Chapter 8

 

Chapter Eight

 

The detective arrived at Genevieve’s house about 30 minutes after the other officers he had dispatched to go search it for a second time; looking for the .38-caliber revolver…the missing murder weapon. So far, they had come up with nothing and it was not for lack of effort. Every room, closet, and possible nook, cranny, or crevice that could potentially be a hiding place was torn apart; the house quite a mess at this point. Even though he knew certain spots had been gone over diligently, he could not stop himself from double and sometimes triple-checking all of them. Still, nobody had been able to locate any access point to an attic, so they all – including Detective Scheffield - believed there simply was no attic space to the house.

There was a very messy and cluttered basement; this being the only space that had not yet been searched by the time he got there. He decided he would try to tackle this on his own. He opened the creaky basement door, located just off the kitchen, and carefully descended the deep, narrow wooden stairs; afraid he might fall through several of the aged, sagging steps, but he didn’t. There was no good place to start down here, so he simply started as he reached the bottom of the staircase. The area contained a makeshift workshop with a large, wooden table covered with rolled blueprints, loose tools, and bunches of hand-drawn plans; as Mr. Devereaux was planning to build an addition to the house before he died. It appeared that Mrs. Devereaux had left everything just as it was; not even returning the tools he left out on the table to their respective cases or hooks on the wall. The detective guessed that the only use the late woman of the house had had for the basement at all was to house the washing machine and dryer she had utilized.

Searching the workshop area thoroughly, leaving no stone unturned, he came up with nothing. He came up with nothing at all during the entire 2 hours he was looking; not feeling discouraged by this, though. He never expected the gun to be found in the house. It was in that pond; he felt it. But he had to rule things out using the easiest, least expensive methods first. So he went through the motions, though he was anxious to test out his own theory. After finding no clues or weapons at all, he called it a day and allowed the other officers to go back to whatever else it was they had that was pressing. Everyone was more than glad to leave the awful scene behind; the sight and the smell of the place enough to make even a seasoned officer sick.  

After re-searching the fairly large house, Detective Scheffield gave it some thought before deciding to release the house as a crime scene; allow Grace Walker access, in case she wanted to move back in. He wasn’t sure where she had been staying, but if it was a hotel, he was certain she would appreciate not having to spend the money any longer. Either way, even if she didn’t want to move back in, she would have access to the house and grounds; at least until the reading of the deceased owner’s will decided who the new owner of ‘Devereaux Downs’ would be.

His decision to take down the crime scene tape made him remember something else the police had in their possession that needed to be processed and returned to Grace – her car. He wasn’t sure if the technicians were finished going over the ancient light blue Lincoln Continental, so he thought he would check on that before heading back to the station to inform Brady Peterson about their lack of success in finding the gun in the house. It was just one more thing he could cross off the list before moving on to the next venture.

The technicians who went over the car with a fine-tooth comb were in the middle of putting the old car back together; having done everything short of take the engine apart. There were even the removed bench seats still sitting on the concrete floor; waiting to be returned to their proper place inside the car. Detective Scheffield walked through the work area, carefully stepping over every loose part that blocked his path to the small office at the back of the shop. When he finally reached his destination, he knocked on the closed door.

“Yeah. Its open.” came through the door; the voice belonging to one of the best forensic crime scene techs the rookie detective had ever had the pleasure of working with, Paul Federici.

Pulling open the door, he greeted Mr. Federici with “Hey, Paul. I see you’re keeping pretty busy here.”

“Hey, Matt. What’s up? What can I do for you?” he politely asked the detective.

“Just checking the status of the blue Lincoln I sent in yesterday, “I know I haven’t given you a whole lot of time.” Matt Scheffield answered. “Any chance of returning the car to the owner today? Pulled down the crime scene tape at the house; we’ve done all we can do there. So Miss Walker, the other granddaughter of the deceased, can move back in if she wants to. Thought it would be nice if we could give her back her transportation, too.” he finished.

