The Hunter House Tour

He took out a silver pen from the pocket of his lab coat and began counting small, narrow cuts on the dead man’s back. “Eight lacerations,” he announced and the assistant scribbled. He pulled out a drawer from under the table and withdrew a measuring tape. He placed the beginning of the tape at the top of the man’s spine and held it in place with his finger. Extending the tape, he said, “Beginning eleven and a half inches from the base of the neck. All wounds within a six square inch space below that point.”

The coroner used a small knife to prod lightly at each wound. “Entry points range from one half to three fourths of an inch in height and are shallow,” he went on. After a few more minutes examining the outside of the body, the coroner finished the autopsy by taking a sample of the stomach contents and looking at other internal organs.

Richard Weaver straightened up and stepped back from the first murder victim he had examined in nearly two years. He turned, took off his gloves, and washed his hands. Looking back at the body, he stroked his overgrown mustache a half dozen times without comment.

“Mike, take the pictures. I think that’s all we need, Linda. Thanks for coming in on such short notice.”

He accepted the legal pad from the female assistant and walked down the hall to his office. He sat down and stared out the window at the near-empty town square.

Lisa McAdams listened intently as Mrs. Hunter recounted the events of the morning. They were driving down a narrow back road rolling through patches of thick woods, followed by fields and pastures.

“So, I called Jill at the sheriff’s office and asked her what she knew about it all,” Mrs. Hunter continued.

“What did she say?”

“Well, the deputy had called in to say it was that Sanders guy that lived up next to old man Steadman.”

“John Sanders?” Lisa asked with a sound of surprise.

“Why, yes. Do you know him?”

“I’ve heard a little bit about him from people I know.”

“Always feuding with Steadman, people told me,” the old woman said.

“You think this Steadman could have killed him?”

“Could have,” Mrs. Hunter said nonchalantly. “Could have been suicide, I suppose. Could have been the wife. Somebody told me she was jealous of the guy’s first wife.” She stopped again for a moment. “You’d never expect this around Clearview, though.”

They drove in silence through a small village dominated by a grain mill next to the railroad tracks and four or five Amish buggies carrying their black-clad passengers.

“You gonna be at the same school next year?” the old woman asked, peering out her window.

“Yes. I’ll have the third grade, though. That was the only opening they had. I haven’t taught that grade in three years. I guess since I didn’t arrive until April I’m lucky to get that.”

“You’ll do fine, I’m sure. How about a new apartment?”

“You know, I’m getting use to the one I’m in. I might stay. I sure enjoyed staying with you at first, though. If I hadn’t have needed the extra space, I might have stayed forever.”

Mrs. Hunter laughed. “You’re always welcome in The Hunter House.”

Sheriff Jackson put his black notebook on the long wooden table in front of him and looked around the conference room. The four deputies attending the meeting were a strange mix of gentlemen, ranging from a young man barely out of the police academy to a portly, bearded man twenty years older than Sheriff Jackson.

Jackson and Deputy Smith spent the next half hour reviewing the day’s events for the sake of the other deputies.

“What about the scene?” Deputy Joe Snyder, the eldest of the deputies, asked. “Anything usable there?”

“No weapon. No apparent sign of a struggle. Stabbed in the back, it looked like,” the sheriff said in a monotone.

“Any tracks?”

“Oh, some, but we can’t go by much that was there because those two witnesses had walked back to the body. Now, Smitty has already been to see Mrs. Sanders. I want Danny and Joe to go see old man Steadman this afternoon. Smitty, Carl and I will be at the scene. I want to know exactly what Steadman has to say as soon as you’re done. Got it?”

Danny Croft and Joe Snyder nodded.

“Oh, by the way, as usual all media people are directed to me,” the sheriff added, and the meeting ended almost as abruptly as it had started.

Once outside the sheriff’s brick office building, young Danny Croft and Joe Snyder stopped on the sidewalk as the other three officers headed for a cruiser.

“I expected more from him after the first murder here in a couple years,” Croft said.

Joe Snyder scratched his beard and said, “It’s early yet, and there’s no coroner’s report. But, I do think he’s leaning heavily towards Steadman as his man. We better not leave any stone unturned when we talk to him.”

The ride back to Eric James’ car at the county fairgrounds in Sherman was far less eventful than the ride to Clearview. Not many words were spoken between the two cyclists, even after they had passed the scene of the crime. A female deputy was standing guard at the end of the small lane and two people could be seen scouring the woods on either side of the path. They rode on in relative silence, both trying in their own minds to interpret what had happened to them earlier in the day.

