In the master bedroom, I slide the old coffee can from the shelf and dump the money on the bed. There are at least six twenties in the pile but I can't bother to count all the lesser bills. I wad them up and cram them into my pack. The brown handled lock blade knife from the bedside table fits nicely in my pocket.
I am tired of waiting. Today's the day this panther needs to pounce. I will rid myself of this place, these people, this life. I scoot down the path to the shed and quietly slip inside. Today, I have a special treat. I use the bottle opener in the workbench drawer to pop the cap on a beer I brought in my pack and take a long swallow. It's almost warm, but I don't mind. It's the taste of power. The taste of freedom. No longer will I bow down to a lesser being.
The storage cabinet has my surprise and I retrieve the unlabeled bottle from the top shelf. The remainder of its contents replace the beer I drank, and I flip the it upside down to drain every last drop. The angry mix fizzes so I mop it up with a rag and snap the cap on, bending it back into shape with a pair of needle nose pliers. I hold it up to the light to examine my genius. It ain't perfect, but it will do. Someone is in for a big surprise, and someone is going to have a very good day. That second someone is me.
I rap twice on the wood floor hatch and hide behind the workbench. There is a dull thunk below and the hatch pops up a crack. I see his slitted eyes through the sliver of an opening, and they focus on the beer bottle I've placed there, like a baited rodent trap. The hatch door creaks up a few more inches.
"Ah, it's you," he says to the air, and smiles. "Danke." His hand reaches out for the bottle and returns a moment later for the opener.
You're welcome. I grimace through clenched teeth. I wait until he's gone back down the ladder and head for the trail. This panther is deadly. Goodbye forever, old man.
* * *
Erin was dressed and at work fifteen minutes before her shift began, with an acceptable looking submarine sandwich in a plastic bag.
"Hey stranger." Officer Ryan Striker slid into a chair in the briefing room and adjusted the radio on his belt. He reached over to pointedly pluck a wisp of cat hair from Erin's uniform collar and then directed his gaze to a larger clump adhered to the hem of her trousers.
"Your wife lets you go out like that?" He smirked mischievously.
"I can't keep up." She shrugged. "I'm a love magnet."
Striker's smirk widened to an amused smile and then his expression darkened. He laid two fingers on the newly healed pink skin above her knuckles, where the gauze bandages ended. His bristly eyebrows puckered in genuine concern.
"I'm all good. Just need to keep my forearms wrapped for another day to avoid infection."
"Hey pint-sized partner, are you sure you should be here?" Hired at the same time and now virtually inseparable, Officer Mark Jenssen plopped down beside Striker. He tucked his compact frame into the wheeled office chair and rocked backward, pointing his boots tippy toes to the ground. His smooth face settled into its customarily satisfied grin.
Erin nodded at him and he smiled back. Constantly moving, Jenssen had the energy of a teenager after an espresso. He drummed his ballpoint pen on the faux wood finish of the conference table and tapped one heel simultaneously. The two men always reminded her of the Muppets Ernie and Bert, but Erin would never say that out loud. Striker cemented the look with his overly animated eyebrows. They were good, honest workers. It would take a great deal of effort not to like them.
"I got the green light from my doctor yesterday," she said smugly, although she had nearly bullied him into clearing her for duty. In return, she'd promised to keep unhealed skin covered, and not to do anything stupid at work. She became aware that she was also tapping her foot under the table. It sounded like she and Jenssen were the percussionists in a badly composed song. She made a conscious effort to stop, and instead oriented her ballpoint pen horizontally on the table in front of her. She tilted it and oriented it vertically with the edge.
It had been two agonizingly long days since she and Allie had taken their night time excursion to Gunther's property and she was so glad to be back at work. She had been wasting crucial time. Skipping the part about Allie's dream, Erin had kept Zimmerman in the loop about her search, and he had also dutifully kept her apprised of his efforts to locate Lily. Erin was disheartened that they had, so far, both come up empty.
A faint blip alerted Erin to a new text message and she nearly tore the button from her shirt pocket in her haste to check it.
Allie: U THERE?
Erin: Yup
She tilted the screen away from the Muppets to respond.
