Chapter 12
Dr. Brenan helped to produce a proper odontological report for the use in the dental identification process. One of the victims, John Doe 4 was identified as Markus Quinn, a 39 year old second hand car-dealer who had been reported missing by his live-in girlfriend 9 months ago.
John Doe 3 had been identified as Edward (Eddy) Richards. A twenty one year old pizza delivery boy, who had been living with his parents, when he was reported missing five years ago. Richards also had a citation for indecent exposure.
Sara and Grissom were standing in the lay out room updating the whiteboards with all the new information. Sara also added the available information about Jessica Hall on the fifth board.
"I can't imagine any connection between Richards and Quinn. They probably moved in different social circles, they had different friends. Quinn never even ordered a pizza from the place that Richards worked. Not as far as I could find out anyway." Sara said as she sat down, watching the board despondently.
"Well, then let's focus on what they do have in common," Grissom said, also sitting down. "Where they were buried is the most important factor connecting these victims."
"Ok, all four were buried in the Hall family backyard, so chances are we are looking for a Hall family member," Sara started the ticking the points off her fingers as she talked. "Three of the four were shot with a Smith and Wesson .39 revolver."
Grissom gave her a questioning glance. "Bobby confirmed it from the bullets recovered by Doc. Robbins," she explained quickly, realizing that she hadn't yet told him that.
He nodded and she quickly continued. "And they're all male."
She stopped and Grissom glanced at her again.
"I read a Time article recently," Sara said thoughtfully. "The ATF did a study of 88 570 guns found at crime scenes in 46 US cities in 2000. Using that they classified weapons as offensive, defensive or sporting, based on their time-to-crime interval. For instance Bryco Arms 9mm semiautomatics recovered from kids younger than eighteen had a median time-to-crime of one and a half years, and those recovered from suspects aged eighteen to twenty four had a median time-to-crime of one point one years. The Hi Point 9mm is another downscale semiautomatic frequently seized from suspects in the eighteen-to-twenty four age range; it has a time-to-crime span of just one year. But revolvers had a median time-to-crime of twelve point three years, according to the 2000 figures. The article implied revolvers were a more popular defensive rather than offensive weapon" She quoted the article, almost word for word.
Grissom was sitting looking at her with a soft smile on his face. Sara thought she caught something else in his eyes before he looked back at the whiteboards.
"So probably these crimes were done with a weapon already owned, rather than with one specifically procured for the purpose," he asked, not looking at her.
"I guess so."
Lifting an eyebrow he looked at her.
"A good scientist shouldn't guess."
"Yes Holmes. But what would you have me do?"
He looked at her with a crooked smile, and Sara answered it with a grin of her own when Nick rushed into the layout room. He was so excited that he completely missed the atmosphere in the room or the fact that both Grissom and Sara had gone slightly red.
"Dr. Brennan just finished the facial reconstruction of John Doe2. You aren't going to guess who it is!"
"A good scientist doesn't guess, Nick" Sara informed him dryly.
Momentary taken aback Nick looked at his two co-workers, who were clearly enjoying a private joke.
"Right….. Ok. John Doe2, is Guy Hall. James Hall's father and Patricia Hall's husband. She told police he had run off with a cocktail waitress thirty years ago."
"I think we should have another talk with Patricia, don't you think? Something very strange had been going on it that house," Sara stated.
"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy," was Grissom's answer.
"Shakespeare?" asked Nick.
Grissom's love for quoting the English author was legendary.
"Hamlet. After his father's murder," Sara answered for him.
Grissom and Sara joined Brass the in interview room, facing an elderly Patricia Hall. Just before they entered Brass informed them that they had recovered a Smith and Wesson .39 revolver at the Hall residence that was registered to the late Guy Hall. The weapon was sent to Bobby for comparison.
Patricia wore just enough make-up to look professional and well taken care of, but not so much that one couldn't get an idea of her age. She wore her grey, almost white hair short, and was dressed in an elegant blue dress. She carried herself upright and her eyes were penetrating but not unkind. Like they had seen many things in this world and there wasn't much left that could surprise her.
"One of the bodies found in your backyard, is that of your husband, Mrs. Hall," Brass said as he placed the reconstructed image of Guy Hall's face in front of her.
Mrs. Hall glanced at the pictures, but showed no surprise.
"We have also recovered the murder weapon from you house. Ballistics matched it to the bullets found in the victims," Brass continued, taking a little liberty. Removing the photos of the revolver, and some of the ballistics results out of the case file, he added it to the pictures already on the table.
"We know James was only eight years old at the time of his father's death, probably too young to know what was going on. Is there anything you would like to tell us, Mrs. Hall?"
"My client reserves the right to remain silent," the lawyer piped in.
"It's ok young man. I knew as soon as they found that body that it would lead to this. In fact I thought this day would have come sooner," Mrs. Hall patted the lawyer's arm, like a grandmother soothing an agitated grandson.
"My greatest regret in life, is that I didn't kill the bastard sooner. All the signs were there, but I was blind." She started explaining. Her voice was calm and resigned.
"The night it happened, I couldn't sleep, so I got up for a glass of milk. Guy often stayed up late to watch football game re-runs. He wasn't in the TV room, and I heard noises coming from Jessica's room. Never in all my life could I have imagined what I saw when I opened the door."
She fell silent for a moment before continuing.
"I don't remember all the details after so many years, I think my mind has blocked some of it out. But I do remember that there was a lot of blood. I continued hitting anyway. My mind kept telling me that he was already dead, but my heart wanted to destroy him for the harm he had done to my daughter."
