by A. E. Howe
We met Tolland outside of Homegrown Foods. We went in and talked with as many of Jillian’s co-workers as we could. They all painted the same picture as her parents had of a woman who was dedicated to her job and to living a healthy life.
We met with the owner in his office. Derin Crane wasn’t much older than me, maybe in his late thirties. He had a goatee and deep-set eyes that seemed much older than the rest of him.
“Jillian was much more than an employee to us. I started Homegrown five years ago and was struggling until she joined us in the second year,” he said.
“She was your produce manager?”
“That was just part of her duties. I hired her because she knew what healthy food was. Just because it’s called a tomato doesn’t mean that it has any real nutritional value. She went to farms and saw how people grew the food. She would inspect the plants that the produce came from, and cut a piece of fruit or a vegetable open and examine it before she agreed to buy a farm’s produce. And it didn’t stop there. After she’d been working here a couple of months, she came to me and suggested changes in how the store was arranged that would make the produce last longer. Jillian was a genius. I know that sounds odd to say when you’re talking about running a grocery store, but it’s true. I really… I don’t know how I’m going to replace her.”
“She wasn’t unhappy about anything? A customer maybe? Any of the other employees bothering her?” Pete asked.
“No. I would have done anything to make sure she was happy. I planned on making her a partner. We were just working out some of the financial details,” Crane said, looking lost.
“Had anyone odd been hanging around the store lately?”
“No. We’ve had problems in the past with the homeless taking advantage of the good nature of our customers. And we’ve helped some of them. With others we’ve had to rely on the police to issue trespass warnings.”
“No odd cars in the parking lot?”
“Nothing in the last couple of months. Again, in the past we’ve had cars that were abandoned here, or people who broke down and were begging money. We help those we can.”
“What time did Jillian leave last night?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve been trying to remember. I think it was pretty early. She usually let John or someone close up for her. She… You have to understand what she did. I already told you that she found the best locally grown food in the Big Bend, and she saw that it was in good shape when it arrived. But beyond that, she’d see that it got to the restaurants that buy from us in good shape, and that the cooks and owners were happy with what they received.”
“She worked directly with the restaurants?”
“Exactly, that’s how she helped make us profitable. All of our customers were happy with the goods we provided and the professional attention that she gave them.”
“Did she have any particular friends at work?”
“A funny question. She… had a professional relationship with everyone. Not that she wasn’t friendly. Jillian even went out with all of us after closing sometimes. But she never quite crossed the line from colleague to friend. Even when we went out, she’d be one of the first in the group to make excuses and leave. She was the perfect workaholic.”
Everything he said backed up what her co-workers had told us.
“Sometimes you just have to give up and believe what people are telling you,” Pete sighed.
We went to a Mexican restaurant on North Monroe Street to talk.
“Nothing on her car yet?” Tolland asked.
“Not on our side of the line,” I said
“Nothing on the van either,” Pete said as he steadily made his way through the basket of chips on the table. “Your dad talked to the witness who reported seeing the van while we were still working the crime scene.”
“That’s news to me,” I said, but I wasn’t surprised.
“The guy didn’t give him much more than was in the initial report.” Pete stopped eating chips long enough to take out his phone and fiddle with it. “Here’s your dad’s report. The witness saw a man, described as large, maybe six foot, not fat, but solid, wearing jeans, a dark coat and hat, ball-cap style, come from behind the van, get in the driver’s side and drive off. He said the van appeared to have its high beams on which kept him from getting a good look at the front of the van or the person driving. The witness stopped, found the body, blah, blah, blah.”
“And we just saw a flash of a light-colored panel van,” I told Tolland, who nodded.
“I’m willing to go with the assumption that it was the killer. And that killer is our killer, not a copycat. And if that’s the case, then we know exactly where he was last night.”
“And it gives us a way to eliminate suspects. Pete and I already talked about that.”
“Plus it puts him in a light-colored van,” Pete added.
“When we re-interview our suspects, there’s two points we need to focus on. Do they have access to a van and do they have an alibi for last night?”
“They would also have had to have access to the van last night,” Tolland pointed out.
“True. If it’s a work van and they couldn’t use it at night, that doesn’t help us,” Pete agreed.
“From here on out, we need to be very careful. We screw up, and our killer gets a heads-up and destroys evidence before we can get a warrant,” Tolland said.
“And lawyers-up.”
“Exactly. Also, when we question them, there should be two of us, if possible. If we catch them by surprise, they might make up an alibi or lie about the van, and it would help to have two of us to corroborate the statement,” Tolland suggested.
“Agreed,” I said and Pete nodded.
“I’ve got a couple of people on my team to help out over here. But I know you all are pretty short-handed. If you need some help, just let me know. I’d be glad to come over and lend a hand,” Tolland offered.
“Must be nice working for a department with resources,” Pete said, not meaning a word of it. I knew for a fact that he loved the freedom he got working for a small office.
