by Rusty Ellis
“You know Gabe’s daughter, Tisha?” he began.
Maddie nodded and Ransom continued, “There’s no easy way to say this, babe. Tisha, her husband, and their two kids were killed.”
Ransom let the comment sink in. Maddie’s face lost expression and her mouth parted, searching for something to say but too stunned to come up with the words.
“They were found in their van on South I-15 on Sunday by a trooper.”
Finally able to speak, Maddie asked, “Was it some kind of accident? Were other people hurt?”
Maddie’s training kicked in. Working on an ambulance as a paramedic had exposed her to many horrific accidents and events, but it was always different when you knew the people in the accident.
“No.” Ransom looked for the words, still trying to somehow protect his daughter from the pain of the news. “It wasn’t an accident. Someone killed them at their home and drove them to where they were found.”
“I don’t understand. Why did someone drive them that far from home?”
“We’re still working on that.”
Ransom decided to share the latest basics with her about the ice cream shop.
“I just got back from another set of murders. Two people and a young child. They look like they’re connected and we’re working on them both.”
“Working on them? I thought you were done with all this?” She had to ask the obvious.
“Leesa called and asked for my help since it was Gabe’s daughter.”
Ransom let the comment set in. Maddie had focused on Tisha and her family and hadn’t thought further to Tisha’s parents. To Tisha’s father, Gabe. And the fact that Gabe was a homicide detective. Her mind was too busy racing with the information to make the associations.
Maddie was too stunned to be emotional. Partly from the emotional numbness of her own job and partly from being blindsided with the overwhelming facts of the murder.
Ransom and Maddie sat in silence. He watched her attempting to process what he’d just explained to her, waiting for the questions that were sure to ensue. Maddie looked back in his direction but was cut off by the ringing of Ransom’s phone in his shirt pocket. Pulling out his phone, Ransom could see it was Leesa.
He answered on the second ring, “Hey Leesa.”
“Briggs is going to announce the deaths on TV and mention that two officers were killed,” she sounded frustrated at the thought.
“He can’t do that yet,” Ransom returned her frustrated tone. “We need to sort out a few more details before they release key information. This could send the killer underground.”
“Exactly what we tried to tell him. Gonzalez stormed out of the meeting after Briggs said he wouldn’t change his mind.”
“Why is he doing this? What good is going to come of this?” Ransom threw his free hand into the air.
“That’s what we told him! He started spouting terms about the ‘public had a right to know’ and ‘getting closure.’ He tried to soften the blow by saying ‘that’s why I have my best people on it,’ that’s when Gonzalez stormed out.”
Ransom pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “When is he going on TV?”
“Within the next five minutes.”
Ransom looked at Maddie and asked her to turn on the TV to Channel 5.
“I’ll call you back when he’s done,” Leesa finished and hung up.
Ransom put his phone down and looked at the screen. An empty podium, adorned on the front with a Metro badge emblem, stood in the middle of the screen. Just below were the backs of the heads of a number of reporters and photographers awaiting Sheriff Briggs’ entrance.
Briggs walked directly into the room and up to the podium. Flipping open a folder on the podium, he looked up at the small crowd of anxious reporters and began.
“Two days ago NHP stopped behind a parked vehicle on the side of the road on South I-15 at Cactus. The vehicle contained four deceased individuals. Lee Jones, Tisha Poulson-Jones, and their two children. Lee Jones is an officer with the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department and his wife is the daughter of Detective Gabriel Poulson.”
The reporters waited anxiously for the Sheriff to defer to them for questioning. They weren’t prepared for the next round of information he was going to share.
“This morning, a 911 operator received a call from a small business owner that there were three deceased individuals in his shop when he arrived. Our officers responded and discovered three individuals, two adults and a child. We can’t release the names of these individuals as their families need the opportunity to notify other relatives before the information is shared. I can tell you this,” Briggs’ continued, the tension in the room drowning in silence,” one of the deceased is an officer with Metro.”
Seeing an opening, one reporter shot up their hand and yelled, “Sheriff, are the two connected in any way?”
“We aren’t ready to comment on that yet. This is an ongoing investigation and we are giving great care to both crimes. Not only were these good officers we lost, they were good people, and along with their spouses and children, will be missed dearly by the community and our law enforcement family.”
With the answer to the first question, the reporters came to life, drilling questions, hoping to be the loudest to get their questions answered.
“Are we talking about cop killers?”
“So these were families, not individual killings?”
“Sheriff, do you expect more killings?”
“Do you have any leads so far?”
“Is it possible that these were unrelated?”
The Sheriff allowed the wave of questions to hang in the air before stating, “That’s all we can share at this time. We will update you as we know more and the case progresses. Thank you.”
Briggs gathered his notebook and exited back through the door in which he came.
“Turn it off,” Ransom told Maddie.
