Murder for Malice

By William Mitchell Ross

After returning from her honeymoon in St. Thomas, Virgin Islands, in 1970, Detective Samantha Gates is immediately thrown into the mysterious murder of a Monroe businessman. At first glance, it seems to be a likely solvable crime, sussing out the suspects and finding the killer. As she and police chief Brandon Johns launch into the investigation, her new husband, Drew, is conflicted by the amount of time the case is taking away from him. Is the reality of being married to a dedicated and focused police detective in hot pursuit of a killer more than he bargained for?

After they narrowed down their prime suspects to five, the case gets frustrating and bogged down. The murdered business owner, Ray Puls, had a disagreeable reputation of shady business practices and wasnt well-liked. The family soon becomes the target of the investigation, and their collective alibis for the time of the murder seem too convenient. Are they circling the wagons to protect themselves, or are they all innocent of the crime of murder? Is the real killer still out there hiding in the shadows? These nagging questions haunt the chief and Sam as they fight through a quagmire of unanswered questions, trying to get to the truth.


Books by William Mitchell Ross in the Monroe Mystery Series

Deceived by Self
All Passion Denied
Loves Obsession
Echoes Screaming in the Night
A Greedy Vengeance

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 24, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984509796

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.

Book preview

MURDER FOR MALICE

WILLIAM MITCHELL ROSS

Copyright © 2018 by William Mitchell Ross.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2018902211

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-9845-0981-9

      Softcover      978-1-9845-0980-2

      eBook         978-1-9845-0979-6

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 Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 02/23/2018

Xlibris

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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

Epilogue

Books by William Mitchell Ross

in

Monroe Mystery Series

Deceived by Self

All Passion Denied

Love’s Obsession

Echoes Screaming in the Night

A Greedy Vengeance

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:

M y special thanks to ‘The Monroe Times’ photographer, Marissa Weiher, for the cover photo; my wife Marilyn, whose continuing support, patience and understanding that I have imaginary friends is very much appreciated; and the Monroe readers who take great pleasure and amusement in trying to identify my fictional characters who, I insist, have never been given birth certificates.

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CHAPTER 1

M onroe police detective Samantha Gates’s wedding day finally arrived, Saturday, December 6, 1970, at 11:00 a.m. The day was sunny and cold, with light but bone-chilling breezes from the northwest. The high temperature for the special day was ten degrees Fahrenheit. Twelve inches of glistening snow covered the ground. The weather was the farthest thing from Sam’s mind. A raging blizzard outside the church would go unnoticed on this, her wedding day. She was standing in the back of the First Christian Church with her hand on police chief Brandon Johns’s arm, waiting to proceed up the aisle to marry her tall, handsome redheaded groom, Drew Nelson, a physical therapist at the Monroe Regional Medical Center.

Sam was wearing the vintage 1940s wedding dress her mother had worn the day she married Earl, the dashing young police officer. The dress was a slimline, floor-length gown of cream-colored satin covered in lace, flaring out from knee to floor, with long sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. To complement the dress, Sam wore a matching stylish vintage hat with lace and ribbon trim, and cream lace-covered shoes. The bride carried a bouquet of deep-red roses.

Sam was filled with excitement and anticipation as she inhaled the fragrant roses and squeezed the chief’s arm. How she wished her father, Earl, could have been at her side for this momentous occasion! He would have been so pleased! Sam’s father had been killed in the line of duty eighteen years ago, when Sam was just sixteen. Her devotion to her beloved father had prompted her to pursue a police career, a decision she embraced with enthusiasm every day. She was grateful to be escorted down the aisle now by her mentor, colleague, and friend, Chief Johns.

Sam’s attention turned to the sound of the church organ playing Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desire by J. S. Bach. Mary Peterson, the organist and recently married wife of Pastor Carl Peterson, played beautifully from the balcony to the eager congregation below, which had packed themselves into every one of the dark oak pews. The heavenly music transported the attendees and lifted their spirits. There was electricity in the air as the sun streamed through the tall stained-glass windows of the sanctuary. Sam’s best friend and bridesmaid, Janet Sonnenburg, had picked out the music. Sam was the maid of honor in Janet’s wedding last Valentine’s Day, so their friendship had come full circle.

