In Silence Sealed

by J. R. Lindermuth

  Diana snorted. “I’m a reporter.” She dug in her purse and handed him her press credentials. “I’m trying to get an interview for my paper.”

  “You came all the way from Philadelphia to talk to Mr. Stoneroad?”

  “It isn’t that far. My readers are interested. I wanted to find out why he decided to move out here to the boonies. You still haven’t told me why--”

  “You also called Jason Russell, Mr. Stoneroad’s stepson.”

  Oh, shit. They were monitoring all calls. “Yes. I thought he might help me arrange an interview.”

  “You knew Mr. Russell?”

  “Uh, not really.” I’m not telling this clown more than he needs to know. “We met once. He said he’d do what he could if I wanted an introduction to the old man sometime. Look, I don’t know what this is all about. But, as I told your trooper, I’m tired and I’d like to get to bed sometime before daybreak.”

  “Mr. Russell has been murdered. I’m questioning everyone who may have had a connection to him. When was the last time you spoke to him?”

  The words registered and shocked Diana out of her need for sleep.

  Chapter 18

  Lydia didn’t go to work the next morning. Mazie and Dave Yoxheimer, her employers, were super people, but she didn’t think she could face them—or anyone else she knew right now. Her parents both looked in and she saw the concern writ on their faces. Still, Lydia didn’t get out of bed until she was certain both had left for work.

  She passed on a shower for the time being and had just sat down with a cup of coffee and a cigarette when the doorbell rang. The sound cut through her like the sudden burn of a paper cut and she nearly dropped her coffee. Lydia closed her eyes, willing whoever it was to go away. She couldn’t face more grilling from that bastard Runyan, especially not this early in the morning. The bell rang again. Lydia sighed and dropped her cigarette in one of her dad’s old ashtrays she’d rooted out of a drawer in his den.

  She padded out the hall in her bare feet, pushed aside a curtain with a finger and peered out. Flora Vastine stood on the porch. Before Lydia could move away from the window, Flora spied her, smiled, and waved.

  Oh, shit. What does she want?

  Reluctantly, Lydia opened the door. “Whadya want?”

  “Mazie said your mom called and told her you wouldn’t be coming in today. Mr. Hetrick asked me to come by and see how you’re doing.”

  Lydia scanned her. Flora had a blue stretch cap pulled down over her ears, and wore a hooded charcoal sweatshirt that appeared a size or two too big for her, and jeans. Her hands were shoved into the pockets of the jacket and, grinning, she shifted from one sneakered foot to the other. “Can I come in? It’s cold out here.”

  Lydia opened the door wider and stepped aside. “I thought the department wasn’t supposed to be involved.”

  Flora rubbed her hands together. “We’re not. I’m on nights. I don’t think the Staties will have a problem with me checking on a friend.”

  Lydia took a deep breath. “Come on back,” she said, gesturing for Flora to follow. “I just made a pot of coffee.” She and Flora hadn’t always been close, but she thought if she had to talk to anyone today and expected sympathy her high school classmate would be near the top of the list.

  Lydia poured a coffee for Flora and refilled her own cup. “There’s cream in the container—and sugar, if you need it,” she said, resuming her seat.

  Flora shucked the jacket and draped it over the back of her chair. She stirred a dollop of cream into her coffee, then laid a hand on Lydia’s wrist. “Really, how are you holding up?”

  The kitchen clock on the wall behind her ticked in syncopation with her heart. Tears welled up in Lydia’s eyes. She wanted to pull away from Flora’s friendly gesture. But she didn’t. “How the hell do you think?” Her cigarette had burned out. She flipped another out of the pack but didn’t immediately light it. She peered at Flora. “It tore a piece out of my heart to lose Jason like that. But, fuck, to be accused of killing him…”

  Flora’s fingers tightened in a comforting grip on her wrist.

  “I didn’t kill him, Flora.”

  “Of course you didn’t. I know you wouldn’t do anything like that.”

