The first thing she said to me was ‘‘Hello, Mr. Houseman.’’
Damned if I didn’t recognize her. Melissa Werth, or Melissa Stritch now. She’d done about half her growing up three houses from me, at her grandmother’s, after her parents had been killed in a car wreck. I didn’t really know her, but we were well enough acquainted to exchange some words when we met in the grocery store. Damn. Just hadn’t connected her. Maybe I really was getting too old for this shit.
‘‘What happened, Melissa? Are you all right?’’
‘‘We’re fine. Do you know that that old son of a bitch shot at us? ’’
We were bundling both of them off toward the tent, and out of sight of the main buildings. ‘‘Who, Melissa? Who shot at you?’’
‘‘That crazy goddamned Herman!’’
‘‘Herman?’’ I asked.
‘‘Damned right he did!’’
‘‘Why?’’
‘‘Because I wanted to leave. Because him and his whole goddamned family want to die instead of surrender, and that was supposed to include me and Susie!’’ We were near the tent now, and I could see her very clearly. She was a pretty girl, with long brown hair. She looked up at me, outraged and breathless. ‘‘Can you believe that shit?’’
‘‘Yeah, I’m afraid I can,’’ I said. We started in the tent.
‘‘Mark,’’ said Hester to a trooper, ‘‘get me a couple of women EMTs in here, will you?’’
Hester thinks of everything.
With Melissa and her child certified by the EMTs, we had a nice chat. It turned out that Herman, his wife, Nola, and his son William (the one I’d spoken with, and Melissa’s husband) were in the house. Melissa told us that they were all in agreement that Herman had done nothing wrong and was simply defending his property against intrusion when he had shot both officers. We were the ones, according to them, who were acting illegally, and were the ones who would have to back off. Melissa had been the one to bring up the possibility that we might not agree.
‘‘All I said, Mr. Houseman, was that maybe we’d better just think about this a little.’’
‘‘Sure.’’
‘‘And I said, ‘What if they start shooting?’ And they said, ‘Then we shoot back.’ And I said, ‘But what if we get shot?’ That’s when they said that we could all die for our cause.’’
‘‘That must have been pretty scary,’’ said Hester.
Melissa nodded. ‘‘Oh, yeah. Really.’’
‘‘So what did you do?’’ asked Hester.
‘‘Well,’’ said Melissa, getting huffy again, ‘‘I just said bullshit, and nobody’s gonna kill my baby or me over this. Even if it is murder you’re wanted for.’’
‘‘They admit it’s murder?’’ I asked, surprised.
‘‘Well, sure they do, Mr. Houseman.’’
‘‘That kind of surprises me, Melissa. I thought they said they were acting in defense of their property.’’
‘‘Well, on that one, I think so. But not the other one.’’
‘‘Other one?’’
‘‘You know, the ones up in the park in June.’’
‘‘What?’’
‘‘The ones in the park, Mr. Houseman. The officer and the dope dealer. The ones you came to arrest them for today.’’ Melissa looked at me as if I were senile.
‘‘They did those?’’ I leaned forward and put my hand on her forearm. ‘‘Herman killed those men in the park?’’
‘‘Not Herman, but he knew about it. But, but…’’ Her lip started to quiver. ‘‘But Bill was there, and he saw it, and he never shot but once, and he never hit anybody,’’ and the flood began. I think she began to realize right about then that we hadn’t known about that at all.
While Melissa cried, I went outside and thought about a cigarette.
Al Hummel approached the tent. ‘‘What’s up, Carl?’’
‘‘You’re not gonna believe this one, Al.’’
After a long interview with Melissa, what we had was this:
On June 18th, the day of the shooting in the park, Melissa Stritch’s husband, Bill, was taking part in a militia exercise in the park area with several other individuals. Herman, while part of the leadership of this particular militia, wasn’t with them. Herman had, however, assisted in the planning for the exercise. The group had been in the park for at least a day prior to the shootings. Bill had called Melissa that morning, saying that they’d had to call off the maneuvers, but didn’t say why. He was calling from Herman’s place, and had spent the afternoon there. He had cautioned her to say nothing to the police. When he arrived home that evening, he seemed very subdued and worried. And, she’d noticed immediately, he’d had none of his militia gear with him. She’d asked, and he said not to worry about it.