Sam watched as the bridesmaids began their procession down the aisle to Canon in D by Pachelbel. They were all dressed in matching long empire-waist gowns—cream-colored, long-sleeved voile blouses on top, with deep-green velvet skirts reaching the floor. Each carried a bouquet of red and white roses.

Standing at the front of the steps of the church chancel was Pastor Carl, all robed up for the ceremony. Next to him, on his left, stood Drew; Drew’s brother, Allen, as best man; and third, Sam’s brother, Phil. The men were all dressed in matching black suits with white boutonnieres. The bridesmaids took their places on the other side of Pastor Carl: Janet, the matron of honor; Elaine, the girlfriend of Phil; and Ruth, Drew’s only sister. All the flowers were furnished by the Blumen Keuner Flower Shoppe on the square. The large displays of colorful red and white roses surrounding the couple were inspirational. The candelabras added that special touch of magic.

At the sound of Trumpet Voluntary by Clarke, the congregation stood for the bride’s entrance. Squeezing the chief’s arm tighter, Sam took her first tentative step down the aisle to marry the man she loved. All the planning she and Janet had worked on over the past three months was over, and the celebration for a new life was about to begin.

As she walked down the aisle, Sam glanced at the broad smiles and beaming faces of her mother, Sharon Gates, and Drew’s parents, Sarah and Henry Nelson. Surrounding them were many extended family members and friends. A large contingent of people from the police department, the hospital, the church, and community well-wishers rounded out the assemblage.

Sam’s heart leaped with joy seeing the wedding party waiting for her at the chancel steps. Tears began to flow. Chief Johns handed her off to Drew after giving her a big hug. Johns felt his eyes well up with tears as he returned to his seat next to his wife, Beth, and the kids. Pastor Carl led Sam and Drew up the five steps to the chancel and stood before the altar, as the wedding party followed and took their places around the couple. Pastor Carl invited the congregation to be seated and began the service with words from 1 John 4:16:

‘God is love, and those who abide in love, abide in God and God abides in them.’ Dearly beloved, we are assembled here in the presence of God to join Drew Nelson and Samantha Gates in holy marriage, which is instituted by God, regulated by his commandments, blessed by our Lord Jesus Christ, and to be held in honor among all people.

Sam looked up at Drew, beaming. Drew’s heart skipped a beat. Pastor Carl continued with the scripture reading from 1 Corinthians 13:1–13 and then delivered a brief meditation describing the gift of marriage. The minister spoke warmly of his delight in watching the love that had grown between Sam and Drew to bring them to this day of commitment. He then asked them to declare their intention to enter the covenant of marriage and, with their promises, bind themselves to each other as husband and wife.

Sam handed her bouquet to Janet. She turned to Drew, who took hold of her hands, and together, with an aura of unbridled happiness, they exchanged vows.

I, Drew, take you, Samantha, to be my wedded wife …

I, Samantha, take you, Drew, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and to you, I pledge my faith.

They exchanged rings. Then Cheryl Kubly, the songbird of Monroe, sang the hymn that was sung at the wedding of Sam’s parents, O Perfect Love, which warmed the hearts of everyone.

Pastor Carl offered a prayer of blessing on the marriage, and the congregation joined in offering the Lord’s Prayer. He pronounced the benediction and introduced the new Mr. and Mrs. Drew Nelson to the congregation. Drew kissed Sam, to the approval and applause of the assembled crowd, and raced down the aisle with his smiling, radiant bride to the jubilant sounds of Wedding March by Mendelssohn. Pastor Carl glanced up to the balcony and looked at Mary playing the organ. The joyous look on her face was radiant, reminding him of his own wedding day and the happiness in his heart.

The reception was held in the basement of the church, where Drew and the new Mrs. Samantha Nelson greeted their guests. A buffet luncheon of ham, turkey, and beef sandwiches; cheese trays; potato, macaroni, and Jell-O salads; and relishes was served by the women of the church.