Allie: U SAID TO TELL YOU EVERYTHING. HERE GOES.
Erin: Why r u yelling? Something bad happening?
She held her phone close to her chest.
Allie: SORRY, ANDROID GLITCH. CAPS STUCK ON :-)
Erin: Get an iPhone.
She smirked indulgently. It was not often she could tease Allie about technology.
Allie: HA. THAT WOULD BE A STEP DOWN ;-)
Erin: Ok. What's up?
Allie: CAN'T GET THE OLD MAN OUT OF MY HEAD TODAY. FEELS LIKE SOMETHING BAD IS HAPPENING.
Erin: Like what?
Allie: I KEEP SEEING HIM HIDING IN THE JUNGLE. HIDING FROM MEN WITH GUNS. HE HEARS A LOT OF GUNS.
Erin: Did you say Jungle or was that another glitch?
Allie: JUNGLE. AS IN TARZAN. I KNOW IT'S WEIRD. YOU SAID TO TELL YOU, SO I'M TELLING YOU.
Erin: Ok. sorry. Anything else?
Allie: HE'S IN A CAVE OR SOMETHING. MIGHT BE HURT
Erin: hurt? how?
Allie: NOT SURE. FELT HIS ENERGY GO AWAY AND THEN NOTHING. HALF HOUR AGO.
Erin: Ok.
Allie: Got to go. Bad headache. Might have to call in sick.
Erin: Try ice first. Text me later ok? <3 TTYL
Erin reviewed the text, imagining Allie at that very moment, curled into herself, massaging temples with fingertips. Could her messages be any more cryptic? No wonder she had a hard time sorting her thoughts out if they made this much sense. There was a pang of guilt for encouraging her to embrace the one thing that gave her such pain.
Zimmerman walked in, carrying the clipboard with the Sergeant's Log, and she quickly slipped the iPhone back into her pocket. If he was conducting briefing, that meant Acting-Sergeant Derek Peterson was not. She sat straight up and paid attention, working to catch Zimmerman's eye while he shuffled through pages to familiarize himself before beginning.
"Derek called in sick again today," Zimmerman began, by way of explanation. Beside her, Ernie and Bert exchanged concerned glances. "Thank God Erin is back, but we are still short-handed. Yesterday was such a clusterf—" Deeply ingrained manners overrode his obvious frustration. "Uh, we received a high volume of calls that we were unable to properly attend to yesterday. This resulted in complaints about service from the public. The administration has authorized me to call in two additional officers to help us clear the backlog of calls that we are experiencing. Dan Whitby and Natalie Listerman will be reporting for duty shortly."
Ernie and Bert grinned in unison, but Zimmerman glared at them. "Dan and Natalie are here for one day only," he said. "They are dedicated to clearing the backlog. Please remember that we are professionals, people. Let's not abuse the situation by making this the class of 2010 reunion coffee break." The grins vanished, and Zimmerman continued briefing the three officers on relevant All-Points Bulletins, Missing Persons and Stolen Vehicles from related counties. After he had finished, he shot Erin a meaningful glance and she stayed behind until The Muppets had exited the room.
"I've put out feelers to my sources about Gunther Schmidt and his granddaughter Lily, and I need to talk to you about the information I received last night." Zimmerman told her when the other two officers were out of earshot. His grave manner stifled any smart-ass comment she might have been tempted to make. "This information is between you and me. I don't know how to say this so I'll repeat what my informant said." He stalled for a moment, un
til Erin closed her notebook and tucked her pen back into her pocket.
"My informant says that our Acting-Sergeant Derek Peterson has earned himself a bit of a negative reputation with the criminal element. He has a few drug addicts who provide him regular information on the local scene. They say he has special relationships with some female snitches and, this is rumor only, they perform certain favors in exchange for him looking the other way with regard to their drug involvement."
"Sexual favors, I assume?" Erin asked the obvious. So Derek's lecherous behavior was not an act.
Zimmerman nodded solemnly. There was nothing amusing about a police officer abusing his position.
"How could that be related to the disappearance of Gunther or Lily?"
