by C. M. Sutter
“Jack, it’s Tom Sanders.”
“What’s up, Chief? Is it fundraising time again? That’s the only time I hear from you city boys.”
They both chuckled.
Tom Sanders, the chief of police at the North Bend PD, let out a long breath. “I hate to admit it, but you’re probably right. We need to hit the Washington House sometime for a beer until Shooters reopens. I heard Dave Wolf bought the place at foreclosure.”
Jack’s mind went back to that grim day when Amber almost lost her life at the hands of the Moore family. He tried to shake away the image. “Yeah, the sale took place here on our front steps. Dave should do just fine there. What can I help you with, Tom?”
“Well, we got a strange call about thirty minutes ago from the girlfriend of a Stan Kingsley. He’s a security guard at the mall.”
“I know who Stan is. We were patrol deputies at the same time years ago. He quit the sheriff’s office in 2010 and shifted gears altogether. He said that sitting in a patrol car all day was killing his back, so he took the position of a mall security guard instead. So what’s going on with Stan?”
“Not sure. The girlfriend went to his home during her lunch break to do a wellness check on him. Apparently, the head of security at the mall called her earlier and said he never showed up for work. She’s listed as Stan’s contact person.”
“Hmm.” Jack rearranged himself in his chair and picked up the pen. “What’s the girlfriend’s name?”
“Rose Atterley, and she’s a teller at the Wisconsin Central Bank downtown. Anyway, she called here saying she’s worried about Stan.”
“How so? Is he ill? She should have called an ambulance.”
“No, he’s not there, but his vehicle is parked in the garage, and his cell phone is on the coffee table. The morning newspaper was still lying on the driveway, and she said the mail hadn’t been taken out of the box, either.”
Jack wrote down everything Tom passed along. “That is odd. Did she say when she spoke to him last?”
“They talked briefly on his way home from work last night to make plans for tonight’s dinner. Apparently, today is his birthday, and she wanted to know what restaurant he wanted to go to.”
“So maybe he took off work because it’s his birthday.”
“Where would he go without his phone or vehicle?”
“Yeah, I see what you’re getting at. How can I help? Does he live outside the city limits?”
“No, he’s in my jurisdiction, but word is, you’re dealing with a missing guy yourself.”
“You must have spoken to Steve.”
“Sorry, Jack, he’s my brother-in-law.”
Jack chuckled. “I forgot. It’s that small-town thing—instead of six degrees of separation, it’s more like two.”
Tom continued. “I have patrol units heading there right now, and the girlfriend said she’d stick around as long as she could. Normally we would wait the mandatory time to take a missing persons report, but under the circumstances, with your guy yesterday, we’re taking this seriously. Have you gotten any leads?”
Jack’s sigh was audible. “Afraid not, Tom, and believe me, we’re working every angle we can think of. So, the girlfriend spoke with him last night and then not again at all?”
“That’s what she said. They talked at five thirty-five, give or take a minute or so. The phone call ended by the time he reached home. She said it’s a seven-block drive.”
Jack thought about the fact that Stan had been a deputy, Tyler had been a paramedic, and Leslie had been a forensic psychiatrist. The likelihood of all of them testifying on a case together was getting stronger by the minute. “Can you keep me informed on what, if anything, your officers come up with? Call Forensics if your guys notice something suspicious, and make sure they check his cell for the time of the last incoming or outgoing call.”
“Sure thing, buddy. I’ll give you a jingle back as soon as I know something.”
Jack set the phone on its base and picked up his cell. He fired off another text to Clayton.
Have you guys made any headway yet using the new parameters?
A return text came in seconds later.
Billings and I are at February 2008, and Kate and Amber have just started 2004. So far, we have nothing.
