Loonies (17 page)

The doors to the police station opened, quieting the murmuring onlookers as their attention was drawn to the four men approaching the podium. Capt. Steem stood in front of the microphone. To his right was Sgt. Wickwire; to his left Chief Treece. In the background stood the fourth man, the county attorney.

Since Ruth Snethen was alive and still in hiding, Brian could pretty much guess who the murdered woman in the Town Pound was. He doubted any of the other reporters had a clue, and that made him smirk.

Steem’s eyes scanned the crowd as he stood before the podium, a folder of papers in his hand. He seemed to be waiting for the television camera crew to give him his cue before starting. That figures, Brian thought, thinking he’d never get that kind of courtesy.

Steem cleared his throat, which reverberated in the microphone.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said. “I won’t keep you long.”

Of course not, Brian said, not really expecting much information. He snapped a couple of pictures of the trio of law enforcement officers and then zoomed in on the captain.

“As you may be aware,” he continued, “there has been another murder in Smokey Hollow. The body of a middle-aged woman was found inside the Town Pound on Fogg Road.” He paused, looking up from his notes. “The victim’s family has been notified, so we are allowed to release the name. The victim has been identified as Hettie Gritton, who worked as a housekeeper at the Wymbs Institute.”

There were some gasps and more murmurs from the crowd. It was as Brian had anticipated. The police had been unable to locate her after the night of the fire and now Brian knew why. Besides, he remembered Steem telling him she lived on Fogg Road.

“The medical examiner has ruled the cause of death as asphyxiation from strangulation.”

Gasps again, and even an “Oh no,” from a woman, maybe Mrs. Picklesmeir.

“At this time we are not linking the crime to the murder of Dr. Milton Wymbs a week ago, as it is too early in the investigations. But law enforcement personnel will be looking into all leads in both murder investigations.”

By that, he meant him and Wickwire, Brian told himself.

“We are asking that anyone who may have any information about either of these cases contact the State Police.” He recited the phone number and then repeated it. “Any information anyone might have about either of these two victims could be helpful, no matter how insignificant it might seem.”

That sounded like desperation, Brian thought. It meant they had zero leads.

“We’ll take a few questions,” Steem continued. “But there is not much more information we can release.” He paused, waiting for a barrage from the reporters.

“Do these murders have any connection to the trunk of skeletons found recently in town?” one of the newspaper reporters asked. Brian felt that question was the main reason most of the media were here. That was the hook that reeled everyone in.

Steem hesitated. “There has been no determination that the discovery of that trunk has any bearing on these murder cases. That is a separate investigation.”

Sure, Brian thought.

“Are there any persons of interest?” This came from the television reporter.

“Not at this moment,” Steem answered.

“Any idea when the murder took place?” another reporter asked.

“The medical examiner has yet to determine the time of death.”

Brian knew Noah had told him the body was bloated, so it had been there at least a few days. For that reason, Brian knew a question to ask that the others didn’t.

“Is former Assistant Fire Chief Simon Runck considered a suspect in Hettie Gritton’s death?”

Steem’s lips tightened.

“Or Dr. Wymbs’ slaying?” another reporter yelled.

Steem leaned into the mic. “Simon Runck has only been charged with arson at this moment. There are no identified suspects in the two murders at this point.”

“What happened to the patients at the Wymbs Institute?” someone asked.

“We have no confirmation there were any patients at the institute.”

A buzz ran through the crowd.

Brian considered the possibility that there was maybe one patient at the asylum, the one who strangled Dr. Wymbs the night of the fire. And no one asked the obvious follow-up question: Where was the institute staff? But maybe he could find out when he met with Snethen. Though she had retired, she should know who else worked there.

There was another question Brian wanted answered, but he didn’t dare ask it in front of the crowd. He was sure the police would keep quiet about Hettie’s head being covered with a pillowcase, but he had seen it, so that made him the only journalist who knew and he wasn’t about to bring it up in a public forum. He would ask Steem about it privately.

