Marry in Haste

by Susan Van Kirk

  Grace nodded.

  Lettie, of course, continued. “Must be a line a mile long of applicants to do him in.”

  “Oh, Lettie. Be nice,” Grace said, and she checked out the applesauce. “The man’s hardly cold, and you’re already saying unkind things.”

  “Grace, you don’t know. Mildred at the bakery says he’s had all kinds of affairs. Probably had to pay those hussies off. And Emily, his poor wife, has had to put up with that. He runs around with every unmarried—and married—woman in town. You don’t see his wife out in the community cavorting with other men. No, she stays home and takes care of their two children while he goes drinking and fornicating with whoever he pleases.” She looked at Grace. “All right—make that ‘whomever.’ I must have learned something from your grammar corrections all these years.”

  “Lettie, you don’t know it’s true.”

  “What? That ‘whomever’ is right? Of course I do.” Grace glared at her, and Lettie said, “Well, isn’t it?” Lettie folded up the paper and sniffed. “Gladys at the coffee shop said he even came in there and winked at her, and—what is it they say?—‘smacked on’ her.”

  “I think the phrase is ‘hit on her,’ Lettie, and somehow I can’t imagine that. Gladys is close to seventy if she’s a day, and not exactly Conrad Folger’s type.”

  “To hear people tell it, I think his type was anything in skirts.”

  “Do you ever hear any gossip about Emily?”

  “I thought about that today. She’s been pretty quiet. Of course, I don’t ever see her anywhere either. I remember sometime in the past she ended up with a broken arm. The rumor mill in town says he did it to her.”

  “How do you know these things, Lettie?”

  “I ask questions.”

  “But sometimes doesn’t it seem nosey to ask people questions about their personal lives?”

  “Nosey? Small towns don’t know the meaning of the word. Take this murder. People in town are already saying Emily Folger killed him. Most of them aren’t too sympathetic toward Emily. The housekeeper’s been talking. She told people about the blood everywhere, and only Emily was home when they found the body, and she was covered in blood too. House locked up tighter than a drum.”

  “I can’t understand that. If he was abusive to Emily, why didn’t she just leave and take the kids? I have never understood why abused wives stay with their husbands.”

  Lettie took off her apron and hung it up. Then she pulled the applesauce away from the burner to cool off. Turning to Grace, she said, “Some women maybe don’t feel they have any other choice. And sometimes it’s simply easier to stay.”

  “It makes no sense. She has a college education, and she worked before she met Conrad. Her parents live only a few hours away. She could move closer to them.”

  “Conrad would still be around with lots of money and a legion of lawyers. He’d make sure she wouldn’t get her kids. I think it’s a power thing. Bullies like Conrad Folger like to be in charge. They make sure their wives are afraid to leave.”

  Shaking her head, Grace said, “I used to know Emily when she was in high school, and she was amazing.” She walked to the window and caught a glimpse of a black SUV driving slowly toward town. It looked like Will Folger in the front seat. Turning toward Lettie, she asked, “What do you know about Will Folger? I heard in high school he was a wild child.”

  Lettie poured a cup of coffee and sat down at the table. “Let me think. He came back here a few years ago with his tail between his legs. I remember he was the black sheep of the family. I think I heard way back then that in college, and even after, he’d had quite a problem with alcohol and drugs. Met his wife somewhere. Conrad gave him a VP position at the bank, maybe because he was family and he believed he had to. But Will Folger still drinks too much. Closes one of the bars uptown too many nights.”

  Grace turned away from the window and sat down, pushing the newspaper to the side of the table. “Roger said Will was a smart kid, smarter—he thought—than Conrad ever was.”

  “Well, you have to consider their home life too. Conrad III dominated and bullied his wife and kids. Wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t abuse them also. He hated weakness. Our Roger had some dealings with him back in the day.

