Remains In Coyote Bog

by Christine Husom

  When he met me, I raised my eyebrows and mouthed, “Stay put? That was almost funny.”

  He shrugged and signaled for one of the deputies to go into the adjoining room to watch Wilkins through the glass, and the other to remain outside the interview room door. Then he followed me down the corridor and around the corner, out of earshot.

  “She’s not faking it?” he said.

  “It looks real to me, but I’m not a doctor. Even if she snaps out of it, she needs to be seen by one who is. Escorted by two deputies. Her completely blank look freaked me out. I flashed back to that case a few years ago, when I was in the interview room with Alvie Eisner and she stopped talking, lost consciousness, and went into a seizure.” Alvie Eisner had also killed a number of people for what she thought was a valid reason.

  “Turns out, she did have a medical condition. A serious one,” Smoke said.

  I nodded. “On the other hand, Wilkins may be trying to establish incompetency.”

  “Could be. Let’s get her back to the jail. I’ll have Corrections move her to a holding cell by booking, put her on a fifteen-minute watch until we can get her in for a checkup tomorrow.”

  “Good deal. I’m going to take off and I’ll see you later,” I said.

  Smoke nodded with a smile.

  It was a relief to be home again, trying to unwind. Bob Edberg phoned to say his mother was a little dehydrated, but otherwise doing well. They were keeping her overnight for observation. “We can never repay you for what you did.”

  “Bob, I have been paid in full, and then some. I believe I was sent there. The power of prayer, huh? Anyway, I wasn’t hurt. The bad guys are in jail. And more importantly, your mother’s safe and sound.”

  “No argument there. Now that I’ve got her back, I’m struggling with what to do about her care. It’s going to be hard to get over this, to trust caregivers again.”

  “Do your own background investigations, make sure they check out a-okay.”

  “Yeah. Well, I better get back to her room. I’ll catch you later.”

  Even though the chances were probably one in a million Bob would get a bad caregiver, if I were in his place, I’d be leery, too. He’d had the scare of his life.

  A number of text messages had come in from deputies, checking to see how I was holding up. I responded to each, assured them I was doing well. That was the truth and it surprised me. Critical incidents usually knocked the wind out of my sails for some time. Trying to analyze the difference, I thought maybe it was because I’d been under the threat of danger for a short time. But I’d been in similar circumstances before, so it wasn’t the time span. It came down to the overriding joy I felt that Mrs. Edberg was safe, and the angel of death was locked up.

  My phone rang again, and when I saw Sheriff Kenner’s name on the display, the first thing that came to mind was I hadn’t thought about Jaxson since I’d spotted the moving curtains at Floyd Myren’s house. “Hello, Sheriff.”

  “Sergeant, the chief deputy filled me in on what happened today. All I can say is you did the department proud.”

  “Thank you. It’s a good feeling when things turn out the way they should. How are you and April?” I said.

  He paused then said, “Not the best, but we’re hanging in there.”

  “Good. Thanks for the call, Mike.”

  We disconnected and I started to pace and woke the sleeping dogs. Where was Jaxson Kenner? He’d been on the run for days, and probably without a car the last three. A guy who every law enforcement agency in the state had a description and photo of. Maybe he had slipped into Canada somehow.

  Acknowledging my restlessness made me realize I wasn’t totally fine. I headed for the back door and the dogs followed. The great outdoors provided me a longer, broader walking area. We jogged around the backyard a while, until Smoke phoned me. “Still writing reports?” I said.

  “No, I’ll finish them tomorrow. I thought I’d pick something up for supper. How about we meet at my house at six? We’ll toast with a brew, have a bite, and relax. I need to spend a night at home.”

  “Sure. Am I included in the overnight part?”

  “Every time,” he said.

  My heart felt lighter.

  42

  I was packed and ready to go by 5:30. “Hey guys, let’s swing over by Coyote Bog, see if there’s still any action at Floyd Myren’s place.”