Chapter 36
He glanced at the clock—1:52. Keith stopped what he was doing to take a late lunch. He had been listing jewelry all morning on the lesser-known online auction sites. The ones that named the city where the ad was posted would be a dead giveaway. Those, he avoided. He browsed the internet for pawn shops farther than fifty miles from Washburn County. He would take a different lot of jewelry to them in cities that were out of range of the Milwaukee news channels. He preferred to travel north. After lunch, he’d take the rest of the afternoon to drive to Fond du Lac and Oshkosh. He’d take the antique pocket watches, a half dozen gold rings with diamonds, and a few of the gold bracelets. He had to make the trip worthwhile.
Keith opened the pantry door and peered in. Two cans of chicken and dumpling soup, one can of tuna in water, a can of pork and beans, and a package of ramen noodles filled the shelves. He wrinkled his forehead then went to the refrigerator and checked each shelf. He still had bread.
At the pantry, he took out a can of soup and pulled the ring on the lid. He poured it into a large bowl, scraped out what remained inside, and placed the bowl in the microwave for ninety seconds. He removed two pieces of bread from the bag, buttered them both, and set them on a plate. He put the half loaf back in the refrigerator and grabbed a beer out of the produce drawer. The bell dinged on the microwave. Keith pulled open the door and stuck his finger in the soup—lukewarm. He set the timer for another minute and poured his beer into a glass. While he waited for the soup to heat, Keith entered the addresses of both pawn shops into his phone’s navigation system. The bell dinged again. He slid out the bowl and carried it to the table. The chair scraped across the floor as he pulled it out and took a seat before eating his lunch.
By two thirty, Keith had scooped up the jewelry, placed multiple pieces in zip lock bags, and put everything in a small travel case. He pocketed his phone and pulled the keys off the cup hook that was screwed into the doorframe by the garage door. He turned the lock, entered the garage, and gave the door handle a jiggle to make sure it was secure. The stench of blood and rotting flesh sent his gag impulses into overdrive. Keith quickly hit the wall button to lift the overhead. With his forearm covering his nose, he climbed into the Lexus, set the case on the passenger seat, and backed out of the garage. He lowered both windows then got out. The car and garage would have to be aired out before he went anywhere.
Damn stink. It was raining too hard last night to dump those bags of shit into the vault with Tyler.
Keith took a walk to the back of the property. The soil that sat on the tarp was saturated with rainwater, making it as heavy as wet concrete.
That’s going to have to dry a bit before I can shovel it over the lid, but I have to get that crap out of the car or I’m not going anywhere.
Keith returned to the car and climbed in. The ground was still soft from the previous night’s rain, but he wanted as little up-close contact as possible with those bags of body parts. He shifted the car into Reverse and looked over his right shoulder as he backed up toward the vault. The tires began to spin on the wet grass. He climbed out, pulled the trunk latch, and slammed the car door behind him. He crossed the lawn and headed to the shed with the keys clenched in his hand. Keith unlocked the door and pulled out the wheelbarrow, then he returned to the car. At the trunk, he lifted the lid and immediately got the full effect of rotting human flesh, muscle tissue, and organs. He felt the bile coming up his throat. Heat overtook his neck and face. His ears began to ring. With a heave, Keith threw up on the bumper. He leaned to the side and bent over. With his hands propped on his knees, he coughed, gagged, and threw up again.
That’s the last time I cut up a human body. You stinking son of a bitc
h.
He grabbed the bags and stacked them in the wheelbarrow then took them to the tree line. He tipped the wheelbarrow forward and watched the bags tumble out.
I’ll deal with that shit later. Right now, I have to clean up and get my ass to Fond du Lac.
Chapter 37
Jack placed the receiver back on the base. He’d just spoken with Donald Maylor, the warden at Limestone Prison, near the border of Tennessee. He was no further ahead than before he called the prisons. Neither Limestone nor Draper had released any prisoners in the last six months. Jack went back to sorting through the tote.
Kyle Miller rapped on Jack’s door. “Hey, boss, just wanted to let you know we’re done with Tyler Rauch’s truck. It’s as clean as it comes, like we thought, and other than the phone, which Tech said had nothing unusual on it, we’re ready to release the truck back to Mrs. Rauch. You have to sign off if you’re good with that.”
