by Rusty Ellis
Trevor didn’t move.
“Go right, I’ll go left,” Ransom whispered to her.
Leesa gave the door enough of a push to hang open momentarily. Grabbing her gun with both hands, she peeled around the right side of the wall, followed by Ransom turning sharp to the left. Clearing the room, they walked on opposite sides of a number of boxes filling the parking stall closest to the door. Leesa came to a stop just short of the front-right bumper of the vehicle, her gun and eyes trained on Trevor. Ransom crept along the back of the vehicle and looked up the driver’s side to get a glimpse of Trevor in the reflection of the side mirror. He took a quick peek into the back of the vehicle but saw no one else.
Trevor’s eyes were half-shut and staring straight ahead, his mouth relaxed open. Ransom peeked through the windows to the other side of the vehicle to let Leesa know he was moving forward to make contact. She nodded and moved in closer to the bumper.
Ransom glided heel to toe, knees bent, moving alongside the Yukon. Reaching the driver’s door, Ransom backed away a foot and peeked around the corner of the car door frame to see Trevor’s lifeless face. A matting of blood ran down the left side of his face and neck. Ransom lowered his gun and straightened up. Leesa watched and made her way around the front of the vehicle, returning her gun to its holster.
Stepping up to the window, Ransom could see Trevor’s right hand resting on the center console, a small caliber pistol still in his loosened grip. Ransom shook his head and looked at Leesa.
“I’ll go talk to his mother,” Leesa turned and trekked back toward the door to the kitchen.
Ransom returned his gun to the holster at his back. Looking into Trevor’s eyes he couldn’t help but wonder what drove this young man to this. To the killings. To taking his life. An exasperated wail came from the kitchen area, the mother’s voice trailing off and giving way to loud sobbing.
Ransom walked back to the rear of the vehicle and looked through the window into the back. A military gas mask was sitting on top of several blankets, a coiled up gas line next to the blankets. Ransom had no doubt the DNA in the blankets and back carpeting would match the victims.
Ransom made his way back to the door and pulled it open. The woman was at the table, her head buried in her folded arms on the table. Leesa was standing next to her with her hand on her shoulder. Ransom retrieved his cane from the counter and walked over to relieve Leesa so she could call the situation into dispatch.
The woman drew in a few deep breaths and raised her head off her arms. Ransom reached for a napkin holder on the table and handed her a couple napkins.
“Is there anyone I can call?” Ransom asked. “Someone who can come over and be with you?” he asked again.
She retrieved her phone and dialed a number, handing the phone to Ransom, “It’s my pastor’s wife, Penny.”
“This is Ransom Walsh with Las Vegas Metro,” Ransom began, “I’m calling about Mrs. Lancaster…”
* * *
The pastor’s wife arrived at the Lancaster home to find several police cars parked in front. Leesa met her out front of the house and explained the situation to her, giving her a business card. Penny accompanied Leesa back into the house and exited the home with Mrs. Lancaster. Penny helped her into her car and the two left for the pastor’s home.
Leesa stood in the open doorway watching the car disappear down the street, “Can’t imagine what she’s going through. First her husband, then Trevor.”
Ransom stood quietly, painfully familiar with this part of the job. The words of explanation worn out and overused. He was used to distancing himself from his cases. It was part of keeping his sanity and having enough emotions to attempt a normal existence away from work. Once in a while one of the cases got to you. It stuck in your head. It invaded your dreams. It announced itself over and over during everyday events, triggered by the smallest of words and objects. You couldn’t prepare for it, your mind chose when and where to shove the memory.
“Mike’s here,” Leesa pointed at the CSI van pulling up in front of the house and walked out to meet him.
Ransom walked to the open doorway and watched Mike and Leesa talk as they headed back into the house. The garage door remained shut to keep the neighbors and onlookers at bay. The last thing they needed was for someone to put this together and start snapping pictures to post up on social media.
“Ransom,” Mike nodded as he reached the single-step front porch.
Ransom nodded back, “Hey Mike.”
“Heard you found our Yukon,” Mike followed Ransom back into the house.
“Looks that way,” he answered and stepped to the side, letting Mike venture toward the garage.
Leesa stepped up next to Ransom, “I’m going to call Gonzalez and Hatch then Briggs.”
“In that order?” Ransom questioned.
Leesa nodded, “Yep. Briggs can wait a few minutes. He still has time to throw together a press conference and get his face on camera tonight.”
Ransom’s phone rang. Looking at the screen he could see Teresa’s name across the top.
“Hey Teresa,” he answered.
Her cheerful voice was a welcome change in mood, “Hey Ransom. You hadn’t called to take me to dinner tonight.”
Ransom stepped out of the house onto the front lawn, out of earshot of the other officers and Leesa, “Sorry, been working a case.”
“A case or the case?” her reporter side kicked in.
“Yes, the case,” he gave in. “We can do a late dinner if you want.”
“So you’re that busy, eh?” she laughed. “Something going on with the case that you’re holding out on me?”
“Actually, you’re going to be busy at a press conference with Briggs, only he doesn’t know it yet.”
