bystanders wouldn’t get caught in the cross fire.
FIVE
D an walked into the police station with his jacket slung over his shoulder.
“Ryan! You on duty tonight?” The night patrol sergeant eyed his jeans and T-shirt in surprise.
“No, I just came in to check on something. Thought I’d use the computer for a few minutes.”
The sergeant nodded and Dan went to the duty room. A couple of other officers were huddled over their paperwork. Dan sat down and turned on a computer, sending up a heartfelt prayer.
She wants me to do this, Lord. She wants me to look up the case and decide for myself what to do. All right, I will. Just give me wisdom, please.
The local law enforcement database still had no information about Laurel. He logged on to the network that gave him access to records from other states. It took a while, but finally he found what he needed.
He went after Renee Chapin’s file first. She had a string of convictions for theft, burglary, criminal trespass and assault. She’d spent several short stints in the Kennebec County jail, and a longer one that he figured overlapped Laurel’s incarceration. While there, she’d racked up another assault charge and a count of trafficking in contraband. Renee had been released in February. She’d had more than two months to find the woman she thought had reneged on her promise. Dan printed out her mug shot and studied it carefully.
No use putting it off any longer. He entered the name Laurel Wilson Hatcher. The mug shots that came up on the screen hit him with terrible force. She looked so haggard, so scared. He wanted to turn it off.
Laurel Wilson Hatcher, 26, arrested on first degree murder. Husband, Robert E. Hatcher, 27, found fatally shot on the stairs in their home in Oakland, Maine. One bullet to the chest, from a nine-millimeter pistol. His own pistol. It was discovered lying at the foot of the stairs, a few smeared fingerprints on it. Some were the victim’s; at least one was Laurel’s.
Dan’s heart went out to Laurel. She had walked in on that scene, found her husband lying dead in their home.
He read every word of the police reports. No evidence of a break-in. Laurel was clearly the main suspect from the beginning, which made sense—spouses were always the first suspects. She claimed she’d been out shopping all morning, came home and discovered the body, but no one could corroborate her story.
Motive? Her husband worked for his father in the family’s construction firm. As a project supervisor, he earned a salary a cop would envy. Their house, a wedding gift from his parents, was a century-old Queen Anne. Bob drove a Corvette and was heavily insured. In all, Dan figured the widow ought to have come out a millionaire. Of course, the insurance company wouldn’t pay a death benefit to a person accused of murdering the insured.
He tried to bring up the court records, but he couldn’t retrieve them. Maybe Lieutenant Powers could help him on Monday. If Dan decided to let him know he was looking at this. Powers was sure to be curious.
He searched for a local newspaper site and accessed its archives. The profuse details astounded him—everything from Bob’s golf handicap to the brand of shoes Laurel purchased the morning of the murder. He waded through the hoopla and repetitive backstories in each article for the vital information he needed.
The initial murder investigation had lasted a few weeks, leading to Laurel’s arrest and detention at the county jail. His heart ached just thinking about it. The trial preparations dragged on for nearly a year and a half. At last the trial began in superior court in Augusta, the state capital.
The prosecution had tried hard to prove its case. Robert Hatcher’s mother testified against her daughter-in-law, claiming the young couple fought shortly before the murder. A friend of the victim’s testified that Laurel excelled at marksmanship. He and Bob hunted together every year, and Laurel had gone along
FIVE
D an walked into the police station with his jacket slung over his shoulder.
“Ryan! You on duty tonight?” The night patrol sergeant eyed his jeans and T-shirt in surprise.
“No, I just came in to check on something. Thought I’d use the computer for a few minutes.”
The sergeant nodded and Dan went to the duty room. A couple of other officers were huddled over their paperwork. Dan sat down and turned on a computer, sending up a heartfelt prayer.
She wants me to do this, Lord. She wants me to look up the case and decide for myself what to do. All right, I will. Just give me wisdom, please.
The local law enforcement database still had no information about Laurel. He logged on to the network that gave him access to records from other states. It took a while, but finally he found what he needed.
He went after Renee Chapin’s file first. She had a string of convictions for theft, burglary, criminal trespass and assault. She’d spent several short stints in the Kennebec County jail, and a longer one that he figured overlapped Laurel’s incarceration. While there, she’d racked up another assault charge and a count of trafficking in contraband. Renee had been released in February. She’d had more than two months to find the woman she thought had reneged on her promise. Dan printed out her mug shot and studied it carefully.
No use putting it off any longer. He entered the name Laurel Wilson Hatcher. The mug shots that came up on the screen hit him with terrible force. She looked so haggard, so scared. He wanted to turn it off.
Laurel Wilson Hatcher, 26, arrested on first degree murder. Husband, Robert E. Hatcher, 27, found fatally shot on the stairs in their home in Oakland, Maine. One bullet to the chest, from a nine-millimeter pistol. His own pistol. It was discovered lying at the foot of the stairs, a few smeared fingerprints on it. Some were the victim’s; at least one was Laurel’s.
Dan’s heart went out to Laurel. She had walked in on that scene, found her husband lying dead in their home.
He read every word of the police reports. No evidence of a break-in. Laurel was clearly the main suspect from the beginning, which made sense—spouses were always the first suspects. She claimed she’d been out shopping all morning, came home and discovered the body, but no one could corroborate her story.
Motive? Her husband worked for his father in the family’s construction firm. As a project supervisor, he earned a salary a cop would envy. Their house, a wedding gift from his parents, was a century-old Queen Anne. Bob drove a Corvette and was heavily insured. In all, Dan figured the widow ought to have come out a millionaire. Of course, the insurance company wouldn’t pay a death benefit to a person accused of murdering the insured.
He tried to bring up the court records, but he couldn’t retrieve them. Maybe Lieutenant Powers could help him on Monday. If Dan decided to let him know he was looking at this. Powers was sure to be curious.
He searched for a local newspaper site and accessed its archives. The profuse details astounded him—everything from Bob’s golf handicap to the brand of shoes Laurel purchased the morning of the murder. He waded through the hoopla and repetitive backstories in each article for the vital information he needed.
The initial murder investigation had lasted a few weeks, leading to Laurel’s arrest and detention at the county jail. His heart ached just thinking about it. The trial preparations dragged on for nearly a year and a half. At last the trial began in superior court in Augusta, the state capital.
The prosecution had tried hard to prove its case. Robert Hatcher’s mother testified against her daughter-in-law, claiming the young couple fought shortly before the murder. A friend of the victim’s testified that Laurel excelled at marksmanship. He and Bob hunted together every year, and Laurel had gone along
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