The Noding Field Mystery

by Christine Husom

  “Looks like having Molly Getz’s body recovered from their lake made their place lose charm for them, too,” Eric observed.

  The curtains were drawn across the living room window, but the flickering lights of the television shown through them, like the other times I had been there. But as I lifted my finger to the doorbell, an uneasy sensation ran through me. Something was off. Eric was on my right and I nudged him over so his back was against the house siding, next to the door. Before I could move beside him, the door swung open and I was face to face with Langley Parker, the man who had given me months of nightmares. His body was leaner, and his green-eyed stare was meaner.

  Parker pointed a pistol at my head. “Come in.” His tone was low and seductive.

  I didn’t move.

  “I said come in,” he commanded and took a step toward me.

  I held my ground, but Eric didn’t. He swung his body toward Parker and lifted his right arm in an attempt to strike the gun from Parker’s hand. If Parker was surprised by Eric, he didn’t show it. He turned the gun away from me and shot Eric pointblank in the chest.

  I have no memory of drawing my weapon, but it was perfectly gripped with both my hands. Muscle memory, the result of doing five to ten practice draws each day before my work shift. This was what I had ultimately trained for—what I had prepared for. My finger pressed against the trigger until the threat was down.

  Langley Parker, the psychopathic killer was down.

  Dead. I couldn’t make myself touch his carotid artery to confirm that, but his lifeless stare and frozen expression assured me it was true. I later found out Parker took five .40 caliber bullets at close range. Any of them would have killed him.

  I holstered my gun, dropped beside Eric, keeping my face toward Parker’s body just in case, and depressed my radio button, all in the same instant. “Six-oh-eight, Winnebago County. Two down at my location. Send an ambulance now! And the detective.”

  Smoke would know which detective I meant. I need you, Smoke.

  “Copy. My partner is paging the ambulance.”

  “Tell them to hurry.”

  Eric’s shirt was soaked with blood. I ripped the buttons from their holders, pulled open his shirt, and looked at the gushing wound by his heart. I pressed against it, trying to stop the flow. “Eric, stay with me. You have to stay with me.” I didn’t know if I could stop the bleeding with one hand and perform CPR with the other, but I did my best. I had to keep his heart beating until life support arrived.

  I shifted hands, using my stronger side, my right hand, and began chest compressions. One and two and three and four and five and six . . . I kept counting. It could have been to two hundred, it could have to been to two thousand.

  The paramedics arrived. One picked me up and set me on the ground a little ways away. They had a gurney and Eric was on it, and a second later he was in the ambulance. I ran to the vehicle and helplessly watched them hook him up to life support equipment. One climbed in the driver’s seat and the other moved to close the back doors. He looked at me, said, “Sorry,” and slammed the doors closed, shutting me out, separating me from Eric.

  Sorry. And where was everyone else?

  Deputies often got to the scene ahead of the ambulance. I walked to the other side of the Engens’ front steps so I could keep a visual on Parker, not knowing what else to do. I heard a number of deputies giving their numbers and locations. And sirens. Three or four. Maybe I had been deaf for some minutes because I realized I hadn’t heard any radio transmissions since Langley Parker had opened the door. My ears were still ringing from the thunderous gun shots without having on hearing protectors.

  I looked at Parker’s body lying in a rapidly spreading pool of blood in the Engens’ entryway. I tried to grasp, tried to understand, what I saw was true. From the shocked expression locked on his face, Langley didn’t believe it either.

  I heard Mason then Carlson say “ten-six,” and turned to see them running toward me.

  “Who’s down? Who’s in the ambulance?” Carlson called out.

  “God, Corky, are you shot? Your shirt’s covered in blood.” Mason was almost out of breath.

  I looked at my chest and arms. My uniform shirt was more red than beige. It would never be clean again, no matter how many times I washed it. I pointed at Parker.

  “I don’t believe it!” Mason said.

  “The impossible dream.” Carlson kept staring.

  “I need to get to the hospital,” I told them.

  Mason touched my arm. “You had Stueman with you. He’s the one in the ambulance?”

  “Parker was holding his gun on me, Eric moved, and he shot him. It’s bad.”

