“Um, hello Sergeant, it’s Sybil Harding. You left me a message.”
“Yes, thank you for returning my call, Sybil. How’s everything going?”
“Fine, okay.”
Fine, okay? “Anything the sheriff’s office can help you with?”
“No, thank you. Is that why you called me, to check?” she said.
“That was one reason. The other is I’m wondering if you know anyone who goes by the name of Buzz. He was in the U.S. Navy, probably either during the Korean War or the Vietnam War.”
It took her a while to answer. “Why are you asking?”
“We’re following up on a possible lead,” I said.
“Oh. Um, no, I guess I don’t.”
“Sybil, are you going to be back in Oak Lea in the next day or so? I’d like to talk to you about a couple of things.”
“Like what kind of things?”
“We’ve had another fire in Blackwood Township and we’re trying to figure out if there’s any connection to your grandparents’ fire,” I said.
“Oh. Um, well, I could be there today, I think. Maybe in the later afternoon.”
“That will work for me. My shift is from seven to three. Give me a call when you get into town, and we can meet at your grandparents’ house. Or at the sheriff’s office, if that’s better.”
“Okay. I’ll call you.”
“Thanks.” I turned off my vehicle and was about to get out when a fire call came over Channel 4 on the sheriff’s radio. “Paging Oak Lea Fire Department. Barn on fire in Blackwood Township, Forty-six sixty-three Collins Avenue. Paging Oak Lea Fire.”
What in the world? My heart jumped around in my chest as I re-buckled my seat belt, turned the ignition back on, and shifted into drive. “Six oh eight to Winnebago County. I copied the fire page, and I’m en route from the Oak Lea Holiday station.”
“Ten-four, Six oh eight. At ten twenty-two.”
I checked to be sure the coast was clear and then sped away from the service station toward the fire on Collins Avenue, five long miles away. A message from Smoke appeared on my mobile data terminal. “I’ll beat you there.”
Under other circumstances I might have sent him a smiley face, but there was no smiling when I saw smoke swirling into the atmosphere. Given the distance I was from the site, it was an ominous sign. The barn would suffer the same fate as the other two had. Three giant tinderboxes in a county filled with dozens upon dozens more. The all-too-familiar feeling of gloom seeped into my bones.
I pulled up in front of the farmstead expecting the worst, and that’s what I got. The gathering crowd was watching a show that rivaled any high-buck fireworks display I’d ever seen. The Oak Lea Fire Department was just arriving on the scene, and Emerald Lake was close behind. I parked my squad car on the road at a safe distance from the fire. Smoke was standing near the house. Woody Nevins’ home. And that’s when I remembered he hadn’t returned the call I’d made at the traffic stop involving his Jeep—the one driven by a man named Ross Warren.
Smoke glanced at me when I stepped in beside him. Neither of us had words. We both just shook our heads and watched the crew of firefighters battle the third barn fire of the week. If there was a question in anyone’s mind that it was happenstance, a bizarre coincidence that two old barns had spontaneously combusted, seeing the third one go up in smoke squelched any doubts.
We stood on the north side of the building, a good distance away, and the breeze was carried the smoke in the opposite direction. If it stayed that way, I wouldn’t need a face mask.
“I reminded Fire Chief Evans when the call went out to try not to blast water on the ground by the doors, if possible, so we can check for any footprints, especially on the backside. The point of entry is likely back there.” He looked down and shook his head. “But nobody’s leaving any tracks to speak of, just stirring the gravel up a bit. So unless we catch a big break, we might not find any.”
The crews knew the barn was a lost cause by the time they got there, and it wasn’t long before the fire had consumed it. The crew directed their water hoses at the charred remains to cool them down and put out sparks that could fly and ignite another fire. And then they drenched the surrounding area to prevent its spread to the house and outbuildings and across the dry fields.
“Winnebago County to Six oh eight and Seven fourteen,” Communications Officer Robin’s voice came over the radio.
“Six oh eight,” I said.