“Are we in danger?” someone called from the back. It didn’t come from a reporter. It came from Mrs. Picklesmeir. “Should we be worried?”

Steem braced himself before answering. “We don’t believe there is any danger to the public. We don’t believe these murders were random.”

“Why not?” someone yelled.

“We’re not at liberty to discuss that information at this time. And that is all the time we have for questions.” The captain stepped back from the microphone, examining the crowd with steely eyes.

Brian looked at the people around him. Was the captain wondering if the murderer could be here watching? Brian looked from face to face. Besides the reporters, the crowd was town folk. But it made him wonder. He looked up over the rooftops of the businesses downtown to the water tower and the man who stood there, staring down.

Brian sat patiently inside the police station, waiting to get a word with Capt. Steem, who was conferring with Noah in the chief’s office. After a while he was permitted to enter, though Steem seemed less than enthusiastic about his presence.

“We gave all the information outside at the press conference that we intend to give,” Steem said, seated in a chair in front of Noah’s desk. Wickwire stood silently behind him.

Brian leaned against the glass interior window of the office.

“That was why we held the press conference,” Steem continued, “so media could all have the same information.”

Brian chuckled. “Well, all the media doesn’t have the same information,” he said.

Steem’s lips tightened. “Meaning what?”

“The pillowcase covering Hettie Gritton’s head.”

Steem’s brow furrowed and he glanced at Noah.

“The chief didn’t tell me,” Brian said. “I saw it for myself that night.”

Steem sucked in a deep breath, and his lips cracked into something that could almost qualify as a smile, but not quite. “Here’s where we stand,” he said, leaning forward. “There are always details of a crime the police like to keep quiet. It often goes a long way in helping identify the eventual perpetrator, or at the very least, eliminate potential kooks who like to confess to random crimes.” He folded his arms across his chest. “The pillowcase is one of those details. The police know, the killer knows—”

“And I know.”

“But the public doesn’t. We’d like to keep it that way.”

“So you’re asking me not to write anything about it?”

Steem sighed. “I’d like to tell you not to, but I don’t have the authority to.”

Brian glanced from Steem to Noah and back. “Listen, I’ve got quite a few days before I put out another issue of
The Hollow News
. Everyone else will have all kinds of stories to print and broadcast before I get my chance.” He waited for reaction from the captain, but there was no impact. “This is the one thing I have.”

Steem stared at him. “I understand the situation you’re in. But my main concern is this investigation and finding the culprit responsible.”

“Culprit? So you think one person committed both murders?”

Steem’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t say that.”

Brian thought about something that had bothered him since the night of the fire. “When Dr. Wymbs’ body was pulled out of the fire, something was removed from his face.” He waited for a reaction, but Steem’s expression was stone. “It looked like a piece of cloth.” Still no movement. “Could there also have been a pillowcase covering his head?” Maybe a tremor in Steem’s lower lip, but definitely some color on his face.

“Off the record,” Steem said, “that item is being analyzed. But given the circumstances surrounding the condition of Gritton’s body, our best guess is, yes, a pillowcase was most likely covering Wymbs’ head.”

“Was Gritton smothered to death by the pillowcase?”

“No. The medical examiner confirmed that. There were marks on her neck. She appears to have been strangled with bare hands. We don’t know what purpose the pillowcase served, but we still don’t want anything in the press about it.”

“That doesn’t really help me,” Brian said, “if I can’t put anything in the paper about it.”

“My job isn’t to help you.”

“But it does mean you are focused on one culprit for both murders.”

Steem shrugged. “You can go as far as to print that. But don’t attribute it to me.”

“Sure,” Brian said, nodding. “Just ‘police sources say.’”

“Fair enough,” Steem said, rising. “Now we have work to do.” He turned to Treece. “Chief, we’ll be in touch if we need anything more from you.”

“Sure thing,” Noah said, standing and looking as if he were going to extend his hand but realizing that the captain wasn’t expecting a handshake.

