11
Matt was not having a good day. He'd been talking to everyone who'd had a key to the County Attorney's office suite since the last time they changed the locks two years ago. He'd looked at the cleaning crew first, since they had found Carolyn Maxwell. While the women had opportunity, Matt could uncover no reason for either to want to kill Maxwell.
One by one, Matt examined then discarded building security and maintenance since contrary to what Blakely told him about keys, both had keys to all the offices except his. He even checked on the IT specialist who came in occasionally to run computer checks and install new software, but he could find no motive for any of them. He'd checked all the defendants in the few cases still assigned to Maxwell. Nothing.
He'd uncovered three support staff who were facing financial challenges but none had received a recent influx of cash to indicate they might have taken money to let someone into the CA's office. Taylor was the only ACA who had even a whisper of a motive and his alibi had already been established.
The one enigma Matt had run into was Thaddeus P. Jameson, the newest ACA. A background check on Jameson had turned up nothing but there was something about the young attorney that didn't quite fit.
He re-read the information he'd been accumulating on Jameson. He was from Waterloo, a small town about an hour north of Cedar Rapids in Iowa. He was 29 and had graduated first in his class from the College of Law at the University of Iowa.
He clerked for a Justice in the Iowa Supreme Court before being recruited into the Natrona County Attorney's Office. It seemed an odd career move for a young man who appeared to be on a successful path in his home state. That was puzzle number one.
Jameson's credit history was puzzle number two. There was no record of student loans, no vehicle loans and the only credit card had been acquired after moving to Casper. His bank account was unremarkable, his office blandly decorated. Everything about the man screamed "don't look at me" and that bothered Matt.
Jameson did little to improve Matt's opinion of him. He gave no reason for the move to Wyoming. He said simply that when the recruiter contacted him, he'd thought it sounded like a good opportunity. When Matt asked about the lack of student loan debt after seven years of college, Jameson said, "I didn't know fiscal responsibility was grounds for suspicion."
He was one of a handful of CA staffers who had no alibi, but innocent people don't know they are going to need an alibi so they often don't have one. Without a motive, the lack of an alibi didn't make Jameson a suspect.
Matt sighed and closed the file. Who was he kidding? He didn't have a list of suspects. Even though no one he spoke to seemed to like Carolyn Maxwell, she was respected. She had not been the type to acquire enemies.
He needed a break. He called Kristy, who readily accepted his dinner invitation. She suggested they try The Summit restaurant, on Casper Mountain. The owners had been luring residents up the mountain by offering an outstanding menu served in with a spectacular view. Matt put away his files and found himself whistling on his way out the door.
***
Adam Brinks had been County Clerk for Weston County for ten years. His family went all the way back to the first white families to settle the area. Carved out of Crook County to the north, sacrificing territory to Campbell County in the west, Weston hugs the border between Wyoming and South Dakota. Coal rich and blessed with grasslands and rolling hills, families like the Brinks have been ranching the area for more than 125 years.
He greeted the group warmly, inviting them into his office, which boasted two walls of windows looking out on the Newcastle business district. "Toby told me why you're in town. I've been looking for those files ever since you called, Jeb. Haven't turned them up yet."
"Do you keep a log of everyone who looks at or gets copies of police files?" asked Jake, knowing this was common practice in bigger cities.
"We do." Brinks handed Jake a spiral notebook with three pages marked with paperclips. "I looked through it before you got here."
He placed the notebook on the desk and four sets of eager eyes scanned the first marked page. It was dated March 12, 2002 and documented the initial deposit of the file, just as Sheriff Irwin told them. The next marked page bore Jeb's signature in 2004.
Jake looked at Cannon for explanation. "The Sheriff's office only gave me a copy of the police file. I wanted the Coroner's file too. I was hoping it would have information Stockman hadn't thought was important enough to include in the official report. There was a little, but not much."
