Rest In Peace

CHAPTER ONE 1

Robert, Daniel. March 16, 1970. July 14, 1980. Beloved son and brother.2

Jessica, Catherine. May 23, 1974. July 14, 1980. Beautiful daughter and sister.3

The second ambulance pulled up a few minutes before Detective Roy Battle arrived. Roy could see the lights flashing, strobe-like, off the houses, trees, cars and even the people in the street as his car pulled around the curve and within view of the house. It painted a very eery picture. 4

The ambulance was backed into the driveway. Both of its rear doors open. 5

Roy parked across the street, and checked the time. It was 2:36 a.m. He got out and started to cross the street, making a quick note of the people out so late. Some in their housecoats, others fully dressed. Some, he noticed, were weeping. 6

He whispered to the officer standing guard, then dipped under the yellow police tape and made his way up the bricked driveway to the house. The officer he spoke to then began taking down each person's name and address. 7

Roy passed by the ambulance and glanced inside. There was already a full gurney in there. He reached the house as two paramedics were lowering another gurney onto it's wheels in the driveway. He knew what was in the half-filled body bag. He hated to do it but he had to look. He unzipped the bag part way and looked inside. 8

It was a girl of maybe six years old. She was dressed in a pink care-bear nighty and had been sleeping, obviously, and sucking her thumb. It was still clamped between her teeth. There was a small dark hole in the right side of her head, just above her ear. When he tilted her head he saw that her blond hair, now looked black. 9

He zipped the bag shut and took in a deep breath. 10

"Roy!" he heard from behind him. He didn't recognize the voice but knew who it belonged to. He turned around and saw Sgt. John Cunningham. His assistant on this one. Their first case together. 11

John, it appears, was throwing up beside the garage. He was wiping his hands on his handkerchief as he made his way back to Roy. 12

"What time did you know about this, John? And Why wasn't I notified before now, so I could be here before they removed anything?" He raised his voice just enough. 13

John headed toward the house, saying nothing at first, nervously fumbling in his jacket pocket for his notes with his right hand, while handing Roy something with his left. 14

"I only got the call myself twenty five minutes ago, Det. Battle." John said in a much lower tone. They made their way inside, past a full house of police, forensic photographers and more investigators.15

Roy took the the slippers and stood there waiting for an answer. 16

None came quick enough. So Roy made it clear to John that they would talk, later. 17

"Hell of a night we got here. Sir." John continued, with some resolution.18

Roy leaned over, and slipped into the slippers, snapping the elastic edge as he let it go. The ‘snap' was flat.19

"What I saw in here tonight, Sir," he gulped hard, "was absolutely the worst thing I have ever seen." His throat ‘clicked' as he swallowed. "I have never seen that much blood." He opened his note pad and suddenly felt very pale. Visions of what he had just witnessed were flipping through his thoughts like a rolo-dex. Before he could say another word Roy asked. 20

"Who called it in?" 21

He took in a deep breath. "We're not sure. Like I said I myself only just got the call." He spoke fast as he nervously glanced through his notes then started to walk down a hallway toward the back. Roy followed.22

"Once I got here, I had the perimeters marked and taped off outside. All around the house. I sent two of the officers out to start canvassing the neighbours." John said quietly, and added, "Most of them are outside anyways."23

They came to the kitchen doorway and only Roy looked inside. 24

"They took the husband out of here and the wife from upstairs, away in the first ambulance, Sir," John said. He gulped. "That was the daughter, Jessica, you saw them loading into the ambulance outside there. The son, Robert, was already inside. They put him in a few minutes ago. I saw them all and got notes of everything I saw. There's plenty of pictures of it all, too, or there will be, soon enough. Would you like me to read to you what I got? What I wrote, I saw?" 25

"Not a word. Unless I ask. I want no outside interference." 26

"All right." He exhales, shuts his notes and watches.27

The following is a notation in Det. Roy Battle's notes by Roy Battle himself. 28

‘This is only a description of what I, Roy Battle actually saw. There were no bodies in any room.' 29

‘I stood on the threshold and surveyed the room from there. Thinking to myself , this was where the husband,... "What's his name?" I whispered aloud. "Dan Campman" came the quick reply.' 30

...‘Died!' 31

‘The evidence of blood, not only on the tabletop, but the floor below, and the surrounding walls and surprisingly the ceiling, made it obvious that at the time of his death, he was sitting at the kitchen table. Back against the wall.'32

‘I took a step into the kitchen with John right behind me. As we eased our way out and around the table, my view of the scene changed. I could see all of the many different colours that made up this horrible picture. No matter where I looked, it was painted in a sick mixture of blood, brain and skin.' 33

‘As we came around the head of the table, looking straight down the barrel of the gun, so-to-speak, I found a perfect view of the fatal shot. The hole in the wall. It was hiding in amongst all of the brain matter and blood and guts, that made up the backdrop of this horrific picture. Right where Mr. Campman's head would have been, if he was sitting up straight.' 34

Roy's stomach ‘hitched' once again and it tasted like something wanted to come up. 35

He watched John make his way through the kitchen, heading for a back stairway to the upper floors. 36

A police photographer had just come into the kitchen to take final Polaroids of everything in this room as it is right now, before the scene is locked down. Others were doing the same in each and every room in the house. 37

Roy nodded to him as they both stopped and stared at the table. Neither believing what they saw. Roy was taking it all in. Trying to imagine what happened. To make it come to life. But he couldn't. 38

Not tonight.39

He turned to catch up to John and camera flashes exploded behind him. His shadow on the wall ahead of him was huge. 40

