The I-94 Murders
Page 24
Dead leaves crunch beneath my hard rubber soles as I make my way to Ava. I finally spot a weathered, white hunting shack set off to the side of the property, with haphazardly boarded windows. I carefully study the woods before approaching, and there are no signs of human activity. There’s just enough space between the decrepit boards to allow me to see into the shack.
Inside, there sits Ava, in her perfectly applied makeup, roughing it—Ava style—she’s wearing an obviously new army t-shirt and camouflage-print sweats. She’s is perched on the bottom of a cheaply constructed bunk bed, her hair pulled back into a tight, stubby ponytail. She’s got burning candles set about the floor, and is oblivious to the world, wearing headphones and focusing intently on her tablet. I carefully make my way around the shack and peer in from each side. There’s no one else there. My excitement intensifies as I consider the possibilities. Should I knock, or just kick in the door? Ava, this time you’ve wandered too far from the safety net. I’m going to break you in like a wild horse. She will be my Olwen—my Layla. I’m kicking the door in.
As I feel for my ether rag, the shack’s door suddenly bursts open, and, with a primal scream, Ava explodes through it, breaking into a sprint toward the woods. She must have caught a glimpse of me. Ecstasy rushes through me as I match her pace, noisily plowing through the brittle leaves and dried brush. It was finally happening—again! Ava runs as if her life depends on it and, well, it does. She is only twenty feet ahead of me, now. I’m not the flabby man I was two years ago—I’ve trained for this. My new strength certainly surprised Leah Hartman the second time we met. My ability to overpower her was exquisite foreplay.
With nothing to lose now, I can do as I choose with Ava. I close to within fifteen feet. Ava glances back in fear. I can hear her breath coming in gasps as she pushes herself over the earth. I am now within twelve feet of her. Checking on me had slowed her down, and I would have caught her if I hadn’t stepped into a dip—I stumble for several steps before righting myself. Ava is headed for an open field just thirty feet ahead. I have to close quickly, to keep her in the woods. I take three large steps and hit her with the Taser. Ava’s petite body shakes violently to the ground. As she lands, the rough smack of the impact knocks the wind out of her.
My Ava now lies beneath me. I remove the hooks, crawl on top of her, and soak my rag with ether.
JON FREDERICK
5:00 P.M.
I RACED DOWN SAGE ROAD to Ava’s last GPS location. Her scarlet Lexus came into sight, almost offensively bright against the colorless landscape. It was parked on the edge of the road, so I pulled over behind it. The car was empty. I sprinted into the woods chasing the location of her cell phone.
Making his way around a dilapidated shack, my father called out, “Jon!” As he caught his breath, he explained his presence. “After you called, I went home and found my rifle missing, so I called some friends and headed here. They should be here any minute.”
As Bill spoke, I could see half a dozen hunters emptying out of several vehicles along the road—women and men in camouflage, all friends of my parents, all ex-military. As my father and his comrades were assembling to make a plan, the crack of a gunshot ripped through the dense woods. We looked at each other for a split second, then all took off running toward the sound.
Dry branches tore at my clothes and face like claws of the dead as I raced toward the sound of the shot.
SONIA HARTMAN
5:00 P.M.
I WAS PATIENTLY WAITING BEHIND a couple six-foot pine trees by an open field at the edge of the woods. Cloud cover stole the sun’s warmth, leaving my fingers cold and shaky on the barrel of this large Winchester rifle. I put the clip in the rifle and slid a lever back to chamber the first bullet. I had one shot, so I needed to make it count.
Bill Frederick told me the kick of his rifle would knock me on my ass, but he took the 237 I usually practice with, so the Winchester was my only option. Ava should be running out any moment. I’d been ruminating over avenging my sister’s death since the night she was murdered. It was a continuous loop I could only periodically distract my attention from. Everybody had loved Leah—not just me—everyone she interacted with. Her boyfriends were jealous because they knew anyone who spent any time with her wanted more. But to be honest, my desire for revenge had been gradually dissipating—like a fall leaf that was once green with life, then red with anger, and now had dried and was crumpling into nothingness.
