by C. M. Sutter
Jack pointed at the farms and the single-family homes he saw in the distance. “Let’s check with those folks then head back in. By then, Lena should have something we can give to the news stations. Amber and Kate, take that farm on Maple. Clayton and Billings, take the farm to the north, over there.” He pointed at the silo that stood above the rooftops of a farmhouse and barn in the distance. “I’ll take that small house to the east, where the flag is blowing. This shouldn’t take more than forty-five minutes. Meet back here at five fifteen.”
Our groups headed to the cars and left in different directions. Five minutes later, Kate and I reached the driveway of the farm on Maple.
As we got closer to the farmhouse, I pointed at the tractor alongside the barn. “The dirt on those tires still looks damp. That plowed field must belong to these people.”
We climbed out of the cruiser and met the farmer as he stepped off the porch. The screen door slammed at his back.
“Afternoon, ladies. Can I help you with something? Are you lost?”
Kate grinned and extended her hand. “No, sir, we’re from the sheriff’s office. I’m Deputy Kate Pierce, and this is my partner, Deputy Amber Monroe.”
We shook his hand, and he introduced himself as Felix Trent.
Kate continued. “We’d appreciate a few minutes of your time.”
“Sure thing. Grab a seat.” Felix pointed at the wooden steps that led from the porch to the sidewalk. “What can I help you with?”
I took over. “Does the field that runs parallel to Paradise belong to you?” I pointed straight down the driveway.
“Sure does. I farm three hundred acres and milk sixty-seven head of cattle. It’s a full-time job.”
I nodded. “I bet it is. Were you plowing earlier today?”
“Yep, I’m planting alfalfa in that fifty-acre parcel over by the road.”
“So you were right along Paradise?” Kate asked.
“Sure was. Why?” Felix stuck his index finger in his ear and wiggled it back and forth.
“Did you notice any vehicles pass by as you plowed?”
“I sure did. Agnes Sparks drove by, and so did Freddy Asche. I gave them both a big wave.”
“Anyone stop alongside the road that you noticed, maybe between ten and noon?”
Felix let out a sigh and scratched his forehead. “Let me think about that. No, I’m pretty sure I would have noticed someone stopping. That could have been when the wife told me to take a break. She had just pulled an apple pie out of the oven and brewed a fresh pot of coffee. I couldn’t say no to that. I’d been plowing since seven o’clock.”
“Okay, and what time did you go in the house?”
“Well, I guess it was around eleven fifteen.”
I stood and wiped the dust off my backside. “We appreciate your input, Mr. Trent.”
He waved me off with a grin. “Just call me Felix. I’m nobody special.”
We handed him our cards and left.
Kate elbowed me in the side as we walked to the car. “What did I tell you?”
“About what?”
“Pie.”
Chapter 5
“Afternoon, Mr. Moore. Juan said you asked for me.”
“Yes, I did.” McKinley pointed at one of the tufted-velvet side chairs. “Have a seat, Marco. We need to talk.”
“Have I done something wrong, sir?”
“On the contrary. Who asked you to clean up my office?”
“Nobody did. I took it upon myself. The mess needed to be handled quickly and efficiently.”
“And the new side chairs, where did they come from?”
“Ramon’s on Octavia Drive.”
“A high-class establishment. I’ll admit, I never thought about velvet chairs, but they’re quite beautiful.”
“I hope the color is to your liking.”
“Olive green is the color of money.”
“I thought the same, and I’m glad you noticed, Mr. Moore.”
“And the old chairs, what happened to them?”
“I tossed them in the incinerator because they were full of blood spatter. All of the cleaning rags and sponges were tossed in there too.”
“Very good. What is your current role, Marco?” McKinley pushed back his chair and stood, then he opened the liquor cabinet at his back. He poured aged Scotch into two rocks glasses and handed one to Marco.
“Thank you.” Marco clinked glasses with McKinley. “Currently, I load the trucks and make deliveries to your banks, bars, and check-cashing stores.”
“That’s about to change. I’m promoting you to head of human resources. That would involve hiring and firing at all of our locations and making sure the new people are doing their jobs to the best of their ability. If they don’t, it will be up to you to deal with them. Do you understand what that involves?”
“Yes, sir.” Marco took a sip of Scotch without breaking eye contact with his boss.
“So, Marco, do you want that position?”
“Absolutely, Mr. Moore.”
“I’m glad you agreed, and I think that position will suit you well. For now, I want you to take the small van over to Joe’s house and load up the bleaching equipment and all the singles lying around. Clean the place from top to bottom of anything that could be tied to our operation. No paper trail that leads back to us. Your new position begins tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir, and thank you for the promotion.”
“Thank you for cleaning my office and replacing the chairs. They’re top-notch.”
McKinley watched as Marco walked out and quietly closed the door behind him. Moments later, the desk phone rang.
“Hello, McKinley Moore speaking.”
“It’s me, Pop, Frank. I need somebody to buzz me in.”
“No problem. I’ll send Royce right out. Is Grant here yet?”
“I don’t see him.”
