“The devoted dad.”
“Right. And Bridget’s daughter Lea was in the same youth group.”
“Man.”
“After we talked for a while, the Rev told me something that had been bothering him for a while: Tonya was in that youth group.”
“Tonya was? She’s in her late twenties.”
“Yes, and would have been early twenties at the time. Back to the Rev. He didn’t suspect anything at the time, but when Leder was about to marry Tonya a few years later, the Rev knew in his heart something wasn’t right. He called Leder in for a little ‘come to Jesus’ talk, but Leder played the innocent, said he wanted to protect Tonya from anyone who might take advantage of her. Leder was very convincing, but it didn’t sit right with the Rev.”
“Tonya said she had met Morgan in a Bible study, but didn’t specify it was for youth. That is weird. So Leder’s daughter was in a youth group with Tonya, and then Leder marries her? And why would he get active in a church for a year? Do you think he had a thing for young girls?”
“No indication of that in the first four women he married. Although his first wife was a teenager, but so was he. Maybe he was trying to reform, do something for his daughter, someone besides himself for once, but couldn’t keep it going for more than a year. My guess is when he met Tonya, he saw dollar signs and went for it. She was an adult and could give consent.”
“I go along with the pastor. It doesn’t sit right with me, either.”
“That’s a given. Well, it gives us more to talk about with the daughter and the exes.”
“Smoke, I know you’re like an animal following a blood trail when you’re on a case, but it’s Sunday. Why don’t you take a break, do something fun. We have a long drive tomorrow.”
He paused and cleared his throat. “Um. Marcella’s cooking me dinner. Does that count?”
“Yes it does. Have fun. What time are we leaving in the morning?”
“How about seven?”
“Oh, gee, I get to sleep in until six?”
“You can sleep on the way. I‘ll swing by your house to pick you up.”
“See you then.”
CHAPTER 16
The sun rose about thirty minutes before I did Monday morning, the morning of the big trip to Kentucky. I looked out the bedroom window of my country home, across the field that ran to where a line of the trees started, about one hundred yards to Bebee Lake, and reluctantly admitted six a.m. in late May was an ideal time to greet the day. Sunbeams brightened the landscape, producing a myriad of colors on the bark and leaves of trees, and the grasses in the field.
Since I was alone, I belted out a somewhat passable rendition of “Oh, What a Beautiful Morning,” from the musical Oklahoma. I had been in the chorus of the Oak Lea High School production when I was in the eleventh grade there. That song bubbled to the surface of my memory on particularly gorgeous days. And as the days were getting longer, moving closer to the summer solstice, it seemed I was humming that tune a lot.
There were two things I had managed to keep secret from my colleagues at the sheriff’s department: I attended ballet classes, and I had performed in plays in high school. I wasn’t ashamed of either one, but why give the guys more reasons to tease me? They had plenty of material without those. In a pseudo-military organization like the sheriff‘s department, artsy things weren’t held in high esteem by all the officers. But my guess was, more deputies liked the arts than were willing to admit.
I could be up and out the door within minutes when necessary, but that day I awoke early to allow enough time for a decent shower and breakfast. I knew what I was going to take, but had put off packing. I ran downstairs, started a pot of coffee, and then ran back upstairs to get ready while it brewed. It was strange not having Queenie underfoot.
My mother told me she envied how little I had to do to enhance my features—my skin had decent color and a “natural glow,” as she put it. She said to enjoy it while I was young, before gravity eventually won and everything started to sag. I was pretty sure gravity had nothing to do with it, but that’s what she believed. My mother was a youthful looking fifty-year-old and had nothing to complain about. Her thirty-one years of worrying about John Carl and me had not taken away her looks. Remarkably.
