“You seem to be in better shape than your friend. Any chance you’ve seen dead bodies before?”
The detective made the word ‘friend’ sound just this side of sleazy.
“More than five. Less than twenty. I’m more used to the sight than April is.”
“The interviews you did with the judge--you have them recorded and on video?”
“Recorded. No video.”
“Are they transcribed?”
“About three dozen of them are. We have about fifty altogether.”
“We may want to take a look at them.”
Mentally, Clay kicked himself. He hadn’t thought about the recordings. Capt. Hardin was not superior in public relations, but he immediately saw the possible relevance of the interviews.
“So you’ve listened to most of the conversations?” Hardin asked.
“A few of them. April has listened to them all.”
“In the interviews that you’ve listened to, was there anything that might be motivation for murder?”
“If there is, I missed it. He had a lot of fascinating stories and told us about many crimes, but nothing…” Clay shrugged. “And most of the crimes he talked about occurred years ago.”
“When you came to the house, was anyone leaving? Did you see anyone hanging around the residence?”
“No. The judge has a man to handle the stable and the horses and to do general maintenance in the yard. But I think he mentioned the yard man would have the day off today. Our last interview was two days ago, and we set up this appointment then. The judge said he’d be alone at the house.”
“Did the judge mention to you that he might be in any danger?”
“No. Not at all. He was vivacious and always happy to see us. He didn’t seem to have a care in the world.”
For a moment Hardin didn’t scowl. He didn’t smile either. The glare changed from hostile to neutral. The voice shifted into neutral too. “I remember Trulock. About ten years ago, he was sent over here to preside over a murder case. A rich real estate man killed a woman. Either the defendant or the victim had connections to all the judges in the county, so an outside judge was needed. I was one of the investigators. The judge ran a sharp courtroom. Nice guy and he didn’t put up with any dog and pony shows. I enjoyed watching him. He was on the side of justice. I would enjoy reading his biography, Mr Augustine.”
Clay smiled. He had been elevated to “Mr.”
“I’ll bring one to you when the book is published.”
“Right now I’m a bit curious about those tapes. Did you go through his whole career during the interviews?”
“Yes. Almost all. The tapes cover everything from his childhood in Palm Bay to the last year or so on the bench. We hadn’t gotten to his retirement yet,” Clay said.
“I think we can ignore his early days because it was so long ago.”
“Our last twenty or so tapes dealt with his years as a judge.”
“Why don’t you copy those and send them to me.”
“Fine.”
“Try not to touch anything on the way out.”
“I won’t.”
Capt. Hardin walked over as the policewoman sitting next to April stood up. She moved to the side. April basically repeated what Clay had told the captain.
“Who came up with the idea of doing a biography on Judge Trulock?” Hardin asked.
“I did. The newspaper wanted a lengthy feature story on him. After I had done the first interview, I saw the possibilities of a book, a biography. Thought about it a few days and then phoned the judge. He agreed.”
Was anyone else here when you and Mr Augustine did the interviews?”
No--except for a couple of times when a maid was working. I think she came three times a week.”
“Ever see anybody else when you were coming or going?”
“No, no one except the maid and the stable guy.”
“Thank you. I don’t have any more questions at this time. But I do want to say a few words to you and your friend before you leave.”
He bundled his computer back into his coat pocket then walked outside with the two. As they stood on the porch, the detective pulled a stogie out of his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. He spit a dollop of tobacco into the grass. His eyes narrowed. He took out his cigar and pointed it at the two.
“Of course I have no evidence yet. He spent decades in law enforcement, so he was bound to have some people who hated him. Maybe one of his enemies held a grudge for a long time and killed him. If I recall, Judge Trulock sent off two of the Wadley brothers for a long time. They’re still in prison. The Wadleys come from Swamptree County and have cousins galore, including a few second or third cousins who live in this county. All of the family are mean and ugly as sewer rats. I’m sure many other people hated the judge, too. But there is another option I have to consider. As a judge, Trulock knew a great deal about a great many crimes, and some of his knowledge was not public. Maybe someone was afraid of what he knew. As long as the judge kept quiet, the man felt safe. But when he learned the judge was talking about his background…maybe someone was afraid he might say too much.”
Hardin took a big puff of his cigar. “If that’s what happened, then the killer has to be afraid of what might be on those tapes, and he might be afraid of what the judge discussed with you. If it was worth killing once….”
“We understand,” Clay said.
“Yes, we do,” April said. She shook a bit.
“I’m speculating. The tapes may not be the reason for the judge’s murder. But I have an obligation to share my suspicions so you can take whatever actions or precautions you deem necessary.”
“Thank you, detective. We appreciate that” April said.
Hardin turned and went back inside the house. April and Clay headed slowly toward their car. April walked silently to the driver’s side and reached for the doorknob when Clay put his hands on her waist.
“Let me drive,” he said. He escorted her around to the passenger side and opened the door for her. Instead of easing into the car, she hooked her elbow over the door.
“Do I look that out of it?”
“Well, to be perfectly honest, yes. You look a bit shaken. Which is only natural.”
