Firesetter in Blackwood Township, a Winnebago County Mystery

by Christine Husom

  “Already did,” someone called back.

  I went over to Weber and hooked my hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”

  “No. Are you?”

  “No. But I will be and so will you.” I led him over to the Honda.

  Zubinski was bent over the driver, checking for a carotid pulse. She glanced our way. “That was close. I wonder if she had a medical issue. She wasn’t wearing her seatbelt and hit her head on the windshield. She’s unconscious.”

  Weber braved a look at the driver and quietly said, “She has a mental issue. It’s Darcie. My sister-in-law.”

  The lights went on for Zubinski. “Damn,” she said. I guess Weber had finally told her about Darcie.

  Oak Lea Police Officer Casey Dey was first on the scene. Weber told him who Darcie was and about her attempted assault. “She’s in your custody, Casey,” he said.

  Emergency medical services pulled in and attended to Darcie. She was slowly regaining consciousness, but was confused about time and place. They checked her vitals then put a support brace on her neck, carefully lifted her out of the car onto a stretcher, and then into the back of the ambulance.

  Officer Dey phoned his chief requesting that an officer meet Darcie at the hospital. Then he took our statements and questioned the other witnesses for his report. Weber gave him Darcie’s parents’ names and contact information so they could get the official version of the incident from him. We were excused after the tow truck arrived to impound the Honda.

  Weber, Zubinski, and I walked over to his truck. “I don’t know what to say except ‘sorry.’ I almost got you killed,” Weber said.

  “No you didn’t. You are not responsible for Darcie’s actions,” I said.

  “Corky’s right, and you know it. Victims shouldn’t feel guilty,” Zubinski said.

  “Victims. Right.” Weber shook his head like he couldn’t believe that’s what he was.

  I gave Mandy a bear hug. “You saved our lives. Thank you.”

  “Thanks for knowing what to do when I yelled at you guys,” she said.

  Then Weber gave her a daddy bear hug. “I owe you everything. Anything you want—any time—you got it.”

  She began to tear up and nodded.

  “Mandy, I wanted to ask you about Sybil. Is she still at the hospital?”

  “No. The psychologist met with her for quite a while then Holman took her to the jail for booking. They’re keeping her in Holding on a suicide watch.”

  “Man. Well, I’m going to be the party pooper and go home,” I said.

  “Yeah, so much for relaxing with friends, huh?” Weber said.

  “We’ll do it another time,” Zubinski said then looked around the lot. “Where’s your car, Corky?”

  “At home.”

  “I’ll run you there.” She turned to Weber. “You want to come over to my place, hang out there instead?”

  “Thanks. Ah, maybe I’ll ride along to Corky’s. I don’t think I should be driving yet,” Weber said.

  Mandy slid her arm around his waist. “Sure thing.”

  I took the back seat, and as we drove away Weber said, “It’s like she came out of nowhere. She had to have followed us. I can’t believe I didn’t see her back there.”

  “You know what? It was a super intense afternoon. The worst. We made it through a critical incident, and by the time we turned in our reports we were exhausted—more than ready to forget about work for a while. You were thinking about Sybil, not Darcie,” I said.

  “And I never thought she’d pull something like that, trying to mow us down,” he said.

  “The big legal question is, did she plan it? Or was it a spur of the moment deal? She saw us and flipped out,” I said.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  Zubinski stopped in front of my garage, then she and Weber got out with me. Weber wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into a warm hug. “We’ll talk. Group therapy, maybe,” he said.

  “Sounds good.” When we eased apart and he’d turned around, I whispered to Mandy, “Take care of him.” She nodded then they got back in the car and left.

  My house was quiet with Queenie gone, and I wandered around a bit still too shocked by what Darcie had done to believe it. I got into the shower and let the water beat down on me for a long time while I shampooed and soaped up. When I finally felt clean I got out, dressed, and then called John Carl.

  “Would you mind bringing Queenie home, and maybe staying with me a while?”

  It took him a few seconds to answer. “Ah, sure. Sara’s here too. What’s going on?”