After my shower, when I had blow-dried my straight, longer-than-shoulder-length blonde hair, put on some makeup, and brushed my teeth, I thought about what I had decided to wear and what I would pack. I picked a gray suit—pants and jacket—white button down shirt, and black dress boots for the interview the next day. I found a duffle bag in my closet and threw in toiletries, clean underwear, pajamas, and the hooded sweatshirt I preferred instead of a robe. I left the suit and shirt on a hanger to keep them crisp.
For the days’ travel, I put on my dressiest dark blue jeans and a light blue blouse. Then I attached my badge to the front of the waistband, and a pancake holster on my right side. I retrieved my service weapon from my bed stand and did a few practice draws. The pancake holster was different from the level-two service holster, but I was equally comfortable with either.
I carried the bag downstairs and set it by the door. With twenty minutes until my prompt partner arrived, I made myself peanut butter toast and washed it down with a cup of coffee, then poured the rest of the pot of coffee into two travel mugs.
When Smoke pulled into the driveway, I was ready and standing in front of the garage door. Smoke stopped the car, popped open the trunk, and got out. “You’re looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed on this bright spring morning.”
“Thanks. I actually woke up excited about getting out of Winnebago County for a couple of days. I must need a vacation.”
“No doubt. Since the sheriff decided I needed a partner for the trip, I have to say you’re a good choice. You don’t talk non-stop so I can’t think, or get a word in edgewise. And you don’t just sit there saying nothing, like a bump on a log, either.”
“Okay, I can figure out the different deputies you are referring to, so thanks.”
I bent over to pick up my case, but Smoke beat me to it. He threw it in the trunk. “I’ll hang this in the car,” he said raising my clothes hanger.
“That’d be great. Thanks.”
Smoke opened the back door and hung it over a hook with his own clothes. “One of those mugs for me?” he asked when he shut the door and turned to me.
I handed it over. “It is.”
We settled in our seats, and off we went.
“When you had dinner with Marcella last night, did you ask her any more about the case? How was that, by the way?” I couldn’t resist adding.
Smoke tipped his head toward me and raised his eyebrows. “We talked a little about the case, and dinner was delicious. I don’t know what I expected, but Marcella could be classified as a gourmet cook.”
I wasn’t even sure what defined a gourmet cook. My own cooking skills were limited. I knew how to open cans and order take-out pizza. “That’s cool.”
“She said it was fun having someone to cook for.”
“And you said ‘anytime’?”
A loud, short laugh escaped his throat. “Not quite.” He gave the steering wheel a slap with his left hand. “Getting back to Leder. Marcella thinks whoever killed him—or captured him and let him die, to be specific—was bent on revenge. Going to all the trouble they did was overkill, in her opinion. And in mine. There was significance in what they did and why.”
“Maybe they thought guns and ammo were easier to trace than twine and duct tape and snowshoes and sleds.”
“And that would be true, so far anyway.”
About an hour into the trip, my work cell phone rang. I looked at the display. Anonymous. An 800 number. “Why would an eight hundred company call a deputy?”
“Who knows? They probably don’t know they are. Answer and tell them to take you off their list. It’ll save time in the long run.”
I opened the phone. “Sergeant Aleckson.”
An automated vo
ice answered me. “You have a collect call from an inmate in the Hennepin County Jail. Will you accept the charges?”
I had to think for a second. Did someone I know get into trouble, and needed my help? It was possible. I put my hand over my phone. “It’s an inmate in Hennepin County calling collect. Should I take it?”
“Up to you. Got any friends there, not counting your enemy Langley Parker?”
The mention of his name caused my heart rate to speed up. “No,” I said into the phone, then clapped it shut. “Gee, thanks, Smoke, I miraculously got through the first two hours of my day without thinking of my number one enemy.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to spoil it for you.”
“Don’t worry about it. I should have taken the call. They probably dialed wrong, and it was just a coincidence.”
“Could be.”
“Since we’re talking about Parker, I have to say, I don’t want time to go faster except when it comes to getting trials like his behind us. And it won’t be on the court docket until October, maybe November. ”
Smoke let out a puff of air. “We’ll all be relieved when he goes away to prison forever.”
