Jens buried his face in his hands, preventing the agents from either confirming or alleviating his concern. After a minute, he lifted his head and added, “On the surface, Michelle appears to be a very serious person. Just the opposite of Char, who is fun-loving, always laughing and flirting.” Jens’s eyes narrowed as he spoke, the contrast he’d drawn between the two sisters poignant to Streeter. “But it was really just an act, sort of. Michelle had a tough exterior, a shell, but once you got to know her, she was rather tender. Maybe even too tender.”
Jens excused himself from the room when Bly’s cell phone buzzed.
“It’s Shank,” Bly said, stepping out the front door onto the tiny porch.
Streeter turned on his cell and checked a text message from Jack Linwood, then waited for Bly to end his call and for Jens to return. He scanned the room again quickly, absorbing every detail. Jens lived the way Streeter expected a man from a very wealthy family to live, despite his age and occupation. He had surrounded himself with solidly good furniture and expensive art but not too much of it and not too venturesome. Surprisingly hospitable for a bachelor’s hangout, the house had huge windows and generous proportions. Streeter, browsing the living room’s contents, could tell that the sound equipment was outstanding, and towers of CDs, classics mostly, proved that Jens enjoyed it. Brahms, Rachmaninoff, Chopin, Tchaikovsky, nothing radical. If he didn’t fit the miner stereotype, that just showed what stereotypes are worth.
Bly snapped the cell phone shut as he stepped back through the door, chuckling. “Haven’t heard him this angry before. Said he just got done talking with the Freeburgs. And Roy Barker. Said if we interview one more person without his permission, he’ll personally fire me and force you into early retirement.”
“Really,” Streeter said, amused. “We must have hit a nerve.”
“Said if we don’t get our asses up to the Sturgis Rally and find our primary suspect, he’ll reassign the case.”
“Pretty upset, then?”
“Livid.”
“Hmm,” Streeter said, settling back in his easy chair to wait for Jens. “Imagine how he’d feel if he knew we were here. I could make Shank happy and tell him the analysis from the Investigative Control Operation in Denver is complete on the FTW pin. It’s definitely Mully’s. But we better do as Shank says and get up to Sturgis, huh, partner?”
Bly grinned.
When he returned, Jens appeared refreshed, as if he had splashed cold water on his face. “Did you get your business taken care of?”
Bly nodded and tucked the cell phone in his pocket.
Jens sat back down and said, “Michelle’s gone. It really hasn’t sunk in yet. And I’m not really sure if I want it to.”
Streeter said, “That’s okay, Jens. We’ll wrap this up. But before we go, we need to know what it is that you’re so reluctant to tell us about Michelle. Might it have something to do with teen pregnancy?”
Jens’s eyes widened. “How did you—”
Suddenly the front door flew open and Liv Bergen marched into the room as if ready for a fight. She pulled up short, however, when she saw the two FBI agents, and her eyes settled on Streeter Pierce. He thought he detected a faint smile tug on the set line of her mouth when she said, “Oh, it’s you.”
BEFORE THEY COULD INTRODUCE themselves, I decided to give them a piece of my mind. “What in God’s name are you doing here interviewing my brother without his lawyer present?”
Both men gaped.
I took advantage of the silence. “Did they Mirandize you, Jens? Did they?”
He gaped as well. I took that to mean they hadn’t. “Jens ought to sue you two for not reading him his rights and not allowing him to make a phone call.”
“You watch too much television,” Agent Blysdorf deadpanned.
“I do not,” I said, only then noticing Jens had come to my side and put an arm around me. I shrugged it off and turned to him. “Jens, please. I beg you. Don’t talk to these men. They’re only trying to hurt you. They’re trying to get you to incriminate yourself.”
“Listen,” Agent Adonis said, his voice rough and tender all at the same time. “We appreciate your help and everything you’ve done so far. But we’re not here to hurt your brother. We’re trying to help him.”
“Right,” I said, trying not to get lost in those steely-blue eyes of his that were pinning me into submission. I hated him for that and hated myself even more for allowing me to lose focus. “That’s why he was told not to go anywhere because he was a suspect.”
