“You see, demons seek to destroy people. On the other hand, alternate personalities help people cope with realities they cannot face. It took me a long time—and a lot of that was on my knees in prayer—to understand the difference. The alternates hold painful memories and need love, compassion, understanding, and acceptance to be healed. It’s a very long process.”
“You and Doctor Fischer impress me with your commitment to being there for the long haul. I wish I had that kind of patience.”
Pastor Trondholm smiled. “I was not always the most patient of God’s creatures, but after He called me into this work, He gave me the tools I needed. It started with a young woman who came to me at the end of her rope. She had consulted psychologists, ones her parents chose. She had been hospitalized for depression. She was on any number of medications.
“She said they had been following and tormenting her for two years, and she could no longer cope. She was going to end her own life. She came to me asking me to bless her before she did that, because she did not want to go to hell and spend eternity with the people who had made her life on earth a living hell.”
“What did you do?” I said.
“I told her I would not let her kill herself. That’s when one of her alternates came out and told me the evil that had been done to her at the hands of her parents. They were leaders in a satanic cult. At first I thought the poor woman was completely insane, suddenly taking on a different look and talking in a more confident voice. I had never seen anything like it. Surely, I thought, she is possessed by a demon. But the more she talked, the more God opened my mind and my heart to the concept that a demon would not be saying the things she was saying.
“Thankfully, her story had a happy ending, eventually. And then other people with DID seemed to come out of the woodwork. My main responsibility is this congregation, but I spend a great deal of time working with abuse survivors.” He raised his hand and shook his finger. “And not without consequence. There have been a number of threats over the years.”
“What kind of threats?”
“I must stop, or else.”
I smiled. “But you didn’t.” Like Dr. Fischer didn’t.
“No. My ministry is to bring people to the knowledge of salvation through Jesus Christ. But my theme, if you will, is from Ephesians, chapter six: ‘Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil's schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world, and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground . . .
“‘In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the saints.’
“So I put on the full armor of God and keep praying.”
I drove away contemplating the work Pastor Trondholm, Dr. Fischer, and all the others like them were doing. The kind of work I had had little knowledge of mere weeks before.
Sheriff Twardy phoned me as I pulled into a parking spot by my mother’s dress and accessory shop. “Hi, Sheriff.”
“Corky, we came up with a plan. It’s been a few years since our longtime deputies have had their photos updated on their ID badges. The chief deputy sent out a memo asking every deputy with photos older than two years to stop by his office in the next three days—that’ll cover everyone on days off—to have their picture taken for new badges. We’re installing a camera in the ceiling sprinkler, and we’ll have everyone on tape. Including me.”
“That’s pretty clever. As long as no one notices.” I looked at my mother’s colorful window display.
“Do you study the sprinklers in our offices?” he said.
“Well no—”
“I doubt if anyone else does either. And it’d be very difficult to see. Oh, before I forget, we’ve talked to most of the people who were at your party. So far, no one saw anything, or knows who may have keyed your car.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“No. Expected as much. And we’re still waiting to hear about the latent prints we sent to the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension last week. We’ll see if that turns anything up.”
“Thanks, Sheriff. I just stopped by my mom’s shop. Want me to ask her what she wants for her birthday?”
“As long as my name is not mentioned.”
I laughed. “I’ll just say ‘hi’ from you.”
“Okay.”
When I got out of my GTO and shut the door, my eyes were again drawn to the damage. I pushed the shop door open, and the little “ding” announced my arrival. Mother was straightening shirts on a rack.
Her face lit up in surprise. “Corinne. What are you doing here?”
“Day off. Sara got a cute top here, so I thought I’d visit you and shop at the same time.”
Mother hugged me. “There are some bright, fun colors for spring. Look around.” She pulled away and looked at me. “How is everything?”
“Okay.” I filled her in on the details of Alvie Eisner’s service, and we talked about that, and Rebecca, as I looked at nearly every clothing item in the store. I selected two tops, a pair of shorts, and some earrings.
“Aren’t you going to try them on?” she asked when I laid them on the counter and handed over my bank card. “Put that away.”
“They’ll fit fine.” I put my card in her hand. “Take this. You need to at least cover your costs.” She rang up the purchases with an overly generous discount.
“I’m going to head out to the body shop on Thirty-five to get an estimate on my car,” I said.
“I’m glad. You’ve seemed a little down since it happened.”
I didn’t correct her perception of why I had been under par. It wasn’t the car. It was all the things at work I wanted answers for, the crimes I wanted solved.
“And what are your plans for the rest of your day?” She put my things in a bag and set it on the counter.
“I’ll stop by to see Gramps. Maybe I’ll pick up something at the deli for his supper, if that’s okay.”
“That would be nice, dear. I was having trouble thinking of what to fix.”
“I’ll get enough for all of us.”
She smiled. “Thanks. It’d be a relief for me to have the evening off.”
