“It was after that when Brent changed?”
“Yes. He hardly spoke to anyone at all for two months. Then when he did it was like he was going through the motions. Then at the beginning of last semester, he changed his major. He decided to go into sociology or psychology. He didn’t want to be a farmer anymore.”
“Did he tell you why?”
She nodded bleakly. “He wanted to find out what kind of a person would want to hurt Joyce.”
“No thought of revenge? Hunting someone down?”
“No, Brent was gentle. I never heard him say he wanted to kill the bastard. I want to and I’ve heard plenty other people say that. But not Brent.” Her quick defiant look daring me to judge her for the occasional weak profanity tossed my way said everything about her sincere industrious parents. Any rough talk she had picked up at school. “Brent told me he wanted to find out what made them tick.”
“So, your dad had no heir.”
“No, he didn’t. Not with Brent gone. You might have noticed I’m not the ideal country gal. I’m not made for the life. I’m sick and tired of having every waking day depend on the weather and stuff my parents have no control over. I hate the wind and the dust and the work. And the heat! I want to be a flight attendant or a model or something.”
“You’ll graduate next spring. Do you plan to go on to college?”
“Yes. K-State. I’ll think of something to major in after I get there.” Her voice trailed off again.
But I was worried that she wouldn’t have the strength to make to K-State. That she would end up taking “time off” from school. “There’s something more, Merilee. Something that’s worrying you. What is it?”
More tears. “I’m afraid the same thing will happen to me that happened to Joyce. Every time I leave the house or even if I’m standing in the yard, I hear sounds. I’m afraid the sounds aren’t really there. I’m afraid that they are in my head. I see things. Like I’ve seen something out of the corner of my eye and I can’t turn fast enough to see them. Or it. Flicks of cloth that are really my imagination.”
My blood chilled like I had received a shot of anti-freeze in my veins. She had to have help. Right now. But mental health care was scarce as hen’s teeth in this state. Kansas used to have one of the finest facilities in the world: The Menninger Clinic. It treated a number of celebrities: Judy Garland, Marilyn Monroe, Gene Tierney, Brett Favre. It was like a roll call of the rich and famous.
Now we were lucky to have a few storefront counselors scattered across Western Kansas. Their idea of mental health treatment was a cup of herbal tea. And, due to the extreme budget cuts by the most conservative state congress in the nation, the tea bag was used twice.
There was simply no place for someone with fixable problems like Merilee to go. I felt a passing flicker of guilt, but God help me, I said it anyway. “Merilee, I have a sister who is a psychologist. She’s wonderful. I want you to talk to her. Please. I’ll make an appointment as soon as I get back to the office. In the meantime, are you sleeping?”
This was so not fair to Josie. She had her own patients to worry about. I touched Merilee’s arm and she flinched. Drew back like my hand held an electrical current.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m jumpy.”
“That’s all right. It’s natural under the circumstances. You’ve all had your slats kicked in.”
“I miss him so much.” She glanced at me like there was more she wanted to say but thought better of it.
Something wasn’t right here. Something beyond the fact that Merilee was curled into a tiny ball. She was serious, self-contained, and mature. Oddly mature. Like she was a clear-thinking twenty-five-year-old instead of a seventeen-year-old. And when she talked about hearing voices and seeing visions, she was saying it dispassionately. Objectively, like she was putting herself under clinical observation. It meant something. Josie would know what.
“Before I go, Merilee, I have one more question. Do you know why Brent went to the Garden of Eden on Thursday night?”
The sound she made was somewhere between a sob and a wail. She began rocking in place, keening, her bloodless hands clamped between her knees, trying to say something, her breath just gasps without the strength to support words. I made her drink a sip from the bottle of water on the table beside her.
“I could have saved him.” That’s all she could manage until her voice evened out. When it did, I had to strain to hear. “I didn’t want him to interrupt my TV program. I just kept watching TV. I didn’t notice anything. Didn’t ask any questions.”
Her words choked off again. I made her drink more water and waited until she got her breath under control.
“There was a phone call. He answered it and then he left about ten minutes later. And I didn’t pay one bit of attention.” Tears began again.
“Were your parents home?”
“No. They were both in town. There was some kind of meeting at the community building.”
“Did anyone know they would be gone?”
A weak smile. “Anyone who knows my folks knows that if there is any meeting about improving this community they will be there. This one was about raising money to buy playground equipment for our local kids’ park. A merry-go-round. A slipper slide. That kind of thing.”
“Did the call come on the house phone, instead of his cell?”
“Yes. The house phone. When he hung up he looked at me with this funny smile on his face. Like an eight-year-old who knows a secret that he’s promised not to tell. Then he picked up his hat and left.”
“Did he look scared? Happy?”
“Both. I noticed that much, but I didn’t think about it until later.”
“But he didn’t come back.”
Tears again. “No. I went to bed. So did the folks when they got home.”
“When did you realize something was wrong?”
