by Lia Farrell
There was a crash and the bedroom door caved in, falling in splinters at the feet of a man in a Nashville police uniform. Parnell stepped away from her and Mae could breathe again. Cam came in on the heels of the officer, who was busy reading Parnell his rights.
“I’m sorry, Mae.” Cam gave her a concerned look. “He shouldn’t have had time to grab you. Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m fine.” Her heart was pounding, but she was okay, she realized. “And don’t apologize. I’ve never been gladder to see someone in my life than you and ….” She trailed off, watching with interest as yet another Nashville officer helped the first man cuff Parnell and remove him from the room.
“That’s Billy Cornell.” Cam smiled. “He’s a friend of mine—works narcotics in Nashville. His partner’s Sam Baxter. I’m sorry I called in the cavalry. I was a little worried when you suggested we take on this mission by ourselves and alerted Billy and Sam earlier that there might be trouble. They said they’d be glad to drive this way on the chance that something went wrong. I found evidence of dog fighting and a still back there right away. Then I found a huge stash of marijuana. I was on the car radio when I heard your signal, which is why they could move in so quickly. I’m just glad that guy didn’t hurt you.”
“He didn’t.” Mae gave an involuntary shiver. “He was going to, though. I’d like to go home now and take a shower.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
January 27th
Detective Wayne Nichols
Wayne got to the office still feeling cheered by the news Attorney Lawton had given him the night before. Not even Ben’s text saying he needed to wear a suit and tie today brought down his spirits. He arrived to a chorus of congratulations for Dory, Cam, and George, who had located and brought in the auctioneer, Junior Barnes. He had been stealing architectural elements from homes in the area—a lucrative scam. All Barnes had to do was remove any identifying marks, distress or repaint and sell the item at one of his auctions. Logan Yancey’s fireplace surround, clearly marked on the back as his property, was in Ben’s office with a big red bow on it. Wayne chimed in with his own congratulations.
“We’re going on a field trip this morning,” Ben told the group. “I have the contact information for Anthony Puglisi’s parents. They live in Benton, that’s down in Polk County in the southeast corner of the state. It’s about a three and a half hour drive. Wayne and Rob are going with me on this one.” He asked George to bring the car around. While they were waiting, Ben turned to Wayne, saying, “You look different today. What’s up?”
“Counselor Lawton has a strategy that could work for my foster mother’s release. We’ll know in a couple of days.”
“That’s great, man. Really great. Let’s get Rob and go.”
Wayne was wearing a new navy suit, a white shirt, and a striped tie. He had purchased several pieces of clothing recently, because none of his old things fit anymore. Rob met them in the front office, also wearing a suit and tie. It looked much more expensive than Wayne’s. It was standard when a suspect in a serious crime might be arrested to dress the part. Deputies wore uniforms, but detectives were expected to look professional.
Cam came into reception and stood by Dory’s desk to see them off. George left the sheriff’s car running outside and came back into the office, shivering a bit from the cold.
“Any instructions while you’re gone, Sheriff?” Cam asked.
“George, you’re on prisoner duty today. If anyone has a visitor, have them meet with family members in interrogation, rather than in the jail cells. You may wear your sidearm,” Ben said.
George made no attempt to disguise his amazed pleasure. “Thank you, Sheriff.”
“He doesn’t mean you can use it,” Dory said. “Just carry it.”
“Cam, I’d like you to write a report on the arrest last night, and you can respond to any routine complaints that come in.”
“What about me, boss?” Dory asked.
“I’d like you to hold down the fort, Investigator Clarkson,” the sheriff said with a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.
“I believe I can do that,” Investigator Dory Clarkson replied. “Thank you, sir.”
“And Dory?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t ever go off on your own like that again. I appreciate that you had good information and needed to act quickly, but there’s no excuse for not notifying me in advance. Given the result, I’ll let it pass this time, but I can’t have any rogue investigators on my force. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, looking at the floor.
