Cry From The Grave
Chapter 40
Crabolli offered to assist Sheilah Grimshaw and her forensics team in Helen Smith's room after the body was removed. Ballack figured it was just as well, given that three detectives questioning one broken-hearted son would be an overabundance of resources. Crabolli promised to text or email any pertinent details as they arose.
"At least she's perked up since this morning," Tori said as she locked Ballack's chair down in the Sprinter for the three-block journey to meet with David Smith. That threw me for a loop. I haven't seen her worse than that since she saw that dead ringer for her dad's killer at 6 North."
Ballack had his laptop open and was looking at his self-engineered flowchart. "She was definitely worse then. She wouldn't even speak." He thought back gloomily. "That was a bad day for all of us, a nasty stretch." He swept his left hand through his thick, wavy hair and wondered why he had let it grow out. "Scotty gave her a ride home last night. Maybe he'd know."
"It feels strange, doesn't it?"
"What does?"
"We get popped out to high-profile SID cases, and Scotty is still preoccupied with chasing down bank robberies across the river. He's SID, too, but I'll bet he hasn't gotten a major case in a long time. We haven't even worked with him directly since the Cathedral."
"He's got other battles to fight," Ballack replied, "even if he thinks we can't see it."
"What do you mean, Cam?"
"I'm positive he and Debra have separated."
"What makes you think so?" asked Tori as she swung left on Selma Avenue toward the school.
"Well, remember when we called him from DaySpring Counseling last spring? I swore I could hear a woman giggling in the background on the other end of the line. I know Debra's voice, and that sure wasn't her."
"Holy smokes."
"Not to mention I saw Debra over the summer with another man."
"What? When? And why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't see what difference it made to shill that news all over creation. It was the thirtieth of August and I was at the Rascals game."
"In O'Fallon?"
"Yeah, at their home park. I was there to represent the SID and throw out that first pitch--such as I could--when they played Evansville. Remember?"
"I recall. I think Paula and I went out to eat for her birthday."
"Missed a great game," said Ballack, "but the point is I was meeting some of the Rascals' front office people on the concourse a couple innings into the game. And walking by goes Debra, hand-in-hand with another guy."
"That's a disturbing scene. You sure it was her?"
"It's not as if the sightlines were bad, Tor. She was no more than ten feet away. Yeah, it was her."
Tori rolled her eyes as she turned left on Bradford Street, heading for the south parking lot. "What is it about being on the force and having crumbling relationships?"
"Our work on each case," Ballack reminded her, "is the one thing we can control. Worry about that."
"Trust me, I will until I get the call that begins, 'Mom, my water broke!' Until then," Tori said as she steered the van toward a disabled access spot near the baseball field, "I can promise you full attention."
"Good to have you back," Ballack snickered as she parked.
Boasting an enrollment of over thirteen hundred students and a faculty of one hundred fifteen teachers, Webster Groves High School's three-story classic brick structure towered over Selma Avenue, having inhabited that territory since 1906. Building programs and improvements modernized much of the building, but many original features were preserved, such as the original front steps, as well as the school fireplace.
Ballack followed Tori through the automatic doors of the more modern south entrance, heading down the long hallway. Students were rushing to classrooms in hopes of beating the tardy bell. In the main office, an administrative assistant, bedecked in an orange blouse with a black scarf, asked them to wait while she confirmed David Smith's location.
"If it wasn't for the fact those are the school colors, you'd think Halloween never ended," said Tori as she leaned against a wall.
Ballack shook his head. "I'm impressed the office still has enough spirit after the loss in the playoffs last week."
"They'll have to get their mojo up and running for next week," mused Tori, and Ballack nodded at that. The annual Turkey Day matchup for the Frisco Bell was part of St. Louis tradition and lore, and few were ignorant of the intense battles between the Webster Groves Statesmen and the Pioneers of Kirkwood High School in the longest-running high school rivalry west of the Mississippi River.
The same secretary re-appeared before them. Her short, smartly brushed gray hair barely moved. "I'm sorry I hadn't introduced myself to you," she said. "I'm Della. I was able to locate Mr. Smith. He's in our conference room with the shades drawn. I assume you came to speak about his mother."