Agent Adonis held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, I admit we didn’t handle that as well as we should have this morning, but I—”
“But nothing. Get out!” I said pointing to the door.
“Boots, stop,” Jens said.
“Out!” I shouted, treating the two agents like dogs.
“Listen, Liv,” Agent Adonis started.
I walked over to the door and held it open. “Until my brother has an attorney present, he doesn’t need to talk with you. Got that?”
Then I realized Agent Adonis had called me Liv. I wondered how he knew my name, knew who I was. Now I wished I hadn’t been so hasty to kick him out. Agent Blysdorf exited and said nothing to me. As Agent Adonis passed by me, I thought I smelled Old Spice, yet it smelled amazingly better on his skin than on any other man I’d known to use it. I refused to look at him as he stopped right next to me.
“Liv, stay out of this one. We’re talking about some dangerous people here, and we don’t want you getting hurt again,” he said in a low, concerned tone, slipping what I could feel was his business card into my hand.
Then he was gone.
On wobbly legs, I made my way back to the couch, trying to gather the boomerang of random thoughts that were ricocheting in my skull. I stuffed his card in the back pocket of my jeans before tossing myself down on the cushions.
How did he know my name? What did he know about me getting hurt again? Did he know about the broken nose? The black eyes? The scraped up knees and hands from the scuffle on the highwall? Did he know about my brush with death from DeMilo’s injecting me with heroin? Oh, no. What had I done?
Jens sulked. “You were wrong to do that.”
I said nothing. The sinking feeling in my gut said I had been very wrong. I tried to dismiss everything except my thoughts on how much to tell Jens about what I had learned from my research and what I suspected. I was so upset when Coach Vincent showed me the picture of Char, which looked so much like the girl I’d seen at Sturgis, I immediately went to the library to find more information. My grief, fear, and anger, not only because Michelle was dead but possibly that her little sister was, too, had seriously clouded my judgment.
“I’m sorry, Jens.” My voice was so small I’m not even sure he heard me.
He was punching in numbers on his cell. “Jason? Jens. I need your help.”
I watched as he walked out the door onto his front lawn. At least he was calling an attorney. I saw him fish something out of his pocket and make another call. Within minutes, a flashy silver sports car pulled up to the curb, Jason Stone behind the wheel waving at Jens. Closing the cell phone, Jens said something to Jason and headed back into the house.
“Where are you going?” I asked, knowing the answer before he said it.
“I’m meeting the agents you just kicked out of here.”
“I’m sorry, Jens,” I repeated. “I was only trying to protect you.”
“I know,” he said, giving me a crooked smile. “Thanks. I know what I need to do now. They’re right. They’re trying to help me, not hurt me, and I need to tell them everything I know. We’re meeting them at Jason’s office down the street.”
“Can I come?”
His grin widened. “Hell, no.”
I grinned back. “Was that them you were calling?”
“Yep. See you later. I need to get this over with. Wish me luck.”
“Luck,” I called after him as he headed down his walkway. I w
atched through the open doorway as he folded himself up into Jason’s sporty car and sped off.
I was so mad at myself I pushed myself off the couch and started pacing. After wearing out a small portion of Jens’s carpet, I decided it was more urgent than ever that I get to work on finding Char.
While I was at the library before my little temper tantrum with the federal agents, I had found a photo in the Rapid City Journal archives of Char spiking a ball in a game late last fall. The volleyball net somewhat obscured her face, but I printed off several copies nevertheless. I had spent the rest of my time at the library searching for articles about the other Central High School freshmen and junior varsity volleyball team members, which was fruitful because I now had several names to check out. I had rushed home to make sure I didn’t miss Jens being interrogated by the agents, but in hindsight, I wish I had checked out the volleyball players instead.
I glanced at the clock. Ten minutes past five.
I went outside and retrieved my stack of notes from Jens’s truck, bumped the door shut with a swing of my hip, and made sure the front door was bolted shut.
When I dropped my stack on the kitchen table, I thought I heard some scuffling noises from the direction of Jens’s bedroom and made my way down the hall.