“Um…let me check with Juan and see where they are on it. Should be about done. Don’t think they found much of anything, though, Matt. Just some human hairs – from two different subjects – and, uh, just the normal stuff. Dog hair, human DNA where you would expect to find it; no blood or anything that would lead me to believe that the vehicle was involved in any major crime.” explained the ruddy faced man, “And no murder weapon. No weapons of any kind.”

With that, Paul Federici got up from his chair, walked around his desk and out of the room to go check on the vehicle in question, Grace’s car. Matt Scheffield had risen from his chair as well and followed the short, stocky man out to the shop and over to the space her car and all its various loose parts occupied.  Though it looked like a hell of a mess to the detective, to the experienced forensic technician it was a work in progress that was almost complete. After some discussion with the other techs, Paul informed him that it would be ready to be picked up within the next couple of hours. Detective Scheffield thanked him and everyone else and headed out to his car so he could call Grace and let her know her car would be available for her to pick up by the close of the business day.

Grace answered the phone still distracted by her dilemma, “Hello.” was her laconic greeting.

“Grace, its Matt Scheffield. I’m sorry to bother you again. Just wanted to let you know you can pick your car up this evening around 6:00 if you like. The garage is at 2400 Locust Lane, in town. Can you arrange for transportation?” he asked of her; halfway hoping she would say no, “I can swing by and pick you up if you need.”

“No, that’s okay. I’m pretty sure my friend should be back from work by then, so I can get him to give me a ride. Thank you, though. And thanks for letting me know.” said Grace, fairly sure she was correct about her time estimation for Jesse’s return home.

“Okay. Well, I suppose I’ll see you in the morning then.” was his reply, thinking of her coming to the station to sign a statement.

“Oh, yeah. I almost forgot. Thanks.” she responded. She actually had forgotten all about her agreement to go to the police station in the morning; being so absorbed in thought about other things.

“Okay. See you then. Bye.” was the detective’s farewell.

“All right. See you.” answered Grace, and hung up the phone, returning it to its resting place on the oak end table beside her chair.

She still had not moved from her seat on the plush yellow armchair; having been completely lost in thought; thinking about her uncle, and about how she would feel when Jesse finally did arrive home. Whether she would be able to maintain the pretense of normalcy or whether she wouldn’t be able to ensconce her doubt from him. She hoped it didn’t turn out to be the latter; thinking she couldn’t bear to hurt him in that way if she wasn’t right about him being involved in her Gram’s death – and responsible for Adrienne, still lying in a deep, artificial slumber. It wasn’t him, she told herself, it wasn’t him. Why would he do it? He had never cared before about her family’s approval of him; why would he start now? she asked herself. If he were in love with her, he would simply come to her and tell her, she thought. He wouldn’t kill her family. Not Jesse.

And just as she was thinking of him, he appeared; Casey jumping up from her resting place at the foot of her mistress’s chair the second she heard Jesse’s key in the lock and bounding toward the opening door; her little nub of a tail wagging furiously. He smiled down at her and she jumped up, landing her big front paws squarely on his chest; the same way she always did with Grace. She cringed for half a second, wondering if he minded this excited assault by her dog, but relaxed when he scratched behind the dog’s ears and then roughhoused with her for a few minutes before coming over to where Grace was seated, plopping down on the powder blue sofa that had been his bed the night before, smiling at her.

“How was your day, dear?” he inquired jokingly.

“Oh, not the best day of my life. You?” she asked, returning his exchange.

“Nothing to write home about. Any news about Adrienne? Or anything else, for that matter?” he questioned, truly hoping for some positive news.

“Nope.” began Grace, “Nothing. She’s the same.” she told him, not positive yet how much of her newly acquired knowledge she wanted to share with her best friend. She loathed herself for not totally trusting Jesse, but what if he did do it? she speculated at the same time.

“I’m sorry, Grace. I really wish things were different. I can’t stand to see you hurting.” offered her true friend, “You hungry? I was thinking Chinese takeout for dinner. I know I don’t feel like cooking and I’m sure you don’t either. Okay with you?” he asked.

