Purgatory Creek

by C. E. Nelson

  Grace handed her a tissue.

  “Mam, can I ask you a few questions?”

  She wiped her cheeks and eyes. “OK.”

  “What happened? At your house?”

  She seemed to be in a trance, looking through Grace, not seeing him. “Um, Mark and I were talking.”

  “About what?”

  “About the toy dinosaur. The stupid toy dinosaur. If I had just gotten rid of it like Mark said none of this would have happened.”

  “OK, so what then?”

  “So, he started yelling at me about it, how I was stupid, which I was, and then he grabbed a knife and said he was going to cut the thing up, destroy it.” Little gulped for air.

  “Was Michael there?”

  “Yes. He came up behind me, and Mark was teasing him about cutting up the dinosaur.”

  “And then?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I don’t know. I remember Michael pushing me but that’s all until I came to on the kitchen floor. And I saw Mark dead.”

  “And Michael was gone?”

  “I guess. I don’t know. He wasn’t in the kitchen anymore.”

  “Do you remember the time this happened, Mrs. Little?”

  Little released a breath and shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m just not sure.”

  Grace stared at the woman sitting in bed. “What happened to your face, Mrs. Little?”

  Her hand went to her cheek. “It must have happened in the fall.”

  “I don’t think so, mam. Your husband is dead, Mrs. Little. There is no need to be afraid anymore.”

  She looked at Grace but did not respond.

  “Mrs. Little, we have not been able to locate your son. Are there favorite places he would go?”

  Little’s hand leaped to her mouth as she took in a breath. “My God! Um, the park. He’s friends with a few of the neighbors, he might go there. Oh God. Michael.”

  “Is your son on meds, mam?” They had found prescriptions in the house.

  “Yes, two pills. We don’t think he really needs them anymore, but he doesn’t mind taking them.”

  “What are the pills for, mam?”

  “Um, anxiety. They sort of mellow him out.”

  Grace was taking notes and now looked up. “So, he could get violent without them?”

  “We, I mean, I don’t know. Like I said his doctor just decided to keep him on them.”

  A nurse entered and looked at Little. “I’m sorry sir, but she really needs her rest. You’re going to have to leave.”

  Grace folded up his notebook and stepped out of the room, moving down the hall towards the elevators. He pushed the button on his phone for Palm.

  “What do you know?”

  “Not much. She was out and really doesn’t remember much. For all we know she could have killed her husband.”

  Palm shook his head. “What about the kid?”

  “Not much there either. She said he likes to go to the park and is friendly with a couple of the neighbors. She also said he is on meds to keep him mellow.”

  “He has anger issues?”

  “She claims he is over them, but there’s no telling what his reaction will be to going cold turkey without his meds.”

  Palm tried Trask’s cell phone again, going directly to voicemail, which was full. He was surprised when someone answered the office phone on Saturday evening.

  “Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension. Special Agent Trask’s office.”

  “Hello. This is Detective Palm from the Minnetonka PD. Who am I speaking to?”

  “Hello, Detective. This is Larry Stoxon. I am Special Agent Trask’s assistant.”

  “Wow. Trask makes his assistant work Saturday evenings?”

  “No sir. I just thought it prudent based on the circumstances of the day.”

  “You still have a boss?”

  “Yes sir, and I believe he will shortly be cleared of all charges if that is what you are calling about.”

  “Good to hear, but actually, I was wondering if there was some way to get hold of him?”

  “I’m afraid not, Detective. He was released, but he is out of contact.”

  “Yeah, I tried his phone. Well – "

  “Is there something I can help you with, Detective?”

  “Not unless you are familiar with the Libby Carlson disappearance and the disappearance of three other children from this area.”

  “Actually sir, I have been making myself familiar with those files for a good part of the day.”

  “Really? OK, this is not for public consumption, but I am investigating a domestic situation at the home of Mark and Cheryl Little.”

  “That is where the boy found the pink dinosaur, is it not?”

  “Right. Your guys were out snooping around behind the house by the creek today. Anyway, we were searching the house and came across a stash of old toys as well as a girl’s pink plastic headband. I was wondering if – "

  “If the abducted children had toys with them and if Libby Carlson had a headband.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I can tell you that in the files I looked at, there was only the mention of a possible missing toy in one. That was a dump truck that was a toy of Daniel Peterson. And yes, Libby Carlson was wearing a pink headband. Apparently pink was her favorite color.”

  Palm was looking into the blackness behind the Little’s home, the creek flowing and rising with the rain unseen. “OK. Thanks. Thanks for your help.” Palm was worn down. Things needed attention that were not getting it. One small boy was missing and now another, a possible killer of his father and small children was out there somewhere, becoming more dangerous by the hour. Both searches needed to intensify. Palm called his chief at home.

  Chapter 34

  Seton walked into Stoxon’s office finding it empty. There was a light on in Trask’s office, and he poked his head in. Stoxon sat at the small table in Trask’s office with a thick file folder open in front of him.

  “I thought you’d probably be gone.”

