HIGHWAY HOMICIDE

by Bill WENHAM

  Although the partial print itself may not reveal which hand it was from, the fact the two prints were of the same thumb proved it was from the left hand. The head of the statue would have to be in the palm of the killer’s hand, putting a thumb print on the statuette’s shoulder.

  A left thumb print! He also recalled Doc Wayland saying it was his guess the blow that had killed Forrest Appleyard was probably struck left handed.

  Carl felt a surge of excitement surge through him. Thanks to Doc, and particularly to Jude, he’d just proved the goddamned killer was left handed! All he had to do now was to just observe which one of the guys on David’s list favored his left hand.

  He had no idea what the percentages were of left versus right, but he felt pretty sure the lefties were well in the minority. Just to be absolutely certain, he checked both Baker and La Rosa again. Both were definitely right handed.

  Even if nothing positive or usable came from the other six on the list, Carl felt he’d made an enormous leap forward in the case.

  So much so, he didn’t feel like sharing his deductions with the State guys. It would be really something if the small time hick Sheriff could hand them their killer on a platter. All nicely gift wrapped and decorated with handcuffs. He would share his findings with Jude and Doc, of course, but he was a little concerned about letting Almost in on it.

  Almost was a nice enough guy and a very good deputy but to tell Almost a secret was roughly akin to getting the local newspaper to put it out as their next main headline.

  Carl smiled broadly with satisfaction as he scanned David’s list again to see who he’d check out next.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Paddy O’Shaunessey’s Irish Pub was a very popular drinking and socializing spot for those living in and around Cooper’s Corners. In fact, on St. Patrick’s Day, a late arriving serious drinker wouldn’t even be able to get within a mile of the place.

  It wasn’t due to the fact that Cooper’s Corners had a particularly large Irish population either, since the majority of them had tended to settle in southern Vermont. O’Shaunessy’s was just one hell of a good place to celebrate St. Pat’s Day.

  Paddy would say half of his customers celebrating the Irish Saint, had probably never even seen a picture of the Emerald Isle, let alone to be able to lay claim to being born there.

  Then he’d give his infectious grin and say the money people spent in his pub, whether they were Irish or not, was as green as anyone else’s.

  This particular day was a long way from the popular Irish celebration and the pub was quiet. Carl opened the door and strode inside. He immediately spotted who he was looking for, sitting alone at one of the booths. Carl had parked his patrol car further down the street, to avoid any speculation as to who might be in trouble inside the pub.

  Carl slid into the seat opposite the solitary drinker, putting his hat down on the seat beside him.

  “Do you want to talk to me, Errol?” he said.

  Errol Cook looked up from his glass, with bleary eyes.

  “I’m in here to drink, Carl, not to talk, so go bother someone else, okay?”

  “I’m not in here to bother you, Errol. I’m here to try to help you if I can. Doc told me you were out of hospital.”

  Errol just stared down into his drink.

  “Errol?” Carl said again, “Talk to me. We’ve known each other for a good many years now and there are a lot of folks around here who care about you. Just give us a chance to help you.”

  Errol gave him another bleary eyed look.

  “I’m dying, Carl,” he said bitterly, “Can you do anything to help me along with that? And after what I’ve done, Christ, I deserve to die, believe me!”

  “What the hell did you do, for God’s sake, to make you feel like that?” Carl asked. “Is that the reason you’ve been drinking yourself paralytic all these years?”

  “You know it is,” Errol said and drained his drink. “And if you really want to help me, pal, you can start by lining up a few of these little beauties for me.”

  Carl turned, motioned to Paddy and inclined his head towards Errol.

  “Bottle, Paddy, over here, of whatever this was,” he said, indicating Errol’s empty glass.

  “Sure, Carl,” Paddy said, “On your own tab, it’ll be then, will it?”

  Carl nodded. From the looks of it, he was going to be driving Errol home anyway. He may just as well speed the process up a bit. Maybe a few more drinks would loosen Errol’s tongue up some as well. Carl poured Errol a stiff drink from the bottle.