“What?”
“Looks like we got the guy. Leesa still has to let Briggs know and fill him in. I’m sure he’ll want some camera time tonight.”
Leesa walked up to where Ransom was standing, “Let me call you back. Okay. Talk soon.”
Leesa raised her eyebrow, “Maddie?”
Ransom shook his head. Leesa grimaced at her partner’s cat-and-mouse game and shrugged.
“We gotta go, Briggs wants to see me,” Leesa started for the car. “I’ll drop you at home. You’re so lucky you’re retired. I’d rather have you chat with Briggs.”
Ransom smiled in agreement. At least it was one perk to his retirement gig. Ransom’s smile dropped momentarily and Leesa called him out.
“What’s wrong?”
“We need to call Gabe,” Ransom realized.
It was difficult to remember the victims at times. Getting so wrapped up in the case, all of his focus would be toward catching the individual, the victims and evidence provided a roadmap and path to the perpetrator. The relief was in stopping future crimes and bringing some sense of closure to the victims. Ransom knew in reality the victims were many times left floating in the cogs of the criminal justice and court system. A fallacy of the system. The focus to punish and stop crime, then move onto the next case.
“I’ll run by his house after you drop me off. It’s better in person and I don’t want the media circus to blindside them before I tell them.”
The topic of Gabe and Kathryn dropped the crime back into the painfully personal category. Leesa and Ransom were content to drive quietly, letting each other sort out their own personal thoughts and wrestle with their own myriad of demons.
29
Ransom hugged Kathryn just inside the door to their home and she kissed him on the cheek. She seemed relieved by the news he had just shared with her and her husband, desperate for any form of closure she could manage. Gabe followed Ransom outside to Ransom’s truck.
Ransom reached through the open driver’s window and dropped his cane on the passenger seat. Turning, he looked at Gabe and the two friends smiled knowingly. Something about being on the job traded a friendship up to another level of understanding. Though Ransom felt for his friends, he admitted to him
self he was unable to walk in their shoes. He was unsure of the emotional wreckage that would ensue if he lost Maddie. Worse if an entire family unit was destroyed.
Gabe nodded at Ransom and gave him a bear hug. Ransom could see the tears welling up in Gabe’s eyes as he released his grip. Ransom climbed into his truck and gave Gabe and Kathryn another look. The two of them standing in their doorway, arms around each other. A person driving by at that very moment would never know the pain they were going through, the loss they had endured a mere four days ago on Southbound I-15.
Ransom waived as he pulled away from the curb, the music in the background drowned out by the war of emotions and thoughts raging in his chest and head.
30
The chatter from the reporters battled with the noise of camera gear as the news organizations jockeyed for the best positions in the press room. A podium stood at the front of the room and was adorned with the Metro police star on front. A large dark drape served as a backdrop.
The room quieted as a stream of Metro command staff entered the room and took their place in a row behind the podium. Sheriff Briggs was the last in the room and approached the podium holding a small stack of papers in his left hand. At the podium, he spread the papers on the podium and touched his index finger to the furthest paper on the left, scanning through its contents.
Looking up at the reporters and cameras, he offered a stern face and began, “Today at roughly 4:40 pm, Metro detectives were following up on a lead at a valley home in relation to the recent deaths of three of our officers and their families. The investigation led them to the residence of a Trevor Lancaster.”
Briggs watched as the reporters scribbled the name on their pads. The photographers snapped pictures from every angle possible, from the floor to rigs on short poles above their heads. The video cameras fed the live feed to their stations and no doubt clips would be shared with national news agencies.
Briggs continued, “Lancaster was subsequently found dead in his vehicle. A self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. A small caliber weapon was found in his possession at the scene. A vehicle, owned and registered to Lancaster, was also at the scene. The same vehicle is believed to be tied to the murders. I’m limited in being able to provide further information about the case until we close the investigation.”
The reporters came to life and began a shouting match of questions aimed at Briggs. He skillfully selected the questions and reporters he would address by name.
“Angela,” he pointed to a 30-something blonde woman in a black dress suit.
“Have you been able to come up with a reason why he committed these serial murders?” she strained her neck and annunciated the word ‘serial’ for effect.
“We believe it was a vendetta against law enforcement and the criminal justice system. His father is currently serving a third felony sentence at the Southern Desert Correctional Facility. His father appears to have been out of his life for the better part of ten plus years.”
The clamor erupted again at the conclusion of his response. Briggs surveyed the anxious crowd and pointed at a man wearing jeans and a dress coat.
“John Prescott, Las Vegas Review Journal. Sheriff, were there any clues along the way that could have potentially saved the families after the first victims?” He quickly followed up with, “We understand that you assigned several detectives to the case and even included a former detective in the investigation, is that true?”
“Our detectives did everything in their power to work the case. I don’t see any indicators along the way that could have changed the outcome of this situation. My people were working tirelessly with the information they had and did an amazing job at putting the pieces together. I believe that Lancaster would have kept going had our detectives not focused on him as a suspect. It was their efforts that brought this string of events to a close,” Briggs loosened his grip on the sides of the podium and tapped the top of the podium with one finger, “As for resources, we allocated a number of detectives from other details to assist in solving these crimes.”