The bride and groom sat at the head table surrounded by their wedding party. The basement was packed with people. The four-tiered wedding cake from the Swiss Bakery on the square was cut, and speeches were made by Janet and Allen telling funny stories and offering toasts. After they finished eating, Drew stood up and announced that he and Sam were leaving the next day for their one-week honeymoon in the Caribbean on St. Thomas Island. They would be back in plenty of time for Christmas.

Leaving the church, Drew asked Sam if anything important was going on at the police department, fearing the worst. She assured him everything was fine and not to worry. A couple of break-in burglaries had occurred, including the Montgomery Ward store on the square, but that wasn’t a concern for her. Captain Sigenthaler was investigating, so their honeymoon would be worry-free. Drew smiled. He was both relieved and delighted.

After saying their goodbyes at the church, they got into Drew’s newly decorated car with Just Married scrawled on the rear window and headed to Madison to spend the night before leaving for St. Thomas the next day. When they got out of sight of the church, Drew pulled over to the curb. He jumped out of the car and opened the hood. Sam’s jaw dropped as she watched his peculiar behavior. He immediately spotted what he was looking for. He removed a package of smelly Limburger cheese attached to the engine manifold and threw it into a snowbank. Sam laughed heartily at the prank as they sped off, fantasizing about the warm beaches and their trip to the Caribbean.

CHAPTER 2

T hird-shift police officer Brian Durst was slowly driving his patrol car around Monroe’s historic square. The time was 11:30 p.m. The wintry night air was bitterly cold and clear, with a full moon illuminating the buildings. The temperatures were in the midteens, with very little wind. He was in a good mood because his birthday was tomorrow, December 30, and the chief had given him the day off. But he also knew how unpredictable the weather could be. Snow, ice, and bitter cold were just around the corner to welcome the new year.

After the burglary at the Montgomery Ward store, two more break-in robberies had occurred—one at the Gamble Store, and the other at Martin’s Sport and Hobby. The store owners were upset and demanded extra patrols at night. The break-ins were nothing more than a nuisance, since nothing of any real value was stolen. Chief Johns surmised the thefts were the mischief of some local kids, and eventually they would be caught.

On the corner of Twelfth Street and Seventeenth Avenue was the Puls Grain and Feed Company, a large, two-story brick building. In the late 1800s, it was a carriage shop. It had a history, in that a Swiss immigrant who worked there in 1912 was found dead under suspicious circumstances. No one was ever charged in the murder after a somewhat lukewarm investigation by the police. The dead man, being a relatively new arrival from Switzerland, didn’t have any relatives in America, so he was buried without ceremony in the northeast corner of the pioneer cemetery on Tenth Street. Shortly after the burial, strange, unexplained noises were heard in the building where he died. Rumors about the place being haunted by the dead man’s ghost quickly spread around town and still persisted today.

Ray Puls had purchased the empty building in 1955 on the cheap because of its macabre history. The personal accounts of the people who worked there over the years were frightening. Reports of such things as creaky doors opening or closing for no reason, a man’s whispering voice speaking Swiss German, and the lights being switched on and off at night when the building was deserted fascinated the city grapevine and fueled the rumor mill. No one openly admitted to believing in ghosts, but getting workers proved to be difficult. The building had remained empty for a number of years until Puls bought it.

Being a man of practical business sense and knowing a bargain when he saw one, Ray shrugged off the banging boiler pipes, creaky doors and floors, and strange noises as interesting but harmless. He dismissed the occasional eerie voices at night as the wind blowing through the poorly insulated walls. He often worked late, drinking whiskey and ignoring all the weird sounds after the sun went down. It wasn’t unusual for the patrolling police officers to pass by his building during the late hours of the night and see a light on in his office. The shades were always drawn, but sometimes they could see his silhouette against them.

He was a harshly temperamental man, and he complained if an officer stopped in to inquire if everything was all right. The smell of liquor on his breath and the abusive language deterred the police from making further inquiries. Sure enough, tonight, the lights were on as usual, so Durst made a mental note of it and drove on past the building. An odd duck, he mused. Most people are at home sleeping in their beds at this late hour.