“Seven fourteen,” Weber responded.
“Domestic assault in progress at Thirty-five sixteen Ames Avenue, the Brandon Simmonds’ residence. A child is the reporting party, and she’s locked herself in her room. My partner is on the line with her. Unknown if there are any weapons involved.”
“Copy and I’ll be en route from Collins Avenue,” I said.
“Seven fourteen and Seven twenty-eight copy and are en route,” Weber said. He and Amanda Zubinski must have been on lunch break together.
Smoke turned to me with a mystified look on his face. “You think the fight was brought on by their fire? You got good backup, but be cautious.” He lifted his hand in a wave as I turned away and jogged to my car. Smoke knew he didn’t have to warn me, but reminders to stay vigilant never hurt any of us.
As I got behind the wheel, I sent up a prayer for the safety of everyone in the disputing household and for those of us responding. Domestics by their very nature carried a measure of danger for everyone involved. We were about two miles away, as the crow flies, and close to four via the county roads. There had been plenty of sirens thirty minutes before, but the Simmonds didn’t need to hear us coming.
“Six oh eight to Seven fourteen and Seven twenty-eight, lights only,” I instructed, and they both copied.
I hadn’t met the Simmonds, but considering what Smoke had said, I wondered if the stress of losing their barn and dashing some of their hopes and dreams had triggered a fight that was bad enough to cause their daughter to hide in her room and dial 911. “Six oh eight, Winnebago County.”
“Go ahead, Sergeant,” Robin said.
“Any more from the PR on the domestic?”
“Negative, Six oh eight. She’s crying and not saying much.”
“Copy that. The three of us are ten-six at the residence.”
“Ten-four at eleven sixteen.”
I pulled to a stop north of the Simmonds’ house with Weber and Zubinski right behind me. We moved quickly to the front door. A man’s angry-sounding voice was booming with fury-filled force. No wonder the daughter had locked herself in her room. I climbed the three steps, pulled open the screen door, and rapped loudly on the door. “It’s Sergeant Aleckson from the sheriff’s office.” Then I stepped aside, out of the line of fire.
Weber and Zubinski waited at the bottom of the steps on either side of the concrete sidewalk positioned behind tall arborvitae bushes, blocked from view of the front door and windows. When there was no response from inside, I gave the door a few good kicks with my boot and announced my presence again.
The man’s voice quieted within. “Please open the door. Now,” I called out. I heard shuffling around inside, heightening my sense of alert. My hand instinctively went to my Glock, and I knew my backup team was preparing for whatever happened next.
A younger-sounding woman called out, “I’m coming.” She opened the door slowly and frowned when she saw me. Her eyes were red, and remnants of tears clung to her lashes. “Is this about our fire?”
“We had a report of a dispute, and we heard a man yelling when we arrived. We’ll need to come in to make sure everyone is all right.” I sensed Weber’s and Zubinski’s presence behind me.
“We’re all right,” she said.
“We need to check things out.”
“Okay. Come in.” She stepped back, and I stepped in followed by Weber on my back left, and Zubinski on my back right.
I took in the scene, noting no obvious signs of a physical altercation, at least not in the living room. It was
tidy. A middle-aged woman sat in a side chair, working her thumbs around on her folded hands. A middle-aged man stood on the other side of the couch. His beet-red face carried a dour expression. No doubt he was one of the involved parties. After a long, cold stare at the three of us he turned to leave. “Sir, we’ll need to talk to you,” I said. He slowly pivoted back to the couch, dug his hands into it then dropped his head.
I introduced myself and the other two deputies then singled out the younger woman. “Are you Angela Simmonds?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Where is your husband?”
She sniffled and wiped her hand across her eyes. “He went into town to get some groceries for supper.”
“Okay.” I took a couple of steps toward the woman in the chair and pulled out my memo pad. “And what’s your name, ma’am?”
“Kaye Backstrom. I’m Angela’s mother,” she said.