The last marked page was dated July 26, 2012. Reading the highlighted entry, Emma gasped. "Something wrong?" asked Brinks.
She slumped back in her chair in astonishment. Jake turned the book toward the clerk. "Do you remember this visit?"
Brinks shook his head. "Wish I did. I've been thinking about it ever since I saw it in the book."
"You did sign it?"
"Oh sure," said the Clerk. "I just don't remember it. It was two years ago, after all, and it didn't mean anything to me at the time."
"Wouldn't you have monitored the person? He wouldn't be allowed to remove the files from the building?"
Brinks rustled some paperwork on his desk and refused to meet their eyes. "We don't get a lotta people in here looking at files. I usually just put it on the counter and tell people to ring the bell when they're done."
"Why didn't you notice when the files went missing?" asked Jeb. Standing behind Jake, he presented an intimidating figure.
"I told you, Jeb. I don't remember."
"This case was big news in Newcastle. Don't tell me you wouldn't remember somebody coming to look at it and then not bringing it back."
"I was two years old when it happened, Jeb. It didn't make an impression on me like it did you."
"Do you think we could get copies of these pages?" interrupted Jake before the argument escalated.
Brinks pulled a manila folder from his in-box and handed it to Jake. Jake checked to make sure all three pages were inside, then he thanked Brinks and the four of them left.
"That man is lying," said Grace.
"Of course he's lying, the skunk!" Jeb pounded the steering wheel with his fist. "He knows who took those files. Jake, why'd you stop me? I would have gotten the truth out of him."
"I didn't want you to get arrested when you punched him!"
"I felt like giving him a swift kick myself," said Grace, patting Jeb's arm soothingly.
Keeping out of the discussion, Emma called Matt and briefed him. "The Clerk had no explanation for why the files had been signed out but not returned. He just kept saying he couldn't remember, though we all agree he was lying."
"Damn straight he was lying!"
Emma smiled reassuringly at Jeb. "Matt, you'll never guess who checked out those files."
"Who?" asked Matt.
"Clint Taylor."
12
Eugene Stockman had been a widower for many years. He spent his winters with his son in Florida and his summers in Newcastle. When his grandson was deployed overseas with the Wyoming National Guard, Stockman moved into a basement apartment in his house and let his granddaughter move in upstairs. It was a happy arrangement for both.
"Come in, come in!" Stockman opened the door and stepped back to let them pass. He was a handsome old gentleman, dressed in a short sleeve button-down blue shirt and dark blue slacks with a brown leather belt cinched tight with a large silver buckle. He wore black framed glasses with the thickest lenses Emma had ever seen.
He brought them into his living room, which appeared to be furnished with treasures from days gone by. He motioned to a comfortable sofa and when they were settled, sat across from them in an armchair. From the well worn upholstery, it was clear it had been his favorite for quite some time.
"Tobias tells me you're taking another look at our Jane Doe." The old man leaned forward in his chair, his eyes lively with interest.
"We are," said Jeb. "I've never been able to get her out of my head."
>
"I can imagine. You and your daddy were mighty shaken up finding her body. She was in a bad state. In the 20 years I'd been Coroner, I thought I'd seen it all, but she was something else again. Made a lotta men sick that day."
Emma grimaced. She'd tried not to think about the details. When Katie was discovered, it was obvious the scavengers had found her first. From various details that left Emma wishing she hadn't eaten breakfast, the Coroner had determined she'd been dead about three months.
"I'm not surprised we never got a hit on her fingerprints," concluded Stockman. "There wasn't enough skin on her hands to get more than partials and several of her fingers had been chewed right down to the bone."
"Sheriff Irwin says you weren't able to determine a cause of death," noted Jake.
"Not enough left of her. Internal organs were rotted out and there weren't any injuries I could be sure weren't from the coyotes."
"Excuse me," interrupted Emma, looking a little pale. "Could I use your bathroom?"
