Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

 

Grace’s heart was pounding and it took her a second to realize that the sound she was hearing was her phone ringing. She picked it up off the table beside her and hit the answer button.

“Hello.” she squeaked out.

“Miss Walk…Grace, it’s Matt Scheffield. How are you?” he asked, hearing the stress in her voice from only one word.

“Fine. I’m fine.” she lied, “What can I do for you detective?”

“I just wanted to let you know that your alibi checked out and I’ve officially been able to clear you as a suspect. I do need you to come down to the station at your convenience and sign a statement.” he informed her; thinking at least that would provide some relief for the suffering woman.

“Thank you for letting me know…about clearing me, you know. I appreciate it.” she said to the detective; surprised that it did bring to her some relief. That’s the last thing she needed to worry about right now, especially with her latest discovery. “Um, I don’t have a ride at the moment. Actually would it be alright if I came in tomorrow morning to sign a statement? I’ve had a hell of a day and I’m actually kind of tired as well.”

“Sure. That would be fine. Let me know if you need me to send a squad car to pick you up and bring you in.” he replied.

“Thank you, I will. Bye.” she told him, ending the conversation.

“Bye.” he said back to her, and hung up.

She hung up the phone and laid it back on the table. In a way, she was glad he called when he did; she needed some sort of distraction from the multitude of thoughts coursing through her mind like blood through her veins; a never-ending stream, or so it seemed. Her life had been filled with turmoil for as long as she could remember, but this…this was beyond anything she ever could have imagined happening. All she knew now was that her cousin had to wake up; because it sounded to her like she could possibly be the only person who may be able to shed some light on the presently dark case. Maybe her secret had something to do with what happened to her – and Genevieve, she thought. If she was planning to tell Grace the truth, whatever that was – and was found out somehow - then the ‘He’ she wrote of may have wanted to shut her up…permanently. And if that ‘He’ was the killer, he almost succeeded. He did succeed in forever silencing Genevieve; though she was probably just in the wrong place at the wrong time. His plan still had the possibility of coming to fruition…if Adrienne died.

At least that was a scenario she could begin to wrap her head around. She had done practically nothing but think about it since she came home from her run, and found out in that instant that her life was forever changed. Maybe that was why everything happened when it did; maybe she was never a target, but simply in the way when she was at her grandmother’s house. Maybe ‘He’ waited until she left to commit the act because she wasn’t who ‘He’ wanted. But why spare her? she pondered. If Genevieve was an innocent bystander – only killed to ensure there were no witnesses to his crime - then why wait for Grace to leave? Why not simply shoot her as well? Was it possible that her Gram knew this terrible secret, too? If this is truly what occurred – this silencing of people who obviously knew too much – she could conceive of no other reason than this for sparing her life and not her grandmother’s as well. It was hard for her to believe that it was simply a coincidence that the crime occurred during the time she was gone.

All of these unanswered questions floating around in her head seemed as if they should be too much for her to handle in her state of grief, yet in some strange way they made her feel a little better. She had something to focus her attention on now; a purpose rather than simply wallowing in her sorrow, not knowing any of the answers for which she was searching; not even knowing what questions to ask about anything other than whether her cousin would live or die. Having to bury her grandmother and never finding out why. Now that would be more than she could handle. And she fully intended to make sure that didn’t happen.

Now the question was whether to keep this bit of information to herself or share it with Detective Scheffield. After some thought, she decided that – for now – she was going to keep quiet about what little information she had to go on; and about the evidence she had in her possession, Adrienne’s diary. She realized that could be considered ‘withholding evidence’ or ‘obstruction of justice’, but right now she was willing to take the chance. She now had only three living relatives besides whoever was living on her father’s side, and of those she knew not one; and with only one of those living relatives did she care to even have a relationship.  And that relative…was the one presently in a coma and unable to explain any of the events that had transpired. Something told her that her cousin did know who did this to her and Genevieve. She just couldn’t tell anyone. And Grace suspected that whoever did this, if it was done to keep her quiet, didn’t even need for her to die. She only had to never wake up and her offender would have achieved his goal.