  We were in the car and off in no time. When we got to Coyote, it hit me: what was the point of either driving around the barricade, or taking the detour to get to Myren’s? I’d get the search details in the next day or two. I was curious, but needed to decompress, calm my soul and mind, not add anxious thoughts.

  Seven days spent trying to process the atrocities the deadly chameleon had committed. Seven days intently working to identify the victims, meeting with families and law enforcement in other counties. Seven days trying to track down the angel of death. Seven days worrying about Jaxson Kenner and his family. And grieving over Sawyer Harris.

  I pulled the GTO up to the barricades and stared at the bog, pondering what led the pagans to believe they were sacred places. What made Jasmine Wilkins perpetuate that belief, branding Christian symbols on her victims? And then force her son to dispose of their bodies? I reached in the glove box, withdrew the pictures of the six victims we had identified, and looked at them one by one. I’d add Floyd Myren’s as soon as I got it.

  I tried to blink away tears in my eyes, but they spilled out and rolled down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry she took your lives, but she can’t victimize anyone else the way she did all of you. Rest in peace, knowing that.”

  Smoke waited for us as we arrived at his house. When he wrapped his arms around me, I could have stayed there for the rest of my life. I tightened my hold. “Feeling emotional?” he said.

  “You read me like a book. We’ve had so many ups and downs this last week, I’m realizing I’ve been on an emotional rollercoaster right along with them. It’ll be good when things settle down a bit.”

  “You got that right.”

  “We’ll all be relieved when the families have their loved ones back. And they can bury them where they choose,” I said.

  “One of the reasons we do what we do.”

  “I’m jumping ahead here, but I wonder what their trials are going to be like.”

  “After the interviews today, you gotta wonder.” He took a step back, reached for my hands, and kissed each one. “Ready for that toast?”

  “Sure. What’d you find for supper? Something sure smells good in here.”

  “Broasted chicken, Jo Jo potatoes, and coleslaw from Charlie’s Grocery Store.”

  “Yum.”

  Smoke gave me a peck on the lips then walked to the refrigerator, pulled out two Heinekens, used a bottle opener to pop off the tops, and handed one to me. We clicked the necks of them together. “Here’s to you, my brave and beautiful Corinne.”

  “And here’s to you, my seasoned, smart, and sexy Elton Dawes.”

  The sip of cold beer tasted fine. We celebrated the end of the angel of death’s reign of terror, closure for waiting families, and our love. After a few more sips, we opened the food containers and filled our plates. After settling at the table and saying a prayer, we dug in.

  “Who needs to cook when Charlie’s does it better?” I said, between bites.

  “You have a point.”

  We ate in silence, dividing our attention between the food and looks that expressed how we felt.

  Rex barked and ran to the front door, alerting us someone was outside. “What the heck?” Smoke got up and headed into the living room. I followed, both curious and wary of unexpected company. Smoke checked the peep hole. “Well, I’ll be.” He opened the door, pulled Jaxson Kenner in the house, and into a bear hug.

  I was stunned, unable to move for a moment. Finally, I slid in between them and laid my arm across Jaxson’s back, along his waist. He wore glasses with black frames that covered half his face, and smelled of bo
th fresh air and wood smoke, an unusual combination.

  “I can’t deal with hiding out anymore. I’m turning myself in,” he said.

  “The right thing to do,” Smoke said.

  “There are some scary people out there. At least in jail, there are corrections officers to help if you need it,” I said.

  “You met up with unsavory characters?” Smoke said.

  “That’s one way to put it.”

  “Is that what made you change your mind, brought you here?” I said.

  “Reason is, I saw you two in the Sherburne refuge. I shoulda turned myself in then but couldn’t.”

  “Where were you?” Smoke said.

  “Up in a tree, between the Oak Savanna Trail and my car. I was about to leave when you got out of that old car, looked around, and then drove in near where I hid my car. I stopped and climbed up the tree as fast as I could,” Jaxson said.

  “Wait. We called in the K-9 Unit and Boomer indicated you’d left the park,” Smoke said.

