Chapter 34 The Tommerdahls
“Can we trust him?” Nicole wondered aloud when they were back in their room, “He walks up to the table, introduces himself—and first tries to lie to us!—and suddenly we’re old friends.”
“Luckily, he wasn’t a very good liar, my dear, and we didn’t have a lot of choice,” the chaplain said, “He knows about us. The police back in that town know about us, and he’s probably been searching the internet for any little detail he can find, about us. I mean, he pretty well covered our movements for the last several years.”
“Yes, just by tracking your credit card through my minivan license number. That’s scary, Radford, that our privacy is just gone kaput!”
“Agreed, my dear, but it’s also helping us—look!” He turned the computer screen toward Nicole.
“Great, what am I looking at?”
“I’ve narrowed it down already. First, I went back to the date of Les Paul’s execution, both the date and the exact time of day. There were thirty-two births that day.” He made two clicks, “But only one at two minutes after midnight.” He pointed, “Kenneth and Donna Tommerdahl.” He made three more clicks on different screens, “There, they’re listed for three births. There’s the five and seven-year-old…where’s the nine-year-old?”
“The nine-year-old has already died…maybe…?”
“There’d be a death certificate. Maybe it’s a computer glitch, but their first birth seems to have disappeared into cyber-world. Maybe the parents somehow were able to erase at least part of the record, or had a friend who could—or would—after abandoning their first child: Les Paul.”
Nicole shook her head, “And our boy suggested that kind of search. Why didn’t we think of it?”
“We kind’a did, my dear, we just hadn’t gotten around to it, but now I think we should make a quick trip back to my hometown of Bradleyville. We need DNA from those two fine people.”
“If they’ll agree to it. They probably don’t want any of this memory to ever come alive again, and what about Baby Boy?”
“For now we’ll let Sikorsky take care of him.”
“If he can convince his lieutenant.”
“I think he will, and I think we can trust him, and we definitely can now use the help of someone in official law enforcement.”
“What about your warden? You’ve always spoken highly of him.”
“Yes, he was a friend, but after that night of Les Paul’s execution things between us changed. Anyway, he’s retired now, for quite a while already.”
“Well, maybe he would like to spring out of retirement for one last run.”
“He might. We’ll check in with him. When he hears our story he will either come aboard or report us to the local sanity police.”
Nicole laughed but then said, “I think we should fly out first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Agreed, my dear, right after we have breakfast with our new partner, Officer Sikorsky.”
****
“So that’s about it, Warden Miles,” the chaplain said, “Feel like coming out of retirement for a few days?”
“Days?” The solemn warden had remained quiet listening to the chaplain and Nicole tell the story of the reincarnated Les Paul, but at the end, “How crazy do you think I am?”
“Sir…?”
“In the first place I still don’t believe your cockamamie reincarnation-story, and in the second place, this boy you think is Les Paul is only nine years old. Certainly he hasn’t done anything too bad yet, and probably won’t for a few more years.”
“I can show you a list of what he’s done, warden.”
“List?”
“Yes, but you’re right. Nothing too bad yet—that we can prove—there’s two possible murders, though—but it’s what he has done. Things simply not typical of a two-month-old infant to a nine-year-old, unless we so-called adults are simply so far out of the loop of what children are up to these days.”
“Let me see the list.”
Nicole produced it.
The warden took it, went to his desk and sat down, then held it in the bright light of his desk lamp. He read for several minutes, then placed his right hand over his mouth, contemplating, finally said very low, “At four years old he placed Barbie Dolls in compromising sexual positions…?”
“Yes. And if he couldn’t find a Ken Doll he would use another Barbie Doll. One would think he had already watched several porn films.”
“Well, according to your theory, he has.” The warden faced them, “He’s probably watched hundreds.”
“Yes, in his prior lives. He’s doing things he’s done before but doesn’t really understand what he’s doing—at least not at four-years-old—but his hands remember. He probably experiences déjà vu all the time.”
“What about the rest of us? Why don’t we experience déjà vu?”
“We do, warden. Haven’t you ever been somewhere and felt like you’ve been there before?”
“Yes, of course. That happens to everybody.”
“But to Les Paul I suspect it’s a nearly daily thing, and I doubt he believes they are his own memories. If he did, he could learn from them, and start living a more respectable life.”
“God, Chaplain O’Hare, you’re as crazy as you were nine years ago.”
The chaplain released a breath, and felt his body drop, slightly.
“How about you, Ms. Waters—“
“I still sometimes go by my maiden name, warden, yes, and I did with you just now, but my real name is now Mrs. Radford O’Hare. So, what were you going to ask me?”
“I read what you claim the infant did to you, and I was going to ask if you believe this…story?”
“I’ve been with the chaplain for nine years, sir. Yes, I certainly believe it.”
“All right, Chaplain O’Hare, you’ve convinced me, to a point—but two murders as a two-year-old? No. I refuse to believe that. So what do you want from me?”
Nicole stepped up, again produced a paper, and laid it down in front of the warden, “We need DNA, sir, from four people. The original Les Paul, Kenneth and Donna Tommerdahl, and their first born.”