Stockman chuckled and told her where to find it. When she left, he turned to the others with a smile. "She lasted longer than a lot of people who've heard this story."
"Takes a special kind of person to be a Coroner, I would think," said Jake, not wanting to admit that he was having a few second thoughts about breakfast himself.
"Nah, just a strong stomach and a weak nose!"
Grace asked Stockman about the missing files. "I heard about that," said Stockman. "I've got something for you."
The old man got up and walked over to a desk in the far corner of the room. Picking up a file box, he brought it over and dropped it on the coffee table.
"I saved everything I had on that case. I gave my official record to the County Clerk but I always keep my own records in my own hands. Every now and again I pull it out and see if there's anything I missed, but if there is, I haven't found it yet. You'll find a copy of the police report in there too. My kids call me a hoarder but it's mighty lucky I am, is what I say."
Jeb opened the box reverently. "It isn't much," said Stockman, "but there wasn't ever much we knew about her. She was just a kid. Couldn't have been more than 25 and she might have been a few years younger. Like you, Jeb, I never could let her go."
"I call her Katie," said Jeb softly.
"Good a name as any, I guess," replied the old man, patting Jeb's hand and looking into his eyes with sympathy and understanding.
Emma rejoined them and Stockman invited them to help him eat the chocolate chip cookies his granddaughter baked. Never one to turn down a home-baked cookie, Jake accepted and the five of them made short work of the cookies and farm fresh milk Stockman had delivered daily.
"Was there ever any thought that she might be from around here?" Grace asked.
"Not so many people around here that we wouldn't notice if one went missing. She mighta been passing through. Lotsa people do, even in them days. We couldn't publish a picture of her to see if anyone had seen her though. All that was left of her face was her skull with a little hair still attached."
"Did you try facial reconstruction?" asked Jake. He knew that forensic specialists could build a clay or computer generated model that could give investigators a rough idea what the victim would have looked like.
"Nah, this was 1984. Reconstruction only came into use in the late 1990's. Even now it's controversial. It's too subjective."
"Would it still be possible to do it?" asked Emma. "Where is Katie buried?"
"She's in the cemetery here in town. Jeb's mama got the ladies in her church to take up a collection to bury her and put up a stone. For years, the ladies in that church tended to her grave. Brought her flowers, prayed for her soul, that sort of thing. Don't know if they still do it, but I wouldn't be surprised. That girl hit a nerve in this town."
"We wouldn't want to offend anyone by suggesting they exhume the body," said Emma.
Stockman looked at her steadily. "If there's a chance you can give that girl a name, you do it! Maybe you could even find out who did that to her if you can find out who she was. Not knowing's what offends us. She can't rest in peace until someone brings her killer to justice."
Emma reached across the table and took his hand. "We'll do everything we can. I promise you that."
Later, sitting in the Escalade talking about where to go next, Emma asked Jake how they could go about getting Katie's body exhumed and the skull sent to a forensic anthropologist.
"It'll take a court order. With there being no next of kin, that should be easy enough. Since the crime was in Weston County, they have jurisdiction. I don't know what it costs to get facial reconstruction done, but it might be more than the county is willing to spend on a 30 year-old case."
"I'll pay for it myself," said Jeb. "Whatever it costs."
They called Sheriff Irwin asked him about it. He whistled under his breath. "I don't know why nobody thought to do that before now. Tell Jeb I'll call the judge today."
"Do you think it's possible that Katie's murder has any connection with Carolyn Maxwell?" asked Emma, hanging up the phone.
"I don't know what to think," answered Jake. "Taylor's not old enough to have killed someone 30 years ago. I have no idea why he'd want to steal that file."
"It doesn't add up," agreed Emma.
Jeb looked at Grace, who was sitting quietly beside him. "Cemetery?"
"I think so." It didn't take long to get there, located in a quiet field on the edge of town. Jeb parked in the small lot just inside the gate and Emma jumped out to look up at a large map of the cemetery.