“You don’t look all that shaken.”
“I’ve seen more dead bodies.”
She shook her head. It was one of the few times Clay had seen April without the dazzling smile. Her lips were pursed, but her voice held no trace of the usual laughter. He found that disconcerting. When he looked at April, Clay was used to seeing beauty and hearing laughter. The beauty was still there, but a bit of laughter had gone out of the world.
“I had grown fond of the judge. I looked forward to coming over and hearing him tell about his life. I was amused by his flirting. I imagine it’s different when the dead man is a friend rather than a stranger.”
Clay nodded.
“So what do we do now?” April said.
“Find the nearest bar and have a drink. But only one. We’re driving back.”
“Sounds good.”
It wasn’t the nearest bar, but the Oasis Lounge offered a quiet atmosphere of shadows and gold light. They took a booth against the back wall. Perhaps a dozen people sat in the bar, chatting softly. When the waitress approached, April ordered chardonnay. Clay requested a bourbon and Coke. They sat in silence until the waitress placed the two drinks on the table.
“It looks like we’re up to our necks in something, Clay.”
“Yes, like the old song, ‘We’re waist deep in Big Muddy'.”
“Any suggestions?”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure. This has happened so quickly I’m not thinking logically yet. When I try, I see the body of the judge with the bullet holes in it.”
“Me, too.”
He took a sip of his drink. April sipped hers.
“I guess we can cover the basics first,” he said. “You mentioned to me once that you had a pink Beretta. Still have it?
”
“I do. Bought it from a friend. It's registered, legal, and ready to be inserted into the thigh holster.”
“Good.”
“Think I should begin wearing it?”
“Yes, let’s don’t take any chances. Besides, carrying a concealed weapon is no big deal. Not anymore. So next time you go out, slip it in your purse.”
“Or the thigh holster?” she asked.
“That would be good, too. We may be overreacting, but, as the detective said, better to be safe than sorry. Oh, wait. I think I said that, not Captain Hardin.”
April twisted her glass around in her hand. “Do you really think the interviews might be the reason for the judge’s murder?”
“I want to say no, but to be honest, I guess there is a chance. Maybe Trulock knew something about a long-ago crime that somebody didn’t want to be made public. Or maybe the killer simply thought the judge knew something incriminating. Or maybe it’s some long-ago enemy. Captain Hardin has to consider all the options. As do we. Until the killer is arrested, we should be very careful and very cautious.”
The sparkle in her eye was of a miner who had spied a nugget of gold. She slapped the table with the flat of her hand. “I want to find who killed him. I want to hire you.”
Clay took another long swallow of his drink.
“I liked the judge. I want to find who killed him, too. You don’t have to hire me. I’d work on this case for nothing.”
“For nothing? OK, but I want to help. I’m your partner in this. We can reestablish the Augustine-Longmont Detective Agency. I don’t like people killing my friends, and I’ll take half the fee.”
“Half? Sweetie, you’re beautiful, but you ain’t worth half. I’ll give you a third.”
Some of her laughter came back into the world. She raised her glass. “You drive a hard bargain.”
Clay swallowed the rest of his drink. “OK, the first thing you can do to help is to go over those tapes. He may have said something that we ignored at the time but that could be connected to his murder.”
“Wow!” April snapped her fingers. “That lady about ten days ago. When we were walking into the judge’s house, she was coming out. We said hello--remember?”
The distant hello floated back into his memory. “Yes. Brunette. Mid-thirties. We jokingly asked the judge who his admirer was. He told us her name, but it slips my mind and...” Clay blinked. “What was it? Lynn something…?”
“No, Lynette! Lynette Shelby!”
“Yes,” he said. “Judge Trulock said she was asking about an old case.”
“She was from our county,” April said. “I remember the license tag. I wondered why another county resident would be talking to the judge.”
“But we don’t know which case she was asking about. We need to find her. I also need to phone Hardin and tell him the woman’s name. When he was questioning me, I didn’t remember we had seen her. Let’s get rolling.”
Unlike April, Clay observed the speed limit on the road back to Sea Oak. They rode most of the way in silence. He was happy to see at least a half smile return to April’s face as he drove between two white lines in the Daily News parking lot. Clay opened the door, but April’s voice stopped him before he put feet on the pavement.
“What’s your first move?” she asked.
“I want to check to see if the judge had any long-time friends still living. And if so, did he reveal something to them that he didn’t talk about on the tapes.”
She nodded. “I’ll start going over the tapes. If I hear something suspicious, I’ll let you know.”
“Good. Did you have anyone else interview the judge before I started traveling with you?”
She slapped her forehead “Yes. I got hit with the flu the second week, and Linda Garfield, a friend of mine, did two interviews. I could function and move around, but just barely. I didn’t think I could survive a trip to Green Cove County. Linda did the interview.” She paused for a minute. “And I haven’t listened to the sessions she did.”
“Maybe you should,” Clay said. “Listen very carefully.”
“I sure will.”