  “We’ll wait on Dawes, and get you to the hospital as soon as possible. We’ll have to clear the scene, check for other victims. Anyone else inside, you know of?” Carlson asked.

  I shrugged and shook my head. “Can you call the hospital?”

  Carlson put his hand on my back. “The ambulance probably isn’t even there yet. That look on your face makes me wish I could hug you, but I’d mess up the evidence.”

  Mason pulled out his Nextel and phoned communications. “Jerry? It’s Mason. We need to notify the sheriff and get the crime lab out here to Aleckson’s scene. We got a ten-eighty-one. Langley Parker. . . . Yeah, I’m looking at what’s left of him. Sheriff probably won’t want this broadcast over the radio. . . . Thanks.” He hung up and turned back to me. “Corky, will you be okay while we search the house, or should one of us stay with you?”

  I managed a nod. “Go, both of you. Search.”

  Brian and Todd looked at me like I was far from okay, but turned, drew their guns, and entered the house. They stepped carefully around Parker’s body, avoiding the blood which was turning darker each minute. I tried to look at anything except Parker, but my eyes kept returning to the shocked look of horror on his face.

  “Three-sixty, Six-oh-eight?”

  I was slow to answer.

  “Detective Dawes, Sergeant Aleckson?”

  “Go ahead, Three-sixty.”

  “ETA is less than two.”

  “Copy.”

  Mason and Carlson came back into view and took the same care leaving the house as they had entering it. They stood side by side in front of the door, blocking my line of vision. Not a bad thing.

  “Here’s Dawes, and Twardy’s pulling in behind him.” Mason pointed at the road.

  “And in minutes every available cop will be here also,” Carlson said.

  It was a toss-up who looked paler and more worried: Smoke or Sheriff Twardy.

  “For godsakes!” was all the sheriff could say.

  Smoke studied me. “Corky! Whose blood is that? Parker’s?”

  I couldn’t look at my shirt again. “Eric’s. Mostly. They took him to the hospital.” Tears welled in my eyes. “And there’s got to be spatter from Parker.”

  Carlson and Mason moved aside to make room for Smoke and Sheriff Twardy. Mason relayed what had happened so I didn’t have to tell it again so soon.

  Smoke jumped up to the top step and stared into the house and at the bloodied body for a long moment. When the sheriff closed in behind him, Smoke came down the steps, moved in front of me, put his hands on either side of my head, and tilted it back slightly. “No tears. Not yet. All right?” I blinked away a tear before it was big enough to roll down my cheek. “You got some blood drops on your face and neck. We’ll grab a few pictures, get some samples. It’ll support your report of what happened. For the record.” His tone was official with a hint of sympathy. Smoke was right: it wasn’t the time to get emotional. That would come later.

  “No need to call the coroner. I can pronounce on this one,” the sheriff said.

  “We checked the house. No one else in there,” Carlson said.

  “But you got here before we checked the outbuildings,” Mason added.

  “Parker’s car has got to be somewhere. And so does his partner in crime,” Smoke said.

  “S
he may be hiding in the barn,” Twardy offered.

  I hadn’t thought of that, but my brain was not functioning well.

  “Sheriff, Carlson, Mason, and I will take a look-see,” Smoke said.

  The three of them crept around the side of the house, out of our view.

  The sheriff put his hand on the side of my head. “All I can say is thank the good Lord. Mostly because you’re not hurt, but also that you got Parker. He’ll never be a threat again.”

  “But I’ve got to find out how Eric is.”

  “We’ll call the hospital in a bit. Give them the time they need to patch him up.”

  I vaguely registered the sound of tires crunching on the gravel driveway. “Weber’s pulling in with the crime lab. Ortiz went home sick, so it’s just Weber.”

  Weber jogged over to me, nodded, and tried to smile. “I won’t ask if you’re okay, but I see you’re in one piece.”

  I felt my eyebrows rise and I nodded slightly.

  “You got him, though.” Weber left my side to check out the remains of Langley Parker.

  Smoke, Carlson, and Mason returned from their search.

  “Barn and chicken coop are clean and clear. Garage is locked. We looked in the windows. Looks clear, but we need to get inside to make sure.” Smoke looked at Weber. “You’re just in time. You’re better than a ramming bar.”

