by Rick Mofina
“Additional human remains have been found within proximity of the barn leading us to believe that Nelson may have killed other people. Work is under way to confirm the identity of those remains, and we’re expanding the scene and bringing in more people for an extensive search of the area. We’re going to scour every square inch of the property. Now, based on evidence found at the scene, we’ve reason to suspect that the case is linked to the disappearance of Tara Dawn Mae, who’s been missing from Brooks, Alberta, Canada, for over fifteen years.”
Soft gasps rippled among the reporters along with the hurried turning of notebook pages. Kate glanced at Tara Dawn’s face, then at Brennan. It was more real, for now they were closer to talking officially about a link to Vanessa. Kate regained her concentration as Kennedy continued.
“We’re working with the RCMP on this part of the investigation. Finally, we believe Carl Nelson is alive and at large using an assumed name. A warrant has been issued for his arrest for the murders of John Charles Pollard and Bethany Ann Wynn. Today, the FBI will place him on its Most Wanted list. Nelson should be considered dangerous. He should not be approached by the public. We’re also appealing to anyone with any information concerning this case to call our tip line or their local police. Okay, we’ll take a few questions.”
Hands went up.
“Yes,” Kennedy said, “Marissa, from the Rampart Examiner.”
“Are you telling us that Nelson held one of his victims in captivity in that barn for fifteen years?”
“We know that, in the Canadian case, Tara Dawn Mae’s been missing for that time. We know that Nelson’s been in Rampart for ten years.”
Kate’s hand shot up, but she was passed over for a newspaper reporter from Rochester.
“Where was Nelson before that time?”
“That’s under investigation.”
Kate raised her hand, but Kennedy went to a reporter from Plattsburgh.
“Is the case connected to the abandoned insane asylum?”
“We’re looking into that. I see lots of hands—next.”
Again Kate tried but lost out to a TV reporter from Syracuse.
“Captain, how is it that Nelson, a computer technician and recluse, was able to keep prisoners at that barn for as long as a decade without anyone noticing?”
“The property was abandoned. We found evidence of confinement rooms concealed in a lower level. He stole small amounts of electricity undetected from the grid. Few people traveled that deep into the wooded area—in fact none to our knowledge, until the discovery of the fire. Next.”
Kate’s hand went up again, but the Bloomberg reporter got the question.
“You said you found confinement rooms. What was going on out there?”
“We don’t know.”
“It’s rumored there was bondage, perhaps torture?”
“We don’t know. We can only speculate that it was horrible. Next.”
Kennedy looked directly at Kate and she started to speak, but he shifted his attention, taking another reporter’s question. She knew what was happening and was tempted to raise her middle finger.
“Given that Nelson worked at the MRKT DataFlow Call Center, did you find Bethany Ann Wynn’s financial records there?” a radio reporter from Ogdensburg asked. “And did Nelson have access to them? Is that how he selected his victims?”
“We’re investigating that aspect.”
Kate waved her notebook, tried to raise a question, but Moore continued.
“And, given Nelson’s work, isn’t it possible he could assume or steal anyone’s identity?”
“Yes, it’s possible, next question.”
Kate waved her hand and again she was ignored.
“Did Nelson act alone?” the reporter from the Associated Press asked.
“It appears so, but we’re early in the investigation.”
Again, Kate raised her hand, and again Kennedy looked directly at her as he took a question from the reporter behind her from Reuters.
“To be clear on the victims, we have Bethany Ann Wynn and John Charles Pollard. So, two confirmed at this time, but you’re confident that number will rise?”
“Correct.”
“One more question,” the Reuters guy said. “Any idea on Nelson’s whereabouts?”
“Finding him is our priority, Jim.” Kennedy shifted the subject. “You all know that the site remains closed, but because most of you asked about getting pictures of the scene we’re arranging pool coverage, drawing names from the sign-in sheet. Okay, thank you, everyone, I think we’ll wrap this—”
“Excuse me!” Kate stood. “Kate Page, Newslead. Captain, I think we need more than just five minutes here.”
Kennedy’s face tightened.
“What’s your question?”
“Captain, how close are you to determining the identity of the recently discovered remains?”
“As I indicated at the outset, they’re with the pathologist. These matters take time.”
“Sir,” Kate continued. “What factors led you to connect this case to the cold case of Tara Dawn Mae in Canada?”
“We’re not prepared to discuss that at this time.”
“Did you find evidence at the scene to make the connection?”
“We’re not going to discuss evidence.” Kennedy stared at Kate.
“What about Nelson? Can you put him in Canada at the time of Tara Dawn’s disappearance?”
“We’re not going to discuss that part of our investigation at this time. That’s it for now, thank you, everyone.”
As Kennedy stood to leave, Kate raised her voice above the shuffle of the closing press conference and news cameras were directed at her.
“Captain Kennedy, can you elaborate on how Tara Dawn Mae’s case is tied to that of Vanessa Page of Chicago, who went missing after a car accident in Canada twenty years ago?”
