A Greedy Vengeance

By William Mitchell Ross

The city of Monroe, Wisconsin, is shaken when two murders occur four days apart. Police chief Brandon Johns and detective Samantha Gates are at a loss when their investigation takes them to a series of frustrating dead ends. Did the two victims know one another? Was there a connection? The citizens are upset and anxious, demanding answers.

One of the victims, a woman, had left Monroe over forty years earlier to pursue a singing career in Chicago during the Prohibition Era. Did the key to solving these double murders lie in her past? Detective Gates goes to Chicago to find answers, and she gets more than she bargains for. Would the mystery be solved?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 21, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524583668

William Mitchell Ross

William Mitchell Ross lives in Monroe, Wisconsin, with his wife, Marilyn. Bill is retired from his day job in the dairy industry. He is also the former mayor of the city of Monroe, having served for eighteen years. After finally making it to retirement, he enjoys being one of the docents for city tourism, puttering with home projects, and writing mystery novels. Last year, he teamed up with the Monroe Chamber of Commerce and is currently the docent for the “Monroe Mystery Tour” that identifies six scenes of the crime as well as gives visitors a brief historical sketch of Monroe and Green County. The tours run June through September.

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Copyright © 2017 by William Mitchell Ross.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2017902216

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-5245-8364-4

      Softcover      978-1-5245-8365-1

      eBook         978-1-5245-8366-8

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 02/21/2017

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Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Epilogue

Books by William Mitchell Ross

in

Monroe Mystery Series

Deceived by Self

All Passion Denied

Love’s Obsession

Echoes Screaming in the Night

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

M y special thanks to ‘The Monroe Times’ photographer, Marissa Weiher, for the cover photo; and my wife Marilyn, whose continuing support and understanding that I have imaginary friends is much appreciated.

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CHAPTER 1

H enry Schliem suddenly woke up. The sound of a clap of thunder and a loud, powerful, raging, fierce east wind blowing against his apartment building interrupted his sleep. Buckets of rain were pouring down from the sky lashing a torrent of rain drops against his open bedroom window. Jumping out of bed, he quickly shut the window with authority and the cool air and rain stopped rushing in. He stared intently out the damp window watching bolts of lightning streak across the predawn sky. The jagged tops of the trees swayed violently in the wind. June was the wettest month in Wisconsin and today, June 6, 1969, it was living up to its reputation. Turning around he looked at the clock on his bed stand. The time was five o’clock a.m. Fully awake, he decided to shower and get ready for his part-time job at the Green County Courthouse in Monroe.

Henry looked much older than his sixty-eight years. He was a hunched-over man with a grayish beard and bald. A small elongated nose and a wrinkled face supported a disheveled mustache under his black rimmed glasses. He suffered from a stomach ailment but refused to seek medical attention. Was it an ulcer or cancer? He was afraid to find out. After farming his entire life in Clarno Township and raising three children to adulthood, his wife, Joyce, died from cancer five years ago. Three months after her diagnosis she was gone; the blink of an eye. The love of his life was buried at Green Lawn Cemetery under all that dirt in an airtight metal box like a vacuum sealed can of coffee.

After her funeral, his strength gave way. Staying on the farm he had worked and loved was no longer an option. The pair of them made for a substantial partnership of hard work and love of the land. Together they were a team, sharing in every aspect of life. But after her death, shaky knees, a weak pulse and blurred vision became his life. He thought he was dying. At the urging of his concerned children, Henry sold the farm and moved into Monroe to an apartment on 12th Avenue. A year later his health improved, but he still missed his wife terribly and thought about their life together every day. His only health concern now was the stomach ailment that he kept to himself and refused to have checked out. He self-medicated with Pepto Bismol, which seemed to help.

