“No, and like I said, it wouldn’t do any good. They know what they’re doing. The Family has been operating for many centuries.”
“Nichole, thank you, very, very much.” I took her hand in both of mine and squeezed. “You are incredibly brave. Come on, I’ll walk you out. And you have my business card?”
“I do.”
“I appreciate you being so straightforward with me. Your story would be impossible for most people to tell.”
“You’re welcome. I wouldn’t have been able to a few years ago, but it’s gotten easier. I just hope it helps whoever you’re working with.”
I nodded. Gregory Trippen had revealed few details of what had happened to him personally, with the exception of the box burials and the cross branding. Jeffrey was planning to end his life, most likely because of ritual abuse. The details Nichole had given me provided a better understanding of the abusive practices. I silently vowed to do whatever I could to help however I could.
“Nichole, I’m going to talk to the county attorney, put in a good word for Collin, and request that he not do any more jail time for the domestic.”
Her face brightened with another smile. “Thank you.”
It had quit raining. I escorted Nichole to the south entrance to avoid going through the sally ports again. We cut through the squad room, where three deputies were working on reports or catching up on department business. I did the customary nods of acknowledgement as we passed through. Edberg, Stauder, and Brooks did the same, eyeing Nichole and no doubt wondering who she was and why she was there.
When we got to the exit doors, Nichole turned to me and whispered, “I have something important to tell you.” She looked toward the hallway we had walked down. “Where no one can hear us.”
What had suddenly occurred to her? “Should we step outside?”
She nodded, and I followed her out the door. She stopped, glanced at the intercom on the side of the building next to her then walked to the end of the veranda.
“What is it, Nichole?”
Her facial color paled, and a frown replaced the smile from a minute before. “When we went through the room where those officers were just now?”
“Yes?”
“There is an evil force in there.”
“What kind of an evil force?” Had she spotted the photos of Jeffrey Trippen and his dagger?
“One of those men is saturated with demonic influence.”
28
“Face your demon,” my brother always told me whenever I wrestled with a personal or professional struggle. I pondered his words all the way to the squad room. John Carl’s words had taken on a whole new meaning given the case I was working on. Ask Nichole Jaspers. Collin Jaspers. Jeffrey Trippen. Gregory Trippen. Greg even said he and Jeff had too many demons.
I looked at the three deputies, men I had known as long as I’d been with the sheriff’s department. Because of his connection to the Harlan Manthes shooting investigation, and the fact that I had seen him coming out of my home den office the night of my party, Deputy Bob Edberg was my prime suspect. But saturated with demonic influence? How could I tell?
“A friend of yours?” Stauder asked as I checked my mailbox cubby.
I turned to face him. “A follow-up on a domestic.” Not completely truthful. I was not going to reveal Nichole’s identity.
Edberg frowned slightly.
Stauder pointed his pen at the bulletin board. “Your ATL guy hasn’t shown up yet.”
“Not yet.”
“What’s his story? Why are we looking for a guy from Vermont in Minnesota?”
“He’s a transient. Could be anywhere, I guess. He lived here as a kid,” I said.
“Thank you for the party the other night,” Brooks said, effectively changing the subject.
With the exception of someone accessing my computer and keying my GTO, it was a nice evening. “Sure.”
“The county attorneys and public defenders can be kind of fun. I’ve never partied with them before. We’ve got Julie Grimes in our group for the team-building exercise, so it was good to get to know her a little better,” Stauder said.
“Julie’s great. Yeah, we got Eric Stueman in our group. I can’t wait.” I rolled my eyes.
Brooks cracked a small grin.
“He is one serious dude. I was surprised to see him the other night. He wasn’t even around when Eisner was doing her dastardly deeds,” I added.
Stauder shrugged. “He hasn’t been here long. Maybe he wants to meet some more people.”
“Or maybe Collinwood made him go,” Edberg said.
That was the more likely scenario. Time to get down to business.
“Bob, I need you for a minute.”
Edberg raised his eyebrows, pushed his chair back from the computer, and followed me into the small office set aside for the sergeants to review reports or talk to other sergeants and deputies in private.
The space was limited. The desk wasn’t much bigger than a student’s classroom desk, and the chairs were molded plastic with metal legs. Someone had told me they had been there since the seventies. I closed the door, then sat down in one chair. Edberg sat in the other.
Nichole’s words replayed in my mind. If there were evil vibes emanating from Edberg, I didn’t sense them. Was I losing my edge, or were my intuitions limited to matters in the physical world, as I suspected? Bob waited while I weighed my words.
“I have a couple of things to run by you, Bob.”
“Shoot.”
“The other night at the party, when I saw you coming out of my den office, you said you were making a phone call.”
“Yes?” He was hesitant.
“Did you use the computer, too?”
“Your home computer? No, why? What’s this about?”
“It’s okay if you did. I just need to know.”
“Are you accusing me of something?” he said.
“No, I’m not. You were in there with the door closed, so you’re the first one I’m asking about it.”
“I was in there to make a call, like I said. To my mother. I saw I had a missed call from her and needed to check. She doesn’t phone me unless she really needs something.” He frowned slightly. “Something happen to your computer?”
