by Robin James
“Last two victims are in the house directly behind us,” Sam said. “Patty Sutter and Mark O’Brien.”
“What’s the relationship?” I asked.
“Patty was once married to C.J. Sutter. He died a few years back. She was a second wife. C.J. and Chris were brothers. Kevin’s the son of another uncle.”
“So Patty’s not a blood relation to any of the other victims?” I asked.
“No,” Sam said.
“I know Mark O’Brien,” Kenya said as she peered over my shoulder to look at the photo of the third crime scene. Patty and Mark were shot in their bedroom. Patty still lay in bed on her stomach, one arm hanging off the side. The bullet took her in the back of the head. Mark was on the floor on his side. His cell phone was near his right hand. He’d been shot in the forehead, like Skylar Sutter. His shattered glasses were still crookedly perched on his nose.
“Mark has a general practice,” Kenya said. “Does wills and estates, landlord tenant, transactional stuff.”
I nodded. He looked familiar, and I knew I’d seen him around the courthouse a few times.
“They were married?” I asked.
Sam shook his head. “Just living together.”
“You have any idea who was killed first?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “And we may never be able to tell. Autopsies will tell us more, but it’s a pretty safe bet these shootings took place within a few seconds or minutes of each other.”
“You think it was one shooter?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “With the position of the bodies, I’d say Chris and Skylar got it when they came to see what was going on. Ben and Jenny were probably already dead by then. But I doubt we’ll ever know if Kevin was shot first, then the killer came here or what.”
“Or the killer offed Patty and Mark then came here?”
“Right,” Sam said. “It’s going to take days, maybe weeks, to process all of this.”
“Are there any other houses back here?” I asked.
“No,” Sam said. “This whole plat used to be farmed by the Sutter ancestors a hundred years or so ago. It’s about a hundred acres. These three houses are the only ones close together like this.”
“Somebody has to tell Grandma George!” a female voice shrieked behind us. I turned. A pretty bleach-blonde woman stepped out of a patrol car. She had a gray blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
“Darcy Lydell,” Sam whispered. “Excuse me a second.”
“Who’s Grandma George?” I asked Kenya.
At that point, Gus Ritter came down the driveway trailed by two patrolmen.
“Hey,” I said, not sure it was a good idea for Gus to be here. He wasn’t on duty, and I’d watched him down several beers just a few hours ago.
“Relax,” Gus said, reading my mind. “Sam’s running this.”
Sam had said something that seemed to calm Darcy Lydell down. A patrolwoman nodded as Sam gave her instructions. She helped Darcy into another car and left the scene with her.
“Poor Darcy,” Gus said.
“Deputy Swain’s going to get her over to the hospital. They took the baby there just to give him a once-over. His parents are with him.”
“That’s Luke and Rachel Sutter,” I said, looking back at my notes. “Luke’s the son of the victims from this house?”
“And his sister Skylar,” Sam confirmed.
“If they’d have killed that baby,” Gus said, getting a little choked up.
“They didn’t,” Sam said, putting a hand on his partner’s shoulder.
“What they did do is bad enough,” I said. “Sam, what about the rest of the Sutter family? Do you think they might be in danger too?”
“Not taking any chances,” Sam said. “Officer Swain is going to stick close by. Luke and Rachel live on the other side of town, closer to the hospital. I’ve sent a crew to the other side of the farm. The Sutters don’t farm it themselves anymore. They lease it to a guy named Jeremy White.”
“Sam,” Gus said. “Somebody’s gotta look in on Louie and Georgette. You mind if I take care of that?”
“Grandma George,” I said.
Gus nodded. “Yeah. Hell, she used to babysit me, if you can believe that. This is going to kill her. Kevin was her and Lou’s only grandson. The others, well, they all call them Grandpa Louie and Grandma George. They live up on the hill through those woods behind these houses.”
“Lord,” I said. “Has anyone checked? Are they okay?”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “She answered her phone. Everything seemed okay. But the media vultures are gonna get a hold of this soon, if they haven’t already.”
