A Death in Lionel's Woods

by Christine Husom

  I swore under my breath as I drew my Glock, pulled the flashlight from my duty belt, and turned it on. I kept the light positioned for maximum illumination as I crept alongside the side of the garage to the back of the house where Queenie’s kennel stood.

  The lock was unlatched and the door stood wide open. I wanted to yell, “Who are you, and why are you pulling this stupid crap?” But if he was out there, watching and listening, I didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of seeing me lose control of my emotions. I shined the light around my yard and toward the lake, where the back of my property ended. No movement, and no detectable human forms lurking about.

  I secured the kennel door and asked myself if I’d have to get a lock with a key for the kennel, or if I should just leave Queenie with Gramps until we found out who it was that, in Smoke’s words, was “taunting me.”

  “I don’t have time for this,” I muttered quietly then headed back inside. I took one last look around then pushed the button to shut the garage door. When I stepped into the kitchen, Queenie was beside herself with things to tell me.

  “Can you just give me a name? Or maybe a description of who opened your kennel?” As if. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?” I checked her over, and she appeared fine. No evidence of a mark anywhere. “Let’s get you some food.”

  I filled Queenie’s dish then nuked some more of the leftover lasagna I had been eating every day for five days straight. It was either that, or a peanut butter sandwich, but I wasn’t sure if there was any bread in the house. Normally, the first thing I did after I attended to Queenie was get out of my uniform. But I’d only had a granola bar and apple for breakfast, and a tasteless vending-machine sandwich for lunch. My stomach had been growling since Vince talked about biting into a juicy burger.

  While the lasagna was cooking, I debated whether to tell Smoke about the latest incident, or not. It seemed like I was running to him every two minutes with some added bit of craziness. In the end, I decided that since I had forgotten to bring home a camera, I’d fill him in later.

  Smoke phoned to tell me he was pulling into my driveway, in case I wondered who it was. It made me smile. “I’ll open the garage door to let you in.”

  He came in carrying a small surveillance camera. “I figured with all the calls coming in on Ms. Doe that you’d forget about this.” He was one step ahead of me. Like usual.

  “I hate it when you know me better than I do.” I pushed the button to close the garage door behind him.

  “I’m very observant, which is what makes me an astute investigator.”

  “How about a hungry one?”

  He sniffed. “Mmm. Something does smell good.”

  “I’m still working on that pan of lasagna, if you’d like some. I figure tonight is the last night I should eat it, and I don’t want to throw the rest away.”

  “Why don’t you put it in the freezer?”

  “Because by the time I’d remember it was there, it’d be freezer burned.”

  “Leave yourself a note.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Really, it’d be easier if you’d finish it up for me tonight.”

  “Oh, all right.”

  I took the plate out of the microwave and set it down on the side of the counter that served as a table, with seating for four. “Here you go. What do you want to drink?”

  “Got a beer?”

  “I do.” I opened the refrigerator and decided a beer sounded good to me too. There was a six-pack of Coronas so I pulled two from the carton and set them on the counter. “There’s an opener in that drawer next to the silverware.” I pointed. “If you’d grab some forks at the same time.”

  “I remember, and will do.” Smoke found what we needed while I dished up a serving for myself, and got it warming. We were eating and drinking in minutes.

  “Instead of throwing anything out, you can always send good leftover food my way. Anytime. It can even be of questionable freshness. I figure my stomach is lined with steel,” he said.

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Actually, I really don’t throw good food away.”

  “So you tricked me into staying, huh?”

  “You’re a pushover.”

  When we’d finished eating, we put our dishes in the sink, and Smoke picked up the camera. “You figure out where you want this?”

  “I’m wondering if I should have two.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was going to wait until tomorrow to tell you, but since you’re here—”

  “What?” He was impatient.

  “Someone was here again, and opened Queenie’s kennel. She was out when I got home.”

  “Damn.”