If Adrienne’s secret somehow involved her, the killer could only be one of two people. She could rule out her Aunt Caroline because in the diary, her cousin had referred to a ‘He’ as the one forcing or coercing her to keep her mouth shut. So it had to be either her Uncle Chris…or Jesse. There weren’t any other men in her life in Aurora; certainly not her father. And she would find it very difficult to believe Jesse capable of such a horrendous act. She could conceive of no reason he would have to do it. So that left Uncle Chris. It had always been obvious that there was friction between Adrienne and her dad, but for the life of her she couldn’t think of anything that was so serious that involved her. Grace racked her brain, but there was just nothing. Nothing worth killing over. Especially when the people one is killing are one’s own mother and daughter. 

Detective Sheffield had spent the day taxing his brain as well, though not getting as far as Grace was getting. Actually he was getting nowhere, he thought. Back at the station, he was typing up the old man’s statement, planning to go get a signature from him, if he found the information to be correct, rather than trying to get the recluse to leave his house and come to the station to sign it. He was still mulling over the possible reasons for Mr. Mullins’ behavior; seeming to grow nervous at the mention of tension between Genevieve and someone else. Did Herbert Mullins have some problem with his neighbor and/or her granddaughter? Was he the one that murdered Genevieve and tried to do the same to Adrienne? These were the questions plaguing him. It was certainly possible he was the killer. A disagreement would give him motive; the only thing the detective could not figure out. He had the means and the opportunity to do it. But what neighborly quarrel could be so serious that it had to end in murder? he wondered.

He put the old man’s statement to the side and plopped the growing case file down on his desk; deciding he would move to a much simpler task for a little while; walk away and come back to all his musings later, with a fresh perspective. There was the question of the gun and the shell casings they had recovered. The only way he would know for sure if it was a revolver or a pistol was to go inspect the evidence for himself. Nobody else had the forethought to take care of this; clear up such a miniscule discrepancy; not that he trusted anyone else to do it anyway. He had no leads coming in at the moment and the few people he had interviewed besides Herbert Mullins didn’t seem to have a clue about any of it. So he was going to go see for himself what kind of gun the murder weapon really was; so they would know for what to look. The only other question was where to look for it.

Down in the dusty, dank evidence room, it didn’t take the detective long to find the correct box. Pulling the top off, he was surprised to see how little evidence they had actually been able to collect. It was hard to gauge when you were in the midst of it, but seeing it all fit into one small box, with room to spare, was somewhat disheartening. He dug carefully through everything until he found the bag containing the shell casings in question. Ripping open the sealed bag, he dumped the contents out onto the scarred, wooden table at which he was sitting. It was only three casings. That was all there was. Retrieving a small magnifying glass from his inside breast pocket, he picked one up; inspecting the markings on it. He looked at each one just to be sure; deducing that they were all the same and they had all come from a .38-caliber revolver.

Well, that was one problem down, and however many left to go, he didn’t know. In actuality, this problem that he had solved so easily caused another problem; finding out why the killer had deliberately removed the shell casings from the cylinder of the murder weapon and dropped them on the floor for law enforcement to find. The only explanation of which he could conceive was that the killer wanted them to know what murder weapon for which they were looking; wanted them to know who out of the suspects the police had questioned…owned a .38-caliber revolver. The act was deliberate, so maybe the killer left the casings in an attempt to frame someone else for the crime. Perhaps the killer himself wanted to be found; in some strange way wanting everyone to know what he did, and that he did it and he alone. Was it some kind of statement he was trying to make? he asked himself. Was it a message he needed people to hear; something with some bizarre moral to the story? He couldn’t imagine what the moral of this story could possibly be. What does the cold-blooded murder of two unsuspecting women even say? he wondered.

