Purgatory Creek

by C. E. Nelson

  A tech firm that did not know Daniel hired him and allowed him to work from home. This suited Daniel, and he soon discovered that online workers were much the same as those he had worked with in an office – lazy. Daniel found and was hired for a second job. He found he could get all of his work done for his initial firm in the morning and then complete his assignments for the second firm in the afternoon, allowing him to make nearly double what he had made in his office job. Daniel eventually found himself able to eat again, putting on a bit of weight. But this time, instead of letting it go to his stomach, he stuck to a healthy diet and ordered exercise equipment that he set up in his living room. He now felt like he was in the best shape of his life.

  And then this. The nightmares had returned, his sleep last night lasting only minutes at a time, afraid to see what things his mind would dig up if he moved too far from consciousness. It was all happening again. Daniel saw Trask take a step toward the house, and he backed away in kind. With Trask’s next step, Daniel ran for the basement.

  Trask crossed the street, stopping at the edge of Daniel’s driveway. The emotions were returning, percolating inside. He hoped he had developed some restraint over the years since Libby’s disappearance, but now he had his doubts, wondering how he would react when he saw Daniel, wondering if there was any chance he could hold back what had been buried inside.

  The house was a rambler, brick front coming up halfway, some kind of prickly shrubs in front, cedar shakes stained a muddy blue above. Based on the configuration of the windows, Trask guessed there was a kitchen with eating area next to the attached garage, a bathroom and bedroom on the other side of the white entry door in the middle of the house. The ground sloped away toward the creek on either side of the house, an area of brush and trees running the length of the lot between the homes on either side. A dying locust tree stood by the cement walkway that angled off from the driveway to the front steps, half its branches looking like they never got word that winter was over.

  There were no lights on inside that he could see, and he guessed he didn’t really expect to see any. Daniel would probably still be at work and the summer sun would be out for several more hours. Still, he had a sense that he was under observation, and he stared at the window closest to the garage, looking for any kind of movement. Trask scanned the exterior of the house again, looking for any sign of cameras or a security system, seeing nothing, but security company signs were posted in the yard. Could be for show but Trask didn’t think so. Trask caught himself clenching his fists, his teeth locked, and he tried to consciously relax by taking a deep breath and slowly releasing the air, the only thing he had retained from a department-ordered evaluation after his harassment of Daniel.

  Confronting Daniel would be more than difficult, and now he was unsure that he was ready to do that. The restraining order had long expired, but the voices of his supervisor, his girlfriend, and others echoed between his ears. A chorus singing a song he was choosing to ignore. Trask took a step on the driveway toward the house when his phone buzzed.

  “Trask.”

  “You still in the area?” asked Palm.

  “Yeah, just down the street.”

  “I’m four houses north of the Jameson’s place. I think you better get over here in a hurry.”

  Chapter 13

  Palm was in the driveway of the split-level, an officer on the front step. Trask didn’t see any vehicles except for a gold Nissan Altima in the driveway, and he pulled in next to it.

  “What’s going on?”

  Palm turned and looked at the house as he talked. “Two patrolmen knocked on the door and a woman answered. When she opened the door and saw the officers, she broke down crying. She looked like she was about to faint so one officer grabbed her and helped her inside. He’s sitting with her now.”

  “Did they ask her something that could have set her off?”

  “Nothing. They hadn’t said a word, and they still haven’t.”

  “OK, so maybe she has some kind of fear of cops?”

  “Maybe, but all she keeps saying is ‘He found the dinosaur’.”

  “Dinosaur?” Trask looked at the door to the house. “OK, so how do you want to handle this?”

  “If this is about the Libby Carlson disappearance, you better lead.”

  Trask felt his hands tighten again. “Yeah.”

  Palm informed Trask that the woman, according to records, was Cheryl Little; her husband was Mark. The men walked inside, up the carpeted steps, looking to their left as they approached the landing, seeing a uniformed officer standing next to a distraught woman on a blue wingback chair. She was dressed in a conservative blue linen suit; her brown hair, flecked with gray, pulled back in a short ponytail. Her sad green eyes looked up to Trask as she wiped her nose with a tissue and took two quick, short breaths like she had been sobbing, which she had.

  “Mrs. Little? I’m Special Agent Don Trask of the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension. Do you think you can answer a few questions?” Trask had seen the look before, and he was thinking she was going to completely lose it, but, instead, she took a deep breath and nodded her approval.

  “OK. Can you tell us what has you so upset?”

  “I, I just knew you’d come. I told Mark we should call, but he said not to, that it would just go away, but I knew it wouldn’t.”

  “OK, and why did you think the police would come?”

  “The dinosaur. I saw it on the flyer, and I just knew it was the one.”

  Trask glanced at Palm. “The flyer from the Minnetonka police about the missing girl?”

  “Yes. The babysitter showed it to me, and I just knew that the dinosaur on the flyer was the one you were looking for. Mark said it didn’t look at all like the one in the picture, and the one he found was really faded, but it’s the one. I just know it.”

