by Anne Hagan
I knocked again and called out, “Sheila Ford, police. We have a warrant.” There was still no reply.
Treadway stepped forward, “Should we ram it Sheriff?”
“It’s Morelville Joe; let me try it first.” He nodded and backed down a step so I could move out of the way and swing the door open.
Out of habit, I unlatched my holster and put my hand on the butt of my service pistol but I didn’t draw it. I reached across with my left hand and opened the screen door then, holding that open with my right hip, I tried the knob of the entry door. It opened easily.
Swinging the door into the interior of the kitchen slowly, I called out to anyone listening again, “Sheila Ford? Sheriff’s Department, we have a warrant.” Again, there was no response.
I stepped into the kitchen. Joe and Shane followed immediately behind me. Looking back toward the door, I wasn’t surprised to see the .22 rifle right where Chloe had said it would be. I pointed that out to Shane who called the crime lab tech in. While Laura photographed that and then put gloves on so she could collect it, the three of us cleared the house. No one was there.
After calling the rest of the search team inside, I gathered them for quick instructions. “We’re not tossing this place, got it?” There were nods all around. “We’re specifically looking for any other .22 caliber weapon that might be here, binoculars and any .22 caliber rounds that you can find – Jacketed or not, box or no box. We’re also authorized to take any computer equipment or external drives found and some other things, as applicable. If you see something else that seems relevant, don’t touch it. Call me or call Harding over to review what you’ve found. Everyone got that?” I got another round of nods out of the assembled deputies and then I assigned them to rooms.
“No round in the rifle Sheriff. It’s just a single shot,” Laura told me.
“Thanks,” I nodded and walked out of the kitchen, thinking to myself, What’s the point of keeping a loaded gun by the door if it isn’t loaded? Where did the round that should have been in it go?
It wasn’t long before Joe handed over a loaded .22 caliber revolver he’d found in a nightstand in the master bedroom. The crime lab tech cleared the cylinders of their unjacketed rounds, recorded them and the pistol and then bagged it all.
Later, I was in the den with Shane as he went through Terry’s desk. Store records were piled all over it and every other available semi-flat surface. Terry’s filing system seemed to be no system at all.
There was no computer in sight but that didn’t surprise me, even though the Ford’s ran a retail store. The computer age had passed Terry’s generation by and Sheila wasn’t much younger than Terry had been. Internet service was expensive out here in the sticks and most of the older people in the village with no children at home didn’t bother with computers or internet. Hell, the cash register at the store is from the early days of the electronic age...
Shane rifled through the papers on top of the desk and then started opening the drawers. When he pulled open the bottom of the three right side drawers he paused.
“Did you find something?”
“Maybe; there’s a cell phone in here. He reached down with a gloved hand and pulled it out then held it out to me.
I didn’t have gloves on so I didn’t take it from him; I just looked at it instead. “It looks like the one Terry used to use.”
“Could it be his most recent one?”
“I don’t know for sure,” I half shrugged.
“We didn’t pull Terry’s cell records Sheriff. That might come back to bite us if he has calls during the time of death that are not originating in ending up in that area of Tennessee. We should probably take this and at least check its call history.”
“Do it. I’ll get the DA on the line but I’m sure he’ll tell me we can consider it computer equipment.”
I called Tyler and let him know what we’d found while Shane continued his search. The den closet yielded a gun safe to him that was stashed in the very back, right corner with an ammo box sitting on top and then a small Sentry brand fire proof box on top of that.
“What do we do with all this?” His look was a little perplexed.
“We go through what we can. The fire box could be personal papers, valuables or even another pistol. The ammo box isn’t sealed in any way, let’s get the tech in here and have her go through that. I’ll need to get the gun safe either removed or opened but, given what it is, we have the right to search it.”
While Shane went to get the crime lab tech, I gloved up then pulled the fire box off the top of the stack and tried to open it. It was locked. I carried it over to the desk and set it down then went back for the ammo box. It wasn’t very heavy. Without even looking in it, I knew it couldn’t be more than half full. I toted that over to the desk too but ended up setting it on the floor while I moved some stacked paper out of the way.
Shane reappeared with the tech in tow. “Look what we have, Sheriff.” Two sets of keys dangled from the fingers of his outstretched hand.
“His and hers?”
“Probably boss. I grabbed them when I saw the Sentry keys on them. We can at least get into the fire box without breaking it open.”
“Let’s do that first.”
The tech stood by, camera ready, while Shane worked the lock. It popped right open. Inside was nothing but paper. I waited while Laura took a quick photograph then I scanned through the documents myself, “Marriage certificate, birth certificates, truck title...all the usual stuff. I don’t see a will or any sort of death certificate for Terry though and I don’t see any insurance documents for either of them. That’s a little odd.” I looked at the tech, “Did anyone else turn any of that sort of thing up?”
“No Sheriff.”
Shane swung his arm around the room, “They’re probably somewhere in these stacks.” He dropped his head and shook it, “It will take days to go through all of this.”
