Chapter Eleven
“I can’t believe this is happening.” Rachel Connolly lit a cigarette, sucked in a long drag, and blew smoke into the air. I wrinkled my nose, and she instinctively waved a hand around. “Sorry.”
I shrugged it off. “No problem.” On the contrary, it was. I’d have the smell on my clothes for hours. I focused on her. Detective Oakley had said she was upset, but time had left her more composed. “How long had you and Ivan been dating?”
“About a year.” She wrinkled her face in a cute way, then the sadness reappeared. “He’s not really my type. He’s more artistic than I am, and really kind of nerdy. I’m not like that at all. I can’t even draw a stick figure, and I’m a total extrovert. Not like Ivan.”
She looked like money to me. Nice designer slacks, gold jewelry, diamond earrings if I didn’t miss my guess. Her makeup was so artfully applied, you might not have even known she was wearing any. That was a skill I didn’t have. I was adequate with what little I put on each day. Nothing more.
I sneaked a glance around. The living room was big, with tan walls and framed artwork. The couch we were sitting on was leather. The newly-built house in the Cherry Creek neighborhood had to cost close to one million in Denver’s hot real estate market. The house had many artful touches, as if Rachel had used a designer to decorate. I was judging, but the house seemed much too much for a single woman.
“What do you do for work?” I asked.
“I work at a law firm downtown. We handle a lot of work for oil and gas companies, like Sundown Energy.”
I’d heard of Sundown. They were a large corporation working in the oil industry across the US and Canada. A lot of money there, and she’d obviously been getting her share. I could only assume she was good at what she did.
“I hate to go over something painful again, but could you tell me how you found Ivan,” I said, even though I’d heard it from Oakley.
She took another drag on the cigarette and tapped it into a fancy pottery ashtray. The house was quiet, and her voice seemed tiny in the big room. “We were supposed to get together for dinner last night, and he canceled because he had to finish some work. I’d told him that I expected a call from him this morning since he’d blown me off.” She laughed hesitantly. “That was kind of a running joke between us. I tend to cancel on him, and he always tells me that I need to make it up to him. Which of course I do.” Her face flushed a deep red at the sexual innuendo of the comment. I kept a straight face. “Anyway, he’d said that he would come early in the morning and we could have a little time together. I’ve been working really hard on a case, and even a little bit of time together would’ve been nice. Ivan didn’t show, though, and at first I thought it was nothing. I got to work, and I tried to call him. He didn’t answer, and I left a message.” She picked up the cigarette, then put it down again without another drag. “I’d gone out with a client for an early lunch, and after that, I stopped by Ivan’s house. I thought, you know, that maybe he and I could sneak in, a …” She stopped, and her face flushed.
That was more detail than I’d gotten from Oakley. “You shared all this with the other detective?”
“Yes. Except for the part about … you know, wanting a quickie with Ivan.”
“I get it. You have a key to Ivan’s house?”
She nodded, relieved that I didn’t press her on their sex life. “Yes. So I called Ivan again. I thought maybe he’d gotten busy with something, and that he’d like it if I surprised him. I came in the house and called out his name, then went into the kitchen. His car keys were on a little hook by the garage door, and I figured he must be around, so I called out louder and started walking toward the bedroom.” She picked up the cigarette again, and it wobbled in her trembling fingers. She took one final draw on it and crushed it out with force in the ashtray. “I thought maybe I smelled something as I headed toward his room. When I turned the corner, I saw …” She lost her voice. She stared out the window to a freshly mown lawn. “I’ve never seen anyone dead,” she whispered. “It was awful.”
I reached out and touched her hand. “Take your time.”
She sucked in some air, then said, “I might’ve stared at him for a moment. I’m not really sure. Then I backed up. I remember leaning against the doorjamb, not wanting to look at him, not believing it. I ran into the living room and called 911. I went out on the front porch and waited until the police arrived. They asked me some questions, and then a detective arrived, and he talked to me for a little bit, too. After that, he said I could go. I didn’t go back to work. I just couldn’t.”
“That’s understandable,” I murmured.
She took a few more deeps breaths, collected herself. “What else do you want to know?”
“Did Ivan own a gun?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never heard him mention guns, and I never saw one at his house.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Friday night. We went to a movie, then came back here. We talked over the weekend, but he was busy, so we didn’t get together.” She wagged her head in confusion. “I just don’t get it. Ivan seemed fine. Why would he take his own life?”
“You didn’t see any signs of his being depressed? He didn’t mention any troubles?”
Another little headshake. “As far as I could tell, everything was okay. He seemed to be happy, he was making good money, and things were good with us. You know he was a photographer?”
“Yes.”
“He’s quite talented. That’s a piece of what drew me to him. His work was good, and he was even looking forward to a photography show coming up this summer.”
I thought about all of the framed photography on Eklund’s walls. I hadn’t looked closely enough to know whether he had taken all of them. The one hanging above his bed had caught my eye, though. I sat back. “Ivan never mentioned any issues that might lead him to something like this?”