Briggs attempted to move on but the man pressed forward with the tail of his original question, “What about the fact that a retired detective was helping with the case?” The man looked down at his notes and looked back up, “Retired detective Ransom Walsh?”
The question floated in front of Briggs, he was unable to sidestep it again, “That’s correct, Walsh assisted our detectives.”
The reporters were seen scribbling notes on their pads at a furious pace.
Before Briggs could comment further, a female voice shot up above the crowd, “Teresa Daniels, Fox Five News. Was the serial killer acting alone or were there any accomplices?”
Teresa knew the question was a softball. The reporter in the jeans and suit coat glared at her for redirecting the path of his question.
“We believe he was acting alone and have found no further evidence of accomplices thus far,” Briggs answered, appreciative for the simple question. “That’s all for now,” Briggs gathered his papers and leaned into the microphone while parting, “we will update you if anything further comes from the investigation. Thank you.”
Briggs walked briskly out the entrance to his right, followed by the entourage of solemn command staff.
Teresa motioned to her cameraman and pointed to a mostly empty corner of the room to summarize her report on camera. Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she quickly glanced at the text “Ransom: Play softball much?”
She laughed and texted back “Teresa: Only when I’m hungry and want dinner.”
“Ransom: Call me when you’re done.”
“Teresa: Deal.”
31
“Teresa: Headed home now from Metro on MLK. Pick me up in 40 mins.”
“Ransom: Ok.”
* * *
Teresa left the restaurant choice up to Ransom, “Anywhere, I’m famished!”
Ransom decided to take her to a little Italian restaurant at Town Center. He’d heard good things from Leesa about the place and the carbs would settle an empty stomach.
“What’s with the last questions to Briggs? You getting soft?” Ransom said and tore a long breadstick in half.
Teresa feigned being offended, “You saying that I’m not doing my job Mr. Walsh?”
Ransom laughed, “Not at all. Just seemed that you gave him a little bit of a pass from the previous question.”
“Let’s just say I had a personal interest in the previous question,” she teased back.
The comment caught Ransom a little off guard. Teresa had a way of unabashedly speaking her mind. It was unnerving and refreshing at the same time. Ransom gazed at the bread in his hand, the past week had been a whirlwind. The emotional roller-coaster had taken its toll. He stared at the roll in silence, rehashing Trevor and the evidence against him.
“You know, it tastes better if you actually put it in your mouth.”
“What,” Ransom looked up.
“The bread. It’s meant to be eaten,” Teresa showed Ransom the piece of bread in her hand and with great physical exaggeration put it up to her mouth and took a bite.
He smiled at her and took a small bite of the bread.
Teresa turned her head to one side, “What is it? What’s wrong? And don’t tell me nothing is wrong, you’re easy to read Mister Tough Guy.”
Ransom set the bread down on the small plate in front of him and leaned back in his chair. He shifted his right leg from under the table and straightened it out on the side of the table leg.
“Not sure how to explain it,” he began.
Unsure of where he was going with his comment, Teresa replied, “Try.”
“It’s going to sound weird,” he warned.
Teresa just opened her eyes a little more in encouragement to continue.
“Have you ever put a container in the fridge only to find out later the lid wasn’t on all the way? Like a Tupperware container?”
Ransom could see Teresa was even more unsure of where
he was going with this.
“The case just doesn’t feel done to me. The lid’s not on all the way for some reason. Kind of like when you pop one of those lids on and it goes on too easy and you think ‘that can’t be right, that was too easy’.”
Teresa caught on and offered, “Maybe you’re just that good?”
Ransom rolled his eyes and was about to speak when she cut him off, “No, really, I’m not teasing here, Ransom. You and Leesa did some good work on this case. Aren’t they allowed to come together like this once in a while? Hey, let the good guys win one.”
Ransom appreciated her generous words, though he couldn’t shirk the feeling nagging at him. The lid just didn’t quite fit. However, sometimes the simplest answer was the best answer. Sometimes you can overthink a case and add too many contingencies when the answer was dangling on the low branches of the investigation tree.
A waiter interrupted with their dinner, setting down an oversized plate of lasagna in front of Ransom and scallop fettuccini in front of Teresa.
Ransom watched Teresa as her face lit up at the sight of her dinner. He couldn’t help but smile at her kid-like reaction. She looked up and noticed his stare, locking eyes for half a second longer than socially acceptable. Ransom was surprised at the comfort he felt at meeting her long gaze. He offered a boyish grin and broke eye contact, allowing them to dive into their meals.
* * *
Teresa attempted to stop Ransom from gathering up his cane and walking her to the door. She knew it would be a lost cause from the start, but expressed concern about his leg. Reaching the truck door, he opened it and put out his hand to help her out. She took his hand and climbed down off the seat. Turning away from her, he surprised her by keeping hold of her hand as he walked her to the door of her small Summerlin home. Living in this area in Las Vegas came with a small price spike versus the same home north or south of the area.