Deadly Connections

by Renee Pawlish

  “What might’ve Eklund been doing to the kids in the neighborhood?”

  He nodded. “Taking pictures of kids, being nice to them. It’s a perfect way to build trust, and then take advantage of them.”

  “Exactly.”

  He pulled a cigar from his coat pocket and studied the end of it. “I’ll see what I can dig up on him.”

  “I’ll see you back at the office, but I’m going to pop by the ME office, see if Jack’s working on Logan’s autopsy.”

  Ernie jammed the unlit cigar in his mouth and left without another word. As I started the car and pulled into the street, Spats called.

  “Hey, Harry called me. He said he left you a message.”

  I swore. “What’s he doing calling you?” I said it, but I knew. Harry needed something from me quickly, and I wasn’t responding. Before Spats could retort, I said, “I haven’t had time to call him back. I’ll do it now.”

  “I’m just the messenger.”

  “I’ll take care of it. Get on Merrick.”

  “I’m going to get some lunch, return Audra’s laptop, and then I will.” He knew my gruffness was a way to cover for my own mistake. I was thankful he didn’t call me out.

  The office of the medical examiner is in an industrial area in the crook of Interstate 25 and Sixth Avenue. It doesn’t have easy access from either highway, and I had to weave my way through side streets to get there. I was tempted to get a late lunch, but I wanted to wait until after I’d gone to the morgue. I did call Harry on my way.

  “Sarah, I left you a message.” His tone was pure frustration, unusual for him. It wasn’t often that he was that irritated with me.

  “I’m sorry, it’s been a busy morning.”

  “They’re always busy.” He was in a mood.

  “What’s going on?”

  “We’re supposed to go to that benefit tonight. It’s been on our calendar for months, and I paid a lot for the tickets. You said when you left this morning that you’d let me know how your day was going, and if you could make it.”

  I’d completely forgotten we’d talked about the benefit. I hadn’t wanted to go in the first place, but I’d let him talk me into it. I was mad at myself for not just saying no when he suggested we go, and even more irritated because in not wanting to go, I was being selfish. Harry does a lot of things that I want to do; I should be more willing to do some of the things he wants to. This benefit would help the homeless, which was great. I just didn’t want to hobnob with a bunch of his well-to-do executive friends. By his tone, I could tell that he expected me to be by his side tonight. I frowned as I stared out the windshield. My cases recently had been difficult, taking time away from him and from our lives together. He wasn’t going to be pleased now.

  “I’m not sure I can make it. I–”

  Before I could say more, he interrupted. “Sarah, I know you’ve been busy, but you seemed as if you would make it. You told me–”

  “I can’t help it,” I said, my turn to interrupt. “I’ve got a dead child, found in the dumpster, and I’ve got to work the investigation now, before any leads go cold.”

  Silence filled the line between us, a chasm I knew had been building. I had been preoccupied lately, and I needed to address that. But not right now.

  “Oh man.” He let out a big sigh. “Okay, I guess. Call me later and let me know whether you can make it.” He hesitated, then said, “I’ll … talk to you later.”

  He ended the call before I could say anything else. I’m sure he was torn, knowing I was looking into the death of a child. But he also wanted me.

  By now, I’d parked at a long nondescript building that was the ME office. I went inside, and as I made my way to Jack Jamison’s corner office, a vaguely chemical smell assaulted my nostrils. I hoped Jack had been able get to Logan Pickett right away. I’d been to plenty of autopsies over the years, and it’s something you never got used to. In death, bodies smell, and it’s an unpleasant thing that never leaves you. Right now, I wished I could’ve been somewhere else.

  Jack was sitting at his desk when I came around the corner. I popped my head in. He had more in his office than I ever would, pictures of his family on his desk, a picture of fall aspen hung on one wall, a bookcase on the opposite, full of professional books and manuals. He glanced up when he saw me and gestured toward a chair across from his desk.

