The Daily Novel

CHAPTER XXVI

Harlan walked gingerly for a good five days after the visit to his doctor. They had agreed that, since Harlan had no intention of modeling nude, butterfly bandages would be sufficient. He’d taken his tetanus shot, an antibiotic, and instructions for changing the dressing. Harlan asked that they be written out, since Gloria was to be the designated dressing changer.

First thing when they got home, Gloria began to disassemble the shlocking corner, ridding the great room of any traces of Jerry and his murder spree. Everything went into file boxes, in order and catalogued for easy retrieval. If Gene and Betty were serious about this being a good teaching aid, well, they could just have it all and do with it what they would. She wanted nothing more to do with it.

The capture of Jerry happened too late for any of the morning papers in the East and Midwest to be able to run the story. It was even too late for a ‘stop the presses’ yell. The entire run of the paper was printed and on the trucks. West Coast papers ran the headline and backed it up with Bobbie’s bylined story. The story did go out on the wire. Bobbie had the copy written and on the wire within thirty minutes of the phone conversation with Gloria. She scooped absolutely everybody with it. The copyrighted story with her byline was cited as the source for all of the morning news shows, both local and national. She agreed to phone interviews, primarily with media affiliated with her newspaper. Bobbie’s voice and a file photo (which did not do her justice) were all over the airwaves.

Harlan and Gloria changed the voice message on their phones. “Please do not leave a message. Wait until Thursday to call back.”  They used the tactic of letting the greeting record function continue for the maximum time, postponing the beep that would signal people to leave a message. They called Craig and Betty to tell them they were home, and then they turned the phones off, and despite Gloria’s contrary prediction, slept.

Thursday morning, the first call they made was to Gene Snyder.

“How are you feeling?” Gene started with.

“I’m sore,” Harlan said.

“We both slept about eleven hours last night,” Gloria added. “I feel a hell of a lot better.”

“Glad to hear it,” Gene said. “We have a tendency to forget that shock, mild and even severe shock, can be caused by events. It doesn’t have to be a physical blow. I’m glad you made it home. I was kicking myself for letting you tear out of there like that.”

“Believe me, you couldn’t have stopped us,” Harlan said. “So, what’s happening?”

“The suspect has insisted on confessing to the murder. He waived the right to an attorney and gave us a full statement, beginning with the night he grabbed her in Bowling Green. On this first case, they’re just beginning to run into the sorting-out of what crimes happened where, who has jurisdiction, all of that. For example, Kentucky has the abduction and the assault from the first gunshot. Indiana has rape and unlawful incarceration. Pennsylvania has the murder – the second gunshot, the one that killed her. It’ll be years sorting it out. So he is in custody in Pennsylvania charged with first degree murder.”

“He’s off the street,” Harlan said, “and it sounds like he’ll stay off the street. That’s good.”

“They’ve already requested a hearing to determine whether he is competent to make the statement and sign the confession. I don’t think there will be any problem with that.”

“Has he confessed to the other ones?” Gloria asked.

“This is where it gets weird,” Gene said. “In the initial questioning, after they had the statement, they started asking about some of the other victims. He claims no knowledge, there is no recognition, no sign of recognition. One interrogator asked him if he was acquainted with one of the names, and he said he was. Said she was a real nice person, always took good care of him at the diner. Ask him about her body in a cloverleaf and he claims…convincingly, by the way…that he has no idea what we’re talking about. Is that even possible? Could another killer be out there?”

“Not even a ghost of a chance,” Gloria responded immediately. “Whatever is going on, it’s inside his head, and I have a notion that his head will be the subject of a few graduate theses in the near future. No. He is the one, and I can sleep well knowing he is in the can.”

“It may be more difficult to bring charges on some of the rest of these,” Gene warned.

“Not to be too harsh,” Harlan chimed in, “but that sounds like a problem for someone else to sort out. As long as this one keeps him off the streets, I’m happy.”

“What are you all going to do?” Gene asked.

“Right now we’re gong to rest, relax and think happy thoughts,” Harlan said. “When I think about it, this thing was hanging over our heads all through Thanksgiving and Christmas. We feel like we have some catching up to do.”