Officer Durst drove to the station at midnight to check in, which was his routine. The police station was located only a couple of blocks from the Puls building. Getting out of his car, he smelled the oak-and-cherry fragrance of fireplace smoke in the neighborhood and saw a plume of smoke against the starry night sky. Upon entering the station, he was welcomed by the night dispatcher.

Roberta Matzke was a middle-aged woman married to a farmer south of town. She had short chestnut-brown hair and brown eyes, and she was always on a diet. A ready smile and a sense of humor endeared her to her colleagues, friends, and family. She spoke to him through the security glass window next to the front door.

Ah, the graveyard-shift century guard. Is it another boring night in Monroe, or are you out chasing shadows? Roberta quipped with a twinkle in her eye.

So you are a comedian tonight, Durst replied. Quiet out there is the word I would use, and boring, I might add.

Okay then, quietly boring. I made some fresh cookies for my family. Would you like one?

Sure! he said, with his eyes lighting up.

Roberta buzzed him in, and Durst sat down on a chair next to her desk, removing his winter jacket. She handed him a cookie from a Christmas tin, which he devoured in two bites. She chuckled and handed him another one.

What are these called?

Coconut macaroons, she answered.

They are delicious. I must tell my wife.

Is there anything new on the break-ins? There have been three or four so far in December, if memory serves.

Yup, you are right. The chief thinks that a couple of unruly kids are behind them. It seems crazy to me. December? I would think they would wait for the warmer months. But then, kids will be kids.

They are probably bored like you. Tell me about it, I have three teenagers of my own with attitudes.

Durst eyed the tin again.

Doesn’t your wife feed you? Would you like another cookie?

Only one more, and then I have to go back on patrol.

Roberta handed him a cookie, which he gladly accepted, and he slowly munched on it to make it last. He brushed the crumbs away from his shirt with his hand.

Oh, by the way, is tomorrow your birthday? Roberta asked.

How did you know that?

It’s the worst kept secret in the PD. Shirley Weiss left your card here for me to sign.

That Shirley, she never misses a trick. You dispatchers seem to know more than us cops.

Do you have anything special planned?

My wife and I are going to the New Glarus Hotel Restaurant tomorrow night. The food is great, and it should be a fun night out.

Well, have a good time and bon appétit.

Durst grinned and thanked her again for the cookie treats as he put on his jacket.

By the way, after Detective Gates returned from her honeymoon, the chief wanted to know if he could still call her Gates, instead of her married name, Nelson. He said it seemed awkward to call her by another name, Roberta said.

How did you know that? I mean, about the chief’s talk with Gates.

Well, Shirley told me, of course.

Durst rolled his eyes. What did Gates say?

From what Shirley said, Sam was very agreeable to the idea, and it was okay with her if she was still called Gates inside the PD.

Interesting.

What do you mean, ‘interesting’?

Only that it seems a little weird to be known by two different names.

I wouldn’t worry too much about it. To me, she will always be Detective Samantha Gates.

If you say so. How did her honeymoon week in St. Thomas go? My wife and I have thought about a winter destination vacation ourselves.

I haven’t heard any details about the trip since she has been back, so I assume it went okay. Shirley will know. She seems to know all the tittle-tattle and gossip at the station.

Durst laughed.

By the way, I noticed a full moon tonight, Roberta said, extending her time with Durst. It was a slow night in dispatch.

Yup.

I would be careful if I were you, driving through the cemetery and past the Puls Feed Store.

I didn’t know you were superstitious. Believe in ghosts and goblins, do you?

As a youngster, we spent Halloween nights in the cemetery and peering into the windows at the Puls Store.

See anything suspicious?

Only the dead rising from their graves at the cemetery.

Durst laughed. I have heard all the tall tales about ghosts, and I don’t for a minute believe any of them. I know, people like you probably read your horoscope every day, Durst continued. He didn’t share with her that he had been afraid of the dark as a child.

As a matter of fact, I read it today. It said that a tall, dark stranger wearing a uniform would engage me in a stimulating conversation and ask me dumb questions.

Okay, I am out of here!