  The tears spilled down her cheeks and Lydia angrily brushed them away. “I think I loved him, Flora. At least I was beginning to believe I did.” She put the cigarette to her lips and reached for her lighter. Her hands shook, and she couldn’t light it. “What’s going to happen? Are they going to charge me?”

  “Not if we can help it,” Flora said. She came around and hugged her friend.

  * * * *

  “Honestly, sir,” Flora told Hetrick, “I’ve never seen her like this. Lydia is usually one of the strongest, most confident women I know. I’ve always envied that about her.”

  Flora had come directly to Hetrick’s office at the courthouse after her visit with Lydia Brubaker. Since his involvement was also unofficial, he suggested they go downstairs to the small snack bar in the basement for their discussion. At this time of the morning they had the room to themselves save for a clerk who left after procuring a coffee and a candy bar from the coin machines. Hetrick directed Flora to a table while he got a coffee for himself and a Coke for her.

  “I’m glad I asked you to go see her,” Hetrick said, bringing their drinks to the table. “She needs her friends now. Did she disclose anything more about what happened that night?”

  Flora looked askance, tapping a finger on the sticky tabletop. There was an issue had come up, but she was leery of disclosing it. She’d made no promise of confidentially, nor had Lydia asked her to stay silent about it. Rather than jump right to it, she decided to start with the subject of the argument.

  “She told me about her disagreement with Jason that night. Lydia felt sorry for Vickie Walker—you know, the waitress who believes Nan Calder is her missing sister. Lydia asked Jason to press Nan for another meeting with Vickie. He refused. He, uh, had other things on his mind.” It would have embarrassed Flora to discuss Jason’s desire for sex with Hetrick and she preferred to skirt the issue, hoping he would grasp what the young man wanted to do. “He got angry when she pursued the matter, they argued, and Lydia decided to leave. She didn’t actually go far. His attitude hurt her, and she pulled off and had a cry.”

  “That’s basically what she told us,” Hetrick said with a nod.

  “It wasn’t a big deal. Just a disagreement of the kind people have when they’re still feeling their way with one another. You know they hadn’t been going together long? I’m sure—given a little time to think about it—Jason would have been apologizing and doing what he could to make up with Lydia. She cared about him—maybe more than he did her. Harry and I only met him once, but I got the impression there was a bit of selfishness to him. I don’t think it was the kind of argument that would lead to murder.”

  Hetrick had finished half his coffee. He toyed with the cup, turning it round and round in his hands, considering Flora’s words. “I’m sure Lydia was franker with you than she was with us. But I agree. It doesn’t seem like much of a motive for harming a man she cared about. Did she say anything else?”

  Flora huffed a breath. Yes. She had to tell him. It might mean nothing. Hetrick trusted her. She had to confide in him. “Am I right that Stoneroad told you about the argument between Lydia and Jason?”

  “Right. He said he found her crying in her car and did his best to console her. He seemed reluctant to believe Lydia would have killed Jason over what he termed a spat.”

  “Bastard!”

  Flora’s outburst took Hetrick by surprise. “He felt obligated to tell Runyan about it,” he explained, thinking the girl angry about Stoneroad’s disclosure. “I’m sure he didn’t intend to implicate her as a suspect.”

  Flora shook her head. “That isn’t what I’m angry about, sir. Lydia trusted him. She thought when he got in her car his intent was to comfort her. Instead he hit on her.”

  “
What?”

  “Lydia said at first he seemed nice and acted as though he understood how she’d been hurt. Then, without warning, he tried to kiss her and put his hands all over her. She was scared. She thought he was going to rape her.”

  Flora waited impatiently as Hetrick mulled her words. His response wasn’t what she expected.

  “I know Harry has some contacts in the Philly area. Ask him to check and see if he can find any reports to back up the validity of what she told you.”

  “You don’t believe her?”

  Hetrick crushed the empty cup in his hand. “Of course I do,” he said with a hint of a grin. “I just want to be sure I have sufficient ammunition when I take this to Runyan. I don’t want him dismissing it as mere hearsay. And, while you’re at it, ask Harry to check on the whole bunch of them—Stoneroad, his wife and the secretary. My gut tells me there’s something off about the bunch of them.”

