Dead Catch, page 4
Deputy Krebs was a small wiry individual who was soon stripped down to his swim pants. “I’ll go down and check out the situation with my mini tank first,” he said as he jumped overboard with the hand held scuba gear.
Three minutes later he resurfaced and gripped the gunwale of the ranger’s boat. “There’s a body down there all right,” he said. “It appears to be floating about halfway down with an anchor rope tied to it. If you’ll just hand me that rope with the snap hook on it over there in my boat, I’ll go back down and hook it to the anchor. Sheriff, you hold onto the other end and when I give it a few yanks, start pulling.”
“Phil, would you be so kind as to take a few pictures of the area and the body when it comes up?” asked the sheriff as he handed Ranger Murray a small digital camera.
“Sure will, Cecil,” Murray replied.
With the rope in hand, Krebs once again disappeared under the surface of Lake Claiborne. A moment later, the sheriff felt three short tugs on the rope and proceeded to pull up on the anchor, the body following behind. Krebs remained under the water to guide the body to prevent it from hanging up again in the fallen tree.
The anchor appeared first and Sheriff Pettibone reached down and hauled it onboard being careful to only touch the rope and not the anchor itself. After pulling once again, this time on the anchor rope, the body soon appeared in the murky water. Krebs reemerged and in one quick, agile motion vaulted back into his boat.
Krebs instructed, “Sheriff, hold on to the body while I put my boat shoes back on. Then we’ll get the body on board my boat. It might get a little crowded in Ranger Murray’s.”
Hank reached down and snipped the line to Chip’s bass lure, which was still caught on the sleeve of the corpse. “I better remove the lure from his sleeve so no one gets stuck while we are hauling him into the boat,” Hank said. “And, Sheriff, if you don’t mind, I’ll give it back to my grandson. It’s his favorite lure.”
“That’s fine, Mr. Moran. I won’t need it for evidence since it had nothing to do with the demise of the drowned Mr. John Doe. Would you kindly untie the anchor rope from the anchor? But don’t touch the anchor itself. There’s a slight chance that we might be able to lift some fingerprints from its rubber coated surface.”
Krebs maneuvered his boat close to the body, which was now free of the anchor. He put on a pair of latex gloves and managed to lift the upper third of the body into his boat. Then with the sheriff’s help the remainder of the corpse was rolled over the gunwale and came to rest on its back.
Sheriff Pettibone eyed the corpse, inhaled sharply, and with exhaled breath managed, “Well I’ll be damned!”
“You know the gentleman?” Krebs asked.
“I sure do. That’s Leonard Driscoll of Driscoll Furniture over in Shreveport! Now how in hell did he manage to get anchored over here in Lake Claiborne?”
With Mr. Driscoll’s body securely onboard his boat, Deputy Krebs motored back to the marina with Ranger Murray following in his wake.
The Claiborne Parish Coroner, Dr. Rufus Mills, was waiting when the two boats tied up at the dock. Upon initial examination of Driscoll’s body the coroner found a gash on the left side of the victim’s head. Dr. Mills stated that with the severity of the wound he doubted it was an accidental blow. “I am afraid you have a case of murder on your hands, Cecil.”
No wallet or personal items of any sort were found in the victim’s pockets. “Could be robbery and murder,” Krebs offered.
“Rufus, how long do you think he was in the water? Pettibone asked.
“I would say only a few days,” Mills answered.
“Well, I better get back to the office,” Sheriff Pettibone said. “I have to get in touch with Shreveport so they can notify next of kin. Thanks for your help, Mr. Moran. I hope your grandson isn’t too upset over the ordeal of finding the body.”
“I’m sure he’ll be OK, Sheriff. He was more upset over losing his favorite lure than seeing what it was hooked into,” Hank replied.
“Mr. Moran, why don’t you give me a number where I can reach you in case I have further questions.”
Hank gave Sheriff Pettibone his cell number and headed back to the motorhome.
