by C. M. Sutter
Chapter 26
J.T. and I sat inside the back room of the gas station with a rough idea of the time the victim behind the dumpster was killed. According to the ME, our John Doe likely died between nine and ten o’clock last night. The officer that went inside earlier had written down six different times and vehicle types for us. We took over the duties of watching the surveillance tape and sent him off to conduct interviews with some of the staff.
“Okay, we can eliminate the first two time frames written down. They were earlier than the estimated time of death. Let’s start with the eight thirty sighting.”
J.T. and I watched as a car pulled in from the frontage road and bypassed the pumps. It stopped momentarily, let a passenger out, and then continued to the side of the building.
“Scratch that one. Next,” J.T. said.
The fourth sighting was of a truck pulling a trailer into the lot. It disappeared out of view but came out on the other side of the building and had only been there to make a wide turn and leave again.
I groaned. The fifth vehicle pulled in at pump number eight to get gas. I pointed at the screen when the occupant got out. “That’s him, the dead man by the dumpster. He looks to be the right size, and he’s wearing the same clothes.”
We watched as the man filled the tank, went inside to pay, then climbed back in his car and pulled around to the darkened side of the building, where he was out of camera view. The plates were obstructed by gas pumps and garbage cans as he drove away, but we saw the make, model, and color of the vehicle.
I smacked J.T. on the shoulder. “Bingo! He’s driving a gray Buick LaCrosse. Stop the tape so we can get the exact time.” I looked at the bottom right side of the screen. The man headed inside to pay at 9:16 p.m. “Now we need to see the cashier’s video from that time. The guy’s face should be on camera, and if he paid by credit card, we’ll know his name too.”
We took the short hallway back to the store and cashier’s station. I overheard the manager gabbing on the phone to somebody about a dead person behind the dumpster.
I leaned in and wiggled my finger to get his attention. He quickly hung up.
“This is a police matter, and there’s a dead man outside. He may have a wife and kids, and as officers of the law, it’s our responsibility to find the person who did this. Do me a favor. Stop gossiping and be a little more respectful.”
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”
“Now here’s what I need.” I pointed at the camera mounted above the door that faced the cashier. “I want the tape for that camera set up and ready to go for nine sixteen p.m. last night. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes, Agent Monroe, I absolutely can.”
“Good, and I need it now.”
“Jason, come over here and watch the cash register. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
We followed the manager back to the video room, and he set up the feed for camera three beginning last night at 9:16 p.m.
“There you go, agents. If you need anything else, let me know.”
I nodded, and he closed the door at his back.
“You were tough on him, Jade.”
“Seriously? He was nearly bragging that a dead man was lying outside his gas station. It isn’t appropriate. Anyway, that man’s death isn’t fodder for the rumor mill. Okay, here we go.”
We watched as a man entered the quick mart and grabbed a candy bar from the rack. He placed it on the counter, nodded, and pulled out his wallet. He removed a credit card and slid it across the counter to the cashier, who rung up his purchase and handed the card back to him. The man grabbed his candy bar and turned toward the door. J.T. froze that frame.
I sighed. “Yep, that’s our guy. Little did he know he’d be dead in a matter of minutes.”
“Man that sucks beyond comprehension.”
I agreed. “Let’s find his receipt and give him a name. He’ll be the one that paid for gas and a candy bar.”
The gas station kept copies of all the receipts, and we had the manager pull the copies from yesterday. The stack contained at least a hundred receipts. I divided the pile in half and headed back to the office with a stack in each hand. I jerked my chin toward the coffee machine. “How about a couple coffees while we go through these?”
“Yeah, I’m on it,” J.T. said.
We sat in the back office, each with a handful of receipts in front of us, and flipped through them. It didn’t take long to find the solitary receipt for a full tank of gas from pump number eight and the purchase of a candy bar.
“Here it is,” I announced. “Thank God his name is typed on the receipt above the last four digits of his credit card number. There’s no way in hell I’d be able to decipher that chicken scratching also known as handwriting.” I passed the receipt to J.T.
“The purchase time is right, the gas pump is correct, and it shows he bought a candy bar. His name is Todd Johnson, and he owns a gray Buick LaCrosse. That still doesn’t tell us where he was from or where he was going. I’ll call Spelling. This has to be passed off to someone else, and they can get his name, description, and type of car posted on the news. We have enough loose ends on our hands, and Jane is still unaccounted for.”
Chapter 27
The doctor met them at the emergency room entrance. “Get her in operating room one, stat!”
The EMTs pushed the gurney through the corridor as they conveyed what they knew to the doctor in charge.
“She has multiple contusions, serious slashes all over her body, and a small hole the size of a BB in her right temple. She’s lost a lot of blood.”
“Okay, people, we have to stop this bleeding so we can assess the damage. Everything else, we’ll figure out after we stabilize her. Get an X-ray machine set up in operating room one. I need to see what caused that puncture wound.” The doctor and his staff disappeared through the sliding doors to the operating wing of the hospital.
Sergeant Lewis from the Gilman Police Department had already called the emergency room nurses’ station to remind them to keep all of the girl’s clothing and bindings. Somebody would come by later to pick them up. He reminded them that a crime had been committed, and those items were important evidence.
