A Killing at the Creek

by Nancy Allen

  Chuck looked sick to his stomach. “Great.”

  “You’ll need cocounsel, clearly. I expect you’ll want to assign the job of second chair to Elsie.”

  Elsie turned to Chuck with an expectant air, excitement building in her chest. With a sidelong glance in her direction, Chuck said, “Elsie has been helping out with the case from the start.”

  “Fine. And she doesn’t have any connection with Billy that creates a complication. So.”

  I’m in, Elsie thought. Second chair in a murder case. And Madeleine’s out. The change of plan suited her very well indeed; she liked to keep her distance from Madeleine. Whatever Chuck’s deficiencies, he would be easier to work with than the boss.

  Chuck stood. “Is that all, Madeleine?”

  “Not quite. You need to look at this. It came to the office today. Addressed to me.”

  Elsie and Chuck approached Madeleine’s desk as she pushed a stack of files to the side and set a single sheet of paper where they could see it. It was a piece of ruled notebook paper, upon which three words were written in pencil:

  STOP WRONG DUDE

  Elsie stared soberly at the block letters, before looking up to meet Madeleine’s gaze. “Where’s the envelope?” she asked.

  Madeleine pushed it toward her with the tip of a manicured fingernail. A plain white envelope bore the address of Madeleine Thompson, in the same penciled capital letters.

  Chuck tsked. “Looks like Tanner Monroe wants to be your pen pal, Madeleine.”

  Elsie shook her head, an uneasy feeling replacing the triumph she’d enjoyed moments before. “This didn’t come from the jail.”

  “Why would you say that?” Chuck demanded.

  “The envelope. No return address. All correspondence originating from the jail has ‘McCown County Jail’ stamped in the left corner.”

  Chuck took a step back, his hands raised. “We can have it checked for prints. That will solve the mystery. No problem.”

  But Elsie didn’t share Chuck’s confidence. “If there’s a print—­and if the print is on record, and they get a hit—­we can identify the sender.” She stared at the words again. STOP WRONG DUDE.

  “The postmark is here in Barton, two days ago. Who does Monroe have on the outside?” she asked.

  No one replied. Chuck pulled a tissue from a box on Madeleine’s desk, and used it to pick up the envelope.

  Elsie continued, “The kid is from St. Louis, doesn’t have any local connections.”

  “You can check the visitors’ log at the jail,” Madeleine said. “Why don’t you go on and do that now.”

  “Who would visit him? He’s a stranger in town.”

  Chuck said, “Maybe Yocum sent it.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Madeleine snapped. “Yocum is a consummate professional.”

  “Maybe that bleeding heart at the juvenile office is sending fan mail. Monroe’s good buddy. What’s her name? Peters?” Chuck looked to Elsie for confirmation.

  “Lisa Peters doesn’t seem like the anonymous letter type,” Elsie said.

  Madeleine broke in. “Excuse me. I don’t know about you all, but I have things to do today.”

  Elsie and Chuck took the cue, and headed for the door. Once in the hallway, Chuck snapped his fingers. “It’s Mom.”

  “What?”

  “The author of the letter. It could be his mother. God, I hope she’s not a violent freak, like her kid.”

  “It could be,” Elsie nodded. “It’s from someone who’s rooting for him, and he’s not a guy with a lot of close connections. It could totally be his mother.”

  Dodging into his office, Chuck said, “Let’s look up her rap sheet. If she’s a killer, I’d like to be forewarned.”

  Elsie stood behind Chuck’s chair while he accessed the information from their Tanner Monroe file and ran Monroe’s mother through the law enforcement database. With triumph, he pointed at the screen. “There she is. I knew it; a drug whore like her had to have a rap sheet.”

  Elsie bent over his shoulder, studying the woman’s picture on the computer screen. “Jesus. She looks a lot like her kid. Doesn’t she?”

  “Well, she’s his mother. What do you expect?” He pulled his keyboard to the edge of his desk. “I’ll e-­mail this over to the county jail. If they’ve seen her, I’ll let you know.”

