Mystery at Deadfall Lake

by Terry McGhee

  I plopped down in my deck chair and began rustling through my briefcase. Barb sat quietly waiting for my next move. Murph raised his head hoping I might produce a doggie treat from my case. He knew the drill. “Here you go big guy.” The old sandwich bag at the bottom of the case contained two pieces of dried beef jerkey. Murph had come over to stick his nose in the treat bag. I put a piece in one fist, and did the ole choose the right fist game. Since a Lab’s sense of smell is a zillion times better than humans, he nuzzled the correct fist, I opened my hand and the treat disappeared into his mouth.

  Barb said, “I’ll bet he’s wondering if his daddy thinks he can’t smell the treat.”

  I tossed the 2nd treat to Murph, and wadded up the plastic bag so he could see that the game was over.

  “Anyway I’ve gone through the police reports.. Inspector Hannity filled me in on all the facts he had about the case. No positive evidence was ever turned up by the PD. They found no signs that foul play was involved. There were no revealing fingerprints on Roy’s car. My interview with Wendy’s mom turned up zilch. According to her, everything was ‘hunky dory.’ Her recollection was that there was no pressing emotional problem Wendy was having at the time. Wendy’s diary was studied by Mom and Dad, and no possible clues as to a cause of her disappearance were found. I have permission to read it if I need to. She and Roy were apparently in love and planned to be married sometime after college. Nothing seems to point to a run-away scenario. Wendy’s mother did not reveal if there was any abusive behavior from the father. She would have had to know about this if it was occurring. Although I’ve heard of cases where the father was abusive and the mother knew but did nothing to stop it. I just do not have anything that would point to this situation with Wendy’s parents.

  “Now I wonder if there was a third party villain or enemy that harbored resentment toward Wendy or Roy and would do them harm. And who is this weirdo in the pickup truck giving me the once over? Tomorrow, I’ll try to contact some of Wendy’s old high school and college friends that still live in the area. If this doesn’t turn up any clues, I am back at square one.”

  ***

  At 8:00 o’clock that evening, I hung up the phone after talking to Sue, Brad, and Jean—three of Wendy’s friends that were still living in town and had agreed to meet with me. Each had given me a brief account of their relationship with Wendy. I thought that getting them all together in one room might trigger something that would point to a clue. I suggested we all meet at a local back room at the coffee house. It was worth the twenty-five dollars I agreed to pay the manager for use of the small room, and luckily, all three of Wendy’s friends would be there. Coffee would be served to us at no charge. Well, it would cost me the quarter C note. I was a big spender.

  I finished my second glass of Pinot Noir and set the glass on the coaster on my desk, next to all my note pages. I rubbed my eyes and temples, searching my brain for something I might have missed. I stood and stretched as I looked out of the large second story window of my office overlooking our rear deck and garden ponds. This meeting would be my one last chance to maybe gain some new information about this mystery. I was hopeful.

  A deer was just finishing a drink at our pond and looked up at me. She flicked her ears and tail, as if to say goodnight, before she walked slowly off into the forest. I noticed that she had helped herself to the potted geranium on the deck. Apparently, the smelly Deer Off spray was only repugnant to Barb and me. And Murphy, who’d moved away when I dosed the plants. Smart dog.

  The next morning Barb and I enjoyed a cup of coffee as I listened to input as to what questions should be posed to Wendy’s friends. I arrived at the coffee house rear parking lot at 8:30 a.m. with three sharpened pencils and clean empty pages in my notebook. I entered the warm and cozy abode and was greeted by the murmur of multiple conversations. I breathed in the aroma of fresh coffee and maybe a hint of Danish croissants that would have been freshly baked. These local early risers were sitting at small tables, chatting with each other. I greeted the manager, and she pointed to the back room where Sue, Brad, and Jean were already waiting.

  Three smiling faces greeted me as I walked into the meeting room. I would guess they were all about forty years of age. It seems they all had decided to stick around after college. Hey, what’s not to like about small town paradise?