  “Bring Sara along, and I’ll tell you.”

  I couldn’t grasp all that had gone down since Weber and I first spotted Sybil pouring gas on her grandparents’ garage. The day’s events felt surreal, and my brain wasn’t ready to deal with them by myself.

  I needed to be with people I loved and people who loved me. When John Carl and Sara arrived with Queenie a short time later, I gave them all hugs then we sat in the living room, and I took them through it all, providing more details when they asked. Verbalizing what we’d gone through helped me begin the healing process.

  John Carl and Sara both seemed more distressed about Darcie, and more jolted about Sybil, than I was. And they offered words of comfort and support with their hugs, making me believe the sun really would come up tomorrow.

  “You have a lot of Grandma Aleckson in you,” John Carl said.

  I nodded. “Good thing, right?”

  “Corky, I can’t believe what Sybil’s been through and how badly it messed her up. Bodies buried in the cellar?” Sara winced.

  “I know. The BCA is helping our guys process the scene at their house. I was thinking of heading over there, see if they’ve uncovered anything yet,” I said.

  “Is that a good idea?” Sara said.

  I shrugged. “That was my plan before the Darcie incident sidelined me. I’m not part of the crime scene team, but I’ve been in the thick of things since the fires started.”

  The sun was setting as the investigators carried the last of the remains from the house and loaded them into the Midwest Medical Examiner’s van. I leaned against the hood of my car with Sergeant Roth, watching, but keeping our comments to a minimum. Smoke came out of the house and spoke with the death investigator assigned to the case before the investigator drove away with the remains.

  Roth looked at his watch. “Well, I better get back to work,” he said then left.

  Smoke walked over but stopped before he got too close. “You couldn’t stay away?”

  “Nope. How’s it going?” I said.

  “We’ll be at it into the night, making sure we’ve done it right. The graves were just a few feet underground, and they were buried in a row. The surface was smooth and had likely been raked and tamped down. The bodies must’ve stunk to high heaven for some time while they were decomposing. Mrs. Harding still has a ways to go yet.” He scrunched up his face.

  “Eew.”

  “And we found out where Sybil kept her rabbit supply—small freezer in the cellar,” he said.

  “Poor little guys. It’s scary how Weber’s comment got that kind of reaction from her.”

  “Another nail in the coffin, I guess. We also discovered bolt cutters and a cut lock in the freezer. We’re presuming it was from the Simmonds’, but we’ll need to verify. And bank statements showing Social Security checks were still being issued for both Mr. and Mrs. Harding to the present time. So we can surmise who was using the money,” he said.

  “You never know what people have stored in their freezers, do you? But that combination, wow.”

  “You got that right.”

  “Mandy told me a psychologist—I’m guessing Marcella—met with Sybil before she was taken to jail.”

  “Good to hear.” He pulled off the protective gloves he was wearing, put them in a pocket of his coveralls then got out a clean pair. “Well, a dark and smelly cellar is calling me back. See ya.”

  “See ya,” I said
and watched him walk away. I selfishly wished he had already wrapped things up so I could tell him what happened with Darcie, and how torn up I was inside.

  Darcie was under guard at the hospital. Sybil was under guard at the jail. But I felt vulnerable nonetheless. I sent Weber a text, checking to see how he was holding up. He sent me one back saying he was staying at Mandy’s. Vince had Mandy, I had Queenie.

  When I got home, I didn’t feel like going upstairs to my bed. I felt safer sleeping on the main level in my office den. I’d be able to respond faster if something happened, whatever that might be. I got out the afghan Gram had made for me years before and snuggled under it on the couch, imagining the times she had tucked me in bed when I was young. I fell into a deep, deep sleep and woke up in the morning feeling a little more optimistic.

  I heard my garage door opening and jumped up. Queenie ran on ahead, and when she let out her happy whimper I knew it was one of a handful of people. It turned out to be my mother, carrying a basket. She set it on the counter when she saw me. “I had to make sure you were all right.” Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and when she drew me into her arms, we stood there for a long time and wept.