  “I looked around and didn’t see any obvious evidence of who’d been here.”

  “He didn’t bring back the missing cigarette butts?”

  “Not that I could see with my flashlight. Of course, the wind was blowing a million miles an hour, so a few light butts would easily blow away.”

  “True. So you’re thinking we should put up cameras on both the front, and the back, of your house?”

  “That should cover it.”

  “Well, we’ll mount the one on the front tonight, and get a second one tomorrow. We know someone was in your driveway, and in all likelihood accessed your house from the road. But maybe not. He could have come up from the lake. Have you been down there to check?”

  “No. I can do that tomorrow, before work. I guess someone could drive to the public access on Bebee, and come here that way. It’s a long trek, but they’d be less likely to be seen back there. Which adds a creepy aspect to the whole thing.”

  Smoke frowned and nodded. “Let’s get your ladder, and get this done.”

  I opened the overhead garage door and the wind gusts blew leaves into the garage. Smoke lifted the stepladder from its hook on the south wall, and positioned it where we’d agreed was the best spot: on top of one of the outside lights that were mounted on either side of the garage door. They were also motion detectors, so a person roaming my property at night wouldn’t notice the camera coming on when the lights did. And that same person would have to be searching for a camera to notice it during the day. It was compact and very low profile.

  Smoke set the camera, and the tools he needed, on the pail holder shelf, and climbed the ladder to the second from the top rung. I held it steady so it didn’t blow over while he worked. He was quick and had the camera attached about as fast as it had taken to microwave our meals.

  He climbed down then hung the ladder back in place. “Are you doing all right with all this activity at your place? Want me to stay awhile until you wind down for the evening?”

  “No. Thanks, though. For everything.” And then I hugged him, and he hugged me back, and held on tightly for some time, which couldn’t have been at all comfortable with my two ammo pouches and freeze-plus-three assailant spray on the front of my duty belt poking into him. But he didn’t complain.

  10

  Despite the developments in the Maisa Doe case, and the antics of the person who was playing harassing pranks, I woke up early Tuesday morning stewing over what was going on with the Hueber boy, and if he’d be going to school that day. I had asked Gramps if Queenie could spend the day with him so I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone opening her kennel and letting her out. Or worse. Surveillance camera, or not.

  Since neither my old GTO, nor my squad car, were vehicles that went unnoticed wherever they were parked, I’d asked Gramps if I could borrow his to run an errand before work. He never questioned me when I made strange requests, a refreshing change from my mother who never let me get away without a detailed explanation.

  I left the squad car in Gramps’ driveway then headed in his old gray Buick to the Huebers’ street. I parked two blocks from where I’d sat the day before, on the opposite side of the bus stop. Gramps’ car windows were tinted, but I put on a ball cap to cover my blonde hair, and slid down in the seat so my uniform couldn’t be easily spotted.

  Ho
use doors opened, and parents and their backpack-laden children filed out, and followed the same basic routine they had the day before. Right down to the missing boy at the bus stop. His sister made the bus, but the other young Hueber was nowhere to be seen.

  On my way back to Gramps’ house to switch vehicles, I mentally added a stop at the human services division to my day’s agenda, to find out whether the Huebers were foster parents, or not. And I’d check with Sara for any information she had from the probation officers who handled the juvenile cases. I returned Gramps’ car, and was in my squad car before eight. On my way to the office, I got a radio call.

  “Winnebago County, Six oh eight,” Communications Officer Robin said.

  “Go ahead.”

  “A party called who has some information for you. Sending the details to your mobile laptop.”

  “Copy that.”

  The call details that appeared on my screen informed me that a Eugene Dayton requested I stop by. He had information about the woman in the photo. Mr. Dayton owned Gene’s Grocery Store on the outskirts of Wellspring. I’d stopped in there from time to time when I was on duty, and had also taken a few theft reports there over the years.

