“Can I help you?” It was a high-pitched female voice.
“Yes, it’s Sergeant Aleckson, Winnebago County. I need to see Amanda Zubinski, and she’s not answering my call.”
“Okay. I’ll be right out.”
A short, round woman in her forties peeked at me from the other side of the glass panel. She smiled then opened the door. Her age and body didn’t match her voice. She took a peek outside, in the direction of Mandy’s squad car.
“That’s strange. She always leaves for work before this. Come in and we’ll go knock on her door. I’m Meg, by the way.”
“Hi, Meg.”
I followed her up the steps to the second floor. I had picked Mandy up for training once, and another time when her car didn’t start, but had never been inside her building. Meg took a right at the top of the stairs, walked down a few doors, and stopped in front of 207. She knocked on the door. There were no sounds on the other side.
I stepped close to the door and rapped very loudly. “Mandy, it’s Corky.” Still no sound.
“Have you seen her today?”
“No.”
“I think we better check inside. She may have fallen and hit her head or something,” I said.
As Meg turned her key in the lock, I braced myself for what we might find. Mandy hadn’t seemed depressed, but what if . . . ? We stepped into the small entry by the kitchen.
“Mandy? It’s Corky. Mandy, are you here?”
I looked around. It was reasonably neat. There were some dishes in the sink, but it wasn’t overflowing. Meg stayed in the kitchen while I walked through the living room, past the bathroom, and into the bedroom. No Mandy.
The bed was a mess. The covers were thrown back, and both pillows had depressions in them. Mandy had a lover she was keeping secret? The uniform she had worn was lying on a chair in the corner. I lifted up her shirt. Her three badges—sheriff’s star, name, and number—were still in place.
A memo pad, pen, and cuff key were in the breast pocket. Her wallet was in the back pocket of her pants. I pulled it out and looked inside. Her driver’s license and sheriff’s department identification were visible through plastic holders. Mandy’s duty belt was at the bottom of the pile, and her service weapon rested in its holster.
Fear gripped my middle as I walked to her closet door and opened it. No Mandy. I took a look under the bed. Clear. I went into the bathroom and peeked around the drawn shower curtain. She wasn’t there either. Where would she go without her wallet? Another wave of fear washed over me. There was no glaring evidence of foul play, but something was very wrong. I felt it in my bones.
I returned to the kitchen where Meg waited. My eyes darted around the room. I glanced from a calendar on the wall, to a small bulletin board with pictures tacked on it, to the key holder hanging next to it. A ring of keys dangled there. I stepped over for a closer look. The car keys were for a Saturn. Mandy’s personal vehicle.
I felt Meg’s eyes on me and turned around. “She’s not here, and I’m wondering if you could do something for the sheriff’s department?”
Her eyes widened. “If I can.”
“I’d like you to talk to as many people in the building as possible, ask them if they’ve seen Amanda since eleven o’clock last night. She’s probably with a friend, but we need to make sure she’s okay. Can you do that?”
She nodded.
“Write down the names of everyone you talk to, and if anyone has seen her, give me a call. We’ll come over and talk to them. And of course, if Mandy comes home, tell her to call me.” I pulled a business card from my pocket, gave it to her, then withdrew my memo pad and pen. “Meg, what’s your full name, date of birth, address, and phone number?” She gave me the information, and I jotted it down.
I thanked her then hurried out the door to Mandy’s squad car. I looked in the windows. Nothing amiss. I spotted her Saturn a few spots down the row and jogged to it. The doors were locked and there was nothing suspicious looking, that I could see. I jogged to my car, crawled inside, and called Kenner.
“Chief Deputy, we have a problem.” I summarized the apartment visit as I drove back to the sheriff’s department.
“Where would she go without her wallet?” he asked.
“Something’s very wrong.”
When I got back to the sheriff’s department, I went directly to Twardy’s office. Chief Deputy Kenner and Smoke were there. All three men were standing like they were too nervous to sit.
“Come,” Twardy said when he saw me.
