11
On Wednesday morning I was waiting by the garage for Vince Weber and punched in the code to close the overhead door when he pulled up to my house at 6:55. I’d secured Queenie in her kennel, and would take her to Gramps’ house when we’d finished our search. I climbed in his squad car.
Weber raised his hands toward the sky, palms up. “Should we linger here for a few minutes to watch the sunrise?” He was full of his usual vinegar.
In place of an answer, I lifted my closed hand, and pointed my thumb backward toward the road.
He nodded. “It’s like that this morning, huh?”
I turned to him with a slight frown. “We can catch the sunrise on the other side of the lake.”
He put the car in reverse and backed out to the road. “Hey, I guess you’re right. Now I feel better. I noticed that almost-hidden camera on your garage. So what’s been goin’ on?” He waited for a vehicle to pass before entering the roadway.
On the few minutes’ drive to the public access on the other side of Bebee Lake, I summarized the phone messages I’d received, the trespassing at my house, and the acts of vandalism I’d been the victim of the past week. When he stopped at the intersection of Brandt and County Road 35, there was a line of cars, no doubt the early morning commuters. And per usual, each one slowed down when they spotted the squad car sitting at the stop sign.
Weber glanced at me with raised eyebrows. The lines across his forehead extended up to his shaved, bald head. “Huh. That’s some weird shit, all right. And doesn’t seem to be all that organized. You know, like a guy that breaks the windows on a bunch of cars. Or smashes the mailboxes in a neighborhood with a baseball bat. Or starts fires in old buildings. That kind of stuff.” Weber finally had an opening and turned right on 35.
“I agree.”
“It sounds like he’s after you all right. Tryin’ to get your attention.”
“It does, I know. But why? Until last week, I’d been off the road, working in the office for months. I haven’t made an arrest, or even written a ticket, since last spring.”
Weber turned right on Beacon, a gravel road a mile east of the one I lived on. He followed the path that wasn’t more than a tractor trail in the middle of a cornfield. “So it could be the reason you’re targeted is because you’re a cop. Plain and simple.”
“I thought of that, too. But what about those messages left on my voicemail?”
“Huh. Yeah, that’s the part that doesn’t fit with the theory.” Weber stopped the car about twenty feet from the lake and parked. The road and lake access had been deeded for public use by the property owner, which a number of fishers greatly appreciated. I sent a message to Communications via the mobile laptop, advising them of our location, and then we got out of the car.
Weber smiled. “The sun she is arising.”
I turned toward the eastern horizon, and squinted against the bright light assault to my eyes. “Looks like it will be clear and relatively sunny today.”
“That’s what my favorite weather girl reported on the news last night.” For some reason, Weber didn’t strike me as the kind of guy that watched the news. “So what’s the plan of attack here?”
“How about you head south, and I’ll head north. Most people fish this lake from a boat. The ones that fish from shore usually stay on this side of the lake where the brush has been cleared. Look for signs of someone hiking to the other side of the lake, and up the hill toward my place.”
“Good thing this is a small lake. I didn’t get my daily ration of doughnuts yet today.”
“I had a granola bar and juice.”
“Huh, a granola bar for a whole meal? That’s why you’re so trim, and I’m like this.” He patted his middle, and I shook my head. Vince was stocky, and muscular, and not the least bit fat. Nor could I ever recall seeing him eat a doughnut, when I thought about it. “Let’s get this done.”
The circumference of Bebee Lake was about a mile, and we each had half that distance to cover. The east side of the lake had a gradual grade from the adjoining field to the lake, making it a natural access. The county had cleared away brush and the small trees, and spread gravel for a more stable and less muddy boat-launching base. The other three sides had been left in their natural state, with mainly reeds and cattails growing up around the edge of the lake. The grade was steepest on the west side where it climbed maybe fifteen feet high, at about a forty-five degree angle.