  “I remember one time I saw the whole family at the bank. The missus and the three kids came out of Conrad’s office. They stopped over by one of the teller’s windows, and the kids were little and all dressed up. Mrs. Folger did her best to keep them rounded up.” Lettie drained the last of her coffee. “Evidently, they’d been to the doctor’s office for their vaccinations, and the father, Conrad, reached around the teller’s window and pulled out two suckers. He gave Conrad a sucker because he hadn’t cried, and gave Jessalynn a sucker because she had cried, but it was all right because she was a girl. Girls were supposed to cry. But Will, he got no sucker because he had cried. His younger brother, Conrad, was lording it over him even then. And I thought to myself at the time, ‘My, my. I can see trouble down that road.’ ”

  “So Will is actually the older brother, isn’t he? I should have remembered,” Grace said.

  Lettie rose and stirred the cooling applesauce on the stove. Then she said, “Yes, and usually the oldest son got the bank job in the earlier generations. But the old man skipped over Will. Too weak and not biddable. He and his father fought terribly, and Will left after college and stayed away. By the time he came back, the old man was dead, and he didn’t have to face him. Only Conrad.”

  “What about Jessalynn? I rarely hear a word about her.”

  “She got away forever. And I say, ‘good for her.’ Women aren’t given much rope in that family. Nothing’s expected of them except obedience, and no one thinks much of them. Jessalynn did manage to get to college, although that was a huge argument. Her father didn’t think a woman needed an education. He was of the old school where the man was in charge. Once she graduated from college, she got a job somewhere. From what I’ve heard—and it’s little—she did quite well and put herself through graduate school. I wonder if she’ll even come home for her brother’s funeral.”

  “Families are sure tricky, aren’t they?” said Grace.

  “True.” Lettie took a deep breath. “Think about how all of those kids were shaped by their parents and even the generations that came ahead of them.”

  Suddenly, Grace’s phone started playing “Nine to Five,” and she fished around in her purse to find it. “Hi, Jill . . . Yes, she’s still in the hospital. I only saw her once and she was pretty banged up. Kids are with the grandparents . . . Sounds good. See you.”

  Grace punched the phone call off, and then she stood up, took the folded newspaper, and said, “Well, I think I’ll go upstairs and change clothes.” She looked around. “The kitchen is coming along nicely, isn’t it?”

  Lettie’s face turned sullen, and she retorted, “The man is driving me crazy, over here pounding and measuring and drilling all the time.” But her words lacked a bit of passion, Grace decided. Then Lettie asked, “How are you coming on Jeff’s house research?”

  “I’m still researching, and I think the newspaper articles add a lot to the picture.” Grace climbed back down the two steps she had already taken toward her bedroom. She walked up behind Lettie, grabbed a spoon, and scooped up a little applesauce. “Mmmm. This applesauce is wonderful. Maybe you should save some for Del.” She smiled, and before Lettie could give her a disagreeable retort, Grace started back upstairs again. “That house—Jeff’s house—has an air of sadness about it. Maybe the Folgers aren’t the only family influenced by the past.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Grace took a deep breath and shook her head. “I only spoke to her yesterday—Monday—at the hospital. She’s in terrible shape, TJ. Why would you arrest her when she can hardly even think? The poor woman has not a clue about the whole situation.”

  “Grace, I know you had this special bond with Emily when she was much younger, but she isn’t the same person now. We had
to arrest her this morning. The evidence is overwhelming. She has a great attorney, and my guess is they’ll plead self-defense.” TJ had been pacing around Grace’s disheveled kitchen. Now she sat down.

  Grace poured some more coffee for each of them. They didn’t hear hammering because Del had called earlier and explained he wouldn’t be over until late afternoon. TJ had discovered long ago that Grace was a great sounding board when the detective had complicated cases. And, loyal friend that she was, Grace had never revealed a confidence. It was especially true since she’d started working for Jeff Maitlin at the Endurance Register. These days, she walked a tightrope.

  “I know she’s not the same person, TJ. I remember a vibrant, self-confident Emily who had lots of friends in high school. How could she have turned into the barely functioning Emily I saw at the hospital? I hardly recognized her. Of course, it’s been years since I’ve seen her—but still. And if Conrad Folger hurt her, why didn’t she leave? I will never understand why women don’t leave someone who abuses them.”

