Deacon swung open the cell door and rolled in a chair next to the cot.
“Deacon, are you going to arrest me today?”
“I haven’t decided yet. It depends on what you have to say. If you answer all my questions, maybe I’ll let you go.”
“Well, ask away, I got nowhere to be but right here.”
“I’ve been told that you know Sinclair Crawford fairly well, that true?”
“Yeah sure. I worked for him from about eighth grade all through high school. I still work for him once and a while. The last time I was out there was maybe a year or so back.”
“How well do you know his property?”
“I would say nearly as well as him. I dug ditches, put in drainage pipes, worked on the ponds, fixed fences and planted a hell of a bunch of trees — that was a never ending job,” he said, finishing up the last of his coffee. “I plowed the big field, planted stuff, and did everything else you could think of that a farm that size needs done.”
“What about the buildings, did you get into all the buildings on the property?”
“I think so, except for maybe the house. Even though I was in there lots of times, but never got much past the kitchen. Sometimes Missus Crawford would make lunch for me, but that was all I ever saw of the inside.”
Deacon listened intently, taking a sip of his own coffee. “Did anything ever seem kind of odd, or different about the Crawford’s to you? Did you ever see other people coming and going from the farm, or maybe living there?”
He shook his head. “No. Not a single person, not ever. Maybe that’s one of the odd things you’re talking about. There was never anyone on that property except them. Once or twice I showed up for work and you could tell that someone had been using the tractor. It would be muddy or low on gas. Once in a while I could tell that their car had been driven by the way it was parked in the barn.”
“Was there more than one car in there?”
“Like I said, it’s been a while, but just the one sedan is all I remember. There were a couple of old, kinda junky antique cars in the back of the barn though.”
“Do you remember what kind of car they drove?”
“Last time I was there, they had a white four door, that’s about all I can remember.”
“I’ve heard there are a couple of ponds there, you said you worked on them?
“What’s this all about Deacon? Did they do something wrong or what?”
“The ponds goddamnit — tell me about the ponds.”
“Alright already. Three ponds, two small natural ones fed by Otter Creek and a larger man-made one.”
“How big was the man-made one?”
“Probably an acre or two. Sinclair told me one time that they were trying to revive an old cranberry field. It’s all set up to flood the field when the time comes and drain it after the harvest.”
“So the field is dry all year until they harvest?”
“Can I get some more coffee please?” asked Sorenson, hands still noticeably shaking.
“Sure, let’s take a break for a while.” Refilling his mug he walked out, leaving the cell door open. “Angie, do we have anything sweet around here? Our prisoner needs a little more to eat.”
“You know we do. The donuts are in the cabinet behind the cream and sugar.”
“So that’s where you hide them.”
“If I didn’t hide them, you’d eat every one of them.”
Deacon didn’t answer, he just walked over to the cell and sat the box next to Sorenson. “Eat all you want, there’s more coffee if you need it. You can get it from the lunchroom yourself. Let me know when you’re ready to talk some more.”
After half an hour Sorenson said he was ready to talk again. Deacon went back to the cell and turned on a small recorder. “Just because my memory is not so good anymore. About the cranberry field, did they actually plant some?”
He shook his head. “Not that I ever saw. Deacon, thank you for taking care of me last night by the way. I’m sorry I acted like such an asshole.”
“Forget it, now about the pond, was it dry all year around?”
“No, it was always wet, but they never had a crop that I ever saw.”
“And you never saw it drained?”
“No, I never saw it that way, but I know that it had been drained at different times by the muddy tracks and equipment.”
“Why do you think they would fill it or keep it filled if they weren’t growing berries?”
“Not a clue. I just did whatever he asked, took my money and went home.”
“How did he pay you?”
“Cash, always in cash. He paid good too. Whenever he called, I knew I’d end up with a little folding money in my pocket.”
“Okay Curt. You can head on home for now. Vince will be here in a minute and he’ll take you. Couple of things, nothing we talk about in here goes past this office. You go home and clean up that pigsty you live in and then clean yourself up. I’ll need to talk to you again very soon, and when I call, you will come in with a clear head and you won’t stink — you got it?”
“I understand Deacon, I’ll be ready.”
“One more thing, how many guns do you have out there?”
“Just the one rifle, honest, that’s all I got. I don’t even have any ammo. I sold it a while back.”
“For now, that’s my rifle. If you get your shit together you can have it back.”
“Thanks again Deacon, I sure do appreciate it.”
“Vince just pulled in, he’ll take you now.”
“What’s with all the questions about the ponds?,” asked Angie, when the door closed behind him.
“I don’t really know for sure, just a hunch is all.”
“You think there’s something in the pond?”
“Maybe — or maybe under it . . .”
Chapter 10
Deacon hadn’t heard from Felix Barnhart in two weeks. When he came in unannounced, Deacon watched him walk across the office. He was about five-six and a hundred-fifty pounds with a slight case of bowlegs. Deacon still thought he looked like a skinny little banty rooster when he moved. Sitting down at the desk Barnhart’s phone rang. “Deacon, give me just a minute.”