Mom didn’t complain, but keeping tabs on Gramps and managing all the other things in her life was wearing on her.
“And I’ll tuck him safely in bed.”
She stepped around the counter and hugged me again. “Thank you, dear. The whole night off. I may have to rent a movie, or read a book.”
“Do you think you can sit still long enough to do either one?” I teased.
“I’m slowing down. I’ll be fifty this year, you know.”
“You’ll be fifty, but you are not slowing down.”
Stan Hemsley at Stan’s Body Works gave me a written estimate to turn into my insurance company. They had asked that I get at least two estimates, but Stan was the best and the cheapest. If the company insisted I get another, I would. Stan had a few jobs ahead of mine, and we set an appointment for the following week.
It was late afternoon when I finished my other errands and stopped by Charlie’s Grocery Store for whatever looked good in their deli. I’d decided on a broasted chicken, potato wedges, and coleslaw when a voice behind me said, “Do they have good chicken here?”
I whipped around. It was Eric Stueman, looking downright dapper in his suit and tie. “Oh, hi. Um, Eric. They have very good chicken. It’s one of my regular staples. I’m not much of a cook, and I’m bringing supper to my Gramps.”
“Well good.” He waited while the deli attendant asked if I wanted an
ything else, and handed me the food when I said I didn’t.
I turned back to Eric. “All recovered from Saturday’s excursion?”
“That was the oddest team-building exercise I’ve ever been a part of. But I’m glad we were together and finally had a chance to talk.”
I smiled. “Well, I better get going before the food gets cold.”
His hand on my arm stopped me. “Corinne, is it okay if I call you sometime, outside of work? You mentioned not being in a relationship during our little personal-facts session.”
I managed to hold a poker face. “Um, sure.” There was a growing line of customers behind us. “See you.”
“’Bye, Corinne.”
Spending the evening with Gramps was exactly what I needed. He and Grandpa Aleckson were my surrogate fathers. Gramps had been my faithful fishing buddy for years, and I wondered if we would make the walleye fishing opener in a few weeks. I doubted I could get him in and out of the boat by myself.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he said as he fumbled with the television remote. He hit the off button, and the room noise went from blaring loud to calming quiet in a split second.
I bent over and gave him a kiss. “Hi, Gramps. You ready to eat?”
“It smells good. I reckon I could eat something.” He leaned forward and reached for the TV tray by the side of his chair, then slid it into place while I went into the kitchen to dish up our plates.
I returned and set his plate in front of him and mine on another TV tray. I turned my chair to face Gramps, settled in, and pulled the tray in close.
“How was your day, Gramps?”
“Fine, fine. Your grandma and grandpa came by, and we played cards for quite a while. I read some and watched a little TV. And then my favorite granddaughter came with supper.”
I reached over and gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “Your only granddaughter. Sounds like you had a good day. You know what? It is so nice out, Gramps, after we finish eating let’s take a little walk. It’ll strengthen our legs and make it easier to get in and out of the boat this summer.”
“Corky, I see you running down our road most every morning. You don’t fool me. You’re hoping to get these old legs of mine working again. All right then.” He took a last bite and set his tray aside. He rocked forward a few times and propelled himself to a standing position on the third try.
I took his hand in mine, and we made it out the door eventually. It was a slow process, strolling down his driveway. I willed myself to relax, to clear all the clutter from my mind and enjoy the time with Gramps. Each step we took was good for his bones, muscles, and tendons.
As we neared Brandt Avenue, I noticed a car slow to a crawl as it passed my house. A black BMW. It was too far away to read the license plate or identify the driver, but I could see it was a male who sat tall in his seat. It was probably my imagination, but it seemed when the driver spotted us, he decided to turn around rather than drive past us. He stopped the Beemer, backed into my driveway, and went back the direction he had come from at a fairly fast clip.
There was little traffic on our rural road, and it struck me as strange. My nearest neighbor was a half mile away. I knew of no one in the area who owned a BMW. If the driver was lost, why wouldn’t he continue to the main county road instead of returning to the back roads? Then again, he might have been at a friend’s house, realized he had forgotten something, and went back to retrieve it.
“Everything okay?” Gramps asked.
“Yes. Sorry, I was thinking about something for a minute and didn’t realize I’d stopped walking.”
Why would a car turning around in my driveway put me on heightened alert? It happened sometimes, that sixth sense when I knew something was off, but didn’t know why. It took nearly ten minutes to get back inside Gramps’ house. I watched for the BMW, but it didn’t return.
I stayed with Gramps until he went to bed, hours before my own bedtime, then headed home. The telephone was ringing when I walked in the door, and I rushed to the kitchen counter to answer it before the machine came on.
“Hello?”
“Corky, you didn’t answer either of your cell phones all evening.” It was Smoke.
“I was at Gramps’ and left my work cell at home, but—” I pulled my personal cell out of my pocket. “Oops, my other one is off. Forgot I turned it off when we were eating. You know how Gramps hates phone calls during meals. What’s up?”