The detective dug through the rest of the evidence in the box, but found nothing that would answer any of his questions. The lab was testing the one human hair found on Genevieve’s robe, but until the police started collecting hair samples from possible suspects, there was nothing to which he could compare it. That probably still wouldn’t tell them anything definitive. If the hair belonged to someone close to her, there were a number of reasons for it to be there; just like fingerprints in the house. The hair could have already been there before that day. So that bit of evidence was pretty useless to them. Most of what little evidence they had collected was useless. He would just have to put what he could so far in the case file, send it to his captain to see what he had to say, then go from there.

Until he got an answer from his boss, he was stuck. There were no leads coming in to follow at the moment, so there was nothing more he could do. He went in search of the officers he had sent to Genevieve’s property to look further into the wooded area behind her house. Being fairly certain this was the direction in which the perpetrator had fled on foot. Luckily, he found a report already typed up on his desk when he got there. In it, it described how they followed the partial shoe prints in the direction they appeared to be facing; discovering that it was actually a crude trail; one that lead straight to a large pond in a clearing, with nothing but woods surrounding it. On the far side of the pond, they did find several prints in the soft earth, and they seemed to also be facing away from the house. They wrote of how they followed the prints as best they could and that they disappeared when they finally reached a clearing on the other side; at the end of Genevieve’s property. On the other side was a residential street where the killer could have parked a getaway car without anyone really noticing. The houses on this street were just as spread out as they were on her street; and at this particular spot, there wasn’t a house for half a mile in either direction. So an anonymous parked car could have remained just that – anonymous.

At least a scenario was beginning to form in Detective Sheffield’s mind; one that seemed to make some sense. Although the other officers had searched the area thoroughly, no murder weapon had been found. His thought was that the killer had to have wanted that weapon to be found; deliberately leaving behind evidence he could have easily taken with him. So where on earth could the gun be? he pondered. He was willing to bet it would turn up eventually in their investigation. That gun was somewhere nearby; in a place so obvious that they were probably overlooking it, he said to himself. He decided it was time to turn up the heat on anyone and everyone close to Genevieve or her granddaughter, Adrienne. Since the living victim was still unconscious in the hospital and couldn’t tell them who did this terrible thing, they would simply have to get their answers from other sources. He couldn’t help but feel that the answers were close; maybe too close.

Before Jesse arrived home from work, Grace searched Adrienne’s diary to see if any other entries may have contained a clue about her secret; or at the very least, told her who was forcing her to keep it. But she found nothing. The last thing she wanted to believe was that her Uncle Chris was responsible for the death of his own mother…and the state in which his daughter presently rested. Could he actually be that cold-hearted, that unfeeling? she asked herself. And what secret, she wondered, could possibly be so bad that he felt the only solution was to kill his mother and daughter? If he was the culprit, why not just kill her, too; make it look like a botched robbery or something of the sort? Why would he wait for her to leave? the questions coming to her faster and faster. In her opinion, her uncle had always hated her; for no other reason than that she was her mother’s daughter…and he unequivocally detested her mother his entire life. Grace had wondered for her entire life why this was so; never receiving any explanation at all from Chris.

All of this, all of her thoughts, were making her remember details about her mother; how it felt when she died; when she killed herself and left her broken-hearted daughter behind. There had been no suicide note; nothing to help ease the pain of having to wonder why; why she would do such a selfish and terrible thing. She remembered how, at the time, she was so angry and confused; she remembered how it felt to lose her mother. Grace was legally an adult before the suicide, so her mother didn’t leave behind a child who still needed care and guidance, but that was of little consolation to her – then and now. Burying a close family member and having no idea why is a burden that is incredibly difficult to bear. And she would have to relive that torment all over again; burying her grandmother with no explanation as to why. Whatever she had to do, she could not let that happen. She may bury her before getting answers, but after she planned to do everything in her power to solve this mystery. She couldn’t handle any more unanswered questions in her life. No more! she told herself.