Today was Friday, the end of the work week, and for that he was glad. After work he was driving to Fond du Lac to spend the weekend with his daughter and take the grandchildren fishing. This was something he very much looked forward to. He felt fortunate having a job as a handy man at the courthouse, and they were very accommodating to his work schedule. His typical workday started at seven o’clock a.m. and ended at noon which gave him plenty of time for his afternoon naps. On nice days, he would walk the short distance along 9th Street to the courthouse on 16th Avenue, the heart of the historic square.

After Henry finished his breakfast of whole grain cereal, toast, orange juice and a strong cup of coffee he could see sunshine and blue skies through his patio door. He was happy the storm had passed so quickly as he was getting ready for his walk to work. After turning out the lights and locking his apartment door, he heard the birds singing as he slowly strolled along the sidewalk heading downtown. Looking up, he observed some white fluffy cumulus clouds against bright blue skies. The sun shone on his face and the soft cool breeze against his cheeks was very comforting. He enjoyed the sweet sounds of the robins, cardinals and the occasional blue jay. Off in the distance he heard the cawing of a crow. The storm freshened up the air and left puddles of standing water along his route.

It was to be another warm and beautiful June day in Monroe. All too soon, the Fourth of July celebration in Twining Park followed by the Green County Fair would round out the summer. Perhaps his children and grandchildren would come to visit and enjoy the festivities. The Fourth of July celebration was one of the most festive times of the year. The day was enthusiastically enjoyed by all with a parade, music, dancing, homemade ice cream, speeches, and the reading of the Declaration of Independence in English and German at the band shelter in Twining Park. The excited children would scream with delight at the noise of the fireworks shooting off and the glaring rockets exploding in the night sky with the dazzling colors of gold and red. Just the thought of all this excitement made Henry smile.

Strolling past houses with neat and well-kept lawns, he enjoyed the flowers reminding him of happier times at the farm and his wife’s passion for growing flowers. He took great pleasure seeing the red geraniums and white petunias, yellow day lilies, yellow and orange marigolds and the red climbing roses draped over many a trellis. Henry was feeling good as he leisurely walked along enjoying another beautiful day in southern Wisconsin. But he knew all this would soon be giving way to fall and winter. But for now, he was content, enjoying the sun on his face.

As he walked along his familiar route, Henry wondered what he would find at the courthouse this morning. About a year ago, a young man, Brian Konkel, was hired part-time to do some light janitorial work and to lock up the court house after everyone left for the day. Brian had survived a horrific lightning strike when he was eighteen years old and was never quite right in the head after that. He was a really nice kid and folks felt sorry for him. The job at the courthouse was a favor to his father, in hopes that the work would give Brian some sense of the self-esteem he so badly needed. Henry was okay with all of this and overlooked Brian’s occasional failure to lock all the doors or forget to empty some of the waste baskets or turn out all the lights at night. No one complained and life went on. No harm, no foul, Henry’s supervisor often reminded him.

Walking past the Ludlow Library, Henry turned south on 16th Avenue and stopped in front of the courthouse admiring its beauty in the brilliant sunshine. The Romanesque style courthouse was built in 1891. It featured large stone construction, arched porticoes, polished marble pillars, big windows with granite block accents and a one-hundred and twenty-foot clock tower making it the most photographed building in Green County. The Monroe icon appeared on all kinds of brochures and post cards, and became the back drop for many a smiling tourist.

When the courthouse opened this morning, it would become a beehive of activity which Henry thoroughly enjoyed. He knew many of the people who came to the courthouse to conduct their business. A friendly greeting or the nod of a head was all that was required for this cohesive community. Being the county seat, daily legal business swirled around land records, permits, birth certificates, marriage certificates, death certificates, taxes, passports and a host of other activities concerning regional general government. On the second floor, the Green County Court conducted the business of jury trials and civil marriage ceremonies.

Henry’s routine never varied much. The first thing he did was to make a perimeter check of all the outside doors. Today he found them all locked and secured except the door on the south side leading to the basement. The fact that it was unlocked didn’t surprise him. This was the door Brian exited after he finished his work at night. For some reason, this one open door always puzzled Henry. Why Brian chose to ignore this particular door was interesting. Maybe he was just in a hurry to leave and forgot to lock it?