  “You too.”

  “You take a walk in the rain?”

  Stoxon’s hand went to his head, feeling his damp hair. “Um, yeah, I was over at the Capital for a bit.”

  “OK, well I’m headed to Minneapolis. Got a location on whoever sent that stuff to the boss.”

  “You have a name?”

  “Tito Gonzales. Mean anything to you?”

  “No.”

  “Yeah, well apparently it means nothing to anyone. The guy is a ghost. No record of him buying a car, paying taxes, having a credit card.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Anyway, I am meeting the Minneapolis police at Gonzales’ place by the airport. I’ll keep you informed.”

  “Thanks.”

  Stoxon watched Seton leave, something nagging him, knocking on the back of his head. He got up and walked to Trask’s office window, big raindrops holding on the glass for a moment before giving way to gravity, small streams making their way to the ground below. Turning away he looked down at Trask’s desk. Above Daniel’s name on Trask’s pad was an empty circle Trask had drawn, and like Daniel’s name, he had traced the circle so many times it had worn through the top page of the pad. Stoxon noticed the single line Trask had drawn from the empty circle now. The line wound its way between scribbles, so he hadn’t noticed it before. Tracing the line with his finger Stoxon followed it to a rectangular box. Inside the box was the name ‘P. Gonzales’.

  Trask felt like he had taken a shower in his clothes by the time he approached his condo. No cars or vans were in the street. The media had apparently given up on him for the night. He let himself in, tossed his keys on the counter, and headed for the shower. Back at the bar in dark jeans and a black t-shirt, he made himself a sandwich and sat at the bar. The golden liquid that had been his companion on so many nights was in the cupboard above his head. He thought briefly about a tumbler on the rocks but instead filled a glass w
ith water.

  Trask pondered this for a moment. Prior to his last drinking episode, almost two years ago, the one that had almost cost him his relationship with Jenkins, there would have been no question that he would have had the bottle open and on its way to being empty by now. More likely, he would have stopped in the first bar on his way back and drank as much there as they would serve him. That hadn’t happened. Something had changed him. He wondered if it was the scare Jenkins had put in him, drawing the line, saying their relationship was over forever if he got drunk again. But he thought it was happening even before then. She had changed him. Probably saved him from self-destruction.

  “You’re just getting old, Trask,” he muttered to himself, thinking at the same time he should call her. He looked to the counter to see his keys, but not his phone. Lake still had it.

  “Damn.”

  His mind returned to his situation. The walk in the rain had cooled his anger and had also served to clarify his thoughts. He was confident Stoxon would exonerate him, and he was more certain than ever that Lake was a fool and a lousy cop out to get him, but most of all he was sure that Daniel had put him in this position. Daniel knew the discovery of the remains of Libby Carlson would fire up the investigation again and with it, he knew Trask would return. Trask was well aware of Daniel’s vocation working with computers. He had the skills to place the pornography on Trask’s computer. This was Daniel’s attempt to get Trask out of the way. Trask was certain.

  His sandwich eaten, Trask walked to his living room and bent to open a lower cabinet. Inside there was a small safe. He punched in the code, opened the door, and looked inside. Trask removed a pistol there, a Glock. The weapon had attracted his eye during a drug bust he had been involved in and had followed him home. Trask loaded the weapon, tucked it in his waist behind him, and then shut the safe. He swept his keys off the bar as he passed, opened the door, and then turned to look back. It was a nice place. He liked it here. He wondered if he would be back. Trask flicked off the light, closed the door, and headed to the garage below. Time to see Mr. Daniel.

  The rain in Minnetonka lessened to a steady drizzle. Michael Little was huddled along one wall of the shed, looking out the window opposite. The shed had a metal roof, each drop echoing inside the building. During the height of the downpour, the ponding of the rain and booming of the thunder had almost been too much for Michael to take.

  The shed was full of physical education equipment – balls and bats and bases, footballs and pads and uniforms, soccer balls and cones and nets, hurdles and other track and field equipment – including landing pads for high jumping. When the shed roared under the downpour and the lightning flashed, Michael had made a nest in the landing pads, putting a bag of uniforms over his head. Someone had washed the uniforms and the bag they were in before putting them in storage, the smell comforting to Michael, reminding him of the smell that came from the laundry room in his house, just down the hall from his room.

  When the rain had let up, Michael had tentatively removed the bag from his head. He lay listening. The pounding on the roof had stopped except for the occasional ping from the dripping rain collected on the tree branch that hung over the shed.

  Michael was hungry and tired. And he wanted to go home. But he didn’t know if he should go home, at least not yet. He was still very angry at his daddy. And he was afraid that his daddy might try to take his toy away again and hurt his toy. Michael had put the dinosaur and knife down when he had buried his head, but he picked them up now. The knife gleamed in the light from the street lamp in the parking lot outside of the shed window. This was his sword, just like the sword pulled from the stone in one of his books, and he would use it to protect his treasure, his dinosaur.