  TJ poured a few drips of cream into her coffee and settled in. “It doesn’t happen overnight, Grace. Women like Emily suffer from what’s called battered woman syndrome, and it’s similar to the post-traumatic stress disorder soldiers go through when they’ve been in battle, say, over in the Middle East.”

  “But she’s not in the middle of a battlefield away from her friends and family. She’s right here.”

  “True, but abusers make sure they take steps to isolate their victims. Her parents live several hours away. She said, remember, that she didn’t have any friends. Stop and think. How many times have you seen her since she married, and this is a small town? He would have made sure of it. Then he would check on her at different times of the day to keep her in fear that he might show up when she didn’t expect him. She’s totally economically dependent on him, and he’s stripped away all of her self-esteem. The Emily you see now can’t even trust herself to make good choices. Her only focus for a long time has been on how to survive from one day to the next and protect her kids.”

  Grace sat back in her chair and pressed her lips in a thin line. Finally, she said, “It’s true. Will Folger said all the bank accounts were in Conrad’s name. But Emily was, or is, an intelligent woman. How could she let this happen? She could easily hold down a job when the kids are at school, and she could open her own account. She has all of these wonderful qualities, and I know she’s a good mother. Conrad made plenty of money at the bank, but why couldn’t she work so she’d have something to make her feel good about herself?”

  “Ah, Grace, my naïve Grace . . .”

  Grace shook her head. “I know, I know. You tell me I’m too trusting.”

  “Conrad would never have let her have a job. It would give her independence, possibly allow her to leave him, and, yes, she would feel better about herself. All of that goes against his plan.”

  “His plan?”

  “Sure. He’s like all those other bullies. He undoubtedly humiliated her, hurt her, and—I hesitate to say this to you—brutally raped her.”

  “Oh, my God! You can’t mean that, TJ.”

  “We have evidence he raped her the very night of the murder. Since you went to the hospital you know how her face and arms look. We believe Conrad did that to her.”

  “But why? What would he get out of hurting her instead of loving her and being kind to her?”

  “Good question. It’s a matter of control and power. Most abusers feel a lack of self-confidence despite their appearance to the rest of the world. Controlling her made him feel powerful. He was probably highly manipulative. After he beat her or raped her, he’d buy her flowers or take her out to dinner. He’d convince her she deserved what she got. She never knew which Conrad would come in the door from one day to the next. He’d chip away at her confidence by constantly telling her she didn’t do things right.”

  “Oh,” Grace put her hand to her mouth for a moment. “That’s exactly what she said at the hospital.”

  “Typical. If you get a chance, I’d encourage her to talk. She will go to a therapist—her attorney will insist on it. This is the way you can help her best and leave the investigation to us. We can check on the abuse. We may be able to verify it through other people, and also through hospital records. I’m sure her attorney will look for a pattern. Domestic violence is one of the ugliest and most dangerous calls we deal with at the police station. Often, alcohol and weapons are involved.” TJ got up, looked out the kitchen window, and turned back to Grace. “We found a gun in the drawer by Conrad’s side of the bed. It’s legally his, but I’d bet he used it to threaten her. My guess is her lawyer will use a self-defense plea, but it might be difficult to prove since he was asleep at the time he was murdered.” She paused, and sat down again. “His throat was cut.”

  Grace’s hand flew to her throat, and she suddenly felt chilled. “Jeff already told me that.” She reached across the table and grabbed TJ’s arm. “Dear God. Emily could never have done that. How could anyone?”

  TJ patted her hand and fumbled for words. “I’ll admit—I mean, I know—it’s an unusual way for a woman to murder someone. More a man’s style. But whoever did it obviously hated him a great deal. Years of being battered could make a woman do that. Check the prison population. The cells are filled with battered women who killed their husbands.”

  “TJ. Do you really think she’ll end up in prison?”

  “Most likely. All the evidence points to her at the moment. It’s highly compelling. We had a major crime task force meeting with our personnel, plus investigators from the Illinois State Police and from Douglas County. Add the crime techs and a crime scene analyst to the group. It was an articulation discussion to go over what we already know.”

