Murder in the Dell

by Bert Entwistle

  Deacon stepped up to the microphone and waited for the crowd to quiet down. “If you’re like us, you don’t want to be here — however this is reality. The body of another young woman was found on the shore ice just above town. Her name is Carly Elizabeth Russell, 21 years-old. She was wrapped in plastic and dumped sometime Tuesday night. The coroner has placed the time of death approximately 18 hours before the discovery. That’s all I can tell you right now, the FBI is in charge of the case. F.B.I. Special Agent Felix Barnhart and his team will provide you with more information as it becomes available.”

  Felix Barnhart stepped up to the microphone next and took questions for twenty minutes. “I know all the questions weren’t answered to your satisfaction, but the investigation is ongoing and is now at six victims, all young women, all murdered violently. So please bear with us and we will do our best to keep you up to date, thank you.”

  “Nobody asked anything about the severed arm, I was surprised,” said Vince on the ride back to the office.

  “Yeah, that was one good thing,” said Deacon. “We know even less about the arm than we do about the murders. Maybe if we’re lucky, someone will claim it as their own.”

  Wolff couldn’t help but laugh out loud at Deacon’s bad joke.

  “Austin, what did you find out about the girls that Carly was with on her last night?”

  “Terri Hanson and Cheryl Reese, both 20 years old and studying at Superior. I talked with Reese for quite a while, she lives in Ashland. She was very willing to talk and very distraught about Carly’s death. She said they picked her up and partied together for a while in Washburn, then they got bored and drove down to Ashland.”

  Stone flipped through his notes. “She said they had a beer at a local bar called Zeke’s. They went to the dance floor with two locals for a couple of songs, when they came back Carly was gone. She says they never saw her again.”

  “They didn’t think there may be a problem? Their friend just disappeared and they don’t think they should say something to someone?”

  “Not really, she said they just went there for fun. It wasn’t unusual for one of them to go off with a guy for a hookup. She said they’d all done it before.”

  “Find Terri Hanson and see if she confirms the story,” said Deacon.

  “I’ve already got a lead on her.”

  “Sounds good, I’m headed home.”

  “See you there,” said Angie. “Don’t forget, Amy and Jason are coming over for dinner — you do remember that, right?”

  “You know me, a mind like a steel trap — I never forget anything.”

  “You forgot all about it, didn’t you?”

  “I’ll see you tonight,” he said, walking out the door.

  Deacon and Jason cooked the steaks on the deck while Angie and Amy enjoyed a glass of wine in front of the fireplace. Ice out had just begun and they could hear the lake working on its annual break up. The slabs of fractured ice crashed down on each other with loud screeches and rumbling groans.

  Jason Leonard, Angie’s brother-in-law, watched as the moonlight lit up the piles of fractured shore ice. “Won’t be long now, and we’ll be out there fishing,”

  He nodded his head and flipped the steaks.

  “You okay there Deac?”

  “Huh? Oh yeah, just lost in work I guess.”

  “This case getting to you?”

  “Yeah, it’s making me a little crazy, that’s for sure. Grab the plates, the steaks are ready.”

  After a good meal of steak, potatoes and salad, the women cleared the table and Deacon fed a little more wood into the fire. The room warmed quickly and they fell into easy conversation about the day. Amy was a near twin to her older sister except she was two years younger and had dark brown hair. She owned and operated Amy’s Hair & Nails, the only storefront beauty shop in Washburn for eleven years and was always busy.

  Jason was a one-man electrical contractor and loved to hunt and fish as much as Deacon. They both knew the country well and got along with everyone. They had been partners in each other’s outdoor adventures for years.

  The two men walked out to the boat shed. “To check our gear for the new fishing season,” said Deacon.”

  Angie laughed out loud. “What he really means is they are going to have a cigar and a beer and tell a few fish stories.”

  “All of them absolutely true, I’m sure,” said Amy. “How’s Deacon doing with all this serial killer stuff?”

  “It’s put a ton of pressure on him, but as far as the case goes, he’s doing okay. The problem is that he takes things so personally.”

  “How so?”

  “Victim number three has not been identified yet, the county buried her as a Jane Doe. He seems to be almost obsessed at finding out who she is.”

  Amy poured a little more wine in both glasses. “The others have all been identified?”

  Angie nodded. “All but her. I know this probably sounds strange, but I think she may remind him of Carol, his high school girlfriend that died in the crash. I’ve caught him a couple of times just staring at her picture.”

  “I’m sure he’s okay Sis, everyone knows he’s just a really intense guy.”

  “He is that for sure.”

  Deacon dropped the morning paper on his desk and pulled off his coat. “Austin, did you track down the other girlfriend yet?”

  “No, I haven’t found her yet, but I found her parents.”

  “They don’t know where she’s at?”

  “They’re divorced. Ben, the father, lives in Ashland and the mother, Hattie, lives in Superior. Both claim they thought she was with the other one. I don’t think either of them seems very involved in her life.”

  “Who had custody? Who supports her?”

  “My best guess is her grandmother, Vera Hanson, also in Ashland. I’m going down to interview her in an hour or so.”

  “Good. Is there a missing person report started on her?”