Suddenly, the clouds passed, and the warm bright sun embraced me. I took off my jacket and surrendered to a pleasurable cascade of warmth. Leah was telling me she’s okay. I didn’t have to do this. She was setting me free. I set down my rifle and looked to the sky. I thanked Leah for relieving me of my burden.
CULHWCH
5:04 P.M.
WHILE AVA WRITHES IN PAIN beneath me, I hold her arms, savoring the moment. Tears stream from her eyes as she gasps, “I don’t want to die! Please don’t put that rag on me—please! I’ll do whatever you want.”
I pull my gun and touch the barrel to her temple. “Then lie still and let’s get down to business,” I say as I reach to unbuckle my belt.
Ava is compliant, extending her arms above her head, and I yank her army green shirt off with my left hand. “Time for another lesson, Ava!”
SONIA HARTMAN
5:05 P.M.
AWASH WITH RELIEF AT MY DECISION not to kill, I began walking toward the woods. I’d get him to surrender at gunpoint. I suddenly heard Ava scream. I picked up the Winchester and ran toward her cries. At the edge of the woods, she was sprawled on her back on the ground, and a man was straddling her with a gun to her head. I stopped, and without thinking twice, I raised the rifle to my eye and fired. CRACK!!!
JON FREDERICK
5:07 P.M.
I BROKE INTO A CLEARING AT THE EDGE of the woods and there was Ava, in a sports bra and camo pants. She was standing over Jack Kavanaugh, kicking him ruthlessly in the ribs as he coughed up blood.
I raced to her side, kicked away the gun discarded near his body, and pulled her back. Ava’s eyes were bright with fury as she struggled against me. I looked up to see Sonia walking toward us, her small frame nearly lost in my father’s jacket. Her dark hair was woven into an intricate braid. She was carrying a 30.06 Winchester rifle and, with her free hand, was rubbing her shoulder from the kickback of the shot I realized she’d just fired. She stumbled a bit and looked at me vacantly, as if she couldn’t quite make sense of what had just happened.
Bill had caught up to me, and immediately called for help on his cellphone.
Once I felt Ava wasn’t going to continue her attack of Jack, I released her and stepped out of her way. She aggressively picked up her shirt and pulled it on, oblivious to nature’s detritus clinging to it. Her wild eyes were only for the figure on the ground, and the rage emanating through her body was palpable. She moved to resume her attack, but as she ran toward Jack, a large, bearded man stepped in front of her, and pulled her into a bear hug to keep her from doing more damage to the wounded man. Ava’s screams of anger, fear, and impotence ripped through her and filled the woods. She pushed and beat against his chest, but he held on patiently. Spent, she finally collapsed into him in tears, surrendering to his comfort, as if he was the tender father she never had.
Bill made his way over to Sonia and gently pried the rifle out of her hands. A fifty-something, gray-haired female hunter approached and carefully took Sonia’s face in her hands, forcing her to make eye contact.
She asked Sonia softly, “Are you okay?” Sonia’s composure collapsed at the woman’s kindness. Her body followed suit, and when she sank to the ground, the woman knelt beside her, speaking warmly and reassuringly.
I was crouching like a catcher by Jack Kavanaugh.
Through gurgles of blood and strained breaths, Jack attempted to order me, “Arrest them.”
I didn’t look at him as I continued to take in the scene unfolding around us. I answered coldly, “Jack, everyone now kn
ows you’re the I-94 Killer. Investigators are headed to your locker at the print shop as we speak.”
I was an amalgamation of emotions. I was angry that he assaulted Ava again, angry, too, about this whole setup Ava and Sonia apparently concocted. But I was also relieved it was over, and both Sonia and Ava were still alive. The manner in which the hunters stepped into comfort Ava and Sonia was heartwarming.
