by Thomas Bloom
Chapter Five
He had sat in a lawn chair inside the shed and admired his handiwork. In a large beaker filled with formaldehyde was the head of his first victim. It had been easier than he thought. He’d gone to Lansing, the state capital, where he knew no one. It took three tries until he found what he was looking for--a young woman sitting in a bar alone. He ordered another of whatever she was drinking and asked the bartender to take it to her table. When she looked up in surprise he waved and motioned to ask if it was okay if he joined her. She just shrugged. He was not good at this but he managed to strike up a conversation. She was obviously in a bad mood and did not have much interest in him. She had been crying and had a rolled up tissue in her hand. After a few minutes she turned to dig in her purse on the chair next to her for another. He took the opportunity to drop a pill into her glass. After a few more minutes she started to look uneasy and said she did not feel well. He offered to walk her to her car. On the way she started to slump. He grabbed her under her arms and steered her to his vehicle.
He laid her in the back seat and covered her with a blanket. It was a two and a half hour drive back to Potawatomie County. He stopped at the half way point and covered her face with a cotton pad which he had laced with an anesthetic. He wanted to be sure she stayed totally unconscious.
After he dragged her into the shed behind his home he laid her face down on the apparatus he had prepared. Below her head he had installed a large trough which many years earlier had served to water the animals on the farm. From the bottom of the trough he had run a hose through the back of the shed and into a small stream about thirty feet away. He pulled on a cord to release the blade and stepped back. It worked like a charm. There was a solid thump and her head fell into the trough. The only glitch was that in the first few moments her blood spurted over the end of the trough and onto the floor. After that, as her blood drained it emptied into the trough just as planned.
He took a large curved knife off the workbench, cut off her clothes and placed them in a plastic bag. He then carefully slipped a body bag over her torso and zipped it shut.
He pulled in the hose and then sprayed the trough, the body bag and hosed down the floor. He recovered the severed head and placed it in the beaker. When he was done cleaning up he broke down the apparatus and secreted the parts around the shed. He threw some dirt and leaves in the trough and on the floor. He left the hose coiled outside the shed. Finally, he filled the beaker with formaldehyde, sealed it and put it in an old stall and covered it with hay. Anyone walking in would have no clue as to what had happened. It was late but he still had work to do.
He took the plastic bag with the clothes to a burn barrel by the side of the shed and soaked it with gasoline from a container he kept in the shed. He tossed in a match and stepped back.
He then put the body bag in the back of his pickup and drove about a mile over a back road to a dirt path leading down to the bank of the Kenesaw River. He carried the bag down to the edge of the river and then dragged a small punt out of the bushes nearby where he had secreted it. He placed the bag over the rear seat of the punt and slowly rowed into the middle of the river. He unzipped the bag and let the body slip into the water. It was a little past midnight. He knew the body would drift downstream and maybe even reach the lake before dawn. He really did not care where it was found.
When he returned to his home he stirred up the ashes in the burn barrel, put in the body bag, poured in more gasoline and relit the fire. Later he would stir up the ashes again, put in one last dose of gasoline and relight the fire. Tomorrow, when the debris had cooled off he would dump the barrel into the small stream.
One down and two to go he thought. How do you like that mama? He thought. Did I do good enough this time?
Chapter Six
It was late in the afternoon when Dusty got a call from the State Police Lab in Lansing. He spoke to a Sergeant Johnson.
“I’ve got good news on your prints, Sheriff. We had no match in our files but this morning we got a report of an abandoned car at a local bar. One of our officers was on his game. The car was registered to an Angel Lee Patterson in Adrian, Michigan.
“The officer called in a CSI and we took some prints off the steering wheel. They match your deceased.”
“Who reported the car?” Dusty asked.
“The bar owner. She came in to do some paperwork but she wasn’t working when your victim disappeared. She noticed the car in the parking lot earlier but didn’t think much about it. A lot of people leave there cars overnight and take a cab when they’ve had too much to drink and then pick them up the next day. When it was still there later today she got suspicious and called us. She said she has two bartenders. One works eleven to seven and the other from seven to closing at two. I asked her to call the second shift guy and see if he can come in at eleven tomorrow morning.
“There were some business cards in the car that identified her as a real estate agent with a local firm. We checked with their office and they said she had not shown up in a day or so but she frequently works with customers showing houses during the day so they did not think anything was unusual. They said she had been in a briefly the day before yesterday and seemed upset about something. They did give us her home address. It’s in an apartment complex they manage. We requested a search warrant for the apartment but the judge said he had to leave early and it would be tomorrow morning before he got to it. We should interview both bartenders later in the morning.”
“I’ll be there first thing in the morning. I want to look at the apartment with you. Then I’ll probably have to drive to Adrian. I don’t want her family to hear of this on the evening news. Oh, Sergeant, this was good work. Thanks much. At least we have some place to start now. One more thing, call the apartment and see if they have a master key so we don’t have to break in. We can try the bar when we’re done at her apartment.”