“I’ll handle that end of it,” Kenya assured him.
“Sam,” Gus said. “They can’t hear about this from the news.”
“I know,” Sam agreed. “I’m headed over there now. I have to go tell them half their family is dead. It’s going to be a long night.”
He was right. It would be for all of us. And right now, there was a mass murderer lurking somewhere in Waynetown. A shiver went through me as I wondered whether he or she was watching us all right now. I wanted nothing more than to go home and wrap my arms around my son.
3
By Monday morning, the firestorm began. Kenya and I stood jammed together in the corner of the press room in the City-County Building. Members of the media, citizen journalists, and just about anyone who had any relation or acquaintance with the Sutter family packed the room, spilled into the hall, and went all the way down the steps.
Sheriff Bill Clancy hated these things. He had a head of thin blond hair he still buzzed out of habit from his Marine Corps days. He’d served honorably in the Persian Gulf, then joined the Sheriff’s Department two weeks after he came home. He read a brief statement, then opened the mic up to questions. They came in an onslaught. An avalanche.
“Sheriff, can you confirm that killings were carried out execution style?”
“Here we go,” Kenya whispered.
“I can confirm each of the victims died from gunshot wounds. As I said in my statement, we don’t have official autopsy reports back on any of the victims, so I won’t be answering questions about the nature of their injuries beyond that.”
“Can you confirm the rumors we’ve heard that the Sutter family may have run afoul of a drug cartel?”
That one took Chief Clancy by surprise. He was hard to read by anyone who hadn’t spent a lot of time with him. Kenya and I had. There was just a slight hardening in his jaw.
“This is an ongoing investigation,” he said. “We are pursuing any and all leads. But at this time, no, that’s not something I would confirm. I would urge any members of the public who have credible information about the events that took place out at the Sutter farm on Friday morning to call the crime stopper number. It’s up on the website. You can also call the Sheriff Department’s non-emergency line. But I really want to caution everyone not to jump to conclusions or wild speculations. My department is working round the clock. Multiple law enforcement agencies are involved, including the Ohio Bureau of Criminal Investigations and the F.B.I.”
“So you can confirm this is being considered an act of domestic terrorism,” another reporter shouted.
“No!” Bill shouted back. It wasn’t like him. “Like I said, we are in the preliminary stages of our investigation. If and when an arrest is made, I’ll make another statement at that time. But out of respect for the families, I hope everyone here can report responsibly. When there’s something official to say, you’ll hear it out of this office. I’m not going to comment on information that’s being passed around on social media. These people are your neighbors, folks. Your friends. For some of you, it’s family. I can assure you that my office will pursue all leads as they come in. In the meantime, that’s all I have for you today.”
“Sheriff.” David Reece stepped up to the nearest microphone. He was the crime reporter for Channel 8, the highest-rated local news station. “Is there anythi
ng you can say to waylay some concerns we’re hearing throughout Maumee County? There was a similar home invasion in Lucas County just last month. Do you have any indication these crimes were related? Are we dealing with a serial killer?”
“I can’t speak to the case in Lucas County,” Sheriff Clancy said. “And I hate to sound like a broken record, but when I know more and can divulge it, you’ll know more.”
“Are you going to step up patrols in the rural areas?” another voice shouted from the back. “How do we know this isn’t the beginning of something terrible?”
“You don’t,” Clancy said. “Because it was something terrible. Now you all know I’m not going to comment on field operations at this time. I can assure you, the safety of the people in this county is what I care most about. That and bringing the perpetrators of this hideous crime to justice. Like I said. These were our neighbors. Our friends. I’ve known Chris and Jenny Sutter since I was a little kid. We’ve got good people, dedicated men and women working 24/7 to solve this case. And we will. You can be sure of that. There’ll be no safe harbor for anyone who comes after people in my town. In your town. Now, I’m going to go back to work. You all should too. And please, please, heed what I said. Think twice about the things you post and read on the internet. This family is suffering. Let’s none of us make it any worse. Now that’s all I’m gonna say today. Thank you.”
