Death of A High Maintenance Blonde (Jubilant Falls Series Book 5) (17 page)

Chapter 28 Addison

“Eve Dahlgren accused Bob Martz of attempted sexual assault eight months before he died? You’re kidding me.”

“Nope.” Charisma slowly shook her head back and forth.

“If we present the way her mother Betty reacted to the picture of our drowning victim and the letter in Bob Martz’s personnel file, we can tie Eve Dahlgren to both of our unsolved homicides.”

“Those two ties are just that—ties. They aren’t proof that she killed either one of them.” Charisma seemed refocused and less intent on running away. “With her dementia, Betty’s reaction could be completely off base.”

If I couldn’t talk her into telling her own story, maybe I could talk her into staying long enough to write down everything she had learned about Eve. I had a lot to add from my own interview with Earlene.

“No, we can’t say she killed either of those two men, but don’t you think it’s odd that she’s connected to both of them? And now she’s dead as well? What made you ask Gary about his personnel file?”

“Your dad told me to look there. He wouldn’t give me the whole story—he said something about a messy situation with your mother—but he just told me where to look.”

I sighed. My mother June was an emergency room nurse at the Plummer County Memorial Hospital when she met my father. She was also bipolar, un-medicated and, when manic, had a proclivity for sleeping with other troopers and spending wild amounts of cash, behavior that nearly cost Dad his career. She disappeared when I was six, and I was an adult before I learned she died on an Illinois highway, the victim of a drunk driver. My daughter Isabella was her spitting image, down to her red hair and the Lithium she needed to stay on an even keel.

“Yes. He and Bob Martz’s widow Judy were very close.” No need to say anything else, I thought.

“He didn’t want to spill the details of what was going on. Said he didn’t want to hurt Judy. I think there might have been an affair going on with Eve and Bob Martz, but I wasn’t able to confirm it.”

“Tell you what—you write everything down. I’ll call Dad and see if he still has Judith’s number. She’d talk to me before she’d talk to anyone else. If Bob were screwing around, Judy would tell me. In all the follow up stories I’ve done, I don’t think I ever asked her if her husband was unfaithful. I never thought of it and no one ever suggested it.”

The phone call to Judy Martz was painful.

“I never wanted anybody to know,” she said. “Every time you called for a follow up story, I worried that someone told you he had been unfaithful, but you never asked. So, I never said anything—it was too embarrassing.”

“I’m asking now.”

“Yes, he was involved with a much-younger woman for a couple years. Yes, it was Eve Dahlgren. It was an on-and-off thing.”

“I’m sorry, Judy.”

She was silent. “Your dad called the other day to tell me she’d been murdered. I always thought she had something to do with Bob’s death, but nobody could prove anything.”

“And our story won’t say she killed your husband. We just think it’s odd that she’s connected to both of the county’s unsolved murders.”

“You and your staff can think what you want, Penny. I’m going to think there’s been some sort of justice served.”

A few more questions and the post-high school picture of Eve Dahlgren came more into focus, none of it pretty. Behind the well-done blonde hair and the perfectly made-up face, Eve was a driven, hard-edged businesswoman with no compunction about verbally and physically abusing those around her, whether professionally or personally. She had no second thoughts about sleeping with someone’s husband and then sending a fake letter in an attempt to ruin his career when he dumped her.

An hour later, Charisma’s story about Bob Martz filled the copy desk computer screen in front of me.

Dennis leaned over my shoulder.

“You want me to hold the front page for this? We’ve got a little bit of time,” he asked.

“Sure. Tell the guys in the pressroom to give us about half an hour, probably less. I want this big and above the fold,” I answered.

In short order, I added what relevant information Earlene told me as well as what Judy Martz’s phone call confirmed. Dennis shooed me out of the copy desk chair and brought up the front page and page two, quickly rearranging the news hole to accommodate the new story, moving the ends of stories that wouldn’t completely fit on page one—called jumps—to the next page.

“Look good to you?”

I nodded. No time to print out a proof and check it. I prayed I hadn’t missed any errors.

“Send it.”

“Here it goes, then.” He pushed the button to send it to prepress.

It was just before lunch when Sam the foreman brought copies of today’s edition up to the newsroom. Charisma, Dennis and I jumped, practically snatching them from his hands. Marcus and Graham crowded around as I spread the paper across an empty desk and we all began to read.

Victim linked to other crimes

By Charisma Lemarnier and Addison McIntyre

Journal-Gazette staff

A woman found dead in a local park has ties to Plummer County’s two unsolved homicides.

Eve Dahlgren was found dead in her Lincoln Monday. The car was discovered by an off-duty Jubilant Falls’ police officer in Shanahan Park; Dahlgren had been stabbed several times.

