Silver Arrow Ch. 13-16

I nodded. "That's pretty much our thoughts too. But now that we have an idea of what she might have looked like, could you see your way clear to start checking again? Even though it's a pretty cold trail, I was hoping you'd give this a shot."

He nodded slowly. "I'll get a couple of my people on it. Please don't you do anything at this stage. Let us do our job. We know what we need to find out, and we've been doing it for a long time. Just give us a chance to see what we can come up with."

"We haven't come up with anything with possible DNA on it for Paul Wilson," I said. "I don't know what to do about that."

"We interviewed him again and we gave him the impression that he's under a microscope. He looked and sounded a bit uneasy, but we didn't learn anything from him except ... when we asked him for a voluntary DNA sample, he declined. He said he wasn't about to be 'framed' for something he didn't do."

"That should make you suspicious all by itself, shouldn't it?" Christie said.

"It does, but legally, my hands are tied. Unless he commits a crime or gives us the opportunity to capture a sample in the course of our normal work, we can't touch him."

"What does that mean ... in the course of your normal work?" Christie asked again.

"It means that if he left a cigarette butt or a container that he drank out of when he was being interviewed, we could take that as a sample if he left it behind voluntarily. Unfortunately, he didn't do that, so we got nothing."

I sat back, thinking for a minute. "Where did the DNA samples come from that you found on my late wife?"

"She was beaten with someone's fists. When that happens, the assailant is bound to leave particles of his skin unless he's wearing gloves. She might have tried to fight back because we found some under her fingernails on her left hand. Anyway, we have enough samples to get an accurate reading of what we believe was her attacker."

"So what we need now is Paul Wilson's sample to see if they are a match," I said, thinking aloud. "The question is, how to get that legally?"

"Right," Etchevarry agreed.

"Let me give you a scenario, Detective. What if I provided you with a sample of his DNA? Say, a glass he was drinking out of, or maybe something else? Would that be admissible?"

"Only if you could establish that it was his. You'd need a witness who was unrelated to the case. Someone who would testify that he was the donor."

I nodded. That germ of an idea I'd had earlier was beginning to take shape. I smiled at Etchevarry.

"So, if I did get some evidence, how would I get it to you?"

"Bag it in a clean plastic bag and bring it in. We'll deal with it right away. But remember, you'll need a witness as to who was the donor."

"I got it. Thanks. I hope we can find a way to get it legally. Even if it means he isn't the guy."

"Good luck," he smiled. The detective and I had a decent relationship and I wanted to keep it that way. We both wanted this case solved, but for different reasons.

"What are you thinking?" Christie asked as we walked out of the station toward our parked car.

"I'm thinking there might be a way to get a sample from Paul and have a witness at the same time."

"How?"

"I know one place he goes to drink. He's usually alone, too. If I get to the bartender and let him know what I'm after, maybe I can get his cooperation to get a glass that we can use."

"Why would the bartender do that?" she asked.

I took my thumb and forefinger and rubbed them together. "Money."

"Do you think he might testify too?"

I shrugged. "That's the unknown. At least we'd know if Paul was the guy."

"Yeah. I kind of hope he isn't, you know," she said sadly, looking out the side window as we drove home.

"I understand."

It would be almost two weeks before I had the opportunity to work my plan. I had decided that I would try to find Paul on a Friday night, a likely time for him to be in one or another tavern. I would start with the one I had found him in when I overheard him. With luck, it would be his regular hangout and I wouldn't have to go all over Lexington to find him.

If I'd spent a few more seconds thinking, I'd have realized there was an easier way. I could find out where he lived and follow him if and when he came out in the evening. It was a long shot I knew, but I was fixated on two things. One was finding out if Paul was the killer. The other I explained to Christie after our conversation with Etchevarry.

"Why are you so determined to link Paul to this?" she asked me when we got home.

"The first time I met with the detectives, Etchevarry said that in the majority of these kinds of homicides, the victim knew the killer. Diane wasn't wearing a disguise that night. I'm guessing that means she didn't expect to be recognized. Let's suppose Paul stumbles into her, sees she's not with anyone, and makes a pass at her. They go to a motel together ... Diane pays ... and then something goes very wrong. Paul loses his cool and beats her up, thinking she might report him. Unfortunately, he's a little too aggressive and she ends up dead."