“Yeah that sounds good.” was all she could manage to get out.

“Okay. What do you want? I’ll call it in and then go pick it up.” he inquired of her.

“Um…let me think…I guess I’ll have sesame chicken with fried rice and an eggroll.” she answered slowly after mulling it over for a few minutes.

“Sesame chicken and the works coming right up!” responded Jesse cheerily; the same way he always did; he was in a perpetual good mood it seemed.

“Thanks.” said Grace.

Feeling more than slightly awkward around her friend, she was relieved that he was heading back out the door, though he wouldn’t be gone long this time. While he was calling in their order, she used the time to get up and take Casey outside, if for no other reason than to avoid an uncomfortable silence between her and Jesse until he left to go pick up the food. Over and over she told herself to put all that stuff out of her head; everything she had been pondering regarding his guilt. The last thought she had on the subject before he returned from his 15 minute venture to pick up the food was that, if he had killed her Gram and tried to kill Adrienne because he was in love with her, then he probably would have professed his love for her by now; especially when you consider the fact that she was staying at his house. At night she was only a few steps away in his bedroom; if he wanted to make a move, he undoubtedly would have at least given her some clue by now and there was nothing, she reasoned. She vowed to try to let it go for now, unless she found some concrete proof of his guilt.

Dinner actually went a lot smoother than Grace thought it would; her even letting a little laugh escape after one of his stupid jokes. There were no dishes really, so they headed out to pick up her car directly. She didn’t realize how much she had missed the old car until she put the key in the ignition and started ‘The Dream Machine’s’ engine. Though it had been completely taken apart, searched, and put back together, it wasn’t in that bad shape. Not the mess she expected to get back, so that was one thing to be happy about. She followed Jesse back to his house and they both retired early for the evening; this making it much less stressful than she had imagined it would be.

Falling asleep quickly after attempting to watch a movie - her dreams that night were quite strange; so vivid and filled with visions of her grandmother. In every dream Genevieve was there, and seemed to Grace to be desperately trying to tell her something. She couldn’t make out what the elder woman was mouthing, as there was no sound coming from her mouth and she appeared to be getting pulled farther and farther away in the dream.  All she could manage to get from it was something about being careful and something about climbing, and she kept mouthing over and over “Look up, look up, it’s above you”. Eventually waking from this bizarre set of connected dreams in the early morning hours, Grace tried to make sense of her subconscious thoughts, but to no avail. She had no idea what “look up, it’s above you” could possibly mean.

She slept no more that night; remaining awake, waiting impatiently for daybreak; ready to tackle some of her unanswered questions. Detective Scheffield had forgotten to tell her that the crime scene tape was coming down at her grandmother’s house, so she had no idea that she would be able to move back in to the house if she so wished. When she was to learn this, it would inevitably cause another stressful decision that she would have to make; to move back into the house where her grandmother and cousin were shot and one killed, or stay with the man who potentially could have caused this whole situation.

That morning, she got herself ready early to drive down to the police station and sign whatever statement she needed to sign; signing off on her own innocence. Jesse had said he was going back to work today to catch back up; easing her anxiety somewhat. Still, she made sure to be gone by the time he woke up; avoiding the uneasiness altogether; leaving him a note rather than waking him on her way out.

Jesse,

I didn’t want to wake you. Couldn’t sleep so I decided to get an early start to my day. Going to the police station to sign whatever I need to sign and get it over with. Also going to ask about when the crime scene tape is coming down at Gram’s house. You’ve been so great, but I don’t want to put you out forever. Talk to you later in the day. Have a good day at work.

Grace

And with that, she was off to the station; which was going to result in more answers for her than she imagined. Detective Scheffield was already at his desk; crime scene photos, police reports, and witness statements spread out all over it, covering virtually the entire desk; with the exception of the space the telephone and his very large mug of coffee were occupying. He saw Grace as she walked through the double doors she was directed to by the receptionist downstairs; waving her over to his desk. He did his best to put out of sight any photographs or anything of the sort that he thought may potentially upset her.