Jack let out a frustrated sigh and checked the truck and cell phone off his list. “Yeah, bring me the release form. I want to look through your checklist before I sign off, though.”
“Sure thing, sir.” Kyle’s cell rang just before he turned to walk out. “What’s up, Dan? Hmm, okay, give me a second. I’m with Jack right now.” Kyle lowered the phone. “Chief Sanders called. They need our help at a house in town. Patrol officers are on site and said they’ve found things suspicious enough to give us a buzz.”
“Shit. That has to be Stan Kingsley’s house. Tom gave me a heads-up earlier. This day is turning into a shit storm of getting nothing accomplished.” Jack jerked his head toward the door. “Go ahead and grab your gear. I’ll give Tom a call to see what’s going on.” Jack watched as Kyle crossed the bull pen and left through the side hallway door. He picked up the desk phone and dialed Chief Sanders. “Tom, it’s Jack. What’s going on at the Kingsley house?”
“Hey, Jack. According to the patrol units on site, they’ve found a trail of footprints outside that lead through the gate to a bathroom window at the back of the house. The same shoe pattern in dried mud is on that wall directly under the window, as if somebody lifted themselves over the sill and gained access to the house through the bathroom.”
“Shit. Not a good indication of Stan leaving the house on his own accord. Anything else?”
“The phone log shows the only incoming calls in the last twenty-four hours were from the girlfriend at five thirty-seven last night, likely when he was driving home from work, and then again today. There were two calls this morning from Stan’s employer and the same number from the girlfriend. The log shows no outgoing calls since yesterday morning to the girlfriend’s phone.”
“Hmm, likely a good-morning call before work.”
“The officers did come across another unusual thing.”
Jack rubbed his forehead. A headache was coming on. “What’s that?”
“A summer sausage casing and two cheese stick wrappers inside a second bedroom closet. A pillow was lying on the floor next to the wrappers.”
“A possible place to lie in wait. Forensics needs to print that closet door and the food wrappers. I think I’ll head to the house with the forensic team and give it a look through.”
“I’d appreciate your insight, Jack. Here’s the address, and I’ll meet you there.”
Jack wrote it down and stuffed the piece of paper in his pocket. “I’m leaving now.” He clicked off the call, popped three ibuprofen in his mouth, and slugged them down with what remained of his cold coffee.
Moments later, Jack followed the black forensic van to the house on Spring Street. He parked against the curb and took the sidewalk to the front door with Kyle and Dan. Inside, Chief Sanders and two patrol officers stood in the kitchen with the girlfriend. Handshakes were exchanged before the patrol officers explained what they’d found.
“Ma’am, do you have any reason to believe Stan left of his own free will? Did he seem depressed or moody lately?”
She looked up at Jack. Her bloodshot eyes showed her anxiety. “Not at all. Today is his birthday. We had dinner reservations for seven thirty at Arnold’s in Hartford. As far as I knew, he planned to go home from work, shower and change, and then pick me up at six forty-five. He seemed enthusiastic when we spoke on the phone last night. This isn’t like Stan at all. He doesn’t just disappear without a trace.”
Jack and Tom each handed her a card and asked her to call if she thought of anything else. Jack walked her to the door and watched as she placed the house key on top of the porch light.
“Does anyone other than you and Stan know where that key is hidden?”
“Nobody.”
“Okay.” Jack gave her a reassuring nod. “We’ll keep you abreast of our findings.” Back inside the house, Jack returned to the kitchen. “Shall we begin?”
The men followed the officers to the end of the hallway. Officer Petty pointed. “This is the room that has the wrappers in the closet.”
They took turns poking their heads in the doorway and checked from left to right. The sparsely furnished room had only a futon against the back wall and a dresser next to the closet. The room was devoid of wall art or decor.
“Guess Stan doesn’t care much about incorporating the woman’s touch in this house,” Jack said. He gave Dan the go-ahead to snap a few pictures before they entered the room. Dan did, then they crossed into the bedroom and stood out of the way. With his gloved hand, Dan slid the closet door to the side and looked in. He knelt to the floor and clicked off five more pictures. With a glance over his shoulder, he asked Kyle for the forensic ruler to place next to the food wrappers so he could gauge their size.