Before Dahlgren’s death, area law enforcement was taking a fresh look at two unsolved homicides: the stabbing death of an unidentified young man whose body was found floating in Shanahan Creek near the Yarnell Bridge in the early 1980s and the death of State Trooper Robert Martz, who was found shot by the side of the road in the 1990s.

Journal-Gazette
publisher Earlene Whitelaw was originally charged with Dahlgren’s murder, but released when Dahlgren’s time of death was found to be Sunday night and Whitelaw had an alibi for that night.

She was reportedly having dinner with her father, former J-G publisher J. Watterson Whitelaw.

Earlene Whitelaw and Dahlgren had been friends since high school, attending Texas A&M together, and shared an apartment during that time.

An investigation by
Journal-Gazette
staff, originally to look into the unsolved crimes has found Dahlgren is a common factor in both.

Dahlgren’s mother Betty, who suffers from dementia and is under the care of a home health aide, was questioned recently by J-G staff and identified the man found in the creek as someone who “Eve didn’t like,” although she didn’t give the victim’s name. J-G staff members were asked to leave shortly thereafter.

None of this information was included in the creek murder story, which ran Wednesday, due to concerns over Betty Dahlgren’s dementia and the validity of her recollection.

The
Journal-Gazette
decided to include the information when investigation into the Martz murder uncovered a letter from Eve Dahlgren accusing him of gross sexual imposition during a traffic stop.

In a letter, dated eight months before Martz was found shot to death on the side of the road, Dahlgren claims that Martz repeatedly stopped her for speeding and, in exchange for not giving her a ticket, asked her to meet him for drinks.

Eve Dahlgren’s letter says she repeatedly refused until she finally promised to meet him for a drink, but did not show up.

Dahlgren, who at that time lived in Texas, was home for her father’s funeral, according to the letter.

The next day, according to her letter, she was stopped again.

Dahlgren claims Martz “pulled me forcefully from my vehicle, threw me face down across the hood of my car and, as he held my hands behind my back, he kicked my legs apart and pushed himself against my buttocks, as if to make me think he would sexually assault me. I believed at that point that rape was a distinct possibility, although he never removed or opened his pants.”

According to his personnel file, Martz was put on desk duty until an investigation could be completed.

Investigators could not find any proof that Martz ever stopped Dahlgren and he was cleared in the matter.

Martz’ widow, Judith, who now lives in Indiana, confirmed that Martz had an on-again, off-again affair with Dahlgren two years before his death. The couple would reportedly meet for sex when Dahlgren came into town to visit her family. He ended the relationship in an effort to save his marriage.

“She was very angry that Bob didn’t want to see her anymore,” said Judith in a telephone interview this morning. “There were phone calls in the middle of the night where she called to beg him to come back to her. I remember he was placed on desk duty for a few days, but I don’t think I ever knew what it was for. I never knew anything about a letter.”

An interview with Earlene Whitelaw following her release from jail claimed Dahlgren had a long history of anger management problems and physical violence, allegedly stemming from physical abuse she suffered at home.

Dahlgren returned to Jubilant Falls on a regular basis to check on her mother, Whitelaw said. Dahlgren was financially responsible for her mother’s care and the upkeep of their historic home.

Dahlgren was also a heavy drinker who suffered from depression and paranoia, Whitelaw claimed.

One factor that had originally tied Whitelaw to Dahlgren’s death was Whitelaw’s fingerprints on the steering wheel of Dahlgren’s Lincoln. Whitelaw claimed she often drove the vehicle when Dahlgren was incapacitated.

Assistant Chief Gary McGinnis called the connection between Dahlgren and the unsolved murder “coincidental” but, because these cases are still open, could not comment further.

“Our investigation into all three homicides continues,” said McGinnis. “Anyone with information on these crimes is asked to call us.”

The article ended with the police department phone number. Beside the main story was a brief sidebar on the details of Bob Martz’ death and a recap of the young man found in the creek. Pat rounded up a couple of the original photographs from the first article on Martz’s death.

I looked up at the circle of stunned faces around me.

“How could one woman have so many connections to so many deaths?” Dennis asked, thoughtfully pushing his thick glasses up his nose.

“I don’t know,” I answered.

It had taken everything I had not to include Jimmy Lyle’s death in the story, despite what Earlene told me, but other than the fact Eve dated him, there was nothing concrete to say she—or anyone else—killed him. Eve’s comments about him ruining her life and getting what he deserved could have been the drama of an overwrought teen drunk on watered-down beer, not the confessions of a killer.

I pushed those thoughts away and continued. “There’s one more thing that Earlene told me: when they started at Texas A&M, Eve didn’t enter in the fall with the rest of the freshman. Earlene said she started in January because her father suddenly wanted to take her to Europe that fall. I wanted to put it in the story, but it couldn’t be tied to anything else.”

“What do you think it was?” Graham asked.

