Martin, Crook, & Bill

by Donna Nitz Muller

  They left their vehicle and walked up the driveway to check the house. Only one shaded light was on upstairs in a corner room facing north toward the barn. It was so quiet that the dead leaves rustling along the gravel path chatted and danced with the wind. The detectives called it a night.

  They discussed at length the relationship between Martin and Sandra and what it could mean. Of course, they considered that Sandra had been pregnant when she ran. That would make her the best at keeping a secret of anyone, ever. But it had to be considered. Martin could not be the father, but Hauk could. Was that a key? Possible? How did Martin end up with the baby? Was Sandra the mother? Complete conjecture.

  The lab results on the baby bottle provided zero. They had the formula brand and the bottle brand. Hundreds of people right here in town used that formula and that baby bottle. The prints on the glass were too smudged for identification. It was more likely it rolled from a blanket or a bag than dropped by a hand. They had no physical evidence.

  They discussed the fact that neither Martin nor Crook had a vehicle of any kind. That meant that Hauk had to come to them, and maybe he did as per Carl’s statement. Crook obviously had a prior, hence his stay at the hospital. Martin did too in a way. His brother died in a mysterious accident. Maybe Hauk came out to give Crook grief and inquire as to protection money and that was the last crime of Hauk’s life. Possible. But Hauk did not appear to be aware of Jeremy Sabo. The initial letter from the hospital in Omaha had gone unopened. The large file sent from Dr. Duerksen was received only a day ago.

  Tomorrow they would start digging. Somewhere was the link. They had Hauk to Sandra and Sandra to Martin and Martin to Crook. It was weak. They had to keep looking; they were on the right trail.

  For two days Vilhalen and White worked through files and reports. The autopsy report concluded the cause of death to be a single knife wound to the back of the neck. The weapon used was a four inch, narrow, sharp blade consistent with a pocket knife or paring knife. The wound was inflicted at an angle consistent with the perpetrator standing above the victim, and it did not require more than average strength.

  The wound caused immediate death due to the location. The autopsy listed the likelihood of deliberate placement to be at ninety percent, while accidentally hitting that location to be at ten percent. The conclusion of this indicated a highly skilled attack.

  Also the victim bled a great deal. The victim bled on himself, the perpetrator and the surrounding area. In addition the body had fourteen bruises, scratches, bite marks and gouges in various stages of healing. These previous wounds were consistent with fighting a person of less strength or in a manor consistent with the care of wild animals.

  On the forensics report only minute traces of blood were found on the victim’s bed, bedding or in either of his vehicles. These blood specks could be from any time.

  White sent the photographs taken at the ball game of Martin Webster and Sandra Peters to a criminal psychologist. Her report indicated the two adults in the photo were emotionally intimate but not physically intimate. They did not touch each other. The body language indicated a type of relationship that, when not family, was reminiscent of the relationship between survivors of some catastrophe or when one has saved the life of the other.

  Then the criminal psychologist added: “This could also be a sharing of mutual interest like a coach and player. Keep in mind this report is not evidence. The conclusions are fifty percent probability.”

  The female in the photo is likely not the mother of the infant. In none of the photos does she indicate protection or even awareness in her body language that the infant is there. On the other hand, the male in the picture is likely the father. He continued to hold the infant seat in his hand while his posture leaned protectively. At all times he was aware of the infant even as he is focused on the female.

  The detectives read the reports from the other officers investigating the list of extortion victims. No one without an alibi had the skills or opportunity. There was no where a triggering event that changed the status quo. So at noon on the second day, the detectives narrowed their search to the three files on their desk. They had Carl’s statement of Hauk’s extortion visit to Martin but that was weak.

  It had to be a combination. Knowing the victim as the detectives now did, they knew Hauk would plan a second visit to Martin, though that visit was only conjecture. Lucky for Martin, Hauk was a very busy man those first days after his return.

