The Murdered Wife

Bridget flipped through the pages of the Investigating Officer's Report looking for anything that might pique her interest. The facts of the case seemed pretty straightforward: a farmer named Palmer who lived out on the highway to Powhatan, VA, had heard what sounded like a gunshot in an abandoned barn on his property. He went to investigate because he thought it might be a hunter and his property was posted "No hunting." When he entered the barn, he found the body of a woman lying in a pool of blood. He'd called 9-1-1 immediately.

When officers and the EMT arrived on the scene, they found the woman dead from a single bullet wound to the heart. (A note referred the reader to the attached report from the Medical Examiner for details.) The victim's car was found parked outside the barn. Documents found in the woman's purse, which had been left in the car, showed that she was Kelly Russell, the wife of Barry Russell, a financial consultant in Richmond.

The detectives who searched the scene found no signs of a struggle nor were there any signs of a robbery. It did not appear that Mrs. Russell's purse had been disturbed; her wallet still contained $125 in cash. No murder weapon was found at the scene of the crime; however, a single 9mm shell casing was retrieved from the floor of the barn. The ME subsequently determined that Mrs. Russell had been shot with a 9 mm pistol at close range. Time of death was established at approximately 3:00 p.m.

Idly, Bridget opened the ME's report. Everything appeared routine to her until she spotted a photograph of the victim taken at the scene. Death from the bullet had been instantaneous, and Bridget expected to see fear or perhaps pain on the woman's face. Instead, the expression frozen on the face of the corpse was one of complete and total astonishment.

Bridget's heart began to beat faster. "This could be the one," she thought.

* * * * * * *

After perfunctory expressions of sympathy for his wife's death and half-hearted apologies for disturbing him in his time of grief, the two detectives settled down in Barry Russell's home office to speak with him.

"Mr. Russell, did your wife have any enemies, anyone who might have reason to wish her harm?" the older detective asked.

"No!" Barry said in surprise. "Everyone loved Kelly. I never heard anyone say an unkind thing about her."

The detective nodded and made a note on the pad he carried. "How about the two of you: any areas of disagreement, any problems?"

"No," Barry repeated.

"So your marriage was perfect in every way, no quarrels, no disagreements of any kind?" the detective prodded.

"Well, no, I wouldn't say that," Barry backtracked. "I mean, every marriage has some friction -- you know, expenses, budgets, priorities, that sort of thing."

The younger detective leaned forward. "So the two of you quarreled about money?"

"We didn't quarrel," Barry said quickly, "we had a few disagreements but nothing out of the ordinary." He glanced down at the detective's left hand. "I see you're wearing a wedding ring, Detective. Do you mean to tell me you've never had a difference of opinion about spending with your wife?"

The older detective chortled and the younger one turned red. "Let's go back to the day of your wife's, uh, demise," he said. "What was she doing in that old barn on the Palmer place?"

"I wish I knew, Detective," Barry said. "Like I told the police before, she called me and asked me to meet her out there at 2:00. She said there was a big opportunity she needed me to see, but she didn't have time to discuss it just then. I wasn't too happy about going all the way out there, especially since I had an appointment in my home office at 4:00, but I promised her I'd be there."

"But you didn't make it," the younger detective offered.

"No, I didn't," Barry explained. "I had a flat tire on the way out there. It took me quite a while to put on the spare, and in the process I got filthy dirty. When I finished, I barely had time to drive back home, shower and change clothes before my client arrived at 4:00."

"I see," the older detective muttered. "Why didn't you call AAA to help you change the tire?"

"Simple," Barry said, "I'm not an AAA member."

The detective nodded. "And what did Mrs. Russell say when you called her to tell her you couldn't make it?"

Barry hung his head in embarrassment. "I didn't call her. In my haste to get out there I drove off without my cell phone. And by the time I got home, showered and changed clothes, my client arrived."

"And that was at 4:00 p.m.?" the older detective asked.

"Yes," Barry said, "he was right on time."

"And between 2:00 and 4:00 p.m., was there anyone who might have seen you?"

Barry paused a moment. "No, not that I'm aware of."