Kennedy and the others halted. He took stock of the other investigators before answering.
“Ms. Page, we’re aware of your interest and your story. I say, with the greatest respect and understanding, that we’re not in a position to discuss all aspects of our investigation at this time. Thank you.”
Reporters tried to get in last questions, but Kennedy waved them off as police officials gathered folders and left the room for a smaller glass-walled office adjoining it. The reporters immediately surrounded Kate and peppered her with questions under the glare of the TV cameras as the still photographers fired shot after shot.
“We read your story, Kate. Will you tell our listeners why you’re convinced your sister’s a victim here?”
“How did you learn your sister’s case was tied to this one?”
“What did you discover in Canada about your sister’s cold case and this one? Your story never said what Canadian authorities told you.”
“How have the past twenty years been for you, Kate?”
She looked at Anita Moore, the reporter who’d asked the last one.
“They’ve been hard and I’d give anything to see my sister again.”
At that point, Kate saw Brennan nodding at her from the doorway to the other officials in the glass-walled office. He mouthed the word now. She extricated herself from the press pack. Some reporters objected when Kate alone joined the cops in the office, for it appeared she was given journalistic preference.
“What’s going on, Ed?” the reporter for the Examiner asked.
Brennan dismissed them and closed the door after he and Kate entered the office where Kennedy, who’d loosened his tie, was waiting with the others.
“Our hearts go out to you, Kate,” Kennedy said. “We’re sympathetic to your situation. We appreciate that you’ve helped us, but our hands are tied.”
Kate said nothing, letting her resen
tment bubble as Kennedy continued.
“You have to let us do our job.”
“I’m not stopping you.”
“Kate, we know—” Kennedy stopped to see news cameras recording them on the other side of the glass. “Would someone shut the blinds? Now, Kate, we know where you’ve been, who you’ve talked to and what you’ve been doing.”
“You’re stating the obvious, since I wrote about it for Newslead.”
“Yes, and I will thank you for keeping evidentiary details out of your story. That was important.”
“I’m not stupid, Captain.”
“I wasn’t suggesting that, Kate. We’re concerned about tipping off the suspect to everything we know. Our focus is finding Nelson and arresting him while we determine the scope of his crimes and identify the victims.”
“And everything points to my sister being one of them.”
“Yes, I’m afraid that’s possible. We haven’t identified the remains yet. Kate, you have to brace yourself for the possibility that she’s a victim.”
“That’s what I’ve been doing all of my life, Captain. But if you know something that I don’t, if those are Vanessa’s remains that you found, then you tell me right now!”
“At this point, we don’t know who the deceased is. But when the pathologist confirms the identity, we’ll release the information.” Kennedy paused. “Kate, we’re urging you not to interfere, to back off.”
“No. I’m not going to be the docile, grieving family member on the sidelines. I have a constitutional right to ask questions. I’ve lived with this all of my life. I’ve got a blood right to the truth. I’ll never back off.”
“We’re asking you to exercise a little judgment here.”
“Kate.” Kennedy rubbed his chin. “Just to remind you, those charges against you can always be brought back.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No, but consider the ramifications. Kate, it’s dangerous to get too close to a case, especially when it concerns a dangerous fugitive.”
“He’s right, Kate,” Brennan said. “Nelson’s at large, and you’re involved in this. You should dial things down.”
“No, I’m not backing off.”
“All right,” Kennedy said. “I think we’re done here.”
Leaving the town hall with Jay, Kate was stopped by reporters insisting on more comments. Kate kept them short, then headed with Raney to his SUV.
“AP’s shooting still images for the pool,” he said. “Bloomberg will send copy. We should go with the pack to Nelson’s house, see what we can find there.”
“Sure, but I have to file something first. Let’s grab a coffee somewhere and I’ll write.”
At that moment, her phone rang.
“Kate, this is Nicky Green from the library. I found that news story from Denver you wanted, the one about a license plate and missing girl in Canada.”
“Great. Can you send it to me?”
“Just did.”
CHAPTER 24
Rampart, New York
Three blocks from the town hall, Kate and Raney shared a booth in Sally’s Diner.
Kate was anxious to read the old clipping from Denver, but her deadline was looming. She needed to file her story, and she was hungry.
While waiting for their food, they set up their laptops. Raney selected and adjusted images he’d shot at the news conference. Kate inserted an earpiece, plucked key quotes from her recorder, consulted her notes and wrote, her keyboard clicking softly as she tuned out the noise around her.
By the time the waitress set their burgers down—“My, you two are busy bees”—Kate was well into her story, stopping at each paragraph to take a bite. When she’d finished she’d filed seven hundred clean, solid words to Newslead, just under the deadline.
