Cry From The Grave
Chapter 22
It was another thirty minutes before they arrived at the Town & Country Municipal Building that faced southbound I-270. Ballack had been here once before at a city council meeting. He was aghast that the citizenry that showed up was hardly miffed by the misuse of civic funds, but nothing inflamed their passions like the placement of deer crossings or the temerity of high school football programs wanting to erect lights for their fields. Nothing blared "Not In My Back Yard" like Town & Country, and so Ballack entered the building with a less-than-cheerful disposition. Officer Molinari greeted both detectives and led them to the interrogation room in the back.
"Thanks for your help in all this," said Tori.
"Just one among the twelve thousand," Molinari replied as he unlocked a door.
"Beg your pardon?" asked Ballack.
Molinari smiled, almost joyfully, at his confusion. "Just a saying. We have twelve thousand calls for service per year. It's all part of the routine. So, we've got you a shooting suspect? What territory?"
"Shooting took place at Innsbrook. We have the victims squared away at St. Joseph's out at the Lake," Tori said calmly. "But it's an SID case."
"Both of you?" Really?"
It was one of those times Ballack felt like taking a swipe at somebody, even though he couldn't expect everyone to get past the incredulity of a disabled cop's presence. "As hard as that is to believe," he said, barely about to keep the scorching anger out of his voice, "the answer is yes."
Molinari scratched his hair, which was cut in a bristled flat-top. His square jaw shifted a bit and he rubbed it vigorously. "Sorry. I just..."
"Forget it, Officer."
"So, who did he shoot at?"
"He clipped two detectives," Tori said impatiently. "Our colleagues."
"And you didn't tell us he was a cop shooter?!"
"Might be," Ballack corrected him. "Besides, we wanted Mr. Carter to still be breathing once we arrived. This is the place?" They had arrived at a door near the end of the hall. Molinari unlocked it and stepped aside.
"You think that little of us," Molinari glared, "that you believe we would've pounded him?"
"You think that little of me that a guy in a wheelchair could never be SID?" Ballack shot back.
"Okay, Detective Ballack, once again. Sorry about the..."
"Seriously, Danny. It's fine. Don't apologize twice. It reflects poorly on you."
Molinari looked at Tori. "Can we assist you with anything in the meantime?"
"Actually," Tori responded, "if you could fleece down his car and do an inventory of all weapons and ammo you find in there. It'll save us some time once we find the bullet used on our friends."
The interrogation room, like so many Ballack had encountered, was predictably austere and lacking in personality. Eric Carter sat swaying in his chair, about as anchored in his seat as a farm mailbox in a Kansas tornado. Whatever had led them to this moment, Ballack noted, had undoubtedly frightened the young man. Tori stood off to the side, measuring Carter but also communicating that he was surrounded.
Ballack began with calm, crisp intonation, giving no indication his emotions were roiling below the surface.
"Mr. Carter, I am Detective Cameron Ballack and this is my partner, Tori Vaughan. We're both members of the Special Investigative Division of Metro St. Louis. Do you happen to know why you're here?"
Carter wriggled his nose, rabbit-like, and looked over at Tori. "I swear you have this all wrong. I was just driving my truck and these cops pulled me over when I've done nothing."
"Put a 'sir' on the end of that," Ballack said, his anger masked behind his even voice.
"I did nothing, sir. I get pulled over and the officer accused me of leaving the scene of a shooting. I didn't shoot anyone, sir." He stopped wiping his palms on his thighs.
"Were you out in the Innsbrook area late this morning?"
"I...How did you...I..." Carter stumbled. He clearly had no experience of being grilled by the police.
"I'll take that as a yes," Ballack said, running his fingers through his hair. "In the neighborhood of Dr. Dean Hibbler's lakehouse?"
Carter's eyes widened considerably. He looked down and whispered, "What does that have to do with me?"
"Mr. Carter, I'll give you the story straight. This morning, we--two other detectives along with Ms. Vaughan and myself--were at Dr. Hibbler's lakehouse investigating a variety of matters specific to our case. Do you know what case that might be?"
Carter swallowed twice. "I'm guessing it has to do with his death."
Tori snorted disgust. "His death. That's like calling Hurricane Katrina a summer storm. He was murdered."
Ballack stared hard at the shivering form across the table. As with Father Giles, it was difficult to believe this timorous personality could spew the violence they'd seen exhibited. Hunting knives. Whizzing bullets. Theoretically possible, thought Ballack, and at this point, they couldn't discount any of the staff. Carter's jaws were clenched tightly, his oral muscles protruding in a bulge through his sideburns.
