by C. E. Nelson
“Are you the father?” she asked as she opened the door for him.
“Yeah. Dave Trask. My wife is Linda James.”
The nurse, a petite blonde, said, “How is Doctor James doing?”
“They’re flying her to Abbott.”
She put her hand on Trask’s bicep. “Best place in the world for her. Great doctors.”
Trask didn’t know what to say. “Yeah.”
It seemed like she wanted to say something more but instead had him put on a gown and sterilize his hands. “Wait here. I’ll bring her out to you.”
She had a scrunched-up face with thin black hair. The nurse picked her up and held her out to Trask, settling her in his folded arms. Tears rolled down his cheeks and his nose ran, and he tried to make them stop but he couldn’t.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she? Just like Doctor James,” said the nurse.
Trask could only stare with blurry eyes at the tiny life in his arms, his daughter. The nurse handed Trask a tissue and then left them alone. Trask sat. He brushed his fingertip across her wrinkled forehead and across her cheek. The skin was so soft, and she seemed so fragile. The baby’s mouth opened in a small circle like she was going to blow a bubble and then closed again. Even through his gown and jacket, he could feel her warmth. Trask knew he had entered another world, another life, never to return to the one before he walked in the room.
His attention was drawn momentarily to a sound, a loud humming. The helicopter. Linda. Trask stood, and the nurse saw them through the window in the door for the nursery. He handed his daughter back to her, and she put her back in the bassinet.
“Do you have a name yet?”
“Uh, a couple. We need to decide, don’t we?” said Trask.
The nurse smiled. “No hurry, Mr. Trask. We’ll keep her right here for you until you and Doctor James come to pick her up.”
Trask watched her open the door to the nursery, holding it with her hip as she backed in pulling the cart behind. The door closed. Trask ran for his truck.
Chapter 45
Krill and Berger sat in Berger’s car on the corner of 41st and 6th. Berger had cars blocking off 6th on Haines and 42nd as well as the alley. They had cleared the neighbors from the houses on either side of Bishop’s, but not without issue. Mrs. Vandeberg, a widow of eighty who lived on the north side of Bishop, had been a problem. Berger and Krill had gone to the door, telling the woman who they were, showing their identification. She did not believe them. She told them real policemen wore uniforms and that they needed to leave right away, or she would call the police. Her toy poodle was leaning against the storm door, yapping constantly, as Berger tried to assure her that they were police officers. It did no good. Krill was afraid the barking dog would alert Bishop and so opted to back off. They sent in two uniforms to get the woman out of the house, but even then, it was difficult. She did not want to leave her home, demanding to see the officers’ supervisor. The officers called Berger, who returned to the house. When Berger came back on the step, the dog barked again.
“Mrs. Vandeberg,” he said. “You need to leave immediately. You and your dog could be in great danger.”
Vandeberg looked down at her dog and picked it up. “My dog?”
“Yes. We are searching the area for a criminal who hates dogs and their owners.”
“Oh my. Well, in that case...”
Berger’s partner, Dennis Olson, climbed in the back seat of Berger’s car. Olson was ten years older than Berger, lean, with hound dog ears and a matching nose. He was a smoker, and the car immediately filled with the odor of tobacco.
“There’s a light on in the rear of the house. I’m guessing it’s probably the kitchen since most of the places around here are about the same vintage. I’ve got Shields watching. He’ll call if it goes out, or he sees anyone. Bishop’s car is in the garage. We snaked a camera in below the garage door just to be sure it was his. None of the neighbors noticed him coming or going today, so he might be in there, or he might not.”
Krill looked at his watch. “It’s almost eleven. I think we got to do this now, or he could be suspicious if it gets later.”
Berger looked into the back seat. “The back of the house is covered?”
“Yup. Shields and Dawson, plus two more uniforms in the alley,” said Olson.
Berger looked at Krill. “OK. Let’s do this.”