Raney was on the phone to the photo desk in New York. While he talked, Kate went to her email and the Colorado article. It was from the Denver Star-Times, a community weekly that had ceased publication nearly ten years ago. It was a short item:
Police Probe Possible Denver Link to Missing Canadian Girl
By Will Goodsill
Denver detectives are investigating a possible local link to a ten-year-old Canadian girl who recently went missing from a truck stop in Alberta, Canada.
Tara Dawn Mae vanished last week from the Grand Horizon Plaza, along the Trans-Canada Highway at Brooks, Alberta, about 100 miles east of Calgary.
Canadian authorities gave Colorado law enforcement officials a list of partial license plates and descriptions of vehicles that were in the area at the time, with a request to verify them in relation to the Canadian case.
“We’re running them down where we can, eliminating possibilities. A few are promising leads, but it’s a needle-in-a-haystack thing,” a police source told the Star-Times.
A stamp-sized photo of Tara Dawn accompanied the article.
Kate reread the piece, drawn to the quote “A few are promising leads.” Which few? What happened to them? Who was the source? Did Carl Nelson ever live in Denver?
I need to follow this, but it’s going to take time.
Raney ended his call, then snapped his laptop shut.
“Ready to go, Kate?” He signaled the waitress for the checks.
* * *
A few minutes later, Raney pulled onto Knox Lane and rolled by Nelson’s modest ranch-style bungalow with its tidy yard.
The situation was different from when Kate was last here. The entire property was sealed with yellow tape and Rampart officers had been posted to keep people out. The street was sprinkled with news vehicles. Nelson’s neighbors were giving doorstep and sidewalk interviews, their faces etched with concern. Some held their children close.
Kate and Raney approached a man and woman in their thirties, who’d just finished talking to a TV crew on the sidewalk, two doors down from Nelson’s house. The couple, Neil and Belinda Wilcox, agreed to have their picture taken and to talk about their missing neighbor.
“It shocks you to the core.” Belinda cupped her hand to her cheek and stared at Nelson’s house. “It’s frightening. We had him in our home once.”
“Really?” Kate took out her notebook. “Tell me about that?”
“Well, it sounds cliché,” Neil started, “but Nelson kept to himself. He was a hermit.”
“Yeah,” Belinda added. “With his long hair and beard, he looked like one.”
“Yeah, well, one day in winter,” Neil continued, “he was clearing his driveway and I’d run out of gas for my snowblower. I asked him if I could borrow some. Well, I got telling him how my computer didn’t work and he volunteered to fix it. It took him about two minutes, the guy’s a genius.”
“Another time,” Belinda recalled, “I saw that he had like a ton of groceries in the back of his truck. I asked him if he was feeding an army, because we knew he lived alone. He was kind of startled and said he was donating a lot to a soup kitchen in Ogdensburg.”
The Wilcoxes remembered little else that was noteworthy. Raney indicated an older man and woman across the street, walking a golden retriever, and they went to them.
Doris Stitz was a retired schoolteacher, and her husband, Harvey, was a retired mechanic. They lived at the corner of the street.
“We came down to see what all this fuss was today,” Harvey said.
“We’ve been following the story in the news,” Doris said. “And it’s just getting worse and worse. It’s so awful. You never expect this kind of thing in our quiet little town.”
“Did you ever meet Nelson?”
“Once,” Harvey said. “He seemed friendly enough, but it felt like it was forced. You got a sense that he wanted to be left alone.”
“How so?”
“Just an air about him. It was
last year. Boone, here, got off his leash and chased a squirrel into Nelson’s backyard. I rang his doorbell and asked if I could go get my dog. Nelson just gave off this icy air, like he didn’t appreciate being bothered, or want anybody on his property. Then he said I could go get Boone. I didn’t notice anything back there. It was all very well kept, very neat. On my way out with Boone, Nelson looked at my ball cap, asked if I was a Broncos’ fan. I said damn straight I am, then Nelson smiled and that was it.”
“The Denver Broncos, the NFL football team?” Kate made a quick note.
“Yes.”
“Did Nelson ever say if he lived in Denver?”
“Heck no, that was the extent of our conversation,” Harvey said. “I don’t think that guy ever really talked with anyone.”
* * *
During the drive to the Syracuse airport, Kate updated her story. Along the way she called Grace, who was happy she’d be home later that night.
“Did you get me a present?”
“Sure did.”
“What is it?”
“A surprise.”
Kate then used the drive time to continue looking into the Denver Star-Times story. She needed to talk to Will Goodsill, the reporter. Maybe Goodsill could get in touch with his source, prompt him on what became of the “promising leads.”
Online she found scores of listings for Goodsill across the country, a few in Denver, none for a Will Goodsill. She started making calls and leaving messages, knowing it was a long shot. The story was fifteen years old. Memories fade, people move and people die.
* * *
After Raney dropped Kate off at the airport she checked her bag, went through security and on to pre-boarding. At her gate, TV screens suspended throughout the area, were dialed to news networks with pictures of Carl Nelson flashing across them.
The Rampart case had exploded into a national story.