"Let me describe the scene, Mr. Carter," Ballack continued. "We were on the deck and were fired upon by an unseen shooter. We managed to get back in the house but not before two fellow detectives were shot. Both are at a nearby facility, with one of them barely hanging on." He glared at Carter, leaning in more closely. "I managed to see a Honda Ridgeline driving away soon after the shooting ceased and I caught the license number. That truck, of course, is the one you drive. Would you like to explain to me what you were doing out there?"
Ballack knew that the likelihood of Carter unleashing a hail of bullets and making a dash to his truck for that getaway, when the angles of activity were so divergent, was slight. But he still had to measure Carter's reaction and reasoning.
"Now wait, sir," pled Carter, still cognizant of using the title. "I was out there, and I may have been in the area when all this went down, but I didn't hear a thing or do a thing! All my guns and ammo were in the bed of my truck."
"Then what in the world were you doing out there?!" exclaimed Tori.
Carter put up his hands, as if Tori's words were a boxer's jabs and he was deflecting them. "I was out at Blackhawk from Saturday morning onward. I know the owner out there. He has a guest room and sometimes I stay overnight on the weekends when I feel like it."
"Hardly hunting season now," said Ballack, "and it's odd you'd head out there to stay the evening after your boss got killed."
"My weekend was arranged in advance," Carter said with a strained voice, "and you're right about it being out of season, but I went to keep my eye sharp and so I spent time working on clay targets."
"But you left in haste yesterday morning, according to Charlie Brugner," Tori interjected, "soon after Dr. Hibbler's murder."
Carter was breathing more heavily, more quickly now. "I know. It...it wasn't wise."
"You told Mr. Brugner that you weren't feeling well," Ballack growled.
"I know! I admit I had planned to go and didn't want to go over inventory. Then Anna Barber texted me about the murder. I never texted back. I hadn't been there since the day before when Hibbler cut into my therapy session. I just thought if I went away it would blow past me. Stupid idea, I know."
"A text from Anna Barber," Ballack wondered aloud. "That's a pretty significant level of vocational intimacy."
"We're just friends!"
"Aren't we all?"
"So, you lied to Charlie Brugner about being sick and you left the area in the wake of a murder that you knew form a colleague was, in fact, a fairly suspicious death," grunted Tori. "You end up leaving the area at Innsbrook--a place nowhere near Blackhawk and well out of the way--after we come under fire." She stepped slowly, dramatically, toward him and placed her hands on the edge of the table to his side. "Now it is just me, or does that seem like a remarkable coincidence?"
"Shawshank," whispered the film trivia-conscious Ballack.
Whatever had spooked Eric Carter before seemed to have drained from his bloodstream as he now glared at Tori. "My uncle has a house out an Innsbrook. Not as nice as the Hibblers have--and yes, I happen to know that was their house under a divorce agreement. Gossip swirls fairly rapidly in a place like St. Matthew's. But Uncle Walt's house is a mile down the road. I went there around eight o'clock this morning. I hadn't seen him for some time and made arrangements to have breakfast at his place. Yes, it was out of my way coming from Old Monroe and the preserve, but I thought it was worth the time. I left a little past eleven and snaked down the road, which happens to lead past Dr. Hibbler's house."
"Which is when you passed us," Ballack said, pressing a button and tilting his chair back slightly.
"Yes. So, it is a matter of sheer coincidence."
"And you're saying you never fired a shot?"
"I didn't even know there were shots being fired! I had my music pretty loud. And though I wish I could be of some help, I can also tell you I never saw anyone as I drove through."
"You have to be kidding us," said Tori, "because those gunshots were audible over a KISS concert." She was about to tell him more, but at that moment there was a rap at the door and Molinari entered unbiddenly.
"Detective?" he asked, and he motioned Ballack to join him in the hallway.
"One moment," said Ballack as he slipped out. Molinari allowed the door to close behind him.
"Okay," said Molinari. "This is a recipe for disappointment, but we only found two shotguns in his truck. Looks like he might have been popping clay as he insisted to us."
"Well, I wasn't expecting an arsenal," replied Ballack. "But the pertinent question is what models they are. We can make a note of that, but it all depends on what they got out of Zane."
"Zane Hull?"
Ballack looked at Molinari. "You know him?"
