Murder in Winnebago County

by Christine Husom

  I drove to my mother’s house to see if she wanted a ride to church. When I pulled into her driveway, I was surprised to see Smoke’s personal SUV parked there. I was even more surprised to find him standing in my mother’s kitchen, pouring coffee into a mug, wearing nothing but boxer shorts.

  “Smoke?” I said.

  He looked like he hadn’t slept for days and regarded me for a minute before speaking. “Corky. I never see you in a dress. You look very pretty.”

  “And you look . . . not very dressed,” I countered, trying not to stare, but his body was beautiful.

  I had seen many naked, and near naked, men performing my duties as an officer of the law, and had come to expect anyone over the age of forty to be at least a little flabby. But not Smoke. He was long, lean, defined muscle, with abs that would be the envy of anyone, at any age.

  “Yeah, well, it’s not what it looks like. Coffee?”

  He handed the mug to me, turned his back, grabbed his jeans from the back of a kitchen chair, and slipped them on. I watched, scrutinizing his movements and body. I spotted a faded, two-inch scar on his right shoulder blade, the only noticeable flaw on him.

  Smoke turned back to me as he retrieved his tee shirt. He slid it over his head and arms then pulled it over his waistline. I couldn’t stop gawking. He studied my face a second and frowned slightly. If we hadn’t known each other so well, it would have been an even more awkward moment.

  “Your mother was nearly a basket case last night and didn’t want to be alone. You were working, so I spent the night. On the couch,” Smoke said.

  “Where is she?”

  “Still sleeping, I’m sure. She practically wore out the carpets walking around most of the night. I think she finally passed out from sheer exhaustion a couple of hours ago.”

  “What was wrong? Did something happen?” I asked.

  “You know her better than I do. She’s worried—about you, and about everybody else who lives in, or works for, the county.” A lot of people.

  “Poor Mom. She can be her own worst enemy sometimes.” The coffee Smoke had brewed was good, almost espresso.

  “She went through a lot when she was young, with your dad and all.” He appeared lost in thought as he sipped his coffee. “Why are you up so early, all dressed up?”

  “Church. I was going to see if Mom wanted a ride.”

  “Yeah, I’d let her sleep. I’ll stay here ’til she wakes up. Later this afternoon, I’m going to the courthouse to check on the data from court admin. Palmer called a little while ago—that’s what woke me up—to tell me he has the list of inmates from the last twelve years who were on psychotropic drugs. He put it on my desk. We can start cross referencing with the court cases when they’re ready.”

  “That seems like a huge job,” I said.

  He scratched his arm then shrugged. “Well, we’ll find out. What are you gonna do? I don’t think I can bill the county for all the O.T. I’m working.”

  “You’re earning it. But when are you going to catch up on your sleep? I don’t want you getting sick on top of everything else, and I know you haven’t slept much lately.”

  Smoke grinned above the rim of his coffee mug. “You don’t think three hours total for two nights is enough for an old guy like me?”

  “No.”

  I talked to my mother before I went on duty for the evening shift. She was planning to spend the day, and maybe the night, with Gramps, so I didn’t have to worry. I wandered through the sheriff’s department and found Smoke at his desk thumbing through pages, poring over the list from the jail administrator.

  “Corinne,” he said when I slid a chair next to him.

  “Elton,” I countered. “Got anything?” I plopped onto the chair.

  His face crinkled in a grin, then sobered. “I don’t know. A lot of familiar names. I was going to cross off the ones I know are dead, or spending their days in a state hospital or prison, but at this point we can’t rule out anyone. Whoever left his fingerprints on the soda cans is not on file, so that means it could be a friend, or loony family member, of one of these guys.”

  Smoke pulled off his glasses and pinched the area between his eyes. “I’m still waiting on court admin. Sheriff is home today, hopefully resting. I think all the events of the last two days have taken another year or two off his life.” He shook his head.

  I needed to clear the air and changed the subject. “Smoke, I’m sorry if I was rude this morning.”

