by Rich Foster
It was ten after nine when he arrived at the courthouse. Outside the courtroom he straightened his tie and hurried in. The entire court turned hearing him stumble.
“Sorry, your Honor,” he slurred as he took a seat beside Stein, oblivious of the stench of alcohol pervading the room. Samuel dropped his face into his hands.
Ten minutes after his arrival, the judge finished giving the jury their instructions. They were dismissed to deliberate. Stein rose without speaking to Robert and left in disgust. He didn’t bother to go out for coffee; the jury would be quick.
Within twenty minutes the bailiff called, the jury was in.
The foreman rose, “We the jury, find for the defense.”
Outside Reverend Leeds cried out, “Praise the Lord. God has spared us!”
“Don’t thank the Lord” said Parks, “Thank me and those narrow minded, hypocrites on the jury.”
“You sir, underestimate the Lord!” bellowed Leeds
“And you sir, underestimate me.” Travis said softly. “I’ll be sending you a bill for my time and one bottle of whiskey.”
Leeds was perplexed by the comment. Before he could ask about it, Parks walked away.
Chapter Eight
The members of the church breathed a collective sigh of relief after winning the lawsuit.
The legal fees, though high, were a small price to pay to avoid losing their church. Many thanks were given to God for sparing them.
No one tried to explain the “good” in the accident. Members settled for consoling themselves with the words that, “God works in mysterious ways.” The unspoken thought being that Lisa and May Goodman were free from a drunk and now dwelt in a better place.
*
The Daniels returned from their honeymoon. They commenced sending out applications to mission organizations. With thin patience they awaited a response. In the middle of May, they received a letter of acceptance from Mercy to the Oppressed Missions, a group that operated medical and educational programs in developing countries. Tentatively, Kevin and Jenny were scheduled to start language school in August, but first they had to raise support. They began to solicit pledges. The church’s acquittal brought the hope that it would aid their fund raising efforts.
At times, Kevin silently questioned the wisdom of becoming a missionary. Going to a foreign country seemed to be a giant step of faith. On the other hand, wherever Jenny went, he would go.
He not only wanted her, he needed her. They were not only bound in marriage physically, but for Kevin on a deeply emotional and psychological level.
He had suffered the loss of his parents with some equanimity. It had been a shock, but he was away at college where he was already emotionally detaching from them. He had survived the loss, but the thought of losing Jenny was unbearable.
*
Grace found Lester was calmer after the trial. His ranting was generally replaced by praise. He thanked the Lord for sparing his church. Nonetheless, he continued to revile godless pagans and reminded his flock that the Lord would humble the proud. Damnation awaited all who ignored the call of the Lord. It was business as usual at the church.
*
At three in the morning, Calley Haskell, found it hard to find God. Unfortunately finding instead, that Valium helped close the void in her soul.
By day she coped. She clung to the promise of her faith, “that all things work together for good, for those who love the Lord.” This thought ran through her mind like an unspoken catechism. She began this habit before the trial, when she was resigned to possibly losing her house. The trial had worked out okay. She told herself that God was in control.
She never knew how easily she might have been thrown to the wolves. Stein’s disgust with his client led him to discourage Goodman from renewing his lawsuit against Calley Haskell. When Goodman wanted to sue the Department of Motor Vehicles, he responded that his firm did not have the resources to finance a contingency lawsuit against the state.
Robert had refused the insurance company’s offer to settle. Now, having lost the civil suit, he got nothing. The consolation he expected to find in monetary compensation vanished. Bitterness lay like bile in his mouth. He tried to wash away the taste of defeat with cheap liquor. It always failed.
The real loser was his daughter, June. Her shattered legs were slowly healing. The doctor’s hoped that with therapy she might walk again. Unfortunately, it would take far more medical care, than the state could provide a foster child, for her to walk well. Tucked away in Beaumont, she was the forgotten victim of the accident.
*
With spring, clear cutting resumed in Mason Forks. During winter the dirt roads were a sea of impassable mud. Now the men returned to work. Logging trucks rolled down from the hills with fresh cut timber. Their rumble through town meant the end of both unemployment and food stamps. Like the sap in the trees, money flowed into the community again
Soon Memorial Day came. Picnics were held. Red Lake sponsored a parade. Cannons were fired in the town square. The days became warmer and by night fireflies began to light up the evenings, much to the children’s delight. People began to sleep with their windows open.
Two weeks later school ended for the year. Summer vacation began. It would be a long hot summer that few would ever forget.
Chapter Nine
Dalton Kowalski worked as a night watchman for Corbet Timber Mills. He was a logger, when young, now, his body could not do the job. Rather than retiring he drove around nights, checking equipment and watching for thefts at the company’s clear-cut tracts.
The work was easy. There was seldom a problem. Occasionally an environmentalist tried to sabotage a skidder or dozer. Wood scavengers would sometimes haul off smaller cuts. All in all it was peaceful work. The biggest danger was local kids who when out carousing, might lose control of a campfire or who recklessly drove drunk on the dirt roads at night.