“No, nothing. It’s fine. I’m not trying to blow this out of proportion, but it’s a little curious. Sometime in the middle of the party, someone went into my den office and used the computer without asking me first.”
“That is downright rude. If you didn’t see anyone, how do you know it happened? A guy checking out porn sites and forgot to delete them?”
“No. I had the computer off and the cabinet doors closed before the party. Someone used it and left it on and the doors open.”
Edberg scratched his chin, thinking a moment. “Huh. Well, the way I recollect it, the cabinet was open and the computer was flashing when I was there.”
“Notice anybody going in or coming out during the evening?”
He shook his head. “Wasn’t paying attention one way or the other. I was just looking for a quiet spot to make that call. The bathroom was occupied, so I went into your office. Sorry if I was out of line.”
“No need to be. No big deal. I want my guests to feel welcome in my home.”
“But not use your computer behind your back.”
“Exactly.” The next subject was more important. “Bob, do you remember a hunting accident from a number of years ago, during deer season? A man by the name of Harlan Manthes got shot and died.”
Edberg’s relaxed expression tensed. “Yes?”
“You wrote a report. Remember any details?”
Edberg shook his head and lowered his voice. “We can’t talk about it here. They have spies.”
First Armstrong, now Edberg. Did they think the place was bugged?
“I’ll meet you somewhere,” he said.
“Smoke Dawes is interested in what you have to say, too.”
A single nod. “I trust Dawes.
”
“He’s tied up this afternoon, but I’ll call him later and see what his schedule is like this evening, or tomorrow.”
“Winnebago County, Seven oh three,” Communications officer Jerry called.
Edberg stood and depressed the call button on his radio. “Seven oh three.”
“Report of a speeding motorcycle leaving the roadway and landing in a ditch in Maysville Township. Unknown injuries. My partner is paging an ambulance.”
“Ten-four.” He gave me a hasty nod and hurried off.
29
I dialed Smoke’s phone at five thirty. “Hi. Still at your nephew’s ballgame?”
“No, it’s over. They won, and what a game. The bases were loaded in the bottom of the ninth and Josh hit a home run, so he’s pretty pumped. We all are.”
I heard an oldies tune playing on his car radio. “You on your way home?”
“Yeah, just coming into Oak Lea. What’s up?”
“I had a chat with Edberg about my computer and the missing Manthes reports.”
“And?”
“He said he noticed the computer was on when he was in the den office making his phone call. And guess what? When I asked about the file, he acted about the same way Armstrong did when we confronted him. He didn’t want to talk at the office.”
“Edberg too?”
“I know. It’s like a conspiracy theory. What is real? I thought you’d want to be in on the conversation when I talk to him.”
“When and where?”
“He’s covering the One two six area. We could meet in your driveway. Edberg’s not out on anything right now. He cleared from a crash a few minutes ago. Should we say ten to twenty minutes, depending on where he is?”
“That’ll work.”
When we hung up, I called Edberg. “Bob, what’s your twenty?”
“County Thirty-five, passing County Nine.”
“Are you clear to meet?”
“Sure.”
“You know where Smoke Dawes lives?”
“Sure.”
“Meet you there in ten?”
“Copy.”
Smoke lived a few miles west of me in a log home in the woods, on his own private lake. He was in his yard playing fetch with his dog Rex when I pulled up to the garage and parked. As I got out of the car, I heard a vehicle coming down the driveway. Edberg. He stopped, got out, and the three of us gathered under a tree.
Smoke locked his eyes on Edberg. “Okay, Bob, tell us what you know.”
“Why this sudden interest in a closed case?”
“I got a call from someone asking about it,” I said.
“It have anything to do with the missing kid? Jeffrey Trippen?”
“Why do you ask?” Smoke said.
“That case has haunted me for twenty years. I see the faces of those little boys nearly every day of my life. Jeffrey Trippen is Jeffrey Manthes. I recognized him right away when I saw his picture in the squad room. Even with the beard. Brother’s name is Gregory. Their mother disappeared with the boys a couple of years after Harlan Manthes was killed.”
Edberg was a veteran cop. Very little slid by him.
Smoke shifted. “You said the case haunted you?”
“I didn’t think for one minute the shooting was an accident. There were three other hunters with Manthes. If one guy points and says, ‘deer,’ maybe one other guy will be convinced he sees the same thing. But not two. Just wouldn’t happen. I’ve been on enough hunts to know that much. I was the second one on the scene after Armstrong. The scene was compromised, evidence tampered with. Detective Walden’s report, in my opinion, seemed like a cover-up for the hunters. All professionals. Doctor, pharmacist, undertaker. I wasn’t exactly quiet about my concerns.”
“So what happened?”
“I filed my report, and the next day I got a phone call. The voice was muffled. Deep voice, tried to sound scary. Did sound scary. Told me to shut up about the hunting accident or my mother would be shut up permanently. A death threat. If I dropped it, she would be safe. My mother’s crippled with rheumatoid arthritis, has been for thirty years. She has no way to defend herself. She can’t even grip a gun.