They drove to Columbus, stopping only to drive through a McDonalds for lunch. Eric dropped off Sherrie at her northside condo and she agreed to meet him back at his house. She showered, packed lightly and began to anticipate with pleasure the small vacation she was going to take. She drove around the outerbelt to Eric’s eastside house and pulled into the driveway.

She beeped once and within seconds the garage door opened for her. Eric came out, took her bag to his car and commented on its light weight.

“Not staying long?” he asked her.

“Do you have any doubt that there’s a washer and dryer in that old house that we can use?”

“I was going to send you to the laundromat,” he replied innocently.

“While you and Ms. Cut-off Jeans get to know each other better? Not in a million years.”

“My, aren’t we getting possessive in our old age,” Eric said as he lowered the trunk and began attaching the bikes to the rack.

“Don’t push me, old man.”

“Why don’t you just marry me and I promise never to look at another cute butt in my life,” he said pleadingly.

“Get in the God-damned car,” she said, slamming the passenger door.

Just outside of Sherman, as Sherrie was scanning the car stereo for a clear station, they heard: “...Grant County’s first apparent murder in twenty three months. Our Chrissy Pruitt was on the scene earlier this afternoon and caught up with Sheriff Jackson.”

“Sheriff, what can you tell us so far?” Chrissy asked.

“Not much, yet, I’m afraid. The body has been taken to the coroner’s office for an autopsy and we are just beginning this afternoon to talk to some of the people in the area who might have seen something.”

“Do you have any suspects, yet?”

The sheriff let out a slight laugh. “No, no. We’ll talk to Mrs. Sanders in the near future to see if there might have been somebody that she knew who would want to do this. To my knowledge, Mr. Sanders had no police record, but we’ll check that, too.”

“Has a murder weapon been found?”

“Nope. Not yet.”

“Well, that’s all we know so far about the tragic events that took place sometime before dawn this morning outside of Clearview. This is Chrissy Pruitt for Z-93 news.”

“When’s Jackson up for re-election? I bet they hang somebody for this, even if it has to be old-lady Hunter,” Eric said dryly.

“Eric! That’s not funny.”

They drove through Sherman and into Clearview listening to Foreigner and Boston.

They parked in the rear of The Hunter House and Sherrie rang the back doorbell as Eric unloaded the car. Mrs. Hunter opened the door to a small kitchen and they were instantly overwhelmed by the smell of deep fried chicken.

“Oh, that smells marvelous,” Sherrie gushed.

“You haven’t eaten supper, I hope?” the owner asked.

“Not yet,” Sherrie answered for both of them.

“Good. Can you join me and Lisa for dinner at 6:30?”

“Sure, but only if you’re having chicken,” James replied.

Mrs. Hunter giggled and showed them through the swinging doors into the now-familiar living room. “First two rooms, remember.”

“Thank you,” Sherrie said as she and Eric walked up the wooden steps. “Isn’t that nice. Lisa’s going to join us.”

They turned left at the top of the stairway and walked into the first room. A large four-poster bed covered with a multi-colored quilt dominated the room. Eric laid Sherrie’s suitcase on the bed. She had walked ahead to the window opposite the door and looked out over the tree-lined street. A dresser across from the bed was flanked by two large chairs. A second dresser was next to the window at the foot of the bed.

“This is beautiful,” Sherrie said softly. “Perfect. Now, get out of here. I’m gonna change.”

He raised his eyebrows and obeyed. He found his room to be just as pristine as Sherrie’s. He threw his bag on the bed and looked out his window. It was all rather nice, he thought.

Chapter 5

Seeing that the door to Sherrie’s room was closed, Eric James walked down the steps admiring the detail in the magnificent handrail that protected the open side of the stairway. He chose one of the larger chairs and sat alone in the quiet room. He picked up a magazine from the antique coffee table and leafed through it with no particular interest. A variety of sounds behind him in the kitchen was the only indication that anyone else was in the house.

He put the magazine down and was leaning back with his eyes closed when he was aroused by the bells signaling a visitor. Lisa McAdams was carrying a paper grocery back in one arm. She smiled, said “Hi” and proceeded through the swinging doors to the kitchen. Eric could hear the two women talk as they walked from the kitchen to the dining room and back. A couple minutes later, Lisa emerged from the dining room and sat on a couch across from James, pulling her legs under her.