“No.” She looked across the room. “You see that photo?” I looked at a picture of a river, the running water cascading over some boulders. It was good, the light glinting off the water creating gold patterns. “Isn’t that something? A simple river, yet he made it come alive.”
“Yes,” I said.
I was about to ask my question again, when her face pinched, puzzled. “You asked about Ivan, whether he had issues that would lead him to kill himself. I don’t know, but he had been acting a little odd the last couple of weeks. He wasn’t himself. Not depressed, or sad, just … strange.”
“Strange how?” I watched her intently.
She dabbed delicately at the corner of her eye with her pinky finger. “He had a picture of a boy on his camera.” She looked back at me. “You know that he also takes portraits, especially of children?”
“With a company in Wheat Ridge.”
“Yes, that and freelance. It’s how he’s supported himself through the years. That and his nature photography.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t know about the freelance work.”
She nodded. “Yes, his nature photography is finally taking off, and he’s working with a studio, along with a lot of freelance work. Graduation photos, kids and family portraits, that kind of thing. He’s good at it, but he’d gotten tired of it. Anyway, I was over at his house a week or two ago maybe? I’m not sure. He was on the computer, and he didn’t hear me come into his office. On the monitor was a picture of a boy, and Ivan was staring at it. The photo wasn’t like Ivan’s usual stuff. Not a portrait, like so many I’d seen. This one was farther away. The boy was on his bike, not looking at the camera. It was like Ivan had taken it secretly. I asked him about it, wondering if he was trying a different style. He looked surprised, then he tried to close the picture, and said it was nothing. I asked him who the little boy was, and all he would say was it was a neighbor.” She gave a little shrug. “It was just odd. I’ve not seen him ever want to hide anything with his photography. He was proud of the pictures he took, but with that one picture of the boy, it seemed like he wa
sn’t.”
“You never found out who the boy was?”
“No.”
“Did Ivan know him?”
“If he did, he wouldn’t say.”
I pulled out my phone, got on the internet, and googled Logan Pickett’s name. I found an article that had his picture with it, and I showed Rachel. “Is this the boy?”
She took the phone from me and studied it. “Hmm, I don’t know.” Then her jaw dropped. “Oh my gosh. That’s the little boy who’s missing, isn’t it? I saw something on the news the other night.”
“Yes,” I said. I wasn’t going to tell her yet that Logan was dead. “And you’re sure Ivan never said anything else about this boy?”
She sucked in a breath. “No, I’m positive. But you know something more, don’t you?” Her lawyer instincts had kicked in.
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you any more,” I said.
“Ivan didn’t have anything to do with that boy. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
I narrowed my eyes. “How do you know?”
“Ivan’s shy and sweet. Ask anyone, and you’ll hear that he’s kind.” I’d heard that line before, from abusers and killers. It didn’t hold much water. She seemed to know that. “Ivan didn’t kidnap that boy.”
“What do you know about Ivan’s family?”
She thought for a second. “His parents live in Virginia, close to the DC area. I’ve heard Ivan talk to them on the phone. They seem nice. He has two younger sisters, both of them live in Virginia, too. I’ve never met any of them. Since I’ve been dating Ivan, they haven’t come out here. He took a trip out there last Thanksgiving, but I didn’t go.”
“Has he met your family?”
“My mother. She lives here in town. My father died a couple of years ago. I have a brother, and he lives in Florida.”
“Was there anything else in Ivan’s behavior that you thought was strange, or different?”
She pondered that. “The other detective asked me the same thing. The only other thing that comes to mind is he said something the other day about some woman losing her child, wondering what she was going through.”
My nerves tingled. “Who ‘lost her child?’ ”
She lifted her shoulders. “When I asked, he said someone he knew. Then he changed the subject.”
“When did he say that?”
“I don’t know. A day or two ago?”
Was Eklund referring to Audra Pickett? I thought. Had he snatched her kid and was he wondering if Audra knew that he’d done it?
“Is there anything else Ivan said that might pertain to the missing boy?”
She shook her head. “No, sorry.”
“If this wasn’t suicide, do you know of any reason someone might want to kill Ivan?”
“No, I don’t. Like I said, he was a nice guy, and he didn’t have an enemy in the world.”
I gave her a business card. “If you think of anything else that might be important, please let me know. Or let Detective Oakley know. Even the smallest thing might be important.”
She picked up the card and stared at it. “I’ve always been on the other side of these conversations, the one digging for information. Not the one giving it.” She stared at the floor. “I can’t believe he would have done this.” Her voice was small.
When I left, she was still sitting on the couch, staring out the window.
Chapter Twelve
“Did someone give you a laptop for Ivan Eklund?”
I was leaning in the doorway of the tech room, and Tara jumped.
“Don’t scare me like that.” She frowned and turned down her music, then pointed at her monitor. “I’m still working on Gary Pickett’s laptop. What’s the rush on this other one?” She pushed her glasses up. “Wait a minute. Who’s Ivan Eklund?”
“He died this morning, appears to be a suicide, but I’m not jumping to conclusions yet.”
“And?”
“He happens to live near where Logan Pickett’s body was found. Oakley said they’d be bringing Eklund’s laptop in, and I told him to get a rush on the analysis.”