The younger detective picked up the questioning again. "So let's go back to when you arrived home. Would that have been about 3:30 roughly?"

Barry nodded.

"And then you took a shower, put on a clean suit and tie, and met with your client?"

"That's correct," Barry confirmed.

"And after the client left, what did you do?" the man asked.

"I bundled up the dirty suit and took it to the dry cleaners," Barry answered.

"I see," the younger detective said. "That was certainly convenient."

"What was convenient?" Barry asked in confusion.

The younger detective peered at him closely. "It was convenient that you had to take a shower as soon as you got home," he said, "and it was convenient that you took your suit to the dry cleaners right away."

Barry looked at him with a puzzled expression. "I still don't understand."

The detective stared at him intently. "That would certainly eliminate any gunpowder residue or other forensic evidence of a shooting," he said.

Barry's face assumed a look of anger and disbelief. "Now wait just a damned minute! I had nothing to do with my wife's murder. I told you, I never even made it out to Palmer's farm. I can't believe you think I'm a suspect!"

The two detectives glanced at each other. "Are you a suspect, Mr. Russell? Is there something about your wife's death that you'd like to tell us?" the older detective asked shrewdly.

Barry grew increasingly agitated. "If I'm a suspect, I think I need legal counsel. And I'm not going to answer any more of your questions till I've talked to an attorney," he said defiantly.

The two officers looked at each other again and then rose in unison to leave. "If you think you've done something that requires legal counsel, then that's your right. But we'll be back, Mr. Russell, I can guarantee you that."

* * * * * * *

Bridget hit speed dial on her cell phone, and when she heard the call answered, she said, "Hey, Jill, it's your little sister calling."

"Hey, BeeGee," came the voice on the other end. "I was hoping it was you. It's been a few days since I've heard from you."

"Sorry I didn't call sooner, but I've been busy with my project. And guess what: I may just have found what I'm looking for!" With that she began to describe the Russell case, including what she'd learned from the Investigating Officer's Report and the photo made by the Medical Examiner.

"Wait a minute, BeeGee, how did you get hold of the IOR and the ME's report? Those are confidential documents."

Bridget gave an embarrassed little laugh. "Well, I might have let the officer think that I was still writing for the Criminals Channel, and I might have hinted that he would make a good subject for an on-camera interview when the Channel does a segment on the case." She paused and then laughed again. "You know how cops are always suckers for a little publicity," she said in a teasing voice.

"You've never been able to get over the fact that I joined the D.C. police force," Jill retorted with good humor. "But I can tell you this: no flirty young writer would ever get confidential information out of me."

The two sisters kidded each other a bit more, but then Jill asked, "So what's the next step in your plan to become America's next great non-fiction author?"

"The next step," Bridget told her, "is to go down to Richmond and get the husband to participate in my project."

"And just how do you plan to do that?" her older sister asked skeptically.

"Simple," Bridget replied, "I'll just go see him and ask him. In fact, I've got an appointment with him tomorrow."

Immediately, Jill's voice took on a serious tone. "Listen, Bridget, I want you to be careful with this guy. You know as well as I do that when a wife gets murdered, the husband is usually the primary suspect. If this guy killed his wife, he could easily kill again to protect his secret."

"Yes, Ma'am, I promise to be careful," Bridget replied in a little girl's voice. Then she immediately reverted to her natural tone. "Seriously, Jill, I know you're right, but I'm a big girl now and I know how to handle myself. I definitely won't get into a position where I'm vulnerable."

"Okay," Jill said reluctantly, "but please take this seriously. If anything were to happen to you, I don't think I could stand it."

"I swear, Jill," Bridget replied solemnly. "And I promise that I'll call you regularly and keep you posted on how it's going."

"Just don't make me drive down from D.C. and haul your flirty ass out of trouble," Jill threatened.

* * * * * * *

The next morning Barry was still fuming about the visit from the police detectives, but he composed himself because he had an appointment with a potential client. Given how slow things had been since the recession, he was eager for any new business he could get.