  My heart sped up, beating against my Kevlar vest in anticipation that someone knew Maisa, and could help us fill in the gaps. Like who she was, for starters. I headed west to Wellspring, and pushed down the gas pedal, not quite to the metal. When I reached the city limits, I slowed down, and a few seconds later pulled up to the curb, and parked a block from Gene’s store. I radioed Communications I was “ten-six.”

  When I’d climbed out of my car, an older couple, walking hand in hand on the sidewalk, waved at me. We exchanged greetings then they turned to watch where I was going, no doubt curious that something of a criminal nature might be happening in their small town.

  A bell dinged when I entered the store and a middle-aged woman, straightening products on a shelf, dropped her cloth and walked toward me. “Can I help you, officer?”

  “Sergeant Aleckson. Gene Dayton is expecting me.”

  She smiled like she was in on the secret and pointed to a back corner of the store. “Sure. He’s in his office. You go right on back.”

  Gene was in his sixties, but his nearly wrinkle-free lean face made him look much younger. He was sorting through orders, with his glasses on top of his head. When I walked up to the open door, he slid his glasses onto his nose and pushed them up. Most people his age did the opposite. A nearsighted older gentleman.

  Gene stood, came to my side of the desk, and shook my hand. “That was fast. The officer I spoke to wasn’t sure when you’d get here.”

  “I wasn’t on another call so I came right over.”

  Gene nodded and crossed his arms on his chest.

  “I understand you recognize the woman in the picture we’ve been circulating.”

  Gene kept nodding. “I’m about positive it’s a woman who comes in the store once a week, or so. She’d miss a week, here and there. But then again, I guess I haven’t seen her for over a week now.”

  “How long has she been coming to your store?”

  “Ah, thirteen, fourteen months maybe.”

  That caught me a little off-guard. “Really? Um, can you describe her?”

  “Very pretty. Looks like her picture. Thin and got even thinner in the last months since summer. Her clothes were kind of baggy in the first place and they got baggier. It seemed to me she was kind of sad. And I think she was deaf.”

  That caught me even more off-guard. “What makes you think that?”

  “She didn’t talk. She’d look at me like she was trying to read my lips, but had trouble with that. Somebody told me that a lot of deaf people are good at lip reading, some aren’t as good.”

  I jotted “deaf?” on my memo pad. “Did she sign?”

  “Sign?”

  “Use sign language.”

  “Oh, sign language. No, no, she didn’t. I’d ask if she needed help finding anything, and sometimes she’d look at me, sometimes not. But even when I was sure I had her attention, she didn’t answer, like I said. She pretty much just got the few things she needed, paid for them, and left. That was another thing. She didn’t seem to know what things cost. Like maybe she couldn’t read very well,” Dayton said.

  “Explain that.”

  “Well, this was more when she first came in. I’d ring up her items and tell her the amount, and she’d look at me with a kind of questioning look. So I’d point to the amount on the receipt, and that didn’t seem to help much either. She’d hand me a five maybe, and I’d stand there, and she’d get out a ten. Well, maybe her groceries were eight dollars. So I’d hand her back the five, and give her change for a ten. But as time went on, she pretty much figured out the bills she needed for what she bought. Which wasn’t much. Some fresh fruit, vegetables, a bag of nuts.”

  “She never spoke?”

  “No. Toward the end she’d mouth the words, ‘thank you,’ when I’d hand her the groceries, but didn’t say them out loud. Like I said, I thought she was probably deaf. Or pretended to be, so she wouldn’t have to talk to me. Some people don’t, you know. Want to make small talk, that is. I figured that’s why she came in so early in the morning when I was alone, and not many customers were around.”

  Maisa’s early morning outings were reported by all the witnesses.

  “How early?”

  “Six, a little after. Right after I opened up. A lotta guys like to stop in to get a cup of coffee, maybe a breakfast sandwich on their way to work, at six thirty, seven.”

  “Did she drive a vehicle?”

