Connections

by Beth Urich

  Kate agreed, “My journalist’s creed is never pass up a good rumor, it might be true.”

  Marge smiled and shrugged. “Okay. Keep in mind, I haven’t spoken to the owners directly, but my source is usually reliable.”

  Roger interrupted. “They’ll be surprised.”

  “Dad, give her a chance.”

  “Sorry.”

  Marge continued, “Well, some big corporation has offered to buy the Sammy Lane Resort for big money.”

  Kate said. “I can’t imagine they’d sell.”

  “It was put on the National Register of Historic Places last year,” Roger added.

  Marge said, “You’re right, Kate, they refused the offer. So did the other owners approached by the company.”

  “How many others?” Kate repeated as her interest grew.

  “Maybe a handful in that same area.”

  Roger beamed. “There’s more. Tell them the rest.”

  “You’re making too much of this,” Marge said, frowning in her date’s direction.

  “You may as well spill it. If my father is that tickled with something, I’m sure it will be worth hearing.”

  “I called the state of Missouri and asked about the corporation. It’s registered as a Foreign Limited Liability Company with a state agent, but the officers and owners are not listed. The LLC was created in Delaware.”

  “Did you call Delaware?”

  “Yes, but the information they provide is about the same, LLC and the Delaware agent information. They also said the company was in good standing, which means they’ve paid their fees in a timely fashion.”

  “Did you call the agent?”

  “No. By the time I finished all the calls and transfers, including time on hold, I was exhausted.”

  “I’ll bet,” Kate said, recalling her two hours to get a simple bio for Charles Fredericks.

  “How about you provide me the information. Who knows, it might even lead to an interesting article.”

  “Your articles about Etta and the crafts fair have been great. I’ve worked on the fair for several years and even I learned things about it. I’ve always wondered about the relationship between Etta and Jack Brighton.”

  “Was that in the article?” Roger asked.

  “Calm down, Dad. Etta and Jack are lifelong friends, nothing more. You’ll have to forgive him, Margie. Etta was his first crush.”

  Roger cringed, and Tom patted him on the back.

  “Weren’t ready for that announcement, I bet,” Tom said.

  Marge laughed. “I’ve had a great time. Thanks for including me. Come on, Roger, that movie starts in twenty minutes. Katie, come to the office Monday for my notes.”

  As the older couple drove away Tom said, “Appears to be you and me, Katie.”

  Kate took his hand and pulled him toward the patio. Embers flickered in the white-hot coals in the grill. Tom scraped the grate with a wire brush, and then set it aside to cool. Kate put the remaining dishes on a large tray and carried them into the kitchen. Her friend followed shortly with the last of the condiments.

  “That’s it. I’ll check the ashes later,” Tom said.

  “Thanks. Dad would be mad if we set the motel on fire.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  Tom helped her put the plates in the dishwasher and dried the items she washed and placed by the sink. Once she ensured everything was where it belonged, she motioned for him to follow her to the back porch.

  “What did you think? Of Margie, I mean,” Kate asked.

  “I’ve always liked Margie. She helped me sell my folk’s place when Dad died. Nice lady. Seems good for Roger.”

  “I agree.”

  “But?”

  “No but. I like her. I’m still absorbing what she told us.”

  Tom chuckled. “About the big bad corporation?”

  “It’s not funny. I spent yesterday and much of last night going over logs from the Taney County recorder’s office. The number of transactions dealing directly with Branson was staggering. Many of the change of ownership deeds were for property in the city itself.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re getting at. Are you sure they weren’t refinances?”

  “I have the logs. I’ll dig deeper.”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll recognize it when I see it.”

  Tom smiled and sat next to Kate on the glider, putting his arm around her shoulders.

  Kate pulled away and scooted forward on the bench. “Why are you smiling?” she asked.

  “Because I like you. I like being with you.”

  “Seems more like a there-she-goes-again smile.”

  “Can you please take off that reporter hat and sit back and relax for a few minutes?”

  She pretended to remove her hat and throw it on the lawn. Old habits were hard to break and Marge’s story made Kate even more curious about what Fortune Enterprises or some other company was doing in Branson. But that could wait until Monday. For now, she wanted to settle into Tom’s arms. She touched his chin with her forefinger and moved his lips close to hers.

  Tom kissed her gently, like he was holding back. She snuggled close to his chest, her head resting against his shoulder. They had issues to resolve. Finding a good time to have a discussion was important. They sat silently for a few moments before they spoke.

  “We need to talk,” each said, responding in unison, “I know.”

  Kate got up from the glider and leaned forward against the banister. Tom stood by her side, the warmth of his hand on hers coursed up her arm and across her shoulders.

  “We’ve never discussed what happened,” he said.

  “I’m not sure I know what happened.”

  “Maybe we can figure it out together.”

  They held each other close, a rush of memories filling her head. This is how she wanted to feel—not angry or frustrated or threatened. The warmth of his body next to hers, his hands pressing her back, bringing her closer. Kate couldn’t deny her emotions, her longings. She turned her face toward his, their lips met, and she responded to his passion. As quickly as it happened, he pulled back and she reluctantly followed suit.