"I couldn't imagine Diane getting together with Paul," Christie said, shaking her head.

"I couldn't imagine Diane having a secret life," I replied.

With that conversation, Christie decided that anything we were going to do to get the evidence we needed would be done as a team.

"Even if I only drive the getaway car," she said seriously.

I laughed. "I don't think it's going to be that kind of caper."

She went to the computer and looked up the phone directory for Paul Wilson in Shelbyville. No luck. Next she looked up the phone number for Frankfort Builders Warehouse. She went to our phone and dialed the number.

"May I speak to the human resources department, please? It's about a credit check."

(Pause)

"Hello, my name is Doris Peller and I'm calling from Lexington Appliance Center. I need a credit check on Mr. Paul Wilson. He's given this business as his employer.

(Pause)

"Can you confirm his address, please? We have it in Shelbyville."

(Pause)

"He listed his income as thirty-six thousand per year. Can you confirm that?"

(Pause)

"Thank you, you've been very helpful."

She hung up the phone and passed me the paper she was writing on.

"That's his address. The lying bastard is making more than he claims, too. I'm going to have to talk to my lawyer and have him garnishee his wages if he doesn't keep up with his support payments."

"That seemed awful easy to get that information," I said.

"It was. Unfortunately, these smaller companies don't protect it the way they should. I was counting on that. Anyway, we know where he lives, so we can go have a look at the place."

It was about a forty minute drive to Paul's address in Shelbyville. The GPS on my Blackberry led us right to a small bungalow looking in need of some paint and upkeep. His worn-out old pickup was in the driveway alongside the house, so we assumed he was home.

"What do you want to do?" Christie asked me.

"I think we should go get something to eat. I doubt he'll go anywhere until later, so we can come back and wait to see if he does go out. Then we'll follow."

I wasn't worried about Paul spotting my SUV since he had probably never seen it before. We could park down the block and wait to see if he came out. If he didn't, we'd go back home and try again the next night.

"This is boring," Christie said at about eight that evening. "I should have brought a book."

"Yeah ... stakeouts are always a waiting game. I hope we don't have too many of them."

It was just before nine o'clock when Paul came out of his house after turning on the front porch light. I had a good look at him and couldn't be sure, but thought he might have been drinking. He didn't look too steady putting the key in the lock.

"Here we go," I said quietly as I started our engine.

He backed out of his driveway rather rapidly and turned toward us.

"Down!" I said as his headlights flashed on our windshield.

I waited until he had passed then made a U turn and began to follow him.

"He doesn't look too steady behind the wheel, Christie."

"No ... I think maybe he got an early start on the evening. Let's give him lots of room."

He wasn't hard to follow other than his speed was so erratic. One moment he was crawling along and the next he would speed up. I wondered if he wouldn't get picked up by the local police before we had a chance to hatch our plan. If he started to look too dangerous, I would report him to the local police.

Sometimes, plans don't work out the way you expect. Hell, ours was so iffy to start with it shouldn't have been a surprise when it all went to hell in a handcart. As we followed Paul Wilson, his driving continued to be a concern. If anything, it seemed to be getting worse. I was giving him lots of room and he needed it. He was avoiding the interstate and was working his way east on U.S. 60 toward Frankfort. He never made it.

I was just about to call the police and report him when it happened. Whether he fell asleep at the wheel or just lost control we couldn't tell, but we watched as his truck veered into the oncoming lane, narrowly missing a car, then careened abruptly right, driving straight into an open field and smashing head-on into a power pole.

I handed my Blackberry to Christie telling her to call 911 and report the accident, asking for an ambulance. I parked just beyond the crash site and ran back to the wreck of his pickup. He was still behind the wheel, blood coming from his face somewhere. I tried to find a pulse, but I was no doctor and I couldn't tell if he was alive or dead. I could smell the alcohol through the window and I'm sure any police officer would as well.

It was several minutes before the first police cruiser and an ambulance made their simultaneous arrival known with their lights and sirens. I noticed both vehicles came from the direction of Frankfort. I walked over to the officer after he'd finished calling in to his station.

