Chapter 15 #2
Milliken shook his head and gave Flint a wry grin. “You already know the answer. No town the size of Mount Warren has that kind of budget. If I had a viable suspect, maybe we could get it done. Without a good reason for the request, which we don’t currently have, the budget will not be approved.”
“Right. I have a lot of contacts in the best DNA testing facilities. How about I take the evidence and get it done?” Flint suggested even as Milliken was shaking his head.
“Under normal circumstances, you’d have returned all of this to Baker’s family at some point, right? I’m her family. You can give it to me.”
Milliken sighed. “Only if you never want her killer brought to justice.”
Flint stared at the evidence bag containing his mother’s torn clothing. The physical proof that might finally identify her killer.
“Sheriff, I want to pursue this. I want to get that evidence tested for DNA. There may be usable trace that could lead us somewhere.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” Milliken smiled for the first time since Flint had arrived. The expression transformed his weathered face, revealing a glimpse of the eager young deputy he’d once been. “I’ve been carrying this case around for thirty-two years. It’s time to get some answers.”
“What do we need to do?”
Milliken’s expression shifted. He picked up the evidence bag and turned it over in his hands.
The plastic crinkled softly. “That’s the problem.
Even if I wanted to, I can’t just hand potential evidence over to you.
Chain of custody rules. Any defense attorney worth his salt would get it thrown out. We’d never convict the killer.”
Flint clenched his jaw. “So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying we need to do this right if we want to nail your mother’s killer. Through proper channels.”
The big clock on the wall had a second hand that clicked from one second to the next. The sound seemed unnaturally loud in the small office, marking time. Flint watched the clicking for ten seconds while he worked out the issues.
“Sheriff, let’s be realistic here. Baker wasn’t raped. There could be physical evidence on her clothing, but that won’t prove who killed her.” Flint swiped a palm across his face. “What are the chances we’re going to find Baker’s killer after thirty-two years? Even with DNA evidence?”
Milliken placed the evidence on his desk again, handling it with the reverence reserved for sacred objects. “Honestly? Not great. It’s been too long, and we have too little to go on.”
“So why worry about chain of custody for a case that’s probably never going to trial?”
“Because I’m the Sheriff. I follow the law. It’s my job to find Marilyn Baker’s killer and bring them to justice, get them convicted and sentenced.” Milliken met Flint’s gaze steadily without equivocation. “It’s precious little, but your mother deserves that much, doesn’t she?”
“I admire your principles, Sheriff.” Flint leaned back in his chair.
“But let’s be practical. The truth is that we’ve got a snowball’s chance in a hot Texas August of finding my mother’s killer with the evidence you’ve got.
If you could have solved the case based on that evidence, you’d have done it long ago. ”
“Can’t argue with you there. Thirty-two years of failure says you’re right,” Milliken admitted.
“If I take the evidence and have it tested, we might find them. I have access to resources that you can only get by following protocols. I don’t have those restrictions,” Flint replied patiently.
Milliken considered everything for a couple of seconds, then made his decision. “I might be able to call in a favor at the state crime lab. Rush the DNA analysis. Keep everything official and above board.”
“How long would that take?”
“Few weeks, maybe a month. Depends on how busy they are.”
“And I assume you’d want me to foot the bill.”
“Lab fees aren’t cheap. Like I said, we don’t have the budget for thirty-two-year-old cold cases.”
A month was a long time. But he’d waited all these years, did another month make that much difference?
Probably not. So a month was probably okay.
But the bigger issue was that once the results came back through official channels, they’d become public record. Anyone could access them. Which was definitely not okay. Flint didn’t want his personal life exposed to the world in that way.
Flint said, “When word gets out that we’re testing evidence in the Marilyn Baker case, the real killer could simply disappear. Or worse.”
“That’s a risk we’d have to take.”
“You were living here when Marilyn Baker was alive. Did you know her at all?” Flint slid smoothly into discussing his mother’s life instead of her death. Curiosity, he told himself. Nothing more.
“I did. She was lovely. A bit younger than me, and I was already in love with the woman who became my wife. So I wasn’t looking for a relationship back then,” Milliken replied. “But any man alive would have been interested in Marilyn Baker. She was definitely the marrying kind.”
“I understand Felix Crane and Sebastian Shaw were living here at the time, too,” Flint said. “Were they friends of yours?”
“Not hardly,” Milliken snorted. “Crane and Shaw were way above my station. They were already rich and on their way to being famous. They had more money than anybody else in Mount Warren.”
“Were they dating Marilyn Baker back then?”
“Possibly,” Milliken said as he cocked his head and narrowed his eyes for a new perspective on old facts.
“She was Catholic and a schoolteacher. They were sons of wildcatters. Which means she was as close to a saint as women get around here while Shaw and Crane were two hellions behaving like wild cats themselves. They had very little self-control, from what I observed. We arrested them a few times for drunk and disorderly and criminal mischief and the like. They bought themselves out of every problem they ever had, for sure. But they weren’t killers. Not back then, anyway.”
Flint nodded, taking in the new intel. “Did you suspect either of them? For Baker’s murder, I mean?”
“Tell you the truth, Flint, I always suspected Raymond Kellerman,” Milliken replied.