When Bill Clancy turned away from the lectern, he had tears in his eyes.
Kenya nudged my shoulder. I followed her down the back hallway. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go grab a cup of coffee before we head back to the office.”
“Okay,” I said, puzzled. Caro made perfectly good coffee for the whole office.
Kenya and I walked out of a side entrance. Her car was parked one block over on Cleveland Street. We made it halfway there before shouting and screamed obscenities, harsh enough to make my eyes water, made us both freeze.
“This is what happens when you bring that crap into town!” The screaming came from an elderly woman with long white hair. She jabbed her finger into the chest of the younger man standing in front of her.
“That’s Dale Conner,” I whispered. Dale owned a bowling alley on the east side of town. He was also a county commissioner.
“You gonna deny it?” the woman said.
For his part, Dale kept his hands up and tried to back away. The woman kept advancing. A dozen other people quickly joined her, streaming out of the City-County Building.
“You heard what the sheriff said,” Dale tried to reason with her. “They don’t know what happened out at that farm yet. I know you’re upset …”
“You’re a traitor!” a male voice spoke up.
“Kenya,” I said. “This is going to turn …”
“You and your ilk!” the original old woman spat. “You voted to let those drug dealers into this town. Our town. We’ve got pot being sold next to the McDonald’s. They’re coming in. More and more. All to line your pocket. Now we’ve got people being murdered in their beds over it. I hope you’re happy. With your fancy new car. Your big house with your gate.”
She lost it then. She reared her head back and spat in Dale Conner’s face. Another woman stepped out in front of him and pushed the old lady back.
“Oh no!” Kenya shouted. “Stop. Stop it right now!”
It was too late, though. The two factions squared off on the sidewalk. An even bigger crowd started to form. I pulled out my cell phone. Kenya and I tried to turn and head up the sidewalk the other way.
It was no good. More people from the press conference filed out and hustled toward us to see what was going on.
Kenya got shoved sideways. Her ankle turned. I caught her by the elbow as she tumbled off the curb.
“Kenya!”
“And you don’t do enough!” The shouting was aimed at us. Somebody recognized Kenya and me.
“You gonna make sure those murderers get the needle for this? Huh? Or are you going to just look the other way while our kids keep dying?!”
Strong arms came around me. I twisted, trying to shove backwards. Then Sam Cruz’s deep voice brushed against my ear.
“Come on!” he commanded. “Let’s get you both out of here.”
About a dozen deputies ran toward the crowd. I prayed the thing wouldn’t escalate. Sheriff Clancy had been right about one very important thing. The people in the street right now were neighbors, friends, family. If they would all just take a breath and remember that.
Sam used his keycard and got Kenya and me in through a service door. He slammed it shut behind us. He had a wild look in his dark eyes as he looked me up and down.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “Kenya, your ankle.”
She wasn’t putting any weight on it but waved me off. “Rolled it,” she said. “I’ll live.”
“You think it’s broken?” Sam asked. “Can you walk on it?”
Kenya gingerly took a few steps. Pain lined her face, but she was mobile.
“It’s probably just a sprain,” Sam said. “Come on down to the conference room. We’ll get some ice on it.” Undeterred by Kenya’s protests, Sam got an arm around her and helped her hobble down the hall until we made it to the conference room just off the press room. He made a quick call, and a young deputy appeared with an ice bag from their first aid kit. He pulled up another chair and insisted Kenya elevate her leg. Then he positioned the ice pack.
“Thanks,” I said. I went to the window. I could see about four blocks down Cleveland Street from there. The deputies had done their work. The crowd had dispersed.
“What started that?” he asked.
“They went after Commissioner Conner,” I said. “I’m guessing he was one of the yay votes when they started granting marijuana dispensary licenses in Waynetown.”
“What in God’s name does that have to do with the Sutters?” Kenya asked. “They’re not growing weed out on that farm, are they?”
