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A fictional story about murder, polygamists and solid rocket motors set in Utah.



DEAD SISTER WIVES


After the fog lifted, her body was found face down on the second green. Lying next to her was a blood
soaked 3-iron. The blunt forced trauma to her head was very apparent. Detective Grif Mahoney spent
about 90 minutes studying the crime scene before returning to his unmarked unit.



Michael Griffith Mahoney coasted into Salt Lake City in the early 1980's. He literally coasted in with his car engine dying halfway down Interstate 80 between Park City and Salt Lake City. Grif wasn't really travelling to any particular destination as he was running away from the situation in Chicago.

It was a long ways from Chicago to Utah, the longer the better thought Grif Mahoney. Grif grew up on the near, northwest side of Chicago. He was Irish and so were most of his buddies. Some of his friends were tempted by the thought of a quick buck, maybe hijacking trucks or breaking into stores. Not Grif though, he came from a family with a smattering of police officers here and there.

Just like his friends, Grif was exposed to what seemed like never ending temptations during his time as a Chicago cop. His fellow officers would tease him about being so squeaky clean. Some of Grif's temptations were very obvious, like a traffic offender handing a folded twenty dollar bill along with his license and registration. And there were other temptations much larger in scope from business owners both legitimate and not so legitimate.

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His marriage and his job ending at the same time was not a random coincidence. The same pressures present on the job were there off the job. Kathleen's father being a precinct captain was the crusher. There was no escaping it. After a couple of years working security jobs, Grif applied for and was accepted to the Salt Lake City police force. On this force, being squeaky clean was not an issue and Grif quickly rose to Detective status.

Grif Mahoney tried as best he could to not let all the homicides over the years take their emotional toll on him. But Grif had a bad feeling about this one already. The dead woman turned out to be Beth "Birdie" Kleppett, an accountant and parttime Blockbuster checkout clerk. Debits, credits and past due videos, Grif knew this combination added up to trouble.

This case came along as Grif was putting the wraps on the "Brown Bag Murders of Salt Lake City." There was a serial killer knocking off native Americans outside of Utah State owned liquor stores. The governor, Zekiah Young said "put a cork in it" and put a cork in it Grif did.

Lieutenant Wally Winthrop was happy to have the "Brown Bag" case solved but disapproved of Detective Mahoney's methods. The Lieutenant felt that Grif operated fast and loose, plus he wasn't crazy about Grif's Chicago accent either. But the Lieutenant knew that Grif could usually dig around in enough places to uncover what happened in these unpleasant cases. But the Lieutenant also knew that it was strategic to stay somewhat removed from Grif's techniques. If Grif crossed that blurred, fuzzy line, the Lieutenant would pull a Colonel Klink "I know nothing!"

Wally Winthrop's weight had become problematic, not quite obese, but definately portly. Long ago, the top bottom on his dinghy, white shirts became impossible to button. You could tell what time it was by the widening gap between the two halves of his collar. Behind Winthrop's back, Grif Mahoney loved to joke with his fellow detectives, "Guess we don't need to remind Wally that The Waffle House is open all night."

The day after the body was found, Grif was sitting at his desk in the squad room studying his notes. Detective Wisniewski yelled over "Grif, call for you on line three." It was the dead woman's sister, Dinad Judes. Dinah told Grif she wanted to talk to him, but Grif would have to come to her. Grif made the appointment for noon the following day. Dinah might know something and then again, Dinah might not. Dynamite!

Grif got an early start to what would be a long drive. He had made this drive many times before, usually with Las Vegas as the destination. Southbound on Interstate 15, traffic thinned out once outside of Salt Lake City. Grif loved watching the high plateau, scrub vegetation gradually change to desert growth. Grif stopped at one of his favorites, the truckstop at Beaver for scones. Then it was back on the interstate. With the planned rendevous in Hildale, Utah, Grif worried about what was in store; because Hildale meant polygamists.



Road construction just outside of Cedar City was also causing Grif to worry. Dinah had given him a five minute window for the meet. Dinah was concerned for her own safety and Grif knew enough about these people to understand her concern. Grif found his way to State Route 59 and turned right at the second Ranch Exit. A quarter of a mile down the road there it was, just as Dinah had described it, the BMW. It wasn't really a BMW. In fact it was a black, 2002 Chevrolet Suburban. But to Grif it was a BMW, "Big Mormon Wagon."

As soon as Dinah spotted Grif's car she exited hers and stood next to the driver's side door. She had worn one of the store bought, J.C. Penney dresses rather than one that she had made. Of course, no make-up and a rather nondescript, pageboy hairstyle. Grif stopped his car, got out and immediately started checking her out as he approached. First his eyes met her sad, fearful eyes and then he surveyed the rest. Grif thought with a little work, Dinah could be quite the looker.

