by Midge Bubany
“Jesus, Cal, you didn’t have to come out. I just wanted a patrol unit to document this, and I sure as hell didn’t want to bother the whole fire department for it. Talk about overkill.”
Lucky patted him on the back. “Better safe than sorry. A small blaze can quickly spread into a raging wildfire.”
A large section of the dirt yard was taped off. A red extinguisher canister lay in the dirt. Troy shined his flashlight across the foam-covered charred fabric. “See? It’s in the shape of a S.”
“S for Silver,” I mused. “The ribbon on the trees is much wider than the kind on the bouquet.”
“I know.”
“Wonder if the tree ribbons were tied by the same person that lit this fire,” I said.
“That’d be my guess,” he said. He pointed his flashlight on an unburned section of fabric. “They used silver fabric here, too. Wackos.”
“Smells like gasoline,” I said.
Lucky illuminated a round impression in the dirt. “See that? Could be the fabric was brought in a container of some sort.”
“Did you search the area?” I asked Troy.
“Yeah, I took Tino with me. Nothing.”
I watched Lucky take molds of shoe prints and the dimensions of the round print and snap photos of the scene. He patted Troy on the shoulder.
“Glad someone was here to put this one out. We’ll try to find where this fabric came from and what the round print is. We’ll be back tomorrow so we can get better photos in the daylight. I’ll be in touch with the sheriff.”
“Thanks for everything, Lucky,” Adriana said. I hadn’t noticed she and Shannon had walked up behind us.
“You bet. Spanky says he’s here to guard the evidence. Good night, and see you in the morning,” he said.
“Hey, Lucky, you were a friend of Silver Rae’s in high school, weren’t you?” I asked.
“Yeah, sweet kid. Man, it blows me away she was found out here so close to her home.”
“I’d like you to come into the department for an interview tomorrow.”
He looked surprised. “Oh, okay. I guess I can do that. What time?”
“We’ll work something out.”
“Sounds good.”
I turned to my wife. “We may as well go, Shannon.”
On the way home, I asked Shannon how she thought Adriana was taking this.
“Not so well. She asked me if I thought the purpose was to scare her or if it was some crazy person’s memorial to Silver.”
“I think the latter,” I said.
“That’s what I told her. Cal, could the arsonist be the killer?” she asked.
“I don’t think the killer would want to draw any attention to himself after all these years.”
“Or herself.”
“Point taken.”
“Adriana’s mother seems nice,” Shannon said.
“Does she? What did you talk about?”
“We discussed what Adriana should do to heighten her security. I suggested she have motion detector lights installed.”
“Good idea. You’re one smart woman,” I said.
“I’m one lucky woman,” she said, patting my leg, which always gave me ideas, and with Shannon, I was usually justified.
I woke several times through the course of the night. My mind was working overtime trying to figure who would kill a sweet girl like Silver Rae—and who had the balls to light a fire on Adriana’s property with people sitting on the deck. I knew the big-publicity crimes seemed to bring out the crazies, and arsonists loved to watch. Could the person or persons responsible have been watching without being seen? Maybe I’d suggest to Adriana she temporarily hire off-duty deputies as security guards.
Chapter 12
August 18
Shannon and I were cleaning up after our blueberry pancake breakfast. I was at the dishwasher. Bullet was by my side lapping the dishes as I put them in the racks when Shannon said casually, “Adriana asked if we wanted to bring the boys out for lunch and a swim today.”
I almost dropped a glass. “What did you say? Did you tell her the boys didn’t like swimming in lakes? That we had a pool?”
“I just said we had other plans . . . and who said they didn’t like swimming in lakes?”
“Colby. He said he doesn’t like to step on the rocks and get leeches.”
“He had one leech on his foot in his life. Anyway, would you want to . . . go out there, I mean?”
“Absolutely not. But what plans do we have?”
Shannon rearranged the already perfectly placed glasses in the dishwasher.
“I knew you’d have to go in to work. I promised the boys they could each invite a friend and we’d go to the playground at South Park and bring a picnic.”
“Sounds fun. Shannon, I don’t want us to become social friends with Adriana.”
“I so get that.”
“Good.”
She grabbed a pad of paper and a pen and said, “And we have to get on the stick and plan Luke’s birthday. It’s next Friday.”
“My suggestion is to keep it simple. How about a late afternoon pool party and pizza?”
“Great idea.”
A car pulled up in our driveway.
“Who’s that?” Shannon asked as we both looked out the window.
“Lucky,” I said.
I let him in and offered him a cup of coffee. The dryer buzzed and Shannon went to fold laundry.
“God, I feel like smoking today,” he said as he took a sip.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” I said.
“Haven’t for years, but some days the nicotine siren still calls my name. ‘Oh, Lucky, go buy Lucky Strikes. You know you want to,’” he said in a ghostly voice. He laughed when he saw the look on my face.
“Did you smoke Lucky Strikes because of your name?”
“Of course. Okay, the craving passed. Hey, I got some good molds of the footprints. Looks like just one set, besides Troy’s. I already dropped the fabric off at the lab.”
