Purgatory Creek

by C. E. Nelson

  “The mall on 7 and 101?”

  “Yeah.”

  Not that far to walk, thought Palm. “Thanks for your help, Miss Thompson.”

  Palm called Grace. “I calling for a squad. It’s possible Michael went to the mall.”

  “That will be pretty much closed by now, except the theater.”

  “Yeah, but I need to check it out.”

  “OK. I’ll call you when we’re ready to go to the creek. Good luck.”

  Palm called the station. “I need a squad to meet me at the Seven Hi Mall. South entrance.”

  John Volk had been packing up his treasure room but stopped. He found a couple of boxes in his garage, but now realized they would provide nowhere near the space he needed. He considered stopping to go to the grocery store to pick up some more but decided it would be better just to fill what he had to know how much more space he would need. And then there was the basement. That was going to be a major project.

  The thought of packing the lower level stopped him from proceeding to pack his treasure room. He felt overwhelmed. Volk sat on a chair at the desk in his treasure room, the only pieces of furniture in it. Slowly he swiveled, doing a complete turn, staring at the walls. Staring at his treasures.

  Pictures covered the walls. Pictures he had printed from his computer. Pictures he had taken. Pictures of children. Small boys. Little girls. Closeups of their faces. Shots of them swinging and running and playing in the sand. Pictures of little girls in pretty dresses bending over exposing their panties to his cameras. Pictures of little boys holding their penises as they used the bathroom. Pictures of girls who had spilled on themselves, their mothers pulling off their tops, leaving them exposed.

  Pictures no one knew he was taking.

  And then there were the things he had collected. Children’s toys, shoes, small gloves and caps, entire outfits. All leaning against the walls. All his.

  Volk looked down at the box by his feet, a few photos that had been lying on the desk in the bottom of the box. He sighed. This was just too much right now. Maybe a quick trip downstairs to see that everything was all right and then to bed. He could do this tomorrow. Volk picked up his glass of wine on the desk, walked to the door, and turned off the light before shutting and locking the door.

  Chapter 36

  Seton rendezvoused with the Minneapolis police a block north of Tito Gonzales’s apartment building. Detective Steve Peale, in his forties, and someone Seton knew, was there with his partner, Detective Marny Ames, a woman about Peale’s age who Seton had not met. Peale had managed to get the passcode to the building and the key to Gonzales’ apartment from the building owner who had too many violations to refuse the request on a Saturday night. They agreed that they would go up to Gonzales’ apartment on the second floor and try knocking before using the key. As far as they knew, the man was not violent and did not own a gun.

  It turned out they did not need the building code. The entryway security door was disabled. Peale guessed it had been that way for some time. The stairs to the second floor were immediately to the left. Entering the hallway on the second floor, they found their way to Gonzales’ door. The knocker for the door was missing so Peale used his hand. There was no answer, and they could hear no movement inside. Peale knocked again, this time saying Gonzales’ name. Still no noise or reply. They all pulled their guns, Seton and Ames standing on opposite sides of the door as Peale inserted the key and turned the nob.

  Peale pushed the door open and was ready to rush inside but immediately stopped. The smell he had picked up in the hall hit him in the face.

  “Yew!”

  Seton and Ames came behind, the smell assaulting them now too. They moved inside, the bodies of Tito and Paul Gonzales lying side-by-side.

  "Who are these guys, Seton?” asked Peale.

  Seton looked at the two men on the floor, back and forth, slowly surveying one body and then the other. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know what your guy looks like?”

  “No. The guy’s a ghost. I’ve got no picture.”

  Peale felt the pockets of the men, looking for identification, while Ames walked through the apartment.

  “Nothing here,” said Peale. “No wallets. Maybe it’s a robbery?”

  “In here!” shouted Ames.

  Someone had pinned a picture printed on copy paper to the bedroom wall. It was the only thing on the wall in the whole apartment. At the top of the picture someone had written ‘Tito & Marie’ with a heart drawn just to the side of that. They all walked back into the living room and looked at the bodies on the floor.