“Good morning, Grace.” he said; surprised to see her there at such an early hour, “Have a seat.” he offered, clearing off the stack of files he had resting there as well.

“Thank you Detective.” she answered; sitting down and resting her elbows on the edge of the desk; trying to hold her tired head up.

“Here you go. All I need from you is to go over your statement carefully, to insure it is accurate, then just put your John Hancock on this line at the bottom. And date it, too, if you don’t mind.” he explained as he pulled out her typed statement and laid it on the desk in front of her; pointing to the signature line at the bottom of the paper.

He pretended to be occupied with something in a file while she read the words on the piece of paper slowly and carefully. Finally she seemed satisfied and signed her name on the line and dated it May 11; two days after the terrible crime. She never would have imagined she would have made it through the first day, much less the second; doing the same thing Grace always did and underestimating her true potential and strength. It almost didn’t make sense for her to be so unsure of herself in a situation such as this. She had made it through too many catastrophes to be so insecure, and still she persevered. She didn’t know it yet, but her strength was to be tested one final time; in the true fight of her life that she could never have seen coming.

Detective Scheffield was kind enough to explain to her about the remaining blood and other unpleasant things in Genevieve’s house; and how with a crime scene of this type it was most times necessary for a professional cleaning crew to be called in; one that dealt with scenes like this one every day. He told her that it wasn’t a good idea, in his opinion, to try to tackle that by herself – or even with help. It simply wasn’t something she would want to see; especially if she planned to move back into the house, which was available to her from now until the reading of her grandmother’s will decided who should occupy the house and own the land.

Finding out she had an option soon, since she was becoming uncomfortable staying at Jesse’s house and not knowing the truth for sure, made her relax a little. She definitely didn’t want to insult him in any way; him being her very best friend of more than 20 years. There was quite a bit she wanted to get her hands on at her grandmother’s house as well; knowing that somewhere in that house was a trunk that belonged to her mother – one that she had always been forbidden by Genevieve to ever open.  And though the temptation for Grace at times was extremely great, she and everyone else respected Genevieve’s wishes; guessing it was just too painful for her to see her dead daughter’s belongings. It’s just that Grace had a feeling that the locked trunk contained her mother’s journals, as well as other items that she felt might give her a better understanding of the woman who had left her so soon in life. She wanted to know her mother; know what force was so great that it had the power to take her away from the one person who needed her most in the world…her daughter.

With some paperwork completed, Detective Scheffield couldn’t get the pond off his mind. It had been too late to do anything about it the day before, but today he was going straight to his captain and let him know how strongly he felt about the murder weapon being somewhere in the depths of the murky pond. He had the report filed by the officers who searched the house again yesterday, as well as his account; all of them concurring on the fact that the gun was absolutely nowhere in Genevieve’s house.

Walking to his captain’s ever-open door, he got a “come in” before he even knocked.

“Matt, what’s up?” asked Brady Peterson.

“Well, all the reports about the search are in, and the gun is not in that house, Brady.” began Matt Scheffield, “I really think we need to start focusing on that pond on her property. I just…I can’t tell you what it is, but something is telling me that gun will be in that water.” he finished, bracing himself for his boss’s response.

“I think you’re right, Matt. But either way, it wouldn’t hurt to find out. We got nothing to look at except possibly Old Man Mullins…but my money’s not on him either. It’s going to be somebody close, but I don’t think it will be him.” agreed his captain, “You know, I always got a funny feeling about Mrs. Devereaux’s son, Chris. Just never could figure him out. A strange guy. But I don’t know. To shoot your own mother and daughter? Could you do it?” he asked the younger detective.

“No way. I don’t care what the circumstances are…there’s always a better way to solve your problems. You want me to check him out? What about Herbert Mullins?”

“No…not yet. We’ll sit on them for a while. Let’s see what we find in that water. I’m going to make a call, get some divers out there today. I’ll let you know as soon as I get the word, because I want you to go out there and oversee this thing.” his boss informed him; picking up the phone to place the call as he spoke.