I examined the ground from my starting point and Weber did the same. There were tire and boat trailer tracks mixed with footprints all over the area. Some were deeper than others, which made sense with the rain we’d had three days before. It appeared that two vehicles had been on the site since then, sometime between Sunday afternoon and Wednesday morning.
We worked in silence until Weber shouted from his side, “The underbrush is pretty thick over here. I haven’t seen any sign that anyone has been through here for the last thirty feet. Not lately, at least.”
“Head over here and we’ll walk together.” The majority of the parking area was on my side, and I was still sorting out the tracks and prints.
When Weber joined me, he confirmed what I’d surmised. There were two sets of vehicle tracks, likely a mid-size car and an SUV, or truck. He pointed to the footprints that went every which way. “I guess the important part is if any of these tracks head to the other side.”
We continued walking. “It’s hard to tell. Something’s been here, but it could be a large animal, as well as a person, walking here on the underbrush and fallen leaves. No distinguishable prints to see if we’re looking at a two-footed, or four-legged creature,” I said.
Weber waved his hand. “Let’s keep going. A person would climb up that hill different than a deer or wolf.”
When we reached the other side of the lake, and headed up the incline, we still couldn’t tell what kind of creatures had been there by the undefined depressions. We reached the top and took a bird’s-eye view of the lake through the trees. “It’s nice up here,” Vince said.
“It is. I sometimes hike from my house to this spot.”
“Through that hay field?”
“I’m careful when, and how, I go so I don’t wreck any crops. Vince, why don’t you walk south along the edge of the field, and I’ll walk north. See if we can spot any signs that a person has been up here.”
Weber crept slowly for a ways. “Got it! Looks like it could be shoe prints, and they appear to be going both ways. I think. But the rain has about washed them away.”
I jogged there and bent over to look. “Yeah, we can’t tell much from them, except that an animal wouldn’t leave that general shape of a print. And the pattern indicates human. Let’s follow them.” We had to search with our faces close to the ground to distinguish the path the person had taken. Some impressions looked like they were going the opposite direction, but we couldn’t be certain of that. The hay rows were thirty inches apart. It seemed the person had, at times, stepped on the stubble of the cut hay, and other times on the soil between the rows.
“Sergeant, got a question for you. Why didn’t we start our little journey from your place instead of at the lake?”
“You see how hard it is to spot these, and even be positive they’re from a person. I was hoping for better prints over there. And to see if they originated from the lakeshore.”
“Yeah, they aren’t great, but it looks to me like someone walked from the lake to here, maybe back again.”
“The question is when? They might even be my prints. I hiked here a while back, sometime after the last crop of hay was cut.”
“Huh, well that narrows it down.”
Queenie barked when she saw us approaching my house. “Hey, girl,” I called to her, and then realized in a split second what was wrong. She was free and running to meet us.
“Someone let her out again.” I sprinted to Queenie then instructed her follow me. We were on my lawn seconds later. One glance at the kennel latch told me that som
eone had indeed unhooked the latch. “Who is doing this?”
Weber came up beside me, huffing and puffing. “At least I shoulda had some Wheaties.” He looked from the kennel to my face. “So it happened again.”
“I am not going crazy, I am not going crazy.”
“You just keep telling yourself that, Sergeant. But hey, you got a camera set to record anybody back here.”
“Yes. Thank you. And I can access it remotely from a computer, so I’ll take a look.”
“Winnebago County, Seven fourteen,” Communications Officer Randy called.
“Go ahead, County,” Weber said.
“We have report of a two-car crash at the intersection of Aspen and County Thirty-five. Unknown extent, or injuries. My partner is paging the ambulance.”
“Copy that.” By the time he released his radio button, Weber and I were both running, with Queenie close behind. I got to the garage first and punched in the code to open the door. It was barely open when I scooted underneath it.
“Queenie, in the house.” She followed me up the two steps, and ran into the house when I opened the door. “See you later.” I closed the door and jogged to my squad car. Weber was in the passenger seat when I jumped inside and started the engine. “You’ll be at your squad in a flash.”
