Текст книги "Cruelest Month"

Автор книги: Aaron Stander

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

31

Mackenzie boiled some water and poured it over a tea bag in a large earthenware mug. She leaned against the counter, allowing the tea to steep, then added some honey, stirring, tasting, and adding more honey. Setting the mug in easy reach, she settled at her keyboard, sliding the memory card from the camera into a port on the computer. One by one, she looked at the still images on the large display, at times her fingers sliding across the track pad to manipulate and enlarge parts of an image for closer inspection. She moved to the video, turning up the volume to get the sound of the wind and water. She replayed the video several times, switching to full-screen, then returned to still images, slowly scrutinizing each one a final time, the tea growing tepid as she absorbed every detail.

This was the place, she said in a soft voice. She sat for a while considering her next move. Putting the images into a string of e-mails with short descriptions, she sent them to Ken Lee. On the subject lines she keyed, “Where it happened.”

“I thought you were on vacation yesterday,” were Ken Lee’s first words when he called Mackenzie a minute or two later.

“I was, but once I got home and put the food away….” She stopped and reflected on what had happened to her planned holiday.

“Are you still there?” he asked after an unusually long silence.

“Sorry.”

“That’s okay. I’m growing used to your considered responses.”

“What was your question again?” Mackenzie asked,

“The vacation day, the holiday…?”

“Yes. I did all the things I told you I was going to do. Went to yoga. Nice studio. Good instructor. All women in the class, not one guy, not even a geezer. Not like California. And the women were exceedingly helpful. If I lived up here, these are people I’d like to know. I got a massage, strong woman, good hands. I went shopping. And I found a terrific local bookstore with an espresso bar. The day was so ordinary, I was filled with joy. When I got home I thought I’d eat some good food, drink some wine. But….”

“What?”

“I was right back in it, trying to figure this thing out. What was I thinking when I came here with no real plan? You’re right, what you said the other day. I was totally fixated on Sabotny. He was the ringleader. It wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been there. None of it.”

“Slow down, slow down. You’ve lost me. You’ve just given me two things. One has to do with a plan, the other with Sabotny.”

“There is no plan. I mean, somehow I thought I could just come out here….”

“You did have a plan of sorts. You established that Sabotny was back in Cedar County. You found a house that would give you a view of his. You have been collecting data on his habits. You even had a chance to see him in operation, albeit accidentally. What you are trying to accomplish takes time.”

“But what am I trying to accomplish? I started this thinking that Sabotny was Terry’s killer, but how can I prove that, and what I would do with the information if I could find some truth….”

“Okay, let’s slow down. I’ve watched you in action professionally over several years. You are an enormously effective leader. Why? Because you think strategically. You find the right people, you tap into all the necessary resources, and you plan for every possible contingency. I won’t tell you that you are a risk taker. You’re not. You minimize your risks so you can maximize your chances for success. And it has worked out for you.

“But this current pursuit of yours, it doesn’t fit the paradigm. There is so much unknown and mostly unknowable. You think this Sabotny character was responsible for your brother’s death, but you don’t know that for sure. Sabotny, with or without the help of the other boys, might have killed your brother. But Terry’s death might also have been an accident.”

“Like how?”

“I don’t know. Maybe in the course of the fight that allowed you to escape, he fell and hit his head. Another possibility—you said he had something like a branch or board that he was swinging—is that he lost control of it and it was used against him. Maybe someone hit him, not intending to kill him, but did. It happens a lot, especially with teenagers. They don’t anticipate the possible consequences of their actions. Or what if he had something like a congenital heart….”

“So where are you going with this?” pressed Mackenzie.

“Stay with me for a few minutes. Let’s say Terry died, either as the result of something he did or something that was done to him. They’ve got to get rid of the body. Easiest thing is to make it look like a drowning.”

“If it was an accident, why wouldn’t you go to the police?” she protested.

“Look, what you told me about these guys suggests they weren’t members of the honor society. They were drinking beer, smoking dope, and looking to gang rape the victim’s little sister. They’re not going to go the police. They’re going to stage a drowning, an accident, something that doesn’t involve them.”