  “Not a problem. I shouldn’t have been wandering around in my skivvies. I wasn’t really awake.”

  “I was just a little shocked. I mean, not that it’s really my business, but thinking of you and my mom, together—”

  “We’re not.”

  “Smoke, I stopped by my mother’s the other night and saw you kissing . . . ‘where there’s “Smoke” there’s fire.’”

  “I let you in on that, and you’re going to throw it in my face the rest of my life?”

  “Maybe,” I teased.

  He smiled despite himself. “I’m actually a little embarrassed you saw that. I admit, we did get caught up in the moment, but what you saw is all there was.” He picked up my hand and held it. “I have known your mother most of my life, and been friends with her for almost that long. I thought we could take it to the next level, but . . . I don’t think Kristen wants that, and I’m not so sure I do either.” He squeezed my hand, dropped it gently, then stretched back in his chair.

  “John Carl thinks she still believes my father will come back,” I said.

  “John Carl may have hit the nail right on the head. And how do you compete with a ghost?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know, Smoke. John Carl and I have lived with our father’s ghost all of our lives. I guess we just grew up accepting that he was part of the family. We couldn’t see him, but we knew he was there.”

  Sergeant Chip Roth gave me the rundown of the day shift. The suspicious person calls were down to a more manageable rate, thank goodness. The sheriff had assigned two extra deputies to the shift to act as rovers, as needed.

  My personal cell rang a little after seven p.m. “Hi, Corky, I’m home.”

  “Sara. How was your weekend?”

  “Good for the few minutes here and there I could put Winnebago County out of my mind. But I did spend a lot of time playing with my new niece. She is the cutest baby I have ever seen. So, you still busy with calls?” she asked.

  I pulled in behind a car doing thirty-eight miles an hour in a thirty-mile-an-hour speed zone. The driver must have seen me and immediately slowed to twenty-eight miles an hour. “Not like yesterday, but they’re still keeping us hopping. Are you unpacked?”

  “Working on it right now. That’s a funny question for you to ask.”

  “Don’t think I’m paranoid, but I want you to stay at my house tonight,” I told her.

  “Paranoid about what?”

  “Until we find Arthur and Marshall’s killer, it would just make me feel better.”

  “They were lawyers—I’m not a lawyer,” she argued.

  “No, but someone was in your home last week, and someone got Marshall in his home.”

  “Corky. You’re scaring me.”

  “I’m scaring me. Sara, you have the key to my house, so make yourself comfortable and I’ll see you when my shift ends.” End of discussion.

  “Can I bring my laundry?”

  “Of course. And food might be a good idea.”

  “Kristen didn’t fill your fridge this weekend?” she teased.

  “Not before I went to work, but you never know, by now there may be a four-course meal waiting for us,” I said then let out a little “huh.”

  “In my dreams. It’s bad you and I practically survive on deli food and frozen dinners.”

  “Thank God for the occasional treat of my mother’s cooking,” I added. “Later.”

  Smoke phoned me at nine fifteen to tell me Sandy Kress had gone back to the courthouse to check the report on the
court cases Arthur Franz and Marshall Kelton had shared. The report had finished running and produced a list of 1,463 cases. Some of the plaintiffs appeared more than once, and Sandy estimated there was somewhere in the neighborhood of 1,100 individuals to choose from.

  I returned to the sheriff’s department shortly after ten thirty to complete and file my evening reports. When I opened my briefcase, the first paper I pulled out was the goofy, unexplained note I had received the day of Judge Fenneman’s funeral. “WHAT MAKES SUICIDE AN ACCIDENT?” Just one more thing to ponder in the midst of a lot of other things.

  I stared at the sheet for a moment then heard myself yell, “Dear Lord!”

  I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed it before. I ran to the evidence room and retrieved the photos from the scenes of Arthur’s and Marshall’s deaths. I couldn’t wait to get back to the squad room. I removed the photos—first Arthur’s, then Marshall’s. “Dear Lord!” I repeated.