It was a balmy, muggy, June night. Clouds hugged the tops of the hills. Dalton’s headlights swept the road ahead as he bounced along toward the 1340 tract. He downshifted, at a curve, and then sped up as he came to a straightaway. Tall pines and the cloudy sky made the night inky black. Beyond the next curve he saw the glow of oncoming headlights. Two bright high beams blinded his eyes as a vehicle came hurtling around the bend. The lights held to the center of the narrow road.
Dalton put the steering wheel over hard and turned up hill. His jeep bounded through the culvert at the side, climbing up the bank. The steep slope killed his speed. He stopped with a low impact jolt against a small tree. The engine died. The sound of the other vehicle faded into the night.
Dust floated in the air as he climbed out. “Stupid kids”, he mumbled. He checked the jeep by flashlight. The oil pan was good and no flat tires. The bumper was barely dented. When he climbed back in, the engine easily started. Stepping on the clutch, he let the jeep roll back down the bank and onto the road. Slipping it into gear, he continued on.
At the 1340 tract, he listened to the crickets as they sung an ode to summer. He walked around the equipment area, taking more time than usual, looking for any signs of machinery having been tampered with. Nothing seemed amiss. The office trailer was locked. No windows were broken.
On the far edge of the field, a metal shipping container bore the stenciled words, “Danger-High Explosives.” The Corbet Company stored explosives on site for when they needed to remove rock outcroppings on a new road cut. He checked the doors. They were secure.
He headed back to his jeep. On the ground he found a pad lock, the hasp snapped by bolt cutters. The cut was shiny and bright. Dalton returned to the explosive shed. Fresh scratch marks showed in the paint around the lock. His key did not turn the lock.
He radioed down to the mill.
”This is Dalton, anybody file a report today about changing the lock on our explosive shed at the 1340 tract?”
“Just a minute.” A short time later his radio disturbed the hoot of an owl.
“No Dalton, we
don’t have anything down here. Why?”
“Well boss, I’ve got a cut off lock and my key doesn’t fit the lock on the shed. And, thirty minutes ago I was run off the road by someone driving like a bat out of hell!”
“Well, open her up. I’ll check the inventory records. We can match the list to what should be in there.”
Dalton parked his jeep so the headlights lit up the door. He cut the lock with the cutters he carried. The steel doors screeched on their hinges. Light flooded the inside. The container was not a mess but neither was it the way any explosives man would leave it. Ammo cases stood open. A stray blasting cap lay in the middle of the floor. He walked outside, well away from the explosives.
“This is Dalton, call the sheriff’s station, we’ve had a break in. I’m pretty sure we have explosives missing.”
Sheriff Gaines read the report on Monday morning. The lock was replaced with a non-company lock. Evidently, the perpetrator hoped to go undiscovered for a time. Dalton’s fingerprints were the only ones on the lock. All prints inside the cargo container were successfully matched to employees.
An inventory report listed the missing items.
Dynamite, one case of (24) twenty-four sticks.
Blasting caps, (6) six caps
Blasting wire (1) one roll.
Detonator. (1) one, plunger type.
An addendum read,
Other dynamite was untouched.
Also untouched was one small container of C-4 high explosives.
Gaines figured someone at Corbet would be reamed or fired for leaving the C-4 at the site. The crime hardly seemed to be the work of a terrorist organization. But, he would need to notify the feds. Ever since 9-11, any theft of explosives required a small mountain of paper work.
It seemed logical the thief was a local. Tract 1340 was fairly new and not easily accessible. He doubted someone from out of the area could find the site; much less know about the explosives stored there.
But, someone wanted the dynamite for something. A bank safe came to Gaines’s mind. As a precaution he sent out a notice for the night shift to increase their patrols around banks.
He hoped the thief was a rancher who, having been cut off from his source after 9-11, wanted to blow up old stumps.
His worse fear was that it might be local kids who had a crazy idea for celebrating the Fourth.
*
July began hot and humid. Large cumulus clouds drifted across the sky. Families cooled off in lawn sprinklers. Barbeques turned out burgers, hot dogs, and steaks. People picnicked outside or on screened in porches. Children chased fireflies, tearing off the glowing tail of some and sticking the phosphorous glow on their finger.
On the Fourth of July, American flags sprouted from the porches. Sheriff deputies watched over the day with nervous apprehension. A case of dynamite could make a mess.
By mid-morning cars and pick-ups loaded with kids, picnics, and lawn chairs, were heading to Red Lake to participate in the annual parade and watch the evening fireworks show over the water.
As darkness feel, those who stayed at home brought out illegal fireworks they easily purchased across the state line. Calley’s kids played in their front yard, swinging sparklers. Sarah and Ruthie tried to make pictures with the light trails, eagerly shouting at each other, “Watch this!” or “Guess what this is?”
From around the neighborhood came the steady pop of small firecrackers. The explosions grew louder as people worked through their arsenals. Fire fountains spewed smoke that clung to the ground. A pervasive odor of gunpowder wafted in the air.