Before they could step out of the car, they heard it. A helicopter. All three men got out of the car and looked up. A news helicopter. And it had a spotlight.
“Shit!” yelled Krill. “Can you get that out of here?”
There was a squad car blocking the entrance to Timber Lane. Pearson stopped and rolled down his window as an officer approached.
“This road is closed temporarily, sir.”
“I’m Jeff Pearson. Agent Farmer is expecting me.”
“One moment.”
The officer went back to his car, returning shortly after. “OK, I’m going to move my car and you can go through. Agent Farmer will meet you about half a mile down.”
The squad pulled out onto County Road G, and Pearson turned in. Within two blocks he was passing law enforcement vehicles parked on the left side of the road. He picked out vehicles from the county, Superior Police, Wisconsin Highway Patrol, and the BCA. A vehicle was parked across the road as he approached the half mile mark. Groups of two or three were leaning on vehicles nearby, some raising their hands to shield their eyes from the light, watching as Pearson pulled to a stop. Some were in casual clothes, some in uniform, some in camo, some in full body armor. Farmer was immediately at Pearson’s door.
“Kill your engine and your lights please, Mr. Pearson, and come with me.”
Pearson climbed down and followed Farmer around the squad blocking the road. Farmer was wearing black slacks, a black jacket with the BCA logo in yellow on the back, and a black hat, also with the BCA logo. Five yards past the squad was a black tent Pearson hadn’t noticed until they were almost on top of it. Farmer pulled open the flap, the light inside spilling out, Pearson ducking under.
Inside, Pearson now had a feel for the size of the tent, guessing it was a wide as the road and easily as long as it was wide. Four tables were set up along the walls, one on each side and two spanning the back. Men sat at monitors on the tables on the back wall, and at the table on his left. The table on his right held maps and other papers. In the center of the room was an LED light on a tripod and stand. Cords ran from the light and the tables to a large battery cart immediately to the right of the doorway. There was a large heater to his left.
As they entered a man in dark brown slacks and a jacket of the same color turned from the table on their right and walked over.
“Mr. Pearson, this is Douglas County Sheriff Curt Goodin.”
Goodin was a tall man with a large frame. His head was bald except for the stubble of gray hair around the sides and back of his head. He had a bulbous red drinker’s nose with dark eyes, deep furrows across his brow. He had been an imposing figure at one time but now his posture was bent, his hard life dragging him down. Pearson and Goodin shook hands.
“I see you have your laptop,” said Farmer nodding at the case in Pearson’s hand. “Why don’t you put it on the table over here, and we’ll have a look?”
Farmer nodded toward the table with the maps, and the three men moved in unison that way. Pearson opened the laptop and powered it on. He clicked an icon on his home screen.
“OK. This is where the ring is, and Danny hopefully,” said Pearson, pointing to a red dot on a gridded map.
“How accurate is this? Do you know?” said Goodin.
“Supposedly it is good to within a foot. I’ve never really tried it before this.”
“Can you zoom in?” said Farmer.
Pearson moved his cursor over the ‘plus’ sign in the map's corner and clicked on it. He continued to do it, adjusting the map, so the dot was at the center of the screen.
“Stop there,” said Fa
rmer as the map was filled with an outline of the house. “Has the icon been moving?”
“It seems like it is in the same place as when I talked to you earlier,” said Pearson.
Farmer and Goodin bent over, watching the icon for a minute longer before standing straight.
“It would be good if we had some movement,” said Farmer. “It would help us to have at least some confidence that the ring is still with Carlisle.”
“She said she’d never take it off,” said Pearson.
Farmer looked up at him. “At least not of her own volition.”
Pearson looked around the tent. “Who are all of these people?”
Farmer glanced at Goodin a moment and then to the people in the tent. “Here’s the plan. We are setting up a perimeter around the house. Some of the officers setting up the perimeter are carrying cameras and telescopic microphones with them. The people you see here are monitoring the transmissions. We’re not completely set up yet. It will take a while longer.”
