“Actually, there is another possibility,” Josie said calmly. “The crime itself could be a fact and the account and details are made up. It might be a tormented crippled child’s effort to fabricate circumstances where he can participate in real life. As a hero. Not as Duck Boy.”
We found seats in front of the fire and waited for Harold to speak.
“Lottie, how did you come by this book in the first place?”
“Jane Jordan brought it to me. She works at the historical society. The staff is instructed to turn items like this over to me to decide if we are going to keep them. Our storage is limited and we don’t keep very many artifacts. There’s not enough room. But we try to keep documents. Especially anything that is classified as primary research. And the commonplace book falls into the document category.”
“And how did Jane come by it?”
“From a local farmer. Martin Horn. He has taken up metal detecting.”
“It’s a thankless pastime,” Keith said. “Most of the low cost ones aren’t very good. I have a metal detector and mine is pretty high quality but it mostly locates junk. Martin thought he would find a lot of coins, but he didn’t.”
“His was good enough to detect the nickel binders. If the rings had been aluminum it wouldn’t have happened. Franklin Slocum salvaged this one from a dump site and I have no idea where he found writing paper,” I said.
“So Martin Horn realized the historical society might be interested?”
“Yes, we’re lucky about that. His mother volunteers there and has served on the board.”
“Okay. After Keith has had a chance to read it, I want to take it to Sam and after he’s read it and lifted all possible prints I want David Hayes to run them through IAFIS.”
“You have access to the Integrated Automatic Fingerprint Identification System?” For once Dorothy was truly impressed.
“David Hayes has access to everything. That kid is scary good.”
I recalled Ferguson’s scathing dismissal as though Hayes was a redneck with no ability.
“And, Keith, wear gloves. It’s already contaminated as hell, but we can save one more set of prints being added. Actually it’s less cluttered with alien prints than some of the evidence I’ve seen. There should be Franklin Slocum’s, his mother’s, Dorothy’s, Josie’s, Lottie’s, Jane Jordan’s, Martin Horn’s, and of course the prints of whoever owned the notebook in the first place. Before they threw it away.”
“Oh, brother.” Keith looked at Harold with disbelief.
“I’ve seen worse.”
“And there might be friends of the original owner of the binder,” I added. “I can’t see where running fingerprints would get us anywhere.”
“Frankly, I don’t think it will. But we don’t want to leave any stone unturned. Our next step will be to take this to Sam, have him read it, and find out if he knows something about little boys being murdered.”
“No, missing.” Dorothy rested her hands on top of her walking stick. “Franklin said the man buried the child. The parents would have no way of knowing if the boys were murdered. They would be reported missing.”
We looked at Dorothy.
“And there was another little boy. Remember I said they told me at The Coffee Shop that little boys had disappeared? And it totally changed the culture of this county. No more allowing kids to roam at will.”
“There was a little boy that went missing here in Carlton County. Then another one in Bidwell County. About a year apart. I remember that well. No one who lived in Northwest Kansas could ever forget that. We searched everywhere.” Keith’s mouth tightened. “Two more families that couldn’t put themselves back together again.”
Keith picked up the commonplace book and quickly read about the rape and murder. “I hope to Christ this is all fiction.” His voice shook.
***
Harold and Josie and Keith and I went together to the sheriff’s office. Dorothy’s car was at our house and she said she would come back to the farm after she shopped for groceries.
While Sam read the commonplace book, Harold strolled around the room, then stopped and studied the bulletin board. Keith joined him and looked at the wanted posters. I went into the Regional Room and straightened the chairs, dusted, and waited for Sam to finish. Josie fired right up because she had been around Sam a lot and knew he wouldn’t complain about smoke.
“I’m done,” Sam said in about thirty minutes. I glanced at the lines in his face. He looked ten years older than he had when the Baby Ghost murders began. And now the rape and murder of little boys on top of that. He entered the Regional Room and lifted all the fingerprints, scanned them, and sent them to Hayes for processing.
“Now I want you to witness the fact that I’m putting this notebook where no one can get to it.” He went through all the steps to enter the codes into the computer that would allow us to put the commonplace book in the evidence room. The procedure alerted all the regional team at the same time that a certain piece of evidence needed extra security. Ferguson included. He was the least of my worries at this point.
“Get your coat, Lottie,” Sam ordered. Keith reached for his, but Sam stopped him. “I just want Lottie with me this time. Lottie in her capacity as undersheriff. Right now we’re going to keep all questions on a county level and low-keyed. The right protocol. Then I’m going to ask for help from the FBI immediately and that will allow Harold to join us. Lottie and I are going to Slocum’s and I’m going to see to it that that worthless bitch never sees that kid again.”
“Man. No longer a kid. He would be in his twenties,” I reminded him. “Old enough to do what he pleases. Maybe he’s reconciled to Biddy by now.
Sam stopped suddenly. “Need to check something first.”