He guessed she was in her late twenties. Her deep tan and streaked brown hair was more befitting a teenager. Mrs. Hunter would know her age, he thought to himself.

“I hear you’re going to join us for dinner,” Lisa had said.

“Uh, yeah. Sherrie and I are going to stay here for a few days,” he said, pointing with his eyes up the stairs.

“Dorothy said you’re from Columbus.”

“Yes. She probably told you about our adventure this morning?”

“Yeah, on the way to the grocery store. I only know as much as she does,” Lisa said, glancing around the room and lowering her voice, “but sometimes that can be quite a bit.”

They laughed together.

“What do you do?” Eric asked her.

“I teach at Oak Street Elementary. I got a job there in the spring.”

“So you haven’t been here long?”

“No...,” she had started when Eric’s attention was distracted by the appearance of Sherrie on the stairs. She was wearing shorts and a tank top.

She smiled at James, blinking her green eyes, and sat in a chair next to him.

“Hi. It’s Lisa, right?” she said politely.

“Yes. I was just telling Eric how nice it is to have somebody staying here. You don’t know how much Dorothy enjoys running this place.”

“The rooms are great,” Sherrie smiled. “I’m glad I brought my alarm, or I’d still be in that bed.”

“I think I heard Dorothy say she put you in that room with the poster bed. That’s the room I stayed in before I got my apartment. She probably knows women like that room.”

Sherrie smiled at her. She looked over at Eric and asked, “How’s your room?”

“A lot like yours.”

Mrs. Hunter poked her head out from the kitchen and announced that they could join her in the dining room. The little procession entered a room as long as, but more narrow than, the living room. A fireplace showed signs of much use in colder weather. Above the cloth-covered table was an exquisite chandelier that, to Eric’s untrained eye, had to be one hundred years old.

The table was set neatly with two candles helping to separate serving dishes heaped with chicken, potatoes, vegetables, salad and fruit.

“Oh, Mrs. Hunter, this is beautiful,” Sherrie said.

“Just sit down, everyone. Nothing special.”

Eric and Sherrie sat on one side of the table, with Lisa McAdams on the opposite side and Mrs. Hunter on the end closest to the kitchen entrance.

“Mr. James, if you will please start, we’ll see if everything is satisfactory,” Mrs. Hunter said eagerly.

The food was passed around with few additional words spoken. However, it was not long after the last of the vegetables had made the rounds that Mrs. Hunter asked, “Have you heard anything from the sheriff, Mr. James.”

“Not since we last saw him,” Eric replied. “And, really, it’s OK to call me Eric.”

“Good, and please call me Dorothy, both of you. I already have Lisa trained.”

“What do you know about this guy Sanders?” Sherrie asked their hostess.

“From what I’ve been told, he was a successful businessman from the Columbus area. I heard he moved down here a couple years ago to get away from it all. It’s generally pretty quiet here, you know. His wife sells jewelry. She makes it herself. It’s nothing nobody here would wear. It’s high class, if you know what I mean. Well, anyway, Sanders lived next to old Bill Steadman and he and Steadman fought from day one. Poor Steadman thinks everybody is after his land and Sanders and that uppity wife of his, I suspect they have some money. That’s what I’ve heard, anyway. And people said Sanders was thinking of buying some more land around his place up there.”

“You don’t think Sanders was employed anywhere, then?” James asked.

“Didn’t seem to be. Maybe Mary Teal was helping him out,” the old woman said softly, winking at Lisa.

“Oh, Dorothy. Stop it. Mary’s just a friend of his. Or was.” Lisa looked across at James and Carlyle. “Mary’s a teacher at our school and some people think they were more than friends.”

James asked, “Did Sanders have any children?”

“I believe there was a son from his first marriage,” Mrs. Hunter said. “I’m not sure. I think someone in the euchre club told me that. Something they heard from Sanders’ wife--the current one. She didn’t get along with the first wife or was jealous or something.”

They ate in relative silence for a few minutes, before Mrs. Hunter said, “Tell me more about you two.”

Eric and Sherrie finished swallowing, looked at each other, and Eric went first.

“Well, I own a small company outside of Columbus. I consult with businesses on how to install local area networks, computer systems, and stuff like that. I used to be with the Ohio Department of Workers’ Compensation tracking down cheaters until I got into computers. Let’s see, I’m divorced and ride my bike a lot. That’s what brought us down here today. We do day trips in organized tours all over the state. Today we were riding from Sherman down through here and back up to Sherman. You know the rest.”