A half mile in either direction of Second Street and Smith Lake Road had been cordoned off, and a squad car sat at each barricade. A good portion of Second Street lay within the city limits of Danforth, making that area the Gilman Police Department’s responsibility. Beyond that point was county land, which was up to the sheriff’s department to search.
A mix of police officers and deputies from the sheriff’s department began searching the area along Smith Lake Road. Deputies took the left side, and police officers took the right. They’d walk to the end and then spread out into the woods opposite each other.
Officer Collins pointed down at the soft dirt as they walked. “These tracks look fresh. Nobody has a reason to drive down here anymore, and the sign clearly states it’s a dead-end road.”
As they neared the barricade a half mile in, the tire tracks ended, and a disturbance on the ground was evident.
“Everyone stay to the sides. Those marks look suspicious,” Officer Collins said. “We’re going to need the forensics unit out here.”
They followed the trail until they reached the soft, spongy ground near the barricade. As they approached the area where the lake claimed the solid ground, a deputy peeked over the wooden structure and called out that he had found blood, and a lot of it.
“This must be where the girl was dumped.” Officer Collins turned and looked through the woods. “I can’t believe she made it to the road in her condition. Guys, let’s tape this area too and spread out through the woods. The assailant must have driven in and out, but you never know. There could be evidence of something out there. I’ll let our sergeant know what we’ve found, and he can contact the county forensic team.”
Sergeant Lewis answered his desk phone on the third ring. He had spent the last few minutes online searching the mi
ssing persons database for anyone that matched the description of the girl that the hospital staff gave him.
“Hello, Sergeant Jim Lewis here.”
“Boss, it’s Collins. I’m pretty sure we’ve located the spot where the girl spent the night. A bloody area of matted grasses was right behind the wooden barricade at the end of Smith Lake Road.”
The sergeant raked his hand through his hair as he listened. “Yeah, makes sense being a dead-end street and all.” He continued to scroll the website as Collins spoke.
“There are fresh tire tracks leading back there too, sir, and a trail where the dirt is scuffed up. I think we need forensics out here.”
“Good work, Collins. I’ll make the call. Keep searching the area until they arrive.” The sergeant hung up and rubbed his eyes. With the call to the county forensics office complete, he rested his head on his open palm and continued to search the most recent females added to the database. He perked up when he noticed an addition made only last night for a young female that went missing yesterday from neighboring Champaign County. He checked the description, and it fit. With the 800 number on the screen in front of him, he made the call and entered the four-digit code number associated with her listing. The call was transferred to the FBI tip line.
Chapter 28
I needed that hot coffee, and the warmth of the cup between my hands felt good. I sat in the office of the gas station as J.T. made the update call to Agent Spelling. We needed to know what he wanted us to do. At the moment, we were stuck. A generic BOLO had been issued for a gray Buick LaCrosse, but we didn’t have a plate number to go with it, and we had no idea what direction the killer was headed.
“Yes, boss, we’re still in Thomasboro, and I’m putting you on speakerphone. According to the forensics team—which, I might add, is spreading themselves pretty thin—there’s plenty of biological evidence in the sleeper area of the semi. Jane Weeks was last seen leaving the truck stop south of Champaign with our assailant, and now she’s unaccounted for. The truck, a dead police officer, and a dead civilian were found on the outskirts of Thomasboro. Both locations are in Champaign County, though. Their ME and forensics department are going to be putting in long hours unless they can call in favors.”
I heard Spelling sigh through the speakers. “Yeah, we definitely need more agents on this case. I’ll take care of it.”
“I’m glad you said that because I’ve just sent the name of the man, his description, and vehicle type to you. Somebody else will have to take over that task. We’re pretty swamped here, and we have no idea what happened to Jane. The dash cam on the officer’s car only showed our killer and the cop, no girl anywhere, but we’re working on it.”
“Hang on a second, J.T. An alert just came in on the tip line.”
Silence filled the air, and I assumed Spelling put J.T. on hold as he listened to the recorded message.
He returned to the call moments later. “I’ll be damned.”
J.T. wrinkled his brows. “What’s going on, boss?”
“Did you guys add Jane Weeks to the missing persons database?”
I responded for both of us. “I did that last night. Why?”
“I think we might have information on her. A badly injured girl was nearly hit by a car this morning as she exited a remote wooded area onto a back road. The tip line message says she was found in Danforth, Illinois. The driver called 9-1-1 right away, and apparently she’s still hanging on. She’s been admitted to Iroquois Memorial Hospital in Watseka.”
“Jade, see how far Watseka Memorial Hospital is from here.”
I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and searched the distance between Thomasboro and Watseka. “It’s an hour drive northeast. Humph.”
“Hang on, boss. Something is rolling around in Jade’s head.” J.T. gave me a frown. “What are you thinking?”
“We just assumed that Jane was dumped south of Thomasboro because we didn’t see her at the truck and her body wasn’t located near there. If the woman that was found in Danforth is actually Jane, that means the killer took her there after he murdered Todd Johnson, hid him behind the dumpster, and stole his car. That’s why the ME said Todd had been dead several hours longer than the officer. For whatever reason, the killer returned to the truck after dumping Jane, and that’s when he killed the cop.”
