Murder! Too Close To Home (13 page)

“Now the strange part is he looks like he wants to get in real bad, but I think he got a good look at the shotgun I carry behind my seat, looked to me like he got a might confused right about then.”

“Along comes another car, pulls in behind us, and he says that there was his friends. He says ‘thanks for stopping,’ then he runs off back to the other car, guy had to be soaking wet by then.”

“I gotta tell ya, when I think of what coulda happened, I get chills up my backbone.”

“Mr. Folke,” Betty jumped in when he was finished, “I know it was dark, but can you give us any kind of a description of the man?”

“Well, he came up to just over my mirror, so that would make him about five feet six or so. He appeared like he was really thin, wore a sweatshirt with the hood pulled up. Like I said before, he looked young, in his twenties maybe.”

“Ok, that’s great Mr. Folke” Betty said while going over her notes; “is there anything else that you can remember about the man?”

“No, I don’t think so. Well, hold on a minute, lightning flashed real bright for a second there. I ain’t for sure, but I thought I saw a mark on his face. You know, like a birthmark or something.”

Betty was excited, asking if he could describe the mark.

“Well, like I said, I’m not sure about this, but seems to me it looked kinda like a line, under his eye, I guess it would be his right eye. Bigger on one end than the other, kinda like a baseball bat.”

Chapter 29

March 10, 1997

Betty convinced Mr. Folke to agree to work with a sketch artist. The problem was, there was no one in this county that did anything like that.

Frank got on the horn to a couple of other counties that had access to one, finally finding one in Jackson County. It was going to take an hour and a half for him to get here though, and you could tell that Fred was uncomfortable waiting that long. Frank offered to take him to lunch, on the county tab, and Mr. Folke warmed up to the idea quickly.

As they were heading out the door, I tugged at Frank’s sleeve, mouthing “no place with beer,” cocking my elbow in my best pantomime of someone taking a drink.

Frank grunted before saying the circus was in town next week and that I should consider applying. Laughing in spite of myself, I turned and almost ran into my beautiful wife.

Asking why I was laughing, I replayed the scene with Frank until I had her laughing too. Making her smile had always been a real treat for me, but it was especially significant today with all that had transpired.

“Can I see you in your office for a sec?” she asked. Nodding, I lead the way in and turned to close the door as she passed. When I again turned, she grabbed me around the waist and laid the side of her head on my chest, holding on tightly.

Somewhat confused but enjoying the closeness, I asked if she was ok while I wrapped my arms around her shoulders.

“It’s just been a long stressful day, and I appreciate the fact that we are working together on it. And I just really needed a hug.”

Increasing my pressure on her shoulders slightly, I told her there was no one else I would rather work a murder with. This struck us both funny and we giggled in each others arms.

I reached down with my hand and brought her chin up, kissing her tenderly on the lips. She responded in kind, the kiss lasting several seconds. Looking into her eyes, I kissed her again, this time the seesawing emotions of the day expressed themselves in the increased passion of the kiss. She responded immediately, her pent-up stress also spilling out with fervor.

We were heading down a road in a car with no steering wheel, neither of us having control of the outcome, but both of us welcoming the ride and saying ‘what the hell’.

She kissed my neck passionately, whispering “lock the door.” As I turned to quickly turn the lock, she headed to the desk, starting to unbutton her uniform shirt as she turned and sat on the front edge. I quickly slid out of my jacket, throwing it in the chair as I hurried forward taking off my tie. Sliding my arms through hers, we again found each other’s lips, each of us starting to paw at the other’s clothes.

Beeeep!

The noise scared the crap out of both of us, until I figured out it was the interoffice intercom. “Yes?” I answered somewhat out of breath, our system not requiring me pushing a button to answer…unfortunately.

“There is a call for you Gabriel, a Mrs. Irene Works returning your call. Would you like me to tell her you will call her back in say… three minutes?”

Damn Ellen, how the hell did she do that?

“Just tell her I’ll be with her in a minute.”

“My, aren’t we talented,” Ellen said nonchalantly before I heard the tone indicating that she had hung up.

Betty and I looked at each other for a second before cracking up at getting caught like a couple of teenagers.

“Saved by the bell” she said as she started buttoning up, her eyes dancing as they looked at me with excitement.

As Betty finished getting dressed and left the room, I quickly went to my phone, punching the button the blinking line.

“Gabriel Celtic.”

***

“Mr. Celtic, this is Irene Works, Harold Longstreet’s sister. I’m sorry I wasn’t available for you earlier.”

I assured her that it was no problem, and that I was sorry for her loss. She thanked me and asked me about the question I had, saying she could not understand what her granddaughter had written down.

“My main question was, are you aware of any of the small items Harold might have kept on his fireplace mantle, something on the top shelf in particular?”

“It might help if you told me what was there when you looked,”
Irene questioned after a pause. I ticked off the items from memory, starting with the model plane and ending with the tintype.

“That’s our mom and dad in the picture, and our grandfather’s watch is in the globe, Harold’s first pocket watch. The model plane he made in high school, he always wanted to fly but his eyesight wasn’t good enough.”