  “Why is the evidence so devastating for Emily?” Grace asked.

  “Because there’s so much of it. She made sure her children were gone that night, and God knows what they’ve already heard and seen. He raped her after the poker party, and he was quite intoxicated and brutal. Witnesses will agree to the alcohol, although the tox screen isn’t back yet. It will substantiate his state of mind. After he raped her and beat her—thus the bruises—he fell asleep, with most of his clothes still on. It appears she left, went to the bathroom in her own bedroom, cleaned up briefly, and threw the nightgown he’d ripped on the floor. She changed into another nightgown, and then she killed him as he slept. The second nightgown is the one she wore that morning, and it was covered with blood.

  “She says she took a sedative because she has trouble sleeping, and we did find the sedatives in her bathroom with a glass of water. But she might have taken those after she murdered him. It was a crime of opportunity because the glass vase or ashtray she used was on one of the tables in the bedroom. To top that off, her fingerprints were on the piece of glass that killed him. The blood spatter goes from his room to hers and back again, and her foot had a cut from the broken glass on the floor of his room.”

  “Can’t some of those things be explained? For instance, if she did go into the bedroom, she might have gotten the blood on her because someone else had already killed him?”

  “She did go back to her bedroom after she killed him because she called 9-1-1. But the blood pattern indicates she traveled in both directions. It doesn’t show how many times. Just the fact that she called 9-1-1 after she killed him shows her confused state of mind.”

  “And her motive was that he battered her, and she’d had enough?”

  “A perfect motive. Why she hadn’t done it sooner we’ll never know. But something must have happened that night. Whatever it was, it clicked, and she couldn’t take it anymore. She had the kids safely parked elsewhere, and no one was around. He was drunk and was sleeping heavily—the perfect situation, except for an alibi for her.”

  “You will think about more possibilities, right? You won’t just look at Emily.”

  “Correct. I am the number one alternative theory person at the EPD. Ask the ch
ief. Everyone down there, especially the chief, gets frustrated with me. But we haven’t touched on a couple of items here. First, the doors to the house were locked and an alarm set. It never went off. She was alone in the house with him. He didn’t slit his own throat. Second, I’d imagine he is worth a huge chunk of money, and she’s the only possible beneficiary, unless he left some to his brother and sister-in-law. He also has a sister, Jessalynn. But I don’t think there’s a lot of love among those sibs, so I guess we’ll see what the will says. That’s next. Of course, if he left everything to Emily, including life insurance, she won’t get it if she’s found guilty. Illinois has a slayer statute.”

  Grace shook her head, slowly, from side to side. “This is so far beyond my understanding of what marriages are like, TJ. Roger and I were lucky, but we only had a few years of happiness. I guess I don’t get how an intelligent woman like Emily could marry into such a horrible situation.”

  “I understand, Grace. I’m not sure I know a lot of happy marriages, but, on the other hand, abusive marriages are few on my personal radar too. I think most lie between those extremes. It’s been my experience abusive partners can be charming and tender-hearted at times, and perhaps that’s how the Folger marriage began. But I think even charm reveals some cracks on the surface. Emily simply didn’t see them.”

  “Keep looking, TJ. I’ll clean up the Folger house if it’s all right to do that now. I realize it may be a while before anyone is in the house, but I’d feel better if I took care of it.”

  “Sure. We’re all done, and it will be a mess from the fingerprint powder and the blood. I’ve got the name of a carpet cleaning firm that’s good with bloodstains. If anyone can get those stains out, they can.” She handed Grace a business card. “You might have to talk with her about how to buy a new mattress for the bed. Actually, both beds.”

  “I’ll talk with Will. He has the purse strings at the moment.”

  “So far, Jeff has asked the right questions and will publish the facts as clearly as possible. Unfortunately, the Woodbury Sentinel editor seems not to have the same journalistic code. His name is Adam Shumacher, he’s new, and I think he’s a yellow journalist at best. He’ll stir up plenty of trouble as far as the gossip circuit. I don’t know how they’ll have a fair trial in this venue.”