Kenhardt - Secrets 32

Robert Baldwin was victim number four. Cause of death was a single stab wound through the heart. A mature step - up from the first murder, Joe thought, thinking back to Mark Irving. Flora Willard was living on Appleton Crescent, just a six minute drive from the station. Joe packed up his things and headed over to her house. A petite elderly woman greeted him. Her hair was dyed dark brown and she had bright green eyes. She looked significantly younger than seventy - nine. ‘Flora Willard?’ Joe said. ‘Yes?’ ‘I’m Detective O’Reily,’ he began. ‘I was wondering if I could talk to you. Maybe ask you a few questions.’ ‘What is this regarding?” ‘Your first husband. Robert Baldwin.’ They sat in her living room, Flora continuously offering him tea and coffee. Finally, Joe caved and allowed the woman to get him a tea. She came back into the room holding two small tea cups and placed them on the coffee table in the center of the room. Flora took a seat in an old rocking chair and nursed the cup between her palms. ‘That’s a name I haven’t heard in quite some time,’ Flora said. ‘It was a long time ago.’ ‘Fifty - one years now,’ Flora said. ‘How did you and Robert meet?’ ‘He was older,’ Flora admitted. ‘He worked with my father, was always dropping by the house, paying us little visits. My Father adored Robert. He was like a friend and a son to him. He was so charming. I fell head over heels for that man,’ Flora said, taking a sip from her tea. ‘We married when I was twenty - two. He was thirty - four.’ ‘And what was your relationship like?’ ‘It was Grand,’ Flora said. ‘We were married six years when he was murdered. I remember that day as if it were yesterday.’ ‘Why don’t you tell me about it? If you’re up to it, of course.’ ‘Yes, well,’ she paused. ‘It was fifty - one years ago. I’ve been married twice since then. But I will tell you, Detective, it was one of the most traumatizing experiences of my life.’ She placed her cup on the table and exhaled deeply. ‘I had gone with some of my girlfriends to the beach that day. It was beautiful out, just another hot Summer day. On our way home, the car broke down. We were stranded on the side of the road for hours, waving down cars and begging old men to help us out or give us a lift. We ended up hitching a ride home and making it back just shortly after sundown. The man who gave us a ride dropped me off at mine and Robert’s house. I unlocked the door and walked inside. The house was awfully quiet. I remember calling out his name, but there was no response. I assumed he was out, busy doing other things. ‘I went to the kitchen, got myself a drink, and spent some time tidying up and getting dinner prepared. It must have been an hour after being home that I went to the bedroom to fetch something. And that’s when I saw him. He was lying on the floor, covered in blood,’ she stopped. ‘Are you alright?’, Joe asked. Flora stared blankly ahead, taking a moment to herself. Then she nodded quickly and returned her gaze to Joe. Apologies,’ she said. “It’s always difficult, reliving it.’ ‘Of course, no need to apologize,’ Joe said. ‘Are you okay to continue?’ She nodded. ‘I ran out of there and phoned the police. They came right away, taped off the bedroom and the house. I was so shaken up, could hardly breathe or think straight. Here I was, having fun at the Beach. Meanwhile, my husband was being murdered in our home.’ ‘You were aware of The Sad Killer though, yes? He had killed three men before your husband.’ ‘I’d heard of the other murders, yes, it was very unfortunate. I don’t know whether Robert and I knew there was a madman on the loose in Kenhardt at the time of his death. I don’t believe we thought much of it. We tried to stay away from the news - it’s only filled with negativity. I never kept up with it. But after Robert died, well, I followed the case closely. I witnessed each victim’s death after my husband. Three more men, just like my Bobby, all murdered in their homes. No traces of the culprit anywhere. It’s as though it were a ghost who simply disappeared into thin air.’ ‘Did you or Robert know any of the other victims?’ She thought for a moment.’ Not particularly. I’d seen them around before, here and there. The grocery store, the beach. Everyone went to the Beach in the summer. But we didn’t know any of them personally.’ ‘Did any of the family members of the deceased ever reach out to you? Maybe there was a support group or something of that sorts?’ She shook her head. ‘Everyone kept to themselves after that. I know I did. Once Robert died, it was like I went into a depression. Well, can you blame me? I had lost my husband. At only twenty - eight years Old! I could hardly leave the house, buy groceries, live my life. It wasn’t until a few months later that I met Carl, my second husband. He brought out my sunshine once again. I have to be honest with you, Detective, after Robert died, I didn’t think it would be possible to ever find happiness again. But I did, I found it with Carl.’ Joe could attest to this, He did, after all, find happiness after Olivia. ‘Unfortunately, that didn’t work out in the end.’ Flora continued. ‘We divorced five years later. And then I met Arnold Whittaker,’ She smiled softly. ‘ Now that was the man of my dreams, Third times a charm, right? The other two were trials, I suppose. Simply a pathway that eventually led me to Arnold. But he passed four years ago. My heart was broken all over again.’ ‘I’m so sorry,’ Joe said. The poor woman had been through enough hardships in her lifetime. ‘Yes, well,’ she paused. ‘I have six children and fifteen grandchildren. They bring me joy and happiness when I need it the most.’ ‘Do they live in Kenhardt?” ‘Some do,’ Flora said. ‘Others have moved on. Farthest one is only two hours out, so they make sure to come visit as much as they can.’ ‘Did you ever have any suspicions on who killed your husband, Flora? Anyone at all?’ She was quiet a moment. ‘NO’, she admitted. ‘The police were always saying one thing. Then there was the reporters, always gabbing on, blaming someone or other. But Kenhardt was so small back then. Everyone was getting backlash for those murders. And everyone became a suspect. I don’t even know if this person - the person who killed my husband - was even from Kenhardt.’ ‘What makes you say that?” ‘It just didn’t make sense,’ Flora said. ‘Everyone got along here. We were a good community. Why would somebody from here have such Rage and Aggression towards others in the community? I believed it was an outsider. Someone from out of town, perhaps. They could have been visiting for the summer. That would explain why the murders began at the end of April and ceased in August. A summer thing,’ ‘That’s interesting,’ Joe said. ’I Never thought about that before.’ Flora nodded and took another sip of tea. ‘Anyway,’ she said. ’Why the sudden interest? Don’t tell me they’re re-opening the case.’ ‘No, no,’ Joe said. ’I’m actually in town for another case, I’m from Riverton, actually. I heard about The Sad Killer last week. It Hasn’t left my mind since.’ ‘Its definitely is one for the History Books,’ Flora said. ’We had never seen murders like that before, and we never saw them again after, It was all very strange.’ ‘Yes, well,’ Joe said. ‘I’m doing my best to get the big picture here. I’ve been contacting old reporters and officers from that summer. I spoke to an author just this morning. He’s the one who suggested I speak with some of the family members.’ ‘Oh, don’t tell me its that Vanhorn character.’ Joe laughed. ‘You’re not a fan?’ ‘Heavens no,’ Flora said. ‘He is a havoc, I tell you. Just a God awful man.’ ‘What happened?’ ‘Oh, just the type of person he is. I can spot the bad ones from a mile away. He Didn’t care about the murders or the victims. He just wanted to make a buck. Turn a profit from all of our tragedies.’ Joe nodded but didn’t respond. ‘Well, I don’t want to take up any more of your time, ma’am.’ ‘Oh, nothing of the sorts.’ Flora said. ‘My family is so busy now a days, I hardly get any visitors. I love a good chat once in a while. I just never expected to be talking about Bobby Baldwin again.’ ‘I will try to keep you in the loop and let you know if I find anything.’ She smiled and they both stood. ‘I hope you do.’ The sun was shining. It was a gorgeous day out in Kenhardt and Joe was driving around the small town with his windows down. He knew he had more pressing matters to attend to. He still needed to figure out what happened to Haddie, Anya and Kiera. But he was on a roll. He was obtaining new information today that was proving useful to the SAD case. He would visit one last person then call it a day. Once he spoke to Angela Remano, he would return to the current case. That would be his main focus. He couldn’t lose track of that, But just this one last visit. Angela,(née, Brooks), was Patrick Brooks - victim number three’s - daughter. Patrick had a son named Ethan, but he had moved out of town many years ago. Fortunately for Joe, Angela was still here, living just around the corner, and only sixty - one years old. That would have made her ten or eleven at the time of her father’s murder. Joe wasn’t sure how much she would remember, or how useful this visit would be, but he had to give it a shot. She had dark red hair, curly beyond belief. Her face was older, but her voice was young. She spoke with cadence and poise, but also had a sense of humour. They sat in her dining room, Angela’s three small dogs running in circles around their feet. ‘Don’t mind them,’ she said to Joe. ’They all have ADHD.’ Joe laughed . ’Is you husband home?’ ‘He’s at the grandkids soccer tournament today.’ ‘You didn’t go?’ She shook her head. ’We usually take turns. I went last week.’ Joe smiled then cleared his throat. ’So, to get into things.’ ‘My father,’ Angela replied. “Yes, Are you comfortable talking about this? I understand if you’re not.’ ‘No, no,’ Angela held up a hand. ’I’m a big girl, I can handle it.’ ‘You were, what, eleven at the time?’ ‘Ten turning eleven in November that year.’ ‘Do you remember much from that summer?’ ‘More than you’d think,’ Angela said, ’I have so many memories from back then. So many that I still surprise myself on how much my old mind has retained.’ ‘What can you tell me?’’ ‘Well,’ she said. ’I was ten, my brother was eight, It was summer time. Everything was normal. One day my father was there. The next, he was gone.’ ‘Can you recall the day?’ ‘May twenty - eighth. I won’t ever forget that date,’ she took in a deep breath. ’It happened in the night. We were all asleep. My parents were separated at the time, so Joey and I were staying at our father’s place. He said goodnight to us, we went to sleep. The next morning, we got up, went about our morning routine. It was a Saturday, so we didn’t have school or any other responsibilities. We were waiting in the kitchen for my father to get up and make us breakfast, but he wasn’t in there. We went all around the house, calling for him, but we couldn’t find him. I guess we finally decided to look in his bedroom. There he was, in the bed, sleeping. Or so we believed. He was just lying there, so still,’ she paused. ’I still remember the look on his face. That moment will haunt me forever. His eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling. So vacant and empty. ‘We thought he was sleeping, so we jumped on his bed and began to shake him. That’s when we noticed his eyes were open. We were calling him, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, but he wasn’t responding. At some point it clicked in my ten-year-old brain and I knew something was wrong. I ran back into the kitchen, grabbed the landline, and called our neighbour. He came over and called the police. My father had been dead for more than seven hours at that point. Sometime in the night.’ ‘That’s horrible,’ Joe said. ‘It was terrifying, The very thought that we were in the next room, sleeping silently, while my father was being strangled to death.’ ‘You were so young back then,’ Joe said. ‘Were you aware of the other deaths that were going on at the time? Your father was the third victim. Did that mean anything to you?’ She shook her head. ’No, You’re right, I was so young. I hardly had a concept of what death was at the time. All I knew in that moment was that my dad was gone and he wouldn’t be coming back,’ Angela said. ’My mother was horrified. She changed after that. Never let us out of her sight. Doctors said she developed PTSD. She held herself accountable for my father’s death. As though if she were there, she would have somehow been able to prevent it.’ ‘Do you believe that’s true?……’