by C. E. Nelson
Palm tried to look for some ray of hope as he scanned the group but no one met his gaze. No one had called in during the search. “What have we got?”
Lee Raditz, the thin blonde officer to Palm’s right, spoke. “The park supervisor mentioned a guy. He shows up at the park at noon quite often and sometimes in the evenings. Always alone. Eats his lunch there when he shows at noon. Dresses nice but not in a suit. In his forties, thin curly hair, heavy eyebrows, sad face. A little heavy. Park supervisor thought he might be Jewish. Name is John Volk. Lives a couple of blocks east.”
“Does he drive to the park?”
“Yeah. Blue Audi,” said Raditz.
“So, why did he mention Volk?” said Palm.
“Said he was just kind of odd. Kept to himself. Never talked to anybody unless someone talked to him. Supervisor thought it looked like he watched the kids.”
“How long has the guy been doing this?”
The officer checked his notes. “The supervisor said as long as he has been working at the park. Three years.”
“You get the name of the supervisor before him?”
“Yup,” said Raditz.
“You talk to any other park employees about him?”
“No, he was the only one there when we stopped,” said Raditz.
“How about other people in the park?” said Palm.
“It’s not real busy there. Only one woman was there with a young child. She didn’t recall the guy but said she only came about once a week.”
“What about transients?”
“He said they get a few each summer but not many.”
“Repeats?”
“Not that he recalled.”
“OK, give me the name of the supervisor and the one he replaced.” Palm looked over at Grace and then said, “Anyone else?”
“We had kind of a strange one,” said Marty Logan, a portly officer with curly black hair. “There were these two kids playing catch in the front yard, probably twelve or thirteen. Hard to say, they were big. Brothers by the looks of them. Anyway, as we walked up the driveway to the house, I asked them if they had seen a young boy come through named Austin Meeker. They looked at each other, and then the bigger kid said they didn’t know any kid with that name. I asked if their parents were at home and the kid closest to me said, "Find out for yourself.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. And the other kid just laughed. So, anyway, we go knock on the door. It was a screen door. Somebody inside shouts, “What do you want?" and I say "Police.” This guy comes to the door, muscle T, belly, beer in his hand. I ask him if he has seen the boy, show him the picture, and he says, “No,” and shuts the inside door in our face.”
“Huh.”
“Real asshole.”
“Ok, get me the name and address, and I’ll check him out.”
“Anyone else?”
A small silver SUV approached as the words left his mouth, seemingly blown in by the breeze now moving the leaves above them. The vehicle slowed as it reached the yard, the group staring as the vehicle drew even with the driveway. There appeared to be a woman driving. Her face and hair, lit by the dash, were a ghostly blue. The vehicle accelerated away.
“All right. I want written reports emailed to me before you go tonight. Addresses you covered, who you talked to, who wasn’t there, etc. And call me or Grace if you think of anything at all. Thanks.”
The officers walked toward their cars, quiet. They were all tired, a defeated team after the last batter struck out. Palm and Grace watched them for a moment. Grace slapped a mosquito on his cheek, looking at his palm to see if he had killed it. To see if it had drawn blood. There were a few sprinkles of rain now.
“Let’s have a quick meeting in the car and get away from these bugs,” said Palm.
It was a steamy night, tropical. Both men tossed their jackets in the back seat. Their shirts were stained with sweat, Grace’s damp hair in rows on either side of his head where he had run his fingers through it. Palm turned on the car and adjusted the air conditioning vents. His hand was like a squeegee as he ran it over his head. He blew out a breath and looked into the long night ahead.
The light was gone. The sun would be setting soon, but the heavy clouds declared the day to be over. Branches on the big oaks were starting to move. Something hit the roof of the car. Palm thought it might be an acorn or branch but then there were more and the big drops hit the windshield.
“Dogs coming?”
“Yeah, should be here any time.” Minnetonka police did not have dogs on their force. The animals and handlers would come from Hennepin County. Requests had to be made, approvals given. It took time. Time both men guessed they didn’t have.
