by Rich Foster
The judge’s eyes were wide open as if he were surprised. Gaines touched the body; it was still warm. He had little doubt that Kellner had seen his killer. In the judge’s chest two bullet holes still oozed blood; another in his forehead appeared to be an insidious third eye.
“The guy wasn’t taking any chances, was he?” observed Gaines.
“What makes you think it was a guy?” asked Egan.
“It’s just a figure of speech,” replied Gaines.
“The holes look like small caliber. Maybe a twenty-two. You think it was a hit?”
“I don’t know. The shooter took the third shot to be sure Kellner wasn’t getting up again. And he left no witnesses. The martini is out of place.”
“Why?”
“Kellner had a reputation for being a non-drinker. Not a crusader, just that he always declined a drink.”
“So why the booze when his wife was out?”
“Maybe he planned on surprising her?” Gaines suggested.
Egan shook his head, but there’s only one glass. If he was expecting his wife, then what was he drinking?”
“Maybe the judge was a secret drinker. We’ve got a lot of possibilities. We’ll have to wait.” Gaines fell silent, then asked, “Are forensics on their way?”
“They should be here any minute.”
“Well, have them dust everything, but I’ll bet we don’t find a thing here. While forensics does that, get on the phone to the judge’s law clerk and his secretary. Find out if he’s received any death threats lately. Ask if he’s handled anything to do with organized crime or big drug dealers in the last year. Get Smith and Gonzales doing a door to door. Also, canvass the people along the perimeter tape. I want to know if anyone saw or heard anything.”
Egan passed instructions on to another deputy. When he returned, Gaines was silent. Egan waited. From experience he knew to give the sheriff time. Finally Gaines asked, “How do you make this scene?”
Egan thought for only a moment. “I think the guy came around back, rang the bell and popped whoever opened the door. If it had been the judge, the shooter would probably have taken off, leaving Mrs. Kellner alive and grieving in the house. But she opened the door.
He then swept the house. He probably found the judge upstairs and killed him before he could get up. I’d bet the shooter went out the way he came in, so he wouldn’t have to walk on the grass.”
Gaines shook his head slowly. Three problems,” he said. “First, all of this glass would make it impossible for her to not see someone carrying a gun. Secondly, if the shooter took the wife out first, why is Kellner still laying on the bed? A shot in the kitchen should have had him up and in the hall. Thirdly, the timing’s off. Mrs. Kellner was out shopping. If the shooter knocked and she answered the door neither of them had a way of knowing the judge was upstairs. You said the witness was only gone five minutes. Mrs. Kellner had to walk up the drive first. There goes some more time. After shooting her he would have needed more time to find the judge. I think the killer was in the house when she came in. She probably saw the shooter and that’s why she died.”
Egan nodded. “You’ve got a point. So whose the shooter?”
“That’s your job Pat. It looks like Kellner was either a secret drinker or he had a private guest.”
”A mistress, at his own house and with his wife in town? Wouldn’t the wife have seen the car? And if she had come home and caught her husband cheating, then why is he upstairs and she downstairs without a weapon?”
Gaines and Egan went down the stairs as they talked. They walked through the kitchen, past Katherine Kellner’s body and onto the stone patio. On the lake a motorboat buzzed past not far offshore. The two men crossed the patio, to a gravel path that led around the house.
In front, a middle-aged woman waited next to one squad car, a deputy at her side. Gaines approached.
“I know your upset, Ms. Wycowski, but we need to ask you some questions. Do you think you can help?”
The woman’s eyes were red and raw but she nodded her head. “It’s Missus,” she said.
“Tell me what happened.”
“Originally, Katherine and I were going shopping in Beaumont. I told my husband we would be late. This morning we changed our minds and decided to shop here in town. We took lunch at the club. Afterward, we played a little bridge with two other members and then came home early. I dropped Katherine off. I was going home to get a dish of hers.”
Eva paused, then continued. “We were here on the Fourth. Katherine insisted I take some cheesecake home for the boys, I wanted to return the dish.”
