Sequestered with the Murderers

by Dr. Sandra Tanner

  “I can go along with that. So, if this is true, where does your presumption that Duffy murdered Diantha fit in. She despised him. She would never have allowed him to get next to her,” Detective Rivers said.

  “I don’t know, but I do have a question for you. What do you know about Holt Pruitt, Sr. and Holt Junior? I’ve come across information that Holt Sr. abused his authority on the board of supervisors in ways to keep Ms. Lacecap’s prostitution business afloat. I’ve been told that when Holt Junior was a teenager, he may have raped one of Ms. Lacecap’s prostitutes, fathering a child. To cover it up, Holt Sr. paved the way for Ms. Lacecap to stay in business.”

  “Hmm, you have done your homework. How does this fit into your case?” Detective Rivers asked.

  “I don’t know yet. What do you know about the rape?”

  “That rape story has been floating around for years,” Detective Rivers said.

  “So it’s not true.”

  “The rape isn’t true, but I do believe Holt’s Sr. used his position as the chair of the board of supervisors to keep Ms. Lacecap in business.”

  “Why would he do that?” I asked.

  “Uh . . . uh . . . I will tell you what I have recently uncovered since what you know already is close to the truth. This is information I’m asking you to keep to yourself until I say it is okay to reveal. Do you swear to do this?”

  “I swear to keep it secret until you tell me otherwise. I promise.”

  “Holt Junior didn’t rape a prostitute. As teenagers, he and Sybil were in love. She was fourteen or so and he was sixteen or so when Sybil got pregnant. When she began to show, she was sent to a home for unwed mothers in Pennsylvania. I’ll keep the name of the place confidential for now. While Sybil was away, a rumor spread from Ms. Lacecap, no doubt, that Sybil was sent to help Ms. Lacecap’s sister, who was having a difficult pregnancy. In October of 1965, Sybil came home, and a few weeks later, a rumor spread that Ms. Lacecap was raising her sister’s child.”

  “So there was no rape?” I asked.

  “Not at all.”

  “I believe Ms. Lacecap’s and Sybil’s price to remain silent was Holt Sr.’s help in keeping her business open,” Detective Rivers explained.

  “Do you have proof of any of this?”

  “Diantha’s birth certificate is hard to get. I have someone helping me. I’ll have it soon. And I have another piece of information I am keeping confidential until I get confirmation of authenticity.”

  “Maybe that’s why Holt Junior’s name keeps popping up in my investigation. I was on that trip to Tennessee, and so were Holt Junior, his best friend, and their wives. Whenever I receive information about Duffy’s case, Holt Junior’s name pops up in it. When all of us passengers were at that rest area using the restroom, Holt Junior and his best friend Joe said after using the men’s room, they stood outside in the cold, foggy, and misty weather chitchatting and stretching their legs,” I said.

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Who does that in that type of miserable weather? It was cold, awful weather. After using the restrooms, the rest of us headed straight to the bus to get out of the awful weather while Holt Junior and Joe stood around in it,” I explained.

  “Stood around doing what besides chitchatting and stretching their legs?”

  “Just stretching their legs and chitchatting,” I said facetiously.

  “So you think they murdered Duffy?”

  “Not really, but their behavior that night is suspect.”

  “What other questions do you have?”

  “What do you know about Ms. Lacecap’s brother Whirley?”

  “I’ve spoken with him. He is a handsome man, even now in his seventies. He’s six feet seven inches tall and walks with a pronounced limp he sustained when a tractor overturned on him. He’s known as a jack of all trades in Envyton County, Attribute, and Martinsville. He’s a locksmith by trade, works in plumbing, construction, maintenance, and God only knows what else. He and Ms. Lacecap were very close. He worked for her from time to time. He has no record and appears to be a straight shooter. Why do you ask?”

  “His name came up in my investigation.”