“Damn. This rain is not going to help.” The lights from the Jameson’s house became blurred as the rain began to run down the glass. “The family give you anything useful?”
“Not really. Both parents work, hence the reason for using a daycare. Never had any issues with Jameson. Actually had been to Jameson’s house for dinner. Austin was a regular kid. Never any occurrences of him wandering off before.”
“Are they on the creek?”
“No. A block off. They had taken Austin to the park before. They were there last week. They don’t recall anyone seeming odd or taking an interest in him. I got a list of his friends. I will check them out.” Grace leaned forward, his shirt sticking to his back. “Shit. The kid could be miles away from here by now. I mean if he was in the front yard and somebody drove by.”
Palm shook his head. “I don’t know. Why would someone be driving around this neighborhood? They’d be taking a chance of being seen.”
“Only houses on one side of the street, and they’re pretty separated.”
“Yeah, but it still doesn’t feel right. I got to think he went to the creek. Still a good flow through there. The ground pretty soft next to it. Easy to fall in.”
“Nobody found any footprints in the backyards going to the creek?”
“No, but they could have missed them.”
“And the boat team saw nothing?”
“No.” The dejection in his tone was clear. “We better put on our list to go talk to the school where the kid goes. I think it’s just up on 101. Find out if anyone ever hung around, if he had any trouble with any of the other kids.” Rain running down the windshield now. “You want to go ahead? I’m going to call Trask with a quick update, and then I’ll be in.”
Grace gave Palm a look like he wasn’t telling him something, or there was something he didn’t want him to hear, before he got out.
Palm watched him run across the yard.
“Trask.”
“Palm. We have nothing so far. The dog teams should be here any time but this rain ain’t gonna help. We’re going back in the Jameson place to have another look around and talk to them some more.”
“Piss.” Trask looked at the obscured shadow of Daniel’s dark house. “Your guys talk to anyone at 11644 Creekside? Name would have been Arnold…or Daniel.”
“Don’t know. I can find out. How is your search going?”
“Got a team in back now, but if there’s lightning they’ll have to stop. The Little’s lawyered up so I need to get a warrant.”
Both men were silent for a moment until Palm said, “Not a good night.”
“Not a good night.” Trask stared at the Daniel house again. “Talk to you.”
Chapter 18
Trask hadn’t made it to Highway 7 when he heard the first rumbles of thunder. He pulled over, looked at the radar on his phone, swore out loud, and called Seton. They had taped the area off and were packing it in. Trask told him it looked like the rain would be around for a while, so they should plan on returning in the morning.
The automatic wipers on his Lexus picked up their pace. The headlights of an oncoming vehicle created silver puddles. Trask stroked his forehead. It had little effect on the headache coming to town. His shoulders slumped as he sighed. He didn’t want to go to St. Pa
ul to get a warrant. He didn’t want to drive back here. What would he find searching the house or talking to the babysitter? It wouldn’t make a bit of difference to Libby Carlson. The boy didn’t kill her. The man that did was less than a mile away and could have very likely taken another child today.
But that wasn’t what he was supposed to be working on.
Trask could feel it coming on. The need. He licked his lips and swallowed.
There was a time when he would have already been on his way to a bar. Hell, he grew up close to here. He knew where to go for a drink. For whiskey.
Sometimes the golden liquid soothed him. Mellowed him out. But that was when he was in control. When the drink was just a nice addition to his day.
Not like now. Not like when the need came over him. He’d try to distract it with other thoughts, but it always came back. It was not good to drink when he had the need. One drink was never enough. He would sink into dark places, dig up the sadness in his life, trying to drown it out. Or more often than not, with each flowing ounce, he would become angrier. Anger would grab hold of him. He could, would do things that could hurt himself and others. Things that had cost him relationships and nearly cost him and others their lives.