The meeting was brief, much too brief for Grif's liking. It turns out Beth and Dinah were not only sisters, but sister-wives of one Parley Judes. And there are two other wives in the family along with fourteen children. They all lived in two compounds, one in Hildale and the other in West Jordan, close to the family business.

Dinah explained as much as she could in ten minutes and then she was gone. She emphasized that she would be missed and there would be problems if she couldn't adequately account for the time of her absence. Grif squibbled notes as fast as he could in between asking questions.

Grif just stood there and watched her drive off. His head was spinning with this new information. Reluctantly, he got back into his car and retraced his path back to Interstae 15. The long drive back would give him plenty of time to think about this bizarre case.

Back on the highway, Grif went over what Dinah had said. Dinah feared something bad would happen to Beth. Her and Beth had worked together at the family business in West Jordan, a seal fabrication shop called SealaPak. Beth was unhappy in the business and the plural marriage. She had run away about ten years ago to find a new life in southern, California. Only recently had she secretly returned to Utah. Dinah was afraid that Parley would find Beth and harm her in some way. Now after hearing the terrible news, she was  convinced Parley was involved. After miles of thinking about these issues, only one thing had Grif's attention now, Grif had to whiz.

Ah, just what he wanted to see, Rest Area 2 Miles. Grif had made it almost to the junction with Interstate 70 eastbound. With all the bombshells Dinah had dropped scrambling his mind, Grif hadn't noticed the black Chevrolet Tahoe following him ever since Toquerville. Grif proceeded into the rest area building and was still thinking about Beth, Dinah and someone named Parley as he stood at the urinal. Done, two shakes and an about-face and there they were.

Four of them, standing tall and proud as pampered peacocks, secured the now empty restroom. It was as if someone using a giant cookie cutter had stamped out each one. Each about six foot three and 230 pounds, wearing dark suits, white shirts and ties. Grif, a Viet Nam veteran originally from the westside of Chicago was not easily intimidated. But in this instance, Grif thought it best to stand still and see how this played out. And if Grif was puzzled before, what he was about to hear was going to have him quaking in a quandry. The one closest to Grif pulled out identification and said he was Robert Braddock with the Intelligence Cadre of NASA.

Braddock did all the talking. "Listen very carefully Detective Mahoney. You may come close to sensitive issues and if you do, we will let you know. Just tread carefully and do not try to contact us. We will always contact you. That's all you need to know now." Grif tried to ask what the hell was going on, but they filed out of the building with Braddock leading the way and then they were gone. Grif had never heard of NASA having an Intelligence Cadre. Murder, polygamists and NASA, all Grif knew about this triangle was that he didn't like it.

It's a wonder Grif didn't have an accident during his drive back to Salt Lake City. He spent most of the trip looking in the rear view mirror for those four wingtipped, overgrown Boy Scouts. Grif liked doing the rousting not being the one rousted. He still couldn't figure out if those guys were for real. But something he had learned a long time ago, things are different in Utah. 

He had ended up in Utah in the early 1980's. One of the first things he noticed was how the women were treated. Mormon women were encouraged to be "the best homemakers in the world." Utah was very much a male-dominated society and it reminded Grif of how it was when he visited Tokyo during an Army R & R. The two ends of the Utah spectrum were the plain looking, gingham clad rural wives and the Salt Lake City and suburbs Stepford Wives. The common denominator between the two groups was the obligatory obedience.

The following morning Grif did make it into the squad room only to find his desk covered with remnants of yesterday's pizza. Grif knew if you left the office for a day, your desk was fair game. Grif used the morning to research the company where Beth and Dinah worked, SealaPak. The company was located 2800 South, 3400 West. Upon moving to Utah, it took Grif about two months to figure out this goofy, grid address system.

SealaPak had been in business for over thirty years. They are a seal distributor and gasket fabrication house. Their core business operated around a material they developed and also held the patent. It was an elastomeric-cork composite used primarily as a hydraulic/pnuematic gasket material. Say that three times fast.

Grif was learning a lot about SealaPak when Lieutenant Winthrop walked up and started asking how the case was going. There is always a lot of pressure to have murder cases solved as soon as possible. Grif hated these moments and did his best to answer Wally's questions as pleasantly and sarcasm free as possible.