Steem and Wickwire left the office.

Brian looked at Noah, who had sat back down.

“Such a cheerful man,” he said to the chief.

Noah laughed. “His job doesn’t come with a lot of cheer. Not like mine.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Not as much stress with your position.”

Noah’s grin faded. “I can’t help the way things are handled around here. I just follow protocol.”

Brian looked at Noah, thinking he should be grateful the chief shared as much with him as he did. He didn’t have to, and Brian appreciated that. He almost wished he could tell him about his call from Ruth Snethen but knew it wasn’t the wise thing to do. This was a secret source that could lead to some valuable information.

He had sensed the concern in the woman’s voice and hoped she would not back out of their secret meeting. He wished he could bring Noah with him, but knew that would frighten her away. Hopefully, after he got whatever information she was willing to divulge, he could convince her to see the chief. That way, she might feel safe, and Noah could get credited with finding an elusive piece to this puzzle.

But first, Brian needed to hear what the woman had to say about the trunk with the skeletons and its connection to the Wymbs Institute.

At the Town Hall, in the second-floor office of Selectmen Chairman Eldon Winch, Brian met with him and Leo Wibbels, both on the organizing committee for Dump Festival. Brian and Wibbels sat in large padded chairs in front of a big oak desk, behind which Winch sat in a high-backed leather chair.

On the walls in the large office were photographs of the town, taken when it was a bit more vibrant. It reminded Brian of the pictures gracing the walls of Cully’s Pub. There was one of the movie theater, though from where he sat he could not see the title of the movie on the marquee, but there was a line of people at the box office waiting to get their tickets. From the appearance of their clothes, the photo must have been taken about thirty or forty years ago.

Another photo on the wall was of the train station, with people lined up on the platform to board. The wooden siding on the depot was bright red, the shingled roof black. This photo looked even older than the one of the movie theater, once again based on the subjects’ dress. Brian thought about going to that place later this evening, and the anticipation made him fidget. He wanted to get the day over with so he could be ready…and he feared that Ruth Snethen would change her mind and not show up. It made him edgy and his stomach twitchy.

Winch twirled the end of his mustache with his right hand before placing both palms on the desk. “I can’t tell you,” he began, “how important the Dump Fest is to this community. It’s something people look forward to in the summer.”

“That’s what I’ve heard,” Brian said.

“The economy has made it tough for a lot of folks in town. This festival gives them a chance to relax and enjoy a simple day of celebration.”

“It’s inexpensive, too,” Wibbels chimed in.

“Yes,” said Winch. “It’s an event for the whole family. People bring their kids—it’s a fun time for everyone. And with the terrible events lately, people need an escape.”

“These things couldn’t be happening at a worst time,” Wibbels said.

“There never is a good time for murder,” Brian said, though he couldn’t disagree more. At least for him, this was all happening when he needed something to bring him out of his doldrums.

“I’m glad the State Police said there is no reason for people to be afraid. I think that put a lot of minds at ease,” Winch said.

“It did my wife’s,” Wibbels added.

“It does appear the killer has targeted specific people,” Brian said.

“Hopefully they will catch the culprit and be done with this nasty business, maybe before the festival,” Winch said.

“That would be a blessing,” Wibbels agreed. The real estate agent had a folder in his hands and extracted a paper from it. “Here’s a list of the vendors that will be at the festival,” he said, handing Brian the sheet. “We want you to make sure you don’t leave anyone out.”

Brian took it, glancing at it without comment.

“And we will have lots of activities—balloon rides, a petting zoo, a carousel, games, and contests,” Winch said.

“Oh, and the cow-pie roulette,” Wibbels emphasized.

“Cow-pie roulette?” Brian couldn’t even imagine what that was.

“Oh, yes,” Wibbels said. “It’s one of the most popular events. A field adjacent to the festival grounds is fenced off and lined with numbered squares, and people purchase a ticket that corresponds to a number. Then a cow is released into the field, and if the cow craps on your square, you win.”