by Anne Hagan
“From right here I have a clear view of you and the angle seems about right if you were a little taller. I simulated holding a rifle then a pistol.”
Dana shot back, “Yes, but a hunter with a clear view wouldn’t have taken the shot.”
“Good point; hang on.” I backed up to the copse of trees and realigned myself with Dana and the door. To take a shot at the right angle, I could still see her very clearly. No hunter, in his or her right mind, would have fired.
“Can you go and stand in the tub?” I yelled.
I stood my ground on the hilltop while she complied. I could see her less clearly now that she was 10-12 yards further distant and in the interior of the room but, unless I backed up to where the knoll dropped off just a little behind me, I could still see that I was shooting straight into a cabin. The angle of trajectory was only right from the edge of the hill or near the front of the clump of trees I was in. No hunter took a shot from anywhere up here!
Using a hunter’s eye, I looked around me. There were no tracks in the dry earth now and, in reality, I was contemplating the events of a month prior. The trees still had the majority of their leaves now full of color but not yet ready to give way. Still, on the unused hillside, deadfall from storms and fall seasons past lay all around, mostly undisturbed, other than where I’d walked myself.
Peering closely at the ground, I began looking for signs of other human traffic and I began edging leaves with my toes around the largest trees in the right sightline and just to either side of them where an ejected shell casing might have landed. I was about to give up when a tiny glint of metal caught my eye. Stepping to it, it was immediately apparent that it was a shell casing and for a small caliber bullet at that.
All around me were only leaves. I chose a large freshly fallen one and edged it under the cartridge. When the case was firmly in the middle of the leaf, I pulled the corners up around it and carried it down the hill with me like that, not touching it.
Dana stared into the cup where the shell casing I’d found now rested beside the bullet we’d dug out of the wall. She shook her head, “They sure could go together.”
“Yeah, but there’s no proving that unless there are matching fingerprints on both. You have to touch them somewhere to load them but that casing has been out in the elements.”
She shifted gears, “So, you could see me in the tub?”
“Yes but it’s not a shot anyone but someone bent on killing Patricia Dunkirk would have taken and, given that it’s a soaking tub, what are the odds of her standing up right there and being framed in that doorway?”
“What are the odds of that door being open? There’s a lot of ‘ifs’ here.”
“True, but it’s still too whacked to be accidental. Either the shooter was in here and intended to kill her or out there and got lucky. The shell casing I found may or may not be...”
Something flashed in my head and I picked up the cup to look at the bullet again.
“What were you saying?”
I didn’t even hear Dana’s question. Tilting my head, I asked her instead, “Have you ever hunted?”
“Noooo, not personally. My dad and my brother Vince do. Why?”
“I’m not familiar with the hunting regs in Tennessee but they’re probably similar to Ohio. You can’t hunt big game with a rifle, only a shotgun. You’d probably want a shotgun anyway to hunt coyote. You can use a .22 caliber rifle in Ohio for small game like birds, rabbits and nuisance animals like groundhogs and coon.”
“Okay, where are you going with this?”
“That’s just it Dana, a seasoned hunter, trying to help thin out the coyote problem wouldn’t be out with a .22, rifle or pistol, and it’s probably completely illegal here, like it is in Ohio, to hunt with full metal jacketed rounds. It’s very dangerous and any licensed hunter would know that. The damn things pass right through stuff!”
Dana shuddered, “What a mess!”
We were both quite for a couple of minutes, thinking, then I got up and went upstairs. She followed.
I turned on all the lights in the room, opened the drapes to the only window and opened the balcony door next to it again. Starting at the balcony, I walked a slow line through the door, around the bed and then over to the tub, looking at the carpeting as I went.
“If Dunkirk was on the balcony when she was shot, someone intended to kill her. The problem with that scenario is, after impact with her, a .22 bullet would have been slowed and the trajectory changed even though it was a jacketed round that passed through.”
“Agreed.”
