The name “Fort Collins” had already been given to an outpost in northern Colorado, named for Caspar’s father. When the government decided to re-name the Fort in Wyoming to honor the son, they were forced to use his first name. In doing so, they spelled the unfortunate young man’s name wrong. The Fort, and the city which followed, became known as “Casper.”
When the Fort was reconstructed and dedicated as a museum, the decision was made to right the old wrong. Fort Caspar Museum attracts visitors from all over the world, sitting halfway between Yellowstone National Park and Mount Rushmore National Memorial.
Emma started volunteering at the Fort one summer when her caseload was low and she found herself with time on her hands. She’d continued to volunteer whenever she could because she enjoyed meeting the visitors and hearing the stories of their travels.
The Fort was a busy place during the summer but in the winter, the Fort buildings were locked and visitors came to see only the museum exhibits. Every December, the Fort had a special two evening event where families gathered at the museum to make decorations similar to what frontier families in the 1860’s might have made. Some took their decorations home but many used them to decorate the museum’s two Christmas trees – one inside and a living tree in front of the Fort’s commissary building.
Emma was happy to volunteer to work the front desk during the event so that the museum’s small paid staff could work with the visitors. Jake dropped her off and promised to return at the end of the evening to pick her up.
Emma greeted the museum director as he opened the door for her. “Glad you could make it,” he told her, “we’re hoping for a big turnout tonight.”
“I’m sure you’ll get a lot of families,” answered Emma. “It’s cold but at least it’s not windy and the snow stopped early enough the roads are clear.”
She settled in at the desk and spent a happy three hours greeting museum patrons, answering questions and ringing up sales from the gift shop. Sheriff Newsome stopped at the front desk as Emma was putting a stuffed ferret, the Fort’s mascot, into a bag for an excited little girl.
He smiled at the girl and nodded hello at her parents then turned to speak with Emma. “Nice crowd you have tonight,” he said.
Emma nodded. “It’s been steady since we opened. There aren’t so many people that the families feel rushed but enough to make the evening a success.”
The museum director came up beside the desk and greeted the Sheriff. “Reggie! Glad you could make it.”
“You threatened to toss me in the hoosegow if I missed another museum event,” countered the Sheriff and both men laughed. Sheriff Newsome was on the Fort’s governing board. The two men walked away toward the activity room and Emma turned her attention to a family that had just arrived.
In the activity room, the Fort’s education director helped make old-fashioned decorations. The tree in the lobby slowly filled with handmade decorations to the delight of the children who helped create them.
Some families braved the cold to tromp out to the Fort buildings and hang their decorations on the living tree. Because of the almost ever-present wind, the decorations that would go outside had to be especially sturdy and wired to the branches.
There was a staff member posted at the tree to help with the decorating. Because of the cold, the three member paid staff and two volunteer docents rotated time at the outdoor tree while Emma stayed at the front desk.
She listened to the cheerful ringing of the bells on the museum’s back door every time someone went out to the living tree and smiled. For Christmas, the museum’s education director had managed to somehow replace the usual mechanical chime with the sound of sleigh bells.
Emma was surprised to see Jake when he showed up just before closing. She hadn’t realized the time had passed so quickly. Busy with the last family that was picking out items in the gift shop, Emma sent him out to look at the living tree.
“Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!” the family called out to Emma as they finished their shopping and left. As they went out the front door, Emma heard the jingle of the bells and turned to see Jake and the museum director coming in the back door. Their expressions were anything but merry.
“What’s the matter?” asked Emma as the men reached the front desk.
Jake looked at Emma while the director excused himself to go to his office to make a phone call. “He’s gone to call the police,” he told her. “We’ve found another body.”
The two other museum staff joined the couple at the desk. Emma noticed that the docents, both firefighters who volunteered their time at the museum, were missing. They were outside guarding the body, Jake explained when Emma asked about the two men.
“What happened?” asked the education director. Jake explained that when the last family left, the four men had made the customary evening check of the Fort buildings.
In the days of the Oregon Trail, there had been a bridge at the site to help travelers cross the North Platte River. The museum founders had reconstructed a small section of that bridge about 100 yards away from the Fort buildings. The bridge was not lit but in the moonlight, the men thought they saw someone standing on it. They had gone to investigate and found a man tied to the bridge railing, dead.
Jake and Emma sat at the front desk while the Casper police came, roped off the bridge area and questioned the staff and volunteers. The man had been stabbed and seemed to have bled to death at the scene. Whether he’d been tied to the bridge before or after he died, the coroner would have to decide.
When the police told them they could go home, Emma said goodbye to the museum staff and followed Jake out to the truck. There would be no second evening. The police would probably have the area roped off much of the next day and the museum staff thought it would be in poor taste to continue with the event in light of the murder.
They said little on the way home, both lost in their own thoughts. When they reached the house, Emma went inside while Jake went to the barn to check on the dogs. When he came into the house, Emma had cocoa ready and they drank it at the kitchen table.