  “Not joining me then, Carl?”

  “Can’t Errol, can I? On duty. I can’t arrest myself for drinking and driving now, can I?”

  “I just knew it as soon as you walked in.” Errol exclaimed. “You’re in here to arrest me, aren’t you? You’ve found it then. That’s why you’re here. How’d you know it was me?”

  “Found it, Errol? Found what?” Carl asked him.

  Errol gave a wry smile and took another drink from his glass.

  “You didn’t know? You’re kidding me. I’ve really let the cat out of the bag then, haven’t I?”

  “Found what?” Carl repeated.

  “Jack Finlay’s body,” Errol said. “Yes, Carl, it was me. I shot the poor bastard in cold blood. He hadn’t done a damned thing to deserve it either. I thought my Dolly was running off with him, so I shot him. I think I might have even shot Dolly too if she’d been there with him, but she wasn’t.”

  “Do you know where she is, Errol?” Carl asked. “Dolly, I mean?”

  Errol nodded but didn’t answer.

  “Where, Errol? Did she go to California?”

  “No, poor woman, she didn’t go anywhere.” Errol said. “She barely made it out of the house.”

  “Did you shoot her as well, then? Or did you kill her some other way?”

  “Didn’t even touch her, Carl, not while she was alive, at least. But she died just the same. Finlay didn’t kill her either,” Errol said, with tears streaming down his face.

  “Errol, where is she? I have to know.” Carl told him.

  “Oh, you’ll know all right, Carl. I’ll make damned sure you know. I’ll leave a letter for you when I die, telling you exactly where she is. Until then, the secret is mine and goddamn it, Carl, it’s gonna stay mine!”

  Errol finished his drink and held out his glass. Carl refilled it for him.

  “She was running away from me, you know, Carl, but not with Finlay. I know that now, so it had to be with someone else.”

  Carl reached out and put the palm of his hand over Errol’s glass.

  “Just one more question, and then I’ll take you home,” Carl said as Errol eyed the bottle on the table between them. “And, yes, you can take the bottle with you, my treat.”

  “Shoot, Sheriff, what’s your question then?” Errol said. “As if I couldn’t guess.”

  Carl nodded. “What did the hospital tell you? How long have you got?”

  Errol shrugged and gave Carl a slight smile. “A week, Carl, a month, two maybe. Who knows? But it won’t be long now, even I know that. Why? Are you going to arrest me, put me in jail?”

  Carl shook his head.

  “No point really, is there, Errol? You’ve solved the crime for me. And if what you’re telling me is true, you wouldn’t last out a murder trial anyway. As far as punishment for what you did is concerned, I think even old Jack himself would have agreed the private hell you’ve put yourself through for years is punishment enough.” Carl looked at him and just shook his head. “So why don’t you and I keep what you’ve just told me between us and save the taxpayers a whole wad of money? What do you say?”

  Carl pushed the bottle across the table to him.

  Errol took the bottle with one hand and reached out to shake Carl’s hand with the other.

  “I’m gonna take this, Carl, but I have to tell you this is the first time in years that I don’t think I’m gonna need it. Unburdening myself to you today has take
n a huge weight off my mind. I’ve confessed my sin and when I go, I can rest easy now. It doesn’t excuse what I did and it won’t bring Finlay back, but I really thank you. Thanks, Carl; you’re a real gentleman and one hell of a good cop.”

  Chapter Twenty Four

  The murderer of Forrest Appleyard realized he’d been very fortunate in his encounter with his potential blackmailer. He’d been extremely lucky to have been able to find an alternative weapon when Forrest had knocked the tire iron from his hand.

  If the old axe hadn’t been close at hand, Forrest would have gotten clean away. And Forrest had seen his face before he’d turned to run.

  After the murders, the killer had watched the CBS TV station on Burlington’s Channel 3. He’d also read the newspapers and had listened to the radio stations.