Sam’s brow shot up. “No,” he said. “But you remember they used to own Sutter Bait and General Store?”
Kenya shrugged. “Don’t have much cause to fish, Sam.”
“It was right off of I-75,” I said. “You had to have passed it a thousand times. It had that big sign with the fish and the hook in its mouth?”
“Ah,” Kenya said.
“They sold it to Verde a couple of years ago,” Sam said. Verde was one of the first recreational marijuana dispensaries that came into town after the licenses were granted.
“How long had the Sutters owned that store?” I asked. “I never went in there myself, but Jason took Will a few times. He grew up fishing the Maumee River. Back when it was more or less okay to eat outta there.”
“Longer than I’ve been alive,” Sam said. “Fifty years? Sixty? I’m not sure. But it’s a lead we’re pursuing. The Sutters got close to two million bucks for that property.”
“Wow,” Kenya said. “You can’t really blame them for cutting and running. For that kind of money?”
“Sam,” I said. “I kind of discounted it. But ... tell me the truth. Do you think these killings were related to, I don’t know, drug money?”
His face betrayed nothing. “I think Clancy’s got it right. It’s pointless to jump to conclusions.”
I turned back to the window. A cold chill ran down my spine. The Sutters weren’t even in the ground yet, and already tribes were forming out there. I just prayed today’s skirmish was an isolated incident. But I felt it in my bones we were in for far worse.
4
By late Wednesday afternoon, the autopsy reports on all seven victims were in. My office coordinated with the Sheriff’s to form a task force while the investigation continued. We held our first meeting in our conference room. At the moment, too many civilians were milling around the Sheriff’s Department offices.
I took my seat on one side of the table. Kenya, Hojo, Clancy, Sam, and Liz Meyer from the computer forensics unit attended our first meeting.
&
nbsp; “All right,” Clancy said. “Let’s get one thing straight. This is Detective Cruz’s investigation. Everything goes through him. Nobody talks to the press without him knowing about it. And nobody talks to the press yet. Got it? And that’s the last thing I’m going to say on this. Sam, this is your meeting.”
“Thanks,” Sam said. He moved behind Bill Clancy and stood at the head of the table. “The autopsies were pretty straightforward. All victims died of a single gunshot wound to either the head or chest. We’re dealing with a shooter or shooters who knew what they were doing. We’ve got eleven bullets. Eight went into the various victims. Chris Sutter was the only one shot twice. Two bullet holes in the wall of the Sutter kitchen ... uh ... Chris and Jenny’s place. Then, there’s a missed shot in the wall above Mark O’Brien’s side of the bed.”
“Do you have any idea who the first victim or victims were?” I asked.
“Afraid not,” Sam said. “Rigor mortis was just setting in. M.E. says time of death was between nine in the morning and two p.m.”
“How are you establishing that?” Clancy asked.
“Luke Sutter dropped his son off at six thirty in the morning,” Sam answered. “His wife Rachel texted Jenny, her mother-in-law, at eight fifty-three. Jenny texted back at eight fifty-eight. The kid was eating breakfast and Jenny sent Rachel a picture. That’s the last contact any of the victims had with anyone outside.”
“But you don’t know for sure if the victims at Patty or Kevin’s house were already dead?” Kenya asked.
“Not for sure,” Sam answered. “But Kevin sent a text to a friend at eight forty-five. Patty and Mark O’Brien are the question mark. You wanna say what you have, Liz?”
Detective Meyer referred to her notes. “We can show Mark O’Brien logged into his email at seven thirty that morning. He sent a few replies. Work-related stuff. There’s a little social media activity after that, but it looks like he was logged off by nine thirty.”
“But they’re still in bed?” I asked.
“Spilled coffee on Mark’s nightstand,” Sam said. “Patty was on her stomach. Doesn’t look like she ever knew what hit her. She’s shot first. Mark’s either asleep or reading beside her but tries to get out of bed. He’s sprawled halfway from the bed to the door. It happened fast. And I don’t know if we’re ever going to be able to show who died first.”
