Defiled

by Margaret Buffano

  Her head tilts way back as if someone pulled her by the hair, forcing her head far back. Her unblinking eyes stare at the ceiling. In all his years as sheriff, he’s seen few dead bodies and even fewer that were murdered. But he knows that whatever killed Eleanor Russell was a complete surprise to her, had taken her off guard.

  Her throat is cut from ear to ear. There is no need to check her pulse – the front of her nightgown, the sheets, and the top portion of the covers blood-soaked.

  The room is in shambles as if someone was desperately looking for something.

  Satisfied that all danger is passed, Sheriff Gibson puts his gun back in his holster and slowly backs out of the room. He makes his way out of the house and back to the squad car. Reaching in through the open car window he pulls out the microphone of the police radio.

  “This is Sheriff Gibson. …Is anyone reading me? Come in, please.”

  The police radio crackles with empty electronic static, then a click.

  “Wilson here, Sheriff. What’cha need?”

  “Wilson, listen carefully. I’m out here at the Widow Russell’s place. There’s been a double homicide. The widow and Joyce the housekeeper have both been murdered. I want you to rustle up all our people. I want them to go over the entire crime scene from the basement to the attic. …I want no stone left unturned.”

  “Sure, Sheriff…right away!”

  “Oh, and Wilson, I want you and everyone else concerned not to say a word to anybody about this…especially to the papers…at least not yet. I don’t want this to turn into a circus.”

  “Not a word,” vows Wilson.

  “Wait, Wilson, there is one person I want you to tell. Go into my office. …On my desk, you’ll find a number for a Detective Benson. Call him and tell him what happened. Tell him if he wants to come to Tannersville, he’s welcomed to.”

  ***

  Five hours later, Sheriff Gibson and his crew are still busy collecting evidence at the Russell home. The paramedics bag Joyce and Eleanor, and ever so gently carry them out to the ambulance. There is a small crowd of interested citizens gathering outside. It won’t be long before the newspapers arrive – maybe even TV coverage. It can’t be helped. In only a few more hours, that circus Sheriff Gibson tried to avoid will come to town. Everyone feels uneasy, but still there is a small amount of civic pride. To be mentioned on the news, even for murder, is a reason for the citizens of Tannersville to feel pride. Whatever it takes to get on the map is a good thing.

  ***

  He stands at the front door watching the ambulance drive away when a dark unmarked car pulls up. Three men get out. They are not reporters; their suits are too old and too cheap. Sheriff Gibson can smell a city cop from a mile away. Perhaps this is that Benson he spoken to on the phone.

  “Sheriff Gibson, I’m Detective Benson. I’d like to thank you for the heads-up on these killings. We got here as soon as we could. This is my partner, Detective Goebel, and our head of forensics, Lieutenant Dodson.”

  “Forensics?” Sheriff Gibson questions. “I’ve already got our people on it.”

  Sheriff Gibson sounds insulted, but Dodson is used to small towns taking offence, so he trudges on.

  “I’d just like to take a few pictures,” Dodson says, holding his camera.

  “Yeah, well, we’ve already taken pictures!” Sheriff Gibson sounds put out. “I know, you get a hell of a lot more killings where you boys come from, but this ain’t our first rodeo, and I’m ashamed to say it probably won’t be our last. We know what we’re doing. I’d be glad to share any pictures we have as soon as my people develop them.”

  There is an awkward moment of silence that Detective Goebel breaks.

  “Well, you mind if we come in and look around?”

  “Not at all,” Sheriff Gibson says, backing from the door.

  Inside, the trio stand looking around, then at the Sheriff, waiting for what information he is willing to share – there is none.

  “So, where are the bodies?” Goebel asks.

  “Gone. …That ambulance that just left while you were coming in, the bodies were in it.”

  “Why did you give permission to take the bodies away before we arrived?” Goebel asks.

  “Listen, gentlemen, let’s get one thing straight from the get-go,” says Sheriff Gibson. “You’re here on an invite. I thought maybe we could help one another, but this is our investigation. You three are just guests in our home, so please act like gracious guests. Now, take a look around all you want, but don’t touch anything and please don’t get in the way.”

