by Rusty Ellis
Grabbing a small cup off the back counter, he turned to the tall glass case of ice cream and slid open one of the doors in front of him to gain access. The coolness of the freezer spilled toward the floor while the delicious smells of the ice cream wafted up to meet his senses.
A smile hinted in the corner of his mouth in anticipation. Out of habit, he reached on top of the glass case for an ice cream scoop, sliding his hand back and forth to find one in the dim light. Nothing.
Frustrated, he peered onto the top of the counter and squinted against the dark. In the background were a scattering of tables and chairs. His office light cast a series of strange shadows at one of the tables. Looking more intently, the outlines appeared to be people sitting at the table.
Startled, the owner stammered, “Who are you? What are you doing in here?”
Reaching blindly to the counter behind him, he grabbed the first thing he touched, a large metal spoon. He thrust the spoon over his head, attempting to look as menacing as possible.
“I have a weapon and I’m not afraid to use it! Get out of here right now! I’m calling the police!”
The shadows didn’t move. They didn’t make a sound. They didn’t respond.
The owner slid his back along the back counter, keeping his eyes on the table. Getting to the end of the counter, he fumbled for the double light-switch on the wall and flipped up both at the same time. The light shot through the shop and caused the owner to shield his eyes momentarily. Still looking in the direction of the shadows, the owner was able to see two adults and a child sitting at the table. The light had no affect on them. The figures remained motionless.
Metal spoon in hand, the owner cautiously approached the table, making a wide berth around the outer wall. The child was maybe five years old. Oddly, he was sitting in a booster seat and had a hand on the table, his fingers touching a melted ice cream cone that was propped up on the table. The child’s eyes were half-shut, staring in the general direction of the melted chocolate ice cream flowing from the cone onto the table.
Across from the little boy were a couple in their late-20s to early-30s. The man’s arm was positioned on the back of the woman’s chair, his other arm lying flat on the table. His chair was close enough to hers that their thighs were touching. She had one hand on her lap and the other on the table, opposite the man’s right arm. There was a cup of ice cream between them on the table with two spoons sitting in the vanilla colored liquid. The couple appeared to be gazing in the direction of the child, stoic expressions frozen on their faces.
The owner lowered the large metal spoon down to his side. He could only stare. He loosened his grip on the spoon and it dropped to the tiled floor with a loud clang. The noise startled him back to reality and action. He shuffled back to his office and picked up the phone.
Dialing 911, the operator answered, “911, what’s your emergency?
His solemn response cracked, “I found three dead people in my store. I don’t know who they are or how they got here. Please send help.”
11
“Hey Ransom,” Leesa’s voice came through the phone.
“What’s up?”
“We have another staged homicide.”
Ransom was sitting on the sofa when the call came in. Leesa’s voice brought him to an upright position with the new revelation.
“Where?” he questioned.
“An ice cream shop off of Torrey Pines and Sahara. The owner called it in about 20 minutes ago.”
A second scene meant a pattern. A pattern meant possible future scenes if the killer wasn’t stopped.
“You still there,” Leesa interrupted the wheels in Ransom’s mind.
“Yeah, sorry. Just hoping this isn’t number two in a string,” his voice solemn.
“I was thinking the same thing. Can you meet me there?” She was already headed in that direction.
“Be there in about 15 minutes,” Ransom was already reaching for his cane next to him on the sofa.
Ransom could hear Maddie in the kitchen. She was up early, even though she had come in after midnight from working a swing shift in the ambulance.
“I’m headed out, Maddie,” he called over his shoulder as he slipped on his shoes at the door and grabbed his keys.
“Are you going to be home for lunch?” she asked as she continued to bang around pans and cupboards, hesitating for a response.
“I’ll try. I’m meeting Leesa to look at a scene,” he slipped in before the noise returned.
“I was hoping we could have lunch before I headed to work. I’m just going to study this morning until then.”
“Sounds good, babe. I’ll try to get back in time,” he called over his shoulder as he shut the door.
* * *
The police cars at the ice cream shop were scattered around the entrance. Cars passed through the parking lot, half annoyed at the inconvenience of the cordoned off area, and half gawking at the excitement of the overwhelming police presence.
Ransom found an empty parking spot at the end of the strip mall and backed in his truck. Pulling his cane off the bench seat, he slid out of the car, touching his cane to the ground before his left foot touched down. Putting weight on his leg caused a pain to shoot up to his knee. The pain was anticipated and usually followed stints of having his weight off his leg. The pain usually simmered down after several steps into his gait.
A young uniformed officer attempted to stop Ransom just short of the front door when Leesa appeared and told him to let Ransom through.
“They’re getting younger and younger,” Ransom said tritely about the young officer.
“We’re just getting older and older. They’re the same age as when we started.”
Stepping into the cool air of the ice cream shop, Ransom was instantly met by the three bodies around the table. Had he just walked into the ice cream shop as a customer, he may have missed the fact they were not moving. In fact, the presence of the uniformed officers looked more out of place than the couple and child, dead, sitting at a round table in the middle of the shop.