"Officer, I'm Douglas Hansen and I witnessed this accident."

"Okay ... tell me what you saw."

"We were following the pickup and it was weaving and driving very erratically. I was pretty sure the guy driving was drunk, so we gave him plenty of space. I was about to call you when he turned into the oncoming lane and then I guess he over-corrected and ended up here. I couldn't tell if he was still alive or not, but I sure could smell alcohol."

He nodded. "Yeah ... me too. Dispatch said a woman called it in."

"That's right. Mrs. Wilson is in my vehicle. She's pretty shook up. It was her ex-husband in the truck."

"Why were you following him?" he asked suspiciously.

I sighed and gave him the whole story, including the idea to get a DNA sample. He looked like he didn't believe a word it until I gave him the number for Detective Carl Etchevarry in Louisville for corroboration.

"Well, it looks like you won't have to worry about it now," the officer said, looking over at the paramedics. They had covered Paul Wilson's body with a blanket, signifying he was dead.

I shook my head in frustration. Did this mean we would never know if he was Diane's killer? I asked that very question of the officer.

"Louisville could request a DNA report from us. If he was a suspect, they would probably want one anyway. He doesn't have any rights to protect any more," he said, looking back at the paramedics loading Paul's body into their van.

"Okay, do you need me for anything else?"

"Yes, I'll need a written statement from you, but it can wait until tomorrow. If you can come into the Frankfort station I'll have someone give you the paperwork. You don't need to give us any more than what you observed when you were following him. Looks like we have another witness anyway," he said, pointing back to a car parked in the opposite direction further west.

"That looks like the car he nearly hit when he swerved into the oncoming lane," I said.

"Probably. Anyway, please come in tomorrow and get this out of the way. I'll expect a call from Louisville. I'm sure they'll want to clear up the file on this guy, even if he wasn't the one."

I said I would and headed back to my vehicle. Christie was sitting silently in her seat, looking out the window. I thought she was in shock and I was about to call the paramedics when she turned to me.

"It's over, isn't it? I saw them cover him up. He's dead, isn't he?"

"Yes ... he's dead," I said quietly, watching tears trickle down her cheeks.

"It shouldn't have ended this way, Doug. Now we might never know."

"Christie, if it wasn't him ... I have to be prepared to let it go. I can't let this haunt me for the rest of my life. It will just be one of those mysteries that never gets solved. It happens all the time."

"But what if it was?" she cried.

"Then we'll know and we can take comfort that he didn't get away with it. It might explain the drinking. Maybe it was guilt for what he had done. We'll never know.

"Let's go home, Doug. I'm not feeling too well. This has turned out all wrong. This wasn't supposed to happen."

"We didn't kill him, Christie. He did it to himself. Luckily, he didn't take anyone with him."

She nodded as I turned the Dodge around and headed back toward home. The ride was silent and I felt for Christie. I'm sure she had mixed emotions about seeing Paul killed. She'd spent too many years with him not to have some feelings for him, despite what he did to her.

We drove back to Frankfort the next morning. Christie was a little less upset, but still very quiet. It isn't often you see someone killed in front of your eyes. It was a first for both of us.

It took us less than a half-hour to fill out the witness statements. We were thanked and assured that they would cooperate with the Louisville Police when asked for a DNA sample. Interestingly, Christie was not asked to identify the body. That was a relief. I had prepared her for the eventuality, but it never happened.

"Detective Etchevarry, please," I said politely to the receptionist.

"Etchevarry." It was his customary greeting, if you could call it that.

"Doug Hansen, Detective. I'm not sure if you're aware, but Paul Wilson was killed in a traffic accident on Friday evening near Frankfort."

"No ... I wasn't aware. Do you know what happened?"

"Yes, Mrs. Wilson and I were following him. He was obviously drunk and shouldn't have been driving. He piled his pickup into a power pole on Highway 60 and was dead at the scene."

"I hope you didn't do anything to cause that accident, Mr. Hansen."

"No ... no ... of course not. We were following him, hoping to get a DNA sample that evening. He was pretty drunk when he left his house and lost control of his truck. We were witnesses and we gave our statements to the Frankfort Police. I'm letting you know because you should be able to get a legal DNA sample now. I told them to expect your call."

