“Their son was into baseball. Joseph Patrick Florist—everyone called him Joe—was a good kid, polite, curious, fascinated by what his dad did, still young enough to hold a bit of hero worship for his father. I tossed around a ball with him, took him fishing a couple of times. I knew him enough to like him.
“Scott Simon Florist worked a civilian job at the courthouse for several years before deciding he wanted to join our police force. He entered the academy older than most, joined the PD as a patrol officer, wanted to become a detective and put in the work to get there. He was a smart man, a good cop. I didn’t work directly with him, since he mostly partnered with Phil Peters, but our paths would cross in the break room, at training classes, sometimes at the firing range. He had a reputation for being careful with the details. And he was good with kids. A fifteen-year-old got picked up for vandalism, Scott would take the case, nail down the details, and figure out if there was something going on at school or home before he wrote up the report. He’d take the extra time. I respected the guy.
“Susan and Scott were married for fourteen years. That was one of the saddest parts of the investigation. Looking at who might have wanted to cause them problems, going through their personal lives, talking with friends and family, seeing what a strong marriage they had, knowing they could have been one of those rare ‘married for fifty happy years’ newspaper profiles one day. Instead, they became a case number.”
“What do you think happened to them?” Evie asked, propping her elbows on the table.
He shook his head rather than try to answer. “I’ve stopped trying to guess.”
“My experience Saturday with the deer,” she said, “makes me wonder if they had a similar experience. Did they hit a deer? Need to stop for repairs because the vehicle or camper got banged up? It takes them off the route they’re traveling to deal with repairs, it’s the middle of the night, maybe they pull into the wrong place at the wrong time and encounter trouble.”
“I don’t remember a theory of them hitting a deer ever being addressed. It’s a place to start,” Gabriel agreed, interested in the idea if only because it was a new avenue. She’d been thinking about that possibility, while the idea hadn’t even crossed his mind, despite his having been there to help after her accident. He mentally chalked up a point for Evie. She was doing the job better than he at the moment. He planned to catch up.
“Fresh ideas, Gabriel. New ways to look at what’s here. I’ll do what I can to find things we should consider.” She nodded toward the boxes. “You’ve been through these files many times. Give me the highlights.”
She likes working cases, Gabriel thought, seeing how she’d relaxed. She was engaged, working on something that mattered, and comfortable with the job. “Let’s start at the core of it,” he began. “Since the day the Florist family disappeared, there’s been no activity on their credit cards, bank accounts, savings or checking. No one at the time it happened tried to get money out of their accounts before we realized there was a problem. The credit cards didn’t expire for four years, and the accounts were deliberately left open. No one came across a wallet or purse and tried to use the cards later.
“Since the day they disappeared, there has been no contact with family members or friends. The Florist family had strong ties to the larger community. Things were stable financially, marriage solid, no hidden vices surfaced such as alcohol, drugs, or gambling. They left behind all they owned, along with two pets—a dog and a cat, which they had arranged for a neighbor to look after. These aren’t the type of people to try to skip out on unpaid debts, for example, or to get clear of a family dispute.” He hesitated. “Combined, those facts suggest they were murdered,” he concluded. “Questions so far?”
Evie shook her head. “Go on.”
“The bodies of three people are hard to hide well enough they don’t eventually get found. If you leave all three in a vehicle, park it somewhere, the bodies are going to be found. Maybe they end up in a landfill in the first couple days, but that doesn’t happen as often as the TV shows imply, and three of them disposed of that way unnoticed is tough to fathom. Maybe in a body of water, but it would need to be one not churned up frequently, not often fished, otherwise something gets brought to the surface.
“A burial is likely in the countryside, but not crop land—they would have been discovered as the ground was tilled and replanted, the soil turned over. We’re looking for wooded land that doesn’t have terrain torn up that often by floodwaters. And the graves would have taken some time to dig in order to be deep enough so that wildlife wouldn’t dig up the remains. Hunters would have found bones had the graves been disturbed. We’ve had some extremely wet and dry years over the last decade and that breaks up the ground surface.”
He shook his head. “Other possibilities: access to a funeral home, a crematorium. But the more likely answer is land you control, land in which you buried the bodies, hiding the evidence of your crimes on your own property. But should ownership change, the bodies are there, ready to point right at you.
“It’s equally time-consuming and difficult to make vehicles disappear. No one’s tried to get insurance on their truck’s VIN number, so the truck probably wasn’t found by a third party or sold to anyone. An abandoned camper of the make and model of theirs hasn’t turned up either. Someone could have stripped the vehicles down to parts and done so out of sight. Or they found a way to dispose of them—a junkyard crusher, a body of water, an abandoned gravel pit. Or they’re still sitting undiscovered in a barn somewhere under a tarp, most likely on land owned and controlled by the one who did the crime.
“So,” Gabriel said, taking a deep breath, “that means we have no crime scene. We don’t know where whatever happened occurred. At the start of their journey, at their home, during their travels on one of the roads or at a stop along the way, or if it happened near or at their destination.
