by C. E. Nelson
“We are looking for a little girl who is missing. This little girl’s parents really miss her and would like to see her again. She had a red dress and blonde hair. Would you know where any little girls who look like that might be?”
Mrs. Little gasped, bringing her hand to her mouth, and Trask and Palm turned to her.
“Michael, do you know where any little girls might be around here?” said Palm.
The boy turned his gaze towards the wash-out from the creek and was about to say something when his mother shouted, “Michael. We need to go back to the house.”
Palm looked at the woman, frowning, before turning back to Michael. “Do you think you can take your mom back to your house now while Agent Don and I talk?”
The boy hesitated, afraid to leave two strangers at his fort.
“It’s OK, Michael. We promise not to go in your fort.”
The boy still didn’t move, and Don noticed Michael’s hands become fists.
Apparently, his mother noticed too, and she stepped past the men to take her boy by the arm. “Come on, Michael. I think I have a cookie for you inside.”
Michael took one last look at his fort and then walked back the way they came, his mother holding his hand.
The men watched them until they were almost out of sight. Trask turned to Palm. “You were great with that kid.”
“Thanks. Lots of practice. Got one of my own.”
Trask had no children, and he didn’t expect there would be any in his future, although his brother and his wife were expecting. “Is it tough?”
“At times. But it can be with any kid. I can’t say Bret has been any harder than the other two. In some ways, he’s probably been the easiest.” Unlike his partner, who had already been through three marriages and was contemplating a fourth, Palm had been married to the same woman for twenty-five years. They were both cops when they met, and so both knew the demands and dangers of the job. Palm’s wife, Becky, quit when the first child came. It was hard, money was tight, and she was often on her own, but they made it work. Palm skipped the after-work meetings at the local bars, choosing to go home and spend as much time as possible with his family. It had taken him longer than most to make detective, but he never regretted his choice.
“We need to make sure the wash-out over there is checked out and downstream of it too,” said Trask as he pointed.
Palm slapped another mosquito. “You think he did it?”
“I don’t know, but the way he looked toward the creek, I got to think he at least knew she was there, assuming that’s where she was.”
“And what about Austin Newman?”
Trask shook his head. “I doubt it. But we need to talk to the babysitter, and we had better search the house, especially Michael’s room.”
“Yeah. Let’s go talk to him some more if the mother will let us, but I get the feeling we are going to be cut off.”
Chapter 15
Mark Little was at the top of the stairs in the kitchen standing by his wife as Palm and Trask reached the upper level. He had a beer in his hand, his face still simmering with anger. “Just keep walking because you are done here.”
Trask looked at Little, his wife cowering behind. He wondered if he beat her. “Mr. Little, we are looking for a boy in this area that has gone missing. If you, or your wife, or your son – "
“Is your hearing OK? I said that you need to leave. You aren’t talking to me or my family unless we have a lawyer. Now – "
“Do you need a lawyer?”
“I need you to leave. Now!”
“But your son – “
“My son knows nothing. Get out now.” Little’s face was bright red again and he crushed his empty can in his hand.
“We will be back with a warrant. Do not touch anything that may be remotely related to the disappearance of Libby Carlson or Austin Newman or you may be charged. And that includes the dinosaur.” Trask stared at Little. “And we will be talking to all of you about this, whether it is here or at the police station, so you had better get a lawyer if you think you need one.” Trask waited, hoping for some softening in Mark Little, but the man remained stone-faced.
The officers that had waited with Mark Little had listened to the exchange from the living room. They turned and led the way out of the house. Palm instructed the two officers to continue their search and then walked over to Trask standing by his car.
“Kind of figured that might happen. The guy is a real asshole.”
“Yeah. They should be separated when they’re interviewed. I think she will talk.” Trask thought about Michael’s fort and the washout. “You’re going to need help.”
“Half the force is out looking for the boy, so, yeah, I would appreciate any help.”
“OK. I had a team out searching the creek the last few days. I will call them back in. Maybe Minnetonka should focus on Austin; he’s the immediate concern, and the BCA can take over here. Does that work for you?”
“Sounds like a plan. You going to get the warrants?”
“Yup.”
“OK then, I’ll leave you to it.”
Palm turned away, but Trask said, “Keep me in the loop on what’s happening with the boy.”
“Will do.”
Trask watched Palm walk away before getting in his car and turning on the motor. He tossed his suit coat on the passenger seat and leaned back, adjusting the vent so the cool air hit him in the face. A heavy sigh escaped as he stared at the Little’s rambler, a balloon pumped up by hours and days and years of trying to tie Daniel to the disappearance and murder of Libby Carlson, suddenly deflated.
Could the kid have done it? Could he have killed her over something as trivial as a toy? Trask guessed that even five years ago he would have been big, easily able to overpower Libby if he had wanted to. Michael worked at the park, and the trail would have provided an easy escape route. He would have been familiar with the girl, at least have seen her. If she had seen him there, then he may not have seemed so imposing. Had they struck up a friendship? Tempted her to come with him to his fort, or at least into the woods? Trask couldn’t remember the boy coming up in any of his conversations with the Carlsons or others. He would have to talk to them.