He nodded then phoned Communications to let them know what was happening. I activated lights and sirens and dropped Weber off in record time, then picked up my radio from its holder, and depressed the button. “Winnebago County, Six oh eight.”
“Six oh eight?”
“I’m in the area and also responding to that crash.”
“Copy, at eight fourteen.”
Weber peeled out of the Bebee Lake access and I followed him at a safe distance. The crash site was only a mile away, and we were there in less than a minute. Three people stood by the two vehicles, and no one was injured. Fortunately. The SUV was waiting at the stop sign, and the driver had pulled out then stopped suddenly when a rabbit ran in front of the vehicle. The older woman, in the car behind it, didn’t react in time and rear-ended the SUV. There was some damage to the front of her car, but it was minimal on the SUV. Weber cancelled the ambulance, and since he had everything under control, I headed back home to attend to Queenie.
Sara called me while I was on the way. “Corky, I pretended I was you this morning.”
“You impersonated a police officer, committing a felony, and you’re calling me to turn yourself in?”
Her laughter made me smile. “Very funny. No, I did the bus stop watch. I didn’t want to be sitting in my car since people know me. I went for a walk and timed it so I’d see who got on the bus. My neighbor boy was not one of them. So that’s the third day in a row. And I saw him working again late last night.”
“Man. Smoke pretty much agreed to talk to the schools, and I think that’s the next step. We’ve been dancing around this long enough. It’s time to turn it into an official investigation. Are you willing to be named as the complainant?”
“Sure.”
“All right, good. I’ll write it up. And I’m back on the regular work-rotation schedule of six on, three off. Oh, and Sara, I’ll be off Sunday. So if it works for you, I can stay overnight on Saturday to observe if there’s anything happening in the wee hours next door.”
“That’d be great.”
“The sheriff will want to know we have a legitimate reason to involve the sheriff’s department in a family situation. He may tell me to turn it over to Social Services.”
“And if that’s what happens, that’s cool. However we can get help for that boy is fine by me.”
We disconnected as I pulled in my driveway. While Weber and I were checking out Bebee Lake, someone had the gall to trespass once again on my property, and let Queenie out of her kennel. The more I thought about it, the more puzzled and irate I got. What kind of stupid game were they playing? Had they seen Weber and me leave my house, or spied on us while we were walking around the lake, or across the pasture?
I got out of my car and heard Queenie barking inside, but needed a few minutes to process my thoughts. I stood on the concrete and faced the road. My house was on a slight rise, making it visible from a greater distance than if it sat lower than the road. I knew the area around my property like the back of my hand, but had I ever taken an objective look at possible hiding places that someone fixed on watching me might choose? The answer was no. I had been singled out twice before by people who intended to harm me, but hadn’t considered that either one of them had watched me from a hiding place near my house. It was possible they had.
On the other side of Brandt Avenue, there was a county ditch with a grove of trees that had been left to grow beside it. Some farmers kept the ditches cleared, others did not. I turned slowly in a semi-circle, considering other possibilities of where one would sit, undetected. There were hills and valleys in the pastures and fields, but to have a suitable visual of my house without being seen, one would need a concealed spot. I walked to the back yard and did a visual scan from there.
There were acres of trees that stretched from the edge of the fields and pastures down to the lake. My house was visible from a long ways away. When I’d built some years before, I was thinking about the view I’d have, not the view others might have of me.
When I got to the office, I sat down at a computer to take a look at the camera recordings from that morning. My heart sped up at the possibility I’d recognize my taunter. As it turned out, the only creatures the back yard camera had picked up between seven and eight a.m. were Vince Weber, Queenie, and me. I rewound it back to the time the camera had been installed, and was disappointed there was no taunter to view. Only some crows, and a squirrel that searched the ground for food then ran up a tree. I brought up the front yard footage and was equally disappointed there were only the three of us recorded on that camera, also. I phoned Weber to tell him.