He met up with John at the foot of the stairs.41

"Was there a note or anything?" Roy asked, dying for a smoke. He reached into his pocket "No! Not yet."42

Roy smiled as he fumbled around in the side pocket of his overcoat, hoping to find a pack of cigarettes. He'd quit a year ago. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done. But he was finding out that trying not to think about smoking was even harder.43

‘No note. Anonymous phone calls.' He thought to himself. ‘No survivors. And no doubt no suspects.' 44

He did find a pack of juicy fruit gum which he quickly retrieved and took out one stick. He unwrapped it and shoved the gum in his mouth rolling up the wrapper, which he put back in his pocket with the rest of the gum. 45

Roy was having a harder time than usual, getting a clear picture of what happened here. He could see it alright, but if he'd been here to see the victims, where they had died, the way they had died, it would be less trouble to see it. When that wasn't possible for Roy, it took a little longer to get it started. He swallowed the gum juice that had suddenly filled his mouth.46

"Show me the rest," he said, blowing a hole in the gum, like it was a smoke. 47

‘What I need,' he thought, ‘is bubble gum. The kind that I can blow bubbles with.' Or a smoke! 48

"It's just as bad." John said, -- he was starting to feel nauseous again. He didn't know whether Roy could tell that he'd been sick already, and hoped that he wouldn't want him to walk him through the scene. 49

John swallowed hard. He was feeling worse with each breath.50

Roy saw the colour draining out of his face.51

"The other's were all killed upstairs. Follow me." John replied, trying to sound enthusiastic.52

Roy glanced at, and through the glass panelled back door into the deep, dark backyard, as John began his ascent up an unlit, very narrow, servant's stairway. 53

The landing came to a wide hall that ran west to east, with doorways on both sides up and down it. John pointed Roy in the right direction and immediately on his left, was an open doorway, with stairs leading to the third floor. The first door on the right was the bathroom. The next door on the right was the boy's room. 54

There was another photographer in this room taking final pictures. Roy and John stopped in the hall and waited as he worked his magic inside. Roy watched, eyes wide open. Taking in each flash of the bulb. 55

John turned his back to the room. This was his first homicide as a detective, and unfortunately for him, it involved children He couldn't stop thinking about that. He had a little three-year-old son at home and it made him sick to see just what he'd seen in this house.56

. Only Roy nodded to the photographer as he left the room. 57

John would carry that image with him to his grave. 58

From his favourite starting position, Roy saw walls in the boy's room, papered with Formula one racing cars. Many different designs of Formula one cars and racetracks scattered repeatedly throughout. There were posters of various sports stars decorating the walls. Michael Jordan. Gary Carter. Marcel Dionne. On his dresser was what looked like a recent school picture, and a more recent family portrait. Pinned to the school picture were some ribbons from school field day. Three, firsts. Two, seconds. A lacrosse stick lay on the floor at the end of his bed, a hard ball in its pocket. 59

Roy carefully stepped through the doorway into the room. It was larger than it appeared from the hall. 60

He made his way to the boys bed and stopped at the foot of it. What could this child have done in his short life to deserve this.61

Note: These are Det. Battle's words. His summation of his view of both the son and daughter.62

The boy had been in bed, sleeping. There was a small bloodstain, about five inches round, on his pillow. He glanced around the room again and still nothing else here appeared to be missing, moved, or broken. This killing was merely to keep the kids quiet, or to leave no witnesses. Even if they were asleep. Again, it repulsed Roy.63

John was becoming more anxious than nauseous, but still he felt sick . . . again. He gulped it back, and waited for Roy. Hoping he had more of that gum he was always chewing.64

"Are you seeing anything different, this time, John" came a voice from the depths of the room. 65

"No! Sir. But do you have more of that gum?"66

He hoped that didn't sound too pushy, as he turned away from the room. Roy came out a moment later and handed him a stick. "My name's Roy." 67

"Thanks. Roy. The Master bedroom's at the end of the hall." He continued toward the bedroom. Roy just one step behind . . . thinking. ‘There were two different guns, John. I hope you didn't miss that?'68

Halfway down, John stopped and whispered.69

"I know you told me to say nothing. But I gotta say this because without the body there you might not get it right. The wife wasn't in bed, like the kids were . . ." He looked up and down the hall. 70

". . . At least not like she'd been sleeping. More like she was put there. You know what I mean, Roy?" 71

"Or this guy really had a hate on for her," . . . He looked back up toward the boys room. His stomach growled, ". . . and his kids."72

Again, John watched from the hall-side of the doorway. 73

Roy took one step into each of the remaining rooms, and made a mental picture of the entire scene. Each room may have been empty of its victims, but Roy made the best of what he saw. 74

First the Master bedroom, where the mother died. Then the little girl's room. 75

"John," Roy said on their way back down the hall, "I'll meet you in the living room." He wiped the sweat off his forehead with his hand. Now HE felt sick. 76

"Living room," John repeated. "Right!" and let out a breath. ‘Whew!' 77

Roy stopped in the bathroom before going back downstairs. He really didn't feel good. It was always the same. Every time he gets a case where there's kids involved, he gets sick. They're so hard for him to concentrate on and get clear unsettling pictures of, that it almost always makes him sick. 78

‘God! I hate these cases,' he mumbled.79

He stood in front of the mirror and stared at himself. He hated the way he felt. 80

Roy was 57 years old. He had a thin face that gave him the appearance of being much taller than he was. His hair had thinned considerably on top, and the rest had gone white. He was beginning to look a lot like what he remembered his father looked like. 81