Durst left Roberta sitting at her desk and returned to his patrol car. Opening the door, he heard the hooting of an owl in the distance. He drove to the north side of the square and into the alley. He stopped behind Bahr’s Variety Store located on Tenth Street. The rear door seemed to be ajar, which he hadn’t noticed on his previous rounds. Was the moonlight playing tricks on him? The moving shadows were sometimes eerie. He cautiously got out of his car and walked the short distance to the door. He grabbed the doorknob and gave it a twist. It was locked. He let out a sigh of relief. Chief Johns would have chewed him out royally if he had missed it earlier and hadn’t written up an incident report.

He continued on his journey down the alley and then drove to the east side of the square. Seeing nothing of importance in the alleyway, he headed to the south side. When he passed the Puls building, the light was still on inside. He checked his watch, 1:30 a.m. Ray is working later than usual. Driving on, he figured he would be back somewhere around three o’clock.

Nothing of interest happened on the rest of his patrol rounds. It was even too cold for the feral cats. Returning at 3:15 a.m., he stopped in front of Puls’s store. The light was still on. What the hell? If he went inside to check on him, would he get his ass raked over the coals or find him passed out from the booze? Maybe Ray went home forgetting to turn off the lights. Well, anyway, he decided he needed to investigate.

Leaving the engine running in his patrol car, Durst checked the front door. The shades were drawn, and it was locked. He then went to the rear basement entrance of the building and tried the doorknob. The knob turned easily; the old wooden door wasn’t locked. He slowly opened the creaky door and shouted in a loud voice, Mr. Puls! No answer.

He flipped on the overhead light switch to the small warehouse. He looked around and made his way to the staircase leading up to the main office. Durst didn’t like being in the spooky building alone and kept telling himself Ray had probably had too much to drink.

When he got to the top step and opened the door to the office area, the warehouse lights suddenly went out, leaving him in darkness. He jumped. What the hell! Is someone there? He felt pressure on his bladder. He drew his gun from its holster and gripped it tightly. He waited a few moments and didn’t hear anything. He started to perspire. Was his talk with Roberta playing tricks on his mind?

Reaching for the light switch in the darkened office, he turned on the lights. He saw a couple of desks and filing cabinets. Nothing unusual. The door leading to Mr. Puls’s office was closed. He could see a light shining under the door. He called out again but got no answer. He was shaking. The building was freaking him out. He felt his knees go weak. A chill ran down his spine. What is behind that door? he asked himself. He had an unnerving feeling of apprehension. Should he call for backup, or was he being silly? Feeling a little light-headed, he made his legs press forward toward the door.

The office door leading back down to the warehouse suddenly slammed shut, making him jump again. If he had had his finger on the trigger of his gun, he would have shot himself in the foot. The old building was really spooky, and the temptation to turn and bolt for the street was very tempting. But he kept his nerve; after all, he was a sworn police officer. He turned the doorknob to Puls’s office.

He slowly pushed the door open and stepped inside. He froze, staring at Ray’s prone body lying on the floor next to his desk. The office was a mess. He quickly determined some sort of struggle had taken place. The grisly lifeless body was looking back at him. Ray’s milky, vacant brown eyes were staring wide open into empty space. A trickle of crimson blood seeped from his temple onto the wooden floor.

Putting his gun back into its holster, Durst touched Ray’s neck, feeling for a pulse, already knowing he was dead. The body was cool to the touch, no pulse, no beating heart. The putrid smell of the corpse made his stomach heave. The lips already had a bluish tint.

Durst slowly removed his hand. His body was tense with fear. Was the killer still in the building? He quickly stood up and looked around. Everything was quiet. He hurriedly retraced his steps back to the staircase and turned on the warehouse lights. He stopped to listen. Again, nothing. Satisfied, he ran down the steps, out the rear door, and back to his patrol car. He was breathing hard and, with a raspy voice, called Roberta.

CHAPTER 3

T he phone rang five times before Sam could awaken herself from a deep sleep. She was dreaming about looking for Drew, her tall redheaded husband, in a luxury hotel, forgetting what room they were in. The dream was frustrating her as she rode the elevator from floor to floor, looking for something familiar to show her the way back to their room. In her dream, a phone was ringing somewhere in the hotel, going unanswered. The annoying sound of the ringing phone in its cradle awakened her out of the dream.

She gently removed Drew’s arm from