A rumble greater than fireworks began to roll down from the hills. Then thunder boomed, echoing down the valley, as an explosive flash crossed the sky. The clouds overhead let go.
The children dropped their sparklers on the lawn, leaving the rain to put them out. They ran for the house.
From their screened in porch the Haskells watched the rain come down. Water surged from the downspouts. It flowed to the gutters of the flooded street, before moving off toward the highway.
Calley herded her children off to bed; glad they had not gone over to the lake.
In Red Lake, families hurried to their cars, becoming drenched in the process. There was no doubt that this year’s show was a rain out. Patiently they waited for the gridlock to break. It was a soggy start to the holiday weekend.
By Saturday morning the rain stopped. The sun found its way through the clouds. A short time later they moved on leaving blue skies over the area.
The weekend passed quickly. The sheriff deputies were kept busy, guiding traffic, corralling drunks, and keeping order. They were glad for the overtime but now, looked forward to a quieter week. By Sunday afternoon, tourists who came up to the lake for the weekend were preparing to return home. By early afternoon, lodges around the lake bore more vacancy, than no vacancy signs.
Sheriff Gaines was resting, having iced tea with his wife, Jane, when his cell phone rang. Seeing the call was from Pat Egan he answered.
“Hello.”
“Hey chief, we just had a call. There’s been a murder over by LaSalle Point.”
“So? Roll someone on it!” annoyance floated in his voice.
“I thought you might want to go over yourself, it’s at Judge Kellner’s place.”
Gaines cursed softly under his breath. “What do you have?”
“The crime was reported by a neighbor. She found the back door open. Mrs. Kellner was on the kitchen floor. The woman saw blood and ran to call us. She’s certain that Mrs. Kellner was dead. I don’t have much more yet.”
“I’ll roll in two minutes. The perpetrator must be gone, but go ahead and surround the house. Then have two guys go in and see what they can find.”
Fifteen minutes later Gaines pulled into the long sweeping drive up to the Kellner’s house. Yellow caution tape stretched across the yard behind which numerous neighbors gawked.
The house was a massive log home, with steep roofs and broad eaves. An acre of well-kept grass surrounded the home both front and back. Squad cars lined the drive. An ambulance waited in the turnaround by the three-car garage.
Gaines mounted the broad porch that wrapped around the front and side of the house. Detective Egan nodded at his approach.
“The shooter got both of them, the judge and his wife. Some end to the weekend, eh boss?”
Egan was half Gaines’s age. The Sheriff found the man possessed good instincts. He was a good detective. Behind Egan the front door stood open. Gaines pulled latex gloves on his hands and paper covers over his shoes before he entered the house.
The entry opened unto a cavernous room with a lofty truss-beamed ceiling. A massive rock fireplace dominated the sidewall. The abundance of furniture could furnish a small store. The house might easily be a hotel lodge. Across the rear wall sheets of glass permitted a broad view of the late judge’s lawn, toward his dock and waterfront.
Egan followed Gaines inside.
“The judge is upstairs, his wife is in the kitchen,” he said, pointing toward a deputy who waited in the back of the house.
“Did anyone see or hear anything?”
“Not a thing so far, but we’re just getting started.”
They crossed the living room and entered the kitchen. French doors opened unto the rear deck. On the kitchen counter a number of shopping bags waited for attention that would not be coming from Katherine Kellner.
The woman lay sprawled on the plank floor. She wore faded designer jeans. Her silk blouse was marred by a splay of bright red that might be mistaken for a floral print.
Gaines thought she would have been attractive in life, but only one cool blue eye stared back at him. The other eye was ruptured. The bullet had passed through the socket and into her brain. Red spots splattered the wall behind her.
“She died quick. Not a lot of blood. The shooter hit the brain and the heart; boom, boom! It was all over,” said Egan. “A neighbor woman, Eva Wycowski, was out with the victim today. When th
ey returned, she dropped Mrs. Kellner off at the end of the drive. Then she went home to pick up a dish she had borrowed. She came back five to ten minutes later. When she got to the kitchen door, she found the body lying on the floor. The witness is waiting outside.”
”I want to see the judge first.” Gaines replied.
A staircase led up from the kitchen a landing shared with the stairs from the entry. Gaines and Egan continued up, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpets. They came to the second floor. The balcony wrapped high, around the entry hall.
Beside a set of double doors a deputy patiently waited. Gaines walked past him with an almost imperceptible nod of his head.
“Sheriff.” The man replied.
The master bedroom was larger than Gaines’s living room. The rusticated decor employed downstairs was dropped in the suite. The room was furnished in cream and blue hued silk fabric. The king size bed held a commanding view of foliage through a window that framed the blue sky and an expanse of green lawn running down to the lake.
Judge Kellner lay naked across the bed. One arm dangled off the side, the gold watch on the wrist was a Rolex. Gaines stepped around the bed. On the floor a wet swimsuit lie in a heap, nearby a martini glass lay spilled on the carpet. On the nightstand a small cocktail shaker contained bits of un-melted ice.