by Rick Reed
The pit was exactly where he remembered and full of mud-colored water with a sheen of oil floating around the banks. The kids called these man-made mini-lakes swimming holes; the adults called them “drowning pits.” Each year a half-dozen people—even some old enough to know better—drowned.
This path he’d come by was the only path back to the road, but hikers had created their own trails over the years. He’d have to hurry. There was always the chance of meeting a nosy deputy on his way out. They used to check these stripper pits from time to time and the path wasn’t wide enough for two vehicles.
He drove right up to the water and backed the SUV around, hearing the grit crunching under his tires. He parked and went through the purse. Lipstick, chewing gum, facial tissues, nail file, condoms, elastic bands, a leather wallet with credit cards and an Indiana driver’s license, loose change, a small ring of keys, and a digital recorder. He opened the door and pitched the condoms out on the ground. “You won’t be needing these for a while. Not with the face I gave you.”
The recorder was slim, lightweight, perfect for clandestine recordings. He wondered what use a doctor would have for it. The display on the recorder showed one recording. He pushed the play button and listened to the conversation all the way through. The entire conversation was less than four minutes. He played it again, listening more closely this time for incriminating statements. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing.
He had done nothing but stir the hornet’s nest. With Murphy and Blanchard investigating Max’s death he would have to mind his steps, but Murphy wouldn’t have any more than the original investigation and that had gone nowhere. All of the evidence, what little had been collected back then, was disposed of long ago. There were no witnesses. This recording proved nothing. He was in the clear. He’d lived through worse and to be honest, he’d enjoyed the intrigue. He was a man of action.
He stuffed the purse’s contents back inside and got out of his SUV. He started to pitch it into the water and thought better of it. For all the police knew it had been taken in a robbery. He could use it to arrange a suspect, if needed.
Chapter 10
Mrs. Day’s manner was reserved when Jack and Liddell arrived promptly at 1:00. She invited them in, but hardly said two words while showing them into the kitchen, where she brewed a pot of coffee. She thawed as she watched Liddell decimate the platter of homemade pastries he’d sniffed out on the kitchen table. She said to Liddell, “You have a healthy appetite, Detective. Just like my Max. He ate like three teenagers and must have burned it all off.”
“I’m eating for two,” Liddell said. “We just had a baby. My wife and me, I mean.”
Mrs. Day made a sound that may have been a humorous chortle or a disgusted grunt.
The coffee finished brewing and she brought a tray with a carafe of coffee and three mugs to the table. She poured each of them a cup. Liddell asked for cream and sugar and she put these on the table.
Jack waited for her to have a seat and then laid the case file he’d brought on the kitchen table. He opened it and slid it toward her.
No one spoke as she took the documents out and read them one by one in entirety. When she finished, she put everything back in the folder.
“You’re telling me this is all you have?” Mrs. Day asked Jack.
“Mrs. Day, we’re just beginning. You have no reason to believe this, but we will work this like it’s a new case. We’ve been taken off our other assignments to concentrate solely on this.”
She put her coffee down and crossed her arms over her chest, never taking her eyes from Jack’s.
Jack said, “I know you suspect a cover-up or, at the very least, that we were incompetent. Let me ask you a question: Do you want me to tell you the truth, or do you want me to lie to you?”
Without hesitation she said, “I want the truth.”
“That’s what we’re after,” Jack said. “I’ll give you the good, the bad, and the ugly facts as we see them right now. Bad first: Your son’s case is thirty-seven years old, your husband’s case is thirty-four years old. What I just showed you is the entire file on your son’s case. The file on your husband’s case is missing. Therefore, we may or may not have any physical evidence or witnesses.”
She didn’t seem surprised.
“The ugly part: Due to the age of the cases, most, if not all of the detectives, patrolmen, or support personnel at the police department are old enough to have retired or are deceased. The retired ones aren’t known to stick around Evansville, so we’ll have to track them down. But we will.”
Again, she wasn’t surprised. “And the good?” she asked.
“The good. You have Jack Murphy and Liddell Blanchard working the investigations. We’re very good at what we do, Mrs. Day. We’re having a list compiled of everyone employed by the police department during those years. And another list of every officer on duty the days your son and husband were murdered. We’ve also hired a forensic computer analyst. The Chief has taken us off our other duties to concentrate exclusively on this. We have Chief Pope’s word that we will have every resource. I know that doesn’t sound like much, but believe me, we have solved cases with much less.” He didn’t think she needed to know this was the oldest case either of them had ever worked.
She came to a decision.
“Okay. I’ll trust you, but I have to tell you hearing from that ridiculous man opened deep wounds. I’ll curse him with my last breath. He wasn’t a good boy back then and he’s a most callous and arrogant man now.”
Jack bit his tongue. He didn’t know Dick as a teenager, but she was right about him being a dick now.
She said, “I wish my daughter was here to help with this.” She left the kitchen without another word. Then she came back with a fistful of Kleenex and a Bankers Box, which she set on the table. She removed the lid and Jack saw several large mailing envelopes and two leather-bound bereavement books inside. The books were covered with white faux leather. In Loving Memory was inscribed in gold lettering on the outside.