“But any kind of investigation would have disproved….”

“Was there an investigation? Did you hear of any inquiries?”

Mackenzie was silent, trying to remember what her mother told her. “He was gone more than a day before my mother called the sheriff. Later a deputy came around to see her, someone she knew from the tavern. He said Terry’s body had been found on a Lake Michigan beach. Terry had apparently drowned while skinny-dipping. Probably became hypothermic.”

“And you told your mother what had happened, the fight, that you were almost gang raped?”

“I told her everything. I was hysterical. I never knew if she was listening. She was usually stoned or drunk or both. She said that Terry was dead. Nothing would change that. So there was no use making trouble. She said if the police got too interested in us, most likely they’d come and take us away from her and put us in foster homes. I didn’t understand the police or social services. And, of course, they should have taken us away from her. But, again, what does this have to do with anything? What’s your point?”

“Simply that you don’t know how Terry died. You don’t know who, if anyone, is responsible. And even if you could establish guilt, what could you do about it? Could you go to the law? Would there be enough information for a prosecution? Or would you simply blow him away?”

For a long time, Mackenzie looked at an image of the Sandville Creek, winding out of sight on the screen. Ken Lee let her think. “So what do I do next?” she said finally.

“First, a reality check. You don’t know where this is all going to lead. You can’t develop a Gantt chart, or create timelines, or do any of the other things you’re used to doing to move a project. Face it. It’s highly unlikely that you will ever find the circumstances leading to Terry’s death.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that given the time that has passed, it’s almost impossible for you or anyone else to determine what happened to your brother. Maybe it’s time to cut your losses and move on. Continuing to pursue this is probably a waste of time, energy, your emotional resources, and could possibly put you in harm’s way.”

“So what about seeing Sabotny on the beach. Something is going on. I don’t want to cut and run too soon.”

This time Ken Lee was slow in responding. “Yes, if we only knew. Sabotny has moved back to the area in a very public way. He’s gone to a class reunion, posted on a social network, purchased an expensive place in a very visible location. He’s not in hiding. And he’s flashing a lot of money. He could afford to live anywhere in the world, but it appears that he’s planning to settle in Cedar County. The old story: local boy makes good, then returns home.”

“I’m not ready to fold,” Mackenzie reiterated. “I need a few more weeks, maybe a month.”

“You know, you can afford to hire some very competent private detectives to take this over. You could even put them up in that lovely house of yours. You could be back here living your life, and they could carry on the investigation.”

“I need to do this. I thought I had your backing.”

“You do, you do. I just think given what you’ve learned, it would be better to recruit people with the appropriate skill-set to continue with this task.”

“Ken Lee, I’m not going to take any chances. Like you said, I’m not a risk taker. I just need to do this a bit longer.” She took a deep breath. “What do you suggest I should focus on next?”

Ken Lee took a deep breath of his own. “How about Jim Moarse? Why don’t you focus on him for a while, like you did with Sabotny. Get a sense of his patterns, what he does, who he hangs with. And do this from afar. You’ve got the optics and cameras. I can send you more GPS units if we decide to track his activities. I’d like his address, see if Sabotny ever visits.” He paused. “And there are two more things,” said Ken Lee.

“Yes?”

“I’ve sent you some phantom phones.”

“What’s that?”

“Phones, cell phones. They’re set to make 911 calls. If you see something going down and you want to involve law enforcement, you can toss one of these phones near the action. You’ll be long gone by the time the police arrive, and your identity is protected. They’ll be at FedEx in the morning.”

“And the other thing?”

“I’ve decided to do some headhunting of my own. I’m going to get you the names of people who could take this over. You’ve got to start thinking of an exit strategy. Start organizing what you’ve collected so far and think about how you can best facilitate their success.”

“Ken Lee, you can go ahead with your recruiting, but I need a few more weeks. I appreciate what you’re doing. But please don’t bug me too much.”

“Hey, you know me. And you, go to yoga in the morning. Pick up those phones on your way out of town.”

32

“How was your meeting with the county Board of Supervisors?” asked Sue as she entered Ray’s office, holding a coffee mug and her laptop. Simone followed her, dragging her lead.