Melissa had learned long before that day that when politics and/or militia business was involved, she was wise not to pry. It had taken Bill three days to tell her that the men he was with had killed the little dope dealer and the cop. Bill denied killing anybody, and refused to name anyone else who was with him that day.
The DCI agents had showed up the day after the shootings to do the interview with Herman, but had talked only with his wife, Nola. Herman and Bill had apparently been in the barn with assault rifles trained on the DCI men the whole time. It appeared that the DCI had talked to Melissa the same day, but without the snipers.
When Lamar and Bud showed up on July 23rd, Herman had automatically assumed they had solved the murder and were coming to arrest both himself and Bill. Bill seemed to have a calming effect on Herman, but Bill wasn’t there when our officers arrived. Melissa knew virtually nothing about the actual shooting of Lamar and Bud, but she had heard the argument between Herman and Bill in the house shortly before she left, the gist of which was that Herman believed the Original Notice was a ruse. Bill had said that Herman was nuts, and that if they were coming to arrest Herman, there would have been more than two. She also said that it was just ‘‘known’’ within the family at the house that Herman had done the shooting.
I looked at my notes again, then at Hester and Al. ‘‘We need to know anything else?’’
‘‘Just the family in there?’’ asked Al.
‘‘Two other men,’’ said Melissa. ‘‘Friends of Herman.’’
‘‘Know ’em?’’ I asked.
‘‘Not really.’’
‘‘Do they have guns too?’’ asked Hester.
‘‘Oh, sure. Everybody in that place has at least one.’’ She yawned and shuddered at the same time.
‘‘It’s late, and I’m sure Melissa’s tired, aren’t you?’’ said Hester.
Melissa nodded.
‘‘Well,’’ said Hester, ‘‘I’m sure we can have a second interview tomorrow, with a stenographer present. After Melissa’s rested and fed, and we can see how little Susie is coming along.’’
I looked at Melissa. ‘‘Thanks, kid. We appreciate this.’’
‘‘Sure,’’ she said with a faint smile. ‘‘Just one thing… I’m not a snitch, Mr. Houseman. I’m really not. I’m just so tired of the bullshit.’’
‘‘I know,’’ I said. ‘‘I’m getting a little tired of it myself.’’
Melissa left with Diane Blakeslee, good old 884. Blakeslee would stay with her all night at a motel in Maitland, and deliver her to the Sheriff’s Department the next morning. Best we could do for protective custody. It was 0521. I went to a camper one of our reserve officers had brought to the scene, and thought for about five seconds before I fell asleep.
They didn’t wake me until 1120 on the 24th.
After a trip to a Porta Potti, two cups of coffee, and a moment spent thinking about a cigarette, I was ready to go. There were no new developments, so we scheduled my interview by the DCI agents assigned to yesterday’s murder and shooting. I was, at least, a witness. I figured it would be a good opportunity to bring Hester up to speed on exactly what had happened, and asked if she could sit in. As it appeared now that the murders in the park were related to the current situation, everybody agreed. My interview lasted just over two hours. Once we established that I hadn’t been intoxicated, using mind-altering drugs, or intentionally irritating Stritch, things went rapidly. We had to count the rounds in my rifle magazines to verify how many rounds I’d fired. I always carried twenty-eight in the thirty-round magazines, to save tension on the magazine springs. I had to explain that twice, as one of the agents didn’t understand how long those magazines stayed in my trunk. They also checked my handgun, and ruled that it hadn’t been fired for some time. I think the spider living in the barrel may have had some influence. They were really lawsuit-conscious. I don’t blame them a bit. It was sort of hard not to rush to the precise points I really wanted to cover, but I forced myself to stick with the pace. But when we got to Bill Stritch’s actions, the interest was heightened all around.