  Trask knelt in front of Little. “OK, so your husband found a toy dinosaur that looks like the one in the flyer. Is that right?”

  “No. Not my husband. My son.”

  “Your son’s name is…?”

  “Michael. He’s twenty-two. His room is downstairs.”

  “And he’s here now?”

  “Yes. I told him to play games on his computer until I called him up for dinner. I just arrived home from work half an hour ago.”

  “And where is the dinosaur?”

  “Michael has it. I can’t pry it away from him.”

  “Didn’t you say your son was twenty-two?”

  “Sorry. He’s autistic."

  “I see. So, maybe you better take us through how he came to have the dinosaur.”

  Little explained how she had found the basement full of mud and her boy asleep with the toy, Trask asking a few questions as she talked.

  “You haven’t been out to the area between your yard and the creek since the storm?”

  “No.”

  Trask stood. “All right. We’d like to speak to your son, see the dinosaur, and then take a look behind your house and in his room if that’s OK?”

  Little opened her mouth to answer when the front door opened, and her husband shouted from the hallway. “Who the hell is parked next to you in the driveway? I couldn’t – " He stopped talking when he saw the gathering in the living room. “What’s going on?”

  “Mark, these are the police,” said his wife.

  “I can see that. What the hell are they doing here?” Little was tall, over six feet, in black suit pants and a white dress shirt, the maroon tie loose, his suit coat over his left forearm. His hair was black, with a thin black mustache under a sloped nose, a sharp chin below.

  Palm stepped in front of Mark Little. “What the hell we’re doing here is trying to understand how your son got possession of a piece of evidence in a murder investigation and why you told your wife not to say anything about it. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, take a seat next to your wife.”

  Mark Little’s jaw and neck muscles tensed as he sneered down at Palm. Trask was ready to grab the man, but Little
brushed by Palm and sat on the couch.

  “All right. Before we talk to your son, Mrs. Little, did he ever spend any time at Purgatory Park?”

  “What the hell has that got to do with anything, and who said – "

  “I said, Mr. Little. I am Special Agent Don Trask of the BCA, and I am talking to your wife, and you are wasting my time. Now you shut up until you are spoken to, or I am going to have these officers take you out of here right now. Are we clear?”

  Little glared at Trask but was silent.

  “Mrs. Little. The park?”

  “Sure. We’d walk there quite often when Michael was younger, and he even worked there one summer.”

  “When was this?”

  “Um, when he was seventeen.”

  Trask did the math. Five years ago. When Libby Carlson disappeared.

  “Did he go there on his own?”

  “Sure. When he got the job, we let him walk by himself. He knew the way.”

  “What way did he take?”

  “There was kind of a path through the woods by the creek.”

  Trask looked at Palm to see if he had any further questions, but he gave Trask a quick side-to-side headshake. “All right. We’d like to talk to your son now. Will he be OK doing that?”

  “Listen, I don’t think I like where this is going. Are you inferring that my son had something to do with the disappearance of that girl?” said Mark.

  “We are not inferring anything, Mr. Little, and I don’t believe I recall asking you for any comment. One more word and you’re gone. Got it?”

  Little’s face was a volcano ready to explode.

  “Mrs. Little, can we talk to your son now?”

  The woman was staring at her husband. “Yes. Maybe it would be best if only one or two of you came with me.”

  “Sure. The officers will stay here with your husband.”

  Cheryl Little stood and led Trask and Palm to the kitchen and then down the stairs to the lower level. At the base of the stairs, there was a utility room to the right, a family room to the left. It was noticeably cooler here, and more humid. A faint odor of urine was in the air, and Trask sniffed, trying to decide if it was from an animal or human. They walked in single file down a narrow hallway, photos lining the walls, the ceiling low, closing in. They passed an open door to a bathroom, Little turning left into the room at the end of the hall.

  Michael was sitting cross-legged on his king-size bed, back against the wall, headphones on, a computer in his lap. There was a large dresser against the wall across from the bed, a desk under a window across from the door, and a closet to the right. The boy was engrossed in whatever was on his screen, not noticing the people in his room until his mother walked to his bed and touched him on the knee. He glanced up at his mother and then caught sight of Trask and Palm inside the door, his eyes going wide.

  Trask’s eyes moved quickly to Palm before returning to Michael. The kid was huge. Size-wise, he could have been a lineman on an NFL team without a problem. Barefoot, he wore a bright yellow t-shirt and faded red shorts. He had the shadow of a beard on his chin, his dark hair an unruly mess. The kid was maybe a little flabby around the middle, but his legs and arms were muscular, solid, and Trask flashed to the weight machine that sat in the corner of the family room. Big and powerful. A real challenge if he got upset.

  It took a while for Trask to notice it. Compared to Michael it was tiny, insignificant, sitting on the bed next to him, just to his right. The dinosaur. Libby’s dinosaur. It was faded nearly white, scuffed, the tail cracked, but Trask knew it was Libby’s.

  Cheryl motioned for Michael to remove his headphones, and he did as she requested, keeping his dark eyes trained on the two strangers in his room. “Michael, these men would like to talk to you before we have dinner.”