“Call me and I’m on it.” Detective Scheffield said softly, as Brady was already on the line. His boss gave him a thumbs up.

He kind of puttered around the office for the next 45 minutes, just waiting for word on the divers. Finally, he did get the go ahead to have the entire pond dragged to see what they find, if anything. He got three divers help, which wasn’t so bad for the size of the body of water. Running home quickly to change into some clothes he didn’t mind getting filthy, he arrived at Genevieve’s property right about the time his reinforcements arrived. None of them looked particularly happy about the job they had been dispatched to do, though he couldn’t blame them once he got a close look at the bath water warm yet caliginous water. You couldn’t see six inches in front of your face underwater, according to one of the men diving.

Still, it wasn’t like searching for buried treasure in the open ocean. It was a nice contained body of water that he now knew was 18 feet deep in the very center, but fairly shallow until one reached the middle. He had given the three men his opinions; careful not to make them sound like orders. There was clearly a definite side of the pond the killer had run around to reach the clearing on the other side – or so he thought – so he said he believed the gun would have been thrown in the water from that side; possibly placing it closer than the middle. In reality, it could have been anywhere in the pond, but they all agreed starting in from that side was probably not a bad idea.

So they all three began walking into the water slowly, in a straight line on the west side of the pond; the direction the killer was thought to have run. They were using sticks to poke around in the sediment at the bottom of the water, letting them know when they came across any solid mass along the bottom that required inspection. For a residential pond buried deep in the woods, quite a bit was found; a tire from a kid’s bike, one filthy man’s shoe – which he kept and bagged just in case – and several school textbooks; from the 80’s by the look of them. It wasn’t until they got into deeper water that something half buried in the silt and somewhat hidden by the plant life growing at the bottom really peaked their interest.

“Matt, I think I might have something here!” one of the divers yelled over to him from the water, “Let’s pull her up and see what we’ve got boys.”

All four men gathered on the beach along the west side, breathless with anticipation; particularly Matt Scheffield. It appeared to be some sort of case; duct tape wrapped around it and enclosed in a large plastic bag that was also reinforced with tape across the opening. The detective decided up front to keep every bit of whatever evidence they managed to dredge up, no matter how trivial it seemed at the time; so he began bagging things as they were taken apart. Inside the plastic bag, the case did somewhat resemble a gun case, though it was hard to tell before the removal of the duct tape, which was a slow process, since they wanted to preserve the evidence as best they could. There could be fingerprints on the plastic bag, all over the tape, and on the outside of the case; as well as possibly on whatever they found inside the water-tight, gun metal grey case.  

It was difficult to pry the case open, as it was affixed with a lock that could only be opened with a number combination. None of the men wanted to stand around guessing at what it could possibly be; they thought better to open it forcibly, which turned out to be the much faster option, but also the more destructive one; having to be done with force and care to preserve the evidence. Still, what was inside the case was more important to their case than any fingerprint or DNA evidence they may manage to get off the case, duct tape, and plastic bag, thought the detective. So he gave the go ahead to force it open, almost salivating waiting to see its contents. It took a lot of force, but eventually they did manage to pry it open.

Detective Scheffield’s eyes got big when he saw one of the divers pull out a gun; even bigger when he inspected it a bit more closely. It was a completely intact, undamaged at all from its time spent in the water….38-caliber revolver! There was no way to prove it on sight, but he would bet his pension it was exactly the .38-caliber revolver for which they were looking. He would have to wait for ballistics testing, though he was sure of it. He excitedly pulled out his cell phone, dialing Brady Peterson at the station to let him know the initial good news – it was the same kind of gun used in the commission of the crime.

“Brady, its Matt. Still here at the pond, but you’ll never guess what we just pulled out of a water-tight case enclosed in a plastic bag.” he began teasingly.

“Let me guess. A .38 revolver?” his boss retorted sarcastically.