The cop's jaw locked tightly. "Yeah, he and I were in the same precinct back in our days working in Olivette. I knew he moved up to the SID, but this is a pretty nasty coincidence. Is he going to pull through?"
"Highly critical yet stable for now," said Ballack quietly.
"Makes it really personal now. He's out at the Lake?"
"Yeah," Ballack paused. "A visit from you might do him some good."
"I just might later on."
Returning to the subject they could control, Ballack asked, "And what guns did you find?"
"One was a Remington 1100 Tac 4 Shotgun. It's a twelve-gauge that has a nice barrel length of about twenty-two inches. Chamber is two and three-quarter inches. The other one is a Beretta AL391 Teknys. Also twelve-gauge, it has a three-inch chamber. Of course, two sets of ammo. Both sets were Remington. For the 1100, he had Premier STS target loads. Number 8 lead shots. For the Beretta, high-speed steel shots. Ran them against the database and he's a legit owner of both firearms. Do you want a sample of each set of ammo for evidence?"
"We can, but the tone in your voice doesn't give me a load of confidence."
"Reason is, as best we can tell, neither gun has been fired recently."
"What?"
"Look, if this guy shot up the place like you said, and he sped away in the truck, then by the time we caught him, he had cleaned these things while driving."
Ballack expected this but was still discouraged by the truth. "Both of them?"
"As clean and spotless as a teenager's dress before prom night. No one can multitask like that when doing sixty-five down the expressway."
Ballack grasped the back of his neck. A dull ache in the nascent phase was beginning to gather strength. "Okay, are the shells in boxes?"
"They are."
"Then, if you could please, take one two-and-three-quarter shell and one three-incher. Place them in evidence bags and let Tori have them by the time we leave. I'll go back in and close this up and you can officially dismiss him."
"No problem. Glad to help."
"Sorry this was a rabbit trail to nowhere."
"Forget it. You'll get your man. We'll bag the cartridges."
Ballack watched Molinari head down the hallway. When he turned the corner, Ballack leaned forward in his chair and rubbed his forehead with the index and middle fingers of each hand. He swore under his breath, believing he could spit fire at that moment.
Tori was going over the police chase with Carter when Ballack sidled back up to the table. At her first pause, he interjected.
"Mr. Carter, didn't you realize how you looked by running away upon news of Dr. Hibbler's death?"
"I did," Carter responded, "but it's too late to turn back the clock."
Ballack rapped on the table as a thought occurred to him. "You had your own guns in the truck with you. Are those the only weapons you own?"
"No. In addition to my clay target guns, I also have a Remington 870 for waterfowl hunting. Not a surprise, I guess. It's only the most popular gun ever made. Plus, I have a Benelli Super Black Eagle II which my parents for me for my birthday three years back. Since we're in between seasons, those guns are at home."
"Waterfowl hunting?" asked Tori.
"Yes."
"Dr. Hibbler enjoyed a significant amount of duck and geese hunting over the years," said Ballack.
Carter smiled. "More than I did, but only because he's older than me. My dad got me into hunting."
"Surprised a seminary guy from an enlightened place like Eden would be the gun-toting, animal-whacking kind."
Carter relaxed. "What Eden doesn't know about me can't hurt them." He looked thoughtful. "Listen, about my seminary situation. This weekend has taken a lot out of me and I have to catch up on some major studying and I don't know what my schedule will be at St. Matthew's now. Is there anything else you need to know?"
Tori, frustrated the interview was winding down, sniffed, "There's still the matter of you lying to Charlie Brugner about why you weren't at work yesterday."
Carter's timid visage returned. "You're not going to tell him, are you?"
"No," said Ballack steadily. "You will."
Ballack began with calm, crisp intonation, giving no indication his emotions were roiling below the surface.
"Mr. Carter, I am Detective Cameron Ballack and this is my partner, Tori Vaughan. We're both members of the Special Investigative Division of Metro St. Louis. Do you happen to know why you're here?"
Carter wriggled his nose, rabbit-like, and looked over at Tori. "I swear you have this all wrong. I was just driving my truck and these cops pulled me over when I've done nothing."
"Put a 'sir' on the end of that," Ballack said, his anger masked behind his even voice.
"I did nothing, sir. I get pulled over and the officer accused me of leaving the scene of a shooting. I didn't shoot anyone, sir." He stopped wiping his palms on his thighs.
"Were you out in the Innsbrook area late this morning?"
"I...How did you...I..." Carter stumbled. He clearly had no experience of being grilled by the police.