  Maria Caspar’s death had been the lead story, followed by the report of the killing of the blackmailer. The stories gave his name as Forrest Appleyard, a resident of Cooper’s Corners in Lamoille County.

  As the days passed he continued to scan the news media but there wasn’t a word about David Gates. No frozen body found alongside Maria Caspar’s out on the highway. There was no hunt for him as a fugitive suspected of murder either, nothing at all.

  All of which pointed to one inescapable conclusion and one only. David Gates was still alive and still at large somewhere. Just because the media hadn’t mentioned his name, didn’t necessarily mean the police weren’t actively searching for him.

  However, if he’d been found dead, then he’d have been named along with Maria. He thought about that for a moment and smiled. Even if he’d been found dead, the police wouldn’t have been able to identify him right away, would they? The killer had personally made sure that David’s wallet had been burned in the destruction of his home. It had been doused with gasoline and had been placed at the source of the fire.

  He hadn’t actually checked the contents of Gates’ wallet, not even for banknotes. He’d assumed that Gates’ driving license and other pertinent identity documents would be in it. Why carry a wallet if you didn’t have your important documents in it?

  The murderer realized he still had two possible loose ends here. One was the loss of his watch, which could possibly be buried under several inches of snow by now. If it was, chances were it wouldn’t be found until the April or May, if at all, and any fingerprints on it would be long gone by then.

  The second loose end was Gates himself. Even though he’d thought at the time Gates had passed out before seeing him, now he wasn’t quite so sure. And to save his own skin, he had to sure. More than just sure, he had to be absolutely certain.

  In fact there was only one way to be totallycertain and that was to track him down to find out if, in fact, he was still alive. Then, if he was, the killer had to make damned sure he didn’t stay that way much longer.

  He would have to return to Cooper’s Corners under some sort of suitable and believable guise. He didn’t actually have to disguise himself, since no one there had actually seen him yet. Except the Appleyard guy of course and he was no longer a threat now. He had to enter the community as though he had a natural and perfectly good reason for being there.

  In these smaller communities, he knew strangers stood out as though they had a neon sign on them. A sign that said ‘Hey, look at me. I’m a stranger. I don’t belong here’. But if that was the case, and Gates was also still in the area, surely he’d stand out just as much as well, wouldn’t he?

  He knew he’d have to destroy David Gates and soon, but he wouldn’t be foolhardy enough to go after him with another tire iron. No, sir, he wouldn’t! A gun of some sort was the answer and although Vermont still upheld its citizens’ right to bear arms, the killer had never actually possessed one of his own.

  But as of today all that was about to change. He wasn’t about to purchase one, but he did intend to possess one, even if he had to steal it.

  The killer hadn’t really harbored any real grudges or jealousy against Gates in the past either. Envy perhaps, because he’d wanted Maria Caspar exclusively for himself. David Gates had just been unfortunate enough to have come home unexpectedly at the wrong time.

  His killing of Maria had been in a fit of passion and rage at being rejected again by her. On the other hand, his killing of his potential blackmailer, he’d considered to be purely a matter of self defense. It was premeditated self defense certainly, but defense against an almost certain death sentence. By his own words, the man had indicated , if the killer didn’t pay up, then the caller’s testimony could put him easily on Death Row.

  So, if that wasn’t self defense, the killer didn’t know what the hell was. And Gates would fit nicely into the same category if he’d actually seen Maria’s killer in his home.

  He now had two things in mind, first to somehow obtain a gun, any gun, and then to somehow also kill David Gates with it. Until he was able to do both of those things, there was no way he could feel safe.

  With those thoughts in mind, he started to make a plan.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  “Something on your mind, Bud?” Carl asked David. “Anything wrong?”

  They were all sitting down at Judy’s dining room table for a late dinner, Carl, Almost, Judy and David. Almost had just stopped by to drop David off, after their clothing shopping spree during the afternoon. He should have gone straight home to have the dinner that his wife, Jennie had cooked for him. But there was no way that anyone in their right mind was going to turn down the offer of one or two pieces of Judy’s homemade pineapple pecan cheesecake.