Three hours later, Rob drove the patrol car across the Polk County line. The town of Benton was situated at the confluence of the Ocoee and Hiwassee Rivers just at the base of the Unicoi Mountains. Wayne had looked up the population and details about local law enforcement on his iPhone. The small town of just over a thousand people had a sheriff’s department that they would contact as a matter of courtesy. As is usual, the sheriff’s office was responsible for keeping the peace in all of Polk County, not just the village of Benton. Wayne was surprised to see that it was a bigger operation than their own. Sheriff Jeremy Davis was assisted by two detectives and several deputies. In addition, they had a drug unit.
Ben punched the speaker button on his phone so Wayne and Rob could hear the conversation with the local lawman.
“Hello, Sheriff Davis? This is Ben Bradley, Sheriff of Rose County in Tennessee. We’re here in Benton looking for Anthony Puglisi. We want to talk to him in connection with a murder in Rose County.”
“What can I help you with, Sheriff?” Davis asked. Wayne had looked Sheriff Davis up on his iPhone and handed it to Ben. They saw a picture of a good-looking fifty-something man with white blond hair and a pleasant smile.
“We need to talk to Anthony, but since this is such a small town, I thought you might ask him to come into your office. We could meet you there.”
“Certainly, I’ll send Lewis to pick him up. Anything I should tell him?”
“No, let’s keep this very low key. I’m sure you know him and his parents?”
“Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Puglisi have two married daughters in addition to Anthony. They’re a fine family. Mr. Puglisi manages the Family Dollar grocery store. Mrs. Puglisi is head of the community library in town. With you coming all this way, I hope it doesn’t mean Anthony’s a suspect in this killing. We’re all proud of Anthony. Very few of the local kids here even go on to college, so it’s rare to have one of ours go on to graduate school.”
Wayne met Ben’s gaze. This arrest was going to be very hard on this community and the Puglisi family. Today’s emotional toll would be high.
“We’ll be at your office in about a half an hour,” Ben said and punched the off button.
“How do you want to handle the interrogation, Sheriff?”
“Wayne, I’d like you to take the lead. Rob, I want you in the room, but only to observe.”
They pulled into the parking lot of the Polk County Courthouse half an hour later. It was a large granite building with square columns. The weather had deteriorated and the wind was sharp as the three men stepped out of the car. The sheriff’s office was in the basement of the building. They walked in, stamped off the cold, and told the receptionist why they were there. She buzzed Sheriff Davis, who came out to shake hands with the men.
“I put Anthony in the conference room. His father wanted to come with him, and Lewis didn’t see a way to politely refuse.”
“Okay, thanks for bringing him in, Sheriff,” Ben said and they walked down the hall. Opening the door to the conference room, Wayne saw Puglisi’s father, a man of about fifty with thinning hair and a pleasant expression, sitting with his son. Anthony was a good-looking guy with dark, curly hair and brown eyes. Both men stood up when Sheriff Davis opened the door. After the introductions and offers of coffee, which were declined, Sheriff Davis left the room.
Wayne glanced at Mr. Puglisi senior with deep compassion, knowing t
hat for the rest of his life, the memory of three lawmen in dark suits would haunt his waking days and shred his nights. They were about to destroy this man’s life.
“We’re here in connection with the death in Rose County of Web Johnston,” Wayne said, keeping a sharp eye on Anthony. “He was stabbed to death on property belonging to Jerrod Clifton during the first week in January. His body was found in the Little Harpeth River on January seventh. We know that Mr. Johnston was the person who supplied the puppies for your PhD studies. The pups came from Jerrod Clifton’s puppy mill. Clifton had decided to terminate the breeding program and gave Mr. Johnston instructions to sell or otherwise dispose of the dogs. We’re talking to you today because we suspect you of Web Johnston’s murder.”
Anthony Puglisi placed his right hand over his left, but not before Wayne saw the deep cut on his index finger. That’s a defensive wound. Wayne and Ben exchanged a glance. “So you’re a lefty,” Wayne guessed, gesturing at the injured hand.
