“No. That’s a good team. Well-balanced. With sheriffs or deputies from several different counties. Keep me up-to-date on everything. And I do mean everything. But for this first go-round I want everything to look like it’s on your shoulders as regional director. Not just look like,” he corrected himself hastily. “I want it to be on your shoulders. This is your show. If the KBI is there, too, it will look like we’re in charge. And we’re not.”
“Except for one outsider.”
“Yeah, well. But this guy is really sharp.”
“In forensic psychology? Josie has just been board-certified.”
“I know. I can’t cite all of Ferguson’s credentials right off the top of my head, but I’ll fax his résumé. He’s won multiple humanitarian awards too.”
“He’s welcome to join us, Frank. The sooner we find the killer, the better. I just feel more comfortable with people I know.”
“Don’t we all.”
***
We all arrived at within fifteen minutes of one another. My sister looked stunning when she and Harold Sider blew in. She wore a full-length down coat with a faux-fur ruff bordering the hood. Normally we would have hugged but she simply nodded, said “Hi, Lottie,” and promptly took a seat at the table. She had e-mailed before the meeting that she wanted to keep everything strictly professional and minimize our relationship.
Amused, I’d replied that I thought it was a good idea, but honestly! A body would have to be totally blind not to see that we are twin sisters. On the other hand, she indulged in beauty treatments and routines that I never seemed to find the time for. There are days when I look a good ten years older than her.
Enviously, I glanced at Josie. A little touch of Restylane, an occasional shot of Juvéderm. It does wonders. No Botox yet, because she once said her clients needed for her to show a few frown lines. I’m lucky if I remember to apply hand lotion. And the Western Kansas wind can dry out a watermelon. Eastern Kansas was like living in a perpetual spa treatment.
Harold Sider would fit in anywhere. I had never seen him in anything but khaki Dockers and scuffed loafers. He is of medium height and a deceptively pleasant man who keeps his keen mind hidden behind soft cocker-spaniel eyes.
Dr. Evan Ferguson arrived alone. My first impression was that he could compete with Harold for being the least memorable man in the room. Tall and lanky, he wore jeans and a camel-colored turtleneck sweater that thrifty shoppers could find at any mid-price department store. His hair was sandy, parted into a little too obvious a comb-over. His lined face held a slight dusting of freckles. He quickly took the seat second from the end of the table, glanced at his watch, and looked at me with concern.
“You’re not late. We haven’t started. We all seemed to allow a little too much time for bad roads.”
“That’s good to know. I would hate to be late for the first meeting.”
“You’re not. Cup of coffee before we start?”
“Sure.”
His manner, his dress, his automatic beeline for the least powerful seat available was quite a contrast to Josie’s well-tailored black cashmere suit and grooming that would be the envy of movie stars. The contrast made me uncomfortable, but at the time I couldn’t have said why.
Most of us knew each other, but I introduced everyone, just to make sure.
Dr. Ferguson turned to Josie. “I’ve heard a lot about you. In fact, I’ve read a number of your papers.”
“I’m looking forward to becoming better acquainted,” she said. “We’ll have to talk after the meeting.”
I laid out all the facts quickly. There had been two bizarre deaths with no obvious connection whatsoever. The investigation was coming under the jurisdiction of the newly formed regional crime center. “Before we are really equipped to handle it, I might add. In addition to finding the killer or killers, it’s important to do the best possible job without depending on the KBI or other agencies. I don’t have to tell you the toll budget cuts have taken on this state. Our funding depends on how we handle this.”
“But finding the murderers come first, I assume,” Evan coached. “Even if we have to call in other people.”
Startled, I gave him a sharp look. “Yes, of course. Of course. Finding the killer comes above everything else. I didn’t mean that we would limit personnel to make a better financial impression.”
“Good to know,” Ferguson said.
“Now that it’s clear that we’re not in this for the money,” I said lightly, “I would like to hear the questions or concerns of everyone here. And ideas. Especially ideas.”