  “Not that I ever saw. I think she always walked, but I can’t swear to it.”

  “Where from? Any idea where she lived?” I said.

  “No, since we never talked, I don’t know. I saw her coming from thata way.” He pointed east. “And I figured it couldn’t be too far away.”

  “Did you ever talk to anyone about her, ask if anyone else had seen her, knew who she was?”

  “Gretchen, my helper. In case the lady came in when I wasn’t here. You know, to clue her in. And I talked to a few of the guys about the mystery woman. But no one knew who she was, or anything about her.”

  I pulled the Georgia photo from my breast pocket and handed it to Gene. He slid his glasses to the top of his head and studied it a minute. “This could definitely be her. So she’s got a couple of kids? Why are you looking for her, anyway?”

  “We didn’t want to publish the reason in the newspapers until we’re able to notify her family. But it’s only fair to tell you that we found that photo with her body.”

  Gene’s head jerked back and his eyes opened wide. “Her body? She’s dead?”

  “She’s the woman who was found in Kevin Lionel’s woods last Tuesday.” I pulled a business card from my pocket and handed it to Gene. “We’ve been trying to identify her, find out where she lived.”

  Gene’s hand was shaking a bit when he accepted the card. “I didn’t know. I don’t know what to say except I hope you catch whoever did that to her. I shoulda pushed a little harder, at least found out her name, and where she lived.”

  I didn’t correct Gene’s assumption that it was a homicide. “I guess we never know when we’re going to need information down the road. Gene, I appreciate you helping us out here. And if something else comes to mind, you have my numbers.”

  It was a busy day with a number of calls for service. There was a garage burglary with theft of some tools, a dispute that was civil, not criminal, in nature, a domestic assault reported by a neighbor that turned out to be a loud verbal argument between a mother and her teenage son. Each call took time to sort out, and it was almost two o’clock when I finally returned to the office.

  I had been itching to talk to the supervisor of Winnebago County Child Protection since I’d been at the bus stop that morning. I found her number in the staff directory and dialed it. “Kathy Norton, how can I help you?”

  “Kathy,
it’s Corky Aleckson.”

  “Sergeant, long time no see. How is little Rebecca Eisner doing?”

  Rebecca was the granddaughter of a felon I’d been given guardianship over. She was adopted by her best friend’s parents, and I saw her as often as I could. “She is turning into a fine, healthy little lady. Still very sweet.”

  “Good to hear. We love success stories.”

  “Yes, we do. Kathy, the reason I’m calling is I wondered if I could stop by to talk to you. I have a family I’m checking on.”

  “Sure. What time?”

  “Do you have time now?”

  “I do. Come on over.”

  Kathy was a dedicated professional who put the best interests of her clients first and foremost. She calmly went about her business, which had a positive emotional effect on the majority of people she dealt with, including me. When Rebecca Eisner had entered the child protection system, with me as her appointed guardian, I was thrown into a tizzy. But Kathy had helped sort it all out, and worked diligently to find the best possible situation for Rebecca.

  The front-room receptionist pushed the electronic door lock release when she saw me, giving me access to the inner sanctum. Child protection workers were in a relatively secure area for good reason. They sometimes faced the same potential dangers as deputies did. Parents and other family members were often angry, and irate, when their children were removed from their homes, and placed with foster parents. Even when their home environments were unsafe, or downright dangerous.

  As a deputy, I’d been on a number of drug raids where the children had easy access to spilled methamphetamine powder on coffee tables, and other easy-to-reach places. I felt badly watching addicted parents cry as their children were taken away, but also had hope that would be the motivator they needed to kick their habits, get clean, stay clean, and work to provide a stable home.

  I popped my head into Norton’s cubicle. “Hi, Kathy.”

  She smiled and waved her hand at a chair. “Good to see you again, Corky. Word around the courthouse is that you guys have got your hands full on that Jane Doe case.”