She found the grave on the map and climbed back into the car, giving Jeb directions. He drove to the location indicated and parked at the side of the lane. They all piled out of the Escalade and started slowly walking, reading names on tombstones until they found the one they were looking for.
Grace read the inscription, "Jane Doe, 1984. Lost in life, Alone in Death, Now in the arms of heaven. May we never forget you." There were fresh flowers in a vase sunk into the ground in front of the stone. Apparently the women of the church had not forgotten Katie.
Emma knelt down in front of the tombstone, thinking of the young woman whose body lay beneath her. She'd barely had a chance to taste life. She'd never married, had children. She would never know what it was to grow old with someone you love by your side. Someone had stolen that from her and left her naked and alone in a field far from home.
"I'm so sorry to have to disturb you, Katie," Emma whispered. "Please understand."
She rose, and Jake put his arm around her. The four stood silently for a time, lost in thought. "Can they really do it?" asked Emma after a time. "Can they show us who Katie was?"
"Within reason," answered Jeb. "I researched if for a book once. Forensic anthropologists apply specific measurements and use clay or computer imagery to build the layers of muscle and fat and skin onto the foundation of the skull."
"But will it really look like Katie?"
"The younger the victim, the more likely it will look recognizably like her. With Katie, they know the race, approximate age and even the hair color. They don't usually have all that when they are reconstructing so that increases the odds someone will recognize her."
Emma sighed and looked down at the stone. "We can only hope."
13
Clint Taylor denied ever hearing about Jane Doe and insisted he had never been to the Weston County Clerk's office. When Matt showed him the page from the Clerk's register, Taylor produced several court filings he'd signed. It was obvious even to Matt's untrained eyes that the signatures didn't match. Just to be thorough, Taylor provided a copy of his appointment calendar from July 2012.
July 26, a Thursday, showed Taylor in court from 9am until Noon, then in a staff meeting from 1:30 until 3:00pm. Taylor's secretary pulled a copy of the minutes and Matt stopped at the courthouse check their records to confirm Taylor's appearances that morning. The Clerk of Court told him it would take some time pull the case files but offered to call him
with the information.
Matt walked back to the station, not terribly discouraged. When Jake brought him the copies, he'd told him the signature didn't look like Taylor's. Still, the fact that someone had chosen Taylor's name to forge on the log meant that person had to have a Natrona County tie. It was crazy, but perhaps the same person who stole the originals also broke into Cannon's storage locker in Casper. It seemed that someone wanted Katie's case to stay cold, but who? Was it possible her killer was here?
There was a note from the Captain on his desk so Matt walked back down the hall and knocked on the senior officer's door. Captain Danning was on the phone but waved to him in so Matt stepped in and took a seat.
Matt respected the Captain, who had joined the department, as he had, right out of officer training school. He'd worked his way from patrol to detective and was now one of two Captains who reported directly to the Chief of Police. It was a career path Matt hoped to follow, though for now he was satisfied with his role.
Matt idly watched Danning as he waited for him to complete his call. He had remembered the Weston case when Matt told him about the possible tie to Natrona County. Matt could count on one hand the number of bodies that had been found in Wyoming and never identified. That kind of thing nags at a lawman.
Danning finished his call and turned his attention to Matt. "Any luck with Taylor?"
"The signature is way off and he has an alibi. I'm having the records pulled to verify it, but it'll check out."
"Well, it was worth a look. He's not our killer but I would have liked to know what his interest was in the case. Now the question is why would someone use Taylor's name when they were checking out that file. Don't they check ID in Newcastle?"
"I called the Clerk. He says they don't. He's still insisting he doesn't remember, the incident. He says it would never occurred to him that somebody would just walk away with a file."
"Sloppy. You're thinking the Cannon break-in is related?" Matt nodded.
Justice for Katie (A Jake and Emma Mystery Book 3) Page 8