He smiled, as the sick in his stomach rumbled and growled around so loudly he thought he heard it echo. He cursed that damned left-over meatloaf. Next time, no onions. 82

Suddenly his reflection wavered. At first, it felt like it was the room, until he started to sweat. He could feel his shirt work like a sponge on him, up and down his back and under his arms. He stared at his reflection as the room started to spin. 83

He leaned over and threw up into the basin. Whatever it was that made him sick, splattered up and out of the sink and not only on his tie, but all over the counter top before he managed to turn on both taps. That made it worse. Everything splashed up and out of the sink in a rush, covering some of Roy's shirt and overcoat. 84

After he washed his face and neck with cold water, he wiped the mess off his clothes, masking the scent with Old Spice he found behind the mirror and cleaned the sink and counter. Then he replaced his sicked-out gum with another fresh piece. Finally, he went back through the bedrooms, one last time, by himself. Without John pretending not to watch his every move. 85

He first went through the wife's bedroom. Carefully and cautiously processing a vivid picture of what his mind saw. Once Roy had that scene fixed in his mind, then he needed to make those last pictures move, backwards. Show him what brought it to that picture. 86

He was having trouble with that part. 87

John mentioned that the wife had been strangled to death. There were finger bruises around her neck. Where the others had been shot. 88

‘This is why nobody should ever remove evidence of any kind too early.' he yells at himself inside.89

More questions than answers. He examined the lay of the room. Again, everything appeared to be normal. He could tell the wife had been killed on the bed by the mess. Even though there was no blood like her children and husband. Something in this room is wrong. This bothered him enough to make him crave a smoke. He fummbled with the gum in his pocket. 90

When he was done in the mother's room, he went down the hall to the little girl's room, where he not quite as slowly walked through. The picture was already etched in his mind from his first meeting with her. Now, being in that room made it so much easier to see. 91

Maybe because it was so different from the way in which her mother died. And maybe it was because she was a child and to die so violently. Even quietly, in her sleep. Peacefully sucking her thumb. He shut his eyes, blanking out the vision. Making it disappear. And for only the second time in his long career, he missed the obvious. Forensics did not.92

The picture he got here was similar to her brother's. Same M.O. There was a much smaller patch of blood on her pillow, and none of the mess of her father. 93

Still, something about it, bothered him. Something didn't feel right. He couldn't put his finger on it. So he left shortly after entering and was tempted to stop in the bathroom again on his way downstairs. But didn't. 94

He will reluctantly wait for all of the reports from forensics. Two places in particular now. Later, after seeing all of the pictures and comparing them with the info from forensics, they would be able to come up with a clearer picture of what really took place here. Not just what it looked like. But what really happened. Until then he'd listen to what John had so far. 95

He actually was on the scene first. 96

He found John in the living room.97

"Feeling better, Roy?"98

"Fine, John." 99

"Listen." He begins, then fumbles in his overcoat pocket as if looking for the correct words.100

"Never let anybody move anybody or anything from one of my scenes before I get to look at it. Unles they're still breathing." There was a smile behind that grim face somewhere. 101

"Now. Tell me again what you think happened here?" 102

"I think it's pretty straight forward." There was no pad this time and his colour was back. "From what we have so far, I mean. There's the husband in the kitchen with half of his head plastered all over the walls and a double-barrel in his hand. His little girl, her older brother, and their mother, all upstairs in their bedrooms. Probably fast asleep. I think his wife, if she was asleep, wakes up when she hears something. Maybe the noise of the shotgun. Or . . . maybe one of the kids screaming. She comes out to see what's going on and finds her husband with a shotgun standing in her daughter's room. Or the son's room. He bops her in the head with the gun, carries her back to her bedroom and strangles her. And then like the true coward that he was he turned the gun on himself." 103

He looked at Roy's face, hoping to find agreement. But he didn't. He saw questions. 104

Almost apologetically, "Listen, Roy! You asked me what I thought happened here. That's my take on it so far. Until all of the evidence is in, I can only give you what I think. Based on what I see, and how I decipher it. Right now I think it's a murder-suicide." 105

Roy was fumbling again with the gum, chewing madly on the piece in his mouth, (which was getting hard and tasteless), and dying for a smoke. Because of that he didn't notice the sudden change in John's look, but he heard it in his voice.106

"We've still got lots of people to question before we have all the answers," he continued.107

"I think you might be right John," Roy said. "I'm sure glad more families don't argue like this." He added, more to himself than John, "It's too bad that when they do, they have to kill their kids." 108

"Check the gun for ownership and see if you can't find the other one somewhere in here. Or outside around the property. And make sure every part of the house is dusted for prints. Check out the attic, too." He gestured toward the kitchen. "And be doubly thorough in there. Check that broken window in the back door. And go over the master bedroom with a fine toothed comb. If it's possible, have the forensic people check the wifes neck for bruises. For prints. There's something awfully fishy about what went on in there." He buttoned up his coat. "I'm going home." 109

CHAPTER TWO110

Daniel, James. April 1, 1940. July 14, 1980. 111

Loving husband and father. 112

Catherine, Mary. Nov. 26, 1945. July 14, 1980. Devoted wife and mother.113

Dan Campman, husband and father, had a rough day. Now, as the day draws to an end, he finds himself sitting in his car, in his darkened driveway. Pocket full of drugs, watching his house. But he's not thinking about going in, just yet. He's thinking about what Cathy said to him this morning before he left for work.114