Helen was sitting at the picnic table talking on the phone with Ali when Hank walked up. “Yes, Ali, I think it’s best, too. We’ll head back later this afternoon. We’ll see you about six.”
Chip’s eyes lit up when Hank laid the lure on the picnic table. “You got my lure back!” Chip exclaimed. “I can’t wait to show it to my friends at school.”
“If you had a lighter line on your reel you might have lost it and we never would have been aware of the body,” Hank said.
“Well, I put on a heavy line in case I hooked into a monster bass.”
“You did make a big catch, Chip. It’s too bad it wasn’t a record bass.”
“Ali thinks Chip has had enough fishing for one weekend and wants us to head back to Shreveport,” Helen said after ending the call from Ali.
“I kinda figured that. I caught the tail end of your conversation as I walked up,” Hank replied. “I guess we better pack up and get moving.”
“Aw, Grampa, must we go? Chip pleaded.
“I’m afraid so, Chip. We don’t want to upset your mom and dad and spoil your chances of going on future trips with us.”
Hank’s cell phone rang just as they were ready to pull out of the state park campground. “Hank Moran speaking.”
“Hello, Mr. Moran, this is Harold Parkinson from the Western Pennsylvania Audubon Society. I have some great news for you.”
“Mr. Parkinson, good to hear from you again. Are you calling about the eagle feather?”
“Yes I am, Mr. Moran. The lab has completed the tests on the feather and the DNA does not match any known raptor. I will be presenting the findings to the Audubon Headquarters next week.”
“That’s great, Mr. Parkinson. Will you be reporting the feather as coming from a Washington’s Eagle?”
“I am afraid not. For the time being we’ll just have to label it as an unknown since there is no other sample to compare it to.”
“Didn’t you say that Audubon had an actual specimen?”
“Yes he did, Mr. Moran, but it was apparently lost over a century and a half ago after his death. Unfortunately, no one knows whatever happened to it.”
“Well, Mr. Parkinson, at least now you have a DNA record for future comparison if another specimen should one day appear.”
“That’s true, and we have you to thank for it, Mr. Moran. I will be sending a copy of my report to you as well.”
“Thanks for the update, Mr. Parkinson, and I will be looking forward to reading your report.”
“Thanks again, Mr. Moran, have a good day. Goodbye.”
“That was Mr. Parkinson on the phone from the Audubon Society. He said the DNA tests on the eagle feather showed it to belong to an unknown species.”
“How about that,” Helen replied. “We saw our first UFE!”
“UFE?” Hank questioned.
“Sure. Unidentified Flying Eagle.”
Hank just groaned.
Chip was safely returned to his home in Shreveport that same afternoon. When they arrived they gave Ali and Preston the news that Sheriff Pettibone identified the body of Leonard Driscoll, a Shreveport furniture store owner.
Preston, sole owner of his accounting business, exclaimed, “You’ve got to be kidding me! Driscoll Furniture is one of my best clients. I just talked with Leonard’s brother, Peter, two days ago and he said Leonard’s wife, Susan, had reported him missing.”
“Well, thanks to Chip and his stout fishing line, that little mystery is solved,” Hank said grimly.
Chip spent Saturday night with Hank and Helen in the Bounder, which was parked in their daughter’s driveway. On Sunday morning they were on their way back to Kenner after promising to make it back up to Shreveport for Thanksgiving dinner.
Hank spent the next two days reading the P.I. Test Study Manual. Most of what he read was just common sense to him. The rest of the rules and procedures stated in the manual he had learned and experienced during his thirty plus years as a Kenner, Louisiana detective.
He had made arrangements to take the P.I. test on Thursday and confidently drove the sixty miles to Baton Rouge, zipped through the test, and was back home in time for an early dinner. He was told that he should hear an answer within two weeks as to the results of the test.
Two weeks to the day he was summoned to Baton Rouge for the issuance of his Louisiana P.I. license. The Moran Investigations Agency was formally in business.
Helen had second thoughts about the name of the agency. She informed Hank, “You do realize the initials of the agency are M.I.A. Based on our recent experiences, I hope neither of us winds up Missing in Action!”