  The detectives determined two steps. They would start the process for a warrant to visit Mr. Webster and Mr. Sabo. It could not be based on existing physical evidence, but it could be based on the likelihood of finding the evidence. It could be based on previous violent acts by Crook, the skills to do the crime and a likelihood that the sheriff went to the residence.

  The second step was to interview Cassandra Peters. Vilhallen would interview the young lady while White convinced a judge to issue the search warrant. Then both detectives along with their assistants would make a visit to the farm.

  It was a school day, but Vilhallen made arrangements to meet Sandra and her parents at her home after lunch. For this, Ms. Peters could miss Study Hall and Algebra II, her mother could miss work and her father, the dentist, could change his appointments for the afternoon. This was, after all, a murder investigation by Special Appointment of the Governor himself. This case had to be resolved.

  As Vilhallen prepared for the interview, he made careful notes. He noted first the facts of the case. Then he noted his assumptions. He noted what he hoped to discover, and his planned approach.

  Normally, the dogged Vilhallen conducted a tough and thorough interview, verifying all of the facts. Before entering the interview he generally had a clear picture of what went down. This case was different from any previous case. It bothered him that the victim was no victim, but an actual criminal conducting brazen criminal activity under the power and protection of his office.

  It bothered him more that the young lady in question could be the owner of a souvenir in Hauk’s box. This was an assumption based primarily on instinct but also on the fact of her going missing and on Carl’s statement regarding Hauk’s intense search to find her. Also, Carl said he last saw Hauk’s vehicle proceeding down Sandra’s block.

  Vilhallen did his preparation. He knew the family; father, local dentist; mother, billing clerk for an insurance office; two children, both daughters. He knew the dentistry practice thrived financially. The couple belonged to the community with deep roots including grandparents and a wide circle of community involvement. He had one burning question. If Sandra was a victim, had it been her dad who killed the bastard? Or was it even possible that Sandra had not told her parents? Vilhallen was certain that the killer of Hauk was connected to Sandra.

  Vilhallen felt no enthusiasm for what he was about to do. He had never been less sure of what he was going to hear, or see. He did not like facing the unknown.

  Chapter T hirty-Three

  Vilhallen checked out the souvenir box from the other-wise empty evidence locker. It was important to the case to know for sure if Sandra was a victim. It went to motive. Of course, this case suffered from way too much motive.

  Vilhallen ate a light lunch, decided on his approach as a warmer, gentler person, checked his recorder, talked with White regarding the search warrant and left for the white house belonging to Sandra’s family.

  He expected tears and protests from all three of them. He expected emotion on every level. No seventeen year old girl could go through what he suspected Sandra went through and not be vulnerable, exhausted and ready to spill her story. One more time, he went over every thing he had. Again, he noted the four points he had to clarify: transportation, location, opportunity and ability.

  Vilhallen had second thoughts regarding confronting Sandra with the souvenir box. He struggled with his conscience on this point. Could solving this case justify the potential to do more damage to a victim? He was supposed to serve and protect. The whole
case made Vilhallen sick. He knew White had similar misgivings, but White was determined to get to the bottom of Hauk’s murder. Vilhallen had reached a stage where the end did not always justify the means.

  As he drove to the Peter’s house, he decided to move forward. He knew the worst possible approach to an interview was hesitation. As he exited the vehicle, he squared his shoulders and assumed an attitude of knowledge and power.

  Vilhallen’s carefully planned approach lasted as long as it took to be seated at the kitchen table with coffee and cookies. The white square table with four cushioned white chairs in a clean, pretty kitchen was as far removed from an interview room as conceivable. And that was just for starters. None of the three faces looking at him held a single trace of agitation or worry. He could cross off the emotional factor.

  “Good game last night,” he said to Sandra.

  “Thank you,” she answered and smiled.

  “I watched Martin Webster play at the state tournament years ago. It was a huge deal back in the day. I’m surprised he didn’t play college ball.” Vilhallen watched Sandra’s face. She had no response to Martin’s name.

