Kill Six

by C. E. Nelson

  “You can do this,” Canton mumbled. She pulled on blue latex gloves, picked up the plate, and stepped out.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello,” responded Johnson. “Can I help you?”

  Canton smiled. “I hope so. I’m giving out free samples, and I’m wondering if I can get you to eat a cookie for me?” asked Canton as she approached.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

  “Well, the company I am working for wants to get peoples’ reactions to their cookie before they decide if they will bring it to market.”

  Johnson moved down the steps and onto the driveway. “Really? So, the cookies are free?” Johnson was skeptical.

  Canton stopped a step away from Johnson, holding the cookies out to her. “Just one per person, I’m afraid. And they are free. And I think they’re pretty good too. I tried one myself.” Canton smiled again. “No problem if you don’t like cookies. I’ll just go to the next house.”

  Johnson put her dishtowel on her shoulder, her sweatshirt now pulled up over her expanding waistline. “Oh, I better try it.”

  Canton moved closer. Johnson carefully lifted the plastic wrap off the plate. She picked up a cookie, slid it out from under the plastic, and took a bite.

  “Hmm. Kind of a different taste,” said Johnson. “But not bad.” She swallowed and took another bite, and then another.

  Canton watched the woman devour the cookie, thinking she may have given her one that had not been sprinkled with poison, and then thinking she didn’t really know what to expect. Canton put the plastic back over the plate. “How did you like it, Helen?”

  Johnson ‘s hand went to her chest. “You know my name?”

  “I’m Grace Canton, the girl you and your siblings teased in school. Do you remember?”

  It appeared that Johnson was trying to speak but made only wheezing noises. Perspiration was visible on her forehead and she became unsteady, reaching for the step railing behind her but missing it, falling to the concrete. Canton watched as the woman curled in a ball, shaking, drool running from her open mouth as bubbles formed. Finally, her eyes went wide, and she was still.

  Chapter 8

  “Yeah?”

  Dave Trask got the call a little after one-thirty in the morning. He was on his back in bed.

  “Sorry to wake you, Sheriff, but we got a bad one. A double murder,” said his deputy, John Krill.

  “You sure?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  Trask pulled the phone away from his ear to look at the time. Sighed. “OK, text me the address.”

  Trask stayed on his back, phone at his side, staring at the ceiling.

  “What is it?”

  Trask’s very pregnant wife, Dr. Linda James, a medical examiner for Lake County, put her hand on his chest.

  “A couple west of Two Harbors. Looks like someone has murdered them.”

  “At least it’s close.”

  Trask was sheriff of Lake County, one of the biggest counties in Minnesota. The county stretched from just north of Duluth to the Canadian border, and then west. It covered nearly three thousand square miles but was called home by less than eleven thousand people.

  “Yeah. Well, I got that going for me.”

  “You want me to make you some coffee?”

  “Thanks for offering, but the only thing I want you to do is to get some rest and then have a baby.” Trask sat up and looked back at his wife. “But wait until after I go on this call, please.”

  “Not a problem.” With great effort, Linda rolled away from him and went back to sleep.

  Trask pushed himself off the bed and padded to the bathroom. His green eyes took one look in the mirror at his mess of dark brown hair before turning to start the shower. Five minutes later he was downstairs in the kitchen of the townhouse he and his wife shared just south of Two Harbors. They had purchased the townhouse only three months earlier. It had a view of Superior and was only five years old, but Dave was still not sure about it.

  Trask also owned a beautiful lake home on giant Basswood Lake, nearly three hours northwest of Two Harbors. It was where he wanted to be. He had purchased the cabin when he first moved to Lake County four years earlier, intending to retire there. The cabin was a wreck, but with help from his identical twin brother Don, it had almost been completely redone. That had taken more funds than Dave had planned for, not to mention what he had spent on a new boat, and so he had run for sheriff after the prior sheriff had resigned in disgrace mid-term. Dave wasn’t certain he wanted to continue in his position when the end of his term approached, but two things convinced him to give it another try. He met Linda, and money was still needed to finish the cabin.

  James had moved to Two Harbors after a failed, childless marriage in Chicago. Her family had visited the area each summer when she was a child. Linda loved the outdoors and especially fishing. Trask missed nothing about his life in Minneapolis when he moved to Lake County, a place he and his brother had fished often.

  After Linda became pregnant, and they married, she told him she wanted to keep working. That meant living in Two Harbors. In a way, it made sense for Dave. It was where the largest of his three offices were and a majority of the population. Hence, a majority of the crime was in this area. They agreed it made sense financially to purchase in Two Harbors, but Dave was hoping that once the baby came she would want to quit work, and they could all move to Basswood after his term expired.

  Trask was happy to find some cold coffee left in the coffee maker and poured it in a cup before putting the cup in the microwave. He took a sip and peered with his green eyes into the darkness outside the window over the sink, his reflection looking back at him. The reflection looked tired, and a little old. Trask was nearly forty-eight, Linda ten years younger. He was tall, broad, with a round face that looked a little pudgy, but he was in good shape. His body solid. He had promised himself to do all he could to stay fit so that he would not be called grandpa when he took his child to school. But he realized things were getting harder - like getting up and going on a call in the middle of the night. Trask poured the rest of the coffee into a thermos, pulled his jacket from the peg by the door going to the garage, and headed out.