I sidestepped several inches to a position in front of the ammo box. “First things, first.” Before I could even lift the lid though, the house phone rang. There was a receiver in the office but I didn’t bother to pick it up.
After four rings, the ringing stopped. I lifted the lid on the box and looked inside to see two boxes of shotgun shells and a handful of loose ones on the top. The tech took a picture and then I reached in to remove the boxes.
One of my deputies stuck his head around the door frame, “I’m still working the kitchen Sheriff. A woman named Molly left a message on the machine just now asking if everything was okay. She sees all of the police vehicles down here.”
Shane looked at me, “What do we do boss?”
“Molly’s the busybody Postmaster. It’s a wonder she’s not got her nose in the meeting going on tonight. Just ignore it.”
“What if she calls Ford’s cell and tips her that we’re here before we’re done?”
“Good point.” Signaling to my Deputy at the door, I told him, “Find Treadway and let him know the status of the kitchen search then get outside and keep any bystanders, including the home owner, out.”
“Roger Sheriff,” the Deputy said and then was gone.
“I should have thought of that before,” I said aloud, to no one in particular then I mentally slapped myself. Shaking my head to clear it, I put the two boxes of shotgun shells down and looked back in the ammo box. Under where the slugs had been was a box labeled for full metal jacketed .22 caliber rounds. I had the tech take a photo then I lifted that gently out, held it out for another photo then opened it.
“Bingo!” The box not only contained what it was supposed to, it was also missing a single round. I tipped it toward Shane and then toward Laura. She bagged and tagged the whole box.
“There are some loose, unjacketed .22 rounds in here along with the loose slug shells that were on top but no more jacketed .22s,” I told Laura. “Go ahead and bag those other .22 cals too, just to be thorough.”
Shane grinned, “Looks like we may have a case.”
“Probably. It would really make me feel a lot better to find those binoculars too.”
While Shane worked through the paperwork stacks in the den, I wandered back through the house. Treadway met me in the kitchen.
“Nothing more upstairs Sheriff and down here, other than the den, is mostly done too.”
“Is there a basement Joe?”
“Already checked it. Just a ten by ten furnace room like most houses around here...too wet for much more.”
“Let’s head out to the garage then. We’re still looking for binoculars, at a minimum.”
Not even thinking, I stepped out the door from the kitchen into the driveway ahead of Treadway. The young deputy I’d sent outside minutes before was in place holding a half dozen residents with nothing better to do than gawk, at bay. When they saw me, they started shouting questions.
“Go on ahead Joe; I’ll be right there.”
I walked over to the deputy and the little crowd of people just a few steps from him. “Evening folks. I dipped my head in acknowledgement.”
“What’s going on Mel?” Molly, who’d called previously and left the message, now called out loudly, even though I could reach out and touch her from where I was standing.
“Now, now. This is a police matter. No one is hurt and no one is under arrest. We’re just looking into a few things. You folks need to back up off the lawn and let my people do their jobs.
No one moved. Politely, but in my best command voice, I admonished them, “That’s not an option. All of you need to move back to no closer than the sidewalk now.”
“We can’t see nothin’ from down there that far Sheriff,” old man Purcell whined.
“Exactly,” I replied and then urged them all back. I turned on one heel and headed for the garage.
In sharp contrast with the den, the garage was a neat and orderly. Tools hung on racks above old but scrubbed work benches along the back wall. A multi-drawer toolbox stood next to the row of work tables. Down both side walls were built in shelves that were lined with plastic tubs and totes, all neatly labeled and each with a matching lid. Fishing poles stood in a rack in one front corner and garden tools in a rack in the other.
Joe was working his way down the left side opening totes and peering inside. “Anything?” I asked him.
“What’s on the label is what’s in the tote, so far.”
I started down the right side. I found summer jackets in a tote labeled summer jackets, and rock salt in a tote labeled that way. Quickly scanning down the rows of labels, I found a couple of totes labeled ‘Hunting Clothes’. Playing on a hunch, I opened the first one. It was packed full of bright orange apparel. Opening the next, I found camouflage clothing but nothing else.
“We’re in Terry Ford’s domain Joe but I’m thinking Sheila wouldn’t have wanted him to know she’d bought the binoculars. They’re probably in a tote full of Christmas decorations or something.” Frustrated already, I snapped the lids back on the tubs and replaced them.
“Or maybe she mixed it in with other similar stuff so, if he found them, she wanted him to think he’d just forgotten he had them, Sheriff.” Joe drew my attention to the tote at his feet.
I checked the label, ‘Hunting Gear’. Inside, among other hunting paraphernalia, were two sets of binoculars; one older in a case and one much newer in their original box.
Chapter 25 – Denouement
Mama Rossi
Wednesday Evening, October 21st, 2014
Faye called to let us know she’d been asked to report to the Fall Festival meeting early to help set up coffee and snacks for the large group that was expected. Dana and I rode together, without her instead and arrived about 15 minutes early.
She pulled her car into the lot of the former school turned community center and parked to the left of a dark colored pick-up. Getting out on the passenger side, I only glanced at the truck at first, ensuring I didn’t hit it with my door as I opened it.