  “Okay,” Elsie said, and left the office. As she walked down the hall, she wondered how Tanner’s mother could have let him sit in jail for so long without getting in touch. But you never knew about the complexities of a mother and child relationship. Maybe she should give her own mom a call.

  Chapter 26

  THE MONTH OF July dragged along, sucking Elsie’s energy like a massive tick. On a busy morning in Associate Circuit 3, she was pining for a cold drink; Judge Carter had given her a rough time on a DWI trial, sustaining so many defense objections to her direct exam of the arresting officer that she suspected the defendant must be a lodge buddy of the judge’s.

  When at last he declared a recess, she slogged down the stairs to the Prosecutor’s Office. A can of Diet Coke was chilling in her miniature refrigerator; she fancied she could almost taste it.

  But as she stepped into the reception area, Stacie gestured to her from the computer. “I’ve got something for you.”

  Reluctantly, Elsie paused, with a put-­upon look. She had only ten minutes to relax and recuperate; and she did not relish sacrificing any of those minutes on a new wrinkle in some case.

  “What?”

  “It’s a motion. Billy Yocum dropped it off about an hour ago.”

  “Has Billy ever heard of e-­filing?” McCown County, along with the rest of the state, had finally adopted electronic filing of court documents; however, some of the older attorneys were slow to embrace the new technology.

  “He said he was bringing it by so you wouldn’t overlook it. If you were working on something else.”

  Waving a hand in dismissal, Elsie said, “Give it to Chuck. He’s not assigned to court this morning. I’m up to my eyeballs in shit.” She headed to her office, key in hand, but Stacie’s voice stopped her.

  “He said to give it to you,” Stacie said, raising her voice to a higher pitch. “He said you needed to see it.”

  Turning back to the entryway, Elsie tried to keep her temper in check. The only advantage to being second chair, she thought, was that she should shoulder less responsibility for the case, rather than more. But everything about the case of State v. Tanner Monroe seemed out of balance. As Stacie tossed the hard copy of the motion onto the counter, Elsie snatched it up, flipping through the pages as she made her way to her own office.

  A speedy review of the second page stopped her cold. “Oh Lord,” she whispered, as anxiety formed a knot in her chest. “Oh Jesus.”

  She bypassed her office door, fairly running down the hall to find Chuck. Without knocking, she flung his door open.

  Chuck was turned to face his computer screen, but when Elsie appeared, he looked over his shoulder, affronted. “Ever hear of knocking?”

  She tossed the motion onto his desk. “You’re not going to believe this. Jesus.”

  Chuck picked the motion up with a long-­suffering sigh. Examining the first page, he observed, “Motion to suppress. No big surprise. Yocum’s just doing his job. He wants to shut down the kid’s statement at Juvenile Hall; maybe it doesn’t mesh with his defense theory.”

  “Turn the page,” Elsie said tersely. The knot of panic had expanded, and felt like an elephant was sitting on her chest. Her head started sweating at the hairline; when she felt it trickle down her neck, she grabbed a Kleenex from a box on Chuck’s desk.

  With a countenance of exaggerated patience, Chuck turned to the second page; but his expression changed as he read. Dropping the paper as if it had burned his fingers, he whispered, “Shit.”


  Elsie nodded. “Yeah.” She reached back to rub her neck, where the muscles were stiff. Her collar was wet.

  Spinning in his chair, Chuck started to rise. “I’ve got to show this to Madeleine.”

  Elsie groaned, her feeling of dread increasing as she watched him scan a copy of the document on the printer beside his desk. When he handed her the copy, the pages felt hot in her cold hands.

  Hesitantly, she rose. “I’m on recess in Carter’s court. I only have a minute.”

  Laughing without amusement, he replied, “I wasn’t going to invite you along. This won’t be happy time.”

  Stepping into the hallway, she watched him enter Madeleine’s office. Behind the closed door, she could make out the murmurs of their exchange. Then silence, followed by a shriek.

  Leaning against the wall, Elsie sent up a petition for strength. “Here we go again,” she whispered.

  By the time she reached the third floor courtroom, the bailiff was trolling the hallway, looking for her.