She turned off the TV and turned back to him. She couldn’t contain the emotion of actually knowing one of the families. Her bottom lip trembled and a tear slipped down her cheek. Seeing his daughter in pain, Ransom opened his arms and she crawled onto his lap. Deep sobs took hold of Maddie’s body, but she didn’t have to hold them in. She was in the safest place she’d ever known the arms of her father.
With her face pressed into her father’s collar, she struggled to get out the words, “Why, daddy? Why?”
Ransom had no answers for her. All he could do was hold her. Hold her and let her know she was safe here. Safe from the outside world.
Reaching down, he touched her chin and lifted her face to meet his gaze, “I don’t know why, babe. But I’m going to find out.”
Burying her face back into his shirt, she answered him, “I know you will, daddy. I know you will.”
14
Maddie sat on her father’s lap until she had to get up and get ready for work. She was able to wrestle control of her emotions enough and let the warm shower finish the job. Dressed in her blue uniform and a backpack slung over her shoulder, she found her father in the living room sketching notes and diagrams on a pad of yellow-lined paper.
Noticing her watching, he turned his head toward her, “You okay?”
He began to stand but she put her hand on his shoulder to encourage him to stay on the sofa.
“I’m good. Thanks for the good cry. It was probably building up for a while, you know, just life and work. I must have hit the tipping point.” Kissing him on top of the head, she ruffled his short, brown hair and added, “Just glad you were here for it.”
Her eyes began to well-up again, but she won the battle of control this time around.
“I’m always here, babe. Always. Be careful out there tonight.”
“You too,” she made it to the door, “and try to remember that you’re retired.”
Shutting the door behind her, Ransom returned to his pad of paper. Names grouped into family units. Locations of the bodies. One residence location written
under Lee and Tisha’s name. A star next to Lee and the latest Metro victim, Holly Ford.
Ransom could only see one connection at this point, police officers. Somehow this had to be a link. There were more than likely other links, but the principle of Occam’s Razor drove his investigation method. He tried to never overlook the simple explanations in front of him. Going too big, or hypothesizing too much, usually ended in too many variables and watering down the actual connections right there in his face. The actual connections were normally responsible for solving the crime.
Two families dead. A couple and their two children. A couple and their one child. One person in each couple an officer. Each family having at least one child. The common denominators: a couple, a Metro officer, and a child.
Ransom considered the next level, in this case the scene. Each scene was painstaking arranged to give the appearance of a family enjoying some type of an outing. Going to Disneyland. Going out for ice cream. The common denominator: a family outing. Adding emotion: a family enjoying an activity together.
Tapping his pen on the paper, Ransom leaned his head back to let the denominators fall into place in his head. The denominators explain both the ‘why’ and the ‘who’, but which were which?
Ransom’s phone rang and he answered without looking at the screen, “Hey Leesa.”
“I just made it to the Ford’s house. Gonzalez and Hatch have already been through it. They went there straight from the meeting with Briggs. Can you meet us here?”
Ransom had already grabbed his keys and headed to his truck, “On my way, text me the address.”
15
Ransom pulled to the entrance of the cul-de-sac and was stopped by an officer standing in front of a number of cones protecting the area from anyone entering. The house was less than a half-mile from the Jones’ residence. Neighbors were outside standing near the cones, whispering in hushed voices, some crying.
No doubt from Briggs media frenzy he stirred up.
Politics and police work never played well together. The announcements that morning were a prime example, enticing neighbor and media intrusions into the investigation.
Ransom pulled alongside the officer, “I’m with Detective Gardner.”
Another patrolman, a few years older than the one Ransom was chatting with, saw Ransom and yelled, “Let him through. You can park just inside the cones, Ransom.”
“Thanks,” Ransom said to the young officer and waved a thanks to the older officer as well.
Parking his truck, he could see a number of faces in the windows of adjacent houses peering out their windows, trying to get a glimpse of what was going on. The faces had obviously been warned to stay in their homes.
Ransom stepped from his truck and pressed hard on his cane as he swiveled and stretched his right foot down, followed by his left foot and cane. He should have grabbed a couple of pills off the end table on the way out of his house. His leg was already aching and he would more than likely be on it for a while.
The Ford home looked more like an open house than a crime scene; had the traffic of individuals not been wearing uniforms or labeled windbreakers. Ransom slowly walked by the pressed faces against windows in the cul-de-sac’s dead end. The police presence and morning’s revelation on television had obviously combined giving concern whether their local neighborhood cop was the victim Sheriff Briggs had spoken about.
The two-story home looked comfortable, almost quaint, though Ransom would never use the word audibly. A short fifth-wheel was along the side of the house, behind a chain-link fence. A small excited dog was sprinting back and forth just inside the fence, occasionally barking and running to the back of the house in an attempt to not be forgotten by the unwelcome guests.
Grabbing the handrail, Ransom climbed the three concrete steps and looked into the house. Crime technicians were scurrying back and forth, bags and bottles in hand, while the lead tech, Mike, pointed and called out instructions. Ransom saw Leesa, Gonzalez, and Hatch standing in the far left corner of the living room in a small circle talking.
Hatch looked up and saw Ransom and gave him a nod to come over.
