by C. E. Nelson
“Morning, Sheriff.” Doctor Ben Adams was one of the two medical examiners for Lake County, the other being Trask’s wife. A thin man of sixty, his wispy black hair was streaked with gray. “No new addition to your household yet?”
“No. I’m beginning to think she’s really just putting on a lot of weight.”
“Probably best not to say that to Doctor James.”
“Probably best. They’re just inside the front door. I should be around for a while so let me know if anything strikes you before you go.”
“Will do.”
The window went up, and Trask stepped back, the van proceeding into the driveway. Trask blew out a breath and pulled his phone from his pocket. Lots to do. He called for help.
Canton had looked in the rearview mirror the whole way home, expecting the police to be after her. Her heart had been racing, and she found it hard to breathe. When she wasn’t looking for the police, her eyes had been on the speedometer. She had never driven over the speed limit in her entire life, but now she was finding that difficult. She wanted to get home, needed to get home.
When she finally got home, she immediately locked the door and then went to the pantry for the bottle of red wine she had opened the week before. She poured herself a full glass, drank it straight down, and then poured another. As she finished pouring her second glass, she saw the plate of cookies she had brought in with her and left on the counter. She put her wine glass down, nearly spilling it, and then picked up the tray, looking around the kitchen for someplace to hide it. Thinking of nothing better, she slid them in the vegetable crisper in the refrigerator.
Canton picked up her wine glass and sat at her small kitchen table. She was about to take a sip when she realized her hands were still in latex gloves and peeled them off. Drink in hand, she leaned back and released a large breath. And smiled. And then she giggled out loud. The giggling turned into nearly hysterical laughter bringing tears to her eyes, and she had to put her glass down so she wouldn’t spill. A few minutes later she was trying to catch her breath, wiping a tear from her eye.
“My, that was fun.”
The woman hadn’t considered how she would feel about killing someone after she had done it. It had taken all the courage she could summon just to go through with it. But now that she did think about it, about watching Johnson suffer and the life go out of her, about the excitement of racing home, about her heart pounding so hard she thought she would have a heart attack, well, she realized it had been so much more than just fun. There had been an excitement running through her, her body tingling. And something more. Purpose. Her life had purpose. It would no longer be the dreary struggle to get through each day. She wanted to do it again.
Three to go. Or four of them left. Tom, Fran, Helen and himself. Bishop thought about it on the drive home. Thought about the money. If he got rid of one more, he’d be getting twice as much from the estate. It would be enough to pay off his mortgage and have a little left over. But only a little. Wouldn’t last too long. If he could stop the trips to the casino it would make a big difference, but he didn’t think that was going to work.
Ken Bishop stared at the ceiling thinking about it after he returned home from killing his brother and wife. He’d put away a good portion of a bottle of scotch when he got home thinking that would help him sleep, but it hadn’t worked. Their faces looked at him whenever he closed his eyes, Lisa especially. It was too bad about her. She was nice. A nice person. Always good to him when they had been together. And cute. He was kind of attracted to her.
But it was too late for that now. Way too late. And it was also getting late for him. He’d spent far too much time killing Dan and Lisa. Three days. Should have moved on and come back to them, but it was too late for that now too. Need that money.
He’d filed claims on both of his mother’s life insurance policies. One he knew about, the other a pleasant surprise when they went through her things after she died. He called the companies to see how long it would be until they paid the claims, finding out it could be anywhere from a few weeks to two months. Told the claims people he talked to that he needed the money, and they promised to see that it would be released as soon as possible. Bishop made a note to give them a return call in a few days. The money in the mutual funds would also be an issue. All the children had been listed as beneficiaries. He’d sold the shares the week after his mother had passed, but now the money was being held in escrow until he supplied the proper addresses of his siblings that were still living and proof of death for the others. Time to figure out who would be next. He needed to get going.
Chapter 10
He knew they’d come. The media. All the local television stations had a crew out as well as a few internet sites. There were even three vans from the television stations in the Cities. Trask had barriers put up across Martin a quarter of a mile to the east. There were only four homes between the Bishop’s home and the barrier, and one past. They’d informed the neighbors of what they were doing and that they expected it could be a week before the barriers would come down.
The neighbor to the west of the Bishop home was not home at the time of the murders and had been gone the prior week. The neighbors to the east had expressed alarm over the news and concern for their own safety. None were especially friendly with the Bishops, most admitting to only saying ‘hi’ in passing, although they all mentioned receiving flyers from Dan Bishop’s insurance agency.
One woman was an exception. Gloria Dassel was sixty-eight, short and spry. She played bridge three nights a week at the senior center and attended church each Sunday. A widow of eight years, she had flower gardens on either side of her driveway in front of her small rambler and a vegetable garden near the road where it would receive more sun. The garden had chicken wire all around to keep out the deer and rabbits.
“A bear pushed the fence down one time but didn’t really do much damage,” said Dassel as she stood near the end of her driveway with Trask.