  David was now back to wearing his own clothes Jennie had washed, dried and ironed for him and he felt much more at ease in them.

  “Nobody irons jeans, Almost,” David had whispered to him.

  “My Jennie does, Dave, and you’ll find yourself swimming in some pretty dangerous waters if you want to be foolish enough to tell her that. I’ll bet I’m the only guy in the whole of the State of Vermont who has his underpants neatly ironed and folded for him too. I wouldn’t dare to tell her that either.”

  David now had a completely new wardrobe of clothes he’d just bought but he’d also just realized he’d overlooked something very important.

  “I was just thinking I should have bought a dark suit as well,” he said, “Unless it’s too late now, of course.”

  “Too late?” Judy questioned him, then stopped and added, “Oh, right, of course. How insensitive of me, David, I’m so sorry. I was going to bring the subject up, but I’d planned to save it until tomorrow.”

  “Too late for what?” Almost asked. “Just what’re you saving for tomorrow?”

  Carl kicked him hard under the table.

  “Put your foot back in your mouth, and shut up for Christ’s sake, Almost,” he growled.

  “Why? What did I say now?” Almost protested.

  “No, it’s alright, Carl.” David said. “They’re both referring to Maria. Her funeral, Almost.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Almost mumbled in embarrassment.

  To avoid any further damage, Judy took charge of the conversation by saying. “The State Police are releasing her body for burial on Saturday, David. I’ve been in touch with Erica and she’s made funeral arrangements for next Tuesday.” She looked at David. “She said it’ll be held at Christ the King church on Main Street in Rutland. Do you know where that is?”

  David nodded as Judy continued, “The boys here will be on duty of course but I’ll be happy to run you down there. It’ll be nice to see Erica again too, in spite of the sad circumstances. I really liked her. It’s scheduled for two o’clock, by the way.”

  David nodded his thanks to her.

  “I’m ashamed to say this, but with everything else that’s been going on, I’d completely forgotten there’d naturally have to be a funeral.”

  “Its okay, David,” Judy said gently, “You’ve just been through such a shocking experience, and I’m not surprised you forgot. But don’t you worry yourself abo
ut a suit right now. It can wait. We’ll have time to see to all that that later. There’s still a lot of time before Tuesday.”

  To change the subject Carl asked him, “What about your job, Dave? Where were you working? Was it in Rutland?”

  David nodded.

  “Yes, I was working at the General Electric plant but somehow I don’t think I’ll be going back there. I’ve only worked for G.E. for a couple of years and there’s really nothing left down there for me any more. No Maria, no house, no belongings and the job itself wouldn’t be enough to make me want to go back.”

  “You’re not planning to stay here in Cooper’s Corners are you, surely, not after everything that’s happened?” Almost asked.

  “You know something, Almost, I do believe I am. If I could find a decent enough job here, I think this would be a fine place to live.”

  “We all think so,” Judy smiled, “and you’re welcome to stay here with me for as long as you need to.”

  “Only if I pay my own way, Judy,” David said.

  “We’ll talk about later, young man. Now, who’s for more cheesecake,” Judy said. Almost immediately held his empty plate out to her.

  “I’ll ask around,” Carl said. “Maybe you can jot down some kind of a resume. You know. Things you’re good at, that I can show to folks. Enough to get them talking to you anyway.”

  David smiled.

  “Do you reckon being a successfully elusive but reformed fugitive from justice would be on anyone’s hiring criteria here then, Carl,” he asked.

  “Don’t you worry yourself about that, David. You were barely on our gossip mill’s radar at all. You did nothing really wrong, just a teeny bit illegal maybe. You didn’t hurt anyone, you weren’t charged with anything and we all think you’re a really nice guy. Why wouldn’t anyone want to hire you?” Judy said. “And once they all know you’re lodging here with me that’ll just about clinch it for you.”