  “I did, right after I heard they were coming. You two were talking with the Sherburne deputies and I snuck through the trees barely making a sound to the road, and then ran like the wind.”

  “I guess,” Smoke said.

  “What you said in the refuge started sinking in yesterday,” Jaxson said.

  “What was that?”

  “You called out like you knew I was there. You said, ‘Where are you, Jaxson? Turn yourself in so we can help you.’”

  “I guess I did say that. Jax, where’s your backpack and your mother’s gun?” Smoke said.

  Jaxson’s eyebrows shot up. “You know about the gun?”

  “Where is it?”

  “In my backpack, on your step.”

  Smoke retrieved it, opened the pack, and looked inside. He set it down while he reached in his pocket, found a glove, and pulled it on. When he had the gun in hand, he slipped it in his pocket. “I’ll return it to your folks. Anything else in the backpack I should be concerned about?”

  Jaxson shook his head.

  “How did you get here without being spotted?”

  “I hitched a ride. I’ve been doing that since I left the car behind. I hope you’ll bring me to see my parents before you take me to the jail,” Jaxson said.

  Smoke nodded. “I can do that. But before we go, if you’re hungry, we got plenty of food here.”

  “Umm, I guess I could eat a little.”

  He ate a lot, like it was his last meal. In fact, it probably was, before a long incarceration.

  Smoke told me to, “Hold down the fort,” and left with Jaxson. I was more than content to do just that. After being on emotional overload most of the day, had I been part of Jaxson’s brief homecoming at the Kenners, it might push me over the edge.

  I cleaned up the kitchen and changed into pajamas, assuring myself 7:30 was not too early to get ready for bed. Smoke had a stadium blanket on his couch. I pulled it over my body and stretched out on the couch with a view of the lake out the glass double doors, a short distance from the house. The dogs settled on the floor beside me. I mentally worked through the events of the day. Descriptive words popped into my head. Unpredictable. Inconceivable. Terrifying. Rewarding. Mind-boggling. Unreal.

  Rufus Wilkins had willingly spilled out all the information Smoke requested. His mother appeared to be in a catatonic state. Was it real, or was she faking it? Either way, it was a freaky thing to behold. And may have an impact on how they proceeded in the case against her.

  On top of flushing out the Wilkinses and finding Mrs. Edberg, Jaxson Kenner had appeared out of the blue. I pinched my arm. Yep, I was conscious and fully aware. I thought about Floyd Myren. The poor guy had been victimized for a long time—even after his death—by the angel of death. That, and the fact that he’d been dead for two years and no one had noticed, made me tear up.

  When Smoke returned, I realized I’d dozed off. He took off his gun belt and hung it on a coat rack hook. I sat up and he laid down with his head on my lap. “I’m on call until seven tomorrow morning and I’d greatly appreciate no major incidents tonight.”

  I combed through his hair with my fingers. “How did Jaxson know where you lived, Smoke?”

  “He’s been here before, with his dad.”

  “Ah, so how’d it go at the Kenners?”

  “Better than I’d anticipated. Mike and April were ecstatic to see Jaxson. Both sad and glad he’s ready to face the consequences. And I think actually relieved he’ll be in jail, so they’ll know where he is and Corrections can keep an eye on him.”

  “I think I’d feel the same way.”

  “Mmm.” A second later, his breathing deepened. He was fast asleep.

  We were having coffee on Smoke’s deck Monday morning when Chief Deputy Randolph sent him a text. I watched the interviews and read your reports. We’re taking Jasmine Wilkins to the clinic. Catatonic?

  Smoke texted back, Maybe. I’ll be in later. Holler if you need me.

  Will do.

  “I gotta say, Randolph’s done a good job in Kenner’s absence,” Smoke said.

  “What do you think will happen, will Kenner come back?”

  “The jury’s still out on that one. Hard to believe it’s only been a week since Jaxson delivered that fatal blow.”

  “And Highway opened up the bog bodies investigation,” I said.

  “What are you doing today?”

  “I don’t know, decompress a little, maybe visit Gramps.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” he said.

