Jude trailed behind him, feeling the eyes of the other men in the room. She had worn a black pencil skirt and a red blouse which seemed out of place in the dingy office.
“Have a seat,” he told her, swiping a stack of papers from the single chair next to his desk. She sat down and surveyed his work space - a disaster of half-full coffee cups, M&M wrappers and paperwork scrawled with illegible notes.
“Quite a fancy place you have here,” she mumbled, wiping a coffee stain from a corner of the desk where she sat her notepad.
Detective Bell opened his paper bag and pulled out a hefty sandwich near to exploding with roast beef and cheese. Before taking a massive bite, he spoke.
“What can I do for ya, Miss…?”
“Porter,” Jude said, not bothering to extend her hand since his were full with his lunch. “I’m looking into an old case and strangely you share the girl’s last name. I hope I’m not treading on something personal here….”
Bell chewed and regarded her.
Jude shifted in her chair and pulled her skirt a little lower wishing she’d opted for slacks.
“Rosemary,” he said after he swallowed. “What does the Wexford County Gazette want with a murder that happened over thirty years ago?”
Jude took out her cigarettes packing them against her palm and pulling one out.
“May I?”
“Sure.”
“My editor is doing a series on cold cases,” she lied. “Rosemary’s name came up and I’m the lucky reporter on the case.”
“It’s not a cold case,” he told her, setting his sandwich on the flattened paper bag. “They caught the woman who did it and sent her to a mental institution.”
“Is there a relation? I only ask because this is a small town…”
“Rosemary was my sister. I was only five when it happened so…” he shrugged.
“The woman accused of her murder. What kind of proof was there that she did it?”
Bell leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his flat stomach.
“Bloody knife in her barn, her bloody footsteps all over the scene, her fingerprints at the scene. Can’t get much more evidence than that.”
“But she was a child, right? The accused girl?”
“The person who committed the murder was a child by law, yes, she was thirteen, but as a journalist, I’m sure you’re aware that teenagers can be pretty nasty, especially sick ones.” He twirled his fingers near his head. “She was insane.”
“That was known around town? Before the murder?”
“I was only five, as I mentioned, so I can’t say that, but there were rumors about her, sure.”
“I was told that she and the murdered girl were friends. What motive could she possibly have?”
Detective Bell narrowed his eyes at her and unfolded his hands.
“I sense, Miss Porter, that you’re not looking for the facts here, but following some misguided belief in the woman’s innocence. If that’s the case then I can’t help you.”
Jude sat up straighter, glaring at Detective Bell.
“Criminal cases are public information. I have every right to request all the documents and find out for myself. And you are required as an agent of the law to investigate a murder and ensure you catch the actual killer, not pin it on some teenage girl because she’s an easy out for the police and the community. I have every intention of investigating this murder myself, and I fully intend to print my findings. If you’re wrong, I guess we’ll know soon enough.”
She stood and stomped to the front desk where Lori had switched to a cookbook. She was copying a recipe for pot roast.
“I need to request all the documents for the case concerning Rosemary Bell.”
Lori looked up at her, surprised, likely taken aback by Jude’s aggressive tone and perhaps also the name of the detective’s older sister.
Jude glanced back at Detective Bell’s desk. He sat watching her, his sandwich untouched.
Chapter 25
September 1965
Jude
Jude knocked on the door and nodded toward the car where Hattie sat with her face turned away from the window. It was a dramatic gesture, sure, but Jude wanted Grimmel’s help and figured this was the best way to get it.
A short middle-aged woman with black hair and dark eyes opened the door. She wore an apron over a knee-length floral house coat. Her apron was splattered with red sauce, likely spaghetti, but reminded Jude of blood.
“Hi,” Jude said, holding out her hand. “My name’s Jude. I’m a reporter and spoke with your husband, Grimmel, a few days ago. I wondered if he was home?”
The woman smiled and nodded, taking Jude’s hand and shaking it warmly.
“Sure is. Finally got him to take down Sophia’s swing set out back. It only took me eight years.” She laughed and opened the door wide. “Sophia’s in college now over at Grand Valley State University. She’s a real bright girl. I could never have gone to college, but Sophia’s real smart. Straight A’s since she was this high.” The woman held a hand up to her waist. “I’m Shirley. Should have started with that, maybe.”
Jude smiled.
“I was wondering, Shirley, if Grimmel could come out here. I have a few papers in my car I wanted him to look over.”
This was a lie, but since Jude intended to spill-all once Grimmel saw Hattie, she wasn’t concerned.
“Oh, yeah sure. Let me do a quick stir on the spaghetti and I’ll send him out.”
She stepped back into the house leaving the door open a crack. Jude heard I Love Lucy on a television somewhere in the house.
Jude glanced at Hattie who looked back, and Jude spun her finger for Hattie to turn away from the window.
When Grimmel came out, the knees of his trousers were grass stained, and he looked red in the face.
“Well hello again, Jude. What can I do for ya?”
Jude smiled and took his hand. A look of surprise crossed his face, but he allowed her to lead him down the steps to her car.
“I have someone I’d like you to meet.”
Jude knocked on the window and Hattie, without turning to face them, stepped from the passenger seat. When she turned, Grimmel’s mouth fell open, and he pulled his hand from Jude’s, taking a step back. He blinked several times and then looked at Jude.
“Are you…?” He let the question die. “You’re her daughter. You’re Sophia’s daughter?”
Hattie smiled and nodded.
“So’s Jude,” she told him.
He took another step back and looked at Jude, his eyes lingering on her mouth and Jude knew he was making that unconscious connection between Jude’s smile and his sister’s.
“You’re both her daughters?” he breathed, nodding his head.
“I also have a twin brother,” Jude told him, grinning. “He’s the spitting image of you.”
Jude took a picture from her wallet and held it to Grimmel. It was a portrait that Gram Ruth had commissioned. Peter wore his army uniform, his hat slightly askew and a tiny smile playing on his lips. They had taken it three weeks before he went to Vietnam.
Grimmel stared at the photo for a long time.
“You girls better come inside,” he said at last, holding the photo as he led them into the house.
Grimmel brought out a cardboard box and set it on the table.
“More coffee, Jude? Lemonade, Hattie?” Shirley asked them, bustling around the kitchen. “It’s so nice to have kids in the house again.”
Grimmel offered them a wry smile.