  The Sheriff walks toward the kitchen.

  “Do you mind if we at least sit in on the autopsy?” Dodson calls to the Sheriff.

  Sheriff Gibson turns around to face Dodson.

  “You can view the bodies later…after the autopsy. I’ll be going to the morgue myself, later; I’d be glad to drive you three with me.”

  Sheriff Gibson turns and disappears into the kitchen.

  “Idiot,” Dodson says softly, but loud enough for Goebel and Benson to hear.

  “Now, now…let’s not be an ungracious guest,” Goebel says.

  ***

  Sheriff Gibson pulls the squad car into the parking lot of Kathleen’s Copper Kettle. Benson sits in the front seat with the Sheriff; Goebel and Dodson are in the back. All three men look at the Sheriff, unaware of his plans.

  “I figure you boys must be starving. You probably ain’t had anything to eat since you left for Tannersville early this morning. And once we get busy at the morgue, it’ll be hours before any of us get a chance to eat.

  “Now, I hope none of you has a weak stomach? I mean, eating a meal before looking at bodies after an autopsy?” Sheriff Gibson turns to direct his statement to Dodson.

  “I can eat raw eggs while performing an autopsy,” Dodson boasts, putting emphasis on the word performing.

  “Raw eggs, eh? Well, I think we can do a little better than that. Kathleen makes a mighty fine hamburger; ask anybody in town. Come on, it’s on me. I’m buying,” he says.

  They all huddle around one small table near the window overlooking the parking lot. It is late afternoon, too late for lunch and too early for dinner. The restaurant is empty with only one waitress on duty. Of course, she and the Sheriff know each other.

  “Hamburgers, fries, and cokes all the way around. Thank you, Sara.”

  “Coming right up, Sheriff.”

  He then focuses his attention to the other men sitting at the table.

  “You know, fellas, I didn’t come here just to feed our faces. I didn’t want you to think I’m that heartless. I’m sure you have several questions and I’ll do my best to answer them.”

  The pride of all three officers is slightly dented, but they are willing to play Sheriff Gibson’s game.

  “What time do you estimate the killings?” Dodson asks.

  “Well, let’s see…I got to the Russell place a little after seven thirty, and everything was still warm and fresh, so I’d estimate it at just after seven in the morning.”

  “Why were you there in the first place?” Benson asks.

  “Eleanor Russell called me the night before. She insisted I come over first thing in morning. She said she had something she wanted to tell me…something to get off her chest.”

  “And what was that?”

  “I never got the chance to find out.”

  “Didn’t she give you an inkling of what it was about?” Benson asks.

  “It wasn’t clear – something about her sons and her husband…a confession, she said. Whatever it was, someone thought it important enough to kill her.”

  “Then why would they kill the housekeeper?” Dodson asks.

  “Just because she was there. …Wrong place, wrong time, as they say. It would have been near impossible to get to the Widow Russell without going through Miss Joyce.”

  “Do you have any suspicions who might have done this?”

  A smile comes over Sheriff Gibson’s face; h
e shakes his head and lets out a soft laugh. “No, not really, but I’ll tell you who we’ve spoken to. Of course, you have Victor locked up, but I wouldn’t put it past him to have his own suspicions. I’d question that boy if I were you.

  “We spoke with Teresa Russell, and she doesn’t know or care about any of this. She’s more concerned with her three kids. Also, I don’t think she benefits from the Widow Russell’s death. I don’t think Eleanor liked her much. You know the type, “no one is good enough for my boy.”…And she avoided her grandchildren like the plague.

  “Miss Joyce…well, she lived alone here in town most of her life. Just an old spinster; she never married. She does have a son though…Kyle Adams. He works as a gym teacher over at the High School. No one knows who his father was…at least, Joyce never told anybody. She raised him till he went off to the army. When he came back home, he started working for the school and bought himself a good-size house here in town. He and his mother never lived together from that point on, but still they were close.”