“People go their whole lives without ever finding a dead body,” Emma started, “and we’ve found two in three weeks. I don’t understand it.”
“It gets worse,” said Jake. “I knew this man.” Emma looked up at him, surprised. “He was the father of one of the kids I represented a few years ago. The kid pled guilty to attempted murder for trying to kill his grandmother. His father was no winner as I remember.”
“Did you tell the police?” Emma asked and took it back when she saw the look in Jake’s eyes. “I’m sorry, of course you would have told them.”
“They knew who he was anyway. The officer who responded had busted him a couple of times for possession. Nate Carver wasn’t exactly unknown to the Casper PD, as they say.”
“Carver?” asked Emma. “Was that his name?” Jake nodded. “I read about that case while I was living in California. I didn’t know you defended the boy involved.”
“It was front page news for awhile, I suppose,” agreed Jake. “It’s not every day that a 12 year-old kid takes an axe to his grandmother while she’s feeding the chickens.”
Emma nodded. The case, even what little had been in the papers, was grisly. The boy, Nick Carver, had followed his grandmother out to the chicken yard and had attacked her with the axe used to butcher the birds. If his grandfather hadn’t been milking the cows in the adjoining barn and come running when he heard the first scream, it’s likely the grandmother would have been killed.
“Why did he do it?” she asked.
“The only thing he would ever say was that he was mad at his grandmother for throwing away his favorite pair of jeans. They were falling apart and the school wouldn’t let him wear them anymore but that didn’t matter to him.” Jake sighed. “I argued he should get psychiatric treatment but the judge disagreed.”
“What happened to him?” Emma knew how limited mental health treatment options were within the
justice system and Wyoming had no separate juvenile court system to address needs for violent youth.
“He got what treatment I could arrange for him, but he never seemed to respond to it. His father was in and out of jail himself so Nick couldn’t live with him. His grandparents never had legal custody of him so they refused to take him back. He blew out of the only foster home that would take him so he ended up aging out in the boy’s school.”
“What do you remember about his father?” Emma asked.
“Not much. Nick’s mother died when he was eight and he went to live with his father. When Nate ended up in jail for a probation violation, Nick went to live with his father’s parents. They weren’t wild about taking him but they were the only family the state could find. Nate didn’t want the boy when he got out so Nick ended up staying with his grandparents.”
“That’s sad,” Emma said. “A child should never have to grow up knowing no one wants him. Where is he now, do you know?”
“No idea,” sighed Jake. “When he turned 18 Nick was discharged from the boys school and the juvenile case was closed. Because he’d aged out in the system, he was eligible for some state assistance to go to school. He started the welding program in Sheridan but dropped out at the end of the first semester. I haven’t heard from him since then.”
“And that was what, four months ago?”
“About that, yes,” agreed Jake, “I hope that Nick was able to put the past behind him and make a life for himself.” Jake sighed again. “I’d better speak with his probation officer and see if she has any idea how to reach him. The police are going to want to notify Nick as his father’s next of kin.”
When Jake spoke with Nick’s probation officer the next morning, he learned the police had already talked to her. “I’ll tell you what I told them,” said the woman. “Nick was released in January. I got him started at Sheridan College and spoke with him once a month through the spring and summer sessions. I haven’t heard from him since he dropped out in September.”
“Why did Nick drop out, do you know? He seemed pretty excited about going to Sheridan last time I talked to him.”
“He was and he started out ok but you know how it is with these kids that have been in the system for so long. Nobody there to get them out of bed, make sure they’re going to class, doing their homework…” her voice trailed off and Jake listened to the rustle of paper as the probation officer looked through her case notes.
“You know, something odd about this kid though,” she said. “I have a note here, the last time I spoke with him before he dropped out of school and off the radar.”
“Yes?” asked Jake, “What is it?”
“He was upset because his father had showed up at the college looking for him.”
“I hadn’t thought Nick had seen his father in at least a year.” Jake consulted his own notes, which he’d taken out of storage before calling the probation officer. “No, I don’t show that he’d been to any of the hearings or case review meetings that whole last year. I’d assumed he was in jail again.”
“He might have been,” agreed the probation officer. “All I know is Nick said he came out of class one day and found his father waiting for him. That was right around the time his grandmother died, remember?” Jake did. Nick’s father hadn’t come to the funeral, though he had been at the funeral of Nick’s grandfather a few years earlier.
“Nick said his father wanted him to go with him to his grandparent’s place. He said it was urgent – they had to go before the place sold.”
“Did Nick go with him?”
“He said he didn’t want to, but it was right after that I got a call from the school that he stopped showing up for classes. He just cleared out his dorm room and never went back.”
“And you never heard from him again?” asked Jake.
“No, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it. He wasn’t on probation anymore so his contact with me was voluntary.”
Jake thanked her and she asked him to let her know if he heard from Nick. He agreed he would. Jake sat staring at the phone after he hung up. Nick’s grandparents, he knew, had not spoken to Nick since the attack.