“You know it was a bear?” said Trask.
“You bet. Black bear. Got it on my trail cam.”
“You have a trail camera?”
“Two actually. One by the vegetable garden, and one by the house.”
“Really?”
“My husband had one he used for hunting. That’s the one by the house,” she said, pointing towards a big oak to the left. “I bought the one for the garden.”
“Huh.” Trask looked at the camera near the house and the one pointed at the vegetable garden. The one by the house, from where he stood, looked like it would cover the two flower gardens in front. The other camera was on the same side of the yard, out towards the road, also on a tree. Trask walked over to it, and the woman followed. He looked at the direction the camera was pointing and then stood next to it, leaning to get a feel for what it would capture.
“Does this record all the time?”
“It takes pictures when it detects movement. It’s high definition with night vision, and it’s waterproof. It does do time-lapse, but I haven’t had that on.”
“Wow. So, did it take any shots the last few days?”
“Two deer night before last. One was a big buck. Jack would have loved to get a crack at that baby.”
“Jack?”
“My late husband. Big hunter. Don’t think he ever went a season without an animal.”
“Would it be possible to get a look at any pictures the camera took over the last week?”
“Not a problem. Follow me.”
Dassel scurried down the driveway; Trask hustling to keep up. He followed her through the front door, through a small, tidy living room, and into the kitchen. There was a small nook immediately to the left, chair in front, Mac on the counter. Dassel sat down, plugged the SD card lying next to the Mac into the reader, her fingers moving rapidly across the keyboard.
Trask was certain it was considerably faster than he could type.
In a moment a file opened on the screen, and Dassel began clicking on images. T
here were only three from the last week. Trask leaned over behind Dassel and stared hard at the image of the two deer, but there had been nothing in the background. Same for the other images. He had been hoping it had picked up a vehicle and now stood, dejected.
“Thanks, Mrs. Dassel. I appreciate your time.”
He had started to turn away when she said, “There was a car.”
“A car?”
“Yes. I saw it the last two days. It went up the hill in the afternoon each day.”
“And did it come back down?”
“I assume so since I saw it two days.”
“Of course. What I –- "
“What you meant to say is did I see it come back by each day, and the answer is no.”
“I see.”
“Which in turn means that it came by after nine.”
“And you know that because?”
Dassel stood and walked into the living room. “I watch television in that chair each night after dinner until nine, when I go to bed. I have an excellent view of the end of the driveway and the road from there.”
Trask walked to the worn chair with the TV tray next to it facing the large screen television in the corner. The picture window in front of the house did indeed give her a good view of the road. Dassel’s home was one of the two with lights at the end of the driveway which spilled out onto Martin Drive.
“What did the car you saw look like, Mrs. Dassel?”
The woman looked at him with clear green eyes. “It was gray. A four-door sedan. Medium size. Not new but not old either. Couldn’t see how many were in it from here.”
“You think you could pick out what kind of car it was from a picture?”
“I believe so.”
Trask smiled. The woman had no glasses. “Do you wear contacts, Mrs. Dassel?”
“Nope. Never have. Vision is perfectly fine. Get it checked every year right after my dental check-up.”
Trask just stared, hoping he’d be half as sharp and in the kind of shape this woman was when he got to be her age.
“Will that be all, Sheriff? I need to get some bulbs planted.”
“Yes, mam. I will have an officer stop by to have you look at some images of cars later.”
“That’s silly. I’m sure they have more important things to do. I can search for the vehicle on my computer and send you a text with the image.”
Trask left his card with Dassel and walked back up the hill towards the Bishop home. The sun was up behind him, but it didn’t seem to be getting much warmer. A cool breeze from the northwest convinced him to zip his jacket tight to his neck. He ducked under the tape on the road and walked to where the remains of the shed sat on a dirt floor. The floor was smooth, oil-stained, and Trask could smell the gasoline that had likely turned to sludge in the rusted containers on the ground.
He turned his attention to the area where he had seen the tire tracks, turning on his flashlight. Bending at the knees, it was clear to see that the vehicle that had been here had done so multiple times. As his light passed over the tracks he picked up something else there, potato chip crumbs. He picked up a piece and squeezed it between his fingers feeling the crunch. These chips hadn’t been here long.
There were a good number of footprints by the tire tracks on one side of the car. They all appeared to be roughly the same size, but the prints were different. Different shoes but likely the same person he thought. Probably a man by the size of the footprints. He couldn’t see any prints on the other side. Only one person had been in and out of the vehicle. He followed the tire tracks backwards and then out to the road. The vehicle had driven in and then left three times. Could have been over the same day he supposed, someone leaves and then comes back, but he didn’t think so. Same tires. He could also see that at least two times the person had walked out to the road and back.
Someone had been watching the Bishops and then likely killed them. Watched their place for at least three days. Why did the killer, if it was the killer, need to watch? And why wait? Trask looked back at where the vehicle had been. A breeze moved through, and there was a sparkling movement near the shed. He walked back over to see a plastic bag, chip crumbs inside.