His eyes widened slightly. “I am,” Anthony answered quietly.
“What was your relationship with Web Johnston?” Wayne watched Anthony lick his lips and swallow before he rallied and answered in a calm voice.
“It was like you said, Detective. Web Johnston supplied puppies to Dr. Weil’s lab. There were several of us who used the pups in our studies. I was working on Acute Lymphoid Canine Leukemia. The disease originates in the bone marrow and proliferates rapidly to the spleen, liver, and bloodstream. Aggressive treatment is necessary to restore the growth of blood cells because this type of Leukemia actually compresses the bone marrow, leading rapidly to death.” He sounded like a young professor already, proud to present his discovery. “I came up with a promising new treatment for the disease.”
“Tell the detective what happened to the pups after they gave their blood,” Anthony’s father said. “He probably thinks they were sacrificed. My son would never do that.”
“We found homes for the puppies or the Humane Society took them. None of them were killed or even traumatized by the transfusions. We gave them a shot to put them to sleep during the procedure and never took their blood more than once.” Anthony gave them a lopsided smile. “I’m an animal lover.”
“We’re aware that you successfully defended your PhD dissertation on January third and left town to visit your parents late that day or the next,” Wayne continued.
“That’s right, Detective. I wanted my folks to know right away that I was finished. There was a big family party planned.”
“Anthony’s mom and I are very proud of our son, Detective.” Mr. Puglisi senior straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin slightly. “This disease that Anthony found a cure for mostly attacks German Shepherds. The U.S. Department of Defense is interested in Anthony’s work. The DOD often uses shepherds to do mine detection, drug discovery, etcetera. They don’t want to lose their highly trained canine workforce.”
“After you completed your PhD dissertation you didn’t need any more puppies, is that right?” Ben asked. It was his first question.
There was a pause so brief that Wayne doubted anyone else caught it before Anthony shook his head. Wayne locked eyes briefly with the sheriff; they were about to catch this guy in a lie. Before Puglisi said anything else, Wayne continued.
“See, we were confused when Gretchen Wilkes, the lab manager for Dr. Weil, tried to take two puppies from their fostering facility. She said you’d asked her to get more puppies. If you were done, why did you need them?”
“Anthony?” Mr. Puglisi turned to his son. “Answer the detective.” Anthony Puglisi didn’t say anything and Wayne continued.
“We also spoke with your dissertation director and discovered something very interesting. He told us that you were a contender for an assistant professorship at the University of Connecticut, but they required an article based on your PhD research to be submitted to a peer reviewed Journal before tendering you a job offer.”
“I didn’t need any more dogs. Gretchen was mistaken,” Puglisi insisted, but the color had drained from his face.
“Don’t lie to me, Anthony,” Wayne said quietly and saw the young man sag. Sweat was breaking out on his forehead. The detective continued calmly, as if he hadn’t heard Puglisi’s denial. “This is what we think happened. You needed a couple more pups to finish up the study for this journal article. You went out to Jerrod Clifton’s place to get the last few you needed. You found Web Johnston out there. You probably tried to take the puppies. He wouldn’t give them to you. Web stood to make more money from selling them to another source. He pulled a knife and you fought back. Was that how it was, Anthony? Did he attack you? Was it self-defense? It’s going to go a lot easier for you if you tell us the truth.”
“No, I wasn’t there. It must have been somebody else.” Anthony’s voice was shaking.
“Why don’t we stop this game now, Anthony?” Wayne stared at the young suspect. “You were there. We found the rag and the knife, you see. As a scientist, I’m sure you know all about DNA evidence.”
Puglisi took a deep breath. Then he exhaled, straightening his shoulders.
Through the years, Wayne had seen this happen more times than he could count. People reached a point, a brink beyond which they would not step. It always began with an obvious lie that was caught and shrugged off by the suspect. Depending on the character of the person, the struggle to surrender would be fast or slow. Anthony Puglisi was a middle class kid without a blot on his record. He would not be able to hold out much longer.