  “Have a seat.” He pushed some papers aside, then made a note on one of them. “I pushed that boy’s autopsy to the front of the line. It’s finished, and I’ll have a full report for you later today. It takes time to compile everything, and I don’t like being rushed.”

  I didn’t have time for a long conversation, but he was going to give me the details however he wanted to. I sat down and waited. Through the open door, I heard voices, then silence.

  Jack scratched his jaw and consulted some notes. Then he finally picked up a file folder. “It’s already been a day. We’re backed up.”

  I knew that was my cue. “I appreciate you getting to this one. We need to find out what happened to Logan, and fast.”

  “Yes, I know. I handled this one myself.” He opened the folder and picked up a sheet of paper. “This is what I have. I didn’t find any signs of poisons, or any drugs in his system. I’m running a full toxicology, but that will take a while. However, on my initial assessment, he was clean. I didn’t see any signs of needle marks that would indicate he’d been injected with anything. He experienced trauma from the slit to the wrist, which is the cause of death. He bled out. My guess would be he died within a few hours before being put in the dumpster.” I knew there was more, and I also knew from experience to hold my questions. “He had bruises on both wrists, consistent with someone grabbing him. Besides that, he had a few other bruises on his legs and lower back, probably got them within days of his death. He didn’t have anything in his stomach, either.” He paused, and I knew I could ask some questions.

  “The bruises, would they be consistent with his being abused by someone?”

  He thought about that as he stared at the paper. “Possibly. Could I say for certain he’d been abused? No. I can make no determination on how those bruises came about, no clear pattern to indicate a weapon or a hand. I didn’t see any old wounds, although his left forearm had been broken, and two fingers in his right hand. I don’t know if that would’ve been from abuse, though.”

  “I’ll ask the mother about it.”

  “That’s a good place to start.”

  “No sign of head trauma or anything like that?”

  He shook his head. “Like I said, the bruises, and the slit on the wrist, that’s all.”

  “Anything that could tell you for certain this is a homicide?”

  He blew a long breath out. “You know I can’t make that type of determination. This could have been an accident, or someone could have done this to him. That’s up to you to figure out.”

  “Any way to determine what caused the cut?”

  “It was a clean cut. Hard to say if it was glass, or a knife. Certainly not a dull knife,” he mused, almost to himself. “It’s possible the wound was self-inflicted.”

  “A nine-year-old boy slits his wrist? I find that hard to believe, but I guess it could happen.”

  “A lot of kids these days are being bullied, and they’re doing desperate things to escape it. Some even suicide.” I thought back to my childhood. It hadn’t always been easy, but I’d never thought to kill myself. “If Logan did that to himself,” he posed the question, “who dumped his body in a dumpster instead of telling someone about it?”

  I raised eyebrows at him. “Yeah, that’s why we’re pretty sure this wasn’t.”

  He put the paper back in the file and looked at me. “I’ll email you the full report as soon as I finish it.” He pushed back his chair and got up. “I’ve got plenty more to do this afternoon. I’ll leave the detecting up to you.”

  I rose as well, and as I turned to the door, I said, “You have another case I’m inte
rested in. Ivan Eklund. A possible suicide.”

  He followed me into the hallway. “Oh, Eklund. What’s your interest in him?”

  “He lives right down the street from the dumpster were Logan Pickett’s body was found.”

  He stopped and looked at me with exasperation. “I suppose you want a rush on that one too?”

  “I figured Oakley would’ve already asked you to.”

  “Maybe he told someone else.” He ran a hand through his steel-gray hair. “Going to be one of those days. Only they all seem like one of those days. What is this world coming to?”

  “I was thinking the same thing earlier.” I smiled. “You’ll get to Eklund soon. I have faith.”

  “Faith, huh? I guess we need a little more of that right now. I’ll see what the schedule is, and if Eklund can be moved up, I’ll do it.” Before I could thank him, he held up a hand. “Don’t get your hopes up. Soon might be today, but I’d expect tomorrow.”

