Firesetter in Blackwood Township, a Winnebago County Mystery

by Christine Husom

  “I obviously don’t use them for jogging. I call them my loungers, and they were the first thing I laid my hands on when I rolled out of bed at dawn’s early light.”

  “Ahhh.”

  Smoke went home, and I returned to my grandparents’ barn. Weber and Zubinski had finished photographing the rocks and were putting them in individual evidence bags. Weber was wearing a white cotton cap on his head and had a thin cloth towel around his neck, tucked into the top of his coveralls. “I started sweatin’ like a horse and didn’t want to contaminate the evidence,” he said.

  “That works,” I said.

  “I’ve collected rocks for a case before but never twenty-eight of them,” Zubinski said.

  I remembered something. “Vince, you’ve got rocks you use for a campfire in your backyard, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “You should look, see if they’re all still there,” I said.

  “Ah, geez. That fire pit was there when I bought the place, so I couldn’t tell you by looking if any of those rocks,” he waved his hand at the remaining group, “would be any of mine.”

  “Check it out, Vince. Whoever is doing this must have a reason,” I said.

  “With the extra challenge of being on an elevator that doesn’t go up to the top floor,” he said.

  Zubinski shook her head at him. “There has to be a connection to an incident you were all involved with.”

  “We’ve had more than my little brain can begin to remember the last eight years. But like Dawes said, nothin’ related to shutting down a commercial rabbit farm,” Weber said.

  We fell into silence as we wrapped things up. I helped them remove the last of the evidence then closed the door on the barn. Getting a good strong lock on it was long past due. The sheriff’s office needed to remind everyone in the county, and Blackwood Township in particular, to be sure to do the same on their unsecured barns.

  Weber pulled the towel from the back of his neck and wiped his face with it. “We’ll swing by my place on the way back to the office. Now you got me curious about my stupid campfire rocks.” He pulled open the passenger side door of the mobile crime unit then got in.

  Zubinski shrugged and climbed behind the wheel.

  I phoned Smoke to let him know we were done at the scene and would be reporting back to the office. “I’m heading there in a bit. I did a little search of the property around my house, and believe it or not, I found a few spots where it’s clear rocks had been recently removed.” Smoke lived in a log home on a small lake surrounded by woods on the other three sides.

  “You got pictures?” I said.

  “Sure, and I took measurements too. It’s not reasonable, given the circumstances, to have a posse go over all my acres looking for more. The important thing is that we can establish someone trespassed here and took some rocks,” he said.

  “Yep.”

  My phone rang a while later. It was Weber. “What have you got, Vince?”

  “It’s what I haven’t got. I counted four spots where some rocks used to be.”

  “Snap some shots of the fire pit to show that,” I said.

  “Already done, and we’re heading back to the station.”

  When I got into Oak Lea, I pulled into the parking lot at the sheriff’s office and phoned my mother. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Oh Corinne, I’ve been waiting for you to call. Have you figured out what’s going on?”

  “No, we’re a ways from that. But we’ll keep plugging away,” I said.

  “I have such an uneasy feeling about all of this.”

  “Me too. The good news is we’ve got smart people investigating. Smoke, the State Fire Marshal—”

  “I know, and that’s good. I know you’re on duty and won’t keep you. But I think you should let your grandparents know what happened as soon as possible,” she said.

  “I agree, and we’ll take care of it. Try not to fret about it too much, Mom.” When our call ended, I let Communications know I was 10-19, turned off the car, grabbed my briefcase, and went inside.

  31

  Belle and Birdie

  “Birdie, did you notice how long they spent at that old barn?” Belle said.

  Birdie looked at the sky and didn’t seem to hear her.

  “I think there were more people at that place than at the other ones. It seemed like it, anyway. When someone in the sheriff’s office gets touched, it gets a lot of attention.”

  Birdie turned to Belle and raised her eyebrows.

  “They carried out load after load out of the barn. They might be getting the message, after all. You think so?”

  Birdie closed her eyes like she had suddenly grown weary.

  “Go ahead and rest a while, Birdie,” Belle said.

  32

  The weekday pace in the office was nothing like it was on the weekends. Fingers flew over keyboards. Command staff officials reviewed reports to be sent off to the county attorney and other agencies. I was planning to talk to the sheriff about my grandparents’ fire, but Twardy wasn’t in, so I found Chief Deputy Mike Kenner instead. I knocked on his doorjamb.

  Kenner looked up and waved me in. “Come in, Sergeant. Well, I hear you had a heck of a deal at your grandparents’ barn.”

  “I can’t even tell you,” I said.

  “Dawes said the suspect stole rocks from your house and used them to build a campfire ring. And the dead rabbits? Another strange twist after four of you had them delivered to your houses.”

  “Weber and Smoke had rocks taken from their properties too.”

  “I hadn’t heard that,” Kenner said.

  “Mason? I hope he got a pass on this one. With kids, things like this happening at his house would be scary.”

  “You know it. Remember that he’s gone on vacation this week, so he won’t be able to check things out at his place till he gets back. Meanwhile, we’ve got to track down the culprits who are wreaking all this havoc and lock them up before there’s any more death and destruction.”