“Right,” Gloria chirped, ”and, thinking about that, could you make it to a small celebration a week from Saturday? Bring a toothbrush so you can sample the white stuff?”

Gene didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be there.”

After the call, Harlan looked at Gloria. “Where’d that come from?”

“Just thought of it. Any problem?”

“No problem. I like it. I guess we’d better get on the phones and make a full guest list.”

The guest list came together well. Only Shelby, the Commonwealth Investigator from Kentucky, had to decline. Harlan and Gloria were working on menu and sleeping arrangements, putting the RV into stationary service as extra sleeping space, when a surprise phone call increased the guest list.

Both Harlan and Gloria had been unconsciously avoiding the shlocking corner, giving it a rest. It wasn’t until early the following week that Gloria, cleaning the last of the tape residue from the windows, looked down and saw the message light flashing on the answering machine. Her first reaction was panic. “Oh my God, he’s escaped,” actually came out of her mouth. Harlan looked up from his reading and saw her standing frozen, looking down. Then he caught the blink of the message light. He walked over.

“What if Gene was right?” she said to Harlan, still staring at the light. “What if there’s someone else out there?”

“Only thing to do is play it.” Harlan reached over and pressed the playback button.

“Hi. Uh, we don’t know if this is for real. We found this box with the number in it, so we’re calling. My name is Chandler and you can reach us at 502-555-5555. Hope this is for real. Uh . . .okay. Good bye.”

Laughter, as a healing release, is valuable beyond calculation. Five minutes later, both Harlan and Gloria were sprawled on the seats at the fireplace, gasping for air. Tears stained both of their faces. During the five-minute laughing fit, there were times when it would have been difficult to distinguish laughter from weeping. It was a cathartic experience and left them drained.

“We have to call them,” Gloria finally said.

“Why don’t we take a real flyer and invite them to the party, only not tell anyone else about it.”

“Done. I love it, if they sound like we want them to come.”

Gloria set the cell phone on speaker and did the talking. She dialed.

“Hello.” A female voice.

“Hi. I’m trying to reach Chandler.”

“Speaking.”

“Chandler, my name is Gloria Stone.” There was a shriek from the speaker.

“Tom, Tom, come here. I win. I don’t believe it. I was right. Oh my God.”

“Hello?” Gloria said.

“I’m sorry about that. I just . . . I told Tom – he’s my husband, told him that the box was probably one of the boxes I read about and the cloverleaf murders and the body in the barrel thing.”

“Well, you were right.” Another shriek. Then things settled down a little. “I assume you live in Kentucky . . .”

“Yes. Elizabethtown.”

“So, you know about what’s been going on?”

“Completely. I read every word, more than once. Here’s Tom. Say hi, hon.”

“Hi.”

“It’s Gloria Stone, the one in the papers.”

“Chandler, Tom, this is going to sound a little strange. This coming Saturday, we are having a celebration, all about the cloverleaf thing. Almost everybody who was part of the original group that hid the boxes will be here. We have a ton of room, so we would expect you to spend the night. Do you drink?”

Tom’s laughter burst through the speaker.

“I’ll take that as a yes. We would like you to join us. This Saturday, overnight and home Sunday afternoon. Can you do it?”

“Yes. Don’t you think we can, Tom?” There was no doubt a nod at their end of the conversation.

“Good. One very big condition. You can’t tell anyone. I mean, anyone in the general population, someone who would suddenly have the press showing up at your door. I know it sounds glamorous, and believe me, it isn’t.”

“No problem. We’ll have to tell my folks, and that’s it. Tom’s parents don’t live around here.”

“Good. You must have an email address. I’ll send you detailed directions and a few words about casual clothing and like that. One other thing: Some of the folks will already be here when you arrive. The only thing you say to them is that you’re here at my invitation. Clear?”

“Clear. Oh, this is exciting.”

“Um, could I ask, what’s the reward?” Tom had been heard from.

“You know, we never worked that out. I guess we’ll have to get that sorted out when all of the players are here. Is that okay with you all?”

“Absolutely.” Chandler speaking.