Leesa filled Ransom in on the details as explained by the store owner. Ransom could see the store owner sitting in his office, painfully shook up from the events.
“Have you talked to him?” Ransom nodded in the direction of the office.
“Yes. He was walking through his normal daily routine and stumbled onto this,” Leesa stated and lifted her hand toward the occupied table.
“Did he know them?” Ransom continued down his normal line of questions without skipping a beat.
“No. He’s never seen them before. He keeps mentioning the kid. He’s pretty tore up. They called an ambulance to check his vitals and make sure he’s okay.”
Ransom nodded and walked toward the bodies, his right hand in his pocket and the other hand on his cane. An old trick he learned from a salty old sergeant when he first hit the force. Back on the department, he kept his hands in his pockets, especially when he didn’t have gloves. This kept him from touching anything on scene that may play a role as evidence in the long run. He expanded this over the years to always doing a walk-thru on the crime scene this way, looking for more of a “distant view” he had explained to his partners, before putting on a pair of rubber gloves and digging in up close.
Several uniformed officers stopped talking when they noticed that Detective Walsh was going over the scene. He’d made quite a name for himself. Where others came at the crime scene with puffed out chests and bravado, Ransom was always approachable, making him an odd celebrity of sorts.
Ransom could feel the officers watching him, though it didn’t hinder his course of action. Crime scenes could seem overwhelming. With so many unknowns, a seemingly harmless slip-up could cost you a case. Ransom’s methods broke the scene up into rings. He came at the scene from a distance and spiraled in closer and closer. He would make a complete pass, hands in pockets, then return for another tour of the scene with rubber gloves on.
As questions popped int
o his head, he spoke them out loud for Leesa to hear. Sometimes the questions were rhetorical. Sometimes they were to force further questions and receive ideas from her point of view. She had quickly learned that an “I don’t know” answer was better than trying to make something up. One was a confident admittance, the other an amateur attempt at protecting your ego.
“Only one child this time,” Ransom gazed intently at the young boys face and position of his hand on the ice cream cone.
“A break in the pattern?” Leesa offered back.
Ransom continued, his cane in his left hand, shadowing the movement of his right leg. He moved around to look directly at the couple.
“Zip ties,” Ransom commented after noticing that the couple’s hands were attached to the spoons with the clear plastic ties.
“The same as the first scene.”
Putting on their rubber gloves, Leesa and Ransom began to unravel the questions at the table. Sliding his hand into the man’s back pocket, Ransom used his fingers in a scissors motion to retrieve the wallet. A Nevada driver’s license was in the front cover of the wallet.
Pulling out the license, Ransom read aloud, “Nevada license, Joshua Ford.”
Ransom noticed a pocket on the front shirt of the male victim’s pocket. Using a pen, he pushed the front of the pocket and looked inside. Nothing.
Leesa reached for the woman’s purse. It seemed oddly heavy toward one side. She felt the outside and gave a look of concern.
“What is it?” Ransom questioned.
“Feels like a gun,” she replied and unsnapped the top of the purse.
Removing a small flashlight from her waist, she directed the glow into the purse. The handle of a small black semi-automatic Glock handgun reflected the light. Next to the gun was a heavy leather wallet. Leesa’s heart sank at the sight of the wallet and it’s familiar worn outline. Pulling the wallet from the purse, she set the purse and flashlight down on the table. Opening the wallet with both hands, a piece of paper fell out of the wallet and drifted to the floor. The inside of the wallet revealed a gold Metro badge and credentials.
“Officer Holly Ford,” she said numbly.
Reaching for the paper on the ground, Leesa read it out loud, “You caused the pain. May 11, 2010.”
The note was handwritten.
A sickening feeling struck both of them. They looked at each other with the same realization. They had a connection: Police officers. The notes were specifically attached to the dead officers. The killer had to know that both people were officers somehow. To randomly select two families, each with an officer as a parent could not be a statistical anomaly. The notes and their placement cemented that fact.
Ransom stepped closer to Leesa as she put the wallet back in the purse, “We have our connection. Now we need our ‘why.’”
Ransom noticed a motion toward the front door and saw Gonzalez and Hatch walk in. They waived toward Ransom and Leesa and walked to where they were standing.
Seeing the scene, Gonzalez spoke first, “Any connections to the I-15 killing?”
“Yeah. The female is on the job,” Leesa shared the news. “And there was another note.”
She handed the note to Gonzalez. He glanced at it and handed it to Hatch.
“You’re kidding me?,” Hatch muttered in disbelief.
“It looks like the killer is targeting officers and their families,” Ransom stated the painfully obvious.
12
The three detectives and Ransom walked outside through the front doors of the ice cream shop. Media trucks were beginning to set up their broadcasting antennas on top of their vans and prep their mics and video equipment. Reporters were intermingled with onlookers, stretching the yellow police tape protecting a perimeter around the front entrance to the establishment. Upon seeing the four exit the shop, reporters began yelling questions in their direction. Some of the reporters yelled specific names of the detectives, including Ransom’s name.
“It begins,” Hatch commented over his shoulder to the others.