“The paper is calling this guy The Ghost Baby Killer.” Justin Harold was the first to speak up. “Any truth to that?”
Damn, damn, damn. I went into first-class tremor control, but it’s hard to fake self-confidence when you don’t know the right step forward. “I’m afraid so. For once the papers are right. It’s dead babies. Plural.”
The heat vent pushed out warm air and the room had gone so quiet the noise sounded like a tornado roaring through.
“But the good news along that line is that there are only these two. The KBI has done a thorough search of statues of women in Kansas and these are the only two that have been the focus of babies left to freeze to death in the arms of female statues. This is loaded with psychological implications, of course.” I swallowed hard. It was still hard to talk about it. “Any questions relating to that? Or any ideas? Right now we are grasping at straws. Any old rumors you can remember?’
“The first one was about ten years ago, wasn’t it?”
I nodded. “Yes, the one in Hays.”
“My mother wouldn’t let my sister go to school the next semester. Either that or my sister just didn’t want to go.”
The buzz started. Odd tales. Some were urban legends. Or I should say rural legends out here. For that matter, one of my history professors insisted that the Elizabeth Polly Park was dedicated to a woman who never existed. We were good at that sort of thing here in Western Kansas. Substituting fiction for fact.
It was a delicate dilemma in family histories. Someone would turn in a story filled with bald-faced lies that they sincerely believed. I learned the hard way they did not want them straightened out by me or anyone else. Early on, I had decided on a policy of never allowing a family member to correct another’s version. They could write another story contradicting every word, but they could not correct anything turned in by their relations.
“We don’t have much time.” Dr. Ferguson glanced at his watch. “This is supposed to be a four-hour meeting. Two this morning, then a break for lunch. If we are going to be out of here by two, I think we might benefit from a more focused approach.”
I blinked. He was right, of course. It was easy for free-form thinking to go nowhere. Josie clicked the tip of her pen in and out. Swift disapproval. She kept her eyes down.
“You do have a point there.” I kept my voice pleasant. “But all the men here today have lived in their communities for a long time. The people who elected them trust these officers will have their best interests at heart and I’ve found bits of information can be buried in gossip that didn’t seem to be important at the time.”
I looked at my sister who continued to keep her eyes lowered. I hoped I hadn’t sounded defensive but I couldn’t allow Dr. Ferguson to sabotage my agenda. No matter how many degrees or battle ribbons he held.
“Let’s spend another half hour going around the room and collecting whatever we want to call this. Then after lunch we’ll give Dr. Ferguson and Dr. Albright time to discuss any insights they might have. After that I’m going to pass out a sheet with relevant information. If we all lived in a central location, we would have a whiteboard like our city cousins where people could follow the development every few days as a group. The best we can do out here will be to come together once a week or every ten days. One of my first organizatio
nal jobs will be to figure out how to transmit information that unauthorized persons can’t hack into.”
“I can hack into anything,” David Hayes said flatly. We all turned to look at him. The new undersheriff in Bidwell County didn’t look the stereotypical young genius or the brand new exotic female variation on TV. He was heavyset with an ill-fitting uniform and puffy eyelids. He had moved slowly when he came into the room and had to do a little manipulating to settle his overweight body into the seat. If there was a quick brain hidden there somewhere, it had eluded me.
“Will you have time to visit with me after the meeting?”
“If it don’t take too long. I have to get back in time to do chores before it turns dark.”
Our visiting psychologist gave him a tolerant, courteous smile.
Harold Sider and Josie exchanged glances at the look on Dr. Ferguson’s face. Ah, the joy of introducing the good doctor to rural ways. Where half the time no one was what they seemed.
“Any other special skills anyone would like to volunteer?” These would go into a database later.
“Depends on what you’re looking for.” Justin Harold’s ears turned bright red. “I can name plenty of stuff I’m good at, but I can’t see where any of it has to do with a regional crime center.”