  There was a distant rumble of thunder to the east, and Michael looked out the window, afraid the storm might begin again. There was a loud pop as a drop of water hit the roof, and Michael looked up, listening for more to come. He put down the knife but clutched the dinosaur close. He would not go out again tonight.

  Chapter 35

  Austin Newman’s chin leaped from his chest, awake at the sound of the shower curtain being opened. Exhausted from his shivering, he had fallen asleep. Pain shot down the back of his neck as his head jerked up and hit the back of the chair.

  “Time for your lesson.”

  The voice’s low metallic tone reminded Austin of a cartoon he had watched, a Transformers’ cartoon. The evil black Transformer had come from outer space to destroy the earth. Austin didn’t think the Transformers were real, but now he wondered.

  “Now, I believe we were talking about respecting your elders. Do you remember that?”

  Austin nodded.

  “Very good. Perhaps there is hope for you. What grade are you in?”

  “First grade.”

  “Going into second?”

  Austin nodded.

  “Well, then I assume that you can spell. We will have a spelling lesson. How do you spell dog?”

  “D – O – G.”

  “Cat?”

  “C -A-T.”

  The words continued on, easy words that Austin could spell without a problem. But the words did not stop, and Austin could feel himself growing tired again. His stomach rumbled to remind him of its empty state, but his exhaustion ruled. His voice became softer as the words continued.

  “Speak up!”

  Austin jumped as something hit him over the back of his still sore hand, and he screamed.

  “Shut up or you will know much worse punishment. I promise you.”

  Austin began to cry. He knew the voice would be angry, and he tried to hold back his sobbing, but he could not. Still, he could sense the voice coming nearer, now directly in front of him. Pushing his head back on the chair, he scrunched his face, waiting the blow he expected. But the voice was silent, finally moving away, closing the door, and going up the stairs. At the sound of the door closing, Austin began to cry harder.

  Palm was fuming. The chief did not want to authorize the overtime, saying they were already way over budget. He said he would talk to the county about more help in the searches for the boys, but he doubted there would be much more assistance than the forensics team already at the Little home.

  Palm had sent Grace out to talk to the neighbors to see if any of them might have spotted Michael Little or knew of any other places he may have gone. He remained at the Little home, finishing the search. They had pulled all the toys and other articles from the hidey-hole in the bathroom on the lower level. There were nearly a dozen items – toys, stuffed animals, even a comb. Palm had photos taken of all the items and forwarded them to Minnetonka Police headquarters where a clerk was supposed to send the photos to the parents of the missing boys to see if any could be identified. He assumed this would take some time, but he didn’t really care at this point. Knowing if Michael Little had taken those boys, or stumbled onto their graves, would really not be a help in finding him – or Austin Newman.

  But now Palm had to wonder where Michael Little was when Austin Newman went missing. He called Grace.

  “Yo.”

  “Did you talk to Michael Little’s babysitter?”

  “Not yet. It’s on my list.”

  “You have her contact information?”

  “Yup.”

  “OK, can you text it over? I’ll talk to her.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I don’t know. I just want to be sure Michael had nothing to do with the Austin Newman disappearance.”

  “Wow. OK, I’ll send it right over.”

  “How is it going?”

  “Nothing new so far. Everybody seems to like Michael. Just a big teddy bear.”

  “OK, when you finish I think we need to go down by the creek behind the Little’s, follow it to the park.”

  “That sounds lovely.”

  “Call me when you are ready to do it.”

  Palm disconnected and waited until the text from Grace came.

  “Lisa T
hompson?”

  “Yes, who is this?”

  “I’m Detective Palm of the Minnetonka Police Department. I’d like to ask you a few questions.” Palm knew he should be talking to her in person, but he felt as if time was slipping away too rapidly to try to set up a face-to-face.

  “OK, I guess.”

  “You babysit for Michael Little I believe. Is that correct?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t really call it babysitting. He’s like older than me. I’m more of a companion.”

  “OK. So yesterday you were with him during the day?”

  “Yeah, until his mother got home, about five.”

  “And what time did you start?”

  “Eight-thirty.”

  “All right. So, was Michael in your sight all of the time?”

  “Most of the time.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Well, I’m taking a summer course that I’m trying to finish up, and so sometimes I study upstairs while Michael does his computer thing downstairs.”

  “And what about yesterday?”

  “Let’s see. We had an early lunch because he was starving, which he always is. I’d say we ate about eleven, and then he went downstairs, and I studied.”

  “For how long?”

  “I took a break about two, maybe a little after, and brought him down a snack.”

  “And he was there?”

  “Sure, in his room. No problem.”

  “Did you notice any mud or dirt on the floor when you went down?”

  “Boy, I don’t think so. But he sometimes will go out in the yard and lately that can get a little muddy. He always asks me if he can go out if he does. Why are you asking about him? Is he OK?”

  “Right now, he’s missing.”

  “Oh my!”

  “You wouldn’t happen to have any idea where he might go? Places he likes?”

  “Well, he likes the mall, especially the pet shop, and the library. And the park.”