  “Where’d you run off to?” Eldon barked.

  Mute, Elsie shook her head.

  “Well, you better hustle into court, and fast. Judge Carter don’t like to be kept waiting.”

  Slipping inside the courtroom door, she observed that the judge hadn’t waited on her after all. A young woman was on the witness stand, complaining about an infestation of brown recluse spiders; it appeared to be a landlord-­tenant matter.

  Elsie took a seat in the back row. With trepidation, she unfolded Yocum’s defense motion and smoothed it on her lap. Under the case title, it said: “Motion to Suppress.” She read:

  Comes now Defendant, by and through his undersigned counsel of record, and hereby prays the court for its order, pursuant to Supreme Court Rule 24.05, suppressing the following evidence from the state’s case in chief in the above-­captioned matter: any and all statements elicited from Defendant arising out of his detention by police, and including, but not limited to, the interrogation of Defendant at Juvenile Hall.

  The printed words blurred before her eyes. Blindly, she turned the page, and with a shaking hand, ran her finger down the list of allegations. The early paragraphs contained standard language: that Tanner Monroe was the named Defendant in the case of State of Missouri v. Tanner Monroe; that in June, he had been detained in Oklahoma and placed under full-­custodial arrest, and transferred to Juvenile Hall in McCown County.

  Those recitations were typical; they were not the cause of her anxiety. She read on.

  Defendant hereby challenges the legality of the custodial interrogation on the following grounds: Defendant did not knowingly and intelligently waive his Miranda rights prior to being interrogated by Chief Detective Robert Ashlock of the Barton, Missouri, police department.

  Pinching her lips together, she tried to think: did he have a valid basis for that argument? She had reviewed the Missouri cases the night before they interrogated Monroe at Juvenile Hall. She could not recall a direct prohibition against their actions; still, the circumstances of the statement had made her uncomfortable at the time. Had they violated the appearance of propriety? That was the cardinal rule for attorneys in Missouri.

  Her eyes dropped down to paragraph ten. A flush crept up her chest, reddening her neck as she read Yocum’s claims.

  And petitioner further alleges that the interrogator and the assistant prosecutor in charge of the case, to wit: Detective Bob Ashlock and Elsie Arnold, were engaging in a sexual relationship when the defendant’s statement was taken, which affected the impartiality of the investigation; and that said sexual and romantic relationship has and will continue to influence the investigation and prosecution of this case.

  The motion to suppress was a public record. Anyone could access it: other attorneys, law enforcement, the press, the public. Even Elsie’s mother and father.

  I feel sick, she thought. I want to throw up.

  A voice broke her concentration. “Ms. Arnold.”

  She folded the pages before she looked up.

  “Ms. Arnold,” the judge repeated, with a waspish look.

  Lifting her chin, she focused on the judge. “Your honor?”

  “Do you have a recommendation?”

  She gazed up at the ­people standing before the bench. The tenant and her lawyer were gone, replaced by a tattooed man in the orange scrubs of the McCown County jail. All eyes were on Elsie: she was the focus of the judge, the defendant, the bailiff.

  It’s an arraignment, she thought, scrambling to assess the situation. Rising from her seat, she said, “Beg pardon, your honor; can you repeat the charge?”

  “Robbery in the first degree. Bond recommendation?”

  “Fifty thousand dollars,” she replied automatically. As she took her place at the counsel table, Elsie crumpled the motion in her hand, clutching the pages so tightly that they cut the flesh of her palm.

  Chapter 27

  IT WAS PAST five when Elsie received the summons: Madeleine wanted to see her in her office. Immediately.

  She approached the closed door of Madeleine’s office with leaden feet, knowing that an ugly scene would soon ensue. Leaning her forehead against the wooden door for support, Elsie gave a tentative rap with her knuckles.

  “Get in here.” The voice shot through the wooden barrier.

  Elsie fixed a rueful grin on her face before she turned the knob. Entering with a diffident air, she saw that Chuck had already arrived and was seated in a chair at Madeleine’s side. Sheets of paper bearing yellow stripes of highlighter were scattered on Madeleine’s desk; the motion, Elsie supposed.