“I checked the roster, and Zubinski went off duty at twenty-three ten last night. Her squad car is parked at her apartment, and the uniform she was wearing is in her bedroom. Her bed was unmade, but that could have been from the night before,” I reported.
Kenner ran both hands through his hair. “I got her sister’s number out of her file and called her. She hasn’t talked to Zubinski since day before yesterday. I asked her the name of Mandy’s boyfriend. She said she didn’t know she had a boyfriend.” Kenner looked at me. “Tell them what you saw.”
“She wasn’t sleeping alone.”
“Only one reason I can think of to keep that a secret, especially from your sister—” Smoke said.
“He’s married,” Kenner finished.
Twardy pounded his fist into his hand, over and over, as he spoke. “We haven’t got the human resources we need to handle all the balls we got up in the air now, and one of our own disappears, for godsakes.
“We got extra deputies on patrol, looking for any sign of Jeffrey Trippen. We got Sparrow’s house staked out, waiting to arrest him as soon as he makes an appearance. We got search warrants and arrest warrants in the hopper.
“Now Amanda Zubinski, who has always been reliable and prompt, doesn’t show up for work, and we’re in a quandary wondering where in the hell she is.”
Twardy’s face was bright red. Smoke worried he would have a heart attack before it was all over. I worried he would have a stroke.
“Sheriff, should we get a warrant, send the crime lab to her apartment, see if anything turns up?” Smoke asked.
Twardy pinched the bridge of his nose while he thought. “That’s a tough call. People do uncharacteristic things from time to time. If she’s in love, her boyfriend may have talked her into going somewhere. And she forgot to take her wallet and lost track of time.”
“There was no sign of a struggle that I could see. It just felt wrong,” I said.
“We can’t go charging in there and start tearing her place apart without any real evidence that a crime has been committed. Hard to get a warrant on that, not to mention the invasion of privacy issue.”
“The sheriff’s right. Corky’s got the landlady doing some leg work for us. We’ll see what that turns up,” Kenner said.
Twardy nodded. “I’ll call the Oak Lea P.D. Her apartment’s in their jurisdiction. They’ll help keep a watch out for her. In the meantime, we all go back to work. That’s the best we can do.”
There were a number of calls all evening, mostly routine. Vince Weber sent a message to my laptop asking to meet outside a gas station. We parked parallel to each other with our driver’s side windows less than three feet apart.
“I have to admit, I’m pretty worried about Zubinski. I know we give each other a hard time, but I guess I like her fine,” Weber confessed.
“I’m very worried. The last anyone heard from her was when she went ten-seven last night.”
“And we know she made it into her apartment because her uniform was there.” He tapped his steering wheel. “I get a gut ache when I think about it.”
“She must have gone with whomever willingly. On my walk through, there was no furniture tipped over. Her gun was still holstered in her duty belt—”
“You leave your gun in your duty belt?”
“No, I keep it in my bed stand, unless people are over. Then I lock it in my safe.”
“Yeah, I keep it on the dresser, so it’s close. Kinda strange to leave it
in your holster.”
“Maybe she stores it there. Or she might have been in a hurry, like if she was expecting someone, and forgot.”
“Like she forgot to come to work tonight? Because the squad car sitting in front of her building wasn’t a good enough reminder.”
I raised my eyebrows and hitched a shoulder.
Weber shook his head. “That was kind of surprising, the sheriff’s memo today saying that Jeffrey Trippen had gotten into satanic stuff and his brother thought he was planning to kill himself tonight as a sacrifice on his birthday. I mean, why?”
The sheriff would have a departmental meeting when the pending cases were settled and everything was out in the open. One—I hoped it was only one—dirty cop had forced the sheriff to work with a skeleton crew on the cult-related cases while we scrambled to learn his identity.
“I’ve done some studying, and it’s a whole different world.” I glanced at my watch. “It’s an hour and a half before midnight, and we haven’t found Jeffrey Trippen. I feel like we failed his brother. He feels responsible for him, yet helpless to defend and protect him.”