Pete and I agreed that we needed to get onto the suspects as soon as possible. People’s memories are bad enough, but with time they become worse, more malleable and eventually pretty much worthless. We’d try to talk to at least one this afternoon, take a break for dinner and then try a couple more in the evening. Weekday evenings were the best times to catch people at home.
I’d texted Cara and told her I’d be over for dinner, but wouldn’t be able to stay long. Then Pete and I went directly to the first suspect on my list.
“Brad Thompson. Great. I take it this isn’t one of the better Thompsons?” Pete asked.
“He’s not bad. Seems to have got religion. AA. Living clean. The whole routine.”
“Okay, he goes to the top of my list,” Pete joked.
Brad wasn’t at home, but an elderly neighbor—as a deputy you just have to love nosey old folks—said he worked part time at the First Baptist Church. It was the largest church in Calhoun. Its sanctuary, pre-school, playground and parking lot took up a whole block of tax-free real estate in the middle of town. Due to its size, many people assumed that the Baptists were the first in the county, but the area had originally been settled by Presbyterians—Scotch-Irish who’d moved down from Georgia and the Carolinas in the 1830s and ’40s.
We found Brad painting a door frame in the back of the church.
“Hello!” I yelled so he could hear me even with the earphones that he was wearing. Brad jumped and turned around, spilling some paint on his overalls.
“Sorry,” I said sincerely.
“It’s okay. I like to listen to music when I work.” His tone was neutral. He wiped the brush off and set it on the edge of the can. “Figured I wasn’t done with you all.”
From where we stood, I could see a white church van parked near the building, but there was writing on the side of it. I was pretty sure that the van we saw didn’t have any. Did
the church have another van?
“Where were you last night?”
“At home with my wife.”
“Do you ever drive the church van?”
“I have, once or twice, to get building supplies.”
“Is that the only van they have?” I asked, pointing to the one I could see.
“No. There’s an older one. In fact, I use the older one.” He was answering every question with an open and honest expression. Brad struck me, as he had the first time, as a man at peace with himself. Of course, Ted Bundy probably would have too.
“Could we have a look at the other van?” Pete asked.
Brad led us around to a shed where a lawnmower and other equipment was stored. An older white van with faded lettering on the side was parked behind the shed. I tried to decide if the lettering would show up at night. Still, would you use a van with a name painted on the side to stalk, kill and get rid of people? I doubted it.
“Do you have access to any other vans?”
“No.” I knew he didn’t have a van registered in his name or his wife’s name.
“Can we look inside?” I asked, pointing at the van.
“I guess. It’s not mine, but I don’t think the church has anything to hide. I’ll go get the key.”
Pete and I peered into the back windows as best we could and checked the tires to see how dirty they were.
“Van doesn’t look like it’s been driven on a dirt road recently.”
“Hard to tell. But honestly, it doesn’t look like it’s been driven for a few days.” Pete pointed out the leaves on the windshield.
The inside was clean, but not too clean. We thanked Brad and left.
“I’ll talk to his wife, but I think we can put him on the back burner,” Pete said, sounding tired. I dropped him off at his car and we agreed to meet back at the office at seven. We could get one or two more interviews done tonight. At this point it felt like any minute we might get lucky, but the truth was that it might take days, weeks or even months.
I picked up a pizza from a local chain and headed to Cara’s. She opened the door with a smile, though it could have been just for the pizza.
“Smells good,” she said and gave me a quick kiss that made me feel all soft inside. “What are you smiling about?” she asked.
“You… Us.”
“Talk like that will get you everywhere. I baked some chocolate chip cookies yesterday. We can have them for dessert.”
I avoided all the suggestive comments I could make about dessert. “Cookies and pizza. Makes me feel like I’m in college again. All that’s missing is the beer.”
“That can be arranged,” Cara said, laughing.
“’Fraid not. I’ve got to go back out with Pete tonight.”
“You’re no fun,” she joked, getting plates down from a cabinet while Alvin got under foot. I called him over and scratched his back, but all he wanted to do was smell me for signs of Ivy. He and Ivy definitely had a love/hate relationship.
“You’re going to get yours, young man,” she told Alvin. “I’ve got a raw bone in the freezer for him,” she told me.
With our stomachs full and Alvin gnawing away happily at his bone, we leaned back on the couch. “How’s it going?” Cara asked softly, taking my hand.
“It sounds horrible to say, but yesterday’s murder is going to help. But telling her parents was enough to rip my heart out. The hell of it is, all the victims have been young and with a lifetime ahead of them. Some might have had better lives than others, but who’s to judge? Everyone deserves their chance and these women didn’t get their opportunity…” My voice trailed off and Cara squeezed my hand.
“One of my early worries was that this job would make you hard and unfeeling. Now I’m worried that you aren’t hard enough.” She smiled to let me know she was kidding. “I know you can handle it. Just remember that you don’t have to go through it alone.” I leaned into her and gave her a gentle kiss, drawing back before it became more.
“There is one more thing that’s been bothering me,” I started, knowing I was headed into dangerous territory. “These women… It’s such a dangerous world. When I see people, young and innocent people, getting killed for no reason and then I think of you… I worry.”