“How about you, Sherrie?” Mrs. Hunter asked.

“I’m a school psychologist. So, like Lisa, I have some time off in the summer. I’m divorced. No kids, except a few hundred at school. Needless to say, after what happened today, this may be the last time I go riding with him,” she said, pointing her thumb at Eric.

“How did you meet,” Lisa asked her.

“Riding. I had a flat one day and he offered to fix it. I told him to get lost, but the next week he saw me on another ride and said hi. I figured anyone who remembered me after the way I blew him off at first must be OK. We rode together a little bit that day and, well, we just started meeting each other on rides. That was about fifteen years ago, now.” She smiled.

“And you’re still not married?” Mrs. Hunter smiled back at her.

“You’ve got to be joking,” Sherrie said. “Marry him? Get real.”

Eric smiled and shrugged. He was used to it.

Small talk filled the rest of the meal until Mrs. Hunter announced that she had dessert waiting for them. Protests from the three guests went unheeded and their hostess disappeared into the kitchen only to reappear seconds later with a bulging pie.

“Apple,” she said. “My favorite.”

She cut four pieces and passed the plates around the table. Compliments accompanied the first bites from all the guests and, once again, eating took precedence over conversation.

Danny Croft and Joe Snyder drove their cruiser down the long driveway to Bill Steadman’s house. It was a small ranch home nearly hidden by thick woods. This part of Grant County was known for newly built homes starting at a quarter million dollars on five acre lots and original homesteads that had been in the same family for five generations--like the Steadman place.

Croft and Snyder had driven down this driveway before. Except for the very coldest parts of winter, hardly a week went by without the sheriff getting a call from Bill Steadman complaining of trespassers, hunters, ‘youngens’, or surveyors on his property. Therefore, the two Dobermans howling in the kennel behind the house caused no immediate alarm in the officers.

They parked beside the house and knocked sharply on the front door, knowing from experience that either Bill Steadman was nearly deaf or simply chose not to hear certain knocks on his door. Sixty-three year old Steadman opened the door slowly.

“It’s just us, Bill. Put the bat down,” Joe Snyder said.

The deputies could hear the baseball bat being returned to its spot in the corner behind the wooden door. Steadman opened the door wider and said, “What you boys want?”

“Bill, can we come in for a moment? We need to talk to you about John Sanders.”

“Did you catch him this time?”

“Bill, we really need to come in and talk to you.”

The small, old man turned towards the living room and waved his hand for the deputies to enter. There was a couch and one chair in the room, along with small tables cluttered with dishes and beer bottles. Danny Croft decided to stand just inside the door. He did not expect and did not receive an invitation from Steadman to get a chair. So, he stood.

“What about Sanders?” the old man asked in a hoarse voice ravaged over the years by chain smoking.

“When was the last time you saw John Sanders?” Snyder asked him abruptly.

Steadman looked back at the deputy blankly. He looked out the front window for a minute and finally answered. “Probably Wednesday night. He was walking along the Clearview/Sherman Road and I was coming back from Charlie’s bar. Would have run him over if I’d been drunk enough.”

Danny Croft pulled out a pocket notebook and scribbled notes.

“Did you see him last night or early this morning at all?”

“Hell, no. But I wasn’t lookin’ either. I don’t even remember hearing the dogs at all last night. What’s this all about?”

“Bill, John Sanders was found dead this morning on the path coming off Clearview/Sherman Road down to your place.”

“Dead? From what?”

“Don’t know, yet. Looked like a knife.”

“You’re not shittin’ me, are you? Who would want to kill that no good bastard?”

Danny Croft couldn’t suppress his laugh and did the best he could to cover it with a cough. Snyder ignored his partner and continued his questioning.

“Can you tell us where you were last evening until this morning?”

“Charlie’s until closing time and then right here. You can ask Duke and Rambo back there. They saw me,” the old man said, his smile revealing a mouth half full of teeth.

“That won’t be necessary,” Snyder smiled back. The oppressive heat in the non-air conditioned house, combined with Steadman’s answers, was causing large beads of sweat to roll into his bushy eyebrows.

“Bill, did you hear or see anybody or anything suspicious around here or up by the road last night or this morning?”

“Nope. Been pretty quiet.”

Joe Snyder was about ready to give it up and face the consequences with the sheriff. “You weren’t alone at Charlie’s, I assume?”