by Roger Hayden
Dobson cut in. “Do you recall Ms. Wade’s friendship with Ms. Owens?”
They noticed Gordon’s face had lost color. His mouth was agape and he looked troubled.
“Mr. McDonnel?” Sterling asked. “Are you all right?”
He slowly raised a finger and pointed at the chain letter. “You said that you found that with Betsy’s things?”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Dobson said. “What is it?”
Gordon shook his head and laughed, dumbfounded. “I received the same letter a few days ago.”
“You did?” Sterling asked, stunned.
Gordon jumped up. “Yeah. I have it somewhere.” He turned and looked around. “In my pile of junk mail.” He then darted to the kitchen as Dobson kept a careful eye in his direction.
“Stay where I can see you,” Dobson called out. He saw Gordon at the kitchen table, rummaging through some papers and mail. After a few moments of looking, Gordon held the letter up like a prize and hurried back with an open envelope in his other hand.
“See,” he said, handing both to Dobson. “Just like what you showed me.” He backed up, giving them their space, and then continued. “Stupid high school reunion bullshit. Didn’t put much stock into it at all.”
Sterling examined the letter and its wording, which matched Betsy’s letter verbatim. Dobson was quick to take the envelope and determine the sender’s address. Not surprisingly, it was listed as the same address as the old plastics factory. Perhaps the sender took comfort in sending people on a wild goose chase to some abandoned factory with no hope of determining who sent them the letter.
“What were you planning to do with this?” Sterling asked, holding the chain letter.
“I don’t know,” Gordon said. “Toss it in the garbage.”
Dobson suddenly tapped Sterling’s shoulder, and she turned to see what he wanted. “Let’s step outside for a moment.” Dobson then turned to Gordon. “Stay right here and give us a minute. We’ll be right back.”
Obviously relieved, Gordon reached for his smokes, then hesitated and looked at Dobson for approval.
“Yeah, go ahead,” Dobson said as they walked to the door.
Sunlight poured into the little room as Sterling opened it. They stepped outside and stood against the railing, looking out into the yard of patchy grass below. The landlord was nowhere to be seen, and Dobson assumed that she had gone inside. Dobson needed a moment of quiet to think; to try to make something out of what they had learned. It seemed obvious that Gordon was not the person they were looking for, but Dobson wasn’t ready to clear him yet.
“I think he’s being pretty genuine,” Sterling said. “Except his reaction to hearing Victoria’s Owens’s name was a bit excessive.”
Dobson leaned farther over the railing. “I thought so too. Did you see anything peculiar around his place?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Not really.”
Dobson held up Gordon’s chain letter and compared it to the one they took from Betsy Wade’s shoebox of letters. It was identical in both its wording and font. “Question is, who sent the letters and why?”
“Do you think our killer is behind it?” Sterling asked.
Dobson pocketed both letters and rubbed his forehead between his thumb and forefinger. “Could be. But the connection is vague.” He suddenly turned to her as though realizing something. “It’s possible that these letters have gone through many hands and that none of the senders wanted to use their actual mailing address. Someone started the chain with the abandoned factory address, and others just continued using it.”
“Why don’t we go there?” Sterling suggested. “There has to be something of interest. Some reason it was chosen.”
“First, I want to consider this other woman. Victoria Owens. The circumstances surrounding her death will help us establish a pattern.”
Sterling shrugged. “You’re the boss.” She then turned to the door. “What about Gordon?”
“We need to keep an eye on him. I’m not ready to cross him off the list yet.” He reached for the door, opened it, and stepped inside with cigarette smoke wafting in the air. Gordon was still on the couch, same spot as before, watching television and exhaling smoke, feigning great relief. Dobson almost envied him. The instant gratification of nicotine was something he didn’t think he’d ever get over. He’d quit not only for his own health, but for Penny. It wasn’t right to see her suffering with lung problems, only to sneak outside so he could have a puff.
