Murder My Love (16 page)

Before she could dial the number, Kruger called. He said that it was difficult to lift fingerprint from the pistol owing to the mud that had caked on it. He was sending it to the FBI laboratory for further analysis.

“That’s not what I was hoping to hear,” she said.

“Well, I don’t want to ruin your day all together,” he replied. “Ballistics is a match to the slug.”

Abby leaned back and smiled broadly.

Judge McGourty had agreed to meet with Chief Wilson in his chambers before his trial started at 10 A.M. She knocked on his door and entered. A big man, well over six feet tall, was seated at his desk. He was wearing dark horn-rimmed glasses that contrasted sharply with his flaming red hair and crisp white shirt. He looked to be in his fifties but his freckled face gave him a more youthful appearance.

“Sit down Chief. Make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you, judge.”

“You can call me Ed in these chambers. Now what have you got?”

Abby began to enumerate all the evidence that she had which would incriminate Rita Quigley and Conrad Zimmer. She played the audiotape. She retold Chicciarelli’s story naming ‘Rita’ as the former lover, the weapon found at the marina, the bloodstain on the flowerpot, the fingerprints on the door, and the visual of one suspect, Conrad Zimmer, in Zephyr Cove and the only Rita in the phone book in the same town as the suspect. Leaning back in his chair, the judge said, “Your evidence is very thin. The gun could belong to anyone. You haven’t matched fingerprints to it. The blood on the flowerpot has not been linked to your suspect. With what you have, you could haul in anyone named Rita.”

“When we have them in custody we can match blood and fingerprints.” Abby looked at the judge who remained unmoved. “Ed, I know we’re on legal thin ice. But I know these two are the killers.”

Abby reached for her trump card. She rummaged through her briefcase and took out two photographs to show the judge. She placed them on his desk.

“What’s this?” he inquired.

“Just look at them.”

It seemed like Judge Edwin McGourty stared at the images for only a few seconds before he removed his glasses and wiped his eyes with a handkerchief. Replacing his eyeglasses, he said, “I’ll have my clerk draw the warrant for their arrest.”

“Thanks Ed. You know I’d be deeply involved in any murder, but this one is especially heinous.”

“It’s unimaginable,” the judge said.

“I’d like to send the team who found them to be there for the arrest,” Abby pleaded.

“Only as observers! We have no jurisdiction,” he replied.

Abby collected the photographs, tucked them into her briefcase and headed for the door. The judge called to her, “Let’s see if they waive extradition before I have to get involved with the Governor.”

Abby gave him a salute and exited the judge’s chambers.

The long Memorial Day weekend was soon approaching. Arriving at the stationhouse, she called the Sheriff of Manatowa County and introduced herself. Abby told Lee Cobb to be on the lookout for arrest warrants for two individuals in his jurisdiction. He advised her that he would be pleased to cooperate, but he could do nothing until he had the papers in hand. He was assured that the papers would be hand delivered within the next forty-eight hours. They agreed that an arrest on the weekend would be logistically difficult with so many officers on leave. It was mutually agreed that arrests would be made the following Tuesday morning. Abby then asked if two of her officers could be present. He assured her that it would be no problem, but asked if they could be ready by 6 A. M, in uniform with badges prominently displayed. She assured him they would comply.

Hanging up the phone, Abby called for Stanton and Kurtz. She was reminded that she had given them two days off. She called each of them at their home and asked if they would like to participate in the arrest. Stanton’s reply was a resounding, “You bet your ass I want in on that!”

Kurtz’s response was dead silence. She couldn’t believe that the Chief would reward her with an opportunity to witness the arrest of two villains. After a brief pause on the telephone, Gail could only say, “Thank you, Chief. I’m grateful for your confidence.”

Abby proceeded to provide him with the game plan. He was to drive back to Zephyr Cove and be available at 6 A. M., in uniform, the following Tuesday. She added, “By the way, Jeff, your partner will accompany you.”

“Not an issue, Chief. She’s a good cop.”