"Yes ... I'm sure we can. Okay, I'll call Frankfort and get the ball rolling. It'll take a while, but maybe we can close this case."

"I'd appreciate knowing, one way or the other," I said.

"Sure, I understand. I'll call when I have the results."

"Thanks, Detective. I appreciate your patience with me."

"That's okay, Mr. Hansen. I understand. I'd want the same thing if I was in your place. Not knowing is hard on a person."

"Thanks again," I said, hanging up.

Chapter 15 Looking for a Silver Lining

It took Christie a week to get over witnessing her ex-husbands death. She admitted to having nightmares and I wished that I could do something that would end them. But, as with most traumas, time was the healer. By the end of the week the nightmares had subsided and she was almost back to being her usual upbeat self.

For my part, I wasn't as affected by what I saw. Somehow it didn't seem real, even though I knew him and, more importantly, I knew how his death affected Christie. I worried more about that than about a guy I genuinely disliked and mistrusted. I had already convicted him of Diane's murder. I had put two and two together and got at least six, maybe seven. I had no doubt in my mind that the DNA report would convict him. It was unrealistic, I know, but that was how my mind was working. Needless to say, I mentioned none of this to Christie.

I was lying in my bed, wide awake, thinking about where my life would go now that I had done everything possible to discover who killed my wife. Whether it was Paul Wilson, or someone unknown, there was no other path to follow. If it wasn't him, there would have to be some other kind of breakthrough to solve the case. I wouldn't be involved. I would have to put it behind me.

The phone call came almost ten days after the death of Christie's ex. It was Detective Carl Etchevarry.

"We have the DNA information, Mr. Hansen. I'm afraid it doesn't match with the DNA found at the murder scene. Paul Wilson wasn't her killer."

I felt deflated. I had been so sure he was the one. If fit. He knew her. He had a violent streak that he even bragged about. Add to that, his abuse of alcohol could have fueled the beating he gave her. But that wasn't the way it happened.

"Thanks for letting me know, Detective. Like I said before, I appreciate all you've done to try and solve the case. I guess we'll just have to hope for a lucky break sometime in the future. Good luck," I said sadly, hanging up.

"In a way, I'm glad," Christie said, consoling me. "I'd hate to think I was married to a murderer. He was an asshole and a drunk, but at least he wasn't a killer."

"It's okay, Christie. I understand. I was looking for a solution that I'd already decided on. I'd made up my mind and it turned out I was wrong. I can live with it. It's over now. I've done all I can, so ... it's over."

"Time to get on with the rest of your life?" she asked, a smile on her lovely face.

"Past due, girl, past due."

Christie had a solution for my melancholy. We were going out to dinner and dancing that night, her treat. I objected at first, but she wore me down and in fact, picked out the clothes she expected me to wear. I was off for the next two days having just come off a five day trip, so the fact that it was Monday night didn't slow us down.

As she got ready to go, I was warming up to the idea of getting out socially. I couldn't remember the last time we did this. And then I did remember. Never! I had never taken Christie out to dinner or anything else on her own. This was a first.

She chose the Kentucky Ranch House, up along the Ohio River. It was a noisy sawdust-floored dance hall that specialized in barbeque. It was exactly the right thing for us that night. Everyone there was out for a good time and for a change, everyone would include the two of us. The music was live, country, and foot-stomping lively.

"What made you think of this place," I asked as we settled into a booth.

"Do you think it's a bad choice?" she asked with a worried look.

"Heck, no. It looks like fun," I grinned, trying to reassure her I meant it.

I saw her relax and smile. "Good, I was hoping you'd feel that way. Let's order. I'm hungry."

She got up and talked to our waitress for a minute or so. I was pretty sure what that was about, but I let it go. I was used to it now and it didn't bother me.

"I ordered for us," she said, slipping into the booth beside me.

"Okay ... you know me well enough I won't worry."

"Yeah ... almost like we were married, right?" she teased.

"Almost," I agreed.

The food was nothing fancy, but it was good. A pulled pork sandwich for Christie and a half-rack of back ribs for me. I gave her a big smile and a thank you with a kiss on the cheek when it arrived. I watched her eyes light up as I did that and relaxed back into the booth as we tackled our supper.