“Sergeant, you know the guy’s been living the homeless life for a while. There’s hundreds of guys camping in the Twin Cities, right inside the cities, and a lot of their campsites are so well hidden no one, except them, knows they’re there. Think of all the remote places Trippen could find to camp along a creek or river out here, like the one we stumbled on out in the middle of nowhere. All set up with that weird picnic table that’s built to last for a hundred years.”
The campsite was five miles outside of Wellspring. If Jeffrey was following along the river looking for the outdoor temple and happened upon that spot, he might think he had found it. There wasn’t a pentagram, or all the other things Greg had said they used, but Jeffrey might not have thought about those things. He was a young boy the last time he was there. The picnic table was sturdy enough to support a person.
I shivered. “Vince, I just got a strange feeling. Actually, for about the hundredth time today. Ever since I was at Mandy’s. Don’t think I’m crazy, but I’m going to head out to that campsite to reassure myself Jeffrey Trippen isn’t there. We haven’t had any other leads.”
“What the heck, I’ll go with you.”
We were about eight miles away from the spot where we had had our team exercise the week before. We decided to drive down the dirt road that led directly to the area and park some distance back so we didn’t alarm Jeffrey in the event he was there. We took off, with me in the lead car. I phoned Communications to tell them our plans.
Even with the help of a nearly-full moon and my squad car spotlight, it was hard to find the road. The access was further west than I had figured, nearly in a grove of trees. Then it wound west before it turned south. Once we found the path, there was enough moonlight, so I turned off my lights. Weber followed suit. Perhaps an eighth of a mile away, at the top of a small hill, I saw flickering lights coming from the direction of the campsite.
I sent Communications a written message that we had arrived. Weber and I climbed out of our cars and closed the doors. There were voices coming from the campsite.
“Party goin’ on?” he said.
“Sounds like it. I don’t want to startle them, but let’s walk down there and ask them if they’ve seen Jeff. I have his picture in my pocket.”
“Okay, I’ll be a good sport and humor you on this one.”
We followed the path made by vehicle tires. When we got a little closer, I stopped, turned to Weber, and put my finger to my mouth in a ‘shhh’ gesture, then turned my radio volume down very low, just enough to hear a call. I pointed at Weber’s radio. He turned it off. I moved my hand to my ear in a ‘listen’ gesture. He took a step forward, standing beside me.
Weber looked at me, and I read his lips by the light of the moon as he mouthed, “What the hell?”
There was a thundering male voice who spoke a sentence in a foreign language followed by a group of people who repeated what he had said. Latin? The language Smoke had thought was in Sparrow’s journal entries.
I felt the color drain from my face. I turned to Weber, put my hands on his arms, pulled him close, and whispered in his ear, “I think they’re chanting, in some kind of ritual.”
He moved his mouth to my ear. “What do you mean ritual?”
It was my turn. “Satanic.”
He pulled back a step, his hands locked on my arms and mine locked on his. His eyes were bigger than saucers.
I pulled him back to me. “Let’s sneak over for a look.”
He nodded, and we crept over to the tree line, hugging it as we moved as quickly and soundlessly as possible. The chanting got louder as we approached. There was a line of cars parked to the side of the path.
About ten feet from the clearing, we bent over and moved into the woods, creeping until we had a better view of the group. We stayed low and stared at the gathering.
My brain did not process what my eyes were seeing. There were a large number of people standing in a loosely formed circle around a group of men. One of the men in the inner circle was the chant leader. His arms were extended, palms facing downward. One held a large goblet, another a wooden basin. A fourth had his hands folded around a bejeweled dagger that he rested against his waist.
Everyone was wearing black. The women were in flowing gowns, and the men had hooded robes. We had a side view of the men who stood close to the table where a woman was lying. She was covered with a white cloth and lay perfectly still. A candelabra with six flickering black candles sat on the table above her head. The moonlight and the glow from hanging, burning lamps made it look as though her copper-colored hair was highlighted with flames of fire.
Amanda Zubinski.
I grabbed for Vince’s hand, but he didn’t seem to feel it. He stared straight ahead, like he was in a trance. I squeezed harder, and he turned toward me. We were nose to nose.