  “I brought you breakfast,” she said as she stepped back. She took my hand, led me to the island counter, and helped me onto a stool. Then she pulled out containers of French toast, blueberry syrup, scrambled eggs, bacon, and quartered oranges.

  “It’s a feast, thank you, enough for six people.”

  Queenie barked, so I got up to let her out. “Sit. Eat. I’ll do it,” Mother said and opened the door for her.

  I dished up a big plateful, and it hardly made a dent in what she’d brought. Mother brewed a pot of coffee then sat down with me. “Every day I put you and your safety in God’s hands. That’s what I can do. And to be here if you need me,” she said.

  “Thank you.” And that was the end of the discussion. She didn’t want more details of the near miss, our narrow escape. John Carl’s version was enough for now.

  I was sipping a cup of coffee when I got a text from Smoke. “You up?’ I wrote back I was. He responded with, “Chief Deputy and I on our way to your house.” I showed Mother the message. “You should get some clothes on,” she said.

  I went upstairs, freshened up, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, and was back in the kitchen in short order. I met Kenner and Smoke at the door, and after they hugged me, we went to the dining room where Mother served coffee. Kenner gushed over me, saying how relieved he was Weber and I hadn’t been injured. We were two of his finest. Smoke’s intense stare didn’t ease up much the whole time.

  Then Kenner shared the news. “Perry Harding was arrested early this morning and is sitting in a New Mexico jail. Like father, like daughter. He’ll make his court appearance today and already said he won’t fight extradition. I’ll be sending Deputy Edberg down to bring him back.”

  “It worked out just as well that he never called me back. He might’ve fled if I’d started asking pointed questions,” Smoke said.

  “Probably right. Well, I better get back to the office. Oh Kristen, I brought this for Corky to give you, but since you’re here . . .” Kenner stood and pulled a small box from his pants pocket, then an envelope from his shirt pocket, and handed them to my mother.

  She raised her eyebrows in surprise as she accepted them. Mother stared at the box for a while then lifted the top. She gasped and held it up. The ring Denny had asked her to return. Smoke and I exchanged a quick “what next?” glance. Kenner shrugged then made his way out the door.

  Mother opened the envelope. Her hands were shaking as she pulled out the letter. She read it out loud. “Dear Kristen, You brought me back to life. Thank you. I’ve decided to retire, and it’ll be easier to do that if I move back to Iowa. I was wrong to ask you to give the ring back. It’s yours. Forever, Denny.” She slid it on her right-hand ring finger. “Isn’t it stunning?” she said.

  Even Smoke’s eyes were misty after that. And as far as I was concerned, my mother would never need to know who’d had it before she did.

  Mother looked at her watch. “Almost time to open the shop. If you’re okay, dear?”

  I nodded. “Thanks for being here, and for breakfast.”

  She picked up the letter and the box then gave me a kiss. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “Put the leftover food in your fridge, for later,” she called on her way out the door.

  Smoke followed me into the kitchen then stepped in front of me, swooped me up, and kissed me until I was gasping for breath. Before I had a chance to join him he lowered me to the floor. I backed up to the counter to support my shaky legs.

  “Hold that thought until tonight,” he said.

  Are you kidding? I’d hold that thought for the rest of my life.

  I drove over to Collins Avenue, drawn again to the Hardings’ place. There were barricades across the driveway and crime tape around the house. I sat in my car, staring and contemplating how Melvin “Buzz” Harding’s despicable crimes had led others in his family to commit many more. His brother and niece were in jail, facing prison time. His cousin’s son had died in a fire. His victim had taken her own life, and her sister had come close to doing the same.

  I got out and hiked over to the tree I’d found two days earlier, still adorned with the plaque. I stared at the words, BIRDIE AND BELLE LOVED SITTING IN THIS TREE. It seemed it was Belle’s sad way of saying goodbye. I snapped another photo of it to show to the powers-that-be. It’d be up to them to decide what to do with it.