  “From my investigation, I learned that he loved Ms. Lacecap, Sybil, and Diantha very much. He never had any children of his own. He’s never been married. It is rumored he still carries a torch for your client’s sister, Lanta,” Detective Rivers said.

  “Yeah, I know about that.”

  “I can tell you Whirley hated Duffy, as did Sybil. All the Lloyds believe Duffy is guilty of murdering Diantha and involved in the murder of Ms. Lacecap.”

  We continued to talk about Lanta, Whirley, Sybil, and Duffy but could not connect the dots to either murder.

  “Vett, I hate to end this, but I do need to get to my family reunion meeting. I don’t want to be too late. Give me your business card. I’ll stay in contact with you. I’ll expect you to contact me if you come up with any new information.”

  With that statement, Detective Rivers sounded just like a typical policewoman, but in her, I knew I had found a sounding board who was eager to show her boss she was up to the job.

  I reached into my bag, pulling out a business card and a pen. “Here’s my card. I’m giving you my home phone number, too. If you can’t reach me via my cell, call my home number.” I handed the card to her.

  “Thanks. I’m going to follow you for ten minutes or so to make sure no one is following you. I’ll honk my horn twice when I’m ready to turn off.”

  “Detective Rivers, you don’t have to do that. I’m sure I’ll be okay. I don’t want you to be late for your meeting.”

  “I’ll just be a few minutes late. I’ll call my cousin now and let her know what time I’ll be there.”

  “Detective Rivers, really, that’s not necessary.”

  “I want to do this. You’ve gotten me involved now. I need to do this. If it involves Diantha’s murder, I want to be the first to know. If someone starts following you again, I can pull over that person.”

  Detective Rivers pulled her phone from her pocket and began punching numbers.

  “While you’re doing that, I’ll go use the ladies’ room.”

  “Okay.”

  I walked into the ladies’ room and then looked in every stall to make sure no one was there. I went into the last stall and listened for footsteps while I used the toilet. No one came into the room. My nerves were shot.

  “All set?” Detective Rivers asked as I walked back into the dining area.

  “Yes.”

  When we reached our parked vehicles, I said, “Detective Rivers, thanks for meeting with me. You’ve given me information to chew on, especially about Diantha’s murder. When I met with Duffy’s best friend, Armie Bledsoe, he wasn’t sure whether Duffy murdered Diantha. That’s where I am now. Unsure.”

  Detective Rivers was looking at me with a shocked look on her face. Her eyes were widened, and her mouth was slightly opened.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing, it’s nothing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Call me when you get back to Serenity. If I don’t answer, leave me a message.”

  “Okay, I will.”

  Detective Rivers followed me onto highway 220. After ten minutes with no sight of the white truck that had followed me earlier, she honked her horn twice and turned off the road.

  I decided to stop by the drugstore on my way to Serenity to pick up some aspirins in case Gam noticed that his car had been moved. Once inside the store, I bought gum and a candy bar as well as the aspirins.

  Driving onto Serenity’s parking lot, I noticed that the parking space where Gam had left his car was taken. I parked in the space next to it. I took Gam’s shirt off the seat, my tee-shirt, handbag, drug store bag, and walked quickly into Serenity. The p
olice car was parked on the road in front of Serenity. I didn’t look back to see if the officer

  noticed me.

  I rushed into the room, throwing my things onto the bed. I picked up the note I had written and began tearing it into pieces. I threw the pieces into the toilet, then flushed it.

  I opened the bottle of aspirins, took two out, and then flushed them down the toilet. I left the bottle on the dresser. I was not going to tell Gam about my meeting with Detective Rivers until later. However, if he wanted to know why his car was moved, I had my story ready.

  I sat on the bed and made a call to Detective Rivers. She didn’t pick-up. I left her a message. The mystery books I had bought at the book show yesterday were sitting on the dresser. I picked up the one titled, Bled Forever Red. I took the book with me, closed the door, and then headed toward the stairs.

