CHAPTER XI
Saturday, February 28
By the time the inquest started Saturday morning, activities were already well under way at Police Headquarters. Dzanowski, Harris, and Raphael had gone to Townsend to canvass filling stations and work south. Chernoff, Wade, and Kettleman were covering Stockford, Ashmun, and between points as far as Townsend. Four more men were working the towns to the north, east, and west. The local police of all towns in the area between Stamford, Danbury, and Bridgeport had been alerted to watch for a tan, 1957 Ford with a dented rear fender.
The inquest itself took place in the conference room of Judge Reed on the first floor of the town hall. Present at the hearing were Town Prosecutor Merrill, Dr. MacFarlane, Wilks, and Fellows and the session lasted only half an hour. MacFarlane’s testimony was in substance the same as his report to Fellows. The dead girl was about thirty, brunette, estimated height five feet six, estimated weight 135 pounds. She had died sometime between Friday afternoon, February twentieth, and Saturday evening, February twenty-first. The woman was not pregnant, had never borne a child, and the cause of death was impossible to determine due to the fact parts of the body were missing. He produced a series of glossy prints of the dismembered remains and showed them around to substantiate this point. Judge Reed glanced at them quickly and looked away, Merrill looked at them briefly, and Fellows didn’t bother looking at them at all.
When it was the chiefs turn, he told what had been accomplished in the case so far. The man in question was not the John Campbell of the Gary Hardware Company. The victim was not Jean Sherman in Bridgeport. Campbell could be identified by three different people, he drove a tan Ford with Connecticut plates, and his description was known. “Watly and the boy, Andy,” Fellows said, “are going to Hartford this afternoon to look through their photo gallery. If the man’s ever been arrested in this state, we should be able to get a line on him.”
Judge Reed, unhappy at having to delay his vacation in the first place, was even more disgruntled over what he’d had to delay it for. When Merrill had finished his questioning, Reed said, “What kind of an inquest is this? What kind of a decision am I supposed to hand down on the information you’ve given me? You’ve had the body for two days and you don’t even know how she died. You don’t even know who she is or who took the knife to her.”
Fellows said, “That’s right, Judge.”
Reed fixed him with a stony eye. “I would say it behooves you, Chief, to get yourself some help. The Stockford police department is obviously ill-equipped to handle major crimes. Why haven’t you called in the State Police?”
“We have. We’ve been using their facilities right along, their lab and technicians. And they’re helping us hunt for Campbell’s car.”
“I would strongly recommend, Chief, that you turn the whole investigation over to them.”
Fellows said, “Is that your verdict, Judge?”
“Don’t be flip.”
“And don’t you be telling me my business, Judge.”
“I’m not trying to.” Reed looked at his watch impatiently and said, “I can’t give you a verdict. All I can say right now is that a woman died from unknown causes and was mutilated after death by an unknown man. What this court wants is the cause of death and the identity of the man.” He said, as an afterthought, “And the identity of the woman.” He scraped his chair back and stood up.
“Have a good time in Florida,” Fellows said.
The judge left the room to go back to his chambers and the others went out into the hall where Carleton Lawrence, editor of the Stockford Weekly Bulletin, the reporter named Hilders, and two other newspapermen were waiting. Merrill gave them the inquest verdict and MacFarlane said to the chief, “How long do I have to keep the body? When do we bury her?”
“How long can you hold off?”
“As long as I have to, I suppose.”
“Call me on Monday, Jim. I want to find out who she is if I can.”
The chief went downstairs to headquarters and Hilders followed him. “Hey, Chief, how about letting me take a look around the murder house?”
Fellows said, “Help yourself.”
“It’s locked. Restlin has the keys.”
“Then ask him. We’re through with it. It’s not our house.”
“I have asked him. He won’t open it up.”
The chief pulled open the hall door to the main room for Wilks and himself and held it so Hilders could follow. He said to Sergeant Unger, “Any reports?”
“One from Erie.” He handed it to the chief who read, PRELIMINARY INVESTIGATION REVEALS SIX MEN WHO ONCE WORKED FOR GARY HARDWARE NOW LIVING IN CONNECTICUT-NEW YORK AREA STOP HARVEY BENTON 228 WESTSIDE STREET, HARTFORD, JAMES COLES 164 EDGEHILL ROAD STRATFORD, MARTIN FINE 55 WEYMOUTH LANE NEW ROCHELLE, RICHARD LESTER, LAST KNOWN IN STAMFORD, KIRBY NORRIS 681 BEVERLY DRIVE NEW HAVEN, SAMUEL TRAUBE 40 ESSEX STREET NEW LONDON.
Fellows showed it to Wilks and said, “Nobody in Townsend. I guess that was expecting too much.”
Hilders wanted to see it, but Fellows kept it away. “You don’t want names, Mr. Hilders. It’s just people who know a John Campbell works for Gary Hardware. Their names are our business.”
“Everything’s your business. I can’t write a story on the handouts you give.”
“I thought you were going to nose around on your own, Mr. Hilders.”
“You’ve got me blocked. You won’t let me into the murder house, for instance.”
“There’s nothing there in the first place and it’s not our affair in the second.”
“That’s what you say. All right, then, since you’re so co-operative, who’s the girl in the case?”
“We don’t know.”
“I don’t mean the victim, I mean the other girl.”
Fellows turned around a little too quickly for casual innocence. “What other girl?”
“I’ve heard rumors,” Hilders said.