“You should open a window in here,” he said, walking into the living room.
“Kitchen window’s open,” Gordon said, pointing behind him, where a small window near the sink was opened halfway, with its thin curtains blowing inside.
Dobson stepped in front of the television and blocked his view. Gordon muted it with his remote, taking the hint, and looked up at him, then at Sterling, who had just closed the door.
“So, what’s the verdict, Detective?” Gordon asked, mashing out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray.
Dobson dug into his side pocket and pulled out a small card, handing it to him. “This is my card. It’s got my office and cell on it. We’re not done with you yet, Mr. McDonnel. I still need to verify your alibi at the bar you were at.” He then pulled out his pocket notebook and pen. “Speaking of which, what’s the name?”
Gordon thought to himself. “The bar? Whisky Jack’s. You been there?”
Dobson shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
Gordon smiled. “Come on, Detective. Whisky Jack’s is the best dive bar in town.” He then looked at Sterling. “You’d like it. Lots of eligible bachelors just waiting to buy you a drink.”
Sterling looked away, uninterested.
“Enough of that,” Dobson said, waving Gordon off. “We have to verify your alibi. I expect that we’ll talk with you soon.” Dobson began to turn toward the door but stopped. “During the time you claimed to have been with Ms. Wade, was there any person she mentioned that might have wanted to harm her?”
Gordon pulled another cigarette from his pack, put it in his mouth, but hesitated to light it. “Well… I wish I could narrow down the list, but according to Betsy, everyone was out to get her. Even me.”
Dobson handed him the letter back. “We don’t know who’s sending these letters. In the meantime, I’d suggest that you keep your door and windows locked and stay safe. Be aware of what’s going on around you. Anything out of the ordinary, call me.”
Gordon looked at him in disbelief, laughing. “You think that her killer is after me?” He hunched over his knees, laughing louder, but with a note of fear in it.
Unamused, Dobson continued. “I wouldn’t be so flippant, Mr. McDonnel. Two of your high school acquaintances have been murdered. One of them your former girlfriend.”
Gordon crossed his arms in front of his chest, a kind of hug, calming himself. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Sterling stepped through the haze of cigarette smoke and stood over Gordon, glaring. “I don’t find anything funny about any of this. Do you?”
Gordon raised his hands in a defensive, pushing gesture. “What? I said I was sorry. Who’s going to waste their time coming after me? Nobody, that’s who.” He then paused, irritation showing. “And if you don’t have anything else, I’d appreciate that you leave now. It’s been a long day, and I’d like to relax.”
Dobson turned, only to have Sterling block his path. “We should ask him to mail the letter. You know, for his own protection,” she said softly.
Dobson stared beyond her in thought. Supposing that it couldn’t hurt, he turned back to face Gordon with a suggestion. “Have you considered mailing the chain letter?”
Letter in hand, Gordon looked up at him, unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth. “Are you serious? You want me to indulge this bullshit?” He then took the letter, crumpled it up in a ball with both hands, and tossed it across the room. “I don’t have time for this nonsense, thank you.”
Do
bson narrowed his eyes at Gordon and then turned toward the door. “We’ll be in touch, Mr. McDonnel. And you better hope your alibi checks out.”
“Thanks for your time,” Sterling added as she followed Dobson out of the door, carrying her shoulder bag. Dobson was already halfway to the staircase. She caught up and they descended the stairs together, walking through the yard and back to the Crown Victoria. She turned at the fence and watched Gordon’s windows to see if he was looking out, but there was no one there.
“Should we keep an eye on him?” she asked as Dobson opened the driver’s side door.
“We will,” he answered, stepping in.
She felt conflicted about leaving. It was a stretch to assume that Gordon was in danger, but they just didn’t know. He hadn’t been officially cleared, but something told her that he wasn’t the man they were looking for.