“We need backup. Now,” I said into his left ear.
He gave a single nod and gestured for me to go. He moved his mouth to my ear. “Call SWAT.” Vince drew his weapon.
“If that guy with the dagger moves take a head shot,” I said.
My pulses were pounding so loudly in my ears I had no idea if I made any perceptible noises getting out of the woods, but prayed I didn’t. Then I prayed for Mandy all the way to my squad car. I had my phone in my hand, and as soon as I was inside the vehicle I called Communications. It was twelve minutes after eleven. Jerry was still on duty.
“It’s Aleckson. They’ve got Zubinski! We need an ambulance, the SWAT team, and every available deputy, now! At our location. SWAT doesn’t need to wear all their gear. We need them. And their weapons.”
I gave him as much information as I could in a minute. “Call the sheriff and chief deputy. And send the details to everyone’s computers. Don’t put it over the radio. Tell them the road is hard to find. It’s about ten feet west of the fire number, right next to the woods. No lights, no sirens within five miles of here. And cut their headlights when they get on the path.
“Maintain silence coming in and getting out of their cars. And grab their shotguns. I’ll wait a minute for ETAs, but I gotta get back, to back up Weber.”
We hung up, and I heard the call go over the air, telling every deputy to immediately check the message on his or her computer. Carlson and Mason were in their squad cars and heading our way. Three on the midnight shift would be there within minutes.
I phoned Smoke. He answered on the first ring. “Weber and I are by the Raven River in Lynden Township, near Ninety-two-forty-five Pequot Avenue Northwest. There’s about twenty Satanists, and they’re doing a ritual. It’s like your nightmare, but Zubinski’s on the altar. I’m terrified. Their hoods are up, so I can’t see if one is Sparrow or not. Communications sent the details to your squad’s laptop. I gotta get back to my partner and can’t talk.”
Smoke was breathing hard. Running. “I’m armed and out the door.”
I made it back to Weber in a minute. He was on one knee with his opposite foot planted on the ground in front of him, his weapon in the ready-position. His elbows were tucked into his waist, and he was set to extend his arms at a split second’s notice. He didn’t move his head, but his eyes darted my way. He holstered his Glock with a muffled snap and reached for the Remington. Double-ought buckshot at that range would make a big hole in a bad guy.
My hearted pounded uncontrollably as I studied the surreal scene in the clearing. The long, sharp-pointed dagger was the only visible weapon, but as far as I was concerned they all had one tucked in the pockets of their robes and gowns. One aggressive move from anyone would be his or her last. Our shotguns were loaded with five shells, and there were fifteen forty caliber bullets in each of our three Glock clips.
I heard Carlson’s voice say “Ten-six” over my nearly-muted radio. Weber’s eyes darted back to me. I nodded and left to meet the arriving team.
Carlson was standing by his squad car, parked behind Weber’s in the lower area beneath the rise. Three other deputies arrived in the next two minutes, Norwood, Ortiz, and Levasseur. Mason pulled in a few seconds after that. As each one parked, he climbed out, eased his door shut, walked over to our forming group, and waited. They’d all remembered their shotguns.
I kept my volume low. “There’s about twenty of ’em in a clearing an eighth mile ahead. Zubinski’s just lying there on a table. She must be drugged. One guy has a big dagger, like the picture on the bulletin board at work. If he moves, he’s dead. We need to surround them as best we can.”
I stepped over to a car hood and drew an imaginary drawing with my finger. “There’s a line of cars that stretches from this side of the clearing to a ways past it. Turn off your radios and phones. Move in behind the cars as far down the line as possible without being seen. If you can safely move into the trees on the other side of the clearing, do it. Weber is here.” I pointed to the spot. “Mason, you’re a sniper. I want you in center position, directly across from the guy with the dagger. He’s facing east, standing on the far side of the table where Mandy is. Norwood, you lead. Then Ortiz, Levasseur, Mason, and Carlson. Mason, don’t take your eyes or your weapon off dagger man. The rest of you keep an eye on everyone else and take appropriate action as needed.”
An Altar by the River Page 26