“It’s a shame they closed Alcatraz. Even that would be too good for him for killing and dismembering two women—”
“That we know of. But, he didn’t succeed in fatally harming you, and I will always be grateful for that.”
“Parker put the fear of God into me, that’s for sure. But as you know, Doctor Kearns really helped me work through it.” Doctor Kearns was the psychologist I saw following two traumatic events that had brought me close to death the previous year. “Thanks for making me get professional help, Smoke.”
“You’re welcome. You’re too good a cop to let the bad guys stop you.”
My personal cell phone rang. Another anonymous 800 number. “That’s weird. Even though only a few people have my private cell number, it doesn’t stop the professional fundraisers and salespeople.”
“No, it does not. Same drill.”
“Hello?”
“You have a collect call from an inmate in the Hennepin County Jail . . .”
I relayed the info to Smoke. “It’s gotta be a friend.” I said I would accept the charges.
“Corinne Aleckson?” I didn’t recognize the voice, but the male caller sounded like he had a cold.
“Yes. Who is this?”
“Thank you for taking my call. I needed to hear your voice again.”
“Who is this?”
“Yes, I feel better now.”
“Look, I really am not in the mood for games. What do you want?”
A wicked laugh filled my ear, and I switched the phone to the other ear. A chill ran down my spine.
“I’m glad you’re so easily amused, but you’re in an adult detention center, so you have to be over twelve. Identify yourself.”
“We had a close encounter some months back. You’re one hell of a fighter.”
Langley Parker.
“Goodbye, Mr. Parker. Do not call again.”
I shut my phone and dropped it in my lap as adrenaline pumped through my body, causing my hand to shake and my grip to loosen.
Smoke flicked on his rear flashers and pulled the car onto the shoulder. “God Almighty!” He reached over, picked up the phone from my lap, and dropped it in his shirt pocket. It rang almost immediately. He looked at the display. “If I was within a hundred feet of Parker, I don’t know if I could stop myself from killing him.” He jumped out of the car and walked to my side. I opened the door and got out too, wondering if my legs would support me. They did, but they were wobbly. It must be how a baby colt felt taking his first steps.
“How did he get my private cell number?”
Smoke shook his head then popped his own phone out of its holder on his belt. He hit two numbers. “Dina? I need your help. Corky just got two calls—one on her work cell and one on her personal cell—both from Langley Parker, of all the lowlifes in the world. Can you look up the number for that correctional billing service and request that her numbers be blocked? . . . Yeah. And thanks. Oh, and have the chief deputy assign her a new work number. We’ll get her cell numbers switched when we get back. Meantime, her work cell will be off, so for any official business, they can call me. . . . Thanks.”
“Smoke—” I started to protest.
“I know it’s a pain, and he can possibly get your new number, but it can’t be easy. It’s taken him how many months to call you?”
“We don’t know how long he’s had the numbers.”
“Hold up your hands.” I did. They were more steady, with little trembling. “Looks like the adrenaline has stopped pumping. Ready to get back on the road?”
I nodded and we climbed back into the car. “Why am I so upset? I know I have to face him in court in a few months, but I guess I never thought I’d hear his wicked voice before then.”
Smoke tapped my shoulder. “You feel violated. He reached out and touched you in your personal space.”
“He probably has my home number, too. Even though it’s unlisted.”
“Absolutely do not worry about that. If he does, change it, or drop your landline completely.”
“I don’t want to drop it. I occasionally have private conversations I don’t want picked up on baby monitors, or wherever.”
“Private conversations, huh?”
“Yeah, believe it or not. And there is even department information I discuss from home I don’t want overheard.”
“And well I know that. You’re smart to keep your landline. I won’t give mine up, either.”
“You really think I should change my cell phone numbers?”
Smoke nodded. “For some piece of mind, if nothing else. Even though your number will be blocked, Parker could make friends with other inmates—”
“God forbid.”