"Unfortunately, it gets worse. There are also rumors about Derek Peterson's obsession with a little girl. Word on the street is that he had a stalker photo of this girl and showed it to a snitch who thought it was weird. A few months ago one of the parent supervisors at the elementary school phoned in a complaint about a man with an old red Mustang watching a grade six girl in the school yard. She said the man was creepy."
"Lily." Erin blanched. There was no question that Derek's Mustang was uniquely identifiable in a town this size.
"You guessed it. The grade six girl was Lily, but here's the disturbing part. Derek was the investigating officer when that call came in, but he didn't file a report. He had dispatch code it as an unfounded complaint."
She stared at him, open-mouthed. Of all the deplorable personality traits she'd attributed to Derek Peterson, she'd never imagined this.
"I don't want to go jumping to conclusions here, but there is something I remembered that looks like it might figure into this equation." Zimmerman looked down at his clipboard and rapped his knuckles on the first page, as if reconsidering the words he would say. "When we went to check Gunther's place for Lily, I saw Derek's car parked on a little turnout off the access road. I didn't think anything of it at the time because it's not far from the public boat launch and everyone parks in there. Now I realize its proximity. It wouldn't take more than a few minutes to walk through the woods from one location to the other."
"We can't ignore the fact that no one has seen Gunther or Lily since the fire at the Stop 'N Go." Erin continued to connect the dots. "It also sounds like Derek's been paying unusual attention to Lily. At the same time she's missing, he's coincidentally not showing up for work." She exhaled through clenched jaw. "I feel sick to my stomach hearing about what he's doing with vulnerable women."
"Might be," he emphasized. Drug addicts don't always give the most accurate information. The steely look in his eye told Erin that, although he was trying to keep an open mind, he believed Derek capable.
"I agree that we don't want to draw any vicious conclusions," she said evenly, "but it's pretty clear that we don't have time to waste. We need to talk to Derek and we need to properly search Gunther's property."
"It was the middle of the night when you last went out there," Zimmerman said.
"It was dark, but—" Again, she neglected to tell him about Allie's part. "I'm quite certain that there were no cars parked in that roadside turnout when we drove by. I would have seen the reflective taillights. So, why is Derek coming and going out there?"
"I think it's fair to assume that Striker and Jenssen, along with our two relief officers can hold the fort while we follow this up." He grabbed his duty duffel bag to head out.
"I'll meet you in the back parking lot." Erin snatched her own bag and hauled it out to her cruiser, quickly tossing it into the truck. As she drove, she radioed dispatch with their intended location.
Soon, the two cars rattled nose-to-tail over ruts on the rough gravel road at the city's periphery. Leading the way, Erin slowed when they neared the roadside turnout, and her heart thudded in her chest. Those were the dust covered taillights of Derek's prized red Mustang! The car was nosed into the bushes, squeezed as far off the road as possible. Prickly branches scratched the hood's custom cherry red paint job. A quick check revealed that it was empty, the leather interior as pristine as if it were still displayed in an auto showroom.
She paused with her hand near the door. There was a thrumming vibration from within and she instinctively stilled to locate the source. The sound halted abruptly and began again. With her nose almost pressed to the driver's window, she spotted a cell phone jammed into the ashtray of the center console. In addition to the insistent buzzing, its screen emitted a bluish glow with each missed ring. She turned to see Zimmerman standing at the rear of the car with his cellular to his hear.
"Derek's not picking up—"
"Because he ditched his phone in his car." Erin pointed.
Zimmerman tapped in a second number. "Hello? Karen? It's Chris Zimmerman from the station." A short pause. "Yes, I'm fine thank you. I'm working on our upcoming shift schedule and I'm wondering if Derek is feeling any better, or—" Another pause, this one caused him to raise an eyebrow but his voice remained neutral when he spoke again. "Yes, you're right. I'm sure it must be a clerical error. I'm sorry to have bothered you. Can you have him call me later?" He disconnected the call and turned to Erin. With a subtle shrug, he merely cocked his head.
"Let me guess." Erin squeezed her eyes into little slits. "He's sick in bed and can't answer the phone."