After entering the unlocked door, Henry switched on the lights and checked things out. Everything was in order in the basement, so he proceeded up the stairs to the first floor. Looking into all the offices he found two wastebaskets full of trash. Shaking his head, he emptied them into a thin plastic garbage bag that he carried in his pocket. He was about to head up to the second floor when a familiar voice rang out. He turned around.

Good morning, Henry, Karen Frautschy said, smiling at him. Karen was forty-two years old, married, tall with bottle blonde fly-away hair and blue eyes. She could still turn a head or two and she knew it. She was standing in front of the Records Office on highly polished black and white marble floors holding a white bag in her hand.

Morning Mrs. Frautschy, what’s in the bag?

Karen laughed. Today is my birthday and I stopped at the Swiss Bakery and picked up some donuts for the girls. Would you like one? And please don’t ask how old I am.

I never ask a woman how old she is, especially if she has a bag of donuts, Henry said as he made his way over to her. Karen laughed.

Quite the storm we had this morning don’t you think? She reached into the bag and gave him a chocolate doughnut and a napkin. She continued, Yup, it woke me up sometime after five and I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I had plenty of time to go to the bakery. Say, do you know anything about the jury trial Judge Dietmeire is conducting upstairs?

Henry had to think for a moment.

The only thing I heard is that a guy with seven drunk driving arrests T-boned a mother of two, killing her. He requested a jury trial to avoid going to prison on a manslaughter charge.

How dreadful! Karen exclaimed.

I agree, Henry said. And good luck with the jury!

Karen excused herself saying she needed to put the coffee pot on and disappeared into her office. Henry could hear other voices in the building and continued on his rounds. He took a bite of the doughnut and it tasted heavenly. Two more quick bites and it was gone. He wiped his mouth with the napkin and proceeded up the stairs to the second floor. As he passed the door leading to the bell tower he paused.

Why was the door cracked open? he mused to himself. In all his years there he had never seen that door open. Then his thoughts turned to Brian. Could it have been him? The bell tower was generally off limits to everyone except for himself and the County Clerk. This was a safety issue because of the rickety wooden steps, so the door should have been closed and locked. He shut the door and continued his rounds on the second floor. But something kept niggling him about the door, an unexplainable feeling that maybe something wasn’t quite right. Did someone go up there? But, why would they? Did some kids get into the courthouse last night?

After greeting a few more people in the corridors, he went to his small office in the basement to check on the project list of things to do. He studied his hand-written list on his clipboard: change a light bulb in the downstairs hallway; check the air conditioning unit in the clerk’s office; inventory the janitorial supplies; remove some graffiti from the men’s bathroom. He slowly shook his head hoping to get through the list by noon. As he sat in his chair pondering his duties, the mystery behind the bell tower door being cracked open played on his mind. His curiosity got the better of him, so he laid the clipboard down on his desk and went to investigate. Probably nothing to it, but he needed to settle his mind.

Henry slowly opened the bell tower door and stepped inside. He looked up at two flights of stairs. The sun illuminated the inside of the tower through the ornate windows on the south side. He switched on the lights and slowly proceeded up to the first landing. The arthritis is his left knee immediately reminded him why he shouldn’t be climbing the creaky steep stairs. As he proceeded slowly, hanging onto the hand rail, he was starting to second guess himself. Was he being silly? What did he expect to find? Maybe the clerk held the answer for the open door. Reaching the first landing, Henry caught his breath and took a breather while rubbing his knee. He didn’t like climbing all those steps. Standing there, he listened intently. Everything was quiet, not a sound. Should I go up to the next level? he asked himself. The temptation to go back down and forget the whole thing was tempting and crossed his mind; a moment of indecision.

