Murder My Love (4 page)

“After a short while, I heard another noise that I’m sure was a gunshot.” Officer Devlin was busy writing down every word. He looked up.

“Why did you think it was a gun shot?”

“Well, my husband used to shoot skeet and I remember the sounds at the range. What I heard wasn’t a rifle shot, it was a pistol.”

“Anything else?” Devlin asked.

“Yes. After a longer while there was one more gunshot.”

“So, there were four gunshots in all. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

Devlin looked at the lady with keen interest. He was impressed with her knowledge of firearms and the accuracy of her recollection.

“Is that all?” he asked.

“Yes, young man, that’s all I heard.”

“One other thing, Ma’am, did you hear anything before the first two sounds? Did you see anyone or hear a car, or anything?’

She thought for a moment and said no. Sergeant Devlin persisted. He wanted to know if she heard any banging or yelling before the first gunshots. Again, the old lady said no. She asked the police officer why he continued to ask all these questions. He remained impassive, then decided that it wouldn’t hurt to tell the elderly woman that they suspected the perpetrator was an individual known to the victim. The absence of noise or commotion before the first gunshots confirmed that someone inside must have opened the door for the killer. That fact seemed not to have registered with the lady. She said she didn’t know Miss Greenwell at all and certainly didn’t know who may have visited her. When Devlin asked her why she never met the lady across the yard she said, ”Well, you know, there hasn’t been anyone nice living there for a long, long time.” She thought about it and added, “I’d rather be by myself than meet up with the likes of those people.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to judge anyone but, …” Her voice trailed off.

“You need to tell me what you know, Miss. This is a homicide investigation.”

“All I’ll say it that she entertains someone and it’s quite unsavory.”

“You mean the young man?”

“No! I mean the other woman.”

The observation by the elderly woman was stunning. Detective Devlin thanked her and quietly left her house. He stood on her porch and tried to collect himself. His dogged canvas of the neighborhood had uncovered a major clue. The victim had a woman living with her, or at least, she had a frequent female visitor. He wondered who she might be. Did she have anything to do with the murders? How would they find her? He was pleased with himself for having uncovered so much potentially valuable information, not the least of which, the lady confirmed that four shots were fired that conformed to their initial observation of the victims. He drove back to the stationhouse to brief the Chief. The first question Abby asked was,

“Where’s this other lady?”

“I don’t know Chief, I just learned myself.”

“Well, find her!”

“I will!” He paused, then added, “I think the old lady knows more than she’s telling.”

“Get friendly with her, Devlin. Get very friendly.”

Chief Wilson thought about Devlin’s report and tried to recollect the details of the crime scene inspection. She recalled the bedroom. She clearly remembered the bed in the master bedroom, the clothes closet, the clothes inside, and the upstairs bathroom with its toiletries. It all looked like it belonged to one woman. There was nothing to indicate that anyone else lived in the house. Detective Devlin had no sooner finished telling Chief Wilson what he had learned when Lieutenant Jeff Stanton entered the office.

Stanton was an imposing figure who, even in his early fifties, remained in excellent physical shape. He could easily have served as the model for a recruitment poster. He stood six feet three inches tall and weighed two hundred ten pounds. His black hair was combed straight back without a part in it. His brown eyes were set deep and his square jaw jutted just enough to make him look intimidating. Stanton reported that he had found the landlord by looking up the tax rolls. He was a Giovanni Barollo who lived in New Haven. He called him and luckily found him at home on that Sunday night. He had not been back to West Warwick in over a year because Linda Greenwell was an exemplary tenant. She paid her rent on time and took care of the house better than any of his former tenants had. Barollo went on to say she was a welcome relief from the scumbags who had previously occupied his home. Stanton had asked him, “Why do you think no one in the neighborhood befriended her?”

Barollo said, “I don’t know. Maybe the neighbors thought Miss Greenwell was like all my other tenants.”

“That can’t be the whole reason,” Stanton replied.

“Hey, I grew up in that house and the neighbors treat me like shit every time I come back to West Warwick.”

“Why?” he inquired.

“Because of my previous tenants,” he replied. “All I did was check up on my property. They blamed me for the low life tenants.” Barollo tried to recover by adding, “I didn’t know they were bad tenants until they were already in the house.” Stanton thought it was an odd comment, but said nothing more.