>>>>>     <<<<<

The Friday before the celebration was taken up completely by the one interview Harlan and Gloria, with Bobbie’s guidance, agreed to do. Bobbie’s point was that, while any interview they might do would be slanted, at least Court TV would slant it in the direction of making the justice system work. The crew from Court TV arrived at the crack of dawn, filled the driveway with their vehicles, and started unloading and setting up. They even brought a food truck. The intended result of the session was to be a half-hour special, meaning that much more than a simple face-to-face interview was necessary.

While the producer of the whole thing was meeting with Harlan and Gloria, mapping out the plan for the day and the plan for the special, the ‘B-roll’ team was busy. With permission, they filmed the outside of the house, the separate kitchen, including a close-up of the scar from the sniper’s bullet, the RV, inside and out, and the coal mine shaft.

When the producer looked over at the corner of the great room where the shlocking corner had been set up, she expressed disappointment. “Would it be possible to re-construct it, how it was when you were working on it? Do you still have the materials?”

“It is not possible. If you need something like that, I suggest you contact The Courier-Journal. They have stills.” Gloria was a notch above the normal Gloria-firm on the point. The producer looked down at her clipboard, then up at Gloria. Before she could open her mouth, Harlan spoke.

“I’d move on if I were you. There’s nothing else to say about it.” She still looked unconvinced. “Okay, some perspective. We have nothing to gain from this, except more attention than we want. We’re doing this out of some sense that some good can come of it, and that’s mostly our friend Bobbie talking. So, if we hit a sticking point and you decide to take your clipboard and your crew and leave, that would be just fine.” They moved on.

Later that morning, the sound of gunfire rang out. Harlan and Gloria rushed to the door and saw someone stagger and fall on the driveway apron.

“What the hell?” Harlan said and turned to the producer.

“Part of the special includes those blurry, out-of-focus reenactment pieces, you know?”

After that, things, including three more gunfire episodes, moved smoothly, and everyone was finished and gone by late afternoon. With guests expected, Harlan did not follow the convoy of vehicles out. The gate would stay open.

Craig and Samantha arrived late afternoon. They had both taken half-day vacations in order to drive early. Fritz and Bobbie arrived a little after sundown. Supper was soup, salad, and sandwiches, which may sound like light fare and probably would be anywhere but at Harlan and Gloria’s.

The soup was really burgoo. It was in the freezer from late summer when Harlan and Gloria went to one of the church barbeques over in Kentucky that featured pit-cooked beef, pork, chicken, and mutton over hickory. Bits of all four entrees were liberally spread throughout the burgoo, along with drippings, sauce, tomatoes, and corn and potatoes and beans and carrots. The salad was pepper slaw, and the sandwiches were a grilled cheese variation: coarse bread, spread with black olive paste, fresh mozzarella cheese, and roasted red peppers, then grilled to perfection. The meal went very well with the two-bottle stupid and the moonshine. Water and tea were available and universally ignored.

After supper, everyone gathered in the great room around the fireplace. The conversation naturally avoided the subject of the cloverleaf murders. Fritz insisted upon seeing, the next morning, the copper still Harlan had put together. Samantha wondered what sort of bizarre cooking was scheduled for the next day. Bobbie wanted details about the TV shoot. Harlan was characteristically quiet, and Craig was following suit.

Breakfast Saturday morning was standard Harlan and Gloria food: eggs, biscuits, bacon and sausage, hash browns, sausage gravy. The big breakfast, a la Aunt Bessie, was reserved for Sunday, when everyone would be present. Harlan even had some good country ham, so there would be red eye gravy for some of the biscuits on Sunday.

Harlan was up well before breakfast, building up a fire in a pit he had dug and lined with rocks. The bizarre cooking for the day was to be a pig, slow-cooked on the hot rocks, covered with a big tarp to hold the heat in. The pig was in his kitchen. Harlan had seasoned it and marinated it and then left it out to come to room temperature overnight. Room temperature, with no heat on, was about fifty degrees. With the fire blazing, he checked on the pig and was surprised when Samantha, coffee cup in hand, showed up at the kitchen door.

“Need any help?” she asked him.

“Sure could use help when it’s time to get this one down the hill,” Harlan replied. “You’re up early.”

“A little. So, this is the main event?”

