Friday, October eighth, 1937

The police showed up at the Vallow Estate on Friday, October eight. The team was led by detective Jerrard Frede and followed by three officers. They gathered everyone in the dining room. When Clara walked into the room, Sarah scoffed." Uck, why is that Charlatan still here?" It was directed at Clara, but she didn't say it to anyone in particular. "Sarah!" Greg said. "Stop it." "Mind your own business." She spat, trying to make Clara as uncomfortable as possible. Clara looked very upset but didn't say anything. Edward walked over to her and handed her a cup of tea. "Thank you." She said,

"Good morning, everyone; I'm detective Frede. I know this is a tough time for everyone. I'm going to apologize ahead of time for any aggressive topics we might bring up. I was put on the case when Michael's body was found. Since then, it has just an inquiry into why it was in such an odd location, but this investigation has been upgraded into a murder inquiry."

Everyone was shocked. The air was electric, like it was filled with silent screaming. The detective continued. "His body was found on Wednesday, October sixth, early Wednesday morning. I will be asking about everyone's whereabouts on the fifth and sixth mostly. Because of this development, I have acquired a search warrant. I will be taking everyone into another room to do individual questioning. Michaels body will remain in police custody until it is examined properly. I need everyone to stay in this room, and two of my officers here will search the house. Officer Charles will be staying here to answer any questions you may have." "This is outrageous!" Sarah said. "It was probably that fucking whore over there." She pointed to Clara. Clara looked shocked and very upset; it looked as though she wanted to run out of the room, but she couldn't. She placed her face in her hands, trying to hide her tears. Usually, she wouldn't have cared what Sarah said, but she was always on the verge of tears since Michael's death. Edward put his arms around her to make her feel better.

"Wait, you're going to search the house. Does that mean our purses too?" "Yes." The detective said. "Oh, then I need to get something." She stood up. "I'm sorry, ma'am. That's not how this works. You are not permitted to leave here until we are done." She sat down. She wanted to protest, but she knew it would look suspicious.

"You, sir," he said, pointing to Greg. I'll take you in for questioning first. He followed him out of the room. Officer Charles was left in the dining room and moved to the door. He was not there just to answer questions, but the real intention was to make sure no one tried to corroborate stories or escape.

Greg sat in front of Detective Frede; he looked a bit nervous. "Could you state your full name?" "Greg James Vallow." How are you related to the deceased Michael Vallow?" "I am Michael Vallows son" "Ok. Could you go through what you did the day you heard Michael Vallow died, October sixth, I'm assuming?" Greg's voice was deep and caramely. "Yes, the sixth. After breakfast, I got dressed and went to work. I work for a sales company called Sweeply and most of the time I'm on the road. I went to work in the morning, nothing exciting happened. I did try to call dad from my office because he and I were supposed to meet the day before, but I had to cancel."

The detective looked up from his notes. "There was a lot of commotion near my building, but I was late for work, so I didn't have time to stop. I learned that a body was found there around 4 am. It wasn't until I got a call from John around 10 am that I learned dad died. Honestly, I didn't even put it together that it was dad in the alley. That's where we were supposed to meet the day before." "So, you're saying you had planned on meeting Mike where he died?" "Yes, but I didn't go. He was planning on showing me some important papers he kept in his office and wanted me to come to his house, but I had to work, so he said he would meet me in the alley by my office during my lunch break." "What documents?" "I don't know, but he said they were important, and he needed help with them." "Why didn't you meet him?" "I had planned on it, but John was in a car accident, and I had to help him. I left work and drove straight to Moraine State Park; that's where he wrecked." So you went straight there?" He nodded. What happened once you got there. I went to the north shore drove everywhere, but he wasn't there, so I tried the south, and I found him. I helped him out, and we both went home." "What happened after you heard of your fathers' death?" "After I found out he died, well I was working so after work went straight home. When I got there, Mom was crying in the living room. Sarah and Carl were there too. Actually, Carl left about half an hour after I arrived." "Do you remember what you were talking about, anything, no matter how small, could be important?" Greg thought carefully. "Mom kept saying how it was her fault, but she was hysterical." "That's interesting." He said, "Do you have any idea why she said that or why she thought it was her fault?" He shook his head. "I didn't think much about it. Honestly, she was crying very hard and screaming." "Anything else?" Frede asked. "No, I'm sorry, I can't think of anything else." "Do you know where Carl went after he left your place?" "No..." "If you think of anything else, please call the station." "Of course." He said, standing up. Could you send John in?" "Yes."