He suddenly remembered something Brian told him that made Henry smile. Brian once referred to the bell tower as the Tower of Babel and it scared him. He then mumbled something about the walls being dark and scary and seemed to breathe. When Henry questioned him about the comparison to the Tower of Babel, Brian just shrugged his shoulders. Did Brian ever go up into the tower at night? Why would he? Henry often wondered about the wiring in Brian’s brain after the accident. Maybe this was one of those unexplained mysteries about human behavior. Henry didn’t understand Brian’s mental state, but it made him sad when he saw Brian struggling to connect the dots.

Turning his thoughts back to the task at hand, Henry decided to finish the trek upwards. He needed to climb the remaining steps to the next landing. If he didn’t see anything of interest, of which he was now convinced, he would enjoy the view looking out over the square, rest a bit, and then retrace his steps.

Half way up the second set of stairs a sharp pain in his left knee stopped him. He vigorously rubbed it. Here I am, sixty-eight, with a bad knee climbing these damn steep stairs like a teenager, he said aloud. Looking up he counted only eight more steps to go. Determined, with an underlying streak of stubbornness, he limped up the remaining steps.

Feeling a sense of relief at the top step, he looked around the second-floor landing. Then, suddenly, his eyes focused on something that looked like a human figure lying on the floor next to the south window. What the hell? he said to himself. He forgot about the pain in his knee and made the short trip to the body. Staring down at it made him tense up and freeze. A small sliver of sunlight shined through the window down on the face of the prone body lying on its side, lifeless, vacant eyes boring back into his wide-open eyes. It was fascinating, horrid and frightful! Henry had never seen a dead body like this before. The hairs on the back of his neck tingled. There was blood on the floor next to the body. He opened his mouth to scream, but the frantic sound stuck in his throat. A cold sweat suddenly appeared on his face and he felt dizzy. Was he going to pass out? Henry slumped to his knees beside the body clasping his hands. He was so frightened he couldn’t take his eyes off the corpse; the stony pale face of death and vacant blank eyes. Brian… Brian…Brian, he whispered to himself over and over again in agony and pain. The normally energetic lively young man he had known was now lying very still on the floor, like a stone statue toppled over and lying on its side.

CHAPTER 2

D riving west through the pastoral countryside of Green County at a comfortable speed, Detective Samantha Gates was returning from Silver Bay to Monroe. She loved this part of the state because it represented a wedge of middle America that was rural and beautiful. The rolling hills were lush green, with herds of Holstein dairy cows grazing contently in the pastures. The fertile fields were alive, showing the patterned symmetrical rows of corn and soy beans.

Sam had spent the night at Police Chief Cal Thompson’s home in Silver Bay. He and his wife were old friends of the family and were glad to see her. Growing up in the small community of Silver Bay, about two hour’s drive east of Monroe, Sam experienced the horror that every child is terrified of, the tragic death of a parent. Her father, police officer Earl Gates was murdered during a routine traffic stop when Sam was sixteen years old. That changed her life forever. His sudden death flipped the family on its head. For her older brother, Phil, who was already a troubled youth, the loss of his father sent him into the depths of despair and drugs and the abandonment of the family. Sam’s mother, Sharon, went into a deep depression that adversely affected her health. The sole reason Sam was in law enforcement was a graveside promise made to her beloved father, that she would become a police office and apprehend his killer bringing him to justice.

Sam was so driven in her pursuit to avenge the murder that she singularly focused her life on police work. She eventually became a detective and was now working for the Monroe Police Department. Her career path was an anomaly, given she was a woman in a male testosterone dominated world. But she quickly earned the respect of her colleagues through hard work and a certain intelligence, solving and closing cases much to the delight of Monroe Police Chief Brandon Johns. She moved her mother to the Parkview Nursing Home in Monroe where she rallied from poor health and was enjoying life again. Her brother Phil sought counseling and was in rehab much to the credit of his girlfriend, Elaine. They were living together in Chicago. The good news was that the killers of her father were eventually caught and were serving life sentences in prison at the Waupun Correctional Institution.