The Chief complimented Stanton for getting the facts so quickly and added, “So much for New England hospitality.”

“We’re not all like that, Chief.”

“I know.” She paused for a moment then asked, “Did he say anything about a second tenant?”

Devlin, who had remained in her office to hear Stanton’s report, looked perplexed.

She turned to Devlin and said, “Definitely, someone had to know her.”

What about the dog? Did she have a dog?”

“I forgot to ask.”

Abby stood up, leaned forward across her desk and said, “Really?”

Stanton and Devlin turned and began to quietly walk out of her office.

Chief Wilson returned to finish her paper work. On the way out, Stanton stopped at the door and interrupted her before she could get started.

“One more thing, Chief; there’s a lady from the Gazette waiting to see you.”

“Tell her to be in the conference room tomorrow at eight o’clock. Make sure Kruger is ready to make a presentation, and invite the Mayor. Oh, and call the college and notify Dean Martin Judson, too.

“Why Judson?” asked Stanton.

“He’s tight with the mayor. We may as well brief them and take their flack all at once”

At the end of the day, Wilson signed out to the desk sergeant and walked briskly to her car. As she put her key in the lock she paused. “Oh shit,” she thought. “I forgot to call the D.A.”

It was a rather warm day for May. She removed her jacket, hung it in the back seat of her SUV. As she drove the short distance to her home she could not help but reflect on the circumstances leading to her appointment. She had not yet celebrated the second anniversary of her position as Chief and knew intuitively that solving this case would be a defining moment in her career. It would be a major test. She always knew that she was a ‘Type A’ personality. She knew she was driven, but she had come to terms with it, and her husband had accepted it. She was ambitious, aggressive and determined. She also recalled her father’s advice, “Be careful what you wish for.” She got part of her wish; what was she going to do with it? She was committed to being a cop, but not a beat cop. Getting to the top was always her goal. Her current position in a small town was only an intermediate step. To get to the top in a large city, whether in Connecticut or another state, required her to solve this case in an expeditious manner. It had to be a landmark, seminal investigation with a celebrated conviction. It could make or break her career. She was not willing to accept the hardship of graduate school, the endless evening commute, the weekends of study, the vacations set aside, and the postponement of starting a family to not have those sacrifices be rewarded. The one thing she would always be grateful for was Guido’s friendship. Had the Mayor not supported her appointment she would never have gotten the opportunity. She could not let him down. His career was also on the line.

At the end of his shift Lt. Stanton went home to his apartment in a housing complex by Lake Westfield. He removed his uniform, changed into blue jeans and a tee shirt and walked straight to his garage. He looked inside and feasted his eyes on his pride and joy, a Harley Davidson motorcycle. He took hold of his helmet hanging on the handle bar with the “River Rats” logo emblazoned on its side, placed it on his head and buckled the strap. He mounted his bike. His large frame with broad shoulders seemed to diminish the size of his Harley. His broad chest filled his tee shirt. He wore leather boots that reached his mid-calf. Even without a badge, he looked like a cop. Ordinarily, riding his Harley was a ritual he engaged in on Saturdays when he would join his motorcycle club. This evening was an exception. He needed the thrill. He eased his machine down the driveway and found Route 66. He traveled the few miles to Route 151 obeying the speed limit. When he had passed the town of Middle Haddam, he gunned his engine and roared along the highway at warped speed into the countryside. The wind slapping his face felt cleansing. The blur of trees flying by his eyes was intoxicating. It somehow emptied his mind of all thought except steering the beast he straddled. For Stanton, a ride on his Harley was therapeutic, better than Valium or several hours on a psychiatrist’s couch. Returning home after his ride, he was as gentle as a puppy. He could engage in polite conversation at the local tavern with his friends, who substituted for a family. Tomorrow would be another day.

Sgt. Bruce Devlin was living the American dream. He had been an outstanding athlete in high school, playing second base on the team that won the county championship. Despite his smallish size typical of a second baseman, he remained physically fit, having never lost his pre-game routine to workout, exercise and eat properly. Unlike Lt. Stanton, Sgt. Devlin could be everyman or he could be any man. He didn’t stand out. Except for his rust colored hair and blue iridescent eyes, he could easily blend into any crowd. He married the homecoming queen, Julie Visconte, whose mother was Irish and her father Italian. The first job he landed was with his father-in-law as an electrician’s helper. Within a year of their marriage, Julie gave birth to a son. It was that happy event that motivated Bruce to become a cop. He hated the idea of taking over his father-in-law’s business. He wanted to be his own man, to make it without feeling obligated. His decision did not sit well with Mr. Visconte but Bruce knew that in time he’d get used to it.

