Husband and Wives (5 page)

Jean Mcdonnell – Tuesday

I’d made an appointment the day before with Rene Hudson to come to my office. She showed up a half-hour late with both her babies in tow. I asked my secretary to watch them, then brought Rene into the office.

‘Wow, you have really pretty furniture!’ she said on entering my office. ‘Where did you get this?’ she said, moving to an old rocker that used to be my grandmother’s.

‘An heirloom,’ I said, steering her toward the sofa. ‘Please have a seat. I’m afraid your being late will mean I’ll have to shorten our session.’

‘Oh, that’s OK,’ she said.

I was sitting at my desk with my pad and pen at my elbow. I picked up the pen and wrote ‘inappropriate affect,’ on the pad. ‘Rene, I want to make sure you understand that since this is a police investigation, that this session is not confidential. Anything you tell me I will repeat to the sheriff.’

‘Okie-doke!’ she said, smiling wide.

‘Let’s take care of some business here first. I have your address. How about your birthdate?’ I asked.

She rattled off a date that put her age, not in her mid- or even early twenties, as I’d previously thought, but rather nineteen.

‘You’re nineteen?’ I said to confirm.

‘Yeah,’ she said.

‘If your daughter is two, can I assume you married Jerry when you were sixteen or seventeen?’

‘Sixteen,’ she said and grinned. ‘The first girl in my class to get married!’

I sighed inwardly. ‘Tell me, Rene, how you came to be part of the Hudson family.’

‘Oh, I dunno,’ she said, at which point I noted she was chewing gum. I wrote that down, and added that she’d brought her children to the session. ‘It’s kinda private,’ she said, pulling part of her gum out of her mouth with her fingers and letting it pop back in.

I took a Kleenex and handed it to her. ‘Please put your gum in this tissue. I find it distracting.’

‘Really?’ she said, grabbing the tissue. ‘That’s weird,’ she added, although she did, thankfully, put the gum in the tissue and threw it away in the trash can.

‘I will be asking you some personal questions, Mrs Hudson, and they won’t be private because this is a police investigation. But if the answers don’t concern Mary’s death, then they won’t go any further than the sheriff and me.’

‘He’s like your husband, right? The sheriff?’ she asked.

‘Yes, he is.’

‘Cool. I’d like to marry a policeman,’ she said.

‘But you’re married to Jerry Hudson,’ I reminded her.

‘Huh?’ Then her eyes got wide and she actually turned red in the face. ‘Oh, right!’ She laughed. ‘Stupid me!’

I was getting a funny feeling. I’m fairly good at catching lies, and somehow I had the feeling I was catching a whole bucketful.

Dalton Pettigrew – Tuesday

Dalton came in the front door of the sheriff’s department, as he’d begun to do since Holly came to work at the station. He used to use the employee entrance that went by the sheriff’s office, but he liked to come in the front now, because he could look at Holly from outside the door all the way into the room without her thinking he was staring at her, which he was. He liked to see what she’d be wearing each day – that sweater thing with the hoody and the tight jeans, or one of those short skirts with the tights and a T-shirt, or maybe a dress. And how she’d wear her hair – down like he liked it, or up in a scruffy bun or a ponytail. And he liked to see how many earrings she’d be wearing and which ones. He thought he knew most of her earrings, and he thought, some day, when she got to know him better, maybe he’d buy her a pair. He’d seen some at Miss Julia’s on the square that he thought she’d like – butterflies with jade wings. Really pretty.

He couldn’t see her that good this day because Milt was standing at the counter talking on Holly’s phone. When he turned and saw Dalton, he said into the phone, ‘I’ll have someone out there in a jiffy,’ and hung up. To Dalton, the sheriff said, ‘Glad you finally made it. Get a squad car and go over to Vern’s Auto Repair on Stillwater. They got a DB behind the dumpster.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Dalton said and followed Milt as he went back to his office. Sticking his head in the sheriff’s doorway, Dalton asked, ‘Ah, Milt, a DB, that’s like a dead body, right?’

Milt sighed. ‘Yes, Dalton, a dead body.’

‘And you want me on this all alone?’ Dalton asked.

Milt looked Dalton square in the eye. ‘You can do it, boy. See who it is, get the ME out to see if it’s natural, notify next of kin. You know the drill, son.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Dalton said and headed out the side door for his squad car.