  41

  Smoke invited me to sit in on Sybil Harding’s interview. I was waiting outside the room when he appeared with her. My stomach got a tickle in it thinking of his delicious kiss that morning. I switched my focus to Sybil and her ordeals. She looked at me in a way that was difficult to describe. Defiant, certainly, yet resigned that she had been caught. A measure of anger. And surprisingly, I sensed she respected me, and what I had done to stop her.

  We settled at the table in the room, Sybil on one side, Smoke and me across from her on the other. Smoke told Sybil he’d be taping the interview then read her the Miranda Warning, advising her of her rights, and asked if she understood. She said she did. He asked if she was ready to talk and she was.

  Smoke asked her for her story, and it was a long one, starting when Sybil was ten and Roberta was sixteen. That’s when Roberta first told her how her Uncle Melvin—Buzz—and her cousin Ross had molested her. The abuse went on for some time until the horrific day when Melvin raped her—that fateful last day when Melvin died at the hands of her father, and was buried in the cellar to cover it up. And the three families parted ways. Sybil had finally understood why Roberta hated to go to her grandparents’ farm for weekend visits. They’d escape to a tree away from the farmstead to sit and talk.

  “My sister said I was the one who kept her alive. I tried to help her, and I thought she’d get better, but she didn’t.” Sybil covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

  I pulled some tissues from the box on the table and handed them to her.

  “Go on when you’re ready,” Smoke said.

  “After Birdie died, her spirit stayed with me. She’d lost her body, her voice. She couldn’t take care of things herself, so I had to. Our parents took us away to New Mexico, and we came back here when I was eighteen. Birdie hated being at the farm and spent a lot of time in the tree when we were there.” Sybil relayed it like she was reading a textbook.

  “Sybil, did you live at the farm?”

  “Mostly. I know people in Minneapolis and stayed there too,” she said.

  “Why is there a Golden Valley address on your license?”

  “Birdie thought it sounded like a peaceful place to live.” Golden Valley.

  “Why did you use Birdie’s date of birth to get your license?”

  “She thought it’d be easier for me. I’d be old enough to have power of attorney. We were like twins, so it worked out to put my
name on her birth certificate,” she said.

  Smoke didn’t ask for details of how she got the license. Instead he said, “Tell me about the barn fires.”

  “After our grandma died, I needed to get rid of the three barns Birdie said were bad places. Buzz had hurt her in two of them. Ross had hurt her in one of them.”

  “You knowingly set the barns on fire?” he said.

  “Uh huh.”

  “Is that yes?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “You mentioned your cousin. Is that Ross Warren?” Smoke said.

  “Yes.”

  “Did Birdie ever tell your parents about Ross?”

  She shook her head. “She was afraid he’d kill her.”

  “Did you know Ross was in the barn when you set it on fire?” Smoke said.

  She shrugged. “I knew he slept in Mr. Nevins’ barn sometimes. I’ve seen him a few times the last two summers.”

  “Did you ever speak to Ross?”

  “No. We’ve never met, but Birdie pointed out who he was in a family photo, and I never forgot what he looked like,” Sybil said.

  “Why didn’t you tell Mr. Nevins that Ross was sleeping in his barn?”

  “I thought he knew. And I’ve never talked to Mr. Nevins.”

  “Tell me what happened when you started Mr. Nevins’ barn on fire. Did you know Ross Warren was in there?” Smoke asked again.

  This time Sybil nodded. “I saw him asleep in there. I didn’t want to go near him, wake him up, but I thought he’d smell the smoke and get out. Only he didn’t.” Sybil looked up at Smoke. “He deserved to die for what he did to Birdie. Like Buzz died.”

  Smoke asked Sybil about the rabbits, and she repeated what she’d told Weber and me when the garage was burning. She was sending us messages, trying to solicit our help. It made sense to her.

  “Sybil, where did you get the rabbits, and how did they die?” Smoke said.

  “There was a pair that lived in the barn. When their babies got bigger, I caught them and put them in a box by the exhaust pipe of the car and started the engine. They died peacefully. And the pair kept having more anyway.”