  Later, after the investigations, the detectives found it strange how off base Sheriff Gibson was on the information on Kyle Adams. For such a small town, one would think such information would be well known. It was as if the sheriff was purposely lying, or no one in town had the true knowledge on Kyle.

  Sheriff Gibson continued, “Earlier, I went over to tell Kyle the bad new; I didn’t want him hearing it from gossiping neighbors. He took it pretty bad; got all shook up about it…crying like a baby.”

  “Did he say where he was this morning? Does he have an alibi?” Goebel asks.

  “Strangely enough, he does.” There is a knowing smile on Sheriff Gibson face. “And I used the word strange on purpose. Seems Kyle Adams’ alibi is he spent the night with a lady friend, if you get my drift. And now here’s the strange part…the woman Kyle spent the night with was Helen Haywood …Eleanor Russell’s niece…Victor Russell’s cousin!”

  Goebel and Benson look at each other in bewilderment. As well, Dodson knows enough about the case to find this information interesting.

  “Damn, the plot thickens,” Goebel says to his partners.

  “Did you get to speak with Ms. Haywood?” Benson asks.

  “No, she was long gone when I got to Kyle’s place. We haven’t been able to reach her. She might still be in route to her home.

  “Kyle says she spent the night and left early in the morning.”

  “I don’t own an almanac, but if I remember correctly, the sun rises at six in the morning this time of year. Maybe we make a point to talk to Mr. Adams before we leave town,” Goebel says.

  “Here’s the burgers. …Eat up, boys. Soon as we’re done, we’ll head for the morgue.”

  ***

  The morgue is small, but well equipped. Dodson finds it easy to work in. He studies the two bodies carefully. Whoever performed the autopsy has not botched it; they have done well. Dodson reads the autopsy notes as he goes over every inch of the corpses. He looks over photographs of the bodies at the murder scene over and over, trying to place pieces of the puzzle into their respective places.

  Goebel and Benson examine photos taken at the Russell home. Sheriff Gibson looks on quietly.

  There is the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. Each of them stop what they are doing and look to see an elderly gentleman approaching. Sheriff Gibson does the introductions.

  “I hope you don’t mind, gentlemen, but I’ve asked Dr. Miller here today to see if he could be of some help. Doc was the only medical help in town for years until they built the medical center. He’s also a good old friend, and I respect his opinion.”

  To the annoyance of Dodson, old Doc Miller circles a few feet around him like some old vulture looking for scraps – looking over Dodson’s shoulder.

  Twenty minutes later, Dodson announces he has finished his analysis. All the men huddle about, eager to hear his findings.

  “Well, first off, looking at the notes of the autopsy, I must agree with most of their suspicions. From the angle and the force of the stab wounds on Joyce, the housekeeper, I would say without a doubt it was a man…a right-handed man. The cut across Mrs. Russell’s throat reflects these findings, also. The knife, based on the looks of the cuts must have been a large hunting knife, held in the right hand, and cut from her left ear to the right. The cut was also deep, all the way to the neck bone, which also reflects the strength of a man.

  “Looking at the photos of the room, it appears the killer ransacked the bedroom, perhaps to rob something or to at least make it look like a robbery. Was there anything missing?” Dodson is addressing Sheriff Gibson.

  “A few things, we believe. We never found Joyce’s purse. In the bedroom, there was nothing left of value. All her jewelry taken. Not a single earring found.”

  “I see,” Dodson says. “Then I’d like to propose another scenario. As much as we might think these killings have something to do with the Helen Haywood case or with Victor Russell, possibly, they might be completely unrelated.

  “I don’t know if anyone else noticed there is a railroad crossing less than a mile from the Russell home. It is possible, and it wouldn’t be the first time, a transient hopped off a train and went into the first house he came to. Noticing the only inhabitants were older women, he killed them and ransacked the house. Then he made it back to the railroad crossing and hopped on the next train out of town.