“As enervating as always,” he paused. “Let me take that back; this one was worse than the norm.”

“What happened?” asked Sue, setting the coffee on the conference table and opening her laptop.

“It was all about ‘over.’”

“Say what?”

“This morning’s theme was that under my leadership, this department has grown fat. We are overstaffed, over-benefited, overeducated, etc. That we are living in hard times, and everyone has to sacrifice, and this department hasn’t done its share.”

“Where does this stuff come from?” asked Sue.

“I don’t know. There’s a kind of mythology that’s not attached to any reality or data. I put up a spreadsheet that showed the department’s budget has been flat for several years, and when inflation is factored in, we’ve been doing more with less year after year. And this isn’t new information. I’ve done a similar presentation the last several years. I’ve pointed out that while the county’s population continues to grow, our staffing has remained the same. And some of them just don’t hear this.

“During my presentation, Elmer Lentro kept interrupting me, saying that several of his constituents had told him that they had seen deputies parked at the side of the road playing video games on those expensive, fancy computers we’d put in the cars.

“I told him that was impossible and explained again the use of the computers in the patrol cars, and as they remember, we did a presentation for the supervisors when we first installed them. I reminded them that we were able to purchase the systems with money from a federal grant, and it was an example of how we were using technology to improve our productivity and cut costs.”

“Did that shut him up?”

“No. I don’t think he hears too well. And I know he doesn’t listen. He believes what he wants to believe, and he’s playing to an audience that keeps electing him. That was just the beginning of his rant. He wanted to know why I keep hiring college kids; they’re overqualified and overeducated. He reminded me that Orville just hired locals, he trained them on the job, and they did just fine. He also said Orville had lots of citizen deputies, so if he needed help in an emergency, all he had to do was make a few phone calls.”

“I don’t understand,” said Sue.

“Back in the day, 30 or 40 years ago, especially before elections, Orville would pass out cards that said something to the effect that so-and-so was a Cedar County deputy sheriff. I don’t think Orville was the only sheriff who did it, but he was probably the last. It’s a remnant of the distant past when the sheriff would form a posse.”

“So what was the reaction?”

“He went too far this time. Everyone was embarrassed. The chair had to be absolutely obnoxious to shut him up. If fact, I think it helped move things forward. The board approved our budget with fewer questions than I expected.”

“And how did Elmer vote?”

Ray chuckled, “He abstained, like he was making some kind of point. I think the poor guy is losing it.”

“Ray, he’s never going to forgive you for that DUI.”

“True, that and not hiring his grandson. Like he once told me, ‘Orville knew how to make things work for friends, and you don’t, Ray Elkins.’ I guess I am guilty as charged.”

Ray joined Sue at the conference table, Simone in his lap. “So what have you been up to?”

“You left early yesterday. There were some things I want to go over. In fact your early departure….”

“Go ahead.”

“Well, we had a 911 call for the marine patrol to provide assistance. I ended up taking the call after dispatch explained that our equipment was in dry dock and water emergencies were handled by the Coast Guard.”

“So what was the emergency?”

“One of our elderly citizens was concerned about two kayakers who seemed to be out of control on Lake Michigan. I asked if they were out of their boats. He said sometimes they were and sometimes they weren’t, but that conditions were far too rough for anyone to be kayaking. I told him I’d investigate. I was on my way to talk to Mrs. Schaffer again with some more questions about Terry, so I drove over and took a look. Once I established who the kayakers were, I dropped in on our concerned citizen, Curmudgeonly Charlie, and explained that the boaters in question were known to the department, and while we didn’t approve of their choice of paddling conditions, they were within their rights. Then I thanked him for his vigilance and concern. I didn’t mention that one of kayakers was the sheriff. Given that Elmer Lentro is the county supervisor in that area, I did my best not to throw gasoline on the fire. I mean, weren’t you on the water during normal working hours? You never would have caught old Sheriff Orville out kayaking in a storm.”

“True,” said Ray. “During a howling storm, he would have been standing at the bar in the Last Chance doing right by the voters. So why were you going to visit Mrs. Schaffer? Speaking of efficiency, what’s wrong with the phone?”