He went back into his office and phoned David Hayes. “Want you to do a search. Is Franklin Slocum drawing disability payments? Call me back.”
The phone rang in about five minutes.
“That’s just what I thought.” He hung up and stroked his mustache. “That’s just what I thought. Franklin is drawing disability and it’s being sent directly to his mother’s bank account, and to add insult to injury, she’s also getting a check as his caretaker. We’re going straight to the Slocum household and make damn sure he’s actually getting the care that bitch is billing the government for. Then Franklin Slocum is coming straight to my office and I’m going to get some information from him if it takes all day and he has to draw me pictures.”
My throat tightened at the thought of this person who had never gotten a break in his life being grilled like he was a common criminal. He had tried to do the right thing years ago. Did his best to be a “manly man.” His trust in the human race had been broken. His models were gentle little animals, but he hadn’t been allowed to live in peace.
I wanted to save him from a brutal grilling. Josie looked at me and sensed my anxiety. “This may be a huge relief for him, Lottie. We won’t know until we see him. But at least he will be telling his story to people who will listen. One thing is for sure. His book ended with him wanting some time to think. He knew no one would pay attention to him. His mother hated him from the moment he was born. He only got love from little woodland creatures. Now he’s going to be supported by those of us here who will show him some respect.”
Maybe. Maybe this young man, once a crippled child who had captured my heart from the moment I picked up his book would welcome a chance to tell his story in person. He would finally get to be a “manly man” and Do The Right Thing. Perhaps Josie was right and it would take a load off his mind to talk to people who cared.
“Josie, I want you and Harold to stay here with Keith because this is county business and I don’t want anyone saying we were overstepping ourselves.” Sam put on his sheepskin coat and exchanged his Stetson for a fur-lined trapper’s hat with earflaps. “But if everything isn’t ideal out there,
I’m going to raise holy hell and bring Franklin back here for questioning. Might be what I’m going to have to do anyway to get some answers.”
“Are you positive this is under county jurisdiction?” Harold asked. “It sounds like pretty heavy stuff.”
“Yes, technically county. At this beginning level. That’s why I don’t want you and Josie officially involved with this. Lottie can work either way. As my undersheriff or as regional director. Keith can go either way too. He’s a reserve deputy on a county level and also on the regional team. But for now, I think if three persons showed up Franklin would find that intimidating.”
“Sleet is picking up. Are you and Lottie going to be okay?”
Sam shot Harold a look and Keith laughed. “Don’t worry about Sam. He’s equipped for any kind of weather that comes up. Let’s go on back to the farm. There’s nothing we can do here.”
“Okay. I’ll bring Lottie home after we finish at the Slocums’ and she can catch you up on what we find there.”
***
The house was set back from the road. It was a white and plain rectangular box with no shutters or adornment to alleviate the starkness. The roof was nearly flat. There were bare spots in the siding. Plain unpainted sheets of vertical plywood joined by another piece of wood at the top jutted out on either side of the entry door to provide some protection from the wind. The light aqua blue paint on the window casings showed some signs of peeling but with a coating of snow on everything, the place looked neat. Somehow I had expected a shack. This was poor and plain, but not falling-down ugly. There was a faint stream of smoke coming from the stove pipe vent on the roof.
We pulled up and immediately saw that there was too much drifted snow to get to the front door. There was a lump in the driveway that was obviously a car but it would be virtually unusable until spring thaw. No doubt Biddy Slocum had plenty of food stashed away to see her and Franklin through the winter.
Like most people in Western Kansas Sam carried emergency equipment wherever he went. His face had flushed with anger after reading the commonplace book and now the bitter cold kept it bright red. There was no path leading to the house. He opened the tailgate and took out a shovel and set to work. When he had cleared the way, I followed in his footsteps. He marched up the steps and knocked hard at the door. Again and again. Making it clear that we did not intend to go away.
Finally, a woman answered and opened the door a crack. She did not ask us in, but simply stood looking us over. She was a tall woman with reddened masculine hands twisted with arthritis. Her face was swarthy and deeply freckled. She was wearing gray sweatpants with a goofy top sporting a Disney decal. Wisps of dark hair strayed from under a knit cap that was pulled down over her ears. The odor of Pine-Sol drifted from the living room. As though she had cleaned houses all her life and couldn’t break the habit even after her hands had rebelled against scrubbing and wringing and polishing.
Through the crack I could see an old-fashioned coal and wood-burning stove with feeble flames lighting the hinged isinglass and cast-iron door. I doubted if the room was very warm, let alone the rest of the house, even though there was little square footage. There was a bucket of coal by the side of the stove and scraps of kindling next to the bucket to get a fire started again in case this one went out.
Sam braced himself against the wind when he realized she wasn’t going to ask us in. “Morning, ma’am. I’m Sheriff Sam Abbott. We would like a word with Franklin Slocum. Are you his mother?”