  “Thanks,” Weber said and left to push through the door.

  All I could think of was getting to the hospital, so waiting took forever. The sheriff and I were both silent, but that didn’t strike me as odd because nothing was normal.

  Smoke and Weber returned from the searching the detached garage which was set back from the house on the west side.

  “Nothing special. Frankly, I was worried we would find the Engens’ bodies. Or Parker’s female companion. We noticed some tire tracks leading from the side of the garage toward the park. Carlson and Mason are following them to see where they lead. Parker had to get here somehow,” Smoke said.

  “We’ll need to contact the Engens. You have cell phone numbers for them, Corky?” Sheriff asked.

  I had to think. “Yes, in one of my memo books. Wait, they’d be on the report. The Molly Getz case.”

  Twardy nodded. “Of course.” He cleared his throat. “Sergeant, we’ll need your weapon.”

  I unholstered my Glock and held it out for the sheriff, but he shook his head. “Weber, get some gloves on and grab two evidence bags.”

  Weber left and returned a minute later.

  “Okay, Corky, hand your gun to Weber. Weber, eject the clip and unload the bullet from the chamber. I’ll hold the bags.”

  Weber walked a few feet from us and followed the orders. The sheriff was behind him.

  “Empty and clear?” Sheriff Twardy asked.

  “Yes, sir.” Weber dropped the Glock in one bag, the ammo in the other, then took the bags from the sheriff.

  “Then get photos of the sergeant, here, so she can clean up. Then the scene. Parker. I’ll call the office, ask ’em to pull the file, see if they can track the Engens down.” Sheriff Twardy pulled out his phone and walked away as he dialed.

  Smoke touched my back to get my attention. “After the pictures, you can take that shirt off. The BCA will run the tests on it. Any blood get in your eyes, your mouth?”

  I thought for a second then shook my head. I was on autopilot and followed each directive they gave. Anything to get me away from the scene and to the hospital as fast as possible.

  Weber snapped a few pictures of me which I intended to never look at. I’d request they be sealed after the investigation was completed so others in the department couldn’t see them either. He continued on, taking photos of Parker and the scene.

  “You have a spare shirt in your car?” Smoke asked.

  I nodded. “Uniform shirt and pants in the trunk. In a box.”

  Smoke went to retrieve them. When he returned, he had my clean uniform and a paper bag for my soiled uniform. He pulled a medium-size plastic evidence bag from a back pocket. “Corky, take off your brass and drop them into the bag. We’ll have them cleaned.”

  I took off my badge, name plate, number, and sergeant’s bars. “And my leathers?”

  “Here. I got a large bag for them.” He produced it from the other back pocket.

  I automatically unsnapped my belt holders, unbuckled my duty belt, and dropped it in the bag held open. “Forgot how heavy these puppies are,” Smoke said about the weight of my fully loaded—minus my gun and ammo—belt.

  “Seven-ten, Three-twenty?”

  Smoke handed the bags to the sheriff. “Go ahead, Seven-ten.”

  “We located that vehicle and we’ll need you at our location. Follow the path.”

  “Copy. Corky why don’t you change in the crime lab. Sheriff, I’ll take Weber with me.”

  “Sure. Where are the sign-in sheets? Two squad cars are pulling in.” The sheriff nodded toward the road.

  “Bob Edberg’s in the first car. Ask him for a sheet, and to take care of those bags.” He nodded at my leathers and badges. “When word gets around that it’s Langley Parker who’s dead the whole place will be swarming with deputies who want to sneak a peek. Maybe Edberg can take Corky to the hospital.”

  “Good idea.”

  Smoke and Weber took off jogging to find Mason and Carlson. I went into the mobile crime lab and closed the door. I mechanically pulled off my uniform pants, shirt, tee shirt, and protective vest. Blood had soaked through some spots on my shirt and stained the tee shirt, but not the vest. I dropped the clothes into the bag and laid the vest on a chair while I dressed. When I finished, I left the bag on the floor, grabbed my vest, and climbed down the two steps to the ground very carefully. I knew I could easily collapse.

  Deputies Edberg and LeVasseur were talking to the sheriff.

  “Edberg, grab that vest from Sergeant Aleckson. Throw it in her trunk.”