  “What do they want?”

  “They are very nice policemen," she said in a low, calm voice. "They just want to ask you a few questions about how you found your new toy, the dinosaur.”

  The boy glanced over at the toy, grabbing it with his large hands, squeezing it to his chest under his arms. “It’s mine!”

  Palm stepped forward. “Hi, Michael. I’m Detective Jim, and this man is Agent Don. We’re hoping that you can help us solve a mystery?” The boy looked skeptical, holding tight to the toy. “We could really use your help, Michael.” Palm reached inside his suit coat pocket and came out with a plastic police badge. “If you can help us, Michael, you can have this official police badge.”

  He stepped toward Michael and held the badge out to him. Michael reached out slowly with one hand, snatching the badge from Palm, and then focusing on the shiny silver badge after pulling it close.

  “What do you say, Michael? Are you ready to be a detective and help us?”

  “OK.”

  “Great! Do you think you can show us where you found the dinosaur?”

  Michael wasn’t sure that he wanted to show these men his secret fort. His parents had never been there, and he hadn’t shown it to anyone else. He looked up at Palm again before moving the laptop from his lap, scooting off the bed and standing in front of Palm, the toy in his right hand, staring at the man. A giant about to squash his opponent. There was an angry look on his face, a scowl, and Palm tried not to show the anxiety building inside.

  “I will show you.”

  Chapter 14

  Mrs. Little stopped her son before he got to his door, telling him he needed to put on shoes and socks, getting him to sit on his bed while she found them. Up as soon as the Velcro was connected on his tennis shoe, the boy marched out his door, down the hall, and out the back door on the lower level. The two policemen followed behind, Mrs. Little stopping at the threshold, unsure of her place.

  Trask turned back to her. “We need you to accompany us, mam.”

  Little looked back over her shoulder and then stepped out, closing the door behind her. Trask watched her, thinking there was something else in the house she hadn’t told them about. Michael and Palm were already halfway across the yard, and Trask and the woman hurried to catch up.

  A bull elephant in the jungle, Michael crashed through the brush on the edge of the yard. Palm was close behind, afraid he might lose sight of the boy, holding his arm in front of his face to protect himself from the branches. The heat and humidity were high here, Trask feeling a bead of sweat drip down his left temple. He removed his jacket, wishing he had left it in the house. The yellow of Michael’s shirt had nearly disappeared, hidden behind Palm and the brush. Trask held the branches aside, and Mrs. Little ducked under his arm.

  “Michael! Slow down!” yelled Palm.

  The boy didn’t hear, or he just ignored the call, dodging around small trees and over fallen logs like a spooked deer. Palm may have lost him if the area beyond the yard hadn’t changed. The trees here were short, most topping out at twenty feet or less. Their trunks were thin and bare, the branches fanning from the tops, with long wide leaves that created a canopy of sorts. The leaves blocked the sunlight from the ground, resulting in little vegetation. If Palm hadn’t been able to easily see the yellow shirt moving ahead of him, he could have followed the tracks left in the mushy ground.

  Trask had moved back ahead of Little after they left the yard. A hound dog on a trail, he only glanced up occasionally to see if Palm or the boy had stopped. Mostly he kept his head down, following the tracks, not feeling the need to hurry now. He cursed under his breath at the mud caking his new shoes, and Little asked him if he had said something. The slower pace was easier for them both, avoiding branches and trying to step where it was not so muddy. Trask looked up to see Palm and the boy stopped roughly twenty yards ahead, looking at what appeared to be a collection of fallen branches and small trees.

  It was a lean-to of sorts, reminding Trask of the forts he and his brother had built as kids in the woods behind their home. A leaning tree had provided the main support, branches leaned against it on either side. Each side of the fort was roughly ten feet, the branches st
acked closely together, covered with leaves and smaller branches almost like natural shingles. The main supporting tree was void of bark and bleached where it came out of the cover. Trask reached up and dug his fingernail into the soft, rotting wood and wondered how much longer it would stand.

  “You bring a flashlight?” asked Palm as he bent, looking inside the opening.

  “No.”

  Palm stood and removed his jacket, his shirt stuck to his skin.

  Trask glanced around the area. He could make out a trail that would likely follow the creek towards the park. “Has Michael taken this trail to the park?”

  Little looked in the direction that Trask was pointing. “Yes. It’s the way he went to work at the park and back.”

  “We need to get a team out here to search the area,” said Palm as he slapped a mosquito on his neck.

  Trask looked toward the creek. The tall grasses hid the flow, but he could see where the flood water had cut in towards their position. It was likely where the girl had been buried. “Yeah. It’s going to be a lousy job in this heat and with the bugs coming out, but we need to get at it.”

  Palm followed Trask’s gaze towards the creek bed and then turned back to Michael who had been standing silently next to the opening to his fort. His head was down, like it embarrassed him to make eye contact. “You did a great job, Michael! You’re a real detective.”

  The boy looked at Palm.

  “Now Michael, do you think you could help us a little more?”

  The boy didn’t respond except to look at his fort again.