“Gather round!” Smoke called.
The deputies moved in. Mason, Carlson, and Weber were weary and worn. It had been a trying few hours for everyone on the scene.
Sheriff Twardy put his hand on Smoke’s shoulder. “Well done, Detective, and thanks to all of you. It was a tough day, and you made me proud of your professional conduct. Detective?”
Smoke scanned our faces. “I’ll second that. Thanks, Sheriff. We’re essentially done with the scene here. Let’s get everything cleaned up. Aleckson, you’re in charge of the evidence—the garbage bags, the casts of the hoof prints, the photos, the fingerprints. You’re scheduled for evening tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “You too, Zubinski?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sheriff, can we get their shifts covered? I want them to take the evidence to the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension first thing in the morning. I got court, otherwise I’d go.”
Twardy nodded. “I’ll call Chief Deputy Kenner to take care of it.”
I shot Smoke a “Do you have to saddle me with Zubinski?” look, but he chose to ignore it.
“Okay, Aleckson, Zubinski, I want you down there by oh nine hundred. I’ll talk to my friend Darin. He’ll be expecting you, unless you hear different. Bags, casts, fingerprints.” Smoke raised his voice to be heard above the rising din. “Anyone who took photos, get them into evidence a-sap. Let’s finish up here. Oh, and one other thing. I’m going to arrange a debriefing, sooner rather than later. I don’t think any of us realizes how hard this might hit.”
9: Langley
Langley ejected the first DVD and loaded the second one marked “Eve II.” She was nearly identical to Eve I in looks. He had done very well to find her out of all the harlots walking the streets of Minneapolis. If Langley and either one of the Eves had walked into a room together, people would remark on what a handsome couple they made. Eve was beautiful. That was what made her so dangerous.
He gave very little thought to his own looks. Once a week he trimmed his beard. That was about as much time as he spent on his own reflection. In college, girls would give him “looks.” Langley knew the young women were dangerous, and he knew what they wanted. But he couldn’t be distracted from his number one priority: getting through his studies so he could find the cure for CA. Sheik came first. His urges and plans would come to fruition in due time.
Langley grew the beard to hide his face, and himself, from the world and its women.
He focused on the DVD. Eve II closed her eyes more than Eve I had, but her pain—her suffering—was just as great and almost as exciting. Three days of inflicting the payback she deserved. When it was time, Langley had pressed his hands into her neck until life left those blue eyes forever. He’d placed her on his sturdy, plastic-covered table and set to work with his saw, dividing her into six pieces.
Langley turned off the television when the DVD ended. His memory picked up where his videotaping had left off.
Burying Eve II had taken more guts than burying Eve I, and was more dangerous. Langley had to leave her in Wolf Lake, where he had first read about the Levite and his concubine. It was the place he’d spent every weekend growing up. The place he had learned the joy horses brought him. The place he had felt almost as unloved as he did at his parents’ house.
Eve II was a little lighter than Eve I. Langley’s apartment was on the third and top floor of the converted warehouse. Half of the six spaces were vacant, and he rarely saw any of the other occupants. He’d made his way down the elevator and out to where his vehicles were parked. He cruised for Eves in his tan Chevy Malibu. His mother had given him the new silver Lexus coupe, a sleek, hard-top convertible to replace his older car. But Langley felt safer, less noticeable in the Malibu. He knew he would never drive with the top down on the Lexus, so the convertible feature was wasted on him.
It was nearly eight o’clock, and the sun would be setting soon. He had a two-hour window to get to Lake Pearl State Park, deliver Eve to her final resting place, and get out of the park before the ten o’clock closing time.
He’d made the drive to Hamel following all traffic laws to the letter, defensively watching other vehicles for sudden moves that could cause a crash. At his parents’ farm, Langley had moved Eve to the back of his stepfather’s Ford Expedition SUV and hitched up the horse trailer. Sheik was excited to see him and whinnied when Langley threw on his saddle and bridle and led him into the trailer.
They were going to the country for a ride.