  Sandra’s dad nodded. “Martin is a real hometown hero. Rumor had it that he didn’t play college ball because of the tragedy with his brother. Joe was my classmate in school.” Mr. Peters had more to say, but Vilhallen cut him off with a curt nod. Containment was important.

  “How do you know Martin Webster?” Vilhallen asked Sandra.

  “He works with me on basketball strategy,” Sandra said.

  Sandra’s parents appeared surprised at this, but remained silent.

  “How did you meet?”

  Sandra said nothing. Vilhallen realized she was a tough cookie, possibly coached. His thoughts went to Jeremy Sabo but he forced himself to focus.

  If Sandra made no answer her parents said nothing as well.

  “Why did you run away?”

  Again Sandra said nothing. This time her dad answered. “That case is resolved.”

  “Have you been inside Martin Webster’s house? Have you been inside Hauk’s police vehicle? Do you know the man referred to as Crook? Do you own a knife?”

  Sandra remained unmoved and mute. Her mother finally said with a soft hesitancy, “Sandra is not required to answer your questions.”

  “It would help us all if she cooperated,” Vilhallen said. He was feeling anger began to churn his stomach. He was beginning to wonder if this girl was a victim. He decided to use his final weapon.

  Vilhallen pulled from his briefcase the small, flat tackle box taken from Hauk’s locked desk drawer. He removed it from the plastic bag with gloved hands. He shuddered inwardly, and looked up to find three pairs of eyes staring at the box. Carefully and deliberately, he opened the lid and pushed it forward so Sandra could see the contents.

  “This is important, Sandra,” he said quietly. “These things were found inside Hauk’s house. Do you recognize anything?” Vilhallen paused and waited, intently watching Sandra’s expression.

  The girl turned pale. While her parents did not understand what they looked at, Sandra knew. After a few seconds, Sandra nodded. “The green hair-tie is mine.”

  She did not look to anyone. Her lips trembled and her hands locked together on top of the table. “I recognize the earring. That was Allyson’s.” She still did not look up. She could not take her eyes from the small things in small compartments.

  Vilhallen regretted his decision to show the box. The girl could not look away from it. Did it take such an action to break a child? Did he even need it to solve the case? Nevertheless, he continued.

  “What else?” Vilhallen’s voice was respectful.

  “Angelina used to wear blue butterfly clips like that,” she whispered. Then she looked up. “Hauk hurt all these girls.” She said this with a shock so genuine that her mother gasped, and her father pushed back.

  Vilhallen carefully initialed the tag and put the evidence away. He wanted to verify what he and White already knew. The tackle box was a trophy case. He also wanted to verify Sandra as a victim. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  When Vilhallen looked up he did not see a trembling teenager ready to spill her guts. He saw a young lady with steel eyes and an iron jaw. Both parents studied her just as he did. They obviously did not understand what they had just witnessed.

  Vilhallen sighed, closed his eyes for a second and then continued. “How do you know Martin?” he asked.

  “He comes to the games, gives me pointers on how to play even though he was a guard and I play center.” She looked deathly pale, but far from vulnerable.

  “How did you meet him?” Vilhallen asked again.

  “Why?” she asked back. Her game face could not be broken.

  Vilhallen glanced briefly at Sandra’s mother. For some reason, he expected her to tell Sandra to answer the question. He was grasping at straws. Her father stood now, leaning his thin body against the counter. Her parents knew she had secrets and they did not want to know the answers, not in front of a stranger. She was home and safe and that was everything.

  Vilhallen said, “It is important to our investigation to understand the dynamic of what happened to Sheriff Hauk. We believe your relationship with Martin Webster is a part of what happened and we need to know about it.” He sounded sterner than he wanted.

  “Then it is enough for you to know that Martin Webster is my friend,” Sandra answered.

  “And how did you meet him?” Vilhallen asked again, softening his tone.