When Clay returned to his office, he walked over to the small refrigerator and grabbed a Coke. He had a glass in the fridge and grabbed that too. The glass had a couple of golf clubs on it and the words “I finally broke par. But on this course par was 100.” He dropped a few ice cubes in it and slid some bourbon over the ice, then filled the glass to the rim with Coke. Usually, he didn’t drink before five. But he also didn’t bump into dead bodies during the day.
3
Detective Jack Travers of the Winter Springs Sheriff’s Department sounded fine, and even perky, when Clay said hello. Clay had bumped into Travers a few times over the years, and, although they were not friends, they respected one another. The detective always thought Travers was cheerier than most law enforcement officials, but news about Judge Trulock’s death spoiled his mood.
“When did this happen?”
“About two, maybe two and a half hours ago. I wasn’t sure if the news had broken. The murder of a judge will be a statewide story.”
“I haven’t been watching any news. Been out keeping the citizens of Winter Springs County safe,” Travers said.
“We citizens appreciate it.”
“This news is a shock. Judge Trulock was still on the bench when I joined the force. When he walked into a room, he sucked the oxygen from it…and from more than one courtroom. When we tried a case before Trulock, we knew we had a great judge. But I can’t think of what in his career might have gotten him killed. Plus, he’s been retired for…what, four or five years?”
“Little more than five years now.”
“What could have come back and bitten him now?”
“Have no idea. At least not yet.”
“I can’t start my own investigation. He worked over here, but he wasn’t killed here. I’ll have to wait to see if the Green Cove authorities contact me. But I appreciate the call.”
As a courtesy, Clay also phoned Captain Wolfson of the Sea Oak Police Department and relayed the news of Judge Trulock’s death to him. He had worked with Wolfson on a previous case.
Thanks to the Internet it didn’t take long to find Lynnette Shelby. She lived in the county at 815 Willis Lane. Clay wondered for a moment if he should call or just show up on her doorstep. He thought perhaps the personal touch might be better when delivering bad news. He phoned April and was glad when she answered after the first ring.
“Can you break off from what you’re doing and come with me to an interview?” he said.
“Sure can. This is going to be a long day, and I’m going to be working nights this week. Who are we interviewing?”
“Ms Shelby,” he said.
Willis Lane was about three miles inside the county line. It was a two-story blue and white house sitting on dozens of acres growing hay. Both recognized the woman who opened the door. She was the same woman they had said hello to at the judge’s residence two weeks before. Clay showed her his identification. She didn’t give it just a cursory look. She stared at the photo and then looked at the couple.
“You look better in person than your picture, Mr Augustine,” she said, as she handed it back.
“Private investigator’s pictures are like pictures on driver’s licenses. They always look awful.”
“I saw both of you about a week ago.”
“Yes, ma’am. But unlike Clay, all I have for an ID is my drivers’ license. I hate to show it because the picture looks horrible. I’m April Longmont. I am writing a biography on Judge Trulock.”
“Come in and sit down,” she said.
The living room sparkled and was free of dust. The two sat down on a gray, very comfortable sofa. In the next room, a computer sat on a desk with piles of paper around it. April wondered if the woman worked at home.
“It’s a very nice place you have here, Ms Shelby,” she said
“Call me Lynette. I’m very fortunate. M
y father owned this land and some acreage in other parts of the county, too. The farm grows hay, but a family of three brothers comes and harvests it for me, then we split the profits. They get 70 percent. I get thirty. I can sit back, do nothing, and still make money.” She eased down into a chair. “So what can I do for you two?”
“You may not have heard this, and I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Judge Trulock was murdered earlier today. Clay and I drove over to Green Cove County and found him dead. He had been shot three times.”
Her gasp could have been heard three farms over. For a moment April thought the woman would burst into tears. Then she gritted her teeth and shook herself. Her fingers gripped hard on the armrests of the chair. After thirty seconds, she loosened her grip. There was no hysteria in her voice, but a steel calmness when she spoke.
“Life has taught me to be stoic, at least outwardly. I’m very sorry to hear that. I really liked the judge and respected him. The world lost a good man. Do the police know who killed him?”
“Not yet.”
She peered at Clay. “You said you are a detective. Are you investigating Judge Trulock’s murder?”
Clay nodded. “Yes. April and I thought we might help the police out. We figure they won’t mind. As part of the investigation, I wanted to ask why you were talking to the judge the day we saw you.”
She groaned as if she’d been stuck with a dull knife, but the voice remained calm. “It is a day for stoicism. One of the last trials Judge Trulock presided over before he retired was of Alden Mallory, my late sister’s husband. Mallory beat my sister up, and the beating killed her. It wasn’t the first time he had attacked her. He was arrested, but he had a real good lawyer, Richard Brazen. Although he was convicted, it was not for murder, but for a lesser charge of…felony assault, I believe. He only got six years. The verdict was a travesty. When the verdict came back, Judge Trulock was clearly angry. He gave the defendant the maximum on the lesser charge.”
“Is that what you were talking to the judge about?” April said.
A Sea Oak Mystery Boxed Set Page 2