“I’ll tell you all about it when we get you back home. I just don’t have enough time right now,” he murmured to the sleek animal.
Langley had made the drive in record time. He’d entered the park on the east side and drove past a few vehicles parked here and there. He kept driving until he was close to the west entrance. He pulled into a parking area and opened the trailer.
Sheik was ready. Langley threw both gym bags, held together by a sturdy rope, on Sheik’s back, then settled into the saddle himself. It was after dark, and no one was in the area. He rode Sheik to the little swamp that sat on the southern border of his grandparents’ property. He considered the swamp briefly—he was less likely to be seen—but turned around and rode to Wolf Lake instead.
Wolf Lake had been his view every miserable morning when he looked out his bedroom window.
Langley saw the glow of a television inside the house his grandparents had once lived in. He urged Sheik into a slower pace to reduce the volume of the sound his hooves made on the hard gravel. He led him onto the softer shoulder, and there was virtually no sound at all. They stopped on the west bank, far enough from the house to avoid detection, Langley thought. He unzipped the first canvas bag and removed the plastic-covered torso. Carefully, he snipped a number of holes in the bottom.
He’d held his breath when he hoisted the weight with both hands to shoulder level and threw it in the lake. Plunk. Langley allowed himself a quick look at the house then did the same with the second bag. Plunk.
Wolf Lake it was.
Langley sighed. Why did he feel let down? Disappointed? Had the days of torture with his second concubine been too short? Had the end come too quickly?
He had followed the same plan, the same time frame he had used for his first concubine. With Eve I he had never been higher, more uplifted, in his life—including all his hours on Sheik’s back. There must be something he had missed with Eve II that he couldn’t bring to mind. Langley had thought it would get better each time.
He was convinced the next time it would be.
10
Faced with rush-hour traffic, Mandy Zubinski and I agreed to leave at seven thirty Tuesday morning to get to the BCA by nine. At seven, I had the necessary paperwork completed for the evidence we were submitting. I ran into Smoke in the break room.
“Will coffee help?” I asked, stifling a yawn.
Smoke handed me the cup he had poured for himself. “I’m hopin’. You sleep last night?”
He made the best coffee—strong, almost espresso. I closed my eyes to fully appreciate the first sip before I answered.
“Not much. I actually preferred being awake to the bad dreams I had when I did conk out.” I shuddered. “I would shake people’s hands and the person would disappear, but their detached arm would still be moving. That went on for about half the night. The other half I was finding body parts—mostly heads—in random places. Remind me never to open the trunks in my bedroom or living room ever again.”
Smoke smiled slightly and nodded. “I had horses in most of my dreams, and when they got close, I saw their riders were headless. My Sleepy Hollow DVD is going in the trash first chance I get.”
“I hear ya.”
Smoke leaned back against the counter, sucked in a small sip of coffee, and rested the cup on his chest. “By the way, I got a hold of Darin on his cell this morning. He’ll escort you around the BCA.”
I raised my eyebrows. “And I suppose he’ll want an update on my love life.”
>
“He was pretty smitten with you when he met you last month.” Smoke studied me above the rim of his cup. “So, if he asks, what are you going to tell him about your love life?”
I had been dating a man named Nick Bradshaw for several weeks.
I added more coffee to my cup. “It’s none of your business?” I shrugged. “I don’t know—not much to tell. I see Nick when I can, which isn’t all that often.” I lowered my voice in case anyone was in earshot. “Plus, I don’t need Zubinski to have something else on me to gossip about.”
Smoke spoke quietly in turn. “Like I’ve said before, I think she’s just jealous because she doesn’t seem to fit in around here.”
“It doesn’t help that she has a crush on you,” I added.
Zubinski called my cell at seven twenty. “Want me to drive?”
“Thanks, but I got the evidence in my trunk already.”
“Okay, I’ll meet you by your squad.”