Lieutenant Winthrop was wearing his old grey suit today. Grif knew it was really, really old by checking the inside label one day. Robert Hall! now that really is old. Wally must have a meeting with the Chief or the Mayor or somebody. Anyway, he had successfully buttoned his top button on this dinghy, white shirt but his tie was pushed off to the side. His shirt lapels were winged outward and curled upward from too much ironing. Just then, Wisniewski yelled out, "Lieutenant, call for you on line three." The Lieutenant went over and stood behind Wisniewski's desk and took the call. Someone else must've been applying more pressure because Wally's face got all red and he started huffing and puffing and making animated gestures in the air as he responded. And just like that, POW, his top button popped off and narrowly missed hitting Grif in the face, his collar went flying open and his pale, green clip-on tie went falling to the floor. Grif and Wisniewski were almost crying, they were laughing so hard.

Lieutenant Winthrop returned to his office without saying another word to Detectives Wisniewski and Mahoney. It took fifteen or twenty minutes before the two detectives could stop talking about the jet propelled button and the fallen tie. Another ten minutes into the relative calm, Wisniewski called out "Grif, call for you on line three." It was Dinah Judes.

"Detective Mahoney, I just received a very disturbing phone call from one of Parley's brothers, Gordon Judes."
Dinah continued, "Gordon was talking about the murder and how upset he was. But, what he said at the end of the call upset me."
"What did he say?"
"She knew too much!"



Dinah didn't have a phone number for Gordon Judes, but she did know that he was a salesman for Bauer Hydraulics. Grif found the number in the yellow pages and called. Someone answered "Bauer Hydraulics, how may I help you?" Grif asked to speak to Gordon Judes and was given his cell phone number. Grif called just as Gordon was going in to see a customer.
"Gordon Judes, this is Detective Mahoney with the Salt Lake City Police Department. I'd like to talk to you about Beth Kleppett."
Gordon "Do I need to go to the station?"
Grif "No, no, let's talk where we'll both be comfortable."
Gordon, slight pause.........."Okay, the Oyster Bar at 5:00."
Grif "The Oyster Bar it is!"
Grif thought "Good choice!"

The Oyster Bar is the private club half of the Market Street Grill, an excellent seafood restaurant just off Main Street. The Oyster Bar looks just like a normal bar in the rest of the world, but you need to be a member or a guest of a member to enter. Membership is reasonable at $10 for a week (travelling salesman special) or $25 for a year. Anyone at the bar will sign your application and be your sponsor so exclusivity is not a problem.

The restaurant is setup in amphitheatre fashion with elevated platforms surrounding the large center area. The black and white tile floors contrast nicely with the pale, peach colored walls. The wait people scurry about wearing long, white aprons. The Oyster Bar is laid out similarly with elevated platforms on both sides of the long, horseshoe shaped bar. This was the first club Grif joined after moving to Salt Lake City. It reminded him of a couple of his favorite establishments on Division Street back home in Chicago. The drinks were the same but the vibe was a couple of gears lower.

The menu on the Oyster Bar side was small and more limited than the restaurant side, but still had fresh items flown in dailly from both coasts. Grif loved the New England style chowder. He could make a meal out of just the chowder and three or four pieces of the sumptious sour dough bread. And of course a few Stoli's.

Grif arrived about ten minutes late. After exchanging pleasantries with the hostess, Grif entered and started to look around. There was a small crowd of the "usual suspects," a couple of divorcees with that desperate look in their eyes, a trio of well dressed businessmen over in the corner table and a couple of "junior exec types" sitting at the bar making notes in their Blackberrys. Grif chuckled to himself, "why don't they just tattoo a big L in the middle of their foreheads?"

Gordon had described how he was dressed and Grif approached a man fitting the description.
"Gordon Judes?"
"Yes" replied Gordon as he stood and shook Grif's hand.
"I'm not a suspect in this terrible thing, am I?"
"No, no, I just need to ask you some questions."
Grif sat down just as the bar girl walked up.
"I'll have a Stoli Rocks and whatever he's drinking."
"V.O. and water."
Before the girl left, Grif said, "and bring me an Oyster Shooter*, did you want something to eat?"
"Maybe after a couple more, I never eat on an empty stomach."
Grif smiled and thought, "ah, this one's a clever one."

*Oyster Shooter, jigger glass 1/3rd full coctail sauce, one raw oyster, then fill the rest with vodka.

Grif questioned Gordon during drinks and found out that Gordon was a salesman for SealaPak when Beth and Dinah worked there. Three families own SealaPak: the Zorns, the Allbrights and the Judes. Besides Gordon, there were two other brothers and many half brothers.
Grif asked "Why aren't you working at SealaPak now?"
"They got tired of my act."
"What do you mean?"
"Well you see, I'm a 100 mile Mormon."
"What the hell is a 100 mile Mormon?"
"When I get 100 miles away from Salt Lake City, I drink, curse and carouse just like you."
Grif just looked at him and smiled.
Gordon continued "Now, since I've been fired from SealaPak and excluded from the family's inner circle, I don't even bother with the 100 miles."