“First born, which, according to you, is—was—Les Paul.”
“Yes, but according to the information we were able to find, that ‘first born…’ well, no longer exists. The dates and everything are down for three births, but then their first-born sort of disappears. We suspect there is a birth certificate—buried somewhere—with a name on it, and also we were unable to find a death certificate.”
“Because, according to you, they abandoned the infant at a hospital in Nebraska. They drove clear across the country to dump their infant son.”
“Yes.” Nicole shook her head and did not smile, “As I said earlier, I was on duty that night and got baptized by the little bastard.”
The warden smiled, his first, “All right, kids. I’ll do what I can, and you two are actually going to contact the Tommerdahls? Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“I’ll be the one to make contact,” Nicole said, “With only the wife. I’ll observe her movements for a few days, and, eventually, we’ll be able to talk. I just want to get a feeling from her. She has two other children, yet she was able to abandon her first. We need to know why.”
****
Three days passed. The chaplain, unsatisfied but he didn’t know why, kept searching names, dates, births, and deaths on his laptop. He knew, after nine years, that he was getting dangerously close to obsession. Without Nicole by his side he was pretty sure he would have given up years ago, but she was by his side. She made his world worthwhile, so he had to keep going and try to prevent this evil from again befalling the world. If he could ever prove his theory—not exactly his theory, of course, but God’s word through him, through the book…he shook his head! Sometimes it was so hard to keep believing, as they had proven absolutely nothing! And he wondered if he could ever prove anything.
What happened nine years earlier made
so little sense: the book appeared then it disappeared. Was it just a funny dream? A nightmare he hadn’t yet woke up from? The only real thing in his life was his new bride. How he loved her. How he had loved her for nine years but denied himself, and denied her—he choked, then settled back in his chair. So much had happened…
Les Paul was real! Eventually they would prove it. They had finally found him, they would get his DNA, they would prove he was back from the dead, and eventually the whole world would stop executing criminals. Criminals would simply start dying of natural causes—including death by other inmates, the thought of which made him smile, then he chided himself for such a thought. Just a regular old age death would be fine, and then, after how many generations he didn’t even want to think about, the world would, finally, become a safer place. Safer for his Nicole, and Cassandra, and a child from himself and Nicole…if she would ever want that…
****
Nicole waited on a park bench beneath a sugar maple tree. She noticed there were several other sugar maples and they were all pouring forth their autumnal colors of red and pink and gold. Only the sugar maple—and one other tree she had seen somewhere but didn’t know the name—put out that amazing variety of colors.
The years she had been traveling with the chaplain they had been so focused on finding Les Paul and working with Riley Stokes that neither had paid much attention to the passing seasons, barely the scenery. They sometimes had been so focused that they had not even paid that much attention to each other. Even though—as they lately had discovered—they definitely had noticed each other, but there had been no hanky panky. Not that she would have rejected him had he approached her much earlier on, and come to think of it, he never did approach her. She had made all the first moves. But once his genie was out of the bottle, wow! Strange, too, they had been so focused, even lately, that she hadn’t taken much time to even think, about anything. But this watching Mrs. Tommerdahl had given her that chance to think about so many things, like getting back to Cassandra—they had to get back to her, they had to save that little girl from The System!
A mind photograph of golden yellow splashed into her thoughts. Where had she seen that? Oh, yes. Due to most of their searching taking place much farther west, where the autumn colors weren’t so spectacular as east of the Mississippi, they had often seen golden groves of aspen, contrasted by the dark green of evergreens. Not often had they strayed from their quest, but if they managed to get even close to the mountains, occasionally, they would take a side trip just for the scenery. They did one time make it to the Platt River to see the sandhill Crane migration.
That had been spectacular. But all those could-have-been-romantic times and nothing from the chaplain, nothing but the perfection of gentleman. But thinking back she realized they were romantic, for the simple reason that he had been such a gentleman.
They had experienced plenty of winter snow too…she saw Mrs. Tommerdahl approaching. This was the third day she had shadowed the lady from a distance. To school with her children, to the Laundromat, to the grocery, to Walmart, the lady put on a few miles every day. But at two PM she had always came to the park just to rest and watch the birds and squirrels.
She had always came to the bench where Nicole now sat, hoping her presence would not scare the lady away…but why should it? Mrs. Tommerdahl was friendly with everyone she met, and helpful, and kind to senior citizens and young children she didn’t even know. The more she had watched the lady the less she could believe that such an angel of a person could ever abandon a child, no matter what the child had done. And what on earth could an infant even do?
But then she remembered her own baptism. What could an infant do? Plenty, she guessed.
“Hi!” Mrs. Tommerdahl stopped just about five feet away, “I hope you know you’re sitting on my spot.”
“I—“ Nicole was so surprised, and relieved at Mrs. Tommerdahl’s friendliness, that, for a second or two she was speechless.
“No problem, dear,” Mrs. Tommerdahl added, “I actually had hoped for some company, as my kids both have extracurricular activities today, so I’ll have an extra hour and a half to sit, so, I hope you can stay for a while.”