  Smoke answered on the second ring, sounding groggy. “You’re never going to believe this. I think Judge Fenneman was murdered by the same guy that killed Arthur and Marshall.”

  “Who is this?” he croaked.

  “Very funny.”

  Smoke cleared his throat. “Okay, tell me.”

  “You know that note I got? The one that said, ‘What makes suicide an accident?’”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m ninety-nine point nine percent sure it was printed on the same printer as the alleged suicide notes of Arthur and Marshall.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  “Shit.”

  “Now what?” I asked.

  “I’ll fax a copy of the note to the BCA first thing tomorrow and have Questioned Documents do a comparison for us. Leave me a copy on my desk. I’ll call Twardy, let him know what you think.”

  “You’re going to call him tonight?” Better him than me.

  “He’d be mad if we waited until morning. He is the chief law enforcement officer for the department.”

  Sara gave me a hug, more than happy to see me. “Corky, your house is kinda scary at night. I’m used to being surrounded by neighbors and the lights from their houses. Out here the only lights are the stars.”

  I glanced out my picture window. “One of the things I love about being away from the lights of town—you can see the stars.”

  “Fill me in on the latest news. Any leads?”

  Sara followed me around as I pulled off my duty belt, watching my nightly ritual of checking my Glock and putting it in my bed stand. I took off my uniform and laid it on a side chair, then slipped into my pajamas, relaying the events of the weekend in detail.

  I plopped down on the bed, and Sara did the same. “But the kicker—you’re not going to believe this—I think the same guy that killed Arthur and Marshall also killed Judge Fenneman.”

  “No way.” Sara’s eyes blinked then grew large with surprise.

  “Way,” I answered.

  “But Judge Fenneman’s death was ruled accidental. What did they call it?”

  “Sundowning,” I said, and she mouthed, “Oh, yeah.”

  “And Arthur’s and Marshall’s deaths were ruled suicides. And what did that note say, the anonymous one I got? Here.” I pulled my copy of the note from my briefcase, handed it to Sara and pointed to the words. “Now the note makes a little more sense. If the person who killed Fenneman wanted it to look like a suicide, but the death was ruled accidental, I’m guessing he figured his note would inspire further investigation, and the cause of death would be changed to suicide. Who knows?”

  Sara shook her head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Not to you and me, but I don’t think the killer’s elevator goes to the top floor, which makes him even scarier. Who knows what he’ll do? That is really a bold act to get a patient out of his hospital bed, not to mention following Arthur to his lunch site and killing him by a public landing where anyone might show up. And how about Marshall? Killing him in his home on a Sunday afternoon? His brother could have come in right in the middle of it.”

  “This is so freaky.” Sara shivered then rubbed her arms. “I’ll never be able to get to sleep tonight. Let’s talk about something else. Tell me about your love life. How is Nick?”

  Nick. “Gosh, I haven’t seen him for a few days. I’ve hardly talked to him, even. With all this going down, there hasn’t been a lot of time.”

  “You have to make time,” Sara reminded me.

  “I know. Working evenings and weekends doesn’t help.” I paused, then confessed. “Sara, there’s something wrong with me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I feel stupid telling you.”

  “We’re best friends. You know you can tell me anything. It must be juicy. I didn’t think anything embarrassed you.”

  “Okay, you are going to think I am totally screwed up. You know, I really thought I was falling for Nick, and then yesterday morning I went to my mother’s house and Smoke was standing in the kitchen in his boxer shorts.”

  “Your mother’s?” She raised her eyebrows in surprise.

  “Yes. Now get this. After I got over my initial shock of seeing Smoke almost naked, I realized I’m attracted to him.” I let the words sink into Sara’s mind for a moment. “And, the worse part, I felt a little jealous of my mother.”

  Sara patted the bed and moved closer. “Okay, let me get this straight. Smoke sleeps with your mother then the morning after, you see him in her kitchen, find him attractive, and feel jealous of your mother?”