“I know that. This isn’t the way I had planned to start the regional organizational meeting. It’s falling to us because the state says so. I wanted to start with a solid development plan. With sketches of the proposed center. Beginning with a state-of-the-art communication system. Unified radios, and cell phones that are on the same channel in all of the units.”
It was no secret that in the beginning Dimon thought the center should be under state control. Last summer Sam and I had outwitted the state agency. It hadn’t set well. We were so unprepared to deal with an investigation this complex that it had a payback feel.
“It’s odd that you would be thrown something of this magnitude with so few resources,” Evan said, as though he had read my thoughts.
“Lottie has had an unusual breadth of experience,” Josie said.
Everyone guffawed.
“Carlton County has had more murders per capita than any county in Kansas.” This came from Sam who had sat quietly as usual.
“You bragging Sam?”
Sam twisted in his chair to look at Justin. He chuckled. “Just saying.”
On that we broke for lunch. Four went off to a fast food place. Sam, Harold Sider, Josie, Dr. Ferguson, and I headed for the Mexican café next door.
***
We beat the others back to the meeting room. I went to the hotel desk and asked the clerk to arrange for more pitchers of ice water and more coffee. When I came down the hallway, Dr. Ferguson was standing by the heavy glass outside door staring at Josie’s Mercedes SUV. No envy in his face, but something there that made me uneasy.
“Is that your sister’s or Harold Sider’s?”
“Josie’s. Are you a car buff?”
“No. And it’s a good thing. I’ve spent the last two years in Afghanistan dealing with soldiers with severe psychological issues.”
I must have looked bewildered.
He noticed. “What I mean by that is that if I had a grand passion to own a beautiful car, I wasn’t in a very good place to make good on it. My goal was to stay alive. And help others stay alive.” He shrugged and his lips lifted in a self-mocking smile. He shuddered. “It’s good to finally be back. I’ve got a lot of things I want to do.”
My curiosity went into overdrive. I knew very little about this man. I was looking forward to what he had to say about our murderer. Ferguson brought a definite asset to the meeting. Coming from a war zone he wouldn’t shock easily. My worry was that he would be dismissive about murders that paled in comparison to what he had witnessed on a daily basis.
As to Josie’s Mercedes—we grew up in a beautiful house in the elite Mission Hills area of Kansas City, Kansas. Our father had inherited real estate that formed the foundation for the County Club Plaza. I was used to parrying off envy. But sometimes I was blind to the misery around me.
Josie had married a man even wealthier than our father. This was as expected. I married a Western Kansas farmer, a man twenty years older with four children. This was not as expected.
Elizabeth, Keith’s oldest daughter was a year older than me. Two of his daughters, Bettina and Angie were reconciled to this second marriage, but Elizabeth and I had clashed from the moment I arrived.
We all took our seats. “Because of the unusual nature of these murders, we’re going to give a lot of thought to what our psychologists have to say. I’d like Dr. Ferguson to speak to us first. He’s coming to us from the military with the rank of lieutenant colonel where he’s seen about everything in the way of violence. He’s done two tours in Afghanistan and is now visiting rural Kansas communities to treat veterans with mental health issues.”
When Ferguson walked to the front of the room the men stood and applauded, not because they knew anything about him other than what I had just told them, but because of their respect for veterans.
“Thank you for accepting me into this task force.” He proceeded to give a grisly account of his murdered comrades, the trauma endured by men he had treated and suffering he had personally witnessed. His voice was well modulated, like he had had training in giving presentations. Just warm enough. Just the right inflection in describing the more terrifying events.
You could have heard a pin drop.
“But enough of my back history. I’ve been called because of my expertise in profiling killers and you have had a shocking event in this community. So, on to what I’m here for. This is a disorganized killer,” Ferguson said solemnly. “Acting impulsively. Someone with a troubled relationship with his mother and an absentee father. Placing the baby in the arms of a woman carved from stone indicates his yearning for a mother’s love. He has low intelligence and probably is a manual laborer who is socially inept.”