A few seconds later, John entered. "Name?" "John." "Full name?" John rolled his eyes, "Johnathan Bergius Vallow." "How did you know Michael Vallow?" "Michael Vallow was my father." "What sort of relationship did you have with him?" "A father-son relationship." He said tersely. The detective took a deep breath, trying to suppress his desire to punch him." "Did you get along well?" "Yes. I was his favorite child." Detective Jerrard Frede raised his eyebrows, a gesture questioning John's bold assumption. "I was the only one ever allowed to work for him." "I see. Do you still work for him?" "No. I moved away a few years back for a job and only recently started coming back for the holidays. I was swamped. I then moved in with my mom to help take care of her." He yammered on about his mom's relationship with his father. "They never really got along; well, I think they did when I was a child, but not since we all moved here." "Can you go through what happened on October fifth?" He adjusted his position.

"After breakfast with my mother, I did some work from home for an hour, then set out to Moraine to reserve a cabin for thanksgiving weekend." "Were you able to get one?" "Yes, the last one, I think." After I got the reservation and started the drive home, a small deer ran across the road in front of me, so I swerved and missed the deer but hit a tree. I was going pretty slowly, so I got out injury-free, but the car was dead. I walked about a mile back to the office, I went inside, but the secretary was not there. I think she was in one of the offices; not sure; I was shaken, so I just grabbed the phone and called Greg. He is the first one I call in an emergency. He said he would come right away. I told him to find me at the north shore, but I didn't realize I was at the south shore, so I was stuck there a few hours before he found me. Then once everything was taken care of, we went home." "Did you know anything about the meeting Greg was supposed to have with your father? I was meeting him to look over some papers, but you called him, so he canceled." No, sorry." He said, "My dad... Well, he's my dad, but he's not exactly a great moral role model, so I try to stay away from anything related to his business anymore, and because of that, we don't fight as much." Frede nodded. "Ok, that's about it for now; I already know where you were when you found out since I was the one who told you. Oh, what did you do after I left?" "I called Edward and Linus." "Ok, is there anything else you would like to add? Anything odd you noticed?" "Actually, yes. Edward lives in England, but he was somehow able to get here in a day, and he wasn't even home when I called to tell him about dad's death, so I have no idea how he got the news so fast and how he got here." "Interesting." Detective Frede said under his breath. "Could you send Linus in next?" John stood. "Of course."