  * * * *

  After his discussion with Flora, Hetrick drove out to the State Police barracks where Runyan had invited him to sit in on the medical examiner’s briefing. Despite their past association, he knew the sergeant gave in to his involvement in this case with reluctance and he was grateful for any opening provided.

  Dr. Todd Furman’s report was straight forward and its conclusions obvious. “Death was the result of a single gunshot wound to the right temple,” the physician said in a clear, even voice.

  “Any possibility it might have been suicide?” a young trooper asked.

  “Not unless the victim had exceptionally long arms,” Furman responded. “The shot was fired at close-range. By that I mean probably no more than three or four feet away, based on the stippling. No. It’s clearly a homicide.”

  “Anything on the weapon, Doc?” someone asked.

  “Small caliber,” Furman said. He glanced at Runyan. “I understand your people have recovered the slug from a wall of the stable?”

  “Right,” Runyan confirmed with a nod. “It took a bit of searching, but the forensics team also found the casing. Both thirty-two caliber.”

  Matching Lydia’s missing weapon, Hetrick mused.

  “Anything else to report, Doctor?”

  “Hairs and other detritus foreign to the victim were found on his clothing. Those, along with scrapings from under his nails, have been turned over to your lab.”

  Again, unfortunately, Hetrick thought, sure to be linked to Lydia.

  “Autopsy revealed no indication of recent drug or alcohol use and his stomach content indicates his last meal matched that reported by members of his family.”

  “Sexual activity?”

  Furman shook his head.

  “Thank you, Dr. Furman,” Runyan said, rising. He rubbed his palms together and gazed out at his squad. “Right. We know the victim had an argument sometime before his death with Miss Brubaker. We also know her weapon—a thirty-two caliber Beretta, Model 3032 Tomcat—is missing. She claims the last she saw it, the weapon was in the glove-box of her vehicle. We need to find this weapon, gentlemen.”

  “Is she our primary suspect, sir?” A trooper inquired.

  Runyan nodded. “For the moment. However, don’t let that influence you to ignore any evidence to the contrary. Miss Brubaker—along with other persons related to the victim—passed gun residue tests. That alone does not absolve anyone from scrutiny should other evidence warrant.”

  Hetrick wondered how far the search for other suspects would expand if her weapon turned up on the Stoneroad property. The writer’s attempt to get romantic with Lydia wouldn’t be enough to alleviate suspicion of her. But if a history of such actions were found it could be seen as a possible motive for removing his stepson as a sexual rival and distract Runyan’s focus on Lydia.

  * * * *

  Vickie watched for Diana Wozniak throughout her shift that afternoon. Unfortunately, the reporter hadn’t come in. The girl wasn’t certain Diana could, or even would, help her. But she didn’t know what more she could do to get Vanessa to acknowledge her. She’d been nervous about the idea of approaching the reporter until Sally convinced her she hadn’t anything to lose. Wozniak would either say yes or no. Vickie needed to work up the nerve to ask. She’d spent all day working on her self-confidence and now the bitch didn’t even show up.

  With a lull in late afternoon customers Vickie got herself a glass of water and took a seat at the counter to rest her legs. Her thoughts went immediately to her sister. Why is she doing this? We were always close. Doesn’t she realize if she has a good reason for concealing her identity, I’ll support her. Just admit you are my sister, damn it.

  Sally flopped down on a stool next to her. “What’s up, kid?”

  “The reporter didn’t show.”

  Sally turned her wrist and checked her watch. “It’s still early. She might come in for supper.”

  “I’m afraid I’ll lose my nerve.”

  Before Sally could answer they heard the diner’s door open and both glanced up, expectantly.

  Flora Vastine came down the aisle toward them, in uniform.

  “What do you want again?” Vickie snarled.