  It sounded worse out loud.

  “He did stay over, but he didn’t sleep with her,” I explained. “He stayed because she was scared. You and I both know Smoke has been interested in my mother for years—it’s not exactly a secret. And now, just lately, they’ve had dinner a couple of times. But my mother’s still in love with my father.”

  “Who was a good friend of Smoke,” Sara added.

  I gave myself a slight bop on my forehead with my fist. “Yes. Just tell me I’m totally screwed up. I already know I am.”

  Sara reached over and squeezed my hand. “Who isn’t when it comes to love? It would be great if everything was black and white, but in matters of the heart, things can get pretty muddled. You know the three words that describe why I haven’t gotten married: Jeff, Kyle, and Barry.”

  I smiled at Sara. “Yeah, I guess. But why Smoke all of a sudden? He has been one of my best friends for a long time. And he’s a lot older.”

  “And very attractive. And smart. And kind. Maybe it’s because he’s a good friend. You know him, you trust him.” She paused. “But what about Nick?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just scared how I fell for Nick so easily, and we’ve only spent a few evenings together. You know what he asked me when I told him I’ve never had a serious relationship?”

  Sara raised her eyebrows. “What?”

  “He asked if the reason I haven’t dated much is because I’m afraid I’ll fall in love, then the guy will die and leave me alone. Like my father’s death left my mother alone.”

  “That’s kinda heavy—what’d you say to that?”

  “I guess I didn’t answer.” I picked up a pillow and hugged it to my chest.

  “Well, what do you think?”

  “I don’t know. He could be right, I guess. I have never seriously wondered about it before.”

  “Okay, to take it a step further—do you think you are looking for a father figure in Smoke, you know, a substitute for the father you never had?”

  “Geez, Sara, are you my psychoanalyst all of a sudden?”

  “You brought it up, wondering if you’re ‘screwed up.’”

  I made a face at her, crossing my eyes, sticking out my tongue. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know how I should feel. But when I really think about it, I guess I didn’t know what I was missing not having a father—a live one, that is. My two grandpas were always there for John Carl and me. They did more
than enough trying to make up for the dad we lost. So am I looking for a substitute father in Smoke? Maybe, maybe not. Am I avoiding a commitment with Nick because I’m afraid I’ll lose him? Maybe, maybe not.”

  Sara gave me a sympathetic smile and a look that said, “What can I say?” I tossed the pillow at her.

  39

  The sheriff called me in at nine o’clock Monday morning for a meeting with Smoke and the five other Winnebago County investigators to review the cases on Arthur Franz, Marshall Kelton, and Judge Fenneman. It was a toss-up as to who looked more haggard, Sheriff Twardy or Smoke.

  “Okay, Dawes, tell us what you got,” the sheriff directed at Smoke.

  “I faxed a copy of that anonymous note Sergeant Aleckson received to the BCA this morning, and her hunch was correct. Questioned Documents confirmed all three documents, the two ‘suicide notes’ and that one-liner note, were all printed on the same printer. That gives a positive link to the three deaths, and it narrows the search on the court cases to ones the three of them shared.”

  Smoke swallowed a sip of coffee. “Court admin will run that computer search tonight, after court shuts down for the day. I started checking on all the former inmates who were prescribed psychotropic meds, comparing that against the list of court cases, but now I’ll wait until I have the shorter list on the cases all three of them had together.”

  “What about the pharmacies?” I asked. “Are you still planning to get a warrant for those records?”

  Smoke nodded. “If need be. We’ll see what shows up when we compare the court cases and the inmate med records from the jail,” he said.

  Sheriff Twardy pointed at two of the investigators. “Okay, Harrison and Conley, this case is priority one, so help Dawes with whatever he needs. And Aleckson, good job recognizing the connection between the three notes. You work until seventeen hundred, then take the rest of the evening off.”

  A kudo and an evening off. “Thank you, sir.”