Deacon waited until he clicked off. “Felix, how goes the hunt?”
“Not all that great. We’ve never ran so many leads, talked to more people and used more man hours than we have on this case, and have so little to show for it.”
“At least we haven’t had a new body for a while, that’s one good thing.”
“Good thing too. I’d hate to have to spend any more time with your coroner than I have to . . .”
“I can’t blame you there,” said Deacon.
“He is good at his job, we’ve gone over all the autopsy files,” said Felix. “He is extremely precise and detailed, we didn’t find a single thing to question.”
“That’s probably a good thing for you.”
“He told one of my agents that he was working on a book of his most well-known cases, including this one.”
“I can’t imagine you’re too happy about that,” said Deacon.
“To say the least. We had a rather spirited talk about it. He knows that he can’t publish any information from this case until it’s over. According to him, nobody understands the difficulty or the complexity as he put it, involved in this work. If you listen to his bullshit, the pressure to get it right is so great that very few people in the world could handle his job.”
“That’s him,” said Deacon. “He’s always had a healthy ego.”
“Ain’t that the truth. He said he wants the world to know just how important his work is.”
“Maybe the bureau should hire him, they could use a guy that’s always right.”
“That’s the problem with the bureau now,” said Barnhart. “Too many people who are always right and not enough people out chasing the bad guys.”
“So did you come by just to have coffee and talk about our coroner, or was there so
mething specific that you wanted?”
“A little of both. I wanted to ask you how your case is coming along — the severed arm?”
“I thought the FBI wasn’t interested in my arm? I thought it was a state jurisdiction crime?”
“Touché Deacon, you are correct, that’s what I said, and that is the bureau’s position for sure. But as an investigator, I still have to look at everything, even if it appears to be unrelated at first.”
“I know what you’re saying. But the truth is, there’s not much to report on that one either. We still have an arm and nobody to attach it to . . .”
Finishing his coffee, Felix stood up. “No thoughts on where it might have come from or how it got on the roadside?”
“I got nothing but the appendage — period.”
“You’ll let me know how the case is coming?”
“You can count on it,” said Deacon.
When the door slammed shut Angie couldn’t hold it any longer, “What an asshole.”
Deacon nodded then burst out laughing. “That’s why I love you so much, you never hold back.”
“I just call ‘em like I see ‘em.”
In the war room, Deacon sat with his feet on the table and a thick file folder on his lap. Going over his notes again, he opened a fresh pack of gum, his second of the day. Calling for Angie, he stood up and stretched his back, trying to get some relief from the pain.
“What do you need?” asked Angie.
“Can you find my back brace for me?”
She walked to the supply cabinet and pulled out the white, nylon brace. “Here, put your arms back up.” After she helped him with the brace, he sat back down and picked up the file.
“Maybe you should take a break? You’ve been in here all day, and I don’t think that cheap office chair is helping your back any.”
“There has to be something in here somewhere, something I missed.”
“Deacon, you need to rest for a while. Let’s go have something to eat, I know we’re both hungry.”
“In a while, I just want to check a couple of things.”
“Now Deacon, you need to eat something — besides, you’re running out of gum.”
“Yeah, sure, I guess a burger does sound pretty good right now.”
* * *
He was glad to see the ice finally gone and the roads drying up, it made his work easier and a lot less risky. This was the easiest one yet, when he approached her she was shy and very quiet. When he grabbed her arm she appeared to freeze up, petrified with fear, hardly able to talk or move. She stood motionless while he gave her the injection. Pushing her into the trunk, he slammed it shut, pulled the card and battery from her phone and drove away. Searching for a station playing classical musical he didn’t find one, settling for a blues channel instead.
Removing her clothes, he carefully laid her out on her back. Slightly overweight but very pretty, she had short cropped brown hair and dark eyes. Clicking on the light he began to examine her body. Like the rest of them, she lay stark naked, stretched out under the light staring straight ahead, breathing but unable to move or blink. She had no makeup, tattoos, piercings or jewelry of any kind except for a necklace with a tiny silver cross. He threw it into the same bucket of water as her phone. A small scar from a long-ago appendectomy was the only flaw that he could find on his young victim.
Washing her body with a warm damp cloth, he dried her with paper towels. After brushing her hair he unlocked a white, metal cabinet and removed a vial of a clear liquid. He held it up to the light and swirled it around. “I have never used this before, but I’ve always wanted to. It really is amazing what you can purchase from the dark web these days. I’m sorry, but I will have to tie you down. The light dose of medication I gave you earlier will wear off in a few minutes. I hope you’re not too uncomfortable in the bindings, it won’t be for long.”
As he secured the straps, she slowly began to regain movement, first her eyes, then her fingers. Finally she managed to speak. “Please — please don’t hurt me anymore . . .”