“Is that what you came by to tell me?”
“No, I thought you had some questions for me about Silver Rae.”
“Oh, we’ll do that at the department. You free this afternoon?”
“I can be. What time?”
“Say, two thirty?”
“I’ll make it work. You and Shannon golfing league this week?”
“Probably not. The Dawson case will likely keep me occupied.”
“Yeah, I imagine. How’s it coming?”
“We’re just starting.”
He nodded and said he’d better get to work. I went to say good-bye to the boys, who were sitting at each end of Luke’s bed playing Minecraft on the tablets they got from Shannon’s folks for Christmas. They were interacting, telling each other who they wiped out. They’re on the tablets too much, I thought. Bullet followed and lay down beside the bed.
“Hey, guys, thanks for the great birthday.”
“Did you like the iPad, Daddy?” Colby asked.
“Love it. Well, I’m off to work.”
“Okay, see ya,” Colby said.
Luke ignored the whole conversation. I kissed them both of the top of their heads and told them to have a fun day. When I was halfway out the door, Colby came to give me a hug good-bye. Bullet came over for an ear scratch. Two out of three ain’t bad.
As I walked by their shared bathroom I smelled urine. Time to tackle why we guys needed to hit the toilet bowl. I walked back into the bedroom and said, “Your bathroom smells like pee. Be careful where you aim. Okay?”
Without looking up Colby said, “Okay, Daddy.”
“Luke, did you hear me?”
“Yeah,” he said, and continued playing.
I kissed Shannon good-bye and told her about the stinky bathroom.
“I know. I was planning on cleaning it today.”
“Maybe they should.”
“Right,” she said as she rolled her eyes.
“It’s all in the aim,” I said. “Penises need to be controlled.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “You got that right.”
I cocked my head gauging her intent, and decided to let it be.
The squad room was abuzz over the latest incidents on Adriana’s property. Troy and I went upstairs to the conference room to discuss our strategy on the Dawson case. We divided the names of those we needed to interview on the whiteboard.
Today, Troy was interviewing the Mitchells and Wesley Stillman, the “friendly” milk hauler who was a person of interest fifteen years ago. On my list were Parker Gage’s parents and Silver’s friends. Many times we wanted to conduct the interviews in-house so we could get a good film for the record, but often it was satisfactory to hold it elsewhere and record with a device, or just take notes. Also, seeing how people lived gave us information about the witnesses.
Bentley and Lillian Gage said they would only be available between nine and ten in the morning. At precisely 9:00 a.m., I drove through their gate in River View Estates, the only prestigious neighborhood in the county. The wooded lots were two to three acres along Birch Creek and invisible from the road. Each had an elaborate metal gate and a brick entrance; the house numbers were on brass plaques on the side brick pillars. The only one I’d been in was Phillip Warner’s, Adriana’s boss, when they hosted the firm’s Christmas parties.
Gage’s gate was open so I drove up the impressive brick driveway and parked in front of a colossal two-story brick mansion. As I walked up to the handsome, dark wood double doors, I could hear sharp barks coming from inside, I guessed from medium-sized dogs. When Mrs. Gage answered the door, I showed my badge and introduced myself. Two black-and-white springer spaniels at her side continued fussing.
“Oh, stop,” she said as she snapped her fingers. They stopped. Impressive.
Parker and Aubrey had inherited their mother’s facial features: narrow face; long, straight nose; high, prominent cheekbones; and thin lips. Her mouth was pursed, displaying the fine lines above her upper lip. Aside from looking a little mean, she was an attractive woman in her early sixties. She stood about five-foot-eight and was slim-figured. She wore cream-colored slacks and a light-yellow blouse almost identical to the color of her hair.
“Follow me,” she said. She bent an elbow and held one hand like a snobby hostess at a restaurant. Isn’t this going to be fun?
We walked through an expansive entry, down a hallway lined with oil paintings of horses and fox hunts, and through a spacious kitchen with professional-sized stainless appliances and a massive amount of granite.
“You ride?” I asked.
“Until recently,” she said.
“On fox hunts?”
She turned to glare at me, but answered, “My whole family does.”
“I’ve always sided with the fox on those deals,” I said as she continued walking. “The odds seem a little off to me.”
She turned again to toss me a look of disdain.
There were a few stables and riding clubs in the area and I’d seen groups of people riding horses through the countryside following baying dogs. I wanted to ask her what they did with the foxes but didn’t want to start out on a worse note than already evident.
We entered a four-season porch where Dr. Gage sat on a mint-green leather sofa reading the paper. He wore a navy-blue polo shirt with khaki slacks. He put the paper on the wood-and-glass coffee table, took off his black-rimmed glasses and stood.
“Bentley Gage,” he said, offering his hand. He was about six feet tall and slender, but unlike Parker, he had a full head of silver hair.
I smiled big and shook his hand. “Good morning, sir. Nice room—light and airy,” I said.