“The reason for the crime is also unknown. We don’t know if this was personal—if the deputy and his family were targeted and the camping excursion was an opportunity to act. We don’t know if the focus was the vehicles more than the people or if one of them was the target. We don’t know of related crimes in progress, where grabbing this family might have been a part of an ongoing escape.” Just saying all this out loud left a hollow feeling inside him. Gabriel forced himself to finish. “We know some things that did not occur, rather than much, if anything, about what did happen. It’s a painful position to be in.”
Evie shook her head, her expression showing strong disagreement with his last statement. “You’ve spent twelve years eliminating things, Gabriel, and that’s progress. What’s left, however improbable, is going to be the answer.”
All he saw was a case that had gone cold—it needed a new discovery like bones to move it forward again. But maybe she could see something he didn’t. “I don’t know where a person even begins on something like this, Evie.”
“The map you brought me.” She pointed to the wall where she’d taped it. “I’ll fly over the area with Ann this week so it’s better fixed in my mind. They were driving from their home at the south end of Carin Lake to the state park thirty miles north. The lake inlets fork there, where the eagles have nested. That campground is still in Carin County?”
“It is.”
“Then let’s assume for now that the person who did whatever this is also lives in Carin County.”
“Okay.”
“You concluded in the summary you just recounted that the family was murdered.”
“Yes.”
“Murder is a violent act, the killing of a child even more horrendous than an adult murder. Let’s start by looking for the person who could do such a thing.”
He was startled by that definitive statement. “How?”
“You know who lives here. I want a list of the people you would consider violent. Then I want you to cross off those who are unlikely to be the one to kill a child. How many people in Carin County could murder three people, one o
f them a child? A hundred? Fifty? Less? I bet you know this person.
“Who did you think was a violent adult when you were a boy growing up here? Who do you still think today is violent? Who on that list has moved away? A domestic disturbance call, a drug arrest, a bar fight, an assault complaint that involved someone on your list. Cops have bumped into the violent ones who live in Carin. Because the case is twelve years ago, you’ll need your father to contribute a list too. Violence often runs in families—the father may be on his list, the son on yours.”
Gabriel nodded at the reasoning behind her request. “It will take some time, but I can do that. After we get our lists together, we’ll see which ones have alibis for that Thursday evening, Friday morning.”
“We could do that. But I was thinking more along the lines of asking those people who they think is capable of killing the Florist family. If you want to find a particular kind of violent man, Gabriel, you ask violent ones who know him. This person could appear controlled but have that snap to his fury. People around him will know that about him. It won’t necessarily be the hothead your deputy might have worried about on sight, though it might be someone who’s related. The person we want is violent, likely told someone a detail or two, or had a partner. There’s a rumor out there. Someone knows something useful. I’d like you to focus on finding that rumor or name. That’s your strong suit. You know this county and its residents. Start there.”
Gabriel could see merit to that strategy. “Okay, while I focus on violent citizens around Carin County, what’s your target?”
“Motive. Were the deputy and family a chance encounter or were they targeted? If it’s random, there’s nothing for me to find. But if it’s this family specifically, either one or all three of them, then something happened that made the person we’re looking for say, ‘I’m going to harm the Florist family.’ I want to find the trigger event. You find the person who could do this. I’ll find the reason he did.”
Gabriel looked over the boxes stacked behind her, filled with interviews, reports, notes. She was trying to recreate something fresh from the information, a new way of looking at the data. “I understand where you’re coming from—if you find a motive, it moves this case a leap forward. But you’ve given yourself a hard assignment.” He glanced at the crime wall, the questions listed there. “What about the idea they hit a deer?”
She shrugged. “I’ll multitask. I assume someone in the county picks up dead animals by the side of the road. A deer is probably going to get a mention in a daily report. You have an archive of that kind of paperwork?”
“We throw stuff away only when we run out of room to store it, so yes, that paperwork is probably still buried in the archives. Stop by the office and I’ll point you in the right direction.”
“Thanks. If there’s a violent man who works nights at a garage on the route they would have traveled, put a red circle around him.”
Gabriel smiled. “You really think there’s a way to reexamine this case, put it together differently, and find an answer?”
“Yes. I do. It’s all about context, Gabriel. How many cases actually remain unsolved because of lack of evidence? You said it yourself—the bodies could be buried on land the person owns, the vehicles under a tarp in a barn on the property. I think the evidence no one has found thus far—the vehicles, the bodies—is still sitting out there and waiting to be discovered.
“Give me names of violent people in Carin County capable of murdering three people, one a kid, and give me who on that list owns property. If they killed twelve years ago, it’s probable they killed someone else in the years before or after that. Think about the person who could have done this and see if their behavior over the last dozen years raises flags. Cases solve when you can get a thumbnail under a corner of the answer and peel it back.”
“Optimism is your middle name, Evie.”
