Sam didn’t like him. Once, when I suggested that Martin would be a good candidate for a reserve deputy, Sam vetoed the idea right away. I asked why. Sam shrugged. “Just don’t like him, that’s why.” He shot me a look. “And I’m the high sheriff, Lottie.” He puffed his pipe and blew a smoke ring. His way of telling me to shut up.
One of the first lessons I had learned out here was not to go too far in turning over rocks. Family, neighbor, political, township, county, animosities went so deep and were often so rancorous they were incomprehensible. I suspected some of them were holdovers from Kansas’ county seat fights. Half the counties had been involved in them and some had ended in bloodshed. Quite a number of the good citizens in Carlton County could no longer remember why they didn’t like a person. It was just sort of expected in their family.
But Martin was very eager to be included in “police business.” When I called yesterday to ask him if he could lead us to the place where he had found the notebook, he agreed immediately.
“You bet.”
“We are looking for a plastic sack in the same spot.”
“I didn’t think to look for anything else.”
“No reason why you should have. I’m sorry we have to call you out to help us at such a sorry time of year.”
“No problem.”
He had come well prepared this morning and had even thought to throw in ice-melting salts. “After we dig down about a foot I think we should sprinkle a little bit on the dirt, layer by layer. Then work it with our fingers. Take our time. Since I didn’t see the sack when I pulled out the book it was probably beneath it. I hope.” He blew air on his mittens and stamped his feet. He had on tan cotton duck Carhartt coveralls. His matching hat had protective earflaps. A black balaclava would be pulled down when we took off.
“If the kid buried it someplace next to that binder instead of under it, we might have a problem. That would involve digging a circle around it and there’s no telling how large it would have to be.”
“I don’t think Franklin Slocum was very strong. He wasn’t even average height. So I can’t see him having the strength to dig a large circle. If the sack is anywhere, logically, it would be underneath the notebook.” My words pushed out in frosty bursts. “And remember, there might not be anything there. Which would be a blessed relief to all of us. We would know we are dealing with a little boy’s imagination.”
When I called Josie earlier I told her I would let her know right away if there was a handkerchief buried under the spot where Martin had found the commonplace book.
“Don’t be disappointed, Lottie, if he’s making it all up.”
“Believe me, that would be the best way for all this to turn out. Simply a kid writing stories to liven up a pretty dismal existence.”
Dorothy’s nose was bright red. She was decked out in dark gray winter gear she had ordered from Cabela’s. Lined pants, a double-layered parka, and waterproof boots. She had taken to online shopping immediately and boxes from Amazon were a familiar sight on her front porch.
She stood silent and unmovable like a grayed-out block of ice until Martin gave the word to load up. Then she gamely clomped toward Keith’s snowmobile with the help of her formidable walking stick.
Most people were excited over their first snowmobile ride, but there wasn’t a bit of emotion on Dorothy’s face. She scrambled into her seat and stared straight ahead. Then I saw her lower lip quiver. Just a little. She had become bound up in Franklin Slocum’s life.
Of all of us, Dorothy was the most certain that every word was true.
Josie believed we were dealing with a story written by a young adolescent making things up.
I was somewhere in between and dreading one outcome.
Sam stepped in after Dorothy and settled onto the utility platform. The engines sputtered then roared to life. Martin and Keith turned a circle around the farmyard, then they headed out of our lane and down the county road leading away from our house. In about three miles we would reach the pasture that contained the large cottonwood where Franklin Slocum spent the happiest days of his life. And then the worst days. Days that were so terrible that most adults would not have been able to cope with them.
If they actually happened.
There was nothing wrong with making up stories, but I knew from criminology accounts that when adolescent boys started only reading porn that comprised violence and sadism it was bad news. A normal kid wanted to have sex with the women in the pictures. One that was developing the wrong way wanted to rape, torture, or kill them. If this was the kind of thing Franklin was making up it gave me a sick feeling. If it was for real, that didn’t do a thing for my nerves either.
Snow covered all the dead vegetation in the pastures and the sun shimmered on the icy landscape. White as the snow queen’s cape. Normally I would have been enchanted by the sparkling cloak of diamonds tossed on the slopes and gentles dips but when I looked down my hands were shaking. I honestly didn’t know how I wanted this to turn out. If it were true, two sets of parents would finally have a chance to give their young sons a decent burial. If not, they would have to continue with the hell of wondering what had happened to their children.
In a very short time we would know whether Franklin Slocum was a highly inventive little boy or one who was terrified and abused and still determined to be a manly man like his Western heroes. At least in his imagination.
We ended up at a very large leafless tree next to a frozen creek. The view was an artist’s dream. A celestial landscape with perfect composition. Martin stopped and parked his snowmobile about fifteen feet back from the tree and Keith pulled alongside him.
A flock of crows scattered from the leafless limbs of the huge cottonwood. Their harsh caws filled the air and I shuddered as though they were a bad omen.