  There was a sheriff’s car blocking the end of the driveway, lights flashing. Trask pulled up behind in his 4-Runner. The deputy in the cruiser got out, looked at Trask’s vehicle, and then got back in the cruiser, pulling ahead so Trask could get in the driveway. Another county car was parked at an angle in front of the house. Trask pulled in behind, got out, and looked around. Not much to see, it was too dark. The house was lit up inside, the front door standing open. The garage door was open too, two vehicles parked in the garage. He wondered why the front door would be open but as he passed in front of the porch, he knew why.

  “Jesus.”

  A large figure stepped from the kitchen into the hallway on the other side of the bodies. His reddish-brown hair seemed to glow in the overhead hallway light, brown nylon jacket zipped tight, hands gripping his belt on either side of the buckle like it needed extra help to hold up his tan pants. Gun was in its holster at his side.

  John Krill was three years younger than Trask, six feet tall, barrel-chested. He had been a deputy for seven years, working for the Two Harbors police force before that. Krill had a deep, booming voice that he used to his advantage when he wanted someone’s attention. There were rumors that Krill considered running against his boss in the last election, but that hadn’t happened, Krill choosing instead to run for sheriff in neighboring St. Louis County, but he had lost. Trask considered Krill a capable officer but wondered if his bullying personality would go over well as a sheriff.

  Krill looked down at the bodies and then up at Trask on the porch. “You can go through the garage, Sheriff.”

  Trask had moved to the doorway, hands in his pockets, looking down at the bodies. “OK. I’ll be in there in a minute.”

  Krill left the hall, but Trask remained just outside the door. Dan Bisho
p was on his back, hole in his forehead, dead eyes staring at the ceiling. The door was against his leg and Trask pushed it lightly, the door hitting something, a doorstop he assumed and then returning to where it had been. Lisa Bishop had fallen against the closet door, her shoulder leaning against it. She had been shot in the forehead too. Dark blood pooled on the oak-planked floor around her head. The killer likely stood where Trask was and shot them. Why were both of the Bishops at the door?

  The garage door opener light came on when Trask crossed the threshold. He slid between a newer Ford Focus and an F150 that had seen a few miles based on the condition of its body. Trask slipped on gloves and boot covers. Two steps up from the garage floor and he was in a small entryway, coats and scarves hanging from pegs, some smaller tennis shoes on a black plastic tray. The kitchen was through an open doorway and to the left. It consisted of two opposing L-shaped configurations of counters and appliances, a Formica-topped bar with three oak stools just ahead and to Trask’s left. The wall to the right of the stools had a bay window with a round oak table in front, four high-back oak chairs around it.

  Sam Bishop sat with his back to Trask, head bowed, a glass of water on the table in front of him. Trask pulled out the chair next to Bishop and sat.

  “Mr. Bishop, I’m Sheriff Trask. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  Bishop turned his head to glance at Trask. “Thanks.”

  Trask could smell the alcohol on Bishop’s breath. “Mr. Bishop, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

  “He already did,” replied Bishop, his thumb pointing over his shoulder at Krill standing by the bar.

  Trask stayed focused on Bishop. “I appreciate that Mr. Bishop, but I have a few questions of my own, if it would be all right?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Do you live here?”

  “Yeah, downstairs,” said Bishop.

  “What time did you get home tonight?” asked Trask.

  “Just about one,” said Bishop.

  “And, where were you?”

  “The Blue Moon in town.”

  “Were you there by yourself?”

  “No, my friend Danny picked me up here after dinner.”

  “Danny…?”

  “West.”

  Trask made a mental note of the name and looked to Krill to see him writing. “You were at the bar the whole time?”

  “Yeah. We played pool, had pizza and a few beers.”

  “OK. So, can you tell me what happened when you got home?”

  Bishop looked up, eyes red and glassy, staring out the dark window. “Danny drove up to the house, turned around, and then I got out. He drove away. I knew something was wrong right away.”

  “Why was that?”

  “The door. My parents leave the door unlocked for me when I’m out, but never open, especially on a cool night like this. My dad would be way pissed with a door open and the furnace running.”

  Trask had left his jacket on but felt a chill on his neck. He could tell that Bishop was thinking about what he had just said, that his father was now dead, and Dave thought Bishop may be about to cry. He waited, the boy sniffling, shoulders moving up and down but holding it together.

  “OK, so you saw the door was open. What then?”

  “I was just thinking about getting inside and closing the door. I had my head down when I stepped up on the porch, and then I looked in the hall…”

  Now Bishop did start crying, silent tears tracking down his cheeks. Trask spotted a box of tissues on the bar, brought it to the table, pulling one from the box and offering it to Bishop. Waited again.

  “OK, I want you to go back to when you came down your street before you pulled in your driveway. Did you see any cars or people coming in the opposite direction?”

  “No.”