“That convinced me it wasn’t an accident. Over the years, I’ve been threatened by guys I’ve arrested—we all have—and I knew half the time they were just mouthing off. I never worried about them. I figured I could take care of myself. But that guy was serious, no doubt in my mind.”
He reached up, pulled a leaf off a branch, and gently picked at it with his fingers. “I tried to find out if Harlan Manthes had done something they were seeking revenge for, but I came up dry. He was a social guy, had lots of friends, no drug or alcohol problems. Didn’t cheat on his wife. The other three seemed to be upstanding citizens, too. I ran their backgrounds, but since I didn’t know who had made the threatening phone call, I didn’t delve too deep.
“When Doctor Sparrow married Missus Manthes, that gave a motive, but how to prove that? Was she involved with Sparrow when she was married to Manthes, and the one who put him up to killing her husband? But why would the others go along with that? I’d do just about anything for a friend. But kill someone? Never.”
He tossed the leaf on the ground. “We did wrong by those kids, and probably his wife, too. She seemed genuinely devastated when we talked to her. After she moved away, I wondered if the same people who had threatened me had done the same to her. Or maybe she found out Sparrow was the asshole I figured him to be, hidden beneath that charming front he puts on. In any case, three hunters who should have been charged with first degree murder are still breathing free air.”
“And you have no idea who called you with those threats?” Smoke said.
“Not a clue. And I got a call every year saying about the same thing, just in case I forgot. Whoever it was had a spy in the sheriff’s department, I know that much. Said they’d keep an eye on me at work, make sure I kept my end of the deal. It brought up a lot of questions, like was Walden threatened, that’s why he did what he did, or was he the spy? And Armstrong, same deal.”
“But you didn’t ask them?” Smoke asked.
“No. I knew about the three shooters. The creepy caller said someone was keeping an eye on me at work. It made me wonder how big their network was. You know, organized crime. I didn’t want anything happening to my mom. She took care of me the first twenty years of my life, and I’ve taken care of her the last thirty. I don’t have much of a social life—by choice—but when I’m at work, she’s alone and helpless.”
Sweat beaded on Edberg’s brow. He reached into a back pocket, pulled out a hankie, and dabbed at his face. “I’ve kept a close watch on other deputies in the department for years. Looked for signs of who it might be. When Walden retired, the phone calls continued, so I ruled him out.”
“And you knew the files were missing?”
Edberg nodded. “Yeah, like I said, I was haunted by the whole deal. I figured someday, whoever was holding my mother’s life over my head would go away, and I’d ask to have the case reopened. So I went to the file room and was going to make copies of everything and keep them in my safe at home until the time was right. But lo and behold, they were gone. I felt as sick as I’ve ever felt in my life. I would’ve kept a copy of my report if I’d known.”
“The last thing you expect is for reports to go missing from our office,” Smoke said.
Edberg hitched his shoulders in a mild stretch. “So Trippen and the dagger, that’s what brought this up after all these years?”
I nodded. “The sheriff is keeping it under wraps while we do some more investigating, but according to Jeffrey Trippen’s brother, Gregory, Jeffrey is planning to use that dagger to sacrifice himself.”
Edberg frowned and mouthed a silent, “What?”
“Gregory Trippen said Doctor Sparrow was involved in a satanic cult and brought the boys along to the rituals. Messed Jeffrey up pretty bad, and now he’s going to sacrifice himself to Satan.”
Edberg
’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped, leaving his mouth slack. “A bunch of damn cult members are responsible for this? I’m going to redouble my efforts, see if I can figure it out.”
“Don’t get yourself killed. Or your mother.”
Edberg dropped his head and nodded at the ground. “Sergeant.” He lifted his head and looked me squarely in the eyes. “Someone was in your home computer. What do you suppose they were looking for?”
“I don’t know.”
“You keep any info about cases you’re working on? Records of your arrests for easier access than paging through your stack of memo books when you want to look something up?”
“No. Why?”
“I’ve started to do that. I keep copies of all my major crime reports and ones I feel unsettled about in a safe. After the Manthes case, I didn’t want any more of my reports to disappear. What I track on the computer is crime, name, date. That way, if I need to look for a report, I don’t have to hunt through all my stacks.”
I had all my old memo books and as many reports on my zip drive as it would hold, but I had never thought of keeping any professional records on my home computer. They were all public records.
“So no records of your cases?” I shook my head. “How about e-mail communications with Gregory Trippen, or others connected to the case?”
“No. If they looked at either my personal or work e-mail, they wouldn’t find anything. There was nothing about him or the case. They did look at the sites I had been on. I had done a bunch of research on satanic cults, rituals, ritual abuse, dissociative identity disorder—”
“Damn. I bet they figured out who Jeffrey Trippen is. I did. And they’d understand better than anyone that he’s got that fancy dagger for a reason.”
The three of us stared from one to the other.
“The Jeffrey Trippen case is yours. They’re looking to find out what you know. A search of your computer gave them the list of sites you’d been on,” Edberg said.
An Altar by the River Page 16