“Where did you drop Mrs. Kellner off, in front of the house or on the side?” asked Gaines.
”Neither. I was going to drive up but she told me to drop her at the bottom of the drive and then come back for a tea. We live down the road. I ran home. When I returned, I found her lying on the floor. It couldn’t have been much more than five minutes.”
A shudder ran through Eva Wycowski’s body. “I was scared. I ran down the drive and called 911 on my cell phone.”
“Did you wait there until the first officer arrived?” The woman nodded yes. “Did you see anyone leaving or any strange cars on the street? Did you hear anything?
“You mean like gunshots?” she asked.
“Like anything.”
“No nothing, nothing at all. Is the judge dead?”
“I’m afraid so, ma’am. Could you tell me if Mrs. Kellner drank?”
“Sure, socially. She’d have a cocktail, maybe even get a little high, but I never saw her drunk.”
“What about her husband?”
“Adam? No he never touched alcohol. He wasn’t stuffy about it. It was okay that it was in the house, he would even serve cocktails, he just never drank one himself.”
“What about secretly? Did Mrs. Kellner ever say anything that made you think that he might?”
“No, never.”
Egan asked. “Did she ever insist on being dropped at the bottom of the drive before?”
Eva thought, “Occasionally, but not often.”
“Thank you,” said Gaines. If you don’t mind we need to take a formal statement from you. Your husband can come down to the station with you.”
The woman nodded once more. Gaines left her to the deputy and moved on. Another deputy waved him over.
“I have a witness who saw a pick-up, parked, on the shoulder of the road, down where the woods begin. He said it was dark and old. Not much of a description, huh? A short time later he heard screaming.”
“How much later?”
“He couldn’t say. He came back from picking up his mail at the road and lay down in his hammock. Said he fell asleep, the screams woke him. He had no idea how long it had been. His best guess was less than twenty minutes. When he went check on the yelling, the truck was gone.”
“Broad daylight and that’s the best we can do?”
“We also have a couple, out for a walk, who heard several small pops. They thought it was kids lighting off left-over fireworks.”
“That’s probably what it was, I doubt it was the gun. The house is pretty far back from the road. Go ahead, take their names and statements.”
The forensic team pulled in followed by the coroner. Gaines spoke briefly with both before he returned to his car. “Egan, get the highway patrol on the line, tell them what we’ve got, not that it will be much help. We’re looking for a dark older model pick-up, no description of the driver.”
Gaines glanced at his watch. It wasn’t even six o’clock yet. The sun was still high in the sky. Out on the lake, distant water skiers glided past behind the rumble of powerboats. Sunlight glinted from the white Dacron of sailboats. Gaines shook his head, thinking, life goes on, without anyone.
Over the next hour he learned nothing new. There were prints all over in the house. It would take hours to sort through them. The only print the forensics people thought might be useful was one they lifted from the doorbell. It was a clear
print of a right hand index finger. They scanned it into their laptops, to run a search against the state database.
“If that’s the shooter’s then I’ll bet he’s left handed,” said the forensic team’s lead. “Ring the bell with your right and hold the gun in your left.”
Egan came up. “We talked to Kellner’s clerk, his secretary, and the other judges. Nobody knows of any threats against the judge or his wife. As far as they know he hasn’t handled any big crime trials. Kellner mostly adjudicated civil cases.”
“Well wrap it up around here as fast as you can. Everyone is tired and wants to get home.”
The coroner reported to Gaines that both victims died almost instantaneously, a straight shot through the heart which arrested the beating immediately, leaving limited bleeding. Neither body showed signs of defensive wounds. He put the time of death at two to three hours earlier.
Gaines lit a cigar. “Nothing new there,” he said to Egan. “It’s your case. But, if you find anything let me know. We’ll have the other judges on our backs soon. This will make them all nervous.” As an afterthought, he added, “Leave someone out here tonight. I don’t want lookie-loos prowling around.”