  “Tito Gonzales,” said Ames, as she pointed.

  “Yeah,” replied Peale. “But who’s the other guy?”

  Seton looked at the bodies for a moment longer and then around the apartment. Besides the couch and a crumby chair, there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. “His computer is gone,” said Seton pointing to the cable lying on the carpet. “Somebody was here cleaning up a loose end. Somebody didn’t want Tito Gonzales to talk.”

  Seton had crossed the Mississippi River just east of MSP on Highway 62 and was driving east on 110 in Mendota Heights.

  “Larry? You still at the office?”

  “Yes, sir. I just feel like I need to be here, sir. At least until Special Agent Trask can be contacted.”

  “He’ll show up when he wants to, Larry. You should go home. I am.”

  Stoxon was feeling weary from the stress of the day and thought maybe Seton was right. “Soon.”

  “Anyway, I thought I’d let you know that Tito Gonzales is dead. Somebody wanted to be sure they shut him up. Took any computer equipment he had too.”

  “So, we can’t find out why he sent the pornography?”

  “Doesn’t look that way. There was another guy in his apartment too. Shot. Dead like Gonzales. Looked a little like him too.”

  Stoxon snapped out of his stupor. “Did you identify the other victim?”

  “No, nothing on him.”

  “P. Gonzales.”

  “What?”

  “Trask had the name P. Gonzales scribbled on the pad under his computer.”

  “Pedro? Paco? …”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “Aw shit. OK, I’ll swing by on my way and take a quick peek. I got a picture of the guy. See you in a bit.”

  Don Trask was moving down Creekside Drive just under the speed limit. He didn’t want to attract any attention, especially from the media parked in front of the Little’s home. Why were they there? Had Seton found something? He passed two Minnetonka squad cars and more media in front of the Newman’s place, a little surprised the police weren’t stopping vehicles on the road to check them out. He would have.

  It had stopped raining, but a light breeze was dropping moisture from the trees overhanging the road on a regular basis, so Trask had his wipers going. Clouds hid the stars, the haze from the moisture in the air making his headlights work hard. The lights were still on in the Jameson home as he went by, and he wondered how things were going there. The interior lights of most of the other homes he passed were out, including the Daniel home. Trask cruised by Daniel’s place, went three houses down, pulled off the asphalt and parked.

  Trask hustled across the street. There were no street lights here, and with the road below the hill to the west, it was nearly as dark as a cave. A flashlight was needed, but it wasn’t an option. Didn't want to warn Daniel of his approach, and there were too many police around. He took a couple of steps into the yard of the house across from his car and then moved slowly toward Daniel’s house, straining to see his way. A trimmed hedge along the driveway of the first house blocked his path, the sharp branches cutting into his leg, and he suppressed a profanity. He felt his way along the hedge toward the street, hit the mailbox at the end of the driveway with his shoulder, and almost swore again.

  Trask stayed in the street, moving more quickly now past the second house until he reached Daniel’s yard. He stopped. Th
ere was a light next to Daniel’s front door, but the rest of the house was still dark. He wished he had taken closer notice of any security Daniel may have when he was here earlier. But he was not going to wait for another day to do that. He was going in Daniel’s house tonight. It did not look like Daniel was home, but that would not be a problem. He would wait.

  Trask had considered his next move on the drive over. His inclination was to break in and surprise Daniel, but his experience told him that was a sure way to get killed, especially if the man had a security system and a weapon. The front of the house was dark. Daniel was likely either sleeping or not at home. Trask wanted to be sure. He moved across the yard between Daniel’s house and that of his neighbor, down the slope to the back yard far enough that he could get a view of the entire back of Daniel’s house. No lights.

  The air was thick, the mosquitoes beginning to find him as he crouched. He slapped one on his cheek and then began to move back up the slope the way he came. The grass was wet, slippery, and Trask lost his footing, catching himself with his hands. His feet slid out from under him, and he ended up on his stomach. The dog in the house next to Daniel’s barked. Trask pushed himself up, hurrying back up the slope, across the front yard to the street. He considered making a run for his car but decided to wait. Watched the house with the dog for any interior lights, but none came on and soon the animal was quiet.