As Trask stepped out to the road again, a vehicle came up the hill. It stopped next to him, and the window rolled down.
“How’s it going, Sheriff?” said Krill.
“Where’s the kid?”
“I dropped him off with his friend, the one who gave him a ride last night.”
“Get a statement from the friend?”
“Yeah.” Krill looked at the evidence bag in Trask’s hand. “What have you got there?”
Trask held up the bag, looking at it. “Maybe the prints of a killer. Maybe DNA.”
“Hmm.”
He straightened up and looked down the Bishop driveway. The crime scene van was in the driveway, the ME gone.
“You think the kid and his friend had anything to do with this?” asked Trask.
“No,” said Krill.
“Me either.” Trask looked back down the hill. “Good crowd down there?”
“You’d make some money if you had a food truck,” said Krill.
“Yeah.” Trask said. “I’m going to give this to the crime scene guys and make sure they go over the area before I take one more walk through.”
Trask was about to say something more when his phone buzzed. He looked at the text, smiled, and showed it to Krill.
“This could be the killer’s car. I’ll send it to you. Get an alert out.”
“Yes, sir,” said Krill.
“We need to talk to friends, family, co-workers. Get to know these people. Who they were, if they had any enemies, and where they’ve been the last week.” Trask blew out a breath. “Lots to do.”
Chapter 11
Mary Leese was walking her dog, a friendly black lab named Harold. She carried a leash in her hand, but Harold was free to roam. He never went too far, and with the tick season past, Leese wasn’t too concerned about him picking up anything on his forays into the woods along the road. Harold was a good dog, always coming back to her side when she called. Leese carried the leash in case she came across someone else on a walk. Most people she encountered were neighbors, happy to give Harold a scratch behind the ears, but occasionally she’d meet someone she didn’t know and did not want that person to feel threatened. Some people just didn’t like dogs.
Leese walked past Helen Johnson’s lot, reaching the next driveway. Harold’s routine was to go into the woods surrounding each lot and pop back out on the road by the driveway of the house, walking with Leese a short distance and then heading into the woods on the next lot. Harold had not come back to the road when she passed Johnson’s house. Leese called for the dog, but he still did not appear. She backtracked to Johnson’s driveway where she caught sight of Harold, calling for him again. The dog looked up but then put its nose back to the ground. It was then that Leese noticed the body.
Trask sat at his desk late in the day making his lists. He was a list person. Had been since his mother made him do it when he forgot about some homework in middle school. The lists helped him organize and prioritize his work and the work he needed to assign. He also found they did something else. They helped him keep things in perspective and see progress. That was especially important to Dave. He had a tendency to let things overwhelm him. And when he felt that way, he became depressed. All focus was lost and he would drift, neglecting to take care of himself, becoming physically ill.
The lists he would make for this case would be especially important. He had only fourteen deputies to cover the almost three thousand square miles that made up Lake County. Only a few towns in the county had a police force, leaving the Sheriff’s Office as their law enforcement. Not a lot of manpower for something like a double murder investigation. And the other troubling thing was his staff’s experience. They’d dealt with a moose in a garden and a wolf after cats but murder was something foreign to most of them.
Tra
sk’s phone dinged, and he looked at it to see there was a text from Mrs. Dassel. After apologizing for taking so long to get back to him, she also apologized for not being able to identify the exact make and model of the car she had seen. Her opinion was that the car was likely a 2014 Ford Fusion, but it could also have been a Hyundai Sonata or Kia Optima. She included images of each.
There was a knock at Trask’s open door.
“Got it figured out yet?” said deputy Marcy Green.
“No,” said Trask.
“Any ideas?” she said.
“No,” said Trask.
“Got a kid yet?”
“Not that I know about.”
Green walked to Trask’s desk and sat. She was in her mid-thirties, average height, dark hair, and mischievous brown eyes. She had been in the field, but Trask had her working a desk, coordinating the workflow of the other deputies. He liked how efficient she was.
“So, you might?”
“I’m assuming Linda will call me when it’s time, although I’ve never done this before so I can’t be sure. Did you let your husband know?”
Green had two small boys. “I did for the first one, but he was so useless that I didn’t bother with the second. He found out when I brought the kid home from the hospital.”
“Hmm. So, what do you know?”
“The ME called. Said you should stop over when you can.”
“No details?”
“No,” she said. “And the lab got two prints off that sandwich bag you found. No match to anyone with a record.”
“That figures.”
“So, can I help you with this thing?”
“By ‘this thing’ I assume you mean the double murder.”
“That would be the thing.”
“Yeah.” Trask looked at his lists. “You can start by tracking down the siblings and parents of the Bishops.” Trask paused. “Start with Sam Bishop. Ask him for the contact information. Hopefully he has something, and it will let him know that we’ll be talking to his relatives in case he wants to break the news to them first. He’s staying with a friend. Krill should have the contact info for you.”