A few minutes later, Linus entered. "Name?" "Linus Winithault Vallow, Michael Vallows, son." "What were you doing on October fifth? The more details, the better." "Well, I own a bookstore called The Book Shelf. It's downtown on the far side from here." The detective nodded. "I know where it is but thank you." "It was a pretty normal day; let's see, I got into the shop at 8:30 ish…" "What time did you leave home?" "8:29." He said, laughing." I live above the bookshop." The detective continued jotting everything down. "I did a bit of dusting before we opened." "What time does your store open?" "Nine." He said. "Were you working with anyone else that day?" "Yes, I employ a young boy who helps stack and carry boxes. He came in at 9:15; I only remember so clearly because I was a touch annoyed that he was late, but he explained his bike chain came off." "How long were you at work?" "I stayed all day and closed at five." "You didn't leave the store at all before that?" "No." He said. "I couldn't because I was the only one working beside the boy. On a day where the assistant manager is around, I can go to lunch and the bank and run errands." "What happened after work?" "I picked up a newspaper and went back home." "Do you live with anyone?" "No, I live alone." "Did you leave your apartment at all after that?" He shook his head. "Not once." He said. "When did you find out about Michael's death and how?" 'I got a call from John. I think it was right after you left his house, so around noonish. I immediately closed the shop and went over to be with him and my mother. Oh, you know what, before I left, I called Edward to tell him. Then I went to John's house." "Did Edward answer?" "Yes. He hadn't heard the news, which I suspected, so I let him know what happened." "Are you sure it was Edward who answered?" Linus looked at him oddly, "Yes." "What number did you call." "He pulled out a little black book from his pocket. He flipped through a few pages. "This is it." He said, "That's a number here in the USA." "Yes," Linus said. "I thought he lived in England." "Usually, yes, but he moved to Virginia a few months ago." "Ah." The detective said. "Who knew that he moved?" "I'm pretty sure I'm the only one, it's possible Greg knew, but no one else would have." "How can you be so sure?" "Edward has been estranged from most of the family since he was 18. The only people he ever talks to are Greg and me. He and I keep in touch mostly through letters, but we do make time every once in a while to talk on the phone." "Do you know what he was doing in Virginia?" "Yes, he's one of the owners of the Copan 12... it's the..." Frede cut him off. "Oh, I know all about the Copan. Is he truly one of the owners? That's very impressive." The laser-focused machine was reduced to an excited little boy for a brief moment. "Sorry, continue." "They were offered a chance to make a version of the Copan in the USA, so he and his partners moved to VA a couple of months ago to open a factory. Edward designed the new American model; he was pretty excited about it." They spent a few minutes talking about the automobile.

The rest of Linus' interview strayed a bit off-topic. He spoke about his feelings. He talked about how he disagreed with his father regarding his parenting choices and business practices, but he still felt sad. He was there his whole life. His presence may have been a bad influence, but it didn't erase the fact that he was there for him. Those thoughts left him with even more inquiries. He eventually got back on track with the help of the detective. "Greg's the person I go to whenever I have any issues; I mean, he is the person I'm the closest to, well, him and Edward. Sadly Edward is always far away, so I never see him." He jumped in before Linus could continue. "Ok, thank you for your time. Can you send Edward in?" "Oh yes, sorry." His face turned a little red. "I guess I've been rambling a bit." He got up. Edward entered a few moments later, "please take a seat."

Edward sat closer to the detective than Linus, so the detective adjusted how he was seated, so they were facing each other. "Full name?" "Edward Conrad Vallow," Edward told the detective everything. His account of the events matched exactly what Linus told him. Edward was thrown a handful of procedural questions, which he had expected, but he was surprised by the onslaught of Copan questions. He learned that Linus told the detective about his ventures with the Copan, and he was thrilled to have another fan. He excitedly answered Detective Frede's questions. They eventually started discussing car designs, and he mentioned that he was looking forward to finding out what the American model designs looked like in comparison. Edward smiled. "I can show you!" He said. Edward pulled out a rough sketch from his jacket. Edward laid the paper on the table and smoothed it flat.

Frede was through the roof that he was able to talk to one of the creators of the Copan. He loved the car and enjoyed talking to Edward, but he kept his mind impartial regarding his job. They eventually returned to talking about the case. Frede was glad when Edward's story matched Linus's and asked him if his story could be corroborated by his business partners in Virginia. "Yes, of course." He said.

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

He began to dig for his number. That won't be necessary; I already have it." "Is there anything else you need to know?" Edward asked, partially hoping they would talk about cars some more. "No, I think that's it for now. Could you send Sarah in?" "Of course." He said. He was just being polite. He would've rather not talked to her in any capacity.