The Winnebago County Courthouse complex sat in the center of Oak Lea, overlooking Bison Lake, one of four lakes in the city. The sun had risen about an hour before, and its reflection cut a low, bright path across the water. The still morning did not allow a ripple on the smooth-as-glass surface. I was mesmerized by the beauty of it on the walk to my car.
Zubinski and I nodded at each other and climbed into the vehicle. We were on the road by seven twenty-five.
She was the first to speak. “I’m glad you’re driving. Between thinking about what happened to that poor girl and worrying my alarm wouldn’t wake me, I don’t think I slept two hours last night.”
I nodded. “I only hope we get the answers we need—who the victim is, for starters. And all we need is one good print from the killer.”
“How about DNA? Those bites on her body—you’d think there might be some DNA left.”
“I don’t know. With her being in the water, that might be gone, but I guess there could be traces. Let’s hope.”
I merged onto Interstate 494 and was flanked a second later by semi-trucks on either side. As I sped up to ease my claustrophobia, my personal cell phone startled me. “Corky here.”
“It’s Sara. I didn’t expect you to answer. I was just going to leave a message.” Next to Smoke, Sara was my best friend.
“Hey. What’s up?”
“The whole courthouse is buzzing with news of a dismembered body found up by Lake Pearl State Park. A dog found a woman’s leg? Why didn’t you tell me?”
I imagined the busy phone lines and mass e-mails sent from department to department.
“Things were a little hush-hush yesterday. And I didn’t want to call you last night—it’s not a good bedtime story.”
“That’s true. Oh my gosh, it is so awful. So what are you doing up so early?”
I eased into the left lane to pass the slower traffic on the right. “Mandy Zubinski and I are on our way to the BCA with some evidence.”
Sara made a half-laugh, half “huh” sound. “Mandy Zubinski, as in the one with the big nose and the big mouth who started the rumor about you and Smoke having an affair?”
Sara was not soft spoken, and from the way Mandy squirmed in her seat, I knew she had heard Sara’s words. Time to hang up.
“Sara, I’ll talk to you later. We’re in heavy traffic.”
“Okay. Later then.”
Mandy shifted slightly to face me. “Corky, for the record, I’m not the one who started that rumor. I admit, I did pass it on, though,” Mandy said.
I glanced at her face. “Let’s forget about it.”
“I just wanted you to know. When I heard it, it seemed like it was true. You’re with Detective Dawes all the time, and it’s obvious how much you like each other.”
“He’s an old friend of the family. He was my training officer, and we happen to have a lot of cases together,” I explained.
Mandy’s voice softened. “Yeah. But I can sure see why you—or any woman—would want him.”
Mandy still had a crush on Smoke, all right.
When we pulled in the parking lot at the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension, Mandy’s eyebrows went up. “Oh. I didn’t expect the BCA to be so huge. I was at the old facility on University. I had training there when I worked for Ottertail County. This campus is immense.”
“For sure. Just think, the four laboratory divisions alone have twelve separate sections.”
“I guess.” She was lost in the details of the building.
Zubinski and I slid our Winnebago County Sheriff Deputy IDs through the slot at the bottom of the bulletproof glass at the BCA’s front desk. A uniformed woman close to sixty studied our photos, then looked at us.
“Darin Henning is expecting you. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
“Thank you.” I smiled at the officer when she returned our IDs.
“You can set your bags in the sally port.” The officer glanced at the sealed evidence we carried in two paper bags and determined they posed no threat to the security of the bureau. She buzzed us into the inner sanctum to await the arrival of our escort.
Darin was all smiles when he approached and shook my hand.
“Hey, Ms. Sergeant Corky. Who’s your friend?”
Friend.
Zubinski stepped forward and offered her hand. “Amanda Zubinski. Mandy.”
Darin was near forty, about six feet tall, nice looking—what my mother would describe as “cute”—with short, thinning, light brown hair.
His blue eyes twinkled. “Well, if I’m not a lucky dog. Two beautiful women. I mean, it’s always good to see Elton, but hey. And I’m still a little peeved at him for keeping his nickname, ‘Smoke,’ a secret from me. Why should I care how he got the name?” He shrugged.