  I started to push him, and he shook his head. “We’ll get on it as soon as we can.”

  He pulled his door shut, gave me a little wave, then turned and headed in the other direction. When he disappeared around the corner, I left.

  Chapter Fifteen

  No one was around when I got back to my desk. I had stopped at a fast food joint on the way back to the office, so I set down the bag with my Wendy’s lunch and flopped into my chair. I stretched and let out a satisfying groan, then dug into the bag for my hamburger. My mouth watered as I bit into it. It wasn’t healthy, but it was damn good. I took a few minutes to eat the rest of the burger, and munched on some French fries. I sipped some soda, then wiped my hands with a napkin. I pushed my fries to the side.

  Another notebook had been left on my desk. I opened it up and as I nibbled on the fries, I began scanning pages, all about Gary Pickett, which was good. I wanted to know everything about the man that I could. The notebook was full. The techs had had plenty of time to dig into him. And it was enlightening.

  Gary was from Sacramento, and had one younger sister. His parents were still married, and they still owned the house Gary had grown up in. He’d been an average student, and had played on the football and baseball teams in high school. He’d worked odd jobs after he graduated, then had joined the Marines at age twenty. He enlisted for four years, and he had done one tour in Iraq. He’d risen to the rank of Lance Corporal, which was the third-lowest among enlisted ranks. A side note said that enlisted Marines that are never promoted to a higher rank are known as “Terminal Lances.” Had Gary shown no interest in promotion, or was he not good enough? I wondered.

  I ate a few fries and kept reading. Gary was an expert marksman, and his record was impeccable, no trouble while he’d been in. On the other hand, his service wasn’t particularly distinctive. He had been stationed in San Diego, and had come to Denver at the end of his service. I flipped pages and found his marriage license. He’d married Audra in San Diego while he was still in the Marines.

  “There has to be someone who can tell me what you were really like in the Marines,” I muttered to myself. His file said that he had a Facebook profile, and I got on the internet and looked it up. I couldn’t see everything because he had some privacy settings in place, but I was able to scroll through and see some posts. He had a lot with pictures of him in the mountains, hiking or cycling, and some with him fishing. None with him and Logan. Then I came across one of him where he had tagged John Merrick. I went to John Merrick’s Facebook profile, but his settings were locked down, and I couldn’t see anything. I went back to Gary’s page and studied the photo of him and Merrick. I couldn’t say for sure, but it looked as if they were in front of Merrick’s gun store. They appeared smiling and friendly.

  I looked through more of his photos and came upon a picture of Gary with another man, both in uniform. His friend–Elroy Burke–had been tagged in the photo. I wondered what Gary was like as a Marine. On the surface, he’d been a model soldier, if not outstanding. But were there any cracks in that image? I got on my computer and found some information about Elroy Burke. He was living in Washington, DC, working at a consulting firm, and I was able to find a phone number for him. I called it, was routed twice, and then a sharp male voice answered. “Elroy Burke’s office. May I help you?”

  I identified myself. “I need to speak to Mr. Burke please. It’s an urgent matter.”

  “He isn’t here right now. May I have him call you back?” All business.

  “That’ll be fine.” I gave him my name and number, and hung up.

  I stared at the phone for a second, then went back to reading through the notebook. The techs doing the research had been thorough.

  I sipped more Coke, ate the rest of my fries, and turned pages. Once out of the military, Gary had started working with another agent at a State Farm insurance office in Lakewood, and then he opened up his own office. His tax records showed he made around eighty thousand per year, a decent salary for an insurance agent, and he didn’t have any negative work history. He didn’t belong to any professional organizations, and he had no credit card debt.