  “From the bodies’ positions, he took them by surprise. They found Joyce facedown in the kitchen sink, three stab wounds in her back, and the water was still running. I doubt if she knew what happened.

  “As for Eleanor Russell, it appears he rushed into the bedroom, and before the old woman could make a peep, he cut her throat.”

  “What about fingerprints?” Benson asks.

  “He never touched anything. He stabbed Joyce, took her purse. Killed the old woman, rummaged through some clothes to get to a jewelry box. It’s not surprising there were no fingerprints.”

  “And what about the murder weapon? Where is it?”

  “Like I said, it looks like it was a hunting knife…probably his own knife. …He took it with him. I’d say the killer is long gone.”

  A moment of silence goes over the room as each man tries to absorb what he just heard.

  “Well, what do you think, Doc?” Sheriff Gibson asks.

  Old Doc Miller moves in closer and looks carefully at the bodies and photos.

  “Well, I’d say that was some darn good work of deduction on this here young man’s part. And I agree with a good amount of what he said; only I don’t believe a stranger done this. I’d say it was somebody they knew and felt safe with.”

  “Oh…and how did you come up with that?” Dodson asks.

  “Well, like you, I remembered the Russell place was close to the railroad crossing. So when the Sheriff here called me and asked me to come take a look-see, I thought I’d do some investigating of my own. I called the rail company and found out only trains coming through these parts today were coal cars. And no self-respecting hobo, or transient as you call them, hops a coal car; they’d get filthy. And there was no sign of coal dust or shoe marks at the murder scene. So that eliminates any hobos…I mean, transients.

  “Now, I do agree it was a man…a right-handed man, but he was no stranger. Look at the three stab wounds in Joyce’s back.”

  They all gather around and look at the now clean wounds. Doc Miller continues.

  “Notice anything strange? Now, all three wounds…the same knife made them, only this wound is slightly larger than the other two. That means it was the first; she was relaxed…not expecting it. The other two are smaller because she tightened her muscles.”

  “Then why did he stab her in the back? He must have snuck up on her!” Dodson says.

  “You were inside the house,” old Doc says. “These old houses around here – some of them are over a hundred years old – the old wooden floors creak with the slightest touch. You couldn’t sneak up on anyone in th
e old Russell place if you wrapped pillows around your feet. The killer just didn’t want the hassle of having to fight with her, if he didn’t take her by surprise.

  “Same goes for Mrs. Russell in the bedroom. She knew the killer, she was at ease. Look at this photo of her lying in bed with her throat cut. …Look at the breakfast tray. I realize she was an old woman, but no matter how weak and slow she was, if someone rushed her, she would have at least been strong enough and fast enough to spill her glass of orange juice.”

  Everyone looks at the photo. Sure enough, there on the breakfast tray is a full glass of un-spilled orange juice.

  “No, she didn’t see this coming any more than Joyce did,” concludes Dr. Miller.

  “Then who do you think did it?” Goebel asks.

  Old Doc looks down and scratches his head.

  “Well, there’s your mystery. I haven’t the foggiest. Only people who would have anything on these two women are Victor…and there’s no way he could have done this. Teresa, Victor’s wife…but she would have no reason for killing Joyce, and I’m sure Eleanor wouldn’t leave anything to her in her will, anyways. Then there’s Kyle Adams. …Of course, he might have wanted his mother dead, but I doubt that. I’ve never heard an unkind word between them, and Joyce didn’t have any real money to speak of. And again, what reason would he have for killing Eleanor Russell? He surely had many other opportunities to kill his mother if he wanted to without involving Eleanor Russell.

  “No, this is a mystery to me, because it would have to be someone associated with both victims, and I can’t think of whom that would be. I haven’t the foggiest.”

  ***

  Goebel, Benson, and Dodson, go through the formality of interviewing both Teresa Russell and Kyle Adams. They have to agree with Old Doc that singularly each as a suspect makes little sense. But still they do the interviews in hopes some light might shine on the mystery.

  Teresa Russell shows little remorse for the loss of her mother-in-law, even a slight amount of hostility toward the old woman.