  “No. But I think the grandmother will do it, she’s the only one that appears to be worried about her.”

  “You think she might be our next victim?” asked Angie.

  “I’d rather think she’s just off with a guy somewhere, but right now it doesn’t feel too good.”

  Deacon and Vince pulled up in front of Zeke’s bar on the main drag of Ashland. Technically this was a different county and courtesy would dictate that he stopped at the Ashland County Sheriff’s Office and fill him in. Since relations had been frosty between them for years, he decided he would apologize later if necessary.

  The bar looked like a hundred others he’d been in before that catered to a younger crowd. Loud music, a long bar and small dance floor that could get crowded quickly. Finding the bartender, he identified himself and his deputy.

  “We’re looking for the owner, would that be you?” asked Deacon.

  The man reached to the back bar and switched off the music. “Guilty, I’m Tripp, the owner. What can I do for you guys?”

  Deacon showed him the most recent photo of Carly. “Last Tuesday this girl was here with two of her girlfriends. She was found murdered two days later. Any chance you remember her?”

  “I see a lot of people every night. Do you have photos of the other girls too?”

  He showed him the other two photos. “Hold on . . .” He motioned to the other bartender. “Jake, come here a minute. This is Jake, he was the bouncer that night. Any chance you saw these three last Tuesday?”

  He scanned the three photos on the bar. “Sure, I remember them. Typical college girls, a couple beers and a little dancing, nothing out of the ordinary though.”

  Deacon pointed to the picture of Carly. “She was murdered sometime after she left here on Tuesday night.”

  “Murdered? Oh man, how terrible, what happened?”

  “Did you see her with anyone in particular that night?”

  He shook his head. “No, not at all. The only reason I remember her is because I walked her to the car. She said she wasn’t fe
eling so good and would I walk with her. I figured she was just a little tipsy.”

  “Did she try to drive?”

  “No. We got to the car, she said thanks and got in the back seat. She said she would wait for her girlfriends. The car belonged to one of them. I think she just needed some fresh air to clear her head. That’s why I thought she would be okay where she was, we were getting ready to close anyway.”

  “Anything else you can remember?”

  “One thing was a little strange. When I got back to the front door, a car pulled out of the parking lot and drove by — I noticed there was a female passenger in it.”

  “Was it her?”

  “I couldn’t say for sure, the windows were fogged up some, but I’m sure it was a female.”

  “Do you know what kind of car it was?”

  “It was a four-door, that I know for sure, kind of a silver or white color. Hard to say for sure when it’s under the streetlights.”

  “Make or model or tag number?” he asked, still writing in his notebook.

  “Sorry, can’t help you there, I don’t really know a lot about cars, I’m a truck guy.”

  “What about the video? I see a camera outside and a couple in here, we need to see the footage.”

  The bartender shrugged. “Sorry, the outside camera was broken out a couple of weeks ago. I think it was probably kids. But I can get you the footage from the inside that night, it’ll just take a couple of minutes.”

  “What about footage of the parking lot? Do you have that?”

  “No camera there, it’s on the other side of the office supply building next door. They own it, not us. They don’t need it at night so they don’t pay much attention to our customers when they’re using it. Hold on, I’ll get you the copy from that night.”

  “Thanks for your help guys,” said Deacon, putting the DVD in his pocket. He handed each of them a card. “Please let me know if you think of anything else.”

  Chapter 5

  The annual Washburn Ice Out Festival always ended on a Sunday night. It was a combination dance, raffle, art show and auction. The raffle every year was for a rifle and shotgun, and sometimes fishing tackle, with the proceeds going to the local health clinic.

  It was also a good opportunity to visit with the who’s who in county business and politics. An election was coming up and it was a way for candidates and constituents to check each other out. The beer and sausages would last most of the night, and the judging for the art show would start at 7pm.

  The master of ceremony announced this year’s lineup of judges for the art show. “From the University of Wisconsin fine arts department we have Betty Seales, and from the Milwaukee college of art, Jean Martin. Also, Boyd Clemson from the Washburn High School arts program and Sinclair Crawford, a fifth generation Bayfield County citizen, nationally known writer and generous Washburn benefactor. Please give them all a big round of applause.”

  When the crowd quieted down, Deacon and Angie walked to the bar to refresh their drinks. When he turned around, he bumped squarely into Supervisor Thomas. “Supervisor, good to see you again.”

  “Don’t give me that crap Davis, we both know you aren’t happy about seeing me. What about Carly Russell’s killer, are you close to catching him yet?”

  “No ma’am, we are not. Anything else I can do for you tonight?”

  “The Russell’s are close friends of mine,” she said, shaking her finger at him. “I will expect an updated report from you tomorrow.”

  Angie listened to her tirade for a moment. “Hello Mrs. Thomas, I hear you have an election coming up soon?”

  “Yes I do, why?”

  “Isn’t the Russell family your biggest financial supporter?”

  “That means nothing! I will expect that report tomorrow.”

  Deacon laughed so hard he nearly choked on his drink. “Well played girl, I’m sure glad you’re on my side.”

  “And don’t you forget it Davis. Now let’s go look at the art, we need a piece to hang over the fireplace.”