“Okay, Royce is on his way.” McKinley set the phone on its base and stood. He rounded the desk and did a quick once-over of his office. It had to look as if nothing had taken place in there just hours earlier.
The door opened just as McKinley settled back into his chair. “Frank, have a seat.”
“New guest chairs?”
“Yes, it was about time. The old ones were becoming stained.”
“Nice touch, velvet and all. I wouldn’t have figured you for the type.”
McKinley smiled. “Change is good, son. How was your meeting?”
“Same old shit. Nothing exciting, that’s for sure.” Frank loosened the tie around his neck. “Damn, I get sick of wearing this monkey suit every day.” He lifted his briefcase to the desk and turned the three-digit combination lock. With a thumb on each end, he popped the latches and opened the case. He pulled out banded stacks of singles, lined them up across the desk, and then unfolded a piece of paper. “You owe the bank five thousand dollars. This was all the singles I could spare until I order more currency.”
“What do you want, tens or twenties?”
“Half and half should be fine.”
McKinley picked up the phone and called Royce. “Bring me twenty-five hundred in twenties and the same in tens.” He hung up just as a knock sounded on the door. “Come in.”
Grant, the younger son, walked in. “Sorry I’m late, Pop. Hey, cool chairs.” He took a seat and let out a deep breath. “Anyway, typical miscommunication with delivery times and the construction bottleneck on the freeway held me up.”
McKinley waved it off. “No problem. I need to stop by and check out the club.”
“You should before we open. It’ll be too busy after that.”
McKinley grinned. “I like your positive attitude.”
“I think you’d be pleasantly surprised. It’s going to be the newest hot spot in Washburn County.”
“And it opens this weekend?”
“Friday night will be the official kickoff celebration. I’ve already posted it in the local newspapers. My workers are doing the finishing touches inside, a
nd the landscaping crew will be done tomorrow. The bar is stocked, the food service company came in today, and all the cooks and waitstaff have been hired. The cousins will be handling the cash, just like always. The lights will be dim, the place will be busy, customers will be drunk, and nobody will think twice about something as insignificant as tens and twenties passing through their fingers. I intend to keep the place hopping at all times with live music and plenty of large-screen TVs for sports.”
“That sounds perfect, Grant, but we still need to filter more paper through our other businesses in Illinois and Michigan.”
“Why the sudden concern, Pop?” Grant raised his brows at Frank, who was sitting to his left. “We’re printing on real money, making tens and twenties out of singles. We have to make sure the naked eye can’t discern the difference, that’s all.”
“I know, but finding older currency to use as blanks is getting tougher and tougher. We can’t run the same serial numbers on the bills, and those damn security threads and watermarks on the new currency make using them impossible.”
Frank waved him off. “Don’t worry so much. Derek is a pro with the serial numbers, and I’ll make sure nothing goes to shit. Funneling money through the bank is my business, and the check-cashing stores have been working fine. I’ve got your back.”
“True, but we can’t flood Milwaukee with counterfeit money.”
Frank gave his father a nod. “Grant will be spreading the money into Washburn County in a few days. Take a breath, Pop. The money is far too good, and I’m not about to let anything screw it up.”
McKinley tapped his fingers on the desk. “Thank you, Frank. I know I can depend on you, but better safe than sorry. I’ll go with some of the guys to Illinois tomorrow. We have to move more paper out of Wisconsin and maybe even expand farther east.”
Chapter 6
The passenger-side window was lowered halfway, and the early evening air felt nice. I cocked my ear to the sound riding on the breeze. The distant call of the train’s whistle as it passed through North Bend always took me back to my childhood. Our larger-than-life dad would tell Jade and me stories of how, as a teenager, he jumped trains with his friends and rode them from county to county before heading home. He would tell us how he worried our grandmother to death with his shenanigans. She said his train-hopping stories were wishful thinking and nothing more. According to her, none of that ever happened. Our dad was a storyteller and loved to see our eyes twinkle with delight at his adventures. We didn’t care if his stories were true or not. It was the way he told them that counted.
“Amber?”
“Oh, sorry, what did you say?”
“Where were you just now? I asked you twice if Jade was in town.”
“I was taking a trip down memory lane, that’s all. No, Jade and J.T. are on the trail of the latest serial killer. I guess they started in Minneapolis and have been following him along Interstate 94 through Minnesota. So far, he’s still one step ahead of everybody. Why do you ask?”
Kate shrugged. “Just wondering if she’d have some thoughts to add on the two murders.”
“It’s probably tough from a distance. I think I’ve covered the things she would have checked—the surroundings, where and how the bodies were positioned, subtle clues on clothing, and whatnot.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Kate pointed out the windshield. “Looks like the guys are back.”
She pulled into the gravel and parked behind Clayton’s cruiser. We exited our vehicle and joined them at Jack’s car.
“Anything?” Jack asked.
We leaned against the hood with Billings and Clayton. “Sorry, but no.” I raised my sunglasses and perched them at the top of my forehead. The sun had descended enough that they weren’t necessary anymore. “That field does belong to the house on Maple, but the farmer who lives there, Felix Trent, said he never saw anything out of the ordinary when he was plowing earlier today.”