“Tell us what happened. Was Web about to destroy your future?” Wayne asked quietly. The silence seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the room.
“Web was going to sell all the dogs to a man who runs a dog-fighting operation, even the puppies!” he exclaimed. “He said this guy would use the puppies as bait for the fighting dogs. I couldn’t let him do that, so I grabbed him and …. Web never should have come after me with that knife.” Anthony didn’t sound angry now. All Wayne heard in his voice was defeat. “My research was going to do so much to help those dogs, but he said this other guy was giving him more money and I couldn’t even take the puppies.” His eyes were bright with unshed tears. Anthony’s father’s face drooped, aging twenty years in front of Wayne’s eyes.
Wayne nodded to Ben. It was almost like a choreographed dance now. All of them, including the murder suspect, knew their roles.
“Please stand up, Mr. Puglisi,” Rob said, gently. He cuffed the young man’s hands behind his back. Rob’s face was nearly as white as Puglisi’s and Wayne realized they were almost the same age. This was going to be a hard one for Detective Rob Fuller. At the sound of the metallic click, Mr. Puglisi senior fell forward against the conference table and gave a low moan.
Ben shook his head before saying, “You have the right to remain silent ….”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
February 10th
Detective Wayne Nichols
It had been nearly two weeks since the arrest and subsequent arraignment of Anthony Puglisi for the murder of Web Johnston. Mr. and Mrs. Puglisi had engaged a top-notch attorney for their son, but the DA told Sheriff Bradley that they had Anthony dead to rights. Although his self-defense plea would mitigate the length of his sentence, he would definitely serve time. Wayne felt a combination of satisfaction with the arrest and sadness over the young man’s ruined future. The big case had been solved. Cam Gomez and Mae had uncovered a dog-fighting operation in the far corner of the county on the same day as Anthony’s arrest. After that, the sheriff’s office had gradually returned to the slow pace that was normal in Rosedale, Tennessee.
Wayne always felt at loose ends during down times. He loved the hunt for the killer and even more passionately sought the truth of what had led the perpetrator to kill. To pass the time, he wrote reports on his old cases, cleaned his desk of paperwork, helped out over in Mont Blanc, and spoke on the phone with his CIs and Enid Lawton. Enid either called or texted each day as the Form 6.05
crept its way through the bureaucracy of state offices receiving one after another of the signatures needed to set Jocelyn Outinen free.
He was awake early the morning of February tenth and heard the phone ring just as he stepped out of the shower.
“Nichols,” he said, wrapping a towel around his waist and grabbing his phone from the bathroom countertop.
“Only one signature still to go, Wayne.” Enid’s voice practically crackled with excitement. “This is the biggie. Yesterday the Form six-oh-five reached the final office needed for approval. The administrator’s in town and I have an appointment to see him today. I’m so close, I can taste it.”
“You are a wonder.” There was a lift in his voice. “If this last person signs the form, when will Jocelyn be released?”
“On or about February fourteenth, Valentine’s Day. Once the paperwork is done, these people don’t screw around. They’ll just open the door and out she’ll go. I’m only an hour and a half away, and they’ve promised to call me when the final signature is inked. I will be there with the parka, mittens, and boots you bought. It’s still brutally cold here and the prison is miles from the bus stop in Ypsilanti. I’ll drive her there. I talked with Jocelyn a few days ago and she wants to take a bus to Escanaba.”
“The bus! Enid, no. I’ll drive up. I want to take her home,” Wayne insisted.
“I’ve already told her you would, but remember how sick she is, Wayne. After all those years in prison, and the chemo treatments, she wants some time without having to talk to anyone. She told me she needs to look outside while the bus drives north all the way through the mitten of the Lower Peninsula and across the frozen straits at the Mackinaw Bridge into the Upper Peninsula. She wants to see all of it—deep in snow. She says the snow will make her clean again.”