Thinking about it and worrying about it.115

"Something has got to be done, Dan. I think we should talk about this tonight when you get home." 116

His head begins to ache again, as his fingers tap a nervous beat on the steering wheel. 117

‘She's threatening me. I don't need her butting into my work-life, now,' he thinks to himself. ‘It's none of her damn business what I spend my money on. Or what I do outside of this house. Her business is taking care of the house and the kids. That's it.' 118

‘Why must she insist on making that sound like a job.' 119

He reaches into the dash ashtray and pulls out the half joint, from before. He glances at the dash clock as he lights it. It's 8:15. 120

When Dan's workday today was done, after his last phone call, after he changed into something more casual, he went down to the parking garage in the basement, got in his car and headed straight for ‘William Tell's' Bar and Grill. 121

‘The Grill' is an obscure, out of the way bar only a three minute drive along the kingsway and twenty minutes from home. Inside, he sat in a corner booth, away from the main crowd, of three and the windows. He ordered a beer through a very handsome smile, and waited. The wench-waitress brought him his drink a few minutes later, smiled back at him, said ‘Enjoy!' and left. He lifted the mug, took a hefty drink and closed his eyes, savouring the taste.122

. . . drowning this day, he thought, and . . . 123

He took another gulp and finished it.124

. . . preparing for the new day about to begin.125

He had a smile on his face this time when he ordered another one. But, it wasn't the pretty red-haired wench that brought the beer. This one had a patch over one eye. It was who he was expecting. A friend of a friend. He'd never met this guy, but he did seem familiar. A sailor by profession, Dan thinks.126

He handed Dan his beer, sat down and drank from his scotch, neat.127

They sat opposite each other in the booth, drinking and creating the impression of friendship. These two couldn't be further apart. Never should their paths meet. And yet, they do right here. Tonight.128

Supply and demand. 129

Throughout their short time together, tonight, Dan watched his patched friend devour a porterhouse supper and three more scotch. By then it was nearly eight o'clock. Dan had to go.130

They exchanged baggie for cash in a handshake, beneath the table. Well within the solitude of the shadowy corner booth. Before he would let go of Dan's hand he said, "Listen, man. Being high on this stuff is like being in heaven. If money is no problem for you, well, I got lots more heaven. Anytime. Any amount.131

Dan smiled. "Good to know." Then got up and left.132

It wasn't until he thought he caught a little movement from the nosey neighbour next door, spying out of her window, that he realizes he's been sitting here too long in the driveway. She'll tell Cathy all about it tomorrow. He calms down a bit more, then gets out of the car, locks the doors, and goes in the house. 133

Once inside, he headed straight for his study. Didn't stop to say hi to Cathy or goodnight to the kids. Which is just the way he preferrs it now. The kids in bed. It was easier than dealing with their yelling and fighting and pulling at him. It all just seems to be an integral part of his home life. Much like work.134

And then there's his beautiful, and loving wife, Cathy. Ready to pounce on him for the smell of stale cigarettes, beer and pot, that he drags into the house. Litterally! On his shoes and his clothes. Can't forget his breath. Between the kids and Cathy . . . 135

. . . ‘It would be better if Cathy were in bed too.'136

‘But you can't have it all your way. Can you?' a little voice whispered in his ear. Tonight he heard it and listened.137

He locked the study door behind him, then sat down in his leather chair. He turned on the table lamp, pulled the small bag out of his chino's pocket and held it up to look at it. It didn't look like much to him.138

‘It doesn't look like heaven,' he thinks to himself. ‘Looks like icing sugar.' But Dan has never seen heaven. ‘No. Not yet,' he smiles to himself as he begins to untwist the baggie.139

On the desk-top blotter pad, he poured out a small pile of powder, enough for two healthy lines. Then he took a ballpoint pen from the holder on his desk and unscrewed it, separating the bottom from the top.140

He made two lines with his credit card and hoped that this might be a new and wonderful way to help him cope with the world he was now living in. Because it seemed like it was crumbling to pieces around him. And on him. Cathy, his one time ally, had now become his worst enemy. The kids were like little monsters, and he couldn't take their whining much longer. 141

This room was his only salvation. His domain. He liked the safety of the locked doors. Doors that even Cathy couldn't open. No matter how much she huffed and puffed. This was his island of solitude.142

He finished making the lines and took the bottom half of the pen, stuck the large end of the pen-barrel in his nostril and leaned over one of the lines. Snorting one line up each nostril. In a couple of minutes he would be invisible. He leaned back in the large chair, closed his eyes and drifted away. 143

And in the middle of this exquisite silence and glimpse of heaven, came a sound that Dan was far too familiar with. And would have rather left it outside.144

He dry-washed his face with his hands, wiping the fuzziness away then pushed his chair back and stood up. He sucked in a deep breath and started for the door, stretching in his gate.145

"Hold on a minute Cathy." He yelled at her. "Don't bust the door down." and he chuckled as he reached for the knob. "The three little pigs and the big bad wolf. Cathy you're the wolf." A smirk creased his face, as he pulled the heavy door open.146

"Dan? What in God's name are you doing in there?" she yelled at him. "I've been banging on this door for nearly half an hour." She was screaming now. "How long have you been home?"Her voice rose to its so recently-familiar range. "Both kids are sick and you're no help like this." The look on Dan's face was utter bewilderment. Confusion. He didn't know what to say, or even if he should say anything. His thoughts couldn't get past the big bad wolf. And he was about to laugh, when Cathy finally stopped yelling at him. 147