“Yes. What kind of business do you have with him?”
“I need to discuss it with him privately.”
She hooted. “Won’t do you no good. My son is retarded. He can’t answer your questions.”
“I would like to see him anyway.”
“He can’t talk right. Won’t do no good to ask him questions. He can’t walk right either.”
“I need to see Franklin, anyway.”
“Yeah? Well you can just get right to it. He’s with his father in Chicago.”
“Chicago?”
“Yes. What do you want with him?”
“Just some information. I need his address.”
“Told you. It won’t do you no good.”
“I’ll write to him.”
“He can’t read or write either.”
Anger surged. I looked at her steadily, recalling passages of the commonplace book. She did not flinch.
“How did he get there?”
She glared at me, her eyes alive with malice. “His father came and got him.” Her face reddened. “About time he took some responsibility, too.”
“I need his address,” Sam persisted.
“He didn’t give me an address. Just picked up the boy.”
“When did this take place?”
“Reckon it was about three years ago,” she answered quickly. Her eyes flickered with a hint of superiority. Confident that she could best anyone in authority.
We were not dealing with a stupid person. After all, I reminded myself, she had triumphed over how many school administrators and social workers? Not for Franklin’s welfare, but she had constantly improved her own situation.
“Haven’t heard from him since.”
“What is Franklin’s father’s first name?”
“Franklin. Just like the kid’s.”
Most persons, innocent or guilty, were nervous when the sheriff knocked at their door. Not Biddy Slocum. Nor did she show the slightest bit of concern for her son. I had the feeling that anyone could have come and gotten him and she wouldn’t have minded. I closed my eyes for a second. I felt like slugging her.
No one knows Sam better than I do unless it’s Keith and there is an alert tension that comes over this man when his lawman mind moves into high gear. He switched to his professional best. I could tell by his voice, his face, and the set of his shoulders that he was like a bird dog on point. He was much too intelligent to say or do anything foolish, but I knew we would be coming back here soon.
“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Slocum. I appreciate it.” He turned abruptly and we headed back down the steps.
“That evil bitch,” he said as he started the car. He put the gear in reverse and very carefully backed out in the tracks he had created when we came. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this.”
“Did you notice she didn’t show any concern at all for his welfare?”
“Colder than a witch’s tit.”
From time to time Franklin had shown some concern for his mother. He realized how hard it was for her to have a son like him, but I had no sympathy whatsoever for Biddy Slocum. Especially after having met her.
“Well, you’re the sheriff. This is in your bailiwick. What’s the next step?”
“I’m going to go through the usual county channels. He’s got disability money coming from the government every month. You can bet Biddy didn’t switch it over to the father’s bank account.”
“If there is a father.”
“Exactly. Then to cover all the bases, I’m going to see if there is a death certificate on file.”
I slowly exhaled. I had been thinking the same thing.
“And if there’s not—and you can be sure there isn’t—I’ll have grounds to file a missing person’s report which gets the Feds involved. This man who is supposed to be living in this county because he’s drawing welfare payments here is committing fraud.”
“It’s his mother’s doings, not his. Franklin tries to do the right thing.
“Maybe so, but there’s fraud here. And maybe a missing person. That’s how I’m going to approach it, anyway.”
“Which means Harold and Josie are back in the picture.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Dorothy was waiting for us. In more ways than one. She stood when Sam and I came through the door.
“You should not have do
ne that,” she said immediately. She abruptly thumped her walking cane on the floor to emphasize her point. Hard enough to jolt the murder of crows and a small line appeared about four inches down. There was a flash of silver before the birds settled back down to roost.
A hidden umbrella? A concealed compass? Dorothy was the queen of nesting dolls and hidden things. Her favorite pen was actually a recording mic and a large pendant was a whistle in fashionable disguise. One of her lipsticks held a shot of mace. All were clever accessories for a best-selling murder snoop.
Dorothy frowned and gave a minute twist, forcing the crows back in line.
“I shouldn’t have done what, Dorothy?”
“Sent out a group notification that you had accessed the evidence room.”
“But why?”
“Why did you not stop to consider that one of your team might be responsible for all, or some, or most of the crimes we are supposed to investigate?”
I was literally dumb-founded. Surprised, I turned to Sam expecting him to find this accusation ridiculous too. But there was a gleam of respect in his eyes. As though he appreciated her different viewpoint. He was not offended. On the contrary he seemed to appreciate the very remark that I thought was paranoid.
“I’m sure of our team, Ms. Mercer,” he said. “They are top grade when it comes to character.”
“I have no doubt about the quality of those men, but they will talk. However much you might wish for their silence, they will talk. To their wives. Best friends. Significant others. Persons whose lives have not been examined.”
“You have a point. A damned sophisticated observation, in fact.
“This whole town gossips about anyone and everything to anybody.”
Fractured Families Page 20