  “Martin has nothing to do with Hauk and what Hauk did to people,” Sandra said.

  Vilhallen knew from Sandra’s expression that it was pointless to continue. Further harassment would only alienate everyone in the room. But he could not help himself. He was driven to know the truth and patient reason had no hold on his actions.

  He asked one more question. “And how about Mr. Sabo, do you know him?”

  “Who?” Sandra asked.

  “You know him as Crook?” Vilhallen said.

  Before Sandra could speak her father said, “Who is that?”

  Vilhallen gave a brief explanation as to Crook’s presence at the Webster farm.

  Sandra sat mum. Her colorless lips compressed in a line outlined in white. Nothing would break the girl’s composure. Unless. He tried one more question.

  “Have you ever been pregnant?” he asked her, studying her expression. She did not blink.

  Her mother again gasped and stared at Vilhallen. Her father said through stiff lips, “We will ignore that question. What else?”

  Vilhallen laid it out. He threw away his last vestige of common sense. “We think Hauk raped Cassandra, and Cassandra assisted in his murder.”

  He remembered the criminal psychologist did not believe Sandra to be the mother of the baby in the picture, but Vilhallen thought she was. It was a wild strike, a fighter’s useless flailing. He did not speak those thoughts. It was too much of a stretch.

  He looked at three stunned faces, stunned into utter silence.

  Mr. Peters leaned down to the tape recorder, close, and said, “This interview is over. The detective is crazy.” He then shut if off, handed it to Vilhallen and escorted him to the door.

  Except for confirmation that the murder victim was an evil man, and Cassandra identified her hair ribbon in the trophy box, Vilhallen had nothing. He knew he had nothing. He did not get transportation, location, who and with what. He did not get any verification of his theory as to the dynamic between Martin, Crook and Sandra. He certainly had no answer as to why Martin would take upon himself an infant not his own.

  Vilhallen walked to his car feeling defeated. More than defeated, he felt sad, sad for everyone involved. Cruelty was justified in identifying a murderer. It was not justified in the devastation of a teenage girl. He thought, we could be wrong about this. We could be wrong. He secretly blamed Carl. If not for Carl, they would never have looked at Martin. Now the case was like a fire that ravaged all in its path. Now the
truth would be known regardless the price that had to be paid. And for what?

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Sandra could not breathe. She saw the little, once pretty things in tiny plastic bags that belonged once to her or to other girls like her. For the first time it crossed her mind that she should die. I am nothing, she thought. I am a green hair-tie in a plastic bag.

  “It hurts,” she whispered to her mother who had taken her hand.

  “Who should I call for help?” her father asked as he paced without purpose. Then he knelt before his little girl. “Why didn’t you tell us? You could tell us anything.”

  First she said, “I thought you would be ashamed of me.” Then seeing the wounded expression on her mother’s face Sandra said, “If I told I would have to admit what happened to me. I would know that you knew. I just could not do that.”

  Her mother gasped. She said, “Sandra Ann Peters!”

  The anger in her mother’s eyes felt wonderful to Sandra. Her mother was angry that she would think such a thing as shame to be possible. The comfort that brought to Sandra’s heart was amazing, a literal weight taken from her.

  “I want to quit basketball. I can’t play any more,” Sandra whispered. “I’m beaten. It’s over.”

  “You are not beaten,” her father said.

  “Look what he did. Did you see what he did? Each of those little things in that box was a life that he took. Well, I took his.” Sandra paused. The room spun. She clutched the table with her free hand. “Did you understand me? I took his, but it was too late. It didn’t save me or any of those girls.”

  Her mother cradled her like a baby. Then her father pulled up a chair close to her mother. He did not say, “Basketball is your ride through college.” He did not say, “It can’t be that bad.” Mostly he did not say, “It will be all right.”

  Sandra looked at him and saw that he was so white his face seemed separate from his hair, like a mask. He said, “It is too late for me to kill him with my bare hands. That is the only thing that is too late.”