Abby summoned one of her officers and told him to bird dog the Clerk of the Court until the arrest warrants were prepared. He was ordered to hand deliver it to the Sheriff of Manatowa County, Vermont.

There was nothing more to do but wait out the weekend.

Chapter 17

Glistening dew blanketed Zephyr Cove on the morning of the arrest. The sun hadn’t yet crested the mountaintop. A chill filled the air. In crisply pressed uniforms with brass insignias polished to a gleam, Stanton and Kurtz arrived at the Sheriff’s barracks promptly at 6 A. M. Sheriff Lee Cobb and three deputies greeted them. They all wore gray uniforms with insignias on the left sleeve of their shirts. Their badges were in full display pinned to the left breast pocket. Each had a holstered weapon hanging from a wide black belt separate from the one holding up their pants.

“We’ll arrest them one at a time, Cobb announced. Which one do you want to do first?”

Stanton told Cobb that he and his partner knew Conrad Zimmer. He described his behavior at the beauty parlor and intimated that he would be an easy prey. He described how Conrad had fallen apart emotionally, merely at the mention they were residents of West Warwick. He confessed that he knew nothing about Rita Quigley, except a vague description of her. Cobb agreed to the plan without hesitation.

Four marked automobiles quietly left the barracks; one manned by the Sheriff, another by one deputy, another with two deputies and a patrol car with West Warwick insignias emblazoned on the door panels manned by Stanton and Kurtz. They arrived at the Zimmer farm within fifteen minutes and quietly drove up the driveway to Frieda’s home. Two deputies alighted from their car and walked around to the back of the house. Sheriff Cobb and one deputy climbed the three steps to the front door. Stanton and Kurtz remained standing by their vehicle.

On command, the deputy banged on the door and announced who they were. “This is Sheriff Lee Cobb! Open the door. We have a warrant for the arrest of Conrad Zimmer.”

Frieda came to the front door dressed in a robe, peered out and opened it. “What do you want? We’re not open yet,” she said.

“Does Conrad Zimmer live here? We have a warrant for his arrest.”

Frieda became hysterical. She screamed. She sobbed like she had been beaten, and through her tears said that Conrad was upstairs in bed. The officers entered the house, ran up the stairs, roused Conrad from sleep and announced, “Conrad Zimmer! You are under arrest for the murder of Linda Greenwell, formerly residing at 172 Elm Street in West Warwick, Connecticut.”

Conrad was yanked from bed and handcuffed. His Miranda rights were read to him from a printed card to insure that no defense attorney could challenge its accuracy. The first words from Conrad’s mouth were, “She made me do it!” He began to weep and tremble. He was given five minutes to dress himself, unshackled, under the supervision of a deputy Sheriff. The remaining sheriffs inspected the house and barn.

While the sheriff’s deputies were performing their inspection, Gail engaged Frieda in conversation.

“I suppose you know Linda Greenwell,” Gail said.

“She was a customer.”

“Is that all?”

“I know Conrad spent a lot of time with her, but I can’t believe he would do this to Linda,” she said. “They were friends.”

“Your son said, “she made me do it.” Who might that be?”

“Rita Quigley,” she screamed. “She must be the one.

At that moment the sheriff’s deputy was dragging Conrad down the staircase. As Conrad was escorted out of the house to a patrol car, he eyed Gail standing next to his mother. The look on his face was disbelief. He then saw Stanton and sneered at him. Conrad was placed in the deputy’s car and escorted to the county jail to be arraigned.

The arresting party, minus one deputy, drove to Rita’s home. Frieda’s outburst to Gail assured them that they were about to arrest the right person. It was now closer to seven o’clock. At her home, one sheriff’s car drove to the back of the house while two vehicles approached from the front. From what they had observed at the Zimmer home, where there were no firearms in the house or barn, they were reasonably certain that Conrad was not violent. They could not be as certain at the Quigley home. Both victims had been shot with a pistol. While Huff had discovered a pistol, they could not be certain that Rita Quigley did no have other firearms. Cobb approached the front door and gave it several raps with his fist. “Open up! It’s the Sheriff.”