“Let’s go!” Dobson said from inside the car. Sterling hurried over while taking one last look at Gordon’s window. No one appeared to be watching them or taking notice, but there was an empty, eerie feeling to the neighborhood, more so than on Betsy Wade’s busy street. Sterling went around to the passenger side and got in as Dobson revved the engine.
“Don’t mean to yell, but we’ve got to wrap things up for the day,” he said as she closed the door.
The time on the dashboard clock said 4:30 p.m. Neither of them could believe it. There was still so much on their plate. Dobson glanced in his rearview mirror and backed out.
“Where to next?” Sterling asked.
“My office,” he said. He shifted into Drive and accelerated down the two-lane street, increasing speed as they passed the mailboxes. “Gordon checks out.”
Sterling turned to him, confused. “What about his alibi?”
Dobson took a quick left at the end of the street. “We’ll follow up, but first I want to know everything there is to know about Victoria Owens.”
Sterling pulled her notebook from her shoulder bag and opened it, reviewing some of the things she jotted down while they were talking with Gordon. “I did notice some strange mannerisms about Mr. McDonnel.”
“Oh yeah?” Dobson said. “Do tell.”
“He was hiding something. Not about Betsy’s murder. Something else. I sensed guilt and remorse. An aversion to exploring the past.”
Dobson slowed the car, ready to turn around. “What are you talking about? You think he was lying to us? Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because I don’t know!” she said, slapping the glove compartment. “I’m trying my best.”
“Do you think that’s good enough?” he asked in the tone of a teacher.
“Yes,” she said, glancing out the window.
He pressed the gas as they continued down the road, sun flashing in spurts from behind the trees and daylight gradually shifting to dusk.
“That’s good,” he said. “You’re doing pretty well so far.”
“Thank you,” she said while concealing her smile.
Tapping on the steering wheel for emphasis, he continued. “Trust your instincts, listen to yourself, and others. No theory is too impossible. And from what you’ve seen in your career as a police officer, what do most guilty people do?”
“They lie,” she said after some thought.
“That’s correct,” he said.
Once they reached the end of the residential area, he gunned it down the main road, where the station was only a few miles farther. The day was almost over and with all he had heard so far, he still had no earthly idea who could have mutilated Betsy Wade in the way she had been found.
Missing Persons
Dobson sat at his desk making notes on the computer as Sterling worked on adding pieces to the mobile bulletin board, a storyboard of sorts. So far, they had a map of the town with the areas of interest circled, plus yearbook pictures of Betsy Wade, Victoria, and Gordon, plus a picture of her ex-husband, which they got from the Internet.
Also, placed in evidence bags and pinned onto the board were copies of Betsy’s chain letter and the See you soon message, Gordon’s postcard, and the envelopes with the factory address as the sender. They had everything laid out but still had no answers.
It was already after five, and Dobson had just started his research into Victoria Owens. He had access to her case files, the medical examiner’s report, and some personal background information. It was a lot to digest, especially when he knew that he had to leave for home soon. Rachel was cooking lasagna and insisted that he be home by six. Penny wants to see you, she had texted, which was usually his wife’s way to twist his arm.
Sterling circled the location of Whisky Jack’s and pointed out its proximity to Gordon’s residence. Betsy, however, lived on the opposite side of town. It certainly wouldn’t have been impossible for him to drive to her house intoxicated, without being seen or heard, but it did seem unlikely. Whatever he was hiding, Sterling didn’t believe it was related to the murders themselves. There was something else, but she just couldn’t place her finger on it.
“Interesting…” Dobson said, eyes locked on the screen.
“What is it?” Sterling said from the board, arms crossed and head tilted in his direction.
“Victoria Evelyn Owens was murdered two months ago in a vacant parking garage next to her car.”
“What was she doing there?” Sterling asked.
“They don’t know. Her husband, Todd, went missing around the same time. They had a daughter.”
“That’s so sad,” Sterling said. “Was her husband a suspect?”
“He was, but they haven’t found him yet,” Dobson said.
“I wonder if she had received the chain letter too,” Sterling said.