That was when Dan could tell that she knew he was high. She was sniffing at him with flared nostrils. He'd been drinking, too. She hated that little smirk he always wore, drunk. That . . . I'm-the-big-bad-wolf smirk.148

His sneer. His glossy eyes. His far away look. He was wasted and he looked crazy.149

Cathy had smoked pot herself, with him many times before the kids. But they made a deal once the kids were born, no more drugs. And now because of that she didn't want to talk to him. Or be around him.150

"Forget it, Dan. I've reached my limit this time. We had a deal. And I'm not taking this anymore," she said disgustedly and turned to walk away. He had other ideas. He reached out and grabbed her arm.151

"Hey! Don't turn your back on me," he snarled, turning her around with a little twist, squeezing her arm in the process. Cathy watched his face, as spittle dripped from his teeth like a crazed monster. In her head she heard him say, ‘the better to eat you with my dear.' 152

Instead, he said, "I thought you were banging on my door like that for a reason." He tried a half-assed attempt at a smile but he couldn't get past a snarl. His grip on her arm tightened slightly. Tiny, white bubbles, foamed in the corners of his mouth. He was beginning to look, and feel like a mad dog. 153

"Oww! Dan. That hurts." She glared at him, as she pulled her arm away. 154

He let go and mouthed ‘sorry', before he even realized he did it.155

"Bobby's sick?" He asked, trying to sound concerned but it was hard to when she pulled this crap. Yelling at him. Then turning her back on him, and ignoring him. And doing anything she could to start a fight. "What's wrong with him?" He slurred his words.156

She was rubbing her arm trying not to show the pain she felt. Or the rage that was coming to a boil inside of her. Her face showed only concerned fear. Fear for her safety and the safety of her sick children. 157

"Yes." She turned quickly this time, catching him off guard, and headed out toward the kitchen.158

So! She thinks she's reached the end of the line? Well, two can play at this game. He hated it when she walked away from him. So he followed her. She wanted to talk? . . . O.K.! We'll talk. And I'll make her LISTEN to me this time. Even if it means hitting her. God help me! 159

Sometimes a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. Right man? 160

Dan followed Cathy out to the kitchen. She was making herself a cup of tea in one of those expensive little teacups her parents gave them as a wedding gift. Her doting parents that can't leave her alone. Always in our business.161

‘You take care of Cathy and the kids just fine. You don't need anything from her parents. Not anymore!' 162

‘That's right', he thought, as he sauntered over to the fridge, opened the door, grabbed himself a beer and leaned against the counter and opened it. Cathy sat at the kitchen table.163

"Well? How are the kids?" He asked, tipping the bottle back and drinking.164

"They're better, now. I called the Doctor and he said to give them both some aspirin. They're sleeping." Cathy refused to look at him. She sounded tired. She WAS tired. God knows, she is tired. Tired and confused.165

"Good." Dan said and started to leave.166

"That's right Dan. Walk away." She was starting to raise her voice. "Go and hide in your cave. Lately, it's the first place you go when you come home. Half the time I never know you're home until you crawl into bed beside me. You didn't even have the descency to let me know you're home, tonight." Cathy tried to sip her tea, but her hands were shaking so much it was spilling all over the saucer. 167

Dan stopped mid step. ‘So . . . She does want a fight.' He turned and came back to the table slamming his beer down hard on it. The beer foamed and bubbled up and out of the top of the bottle like an active volcano, spilling onto the lacy tablecloth. 168

"Don't give me that crap, Cathy. What could I do for them any better than what you already did?" He yelled at her, and shook the beer off his hand onto the floor. "What would you do if I wasn't here?" 169

She stared down at the lace tablecloth that was probably ruined now, then at the floor. (She was thinking about saying . . . ‘I'd have fun.' But didn't.) The floor she'd spent nearly two hours today washing and polishing. Then she looked up at him. Her eyes now full of tears. "You know that's not what I'm talking about. Look at you." She put the cup down and continued crying.170

Dan picked up his beer and took a big swig, then with no warning, he swept his right hand across the table throwing her tea cup out through the back door. Cathy looked up at him, confused and afraid. Her face was framed with tears and makeup. 171

His eyes went wild with rage. His smile disappeared. His face changed. It tightened in places he never knew he had muscles. Veins started to pop out on his forehead. The jugulars on either side of his neck bulged to near bursting and pumped ferosciously with the beat of his heart. 172

Ba-Boop, . . . Ba-Boop, . . . Ba-Boop. She could see this very plainly. 173

Dan turned, left the kitchen and headed for his study. 174

"Bitch! . . . bitch! . . . bitch! . . ." he growled. 175

TILT! 176

‘We'll show her!' 177

CHAPTER THREE178

ONE WEEK LATER179

Roy dropped John's report down on his desk. He'd read it twice today alone, and even though he had arrived at the scene, after all of the bodies had been removed, he found many discrepencies between John's notes and his own. He knew most of the answers would take longer to get, especially from forensics, but there were still too many questions they obviously didn't have answers for. 180

He got up and walked over to the coffee maker and poured himself a cup. Black. No sugar. He sat back down at his desk and took a sip of the hot beverage, with some regret that he had quit smoking. Or rather, he was working on it. Nothing could ever beat a coffee and a smoke, he thought as he took another drink. 181

Just then, John burst in, preceded by one quick knock. He shut the door, walked over to Roy's desk, said ‘Good morning', then put three folders down on top of his report. 182

John was smiling. In his hands he had bits and pieces to their puzzle. And a box of doughnuts.183