“I suppose. Mostly doing it because I never have before. I think it’ll be pretty tasty.”

“How long?”

“Starting at room temperature gives us a nice head start, at least twenty degrees worth. I think we’ll have plenty of time to start nibbling at around four.”

A comfortable silence settled. Samantha sipped her coffee, and Harlan swabbed the pig with the marinade.

“Do you think,” Samantha asked, “that you all have got it out of your system?”

“What?”

“The shlocking thing, chasing down murderers. Do you think you’re done with all of that?”

“The simple answer is no,” Harlan said, after a moment’s thought. “The more complex answer is more like we have had more than enough of the direct involvement. Remember, this shlocking is something we’ve been doing for a long time, like a hobby. We did not go out and try to find ways to get directly into the action. The action came to us. That we have had more than enough of, yes. Figuring out the puzzles, from the sideline, is something else. I think we’ll always do it.”

“But, can you stay on the sideline? Can you keep the action from coming to you?”

“Don’t know. I do know that the possibility of the action coming to us again is not enough to make us change what we do.”

“Good. Is it time to haul the special event down the hill?”

Together, Harlan and Samantha hauled the pig to the pit, raked and swept the glowing embers to the side, and set the pig in place. Harlan used burlap bags soaked in the marinade to cover the pig; then the two of them stretched the heavy tarp over the hole, held it down with extra rocks, and shoveled a sealing pile of dirt around the edges.

“Okay, let’s get a start on breakfast.”

Gloria was at the sink, peeling the potatoes, when they entered the kitchen.

“Got a helper, huh?” she said.

“I was finished sleeping,” Samantha said, pouring herself more coffee. “What can I do here?”

Chandler and Tom arrived around lunch time. Gene and Betty were already there. Betty had driven straight to the airport and picked Gene up. Jack and Cathy Lutz would not be there until near three. Gloria greeted Chandler and Tom and immediately hustled them into a bedroom to talk.

“Did you bring the photography?” she asked Chandler.

“I have everything on a memory stick, like you said,” Chandler replied.

“Perfect. Now, here’s what I want you to do.” Gloria then went over the script, the one in her head, until Chandler seemed to have it down. “Now, go hang around and enjoy yourselves. This will be your room, and the bath’s right through there. There’s a ton of food on the table, for picking and nibbling. Plenty of beer and, later, but not much later, we’ll break out Harlan’s moonshine. Okay?” It was okay.

The literal translation of smorgasbord is ‘groaning board.’ The groaning refers to the creaking of the heavily laden table, not the sounds made by the partakers. The harvest table in the kitchen was laid with wall-to-wall food – sliced beef, country ham, cheeses, fruit, scallions, bread in five varieties, picnic chicken legs and thighs, slaw, potato salad, smoked salmon with sour cream, and more. The bounty of the table served to postpone queries about when the pig would be done.

“When’s the pig going to be done?” Jack asked as he and Cathy walked into the house.

“It’ll be done just in time, I predict.” Harlan handed Jack a beer without asking. He cocked an eyebrow at Cathy and she nodded, so he pulled another one out of the fridge. Cathy was the designated driver tonight. Jack and Cathy lived so close that they had never accepted an invitation to overnight. “Right now, Gloria has something planned.”

“With the exception of Shelby, who tried but couldn’t break loose to get here, this is everybody who was here for the creation of the message in the box game.” Gloria swept her arm around the room as she talked. “In addition, we have Gene from the FBI, and Betty, who used to be in the FBI. We have Samantha, and she was here at the very beginning of the investigation of the cloverleaf murders and made significant contributions.” Craig applauded, the rest joined in, and Samantha blushed.

“Our newest newcomers, Chandler and Tom, also have a direct connection with what we’re doing here. I asked them to keep it under their hats until we could all be here. Chandler brought some pictures, and they’re set up in the big screen computer, so, everybody get to where you can see the screen. Chandler, it’s all yours.”