When the doorbell rang, Barry was waiting in the entry hall and quickly let Bridget Callahan in. As he escorted her back to his home office suite, he took the time to assess what he hoped would be his next client. He guessed her to be about thirty, "the same age as Kelly," he thought. She had brown hair cut stylishly short, and what appeared to be a slim, attractive figure under the business suit she wore.

After they'd settled respectively into the sofa and chair on one side of his office, Barry poured them both a cup of coffee. He liked to try to make his clients as comfortable as possible so that they would be more willing to discuss their financial condition with him.

After a sip of coffee, he looked at what he hoped would be his new client, being careful to keep his eyes on her face. "Now, Ms. Callahan, why don't you tell me a little about your financial goals," he said.

She sat the cup down on the coffee table and then folded her hands. "First, Mr. Russell, please accept my deepest sympathies on the loss of your wife. I know what a shock that must have been to you."

"Thank you, Ms. Callahan," he replied. "You've very kind."

She went on smoothly. "Second, please accept my deepest apologies for having misled you somewhat. I'm not here to seek financial advice, I'm here to offer you a unique and mutually beneficial proposition."

Barry gaped at her in surprise. "You're a salesperson?" he asked angrily.

"Absolutely not," she replied coolly. "I've been a writer for the Criminals Channel for the past five years, and I have extensive experience in the area of criminal justice. Now I want to write a book about the death of your wife and the subsequent investigation to identify and prosecute the perpetrator of this crime. To do this, I've come here to ask you for your complete cooperation every step of the way."

Her host stared at her in amazement. "Why on earth would I want to do that?" he asked.

She gazed at him steadily. "Because if you don't, you are absolutely screwed!"

Barry stood up hastily. "If that's some sort of threat, I can assure you that it won't work on me. Now I think it's time for you to leave, Ms. Callahan."

The young woman sat there unfazed by his anger. "Please, Mr. Russell, allow me to explain. Give me five minutes, and then if you still want me to leave, I'll go away and you'll never hear from me again. Just five minutes, please."

Barry sat down and folded his arms "Very well, but just five minutes," he warned.

Bridget opened the large handbag she'd brought with her and extracted a tablet computer which she consulted. "Mr. Russell, you've already had a visit from the police, and I'm pretty sure that it was very disturbing experience."

"How did you know that?" he asked in surprise.

"For two reasons," she said, ticking them off on her fingers, "first, as I said, I've been involved with a lot of police investigations and I know how they work. Lacking a clear-cut alternative, they always suspect the husband."

"But that's not fair," Barry burst out. "You're saying that I'm already tried and convicted just because Kelly and I were husband and wife?"

Bridget ignored him. "The other reason I know is the news story in today's Richmond

Times-Dispatch

."

"What story?" Barry demanded. "I haven't seen today's paper."

She handed the tablet over to him. The web browser was open to the Local News section of the

Times-Dispatch

. Under the headline "Police Question Husband in Russell Slaying," the story noted that detectives had seen Barry for "a second round of questioning," and he was described as a "person of interest." The reporter went on to add that no charges have been filed "at this time." The rest of the article was a recap of the crime itself.

"This is horrible!" Barry moaned when he'd finished reading. "This makes it sound like it's only a matter of time before I'm arrested!"

When Bridget merely nodded, Barry slumped down in his chair. "I thought in America you were innocent until proven guilty."

"In a court of law, that's true," Bridget said, "but you're already being tried in the court of public opinion, and from now on you're going to face an uphill battle."

Before she could continue, the phone on Barry's desk rang. He stepped over to look at the display, and then said, "I need to take this call. This is a long-time client of mine."

When she nodded, he picked up the receiver and said, "Hello, Tom, what can I do for you today?" He listened a while and a frown shadowed his face. "Tom, you've been a client for a long time. Aren't you satisfied with the results of your portfolio?" There was another long pause, and his frown deepened. "But surely you don't believe that," he said finally. "No matter what your wife's friends are saying, I had nothing to do with what happened to Kelly. My God, I loved her!" After another long pause, his shoulders slumped and his voice sank. "Alright, Tom, I understand. Maybe after all this gets cleared up we can do business together again."