  Edberg’s grim expression spoke volumes. He was as concerned as the rest of our colleagues. When I lifted my arm to give up the vest, he put both hands on mine and squeezed gently, and relieved me of the vest. LeVasseur came over and touched my shoulder.

  The sheriff’s phone rang. “Yes?. . . For godsakes. . . . Okay.” He hung up and shook his head back and forth when he announced, “Appears Parker was through with his officer friend. Her dismembered body is in a big gym bag in the trunk of his car. Looks like Parker won’t be going to the examiner’s office alone.”

  Nobody looked surprised, which saddened me a little. We’d all expected as much from Parker.

  “LeVasseur, have communications call McKay and Hall’s Funeral Chapel. The sooner we get these remains transported, the better. Edberg, give Corky a ride over to Little Mountain Hospital, so she can check on her attorney friend there. We keep processing here.”

  Edberg put his hand on my elbow, helped me into his car, and we were off. “I’ve never had to shoot a suspect, so I can only imagine how you feel.”

  “I don’t feel anything except scared for Eric.”

  “You had a huge adrenaline dump. After that clears out, it’s hard to even move. Think. Feel. But you’re right, checking on your friend is the most important thing you can do right now.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Edberg pulled into the hospital EMERGENCY ONLY lot and parked, and escorted me into the building. I was glad he was there. “You talk. Ask them where Eric Stueman is.”

  I stayed close to his side when he went to the emergency room desk and asked. The attendant looked at a clipboard then the computer. “He was brought in about thirty minutes ago,” Edberg said.

  “Let me go check,” the young female attendant said, then left. She returned with a scrubs-clad doctor I knew. Dr. Nordstrom was experienced in trauma. He waved us into the emergency room where there was a long line of curtained areas on both sides.

  “We found his driver’s license in his wallet, that’s how we learned his name. The drivers didn’t take the time to get it at the sc
ene.”

  “I thought he’d be in surgery.” My heart started pumping at the thought of seeing Eric and his critical wound.

  Dr. Nordstrom stopped and turned to us. “There was nothing we could do. Believe me, we tried. The bullet tore through his heart.”

  “No. I saw the ambulance guys put the defibrillator on him.”

  Edberg put his arm around my shoulder. “Sergeant.”

  “He can’t be dead.”

  “They administered the best and fastest treatment they could.”

  “He protected me. I’m the one who should be dead.”

  Neither man answered for a while. Dr. Nordstrom’s voice was firm. “No, you shouldn’t. And neither should that young man in there, but bad things happen.”

  To good people.

  “I need to see him,” I said.

  Nordstrom led us to a curtained area and pulled the curtain back enough for us to step in. He walked to the bed and lifted the sheet that covered Eric’s face. He was pale from the blood loss, but otherwise appeared to be sleeping peacefully. I reached under the cover and found his hand, the one that he used to strike at Langley Parker. I lifted it to my face and sobbed until Dr. Nordstrom put his hands on my shoulders. “It’s time.”

  His words didn’t make complete sense when I thought of them later, but I knew what he meant. It was time to say goodbye, time to let go. I kissed Eric’s hand then his forehead. Dr. Nordstrom took Eric’s hand from mine and tucked it back under the sheet. Edberg handed me a box of tissues he had found somewhere. Then he tugged at my elbow to get me away from Eric’s bed and out of the partitioned area.

  “Will you notify next of kin?” Nordstrom asked.

  I had not yet met Eric’s family. How could I tell them he died saving me? I was the one with the gun.

  Edberg answered. “Yes, we’ll take care of it. We’ll need to transport him to Hennepin County. Where are his things?”

  “I’ll have a nurse locate his clothes, et cetera, and bring them up to the front desk. We’ll have a property sheet for you to sign.”

  I stayed close to Edberg. He seemed to know what to say and do. “Sergeant, have a seat and I’ll make some calls. The sheriff, first off. Do you have Eric’s parents’ phone numbers?” I shook my head no, and sank onto a chair in the waiting area next to the reception desk, gripping my half empty box of tissues. “Okay, we’ll check his cell phone. That’ll be the fastest.” He walked down the hallway, out of my earshot.