Kate added with a grin that Felix had mentioned taking a pie-and-coffee break at eleven fifteen.
“So the dump could have taken place then,” Billings said.
“You took note of that time?” Jack asked.
I responded. “Sure did.”
Jack kicked several small stones as he stared at the road. I assumed he was thinking of what to do next.
He tipped his chin toward the ditch. “Let’s give this place one last look then head in. We’ll check with Lena and see if she has anything new for us.”
Our final inspection of the area gave us nothing. The perpetrator hadn’t left one shred of evidence within the ditch or along the road.
By six o’clock, we were back at the sheriff’s office, where we gathered in the bull pen. Jack called downstairs from my desk phone, and Jason answered on the third ring.
“Coroner’s office, Jason speaking.”
“Hey, Jay, it’s Lieutenant Steele. Have you gotten anything more on our mystery men?”
“Yes, sir, I’ll get Lena. Give me just a moment.”
The call was put on hold, and we pulled out our notepads while we waited. Lena came to the phone several minutes later.
“Hello, Lieutenant Steele.”
“Lena, I put you on Speakerphone. Have you got anything new?”
“Yes, I do have interesting information, but let me give you the basics first. We need to get these men identified. I’ve taken head shots of each of them, excuse the pun, please. With a little software magic, I was able to erase the bullet holes in their foreheads. No need to sensationalize anything for the media.”
“Agreed. So the photos are ready to air?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, go ahead.”
Lena cleared her throat and began. “I’d say the blond man was around thirty to thirty-five years old, six foot tall, and his weight was one hundred ninety-two pounds. His eyes were dark brown. I didn’t see any birthmarks or moles that stood out as abnormal, and he didn’t have any tattoos. He had double-pierced earlobes that looked to be almost closed. He probably hadn’t worn earrings in years. He did have a scar across his left kneecap, possibly a surgical scar. It could be ten years old or more, definitely not anything recent.”
Jack sighed. “That isn’t much to go on. What about the younger guy?”
“He had medium-brown hair that was dyed black.”
“That was a dye job?” Billings asked. “What the hell for?”
“No clue. I’m just reporting the facts. His natural hair color was medium brown. He also had brown eyes. I’d place him between twenty-five and thirty. His body is a totally different story. That young man was full of ink. I’m sure we can get an ID on him. I took a picture of the most prominent tattoo, but he’d have to have been shirtless for anyone to know about it.”
“And it’s of?” I asked.
“A naked woman.”
Jack groaned. “Is it airworthy or R-rated?”
“I’d call it an R and then some. Sorry, Lieutenant. I’ll see what I can do with the less-vile ones.”
“Okay, and what about the other interesting discovery you have?”
“Forensics tested the bleached material on the blond man’s pants. Kyle said it was a mix of several chemicals, so it wasn’t like he accidentally spilled bleach on himself while doing laundry.”
Billings gave me the eyeballs because of my earlier statement and I gave him a playful wink in return.
“So what’s the chemical makeup?” I asked.
“It’s a mix of acetone, bleach, and hydrogen peroxide. His skin seemed unusually dry too and somewhat reddened. After learning that chemical makeup, the irritated skin makes sense, but most of it’s due to the bleach. I’ll know more when I open up both men. Oh, and one more thing.”
“Go ahead,” Jack said.
“Neither man had gunshot residue or stippling on their faces. That’s telling me the shooter was at least six feet away from them when he fired the gun.”
I smiled when everyone looked at me.
“Oka
y, I should have a full autopsy report tomorrow by this time, but toxicology will take longer. Meanwhile, I’ll try to get you a PG-rated tattoo from the younger man to put on the air.”
“Thanks, Lena. I’ll send Kate down to pick up those facial shots.” Jack clicked off and placed the phone on its base.
Kate pushed off her chair and said she was going to retrieve the photos from the ME’s office. I opened my laptop and began tapping keys.
“Looking for the chemical mixture?” Jack asked.
I nodded and began clicking on various links after entering the names of the chemicals into the search bar. “Shoot. Nothing comes up for all three. There are instructions on how to make a fireball with acetone and peroxide and how to make chloroform by mixing bleach with acetone—a scary thought—but nothing that would result in all three mixed together.”
“Okay, for now let’s concentrate on getting a description put together for each man.” Jack checked the time. “Doubtful if we’ll get it on the early news, but there’s a good chance for the ten o’clock broadcast.”
We worked for another hour and came up with the best possible description that matched their photos, and we made sure to note that the younger man’s hair was dyed. Lena found a tattoo on the man’s right hip that was distinct enough to ring a bell with anyone who had seen it, although it wasn’t in the most noticeable location.
I shook my head. “Seriously? This hotshot had a tattoo of Betty Boop on his hip? What normal man would do that?”
Kate smirked. “A not-so-normal one who found a way to get himself killed. I think we have everything compiled well enough to give to the news stations, though. Jack, how about giving these descriptions your seal of approval?”