“About noon the next day. Brent never skips chores when he’s home from school. I mean like never. It gives Dad a break and he likes to be around the animals again. Like I said, you can count on Brent. Could count on Brent. But he’s in college now, and Dad said he had the right to raise hell and stay out all night if he wanted to without having to account for every second. So Dad picked up the slack. Fed the horses, watered the chickens.”
“So your father wasn’t upset?”
“Not then. Things changed around noon. We still hadn’t heard from Brent. Then Mom found his cell. It was on the coffee table next to the TV remote. Brent had been watching the K-State game. He never leaves his cell.”
Getting a cell number is difficult, but I wondered how the caller knew Brent would be the one to answer the house phone that evening. Did he know the parents would be at a meeting? If so, how? Were the family’s habits familiar to the suspect?
“Does your house phone have caller ID?”
“Yes. I’ve already looked everything up. Reverse number info and all that. The call came from a number that I couldn’t find anywhere.”
“It was probably a burner phone.” She looked at me blankly. “Available at Walmart and Target. Lots of other places. Burners are usually paid for with cash and the number is temporary. Not registered.”
“I’ll tell the folks about the phone call tonight.” She trembled and curled up even tighter. “I’ll take my lumps, no matter how much it hurts. It wasn’t until you and Keith were here that I realized how important that call was. And started thinking about the look on his face.”
Merilee stared out the window.
“You have no idea at all why he would want to go to the Garden of Eden in the middle of the night?”
Her voice rose. “I have no idea at all why anyone would want to go to that godforsaken place at any time of day.”
With that, she fled from the room.
Patricia came to the doorway. “Is everyone okay in here?”
“As good as we can be. Merilee is upset. I think it would be best to postpone your interview about Brent because I have something else to tell you.”
I swallowed, reluctant to heap more tragedy on this family. A dead son. A daughter afraid to go outdoors alone. And now more bad news that the family obviously wasn’t aware of yet. Strange news. I had to tell the Suters about the baby right away. It would be all over town tomorrow.
When I finished, the blood drained from Patricia’s face. I reached for her hand and patted it. “We don’t know of any connection yet of the baby to Brent’s death. If we find one, I’ll let you know immediately.”
“There isn’t any connection. How could there be?”
I still hadn’t had the kind of talk I wanted to have with Patricia. She was so shocked over the baby that it simply wasn’t a good time to go into feelings and impressions. I told her that I thought Merilee needed some medical attention to help get her over this trauma. I usually know all the right words to say without causing undue alarm. But not this time.
“Merilee is very high-strung, right now,” I said tentatively.
Patricia nodded. “I know. Even Ernie is getting worried about her and he usually thinks people should buck up and throw themselves into physical work. Merilee is more delicate. That doesn’t work for her. But the child has become so stone-cold she could fit right into the scenery at the Garden of Eden. We’ll make an appointment with Dr. Golbert right away. Was Merilee able to help?”
“Yes, but she wasn’t able to help with what we would like to know the most. We still have no idea why Brent would go there. I would like to hear your thoughts on that but really think you’ve had enough for today. Tomorrow? Is that all right?”
She nodded. “The baby,” she said, her eyes full of pain as she hugged her arms across her chest. “I just don’t understand. How could anyone do that to a baby?”
Chapter Nine
I wasn’t paying enough attention to my driving on the road back to town and hit a slick spot under the thick layer of powder snow. I took my foot off both the brake and the accelerator and steered into the skid. Keith trained me to do this maneuver because it goes against instinct to turn the wheels toward the direction the car is going. And to keep your foot off the brake. Thank God I hadn’t been speeding.
Frightened by my carelessness, I gently turned the steering wheel back and forth, guiding my Tahoe between the ditches until it lost power and came to a stop broadside in the middle of the road. No oncoming traffic. But for a moment I was terrified by the “what-ifs.” I covered my face with my hands and took a deep breath.
Ice-crusted tumbleweeds had blown against the fence. Diamonds sparkled across the fields when sudden gusts sent winking blasts of snow powder onto the nearest drifts.
Breathtaking. Magical. Normally it was one of my favorite landscapes, but today all I could think of was a tiny baby freezing to death. High up in the arms of Reaching Woman.
From then on I drove carefully back to the farm. Sam was on call and I wanted to talk to Frank Dimon before I went any further. Despite his cold-blooded approach to things that made my blood boil, there were times when Frank’s ruthless logic got me back on track. He doted on procedure and had no use for my intuitive approach when it came to law enforcement. We should have made a great team. Instead, we fell to arguing most of the time.
I finally had something concrete to tell him. Brent had received a phone call. Probably delivered from a burner. His sister said he left about ten minutes later. She was positive he left because of that call. She had no idea what the call was about. Those were facts.
I wouldn’t tell Dimon about Merilee Suter’s state of mind because my impressions were based on intuition. Not evidence. No way to prove she was at her breaking point.
Keith was waiting for me but I could tell by the bleak expression on his face that he was stymied by the lack of progress. “Hi. Anything?”
“Maybe.” I told him about my meeting with Merilee. “The mother doesn’t have a clue, but I’ll go back and talk with her tomorrow.”
