“No idea who the dirty cop is?”
Armstrong shook his head. “There are fifteen who were here then and are still here now.”
“You keep track?”
“Damn straight. As long as I work here and get that annual phone call, it’s the least I can do.”
“No hint at all over the years?”
“I read every report and each staff member’s annual review, and I have no idea.”
“Why haven’t you talked to the sheriff?” I asked.
“He’s one of the fifteen.”
My heart sped up at that.
“Gregory Trippen will be arriving here about seven o’clock tonight to help look for his brother,” I said.
Armstrong squared his shoulders. “For his sake, the further I stay away from him, the better. But keep me in the loop. Discreetly. This place has eyes and ears.”
A sensation, an electrical zing, shot through my body. Was there a set of evil eyes and ears, watching and listening, at the Winnebago County Sheriff’s Department?
12
I followed Smoke to his desk in the pool of detectives’ cubicles. We were the only ones in the area. Smoke sat down at his desk, plopped one elbow on the top, and lowered his head into his raised hand. He rested his thumb against his temple and rubbed his four fingers into his forehead.
I broke the silence, speaking softly. “Do you think we have a dirty cop working here?”
Smoke continued his head massage. “Armstrong’s convinced there is. We both know anything’s possible. I’ve been running every old-timer I can think of through my brain, and there’s not a one I would suspect. But I never had reason to before.”
“When Armstrong made the comment about the sheriff being one of the fifteen, I had a moment of panic. He’s the only man my mother has dated in almost thirty years of widowhood. What if it’s him?”
“Don’t jump to any conclusions. I don’t believe it is Denny Twardy.” He straightened his shoulders and dropped his hands on his desk. “Remember that training we had a few years ago? The morning session was on gangs, the afternoon was on cults?”
“Sure.”
“The thing that stuck in my brain about people in cults is they act in secret, keep what they are doing hidden. Occult means dark, hidden, clandestine. Only one reason for that—they are up to no good.”
Another electrical zing ran through me. “It’s about time for shift change. I’d better get to the squad room for any pass-on info from Hughes.”
“Call me when Trippen gets into town?”
“You want to be in on my meeting with him?”
Smoke nodded. “Not that I’m as paranoid as Armstrong, but we can interview him here at my desk. Detectives should all be home by then, unless something big goes down, that is.”
“Sounds good. Later then.”
My time on duty usually passed quickly, responding to calls, answering deputies’ questions about policies and procedures, or assisting them at scenes. But waiting for Gregory Trippen’s call sent everything into slow motion.
I thought about my encounters with the officers who had been with the department the longest. The seniority list hung on the squad room wall. When I got back to the office, I snatched down the list, made a copy, and returned it to its place. Most of the oldest employees had been promoted to administrative or other positions, but a few were still on the road, on patrol.
Sheriff Twardy, Deputy Scofield, Lieutenant Randolph, Sergeant Miller, Captain Brinkmann, Deputy Edberg, Detective Conley, Sergeant Winston, Bailiff Jansen, Deputy Brooks, Deputy Maple, Bailiff Olgilvey, Detective Harrison, Chief Deputy Kenner, Lieutenant Armstrong. Three were females. Did that eliminate them from the pool of suspects?
My head was swimming with images: cases I’d worked with the officers, conversations I’d had, training experiences, reprimands I’d gotten as a rookie deputy, and the occasional time I’d gotten called on the carpet by admin for a decision I’d made as a sergeant. I trusted each one of them professionally.
Personally? I’d been to retirement parties or other department events with most of them. One went to my church. Two had children I went to school with. I’d been to their homes as a teenager and remembered nothing sinister about either of them.
My ringing cell phone startled me. It was a little after six. Trippen’s number. “Sergeant Aleckson.”
“Hi, it’s Greg Trippen. We just got into town—made better time than I thought. I’m dropping my friend off at the Oak Lea Motel. Are you able to meet me somewhere?”
“Sure. Can you find your way to the county courthouse?”
“I should be able to. The town has grown a lot in twenty years. The courthouse is still by Bison Lake?”
“It is. Come to the south side, the lake side, of the building. You’ll see the outside entrance to the sheriff’s department. I’ll meet you there.”
I phoned Smoke, who was still working at his desk. “Are you free?”
“No, but I’m cheap.”
I smiled and rolled my eyes. “That’s true. Trippen is on his way here. I’m going to meet him at the south entrance.”
“I’ll be right there.”
I stepped outside to wait. The early evening air was cool and fresh. I drew in a few cleansing breaths. A green Forester pulled into the parking lot, and a husky man of medium height climbed out and stretched, then shook his arms and legs. It had likely been some time since his last stop. He spotted me when he looked up. I had the advantage of knowing what Gregory looked like and waved. He nodded and climbed the steps to meet me. We shook hands.
“Before we go inside, are you carrying any weapons of any kind?” I asked.
“I got a multi-tool. It’s got a small jackknife on it.”
“Do you mind handing it over? I’ll give it back when you leave.”
He shrugged, reached in his pocket, withdrew the tool, and gave it to me.