“This is everything Harry collected.”
“Mrs. Day, I won’t make excuses for the Deputy Chief or for the past. He is who he is.” A prick. “Things were done very differently back then. DNA wasn’t used by the courts until 1986. I can’t promise you we will find evidence, so I can’t say we’ll be able to run DNA tests. I can’t promise you we will find the person or persons responsible. What I can promise you—what we can promise you—is we will do everything possible to get to the truth.”
She said, “I suppose neither of you are old enough to remember any of this. I see you’re married, Detective Blanchard. Do you have children?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Liddell said and fumbled in his pocket for his cell phone. He pulled up the photos and scooted his chair closer to Mrs. Day.
“That’s Janie. She’s eleven months old this week. She has her mama’s beauty, but she’s a talker like her daddy.” He flipped through a couple of photos and stopped. “That’s Marcie, my wife. We met in Louisiana where I used to work. We hit it off right away. Married eight years now.”
“Do you love your wife and daughter?”
“Of course.”
“And you would do anything to see that they’re safe. If someone hurt them, would you do anything to find that person?”
“We get your point, Mrs. Day,” Jack said. “We both have families.”
Satisfied, she removed the white leather-bound bereavement books. She handed one to Jack and the other to Liddell, saying, “Dick nor any of his family attended Max’s funeral. Not once did he come to see us or call us. Not once. I suppose you know about the fight Max was in at Rex Mundi the night he was killed?”
“Tell me.” This was the first he’d heard of this.
“Dick and two of his friends got into it with Max at football practice. Thirty-seven years ago, tomorrow. They were the last ones to
see my boy alive. But we never heard a word out of any of them. The decent thing to do would be to talk to us.”
Jack agreed and scanned the several pages of visitors’ names in Max’s album. One name stuck out: Ted Mattingly. Dick wasn’t in attendance unless he failed to sign the book. Olson wasn’t there, either.
“There was one policeman who came to Max’s funeral. He was helpful at first, but then we didn’t see him again for a long time.”
“You said he was helpful at first. What do you mean?” Jack asked.
She said, “Mattingly was the policeman who found my son that night. He came to the funeral and talked to Harry and Reina. Harry’s face was red and I could tell he was getting angry. Not with the policeman. I asked Harry later what was said. Harry said the detectives were a bunch of incompetents. He wouldn’t discuss it. Reina had told us there was a fight at school and she said she told the policeman about the fight. He said he would turn the information over to the detective working the case. Harry and I had talked to the detective. He was worthless, just like Harry said.
“Harry was killed on the Fourth of July, 1984. I remember the detective supposedly working on Max’s murder came to the house the day after Harry was killed.”
Jack asked, “Was that how you found out your husband was hurt? The next morning?”
“No. That policeman, Mattingly. He came by my house late the night Harry was killed. I was getting worried Harry was so late, and when there was a knock on the door I thought it was Harry.” Her expression went blank. “It was Mattingly, telling me Harry wasn’t coming home. He made sure Reina was home with me before he left. He said the coroner’s office would call and…”
“So, the detective didn’t come and talk to you that night, Mrs. Day?” Jack asked.
“He came the next morning and talked to me and Reina,” she said.
“What did he tell you about your husband’s death?” Jack asked.
“He told me Harry was killed during a robbery. He knew Harry was asking a lot of people questions about Max’s murder and he asked a lot of questions about what Harry had found out about Max’s murder, but he hardly asked about Harry’s friends or enemies and stuff like that.
“He asked me if Harry kept business records at home. I had a bad feeling about this man. I told him Harry kept all his business records locked in the safe at the store. And Harry kept a notebook for himself. He kept track of his daily sales and a tally of how much money he’d left in the register and what was in the safe.” She stared off into space for a moment and said, “He always kept that notebook with him in case he got robbed. The detective said they never found it.”
“Did your husband leave much money in the cash register?” Jack asked.
“Nothing but a few rolls of coins and loose change.”
Jack said, “The detective may have wanted a list of what was stolen, Mrs. Day. Those are routine questions.”
“He wanted in the safe,” she said. “He said he’d found the safe in the back room. He offered to go with me to unlock the safe so he could go through the books. I said I’d get our accountant to do that and I’d let him know if anything was missing. We didn’t have an accountant. Harry always did his own books and taxes and stuff. But I didn’t trust this guy. Not after Max and all that.
“I remember asking him how it could be a robbery when he didn’t know if anything was taken. He said it had to be a robbery because the cash register was empty. He told me there were other recent robberies downtown recently, but I never saw anything in the news about other robberies. Especially about shootings during a robbery. Harry would have told me if there was and I watched the papers for a month or so. That detective was lying.”
“Did you ever let the detective go through the safe?”