Maybe the dinosaur just washed up to his fort with the rain? Trask wondered if the toy could float. The toy had not shown up in the Little house until now. Would it be odd for a kid like Michael to keep the toy in his fort all this time? Wouldn’t he want something so precious with him? But the kid looked directly at the wash-out. What if he just found the body there? If it was there.
“Hello?”
“Pike. Baseball game tonight?” Despite his gruff demeanor, Trask cared about his people and their families. He rewarded their loyalty and made certain they put family first. It was a lesson his father had taught him when he had turned down a promotion that would have meant relocating during the Trask brothers’ junior year in high school.
Pete Seton had twin boys, in middle school, both good students and both exceptional baseball players. They had been playing with boys several years older since they were seven and had no problem holding their own. High school rules prohibited it, otherwise, they would both likely start for the high school team in the fall. In the summer, they played with players their own age in the same league, but on different teams, and on the local legion team.
“When isn’t there baseball? And now Amanda is playing soccer.” Amanda was a third-grader.
“She any good?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I saw the coach for the fifth-grade traveling team at her last game. She wants Amanda to try out. I swear, Trask, sixteen cannot come soon enough.”
“Sixteen?”
“Yeah, when they can drive themselves. Of course, they’ll need vehicles and the insurance alone will probably be enough to force me to take a second job.”
“You already have a second job working for me.”
“I know.”
Trask demanded a lot from his people, especially hi
s three direct reports, but he tried to be as flexible as possible with their schedules. Tonight, however, was not one of those times. “Sorry, Pete, but I need you and your crew back out in Minnetonka now.”
“What’s happened?”
Trask filled him in on the discovery at the Little’s and the need to search behind the house. “I got a strong feeling this is where Libby was buried, Pete.”
“You think this kid did it?”
“I don’t know. But we better get some ground sonar out here to look at the area around the boy’s fort.”
“All right. We’ll need lights and a generator too.”
“And lots of bug spray.”
“Yeah,” Seton dejectedly sighed. “Should be about an hour.”
Trask looked at his phone to see it was after six. He dialed his assistant.
“Yes, sir. How can I help you?”
“What are you still doing at work?"
“Most days I can handle it, but today the fun was just too much, and I just couldn’t leave.”
The guy was the king of sarcasm. Trask had tried to take him on when he first started but had given up, much the way he had in trying to dress better than his assistant. Still, he couldn’t help trying. “Yeah, I should probably have you pay me for working for me.”
“I’m quite certain that would be against policy, sir but, if you would like, I can check.”
It was impossible to tell when Stoxon was serious, and Trask let it pass. “I’m going to need a search warrant.” Trask gave him the details.
“You think it was the boy?”
“Possible I guess, but he seems harmless.”
“Statistically, children with disabilities have the highest incidence of behavioral issues in school.”
“Is there some way you can check his record?”
“I will see what I can do, sir.”
“Good. OK, have Walleye grab someone and bring the warrant out here when you get it.” Walleye (Wally Bradley) was one of three direct reports to Trask, the others being Pete (Pike) Seton and Chris (Bucketmouth) Larson. Larson didn’t especially care for Trask’s nickname for him, especially when the others found out, but Trask liked the nicknames. They reminded him of his favorite hobby, fishing, one that he seemed to have less and less time for each year. Stoxon said he would get to work and call him when Bradley was on the way.
Trask waited in his running car. He spotted Mark Little look out the front window at him, half expecting the man to come charging out the door to expel Trask from the driveway, but that never happened. Instead, nearly an hour after Trask had called for the warrant, a silver Mercedes pulled into the driveway next to Trask and a man who looked a lot like Danny DeVito in an expensive suit climbed out. He carried a dark brown leather portfolio, tucked under his arm, and glanced at Trask as he passed on his way to the front door of the house.
Lawyer. Trask swore out loud and shook his head. He hoped it wouldn’t go like this. Mark Little opened the front door after the man rang the bell, shaking the man’s hand and stepping aside to let him enter, looking hard at Trask before closing the door. The war was about to begin.
Chapter 16
“What?”
“Sorry, sir,” replied Stoxon. “The judge says he wants to talk to you before he will issue a warrant.”
“Damn.” This would make things more complicated. “OK. I need you to look into the property lines for this place. I want to know how far back towards the creek they go. Right away.”
As Trask hung up, Seton and a BCA truck pulled up on the road in front of the house. Trask saw them in his rearview mirror about the same time he saw the lawyer come out of the Little’s house, Mark Little standing on the doorstep. The man began to duck-walk toward Trask and raised his arm in the air, a pudgy finger pointing at Trask. Trask figured what was coming and before the man could reach him Trask put his car in reverse and backed out of the driveway, put his car in drive, and rolled past Seton who was now standing next to his car. Parking at the curb in front of Seton, Trask got out and walked toward Seton. The lawyer raised both arms in the air, palms up, and then walked back to the Little house.