Chapter 5
Detective Craig Meyers of the Shreveport Police Department had spent a total of four days in the last month investigating the murder of Leonard Driscoll. The investigation was not a high priority case since the murder took place in neighboring Claiborne Parish. Meyers assumed that since the murder occurred out of the jurisdiction of the Shreveport Police that the investigation should be conducted by Claiborne Parish Sheriff Cecil Pettibone.
Pettibone made a halfhearted attempt at investigating the murder and got relatively nowhere. He had questioned Lake Claiborne State Park Ranger Phil Murray the day after Driscoll’s body was discovered but Murray claimed that he saw nothing suspicious the previous day. In fact, he claimed that he never even saw Leonard Driscoll enter the park or launch his boat. What further hampered Pettibone’s investigation was the fact that Leonard Driscoll’s boat and truck were discovered at his home in Shreveport the morning after his disappearance.
Detective Meyers had routinely questioned employees of Driscoll Furniture, which was owned by Leonard Driscoll and his brother, Peter. The only bit of useful information from the store’s employees was the fact that Peter and Leonard had argued heatedly a few days before Leonard’s disappearance.
Since the discovery of his brother’s body, Peter had made a weekly appearance at the police station to check on the progress of the investigation. During one of those visits he drank a can of Sprite that was offered by Detective Meyers. The police used the fingerprints on the can to match the ones they had found on Leonard Driscoll’s boat and motor. With no other leads to go on, Peter Driscoll now became the prime suspect for his brother’s murder. Adding more weight to the suspicion was the fact that Peter Driscoll was the beneficiary of a one hundred thousand dollar insurance policy on Leonard Driscoll’s life.
The Wednesday before Thanksgiving, Meyers presented Judge Harlan Mays with a request for a search warrant for Peter Driscoll’s house and garage. Meyers had a difficult time convincing Judge Mays to sign the warrant, but the judge finally gave in due to the weight of the fingerprint record.
Later that afternoon, Detective Meyers and Detective Andy Granger presented the search warrant to Peter’s wife, Peggy, when she answered the door. Peggy immediately called Peter at the furniture store and he arrived home fifteen minutes later to find the two detectives searching his garage.
“What in hell is going on here?” Peter demanded as he approached the two detectives.
Meyers answered, “We have a warrant to search the premises for a weapon used in the murder of Leonard Driscoll.”
Peter responded with great agitation, “What? Are you saying that I am suspected of killing my brother?”
“Mr. Driscoll, you are at the top of our list of suspects,” Meyers answered.
Peter said, “You’ll have to excuse me. I have to call my lawyer.’’
“You are free to do whatever you want, Mr. Driscoll, except leave town,” Meyers responded.
The search of the premises turned up only one piece of evidence and that was a short section of anchor rope, which Meyers thought looked familiar. Leonard Driscoll’s boat and trailer were at the vehicle compound near the police station and upon comparing the rope found in Peter Driscoll’s garage to the short section that was still tied to Leonard’s boat it proved to be an exact match.
Detective Meyers then drove to the Claiborne Parish Sheriff’s department to compare the rope sample found in Peter Driscoll’s garage to the anchor rope that was in the evidence locker, still tied to the anchor that was used to submerge Leonard Driscoll’s body in Lake Claiborne. Once again, the rope was an exact match.
Thanksgiving Day
At ten o’clock in the morning on Thanksgiving Day, Shreveport Police detectives Craig Meyers and Andy Granger knocked on the door of Peter Driscoll’s home. Peggy Driscoll was in the kitchen preparing a small turkey to place in the oven. She quickly washed her hands and approached the door, hoping it was her sister-in-law. Peggy had invited Susan prior to the whole misunderstanding about Peter being involved in his brother’s death, and if Susan chose to show up for dinner, Peggy would know that Susan didn’t buy into any of the rumors that Peter was involved with Leonard’s unfortunate, untimely demise. Besides, she thought it best that Susan not spend the holiday alone. When she opened the door, however, she was dismayed to see the two detectives who had searched her house the day before.”