  Trask turned his attention back to Daniel’s house. No lights there either with the barking dog. Probably used to it, but more likely, the guy wasn’t home. Time to find out. Trask cut through the front yard and up the steps to the front door.

  Chapter 37

  Palm met the two uniformed officers at the entrance to the mall. The hallways were mostly empty. A few teenagers in groups and a maintenance man on a floor cleaner. They asked the kids if they had seen Michael Little, showing a picture, but got only negative head shakes. Moved to the movie theater entrance and walked inside, showing the picture. No one had seen Michael Little. A security cop strolled into the lobby, and Palm corralled him, told him who they were, and showed the picture.

  “Nope,” said the man.

  Palm read the name tag on the guy’s chest. It said only ‘Joe’. “How long you been on duty, Joe?”

  “Since five.”

  Didn’t mean Michael wasn’t here, the guy could easily have missed him, but Michael was not here before the man started work. “You got security cameras?”

  “Sure.”

  “I need to see the footage from the last five hours.”

  The two uniformed cops came up next to Palm now, guns on their belts, microphones on their shoulders. Both big men. Intimidating.

  “Um, OK, sure. Follow me.”

  The short man’s gray shirt, a blue patch with the word ‘SECURITY’ stitched on his right shoulder, had buttons straining over his belt. They walked down a narrow corridor off the main hallway and up concrete steps to a metal door. The security guy opened the door with a key on a ring attached to his belt. They turned right, walked thirty feet to another metal door, and the security man punched a code into a pad and opened the door.

  A dozen monitors were on the wall across the room, two rows of six, and another guy in a security uniform just like Joe’s seated at a panel in front of them. There was an open brown lunch bag and a silver thermos on the panel. The security guy had a sandwich in his hand. His name tag said ‘Mark’.

  Mark swiveled in his chair at the sound of the opening door. “Hey Joe. What’s up?”

  “These guys are cops. They need to look at some camera footage. The last five hours.”

  “From all the cameras?”

  Joe looked up at Palm. Palm took a step forward, looking at the monitors, trying to figure out where they were located. He picked out the cameras showing the main mall entrance, inside and outside.

  “Main entrance,” said Mark. “OK. Just have a seat over there and I’ll cue them up.” He pointed to a monitor in front of a chair to Palm’s left.

  “Only one playback monitor?”

  “Yup, sorry.”

  Palm showed Mark the picture of Michael. He hadn’t seen him. Palm looked at the cops with him and said, “Get comfortable, take turns. You know who we’re looking for. Call me if you spot him, or when you’re done.”

  Palm walked back down to the main hallway and called Grace. “Where are you?”

  “Just about to go on a nature stroll. Should be lovely. Care to join me?”

  “Thanks, but you’re just not my type. I’ll call you in a bit.”

  “Where are you off to?”

  Palm had walked out into the parking lot of the mall as he talked. The humidity was oppressive, like he was in a sauna, the weight of the starless night on his shoulders. “I’m thinking about it.”

  Palm walked kitty-corner across the lot to the Burger King. He wanted coffee, but it was too damn hot, so he ordered a cola and sat in a corner booth. The place was nearly empty except for four teenage girls giggling at a table across the room. The air-conditioning vent was over his shoulder, and he felt a chill as he sipped his drink.

  He was thinking about Austin Newman, about Michael Little, about his kid. Austin Newman had disappeared, vanished. There had been little time between when he was last seen and when he was known to be missing. The kid could have gotten in trouble. Fell in the creek, climbed a tree and fell out, but that didn’t feel right. Someone had taken him. And not just by anyone. Creekside Drive wasn’t some country lane in the middle of nowhere. This was a developed area. And the only reason someone would have been driving in this area was to go to a house, or possibly the park. And from what he found out, people at the park were almost exclusively locals.