Lillian Gage sat next to her husband. They made an attractive couple— movie-star attractive. Their names even sounded Hollywood—Bentley and Lillian Gage. The dogs jumped up on the sofa with them. One sat and stared at me, while the other lay down and put his head on Dr. Gage’s lap.
“Sit!” Mrs. Gage demanded. I assumed she was speaking to me and not the dogs because they were already sitting. I obeyed and took the matching leather chair opposite them. I half expected her to say, “Good boy.”
“What are your dogs’ names?” I asked.
Ignoring my friendly manner and attempt to build rapport, Mrs. Gage said, “We expected you’d come knocking on our door to rehash all this business with the girl being found.”
“And what do you think we should rehash?” I asked.
“Are you stupid?”
“I’ve been accused of being too smart for my own good, but never stupid, ma’am.”
I placed my department iPad on the coffee table, forced a broad smile and said I was going to record the interview. I pressed the on button and stated the case number, date, blah, blah, blah, while they fixed contemptuous glares on me.
“At 2:00 a.m., July 26, 1997, Silver Rae Dawson was discovered to be missing from the Summers’s farm where she had been babysitting. Parker was at the farm with her that evening. What time did he arrive home that night?” I asked.
Mrs. Gage sat forward, resting an arm on her thigh. “Shortly after eleven, and he remained at home until the sheriff’s department came the next morning and hauled him off for questioning. Our phone records proved she called him around midnight, after he got home, so he couldn’t possibly be responsible for her death. Certainly, all this must be in your files from back then. Just so you know, he was treated horribly—like a criminal,” Mrs. Gage said.
“Did you like Silver Rae?” I asked.
She moved back against the sofa. “Of course. She was a lovely girl.”
Right. “It’s been reported you didn’t particularly want your son to date her,” I said.
The Gages exchanged looks like couples do when they share an opinion. “Go ahead. Tell him,” Dr. Gage said, pressing his fat lips together.
“All right. To be perfectly honest, no, we didn’t want Parker to date her. She was a promiscuous thing, and I have that on good authority,” she said.
Promiscuous thing? “What authority is that?” I said.
Both Dr. and Mrs. Gage straightened their posture as he began to tell the tale.
“She had a miscarriage at age sixteen,” Dr. Gage began. “One of my partners consulted me concerning her case. He was new to our practice at that time and wasn’t sure what to do with what she’d told him. She claimed she didn’t know how she got pregnant and thought she must have been raped in her sleep.” He made a face letting me know how preposterous he thought it was. “He wanted to know if I thought he should encourage her talk to the police—or a psychiatrist.” He gave me a snarky smile.
“Who is he?”
“Joris Kline,” he said.
“You didn’t believe her story,” I said.
Mrs. Gage snorted. “Come on. Raped in her sleep? Trust me. When a penis goes in a woman’s vagina, she’s going to wake up.”
There are so many comebacks—and all so inappropriate.
“Why would she wait to come forward until several weeks after the fact, when it couldn’t be proven?” Dr. Gage asked.
“From accounts we’ve collected,” I said, “it sounds like someone may have given her a date rape drug, like Rohypnol.”
“In Prairie Falls in 1996? I don’t think so,” Dr. Gage said.
“Rohypnol was read
ily available then,” I said. “She reportedly consumed only one drink then lost memory from that point. When she became aware again, her panties were on backwards, bloody and wet, most likely, from semen.”
“Sounds to me like she made up a story to explain the fact she turned up pregnant after a one-night stand,” Mrs. Gage said.
“Rape victims are often hesitant or afraid to disclose for various reasons. Perhaps she didn’t expect to get pregnant,” I said.
Mrs. Gage sat forward placing her hands, palms down, on her thighs. “Back to your original question. I don’t want you to misunderstand . . . we were all fond of Silver Rae. She was a darling girl, and she and my daughter Aubrey were very close until she started chasing after Parker. Aubrey felt Silver used her friendship to get to Parker. The girl was extremely infatuated with him. Yes, I’ll admit I worried she was going to distract him from his goals with her sexuality.”
“Could have been the other way around. Were you aware Parker snuck the lodge key so he and his friends could have a place to party? He also took Silver Rae there to have sex but she said no. Parker told us that.”
They both looked taken aback.
“Young men will drink and try to have sex whenever and with whomever they can. Don’t you agree?” Dr. Gage said.
“Exactly. They were young and horny like teenagers are. Now, my point is, he knew the area and was the last one to see her alive,” I said.
Mrs. Gage stabbed a finger at me. “Correction: the killer was the last one to see her alive. Parker was thoroughly investigated fifteen years ago. I don’t quite understand what you’re trying to do, Detective. Is that what your title is? Detective?”
“Deputy Investigator. And we’re trying to get a look at the case from new perspectives,” I said.
“Well, Deputy Investigator, we wish you luck with that. We really do, but we must ask you to finish up. We have an important engagement,” Mrs. Gage said.
“I’m about done here.” I turned to Dr. Gage. “You used to go duck hunting with Dr. Daniel Mitchell out on the Lake Emmaline land.”
“Yes, with him and others he’d invited.”