“You’re absolutely right,” J.T. said.
Spelling added, “Great catch, Monroe. So the killer must have had an important reason to return to the truck.”
“Right, and the dash cam showed him kill the cop then step up and open the truck door. He reached in for a few seconds, grabbed something, and disappeared off the screen.”
“Have the police department look at that dash cam again. They may have to pull the hard drive to identify what the killer grabbed. It could be a lead. For now, I want you to head to the hospital and check on that woman. I’ll take care of finding out where Todd Johnson came from. I also want to touch base with law enforcement in Arkansas, Missouri, and Effingham, Illinois, to see if they have any additional information since the killings. I’ll make sure all of the family members of the deceased individuals have been spoken with too. Update me as soon as you find out this young lady’s condition and if she actually is Jane Weeks.”
J.T. clicked off, and I gave the gas station manager my card and wrote Spelling’s contact number on the back. We walked out, had a few words with the ME and the forensics team, gave them our cards too, and left. By the time we reached cruising speed on Highway 57 going north, it was after eleven o’clock.
“Stay on 57 for about twenty-five minutes. We’ll exit on Highway 9 going east, and then I’ll direct you as we get closer.”
“Thanks, Jade. I wish we could talk to somebody about her condition, but there’s no way the hospital would release that information to us over the phone. Hopefully, the girl made it.”
I gave J.T. a raised brow. “And hopefully, she’s Jane.”
We reached the hospital parking lot just after noon and passed through the heavy glass sliding doors at the emergency entrance. At the counter, we showed our badges and asked to speak to the doctor in charge of the injured Jane Doe that was admitted earlier that day.
“Certainly, agents, give me one moment.” With a few clicks of the computer mouse, she announced that the attending emergency room physician that morning was Dr. Bruce Adams.
“Is Dr. Adams available? We need to know the condition of that young lady,” I said.
“Have a seat, agents.” She pointed at the emergency room waiting area, where a TV played and people paced. “I’ll page him to the counter.”
J.T. nodded a thank-you, and we joined in with the group pacing. Minutes later, I jabbed J.T. in the side when I noticed a middle-aged man speaking with the receptionist. He wore a white lab coat and had an ID badge clipped to his breast pocket, so I assumed he was a doctor. He turned and looked toward us.
“We’re up. That has to be him,” I said.
The man headed in our direction and shook our hands when he reached us. He leaned in and spoke in a quiet tone. “Agents, I’m Dr. Adams. Why don’t you join me in the doctors’ lounge where we can talk freely?”
I thanked him, and we followed along. We walked down a quiet hallway where everything glistened in a sterile white palette. The second door on the right was the doctors’ lounge. We entered and saw several comfortable looking couches, two recliners, a TV, a table that seated six, and a counter filled with the makings for coffee and tea. A microwave sat next to the coffeepot, and a full-sized refrigerator stood at the end of the counter.
“Wow, you could actually live here.”
He chuckled. “When we’re pulling all-nighters, that’s exactly what we do. Now, agents, what would you like to know?” He pointed at the couch, where we took our seats.
J.T. pulled out the copy he made of Jane’s work ID. “We need to know if the young woman admitted earlier is this girl.” He handed the photocopy to the doctor, who studied it carefully
and shook his head.
“To be honest, I can’t tell. Do you know of any other identifying features like tattoos or birthmarks?”
“Sorry, but we don’t. Are you saying her appearance is so bad you can’t make a positive identification?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Candidly speaking, I’m surprised she pulled through. Her injuries are extensive, and she’s lost a lot of blood. I stitched her up the best I could when she was admitted. I was afraid she would bleed out, go into cardiac arrest, and die right on the table.”
“I’m sorry to sound morbid, but can you describe her injuries? It’s part of an ongoing investigation, that’s if she is indeed the young woman we’re looking for.”
“Certainly, but let me pour us some coffee first, Agent Monroe. Like I said, her injuries are extensive.”
Once a cup of coffee was in front of each of us, the doctor went into detail about the young woman’s injuries.
“The first thing that stood out when she was brought in was the amount of slashes she had suffered across most of her body. They weren’t deep enough to damage nerves, muscles, or organs, but they did cause her to lose a great deal of blood. There was a hole in her right temple that I originally thought was a wound from a BB gun. After reviewing the X-rays of her skull and finding no foreign objects embedded, we concluded the long, rod like shape of the wound we saw on the films was from an ice pick.”
“Good God, she’s lucky to be alive.”
“That’s true, Agent Harper, and luckily for her, the wound came in at a downward direction and completely missed her brain. The pick entered her temple, but because the trajectory was off, it slid in behind her eye socket and hit her nasal bone. It was her worst day and her best day, if that makes sense. Her face is so swollen, she’s unrecognizable, but she’s stitched up and under heavy sleep medication in our ICU wing. There’s one more thing, agents. According to the EMTs that brought her in, she was bound and gagged when she was found.”