There was little I could do at this point. The cavitation done by a high speed bullet, mercilessly flattening as it worked through Jack’s body, was lethal. It left an exit wound the size of an orange. I took off my shirt and used it to pack the exit wound, pressing it against the ragged edges of his flesh, trying to delay Jack’s demise.
Noticing my state of undress, my dad brought me his dark leather jacket, which had the large, gold Guinness logo on the back (a harp). I quickly shrugged it on and let it hang open as I spoke flatly to Jack. “The closest ambulance is a half hour away. You’re not going to make it, Jack. Do you want last rites?” Not everyone gets the Viaticum.
Barely conscious, Jack grumbled, “I don’t believe—” Then stopped himself, and said, “Yeah.”
I finally met his eyes, “The first step is confession. If you don’t want to talk to me, I can have someone else kneel by you.”
Fear played across his features as reality settled into his being. He was struggling with words, now. “Is this a trick?” Threads of blood from the corners of his mouth were smudged into a gruesome mask of violence I wouldn’t soon forget.
“No, Jack. You’ve been around dying people before. Can you taste metal?”
He nodded affirmatively. “Those pigs drove my mom crazy. They beat her and tied her up.” With every word that required his lips to come together, a spray of crimson settled over his neck and chest. I found myself pulling back to avoid getting splattered.
I cut in, “Confession first. You don’t have a lot of time.”
Jack coughed some more, choking on the life flowing out of his body. When he caught his breath, he shook his head back and forth, his eyes no longer focusing on me. “I shouldn’t have killed Leah. I became Bull. I always wanted to be him, and I never wanted to be him. He was always in control—but such a ruthless ass.”
I added, “And you shouldn’t have killed Alan, or Bo, or Asher. And you shouldn’t have shot Maddy or Sly. You shouldn’t have raped anyone!”
“I never wanted to kill Maddy.” Jack took a ragged gasp. He suddenly focused, looked me hard in the eye, and spat, “That one’s on you—you ducked.” Jack slipped into unconsciousness and never returned.
The presence of others kept me from saying what I wanted to, out loud. In my mind, I spoke to him: Jack, you can be damned to hell. Even facing death, you’re still too self-centered to take responsibility for your behavior. The damage you’ve done isn’t repairable—nothing brings Leah Hartman back. Maddy’s twelve-year-old boy now has to worry she’s going to get shot every time she goes to work. Maybe the problem was you never meant something to anyone. Now, the solution is making sure you will never get to mean anything to anyone again. You’re done, and I’m done thinking about you. Let your ashes fall where they may—it’s not my call to make.
My dad had been standing beside us, hands sunk into his pockets, silently watching the last conversation Jack Kavanaugh would ever have. I looked up at him, and he lamented, “I gave Sonia the combination to the gun safe because I trusted her.” He swiped beads of sweat from his forehead and waved toward Ava and Sonia, who were now standing close. “Evidently, she and Ava had their own plan.”
I nodded, “It’s okay. You had faith in her, and she needed that.”
My dad patted me on the shoulder, and then walked away toward the other hunters. He made a circular motion above his head, and said, “Let’s go—we have no business here.” The small army departed, and I made no effort to stop them. They hadn’t really done anything. I appreciated his effort—if the killer had been on the run through the woods, the hunters would have been useful. There was no doubt in my mind these people would have tracked him down.
This left Sonia, Ava, and me standing about twenty feet away from Jack Kavanaugh’s body.
Sonia stood emotionless while Ava squeezed her shoulder in congratulations. “Great shot … he caught me before I got to the opening. He was faster than we both thought, and I didn’t expect him to have a Taser.”
Ava then turned to me excitedly altering her story. “He was chasing me—I was just lucky Sonia was there. She saved my life!”
Sonia silently observed the lie.
I turned to her, “So, what’s your story?”
In an effort to rescue Sonia, Ava interjected, “I called your parents one day, to thank them for letting me stay, and Sonia answered. I realized we had this killer in common, so we periodically got on the phone and comforted each other.”