“I have no idea. I have no proof of anything else other than what Earlene said it was: a last-minute trip to Europe.”

“Hey, Addison,” Charisma spoke up. “Can I see you in your office?”

Here it goes,
I thought.
I’m going to lose her.
As I followed her into my office, I tried to remember if I had any fresh résumés in my desk I could dig up. God, how had I been so deluded? I, who thought I was going to help some young kid move on to a bigger paper and have a great career, had one of the world’s most sought-after reporters under my nose for four months and I never had a clue. When it came to personal relationships, I never could see what was going on—just like what was apparently blooming between my daughter and Graham.

I closed the door behind me.

“So, you’re leaving?” I asked, sliding my butt onto my desk. “I’m going to hate to see you go, Charisma. You’re one hell of a reporter.”

“Thanks,” she said. Her eyes were sharp and focused; her voice was clear.

If she could get past the PTSD, maybe she could go back to journalism on a world stage, I thought. I could understand her fear of having her story twisted, but I couldn’t understand her fear of being found. I remembered watching her on the evening news, reporting from all over the world, often wearing a flak jacket and helmet.

“I think you have accumulated a few days vacation—I’d be glad to pay you for those,” I began. “You also have—”

“I’m going to do it.”

I was silent for a moment.

“What?”

“I’m going to write my story for you. After I’m done, I’m leaving, just like I said, but you will be the first person to know the truth.”

Chapter 29 Leland

My head was throbbing Thursday morning when I lifted my face from the pillow. The red lights of the bedside digital clock told me it was nearly noon. My clothes lay in a sloppy pile on the foot of the bed. When had I taken them off?

God, how much did I drink?  
I sat up, swung my bare feet over the side of the bed, and slipped into my boxers.  I stood unsteadily, rubbing my face roughly with my hands, hoping to wipe away the fog in my head and the dried saliva from my cheeks and beard.

Does it matter?
The answer came back quickly.
You’re still an alcoholic.

My mouth tasted like the bottom of an abandoned birdcage as I staggered the few steps from my bed into the bathroom. The vodka bottle was upended in the sink and the cold, white hearts of a few ice cubes floated with the glass I’d taken from the bar in the ice bucket. I leaned my forehead against the mirror’s cold surface, trying to assuage the pounding in my skull.

Five years of sobriety down the goddamn toilet. Five years of hard work keeping my life on track and I fuck it up again. First Noah, then Bitch Goddess and now Charisma—once again I’m the one-stop source for pain, disaster and hurt.

  I wet my toothbrush and squeezed a shaky trail of toothpaste along the bristles.  Closing my eyes to escape the pain in my head, I began brushing my teeth.

“Don’t beat yourself up too badly. You at least called me.”

I jumped, dropping my toothbrush alongside the empty vodka bottle. It was Steve, the AA meeting leader, leaning on my bathroom doorframe.

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

“All night.” He turned to point at the armchair in the corner. “I slept there.”

Shaking my head, I picked up the vodka bottle and sat it upright on the bathroom counter. Running water over my toothbrush again, I returned to brushing my teeth, but didn’t say anything.

“You really hadn’t drank that much by the time I got here. You can get right back into the program and start all over again, no problem. As long as you’re here in Jubilant Falls, we’re all here to help you.”

“Mmm.” I jerked my chin up in acknowledgement and spit into the sink. I put my toothbrush back in my mouth and kept brushing.

“Don’t beat yourself up too badly. You only had maybe two, three drinks. You called, and I came right over.”

I spit into the sink again, this time vehemently.

“Help me?
Help me?
” I said. “If it hadn’t been for one of the idiots in your group, I wouldn’t have just sent five years of sobriety down the toilet.” I wanted to take the empty vodka bottle and sling it at his head.

“Excuse me?” Steve’s supportive, rah-rah tone ended.

“After I told my story, that goddamn fat bastard of a police chief went straight to the woman I talked about and told her he knew who she was. Because of his goddamn big mouth, she’s packed up and left town.”

Steve hung his head.

“I had spent a year researching, trying to find her and others just like her—I’m not even
talking
about falling for her—all it took was one idiot running his mouth to ruin it all.”

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry…”

“I’m sure you are, but it doesn’t fix a damned thing.” I stepped over to the shower, my voice rising over the water. As steam filled the bathroom, I reached for the empty bottle and, holding it like the Louisville Slugger I wished it were, stepped into the doorway. “I would suggest you get the hell out of here before I decide to sling this goddamn thing at your head.”

Steve’s eyes got large and he scrambled backwards, fumbling his way toward the door. It slammed behind him as he left, running down the hallway.

I tossed the vodka bottle into the bathroom trashcan and stepped into the shower.

The water cascading over my face chased away the fog in my brain. If Charisma was gone, there was no need for me to remain here either. But before I could leave, I had one more stop to make.