  He kissed her forehead gently. “I want this, Katie. I want it to work. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

  “But you left.”

  “You left.”

  “Technically yes, I left first, but you knew I’d be back.”

  “After a while, it didn’t seem like you wanted to come back ... at least not to me,” he countered.

  “But you stopped waiting for me.”

  He pulled her back to the glider facing one another and holding hands. “Honestly, I don’t remember the sequence of events. You went off to college. I joined the police force. That seemed to work for a year or so.”

  “We had that huge argument. I don’t even remember what it was about.”

  “Strawberries,” he said.

  She squinted in disbelief.

  “You were home for spring break. It was your sophomore year. You wanted fresh strawberries for some stupid dessert you were going to fix.”

  “Yes. And you refused to get them for me.”

  “They weren’t in season. It was early March. You wouldn’t settle for frozen.”

  “But you refused to check the store.”

  “Can we agree, in retrospect, this was not a reasonable argument? We were both frustrated. You’d been talking about joining some newspaper in Columbia after graduation. I felt like you were moving on without me.”

  “We were young. We didn’t have a clue.”

  “I met Linda.”

  “You married Linda.”

  “Not right away. I tried to speak to you ... to patch things up.”

  “But I wouldn’t listen. I remember. I guess it was all my fault, that stubborn streak.”

  “Hard to place blame. Things happened. Like you said, we were young.”

  “Ironically, I came back and you had moved to Kansas City.�
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  “We both had good reasons. But I returned and I’ve never explained what happened with Linda. Bottom line is the marriage didn’t work despite both of our efforts. We split up. I stayed with the Kansas City PD for a few years. Then I heard about the open position at Branson PD.”

  “And we lived happily ever after.”

  “We might.”

  Kate leaned forward into his arms and snuggled close. Talking about it helped. Saying aloud what everyone knew happened helped. Maybe they could have a happily-ever-after. He never stopped loving me.

  “I didn’t stop either,” she whispered.

  Chapter Fifteen

  A chilly October breeze swirled around Tom and Sid as they waited outside the coroner’s office. None of the other offices or stores in the small strip mall were opened. Artie’s preview of the report was succinct and somewhat interesting, but the detectives needed more than that to solve their case. Tom hoped the forensic anthropologist would earn his fee.

  Sid pulled his jacket collar closer around his neck. “What time did Artie say?”

  “I told you ... first thing,” Tom grunted.

  “Hey, my watch says half past first thing.”

  Ten minutes later, Artie arrived. “Sorry guys, got a call as I was about to leave home.”

  “No problem. Where’s Fredericks?” Tom asked.

  “That was the call. He’s been delayed by a personal emergency. But I can start the briefing. Let’s go in the lab. Fortunately, we set everything up before we left last night.”

  Several tables filled the largest room of the office suite. Displays of photographs and physical evidence taken from the site covered each work surface. Artie handed each man a written report. Tom was impressed with its weight but would be more impressed with substance.

  “Hot off the press, gentlemen. It includes a summary. Each topic is detailed in the subsequent pages. The corresponding material is shown on these evidence tables. Before we sit down, let me go over each exhibit and recap the findings. Keep in mind we started on this a week ago. Some additional analysis is ongoing and should be completed in about a month.”

  The detectives studied the first page, which contained the bulleted list. Not surprisingly, the first two—condition of skeleton and analysis of covering—intrigued them the most. The skeleton itself was stored in the morgue at the hospital, but numerous photos illustrated each point Artie made about the condition of the remains and what Fredericks had determined about the victim. Tom and Sid listened intently and made notes on the detailed portion of the report. When Artie moved to the next table, Tom raised his hand.

  “Can I summarize what I’ve heard to make sure we’re clear?”

  “Sounds good,” Artie said. “Start with the victim.”

  “Caucasian male, between thirty and fifty years old, about five-foot-seven-inches tall. He had good teeth, although a couple were missing. He had broken both arms during his life, including breaking his left arm when he was younger. His bones healed poorly and may have caused issues later. Some pieces of clothing remained, but other than suggesting work clothes, they offered no clues. Nothing else was found in the blanket or inside the grave. No wallet or wedding ring. You did determine, however, that he died from a severe blunt force trauma to the head.”

  “Causing a compound depressed skull fracture,” Artie added.

  “Whoever wielded the weapon had to be pretty strong,” Sid said.

  “That’s one explanation, but there are other things to consider. Let me move to the next table before we talk about the weapon. This wool blanket was manufactured in Minnesota during World War II. As it turns out, after the war the company began blending synthetic fibers in the wool blankets. In any case, a product logo and lot number run along this edge.”

  “Amazing,” Sid said, squinting to see the small lettering.

  “The good news is that lot was manufactured and sold in the Midwestern United States beginning in 1941.”

  Tom said, “Let me guess that the bad news is there’s no way to determine where or when it was purchased.”