"His wife said he left a little while ago."
Erin reached onto the hood and flattened her palm against the warm metal. That part was true. Derek had parked here recently.
"She also said that his mother had a car accident and he was driving to St Paul to see her in the hospital." He pensively ran a finger along the thin layer of dust on the car's rear spoiler. "This Mustang is definitely not on the way to the hospital in St Paul, but I'm not going to be the one to tell Karen that!"
"His mom must be one crappy driver! He used that same excuse last summer." Erin blurted. "He came back to work with a sunburn and we figured he was probably on a three day drunk at Highland Fest."
"Lucy, he's got some 'splaining to do," Zimmerman quipped, his accent nowhere close to Ricky Ricardo's in the 1950s TV series I Love Lucy. "Let's get over to Gunther's. There has to be something we've missed." He was first back to his car and left Erin coughing in a cloud of gravel dust before she'd even opened her door. Despite the head start, he did not speed and she easily caught up so that they both puttered down the road one after the other. She kept a vigilant eye leading up to the house and outbuilding, and guessed that her fellow officer was doing the same.
When they arrived, Gunther's old Ford truck was parked right out front as she'd last seen it. It did not appear to have been moved and, as expected, the keys still dangled from the ignition. Erin jerked open the driver's door and extracted them, stopping only when she noticed Zimmerman gaping.
"All your training go out the window, Officer Ericsson?" Both hands jammed into his pockets, he drawled his words like a Texan. "You had better not be thinking of using that house key without a warrant."
"Of course not." She slid the key slowly back into the ignition. He was right. This had become way too personal and suddenly the rules were flexible. She didn't even notice when it had happened. Was it the night she came out here with Allie?
"Did you call Kathy yet? Maybe there is a hit on those fingerprints."
"No time this morning," she said defensively. "Besides, if she had a match, she would be singing it from the rooftops, not relaying a message through my trusty sidekick. I will get a hold of her after we're done."
He bared his teeth in mock annoyance but waited until she backed away from the truck. When she turned her attention to the shed, the first thing she noticed was that the door was now padlocked tight, no longer hanging open on rusted hinges. She opened her mouth to comment but Zimmerman had left. He slowly circled the shed and then and sighted toward the river, like a bush guide. Erin saw it too: a clearly defined trail of bent grass marking the passage of one dragged canoe and two pairs of feet. One size l
arge and one small.
Blades of grass were still springing upright. Adrenaline surged. No words needed to be spoken. Instantaneously, they understood the significance. As fast as she was, Zimmerman was faster. She could not catch the long legged policeman who bounded down the trail to the weather bleached dock. He stopped to peer down the river.
"Just left," he panted. "Just now." He shot off into the brush in a hopeless attempt to follow the canoe from the riverbank. There was no conveniently beaten trail here and the riverbank was clogged by tall conifers, weedy thickets of young poplars and dense low growing prickly ash. He heaved his lanky torso through, dragging monstrous heavy boots behind him. Chickweed and thistles tangled his legs and wild buckwheat entwined his boot laces until he ground to a halt minutes later, Erin lapping at his heels.
She panted with exertion, one hand up over her forehead to ward away whipping branches. He lunged sideways like a trapped bear until he was ankle deep near a cluster of cattails. Aquatic weeds and dark organic matter sucked at his legs. This was no way to catch a canoe paddling downstream. He leaned over and gripped both thighs in defeat.
"I saw her," he panted. "Just before the bend. In the boat." He waited until he'd caught his breath and when he turned to Erin, his dark eyes burned. "I'm goddamn sure Derek was at the stern." Now sunk in mud to his knees, he morosely folded backwards until the seat of his uniform trousers slogged into the soggy weeds. His sidearm submerged. "Aw, now I'm in the loon shit."
Equally cheerless, she found a large stick and extended it to him from a safe distance where she kept her boots securely planted on a flat rock. Miserably, he grasped the other end of the stick and wrenched himself upright from the peaty muck. It released him with an angry sucking noise and he scraped a handful of goo from his sidearm. Anchored by Erin, he inched himself out on his belly until he was lying beside her.
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