“Thanks. For safety’s sake, I need to do a quick pat-down, unless you’d rather have a male officer do it.”
“It’s all right.”
I pat searched him and found nothing but his wallet.
Smoke opened the door as I lifted my entry card to the scanner. “Sorry, detained by a phone call.”
Gregory Trippen took a step back.
“No problem,” I assured him.
Smoke extended his arm. “Detective Dawes.”
Trippen accepted his offer and shook his hand. He lifted his eyes to the mounted security camera in the entrance, then focused on Smoke’s back when Smoke turned around and headed into the office. He led the way to his desk.
Smoke gestured for Gregory to take a seat, but he remained standing, looking around the vast space, divided into smaller office areas for each investigator. “How do I know I’m safe here?”
“You’re safe. You have my word. It’s after office hours, and there is no one on duty who was with the department twenty years ago.”
Trippen’s agitation was evident. “Is there somewhere more private we can go? You know, soundproof, no windows?”
Smoke took the extra step whenever possible to ensure comfort for victims and families of victims. He thought before answering. “Sure. There’s a small meeting room in the courthouse. We’ll head there.”
Smoke once again led the way with Trippen close behind, looking right and left obsessively as we headed down one hallway, then the next. I brought up the rear. Meeting Room C wasn’t soundproof, but there was no one around to hear us.
We all sat down. Gregory studied his folded hands. “Do you know anything about those people, what they do, the Satan worshippers?”
Smoke stretched his arms. “I’ve had a few training courses in my career.”
“I took a course two years ago on gangs and cults,” I said.
“How about with the cult members, the Satan worshippers themselves?”
I shook my head, and Smoke said, “I haven’t had any direct dealings with them.”
“You have, you just didn
’t know it because they don’t tell you who they are. You’ve probably investigated crimes they’ve committed.”
“Meaning?”
“I don’t know who’s all in the local coven now—and I’m sure it’s still active—but when I was a kid there was a doctor. My doctor, the one my mother took us to. She didn’t know his connection to them. At that time there was an undertaker. He was one of the ones who killed my father, and the same one who handled his funeral. The drugstore owner was another. And others from Wellspring. I’d see them around town but didn’t know their names.
“During the rituals they wore capes with hoods and they looked different, especially in the dark, but I knew who they were. When they were by the fire, performing the rituals, their faces were distorted, but their voices always gave their identities away to me. I know a deputy with the sheriff’s department was there one night, maybe more than one night, but I don’t know who he was.”
Smoke’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know he was a deputy?”
“Because that night we were at the altar and I was close enough to hear the undertaker say something like, ‘Trusted deputy, you are doing well, watching carefully for any reports at the sheriff’s department that might be incriminating to our coven.’ The deputy said, ‘Yes, High Priest, I am very vigilant.’ I wasn’t sure what incriminating and vigilant meant, but I had close to a photographic memory when I was a kid and looked up the words in the dictionary at school the next day.”
“Photographic memory. Comes in pretty handy, huh?”
“It’s not the same as it was when I was young. And it was good, like for school, but there’s a lot of other stuff I’d like to forget.”
Smoke nodded. “Tell me about the deputy.”
“He was turned so his hood covered most of his profile. His voice was low, like a smoker’s. I was just a kid and didn’t think about people’s ages then. Every adult was old to me. Hearing his voice in my mind now, I’d say he was in his late thirties, early forties, but that’s only a guess.”
If it were somehow possible to hear the recording of that voice from Trippen’s memory, it might have provided a piece of the puzzle.
“Greg, you told Sergeant Aleckson your brother is planning to sacrifice himself on Satan’s altar. Why?”
“Jeff lost his ability to cope a long time ago. I guess he finally lost all hope of fighting his demons. They destroyed his life, his basic self. It should have happened to me too. I don’t know why it didn’t. I hate to use this phrase, but for Jeff it must be, if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.”
“By killing himself?”
He nodded. “They are evil, evil people. They control by terror, do horrible things to you, make you do horrible things you can’t talk about.”
“What kinds of things?”
“I can’t get into that right now. I haven’t slept for two nights, and if I start dredging it all up, I won’t sleep tonight either. I’m here to find Jeff. I can tell you a year’s worth of my personal experiences, and I’d love to expose them, but they have been at it for centuries and are very, very good at keeping their crimes well hidden. Like most victims of SRA, I’ve kept my mouth shut about it.”
“What’s SRA?” I asked.
“Satanic ritual abuse.” He paused. “They marked me so I wouldn’t forget.”
“How?” Smoke asked.
“I’ll show you.”
Gregory shifted forward. His belly covered his belt and settled on his thighs. He lifted his leg partway, then reached down, grabbed the bottom of his pant leg, and pulled his foot across his knee. He untied his shoe, dropped it to the floor, and pulled off a white sock that had brown leather insole stains on the bottom. He turned his foot upward as best he could, revealing his sole and its mark.
“It’s an upside down cross. They burned one into each of my feet on my tenth birthday.”