Milt Kovak – Tuesday

I was sitting in my office when the back door of the sheriff’s department (the one that went to the parking lot and was usually kept locked) burst open and, being that my office was closest to the door, I got the full presence of Brother Bob Nathanson, pastor of the United Brethren of the Holy Church of Jesus Christ in His Almighty Goodness. Brother Bob and the Brethren weren’t my cup of tea, but mostly they were an OK lot, just a bit zealous, I guess you could say.

He stood in my doorway, the wrath of God in his eyes. Brother Bob is six foot eight inches tall, weighs in at somewhere, I’d say, over 300 pounds, had more shiny black wavy hair than the Lord should allow one man, and dressed like a lumberjack, even at the pulpit, or so I hear.

‘Sheriff!’ he boomed.

‘Well, hey there, Brother Bob,’ I said, standing. I held my hand out to shake and, although he hesitated just a fraction, he
did
take my hand. ‘Have a seat and tell me what I can do for you. Other than showing you where the front door is, of course.’ I laughed when I said that last part. Although I was serious. I’m learning how to be a political animal.

‘What do you know about this despicable mess up in Bishop? A bigamist with a bunch of wives and bastard children all running around murdering people!’ He stood up in his excitement. ‘It’s blasphemy! It’s sacrilege!’ A Bible appeared as if out of nowhere. ‘The Good Lord does not condone such heathen behavior! And to think that it’s going on right here in Prophesy County! In Oklahoma, for God’s sake! In God’s country!’

Tears were now running down his cheeks. I had a feeling this Sunday’s sermon was gonna be a doozy.

‘Please have a seat, Brother Bob,’ I said, hoping he would because I sure couldn’t see myself trying to seat him. I’d have to jump on his head and pound him with a ball-peen hammer.

He sat. ‘Sheriff, we cannot have this libertine, humanistic behavior in our county. Now I know the township of Bishop pays a lot of taxes, but that don’t mean they can start breaking laws! Next thing you know there will be homosexuals walking the streets! Kissing!’ He made a face like he’d tasted something bad.

‘Brother Bob, ain’t nothing illegal about homosexuality.’

‘Not yet!’ he said, raising his fisted hand. ‘But there will be! Just you wait! The righteous will rise up and take over this country and then you’ll see—’

I stood up. ‘Brother Bob, you talking sedition? ’Cause I’d be happy to call the FBI right now, or would that be Homeland Security? I’ll have to check. You wanna wait here while I do that?’

Brother Bob stood up too. ‘Sheriff, I think you’re taking this lightly. This is not a laughing matter. A woman, a wanton woman, no doubt, but still a living, breathing woman, was murdered by someone in her heathen family. I want to know what you’re going to do about it?’

‘I’m running an investigation, Brother Bob, and toward that end, sir, you wanna tell me where you were yesterday from, say, eight in the morning to three in the afternoon?’ I said, mentioning the hours when the kids left for school and when they came home, which was as narrow a field as we could get.

He straightened himself and almost hit the doorjamb of my office. ‘I will not dignify that question with an answer, sir. Good day!’

He turned and was out the back door as quickly as he’d come in. And then I had to wonder: what
was
Brother Bob, not to mention his few but feisty congregants, doing yesterday?

THREE

Milt Kovak – Tuesday

M
e and Jean met for lunch that day at the Longbranch Inn. I’d rather not go there with Jean because she’s had me on a diet since the day we met, practically. And I can’t get the usual when I’m with her. So I ordered a chef’s salad. It comes with yeast rolls and cornbread too. When the bread basket came, I slipped a couple of each in my pockets when Jean wasn’t looking.

‘There’s something not right about Rene Hudson,’ Jean said as she buttered a yeast roll (or margarined, I guess you’d say, since Jean always insists they bring her margarine instead of the real sweet butter they usually bring with the bread basket).

‘What’s that?’ I asked.

‘Her affect is off,’ my wife said, like I knew what she meant by affect. The way she said it made the word sound different.

‘What do you mean?’ I asked. Sometimes when I say that, I can actually find out what the hell she’s talking about without her knowing I got no idea.

‘When she was with Carol Anne, she seemed genuinely upset by Mary’s death, but when we were alone together in my office, she seemed, um, I don’t know, almost cavalier,’ Jean said.

‘You mean like she was having fun?’ I asked.

‘I guess you could say that. She certainly didn’t seem to be taking anything very seriously. Even her marriage.’

‘Huh?’ I said. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, for one thing, when she realized I was married to you, she said, and I quote, “I’d sure like to be married to a policeman.’’’

At first I was flattered, then it hit me. ‘Oh. But she’s married to Jerry!’

‘Exactly,’ my wife said. ‘I don’t think she’s terribly bright, which is odd.’