  “How about a great big stuffed northern pike? Would that work for you?”

  “You already know better than that — no dead stuff on the walls.”

  “How about a great big picture of me holding a great big northern pike?”

  “Don’t push it Davis or you might be sleeping alone tonight.”

  “Well, I still have Rufus.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  She bought a large watercolor of the fall foliage with the lake in the background. “This should brighten up the room nicely, what do you think?”

  “It’s a pretty picture for sure, but a fishing boat on the lake would perk it up a little bit.”

  She shook her head at this. “Davis, you are hopeless — all you think about is fishing.”

  “Not so, I also think about hunting.”

  “Well as long as you’re doing all this thinking, think about paying this nice lady for the painting — it’s $250.00.”

  “I have to pay for your picture?”

  “No, you have to pay for our picture,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “We will both enjoy it on these cold winter nights.”

  “Uh huh . . .” said Deacon, pulling out his checkbook. “I’m sure we will.”

  He handed the painting to her as someone put out his hand to him. “Deacon, Angie, good to see you folks again, thanks for your support of the art show, it’s much appreciated.”

  “Sinclair, it’s good to see you too. Looks like the sale did well this year.”

  “It went very well, probably the most money we ever raised.”

  “That’s great. How are things out in your piece of paradise?”

  “Good, but I will be glad to see this winter go away. Either they’re getting worse every year, or my body is trying to tell me something I don’t want to hear—like I’m getting too old for this climate.”

  “I know what you mean. How’s Sarah? I haven’t seen her tonight.”

  “She’s good, but she had a bit of a headache and didn’t feel like going out in the cold today.”

  “I can’t blame her there. Tell her we said hi, and hope she’s feeling better soon.”

  “I will. Take care and I’ll see you later.”

  When they reached the parking lot, a figure stepped out from between the parked cars. “Davis, you still screwing Bayfield County?”

  Deacon recognized Curt Sorenson immediately. He stepped in front of Angie and moved toward him. “Curt, what do you want?”

  “To kick your sorry ass, that’s what I want, right here, right now.”

  “That’s not going to happen Curt, why don’t you just go home and sleep it off?” Making a half-hearted swing at Deacon, he missed, and was on the ground in an instant, with Deacon pinning his arms behind him. After snapping on the cuffs, he pulled him up and shoved him against the car.

  “Screw you Davis, this ain’t over by a longshot, I’ll get even with you, you just wait you son-of-a-bitch — you’ll see . . .”

  Curt’s wife and son had walked up in time to see him take a swing at Deacon. “Deacon, I’m so sorry. Can we just take him home? He won’t bother anyone else, I promise.”

  “Heidi, you can have him, but he’s going to have stop this crap or he’ll be spending some real time in jail.”

  “Thank you Deacon, he won’t bother you again.”

  “Let’s hope that’s the case,” said Deacon, taking off the cuffs.

  They put the painting in the car and headed for home. “That guy sure knows how to hold a grudge,” said Angie. “You think he’s dangerous?”

  “Nah, it’s just the beer talking.”

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, Deacon pulled on a t-shirt. “What exactly is Sinclair Crawford’s story? I’ve known him, or known of him most of my life. Everyone says he’s a writer, have you ever seen anything he’s written?”

  “No, not really. Now and then someone will bring up the same question at Amy’s shop. They say he w
rites murder mysteries. None of them have ever read any of his work — but they like to gossip about him.”

  “I’ve never seen any of his work on the stands before.”

  “I doubt you’ll find him in the fishing and hunting magazines you read.”

  “I read books too . . .”

  “Yeah, all you read about is the Old West. I think he writes for magazines we’ve never heard of.”

  “Whatever kind of mysteries he writes, I’d like to read one, it might be interesting. How about looking him up on the net and see what you can find?”

  “Okay Davis, I’ll make you a deal. You hang the picture tonight and I’ll see if I can find a bedtime story for you to read.”

  “Deal. If I hang the picture tonight, you and I can read it while cuddling in our nice warm bed.”

  “We both know that if we’re going to cuddle, there’s zero chance you’ll get any reading done.”

  “You’re probably right. As soon as I see you naked I’ll forget all about reading.”

  She laughed out loud at the thought of him trying to read something while she lay next to him. “So I can look him up tomorrow?”

  “Yes. We cuddle tonight and you look him up tomorrow. Can we hang the picture tomorrow too?”

  “No. You hang the picture — then we cuddle.”

  Looking up from his desk, he saw Felix come through the door. “Out kind of early this morning aren’t you?”

  “Yeah. I woke up early for some reason, so I made coffee, fried up a couple of eggs and read the paper. Your favorite supervisor was on the front page reminding everyone it was election season. I think your name was mentioned.”

  “I’ll bet it was. She’s probably looking for a new candidate for the sheriff’s job.”

  “Something like that,” said Felix. Stepping inside, he shook off the snow and hung up his coat.

  “Surely you didn’t come down this early just to tell me that did you?”

  He shook his head. “No, I have the agency’s new profile. I thought we’d go over it this morning.”

  “Let me put on the coffee first. Angie will be here soon, she needs to sit in on it too.”