“If Dunkirk were anywhere in here, with a shooter inside or outside, there’d have been blood spatter.”
“She had to have bled heavily from a neck shot...had to...”
“But there’s no blood anywhere on the carpet. Not around the tub and not on the path to get the body outside. Granted, this could have been cleaned and it’s likely that it was cleaned after she was shot but certainly, it hasn’t been replaced. This carpet isn’t new in the past month or so. It’s been here a while.”
Chapter 7 – Found
Mama Rossi
Late Tuesday Morning, October 14th, 2014
Morelville
I found Dale Walters shop easily enough but I wouldn’t have even noticed it or thought to stop there if Faye hadn’t told me too. His building was a non-descript place covered in dust that came, no doubt, from the dusty, pitted parking area out in front of it. When I got up close to the door, I realized it was stenciled with a circular, ‘Dale’s Curios’. Who knew?
Stepping inside, I felt like I’d entered a different dimension. There were odd and unusual things and old, reclaimed things everywhere. They lined narrow aisles on the floor and they hung from the walls and ceiling. In every inch of space, it seemed, something was on display with only enough room for humans to pass and marvel at it all.
A gentleman about my age appeared from a narrow doorway near the back. “Good morning. Can I help you ma’am?”
“You must be Dale, I take it?”
The man didn’t reply directly, he just tipped his head to the side and half nodded.
“I’m Chloe Rossi. Faye Crane told me I should stop here and take a look around.”
The mention of Faye’s name brought a smile to his face, “Ah Faye, sweetheart Faye. Such a lovely woman. So tell me, are you looking for anything in particular?” He spread his hands wide, taking in the eclectic mix of his shop.
“This is one of those, I’ll know it when I see it type of stops, I guess you could say.”
“Well, you’re in the right place for that! Please, take a look around and, if you need any help, just holler.”
As I wandered around, I came to realize that Dale’s shop had more decorative pieces than furniture pieces but there were the odd few handmade chairs here and there. Much of what Faye had called junk were art pieces that were reasonably priced compared to what I’d have paid in the city for similar things, if I had been interested in them.
When I’d worked my way back to the front, Dale was standing at a counter near the door that I hadn’t even realized was there when I came in. He looked at my empty hands and then my face. A look of what I took to be disappointment flashed across his own face but he plastered on a smile.
“I take it you didn’t find anything to your liking?”
“Oh that’s not it at all.”
“It’s not?”
“I liked several of the art pieces here, especially the ones that seem to be make out of odds and ends but that resemble something completely different than their materials.”
His chest puffed out a little, “I make those myself. I call them the ‘Sum of the Parts Collection’.”
“They’re amazing Dale.”
He grinned wide but then cocked his lips to the side and looked me over at the same time as he pushed the glasses that were sliding down his nose back up. “No one from around here ever buys them. They think they’re too expensive, too weird and t
hat I’m crazy.” He scratched his head and went on, “I am a little crazy but that’s what lets me be creative, you know?”
“Let me tell you, I’m going to come back in here. I’m actually shopping to help decorate a house but I need furniture pieces first and then art and décor. I’ll be back here for things to use for finishing touches, how about that?”
That seemed to please Dale because he beamed broadly. Handing me a postcard sized business card, he said, “I look forward to it. Take that along with you, why don’t you, so you can keep my little piece of heaven in your mind’s eye.”
Fifteen minutes later I entered the entirely different, more organized, more refined world of Sharpe’s Antiques. The place was clean and neat but at the same time arranged to be warm and inviting without the feeling of being engulfed in clutter or in the grime of age.
A woman, somewhat older than me, approached me as soon as I’d crossed the threshold. “Hello dear, I’m Lucy. How may I help you?”
“I’m Chloe Rossi; Faye Crane recommended your shop to me.”
“Oh, I know who you are dear. I was at the reception for Kris and Lance and your Dana and Mel. Lovely party, just lovely.”