“Not much has changed,” Ransom commented referring to the chaos surrounding Mike.
“I just hope I retire before he does,” Leesa commented. “I don’t want to have to break in another lead tech.”
The group unanimously agreed. The three detectives scooted back to make room for Ransom in their circle.
“What did you find?” Ransom dove right into the middle of their conversation.
The three looked at each other and Gonzalez spoke up, “Same M.O. as the Jones’ house, but with a twist.”
Ransom raised an eyebrow, “A twist?”
Hatch broke in and continued, “There’s a gas hub on the back of the house, but there’s also a dog back there. Probably wouldn’t hurt you, but she can definitely make a racket.”
“Okay.”
“The killer ran a line to the neighbor’s house, over the wall, and then into the Ford’s bedroom.”
“How’d you figure that out,” Ransom wanted the details.
Leesa finished the story, “The lock on the neighbor’s gate was cut and then put back together to look like it wasn’t broken.”
“What about the dog I saw on the side of the house? She didn’t get hurt?” Ransom asked.
“‘She actually had a bed in the back corner of the downstairs. The door was shut when we got here. Best we can tell the guy must have found her knocked out and took her outside and placed her on the lawn. When Gonzalez and Hatch first got here she was huddled in the corner looking really woozy,” Leesa finished with a shrug.
Ransom shook his head.
Killed three people but saved the dog.
“I know, just weird, right? I mean, he hates people but likes dogs?” Hatch couldn’t help but join in.
“I’m not sure that he hates people as much as he is focusing on certain types and relations of people,” Ransom thought out loud. “Occam’s Razor.”
“Occam’s what?” Hatch couldn’t hide the confusion on his face.
“Occam’s Razor,” Ransom repeated, “selecting the answer that makes the fewest assumptions.”
Hatch just stared at Ransom as if he was speaking a foreign language.
Ransom couldn’t help but laugh. The young detective was eager but definitely still building his skillset around investigations.
“How about the KISS method?” Ransom quizzed.
“Keep It Simple Stupid,” Hatch nodded at getting the reference.
“Occam’s Razor is like the KISS method on steroids. Kind of like a grown-ups version of the KISS method,” Ransom smiled at Hatch until he picked up on the jab. “We need to whittle out the extra information that just adds confusion and focus on the information that produces connections and answers. Sometimes we overlook the simple things because, well, they look too simple. Never disregard the obvious.”
Hatch was leaning into every word Ransom had to say when Leesa chimed in, “Okay, professor, are you done with your lecture yet?”
Ransom was a little embarrassed at having lost his place—he was retired and was “helping” with the investigation. He was no longer the lead. That ship sailed along with his leg. He needed to fight the good fight from a support position, no matter how difficult it was to accept the role.
Seeing her old partner shifting gears in the conversation, Leesa turned toward Ransom and explained, “The rooms look the same as the other house. Clothes tossed around, drawers open, pajamas on the floor. Only this time he didn’t take either of their cars.”
Gonzalez asked the group, “I wonder if it was because of the type of cars they had. One was an older two-door Scion sports car and the other was a four door Kia, still pretty small. He would have had a hard time getting the bodies into the trunk, or even into the cars without some suspicion.”
“You think he dragged them out to another vehicle?” Hatch asked.
“Let’s take a loo
k,” Leesa suggested.
The four walked to a door just off the kitchen leading to the garage. Inside the garage were two parking spots, the nearest to the door empty and the Kia taking up the spot on the far wall. Reaching up, Hatch hit the garage door opener. The door creaked its way open, revealing the Scion parked in the driveway, directly behind the Kia.
Hatch pointed at the empty spot in the garage, “Who parks their car in the driveway when there’s room in the garage?”
“And who parks their car directly behind their other car making it so you have to move the Scion before you could use the Kia?” Leesa finished the obvious questions.
The four stood for a moment, contemplating the answer.
“If I were the killer,” Ransom climbed down the four steps to the garage floor, “I wouldn’t want to drag anyone outside to my car. Or let’s say van. I would move the Scion out of the garage and park it behind the Kia, then pull my van into the garage and close the door. So his vehicle would have been parked here.”
Ransom milled around the empty spot in the garage while the others watched atop the stairs. He looked closer at the ground and leaned on his cane to bend down and check the side of the Kia. Standing upright, he looked at the front of the garage and then the side of the garage where the killer’s driver-side door would have swung open.
Looking back toward the open garage, Ransom flipped his hand toward the group, “Someone hit the garage door button.”
The door lazily crawled back down the metal rails to its resting place. Ransom walked to the door and looked along the ridges on the inside of the door panels. Just below chest high, he stopped and strained his neck closer.
“Leesa, you have your flashlight?” Ransom continued to stare at the same spot on the panel.
Leesa hurried down and pulled her flashlight from her waist. Gonzalez and Hatch trailed close behind. Ransom clicked the button and shined the light on a small dent where two of the panels met. Small flecks of paint hung in the gap.