The first three years on the police force were routine. He applied himself to study and passed the sergeant’s exam. His big break came when he solved a case of multiple storefront burglaries. Dogged police work earned him a promotion to detective. His second son was born soon after he made sergeant. With a little help from Julie’s father they purchased a house. It was humiliating to ask for financial help but, in deference to his wife who was raising two children, he accepted the money. It was now a complete and idyllic family; a beautiful wife, two sons, a house and a promising career. He was well liked in the community. It was difficult to find fault with anything he did. Sometimes perfection is its own undoing.

Chapter 3

Abby Wilson was awake at 5 a.m. She jumped into a sweat suit, ran two miles, showered, fixed her hair, pressed her uniform, dressed, and assembled breakfast for her ‘men’ while Sam was still asleep. She knew that Tuesday was going to be an eventful day. Her sleep had been fitful, interrupted by thoughts of getting to work early. Kruger’s presentation was foremost on her mind. She knew what her role would be. She imagined how she would conduct herself. Professionalism was paramount. Leadership was essential. She rehearsed for every contingency. Soon after roll call, the Chief called for the meeting to begin in the conference room. Two full days had elapsed since the murders and she wanted to know what hard evidence had been acquired. The least she would accept was plausible theories.

When the presentation was called to order, Dr. Kruger was already seated at the head of the rectangular conference table. Mayor Guido Gallarino, Susan Angel from the Gazette, and four trusted police officers: Lt. Stanton, Detective Sgt. Devlin, and Police Officer Gail Kurtz quickly took seats around the table. The youthful appearance of Officer Kurtz was in stark contrast to her older superiors. Her fresh scrubbed face with hazel eyes and a perfectly contoured nose was complemented by auburn hair that reached almost to her shoulders and combed simply to each side. Her pink ample lips were inviting. There wasn’t a blemish discernable on her face. Her baggy uniform prevented any assessment of her feminine figure. Although relatively new to the force, Kurtz’s presence was warranted. Since the stab wounds around the genitalia at the crime scene suggested a sexual component, Wilson invited her on the chance she could offer a woman’s perspective. As a courtesy, Huff was also invited to sit in at the briefing since he knew the victim and was the first officer on the scene. Chief Wilson limited the number attending the briefing in order to contain the gossip mill. At the last minute Professor Martin Judson, the Dean of Warwick College entered the room and took a seat. Dr. Kruger was still fumbling with a slide projector when the Chief stood to address the assembly. Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Her translucent blue eyes caught the sunshine streaming in from the window. She had removed her jacket exposing a crisply starched shirt. Her tie was perfectly knotted. If she wore makeup it was difficult to discern. Her complexion radiated warmth with a hue like
cafe au lait
. One could mistake her for a fashion model except for the oversized belt draped around her hips. She cleared her throat and began by thanking everyone for being prompt.

“I called you all here today to share some very unpleasant news,” she began. Directing her remarks to the attendees other than police, she said, “Two people were murdered on Sunday morning; one is a citizen of this town, the other is from Pennsylvania. We are in the process of establishing a relationship.” The news was not unexpected. There were rumors circulating around town but no official confirmation. The Chief confirmed what they all had already heard.

The Mayor lowered head and cupped his eyes in his hands. The room was eerily quiet. The Chief went on to say that the victims had been brutally stabbed and shot. The Chief then told them that she had shared this information with them because of their status in the community, but that it was imperative the crime should not be discussed with anyone, not even their respective significant others. News of this heinous crime would cripple the community. Professor Judson echoed the Chief’s comments. In halting speech he said, “Any mention of this in the Press would materially affect recruitment at the college. And for the good of the community, this town desperately needs its college to thrive.” All eyes were now on Susan Angel. She hesitated for a moment before responding. She had laid out on the table a pencil and pad in anticipation of taking notes. She fumbled with her purse and returned them to it. She removed her glasses and said, “I can keep this out of the Gazette for just so long, maybe a day or two.”

The Mayor was first to insist, “As long as you can. Please!”

Susan looked at Abby directly, “The neighbors must suspect something. I mean I already know the entire police force was at the scene.”