Drink had played a part in his two short marriages, how quickly they started and their short duration. Trask wanted to party, and his wives had been eager to join him at first. But Trask put in long hours at work, and long hours at the bar without them. He had come close to marriage one other time, with his current girlfriend Melanie Jenkins. Jenkins had wanted him to talk, to open up. She wanted some closeness, and he had backed away. Another reason his marriages had failed. They had dated again, getting more serious, Jenkins insisting Trask end the drinking binges. He failed, and they broke up again.
They were now on their third go-around. Things felt different this time. He felt different. His brother’s marriage and impending child may have had something to do with it but underlying that was the feeling he had when Jenkins had almost died at the hand of a killer in an investigation they had worked together. The fact that she had almost exited his life affected him in a way he had only experienced once before when his parents had died as retribution for a drug bust he had engineered.
Trask found that he needed Jenkins. He had prided himself on needing no one, his work enough to fill his life, but something had changed. He blamed himself for Jenkins nearly being killed and had gone on a drinking binge. Jenkins found out and had ended things leaving Trask detached, empty. Work lost its interest. He had opened up to her, and she had slowly taken him back.
She saw his name on her caller ID. Actually, the screen said ‘TB’. Teddy Bear. She’d never told him or anyone else about it. “Hi.”
Her voice soothed him.
“Trask? You OK?”
“Yes, no, I don’t know.”
“What’s happening?”
“We may have found Libby Carlson’s dinosaur and where she has been buried.”
Jenkins knew about Carlson, knew she hung like a weight around his neck. She also knew about Daniel.
“Anything linking to Daniel?”
“Don’t know. The toy was, is, in possession of an autistic kid. He worked at the park when Libby was abducted. Really attached to that dinosaur. It could have been the kid.”
“But you don’t think so?”
“No.”
Trask was silent.
“Is there more?”
“Another kid went missing in the same area today.”
“Oh no.”
“Daniel still lives nearby.”
She could hear it in his voice. Venom. But his words were clear. He hadn’t been drinking. “What are you going to do, Don?”
“Nothing. I can’t do a damn thing because it isn’t what I am supposed to be working on.”
“Which is?”
“I need to determine whether or not the boy had anything to do with Libby’s death.”
He was close to losing it, she could tell. “You been out in the heat all day?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Me too.”
“Sorry. I should have asked.”
“You know what we both need, Trask?”
“What’s that?”
“A sleep-over.”
“A sleep-over?”
“Yeah, you know. Eat pizza, watch movies, wear jammies – or not.”
“I think I might like a sleep-over. My place?” Trask felt just the beginnings of a smile tug at his lips.
“Where are you?”
“Minnetonka.”
“OK. Forty-five minutes and I’ll bring Chinese.”
Trask could feel himself relax. “I thought you said pizza?”
Trask walked into the kitchen in his condo the next morning to find Jenkins dressed. Coffee had been made and there was a plate with a toasted bagel and cream cheese on the bar. Jenkins took a sip of her coffee, poured the rest in the sink, and put the cup in the dishwasher.
Jenkins wore tan slacks and a stretchy blue top that was form-fitting under a blazer matching the slacks. She was tall, but no longer slender. Curvy. And she struggled to hold on to curvy. There was a perky nose under blue eyes and a mess of curly strawberry-blonde hair on top of her head.
“I have to get going. Mayor wants to meet about how we can be more helpful to the drunken tourists that seem intent on jumping in the river every weekend. There’s coffee made and a bagel for you.” She stared at Trask in his bathrobe. He looked tired, and a little worn out. In a daze, waking up. Jenkins walked up to him. “You OK?”
Trask didn’t feel OK, at least not his mood. He knew he should get some exercise, and that would help, but that wasn’t it. He was sour, thoughts of Daniel eating away at him like a disease. A cancer that had been dormant had returned.
“I’m good.”
“You don’t look so good.”
“Gee thanks. I’ve got the mirror to tell me that.”