  She took a seat on the sofa facing Madeleine’s desk. The hot seat, she thought. She’d occupied that spot many times.

  No one spoke. Chuck looked at Madeleine, awaiting her lead. Elsie tried to wait them out, shifting on the sofa cushion and pulling the hem of her skirt to the tops of her knees.

  Madeleine continued to stare, pursing her lips and peering over her reading glasses. The beaded chain that hung from the frames glinted in the light from the window behind Madeleine’s head. Elsie focused on the chain, thinking, Don’t speak, mustn’t say anything, gotta keep my mouth shut. She knew it would be foolhardy to break the silence. She knew it.

  After thirty seconds, she broke. Pointing at the desk, Elsie said, “Have you ever seen anything so terrible in your life?”

  Madeleine picked up a page of the motion and let it dangle from her fingers as she leaned back in her chair. “This?” she said in a blank tone. “You mean this?”

  “Yeah.” Elsie’s voice cracked a little, and she coughed to clear it. “That motion is nuts. I’ve never seen anything so unprofessional in my whole career. In my life.”

  At that, Madeleine brayed with laughter, in a cackle that was so unexpected, it made Elsie jerk in her seat. Chuck also seemed taken aback, but he broke into a halfhearted chuckle in concert with the boss.

  Madeleine tossed the paper in Elsie’s direction. “You’re a riot. You’ve never seen anything so unprofessional? That’s hilarious.”

  Unaccountably, Elsie wondered whether Madeleine could see up her dress. She clutched her knees together at the thought.

  “Because I don’t think it would be perceived as an unprofessional motion,” Madeleine drawled. “I think what’s unprofessional is the conduct described in the motion.”

  Stay cool, Elsie counseled herself. This moment couldn’t last forever; it would pass. Folding her hands together in her lap, Elsie affected an aggrieved look.

  Madeleine said, “You can guess the conduct I’m talking about.”

  Elsie waited for her to continue, but Madeleine paused. She and Chuck focused on Elsie, two sets of eyes boring into her.

  “Can’t you guess?”

  Elsie figured playing dumb would be a bad idea. “I assume you’re talking about the romantic allegations.”

 
“Allegations of a romantic and sexual nature. Sexual.”

  At that, Chuck’s eyes darted away, scouring the ground. He’s embarrassed, Elsie thought; embarrassed because she referred to sex. What a hoot. If anyone has the right to be embarrassed, it’s me.

  Elsie rubbed her nose, buying a moment to compose her thoughts. “Madeleine, it’s not a secret that Ash and I were seeing each other for a while.”

  “Certainly not a secret now. It’s a matter of public record.”

  Righ­teous indignation shot some blood into Elsie’s system. “Come on, Madeleine; let’s get a grip. We’re not teenagers doing it in the gravel at Peckers’ Beach. I think Bob Ashlock and I are entitled to pursue adult relationships.”

  “Not when it interferes with your professional responsibilities. You have tainted a murder case. Do you realize that?”

  “No. I don’t agree.” Elsie looked to Chuck for support, but it was not forthcoming. His eyes were still glued to the rug. She pushed on. “All that’s happened is Billy Yocum has found a way to stir up some trouble. He’s pulling a rabbit out of his hat. If it wasn’t this, he’d use something else.”

  Madeleine pulled her reading glasses off her nose and toyed with the beaded chain. “You make it so easy.”

  “What? How do you mean?” Elsie braced herself; the answer would not be flattering.

  “You make it so easy for the defense to find an Achilles’ heel. What on earth were you doing in that interview with the defendant?”

  Elsie turned to Chuck, waiting for him to speak up and take responsibility. He was toying with a loose thread on his jacket, wrapping it around his finger. She watched him give it a tug and flip the thread onto the carpet.

  He’s not going to say anything, she thought, dumbfounded.

  A spark of anger kindled in her chest. “Chuck?”

  He inclined his head in her direction, but didn’t meet her eye. “What?”

  “Chuck, we were both there. At the interrogation.”

  He sighed and waved his hand in a placating gesture. “True. I was there, Madeleine.”