“How long will that take?”
“I expect about an hour.”
“An hour? She could be dead by then.”
“And she might not even be in there. But if she is, we want to give her the greatest chance of survival,” said Farmer. “That means we make sure we have the place fully monitored and make sure we are ready when, whoever it is who has Carlisle in there, makes a move. Or we hear or see something that triggers us to move.”
Pearson didn’t like it. Didn’t want to wait. Danny was in there and she was in trouble. “Do you have any idea who may have abducted her?”
“Her focus recently has been the Hillside murder and possible drug connection. The house belongs to the woman who was murdered at Hillside, Laura Maples. Recently two of her siblings have been murdered. If I had to bet, I’d say it was something to do with that.”
Pearson couldn’t see how the waiting would improve the chances of retrieving Danny safely. He probably couldn’t go in alone now without being shot or causing a commotion that would put Danny in even more danger. But he needed to do something. As he was considering his options, the flap of the tent lifted, most inside turning to see a man in full camo with face paint walk in.
“What do you know, Lieske?” said Farmer as he walked up to the man.
“Two vehicles in front, sir. Here are the plate numbers,” he said as he handed Farmer a small slip of paper. “There is one light on in the center of the house on the main level. A light came on in an upstairs room when I was there but didn’t stay on long.”
“Good work. Give this to Rachel and have here run the plates.” Farmer turned back to Pearson as Lieske walked across to a woman in front of one of the monitors. “We should know more about who is there in a few minutes.”
More waiting. Pearson didn’t like it. Watched the red dot and paced. Farmer walked back to him.
“Mr. Pearson.”
“Jeff, please.”
All right. Jeff, if you are OK with it, I’d like your help. You are more familiar with this homing program you have than anyone, so I’d like you to be the eyes on it. Keep the area focused. We want to know if the ring moves, even a few feet.”
“I can do that, but do you really think this is the best way to get Danny back alive?”
“I do.”
Pearson looked at Farmer. Carlisle had told him about her boss. About how he was steady, calm, and had a level head. How he had been good to her on more than one occasion. And how he was very good at his job. Pearson turned away, pulled a folding chair up to the table with his laptop, and connected the power cord, looking for a place to plug it in.
“Sir.” It was the woman Farmer had called Rachel. Farmer walked over and leaned down, looking over her shoulder at the computer screen. He said something Pearson couldn’t hear and then walked over to him.
“The vehicles belong to James and Janet Maples, the children of Laura Maples. No priors on either one. James is a junior executive at a company in Superior, Janet a college student who works at the Duluth library. We’re digging deeper, but nothing jumps out about them at the moment.”
Pearson turned away and looked at the red dot. Farmer gave him updates as the cameras and microphones came on-line. Law enforcement wandered in and out of the tent, most delivering coffee or to stand by the heater. The caffeine was losing its effect and Pearson was growing tired. Farmer offered to have someone spell him but Pearson felt like he needed to be doing something and refused.
Half an hour later, Farmer returned, calling over Goodin. The search of Janet Maples’ apartment had turned up nothing, but someone had found a secret storeroom with a large supply of prescription drugs at James Maples’ house. They also discovered a computer, and they were working to unlock it.
“I’d say Carlisle was right about the drug thefts. The Maples must have become nervous she was getting too close to them.”
Farmer was excited, but Person could not see how this was helping. He turned back to his screen, looking at the time. An hour until dawn in the longest night Pearson could remember. He picked up the coffee cup on the table, raised it to his lips, and then stopped. The red dot had moved.
Chapter 46
Dave’s identical twin brother Don, lead Agent for the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension (BCA), and his girlfriend Melanie Jenkins, Lieutenant with the Stillwater Police Department, were waiting for him at Abbott. Dave had debated about calling Don, not sure he could handle Don’s surly personality, but needed someone to talk to on the drive south. Jenkins rushed up to Dave giving him a hug. She stepped back, and Don did something he had never done before. He hugged his brother. Dave braced for the worst.