Jenkins put her arms around him and then kissed him. She backed away and looked in his eyes. “I love you, Trask.”
Trask pulled her close again and thought of what he was going to do. “I love you too.”
Chapter 19
Trask was in the office an hour later after the short drive from his condo. As he stepped into the hall from the elevator, he picked up that something was not right. Agents stood in groups of two or three in office doorways and along the beige walls, speaking in quiet church voices like someone had died. Trask walked down the hall toward his corner office, greeting some of the agents by name, getting a “Boss” or “Sir” response from them while others averted their eyes. As he reached his office door he turned back, staring faces looking at him like they knew he was about to be shot.
Stoxon jumped up as Trask entered his outer office. “Sir!”
“What the hell is going on, Larry?”
Trask looked past Stoxon into the open door of his own office. At least two men stood inside, turning to look in his direction. He didn’t wait for Stoxon’s reply, brushing past him and into his office. There were two other men in his office, all four in dark suits like someone dressed them for a funeral.
One man was seated in a chair in front of Trask’s desk and stood as Trask entered. His thick black hair was combed straight back like a mafia don from the movies. He had high cheekbones and a broad nose below eyes that looked as dark as his hair. The man was as tall as Trask, fit, with broad shoulders, and he flashed straight white teeth at the sight of Trask.
“Don. How nice to see you.” Bob Lake was the agent in charge of internal affairs for the BCA. He had investigated two other claims of excessive force against Trask but had not been able to make those claims turn into official charges.
“What the fuck do you want, Lake?” Trask now noticed that the fourth agent in the room was standing behind his desk and disconnecting Don’s computer. “What the hell is he doing?” shouted Trask as he pointed to the agent with his computer.
“Just collecting
evidence, I’m afraid.”
“Evidence? What the hell are you talking about? You and your goons can get out of my office now!”
Lake smirked. “Afraid I can’t do that, Don. It seems you’re in a lot of trouble this time.” Lake turned momentarily to watch his agent put Trask’s computer in a box. “In fact, you’re under arrest.”
“Under arrest? What is this, Lake?”
The two agents standing when Trask entered his office now came and stood on either side of him. Trask looked at each man and then back to Lake.
“Just what I said. Don Trask, you are under arrest for the possession of child pornography. Anything you say ….”
The recital of the legalities continued but Trask blocked them out. His anger had not gone but shock had settled in. Then he moved on to who had done this to him. The shouting brought him back.
“Trask! Surrender your weapon now.”
The men next to Trask had tensed, their hands moving inside their jackets. Trask saw Lake do the same, taking a step back. The man at the desk froze.
“You bozo, Lake. Somebody should probably shoot you, but it won’t be me.” Trask removed his revolver from inside his jacket and laid it on his desk where Lake quickly grabbed it.
“Fine.” Lake handed the weapon to the man at the desk. “Now, I want your phone.” Trask’s round face burned red as he removed his phone from his inside jacket pocket and tossed it on his desktop. “Can you walk out of here without cuffs?”
Lake was smiling, and Trask wanted to wipe it off his face. “Let’s go.” He turned and walked out his door. Stoxon stood behind his desk as Trask entered, the internal affairs agents close behind. Trask stopped and turned to his assistant. "This is a set-up, Larry. Get on it.”
“Should I arrange a lawyer for you, sir?”
“No, I shouldn’t be held long. Just see what you can find out.”
Lake pushed Trask from behind, and Trask turned, his look causing Lake to pull back.
“Move it, Trask.”
Trask was flanked by the two standing agents as he moved down the hall, Lake and the agent that had been at Trask’s desk following. The agents that had been in the hall when Trask arrived now stood in open doorways. There was bewilderment in their eyes, disbelief. Trask focused on the end of the hall, not wanting to see their faces. He could sense the beaming smile on Lake’s face as he paraded the disgraced Special Agent down the hall. He and Trask knew that for some of these people, just the fact that Trask had been accused of having child pornography would be enough to forever taint their view of their boss.