“Hell no! Excuse my language. It was a day or two before I could bring myself to go to the shop to find his books. When I got there the safe was locked, but everything that should have been inside it was gone. The detective had told me the safe was locked. I called the detectives’ office and he called me back the next day. He said maybe Harry hadn’t locked the safe that night and the robber cleaned it out. He couldn’t explain why the door was shut and locked. I asked him if they found a notebook and he said he hadn’t seen one, but he’d check with crime scene. I told him Harry always had the notebook in his pocket. He said if Harry had it on him it would be at the coroner’s office. I told him the coroner had returned the property already. He said Harry must not have had it or it may have gotten lost when the coroner came and got Harry.”
“Could that have happened?” Jack asked. “Did it ever turn up?”
“I wasn’t in a good place, Detective Murphy. I had to take his word for whatever he told me, didn’t I? In the end it didn’t matter what I thought. The notebook was never found. Reina helped me search the house, the garage, the business, everywhere we could think of. Nothing. I had to go back through our old tax records and contact the businesses Harry dealt with for some receipts, but I never came close to getting all of it. I remember it was a nightmare trying to deal with the insurance companies and then pay our taxes. Those are some heartless people.”
“Do you remember the detective’s name?” Jack asked.
“Detective Olson,” she said. “His name is on some paperwork in those envelopes.”
Jack took several mailing envelopes from the Bankers Box. The one on top was dated November 26, 1980. He opened this one and took a sheaf of papers out. On top of the stack was an offense report made out and signed “Det. D. Olson.” It was a duplicate of the offense report they were given by the Chief of Police earlier. The other documents were basically the same as the ones Jack already had, except for a crime scene report and several newspaper clippings recounting the murder of a Rex Mundi High School senior by an unknown assailant. There were very few details, but Olson was quoted as saying the victim had been shot inside his car and it was under investigation.
The crime scene report at the cemetery stated they had taken photos of the body, the car, but no mention of a broken taillight lens as Mattingly had told them. The photos weren’t in Mrs. Day’s papers, and Jack didn’t have any with his copy of the file. The crime scene report in Mrs. Day’s papers didn’t specify any evidence was collected and the report wasn’t signed, which was unusual. There wasn’t a name for the reporting crime scene officer.
Jack opened another envelope dated in 1984—Harry Day’s murder. The offense report was marked robbery/homicide. There were two brief supplementary reports, both authored by Dan Olson, and one report from crime scene. The crime scene report was brief and like the others, was unsigned and didn’t give the names of the crime scene techs filing the report. There were more newspaper clippings, these of Harry’s death, but this time there were Xerox copies of Polaroid photographs. The photos were of a closed safe and a cash register lying open on the floor. No evidence number was written on the Xerox copies. Either this was a totally messed-up investigation, or someone had doctored the paperwork.
“Do you who made Xerox copies of these Polaroid photos?” Jack asked, showing her the copies.
“Your Officer Mattingly said he found those in the police files.”
“I thought you said you hadn’t talked to Sergeant Mattingly,” Jack said.
“I forgot about those pictures. Mattingly came to the house a week after Harry was killed and asked me a bunch of questions about Harry. I had already talked to a detective and found the safe was empty. Mattingly brought what’s in that envelope, all except for the pictures. He asked if I’d found anything missing from the store and I told him about the safe being emptied. He was surprised. He seemed to remember being told the safe was locked. He came back a few days later and brought those. I told him that’s what I saw when I was there to find Harry’s business books. He told me to hang on to all of the stuff he’d given Harry and he’d keep digging.”
“Did you ta
lk to Detective Olson again?” Jack asked.
“Detective Olson came out here a week or two later, but he didn’t tell me anything except they were following some leads. I called him several times over the next weeks and he told me he was still investigating. He didn’t sound hopeful. He asked if I could remember if any weapons were missing and I told him I would have no way of knowing. I asked him about Harry’s notebook. He told me he hadn’t found anything like that. He told me to keep an eye out for it and he’d do the same. That was the extent of my contact with him.”
“Did you call anyone else at the police department?” Jack asked. He knew from the Chief that she said she and Harry had made repeated requests to meet with Captain Dick and/or the Chief and had been rebuffed.
“When Max was killed Harry was like a hunting dog. He called the detectives’ office and spoke to Captain Dick—that’s Richard Dick’s father—and the man wouldn’t discuss the case with Harry. He suggested we leave police work to the police.”
“Did you?”
“Definitely not. Harry talked to every policeman that came in the store after that and believe me, there were plenty of cops who came in. Of course, they all said how sorry they were, but nothing ever came of it. They were afraid to go against Captain Dick, if you ask me. Mattingly and Harry became friends because he was the single person willing to help us. Mattingly…” She stopped and asked, “This isn’t going to get Mattingly in trouble, is it? I don’t want him to be punished for helping us.”
“He did nothing wrong, Mrs. Day. He’s a good police officer and I’m sure he was doing his job,” Jack said.
“Okay. Well, Mattingly got some information on the fight at Rex Mundi. He confirmed that Dick and his two friends were in a fight with Max and had gone after Max when he left the school that night. There was a girl involved. I think her name was Ginger Purdie. Mattingly said she told him that she didn’t see the fight, but Reina said that when Max was leaving Ginger had come up to him and asked if he was hurt. So, she must have seen the fight. I mean, she was part of the reason they were fighting.”