“I spent part of the day talking to people about Doctor Sparrow at his former clinic in Little Mountain and his current clinic in Saint Cloud. He’s built a sizable practice. Apparently he’s a very talented cosmetic surgeon. Nice house. Big. Owns three vehicles, a Toyota Tundra pickup, a Lexus SUV, and a BMW, all late models—”
“What color BMW?”
I heard papers shuffling. “Color? Ah, black.”
“A black BMW turned around in my driveway a while ago.”
“License?”
“Too far away. Gramps and I were outside at his place when I saw it coming our direction, very slowly. It seemed like the driver spotted us then turned around instead of driving by and getting too close. At first I thought it was my imagination, but I don’t think it was.”
“Those cult people seem to have connections everywhere, even in the sheriff’s department. If Edberg figured out who Jeffrey Trippen is, our dirty cop probably did too. You’re working the case, and someone accessed your computer and keyed your car. Maybe Edberg’s right—maybe that was done as a warning.” Smoke sneezed loudly. “Sorry.”
“Bless you.”
“I started sneezing about an hour ago. I’m hoping it’s spring allergies. My brother had a bad cold at the game Saturday, and I am going to be less than happy if he gave it to me.”
“That’d be a bummer. Those guys found Gregory Trippen in Vermont and gave him that warning. Maybe someone saw him in Oak Lea and recognized him. He looks just like his father did in that old picture he showed us. Would they be after the boys, all these years later?”
“Truth be told, I am downright confused. I want evidence. I want witnesses. I want those responsible for the crimes we are investigating to be put away. For life. With no chance of parole.”
The BMW kept niggling at me. “I doubt if Doctor Sparrow himself would have any reason to drive by my house. It just seemed weird, that’s all.”
“He’d be after me if he got wind I was snooping around. You’re only a few miles away. If your car damage was done by one of his evil cohorts, he might have driven by hoping to see the job they did. Or, our imaginations are just running wild.” Another sneeze.
“Bless you, again. We are speculating, but that’s what makes us eager to find answers.”
Smoke sneezed again, three times in succession. “I wonder if I have any aspirin?”
“Maybe you should drink some tea with honey and go to bed early.”
“A hot brandy toddy sounds better.”
41
A brown UPS delivery vehicle pulled up to my house a little after nine o’clock Tuesday morning. I watched the driver jump out with a package and opened the front door to meet him.
He handed me a shallow, letter-size box, scanned the code then set the signature pad on top of it. I signed, we both said, “thank you,” and he was off to the next stop. I looked at the return address. No name. A UPS box number in Vermont. Gregory Trippen’s, I surmised. I had not expected the documents to be shipped to my house.
I closed and locked the door, then stood in the entry and stared at the package. The vital information we had been waiting for. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Smoke’s number. No answer. I didn’t leave a message.
I stared at the package some more. Evidence. It was addressed to me, but I wanted someone there when I opened it. A witness. Another set of hands, another set of eyes verifying the number of pages and what was on them.
I carried the package to the gun safe in my den office closet, punched in the code, pulled open the door, and laid it on the top shelf. My S
mith and Wesson and extra ammo were asleep on the bottom shelf. I locked the safe, paced around the room for a while then sank onto the couch, sliding down until my head rested on the seat cushion and my feet were stretched out straight in front of me.
That’s when I noticed it.
My computer armoire was open. The interior contained a top shelf filled with reference books and statute manuals. The main shelf housed the computer and screen. There was a pull-out shelf for the keyboard, a drop-down shelf for the mouse, and another pull-out shelf on the bottom for the printer. Above that was a small shelf where I stored printer paper.
That’s where it was.
I slid to the floor and crawled on my hands and knees to the armoire. I bent my head and stuck my face under the shelf for a closer look. A black box, approximately two inches wide by three inches long by one half inch thick, clung there. A bugging device. Damn!
A bugging device.
My emotions flew back and forth between fury and fear, fear and fury. Someone was spying on me? I could barely contain myself. I stopped myself from yelling at the top of my lungs only because I didn’t want them to know I knew.
Were there other devices in my house, my phone, my car? A hidden camera somewhere? My cell phone was usually on my person, except when I was in the shower or in bed. Even then it was within reach. I concentrated for a minute, searching my memory, trying to recall if I had let anyone use my cell phone for any reason. I could not think of a single incident A.J.T. After Jeffrey Trippen.
I began a search of every room of my house, starting with the same corner each time and moving to the right. I looked behind every wall hanging, in and under each piece of furniture. I didn’t find another intrusive device, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. It could be in a pen or a calculator or any number of places.
Throughout the exploration, I tried to recall everything that had been said in my den office. If they were monitoring the device the night of the party, they knew Smoke had slept over. Had they heard him describe his nightmare? Our banter? Our conversation the next morning?
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