That saved me a question. “All right.” I looked at the man. “And you, sir?”
“Damon Backstrom.”
I nodded and jotted that down. “Mrs. Simmonds, where are your children?”
“My son went with his dad, and my daughter is in her room,” Angela said
A girl around ten years old peeked her head around the corner from the hallway. “I’m here, Mom.”
“What’s your name?” I asked her.
“Naomi.”
I lifted my hand toward Amanda Zubinski. “Naomi, this is Deputy Mandy. She’d like you to show her your room while we talk to your mother and grandparents.”
“Okay.” Zubinski followed Naomi around the corner and would find out why she had called 911.
My brief assessment of Damon Backstrom led me to believe he’d prefer having Weber interview him over me. “Mr. Backstrom, you and Deputy Weber can talk in the kitchen,” I said.
Backstrom’s expression was grimmer still when he left the room with Weber trailing behind him.
“All right, Mrs. Simmonds—Angela—are you comfortable having your mother here when I ask you a few questions?” She took a quick glance at Kaye and nodded. I asked each of them for their full name, date of birth, address, and phone number, and then directed Angela to give me an account of what had happened.
Tears welled in her pleading hazel eyes. “We were talking about the two barn fires, at our house and at the Hardings’. And then I said that Sybil Harding was looking after her grandparents’ place while they were gone, and I was hoping to meet her, and maybe my great aunt and uncle when they got back. And that’s when my dad blew up.”
“Blew up, how?”
“First he gave the wall a punch.” She pointed, and I noticed a picture some feet away was a little crooked, but with the old lathe and plaster construction it would take more than a single punch to damage it. “I’d never seen him do anything like that before.”
Kaye shook her head.
“Mrs. Backstrom, do you concur with that?” I said.
“Yes, I do. And I’ve been married to Damon for over thirty years.”
I turned back to Angela. “Go on with your story.”
“And then Dad started yelling, telling me that I was not to have any contact whatsoever with any member of the Harding family. That they were bad news, every one of them. I asked why he thought that about Sybil. I mean, we don’t even know her.
“And he said the Hardings poisoned our family relationship, it was their family against our family. I asked him how, and then he got even madder and started demanding how I even knew who Sybil was in the first place, had she said anything to me? And things like that. I can’t even remember all that he said because it’s hard to hear everything when someone’s yelling at you. I was scared and didn’t get why he was so angry.”
“Do you feel threatened in any way? Are you afraid of your father?”
Angela shook her head. “No.”
“Mrs. Backstrom, do you have anything to add?”
“No,” she said.
I studied her a moment. “Are you afraid of your husband?”
“No, I’m not. Not at all.”
“All right. I need to tell you that Naomi called nine-one-one, because she was afraid. She was crying. She’ll need to be soothed and calmed down.”
New tears formed in Angela’s eyes, and she looked at her mother. Kaye Backstrom nodded. “I think we should get a hotel room in town for tonight and come back tomorrow when Naomi feels better. I’m so sorry her grandpa scared her. I just want to hold her and tell her it will never happen again.”
“That’d be good, Mom. Brandon and I don’t yell like that, so it’s no wonder she was scared,” Angela said.
I carried victim notification cards with me and pulled two out of my back pocket then handed one to each of them, along with my business card. “If you ever feel you’re in danger, here’s a list of resources of people and organizations to help you. And there’s my name and contact information.” I got up from the chair. “I’m going to check with the other deputies, see if we need anything more.”
Weber and Damon Backstrom were sitting on bentwood chairs at an old oak pedestal table in the kitchen. Either Backstrom had a naturally hang-dog look or he was feeling badly. “Deputy Weber, I’ve finished my interview with Mrs. Simmonds, and I have a question or two for Mr. Backstrom when you’re done,” I said.
“Go ahead, Sergeant.” Weber stood up, and I took his chair, across from Backstrom.
“Mr. Backstrom, did Deputy Weber tell you who called nine-one-one?”