Sarah entered with a pleasant smile; she was aware of how her presence and attitude made a difference regarding how people perceived her. "Can I please have your name?" Sarah Rose Vallow." Detective Jerrard Frede continued. "How are you related to the deserted Micheal Vallow?" "Michael Vallow was my father." They talked for a few minutes, but there wasn't much for her to say; she spent most days at work and went to visit her mother or went home. There was not anything unique or suspicious about her daily events. She was at her mother's house when Detective Frede reported the bad news for the first time. She said she stayed with her mother and called Carl, her husband. The detective then asked her what she did the day before, and she told him that she worked all day and didn't leave until around five at night and went straight home. She talked about how she spent a lot of time at her mom's house, but she didn't live there; she lived with Carl a few blocks away.

Detective Frede let her leave the room and didn't ask her to send anyone else in. He stood up and walked to the sitting room to make sure everyone remained calm. The officer in the room nodded at him, and then he asked Clara to join him for questioning. They walked side by side through the hallway silently. Clara felt uncomfortable. They entered the living room and sat down. "Name?" "Clara Marie Costello." "Relationship to Michael Vallow?" "Um... company... caretaker sort of..." He looked at her. "I met him because he's The benefactor of the dance company I have been a part of for years. My mother died when I was young, and she was part owner. I took classes at the studio. They ran every day after school. I took courses while my mom taught as a child. When she died, I stayed. The other owner gave me an apartment in the setup behind the studio, and I ended up dancing for the company professionally. Michael started funding the company a few years back, and he also helped renovate the apartments behind the studio. It's an interesting setup; there's the studio where all the classes are taught, behind that is an apartment building for any dancers that need somewhere to stay. However, it's only open for the dancers on the Dance Companies payroll. Then there is the Bigloe theater, where the dance company performs. We met when he was introduced to the members of the dance company. But we didn't get to know each other until he renovated the apartments. He let all the dancers stay here until the construction finished. It was such a nice gesture. The detective was invested in the story and wrote down every detail.

We got to know each other very well, and he asked if I would stay and be sort of the house manager. I agreed, and I became his adopted daughter, unofficially. She smiled. The detective jumped in. "Let's start with October fifth; what did you do that day?" "I woke up, ate, then got ready for rehearsal. "I was going to mention that earlier, but I didn't want to interrupt you; I love the Bigloe, though my job keeps me from going as often as I want." "Sometimes, I wish my job would keep me away too." They laughed. "Before I went to work, Mike was busy; he got up early and was pretty wound up. It was a weird panic mixed with excitement. I worked all day and returned around eleven at night." Are those your typical hours?" "It depends; we have a new routine in the show coming up, so they like to drill the steps harder than usual." "Did you see anything when you got home?" "Lucy was asleep on the couch, so I woke her up and sent her to bed. Then I ate then went to bed too. I noticed that his car wasn't there, but that wasn't uncommon." "Do you have a car?" "No." "How did you get home?" "When we work late, Mike sends a car for me." "How does he know to send one?" "I call him on a break if I know rehearsal is going to go long." "When did you call him?" "I didn't. He told me he probably wouldn't be around to take the call, so he told me to tell the chauffeur to go to the studio at nine and wait until I was done. Honestly, he knew my schedule pretty well; he knew I had a show coming up, so it was pretty obvious I'd be gone most of the day and night." He jotted notes down on his pad. The few seconds of silence haunted the air around them. "Thank you for the information; I may need to talk to you again. Could you send Lucy in?"

Several minutes passed before Clara returned. "We can't find Lucy." She said, a bit panicked. The detective stood up, "What do you mean? No one was supposed to leave the dining room; that's why officer Charles is in there." He ran to the room. "What's going on?" "Lucy said she had to use the bathroom... I can't watch two places at once." The officer said cavalierly. "Go find her; Cole is on back door duty; check if he saw anything." The detective stayed in the sitting room until Charles returned. "While everybody is here, I want to get the facts straight. Three workers from the Westerly Barrel factory were leaving their shift when they cut through an alley. That's where Henry, Jan, and Bob stumbled upon Michael's body.