Kyle opened the kit and handed it to him. “Here you go.”
Dan took three more pictures of the items on the floor then pushed off his knee and stood. “Let’s take a look at that phone.”
Petty nodded. “It’s in the living room on the coffee table right where we found it.”
They exited the guest room and turned left at the hallway. In the living room, Kyle lifted the cell phone and pressed the home screen. “Good, he doesn’t have it password protected.” He scrolled through the texts and the recent calls. “Nothing unusual, but Tech can check to see if anything has been deleted.”
Jack turned to Sanders. “It’s your jurisdiction.”
“Yeah, bag it up. You should bag the wrappers too and dust them for prints in your lab.”
“Not a problem, Chief,” Kyle said. “We’ll take care of that for sure.”
“Did anyone check the mail?” Jack said.
Tom raised his brows. “Why the mail?”
Jack nodded at Kyle, who ran out to the mailbox. “A clue on our cases has come through the mail.”
Kyle returned with three letters—all bills. “Nothing important, boss.” Kyle turned to Officer DeLuca. “You said something about shoeprints outside?”
“Sure thing. Right this way.”
Jack, Tom, Kyle, and Dan followed the officers out the front door and around to the side of the house.
Officer DeLuca pointed at the ground as they approached the gate. “Somebody walked up the driveway and then cut over to the gate. He reached over, flipped the latch, and entered the backyard, then closed the gate behind him.” DeLuca reenacted what the trespasser did. “Inside, you’ll see the footprints directly to our left. The intruder hugged the wall as he made his way to the back of the home.”
“Why hug the wall when the entire backyard is fenced? The neighbors wouldn’t see him,” Tom said.
“Remember the downpour last night? He was likely trying to stay under the roof’s overhang,” Jack said.
The prints, embedded in the dried mud, created a perfect cast for the size and the sole tread of the shoe. Dan adjusted the focus, knelt within inches of the pattern, and snapped more pictures. He pulled the ruler from his pocket and set it next to the print as a comparison. “I’d say our perp wears a shoe size between eleven and twelve. The prints are deep, meaning he’s a larger guy, probably ov
er two hundred pounds.”
“Hmm. That could fit with our initial profile of the person we’re looking for in the Leslie McDonald murder and the Tyler Rauch abduction. There’s a chance that Stan’s disappearance could be at the hands of that very same man.”
“Who would have a beef with a security guard, an EMT, and a psychiatrist?” Kyle asked.
“That’s what we need to find out.” Jack tipped his head. Let’s take a look at the back of the house.”
They continued on, over the cement slab at the patio door then to the frosted glass window.
Petty pointed at the wall where the smeared muddy shoeprints were dry but still visible. He pushed upward on the frame. The window opened. “Window hasn’t been latched yet for winter. That could have been the homeowner’s biggest mistake.”
Dan backed up and took more pictures of that entire wall.
“If the perp gained access to the house through the bathroom, then why aren’t there muddy shoeprints on the carpet in the hallway or bedroom?” Tom asked.
“Took his shoes off once he was inside?” DeLuca said.
Jack nodded. “Probably. Let’s check out the garage and Stan’s vehicle. They returned to the house and walked through the kitchen to the laundry room then into the garage. Jack flipped the light switch. “It’s still too dark in here.” He pressed the button on the wall, and the opener lifted the overhead. “There, that’s better. Don’t forget to dust the car too.”
Kyle said they would. He pulled the handle on the driver’s side and opened the door. “Does anyone know how tall Stan Kingsley is?”
“We worked together for a few years when we were both deputies. He was a good three inches shorter than me.”
“And you go what, boss?” Dan asked.
“Six two. You’re wondering about the seat position?”
Dan nodded and looked at Petty. “How tall are you?”
“I’m five foot ten.”