Roy put his cup down on the desk, said ‘morning' back, then picked up the top file and opened it. It contained photo's. John watched silently as Roy took his time looking at each picture. 184

"Get yourself a coffee, John." Roy said without looking up at him. "I think you're going to need it." 185

John's been having trouble sleeping for the last week. Ever since his walk through before Roy got to the scene. And now, every time he tries to shut himself down for the night, he can't keep his eyes shut. It's like his lids are on springs that won't let them shut. So, when you work with Roy, you learn coffee can be your good friend. He placed the doughnuts on the side-table, and walked over to the coffee machine and poured himself a cup. He'd had his eye on a chocolate glazed the whole way here. There's two of them, but he wants one, so he grabbed one before he walked back and sat opposite Roy. As he bit into the doughnut, he thought nothing could be any better, than a good coffee and a chocolate glazed doughnut. 186

He looked up at Roy, who was still pouring over the photo's. "Want a doughnut, Roy?" he asked through bites.187

"No." Roy looked up at him now, "But I want you to finish that and together we'll go over these photos. I know you didn't have time yet, so when you're finished . . . " and he turned his attention back to the photo's.188

John understood and shoved what was left in his mouth, washed it down with a big gulp of hot coffee, burning the roof of his mouth, and nearly spitting coffee all over the desk top and the reports.189

The two of them spent the rest of that day going over the photo's, one after another. Tossing ideas and explanations back and forth, like a tennis ball. 190

Roy paid special attention to the pictures of the man at the kitchen table and the kitchen itself. There were six photos showing Mr. Campman at the kitchen table. Four different angles. One photo showed him face down on the lacy tablecloth taken from the doorway. His face was tilted slightly this way. Half of it was missing. 191

Another one showed the blood that surrounded his head and how his left-hand still gripped the murder weapon. There was a closeup photo of the murder weapon, a shotgun. Another photo showing his finger was still on the trigger. Another view showed the blood that dripped off the table into a congealing, brownish puddle on the grey, slated floor. Another, his right hand dangled at his side. There were six more photo's showing the wall behind the body and the melon-sized hole in it. Of each photograph of the kitchen, only two showed nothing but the floor and ceiling. Roy thought that some of these photos appeared to be staged. 192

He then poured over the ones of the wife in the master bedroom. 193

There were three pictures, from three different positions showing Mrs. Campman lying across the middle of the bed. (. . . ‘not like she was sleeping. More like she was put there.'). Her body was half twisted at the waist, like she had tried to turn away from whoever was holding the gun. Pictures of the inside of her left arm showing a bruise, just above the elbow. It appeared someone grabbed her by the arm and squeezed. More photo's showed a large bump and a gash across the middle of her forehead. (John's notes mentioned how it reminded him of the bruise he'd had on his shoulder the day after his dad took him out shooting clay pigeons at the rifle range.) There was blood on her hands, which were frozen in a half fist. 194

He changed his attention to the reports. "John. Is this all of the reports that were complete?" 195

John shook his head. "Everything but the autopsy. Tomorrow of Friday. But they found out that the gun was registered to Mr. Campman. There's a picture there, . . . " he flipped through them, finding the one he wanted, and laid it on top. " . . . of the mantle in his study where it hung at one time. And the broken window in the kitchen? I'm pretty sure that was a result of a fight. I found a broken tea cup lying on the outside of the door in the backyard. They had a fight and the old man picked up her tea cup and threw it out the window." At this point John got up and got Roy and himself another cup of coffee. 196

He came back, sat, put Roy's coffee down near him and took a sip of his own.197

"Did anybody find another gun anyplace?" Roy asked.198

"No!" He answered, but it sounded more like a question than a statement.199

Roy couldn't believe that. There had to be another gun somewhere. A .22.200

"Did forensics find anything that didn't seem to fit? Were there any fingerprints anywhere in the house that weren't the families?" 201

"Not a one. But, take a look at this." he holds up a chuck of mushroomed lead. "It came from inside the daughters pillow. Looks like this one made it through." He handed it to Roy and continued to flip through more photos. 202

"Here! Take a good look at these pictures of the front stairs going up to the bedrooms. Those blood stains on the carpet?" He waited for a reply. 203

Roy nodded.204

"They looked to me, at first, like they were made coming down the stairs. I was thinking, after he killed them all up in their bedrooms he comes back down to the kitchen to finish his beer and blood dripped off the gun barrel, or him. But, the drops are going up." He leaned forward and looked at Roy, bugeyed. "The blood stains belong to Mrs. Campman." He leaned back in his chair and practically laughed. "There's more, Roy. There was something else we found while we were looking around in his study. On top of his desk, there was some cocaine residue, and a razor blade." John eased himself forward in his chair, a hand resting on each knee, and added, "He was a coke-head. Probably flipped out and killed the whole family."205

‘Well!' Roy thought, ‘You could be on to something, John. It might be just as it appeared. A murder-suicide. A fight gone wrong. It happens all the time. Well, not all the time, thank God! But he sees it far too often. 206

"Well . . . this is good work John." Roy looked up at him. "I don't want to keep harping on this John, but never again do we remove any evidence before my arrival. I want no more guess work. If you're going to work with me, then do so. Not against me. Or you'll find yourself back on the street. Understand?"207

John grinned sheepishly, saying "Yes, sir."208

" Good. Tomorrow morning I want to see you bright and early and fresh as a peach, at the Campman's house." 209