She also told herself that she desperately needed the opportunity to visit Adrienne alone, without her aunt and uncle in the room; listening to every word Grace said to her comatose cousin. She wasn’t sure if someone in that state could hear anything people said to them or not, but she did know that she was going to give it a shot. Maybe she was simply grasping at straws, but what else did she really have to feed her hope? she asked herself. Being anywhere that Adrienne’s parents were was not something she had in her plans. With the information she was now privy to, she couldn’t even begin to trust her Uncle Chris. As for her Aunt Caroline, maybe it wasn’t fair of Grace, but she was going to have to be considered guilty by association. There was a distinct possibility that Caroline knew absolutely nothing – if Chris was the killer; the killer of her only family left in the world. It was certain that she had living relatives on her father’s side, undoubtedly including her father himself, but she had never laid eyes on one of them; she had no idea where her father even lived; or where his relatives lived either. And, truthfully, she had no desire whatsoever to find out…ever.

Now Grace had to devise some sort of plan to get Chris and Caroline out of their daughter’s hospital room; for more than just a few minutes. That probably wasn’t going to be a simple undertaking. She imagined that at some point, they were going to have to make funeral arrangements for Genevieve. There was no one else to do it – aside from her – and she could not fathom them allowing her to take that on; certainly not without them looking over her shoulder the entire time. And she knew also that the pair had not even been questioned by Detective Scheffield yet; only two uniformed officers who were there to “officially” inform them of Genevieve’s unfortunate death. The condition of their daughter had already been explained to them by the doctors long before the officers arrived, so there was no need of that. She was actually surprised that the police had not gone straight to find them from Genevieve’s house; that poor Jesse had had to make that extremely difficult call. Small towns…

Jesse was another issue altogether for her now. She hated herself for even thinking that he could be responsible for any part of this; for taking away her family – the only two people in the entire world that she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt loved her unconditionally; excepted her just as she was, flaws and all. She knew Jesse loved her as well, in his own way. Was it possible he loved her in a different way; the way a man loves a woman? she puzzled over. He had never, in all the years she had known him, assumed any behavior that would lead her to believe he desired anything more than platonic friendship from her. Never had he made even the most subtle pass at her.

But one of the life lessons she had learned – the hard way – was that you never, ever truly and completely without reservation…know someone. It may not be probable, but it was possible that he had feelings for her that he had never been able to reconcile; that he was in love with her and had been since he was old enough to understand what those feelings, those stirrings in the pit of his stomach meant. Maybe it had grown into something he could no longer control after all those years of pent up yearnings, and he wanted her all to himself; could no longer tolerate sharing her with people he feared would not accept him in that role. After all, she was just engaged to a doctor; someone who her relatives would be more than happy to add to their family tree. If he felt he could never compete with that, perhaps in some crazy way he thought taking her disapproving family out of the equation would solve all his problems. It would bring her home again and get her away from Michael, so he could make his move; the one he had been planning for a long time. After all, Jesse hadn’t known she was in town the night before the murders; that she was sleeping at Genevieve’s house while he put the finishing touches on his diabolical plan, if that was the case. She didn’t call him until the following day…after the murders when she was already at the hospital.

 

Still, this was nearly impossible for her to believe; that the man who had never crossed that line with her was responsible for this awful, heartless crime. She was a thousand times more apt to believe that the killer was her Uncle Chris. He could have had any number of reasons to murder his mother, Genevieve; disagreements that angered him, money he would acquire from a life insurance policy, the land itself on which his mother’s house sat. With Chris, it could be anything; and with that wife of his, too. She was definitely greedy and selfish; just like her husband. Right now, Grace was exhausted and confused and sad; and she didn’t know what to believe; what the truth really was. Thinking that Jesse could conceivably be involved did make her a little nervous, considering the fact that she was presently staying at his house. If it were true, if he was responsible…was she safe? she asked herself. She thought, what if he tried to proclaim his love for her in a physical way and she resisted his advances? Would he hurt her as well…kill her as well? Would she be able to fend him off; him being so much stronger than she?