  Each of them stood, and we all shook hands as they introduced themselves. All had steaming cups of coffee in large mugs, and a plate of warm Danish rolls sat in the center of the table. Maybe it was worth the twenty-five bucks. It appeared no one wanted to be the first to snag a Danish. I immediately grabbed one, and three more hands hit the plate. I addressed them all. “I’m pleased to meet each of you, and thank you very much for taking the time to sit down with me and talk about this.” I passed out new business cards to each.

  They all seemed eager to help me sort out the circumstances regarding the disappearance of their friend. “This is what I have learned so far.” I reviewed my conclusions from the police reports, interviews with Wendy’s mother, and Inspector Hannity. “Wendy and Roy appeared to be very close. I guess there was some talk of marriage later on. Mrs. Johnson could not point to any serious problems, of which she was aware, between them.” I read the notes from my conversations with Roy’s folks. All three of Wendy’s friends were nodding their heads, telling me my report so far made sense to them.

  I offered up a question. “Do any of you recall any situation that would perhaps cause Wendy and Roy to run away together? Were you aware of any problem that they would be having that would cause such a drastic course of action?”

  Sue volunteered her opinion. “Well, it was true they planned to get married sometime. Wendy didn’t say marriage was an urgent matter. Waiting wasn’t an issue with her, either. And I know she wasn’t pregnant or anything. I’m pretty sure she would have told me.”

  “Do you know of anyone else that might have had something to do with their disappearance? Was there a jealous ex-boyfriend or girlfriend that might have been angry enough to do harm?”

  Brad and Jean were nodding to each other. “There was AJ who had a real thing for Wendy, but she wasn’t interested and told us that he gave her the creeps,” Brad said.

  “Who is AJ?” I asked.

  “That would be Al Jerkovick. He was in a couple of her classes, and I know for a fact that he was constantly hitting on Wendy. She told me he would leave notes in her locker and wait outside her classes to press her to go on a date with him. Wendy told me she wanted nothing to do with Al “the jerk” Jerkovick.”

  “She eventually told him to piss off. Well, not in those words, but she told us he got the message that she wasn’t interested. Wendy said he seemed pretty angry about the turn off.”

  I finished more note taking, and said, “But did he seem a real physical threat to Wendy or Roy?”

  Brad gulped some coffee and took a large bite of his Danish. “Wendy had talked to me and Jean about ideas of how she might get rid of this pest. She never said she was afraid of him. She told me that Roy really believed it was Al that followed them to the movie and slit the tires of Roy’s car. They had no proof, but Wendy said the jerk stayed away from her after that.”

  “Did Wendy report any of this badgering to her folks, school authorities, or the police? What ever happened to this AJ character? Did he graduate?”

  Sue was shaking her head from side to side. “Wendy wouldn’t say anything to anyone else about her problem with AJ, and as far as I know, he never enrolled in classes the next school year, but he was around when Wendy and Roy went missing.”

  I made some more notes and made a mental note to myself to ask Inspector Hannity and Mrs. Johnson about Al Jerkovick.

  “Have any of you seen an old, primer-gray pickup truck around town?”

  Brad nodded his head. “I saw a truck like that a couple of times parked at the popular bar near the college. I don’t think I ever saw anyone in the truck. I also remember once seeing it parked on a
side street in town.”

  “If any of you spot the truck could you give me a call?”

  We all agreed that we would keep in touch, and I would contact each of them if I learned any more news. I thanked each of them at the curb as they all climbed into one car and drove off.

  Deep in thought, I stuffed my notes into my briefcase, said thanks to the coffee house manager, and slowly walked toward my car in the rear of the coffee house. As I began entering in the keyless code, I gasped. The front seats of the Jeep were filled with broken glass. I stepped back when I noticed the front windshield had been completely smashed. “What the hell?” I looked around, but all seemed normal in the mostly empty parking lot. There was no one around and no visible witnesses. I grabbed the whisk broom from the storage area in the trunk and began sweeping out the glass as best I could.