According to their account, Henry ran to the main street and started yelling for the police and caught the attention of an officer stationed outside of a bank. We do know he was killed by a bullet, and it was almost an instantaneous death, though they are going to conduct a few more tests before we can release the body." "What does that mean?" Greg asked. "He most likely wasn't in much pain; he didn't suffer. I also wanted to ask if there is a will; I was hoping that maybe he left a copy of his papers with a solicitor or friend?" "No." John said aggressively, just as Clara said, "Yes." In a more somber tone. John looked at her, "What?!" He said. Sarah looked startled too. "He kept the original copy of his will and various other papers with his solicitor." "That's odd." Said Sarah, "I remember when I was younger, mom would beg him to keep papers with a lawyer, and he refused; it was a weird obsession he had, hating lawyers." "Well, he didn't trust anyone..." "That is true; it was probably not solicitor exclusive." "Clara, do you know who his solicitor is?" Everyone was watching her, "um, yes, would you come with me? I have the information in my room." She led the detective to her room and shut the door behind them.

Clara's bedroom was very dark when the lights were off. She had thick heavy velvet curtains that completely covered the large windows that led to the balcony. She hit the light switch. Her clothes were folded and lined up on the floor, and some of her flower vases were wrapped in paper. "I only brought you here because I wanted to speak with you privately. I don't know who shot Michael, but I don't exactly trust everyone here; I figured it would be better to tell you the solicitor without any prying eyes. I know it's probably just a paranoid musing..." The detective smiled, "No, that is smart, thank you. Wills can be very sore subjects; I want to get everything in order by the book.

She pulled a business card out of her purse, "Here, he's my solicitor too." "Thank you." He said, moving out the door. He suddenly stopped, "You know what? I have an idea." He looked in the hall to make sure no one was listening, then shut the door again. "Would you like to help me?" "Of course." She said, "What do you need me to do?" "Nothing dangerous, just..." He dug through his pockets and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. "I'm going to write down a solicitor friend of mine and his address and tell everyone that this is Michael's solicitor where he left his will." She smiled. "I don't know who you trust here, but you can't tell anyone the truth, so this works, not a soul." She wrapped her fingers around the paper and slipped it into her pocket while they walked back down together.

He returned to the sitting room with her and asked if anyone had any new information to tell him they had forgotten? No one answered. He informed everyone that he would be returning the next day for a final sweep of the house and he would be looking for Lucy. "If Lucy returns, keep her in the house and call us."

When the detective left, Sarah walked over to the bar cart. "I'm relieved that father used a lawyer, claim to his effects have been causing me stress." Linus looked at her. "Not that I want claim, just without a will; death can mean years of red tape..." "Yes, because you're so prone to caring about others," Edward said. She glared at him. "No fighting," John said. Sarah rolled her eyes. "You're not dad, John.. as much as you always wished you were." He turned to her. "What are you talking about?" Clara started to walk away. "Wait, Clara, who is father's lawyer?" Sarah asked. "Oh," She said as she plunged her hand into her pocket and pulled out the paper, and read what the detective wrote. "Someone named Henry Plither, his office is on Geron street in town. She placed the slip of paper on an end table and left. "Well, I better be going. Greg said. "I have to do some work." Greg left the room and made sure he shut the door behind himself. He grabbed his coat and left the house.

Clara was standing at the top of the stairs and watched him leave. A cold shiver passed through her body. She wasn't sure if it was from the cold air blasting towards her as he shut the door or the thought that Greg could be tied to Michael's death. She didn't have any suspects. In her mind, she knew it was likely that one of his business associates was the person who pulled the trigger, but nothing was inevitable, and Greg leaving wasn't a good sign. She ran her hands through her dark brown hair and pulled it up into a messy bun. She decided that she needed to take a nap. Her head hurt, and she had enough distressing thoughts, in which she needed a break. When she returned to her room, the light was still on. Her bed had never looked better. The air was cold, and her bed was covered in fluffy thick blankets. The base blanket was her own, from her former life. The other two were from Michael. She ate then fell asleep.