“Yes, it was. Faye and the girls did a marvelous job putting it all together. But now,” I let out a tiny sigh, “the work begins. Mel and Dana just moved into their own house and, because Mel was living with Kris and her children, she only took what was specifically hers with her. My Dana has recently left a government position that had her living in hotels most of the time so they need everything.”
“Of course they do! I’m glad you came here first.”
I smiled to myself, at ease that I didn’t have to jump to the defense of daughter and daughter in law.
“First things first though; how about a cup of tea?”
###
Tuesday Afternoon, October 14th, 2014
Near Morelville
“It’s Gates; we’ve found him.” The deputy un-keyed his mike and looked out again at the body of Terry Ford floating, facedown, in the pond before him.
Jesse and Steven both stood surveying the scene too. While Gates made arrangements to retrieve the body, they stood beside Jesse’s truck, parked behind Ford’s own missing pickup, and talked between them.
“Look,” Jesse pointed toward the bank, “there’s his pole right there.” It was lying on the bank, a line out in the water with no bobber or other marker in sight. “Bet it’s tangled out there somewhere.” Steven Ford simply nodded.
Gates asked them, “Is this public or private property?”
“Belongs to Chuck Knox,” Jesse said. “Him and Terry go way back. Terry fishes here all the time. He takes bluegill; helps keep their numbers down for Chuck so they don’t overrun the pond.”
Within 15 minutes, Jesse and Steven were relegated to the confines of the truck while Mel’s Deputies swarmed the scene. They watched as two deputies put on waders and went out in an inflatable raft to retrieve Terry’s body from the middle of the still pond.
Once Terry was retrieved, having no other transportation back to his cruiser, Gates climbed back in the truck with the two men. Steven Ford began to quiz him. “So, what do you think Deputy?”
Gates was diplomatic, “Mr. Ford, I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“I appreciate that but I need to know where we go from here. Who will investigate?”
“The Coroner will see to your brother sir if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I’m asking about a murder investigation deputy. What’s next?”
“There isn’t going to be a murder investigation Mr. Ford.”
“Why the hell not?” Jesse asked, jumping into the fray.
“There were absolutely no signs of foul play out there at all gentlemen; no tracks at all and no other signs that anyone else had been there. His line was snagged out in some reeds. It may have snagged and when he waded in to try and free it, he slipped, and...well, anyway, the Coroner is probably going to rule it an accidental drowning.”
“Bull!” Jesse was angry now. “Do you know anything about fishing Deputy?”
Gates admitted that he didn’t fish.
“Well, we both do,” Jesse turned his head and looked at Steven in the back seat, “and we can tell you that something stinks here.” Steven nodded.
Gates, riding shotgun, looked at Jesse driving and then back at Steven too. “Tell me what you see that we don’t see,” he asked.
Jesse blew out a heavy breath, “Look Deputy, someone’s been here; had to be. The ground’s just too dry and firm right now for you to tell it but we know it.” He tossed his head toward Steven Ford in the back.”
The older Ford brother spoke up, “You can’t fish without bait or tackle Deputy Gates. If he was fishing, where’d it go?”
“Yeah, and Terry wouldn’t have gone in the water without putting on his waders. He sure wasn’t wearing them and I didn’t see them in the bed of his truck,” Jesse added. “If the line was snagged, he would of just cut it.” He glanced in the rearview mirror at Terry’s brother for confirmation.
Steven Ford leaned forward between the two front seats, “His waders are probably still sitting by the door where he had them packed up for the trip we were supposed to leave for yesterday morning.”
“His boots are probably there too, ain’t they Steven?”
Terry’s brother nodded.
Jesse continued, “Terry didn’t have boots or waders. He was in his work clothes. He didn’t even have his favorite fishing hat. All of that strikes me wrong.”
###
“Chloe? It’s Faye Crane. Listen, they found Terry. Jesse and I, we’re both home now. When I went by the girls’ house, I saw you out directing Lucy Sharpe’s delivery guys. I’m just dying to know what you bought. Why don’t you come on out to the farm for a nice dinner and a night out of that empty old house? Call me back as soon as you get this message.”