  “And how about when you left? Did either you or Danny see a vehicle or person coming toward your house?”

  “No.”

  Trask was about to ask another question when Bishop looked over.

  “There was something. When we pulled out of the driveway when we left there was a reflection.”

  “Where?”

  “Across the street. In the vacant lot by the old shed.”

  Trask looked up to Krill who nodded and walked out of the kitchen into the garage. “Good, Mr. Bishop. That’s good. Anything else?”

  Bishop put his hand to his jaw, like he needed the help to hold his head up. “No.”

  “OK. So, after you saw your parents, what did you do?”

  “I ran.”

  “You ran?”

  “Yeah. I just freaked out and took off. I ran all the way up to Bayline as fast as I could. I couldn’t believe what I saw. And then I called 911. I stayed there until the cops came. They gave me a ride back.”

  “So, you haven’t been through the house at all?”

  “No.”

  “Did you see anyone when you were running?”

  “No.”

  “How old are you, Mr. Bishop?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “And what do you do for a living?”

  “Uh, nothing right now I guess. I’m thinking about going back to school.”

  Trask hoped his kid wouldn’t be living with them when he was twenty-five. He also hoped Krill had gone through the place. “OK, we will need you to go through the place with one of the deputies to see if anything looks out of place. Do you think you can do that now?”

  “I guess.”

  Trask put his hand on the man’s slumped shoulder. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Bishop. I know this is hard. I lost my parents too.” Trask’s parents had died in a fire, one Dave’s brother Don was sure was set by drug dealers trying to get revenge.

  Bishop looked into Trask’s eyes, searching for anything that would make some sense of what he had walked into.

  Trask stood. “You will get through this. I’ll be right back with an officer to walk through the place with you.”

  Trask walked out of the garage and looked toward the road to see Krill jogging toward him.

  “Someone was parked across the street, Sheriff.”

  Trask looked at the flashing lights of the cruiser at the end of the driveway and then back to Krill. “Good. I’ll take a look.” He turned to look at Krill. “You go through the place?”

  “Yeah. I went through it while Chandler stayed in the car with the kid.”

  “Anything?”

  “No. His dad’s wallet was on the dresser in their bedroom. Cash and credit cards inside.”

  “Cell phones?”

  “His was on the dresser next to his wallet, hers in her purse on the counter in the kitchen.”

  “Hmm. You know them?”

  “Not really. We have a life policy with him, but that’s about it.”

  Trask looked back down the driveway. “ME coming?”

  “Should be any time.”

  “Kid say anything to you that sounded funny?”

  “No. Pretty much what he told you.”

  “Thanks, John. Good job. If you would walk Bishop through the house and then bring him in to get his statement and fingerprints, I’d appreciate it. I’m going to take a look across the road, and then I think we’ll need to wake up some neighbors.”

  Krill was looking at the house. He was shaken. “It looks like they were just executed.”

  Trask turned. “Yeah. We will have to dig into their backgrounds. See if they might have done something to piss someone off.” He looked at the house for a moment longer, and then went to his truck to get his flashlight, thinking they had most definitely been executed.

  Chapter 9

  It took a while, but he found it. The place where the car had been parked. By the remains of an old shed and hidden from the road by some pines and thinning brush. Trask squatted, light on the ground. There were multiple tracks. Could have been more than one vehicle but he didn’t think so, the tire tracks seemed pretty much the same.

  Whoever it was, had turned off the road
and driven through the brush, pulling directly in front of the old shed. Trask looked at the tracks and then towards the Bishop home. He approximated where the car had been parked, bending at the waist so he felt he would be at about eye level with someone sitting in the car. The driveway was visible as was a good deal of the house. He walked onto the road and stood at the end of the driveway, shining his light at where the car had been parked. If it was the killer who had parked there, he or she or they had taken a chance. The pines would have blocked a good deal of anyone’s sight of the car, but there were openings in the brush between the trees. Leaves had thinned considerably in the last few days. The car could have been spotted.

  Trask would come back in the daylight to get a better look. Check for footprints. He spoke to the officer at the end of the driveway and asked that he tape off the area across the road from the end of the driveway. Flashed his light toward the old shed. Made sure he knew to go at least fifty yards in either direction. He watched the officer open his trunk and pull out the tape before he looked down Martin toward Bayline Drive. A couple of lights at the ends of driveways on either side of the road but otherwise a dark tunnel beneath oaks and birch and poplar. It was nearly a mile but maybe only half a dozen homes. A long way to run. And difficult in the dark, fully clothed.

  Trask looked back toward the house. If the kid was telling the truth about getting back here when he did, it wouldn’t make sense that his parents would be up, fully clothed. Could he have shot them before he left? Called them both to the front door? What if the friend was in on it? Trask thrust his hands into his jacket pockets. None of that seemed right. But it would have to be checked out.

  He caught headlights out of the corner of his eye coming toward him. Watched them approach, guessed it would be the medical examiner. The van stopped with Trask in its headlights. He walked around to the passenger side. The window opened and a thin face with silver stubble and black-framed glasses looked out at him.