  “Mike, I have a request. Can you get a public service announcement to the media outlets asking people in the county with barns to make sure they have locks on the doors? I think there’s some kind of motive behind all of the fires, that they’re not just crimes of opportunity. But the firesetter has had easy access to all of them. And there may be others out there that he’s got his eyes on.”

  He jotted notes on the pad on his desk. “Sure thing. No problem.”

  “Thanks. I see you’re going over the reports on the fatality.” I nodded at the papers on his desk.

  “Yeah. I’m playing catch up after being gone up north over the weekend. It’s the preliminary autopsy report Dawes left for me. I had a phone conference with him on Saturday about all the happenings, since I’ve been helping the sheriff with more of his duties.”

  “I noticed he’s out again today,” I said.

  He nodded but didn’t comment, and then changed the subject by holding up a photo of the burned body. “That’s about as bad as they come.”

  “It is as bad as they come.”

  “Are you going to be in the office for a while?”

  “Yes, I have to write my reports then I’m going to check with some businesses in Emerald Lake, see if any of them recognize Ross Warren from his DL photo.”

  “Sure, that’d be good. When Dawes gets in we’re going to have a conference call with that state investigator, Emmet Chapman, to see what he’s got to say. I think you should be here for that. Hopefully he’ll give us some insights into the type of suspect we should be looking for. With the first two fires, I was thinking it might be kids doing some vandalism. But now we got a fatality, and I don’t know what to think.”

  “Whoever set the fire might not have seen the victim if he was asleep in the animal stall.”

  “True, but if I was sleeping in someone else’s barn, I’d wake up right quick if I heard the door creak open.”

  “Me too, but then I’m kind of a light sleeper. And
there was an empty booze bottle near his body, so alcohol may have played a part.”

  “Yeah, I saw that in the report, and you might be right. We’ll know more when the toxicology tests come back.”

  Smoke stuck his head in the chief deputy’s office. “You waiting on me?”

  “Come in, Detective, and we’ll get this show on the road. Chapman’s expecting our call.”

  Smoke sat down on the chair next to mine. He’d showered and smelled like a pine forest after a cleansing rain. Nice. While Kenner dialed Chapman’s number, Smoke’s eyes sought mine with an imploring look. He was wondering how I was holding up. As I fought to maintain control of my shaky emotions, he leaned closer and braced his shoulder against mine. I almost gave in to my waiting tears.

  “Hello, Emmet? Mike Kenner here with Detective Elton Dawes and Sergeant Corinne Aleckson.”

  We exchanged brief greetings then Investigator Chapman jumped right into it. “After reviewing the reports from the three fires, and given the fact that the barns were owned by sisters, I’m convinced these are crimes of revenge. I’m sure you know that’s the most common motive for a serial arsonist. Retaliation for some injustice they’ve suffered.”

  “Yes,” Kenner said.

  “It might be something real, or it could be something they perceive as real. It could have happened months or even years ago. The sister—whose barn was the scene of the fatality—hadn’t lived there for two decades. That tells me whatever sparked this arsonist’s need for revenge took place over twenty years ago. It germinated and kept growing through the years until they finally decided to do something about it as payback. In this case, with fires.”

  “Emmet, it’s Dawes here. I’ve been thinking along those same lines. Are we talking about an older person or a younger person here? Firesetters strike me, generally speaking, as individuals who are not very mature emotionally.”

  “Immaturity is certainly true among juvenile firesetters in particular. They’re often developmentally delayed, have impulse control problems. And some adult firesetters have the same characteristics and issues. Some are impulsive, others are thrill-seekers. Immaturity may be a good descriptor for a lot of those behaviors.

  “But to answer your question, I can only guess about their age. We’ve been surprised too many times over the years with what our investigations have uncovered. Some firesetters are easy to identify based on early patterns of behavior or some psychological disorders. Others are a big surprise to officials and the public alike. The fire chief everyone trusted. The small town bank executive. And the sad truth is, the large majority of them are never identified, and therefore never caught. So we don’t have data on them.

  “Your firesetter is certainly clever and has managed to start four fires without detection. But an intriguing aspect is that three of them were set during the day when people were around, likely driving by or even out in nearby fields. Building that campfire involved a lot of prep work. I believe you have a single firesetter, but it’s possible there are two. Not more than two. These arson fires were set for personal reasons, and only a very close friend or family member would go along with something like this.”

  “Male, female?”

  “That’s a good question. Females set only a fraction of fires that males do, but the numbers are increasing. Females are more likely to set fires on their own properties, or those of neighbors, relatives, and friends. Not someone you’d want for a friend, right? I read a study that was conducted at a prison on female firesetters not long ago. They found the majority—over ninety percent—had a psychiatric illness, and most had suffered early sexual abuse. They’re often socially isolated, introverted, unemployed.”

  Smoke cleared his throat. “It’s Dawes again. I’ve read similar data on female firesetters. Many have antisocial or borderline personality disorders. Or schizophrenia.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” Chapman said.

  Smoke continued, “Getting back to the three barns that were owned by the sisters. We know that at least two of the families have been estranged for more than twenty years. Whatever caused the feud has been festering as a dark secret ever since.”