“You usually get more face-to-face, especially her type. She’s spent too many years brushing people off.”

“And why are you back to Terry Hallen?”

“Get control of your ADD and listen for a bit.” Sue delivered her line with a smile.

“Okay.”

“I’ve been pouring through Vincent Fox’s stuff and am totally frustrated. So as a diversion I started through the Terry Hallen material again. I was looking at his death certificate, and I couldn’t find anything that stated who identified the body. I started with Julie Sutton in the county clerk’s office. She pointed out that they were still using the old death certificates then, something homegrown that only required the most basic information. She went on to say that eventually the county adopted the U.S. Standard Certificate of Death. So my question to her was how do we know that the boy found on the beach was Terry Hallen?”

“And?”

“Easy. You have a missing kid. Two days later one turns up on a beach. Case solved. And since he has no obvious wounds—his skull hasn’t been crushed, and none of his limbs appear to be broken—he must have drowned. She reminded me that the coroner used to be the local funeral director, and if the deceased was indigent, the county provided for burial, a very cozy little business arrangement.”

“So we don’t know if his mother or anyone else ever identified the body?”

“You got it. Not that it really matters, but it’s interesting.”

“So how does Mrs. Schaffer fit into this?” Ray asked.

“On my first visit, she couldn’t find Terry’s school records, which she said was very unusual. I was wondering if they ever turned up. I was also trying to jog her memory. Did she remember a funeral, did she know anyone who might have seen Terry’s body?”

“And?”

“Terry’s folder, his cumulative record, still hasn’t been found. She said that in her long history with the district, one has never gone missing before. She’s at a loss to explain how it could have disappeared.”

“Does she have any theories?”

“None.”

“Do you?”

“I looked through a couple she had sitting on her desk. It’s just ID stuff—name, address, parent/guardian names, date of birth—and year-by-year grade and attendance data. In the folders I looked at there were also some photos, you know, the kind they take every year. Even if we had it, I don’t think we’d learn anything from the kind of data it contains.”

“What else?”

“I asked her if she remembers anything about a funeral. She said that there probably wasn’t one. And then she carefully explained that there are cases where a family is too poor or too dysfunctional to organize something like that. And if they weren’t part of a church community, it probably didn’t happen. She said she remembers Terry’s family were transients, they weren’t really connected to the area. People like that come and go. They enroll, then they sometimes suddenly disappear. Families fall apart, kids go off to live with relatives, kids run away or drop out. She was doing her best to be politically correct, but there was an undercurrent of…I don’t know…trying not to be judgmental but…I think she has great sympathy for the kids and a lot of anger about how their lives are totally screwed up.”

“I understand,” said Ray. After a long pause he asked, “Anything else?”

“I think that’s about it. So I’m back to the same frustrating conclusion. Unless someone credible walks through the door and gives us information on Terry Hallen, this is about all we will ever know. And I hope the same isn’t true of Vincent Fox.”

“It’s not,” said Ray. “Twenty years haven’t passed. There’s something going on here. We just have to be patient and vigilant.”

33

Sue turned the Jeep onto the sand and gravel road leading to the New Harmony Organic Farm.

“I’ve always like this part of the county,” said Ray as they snaked through the rolling terrain. “It’s just this little area, maybe 10 square miles that’s hilly and rolling. I think it’s one of the most beautiful parts.”

“I thought we’d turned the veggie thefts over to Brett,” Sue said, nudging Simone away from the clutch.

“We did, but I wanted to handle this one personally. It’s my CSA.”

“New Harmony?” asked Sue.

“Yes, Jon Merryweather. He’s been developing this farm over the last few years. He moved his family from Chicago after working as a commodities trader. He and his wife wanted to give their kids a different kind of life. I’ve been getting vegetables from them the last two summers, splitting a box with Marc and Lisa. You may not remember, but you’ve been a consumer of some of the produce.”

“Like those ugly tomatoes.”

“Heirloom tomatoes, Sue, just like your great-grandmother used to grow. It’s about taste rather than appearance.”