The name meant nothing to Flint. “Who’s Raymond Kellerman?”
“Marilyn’s boss. He was the principal at Mount Warren Elementary where your mother taught. He’d been pursuing her for years before she was killed.”
Flint frowned. “Pursuing her how?”
“Persistently. Aggressively. She wasn’t interested.
Rejected his advances. But he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
There were a couple of public skirmishes between them, even.
” Milliken opened one of his old notebooks.
The binding was cracked and worn from years of handling.
The pages were filled with his careful handwriting in blue ballpoint pen, notes taken decades ago but preserved with methodical precision.
“According to several teachers I interviewed, Kellerman would find excuses to be alone with her. Made inappropriate comments. A bit of unwanted touching.”
“Why didn’t she report him?”
“Different time. Different attitudes about workplace harassment. And he was her boss. She not only loved the job, she needed it. Sole support of her elderly parents at the time.” Milliken shrugged and turned a page.
“Plus, from what I learned about your mother, she was deeply religious. Beyond devout, people say. Her parents were the same way. She believed in handling things quietly, not making waves.”
“But she never changed her mind toward Kellerman? Kept rejecting him?”
“Absolutely. Three reasons. She didn’t like him much, he was her boss, and he was married,” Milliken said, raising one finger on his right hand for each of Marilyn’s good reasons.
“Beyond that, her devout parents and her own devout Catholicism meant she could never marry and have children with him, which was what she wanted out of life.”
“Why not? What was wrong with him as husband and father material?” Flint asked.
“Nothing wrong with him as far as I know. He was already married and had a couple of kids. They couldn’t get married in the church, even if he’d wanted to leave his wife and family. I gather, he didn’t want that anyway. They’re still together.”
Flint processed this information. A persistent supervisor. A woman trying to maintain boundaries. Religious and moral constraints. Men had killed for less.
“What makes you suspect him?”
“Several things. Access, for one.” Milliken flipped to another page in his notebook. “Kellerman had access to your mother’s confession schedule at St. Michael’s Church. He knew exactly when and where she’d be that night.”
“How would he have that information?”
“The church kept schedules for regular parishioners who came to confession weekly. Your mother had been one of those regulars for years.” Milliken met Flint’s eyes. “Kellerman was on the church board. He had access to the schedules.”
The pieces were starting to form a picture of a predator who knew his victim’s routine. He had authority and access. He’d been pursuing Marilyn Baker, and she’d rebuffed him, but he didn’t give up. Flint viewed him as a solid suspect.
“Did you investigate Kellerman at the time?”
“I tried. But the lead detective was convinced Preston was our guy. Said we didn’t need to waste time on other suspects.
” Milliken’s jaw tightened, the muscles working beneath weathered skin.
“Politics. The principal was a respected member of the community. Preston was a known troublemaker. Easy choice for the department.”
“What evidence do you have against Kellerman?”
“None, unless we find it here.” Milliken picked up the evidence bag containing the torn clothing, holding it carefully between both hands. “Her blouse was ripped during the struggle. We have the technology to extract DNA profiles from fabric samples this degraded now.”
Flint stared at the evidence bag. “You think Kellerman’s DNA might be on that fabric.”
“If he grabbed her. If there was a struggle. If he tore her clothing during the attack. If the rain didn’t wash it away or degrade it too much.
” Milliken set the bag on the desk between them.
“Modern technology might finally give us the answers we couldn’t get before.
Of course, we’d still need a confession to make it stick. ”
Flint considered all the angles before he asked, “So Kellerman is still alive.”
“Retired about ten years ago. Still lives here in Mount Warren. Seventy-eight years old now.”
For the first time since learning about his mother’s murder, Flint had identified a real suspect. A motive. Physical evidence that might finally provide proof of the struggle, at least, but should definitely yield more intel than he had presently.
“What do we need to do?” Flint asked, making it clear that he’d made his decision.
“I’ll contact the state crime lab. Rush the order for DNA analysis. Should have results within a month or two.”
Flint’s phone buzzed. A text from Drake. Progress on the Fisher case. Need to coordinate.
He looked at the evidence bag containing his mother’s torn clothing. The physical proof that might finally identify her killer.
Then he looked at his phone. The Fisher children might still be alive. The client was paying for immediate results.
“I need to handle another case first. It’s urgent. Time-sensitive.”
“How long?”
“Few days. Maybe a week.” Flint stood. “Marilyn Baker has waited years. She can wait a bit longer.”
Milliken nodded. “Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll make the call.”
Flint shook his hand again. “Thank you. For keeping the evidence. For caring about the case all these years.”
“Marilyn Baker was well loved here. She was a kind and decent person who had a positive impact on her students and their families. She deserved better than what happened to her.” Milliken walked him to the door. “And so do you.”
Flint had a suspect. He had evidence. He had a path forward.
But first, he had three children to find. Drake was waiting for his call. The Fisher case couldn’t wait.
But for the first time, Flint believed he might learn who killed his mother.
And why.
As Flint walked to his car, he felt eyes on him. In a town this small, strangers were noticed. Conversations were overheard. Secrets had a way of traveling faster than the people trying to keep them.
He’d come to Mount Warren hunting for his mother’s killer. Was her killer hunting back?