  “Harry would like to see you,” Flora said, showing no sign of annoyance. “We’d appreciate if you’d come down to the station after your shift.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  Flora shrugged. “As he told you before, you’re not in trouble, Vickie. We can’t make you come. But I think you’d want to cooperate.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Remember when you were there last time? Harry said he would request your sister’s prints. Harry has them now and he’s willing to talk to Nan Calder about a comparison test. Wouldn’t you like that?”

  “Oh,” Sally, who’d been listening quietly, cooed. “That’s super, Flora. Vickie, this could answer your question once and for all. Haint that great?”

  Vickie ignored Sally. She peered up at Flora. “And that’s all he wants to talk about?”

  Flora shrugged again. “He might have a couple other questions.”

  Chapter 19

  Diana Wozniak couldn’t explain even to herself why she was doing it as she drove out to Vinnie’s again that evening. It wasn’t the ambiance or the clientele attracting her, this she knew for certain. Still, she’d been shaken by the news of Jason Russell’s death and didn’t fancy the idea of sitting alone all night in a dreary motel room. She needed time to think and having people around—even people like the creeps who hung out here—offered a certain sense of comfort.

  She’d considered going to the diner, but there was no staying there for any length of time after having dinner. The bar offered the only viable solution.

  Diana ordered an Old Fashion and asked Jamie, the barmaid, if there was any possibility of getting something to eat. Jamie said she could fry up a hamburger, and there were chips, pretzels, and other bar snacks available. Diana opted for the burger and a bag of barbecue chips.

  Carrie Underwood was drawling her "Something in the Water" on the jukebox and a few other early customers in various stages of sobriety lined the bar. The tables behind her were mostly unoccupied, the pool table unused, Vinnie absent and no other patrons bothering her—at least for the moment.

  “Where’s the boss?” she asked when Jamie brought her food.

  “He’ll be in. Said he had some errands to run. Your burger okay?”

  Diana hadn’t tasted it yet, but she told the girl it would be fine. Her opinion changed with the first bite. Burnt on the outside, bloody in the middle. She preferred her meat well done. Oh, well. I didn’t expect gourmet cuisine in a dive like this. At least the chips are fresh and the drink good.

  “Back again,” Earl Schurke said, sidling up next to her.

  Diana nodded, not wanting to encourage him to stay with words.

  “Didn’t expect to see you here again,” he said with a grin that exposed missing teeth and a miasma of foul breath. “You up for another game of pool?”

  “I’m eating.”

&nbs
p; “After?”

  “I’ll think about it.” As bad as she wanted company tonight Diana hoped she’d find better than this lout. She dabbed her mouth with a napkin.

  Schurke’s long-fingered hand snaked out and invaded her bag of chips. “So, you hear any more about what happened at the writer’s place?” he asked.

  “Uh, somebody was killed.”

  “Uh-huh. His stepson. Word on the street is his girlfriend shot him. But I don’t believe it. Somethin’ screwed up about that story.”

  “Oh?” Curiosity overrode her desire to evade conversation with him.

  “You gonna buy a friend a beer, Diana?”

  She heaved a breath. If that’s what it took to get his story. She waved again for Jamie’s attention.

  “You need somethin’?” Jamie asked.

  “Yes. Another drink for me—and a beer for Earl.”

  After Jamie had complied with the request, Diana turned to Earl. “Are you going to tell me why you don’t think the girlfriend did it?”

  Schurke wiped a palm over the mouth of the beer bottle, then took a swig before replying. “'cause I know the girl. She’s the police chief’s daughter—not that it doesn’t mean she’s as capable of shootin’ somebody as anybody else. Like I said, I know Lydia. She’s a bit on the wild side, but she’s a nice kid and not the kind to go around killing a boyfriend when other guys is linin’ up to date her.”

  “They must have some reason to suspect her, though.”

  Earl laughed, spraying her with a mist of beer and spittle. “You ever been accused of a crime, Diana?”

  “Me? Of course not.”

  “Then you don’t know your ass from a hole in the ground, woman. When the cops want to pin somethin’ on you, they’ll find a way. Believe me. I’ve been there. I know what I’m talkin’ about.”

  “Surely, her father wouldn’t--”