  I pulled out my mobile and started to punch in Hannity’s number but changed my mind and snapped the phone shut. There was nothing inside the car that a thief would want. If someone wanted to steal the jeep, they would have broken a side window. My jeep was seven years old and carried the dents and scrapes from many off-road wanderings. It was beat up and definitely would be very low on the prospect list for a car thief. I leaned against the driver’s door and asked myself what other reason would explain this situation. I lifted my head up, snapping my fingers. “Could someone mixed up in this old case still be living here? If so, how could they possibly know of my involvement, and what would be their motive? Could this be the character driving the old pickup truck?” I was willing to bet I was being followed. If this was the case, then the plot had just thickened.

  The police needed to come and do a routine inspection of the crime scene. I could sit down with Hannity then to try and figure out a course of action to uncover this mystery.

  I opened my phone again and punched the number for Hannity. He immediately came on the phone. “Hey it’s Jake,” I said. “I’m with my car behind the coffee shop just down the street. Someone has smashed my windshield, and one of your officers needs to come and make a report and take some pictures. I’m pretty sure this isn’t just regular vandalism or an attempted car theft.”

  “Stay right there. I’ll be there myself in three minutes.”

  The inspector was at the scene in two minutes with a digital SLR camera in hand. We both walked around my jeep as Hannity took half a dozen photos. I explained my suspicions about it being someone involved in our missing person’s case. “Only I, you, Mrs. Johnson, and Sarah know anything about reopening this old case. Also Wendy’s three friends, but they seem eager to help sort this all out. What should we do? A guy in an old primer-gray pickup truck was checking me out. Could you ask around to see if any of your officers know the vehicle?”

  Hannity was tapping his pen on his report pad. “Let’s talk more about this later today. Did you get a license number?” Hannity did a brow wrinkle when I said no. A forehead slap would have been fitting, but he resisted. “Did you find out any news from your meeting with Wendy and Roy’s friends?” I filled in the inspector on what we had discussed and gave him the name of Albert Jerkovick. He said he would check out the name to see what the system had on him, if anything.

  “Wendy said this guy was a real jerk, and Brad said they all gave him the nickname of ‘Jerkoff’

  Chapter 4

  I entered our small town police station and was greeted again by the smiling face of Sarah. Her uniform was immaculate, and the creases in her shirt and trousers were so sharp they screamed, “Look at me!” Her badge had a mirror finish, and you could see your face in the shine of her shoes. Atta girl.

  She stood and hurried to the low swinging gate that led to the front office. “Good morning, Detective,” she said as she opened the gate for me. This morning I noticed her hair was done up differently. It had a spikey look. I liked it the way it was. Why would a woman want her head to look like an ocean mine waiting for the unexpected bow of a ship to hit it and explode?

  “Sarah, stop calling me detective. Jake is fine. You and I both know I’m just an old retired business guy trying to help out with this cold case.”

  Sarah did a small bow as she waved me into her office. “Well, Jake, you are the only detective I know. Inspector Hannity is expecting you. Please have a seat in our interrogation room.” She giggled as she opened the coffee room door for me.

  I smelled the standard burned coffee as I sat in one of the folding metal chairs in the stark, windowless room. This cramped dungeon could use a coat of bright blue or green paint. I wondered what the old Soviet Union Gulags looked like. Probably a close resemblance, but the floors and walls would be concrete. There would be a drain in the center of the floor so the post-interrogation hose-downs would be quick and efficient. It seemed to me that they should give Sarah a shot at redecorating the room. Maybe a few pictures, some sconce wall lighting, and for sure a ceiling skylight would help. The black blotches of spider webs in the ceiling corners were a real turnoff.

  I took out the notebook to study my more recent scribbling as I waited for Inspector Hannity.