“You know the drill. Famous criminal befriends some doofus, makes him feel special, asks him to do a favor when he gets out. ‘Hey, call this number, talk to this hot chick.’”
“Okay, okay, stop before I feel any sicker.”
“Sorry, that was insensitive.”
My eyebrows went up in surprise. Insensitive? Smoke tapping into his feminine side? “Forget it. You know you don’t have to walk on eggshells with me.”
“I know, but I don’t have to be crass, either.”
“Thanks.”
Smoke checked his watch. “Two hours down, eleven to go.”
“Ready for me to drive?”
He smiled and furrowed his eyebrows. “Nah. But I like to get out of the car about every three hours, or so. We’ll see.”
The hours passed, the first couple through Minnesota, the next few through Wisconsin to Madison where we drove through a Burger King and called it lunch. I got into the driver’s seat and found Interstate 39 South, which took us into Illinois.
“Hey, we’re in Winnebago County,” I said, noting the sign north of Rockford, Illinois.
“Ah, yes, I knew there were other Winnebago Counties in our great United States of America. And the countryside around here is not too different from our own Winnebago. Nice and green this spring.”
“It is a lot like our own. I wonder if they’ve had a body turn up staked out in one of their soybean fields. You know, someone targeting womanizers in the Winnebago Counties around the country.”
Smoke smiled. “Hmm, I’m thinking the chances of that are slim to none. I suppose I could risk being considered crazy and call Winnebago County, Illinois to inquire about that.”
“Hey, stranger things have happened.” I chuckled, mostly to myself, then thought about the purpose of our trip. “You know, Smoke, we’re all counting on you to get Rennie to tell us everything she knows about Gage Leder and company.”
“You’re part of this team now, and between the two of us, we’ll give it the old college try.”
“You and your funny expressions.”
Smoke shrugged.
I approached a city named
Urbana after driving my three hour stint.
“Want to stop to stretch?” I asked.
“How are we for gas?”
“We could go another hour.”
“Go for it.” He consulted his map. “We’re making good time—my guesstimate is another six hours, give or take. I’ll shift my body as often as need be.”
“We should get to Owensboro around seven. A decent meal and hot bath sounds good to me already.”
“A decent meal? What was wrong with lunch? You losing your stomach of steel?”
“No, but you know how Mother spoiled me, growing up with her great cooking, and after just so many mediocre, drive-through type meals I crave good food.”
“First we find the Holiday Inn Express, then we’ll take it from there.”
Finding the hotel was easy; finding out the “new employee” had messed up our reservations was not.
“I’m sorry, sir, we have you down for one single room with a king size bed, not two rooms.”
“We need two.”
The clerk looked from Smoke to me, but didn’t change expressions. “There is a convention in town and you actually got that one room due to a cancellation.”
“Our staff at the sheriff’s department did not mention a booking problem.”
The clerk studied the computer screen and hit a few keys. “I can’t explain how it happened. According to what this shows, the reservation was made at three p.m. last Thursday, and charged to the Winnebago County, Minnesota, Sheriff’s Department.
Smoke sucked in a breath before he spoke. “Let me make a quick call.” He pulled out his phone, tapped two numbers, and walked away from the desk as he put the phone to his ear. He silently paced, then pushed another few buttons on his phone. He talked for a few minutes, shut his phone, and returned to the desk.
I searched his face. “What?”
Smoke raised his eyebrows. “Not sure how it got screwed up. Twardy didn’t pick up, so I got ahold of Dina. She said she was on the phone when Sheriff stopped by her desk and wrote a note that said to book a hotel room in Owensboro, Kentucky. She said I didn’t say anything when she called to tell me she made the reservation in my name. It didn’t occur to me to interrogate her about the details. She’s probably made a hundred reservations of one kind or the other for me over the years.”
The Noding Field Mystery Page 13