He started to stand when Roy added, "I hope I've made myself clear, John. I'm going to need your undivided attention on this with me." He closed the folder of photographs and leaned back in his chair.210

"Before you go home tonight, check on all of the lawyer's clients. Past and present. Get a good look at what they were like, who they were and what they did." 211

He stood up and stretched. He, too, was tired. 212

"And see if you can find out who his supplier was?" Roy walked around his desk, "He was a lawyer. He probably knew lots of people who could get him what he wanted." He opened the door. "See you at the Campman house. Tomorrow."213

John drove over to Campman's office and asked the secretary to put a list together of all of his recent clients, as well as any she might be familiar with that may have had a grudge against him.He then went home and, after taking two extra strength Excedrin for his headache, went straight to bed and to sleep.214

Roy, on the other hand, went over everything once more. Including making one call and two more hours of searching through old records. 215

He wanted to talk to the neighbours. 216

Especially the next door neighbour. Mrs. Parker.217

Roy was waiting inside the Campman house when John drove up. He went in and greeted Roy with a coffee. They were both quiet as they made their final run-through, before everything was collected for evidence. As quiet as the house itself. The only sounds, were Roy chewing, and the sticky, tacky sound their soft-soled shoes made on the kitchen floor. (No need now for the little cotton slippers.)218

It was easier for John, this time through, because there were no dead bodies, and no gun. Yet, most everything seemed to be the same as it was the last time they were here. The floor in the kitchen, had now been cleaned of blood and other evidence and then mopped clean. Fingerprint dust still covered every surface. It was the same throughout the house. Every door and window frame in every room on the main floor, as well as in his study, and the upper floors.219

When they finished going through the house again and were standing in the front foyer, John told Roy that Mr. Campman's secretary was putting the list of all of his clients together and he'd have it later that day. "But . . ." he added, " . . . it may take a little longer for his supplier. Unless we can make a connection with any of the names on her list." 220

Roy was satisfied with that. For now. But he knew somebody out there knew more about Dan Campman. More than even his wife. But even if his wife knew, she couldn't say. Not now.221

Roy told John that he found who the anonymous caller was in the domestics' files, and he added, "I think we should pay her a visit. Got your notes handy?"222

John reached into his coat pocket, pulled his notes out, and handed them to Roy. "Thanks." Roy said. "Let's go." He glanced through them. Looking for a few particular points that had been bothering him since the beginning of this whole mess. He knew what time they were killed and he also knew what time the call was made. He wanted to find out just what she heard or might have seen, that night. 223

The meeting was as routine as either Roy or John would have expected. 224

She started by giving them a little insight into her history. She told them that a few years after her husband died in1972, she'd had to get a job and worked at a crisis help centre. She didn't like the job. Said it was too hard and devastating listening to the stories those poor young women had to relive each time they told it. 225

She looked at both of them, her eyes wide and added, "Once a man hits a woman, he'll always hit her. That's what I believe." Again she smiled at them. A very polite smile. 226

She began by saying she saw Mr. Campman come home a little after eight. "I watched him sit in his car in the dark, for nearly half an hour before he went in the house. And then he and Cathy started arguing a little after 9:00, that night. She told them the whole Campman family history, all that she knew, at least. Beginning from, when they first moved here ten years ago, before the children, right up to two days ago, when she found out from Cathy herself that she was pregnant. (Something neither John nor Roy knew as yet. The autopsy report wouldn't be completed and on Roy's desk until they got back to his office.) She didn't mention anything about any of his drug use so she obviously didn't know everything. 227

"On that night, why did you wait so long before you called the police?" 228

"Well. To tell you the truth, I really can't say why I waited. But whatever it was that woke me up, wasn't there once I was awake. I mean, I didn't hear anything after that. I thought at first that I might have dreamed I heard something but, when I couldn't get back to sleep I decided to call the police. You know, just to be on the safe side. Like I already told you, they had been fighting earlier."229

John closed his notes, quietly. Together they thanked Mrs. Parker for her cooperation. Roy added " . . . And I'm sorry for any inconvenience we may have caused you. We'll be in touch if we have any more questions. Thanks again Mrs. Parker." 230

Once they were in the car and headed away, John asked Roy his opinion of their number one witness.231

"She admitted she called." Roy said, but he wasn't enlightened by what she had to say after that. " I don't think she SAW anything. Hear something? Well, that's for sure." But to Roy she would probably turn out to be one of those witnesses that was more blind than deaf.232

John stared straight ahead. "Ya! " He agreed. "Her dislike for that kind of person made her call." His opinion differred from Roy's. 233

"What's that supposed to mean?" They pulled up to, and stopped at, a red light. Roy looked over at John, waiting for a reply. 234

Finally John spoke. "You heard her say that years ago she worked at a crisis help centre. Well she's either a scared and resentful old lady who's possibly still pissed off at the people, mainly men, who abuse women and children. Or . . . " 235

The light changed and Roy took off. 236

" . . . she's not sure what she heard." John continued. "To me it's obvious that she didn't think too highly of Mr. Campman. Oh! I believe she heard something and we should be thankful for that at least. She was simply looking out for somebody else . . . this time." He was quiet for a second, then " I don't think she saw anything either."237

At least they were on the same page, Roy thought. 238

Without her call who knows how long it would have been before they were discovered? Or how much of the evidence would have been lost to time.239

"Roy?" John continued. "What do you think about her saying that Mrs. Campman was pregnant?"240

Roy didn't answer. He was thinking about the impact on the case that could have. They pulled into the station five silent minutes later.241