Gaines climbed in his cruiser. He gave one whoop of the siren to clear the lower drive and rolled out onto the lake road. Ten minutes later he was home, late for supper. Jane was accustomed to interruptions in a policeman’s life and kept the food warm in the oven.
A half hour later Gaines’s phone rang. It was Egan.
“We have a match on that print. It belongs to Robert Goodman, of Mason Forks. Motor Vehicles records show a blue ford pick-up registered in his name.”
“Goodman?” asked Gaines. “That’s the guy whose wife and kid were killed by that church bus last fall.”
“Yea. He sued and lost. It was Kellner’s case.”
“Looks like payback. The guy was violent. I remember after the accident he tried killing the corpse. Put out an APB on him and his vehicle. Also notify the Beaumont Police. If I remember correctly his surviving daughter is down there, he might go see her. You’ll need to get a warrant signed and get over to Mason Forks. Send at least three cars, six men. I don’t want any of our guys getting hurt. He may be making a run for the border, but he might also be at home.”
“We’re still tied up here. The coroner just bagged the bodies.”
“We’re short on staff tonight. For now, go to the Forks. As for Kellner’s house, lock it up and leave one deputy. Make sure he patrols the front and back. Tell him if he falls asleep he’ll be sacked. I don’t want to screw up the chain of evidence. The site will be okay for tonight. It’s more important that we apprehend Goodman.”
Chapter Ten
Shadows covered Mason Forks. That did not ameliorate the heat. The air was hot and stagnant. Both the humidity index and the thermometer hovered around ninety. It would be a sweaty night for tossing and turning on sticky sheets. In homes around town, electric fans pushed the languid air, urging it on to greater movement. Their efforts failed to bring relief.
Seven o’clock. Soon the evening services would begin. For the past twenty minutes people arrived by car or on foot. At one end of town the Baptists filed into their pews. At the other end, cars filled the parking lot of the New Life Church. Folks chatted as they reluctantly moved inside. People fanned themselves with church bulletins.
At Moses’ a noisy crowd filled the bar. Country music blared from the jukebox. All of the stools and booths were taken, though nobody was dancing. Usually people stayed home after a holiday weekend. Tonight, the temperature drove them out to seek relief. The bar was the only air-conditioned public place in town, it promised to be a profitable evening.
Precisely at seven o’clock, Desmond put his weight on the thick bell rope and pulled. Up in the steeple, the old brass bell swung in its cradle. There was an upward tug as it moved, and he pulled down again. The bell gave out its first low gong. A smile crossed his face. Ringing the bell was one of many pleasures in day. He slowly counted up to seven rings; numbers were always a challenge for him. From up the street the Baptist bell answered back.
Reverend Leeds entered the sanctuary from the side door. He wore his summer suit, a creamy white linen jacket and matching pants. His yellow tie was slightly loose, even so the collar of his shirt dug into his fleshy neck. He took his seat on the dais and held his thick, thumb worn, Bible in his lap. Its somber black color contrasted sharply with his suit.
The church was less than half full. He scanned the audience to see who had not come, troubling to make a mental note of their absence. Hugh Johnson, the head usher stood by the sanctuary doors, waiting to seat the tardy.
The bell tolling ended. In the ensuing silence, the hard thump of muffled music drifted up from Moses’ place, until the church organist, opened with “A Mighty Fortress is our God.” The room reverberated from the organ’s blast, blotting out the noises of the world. Peoples raised their voice in song. The melody floated out the open windows and into the evening air.
Leeds saw Desmond slip into his usual seat by the back door, a broad smile on his face.
Grace sung the hymn mechanically, without thinking. She had sat through so many services. At some point in her life she began to tune them out. Now, singing required no thought on her part. She closed her eyes, dreaming the warm humid air was that of a tropical island.
Calley Haskell sat on the aisle midway back. Caleb bounced on her lap. The two year old was fussy so she did not put him in the nursery. The girls squirmed in their seats. They too, were restless. She should have stayed home tonight. But earlier at the house, she thought, if Jason were alive he would go. So, she gathered up the children and came.