Dobson squinted at the screen and shook his head. “I wouldn’t be surprised.” He paused and moved his mouse around, clicking. “She was a project analyst with LTD Technologies. They make optics for missiles.”
He studied his monitor some more, opening and closing the many open documents. As his eyes further scanned the report, he found something interesting and scribbled at the bottom of the page: victim had previously contacted police, relating to harassment from an unknown person. The pattern was clear enough. Someone sought her out for a reason.
“Apparently, she had a stalker,” he announced to Sterling. “Says it right here. But it looks like they never found out who it was.”
“What about names?” Sterling asked. “Did she tell police who it might have been?”
Dobson read through more of the report and shook his head. “Nothing yet.” His eyes stopped as he covered his mouth in shock. The words seemed a near impossibility, but there it was.
Concerned, Sterling rushed behind his desk to look.
“She was found with the top of her head scalped.” he said.
“No…” Sterling said, mouth agape.
Dobson scrolled down and then back to the line in the report, haunting and oddly reminiscent of the crime scene that morning.
Victim was discovered lying next to her vehicle with a fatal laceration to the mid-section of her throat. Victim’s scalp appears to have been removed with a sharp instrument, leaving no hair. No other wounds detected. Victim’s purse and car keys were found inches from body, suggesting personal motive behind attack.
Dobson clicked on the print icon as his printer rattled and began churning out the crime scene report. “I’m going to have to call their department in the morning and get more details.”
“It’s sickening,” Sterling said.
“Can’t argue with that,” he responded, just as his office phone rang, startling them. Dobson promptly hit the speaker button and leaned forward.
“This is Detective Dobson.”
“Hey there, Mike. It’s Gabby.”
“Hey,” Dobson said. “Sorry we left you at the victim’s house earlier. We’ve been chasing leads all day.”
“That’s what I’m calling about. Forensics is wrapping up for the day. What next?”
Dobson th
ought to himself then answered. “Nothing. Just keep the perimeter cordoned off, and we’ll pick it up tomorrow.”
“You want a patrol car to remain here?” she asked.
“If possible, yes,” Dobson said. “That would be great.”
“Very well,” she said. “Find anything interesting today?”
“We’re getting somewhere. Unfortunately, I don’t think Betsy Wade was the first.”
“How many others are we talking about here?” she asked.
“Just one other that I know of,” Dobson said.
“Oh no,” she said.
“Yep,” Dobson said. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
They said goodbye and Dobson hung up. Sterling stood behind his chair, reading the reports on his computer screen. Dobson glanced at the time. It was 5:30. Quitting time. He logged off his computer and rose, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair.
“What’s up?” Sterling asked.
“Time to go. I’ll see you in the morning.” He walked away from his desk and put on his coat, leaving the files and everything for tomorrow.
Sterling, however, wasn’t moving.
“You did well today. Go home and get some rest,” he said. He had his hand on the doorknob, ready to leave.
“We can’t just go,” she said. “We’re so close. I can feel it.”
Dobson smiled with admiration for her eagerness. “I get it. I know the feeling. But we’re not going to solve this thing in one day. You can’t burn yourself out, Sterling. That’s not going to help anyone in the end.”
She gripped the back of his chair, pressing her point. “What about Gordon McDonnel? His alibi? The chain letter. Shouldn’t we be watching him?”
He pulled at his sleeves, straightened his coat, and approached her in an earnest attempt to persuade her. “Yes. I already emailed my notes to Detective Harris. He’ll keep the ball rolling.”
Sterling looked around the office, as if searching for something that needed attention. Dobson remained standing at the door, holding it open. She grabbed her coat and bag and reluctantly walked out, taking one last glimpse at their bulletin board—which had the makings of an intricate and excellent crime map. She walked out as Dobson flipped the light switch and closed the door. They turned down opposite paths, weaving through the cubicles, and met up at the end, leaving the station just after most of the officers had already cleared out.