  “The company has records, which are provided in the report, but the list is rather overwhelming. Still, you never know what might help. As you’ll see in Chuck’s summary, the condition of the skeleton, the clothing, the grave itself, and the invasion of the tree root suggest interment was somewhere in the 1940s.”

  “More good news ... our possible open cases have been cut significantly,” Sid said.

  Artie turned to the next table, covered with photos of the skull, including close-ups of the wound and the grave itself. Several photos had been placed face down.

  Before Artie could begin, Charles Fredericks joined the group and offered to take over the presentation. “Sorry, I’m late. I see Artie has covered the victim and the blanket. Both held a great deal of information for your case. Although we can determine the general nature of the weapon, it was not ... exactly ... found at the scene.”

  “That sounds intriguing. Do we get to guess the murder weapon?” Sid asked.

  Chuck smiled and moved to the opposite side of the table. He centered one of the larger photos of the skull wound directly in front of the detectives. Red circles highlighted areas of trauma—two deep indentations, about two inches long, and a third sharper slit, about an inch wide. The grouping reminded Tom of an equilateral triangle.

  “The fracture indicates the victim was struck from behind, most probably while turning around to face his attacker. The position of the wound, close to and behind the left temple, resulted in death, but not necessarily immediate.”

  “You determined all that from this indentation?” Sid asked.

  “It would be unusual for someone to come at another person face-to-face and get in such a solid strike. More likely, the victim heard the approach, turned to see the blow coming with his peripheral vision, maybe even took evasive action, but was too late.”

  “And the weapon?” Tom asked.

  “These not-quite-parallel indentations created the compound fracture. As you can see the bone was pushed inward. The third notch was incidental. The weapon was metal, at least the portion striking the victim.”

  Tom and Sid studied the primary photo and others taken from different angles.

  “Something with that weird pattern. Can’t be a rod or a bar,” Sid said.

  “Kind of looks like the back of a shovel, where the handle fits in above the blade,” Tom commented.

  “Very good, Detective Collingwood,” Chuck said. “What else?”

  “The handle must have been fairly long if the attacker surprised him.”

  Artie turned over the remaining photos—several different views of a long-handled shovel and three enlargements of the grave wall. Chuck circled the triangular pattern shown on the rear view of the shovel, then several markings in the grave.

  “Remember, Tom, I suggested there were two diggers because of the depth range?” Chuck asked.

  “And you said there may have been different shovels.”

  “In fact, there were markings from a pickaxe and two types of shovels. The murder weapon, with a rounded wider blade, was used to dig the deeper end. That type of shovel, as shown in our sample photo, is consistent with the indentations made on our victim’s skull.”

  “You say he didn’t necessarily die immediately. Was he buried alive?”

  “Doubtful, but possible. I’m sure the gravediggers assumed he was dead. The type of trauma he suffered would no doubt render him unconscious. A wound so deep would result in massive blood loss. We found traces of blood on the blanket.”

  “That’s great,” Sid said.

  “I’m pretty sure they won’t be able to type it or extract DNA. However, we sent samples to the lab at the University of North Texas, including clothing and blanket swatches plus the femur bones. They’ll do the best they can to extract the mitochondrial DNA.”

  “This DNA thing is pretty new to us, Chuck. But I’m guessing we’ll need matching samples,” Tom said.
“How do we do that if we don’t know who he is?”

  “It will be your job to narrow the possibilities. With the age of the remains, the mitochondrial DNA may be all the lab can extract. We’ll need a DNA sample from the victim’s mother or sister, or even his mother’s sister, or the sister’s daughter.”

  “If those people even exist,” Sid said.

  “I’m afraid that will be critical to confirming the identification,” Artie said.

  Tom paced the room from table to table, studying the evidence displays. He wasn’t sure what he had expected. The information provided one picture of how the murder took place—essentially Chuck’s guess. Figuring out the method and the weapon and the motive was difficult enough with an actual crime scene and the identity of the victim. Without those, it was purely speculation.

  “Any advice?” Sid asked.

  “I suggest you both read the entire report, review the photos, and go to the scene. I wouldn’t release the lot until you’ve been at least one more time. The reports from the lab will take several weeks. Until then, work your cases and develop your assumptions about what might have happened. I’ll be available for any follow-up questions. Artie has my contact information. I can come back, if necessary.”

  Tom and Sid helped Artie pack the report and photos and other physical evidence into three large boxes. The detectives signed the chain of custody forms for Artie and proceeded back to their office.

  “First thing we need to do is speak to Dan about the archives,” Sid said.

  “Way ahead of you. I asked ... actually I begged him to speak to the City Clerk or Mayor or whoever it took to have those files loaned to us for use in our office.”

  Sid cleared a table on one side of the room normally used as a catchall for stacking case evidence. He placed the photos and evidence from Artie’s lab on the table and gave himself and Tom a copy of the full report.

  “You want to give this other copy to Lieutenant Palmer?”

  “Make sure he signs for it.,” Tom said.

  “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

  Sid was on his way to the door when the lieutenant came in. “On my way to bring you a copy of the consultant’s report, sir. Lots of information, but we’re still trying to digest it.”