They agreed to meet at the courthouse at 8:00 AM. Dusty rose at four to give himself time to shower, shave and get some coffee before he hit the road. It was a long boring drive in the dark. He nursed his coffee and thought about his pending visit to see the girl’s family. This was the worst part of police work—having to ring a stranger’s doorbell, sometimes in the middle of the night, and tell whoever answered that a loved one was dead. He had found that the best thing was just to get it over with as quickly as possible. As soon as they saw you they had a pretty good idea what was coming next. It did not do any good to prolong it. Sometimes they asked him in to get more details and to give themselves time to recover from the shock. At other times they simply wanted to know how to recover the body. Almost never did they thank him. Who thanks someone for bringing them the worst possible news?
He had worked about twenty murder cases in his career. About half were as an officer and the rest after he had run for and won the Sheriff’s badge. Most had been pretty simple and obvious—acquaintance on acquaintance or family member on family member. He had always had a crime scene to work with. It was amazing the amount of information and evidence a good crime scene investigator could pull from a site. In this case, though, he had nothing. No crime scene and a deceased who had no apparent connection with the local community. Plus, they obviously had a perp with a serious mental problem. To commit a murder is one thing. Sometimes it was even logical. But to decapitate the victim was a whole other thing. He was obviously dealing with someone who had issues. That meant he could not use common sense logic to try to profile the killer because the killer was not using common sense to guide his activities. The mutilation hinted at some kind of hatred for the victim. But if the perp had picked her up in Lansing why come all the way to Potawatomie County to get rid of the body? And if the perp was local how had he hooked up with a woman who was born and raised on the other side of the state and who lived and worked one hundred and fifty miles away? Nothing fit and Dusty really had no idea where to go next.
Chapter Seven
The judge finally showed up at 8:30 and by
nine they had their search warrant. They called ahead and advised the property manager that they would be on site shortly and would need a master key to get access without having to break in. They found the property manager in her office. She was grey haired, overweight and not in a good mood. She informed them that the lease agreement gave them the right to enter the premises in case of an emergency but did not give them the right to give a third party a master key. Dusty laid the search warrant on her desk.
“I’ll have to clear this with my management,” she said.
“Look,” Dusty said. “Neither you nor your management can refuse to honor a court order. You have two choices. Let us in now or we’re going to break in. If you are not happy with that you don’t have to call the police. We are the police.”
After a pause she reached into a drawer and handed them a key.
“That woman is in no danger of winning Miss Congeniality,” Dusty remarked as they walked to Angel Patterson’s apartment. Officer Johnson just chuckled.
The apartment was a small, one bedroom efficiency—one bath, a small living room with a tiny dinette, and a kitchen barely big enough for one person. It was neat and clean.
They found a laptop computer on a coffee table in front of the couch. Dusty went through the apartment looking for any clue of friends or associates--anything that might lead them to a male contact. He found some work files in a corner of the bedroom but no personal papers of any kind. He did find a picture of a pretty young woman and a good looking man in a frame in a small bookcase in the corner of the living room. He took out the picture and stuck it in his breast pocket.
“We’re missing a bet here,” Dusty said. “There’s no personal paperwork here at all. This place is small and has no desk. I’ll bet she kept her personal paperwork in her desk at her office. Also, we need to go through the computer for email, tweets, Facebook, that kind of stuff. She’s probably has passwords to all that stuff. I’m no good with that kind of thing. I know you guys have a computer forensic department. Can I just leave it with you and have your guys go through it?”
“No problem,” Johnson said. “I’ll go you one better. If you want to leave for Adrian after we do the bar we will visit her office and see if we can find anything in her desk.”
They finally got to the bar about 11:30. They found the owner and both bartenders waiting for them. Dusty explained the situation and pulled out the picture he had taken from the apartment.
“We found this in her apartment. I’m not positive it’s her but maybe you can help with that.”
“Look”, one of the bartenders said,” I work the first shift and I’m almost positive nobody looking like this came in two days ago.”
“Okay,” Dusty said. “How about you?” he said turning to the other man.
“Man, I can’t be sure but she looks like a lady that came in alone about eight. She ordered a rum and coke and sat over at that table.”
“How long was she here? Was she alone all night?”
“Well, about a half hour after she came in some guy came up to the bar and said he wanted to buy her a drink. He asked what she was having and asked me to take another over to her table. Just about then I had a big party come in and start ordering. The next thing I noticed they were both gone. I assumed they knew each other but I’m not sure.”
“Was he the guy in the picture?”
“I’m almost positive not. The guy in the picture has a full head of black hair and no glasses. The guy at the bar had much lighter hair and was wearing glasses and a baseball cap.”
“Would you recognize the guy you did see? If we have a police artist come in could you help him do a picture?”
“Jeez officer, I barely looked at him. All I remember was he was white, average size and maybe in his thirties. I’m sorry. I only glanced at him for a few seconds. I couldn’t do a picture that would do you any good.”
