Читать книгу Murder in Mayberry - Jack Branson - Страница 16
ОглавлениеMadisonville is a coal-mining town of about 15,000 people. To a passing motorist, its welcoming sign might seem like an oxymoron of the run-down buildings and closed shops that pepper its main thoroughfare: “Welcome to Madisonville, Kentucky—Best Town on Earth.” But we’d lived there once and we knew it was a good town.
Dirty snow and gray slush blanketed the town as we drove in on that mid January morning. We stopped first at the police station, cautiously maneuvering the icy parking lot and stepping out of the car. I abruptly remembered how long we’d lived in the South as my open-toed shoes disappeared into the snow. We pulled our lightweight coats tightly around our necks and walked gingerly through the inches-deep snow to the police station.
Before a word or glance was exchanged, we sized up the receptionist as one of those people who served her time at work, arriving in a sour mood and leaving in a worse one. As we approached her desk she seemed oblivious to our presence.
“Is Captain Randy Hargis here?” asked Jack. “I’m Ann Branson’s nephew from Georgia.”
Still staring at her computer screen, she replied, “Captain Hargis is in a meeting.”
Jack is even-tempered and calm until someone presses his buttons. Arrogance and laziness are two of his buttons, and the receptionist pushed them both. I was surprised that she didn’t feel the current in the air. I did, and I wanted to shout to her, “Duck!”
Jack drew his federal badge as quickly as he would have drawn the gun he wore under his trench coat. He slammed his badge case on the receptionist’s desk. She tried not to ruin her aloof image, but I saw her flinch.
“Then tell him there was a federal agent here to see him.”
Moving like syrup on a winter day, the receptionist got up and—still not looking at her opponent—adjusted a stack of papers near her computer, then inched her way out of the room.
“Let’s go,” Jack told me, and we were out the door before the receptionist returned. As Jack helped me across the snow, he made a prophetic observation.
“This case will drag on as slowly as that MPD receptionist moved. A town this size is going to have trouble solving a complicated murder case.”
As we pulled from the parking lot, a young uniformed officer trotted through the snow toward us.
“Mr. Branson?” he called through the rolled-up window. “Captain Hargis would like to see you if you’re still available to talk.”
Inside Captain Hargis’ office, Jack’s prophecy began to unfold. Within minutes we realized that Ann’s murder was the most complicated case the MPD had investigated in a long time.
Early on I sensed a strain between Captain Hargis and Jack. Jack already used his federal badge to lay the first bricks of the wall between them, but now he was letting down his guard. He was the nephew of a murder victim, and wanted and needed information. Hargis had the information, and therefore, the upper hand. The two professionals sparred around each other, with Hargis cautiously selecting what he told us.
“First of all, Mr. and Mrs. Branson,” said Hargis formally. “Let me offer my condolences. Ms. Branson was well thought of in Madisonville. She was a pillar in the community. The whole town’s shaken by her murder.”
Jack nodded. “Any leads?”
“Not yet.”
“Have you checked out her renters? There was one she was concerned about. He was always calling her to chase the ghosts out of his house.”
“Yeah.” Hargis placed his folded hands across his stomach. “We brought him in for questioning. Seems harmless. Just a little crazy.”
“Did he have an alibi?”
Hargis nodded vaguely and changed the subject. “We’re trying to determine if anything was stolen. Do you know of any valuables Ms. Branson kept in her house?”
“She had several large diamond rings.”
“We’ve accounted for all but one of those,” said Hargis. “And we’ve accounted for all but one of her furs. The housekeeper said she thinks there’s a mink coat missing. Did she keep any weapons in the house?”
“She had a factory engraved Smith & Wesson .22 caliber revolver,” Jack offered. “It was my Uncle Carroll’s. She used to keep it in the kitchen cabinet, but I’m not sure where she’s kept it recently.
“She told me at Christmas that she and Bob, her fiancé, had tried to see if it was loaded. They looked down the barrel to try to see the bullets. That scared me—neither of them knew anything about guns. I told her to put it away and let me look at it next time I was there.
“Call Bob. He’ll know where she’s been keeping it.” Jack paused, then: “Do you think robbery was the motive?”
The captain’s eyes apologized for what he was about to say.
“This was no robbery, even if a few things are missing,” Hargis struggled to find the right words. “This was a crime of rage. Whoever killed her wanted her more than dead.
The captain’s demeanor softened, and it seemed as though his shoulders sagged slightly from the weight of what he was about to say. Jack and I braced ourselves for his next words.
“Ms. Branson was such a dignified lady,” said Hargis. “It was like…”
He paused, then: “It was like the killer wanted to take away her dignity. Her body was pretty messed up.”
“She was stabbed?” Jack’s voice was even, but I knew the words were painful.
“Hit with a blunt object—maybe a hammer. Then stabbed,” answered Hargis. “They took her body to the state police crime laboratory in Louisville. We don’t have a forensics lab here. You’ll have to delay the funeral until after the autopsy.”
Silence hung heavy in the air.
“Did you find DNA or fingerprints?” asked Jack.
Hargis shook his head. “We’re not sure yet about the DNA, but not a single print. We took the paint off the handrails trying to get even a partial print—nothing.”
“That basement’s dark. It would be hard to wipe away every fingerprint,” Jack observed. “I took a shower down there when we spent the night back in August, and you could hardly—-”
Hargis interrupted. “You took a shower in Ms. Branson’s basement?”
I could see that Jack was grasping something I had not yet grasped. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “No one used that shower after my uncle died. We were running late, so I used the basement shower while my wife got ready upstairs. I’m sure I would have been the last person to use it.”
I was overcome by nausea as I realized the scenario the men were suggesting. The killer had wiped the crime scene free of fingerprints, then taken a shower in Ann’s basement. With Ann’s body lying a few feet away.
“So you’re not looking at anybody in particular?” Jack’s voice jolted me back from the image, and I knew he’d pulled himself away from it as well.
“Nobody yet. I hope it’s not like the Granstaff murder. It took us nine years to solve that one.”
Ann Granstaff was murdered twenty years ago, and it was the last high-profile murder in Madisonville. Granstaff was a speech therapist. Earl was one of her clients. She’d bought a greyhound dog that had been used for racing and trained not to bark. Because of her speech training, she challenged herself to teach the dog to bark. Soon his hearty barks could be heard by neighbors on the crowded street.
When Granstaff didn’t show up for work one morning, co-workers went to her house and discovered her body. She’d been choked with an electrical cord. Her dog had not barked, so everyone assumed that she and her dog knew the killer.
The case went unsolved until a suspect was picked up five years later in Chicago and convicted of murder, rape and burglary. But some people still doubted the convicted man was the killer, since Granstaff’s dog hadn’t barked.
“Who’s assigned to the case?” Jack asked.
“I’ve put all three detectives on it,” replied Hargis.
“How much homicide experience do they have?” Hargis’ almost-imperceptible pause spoke clearly before his reply: “None of them have worked a homicide. It’s been a long time since I have.”
“Captain, if there’s anything I can do, please let me know. I have investigative experience, and I’ll do whatever’s necessary to solve this case.”