The wind jostled the bare tree branches by her bedroom window. The solid tendrils scraped against the pane, back and forth like a haunted spirit trying to breakthrough. Clara awoke a bit later. She decided to gather some food so she wouldn't have to go down to the kitchen all the time. The desire to stay in her room was part laziness and part fear. As she walked back through the main hallway to her room, she noticed a light emanating from Michael's study. It was easy to spot because the lights in the hallway were off. She set her bag of food on the floor by her feet and peered in. Someone was holding a torch; she leaned in further. It was undeniable who it was.

Sarah was sitting at her father's desk with a flashlight mere inches from her face while she dug through random papers. She seemed to be focused. Clara must have made some noise because Sarah broke from her task and looked straight at the door. Clara jumped back. Luckily for her, Sarah only heard her; her eyes had adjusted to staring at the bright flashlight and not to the darkroom around her, so she was essentially blind at that moment. Clara grabbed her bag and ran to her room. She sat on her bed, breathing heavily, not from the run but from the panic of getting caught spying on Sarah. She realized after calming down that she needed to keep a log of everything she saw. She walked over to her desk and sat down.

Her desk was cherry with an unrecognizable clam shell carved into the front above its one main central drawer. She pulled out a fancy pen and a slim notebook. She looked at the cover of the notebook somberly. Michael gave it to her, and she had yet to use it. It was fragile but most likely very expensive. Its cover was leather, and each page tip was edged with gold. She couldn't think of a better use for the book than using it to help catch his killer. She wrote down that she saw Sarah in the study and that she saw Greg leave right after she told them who Michael's lawyer was—writing that only took a minute which left her unsatisfied. She tried to think if there was anything else she was missing.

She wandered down to the front door to go through the mail; she had been neglecting it and thought maybe she would find something there. She dug through it to see if there was anything important. She was right by the front door when the doorknob began to turn. She jumped back as she watched the door open. She was relieved when she saw it was only Lucy. Lucy looked ashamed as she entered. "I'm just here to get my things." She said, ``What do you mean?" Clara asked. "I ran when the police were questioning everyone, I shirked my duty, and it pretty much was an admission of guilt to the police." "Why did you run?" "I... I think I know who killed him." "What?!" She said, "How?" "I can't get you involved; I don't want you to get in trouble too." "I might be able to help."

They walked into the kitchen, and Clara fixed them both food. They ate together while she talked. "I was cleaning Mr. Vallows office, and I found some notes on his desk... I know I shouldn't have read them, but I couldn't help it; they were extortion style letters, most of them were addressed to Elizabeth... his wife." Clara nodded. She always wanted to meet her; she wondered if Edward looked like her because he didn't look like Michael. "What did the letters say?" "She borrowed money from a bad loan company, and they were threatening to hurt her if she didn't pay. Since Mr. Vallow had the letters, he had to be the one doing it." Clara sat silently, thinking. "Did you tell anyone about this?" She asked. "As soon as I saw them, I got Linus to read them." "What did he say?" "He said not to worry about it and that he would take care of it." "Oh my goodness." She said. "Can I see the letters?" "That's not possible; they are gone." "What I remember is that one of the letters was from the loan company. They were threatening Elizabeth. Then another letter addressed to Mr. Vallow said they would drop the debt if they could meet with him." "Wait, if there was a letter to Michael, he couldn't be the one pressing her for money, and why would he? He had tons of money." "That's what I thought, but why did he have all of the letters? I thought maybe it was a weird ploy or something." "Wait, if he was the culprit, why would he have the letters, to begin with, unless they hadn't been sent. No, they had; they were all kept in their respective envelopes with stamps, postmarks, and everything. Ok, so Michael wasn't to blame." "What do you mean?" Lucy said. "He had the letters." "Yes, after they were sent, so if he sent them, then he wouldn't have them." Lucy looked confused then it suddenly clicked. "Oh no." She said.