There was no response and no sound was heard. Cobb drew his weapon, as did the deputy. He banged again on the door. “This is Sheriff Lee Cobb. I have a Warrant for the arrest of Rita Quigley. If you don’t open the door in the next ten seconds, we’ll break it down.”

The double lock was heard to snap. The handle slowly turned. The door opened and there stood Rita Quigley in a flimsy nightgown that barely covered her feminine parts. Kurtz and Stanton standing outside let their mouths fall agape. It seemed inconceivable that this woman who was all of five feet tall and pudgy in all the wrong places could be the one who inflicted such horror on her lover. Despite Alice Chicciarelli’s description, the reality before them was utterly incongruous with what they had imagined.

Cobb requested that Gail supervise Rita getting dressed, but only after he had read her the Miranda warning. Rita said not one word. As they entered the house, Sheila emerged from her bedroom, half asleep, and confronted them. She shrieked, “What are you doing to my mother?”

“She is under arrest for the murder of Linda Greenwell,” Cobb announced.

“That bitch!” she shot back.

Her remark spoke volumes but her mother screamed, “Keep your fucking mouth shut, you stupid slut.”

While Rita was getting dressed, the sheriffs searched the house and found nothing incriminating. Rita was ushered into the Sheriff’s car and escorted to the county jail for arraignment. She was placed in a cell far removed from Conrad’s in order to prevent them from communicating with each other.

Jeff and Gail were unable to control their emotions. Satisfied that they’d done a good job of policing and pleased that they were witness to the capture and arrest of notorious felons, they returned to West Warwick anticipating that the Judicial process would promptly result in Rita’s and Conrad’s convictions.

Chapter 18

The two suspects were arraigned before the Manatowa County magistrate but not before each was assigned a public defender. Based on the warrants for their arrest, they were accused on suspicion of felony murder. They were advised by counsel to plead ‘Not guilty,’ and were remanded to their cells awaiting disposition of their cases. Their public defenders apprised them of their rights with regard to extradition. After discussing the pros and cons of refusal, they decided to waive the extradition process, which meant they would be transported, without delay, back to West Warwick for trial. They imagined they would be more comfortable being judged in a community that did not know them, than in Manitowa County where gossip ran rampant. In their final analysis, they knew it was futile to fight extradition. They were told that the West Warwick DA would petition the governor of Vermont who, in all likelihood, would grant it. Fighting it would only delay the inevitable and they were not too pleased with the accommodations in the sheriff’s lockup. The attorneys notified the West Warwick DA of their client’s decision.

On the very next morning, two police vans and two police cars drove to the Manitowa County Sheriff’s office, arriving at 8 A.M. Paperwork was completed in the presence of their lawyers. Each prisoner was escorted, dressed in prison garb, bound in chains, to an awaiting van. They were not allowed to see or communicate with each other. Two vans, with police cars leading and trailing as escorts, transported them straight to the West Warwick prison where they were again processed, fingerprinted, photographed and escorted to their cells. They spent the remainder of the day in isolation. DA Greg Rocklein was advised of the prisoners’ arrival, that they were properly processed according to prison routine and locked in their cells. He then called Judge McGourty and asked him if he soon had time on his calendar for their arraignment. McGourty replied that his court would be free the next day, but first public defenders had to be assigned to represent the accused. Although they had committed the act together, in concert, the judge and Rocklein agreed that they be arraigned and tried separately. Therefore, it was required that each must be independently represented. Judge McGourty nominated Joseph Brady as a counsel for Conrad Zimmer, and Zelman Cohen to represent Rita Quigley. DA Rocklein had no issue with the judge’s nominees. They were both well-respected attorneys. He directed his office staff to notify the lawyers and to advise them of the time when arraignment would take place in McGourty’s courtroom. The DA and his staff spent the remainder of the day preparing the indictments. While he knew intuitively what the accused would plead, he knew that the defense attorneys had sufficient time to interview and prepare their clients, at least for an arraignment.