Chapter 8 – MYOB
Mel
Early Tuesday, Afternoon, October 14th, 2014
Gatlinburg, Tennessee
We were cooling our heels in a little visitors waiting area at the Sevier County Sheriff’s Department. I wasn’t happy about how long we’d been waiting. I was being polite but I’d expected a little professional courtesy here and I wasn’t getting it.
Deputies came and went through the area Dana and I were sitting in, laughing and joking. After more than 40 minutes without so much as an acknowledgement that we were still there by the Deputy manning the inquiry window, I went back to it and stood there until he could be bothered to acknowledge my presence.
“Question ma’am?”
“I just wanted to let you know that we’re still out here and we’re still waiting to speak to your Sheriff or the investigating officer on the Patricia Dunkirk shooting.”
“I’m aware of that Deputy..., what did you say your name was?”
“Crane; Sheriff Crane.” I was trying hard to keep my voice even and my temper in check.
“It will be just a few more minutes Sheriff.” His tone was condescending and I didn’t believe him. All I could do though was nod and go back to my chair beside Dana. She just set her jaw and shook her head.
Another 15 minutes passed before we were finally called back only to be put in a sparse interview room.
Dana shuddered, “Bad vibes in here.”
“Yeah, this is probably the last place you want to be after all you’ve been through. I can’t imagine why they felt the need to put us in here.”
“Simple,” Dana said, “there’s a two way and it’s miked. They can listen to and see everything. Maybe they’ll take what we have to say seriously.”
The words were no sooner out of Dana’s mouth than the partially closed door swung open and the portly Sheriff of Sevier County blustered in. “So sorry to keep you little ladies waiting. I hope it wasn’t too long?”
Condescension seems to run through this department... I stood while Dana remained seated. “Sheriff
Trainor,” I said, reading his name tag, “I’m Sheriff Crane from Muskingum County, Ohio and this is my associate, Special Agent Rossi.” I only felt a twinge of guilt using Dana’s former title with the self-important man standing before me.
“Sit, sit please. Coffee? Tea perhaps?”
Dana spoke up, “No thank you Sheriff. We’re here officially.”
I sat back down. Trainor took a chair and turned it around to straddle it facing us like a thinner, fitter man might. “How can I ‘officially’ help you ladies?”
Already tired of his attitude, I just dived in and hoped to get the meeting over with quickly. “Agent Rossi and I are in Tennessee on some personal business. We’re staying in the Mountain Hideaway cabin just outside of Gatlinburg where Patricia Dunkirk was shot and killed last month.”
“Ah, yes. The accidental shooting. So unfortunate.”
“Your department did investigate?”
He eyed me warily but answered quickly, “Of course, of course. Wasn’t much to it though. She stepped out on the balcony and caught a stray round from a hunter, poor thing.” He pursed his lips and shook his head to emphasize his sympathy but his eyes held no sorrow and I wasn’t buying his act.
“Did you find the bullet that struck her on the scene Sheriff or did the Coroner find it at autopsy?” His eyes darted right and he licked his lips before he answered me. I knew a lie was coming.
“I believe so, yes.”
“You believe so or you did?”
“I don’t rightly recall but, regardless, it’s not a matter of public record and I shouldn’t have said what I already have.”
“I can hardly believe that you can’t recall something that happened roughly a month ago and that you think I’m here just digging for information without something of value to add to your investigation.”
Trainor stared at me but didn’t respond.
Dana asked him, “Why do you believe a hunter killed Dunkirk?”
“Why, because that’s the only plausible explanation, of course. She wasn’t from around here. No one here had any reason to harm her however, there have been problems with coyotes in that area and the Sportsman’s Club near there had a sort of a bounty on them running that weekend. Their members were out all over those hills. One of them probably took a shot and never even realized what happened. As I said, it’s just so unfortunate.” His look was smug.