“Huh. So there was nobody who entered your property and opened the kennel.”
“But there had to be, Vince.”
“Maybe you need to find out if your dog has figured out a way to unlatch that hook herself.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible.”
“How about you put her in there then sneak around the house and watch to see what she does.”
Maybe I was going crazy. Or maybe I just thought I’d secured the latch. Or maybe the latch was defective, and I hadn’t noticed. Or maybe Queenie was a genius, and had figured a way to let herself out. “Okay,” was what I spit out.
I stopped by Smoke’s desk to update him. He looked at me over the top of his readers. A hint of a smile crossed his face and made me feel better. “Corinne, morning. You look troubled. Something happen?”
I sat down across from him and rested my left elbow on his desk. “I’m actually starting to wonder if I’m having some sort of psychological stress reaction. PTSD.”
“Why do you say that?”
I highlighted Weber’s and my trek, Queenie getting out of her kennel again, and that neither camera had captured anyone entering my property. “Am I the one doing these things to myself, and not remembering? You know, having black-out, or blank-out, moments?”
Smoke studied me with a solemn expression. “You didn’t leave yourself those messages.”
“No.” The calls had likely come from a prepaid cell phone. “The morning I got that first message, the morning you found Maisa and called me to the scene, was the same day these antics started.”
I used a prepaid cell phone I kept in a kitchen drawer at home from time to time. When I didn’t want the person I phoned to know who was at the other end. It hadn’t occurred to me until that minute to check that number, in case I’d had a spell of sorts, and left myself the message. No sense sharing that with Smoke until I checked the phone.
He reached over and took my hand in both of his. “When is your next appointment with Doctor Kearns?”
“I don’t have one set up.”
“All right.
Well, I think this would be a good thing to discuss with him. I don’t believe you are the one pulling these pranks, but I’m no expert in psychological disorders. Even given all I’ve seen in folks over the years”
I nodded. Psychological disorders brought scores of people into the criminal justice system, often through no real fault of their own.
“Meantime, do you think all the strange activities happening at your place are affecting your ability to do your job?”
The scale was decidedly tipped in favor of the Maisa Doe, and Hueber boy, mysteries when I weighed them against my home incidents. “No. I feel mentally clear. Focused. I’m obviously bothered that someone is targeting me, but I don’t believe it’s getting in the way of my case work.”
“Good. That makes two of us. And it might be a good idea to look at a different camera set-up. The ones we put up have a fairly wide pan, but we may need a wider one yet.”
“If the person saw us installing the camera, it’s possible he found a way to enter my property without being recorded.”
“Bingo.”
Smoke’s office phone rang and he picked it up. “Detective Dawes. . . . Great. Aleckson happens to be sitting right here, so we’ll see you in a few.” Smoke replaced the phone. “Edberg is on his way over from the squad room to talk to us about what he’s found out so far on Kevin Lionel.”
I crossed my fingers. “Let’s hope. And we need to talk about the Hueber boy. He’s still working late at night, and not getting on the school bus in the morning.”
Smoke nodded. “I’ll make some inquiries.” Bob Edberg stepped into the cubicle carrying a chair he had grabbed from another cubicle. “Or send old Bob here to do it.”
Edberg raised his eyebrows. “Do I even want to know where you’d like to send me?”
Smoke smiled and shook his head. “Maybe not. You got an update for us?”
Edberg set the chair down, dropped his legal pad on Smoke’s desk, and sat. He pulled his readers from his breast pocket, put them on then flipped a page on the pad. “Kevin Lionel. I’ve kept an eye on him for the past few days. Appears to be a hard worker. Up early, goes to the barn and milks his cows. I stopped by his house as a regular guy inquiring about farms in the area that may be for sale. Told him I was interested in a little hobby farm.”
A Death in Lionel's Woods Page 15