  His divorce agreement showed that he wasn’t paying any maintenance to Audra, but he was paying child support to her, and he was on time every month. He had received a chunk of change from Audra, most likely his half of the value of the house they’d bought together, and he turned around and bought a new house. He owned a newer Toyota Tacoma truck, and the Camaro that he’d said he was restoring. He had several thousand dollars in savings, he had stock investments in a 401k, and an IRA. He paid his bills on time and had a good credit score. On paper at least, Gary looked fiscally sound. The only chink in his armor was that he’d had three speeding tickets over the last few years. He had no other criminal history.

  “Am I missing something?” I asked myself as I stared at a picture of his driver’s license photo. I shook my head. “You lied to me, and that makes me suspicious.”

  I was about to see if I could find other social media accounts for him when my desk phone rang.

  “Spillman.”

  “This is Elroy Burke,” a deep male voice said. “You called me?” The tone was brisk, someone who was accustomed to telling people what to do, rather than being on the receiving end of questions.

  “Thank you for returning my call,” I said. I went for a sympathizing tone, conveying that I knew how busy he was, and that I was grateful for his taking time to talk to me. I identified myself, then said, “I understand that you were in the Marines with a gentleman named Gary Pickett?”

  “Gary? Yeah, I remember him. We were buddies. He’s someone you’d want to go into battle with. What’s this about?”

  I wanted Burke to keep talking, so I explained only that I was working on a possible murder, and that Gary’s name came up.

  “How unfortunate,” Burke said. “I’m not sure how Gary might be involved in your investigation, but I can assure you he was a good Marine.”

  “I looked at Gary’s Marine service. He never advanced beyond Lance Corporal.”

  “Yes, that’s true. Some guys don’t want a career in the Marines. Gary might have initially, but after he came back from Iraq, he’d lost interest. If you ask me, his experience there gave him a different perspective. It happens.” He cleared his throat, a deep, husky sound. “What’s this call about? Is Gary in some kind of trouble? Because I would think twice about that. With the exception of one minor incident when we were in California, he didn’t give anyone any trouble.”

  “One incident?”

  “It was nothing, really,” he brushed it off. “Maybe I shouldn’t talk about this.”

  I put on some pressure. “I’m in the middle of a murder investigation. It’s imperative I learn as much about Gary as I can.”

  “Is Gary a suspect?”

  “I can’t divulge that,” I said.

  A long silence stretched through the phone line. I heard him take a deep breath.

  “You could be helping him.”

  “Whe
n he came back from his tour, he got into an argument with his wife,” he said. “Things got a little out of hand, they had a big fight, and his wife called my wife. I went over there to diffuse the situation.”

  “Were the police called?”

  “I was able to smooth it over without calling anyone. It really wasn’t a big thing, and Logan was okay in the long run, so we never reported it to anyone.”

  I took a gamble. “Logan was okay?”

  “He’d fallen down and broken his arm. Gary assured me it was an accident, and Audra said the same thing.” His sigh was loud. “I know it sounds bad, but Gary was a good friend. I know that sometimes guys have trouble when they return from a tour overseas, and I didn’t want to see his career end in any trouble. I worked with him after that, talked to him, and things seemed to be okay. He finished his enlistment, and I heard that he was out of the Marines and doing well. Is that not the case?”

  “As far as I know, he’s done well for himself, selling insurance.” I wasn’t going to tell him about Logan. He could find that out another way. “So other than this little altercation, you didn’t have any other trouble with Gary? He never had other domestic disputes with his wife?”

  “Not that I’m aware of, and he would’ve told me. There was that one incident, and I chalked it up to just a bad time after he returned from Iraq. Nothing more than that.”

  It was obvious he wanted me to believe him. I found myself wondering if he’d covered up other domestic disputes for Gary.

  “How was Gary in the field, with other guys? Did he have a temper, anything like that?”

  “No, he had good leadership skills. He would’ve made a good commanding officer, but he didn’t want that. I can understand. It’s not for everyone.”

  “His fellow Marines liked him?”

  “For the most part. Not everyone hits it off with each other, but Gary had a way about him. He could get people to follow him, a natural-born leader.”

  “Did he ever get into any bar fights, things like that?”