‘‘Wow.’’
‘‘Yes. And, that’s consistent with the visibility at the scene. Plus,’’ he said, ‘‘that would explain the civilian’s shotgun being fired, but no visible effect, and the empty round not ejected. Struck so often, and especially in the head, he probably fired from reflex.’’
‘‘But,’’ said Hester, ‘‘he’d have to have seen something, to put his finger on the trigger in the first place, don’t you think?’’
Dr. Peters thought for a second. ‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘But,’’ said Hester again, ‘‘not soon enough to fire.’’
‘‘Right. So,’’ said Dr. Peters, ‘‘we come to Agent Kellerman.’’
I took in a breath, and some coffee as well. So did just about everybody else. In other circumstances, it might have been funny.
‘‘He, also, was struck what appears to be five times,’’ said Dr. Peters. ‘‘But in this case, there’s something very interesting. He appears to have been hit twice by 5.56 mm rounds and three times by 7.62 mm rounds. From the same approximate direction, but from possibly two different levels. And at virtually the same time, based on Officer Johansen’s recollections.’’
‘‘What do you mean?’’ asked Dahl.
‘‘Well,’’ said Dr. Peters. ‘‘Johansen heard what he thought was basically one burst of fire, and a second or two later, another. When Johansen reaches Kellerman, the wounds we have are already there. There is subsequent firing, but no further hits on Kellerman. And that, by the way, is borne out by the approximate angles and directions of entry on the wounds. I’ve talked to Johansen, and he estimates that each burst of fire was probably about one second in duration. Yet we have two distinct types of round, entering at the same approximate angle and direction.’’ He leaned forward. ‘‘Fragments again, I’m afraid, but the fragments are larger because of his ballistic vest.’’
Oh, swell.
‘‘The casings found at the scene confirm two calibers,’’ said Dr. Peters, ‘‘and Agent Dahl says they’re at almost the same angle from the officer.’’
‘‘Yeah,’’ said Dahl. ‘‘But one’s back further, isn’t it, Hester?’’
‘‘About fifteen yards,’’ said Hester. ‘‘And to the right of the 5.56 shooter.’’
‘‘So,’’ I said, ‘‘can we state with any certainty that Kellerman shot Howie, and that the two unseen dopers shot Kellerman?’’
‘‘Yep,’’ said Dahl.
‘‘Uh, no, I don’t think so,’’ said Dr. Peters. ‘‘In fact, from the statement of Officer Johansen, I don’t see how Officer Kellerman could have hit the civilian from the front…’’
Oops.
‘‘You mean,’’ asked Lamar, ‘‘that the other dopers shot both this Phelps dude and the officer?’’
‘‘Yes,’’ said Dr. Peters, ‘‘and from the testimony of Officer Johansen, about two seconds apart.’’ He raised his coffee to his lips, then brought it down a bit. ‘‘That’s not what Officer Johansen thought happened at the time, though. He, too, thought that Officer Kellerman had shot the civilian.’’
We digested that for a few seconds.
‘‘Judging from the evidence from the autopsy, and from the scene of the murders, I believe that one man shot the civilian, and then both that man and his partner shot the officer.’’ Dr. Peters tapped a finger on his notes. ‘‘Can’t prove it, of course. Not yet. That’s up to you.’’ He smiled.
He held up one of the larger, 7.62 mm casings. It was a dark brown. ‘‘Chinese-made,’’ he said. ‘‘Fires the 7.62 short Soviet round. So, if it’s full auto, I’d suggest an AK-47-type weapon.’’
‘‘Or a modified SKS?’’ I asked.
‘‘Sure.’’
‘‘But definitely not one of the older 7.62 Russian, like from World War II?’’ Dr. Peters was a gun collector, and would be likely to know that.
‘‘I don’t think it would.’’
‘‘Like,’’ I asked, ‘‘one of the semiauto Tokarevs?’’
‘‘Not likely. That had, if I remember, a round with a funny kind of rim…’’
‘‘Thanks.’’ I shook my head. The cases from the scene were what were known as rimless. ‘‘Well, we got a Tokarev, model 1940, from a possible suspect. Aside from the fact that it’s only a semiauto, it also fires the wrong 7.62 round.’’
‘‘Keep looking,’’ said Dr. Peters.
‘‘Oh, yeah. We will.’’
So, there we were. With virtually nothing but two dead people and a lot of shell casings. Complete with two suspects who looked like they weren’t going to pan out.
We sent another team up to reinterview Beth. We needed any information we could find linking Johnny Marks to the dope. And to the crime scene. We needed a warrant to search his place for a suspect weapon. We didn’t have enough yet. In the meantime, we had several people out interviewing everybody he knew. Getting background data, but just inserting a question about an assault rifle at some point. We needed something, anything, to place that kind of rifle in his possession.
Hester and I did the Howler interview. He had been tested with chemical swabs, and had fired a firearm recently. It began to appear that he really had shot at a deer.
‘‘I told you I did,’’ he said. ‘‘I didn’t hit it, but I shot at it.’’
‘‘Well,’’ I said, ‘‘would you be willing to talk to a DNR officer about that?’’
‘‘Sure. I mean, shit, man, you got me on that one.’’
The rest of the interview was unremarkable, except for his reaction when we asked what kind of guns Johnny Marks had.
‘‘Oh, shit,’’ he said. ‘‘Oh, hey, lots of ’em, man. Lots of ’em. Rifles, at least three. Four handguns. At least three, for sure.’’
Hester and I exchanged glances. ‘‘Where are these guns?’’
‘‘He keeps ’em in his gun locker, ma’am.’’
‘‘You have observed these guns yourself. At his place?’’
‘‘Yes, ma’am.’’
‘‘Recently?’’
‘‘Oh, about a week ago or so. Yeah, I’d say recently. About then.’’
‘‘Can you tell me what kind?’’ I asked.
‘‘You know,’’ he said, ‘‘I never handled those or anything. Just saw the bunch of ’em in the locker when he opened it. It don’t have a glass door or anything, so I could only see… but the handguns were on little pegs, and hanging from their triggers, like…’’
Since Johnny Marks was a convicted felon, that was enough. Three hours later, we had our search warrant for his house, and just after midnight, we were through the door.
We found lots of interesting stuff, including a little dope. And the guns. All either muzzle-loading rifles or cap-and-ball revolvers. Black powder. Iowa considers them not to be firearms, for felonious matters. I’ve always been under the impression that those guns, which killed soldiers by the hundreds of thousands in the American Civil War, were a technology that was quite capable of killing today. And they are. But, apparently, if they make a lot of smoke, they’re not what the legislature considers a firearm.
As Hester said: ‘‘A chickenshit dope charge and some antique guns!’’ Hester has a way with words.
Dahl, our intrepid dope cop, had found lots of stuff in the infamous gun locker. Written records that indicated a connection to several large dealers in the Iowa, Wisconsin, Minnesota triangle. ‘‘Indicated’’ being the key word. Evidence enough to keep Dahl on the track, but not nearly enough for a charge. We charged Marks with simple possession. Pretty much to make it look like we had done something. But it did give us something to trade for real information, if he had any.
We ended our day at 4:24 A.M. Knowing just about as much of real worth as we had at 4 P.M. Not a good first day on a murder investigation. A pretty good rule of thumb is that, if you haven’t developed a good suspect within forty-eight hours of the start of the investigation, you have a serious problem, and may never get the thing solved. Time was getting short, and we’d hardly started.