  I stopped in my tracks, then said out loud, Armie Bledsoe. The artist sketch of a man who favored one of Duffy’s friends who he was out drinking with him the night before Diantha’s murder was Armie Bledsoe. That’s why Detective Rivers looked so shocked. She didn’t know I knew Armie Bledsoe. She was trying her darndest to keep from me that he was a suspect. Why was she being so pigheaded? She should have agreed to work with me. I wasn’t trying to steal her thunder.

  “Armie Bledsoe?” I questioned out loud. When we met he never mentioned that he was out drinking with Duffy the night before Diantha’s murder.

  I strolled down the stairs to the dining area with Armie Bledsoe weighing heavily on my mind. The smell of the freshly baked blueberry muffins overshadowed my thoughts of Armie. I put two on a plate, then poured a cup of coffee. With my muffins and book in one hand and the cup of coffee in the other hand, I crept to a seat in the small lobby area. Before I could set my items down, my phone began ringing. I quickly put everything down, then took my phone out of my pocket.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi, Baby,” Gam said.

  “Hey. How is your game going?”

  “It’s going good. Mercy has a good iron shot, but not as good as mind. We have the same handicap. Are you okay? Did you get any reading done?”

  “I’m fine. I do enjoy the beauty of this place. I went to the drugstore earlier to get some aspirin. I’m okay now. I’m in the lobby now with one of my books. I do miss you.”

  “Did you let the police officer know you were going to the store?”

  “He wasn’t there when I left. The drug store is right down the street. It didn’t take long to get there. The police are out front now.”

  “The officer probably had to take a call earlier. I should be back by 3:30 pm. If I’m going to be delayed, I’ll call you. I love you.”

  “I love you, too. Have fun.”

  “Bye, Baby.”

  I read until Gam returned, putting the case entirely out of my mind. When he walked into the lobby, he immediately walked over to me and gave me a big hug. We then walked up the stairs together to our room. We took a shower together, dressed, and then lay across the bed.

  “Baby, we are in for a treat tonight,” Gam said, reading the menu. “Listen to this: creamy asparagus soup, crispy tender and juicy pork chops, hearty roasted potatoes, tender petite green peas with a light buttercream sauce, and savory peach cobbler with vanilla ice cream.”

  “We both are going to wobble home,” I said.

  “It’s worth it,” Gam replied.

  We lay across the bed until dinner time.

  CHAPTER 23

  On Monday morning, we packed our overnight bags before going downstairs to breakfast. The breakfast was delicious and fulfilling as to be expected. After breakfast, we snuggled together on the front porch with a cup of hot coffee, enjoying the morning view of spring coming alive. Blooming flowers—daffodils, tulips, and crocuses—were all around the building and in designated spaces in the parking lot. Trees with budding leaves coming back to life swayed in the light breeze. A burst of green everywhere unmarred by summer, fall, and winter glistened as the sun rays danced on it.

  At noon, we headed up the stairs to our room to get our overnight bags, ready to checkout and head for the last stop on our mini-vacation before heading home. After getting our overnight bags, we said our goodbyes to Haiden.

  “Come back soon,” Haiden said.

  “We will,” I replied.

  It was a bittersweet moment. Haiden had been so accommodating, the food was delicious, the scenery was gorgeous, and the room had been perfect for two love bugs to share their love away from the hustle and bustle of life. I wish we could stay longer, but I had a case to solve, and Gam had to get back to work.

  Outside of the city limits, the Outlet Mall called our names. It does this every time we are near one. And of course, we accept the invitation. This mall was our last stop on our mini- vacation. Gam and I both love shopping and spent two hours walking through the mall. I bought three scarves, and he bought two on-sale workout outfits. After shopping, we ate at Hotdogs, Hamburgers and More. Though the food quenched our hungry, it was no way as good as the food we ate at Serenity.

  Back in the car, on the way home, Gam said, “Baby, that walk through the mall was good for me. All that food I ate, I need more than a round of golf to work it off.”