“What’s up, boss?”
“These people lawyered up, and we can’t get a fucking warrant.”
“So, should we go home?”
“No, hang here a minute, I got Larry working on something.”
“OK. I’ll go pass that on.” Seton walked back to the BCA van and stood by the window, talking to the men inside.
Trask could feel his frustration rise as he stared at Little and the lawyer conferring on the front step. The street was in the shade now, but the jungle-like humidity hung in the still air. Perspiration was already beading on his forehead. Trask did not want to be here. It had been his investigation for all of these years, now close to a conclusion, but he did not want to continue. Leading the search would take time. He would have to get the warrant and then search the Little home. More time. The Littles would have to be interviewed, with their lawyer most likely. That would take a considerable amount of time. And the babysitter.
If they were lucky, they would learn more about Libby Carlson’s death. Possibly, they would have their killer. But Trask didn’t think so. Even if they got Michael to admit to the killing, how sure could they be that he really did it?
Another child was missing, and Daniel was still walking around. It ate at Trask like the acid building in his stomach.
His phone buzzed. “Trask.” Stoxon reported about what he had found out about the property lines. “You certain?” His assistant assured him he was. “OK, thanks.” Trask ended the call and walked over to Seton telling him he’d be a minute. He walked down the Little’s driveway to where Little and his lawyer stood.
“Mr. Little, we’re going to begin our search of the area by the creek behind your house now.”
“Not without a warrant you’re not,” said the lawyer in a nasal tone like he had allergies.
“Who are you?” Trask loomed over the man. Trask’s brown eyes appeared dark holes, made to seem smaller than they were by his large oval face now in the shadows. Trask’s face was rough, pockmarked from chicken pox as a child. His brown hair was short, nearly an army buzz-cut. With his dark graying goatee, he had a mean look.
“William Butler. I am the Little’s attorney.” He removed a card from inside his jacket and handed it to Trask.
Trask looked at the card. Butler was a lawyer from Briggs & Dyson, a big firm with offices downtown and in several suburbs. Big money. Trask looked at the man who was noticeably perspiring, the sweat beading on his forehead. He returned the card. “Actually Willy, we don’t need a warrant. That land is public property. In fact, the Little’s property line ends a good five yards inside where they have developed in back.”
“It was that way when we moved here,” protested Little.
“The name is William,” stated Butler.
Trask ignored the lawyer. “Mr. Little, it would demonstrate your cooperation by letting us cross your property to reach the creek area behind your house. We will be walking and promise not to cause any damage. Would that be OK with you?”
“I think that we will need to confer – "
“I wasn’t talking to you,” said Trask, cutting the lawyer off. “Mr. Little, we can gain access by going to your neighbors but that may raise questions by them about what we are doing, and I don’t think you really want that, do you? Now, can we proceed?”
Little sighed. “Yeah, go ahead.” He turned and walked back in his house leaving his lawyer outside, uncertain what he should do.
Trask gave a pinched grin to the man before turning and walking back to Seton. “OK, you guys go ahead. You can walk around the house and through the back yard. It should be pretty easy to see where we were walking in the woods. The washout is just a short way past the kid’s fort. You’ll see it.”
Seton looked at Trask. “You coming?”
“I’m going to see about a warrant and change clothes, and th
en I’ll be back.”
“OK. See you later.”
Trask watched the men pull equipment from the back of the van – lights, a generator, metal cases with cameras and the sonar, and other equipment. It would take a couple of trips. Hot, sweaty work, and the bugs would be out soon. He didn’t know if Minnetonka sprayed for mosquitoes, but he doubted it would make much difference after all the rain.
Trask got in his car and pulled away from the curb. He knew he should just pull into the next driveway, turn around, and head back to the highway, but he continued on. He passed the Jameson’s home. Palm’s car was in the driveway, and a squad car, plus another car Trask didn’t recognize. He slowed, thought about going in to get an update, but then continued on.
Daniel’s home came into view. The front was covered in shadow now. Trask could detect no light inside. He pulled into the driveway and parked. Curtains were drawn inside the large window left of the front door. He was certain they had been open earlier. Trask’s eyes moved down the front of the house. The two other windows on this side also had their curtains drawn. Trask guessed the closed curtains would help to keep the inside of the house a little cooler but with the large trees and the hill he guessed there wasn’t a lot of sunlight trying to get inside. Somebody wanted his privacy. Somebody hiding what was going on inside. Was Daniel here?
Daniel peered through the crack in the curtains. It was Trask again. In his driveway this time. He was coming. Daniel backed away. “No, no. I’m not ready yet.” He headed back to his basement.
Chapter 17
Grace and Palm stood in the Jameson’s front yard. Several uniformed officers stood in a group nearby. The last of the officers searching the area pulled up in their squad and walked up to the group. The sun had moved behind the hill across the street an hour earlier, and now dark clouds were gobbling up the remaining light. With the trees heavy with foliage across the street and in the yard, the men appeared dark shadowy figures, solemn monks in a strange cult.