As I made my way between the car and the truck, I glanced into the bed of the pick-up. My eye was caught by an old fashioned creel basket on the opposite side. I went around that way, reached over the side and hauled the basket up. Flipping open the lid, I peered inside and took a good look.
“Mama, what on earth are you doing?” Dana exclaimed.
“Nothing.” I returned the creel to its former position.
“You can’t just go around doing stuff like that, you know?”
Inside the community center, I immediately set about trying to corner Faye to tell her what I’d seen outside. Dana though was hell bent on interrupting me and pulling me in a different direction so all I could do was get Faye to promise to hear me out later.
After a few self-introductions to people Dana hadn’t already met in one form or fashion and some pointed questions, we were directed to the gentleman in charge of the haunted house operation.
“Mama, this is Craig Stroud.”
“You know him?” I asked my daughter.
“You look familiar,” the man said to Dana, “but I just can’t place you.”
“We’ve never formally met. I’m Dana Rossi. I was with Mel during the, uh, incident at the Mushroom Festival back in the spring. I was in a wheelchair then.”
“Ah yes, now I remember. An unfortunate incident that, but it seems that you’re doing well.”
“I’m fine and getting better every day. May I introduce my mother, Chloe Rossi?”
He extended his hand to my mother, “Mrs. Rossi, a pleasure.”
Curious, I asked, “Whatever happened at the mushroom festival that was so unfortunate? Was someone poisoned?”
Craig lowered his voice, “In a manner of speaking, yes.” At what I was sure was my look of utter disbelief he added, “It’s not what you’re thinking. It was nothing he ate at the festival. It turned out to be murder.”
“I see,” I said, but I really didn’t and I didn’t want to.
“So, what brings you ladies out tonight? Did you hear about all of this and decide you wanted to jump in and get involved?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Dana told him. We took seats next to him and had a nice long chat about our haunt experiences and his needs while we waited for the formal meeting of the evening to kick off.
Faye joined us a couple of minutes before everything got started. By that time, Dana and Craig were deep in conversation and oblivious to us. Faye leaned toward me. “What did you want to tell me?” she whispered.
I looked around the now full cafeteria turned meeting hall. More than a hundred people milled about. I saw several faces that were already familiar to me in the crowd. “I can’t say much here,” I whispered back, but I found something pretty interesting outside in someone’s truck.”
“Who’s truck? What did you find?” she fired back but quietly.
I leaned in closer and whispered to her.
Faye’s jaw dropped as the President of the Festival Committee called the meeting to order.
After about a half hour of various reports and minor ‘big picture’ discussion, the meeting broke out into functional groups with everyone congregating in the group that met their primary interest to do specific final planning. Faye tugged me to join her with the food services group while Dana split off with Craig and his haunted house crew.
“Since you’ll be back and forth during the next couple of weeks, you’re not going to be much help to Craig’s crew with the build anyway, right?”
“That’s true, but I would still like to lend a hand with make-up and costuming. I’ll make it a point to be here for the full festival.”
Faye simply nodded and pulled me toward two tables place a little closer to the kitchen entrance and the snacks.
Each group quickly staked out a little territory in the large cafeteria, taking over a table or two. Some folks milled about too, not interested in any one specific focus but preferring to listen in for a few minutes on more than one or, I suspected, just there for the coffee and refreshments that we
re readily available near the food committee tables for the taking.
In our group, we’d been talking about set-up arrangements and scheduling needs for about ten minutes when the door from the main hallway swung open and Mel, in full uniform, one of her deputies and a man in a suit and tie strode in. My daughter-in-law scanned the room, her eyes finally coming to rest on the area where the decorating and staging committee was meeting.
She turned and said something in a low voice to the two men then, leaving them standing where they were, she made her way over to the decorating and staging group as all eyes in the room followed her. The only sound to be heard was the one Mel’s service boot soles made as leather met tile while she walked.
Mel stopped behind the chair of Sheila Ford who looked up at her with an expression I could only describe as puzzled. “Mrs. Ford, I need to speak with you.”
“Whatever for?” Sheila asked her.
“Could you come outside with me please and I’ll explain?”
“There’s nothing you can say to me out there that you can’t say to me right here. What’s this all about? Is something wrong? What’s happened now?”
“Sheila, please, you’re not making this easy.”
“Just tell me what it is you want me to know!” Sheila Ford’s voice rose with each statement. Her tone was laced with fear.
Mel, the picture of calm, responded, “I’m sorry to have to do this like this; Sheila Ford, you’re wanted for questioning. You’re under arrest for the murder of Patricia Dunkirk and the attempted murder of your late husband, Terry Ford.”
Mel hauled Sheila up out of her chair and continued to talk, presumably letting Sheila know her rights, but I could hear nothing above the bedlam that erupted in the room at the announcement of the charges. Almost everyone was out of their seat and they were all talking at once. The staid planning meeting had turned into total chaos.
Above it all, someone started screaming then switched to wailing. It was Sheila. The room reverberated with the sound of her cries and with the chatter of others.