There was a sudden gust of wind and the branches of the cottonwood rubbed together and made an eerie sound as if they were protesting our invasion. Our breath hovered in the freezing air as a cascade of crystals fell softly to the ground.
Keith and Martin got out of the vehicles and Dorothy and I followed. Sam’s face looked like a death mask. He was certain he was dealing with a mother who should have been tried years ago for child abuse and neglect. No matter how things turned out here he had announced his intentions to investigate the father and see to it that the payments Biddy Slocum received for providing care for a disabled person went directly to Franklin.
Sam was the boss here. This had happened many years ago before Keith and I were married. However, as his undersheriff, I intended to assist him in any way I could.
The men all grabbed shovels and started walking toward the little drift against the tree that Martin singled out. Martin also carried a fine-tined digging fork in addition to the ice-melting salt and the kind of kitchen fork that could be found in every household. Sam carried official evidence-collection bags and plenty of labels. Dorothy brought her Nikon camera and was prepared to videotape every step of our work.
Martin did not have a bit of trouble finding the tree and the spot where he had found the binder. “It was a foot from this big root. I remember it well because it was going to be a real pain if I had to go under that root. Luckily, I didn’t.” Martin had a deep voice and seemed to relish bossing the older men around. “Okay. When you get any surface snow cleared, I’m going to see how far down the ground is frozen. This book was a good twenty inches deep. Anything you are looking for has to be more than that.”
Ignoring the cold, I tried to think like a boy with a severe handicap. What would he have to figure out to do the job? “I’m guessing at least two inches deeper or you would have seen it. But it would be hard for him to go much further. I can’t imagine how he was able to bury the book in the first place.”
Dorothy looked at me. Her face was drawn and her eyes sorrowful. I knew she simply didn’t believe that the plastic sack was the inven
tion of a troubled child. She was convinced there was a handkerchief smeared with blood and semen. Solid evidence of a vicious killer’s DNA.
“Ready?” Martin asked.
“Yes. Please be careful not to tear through any plastic.”
“We already know we’re safe to go down eighteen inches. I’ll stop at fourteen just to be sure and then we’ll switch to getting down an inch at a time with the digging fork and bagging the dirt as we go.”
“Will the rock salt hurt the plastic? If there is plastic,” Dorothy asked.
“No, ma’am. I tested it first. It’s safe. I sprinkled the salts on a plastic sack and left it overnight to make sure the salt wouldn’t eat a hole in it.
He briskly removed about twelve inches of soil. Keith held a gunny sack open and Martin emptied each load of dirt. Then he switched to the fine-tined fork and began scratching away layers. As he went, he sprinkled on salt and picked up dirt and rubbed it through his fingers like a housewife cutting lard through flour. He carefully worked the next five inches.
Nothing.
He worked another inch and then another. We looked at one another. I was simultaneously relieved and disappointed.
“Well,” Sam said. “Well.”
That was all.
The men picked up the equipment. My shoulders drooped. It was the very best outcome but it left us back at square one.
“There.” Dorothy’s voice rang out. “A corner. Just a tip. A little bit of plastic.”
The men followed her gaze and switched back to the rock salt and smoothed the dirt away with their fingers and then a brush.
I turned to Dorothy and clutched her elbow. Just a tiny corner of plastic, and then a little more, and then a whole crushed dirt-stained sack. Toward one end was a clear space and we could see that it contained a yellowing piece of cloth. I felt a tremor sweep through her body.
“Don’t open it,” Sam hollered. And don’t touch the plastic with your fingers. Wear gloves. I want it dropped directly into an evidence bag. Don’t anybody move while I go get one. Don’t even breathe on it.” He rushed back to the snowmobile and returned carrying an envelope. “This might be the first time in the history of this county that we haven’t fucked up retrieving evidence.”
“The only prints on that bag should be those of Franklin Slocum and maybe his mother’s when she brought it from the grocery store to begin with.” Keith said.
“And the grocery-bagger.” Dorothy added.
Keith grunted and glanced at Sam. They would be crazy to take off their gloves anyway. Unless they were looking forward to frostbite.
Martin brushed away dirt until the bag was completely exposed. Sam reached down with a twelve-inch pair of industrial tweezers and eased the bag out of its resting place. Then he sealed the packet, unzipped his coat to remove the felt-tipped pen that was warmed by his body heat and quickly filled out a chain of custody form.
No one said a word. But there was a gleam of triumph in Dorothy’s eyes. The child was vindicated.
Then awareness dawned on all of us like we were watching the third act of a play. We all turned simultaneously like robotic puppets and stared at the clearing to the right of the tree. Buried under snow now. There was a stretch of trees on the far side. Proper cottonwoods of a decent size but no match for our tree.
And lying in front of the grove was a large log.
A sudden gust of wind blew off some of the snow and the crows returned and settled on the branches. Silently. Mocking our slow moving brains.
Still we just stood there. My stomach roiled. There were tears now in Dorothy’s eyes. Keith bowed his head and I knew he was praying.
“I’ll call the FBI and put in a request for cadaver dogs,” Sam said.