“A .38 revolver.” repeated the detective like a parrot. It was difficult for him to control his enthusiasm; it was evident in his voice, his tone. He was happy for the first time since he began this case…and maybe a little bit proud, too. His theory turned out to be true – so far.

“That’s great. Well, you were right rookie. Congrats on that!” he said, teasing him, “Now bring it in and get it to ballistics as soon as you can. I want to move on this one. It might actually get us somewhere. Good work, Matt.” said Brady genuinely.

“Thanks, Brady.” the detective said to his boss with a grin, “And this thing is in pristine condition; it was packaged to withstand its stay in the water. Not a drop got into the gun case itself. Whatever’s on here, we can get it. Fingerprints would be nice, but I’m not counting on that. My bet is its wiped clean.” he rattled off; realizing he was speaking very quickly and probably sounded as excited as he was.

“Let me know rookie.” was his superior’s only response.

“Yep. Soon as I know, you’ll know.” Matt Scheffield told him.

As soon as he got off the phone, he told the guys that had been sent to help that they could go ahead and pack it in; they had found what they were looking for and there was nothing else they expected to find in the pond. They all seemed happy; not at their findings, but more to be free of the mucky, muddy water. Not that he could blame them. Having seen it in action he really had no desire to do what they do, or see what they see when they duck their heads under the water. He was perfectly happy in his current job. Nobody had been that hard on him for being new, for being a transfer, or – worst of all – for being a yankee. He had received a much warmer reception than he had originally thought he would.

Now the buck was being passed to Harrison Cole, the local ballistics expert. The detective took all of the carefully bagged and tagged evidence that had been collected from the pond and drove back to the station; impatient to find out what they were going to get off the gun, its case, almost an entire roll of duct tape it seemed, and the plastic bag that the whole lot had been placed in. Scenarios where running through his head on top of each other they were coming so fast. Whose latent fingerprints might they get lucky and pull off a piece of the tape, or the plastic bag, or the gun itself? he wondered excitedly.

The first action of Harrison Cole was to get the serial number off the gun and run it through the database to find out to whom it was registered; though Detective Scheffield had a theory about that as well. It was by now painfully clear that the killer had wanted the gun found; having taken such ‘care’ in disposing of it, as well as disposing of it in a place he knew the police would eventually search; a place that was incredibly close to the crime scene itself. But the detective’s idea was that the perpetrator had wanted the gun found and ensured that it would be in order to frame someone else for the murders. He was nearly positive that whatever name came up on that gun registry would not be the name of the killer. Whatever prints, if any, they were able to lift from the gun besides that of the registered owner…that would be the man for whom they were so diligently searching. He just knew it; the same way he knew the murder weapon would be found in the pond.

The only problem the detective could foresee was finding a different set of prints and them not belonging to anyone already in the database. He thought, whether this was his first kill or they were looking for a serial killer, it wasn’t going to be anyone who had been caught previously for a crime of this nature. His bet was that this was a first kill, despite how carefully the crime had been planned and executed. This guy was the man next door; the one you could trust with a key to your house to feed the dog while you were away on vacation. This was the guy you want your daughter to marry because you would never have to worry about her ever being mistreated by him. This kill was personal. He had felt it from the very start. The same way he had felt that Grace Walker was not the culprit upon meeting her.

While they were waiting for a report back on the gun’s registered owner and the fingerprint analysis, they test fired the weapon to see if they could match that bullet to the two slugs that had been successfully removed from Genevieve’s head and chest by the medical examiner during the autopsy. They had been unable to remove the bullet from her granddaughter, Adrienne’s, head without doing more harm than good, so they removed what fragments they could and left the rest inside her swollen head.  Everyone crossed their fingers as Harrison fired the gun into an enclosed metal chamber made specifically for that purpose. It had water in it to drastically slow down the velocity of and catch the bullet. The room was silent as he pulled the fired slug out of the water and brought it to a metal table to closely examine the markings made on the slugs by the barrel of the gun on its way out. He painstakingly examined every groove just to be certain of his findings. He was a perfectionist as well. Detective Scheffield found himself holding his breath in anticipation of the results.