Mandy’s eyes widened. “How did he get it?”
“Oh, come on now, you too?” Darin’s voice took on a conspiratorial tone. “Seems when he was a teenager he started a fish house on fire when he was making out with a girl. She made a joke of it, telling everyone, ‘Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, and “Smoke’s” real name is Elton.’ Isn’t that how it went?” He looked at me.
“Something like that,” I mumbled.
There I was, caught in the middle of gossiping about Smoke, with Mandy taking in every word.
Darin clapped his hands together. “Okay, so Elton says you got a fingerprint card for victim ID, garbage bags to look for latents, and, ah, casts of horse hooves?” His eyebrows went up as he read the last note.
I nodded as he read. “The detective thought you might be able to come up with a breed on the horse. If—um, when—we find the guy, his horse’s prints at the scene will help us in court.”
We stopped at the Trace Laboratory, where we signed over the hoof casts. Then Darin led the way to the Fingerprint Laboratory. “Corky, Mandy, this is Brandon. He is a whiz.”
We acknowledged the introductions, smiling or nodding. “If he can’t get a match in Minnesota, he’ll run them through the Midwest Automated Fingerprint Identification Network, or MAFIN. It’s a database covering three states. If that doesn‘t turn up anything, he’ll check AFIS, the Automated Fingerprint Identification System. There are literally millions of prints there.”
“Wow,” Mandy said.
I handed our victim’s fingerprint card containing prints of each individual finger, prints of the fingers of the right hand together, and prints of the fingers of the left hand together to the capable Brandon.
Mandy and I followed Darin to another area of the lab, and he lowered his voice. “We’ll check in with Shelly. Brandon is a whiz, but Shelly is the original whiz kid. If there are prints, or any partials to be found, she will find them. Guaranteed.”
Shelly looked up from a microscope and frowned in a friendly way. “Hey, Darin, so you got company?”
Darin pointed at each of us as he spoke. “Shell, Mandy Zubinski. And you remember Corky Aleckson? She was here with Elton Dawes last month.”
Shelly’s frown deepened. “Oh, sure. You l
ook older and much more official in uniform.” She glanced at my collar brass.
“Isn’t that the point?” Darin crossed his arms and nodded.
“Nice to see you again, Shelly.” I handed her the package containing the garbage bags.
“They were in the water holding dismembered body parts?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“We’ll use the Alternative Vacuum Metal Deposition, or VMD technique. It’s the most sensitive technique for developing fingerprints on non-porous articles such as plastic bags. And in this case, the major advantage is that it can detect fingerprints on articles that have been in water.”
“That is so cool.” Mandy’s face lit up, and I caught Darin staring at her.
“They’re coming up with alternative methods to VMD, since we use a thin layer of gold followed by zinc. Gold, especially, has gotten so expensive. But how can you put a price tag on finding a murderer?” She raised her eyebrows.
My thoughts exactly.
“We’ll leave Shelly to work her magic and go check on Brandon.”
We crossed the lab again and found Brandon tapping away at his keyboard. Darin patted him on the shoulder. “What have you got, buddy?”
“A match. Her name’s Molly Renee Getz.” Brandon pulled the sheet of information from his printer tray and handed it to me. Darin and Mandy closed in on either side, looking over my shoulders.
“Pretty blonde. What a shame.” Darin clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth.
“She look familiar to you?” Mandy asked me.
I tried to place her. “A little bit.”
“It’s because she could be your sister, Corky,” Darin chimed in.
She did look somewhat like me—when I got up in the morning, before I combed my hair.
“Twenty-seven years old. Address is Minneapolis,” I noted.
“My age. Her mug shot, huh?” Mandy observed.
“Booked for prostitution, one week ago.”
She was safely in jail only one week before. We studied her photo and vital statistics. The recollection of her other body parts would be with me forever. Now I had a face to add to the memory.
Buried in Wolf Lake Page 5