"We are, thank you," said Tori.
"Poor man. He spoke of her so much and so highly. And he is such a fine son. I can's think of anyone more devoted to his mother. Down that way, please."
The man who rose to greet them upon their entry bore none of the physical characteristics of Helen Smith, so Ballack guessed much of his appearance had been passed on by the father. David Smith wore a white cable knit sweater over a smoky gray oxford, along with black courduroy trousers. A box of Kleenex sat on the conference table and the trash can nearest him was half-full of used tissues.
"Mr. Smith?" asked Ballack, extending his hand at the exact moment he prayed the bereaved had used hand sanitizer within the last minute.
"Yes, I'm David Smith."
"Sorry that we have to meet this way, Mr. Smith. I am Special Investigative Division Detective Cameron Ballack and this is Detective Tori Vaughan. We're investigating your mother's death. I was told how close you were to her. I can't imagine what you're going through."
The teacher clasped Ballack's hand in his own moist one. "Thank you."
"I'm sorry for your loss," grimaced the hygenically-sensitive Ballack.
"Thank you. Please," David said. "We can sit down."
"We don't wish to take you away from your duties for very long, although I can imagine you'd rather be elsewhere. Did you manage to get class coverage?"
"I got the news right before school, before first period. My department chairman graciously offered to sub for me. I teach mostly physics, with one meteorology elective. The office secured a sub for the rest of the day from second hour on, so as soon as you allow me to see Mom, I will."
When they were situated around the table, Ballack asked David when he had last spoken to his mother.
"It was yesterday. I actually dropped by for a visit. I had gone camping with my family this weekend, so I had not seen her for a few days. She seemed nowhere near death's door. I mean, come on! That cancer, first the lungs and then everywhere else...I know she could have gone at any time but clinically she looked fine. And when they told me the police were involved, and that I couldn't come see her..." And here David Smith put his head down for another round of bitter tears.
Ballack gave him time to compose himself and signaled Tori to pose the next series of questions. "Has the hospice told you we're investigating it as a suspicious death?"
David nodded yes. "Actually, your boss...what's his name...Krieger. He told me before they did. Please tell me. Was she harmed or poisoned?"
Tori placed her hands on the table, wary of how much to give away. "It appears she was asphyxiated. We can't tell you many more details, other than this would be the third homicide at the facility."
"Bastards," David muttered.
"Had your mother informed you of the previous deaths over the weekend?" Tori asked.
David blew his nose loudly. "She did. Yesterday in fact. We were outside, sitting in that courtyard that faces Bompart. She told me about Dr. Hibbler and the chaplain. My mother could be a slightly crusty woman--I'll be the first to admit that--but even though she hadn't cared much for either man, she was abjectly sorrowful over their deaths. Maybe she felt guilty for being a difficult patient, or for resisting chapel services. More than anything, she was feeling a bit fearful. She did say she'd mentioned the runner across the lawn after Father Giles' death."
"Yes, she'd told us that, as well."
David breathed deeply. "She was very deep into patient gossip. A small facility like that...well, what else are the patients to do? She tolld me that three families were in the process of making arrangements to move their loved ones elsewhere."
"We hadn't been told that," said Ballack, "but it wouldn't shock us."
Tori nodded her agreement. "Under the present circumstances, I can't see St. Matthew's Grove surviving, let along thriving."
"I just wish I had been around this weekend and could have gotten her out," David sniffed. "She had a phone in her room, but when I asked her why she hadn't called me on my cell, she just said, 'Oh, Davey. You have me but you also have your family. You need to be with them and I don't want to dominate your time.' That was her way."
"Ths conversation with your mother was when, exactly?" asked Tori.
"Yesterday around four in the afternoon. We had gotten back to town late the night before, so I went over after school yesterday."
Ballack felt a stab of foreboding. "Mr. Smith, when you spoke to your mother in the courtyard, was anyone within earshot?"
David's eyes morphed from discs of sorrow into circles of fear. "Well, we were outside and no one else was out there. I'd hope not."