"I'll take that as a yes," Ballack said, running his fingers through his hair. "In the neighborhood of Dr. Dean Hibbler's lakehouse?"
Carter's eyes widened considerably. He looked down and whispered, "What does that have to do with me?"
"Mr. Carter, I'll give you the story straight. This morning, we--two other detectives along with Ms. Vaughan and myself--were at Dr. Hibbler's lakehouse investigating a variety of matters specific to our case. Do you know what case that might be?"
Carter swallowed twice. "I'm guessing it has to do with his death."
Tori snorted disgust. "His death. That's like calling Hurricane Katrina a summer storm. He was murdered."
Ballack stared hard at the shivering form across the table. As with Father Giles, it was difficult to believe this timorous personality could spew the violence they'd seen exhibited. Hunting knives. Whizzing bullets. Theoretically possible, thought Ballack, and at this point, they couldn't discount any of the staff. Carter's jaws were clenched tightly, his oral muscles protruding in a bulge through his sideburns.
"Let me describe the scene, Mr. Carter," Ballack continued. "We were on the deck and were fired upon by an unseen shooter. We managed to get back in the house but not before two fellow detectives were shot. Both are at a nearby facility, with one of them barely hanging on." He glared at Carter, leaning in more closely. "I managed to see a Honda Ridgeline driving away soon after the shooting ceased and I caught the license number. That truck, of course, is the one you drive. Would you like to explain to me what you were doing out there?"
Ballack knew that the likelihood of Carter unleashing a hail of bullets and making a dash to his truck for that getaway, when the angles of activity were so divergent, was slight. But he still had to measure Carter's reaction and reasoning.
"Now wait, sir," pled Carter, still cognizant of using the title. "I was out there, and I may have been in the area when all this went down, but I didn't hear a thing or do a thing! All my guns and ammo were in the bed of my truck."
"Then what in the world were you doing out there?!" exclaimed Tori.
Carter put up his hands, as if Tori's words were a boxer's jabs and he was deflecting them. "I was out at Blackhawk from Saturday morning onward. I know the owner out there. He has a guest room and sometimes I stay overnight on the weekends when I feel like it."
"Hardly hunting season now," said Ballack, "and it's odd you'd head out there to stay the evening after your boss got killed."
"My weekend was arranged in advance," Carter said with a strained voice, "and you're right about it being out of season, but I went to keep my eye sharp and so I spent time working on clay targets."
"But you left in haste yesterday morning, according to Charlie Brugner," Tori interjected, "soon after Dr. Hibbler's murder."
Carter was breathing more heavily, more quickly now. "I know. It...it wasn't wise."
"You told Mr. Brugner that you weren't feeling well," Ballack growled.
"I know! I admit I had planned to go and didn't want to go over inventory. Then Anna Barber texted me about the murder. I never texted back. I hadn't been there since the day before when Hibbler cut into my therapy session. I just thought if I went away it would blow past me. Stupid idea, I know."
"A text from Anna Barber," Ballack wondered aloud. "That's a pretty significant level of vocational intimacy."
"We're just friends!"
"Aren't we all?"
"So, you lied to Charlie Brugner about being sick and you left the area in the wake of a murder that you knew form a colleague was, in fact, a fairly suspicious death," grunted Tori. "You end up leaving the area at Innsbrook--a place nowhere near Blackhawk and well out of the way--after we come under fire." She stepped slowly, dramatically, toward him and placed her hands on the edge of the table to his side. "Now it is just me, or does that seem like a remarkable coincidence?"
"Shawshank," whispered the film trivia-conscious Ballack.
Whatever had spooked Eric Carter before seemed to have drained from his bloodstream as he now glared at Tori. "My uncle has a house out an Innsbrook. Not as nice as the Hibblers have--and yes, I happen to know that was their house under a divorce agreement. Gossip swirls fairly rapidly in a place like St. Matthew's. But Uncle Walt's house is a mile down the road. I went there around eight o'clock this morning. I hadn't seen him for some time and made arrangements to have breakfast at his place. Yes, it was out of my way coming from Old Monroe and the preserve, but I thought it was worth the time. I left a little past eleven and snaked down the road, which happens to lead past Dr. Hibbler's house."
"Which is when you passed us," Ballack said, pressing a button and tilting his chair back slightly.
"Yes. So, it is a matter of sheer coincidence."
"And you're saying you never fired a shot?"
"I didn't even know there were shots being fired! I had my music pretty loud. And though I wish I could be of some help, I can also tell you I never saw anyone as I drove through."