  “I hear you. The food was good. We can get back on track tonight with our exercising.”

  “Don’t you have to call Jackson tonight?”

  “No, it’s tomorrow.”

  “What are you going to tell him?”

  “I don’t have much. It would be good, I think, to look at everything from the beginning and make a judgment of where I am.”

  “Go ahead. Talk it out. I’ll listen.”

  “Well, I’ve been thinking about the .22 caliber handgun used to murder Duffy.”

  “What about it?”

  “Why a .22? Isn’t it considered the weakest of handguns? Why not a more powerful handgun?”

  “Baby, any gun has the possibility to take a human life.”

  “I know, but if you are planning to murder someone, wouldn’t you want a more powerful weapon to be absolutely sure the death takes place.”

  “Not necessarily. Perhaps, this is the only gun the perpetrator had.”

  “Is it considered reliable?”

  “Do you not trust the .22 Smith and Wesson Magnum revolver I bought you?” Gam asked.

  “I do, but you brought it for me for protection, to defend myself when needed.”

  “I did, but I wouldn’t have bought it for you if I didn’t believe in its capability and reliability. Your trainer believes in it and supports you carrying that caliber handgun.”

  “You’re right. I’m spending my wheels here. It’s just, uh, shooting someone seven times with a .22 seems excessive when you could have shot Duffy with a much more powerful gun once in the chest and been done with it.”

  “Perhaps, the choice of guns has more to do with who was doing the shooting. A .22 is easy to use, easy to buy, and easy to train someone to use. Didn’t you find the training easy?” Gam asked.

  “I did. And I like the smallness of the gun. Easy to conceal.”

  “Think back to your training. What did you like best about the .22?

  “Easy to handle, light recoil, easy to shoot competently fast.”

  “That was one of the things that sold me on the gun—quick to bring into action.”

  “I remember my trainer telling me a .22 was good for someone who has a hard time controlling or even holding a gun.”

  “That was you. You were so nervous. You had never held a gun before. You were a scaredy-cat.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Are you calling me a coward?” I teased.

  “Not anymore. You have conquered your fright of handguns.”

  “You know Gam, my trainer also said a .22 is good for anyone having trouble holding a heavier handgun or anyone with un
steady or damaged hands such as arthritis.”

  “So what is this telling you?”

  “The murderer may have been a newbie. The murderer may have just learned to shoot a gun and chose a .22 because of the ease of learning to use it and all the other advantages we just talked about,” I said.

  “Now you are getting somewhere. From what I know, it is a rare .22 that is difficult to learn to use and operate.”

  “And you know what, the police not finding any spent casings supports my belief that this was a well-planned murder. The handgun could have been a .22 seven shooter like mine.”

  “It’s possible, but there are other types of .22 seven shooter revolvers around.”

  “Okay, fine. Let’s continue with my profile. What age group do you think would more likely be a newbie?”

  “That’s easy. The young and the elderly,” Gam said easily.

  “The elderly, meaning fifty and over.”

  “Yes.”

  “There were no young people on the Tennessee trip. I would say everyone was at least forty-five and older. This brings me to assume the murderer was over forty-five and recently learned to shoot a .22 caliber revolver.”

  “That’s a good assumption.”

  “I guess it makes sense.”

  “Baby, a .22 makes a lot of sense for a perpetrator to use who only needs to get close enough to shoot into the heart like Duffy was shot.”

  “Good point. I am on my way to profiling this monster. First, I need a motive for the seven shots. Why did the murderer shoot Duffy seven times?”

  “Wait, wait. Now you are a profiler?” Gam asked jokingly.

  “You’re really funny. I mean, really funny. Gam, the comedian. You don’t think I can do it, do you?”

  “Just kidding. I believe you can do anything you set your mind on doing. You’ve proven that. You’re already said emotion was involved. What else was involved?”

  “Absolutely, emotion was involved. Revenge, passion, hatred, and detest are the emotions that come to mind. One of these emotions was the motive.”