"Think hard. First of all, did your mother whisper this information to you or did she use her regular voice?"
The mournful son gulped hard, going back over the scene in his head. "He normal voice. I had gone to her room, but she suggested we go outside. She wanted to speak openly without fear of anyone hearing."
"And you're certain nobody was outside?"
"I wheeled her out and I made a special point of looking aorund, making sure no windows were open. It was about five minutes later, when she told me about the person going across the lawn, that I heard a sound. Sort of a scraping sound. I turned, wondering if someone had opened a window that was in bad need of lubrication. But everything was closed as before. That was followed by a significant whirring sound, quite loud in fact. But nothing else."
"A scrape, then a whirr," Tori repeated.
"Mr. Smith," Ballack said calmly, "is there anything else you can think of? Did you ever get the impression that your mother was under threat, that her life was in danger?"
"Once she told me all that yesterday, I certainly did. But even a facility withdrawal takes a couple days of paperwork, and even then we'd need another destination for her to live. I should have just grabbed her stuff and taken her home with me, but she begged off. She said for me to wait and we could get a transfer in due time. Whatever threat she felt, she saw nothing wrong with remaining there for a week or so longer.
Ballack's phone rang. It was Crabolli. "They've moved her. Evan said he can come see her at the morgue, or if he hustles within the next fifteen minutes, he can see his mother here."
Ballack relayed the information to David, who got up to tell Della that he would be stepping out for an hour.
"He's on his way," Ballack replied to Crabolli.
"Tell him to meet me by the reception desk. Evan put her body in the chapel for now. Seemed to be an okay call."
Ballack clicked off and saw they were approaching eleven o'clock. "Let's see him over to St. Matthew's," he said to Tori, "and then let's pay Nick Fisher a visit."
"Interrupting his funeral preparation? How cruel."
"Less cruel than the fate of three souls who didn't deserve what they got," replied Ballack as he rolled out of the room.
The same secretary re-appeared before them. Her short, smartly brushed gray hair barely moved. "I'm sorry I hadn't introduced myself to you," she said. "I'm Della. I was able to locate Mr. Smith. He's in our conference room with the shades drawn. I assume you came to speak about his mother."
"We are, thank you," said Tori.
"Poor man. He spoke of her so much and so highly. And he is such a fine son. I can's think of anyone more devoted to his mother. Down that way, please."
The man who rose to greet them upon their entry bore none of the physical characteristics of Helen Smith, so Ballack guessed much of his appearance had been passed on by the father. David Smith wore a white cable knit sweater over a smoky gray oxford, along with black courduroy trousers. A box of Kleenex sat on the conference table and the trash can nearest him was half-full of used tissues.
"Mr. Smith?" asked Ballack, extending his hand at the exact moment he prayed the bereaved had used hand sanitizer within the last minute.
"Yes, I'm David Smith."
"Sorry that we have to meet this way, Mr. Smith. I am Special Investigative Division Detective Cameron Ballack and this is Detective Tori Vaughan. We're investigating your mother's death. I was told how close you were to her. I can't imagine what you're going through."
The teacher clasped Ballack's hand in his own moist one. "Thank you."
"I'm sorry for your loss," grimaced the hygenically-sensitive Ballack.
"Thank you. Please," David said. "We can sit down."
"We don't wish to take you away from your duties for very long, although I can imagine you'd rather be elsewhere. Did you manage to get class coverage?"
"I got the news right before school, before first period. My department chairman graciously offered to sub for me. I teach mostly physics, with one meteorology elective. The office secured a sub for the rest of the day from second hour on, so as soon as you allow me to see Mom, I will."
When they were situated around the table, Ballack asked David when he had last spoken to his mother.
"It was yesterday. I actually dropped by for a visit. I had gone camping with my family this weekend, so I had not seen her for a few days. She seemed nowhere near death's door. I mean, come on! That cancer, first the lungs and then everywhere else...I know she could have gone at any time but clinically she looked fine. And when they told me the police were involved, and that I couldn't come see her..." And here David Smith put his head down for another round of bitter tears.