Toward the end of the day, Rocklein called Abby. After the exchange of pleasantries, he asked her, “What do you think if we charge them with felony murder?”

“I think you’re going soft, Greg. Look at those photos again! How about capital murder?” she proposed.

“There would be no problem proving it. My only issue is that no one has been put to death in Connecticut in thirty-five years,” he replied. Greg went on to recount the history of executions in Connecticut from the time it was a colony to when it became the fifth state to join the union. He ended the conversation by reminding Abby that it would be a Pyrrhic victory. “We’ll get the conviction, but they won’t be executed, so why bother?” He sensed that Abby was not at all pleased with his assessment.

The Court of Judge Edwin McGourty came to order at ten o’clock the following morning. Sitting at the far end of the last row in her dress uniform, attempting to appear inconspicuous was Chief Abby Wilson. Two prison matrons escorted Rita Quigley into court. She wore an orange prison jump suit. Her hands were cuffed to a leather belt that circled her waist, but buckled behind her. A chain of no more than three feet in length was attached at either end to leg irons placed just above her ankles. Standing by her side was her attorney, Zelman Cohen. On the far side of the courtroom, DA Greg Rocklein sat at the prosecutor’s table. As the judge sauntered into the room and took his seat on the bench, the clerk announced that Court was in session. The Bailiff read the bill of particulars accusing Rita Quigley of capital murder in the mutilation and death of Linda Greenwell. Restraining herself from looking at Greg, Abby smiled. She felt she had some part in convincing Greg to go for capital murder.

“How does the accused plead?” cried the Bailiff.

“Not guilty, your honor,” came the predictable response.

Mr. Zelman asked for bail. DA Rocklein stood and reminded the Court of the heinous crime that had been committed.

“So noted,” cried the judge. As his gavel cracked against its pedestal he declared, “Bail denied.”

Judge McGourty remanded Rita Quigley to the county prison until a trial date was set. As she shuffled out of the courtroom, Rita Quigley said not a word. The entire proceedings took less than fifteen minutes.

At ten-thirty, the same scenario was played out for Conrad Zimmer. When Mr. Brady’s request for bail was denied, Conrad began to weep. He believed that his participation in the murders was incidental and trivial. Somehow, he would be exonerated. Brady tried to console him but it was a futile effort. Conrad was escorted out of the courtroom and back to his cell. As Greg Rocklein stood up from his desk, he turned and caught Abby’s eye. She winked at him, turned and left the courtroom without comment.

Both defense attorneys encountered the DA in the hallway and requested an immediate meeting. Before noon, Brady and Cohen were seated in Greg Rocklein’s office. Brady spoke first. “Why are you going for capital murder?” he inquired.

“Look at the photos, Joe, and tell me I’m not doing my job.”

Cohen piped in to ask if they would be tried together or separately. Greg replied that they would never try them together. Cohen breathed a sigh of relief, whereupon Greg informed him that his client would be tried first.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because she’s the bitch who orchestrated this horror.” Looking at Brady, he said, “Convicting your client will be a slam dunk. Wait until you hear the audiotape.”

Both attorneys looked at each other, perplexed. Greg was pleased with their reaction, as though he was one up in a chess match. He presented the defense attorneys copies of all evidence that had been gathered, and a preliminary list of witnesses that would be called to testify. Brady began to leaf through a large binder. Within seconds he looked up and announced, “I want my client to be examined by a psychiatrist.”

Cohen raised his hand and said, “Me, too.”

“Choose anyone you want. We have the right to a rebuttal shrink.”

The two men stood and approached the door. Brady turned and said, “Let’s do the right thing here.”

“Justice, Joe. That’s all I’m looking for.”

“Don’t forget mercy, Greg. You and I attend the same church.”

As Greg waived them out the door of his office, he said, “Let’s talk in a couple of weeks, after you get to know your clients and have gone through the evidence folder.”