“Yes, what is it now?” she said.
“Ma’am, we need to speak with your husband,” Meyers answered.
Peggy replied, “I’m sorry but he isn’t home at the moment. I sent him to the grocery store to pick up a few things for Thanksgiving dinner. He should be back any moment. If you want, you can wait inside. I’m sure by now you’re familiar with the place.”
“That’s OK, ma’am, we’ll just wait in the car.”
Five minutes later, Peter Driscoll pulled into his driveway and exited his Ford Explorer. As he approached his front door he was met from behind by the two detectives.
“Mr. Driscoll, please put down the bag of groceries,” Meyers requested.
Peter turned and confronted Meyers, “Why? What do you want now?”
“Please do as we say, Mr. Driscoll. Put down the bag and face the door.”
Peter did as he was told and then his hands were forced behind him and secured with cuffs.
Meyers said, “Peter Driscoll, you are under arrest for the murder of Leonard Driscoll.”
He was being read his rights as Peggy came to the door. “What’s going on?” she asked in a fit of panic.
“They’re arresting me for Leonard’s murder! Call Carlton and then Preston! Have them both come to the jail as soon as possible!”
Hank and Helen were once again greeted by Chip as they pulled their Bounder motorhome into their daughter’s driveway. He excitedly gave his Gramma and Grampa big hugs when they exited the motorhome. Helen said, “Chip, didn’t you forget something? You’re not too big to give your Gramma a kiss!”
“Sorry, Gramma,” Chip answered as he gave his Gramma a kiss and another hug.
Chip started telling them all about his show and tell in school as they made their way into the house. “I told them all about how I hooked into Mr. Driscoll’s body with my lucky lure. I took the lure along to show them, along with the big story that was in the newspaper. All the other kids wanted to touch the lure but I told them it was too dangerous because it is really sharp and they might get caught!”
“Chip, your mother wants you to help set the table,” Preston said. “I need to talk to your Grampa.”
“OK, Dad,” Chip said as he ran into the kitchen.
“I’ll go help Chip,” Helen said. “I want to see what all those good smells are coming from Ali’s kitchen. Plus, I need to find a place to set this pie down before I drop it.”
Helen was carrying one of the three shoofly pies Hank had bought and tasted up in Lancaster County Pennsylvania when they toured the Amish area.
Preston was now able to talk with Hank on an urgent matter. “Hank, this morning the Shreveport police arrested Peter Driscoll for the murder of his brother,” Preston said. “I talked with him along with his attorney about an hour ago at the city jail. They claim they have enough evidence to hold him, like Peter’s fingerprints on Leonard’s boat and motor, and a piece of matching anchor rope in Peter’s garage.”
“Did Peter have an explanation for the fingerprints?” Hank asked.
“He said he replaced the fuel filter in Leonard’s boat motor just a few days before he went missing and he also loaned him his boat anchor because Leonard snagged his on the bottom and had to cut it loose the last time he went fishing.”
“Does Peter have anything to back up his story about changing the fuel filter?
“I am afraid not,” Preston answered. “He said that he discarded the old filter in the trash. He said he also paid cash for the new filter and didn’t save the sales receipt.”
“What about the matching anchor rope in his garage?”
“He already admitted that it was his anchor that was fastened to his brother’s body.”
Hank inquired, “Why is that considered important evidence?”
“The police didn’t say,” Preston responded.
“Does Peter have an alibi?” Hank questioned further.
“He does, but I am afraid not a good one. On the night Leonard went missing he said he was alone, working late, going over the receipts at the furniture store, and didn’t get home until ten at night. The police think he had ample time to murder his brother at the lake and get back home.”
“What motive do the police think Peter had for the murder?” Hank asked.
“They interviewed witnesses who said that Peter and Leonard had argued a lot recently about the financial condition of the store. The detective found out that the brothers had taken out one hundred thousand dollar life insurance policies on each other as a business arrangement.”