***
Our snowmobiles flew back to the farm at jet-speed. We circled our driveway with the first stop being to let Sam out in front of his Suburban. Martin would drive home in his snowmobile.
“Come with me, Lottie. As soon as we put this sack in the evidence room I’m going to Slocum’s and haul that bitch in for questioning.”
“Don’t do that,” Dorothy said sharply. “Please.”
“What?” Sam was incredulous. “If ever a woman was guilty…”
“I’m not talking about the woman. Yes. Without a doubt. Guilty of some sins piled to the sky. I’m talking about putting that sack in the evidence room.”
We all stared at Dorothy. Uneasily, I realized Martin hadn’t left yet and he was hanging on every word. With my back turned, I gestured with my head toward him and mouthed “later” to Keith.
With a slight nod, Keith approved my caution. He went to Martin and shook his hand. “Can’t tell you enough how much we appreciate your helping us out today. Sorry the weather is such a bitch. And thanks, too, for coming up with the rock salt idea.”
That’s all it took. A bit of flattery and Martin revved up his vehicle and circled the drive again and waved like Santa Claus who had to be on his rounds.
We turned back to Dorothy whose face was twisted with urgency. “Don’t notify everyone on the team that you are putting it in evidence. It’s a mistake. I just know it.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Sam said solemnly. “But it’s the best place to put it. It wouldn’t hurt none to just to keep a hand log, but everything is automatic when I put something inside. It’s the way David set it up.”
“Call him. Make him change it.”
“He’ll have to come here. There’s some things he can only do from the server.”
“Do that, then.” Dorothy didn’t seem to be a bit daunted by the fact that she did not have the authority to give orders to me—the regional director. Or to Sam, the high sheriff, or to Keith, our number one reserve deputy.
“Or, better yet, bypass him all together. Trust no one.” She imperiously gave a sharp thump to her walking stick.
“We could keep it here, I guess. In the safe where I keep all my veterinary drugs.” Keith pointed toward his animal hospital.
Dorothy unzipped her parka and stripped off the first layer of her headgear. “Sam, do you really think Biddy Slocum is withholding information about Franklin? He obviously went back to the tree the morning following the crime and buried the book and the handkerchief. But the trail ends there.”
“For openers, I’m going to start quizzing that bitch about the welfare fraud. See what she volunteers.” Sam held the package against his chest. “After the dogs get here tomorrow I’ll go out to her house. She might not know much. Franklin didn’t trust his mother. For good reason. And then I’m going to locate Franklin and his father if I have to personally go door to door myself to every house in Chicago.”
“When we’re done here, I’ll take the commonplace book and the handkerchief to Dimon. And I think there will only be one dog. Not ‘dogs.’”
“I want to go with you,” Dorothy said. “I’ll catch the bus from Topeka and go on to the airport at Kansas City and back to New York. My agent e-mailed this morning and there are some issues we need to straighten out with my publisher.”
“Oh, you’ll do no such thing. After I stop at the KBI and personally deliver this package to Dimon, I’ll drive you to the airport myself. There’s no need for you to take the bus.”
“Well, thank you.”
Sam and Keith headed toward the building where Keith kept his supplies. His safe was well protected with push pad encryption and top-of-the-line fire-proofing.
It was also bolted to the floor, in case anyone had ideas about raiding the local vet’s drug supplies.
Chapter Twenty-four
Early the next morning a black van drew up in our driveway. A slight woman dressed in camouflage coveralls bounced out of the vehicle and went around to the back. She opened the doors for a German shepherd who bounded down and sniffed around before peeing in the grass. I didn’t know much about c
adaver dogs and had expected some exotic breed and a burly trainer, not a woman about five-foot two.
She walked over and introduced herself. “Barbara Abrams.” She laughed at the difficulty of shaking hands through our winter gear. “The rest of the team is about two miles away. Normally, they wouldn’t be along until Bertie finished his work, but you all sounded so sure we would find something that I thought it would save a lot of time if we arrived together.”
“Good thinking.” Sam glanced at the dog. “We’ll start on the county road you came in on, but when we get to the pasture entrance we’ll need snowmobiles to take you to the location we have in mind.”
Barbara smiled and shook her head. “Bertie will be working off-leash and I want him to roam. The snow won’t bother him. The land is so flat it’ll be a piece of cake. As for me, I brought along snowshoes and cross-country skies. But I understand you are concerned about a very small area? Is that right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Even so, sometimes things are not as cut-and-dried as one might think. Bertie will let us know if he finds anything before we get to your target area.”
A dun-colored Humvee pulled up behind Barbara’s van and a five-member forensic team got out. Barbara waved them over and after the usual handshakes and name exchanges, we made a plan for exploring the area.
She put Bertie back inside her van and we set off. We formed quite a caravan along our sparsely traveled country road, but thankfully there were no onlookers. Keith and Marvin had rounded up a couple of extra snowmobiles and the two men waited beside the pasture entrance.
Fractured Families Page 23