He looked down at his hands. “Yes. And I’m very sorry. I don’t know what got into me. My daughter asked about family things that happened years ago. I’m embarrassed that it made me lose it like I did.”
“Something that was serious enough for your family to be estranged from the Harding family all these years?”
“Yes.”
“What could be that bad?” I said.
“It’s a private family matter.”
“But when it causes you to lose control to the point your granddaughter needs to call nine-one-one, then it becomes a police matter.”
When he looked up there were tears in his eyes. “I can assure you it won’t happen again.”
“Good. I’m holding you to your word.” I excused myself and found Naomi’s open bedroom door. Mandy Zubinski was sitting on a desk chair and Naomi was lying on her stomach on the bed, appearing much calmer. They both looked up when I joined them. “How are you doing, Naomi?” I said.
“Good. I felt better as soon as you got here.” She had round brown eyes on a sweet face.
“I’m glad to hear that. The favorite part of our job is helping people, making them feel better. Did you tell Deputy Mandy everything you wanted to?”
“Yes. There wasn’t much to tell. My grandpa scared me when he hit the wall and started yelling. I got the phone and called nine-one-one because I thought that’s what I was supposed to do,” she said.
“You’re a smart girl. Thank you for doing that. Well, I guess we’re all set then.”
Zubinski thanked Naomi, and we left the room and found Weber in the living room waiting for us. “Call if you need anything,” I told the women.
“Sergeant, I have a question, if I can ask,” Angela said.
“Sure, what is it?”
“What were those sirens for about an hour ago? There were a lot of them.”
“Unfortunately, it was another barn fire, down the road from the Hardings,” I said.
Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened. “Another one? That just gives me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Someone must be doing this on purpose.”
“That’s what we intend to find out. Take care of your family, all right?”
“We will,” Angela said.
19
Belle and Birdie
“We’re making progress, Birdie.”
Birdie stared straight ahead.
“I know you’re upset with me, but I didn’t lose it on purpose. And besides, I didn’t need it aft
er all. I made do without it, just like we knew I would.”
Birdie turned to her, seeking an explanation.
Belle laid her hand on Birdie’s. “I did some digging and found another one almost exactly like it. That makes you feel better, doesn’t it?”
Birdie leaned over and kissed Belle on the cheek then laid her head on her shoulder.
“And it worked just fine. Every bit as good as the other one.” Belle put her arm around Birdie and closed her eyes. “We’re in this together, and we’ll never be apart. Ever. You believe that, right?” Belle felt Birdie’s gentle nod and smiled.
20
I told Communications I was clearing the scene then checked my mobile data terminal for any pending routine calls that hadn’t gone out over the radio. There was one from someone requesting a phone call, but when I picked up my cell phone, it rang before I could dial the number.
“Hey Smoke, what’s up?”
“I just heard you clear. You’re gonna want to come back to the Nevins’ farm. Our firesetter just upped the ante.”
“How so?”
“We found a charred body in the barn, presumably a male’s,” he said.
Angela had cited a sinking feeling not three minutes before. Smoke’s news sent the same sensation through me then goose bumps popped up all over my body. “Dear God. Is it Woody Nevins?”
“There’s no way to ID him by appearance only. We notified the sheriff, the fire marshal, and I’m about to call the medical examiner.”
“Is the sheriff on his way out there?”
“No, he isn’t. It’s not like the old days when he stopped whatever he was doing when we had an unusual death and was at the scene a-sap. I think he’s lost his coping skills. When I told him what we had, he said he’d wait for the report.”
As much as I believed the chief law enforcement officer should be there, I was relieved I wouldn’t have to see Denny so soon after learning he’d deceived my mother. “Hmm. Okay, see you in a few.” I phoned Communications to tell them I was returning to the barn fire scene.
Robin answered. “Thanks, Sergeant. Detective Dawes told us what they have out there. A real tragedy.”
Firesetter in Blackwood Township, a Winnebago County Mystery Page 12