“Dimon called. He wants you to send him the names of all the people you want on the task force.”
“Okay. He was next on my list.”
I grabbed a cup of coffee and headed for the phone. One thing about catching Dimon up on an investigation, he doesn’t waste time on pleasantries. He picked up after the first ring and barked his name into the phone without any “hello.”
I told him about the visit to the Suters without any embellishments. “And that’s basically all I have to tell you, Frank. Brent got a phone call and left immediately afterwards.”
“Good work. It will give us a place to start. Give you a place to start.”
“I’m going to have my first team meeting tomorrow. Did you find similar crimes involving a baby?”
“No, thank God. There are just those two. Both in Western Kansas. That was a great idea, by the way. Starting with the statues first instead of chasing our tails looking at all the abandoned baby lists.”
“Thanks. But that wasn’t my idea. Dorothy Mercer deserves the credit for that one.”
“The Dorothy Mercer? The mystery writer?”
“The very same,” I said dryly.
“What is she doing out there?”
“She’s Keith’s aunt.” A cedar log suddenly crackled in the fireplace sending a spray of sparks toward the chimney. Eerily timely.
“You mean to tell me you have yet another Fiene relative dragged into yet another crime scene?”
“She’s already on the task force. Sworn in.”
“Look, Lottie. I’m sure she’s a great addition, but we can’t have this again. People are going to talk.”
“Can’t help what people say, Frank. She’s really, really good.”
“You all are. It’s not that.”
“Besides, it’s a done deal.”
I could hear his pencil thrumming on his desk. “There’s someone else I want you to include on your team.”
“I thought the members were all up to me.”
“Yes. We had an agreement.” He paused like he was searching for the right words. “To be honest…”
He nearly always was, but there’s something about those words. Like the speaker’s first choice would be to say nothing at all.
“Oh, hell. Might as well put all my cards on the table. I’ve received a call from one of our state representatives and he wants another psychologist included in this investigation. I owe this man a favor and he hinted he would go all out to see to it that our agency was well funded. For once. Lots of competition for money in this state right now. And I guess I don’t have to tell you, funding for the regional center is a little wobbly too.”
Ah, yes. The money angle. There’s nothing like a little touch of blackmail. It works every time. “I can’t see where it would hurt anything, Frank,” I said pleasantly. “Josie is the best, but I guess two heads are better than one.”
It wouldn’t hurt to have Dimon indebted to me either.
His voice warmed immediately. “Thanks, Lottie. I appreciate it. This man has a stellar reputation.”
“The state representative?”
“No, damn it, the psychologist. Dr. Evan Ferguson has actually been trained in profiling at Quantico. Moreover, he’s a war hero. Plus, it will look better if you beef up the qualified expert side of consultants. It will look more professional than having another bunch of your relations poking around.”
“Has he been vetted?” This doctor Ferguson’s name had been sprung on me so quickly that the state representative must have had him waiting in the wings. Although it would look better not to have a task force loaded with Fienes, bringing in an additional psychologist would not necessarily help solve the crime. On the other hand, if I had been in Dimon’s shoes, I might have done the same thing.
�
�Vetted? I’ll say. It’s not necessary for the KBI to duplicate the FBI’s screening process. The Feds don’t admit anyone to their ranks without subjecting them to intense scrutiny. You and Dr. Ferguson have probably crossed paths. He drives all over Kansas treating veterans with mental health issues. His specialty is Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.”
“Who is this representative?”
“Thomas Williams. He’s struggling to get reelected and needs to raise a lot of cash.”
“Who is pressuring Williams? You can bet your life someone wants him to win because he’s promised to push through legislation that will mean big bucks for someone somewhere. Your psychiatrist is likely tacked onto the funding blackmail because someone’s nephew or cousin wants to be in the limelight. Veteran-weary, maybe. Wants to build a private practice.”
I tapped my nail against my front teeth. He thrummed his pencil. Neurotically rhythmic, both of us. But clearly he had sulled up.
“Nevertheless, we need all the help we can get,” I said sweetly. “Can your Dr. Ferguson drive to Hays and meet with us at ten o’clock? I’ll reserve a meeting room at the Holiday Inn. By fall, we should have our own place to meet. In the meantime, Hays is central.”
“Sure thing. Can Josie make it by then?”
“Yes, so can John Winthrop from Russell County; Justin Harold from Copeland County; Scott Smith, sheriff from Bidwell County; and his deputy, David Hayes; Harold Sider, who’s retired FBI and now teaches at K-State. You probably remember him. Josie’s friend. He helped figure out who murdered Zelda St. John.”
“I remember. Good man.”
“And Sam Abbott, of course.”
“Of course,” The pace of the thrumming picked up. Sam and Dimon were oil and water.
“Me and Josie and your new psychologist. That’s plenty. Keith and Dorothy are going to stay here in Carlton County. So that will be just two Fienes at the meeting. Josie and me. That won’t look too bad.”
He grunted.
“Are you coming, Frank?”
Fractured Families Page 8