There was silence as she thought for a moment, coming back with,
“the only thing I can think of is that he kept his college ring up there most of the time when he wasn’t wearing it. Did he have his ring on when you found him?”

I answered that no ring was found of any kind, asking her if he usually wore it.

“Heavens no, he only wore it on special occasions, said it was dangerous to wear it at work. He worked as an engineer at the distillery for forty years, and I think he would wear it to the Christmas parties, when he went.
”

“He dated a woman named Becky for over twenty years, going to visit her whenever he had vacation, he would wear it then also. She died about five years ago at her home in Indianapolis, and I don’t think he’s even left his house much since then.”

“Is it possible he might have given it to someone as a gift, or maybe sold it?” I questioned, trying to think of other reasons it would be gone.

“Oh my, I have to keep reminding myself that you didn’t know him Mr. Celtic, but most everything that Harold owned was a treasure to him. He didn’t buy frivolous items, everything had meaning.”

“His watches, his newspapers, and his treasures; except for those twenty years with Becky that pretty much sums up his life. I know he sounds a little crazy, but he was a good man at heart, he just liked his life the way it was is all.”

I thanked her for her time, and again expressed my regret at her loss. I also promised to keep her updated on our progress.

Hanging up the phone, I regretted never having had the chance to get to know Mr. Longstreet, knowing him now only through death. That happened too much in this life; too many times we flew through life without getting to know the characters that make life interesting. I would try to keep that in mind in the future, after this investigation was over anyway.

I picked up the phone and called information to try to find a number. I was hoping the Alumni Association at Purdue might have a picture of what a 1939 engineering degree’s ring might look like. A ring that might help lead us to a murderer.

The “Ghost” may yet regret taking his trophies, at least if I had anything to say about it.

Chapter 30

March 10, 1997

The sketch artist arrived at the same time as Frank and Mr. Folke. Fred looked happy; having apparently enjoyed the free lunch by the looks of the toothpick moving up and down happily in his mouth. Betty took the two men into the conference room to work on the sketch; she couldn’t wait to get a picture of the murderer in her hands so that she could get it out to the media.

Allen entered our offices looking wrung out, having overseen the entire interview process so far at the Sheriff’s department. He waved Frank and I into his office as he passed, snapping up his messages from Ellen’s outstretched hand on the fly.

Once inside I asked if anything had turned up with anyone in the department.

Tossing the messages on the desk, he slid out of his overcoat and hung it on the antique hall tree that he kept in the corner of his office. Walking back to his chair, he fell into it with exhaustion; rubbing his face with both hands as we took seats across the desk from him.

“Nothing yet, the Sheriff and most of the deputies have been cleared, and they have started on the jailers. Jane is running them through the process like clockwork. It shouldn’t take long to finish at this rate.”

He asked if anything new had developed while he was away, and for once I had some good news to tell him. His interest was piqued when I told him of the recording from the murderer, but his eyes really lit up when I mentioned our star witness. He had a multitude of questions and I had answers for all of them for a change. What a difference a few hours can make I marveled.

I finished with the new information on the ring. Frank showed surprise at that revelation as I had not had time to let him in on it yet.

The alumni association at the university had said they should have a picture or maybe a drawing of all of the class rings Purdue had ever issued, and they would fax something as soon as they found it.

Allen sat back in his chair, markedly relaxed. “I guess I should leave more often” he said with satisfaction and relief.

“By the way, Zeke is still in hiding, you think it’s ok to let him go home now?”

Allen thought for a moment before replying, “I don’t think there would be any problem with that now at all. I’m glad to say my hopes seem to have been redeemed with the Sheriff and his boys. We still have no idea how the department’s evidence and equipment is leaving the building, but at least it doesn’t appear to be any one of the deputies. Lean called in a security specialist to start beefing up the building’s cameras and recording equipment. It will be a lot harder to get away with anything from now on.”

A knock on the door startled us, Allen yelling, “Come,” as he leaned forward in his chair.

Betty came in the door, carrying a drawing pad in her hand.

“The sketch artist has finished drawing up Mr. Folke’s description of the perp, and Fred is pretty happy with the results, says it’s dead on. I thought you guys might like the first look at our murder suspect.”

Laying the pad on the desk in front of us, we all stared intently at the drawing of the man responsible for our nightmare. What we saw though almost looked more like a bad drawing in a comic strip, with shadows covering most of his face.

The man’s hood contributed to the darkness of the image, but part of his mouth showed in the light, surprisingly revealing a small smile that one could almost describe as shy. The nose was sharp and prominent, being slightly large in proportion to the rest of the face. The one eye showing in the picture drew your attention eerily to it, being what I would call…dead.

I closed my eyes and rubbed them for a few seconds before looking at his face once more. Again I was drawn to the eye, a gleam of death again being my interpretation. A shiver ran down my spine as I considered asking Betty how Fred had described the eye to the sketch artist to bring such a detail out in the drawing.

Shivering again I noticed the final detail exposed in the drawing, the birthmark. It was indeed shaped like a baseball bat, or maybe a club. Very small, less than an inch in length; it was nevertheless a prominent and easily identifiable feature. It shouldn’t take long for someone to identify this man once we got this out to the news hounds. I sighed in relief, realizing that everyone in the room had done the same simultaneously.