“Jens?” I called, approaching his closed door. It dawned on me that this couldn’t be Jens because I just saw him leave and certainly I would have noticed if he had come back for something. Then it further dawned on me that the only weapon in the house was on the other side of this door.
I put my ear against the door, held my breath, and heard nothing. So I turned the knob and cracked the door open, expecting to find his room empty. Instead, I saw the backside of a man crawling up onto the windowsill and crouching in the open window, an intruder who must have heard me coming.
“Hey!” I shouted.
The man sprang from the windowsill and cleared the bushes next to the house. I sprinted to the window and saw him running down the street. He never showed his face, but I recognized the clothes, the wavy blond hair, and the unique muscle-bound body type. There was no doubt in my mind it was Roy Barker.
My heart was racing, and I sat on the edge of Jens’s bed to catch my breath.
My first thought was to wonder what Roy was doing in Jens’s house. I looked around the room, stupidly assuming it would somehow reveal to me what had changed in it or what was missing. I wondered if Roy had set a booby trap of some sort for Jens. Then I thought of Agent Blysdorf’s comment about my watching too many crime shows on TV and concluded I was being ridiculous.
Unfortunately, the very next second the image of Peter Sellers tiptoeing around his own apartment leaped into my mind. The scene in an old movie where Inspector Clouseau moves stealthily through each room saying, “Cato. I know you’re in here somewhere. Where are you, Cato?” But the screwy image made me think that maybe I was on to something. Maybe Roy had been eavesdropping on my brother and the federal agents just as I had done earlier with the Freeburgs.
Worried that Roy’s intention was to hurt Jens somehow, I checked to make sure Jens’s loaded gun was still where he always kept it and that his secret stash of money was untouched. Everything seemed in order, although I didn’t recall ever seeing the book on the nightstand before. It was an old mystery classic, Nightmare in Pink, considered one of the best one hundred mysteries of all time. I flipped through the pages and a small key fluttered to the floor, the tag of the key acting as a makeshift parachute. Inside the book cover was Michelle Freeburg’s name in black cursive pen strokes.
I punched in Jens’s cell number and it clicked over into his message center immediately.
“Jens, listen. I know you’re in with the FBI agents. I need to know, were you reading Nightmare in Pink? Because right after you left, I caught Roy Barker in your room, and I think he left the book behind on your nightstand.” As I spoke, a hunch kept growing in my gut. “I heard something, opened your door, and saw him crawling out your bedroom window. Tell the agents, will you, please? The book has Michelle’s name in it. And there was a key in the book, a key with a red tag. It might mean something. I think Roy Barker’s trying to set you up. Be careful.”
I hung up, wondering what Roy Barker was up to. I needed time to process all the information, quiet time. Relieved that I finally had the house and my thoughts to myself, I rubbed my eyes and got to work jotting down what I knew on a legal pad from Jens’s home office across the hall from his bedroom and next to the spare room where I was staying. A tiny little room with no windows, really no bigger than a closet, but it served the purpose. As I started scribbling, I realized no one could read my handwriting, which would make my notes utterly useless, so I decided to log onto Jens’s computer instead and type what I remembered.
Michelle’s dead. Worked farom 6:00 am to 8:00 pm with Roy Barker Sunday.
Michelle’s last customer of the day was Lucifer’s Lot. Mully. Bought thread, fishing line, needles, matches, rubbing alcohol (lots of it). Asked Michelle to attend rally with him.
Roy told Michelle he loved her. Michelle called him crazy and Roy went crazy. Jens overheard all this. Michelle told Jens later that Roy confessed he knew Michelle’s secret about being pregnant as a freshman in high school. Peeper. Roy threatened Michelle. Jens threatened Roy.
8:00 pm to 10:00 pm Michelle with Char.
10:00 pm Roy leaves grocery store and looks for Michelle, first at Freeburgs, then finds at Jens’s house. Peeps until 10:45.
10:00 pm to 11:00 pm, Michelle with Jens. “End this, once and for all.” Jens didn’t kill her. Jens thinks Roy had something to do with it. Did Roy go home at 10:45? Or lie in wait for when she left at 11:00? Find out if Internet service confirms Roy’s claim that he was on computer from 11:00 pm until 2:00 am. Or did Roy kill Michelle when he “snapped”? Snapped because of rejection, kiss between Michelle and Jens, or did Michelle tell Roy she quit for good after Roy told her about knowing her secret? Roy insists Jens had something to do with it.