“They’re still operating on her, brother,” said Don. “She’s on the fifth floor.”
Jenkins took Dave by the arm as his brother led the way to the elevators. The halls closed in on Dave as they walked, numbness building inside of him again. They were silent as the elevator rose. Don stepped into the hallway, looked both ways to get his bearings, and went to the right. He walked to a small alcove with chairs and a couch and tables strewn with magazines.
“This is as far as we go. They will come out and talk to us when they know something.”
Don sat on the green fabric couch, Jenkins sitting next to him, putting her hand on his thigh. Dave sat in a chair matching the couch to the right of Don. They talked about his trip from Two Harbors before Don said, “So, I have a niece?”
Dave had completely let his daughter slip his mind. A tight, sad grin formed on his face. “She’s beautiful. Thank God she looks nothing like you.”
“Congratulations Dave,” said Jenkins. “Have you named her?”
“Not yet. We picked out a couple of names but decided we’d wait to decide until we saw her.”
“I thought you’d be all settled on Donna?”
Don was smiling, waiting for a comment back, but Dave had drifted away. What if there was no Linda to help him decide the name? To help him raise their daughter?
Jenkins and Don looked at each other as Dave stared at the floor in front of his feet. Jenkins got up and walked over to Dave, stooping to hug him. “She’ll be OK, Dave. She’s strong.”
He looked in her eyes, wanting to ask how she knew, tears sliding down his face.
Don watched his brother cry as Jenkins held him. The only time he could ever remember seeing Dave cry was at their parents’ funeral. Their parents had been killed as revenge for a drug bust Don had conducted, dying in a fire in their home. Don had not cried at the funeral, hatred the only emotion he could feel that day. But now, as he watched his brother, he was afraid he would join in. He stood, saying he would get some coffee, and walked away.
Additional trips for coffee and to the vending machines ensued as they waited, all growing more tired, jumping up whenever someone would walk by. Jenkins was leaning on Don’s shoulder, eyes closed, when a doctor in scrubs stood in front of them.
“Mr. Trask?”
Bishop was dozing in his c
hair. He’d had some frozen lasagna for dinner and then a few more whiskeys. As he drank he relaxed, thinking about the money. It was all his now. Might take a few days, but he could hold off the bank; he was sure of it. His house and car paid off. And then maybe a vacation this winter? Get away from the God-damned cold and go someplace warm. He’d gone to Mexico with his wife, but it had been years. Twenty at least. That might be nice. An all-inclusive with all he could drink. Take in a few of the bikinis around the pools. Maybe find one or two who wanted to have a little fun? That would be nice.
Bishop had just drifted off, not in a deep sleep yet, and the sound of the chopper had him on his feet.
“What the hell?”
The thing was close, really close, like it was trying to land in his yard or something. He pushed himself up, nearly knocking over the table by his chair as he went to the curtain over his front window.
“What the hell?”
His whole front yard was lit up like some kind of night game at the Twins stadium. He looked into the sky, trying to see the source of the light, but couldn’t make out where it was coming from. Bishop dropped the curtain, moving toward the front door so he could go outside for a better look, when it hit him.
“Cops.”
Had to be. It was too bright in the front yard for him to see anything so he went to the kitchen window, peeking between the curtains into the back yard. He didn’t see anything at first but then there was a reflection by the corner of the garage. The reflection was low, only a foot or two above the ground, but then it rose. Someone with a cell phone watching. He guessed there were others, but he didn’t wait, closing the curtain and plopping down at his kitchen table.
“Fuck.”
The sound of the helicopter faded, and he could tell through the spaces around the curtains on the window, that the light was gone too. He was tempted now to go and look in the front yard but figured it would do little good. They were here. So, what to do?