  “Good morning to you, assistant detective,” Hannity joked as he appeared in the doorway carrying another folder. The inspector had a new haircut. —a butch cut. The shorter white hair gave him more of a professional military look, but made him look older. Maybe I missed this “get a new hairstyle” week. “Before we get started, we need to discuss the circumstances surrounding the vandalism of your car. And oh, by the way, my officers will keep a look out for your mysterious pickup truck. You said you suspect your smashed windshield might have something to do with our current cold case investigation. Why do you think that?”

  “Look, there were much more attractive targets in the lot than my old beat up jeep. You know tourists driving north or south stop in town to have lunch. Their vehicles usually are packed with goodies, and most are newer models. This perp clearly was not looking for things to steal. My jeep was empty. No, this was pure vandalism, plain and simple. Since I haven’t had any trouble with anyone in town, I can only assume my car was trashed to send a message. Maybe we’ve uncovered a person involved in the disappearance of Wendy and Roy, and whoever it is doesn’t want me snooping around. I’m beginning to think he drives that old primer-gray pick up.”

  Hannity scribbled notes and said, “It just makes no sense to me. This is a seventeen year old case. If I was involved with this past alleged crime, and nothing had been uncovered for all this time, I would just lay low.”

  “Look,” I said, “if this is some not-so-smart lowlife, my wife and I could be in danger. If what I think is true, there is a dangerous individual living here in town. I have an alarm on the house, but that is hardly enough to discourage a crazy from attacking us, maybe even setting our house on fire.”

  “Let’s don’t panic,” said Hannity. “From now on let’s discuss any investigative move we want to make. We need to be more discreet.”

  “Crap, I’m not exactly running newspaper notices of my next move.”

  “OK, I get it, but from now on, when you come into our office, park your car a distance away, and vary the spots. Walk around the block and call here when you are close to the rear door. This is the non-public entrance to the station. Let’s both keep a more careful lookout for anyone paying too much attention to you or I when we are in the field. I can ask an officer to occasionally drive by your place. If someone is secretly watching you, the appearance of a police car should make them back off. I did some checking on this Albert Jerkovick character. He has a sheet on him as long as my arm and he is, at present, a guest of the Rocky Mountain Incarceration Center in Boulder Colorado.” He dropped the manila folder on the table in front of me.

  “Thanks,” I said, opening the folder. “This bad apple might just be a clue that can give us answers to our mystery.” I wondered why his name didn’t turn up in the initial investigation. Either those investigating the kid’s disappearance were just not that thorough, or they intentionally chose to end
the effort due to lack of positive clues. It was hard to believe that college friends of the young couple were not interrogated…I would ask them next time. Based upon my on-line check out of our police department, and talking to our neighbors who had lived in town a long time, the police here in our resort town were very efficient.

  Hannity had opened the other folding chair and was pouring himself a cup of the witches brew. “You sure you don’t want a cup of this splendid coffee?”

  “I’ll pass. I brewed my own cup this morning at the house. I guess I’m a coffee snob and am pretty fussy about what caffeine beverage I pour into my stomach.” Hannity shrugged his shoulders and seated himself opposite me, waiting while I looked through the file on Albert Jerkovick.

  I tapped the page in front of me. “I see Jerkovick was arrested for breaking and entering and felony theft of an electronics business in Boulder. It is dated about a month after your missing persons case opened on the Deadfall situation. So he leaves here in a hurry, then soon thereafter he starts a life of crime. It makes no sense. If he had been involved in a crime, you’d think he would want to keep a low profile. The scoop is that he always seemed to have plenty of cash. Where did he get his money?”

  “He is doing time for an assault and attempted murder charge. This conviction was handed down about ten years ago. Wow, this is one violent-prone criminal. I see he is up for parole just next month.”

  Hannity turned the open file around to search for the name of the arresting officer. “I talked to this officer Jordan about the case. Jerkovick, it seems, is a model prisoner. To me that means he wants to make parole, so he can get back to his evil life style. Or, maybe he sees the error of his ways and intends to be a model citizen.”