She swore under her breath. “Wow.” She reached for her coffee. “Someone on Oakley’s team dropped off a laptop, but they didn’t say that case might be related to yours.”
“Did you find any photos on Gary’s laptop?”
“A few, mostly of the little boy. Also some military pictures, some of Gary back in his Marine uniform.” She turned back to her monitor. “You know this guy, Gary Pickett? His internet searches are pretty interesting.”
“Interesting?”
“He’s on a lot of political sites, far-right places. I checked a couple of them, and they have some pretty radical agendas.”
I moved closer and caught a whiff of her lavender perfume. “What are you talking about?” This was not what I expected.
She pulled up a document and pointed at it. “He’s been looking at a lot of sites that write about conspiracy theories and New World Order stuff. And he’s been on 4chan.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s an internet forum site where the users can post things anonymously. It was popular with anime, and then with gamers. It’s also been used for activist and political movements, because of its anonymity.”
“Lovely.”
“If you ever want some light reading …” She took a sip of coffee. “There’s been a lot of controversy surrounding 4chan, including cyberbullying claims, celebrity photos leaked on the site, and child pornography being posted there.”
“Did Gary post anything there?”
“Not that I can find. He doesn’t have any porn of any kind on his laptop.” She set her cup down and looked at her monitor. “He’s also been looking up some Colorado militia groups.”
“I’ve heard of a few. I don’t know much about them, other than that some are being monitored closely by the feds. I came across a group once on a murder investigation a few years ago. Turns out the militia group didn’t have anything to do with the murder. The group was harmless as far as I could tell, but there was some riffraff among them.”
She nodded. “Yeah, some just want to protect their rights. Others, I wouldn’t want to be within a mile of them. If you want any more info on militia groups, there’s a Professor Wilder at DU you should talk to. He’s a good guy, and a wealth of knowledge.”
I cocked an eyebrow at her. “Someone at the University of Denver is an expert on militias?”
Tara smiled. “It came up on another case.” She swiveled in her chair and looked at me. “Gary also has some emails back and forth with a guy named John Merrick.”
“Who’s that?”
“From the emails, I can tell he owns Gold Creek Gun Range.”
“Gary’s been calling the gun range.”
“Uh-huh. From some work on other cases, I’ve heard rumors that Merrick might be involved in a militia group. Nothing special on the emails, though, just ‘meet me here’ or some info on guns. I’ll have them on the report. Oh, on one email Gary says something about keeping it a secret, and that no one needed to find out.”
“Secret about what?”
“It doesn’t say.”
“Hmm.” I filed that away. “Gary is a former Marine. It would make sense that he would go to a gun store. He’s certainly an interesting character.”
“But is he a murderer?” Tara asked drily.
“Good question.”
“So far I haven’t found anything illegal on his laptop. But I thought you’d want to know about the right-wing stuff.”
I leaned down and stared at the monitor. “That may be enough reason for his not wanting us to have his laptop, but keep looking. I’ll bet he has something on here, something else he doesn’t want us to find.” I read through some of the information she had on him. “What are you trying to hide?” I muttered as I gazed at the screen. Then I stood straight and stretched. “What about emails since Logan died?”
“Yeah, I checked that first. Gary’s emails about
that are pretty straightforward, just telling people about how his son was dead. Not a lot of emotion in it, if you ask me, but then I’m no psychologist.”
“Make sure I get those.”
“I will.” Tara tapped another small laptop on the other side of her desk. “You’re going to have to decide. You want me to finish with Gary Pickett’s laptop, or do you want me to start on Eklund’s?”
I gave her a wry smile. “Both.”
She let out an exasperated sigh. “I’ll get somebody else to help me with it. You guys always need it yesterday.” There wasn’t malice in the statement. She knew how critical time was. “I’m getting lunch first.”
“I wish I could,” I said, then pointed at Eklund’s laptop. “Whoever analyzes his laptop needs to look for photos he might’ve deleted, specifically of kids. Eklund took at least a couple of photos of Logan Pickett around the time Logan disappeared. I want to know if he has more of the kid, or any other kids, for that matter.”
She gulped. “Not another pedophile?”
I held up my hands. “That’s what I want to find out.”
“Lovely.”
I gave her a “What’s this world coming to” look and left.
“What have you got?” Spats said when I walked up to my desk.
I sat down and heard the sigh of the chair cushion, and I felt the same sigh in myself. “Have you heard of Ivan Eklund?”
He shook his head. “That’s the dead guy?”
“Yes. He lived a few houses down from where Logan Pickett’s body was found. Shot himself in the temple.” I raked a hand through my hair. “Seems a little fishy, don’t you think? A dead guy’s discovered right near where the boy’s body was found?”
Spats stared at me. “You’re serious? When you left here, I didn’t believe it.”
I leaned back. “So far, the house is clean, at least that’s what Oakley says. I walked around, too, and I didn’t see any signs that would indicate Eklund had kept Logan in the house. However …” I thought for a second.
“What? Don’t keep me in suspense.”
Deadly Connections Page 8