“Okay,” Dusty said. “If you think of anything else here’s my card. Please call me.”
Dusty got the address of Angel Patterson’s parents in Adrian from her employer and started a long drive with nothing but unhappiness at the end.
Chapter Eight
It was late afternoon when his GPS told him he was arriving at the home of Angel Patterson’s parents. It was a modest ranch in what looked like a working class neighborhood. There was a two car garage attached to the home. The driveway was empty. He rang the doorbell several times and then knocked hard. No answer but a dog in the back yard started barking. He peeked in the garage window and saw that it was empty of vehicles. Probably both at work he thought.
He realized that he had not eaten at all that day but he was not hungry. His stomach was in knots over the job he had to do. Nonetheless, he found the local McDonald’s and managed to get down a burger and fries. He ordered a large coffee to go and returned to the Patterson’s house. There was no sign of activity. He parked down the street and waited. In about twenty minutes a rusty pickup pulled into the driveway. A man who appeared to be in his fifties and wearing work clothes got out and looked around.
Here goes, Dusty thought. He pulled into the driveway behind the pickup and got out.
“Mr. Patterson?” he asked.
“Yes, one of the neighbors called me and said you had been here. What’s the problem?”
“I’m Sheriff Dusty Donovan from Potawatomie County. Two days ago we found a body in the county and I have reason to believe it is your daughter.”
“Jesus, don’t tell me that.” The man leaned back against the side of his truck and put both hands on the hood to steady himself. “What happened? How do you know it’s Angel? Potawatomie County is a long way from Lansing.”
“We found the body in the lake. We matched her prints with prints we found in her abandoned car. Is this your daughter?” Dusty asked as he pulled out the photo he had taken from the apartment.
“Oh God, yes that’s her,” he said. “What happened? How did she get there?”
“We don’t know yet. I’m afraid there’s one more thing. I hate to have to tell you this but she was decapitated. Someone cut off her head.”
“Oh, Jesus. My baby in the lake with her head cut off.” The man sunk to the ground and held his head in his hands. “Angel was our only child. How can I tell my wife this? She’s got a bad heart. This will kill her.”
Dusty said “I’m so sorry sir. I do have some questions I have to ask you.” He just stood silently and waited. He knew that this took time.
Finally the man looked up and said “I don’t want my wife to hear this from you. She works at a diner down the road. Let me go talk to her and then I’ll be back. I’ve got some questions for you too.”
Dusty backed his car into the street. The man slowly got in his vehicle and drove away. Dusty settled in for a wait. He tried to get Sergeant Johnson on his cell but did not get an answer. He checked with his office—no news. He also checked with Amanda Stevens with the same result. On the one hand the logical suspect at this point was the man in the photo. But what was the connection with Potawatomie County and why the mutilation?
An hour and a half later Mr. Patterson returned to the house. He was alone. He got out of the pickup and motioned for Dusty to follow him into the house. When Dusty walked through the door the man was standing at the kitchen counter pouring himself a drink from a bottle of Jack Daniels.
“Sorry, I don’t drink much but I need one now. My wife is on her way to the hospital. As soon as I told her she collapsed. I told you she had a bad heart. The medic said they had her stabilized but who knows. Tell me what you want to know. I want to get over to the hospital.”
I just have a few basic questions at this point,” said Dusty. “First, who is the man in the photograph I showed you?”
“Some guy she met a few months ago. His name is Mitch. I don’t remember his last name. Angel brought him down a few weeks ago for Sunday dinner. He is an instructor at Michigan State in East Lansing. I think he said he taught math or science, something lik
e that. Seemed like a nice enough guy.”
“Was there any problem between them? Did she have any other male friends or was she having a problem with anyone you knew about?”
“Not that I know of. I don’t think we’ve heard from her since that Sunday dinner.”
“Okay,” Dusty said. “We’ll track him down. Here’s my card. If you or your wife think of anything that might help us please call. You said you had some questions for me.”
“Two—first do you have any idea why someone would have done this? Not just killing her I mean but cutting off her head. Second, how can we get her remains?”
“At this point I don’t have a clue as to who did it or why they did it the way they did. The body is in our County Coroner’s office. I can’t release it until he tells me we’ve gotten all the information from it that we can. It shouldn’t be more than another day or two. I’ll call you as soon as I know.”
“And how do we get her back here?”
“Technically that’s your responsibility but I may be able to help you with a courtesy transport. I do need your home phone and your cell if you have one.”
“Just a cell. Give me something to write on.”
Dusty gave the man another card. When he had jotted his number down Dusty took it back and put it in his breast pocket.
“I’ll be in touch Mr. Patterson. I’m so sorry about your loss. I hope your wife is okay. If you or your wife think of any other person she might have had a problem with or any other man she might have been seeing I need to know that.”
The man just nodded. Dusty got back in his car and headed back to Lansing where he would have to rent a room for the night. Fortunately, he kept an emergency overnight bag in his trunk. Maybe tomorrow would bring some answers.