“God help us if the Hartford Telegraph gets wind of this,” the Mayor said.

“Or channel 18,” Judson added. “They’ll descend on this town like a horde of locusts.”

The Chief addressed Angel directly, “I can understand the pressure you’re under, but for the good of this town and our ability to conduct an effective investigation, please hold off.”

Saying nothing, Susan nodded.

All were ready to hear the Medical examiner’s presentation, but the Chief emphasized that much of it was strictly a police matter and not for everyone’s ears. Informing them politely that Kruger’s presentation would be disturbing, Abby turned to Dean Judson and Susan Angel and said their further presence was not warranted. Neither objected. They were relieved not to learn of any gruesome details. As an afterthought Wilson said the same to the Mayor but in his case, she promised to brief him personally later that day if there were further developments. The Chief dismissed everyone but the police. The three thanked the chief for her candor and filed out of the room.

As they reached the sidewalk, the much taller Judson turned to Gallarino and, out of earshot of Angel, said, “You’d better ride that cop like a thoroughbred.”

Gallarino drew back. “What exactly are you telling me?”

“I’m saying you brought her here. I trust her investigation will not be a fiasco.”

“Don’t worry. She owes me,” Gallarino shot back.

“If she doesn’t solve this crime and solve it quickly, it’s on you. You’ll be a one term Mayor.”

“Is your concern for the crime or the lady cop?”

“We wouldn’t want the press to delve into our relationship, would we?”

Judson glared at the mayor and walked briskly to his car.

Meanwhile, Wilson tilted her head at Kruger indicating she wanted the presentation to proceed. He stood and announced that his presentation was a compilation of facts from his own investigation and information gleaned by the CSI. When the shades were fully drawn, Kruger began by showing photos of the crime scene followed by a description of the male victim. He itemized the contents of his wallet and held up the victim’s driver’s license. His name was Stanley Klopowitz and he resided in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania. As soon as he had found his driver’s license while going through his belongings during the autopsy on Monday, he had notified Lt. Stanton. Chief Wilson interrupted him. “Jeff, what have you learned?” He replied, “The Wilkes-Barre Police went to his home and notified his family. Someone is coming here to claim the body.” Wilson bellowed to no one in particular, “If he drove here, where’s the car? If he took a bus, let’s find out when he got here. O.K. Doctor, continue.”

Kruger cleared his throat, a gesture that seemed to indicate his annoyance at being interrupted. He proceeded to point out that the young man was shot with a .38 caliber pistol. He put up a photo of the victim lying against the kitchen door. One slug was recovered during his autopsy and another in the far wall of the kitchen. He proposed that one shot was a through-and-through into his left thigh. From the angle of trajectory, he assumed the victim was seated at the table. That slug was lodged in the wall and recovered. Gun shot spray pattern suggested that the shot to the chest was at close range. Kruger assumed that a short-barreled pistol was used. The shot at close range pierced his heart. That one caused his death. It was recovered at autopsy but was severely deformed. There were no defensive wounds, no indication that he attempted to shield himself. He suggested that a handgun of that caliber and size suggested that the shooter was likely a woman. The victim was stabbed eight times in the chest and abdomen. His forehead was bruised and beneath his body was a brass pedestal of a lamp. Its size and shape conformed to the bruise. At autopsy a linear fracture of the frontal bone beneath the wound was noted.

He then began to show photos of Linda Greenwell. She was shot once in the chest above the right breast. Spray pattern suggest she was shot at a distance. The bullet pierced her lung causing it to collapse. He opined that, if that were the first blow she received, it would have rendered the victim somewhat breathless and virtually helpless. But he could not confirm that it was the first blow the victim received. The second bullet wound was to her lower abdomen, just below the navel. The trajectory of the bullet and spray pattern indicated that the shooter stood behind the head of the victim and shot downward at her abdomen while she was supine on the floor. That shot pierced her small bowel as well as her uterus and rectum. Both slugs were recovered. Detective Devlin interrupted the Doctor, “What do you make of the location of the shots. Do you think they were purposeful or at random?” Dr. Kruger took in a long breath. “I’ll hazard a guess.” He said, “Since the shooter was so accurate shooting the male victim in the heart, I believe the shots to the female organs were also intentional. Perhaps the one to the abdomen was a parting shot, like an after-thought.”