When Nick’s grandfather died suddenly, Jake had offered to be his escort to the funeral. His grandmother had turned away from him and refused to even acknowledge his presence. Nick’s father, Jake remembered, had been equally cold, focusing all of his attention on the old woman to the exclusion of his son.
On their way back to the group home Nick was staying in at the time, Jake remembered the boy sneering at his father’s attempts to get into his grandmother’s good graces. “He just wants her money,” Nick had said.
Jake dismissed it at the time as Nick’s attempt to blunt his disappointment over his father and grandmother’s rejection. After all, his grandparents were not wealthy people. Like so many Wyoming ranchers, what little wealth they had was tied up in their land. Maybe Nate had hoped his mother would leave the ranch to him in her will.
Jake made a call to the attorney who had handled probate for the old woman’s estate. “Nah, there was nothing left,” the man assured him after Jake explained why he was asking. “Between the recession and the drought forcing people to sell off their cattle, you know how bad the market is for ranch land. I had to sell it for a song.”
Jake asked if Nick or his father had been mentioned in her will and the attorney laughed. “She left them each one dollar just to keep them from having grounds to contest the will. She left everything else to charity there wasn’t anything to leave.” Jake thanked him and found himself staring at the phone again.
Nick was upset that his father had shown up at the college. What had his father wanted at the ranch and why did he need Nick to come with him to get it? If Nick had decided to go with his father, he wouldn’t have needed to drop out of school to do it. No, he’d cleared out his dorm room and disappeared to get away from his father, but why and where had he gone?
Nate Carver’s lifestyle would have inspired more than a few enemies and one of them might have decided to kill him. To leave him tied to a bridge on the night of a public event at the Fort just didn’t strike Jake as something a drug addict’s enemy would be likely to do.
For one thing it was risky. How do you tie a grown man to a bridge 100 yards away from a crowd, albeit a small crowd, of people without anyone noticing you are there? How do stab him without risking him crying out and attracting attention?
No, thought Jake. Either the killer was confident to the point of being cocky or he hated Nate enough to not care about the risk. Had Nick hated the father who hadn’t wanted him around and had left him in the care of people who hadn’t wanted him either?
Jake knew Nick didn’t respect his father, but he hadn’t seen anything like the intensity of hatred in his attitude toward the man either. Had something happened to change that in the nine months since Nick had been out of the juvenile system?
7
Christmas passed peacefully and January found Jake hard at work on a new case. A teenager had been caught joy riding in a car he’d “borrowed” from one of his parents’ friends. The couple had been surprised to find their Mercedes missing when they left New Year’s Eve party.
When they called the police, they were pleased to learn their car had already been found. They were less pleased with the extensive damage that had been done when the teen hit a patch of black ice and slid sideways off the road into a ditch. The teen was planning to pay restitution to the owners of the car and to his parents’ insurance company, which had paid the initial repair bills.
Sheriff Newsome knocked on Jake’s open door and walked into the office. Jake looked up from his case file and offered Reggie a seat. “Can I get you a bottle of water or some coffee?” he asked.
“Just water, thanks.” Jake pulled two bottles out of the small refrigerator in the corner. Putting one on the desk in front of the Sheriff he opened the other for himself. Seated again, he closed the juvenile’s case file and tucked
it into the file drawer in his desk.
“How can I help you, Reggie?” asked Jake. “Have you got some information on our mystery woman at last?”
“I have,” answered Reggie. “She was identified as Sherry Thorne of Gillette. Name ring any bells?”
Jake shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not. Do you know anything about her?”
Reggie nodded. “She was a realtor, reported missing by her office when she didn’t come in after the Thanksgiving holiday. She lived alone so no one knew she was missing until then.”
“Did anyone see her on the day she died?” asked Jake.
“No, she wasn’t in the office that day. There was an appointment listed in her calendar to show a house but her assistant didn’t know who the appointment was with or whether she kept it. Gillette PD checked the house. It was vacant, no sign of anyone having been there.”
“What about her car?”
“Parked in the Mall parking lot here in town. Don’t know when it was parked there or what business she may have had in Casper.”
Jake sat back in his chair and mulled over what the Sheriff had said. Gillette was two hours away. That was a long drive when the forecast had been predicting a bad storm. “What did you learn in the autopsy?”
“Drug overdose. There was alcohol in her bloodstream too, over the legal limit. Coroner was right about her dying before she found her way to your fence.”
“Did she have a history of drug use?” asked Jake. Reggie shook his head and said that no one in Gillette seemed to remember ever even seeing her drink. “Maybe that’s what she was doing in Casper.”
Gillette was a small town. A professional woman wouldn’t want to be seen buying drugs. Casper was the closest city big enough for her to be anonymous.
“We’re keeping the case open, of course,” said the Sheriff. “Her purse is missing, though there haven’t been any hits on her credit card or attempts to access her bank account. Whoever dumped the body probably took any cash and threw the rest away.”
Linda Crowder - Jake and Emma 01 - Too Cute to Kill Page 3