“I can,” Nicole said, “My husband is extra busy on the computer today so I thought I’d get out and enjoy the fall colors.”
“Oh, I just love the fall colors!” Mrs. Tommerdahl sat, “And these sugar maples are just gorgeous, but even the maples can’t stand up against the mountain ash, as they have all these colors plus shades of purple!”
And they talked on, for a whole thirty or forty minutes or so about just fall colors, birds and squirrels, just generally about the wonders of nature. At last Mrs. Tommerdahl brought up her children, how many she had, their ages, how much she adored them, “How about you, dear? Do you have children?”
“No, I—my husband and I—have discussed adopting this young girl we met at a foster home.” Immediately Nicole wished she had thought of something else to say, or at least a better way of saying it, but, wait, she was glad to share her feelings about Cassandra, because from the first moment of meeting the girl she had felt a matronly love for her.
“Foster home? Well, it’s, of course, none of my business but…well, I guess I just wonder why…a foster home? I mean, and, if you know the foster parents, why would you want to adopt their foster daughter?—Oh my!” Mrs. Tommerdahl threw her hand to her mouth, “I apologize for such inquisitiveness!”
“It’s all right.” At least the woman had allowed her time to think, “Our friends, the parents, don’t have children of their own. They aren’t…exactly—good parents—oh! They aren’t cruel by any means, they just don’t know how, and, in my mind, they were never meant to have children. I don’t understand how Family Services even approved them.”
“So, where is this girl? Where are you from?”
Where were they from? She didn’t have an answer. They had been traveling so much that neither really had an address, and she couldn’t use Riley Stokes’ ranch in Arizona. The chaplain, of course, was from right there in Bradleyville, although he no longer had a residence, and she didn’t want this woman to think she had a brand new local friend.
How had their conversation shifted to her, anyway? She was the detective, for Pete’s sake, but she had no idea how to dig herself out—
“Oh my, there I am asking questions again.”
“No, it’s all right.” Again she had received a few seconds to think, “We haven’t been married that long—we just came from Las Vegas—“
“Ooooh! I’d love to visit Las Vegas. Did you gambol too?”
“A little.” And again the conversation went far from where Nicole wanted it to go, but then, she also had no idea how to broach such a subject as abandoning a child, plus she was beginning to suspect that Donna Tommerdahl could no more abandon an infant than she herself could.
But she herself could. She didn’t like thinking of herself in such a way but she was sure that she could. Baptism by urine was bad enough, but the smirk from the little shit sealed the deal—yes! That child she could abandon in a minute!—Right after strangling him!
“I love my two children,” Mrs. Tommerdahl said, slipping into a sort of melancholy mood, “I often wonder about my first born though…what he would be like today?”
“First born?” Nicole couldn’t believe the direction the conversation had suddenly taken, “A boy? What happened to him?”
“He died, at just two weeks, from that…crib syndrome thing.”
But there’s no death certificate! What is the truth, Mrs. Tommerdahl?
“I signed the death certificate myself,” Mrs. Tommerdahl continued, “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to keep such things out of the public record?”
“I don’t.”
“Of course you don’t. Most people probably don’t mind, and many maybe don’t even know the amount of personal information that goes online…without any kind of permission!”
“You’re ce
rtainly right about that,” Nicole said, but the vein was open, and Mrs. Tommerdahl had opened it, “This of course is none of my business, but, why wouldn’t you want your child’s death certificate to go online?”
“Because it’s nobody’s business! My son is buried right over there.” She pointed.
A cemetery across the street. Nicole had not noticed, and why would she have thought anything about it had she noticed?
“I come here almost every day, just to be near him for a short time.” Tears appeared. The very kind and personable lady pulled a handkerchief quickly from her purse and dabbed her eyes.
Nicole moved closer and put her arm around her shoulders, “I’m sorry. Losing a child has to be the worst thing a mother can face.” And that answered her question. Kenneth and Donna Tommerdahl did not abandon their infant son in Nebraska. So who did?
****
“I had to look for a while,” Nicole said, “But I found the grave, Radford: Stanley Tommerdahl, and the date was right. It said ‘Our Angel Who Lived Only Two Weeks.’
“So we’re back to square one,” the chaplain said.
“Not quite. When I saw the grave and knew the Tommerdahls hadn’t done it, something occurred to me.”
“That the marker could have been faked, yes, but…what are you thinking?”
“We—you, Radford—you assumed that the baby Les Paul was born again as soon as he was put to death, but what if the spark of his presence just entered the new beginning of a child? What if he just dived into that uniting of the sperm and egg? That would place his birth nine months farther down the road.”
“Or from six to ten months. Babies are born early and late, correct?”
“Yes. But not this baby,” Nicole said, “I suspect Les Paul was born on schedule: nine months to the day.
Chaplain Radford Ohare looked at his new bride with a wholly new respect, “You are one hot woman, my dear.”
Chapter 35 Juvie
The Light at the End of the Tunnel Page 16