Tommy Jasper found Michelle’s body Monday morning along Boxelder Creek just off Nemo Quarry on Broken Peaks property by big rock. Clint White seen by big rock around 6:30 that same morning. Jens at Nemo General Store between 5:00 and 7:00 same morning.
Roy broke into Jens’s house until 5:15 pm Tuesday. What was he doing/taking? Left Michelle’s book and work locker key. Setting up Jens? FBI needs to know.
FBI thinks Mully and the Lucifer’s Lot had something to do with Michelle’s death, not Roy. FTW pin? Boot prints led toward Lazy S, Mr. Schilling’s campground where Mully and Lucifer’s Lot are staying.
Char is missing. What happened between 8:00 and 10:00 with Michelle and Char? Jens said fight between them over a boyfriend, forties or fifties, someone Jens knows, authority figure. Jens said when he asked about Roy Barker’s ‘dirty little secret’ comment, Michelle confessed she was raped repeatedly at thirteen, false pregnancy by fourteen. But he thought she was lying about something. I think she had the baby and the baby is Char. Check blood tests. People who knew Michelle’s mom back then agree it would be hard to notice if Arlene was pregnant, since she’s always been plump. Freeburgs know. Doctor knows. Maybe Michelle successfully hid her pregnancy from everyone else but Peeping Roy. All hush-hush. Need to confirm my conclusion and find out who her doctor was at Black Hills Medical Clinic where Roy Barker said he saw Michelle go as a teen.
Char started running with bad crowd, at the same age as Michelle when she found herself in trouble. Might explain Michelle’s overprotective treatment of Char. Is Char Michelle’s baby or reminds her that her baby would be same age? Ask Freeburgs.
I witnessed collapse of a young girl on Monday around noon who looked a lot like Char. May be sitting on information that could help piece it all together. Mully saw me watching them that day. Been chasing me around the Hills ever since.
Purging myself of this data helped me realize I had some places to go and people to see. As I had realized right before I heard Roy in
Jens’s bedroom, finding Char was high on my list. Finding out what happened fourteen years ago to Michelle’s baby was also high on my list, though, and could actually help me find Char. I prayed that if Char and the girl I saw yesterday with Lucifer’s Lot were one and the same, she was alive.
I fetched the jeans I’d worn the day before and reached into the pocket for Jens’s memory stick. I jammed it into his laptop and opened the file. Although the quality of the pictures wasn’t great, I had a fairly good set of photos to work with.
As I stared at the last picture, at Mully’s face, the phone rang. Startled, I nearly toppled out of my chair. Hesitantly, I answered, “Hello?”
“Oh, Boots. It’s you.”
“Don’t sound so disappointed.”
“I was looking for Jens.” The voice on the line was that of Elizabeth, my sister who lives in Louisville, Colorado. At least for the time being. She’s our tumbleweed. If I didn’t know better, I’d have sworn she was crying. Then I realized she actually sounded slightly drunk. Neither was characteristic for Elizabeth.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, assuming she had just learned about Michelle from Mom.
“It’s Ernif. He’s dead,” was all she said.
“Mr. Hanson?”
In the warp speed of the story she proceeded to unravel, all I could make out was something about Helma calling her and asking for help.
“She needs me, Boots. I’m getting in the car now to drive up there.”
“Have you been drinking?”
“No. What makes you think that?”
“Crying?”
No answer.
“It’s nearly six o’clock, Elizabeth,” I said, turning my wrist to verify the time. Quarter to six. “And it’s at least an eight-hour drive. You won’t get here until after two in the morning.”
“I was calling to see if I could crash there,” she said.
“Jens isn’t home, but I’m sure he won’t mind. I’m staying here, too. You can bunk in with me in his guest bedroom. I’ll leave the spare key in that knothole on the corner post in the backyard in case neither of us is here or we’re fast asleep.”
Lot’s return to Sodom Page 20