She nodded. “Gabriel, think about this. You see these intervening years as an obstacle to solving the case. I see it as an opportunity. The person who did the crime has had all this time to show us his true colors. Maybe it wasn’t obvious at the time, but now, looking at him today? I bet it’s obvious he’s got a violent streak. There’s that Bible verse about things in the dark not staying hidden. A person’s true colors show over time. Take advantage of the extra information the last twelve years have created. His friends back then are probably not his friends anymore. Someone knows him, can tell us, ‘I think Jerry did it.’ The more years pass, the more some people get annoyed with each other, drift apart, find old tensions simmering. The former friend who will now give him up is a powerful investigative tool.”
She tilted her head slightly. “It’s not simply this crime, you know—you can find him by a general pattern he leaves in his wake. Violence rarely limits itself to a single type of assault. Who was showing up at school with bruises? What woman has shown up at the hospital or clinic with signs of being hit? Who was self-medicating with alcohol? If he’s in the community, others are brushing up against him every day. Who were people afraid of back then? Who are people afraid of today? Sometimes that question points to the right direction.”
Gabriel found himself making mental notes as he listened to Evie, not so much about the case itself but about how she was thinking. He let himself relax. Maybe they would end up after these weeks with no results, but she was right. They could work on the ones around the person they wanted to identify. “Thanks for the fresh perspective. It’s useful. I’ll look for a name of someone who might have done this. You look for a motive. One of us might get lucky.”
“Luck is mostly perspiration.” She nodded again at the boxes. “As helpful as those files will be, it’s not likely going to be enough to find my motive. I’m going to need some time in the archives. I want to understand what was happening in the town and around the county in the weeks and months leading up to the family’s disappearance.”
“You’re not a woman of small ambitions. Or maybe it’s better stated you’re a small woman of large ambitions?”
She grinned. “I like either one. I could use that stenciled on a sign in my office. Seriously, Gabriel, if this wasn’t random, then something happened before their disappearance to trigger a decision to harm the Florist family. I’m not going to find that something in the notes about the search, though maybe an item in an interview will point back to it. More likely it’s in a separate police report filed in the months or even years before the family disappeared.”
“You’re welcome to browse through the archives,” he repeated. He nodded to her left. “Hand me that pad of paper. I can start listing names of violent people from memory. Would a phone call bother you? I’d like to give my father a call and have him start doing the same.”
“Go ahead. For the rest of this evening I’m reading until I can’t see straight.”
He glanced at the other wall. “You want to talk about the Dayton girl’s disappearance?”
“Tuesday will be soon enough, when Ann is back in town.”
He nodded and dialed a number. “Dad, I have a question for you.” He pushed away from the table and walked across the room as he explained what he needed.
Evie Blackwell
Gabriel got called away by dispatch, and shortly thereafter two deputies came over carrying more boxes. Evie got up to let them in, pointed where to stack them. “Could I ask you a question?” she asked when they’d made their deliveries.
“Sure,” the nearest deputy replied.
“You know what’s in the boxes. What do you think about the State Police coming in to look into the Florist case?”
“Meaning you, ma’am?” He looked at the wall, the timeline she was creating of the crime, then at his partner, then back at her. “Way we heard it from Marissa, who heard it from Iris, the boss decided to say okay, told them to pull out the boxes, copy every piece of paper, including any dust bunnies that might be hiding in a box corner. He wanted you to have it all, so I’m guessing he’s going to join in on that revie
w himself and help you out. Only way it can be gone through in a reasonable amount of time.”
“Last time we worked it,” said his partner, “he pulled it all into a conference room, and one of us was always working that room until there were simply no more questions we could think to ask. No offense, but we’ve been at this case for twelve years and it’s not going to yield. To tell you the truth, we’re glad it’s not going to be us this time.”
“Have you any personal theories about what happened?”
“A truck hauling a camper, it’s a gas guzzler,” said the first cop. “They stopped to fill up, someone saw money in the form of that new tricked-out truck. A gun to the boy’s head and tell the dad to drive, what’s he going to do? The truck and camper were likely sold to a chop shop a state away before their friends even called to report the family didn’t arrive. Makes me churned-up angry, but it’s what’s logical. There’s a plot of ground with three bodies a state away that will eventually turn up.”
She nodded thoughtfully. She turned to the other deputy. “And you? A personal theory?”
“Variation on the theme. They were carjacked and ended up near Canada or Mexico. Convenient cover for someone who needed to stay under the radar, then killed once they weren’t needed. Why else risk taking three people if not primarily for their vehicle? You have your offenders who like children, your guys who want to grab a pretty woman, and a subset who just hate cops, but to take all three? It’s not logical if one was the preference. There are much easier targets than three people who would have been tight with each other, tuned in to where each other was, at whatever stop they made for gas or food. Someone needed the truck, and liked the idea of the camper as it gave a nice cover.”
“It was one of those hard-sided Airstream travel trailers,” the other officer added, “not the type where the roof cranks up that has canvas sides. It could move contraband easy enough. A guy with a gun in the trailer with the boy, another in the truck with the husband and wife, who’s going to look twice or think something’s wrong?”
Traces of Guilt Page 8