Everyone at the table surreptitiously looked at each other to see their reactions. They all remained stoic. He then resumed his findings. Linda Greenwell was stabbed twenty-three times with a kitchen knife. When he put up the photos every head turned toward the projection screen. Some grimaced. Seeing that her officers were overcome with emotions, Wilson asked if anyone wished to be excused. None did. Kruger enumerated and displayed the location of each stab wound. He did so in a monotone, as if he were reading names from a telephone book. They seemed to him to be haphazardly deployed as though the perpetrator was frenzied. Some were to the face, some to the torso. The ones that intrigued him the most were the multiple stab wounds to the lower abdomen and inner thighs.

“What do you make of that, Dr Kruger?” Gail asked.

“It’s very difficult not to exclude a sexual context to this crime,” he intoned.

It seemed to Dr. Kruger that the stabs were intended to inflict pain and to maim the victim rather than kill her outright.

“Why do you say that, doctor?” Chief Wilson asked.

“Based on the angle of trajectory they all seemed to be struck by the same person but the wounds were at variable depth. There are several explanations. I don’t think the perpetrator intended to kill the victim by stabbing her. I think the perp wanted to torture her, to inflict pain. Either that or, the perp was fatigued. Or, the perp used more than one knife. I can’t be certain which is correct, but I lean toward including all three scenarios as we found two knives on the kitchen floor drenched in blood. One was a six-inch paring knife and the other a carving knife.”

The knives were recovered in the kitchen at the crime scene and sealed in evidence bags. Fingerprints were unobtainable because the knives were drenched in blood. Kruger reasoned the stabber’s hand slipped from time to time and smudged the prints, or, that the perp wore gloves. But he believed CSI had isolated clear and distinct swab samples to identify a suspect at a later date. He wouldn’t know that for certain until he reviewed the evidence at the crime lab in Hartford. The house was dusted for fingerprints. Kruger said, “ While on the subject of fingerprints, here’s an interesting finding. The thumbprint on the outside front door latch belongs to the male victim. A thumbprint on the dead bolt lever and inside door latch belongs to another individual.”

Everyone looked perplexed. “Here’s another finding you might want to consider. Fibers were lifted from the dog panel. They were not dog hair. They were cotton.”

So much information was presented that it left the attendees numb. As Dr. Kruger continued to present photo after photo of the crime scene the assembled parties began to look away. The Chief asked, “Was she shot first or stabbed first?”

“Can’t answer that,” he replied. “No question she bled to death. I can’t attest to the sequence of events.”

Sgt. Devlin interrupted the proceedings. “The testimony I got from the old lady, Miss O’Malley, tells me the guy was probably shot first. There were two shots close together in time, with screaming and yelling in between them. Then a third shot followed by screaming, more like shrieking. The old lady said there was a lot of screaming and shrieking. I believe that was when the lady victim was being stabbed. After a long pause there was one more shot, probably the one Dr. Kruger said was a parting shot.” He recounted the old lady’s testimony to the assembled group while reading from his notes.

“What do you make of that theory?” asked the Chief.

“Judging by the savagery inflicted on the female victim I would surmise that whoever did this was after the woman. I think the guy was just in the way. Wrong place, wrong time.”

“It’s difficult for anyone to dispute that.” Abby added, “We won’t know if your theory is fact until we get the details from the Wilkes-Barre connection. Now, let Dr. Kruger finish.”

Dr. Kruger looked around the room to insure everyone was paying attention. Satisfied, he displayed a photograph of the kitchen telephone. A close-up showed a severed cord from the wall to the telephone. He theorized that the perpetrator either cut it with the same knife used to stab the victim or yanked it out of the wall. He speculated that Linda Greenwell may have tried to call someone, possibly the police, but was cowered by the knife. Again silence descended on the room. The only noise was that of shuffling feet. Officer Huff raised his hand. Chief Wilson, clearly irritated by his interruption, turned to him and with clenched teeth said,

“What is it, Huff?”

Officer Huff took in a deep breath and asked, “What about the audiotape?”

“What are you talking about?” she said with a tone of exasperation.

“Look, that telephone model has an answering machine in it. There are two miniature audiotapes, one for making the announcement and another for recording messages. It’s a screwy phone. Sometimes, if you lose power it records room sound or a voice, if someone is talking. Maybe when they cut the cord the receiver fell off its cradle and the answering machine was activated.”