The purpose of Sam’s trip to Silver Bay this week was to make arrangements to exhume the casket of her father and relocate his remains to the Green Lawn Cemetery in Monroe. The Rettig Funeral home was assisting in the relocation. The cemetery in Silver Bay was in a deplorable state due to a lack of funds, so the move would place Earl in a peaceful, well maintained cemetery where Sharon and Sam could regularly visit the grave. Sam also purchased a burial plot next to Earl for her mother. Sam felt at peace about all this planning, because it would bring much needed closure to the family. Phil and Elaine planned to come to Monroe for the graveside committal service.

As Sam drove through the early morning bright sunshine and the picturesque scenery of southern Wisconsin with its rolling hills, white farm houses, red out buildings, concrete silos and Holstein cows, her thoughts turned to fiancé, Drew Nelson. She and Drew became engaged on Valentine’s Day after the wedding of her best friend Janet Finley. At first Sam had her doubts about marrying Drew. Given her job and her passion and obsessive drive to solve crimes, she questioned whether or not he could cope with a spouse consumed by police work. The fact that Drew loved her didn’t concern her, but whether or not he could accept the emotional abandonment of long hours when she was totally consumed in a case. Drew assured her it wouldn’t be a problem and he fully understood her zeal for the job, but words were not deeds.

The stress of police work had led to many divorces and statistically the odds were against them. However, in the end, Sam’s heart overruled her head and she gladly accepted his marriage proposal and ring. After Drew’s knee touched the ground and he popped the question under the stars, they planned a December wedding and a honeymoon somewhere warm in the Caribbean Islands. Their family and friends were delighted at the announcement and Sam deeply felt the love that her red-headed fiancé offered her. Sam’s life was now complete and her future looked bright. She was very happy.

Before she knew it Sam was turning into the police station on 12th Street to check in. Today was a scheduled vacation day for her, but she couldn’t resist stopping by the station. Once inside, dispatcher Shirley Weiss breathlessly told her about a body being found in the courthouse bell tower. Instantly, Sam felt a rush of adrenaline. All her senses leapt at the news and she felt the blood rushing through her veins. Her heart rate increased as she immediately jumped back into her car and drove the two blocks to the square.

A crowd of noisy curious people and yellow crime tape greeted her on the steps of the courthouse. Police Officer Miller nodded as she ducked under the tape and made her way into the building. She immediately saw Chief Johns talking to Roger Nussbaum, the chairman of the Police and Fire Commission. They were standing on the first floor of the courthouse. As Sam approached, Nussbaum shook hands with the chief and departed. Johns turned around and was surprised to see Sam.

If I remember correctly, I signed your vacation request for today, he said smiling at her.

Sam shrugged. I just can’t stay away from the yellow tape.

Johns laughed. Okay. Come with me.

Johns took her up to the second-floor landing where Brian’s body was discovered. They stopped at the top of the landing and he pointed to the floor. Sam could see the blood stain on the aged pine wooden floor planks.

Johns started his narrative. Henry Schliem, the part-time janitor, found the body of Brian Konkel next to the window this morning. We called in Dr. Ken Anderson to officially record the death and Albert Swenson to take the crime scene photos. Then Anderson left for the morgue with the body to perform the autopsy.

Did he have any opinion as to the cause of death? Sam asked.

Judging from the powder burns on Brian’s clothing he speculated that he was shot at close range by a .45 caliber hand gun. He pegged the time of death at approximately between eight and ten last night.

A .45 caliper gun? How did he know that?

Well, you know these medical examiners. At least he didn’t say it was a shotgun or deer hunting rifle.

Sam chuckled. I suppose the autopsy results will tell us.

Swenson said he would have the crime scene photos to us by tomorrow. I called the forensics lab in Madison and asked Scott Brady to bring his team down. They should be here in about an hour.

Sam stood staring at the blood-stained floor as the chief talked. "What do