“Hi. I’m a photographer…not professionally…not yet,” Chandler began, quietly and nervously. “I have been fascinated with old barns for a while now, Tom and I were exploring for stuff to shoot over near Shepardsville. I guess you can tell that I like to get unusual angles, and that requires some climbing and some rooftop work.” The pictures were cycling through at a slow speed as she talked. They were set up to start with the extreme close-ups of interesting detail — a broken windowpane, a decrepit weathervane pointing to the sky — and then to expand until finally the entire structure of the barn was visible. “At this point, Gloria says I am supposed to ask if the barn looks familiar to anyone.”

“Well, damn,” Fritz uttered under his breath. Then, full voice, “I guess it does.”

There was a chorus of questions from the group. Chandler opened a shopping bag she had kept next to her and pulled out the sealed plastic box with the message in it.

“I found this up in the top of the silo. The silo was built of those rounded concrete bricks, so it was really solid and pretty safe. Anyway, I found the box, and we brought it home with us and called the number.”

Fritz raised both hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m guilty. I am sure forensics would find my fingerprints all over the box, even inside.”

“So, that’s why we’re here, Tom and I, and thank you for the invitation and the welcome.”

“Those are very good pictures,” Bobbie said to Chandler as the rest of the group picked up conversations and wandered to the table for food and more beer. Harlan went to the freezer and pulled out the milk jug full of moonshine.

“I do believe that this calls for a toast,” he announced and brought the jug to the middle of the room. “It’s moonshine, and I make it myself. The etiquette of the situation calls for sipping from the communal jug, if you want to sip at all.” Chandler took the sip and her eyes widened. She swallowed and smiled. “Wow!”

Tom was next, taking a bigger sip. “If you don’t mind my saying so, I think a gallon of this would be ample reward.”

“That’s right. We never settled on the actual reward. For that matter, are all of the other boxes still out there?”

“Mine is. I’m not going back in the graveyard to get it,” Bobbie said.

“And I’m not going down in some old mine to get my box back. No way.” Gloria actually shuddered as she said it. Every one of the original players reported that the boxes were still in place.

“I guess that means we need to keep the eight hundred number going. No big deal. It hardly costs anything.”

“Does somebody have Shelby’s number? We have to call him about this.”

“I have it stored,” Gloria said as she picked up her cell phone from beside the computer. Just as she picked it up, it rang. “Hell, maybe this is him. Hello.”

Gloria listened for a few seconds, then spoke into the phone. “Yes I remember you.” To Harlan, “It’s Kate, the one with the motel.” She listened some more, then interrupted. “Kate, as it happens, all of the principals in the case are here right now. We’re having a bit of a celebration. Could I put you on speaker.” Gloria pressed the keys and set the phone down on the table. “Go ahead.”

“Hi, Kate. Harlan here. Good to hear from you.”

“Well, thank you, and it’s good to hear your voice. I was telling Gloria I feel so bad about the way I was when you all were here. I had no idea how big and horrible this thing was. Ever since I read about it and about you all catching the guy, I have felt terrible.”

“Well, it’s over, and it’s time to feel good,” Harlan offered.

“I suppose, but I keep wondering if I had . . .”

“You can stop right there,” Gloria said. “There is absolutely no possible way we could have used any information you might have had quickly enough to stop what happened. No way, so you just put that out of your mind.”

“When it was in the papers with his name and all, I did go back and check the records. He was a regular, maybe twice a year for ten years at least. The older records are up in the attic. And you know, I would have sworn on a stack of Bibles that he would never do something like that. Can you believe it?”

“We sure can,” Harlan answered. “So far, no one who had contact with him can believe it, so don’t feel bad.”

“At least you never got in the car with him,” Gloria added.

“Now, that sends a shiver down my spine,” Kate responded. “So anyway, I felt like I ought to call you and congratulate you and thank you and apologize for not being helpful.”

“Thank you,” Gloria said. “We appreciate that.”

“The strangest thing,” Kate went on. “When I checked the records, I remembered it. You know that room up in the center, the one you all stayed in that night? Well, that was his favorite. Stayed in that room every time he visited. Isn’t that some coincidence.”

Gloria’s face froze and her body stiffened. She had nothing more to say. Harlan finished the call and snapped the cell phone closed.

“I hope you all will excuse me,” Gloria said as she backed toward the hall. “I have to go upstairs and take a long, hot shower.”