She stopped herself there; feeling incredibly guilty for even allowing those questions to run through her mind. Jesse could not have done this; he simply couldn’t have. She thought this, though the whole time she wondered if she actually believed it, or if she was merely trying to convince herself. Honestly, she wasn’t sure yet which was true. Still, how would it play out if she gave into her fears and left his house to go stay at a hotel alone – the only way she could be assured of her safety – and she turned out to be wrong about him and he had no involvement in the crime? she mulled over. How could she apologize for such a betrayal? she worried. This could potentially cause a rift between the two best friends; a divide that could possibly never become whole again. She prayed for God to help her decide; feel in her heart what the truth indubitably was. And for now, she thought it best to stay put; though she imagined she wouldn’t be getting much sleep. The chance of her blaming Jesse and being mistaken was keeping her from making any definitive decisions.

Back at the police station, Detective Scheffield had just been called into his captain’s office; his superior having sifted through the growing case file. His captain, Brady Peterson, definitely had his own opinions about things and was no stranger to doling them out. The detective braced himself for the torrent of words about to come out of Brady’s mouth; unsure as to what his thoughts on this case and the evidence collected thus far would be.

“How’s your day going rookie?” Brady asked, teasing him because he was new to the job of homicide detective.

“Exhausting and not nearly eventful enough. You, sir?” was his answer.

“Well, I can certainly understand why that would be so. Not much to go on here, is there?” he inquired of the detective, “I think we’re going to have to take a different tack here. You didn’t get much from the neighbors of Mrs. Devereaux, which doesn’t surprise me, being so spread out. But one of them…uh…hold on, let me see…um…Herbert Mullins; he peeks my interest a little. I did a bit of research, and it turns out that there have been issues between him and the Devereaux’s over the years. They’ve been neighbors a long time and apparently had several disagreements serious enough that we had to send officers over there to break it up. No physical fights or anything like that, but heated arguments that could have been headed in that direction. Mostly between Mr. Mullins and Mrs.Devereaux, not her husband, oddly enough. I want you to see if you can get him in here to take a polygraph. He had means, motive, and opportunity; I can’t trust that he had no involvement. I can’t simply take his word for it this time.” rambled the captain.

Matt Scheffield had been sitting quietly, taking in everything Brady Peterson was saying; saving his opinions for the end of the speech. When he interviewed Herbert Mullins, he did get the feeling he was hiding something, and maybe the disputes in the past were it. He honestly didn’t get the feeling that the old man had anything to do with the shootings; and wondered if he ought to express this to his superior. Brady wasn’t one inclined to dismiss anyone else’s opinion out of arrogance. He welcomed the ideas of the people he worked with; knowing that nobody is always right or always wrong. After carefully turning it over in his mind several times, he decided to offer his opinion, but honor his boss’s request for a polygraph exam. Who knows, he thought, maybe the old man was lying about his involvement. And actually, after having it brought up, his curiosity was peaked and he wanted to know for sure.

“When I interviewed Mr. Mullins I did get the feeling he was not being totally forthright. But I don’t think he’s the guy we’re looking for.” began the detective, “I think his omission was only regarding the past disagreements. I mean, that could make him a suspect and he knows it. If it were me – I wouldn’t tell either.”

“Matt, I definitely respect your input on this. You know that. But I think we ought to bring him in for the polygraph anyway. It would help to point us in a different direction if he passes. Then we wouldn’t be wasting valuable time on an innocent man.” Brady explained to him.

“I agree, sir. I know it’s just a tool and isn’t proof of innocence or guilt, but you’re right. We don’t have the time to waste hunting in the wrong direction.” agreed Detective Scheffield, “I’ll get on that now; see about sending a cruiser out to pick him up and bring him in. One question though. What if he fails?” he asked.

“Then we arrest him and charge him with first degree murder and attempted murder.” the captain said matter-of-factly.

“Okay.” responded the detective; not looking forward to the possibility of having to do that; having to arrest someone he was almost positive didn’t do this.