“I don’t remember what they tasted like; I just remember that they were ugly. I probably skipped them.” She slowed, approaching a fork in the road. “Is he our contact?” she asking, pointing at a tall, patrician-faced man standing at the side of the road, a cell phone pressed to his ear.

“That’s Jon.”

“Hey, Ray,” said Jon as they climbed out of the jeep, “didn’t know you were bringing the K-9 unit.”

After introductions, they began walking toward the farm. Ray unleashed Simone who immediately made a happy circle. “Tell me what’s been going on, Jon.”

“We’ve heard from other farmers about thefts,” Jon explained as they climbed the gentle slope. “I didn’t think anything about it. Our root cellars are over here, away from the house, close to the fields. I supposed someone could roll in here at night, and we’d never see or hear him. But I wasn’t concerned.” He swung his arm toward a low hillside bordering a field still flattened from winter. “These two cellars—we call them the caves, the kids like that—were here when we bought the property. The doors had almost rotted away, but the fieldstone walls were in good shape. I’ve actually used these as the model for the three additional ones I built.” He stopped and chuckled, “Even after a hundred years of farming on this land, there are still lots of fieldstones around to build with.”

He pulled a hasp from a loop securing two wooden doors and pulled them open, exposing a cave that had been dug in the side of the hill. Ray and Sue followed a few feet into the interior, their eyes adjusting to the dull light. The air was cool and moist, with an earthly aroma. A pile of potatoes filled the back third of the cavern.

“We store potatoes, onions, carrots, and other root vegetables in these. Most go to our winter shareholders, the rest are sold to organic groceries or contributed to food banks. This cellar is a little bigger than the others, and I reserve it for potatoes. We had a good crop last year, and this one was pretty full, more than I needed, actually. I came down here last week to check on the condition of the potatoes; planting season isn’t too far away.”

“You don’t lock these buildings?” asked Sue.

“Never been a need to. Anyway, as soon I got in here I knew that a whole lot of spuds had gone missing. To make a long story short, we got my daughter one of those infrared cameras for Christmas. We know a lot of animals move through the farm at night, and she was thinking about a science fair project dealing with nocturnal animals. I borrowed her camera and sure enough, captured the images of some two-legged nocturnal animals.”

He pulled his cell phone out and started a video.

“Do you know these two individuals?” asked Ray, squinting at the screen.

“That’s the hard part. I do. They’re neighbors, they’re friends. The first few years they were coming around to help, sharing their knowledge. The kids really liked them. I was going to go over and talk with them, but my wife thought you should be involved.”

“Would you make me a copy of that?”

Jon reached into a pocket and handed Ray a square envelope containing a DVD.

“Things are not right with them, Ray. Their mother passed a few years ago, she was way up in her 90s, and since that time things have been falling apart over at their farm. Tucker stops by to chat from time to time, says Sam is getting forgetful. And I guess Tucker’s had health problems of his own, heart trouble. I dropped off some cookies at the house last Christmas, and I couldn’t believe it. When their mother was alive, things were in pretty good order. Now there’s so much rubbish in the house, they had to make a path through it. . Tucker and Sam have always been self-sufficient, but now they seem to be struggling financially.”

“Will you press charges?” asked Sue.

“No, and I don’t think anyone will when they know who’s behind these thefts, but it has to stop. The guys need help. What happens now?”

“We’ll have to go over there, find out what’s going on.”

“I didn’t want to….”

“You did the right thing,” said Ray. “We’ll get this sorted out.”

Jon led them out into the spring sunshine. “I hope so,” he said, shaking Sue’s hand, then Ray’s.

“Say,” asked Ray, “did you ever see either of them dressed as Amish farmers?”

“Yes, funny you know about that. We have an annual Halloween barn party for the neighborhood, all ages, cider, doughnuts, hay rides in the dark. Tucker and Sam always attend; it might be their one social outing of the year. Tucker plays a concertina, and Sam sort of follows along on a fiddle. They’re an essential part of the evening.”

“By the way,” said Sue, “how’s the science project coming?”

“Oh, Emma, she got interested in owl pellets,” said Jon, rolling his eyes upward and slowly exhaling. “I would have preferred helping her edit video.”