Melissa nodded. ‘‘Oh, yeah. Really.’’
‘‘So what did you do?’’ asked Hester.
‘‘Well,’’ said Melissa, getting huffy again, ‘‘I just said bullshit, and nobody’s gonna kill my baby or me over this. Even if it is murder you’re wanted for.’’
‘‘They admit it’s murder?’’ I asked, surprised.
‘‘Well, sure they do, Mr. Houseman.’’
‘‘That kind of surprises me, Melissa. I thought they said they were acting in defense of their property.’’
‘‘Well, on that one, I think so. But not the other one.’’
‘‘Other one?’’
‘‘You know, the ones up in the park in June.’’
‘‘What?’’
‘‘The ones in the park, Mr. Houseman. The officer and the dope dealer. The ones you came to arrest them for today.’’ Melissa looked at me as if I were senile.
‘‘They did those?’’ I leaned forward and put my hand on her forearm. ‘‘Herman killed those men in the park?’’
‘‘Not Herman, but he knew about it. But, but…’’ Her lip started to quiver. ‘‘But Bill was there, and he saw it, and he never shot but once, and he never hit anybody,’’ and the flood began. I think she began to realize right about then that we hadn’t known about that at all.
While Melissa cried, I went outside and thought about a cigarette.
Al Hummel approached the tent. ‘‘What’s up, Carl?’’
‘‘You’re not gonna believe this one, Al.’’
After a long interview with Melissa, what we had was this:
On June 18th, the day of the shooting in the park, Melissa Stritch’s husband, Bill, was taking part in a militia exercise in the park area with several other individuals. Herman, while part of the leadership of this particular militia, wasn’t with them. Herman had, however, assisted in the planning for the exercise. The group had been in the park for at least a day prior to the shootings. Bill had called Melissa that morning, saying that they’d had to call off the maneuvers, but didn’t say why. He was calling from Herman’s place, and had spent the afternoon there. He had cautioned her to say nothing to the police. When he arrived home that evening, he seemed very subdued and worried. And, she’d noticed immediately, he’d had none of his militia gear with him. She’d asked, and he said not to worry about it.
Melissa had learned long before that day that when politics and/or militia business was involved, she was wise not to pry. It had taken Bill three days to tell her that the men he was with had killed the little dope dealer and the cop. Bill denied killing anybody, and refused to name anyone else who was with him that day.
The DCI agents had showed up the day after the shootings to do the interview with Herman, but had talked only with his wife, Nola. Herman and Bill had apparently been in the barn with assault rifles trained on the DCI men the whole time. It appeared that the DCI had talked to Melissa the same day, but without the snipers.
When Lamar and Bud showed up on July 23rd, Herman had automatically assumed they had solved the murder and were coming to arrest both himself and Bill. Bill seemed to have a calming effect on Herman, but Bill wasn’t there when our officers arrived. Melissa knew virtually nothing about the actual shooting of Lamar and Bud, but she had heard the argument between Herman and Bill in the house shortly before she left, the gist of which was that Herman believed the Original Notice was a ruse. Bill had said that Herman was nuts, and that if they were coming to arrest Herman, there would have been more than two. She also said that it was just ‘‘known’’ within the family at the house that Herman had done the shooting.
I looked at my notes again, then at Hester and Al. ‘‘We need to know anything else?’’
‘‘Just the family in there?’’ asked Al.
‘‘Two other men,’’ said Melissa. ‘‘Friends of Herman.’’
‘‘Know ’em?’’ I asked.
‘‘Not really.’’
‘‘Do they have guns too?’’ asked Hester.
‘‘Oh, sure. Everybody in that place has at least one.’’ She yawned and shuddered at the same time.
‘‘It’s late, and I’m sure Melissa’s tired, aren’t you?’’ said Hester.
Melissa nodded.
‘‘Well,’’ said Hester, ‘‘I’m sure we can have a second interview tomorrow, with a stenographer present. After Melissa’s rested and fed, and we can see how little Susie is coming along.’’
I looked at Melissa. ‘‘Thanks, kid. We appreciate this.’’
‘‘Sure,’’ she said with a faint smile. ‘‘Just one thing… I’m not a snitch, Mr. Houseman. I’m really not. I’m just so tired of the bullshit.’’
‘‘I know,’’ I said. ‘‘I’m getting a little tired of it myself.’’
Melissa left with Diane Blakeslee, good old 884. Blakeslee would stay with her all night at a motel in Maitland, and deliver her to the Sheriff’s Department the next morning. Best we could do for protective custody. It was 0521. I went to a camper one of our reserve officers had brought to the scene, and thought for about five seconds before I fell asleep.
They didn’t wake me until 1120 on the 24th.
After a trip to a Porta Potti, two cups of coffee, and a moment spent thinking about a cigarette, I was ready to go. There were no new developments, so we scheduled my interview by the DCI agents assigned to yesterday’s murder and shooting. I was, at least, a witness. I figured it would be a good opportunity to bring Hester up to speed on exactly what had happened, and asked if she could sit in. As it appeared now that the murders in the park were related to the current situation, everybody agreed. My interview lasted just over two hours. Once we established that I hadn’t been intoxicated, using mind-altering drugs, or intentionally irritating Stritch, things went rapidly. We had to count the rounds in my rifle magazines to verify how many rounds I’d fired. I always carried twenty-eight in the thirty-round magazines, to save tension on the magazine springs. I had to explain that twice, as one of the agents didn’t understand how long those magazines stayed in my trunk. They also checked my handgun, and ruled that it hadn’t been fired for some time. I think the spider living in the barrel may have had some influence. They were really lawsuit-conscious. I don’t blame them a bit. It was sort of hard not to rush to the precise points I really wanted to cover, but I forced myself to stick with the pace. But when we got to Bill Stritch’s actions, the interest was heightened all around.
After the interview, I assembled both investigative teams, including my friend George of the Bureau, who pretty well knew everybody there, and had come up that morning to help us with his expertise. Well, that’s what he said. We all knew he was scoping things out for his superiors, but we let it pass. We didn’t know if we might need the FBI in a hurry, and it never hurt to have them up to speed. George Pollard had a new partner, Mike Twill. He went to look over the situation while we talked. There was also the incidental matter of a federal warrant being issued for Herman Stritch, for resisting the serving of a federal process… our guys’ Original Notice had been from the Federal Land Bank. Herman was engaged in some fraudulent practices, it appeared, with the Land Bank the victim. Fine by me. The federal charge was peanuts compared to what we had against Herman, but it was nice to have one in your pocket if you needed it. A federal charge, not a peanut.
We discussed the two investigations, and came to one very obvious conclusion: if we were to ever find out the names of the people involved in the park killings, we were going to have to accomplish two things. One, take both Herman and Bill alive and relatively intact. Two, do so in a way that would gain their cooperation.
Yeah, right.
‘‘I’m not saying this is going to be easy,’’ said Hester.
‘‘Well,’’ said George, ‘‘that’s good, Hester.’’
After a pause, I said, ‘‘It shouldn’t be too hard to get at least one of them alive and well. Probably both. Right?’’
‘‘Sure,’’ said Hester.
‘‘But cooperative doesn’t exactly leap out at me.’’
Al cleared his throat. ‘‘To do that, you gotta give ’em just a bit of what they want.’’
‘‘Yeah, but what Herman seems to want,’’ said George, ‘‘is being held blameless for shooting officers, for not paying contracted debts, and to be placed in charge of an independent state.’’
‘‘Like I said,’’ said Hester.