Smoke coughed. A cold wave, followed by a hot wave, washed over me. I winced involuntarily and hoped Trippen didn’t notice. Neither of us was a parent, but we both had great difficulty dealing with violence against children.
Smoke kept his eyes leveled on Trippen. “Why did they do that?”
“So I would walk on Jesus’s cross every day of my life.”
Smoke and I escorted Gregory Trippen out of the building. When we passed by the squad room, two deputies looked up from their report writing and eyed our makeshift parade. When we reached Trippen’s car, he turned to face us.
“Thanks, both of you. I think I’ll be able to sleep tonight, now that I’m here, and knowing you’re on the watch for Jeff.”
I pulled Trippen’s multi-tool out of my pocket and returned it to him. “What are your plans for tomorrow?”
He shrugged.
Smoke took over. “We should get together, talk some more when you’re up to it. Never say never about nailing the guys that did that to you and your brother.”
His expression revealed a glimmer of hope before it turned wary. “Okay if I call when I wake up?”
“Of course. Here’s my card.” Smoke handed it to him.
I withdrew a card from my breast pocket and gave it to him. “And here’s mine, with more contact information.”
Gregory took them, nodded, and climbed in his car. As he drove away, Smoke said, “I’m glad the sheriff will be back in the office tomorrow. A lot has gone down since yesterday.”
“That’s for sure. And it’s been strange having him gone for a whole week.”
“The county administrator has been after him for how many years to use up some of his vacation days. He accumulated the max long ago, and he’s just losing what he could acquire. After his wife died what, three years ago, I don’t think he’s taken more than a day off here or there.”
I smiled. “At least he and my mother have that in common. Two workaholics. Mom said they were going to paint her shop over the weekend. Some vacation, huh?”
Smoke grinned. “Yeah. Oh, I meant to tell you, but got sidetracked. I got a call from my dog-breeder buddy. Your puppy will be weaned and ready to go in two weeks. If you still have your heart set on an English setter?”
“I do. I loved my grandpa’s setters when I was a kid.”
“You said you wanted a dog who likes to go on long runs, and you’re about to get your wish.”
“I just hope I can keep her happy and content in between runs. I read they need regular, vigorous exercise. I don’t remember my grandpa doing anything special. His dogs pretty much ran around the farm and seemed fine.”
“You’ve got acres around you. She’ll be fine. Sure you don’t want a male? They’re bigger.”
“I fell in love with Queenie.”
“Queenie?”
“I sort of copied you. You have Rex. King. I thought Queenie was kind of cute.”
“A watchdog is not supposed to have a cute name.” He feigned annoyance.
“All right. She’ll have a regal name. Queen. I’ll call her Queenie when there are no bad guys around.”
Smoke chuckled melodiously.
“Winnebago County, Six oh eight?” Robin’s voice on the police radio interrupted.
I depressed the call button. “Go ahead.”
“Report of a two vehicle crash with injuries on Highway Fifty-five and Albert Avenue.”
I ran to my squad as I said, “Ten-four. En route from the station.” I yelled over my shoulder at Smoke, “Meet you at the sheriff’s office at oh-eight hundred tomorrow?”
“Copy that.”
13: The Coven
Noris drove his squad car to a county park and stopped. He got out and walked a short distance away. He wasn’t supposed to leave his car without letting Communications know and needed to stay close in case he got a call for service. He pulled out his personal cell phone and dialed Cyril’s number. No answer by the third ring. Leave a message, or not?
Leave a message. “A business question,” was all he said. It was enough to alert Cyril something had happened that he should be aware of.
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br /> Their phone conversations were brief and cryptic, never enough to reveal much about their activities in the event they were picked up on a two-way radio or a baby monitor. That happened more than people thought. Cell phones were sophisticated radios, operating on over a thousand channels. Easy to intercept. But people continued to utter private words into them all the time.
Noris waited impatiently by his squad car for ten minutes for a return call, then climbed in behind the wheel and went back out on patrol. An hour passed before Cyril phoned him back. They did not exchange greetings or disclose names.
“First location, your convenience,” he said and hung up.
Noris was proud of his position in the coven, but there were times he felt Cyril was taking advantage of him. He had played interception for the coven at the sheriff’s department time after time. He was the one taking the personal risk.
He did not like going to the mortuary in uniform, but that was what Cyril was telling him to do. Stop by sometime during business hours. He knew people wouldn’t think a thing of seeing a squad car in the mortuary lot. Cops were the escorts for funeral processions in Winnebago County, and there were other official reasons to be there.
But if another deputy or detective or someone in administration happened by, that was something else. They would wonder what department business Noris had there and might bring it up, start asking questions. Cyril and Noris had agreed their cover was that Noris had stopped in during his break as a favor for his aunt. That she had asked him to pick up information on all the services the business provided.
Noris was the youngest in the coven’s leadership circle and would be appointed High Priest when Cyril died or stepped aside as the leader. Roman didn’t seem interested in the position. And Dieter preferred being Cyril’s left-hand man. Of course, that might change if Cyril was out of the picture.
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