Before he finished, he added that he predicted the killer would begin acting in nine-month intervals because that was the normal gestation period. He called for questions but he had covered nearly everything the men had gathered here to learn about today.
Josie clicked her pen robotically and Harold Sider looked at Ferguson with a veiled expression that disguised his thoughts. Sam stabbed for the missing tobacco pouch he normally kept in his pocket.
“Dr. Albright, do you have anything to add?”
She surprised me. “No, not at this time.”
“Harold, how about you? Any insights you want to add to Dr. Ferguson’s ideas?”
“None at this time.”
“All right. Let’s get down to the nitty-gritty, then. Sheriff Winthrop, please canvass the neighborhood around the Garden of Eden and see if anyone noticed anything unusual the night Brent Suter died. The rest of you, investigate in your own counties. Visit anyone that might remember something. Justin, find out what you can about the reasons your sister didn’t want to start school.” I passed around handouts of very specific jobs based on what I knew about their abilities.
“What about me? I just moved here last year.” Scott Smith had replaced Sheriff Deal in Bidwell County.
“You’re to help David set up his equipment. Then check with the task force members in the other counties to make sure we have reliable communications. David, please stay a few minutes after we dismiss to discuss the computer work. As for the rest of you, use your computers to keep me posted. We’ll have a private newsgroup set up by next Monday. If that’s possible?”
David nodded his head.
“You are to let me know immediately if you think of anything else. Keep it private—my eyes only—and I’ll decide if the whole group should be informed.”
After the meeting, Josie and Harold were driving on out to my home, Fiene’s Folly. The remaining men str
aggled out, clearly pleased to be leaving before the weather turned colder. It took me about five minutes of discussion with David Hayes to determine that he was sharp as a tack and might very well be as good as he thought he was.
Josie had boarded her little shih tzu, Tosca, at a daycare kennel. She and Harold were leaving to pick up the dog when I called them back.
“Okay. Just what in the hell was that all about? You two are mad as hell about something. And I was expecting you to contribute something, Josie. What in the world came over you?”
“Everything that pious son of a bitch said was wrong, wrong, wrong.” Her voice was low and furious. “And I’m not only referring to the profile. It’s like he’s some stupid little college freshman who has gotten drunk before a mid-term and is winging the test based on what he knows from TV shows. Or an amateur psychologist who has watched too many episodes of Criminal Minds.”
“Do you agree, Harold?”
He nodded. “To the last detail. Not only is it stupid to give a profile this early, what he did say was clearly wrong. For one thing, anyone who can figure out how to get a baby up that high without a boom lift is not disorganized. That’s takes some serious planning.”
“But why would he give a superficial analysis?”
“Beats me.”
Beneath her icy exterior, I knew Josie was in a white hot rage.
She didn’t say another word.
Chapter Ten
Dorothy was sitting in my favorite chair when I walked in the door. It’s by a large bay window so it’s ideal for reading. Earlier, she had put a roast in the oven and delicious odors wafted through the kitchen. Cedar logs had been mixed with other woods in the fireplace and sage candles were burning on the mantel. She had made pumpkin pies.
Every home has an aura and every time I walked into mine I felt a deep sense of welcome. I’ve always appreciated beauty, and the combination of woods and colors would thrill any interior decorator, although Keith’s first wife, Regina, was the one who had put it all together.
The kitchen is part of a massive great room. At the end is a huge fireplace large enough to hang pots. The only thing I have done to this room is add leaded-glass inserts to the doors of our kitchen cabinets. They frame embedded emblems of Kansas: a meadowlark, a cottonwood, a man with plow, a sunflower, a spray of little bluestem, and a box turtle. Keith had drawn the line just short of the Great Seal.
Fractured Families Page 9