"You have to be kidding us," said Tori, "because those gunshots were audible over a KISS concert." She was about to tell him more, but at that moment there was a rap at the door and Molinari entered unbiddenly.
"Detective?" he asked, and he motioned Ballack to join him in the hallway.
"One moment," said Ballack as he slipped out. Molinari allowed the door to close behind him.
"Okay," said Molinari. "This is a recipe for disappointment, but we only found two shotguns in his truck. Looks like he might have been popping clay as he insisted to us."
"Well, I wasn't expecting an arsenal," replied Ballack. "But the pertinent question is what models they are. We can make a note of that, but it all depends on what they got out of Zane."
"Zane Hull?"
Ballack looked at Molinari. "You know him?"
The cop's jaw locked tightly. "Yeah, he and I were in the same precinct back in our days working in Olivette. I knew he moved up to the SID, but this is a pretty nasty coincidence. Is he going to pull through?"
"Highly critical yet stable for now," said Ballack quietly.
"Makes it really personal now. He's out at the Lake?"
"Yeah," Ballack paused. "A visit from you might do him some good."
"I just might later on."
Returning to the subject they could control, Ballack asked, "And what guns did you find?"
"One was a Remington 1100 Tac 4 Shotgun. It's a twelve-gauge that has a nice barrel length of about twenty-two inches. Chamber is two and three-quarter inches. The other one is a Beretta AL391 Teknys. Also twelve-gauge, it has a three-inch chamber. Of course, two sets of ammo. Both sets were Remington. For the 1100, he had Premier STS target loads. Number 8 lead shots. For the Beretta, high-speed steel shots. Ran them against the database and he's a legit owner of both firearms. Do you want a sample of each set of ammo for evidence?"
"We can, but the tone in your voice doesn't give me a load of confidence."
"Reason is, as best we can tell, neither gun has been fired recently."
"What?"
"Look, if this guy shot up the place like you said, and he sped away in the truck, then by the time we caught him, he had cleaned these things while driving."
Ballack expected this but was still discouraged by the truth. "Both of them?"
"As clean and spotless as a teenager's dress before prom night. No one can multitask like that when doing sixty-five down the expressway."
Ballack grasped the back of his neck. A dull ache in the nascent phase was beginning to gather strength. "Okay, are the shells in boxes?"
"They are."
"Then, if you could please, take one two-and-three-quarter shell and one three-incher. Place them in evidence bags and let Tori have them by the time we leave. I'll go back in and close this up and you can officially dismiss him."
"No problem. Glad to help."
"Sorry this was a rabbit trail to nowhere."
"Forget it. You'll get your man. We'll bag the cartridges."
Ballack watched Molinari head down the hallway. When he turned the corner, Ballack leaned forward in his chair and rubbed his forehead with the index and middle fingers of each hand. He swore under his breath, believing he could spit fire at that moment.
Tori was going over the police chase with Carter when Ballack sidled back up to the table. At her first pause, he interjected.
"Mr. Carter, didn't you realize how you looked by running away upon news of Dr. Hibbler's death?"
"I did," Carter responded, "but it's too late to turn back the clock."
Ballack rapped on the table as a thought occurred to him. "You had your own guns in the truck with you. Are those the only weapons you own?"
"No. In addition to my clay target guns, I also have a Remington 870 for waterfowl hunting. Not a surprise, I guess. It's only the most popular gun ever made. Plus, I have a Benelli Super Black Eagle II which my parents for me for my birthday three years back. Since we're in between seasons, those guns are at home."
"Waterfowl hunting?" asked Tori.
"Yes."
"Dr. Hibbler enjoyed a significant amount of duck and geese hunting over the years," said Ballack.
Carter smiled. "More than I did, but only because he's older than me. My dad got me into hunting."
"Surprised a seminary guy from an enlightened place like Eden would be the gun-toting, animal-whacking kind."
Carter relaxed. "What Eden doesn't know about me can't hurt them." He looked thoughtful. "Listen, about my seminary situation. This weekend has taken a lot out of me and I have to catch up on some major studying and I don't know what my schedule will be at St. Matthew's now. Is there anything else you need to know?"
Tori, frustrated the interview was winding down, sniffed, "There's still the matter of you lying to Charlie Brugner about why you weren't at work yesterday."
Carter's timid visage returned. "You're not going to tell him, are you?"
"No," said Ballack steadily. "You will."
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