Kevin and Jenny Daniels sat on the outside near one of the windows vainly hoping for relief from the heat. They had spent the weekend packing up their possessions. In a week they would leave for language school. This was their last night in the church. As they sang, they held hands, often turning to smile at each other, as those recently wed do.
Leeds noted Will Farron’s presence and that of other members of the church board. He saw Dalton Kowalski and Walter Swanson with his family. Herb Loudon, the Mayor of Mason Forks, was also present. Lester was proud that his church membership boasted so many important people in town.
He found he had stopped singing while musing on his congregants, he rejoined them on the last verse, “…let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also; the body they may kill: God’s truth abideth still, his kingdom is forever.”
The organist held the last note before running straight into the next hymn. The members sang boldly, momentarily distracted from the heat. After singing half a dozen songs Rev. Leeds announced the offering. Men worked the aisles passing the offering plates; then brought them forward where Leeds said a prayer of thanks for God’s blessings.
He began his sermon punctually at seven-thirty.
“My text for today is Luke 22:31-34.” He read from his black Bible. “Simon, Simon, behold Satan demanded to have you that he may sift you like wheat, but I have prayed that your faith may not fail.”
Leeds read slowly. His voice gave elegance and command to each word. He continued, “And Peter said to him, Lord, I am ready to go with you to prison and to death. Jesus said, I tell you, Peter, the cock will not crow this day until three times, you deny that you know me.”
The Reverend let his grim gaze sweep the audience, he paused for effect, allowing expectation to build and then like a well-scripted show he launched into a fiery sermon.
“Unto Death!” he shouted. “That’s what Peter promised! And yet before dawn Peter sinned before God! Denying the Christ and risking eternal damnation!” His voiced boomed as he slammed his hand down on the podium. Leeds was just warming up.
On Highway 12, three police cars sped toward Mason Forks. Patrick Egan drove the unmarked lead car. A mile from town he turned off both lights and siren. He picked up his radio microphone.
“This is 1210, I’ll make o
ne pass down Goodman’s street. Gonzales, you wait at the corner. Conner, you circle the block and come from the back. If this guy is home I don’t want him getting away. We want him alive but if he starts shooting, make sure you stop him.”
Egan cruised down the street rolling through the early evening shadows. The Goodman house seemed quiet. It was hotter than hell, yet the windows were closed and the blinds drawn. As he passed the house he saw a blue ‘89 pick-up in the side drive. “His truck is here, let’s move in.”
Egan switched on his flashing lights. Luis Gonzales’ patrol car sped down the street and onto the lawn, stopping broadside to the house.
One street over, Conner drove up the driveway, of the house behind Goodman’s. Continuing across the backyard he slid to a stop where he had a clear view of the rear porch. The officers spilled out of the cars and crouched behind their vehicles. They waited. Nothing moved at the windows. Egan and his partner approached the front door. They listened. All was still. Egan depressed his shoulder microphone.
“Conner, hold out back. But if he comes out, then he’s fleeing so drop him. Gonzales, you come in behind us. We’ll take the downstairs you can go up.”
Egan shouted, “Police, we have a warrant.” Before his next breath, he kicked the door open. Deputies poured into the house. It was dim inside. The hot stuffy air reeked of sweat, cigarettes and stale beer. The house was a sty. Trash and beer cans covered the floor.
Gonzales and his partner took the stairs two at a time. Egan and his partner waited, listening to the team moving upstairs. “Were clear up here!” Gonzales called.
They then swept the first floor. When they reached the kitchen Egan radioed, “I’m opening the back, Conner, come on in, the house is clear.” He opened the back door and the officers outside cautiously approached until they were sure that Egan was not a hostage.
The police put on gloves before opening windows and turning on lights. They spent the next half hour systematically searching Goodman’s house. In the bedroom they found an open gun safe, but it held only a cleaning kit and a partial box of 12 gauge shotgun shells. Downstairs on the dining room table they found an empty box for nine-millimeter shells. On the table and the floor were bits of wire insulation.