  “Smoke, switching gears, we’ve had discussions on where we might live when we get married and I want you to know I’d be happy living here. I love your house and it’s closer to the lake than mine is. We both love being on the water. It’s peaceful. Quiet.”

  He reached for my hand, drew me out of my chair, and pulled me onto his lap. I set my coffee on the end table. “Have I showed you lately how much I love you?”

  “Umm, define ‘showed me.’”

  “I’ll demonstrate instead.” His lips closed over mine with fervor, the intensity of his kisses growing with each passing second until I was weak with longing. Every inch of my body tingled in response, and my pulses drummed staccato beats.

  We were on our feet, out of the living room, and on his bed seconds later where his demonstration left no doubt about how much he loved me.

  I was lounging on Smoke’s couch when he arrived home midafternoon. I’d been content to unwind and hide from the world. He loosened his tie, pulled it off, and dropped it on the coffee table. He plopped down next to me and gave me a kiss. “You are a sight for sore eyes, Corinne.”

  “Ditto, Elton. Any updates on the death angel’s condition?”

  “They did a psychiatric evaluation on her and diagnosed her with catatonia. There’s a list of twelve symptoms, and a person needs to display three for the diagnosis. She shows at least four and I wrote them down.” He pulled out his memo pad. “The two most common are mutism, or not speaking, and stupor, or decreased response to stimuli, including when people are talking to her. Catalepsy is a trance-like state, and wavy flexibility is when a person doesn’t respond to commands and has a rigid posture.”

  “Wavy flexibility? That’s a different way to describe it. Those symptoms certainly match what we observed,” I said.

  “They do. Catatonia is a form of depression and one of the treatments is with antidepressants. They tried giving her oral meds and got nowhere, so they’re getting a judge to sign an order to get her into the Minnesota Security Hospital in St. Peter where they can give the drugs through IVs.” A psychiatric facility for the extremely ill and dangerous.

  “Sounds like that’s where she belongs.”

  “She might snap out of it in a few days. We’ll see,” Smoke said.

  “Does Rufus know? How is he doing, anyway?”

  “Seems to be fine, doesn’t know about his mother. They’re keeping a tight lid on that.”

  “Speaking of a tight lid, I’ve h
ad a number of media people try to get a hold of me today. Looking for comments I don’t want to give,” I said.

  “You don’t have to. That’s one of the chief deputy’s jobs. Public relations and statements to the media. In fact, Randolph set up a conference with them at four o’clock today, to assure the world those responsible are incarcerated.”

  “Good.”

  43

  The medical staff at the hospital had Jasmine Wilkins on intravenous nutritional supplements, along with medication, and were closely monitoring her. Her level of catatonia carried a high risk of sudden death, most often due to pulmonary embolism. Without knowing her medical history, or having the opportunity to question her, doctors didn’t know if an underlying cause such as depression, schizophrenia, or some other illness brought the condition on.

  Smoke met with Rufus to tell him his mother was sick and in the hospital. Rufus’s only response was, “Okay.” At his first appearance in court, the judge appointed a public defender for him. Given Rufus’s situation as a victim of his mother’s control and abuse, the county attorney would not seek a life sentence.

  The medical examiner positively identified Floyd Myren’s remains from his dental records. The sheriff’s office executed a search warrant at his home and property, looking for personal records, hoping to find a relative’s name. No known family, but they located his attorney’s contact information.

  Smoke and I met with Attorney Craig Bentley. He was shocked and saddened over how Myren’s life had ended. “Floyd led a quiet life, didn’t have any kind of social life that I could gather from him. After his wife died, he met with me to prepare his will. It was difficult for him, wondering what would happen to his daughter if he predeceased her. He wanted to make sure she was taken care of.

  “It broke his heart when his daughter died, but he was a little relieved, too, knowing she wouldn’t have to go to a care center where she’d be with strangers. He determined how his money and assets would be disbursed upon his death. I have power-of-attorney to divide his estate accordingly,” Bentley said.