I noted to Ava, “And you managed to pop up out of nowhere, conveniently in an area where Sonia was learning to hunt. Instead of contacting authorities, you led Jack right to where Sonia was waiting with a hunting rifle.” I turned to Sonia, “Talk to me.”
Sonia shivered, “I wasn’t going to kill him. But when he put the gun to Ava’s head, I just fired.”
Ava added, “You had to.”
Sonia turned to me, “I’m never picking up a gun again.”
I stepped toward her and put my arm around her shoulder; she leaned into me. “Okay. So, the two of you were out here to enjoy some peace and quiet. You took a rifle and walked to an area where you’ve target-practiced with my dad. Ava stayed back at the shack and relaxed by playing with her electronics. When Ava heard a man outside, she went running to you, and when you saw Jack put a gun to her head, you shot him.”
Ava brightened, “That is what happened!”
Sonia didn’t confirm or deny the story, but said, “I need to apologize to your dad.” She thought for a minute and added, “And I need to talk to Victor.”
The woods fell silent for a moment, and then the sound of sirens emerged in a progressively collapsing distance.
Sonia, Ava, and I each made our statements to investigators from the Morrison County Sheriff ’s Department. Maurice Strock then arrived with the BCA crew and interviewed us again. With his white hair blowing in the wind, Maurice left in a huff. He was concerned over the criticism he would receive for our failure to bring the suspect in alive.
Sean Reynolds approached me and said, “Game over Jack! Kavanaugh kept black sweat suits in a locker at the printing press. I believe he discarded them after each murder, and changed into a new pair next time. Storing the clothing by the press gave it a unique smell. There was also a laptop in his locker, which I imagine will prove valuable.”
We watched as both Ava Mayer and Sonia Hartman were finally allowed to leave the scene with their parents.
Sean gave me a knowing look. “I think we both have a pretty good idea of what happened here. You have to give Sonia and Ava some credit. They got tired of hiding and finally said, ‘Come and find me.’”
I told him, “Honestly, I believe Sonia. She told me she wasn’t going to shoot him.”
Sean nodded, “If your brother doesn’t say anything contrary to that, I don’t imagine there will be any charges.”
Surprised, I asked, “What does Victor have to do with this?”
“Apparently Victor spoke to Sonia right before she came here. So Maurice is picking him up and bringing him in for questioning.”
As a result of having worked successfully with the Morrison County Sheriff ’s Department in the past, they allowed me to step behind the mirrored glass and watch Maurice Strock’s interview of Victor. Victor wasn’t being accused of anything, but Maurice was concerned Victor might have some information that could result in manslaughter charges being brought against Sonia. A bible sat on the table between them.
Victor’s long scraggly hair, moustache, and “JUST SAY NOPE” t-shirt made him look like a guitar player for a 1970s southern rock group.
Victor replied, “It is.” Victor voluntarily placed his hand on the bible.
I considered intervening and requesting Victor lawyer up, but I didn’t. My fear was it would just lead to a subpoena. Victor was honest to a fault.
Maurice stated, “Victor Frederick, do you swear to tell the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”
Victor glanced toward the door and, realizing he wasn’t going to be saved, said, “Nope.”
Shocked, Maurice retorted, “Your hand is on the bible. You need to be honest.”
Victor said, “I am. I don’t know the whole truth. All I know is what I’ve seen and what I heard. Isn’t it your job to determine what the whole truth is?”
Maurice nodded, “Okay. Just be truthful. Do you know Yesonia Hartman? I believe she goes by ‘Sonia.’”
Victor smiled, “She invented flowers.”
Behind the glass, I was grinning. You had to understand the language of Victor. This wasn’t a psychotic statement. When someone exudes love, Victor says, “She invented flowers.”
Frustrated, Maurice pushed his wire glasses up the bridge of his nose as he contemplated the benefit of proceeding. Maurice finally decided to surge forward. “Okay. We’re telling the truth here. Did Sonia tell you she was going to shoot someone?”
Victor looked up at the ceiling as he considered this.
Maurice ultimately glanced up also, to see if something had captured his attention.