He fully intended to honor his boss’s wishes and haul Herbert Mullins in for a lie detector test – if he agreed to it, but he also had on his mind the murder weapon and where it could be. He was positive the casings were left as clues; and possibly the odd shoe prints; all facing away from the door as if to say “This way. Follow the breadcrumbs.”. The officers who had searched the wooded area behind the house had said the prints vanished when they reached the other side of the pond. There had been no prints in the clearing at all to make him believe that the killer had escaped through the open field to a getaway car parked on the street, but he still couldn’t help but feel that this was exactly what happened. And if this was so, the murder weapon that he was positive the killer wanted found had to be somewhere in Genevieve’s house and they missed it somehow, or it was somewhere between her house and the street on the opposite side of the dense woods. The officers did say there were prints on the other side of the pond, but they ended there. Perhaps the killer tossed the gun into the deep, murky water of the pond; thinking police would eventually think to drag the pond, just in case the gun had been thrown in to dispose of it on the way to his car – or whatever method of transportation that had been utilized.

Detective Scheffield was beginning to think he was really getting inside the mind of the killer; which is necessary as an investigator tries to solve a crime of this nature. If one can reason the same way a killer reasons, it serves to aid an investigation in several ways. It can speed up the process of finding a murder weapon, a dead body discarded as if it were trash or buried as if a killer wanted to forever maintain possession of it, or it could actually lead them to the killer himself. At this moment, this tool he was learning to use was leading him to the pond in the clearing behind Genevieve’s house.   

He dispatched officers to go search Genevieve’s house from top to bottom to see if they somehow overlooked a niche where the murder weapon could potentially be hiding. He didn’t really expect to find it in the house, though. His money was still on finding it somewhere in the depths of the pond. Unfortunately, it was not going to be a simple undertaking. The pond had a very large circumference and it was probably about 12 to 15 feet deep in the middle; he was guessing by the size. The next question on his mind was whether they even had divers available locally, or if they would have to call for reinforcements. All of this, of course, only if the venture was approved by Brady Peterson. It was his call. All Detective Scheffield could do was present his arguments and try to sell the captain on the idea. It sure couldn’t hurt, and there were virtually no other leads coming in to occupy their time; were his thoughts on the subject.

He walked from his own through the maze of messy desks, piled high with cases they were lucky to find the time to attend to, past the sounds of phones ringing one on top of another and the exhausted hellos of the overworked officers and detectives. Finally reaching his captain’s office, he knocked lightly on the door which was already ajar.

“Hey, Brady. I was thinking…what about sending some men to check out the pond behind the Devereaux place…that is if the guys I just sent back out to the house to search again for the gun come up empty-handed?” he posed to his boss, “I have a theory about the shell casings that were left behind. I really think who we’re looking for wanted us to find that gun. And I would be willing to bet that it belongs to one of our suspects; someone very close to the family…or someone in the family.” he rattled off rather quickly; afraid he wouldn’t be able to get it out otherwise. He was new and the last thing he wanted was to step on any toes; particularly not the captain’s.

“You know I was just sitting here a minute ago mulling over the same thing.” answered the seasoned officer, “I think you’re right. No other reason I can come up with to deliberately leave evidence that would have remained in the cylinder and left the crime scene with him had he done nothing. See what the guys find at the house. If they don’t come up with anything, I’ll make some calls; get some divers out there.” he said in agreement of the detective’s suggestion.

“Okay. Thanks, Brady. I’ll let you know as soon as I get a report back.” he responded; surprised that it went so smoothly.

“Yep.” was the captain’s curt reply.

Rather than puttering around the station, Detective Scheffield thought he would run over to the Devereaux house and help to speed up the search. It probably had more to do with the fact that he was a perfectionist workaholic who was driven to want to see everything for himself; at times, do everything by himself – so he knew it was done right. When the house had been searched the first time, it had been done pretty thoroughly; the two floors of living space and the basement torn apart searching for any clues. There didn’t appear to be an attic to the house; as he deduced an access point would have been found somewhere, yet there was nothing. Maybe they had missed some hiding spot for the gun after all, but he didn’t think so. Still, he thought he would go find out.

At least he felt like they were getting somewhere with the case. Stagnation had never suited him well. He had been that way his entire life; always having to be moving, flowing in a clear-cut direction; on a path to somewhere at all times. Well that would put him in the perfect line of work; an investigator, a seeker of constantly flowing knowledge, a homicide detective.