  “One that prompted these revenge fires now?” Chapman said.

  “It seems more like it all the time. We’ve talked to one of the family members involved in the dispute. Name’s Damon Backstrom, son of Mrs. Peters and the father of Angela Simmonds, the current owner of barn number two. Backstrom clammed up and wouldn’t say what happened—just that it’s a private family matter. I’m ready to bring him in for a Come-to-Jesus meeting, and if he doesn’t cough up the info, I’ll charge him with obstruction.”

  “He may very well be holding a key piece of the puzzle.”

  “No doubt about that. So what’s your take on the campfire in the Alecksons’ barn?” Smoke said.

  “It certainly adds an odd twist,” Chapman said.

  “Agreed, and it gets odder. I told you about the four of us getting dead rabbits on our doorsteps the last couple of weeks.”

  “Yes.”

  “Now come to find out the firesetter got rocks from at least three of our homes to build the ring around that fire.”

  “Hmm.” Chapman was silent a moment. “It’s the arsonist’s way of communicating something. But is it a warning, or some other sort of message? There is the possibility that it’s not directly connected to the other fires. That these are separate crimes by different individuals.”

  “You think so?” Kenner said.

  “I’m just throwing that out there. You have the one setting barns on fire, and you’ve got another delivering rabbits, who in turn gets the idea for the campfire in the barn because of the other barn fires. He staged that campfire surrounded by rabbits to get your attention.”

  Smoke screwed up his face and rubbed his temples. “He did that all right. We’re going to need to brainstorm, see if there’s a case we worked together that has some sort of rabbit connection. And to find out the family secret—and whether it would’ve caused one of them to seek this level of revenge.”

  “A lot to sort through. Good luck. I understand we’ll both be getting the toxicology results on the burn victim when they’re in, but be sure to call if you find out anything else that’d be useful to the investigation. Or if you have any questions I can help answer,” Chapman said.

  “Will do, appreciate it,” Kenner said.

  Smoke, Chief Deputy Kenner, and I each gathered our thoughts then threw them back and forth for discussion. After ten minutes, Kenner stretched his arms then clapped his hands together. “I’ll have our clerical staff search the databases for calls for service to the three residences in question over the last twenty years. Plus, we’ll do a broader county-wide search to see if the four of you were on a call together that might have sparked the rabbit incidents. What key words should we search?”

  “Try Feedlots. Animal Nuisance. Animal Neglect—” Smoke said.

  “Cruelty to Animals,” I added.

  “See what those searches bring up,” Smoke said.

  Kenner jotted them down. “Sure thing, we’ll take care of it. And I’ll get word out to farmers advising them to get locks on the doors of their barns and other outbuildings if they don’t have them already.” Kenner pointed at me. “Per the sergeant’s request.”

  Smoke glanced my way then nodded. “Mike, it wouldn’t hurt to beef up patrol in Blackwood Township. I’ve mulled over the possibility that the firesetter is a neighbor, someone we know and who blends in with other folks in the township. After talking to Chapman, I’m thinking it’s more a probability than a possibility. Frankly, I’m concerned about what the firesetter might have in store for us next.”

  “I’m with you on that one, and I’ll make sure we show plenty of presence out there, let whoever is committing these crimes know that we’re looking for him,” Kenner said.

  I nodded. “Thanks. I better call my grandparents, tell them about the fire in their barn. Then I’ll stop after work and get a l
ock—”

  “Kristen’s barn is secure, isn’t it?” Smoke interrupted.

  His question made my heart skip a beat. If her barn burned down, it would be a devastating loss for our family. And the annual Labor Day weekend parties Mother hosted would come to a sudden, sad end for the scores of people who looked forward to the popular shindig every year.

  “Yes, it is, but I’m going to double check her locks after all this,” I said.

  “Good idea,” Smoke said.

  “Anyway, back to my grandparents. I’m really conflicted about what to tell them. I have to be honest—my grandma knows me like the back of her hand—but I think whoever set that fire did it because it belongs to my grandparents, to get back at me for some reason. Taking the rocks from my place supports that theory. So it’s a double whammy. They’ll be more worried about me than about the fire.”

  Kenner narrowed his eyes on me. “Why do you think someone’s trying to get back at you?”

  “I don’t know, but we do things in the line of duty that make people mad sometimes. I’ve had someone trespassing on my property at least three times in the last week. One left a dead rabbit and another—maybe it was the same person—left a lighter behind. Then they stole some rocks. I have the same last name and live on the same road as my grandparents. Their name is on their mailbox and they have that Welcome to the Alecksons’ sign by their door.”

  Smoke nodded. “That makes it easier for someone looking for a particular someone. But they found Weber and Mason and me without all those guides. None of us have listed phone numbers, but in this day and age it’s damn near impossible to hide.”

  “Unfortunate at times, isn’t it?” I said.

  “With staff looking into possible past incidents involving the four of you, hopefully they’ll find something, point us in the right direction. We’ll figure it out and put a stop to it,” Kenner said.

  I drew in a deep breath. “I’ve also made a decision I hope my mother will go along with. I want an alarm system installed in her barn.”