‘How so?’ I asked.

‘Well, look at Carol Anne and Mary. Both bright women! Carol Anne didn’t go to college, but she’s a smart woman, you can tell that just by talking to her. And Mary had a degree. So why would Jerry Hudson marry two bright women, then dumb and dowdy little Rene?’

‘Dowdy?’ I said, my eyebrows raised. ‘Is that a new word for hot? ’Cause if it still means what it used to, that chick is not dowdy.’

My darlin’ wife raised that one infamous eyebrow at me. ‘You think
Rene
is hot?’

‘No, well, I mean, no.’

She laughed. ‘I’m not challenging you as your wife; I’m challenging you as a woman. I see her as very plain and, yes, dowdy. But you see what?’

I looked deep into her eyes to make sure I wasn’t being set up. You never can tell with women. They say one thing when they mean another, and tell you they’re ‘just fine’ when they really mean they’re mad as hell. It’s hard dealing with women. But usually Jean’s worth it. I decided that her eyes were telling me I’d be OK if I answered truthfully. OK, maybe semi-truthfully.

‘Well, she’s got that little overbite. That’s sexy. And
some
men find short women attractive because they can feel all manly around them. But mainly, it’s her ass. Honey, she’s got a great ass. Like a little basketball just riding along in the back there.’

Jean nodded her head. ‘That’s interesting. I’ve been considering Carol Anne the ‘‘hot’’ one. Her hair, her wonderful complexion, her lithe body, the generous mouth . . .’

‘Whoa now!’ I said. ‘And I thought you were the one who was gonna get jealous!’

‘Are you jealous?’ she asked me.

‘Well, now, the more I think about it, the more I’m not exactly jealous.’

‘Then what are you?’ she asked.

‘Horny,’ was the only answer I could come up with.

That afternoon I called the ME’s office and, thank God, got her assistant, Terry Blanchard. He’s a nice kid, son of a guy I played ball with in high school, and he looks like and is built like his father, Marvin. Marvin was a good guy. He died about five years ago and me and the other eight surviving members of our football team showed up at his funeral. His wife, Molly, one of the prettier girls in school, was real glad to see us all there together. Terry was in his early thirties but he wasn’t a doctor. He was a certified medical examiner’s assistant, or something like that.

‘Hey, Terry, boy, it’s me, Milt Kovak,’ I said when he answered the phone.

‘Hey, Sheriff! We’ve got that murdered lady’s body here,’ he said.

‘Doc do the autopsy yet?’

‘Yes, sir. She hasn’t called you with the results?’ he asked.

‘No, and I know you can’t legally read ’em to me, but just answer me this, Terr . . .’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Was she pregnant?’ I asked.

‘No, sir. No fetus. And Sheriff?’

‘Yeah, Terr?’

‘Lady was healthy as a horse.’ His voice got very quiet. ‘Somebody hit her over the head with a sharp, heavy object. The skin was cut but her death was caused by the blow.’

‘Thanks, kid. We never talked,’ I said.

‘Now who were you calling?’ he asked and I hung up.

And I sat there thinking. The Longbranch police department had trained one of their guys in crime scene investigation and I’d called him to come out. Hadn’t gotten a report back. So I picked up the phone and rang.

Clive Macabee answered the phone. ‘Crime Lab,’ he said, just like he was on one of those
CSI
shows.

‘Clive, hey, this is Sheriff Kovak. Got anything for me?’

‘I’m telling you, Sheriff, never seen a cleaner house. We’ve got next to nothing.’

‘Then tell me what the next is.’

‘There was a lot of blood on the floor, all consistent with Mrs Hudson’s blood type. The few strands of hair we found all seemed consistent with the lady’s own hair.’

‘I hear from the ME that COD was blunt force trauma. You find anything around there that coulda done the deed?’

‘Well, she had all those copper-bottomed pots and pans hanging over the stove, but not a one of ’em had a bit of anything on it. There was absolutely nothing out of place. My conclusion on this is whatever killed her was either taken from the scene or the guy brought it with him and took it with him.’

‘Clive, you’re not one bit of help,’ I said.

He laughed. ‘We aim to please, Sheriff.’

I said goodbye and hung up. Then thought: anything missing? If it was a crime of passion, a heat of the moment thing, then they woulda used whatever was handy. But if he (and I mean that in a generic sense – coulda been a she) brought the weapon with him, then that’s premeditated and that’s not good. I needed to talk to Jerry Hudson and find out if anything was missing from the scene.