Tom Wallace - Gnosis

“Can I take the Fifth on that one?”

“The prudent thing to do, I’d say.” Charlie frowned. “Thought we were meeting at Coyle’s.”

Dantzler shook his head. “Nah. This way, I don’t have to buy you lunch.”

“You always did have alligator arms when it came time to pick up a check.” Charlie looked at the thick folder in Dantzler’s hand. “A murder book? You did get the memo saying I had retired, didn’t you?”

“A detective turns in his shield and his weapon. He never retires.”

Charlie laughed. “Where did you get that slice of wisdom? A fortune cookie?”

“Where can we talk, Charlie?”

“Sun’s gonna get hot shortly, so I vote for the kitchen.”

“Then let us tarry no longer.”

Charlie draped an arm around Laurie. “Tell me again how you put up with this mutt.”

“It ain’t easy.”

Charlie handed a can of Diet Pepsi to Dantzler and a glass of water to Laurie. “I know it’s not cool these days to drink water straight from the tap, but I don’t have any of the bottled stuff. Simply won’t buy it. No need to pay for water because someone slaps a fancy name on the bottle. H 2O is H 2O.”

“You’re a true Spartan, Charlie,” Laurie said. “If you were just a few years younger, I would-”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what all the young and beautiful ones say.” Charlie held out his left hand, fingers spread. “See this ring finger? Ain’t never been one on it. Know why? Cause I never fell into the female trap.”

“Ah, Charlie,” Laurie said, clasping both hands over her heart. “A Spartan and a heartbreaker.”

“Nope. Just a sensible man, that’s all.” He looked at the folder resting on the middle of the table. “What did you bring me, Jack?”

“John Elijah Whitehouse. What do you remember about his case?”

“Eli Whitehouse? You’re here about him?”

“I am.”

“Hell, Jack, that was twenty, twenty-five years ago. I-”

“Twenty-nine, to be exact.”

“Okay, twenty-nine. That’s a long time ago.”

“Tell me about it.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“You don’t see me laughing, do you?”

“What do you want to know?” Charlie asked, his fingers drumming the murder book.

“Anything. The basics.”

“It’s all in the murder book. I kept detailed notes.”

“And I’ll study them in great detail. But… for now, off the top of your head, what do you remember about the case?”

“He killed two people. Shot them both in the back of the head, execution style. The murder took place in an old barn on a piece of property owned by Eli.”

“Go on,” Dantzler prodded.

“The two vics were a couple of local street kids. Drugs were found at the crime scene, so we figured it for a drug deal that turned ugly.” Charlie sipped some coffee. “Why are you inquiring about Eli Whitehouse?”

“I met with him.”

“When? Where? Why, for God’s sake?”

“Saturday, at the prison. At his request.”

Charlie set the coffee cup on the table and shook his head. “Why did he request a meeting with you? You didn’t work the case. Hell, you weren’t even on the force back then.”

“He heard I was a first-rate cop.”

“No argument there. But, why did he want to meet with any cop?”

“Says he’s innocent. Wants me to re-open the case.”

“After all these years? Why now?”

“He’s dying. Inoperable cancer.”

“Huh.”

“He said something else, as well, Charlie. Said you thought he was innocent.”

Charlie shook his head. “That’s not exactly accurate. I never said he was innocent; I was just never convinced of his guilt. Dan, on the other hand, had no doubt about it. He was certain Eli was the killer.”

“Why did you have doubts, Charlie?”

“Damn, Jack, I need time to think about this.”

“No, you don’t. You remember every detail of every case you ever worked. Why the doubts?”

“Well, the method the killer used always troubled me. Back of the head, single shot. Like I said-execution style. That seemed awfully professional to me. Something you might see from the Mob or the KGB. But not how a civilian-a preacher-would do it.”

“Go on.”

“The drug aspect. We never uncovered any evidence connecting Eli to drug trafficking, production, sales, or distribution. None whatsoever. And the two victims were another stumbling block for me. A couple of local street-wise punks who had each been arrested a number of times for possession of marijuana. Typical weedsters, you know? Neither was a big-time druggie, and neither had a prior connection to Eli. At least, none that we found. There just didn’t seem to be a legitimate motive for Eli to kill those two guys.”

Dantzler leaned forward. “Let me ask you a couple of questions. If it was a drug deal gone bad, then why were any drugs left there in the first place? Second, why leave the bodies in such an open place, where they were sure to be found?”

“Your drug question is one that bothered me as well, and it’s one I have no answer for. Either they were left there inadvertently, or they were planted. Take your pick. As for your second question, the killer did make an attempt to get rid of the bodies. He torched the barn, but it rained like hell that night, effectively putting out the fire. A young couple was out parking, saw the smoke, and went to check it out. They found the bodies.”

“You had doubts; Dan didn’t. Why was he so convinced?”

“Fingerprints. Eli’s prints were all over the murder weapon.”

“A twenty-two, correct?”

“Yep. And it belonged to old Eli, too.” Charlie sipped more coffee. “Those fingerprints-that’s what did him in. When the D.A. stood in front of the jury, held up the murder weapon, and stated the prints on the gun belonged to Eli, well, that closed the lid on the coffin. All reasonable doubt got washed away.”

“According to your notes, you found the gun at the crime scene.”

“Yes. Right next to the bodies.”

“That didn’t bother you?”

“Of course, it did. I mean, why would Eli leave the murder weapon at the crime scene, where it was certain to be found? Why not toss it into an incinerator? Or into one of the ponds on his farm? Hell, there must’ve been five or six of them. And if he was stupid enough to leave it there, why not at least wipe it clean of prints? Finding it where we did, with those perfect prints on it, just didn’t make sense to me.”

“Sounds like he was framed.”

“My instincts always said so.” Charlie looked at Laurie, then back at Dantzler. “You gonna look into it?”

“I’m considering it.”

“Those damn prints, Jack. That’s nearly impossible evidence to overcome.” Charlie rose, refilled his coffee cup, and stood next to the counter. “Something else also troubled me. During the lead-up to the trial, Eli said very little in his own defense. Was almost silent, in fact. Even Dan was troubled by Eli’s silence. Dan kept saying, ‘if I was innocent, been framed, I would be screaming so loud they would hear me in heaven and hell.’ But not Eli. He remained stoic through it all.”

Charlie sat back down. “What did he say to you during the meeting?”

“Not a lot. Only that he didn’t do it, and that I should check the obits page in the Herald for the past two weeks. He said the answer is there.”

“Did he give you a name?”

“No. Said he couldn’t.”

“You think he couldn’t, or he wouldn’t?”

“Both. I think the man is afraid of something. Or someone.”

“You said he’s terminal. What’s a dying man got to be afraid of?”

“He has three kids. Six or seven grandkids. Could be he’s worried about their safety.”