“I’m sorry,” he said, pushing the needle through a fold of skin under her arm and into the muscle. “It will only be a short while, and then it will be all over.” Pulling up a chair, he sat watching as she got quieter and he began to make notes. After a few minutes her breathing became noticeably shallower. He looked at the fear in her eyes as her lungs began to fail. When she went still, he waited several minutes then checked her pulse and closed her eyes. After dressing her and brushing her hair one more time, he began to wrap the body in plastic. He turned the music up a little, Bach goes well with the task at hand, he thought, as he cut the plastic to size.
Pulling onto the main road, he headed into the night to dispose of his package. When he returned, he cleaned up and disposed of her phone and other possessions. This night’s project was dumped in a heavily treed area northeast of town near the shore. Sitting at his desk, he pulled out a new binder and labeled it number 11. For the next two hours he remained bent over his ancient oak desk, lit only by a single bulb desk lamp made of brass that was older than him. He made a detailed log of everything that happened. He included a note to himself to find new places for the remains, because his health was preventing him from carrying them very far. He also noted that he was running low on plastic sheeting.
Done with his day’s work, he cleaned up and got ready for bed. Tonight he would fall asleep to the sounds of Mozart. He made himself a cup of Lapsing Tea, his favorite, and sat back on the bed. If he could stay awake long enough, he may read for a while. He wondered how long it would take before someone found number 11.
* * *
“Vince, what was that last call about?” asked Angie.
“Missus Peterson’s two cocker spaniels were having a disagreement with the neighbors Doberman. They were on opposite sides of the fence and the neighbors got tired of listening to the barking.”
“Sounds like a tough case, how did you solve it?”
“I offered to lock them up, but neither side went for that, so they just took them inside, another major case solved.”
“That’s three times already this year, maybe we will have to bring one of them in and sweat him under the lights.”
“Or — one of them might just disappear without a trace some night . . .”
“Anything’s possible, I guess. Deacon wants you to get your chart ready for the morning. He wants to go back over the women from the area, including Ashland and Superior that are missing and unaccounted for. Also, we just got a call from Douglas County about another missing girl. I just printed up a copy of the flyer.”
Deacon walked into the war room and hung up his coat, showing the back brace. “No relief yet boss?” asked Austin.
He shook his head. “I don’t think I’m going to get much either, at least until this business goes away, and it looks like that’s not gonna happen any time soon.”
Angie had the new flyers and the file folders on the desk, and she poured everyone a fresh mug of coffee. For the next two hours they went over every case and every scrap of information they had collected. They had all read the magazines and agreed that this was the area written about. The team was also in agreement that the killer was in the area. Every girl was found in Bayfield County, but they still didn’t have any crime scenes to investigate. They all believed that they had to have been killed somewhere secluded. However, there was no solid evidence pointing to Crawford specifically as the murderer.
By the time they were done, they compared each of the known victims to the chart that Vince had made of women under thirty years-old, who were missing in a 100 mile radius of Washburn. He had recently enlarged it to a 150 mile radius with no new results.
Opening another stick of Spearmint, he tossed the paper into the trashcan. “Goddamnit! Everyone go back to work except Austin. Angie, close the door when you leave.”
“What’s up boss?” asked Austin, sitting down across from Deacon.
“I’ve had it
, all we do is rehash everything over and over, the reality is — we ain’t got shit. And we ain’t about to get shit anytime soon unless we start doing something a little different.”
“I got a feeling you’re planning something on something more than a little different,” said Austin, seeing the serious look on his face. “How do I fit in your plan?”
“Well, I’m gonna have to work a little outside of the box on this.”
“How far outside the box?”
“I’d say that we won’t even be able to see the box with a telescope.”
“We?”
Deacon nodded. “I plan on going onto the Crawford property and searching it. I have no warrants, and will likely get busted big time if I get caught, but maybe I can find something that could keep another innocent person from getting killed. I would like your help. If you say no, I’ll understand and you will never hear me bring it up again. That’s the deal, you in?”
“Why hell yes. We’re getting nowhere because we don’t have any crime scenes to work. When do we start?”
“Midnight tomorrow.”
“I’ll be ready. Where do you want to start?”
“On the north end. I want to see the ponds, particularly the old cranberry bog.”
Deacon sat on the couch watching an old western movie on the television. Angie sat down next to him and handed him a beer. “So you going to tell me what that bullshit at the office was all about, or are you just going to shut me out?”
“We don’t talk about work at home.”
“Don’t even go there. Why did you shut me and Vince out of the conversation?”
“For now it’s just better if you don’t know about this. Then, if you get asked, you can’t tell them anything.”
“Deacon, we’ve been partners in everything since we’ve been together. I can handle whatever is happening and you know it. I might even be able to help you if you’ll trust me here.”
He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “You know I trust you. Okay. I just can’t deal with all this any longer unless I can investigate the Crawford’s and their place. Without any legal grounds to do it, this case is dead in the water.”
Murder in the Dell Page 9