Attempting to avoid the onslaught, they moved to the right side of the tape where two patrol cars were parked close together, a narrow gap offering an escape route if they hurried.
“We have to go meet with Sheriff Briggs. He called before I got here and wanted us to swing by after we went over the scene,” Leesa said to Gonzalez and Hatch. “He has to put out a media release but wants to be sure of the facts before he shares anything.” Turning to Ransom, Leesa said, “Sorry Ransom, I’ll give you a call once we brief the Sheriff and the media circus is over.”
“I know my place,” Ransom smirked. “Just give me a ring and maybe we can get together later and go over what you have. You can reach me on my cell if you need anything while meeting with Briggs.”
The three detectives skirted through the opening in the squad cars. Ransom tried to keep up, as much as his cane and leg would allow. Falling a few steps behind gave a couple of reporters the chance to catch up with Ransom. The detectives were able to escape unscathed. A few reporters gave Ransom the “once over” and determined this man with a cane was of no real significance. One reporter stood her ground and made eye contact with Ransom.
“Ransom Walsh. I thought you retired?” she smiled with both hands on her hips, one holding a microphone.
“Hey Teresa. I did,” Ransom smiled and stopped.
Teresa Daniels looked great. She always looked great. Even though their careers mimicked each other in time, life had been truly more gracious to her than to Ransom. She had been fair in her reporting, though tenacious. If the story was there, she would find a way to grab the loose thread and unravel it down to the bare truth. Ransom had always been careful with the words he used and Teresa never took advantage of this. She was appreciative of the times he was able to educate her about procedures and policies. She always asked permission before quoting him. Ransom always deferred to the “higher powers” for statements on the record, usually with the quip, “That’s above my pay grade.”
“So then what’s a retired detective doing on the scene of two cases in three days?” Her truth radar was on high and she was fishing hard.
“It’s good to see you too, Teresa,” Ransom stepped forward with his cane and started across the warming asphalt to his truck.
Teresa shuffled up next to him, unwilling to be swayed by his witty but dismissive comment.
“I appreciate the escort, Teresa,” Ransom opened the door of his truck, climbed inside and shut the door. Rolling down his window he continued, “It’s a dangerous town, glad to know I’m in good hands.”
“I always took good care of you, didn’t I?” she questioned with a wry grin.
“Yes, you absolutely did. There’s going to be a media announcement today. Everything that’s available will come out then. You still have a front row pass, don’t you?”
Ransom laughed as she nodded her head at him.
“Of course I do. How else should I be treated?” She laughed back and added, “Don’t answer that!”
Ransom held up a hand in defense. Teresa placed her left hand on the door lip where the window receded. Ransom noticed the large ring on her ring finger, a single stone in the setting.
“You should at least buy me a cup of coffee some time, for old times’ sake at least,” she pulled his attention back to her face and produced another wry grin.
“Sounds good. When this case is settled, it’s a deal.”
“Sooner than that,” she quipped and pulled a card out of a pocket in her skirt. Reaching into his truck, Teresa pulled a pen from Ransom’s pocket. She wrote on the card and handed the card and pen to Ransom, “Don’t make me hunt you down.”
He accepted the card, “Yes ma’am.”
Ransom started his truck and pulled away from the gathering crowd. At the entry to the street, he looked down at the card. Teresa had written her “personal cell” number and “Don’t Wait” underneath it, underlined for emphasis. Ransom popped open the glove compartment and
tossed the card on top of his registration documents. Shutting the compartment, he looked left and pulled into traffic and headed home.
13
Opening the door to his house, the smell of bacon rushed out the door and surrounded his head. Looking into the living room he could see Maddie sitting cross-legged on the sofa and watching television.
“Hey sugar,” Ransom stepped in and locked the door behind him.
“Oh hi, daddy,” Maddie smiled, holding a piece of bacon in front of her mouth, interrupted by his entrance.
“Did you make me some?” he asked.
Maddie looked at the bacon in her hand, “Sorry, I didn’t know you’d be home. You want me to make you something?”
Maddie loved her breakfast food. She wasn’t opposed to eating it for breakfast and then again for lunch before rushing off to work.
“That’s okay. Finish your lunch, or breakfast, or whatever it is,” he laughed. “I’ll build a little something and join you.”
Ransom threw together a sandwich from a container of ham slices and a package of baby Swiss cheese. Grabbing a tube of chips he joined Maddie on the couch. He made a little too much of a noise when sitting down and Maddie gave him a concerned look.
“Spent the morning on your leg?” She set her fork on her plate next to the half-eaten scrambled eggs and last piece of bacon.
Ransom thought he would go for the redirection instead of answering her question. “What are you watching?”
He smiled and took a big bite of his sandwich to block his ability to answer any more questions.
Maddie didn’t take the bait and clicked the television off.
“Where have you been running around to lately?”
Ransom decided to clue her in on the situation, since she also knew Gabe and Kathryn, and had known the rest of the family as well. He put his sandwich back on the plate and set it on the sofa next to him. Seeing his response, Maddie did the same thing and put her plate on the coffee table in front of her.