Grif turned the conversation to a more serious note.
"Gordon, you probably know that in a murder case, the husband or ex-husband is always the first suspect."
Gordon, "Not Parley, he wouldn't kill anyone."
"Well, we think he's our guy and we're going after him."
Gordon, "This is very upsetting."
"Yea, yea, yea. I'm still upset about Milli Vanilli, but I've still got to find who killed Beth."
Gordon, "It wasn't Parley."
"What makes you so sure?"
"He's firm, stubborn, really hard headed, but he wouldn't do something like this."
Grif, "He definately has motive, you know, her running away and all that."
"Oh, he got over that a long time ago."
"When you worked with Beth at SealaPak, what was her job?"
"She prepared all the documents to ensure that all the testing specifications were met on the Thiokol shipments. You know material specs; inclusions, durometer, tensile strength, modulus"
"Say what?"
"modulus."
"Yeah ok, sounds important to me."
Gordon, "I guess......she didn't do the testing, she just collected the data and prepared the documents that went along with the gaskets."
Grif, "So, did Beth make any enemies at SealaPak?"
"No, not Beth."
Grif spent another 10-15 minutes with Gordon then excused himself. But, not before telling Gordon that they would have to talk again. Grif needed to find out more about SealaPak but thought it would be best if he started at Thiokol then SealaPak.



Grif called the squad room and left a message for Lieutenant Winthrop. "Wally, get me an appointment with someone at Thiokol who knows the SealaPak account. And hey, get me some directions, I've never been there.

Grif returned to his apartment that night and thought about his meeting with the "hundred mile Mormon" Gordon Judes. Grif thought Gordon was smarmy, strange and somewhat sarcastic, probably from being shunned by his family. Was this a motive for a revenge killing? Grif wasn't so sure about that just yet.

Early the next morning, Grif returned to the squad room. He had just finished straightening the piles of papers on his desk when Wisniewski called out "Grif, call for you on line three." It was Lieutenant Winthrop. "Grif, you've got an appointment with Rogina Borbeney at ten o'clock.
Grif chimed in "Good deal, how do I get there?"
Wally replied "up to Brigham and take a left" then he hung up.
Grif thought "thanks Wally for those detailed instructions."



Wisniewski has been everywhere at least twice, so Grif asked him for better directions and then off he went. Driving north on Interstate 15, Grif kept it a little above the speed limit. He had to hustle to make that ten o'clock appointment with Rogina Borbeney, whoever she is.

Just past Bountiful, he could see the bleak, alkaline shore of the Great Salt Lake off to his left. Salt here, there and everywhere. His blood pressure went up ten points just looking at it. It was not so scenic as it was geographically interesting. At least it broke up the monotony of the drive. What also helped the drive was the pair of F16 fighters screaming past up above. You couldn't drive past Ogden without seeing some jets from Hill Air Force base putting on an aerial show.

Now almost to Brigham City was a sign identifying Willard 3 miles. Wisniewski had told Grif a story about a young couple in a pickup truck just outside of Willard picking up a hitchhiker. The couple found out later that the hitchhiker was Howard Hughes. Wisniewski never let the truth get in the way of a good story, so Grif didn't know whether to believe this one or not.

Just past Brigham City, Grif turned left on State Route 83. About three miles ahead was a dusty, little town called Corinne. Cruising through Corinne, Grif used his imagination to visualize the wild past of this almost, ghost town.

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Corinne was an end-of-the-trail town located on the Union Pacific railroad line. This was a Gentile town with saloons and liquor stores a plenty to service the non-Mormons. Grif thought some of the buildings hadn't changed much in the last hundred years plus. A change in the Union Pacific route in 1877 sealed the carefree fate of Corinne. The Gentile merchants moved to Ogden and Mormon farmers took over Corinne. It was fun while it lasted.

There wasn't much after Corinne. The first five miles seemed like decent farm lands, but after that, the land deteriorated fast. Grif didn't know what could be grown profitably out here. And the sulphur springs gave off a real bad odor. Grif was wondering about these directions. His fears were quelled briefly when he saw the sign for the Promontory Point turnoff. He knew he wasn't lost yet.

Grif wished he had time to do some sightseeing but he knew he didn't. He had seen pictures of those two locomotives with their cowcatchers touching like some illicit, salt flats mating ritual. He wished his depraved mind didn't think that way, but it did.

