn’t thought about Frank’s earlier interview. I felt like an idiot.
“That was Frank Luther Ms. …err Marti. I’m sorry to say he died a few months ago; all of his notes are….missing.”
“That’s a shame; I liked him.”
“I did too; he was a good friend. So I need to re-interview you; I’m sorry.”
“I’m here now; let’s get on with it.”
I pulled the notebook out of my pocket, “Were you close friends with Ms. Jackson?”
“Well, we’d known each other, socially for quite a while. And we worked together at the glass factory. I wouldn’t say we were great friends, until she moved in here a couple of years ago.”
“I noticed her family is from Allenville, and she worked there; what was her motivation for moving out here, so far from her daily life?”
“Among other things, she liked the quiet neighborhood. When I mentioned to her that my apartment had opened up, she jumped at it. She was real happy here.”
“The file also mentions that you found her, and that you had planned on going out with her that night?”
“Yep, we were going to The Bar.”
“I’m very sorry you had to find her like that. That must have been hard on you.”
“Yeah, well it messed me up pretty good for a few weeks after that.”
Laying down the notebook, I sat back, sipping on my tea. I was having trouble wrapping my head around this case; why anyone would want to kill Ms. Jackson? I decided to share a little more information with her, see if that would bring anything to light.
“Marti, to be quite frank, I’m at a loss as to what I am doing here. These “irregularities” that I mentioned were discovered by Frank Luther while going over some cold cases. Since some of his records are missing, I have been assigned the task of trying to reconstruct his investigation. Martha’s file was in his stack, the only file from outside our county. Truthfully, I don’t know what it means or what the connection is.”