  So, it was probably someone familiar to the area, and to others who lived there. Maybe a neighbor? Maybe Michael Little?

  Palm pulled out his phone and called Leslie Jameson.

  “Hello?” The voice sounded sleepy.

  Palm looked at his phone for the time. Closing in on midnight. “Mrs. Jameson, this is Detective Palm.”

  “Did you find him?”

  “No mam, not yet, but I have a question. Did Austin bring a toy to your house when he came, and is that toy still there?”

  “He usually had one of those hard, bouncy balls with him. It was smaller than a golf ball. Sometimes the kids would go out in the driveway and bounce it. See how high it would go.”

  “Did he have it with him today?”

  “I don’t know. If he did, it was in his pocket, and I don’t recall him ever taking it out.”

  “What color was it?”

  “Speckled. Red and blue and yellow.”

  “Would you mind waking your daughter and asking her if she remembers if Austin had it with him?”

  “Sure. I’ll call you back.”

  The air was blowing on Palm’s neck, and he was thinking about moving. And getting coffee. Jameson called back saying her daughter did not remember seeing the ball.

  Palm supposed it was possible Michael had seen Austin with his ball. He thought about calling Jameson back but decided Michael may have seen it without her even knowing. Would the ball have been something Michael wanted? Palm thought about the secret cubby with the toys and decided the ball would be a welcome addition. Could Michael have been outside, seen Austin bouncing the ball on the road, and decided he had to have it? Took it from Austin and ran, Austin chasing? Michael could get violent, and with his size, he may not know how easily he could inflict damage on another person.

  But that just didn’t feel right. Could Michael have been clever enough to dispose of Austin’s body? They’d found nothing to tell them that he had. Palm took another sip. No, no it just didn’t work. But if Michael didn’t take Austin, and he wasn’t on the run, then how were the disappearances related?

  All Palm could come up with was that someone had them both. Maybe Austin’s abductor had been spotted by Michael when Michael snuck outside? Maybe that person came back, hunting for Michael? Maybe. But w
ho?

  Palm thought about his own son now. Routine was critical to him. He liked to do the same things each day, eat the same foods, go to the same places. He didn’t like change. Didn’t like strangers. Needed to be comfortable.

  Michael would need to be comfortable. Who had him?

  Chapter 38

  Trask thought he could break the door in. It had a deadbolt but he figured a good kick would take care of that. There was no alarm system he could see. About to reach for the handle on the screen door, the interior door swung open.

  “Agent Trask. Would you like to come in?”

  Trask’s hand immediately moved to the gun tucked in the back of his pants. Cool air poured out of the open door, but he felt none of it, a dark figure silhouetted against the light inside putting all of his senses on high alert.

  “Sorry,” said Daniel with a chuckle. “I suppose I must have frightened you. My security system told me I had a visitor.” He stepped forward and pushed the screen door open. “Please come in.”

  Trask grabbed the edge of the door but did not move, watching Daniel turn from him and take a step down the hall.

  Daniel looked back. “Come on. I promise I won’t bite.”

  Trask watched him move down the hall and through a doorway to the right before entering and closing the door behind him. Classical music was playing somewhere. He padded quickly down the hall to where he had seen Daniel disappear. Leaned forward and peered around the corner. Daniel stood at a bar, his back to Trask, pouring liquor into a clear glass. Trask stepped off the carpet in the hallway to the oak-planked floor of the kitchen and a board creaked.

  Daniel turned, two tumblers in his hand, each half-filled with whiskey. “Do you like yours neat, or on the rocks?”

  “With ice.”

  Daniel put two cubes from his freezer in Trask’s glass before handing it to Trask. “Let’s go sit in the den.”

  The den consisted of a tan fabric couch, matching loveseat, and two leather armchairs. An oriental rug covered the floor. There was an oak coffee table in front of the couch, a matching small octagonal table at the arm of each of the armchairs. The armchairs faced the couch, the couch facing a picture window covered with some kind of dark film. Daniel sat in the armchair closest to the kitchen, Trask on the couch facing him.