Grif motored on with his appointment time still obtainable. Around one last bend and there it was.........the vast Thiokol complex.


The sign on the main drive was Thiokol Inc. The name was changed a few times since the Space Shuttle Challenger Disaster. Grif parked in a large lot out front and walked to the main entrance. A few steps from entering he remembered he was packing. So he did an about face and returned to his car and raised the trunk. Discreetly as possible, he removed his 38 special along with his belt holster and his 22 "drop" piece from his ankle holster. He was sure a couple of cameras were probably recording all this. He shut the trunk and retraced his steps to the main entrance.

Grif entered the main door and walked towards the large, elevated receptionist desk. The receptionist was flanked by two men Grif recognized as security types. They looked like two field hawks ready to pounce. Grif walked up and said "Detective Mahoney to see Rogina Borbeney." The larger of the two men said "may we see some identification Detective Mahoney?" Grif flopped open his badge and I.D. holder. The big guy studied it for what seemed like longer time than was necessary. The security type thanked him, nodded to his partner and off they went.

Grif signed in on the visitors log and the receptionist handed Grif a printed I.D. tag and directed Grif through the double doors to her right and Grif's left. Once through the double doors, Grif saw the security screening area which was similar to the security process at all the airports now.

Grif took off his shoes, emptied his pockets and approached the upright, metal detector. Grif wondered what would have happened if he hadn't left his hardware in his trunk. Probably some big, net would fall from the sky and Mr. Frick and Frack would be back and turn him into a human pretzel while applying a NASA issued straight jacket.

Grif passed through the detectors and stood on one spot while another security person passed a wand over Grif's body. Grif must have passed because he was instructed to proceed to another set of double doors and was buzzed through after being reunited with his shoes and pocket possessions.

Grif didn't have to wait long before he was joined by Rogina Borbeney. She introduced herself and escorted Grif to her cluttered office. Rogina wasn't exactly fat, maybe stout, about five foot five. Grif thought her clothes could be described as understated dowdiness with a distinct "thrift shop, free box" look. Grif would describe her hair as "librarian racy." A half inch below her lips and a half inch to the left was a mole. Not a big mole, but a mole with a hair growing in the center and Grif found it impossible to look at her without fixating on that damn mole. Amorous fantasies will not be a problem today.

Rogina spoke first.
"Well Detective Mahoney, I've spoken to a lot of people in this job, but this is the first time the police have visited."
Grif replied "Please allow me to explain then. I am investigating the murder of Beth Kleppett, a former employee of SealaPak, one of your suppliers. Right now I am trying to determine why anyone would kill Beth Kleppett and then maybe that will help me dtermine who."

"I was shocked when I read about Beth in the paper. It's just terrible how she died. I'll help you anyway I can. I am very familiar with the supplier SealaPak and I remember meeting Beth a long time ago."

"I understand that her main responsibility was preparing the documents that accomplied SealaPak's shipments to your company."

"That's correct, right up to the incident."

"By incident, you mean the Challenger explosion."

"Yes, she prepared all the certification documents up to and including the Challenger mission. But, that was the last time I saw her name. After that she was replaced by someone else. No one told me what happened to her or where she went."

Grif asked "What was the product that needed the specifications documents?"

"SealaPak supplied the gaskets for the hydraulic actuators used a millisecond before liftoff to pressure load and test the o-ring seal in the individual segments of the solid rocket motors."

Grif must've started rolling his eyes because Rogina Borbeney stopped the explanation and asked if the detective was lost already.

Grif replied truthfully "yes."

"O'kay, let's start over. The solid rocket motors are comprised of individual segments which are joined together with a clevis and tang joint."

Grif nodded as if he knew what that meant.

Rogina continued "each segment is ten feet high and twelve feet in diameter. Each joint has two o-rings providing the seal for the joint. Pi times twelve makes for a long o-ring. Detective you do the math."

Grif hated it when people said "you do the math." Grif hated math.

"So how long were these o-rings?"

"Almost thirtyeight feet. Detective, as you can imagine an o-ring thirtyeight feet long needs to have a long foot print in the gland to provide a continuous seal."

Grif was getting lost again. He wondered "foot print?"

"The actuators pressure loaded the gland and tested to see if there was a seal or not. If there wasn't, the test results immediately stopped liftoff."

Grif finally said something. "So, the gaskets supplied by SealaPak were critical to the success of the Shuttle missions?"

"Yes, they certainly were. And I'll tell you something else Detective Mahoney. We were using these seals beyond the state-of-the-art."

"I am not sure I know what you mean by beyond "state-of-the-art."












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