Ballack gave him time to compose himself and signaled Tori to pose the next series of questions. "Has the hospice told you we're investigating it as a suspicious death?"
David nodded yes. "Actually, your boss...what's his name...Krieger. He told me before they did. Please tell me. Was she harmed or poisoned?"
Tori placed her hands on the table, wary of how much to give away. "It appears she was asphyxiated. We can't tell you many more details, other than this would be the third homicide at the facility."
"Bastards," David muttered.
"Had your mother informed you of the previous deaths over the weekend?" Tori asked.
David blew his nose loudly. "She did. Yesterday in fact. We were outside, sitting in that courtyard that faces Bompart. She told me about Dr. Hibbler and the chaplain. My mother could be a slightly crusty woman--I'll be the first to admit that--but even though she hadn't cared much for either man, she was abjectly sorrowful over their deaths. Maybe she felt guilty for being a difficult patient, or for resisting chapel services. More than anything, she was feeling a bit fearful. She did say she'd mentioned the runner across the lawn after Father Giles' death."
"Yes, she'd told us that, as well."
David breathed deeply. "She was very deep into patient gossip. A small facility like that...well, what else are the patients to do? She tolld me that three families were in the process of making arrangements to move their loved ones elsewhere."
"We hadn't been told that," said Ballack, "but it wouldn't shock us."
Tori nodded her agreement. "Under the present circumstances, I can't see St. Matthew's Grove surviving, let along thriving."
"I just wish I had been around this weekend and could have gotten her out," David sniffed. "She had a phone in her room, but when I asked her why she hadn't called me on my cell, she just said, 'Oh, Davey. You have me but you also have your family. You need to be with them and I don't want to dominate your time.' That was her way."
"Ths conversation with your mother was when, exactly?" asked Tori.
"Yesterday around four in the afternoon. We had gotten back to town late the night before, so I went over after school yesterday."
Ballack felt a stab of foreboding. "Mr. Smith, when you spoke to your mother in the courtyard, was anyone within earshot?"
David's eyes morphed from discs of sorrow into circles of fear. "Well, we were outside and no one else was out there. I'd hope not."
"Think hard. First of all, did your mother whisper this information to you or did she use her regular voice?"
The mournful son gulped hard, going back over the scene in his head. "He normal voice. I had gone to her room, but she suggested we go outside. She wanted to speak openly without fear of anyone hearing."
"And you're certain nobody was outside?"
"I wheeled her out and I made a special point of looking aorund, making sure no windows were open. It was about five minutes later, when she told me about the person going across the lawn, that I heard a sound. Sort of a scraping sound. I turned, wondering if someone had opened a window that was in bad need of lubrication. But everything was closed as before. That was followed by a significant whirring sound, quite loud in fact. But nothing else."
"A scrape, then a whirr," Tori repeated.
"Mr. Smith," Ballack said calmly, "is there anything else you can think of? Did you ever get the impression that your mother was under threat, that her life was in danger?"
"Once she told me all that yesterday, I certainly did. But even a facility withdrawal takes a couple days of paperwork, and even then we'd need another destination for her to live. I should have just grabbed her stuff and taken her home with me, but she begged off. She said for me to wait and we could get a transfer in due time. Whatever threat she felt, she saw nothing wrong with remaining there for a week or so longer.
Ballack's phone rang. It was Crabolli. "They've moved her. Evan said he can come see her at the morgue, or if he hustles within the next fifteen minutes, he can see his mother here."
Ballack relayed the information to David, who got up to tell Della that he would be stepping out for an hour.
"He's on his way," Ballack replied to Crabolli.
"Tell him to meet me by the reception desk. Evan put her body in the chapel for now. Seemed to be an okay call."
Ballack clicked off and saw they were approaching eleven o'clock. "Let's see him over to St. Matthew's," he said to Tori, "and then let's pay Nick Fisher a visit."
"Interrupting his funeral preparation? How cruel."
"Less cruel than the fate of three souls who didn't deserve what they got," replied Ballack as he rolled out of the room.
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