“That’s sweet. But I’m okay. I leave my house, go to my job, come home…”
“I know. It’s just that you’re here alone…” I was still tiptoeing around the subject.
“I’ve got Alvin. He even goes to work with me sometimes.” She chuckled at the idea of the twenty-pound Pug defending her. “I know you see a lot of bad things. I watch the news. I hear people talking. I’ve even seen some bad things. But you have to remember who my parents are,” Cara told me. Her words brought back memories of her strong Viking father and her sweet, though rather odd, mother.
“Yeah, but…”
“Oh…” She seemed to realize something. “What? Are you asking me to move in with you?”
“What? No! I mean, no. That would be… Something we’d need to talk about…” How the hell did I get here? I thought, more than a little panicked.
Cara laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to crowd you, but then what are you thinking about?” She poked me in the ribs playfully.
“I was thinking it wouldn’t be a bad idea if you had a gun,” I said flatly, afraid of her response.
Her playful mood evaporated. “A gun?” she asked, with almost no inflexion in her voice and no clue to tell me if I had stepped on a landmine or not.
“I’d show you how to use it. Or better yet, I’d get Pete to show you. He teaches classes to civilians as well as law enforcement officers,” I finished lamely.
“It might surprise you to know that I’ve shot a gun before,” she said, still with almost no hint as to what she was thinking. “Dad taught me. You have to remember that he’s an old-school, live-off-the-land sort of hippy. I can’t say that I took to hunting, but he taught me how to shoot if I ever needed to.”
“Well, then…”
“But I’m not sure I want to have a gun around my house.” She thought about this for a minute, looking at the handgun I’d left on the counter when I came in. “Then again, I guess you two come as a set.” This made her think.
“I appreciate that you take having a gun in the house seriously. And I didn’t mean to start all this tonight. I’ve just been worrying with this case and all.” I was at risk of going off on a complete ramble if I didn’t shut my mouth, so I made myself stop talking.
Cara stared off into space for a few moments. “I’ll make you a deal. Since your gun is going to be in my house, or I’m going to be in your house with your gun, then I should probably know how to use it safely. But I don’t think I want to have a gun of my own right now.” She said all this very solemnly. Her compromise seemed fair enough.
“Deal,” I said. Being a guy, I wanted to immediately start talking about when she could get with Pete for a training session, but I wasn’t a complete idiot, so I quit while I was ahead. And what was that about moving in? I wondered again.
We enjoyed a brief make-out session, but just before it could get interesting, Alvin finished his bone and jumped up on the couch to break things up. Cara and I both sighed and I made the mistake of looking at my watch. It turned out to be just as well.
“I’ve got to meet Pete. Can I have some of those cookies to go?”
“Yep,” she said. “There are some in a container on the counter by the sink. If you’re going to be with Pete, you better take extra.”
“He’ll appreciate that.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
I pulled up next to Pete’s car. The sun had been down for an hour by this time and the temperature was falling fast. Pete dropped into the passenger seat.
“You don’t look so good,” I told him.
“Yeah, thanks.” He sounded stuffy. “I think I’m coming down with what the girls have had.” He leaned back against the headrest, looking uncomfortable.
“Here, have a cookie,” I offered. Being Pete, he couldn’t resist taking a couple, but instead of inhaling them with his normal gusto he only nibbled the edge of one. Clearly the big guy wasn’t feeling well.
“I can cover this if you want to go home.”
“No, Tolland was right. There should be two of us. But we might just do one tonight.” He was definitely not feeling well.
“Okay. I thought we’d go by Tony Stevenson’s. He’s the guy with the Stepford Wife.”
“Fine,” Pete muttered. I was afraid I was going to have to carry him through the interview.
Before we knocked on Stevenson’s door, I used my flashlight to examine his van in the driveway.
“I can’t tell for sure, but I don’t think so. Pretty sure the one we saw was no minivan,” Pete said.
I peered in the windows, trying to see around the glare of my light. “I don’t see anything. Let’s knock on the door,” I said, walking away from the van. Pete shuffled along behind me, moaning occasionally. “You aren’t very good at being sick,” I told him.
“I’m either well or I’m dying. There isn’t any in between. Right now I’m dying,” he groaned.
“You can wait in the car.”
“No, no. I’d rather infect everyone.” His attempt at levity sounded more like a threat.
I knocked on the door. Tony’s wife answered, looking a little rough around the edges, like a Stepford Wife with hard drive issues.
Once we were inside, I thought I could make out some discoloration around her neck and she seemed to be wearing more makeup below the chin than she had last time.
When Tony came into the living room, he was already agitated.
“Great, just great. She told you last night that everything was fine. Right, Tracy?”
We all turned to Mrs. Stevenson, whose cold, hard eyes seemed to be trying to come to some sort of resolution. I didn’t have a clue what was going on, but I figured it was best to play along. I caught a sideways glance from Pete. He looked very confused.
“What would you like to do?” I asked her, trying to sound like I knew something I didn’t.
“Oh, the hell with it, I’m out of here,” she said, and in an instant Tony launched himself at her.