She kept looking at Sara as she talked, maybe finding it easier than to look at Brass or Grissom.
"She never really recovered. Two years later she took her own life. I had failed her. In my fundamental job as her mother, I had failed her."
Patricia Hall closed her eyes for a moment before continuing.
"It took me the rest of the night to dig that bloody hole. And still I couldn't get it deep enough. I wanted to erase him from the face of the earth."
"Why didn't you phone the police?" Brass asked "You acted in defense of another, your daughter even."
Sara already knew the answer.
"I couldn't put Jessica through such an ordeal. Not even James knew what had happened. She was hanging by a thread as it was. I swore that no one would hurt my family again."
"And the others?" Grissom gently queried.
Patricia sat back in her chair, taking a deep breath. She looked older than she had at the start of the interview. Sara didn't know how she knew, but she was sure that this was the first time Patricia had ever told this story.
"I told James not to marry that girl, that she wasn't good wife material. They were married for 3 years when she started the affair. She thought that she was being very clever about it, but I knew. One day I followed her. His name was John Archer. I confronted him and told him to break it off - or I will. He refused. So one day when James and Gladys went away for the weekend, I invited John over, pretending to be Gladys. This time I had him dig his own damn grave, he had already metaphorically done so in any case. "
Sara noticed that when Patricia had spoken of her husband's death, there was pain in her voice. Now her voice was devoid of emotion.
"Then I told Gladys that John had come by to say goodbye. I told her that I would tell James everything I knew if she did not behave like an exemplary wife. For a while she did."
"And Edward Richards?" Brass asked.
"I did the world a favor with that one." She answered, her voice dripping with disgust.
"He delivered pizzas to our house a few times but was much too taken with Julie, my granddaughter, for my liking. She was 10 years old at the time. So I had James switch to another pizza delivery joint. But the little weasel still came by our house. Hanging out in the street talking to the kids. He started bringing Julie gifts, an expensive camera, a new cell phone, even a few pieces of cheap jewelry. I knew the signs this time. I saw what was happening. I warned Julie to stay away from him, but she was too young and too innocent to listen." Her eyes were blazing with anger as she talked. "I had the little shit dig his own grave as well. It's so much easier that way. Everything went well for a while again. Till Gladys met Markus Quinn. It was John Archer all over again, though this time, I didn't let it go as far as it did with John."
Patricia put her hands flat on the table.
"What I did was wrong. But given the choice I would do so again. I have prayed to God for forgiveness all these years, but if He can't understand why I did it, then He does not deserve our devotion. I protected my family to the best of my abilities, and I pray that I had done enough."
The room was silent for a moment. Confessions normally didn't happen this easily. And, to Sara, it felt… wrong.
"One question," she said suddenly, breaking the silence. "Why did you dig the pool? Why did you renovate your garden if you knew that there were bodies buried there?"
Patricia looked sad as she moved her hands across the table and to her lap. She looked at the one way mirror, apparently studying her own features. "My son ordered it," she said quietly. "He didn't know. In a way, I wish that he never would. He never discussed the pool with me. The ground was broken before I could object. He thought it would be a surprise."
She smiled bitterly and turned back to them.
"I guess, in a way, it was."
"Pass the salt please," Brass asked Nick who was sitting next to him.
They were all sitting in the restaurant eating breakfast. Sara was exhausted and though she was hungry she kept pushing the pieces of her salad around the plate.
"I kinda feel sad for the old lady," Nick spoke around a mouth full of bacon. "I'm not saying I condone it, but I sort of understand why she did it."
Sara was drinking green tea. She had learned that after pulling a triple, she often had trouble getting her mind to shut down. She struggled with insomnia on the best of times; she did not need the stimulatory effects of a lot of caffeine right now if she had any hope of getting some proper rest. Being physically tired helped; she resolved to take Chris for a run before turning in.
"Where would we be if everyone took the law into their own hands?" Grissom asked, nursing a cup of coffee. Sara could see from the set ohis shoulders how tired he was. His body language belied his remark.
"Maybe society would be a better place?" Sara said softly.
"I'm just glad I'm not part of the jury on this one. The evidence is pretty open and shut. The motives and intentions not so," Brass remarked.
After Brass and Nick had left, Sara and Grissom still lingered at the table. She could see him glancing at her still almost full plate, but was grateful that he didn't comment.
"I wish someone had protected me when I was young, as Mrs. Hall did her family." Sara spoke into her tea, not looking up at Grissom. She wondered how different her life might have been. How much easier.
"Honey, she committed murder."
"So did my mother," she said quietly.
She felt forlorn and lost. The stark contrast between her own childhood, and the one Mrs. Hall fashioned for her granddaughter was almost painful. She realized that part of it was due to the exhaustion, after a certain amount of sleep-deprivation, one's emotion tended to become a bit frayed. She knew this, but the waves of melancholy crashed over her regardless. She was startled when Grissom took her hand in his. It was such an uncharacteristic gesture of friendship and empathy that Sara almost cried.
"Go home. Take a nice long bath. Everything will look better tomorrow."
He spoke softly and with such conviction, she almost believed him. His eyes were moist and filled with concern. Sara drank in every feature off his face. Hoping it will be enough to wade off a new wave of nightmares.
She stopped at the supermarket to buy new lemons before heading home. Taking out her phone, she tried Agent Scott's number, but it went straight to voicemail.