He slowly hung up the phone and then walked back to the chair. "I can't believe that," he said in a low voice. "That was one of my oldest clients calling to cancel his business because his wife and her friends believe I was responsible for Kelly's death!"

Bridget slid across the couch to pat Barry's hand in sympathy. "I'm so sorry, Barry, but this is exactly what I was talking about. Because the police haven't arrested anyone, people are starting to make guesses about what happened, and it's not surprising that those guesses start with you."

Barry held his head in his hands. "I would never have believed it if I hadn't gotten that call. I just can't understand how people who have known me for so long could assume that I'm capable of murder."

"It's a terrible thing, Barry, but the absence of evidence just adds fuel to the fire. People assume that there must have been something going on they didn't know about."

She shook her head. "And that's not the worst of it, either. Even if you're completely exonerated, there will still be people who don't hear about it or, even worse, don't believe it. Juicy gossip is much more powerful and engaging than mundane facts. The doubts and accusations often live on even after a case is closed. And I guarantee you that any good news about you won't get as much publicity as the bad."

"I just can't believe this is happening. What do I have to do: change my name and move to another country?" Barry asked in despair.

"I think there is another option, and that's why I'm here," Bridget said. "I told you I'm a writer. Let me write your story. Open up to me, share your thoughts and emotions along with the facts of the case. Let people see the truth."

"But how is that any different from the stories they run on the Criminals Channel you used to write for?" he asked.

"It's completely different," Bridget stressed. "In the first place, all those shows on TV are about crimes that occurred years ago. Second, they only do segments about guilty people, never about people wrongly accused. I want to write about a case as it unfolds. I want to show what the accused experiences, about what's going on inside him or her."

She paused and took a deep breath. "Did you ever read

In Cold Blood

by Truman Capote?"

When he shook his head negatively, she continued. "It's probably the greatest non-fiction book about crime ever written. Part of what made it so unique was that Capote was given such extensive access to the two killers. He was able to learn about the relationship between the two of them and to describe their thoughts and emotions. Well, I want to go Capote a step further: I want to follow a crime almost from the time it happened. I want to get at the truth before the facts are even established."

"That all sounds very interesting, Ms. Callahan, but what does it mean for me?" Barry asked.

"It means everything, Barry," she said confidently. "Nobody has ever done anything like this before, and it's bound to get a lot of attention in the media. My book will guarantee that people know not only that you were exonerated but what you had to go through during the whole process. I'll bet you'll see people falling all over themselves to apologize for having doubts about you. You'll be welcomed back into society with open arms."

Barry stared at her as she wound up her description. Then his face took on a cryptic expression. "There's just one problem with all that," he said. When she looked at him questioningly, he said, "What happens if I'm guilty?"

Bridget stared at him in surprise and swallowed hard. But then she regained her equilibrium and said, "Then I'll come visit you in prison."

He stared at her for another long second, and then looked down at the story in the

Times-Dispatch

. Finally he nodded and stuck out his hand. "Alright, Bridget, you've got a deal."

* * * * * * *

"Hey, Sis, guess what? I met the guy and he's actually willing to let me write his story. He's agreed to open up and let me see what he thinks and feels. This could be my big break!"

"Way to go, BeeGee! I'm no literary expert, but it sounds to me like you're really onto something new here. Anyway, now that you've met the guy in person, what are your first impressions?"

"Well, he appears to be intelligent and successful, at least up until recently. The recession hurt his business, and now being under a cloud of suspicion about his wife's death is already starting to have further repercussions."

"That's not what I'm asking, BeeGee. Do you think he's guilty or not?"

"You just can't stop being a cop, can you, Sis? But to answer your question, I'm not sure. At first I was inclined to believe that he's innocent. He doesn't seem to me like the kind of man who would murder his wife. I heard him talking about her to one of his clients, and he seemed genuinely distraught about her death. But there was one thing that gave me pause. I was telling him about my book and how it would help people understand that he was innocent. And when I finished he asked, 'But what if I'm guilty?' Why would an innocent man say something like that? Anyway, I'm going to spend the day with him tomorrow, and I hope to get a better idea after that."