Roy felt sure there was more to the case than their evidence showed. He wanted to know why Mr. Campman didn't kill himself in the bedroom? Why he went back down to the kitchen and not back to his study, for instance? And there was something about the shotgun that bothered him. The staged look of the photograph.242

And along with that thought, what about the second gun? Where was it?243

For now he'd have to wait until he got the completed autopsy reports.244

If what Mrs. Parker said about Mrs. Campman being pregnant was true, then maybe, just maybe, they have a motive for the whole mess. Not that being pregnant is any kind of a reason for killing anyone, but it gives the police somewhere to start. That, the coke and the missing gun.245

John, on the other hand, was just as sure there was no more to find. He was satisfied with what they had so far. He was convinced there weren't any dark secrets or skeletons in the closet they hadn't uncovered as yet. And he'd be just as happy to let it go down the way it's headed.246

Murder-suicide.247

Case closed!248

CHAPTER FOUR 249

CASE CLOSED250

Over the next month, the evidence slowly piled up into a small, seemingly insignificant pile of crap whose smell was greater than its contents.251

Nancy Devoe, Mr. Campman's secretary, was only able to come up with a client list that went back five years. Everyone on the list that was either still alive or not in jail, could verify their whereabouts that night.252

The other list, of social friends, also turned up nothing. Not one of the people on that list knew anything about his coke use. And they were all quite shocked to hear the accusations about it. Especially when the whole family was dead. Even when the police had verified proof, from forensics, that Mr. Campman was higher than a kite that night, most of them were reluctant to believe it.253

The little boy and girl were killed with a Smith and Wesson .22. Not a shotgun. The police never found the pistol, anywhere. Either in the house or around the yard or neighbourhood.254

Poof! Vanished into thin air.255

It just seemed too unbelievable to think that this guy had in fact killed his whole family, then himself, and got rid of one of the guns in the process. How?! 256

The gun that killed the children was never found and ruled inadmissible due to its nonexistence. And with no fingerprints belonging to anyone other than the Campman's, it was highly unlikely to conclude this case any other way but murder-suicide. 257

CHAPTER FIVE 258

THREE YEARS LATER . . .259

...after the Campman's were buried, the police arrested a forty-eight-year-old drifter on a weapon's charge. He tried to sell some guns to an undercover cop in a back alley behind a biker's bar. He'd had a long history of trouble going back to before he was 16. By then, he was a full-fledged criminal. In and out of reform school during most of his youth. He was a bad one. As he got older, the crimes got worse. He even spent a few years in prison, for the rape of three minors. But before that night, nothing, was ever as bad as what he did to the Campman's.260

He said that Mr. Daniel Campman worked for the firm that represented him once. The police didn't make any connections right off, until Det. Battle heard the name Campman.261

"God!" Roy said to John later. "We had this guy on record the whole time." 262

During his gruelling interrogation, this ‘Popeye', (as he was called, because he once used to wear a patch over the socket of his missing eye.), answered all their questions Roy wanted answers for. To John it seemed this guy was braggin' about it once he got started. 263

He said he had a friend who knew that he was looking for this guy. He set up a meeting for the two of them to meet to buy some coke. They met. They made the deal, and he followed the man home.264

He said this lawyer turned him in on a parole violation and he got a few years. So he wanted him to pay. He was going to kill him. To make him and his suffer. He said he got in the house through a window in the study.265

"It's simple if you know how." He said sarcastically. Then added.266

"The room was empty, but it wasn't dark. There was a table lamp turned on, on his desk. It felt like the place to be in this room, so I walked over to it and noticed the gun over the mantle. I took the shotgun down and checked to see if it was loaded. It was. So I shoved my .22, in my pants, and that's when I could hear a couple people yelling in another room. I sat down and waited where I was. I knew he'd be back. The coke on the desk assured it." 267

"The lawyer came back about five minutes later. Just like he knew he would. Campman was terrified when he found me in there."268

"So terrified, he peed himself." Popeye found this funny and chuckled.269

"It only took a couple lines each to calm him down," Popeye said."He was a good little boy and took all of his medicine without a fuss." 270

"I took his money, all the money, and the remaining coke, and shoved them both deep in my pocket. Then, both me and the lawyer, went back to the kitchen. To meet the little lady. I liked what I saw and decided to make the lawyer sit at the table, and made the little lady get up and get me a beer. He started mouthing off like he was some kind of tough guy. When his wife came back with the beer, arm extended, I butted her in the head with the gun. She fell straight back onto the floor like a statue. And he started screaming bloody murder. I jumped. I couldn't believe it. He wouldn't shut up. So I shot him." 271

"After that I took the little lady upstairs and threw her on the bed. I was plannin' on doin' the nasty with her, but first, if I remembered correctly, he had a kid." 272

"What a surprise when I found out he had two. And one of ‘em a girl."273

Both of the kids were shot and killed, with his Smith and Wesson, after he was done with ‘em. He wanted to save the shotgun for the old lady. There was only one shot left in it. 274

"After that I went back to the now awake and screaming mother. Did the nasty with her for a while." He glanced around at the officers in the room and added, "Just to shut her up. She was pleading with me to leave her alone. She kept saying stuff about her baby." His face gleemed with a smile when he remembered that. "She was a real fighter, that one. She wouldn't let me put the gun in her mouth, so I wrapped my hands around her pretty little neck and squeezed until she stopped breathin'. I like to watch ‘em choke." 275

"Then I went downstairs and put the gun, in his hands and left the house the same way I got in." 276