by Terry McGhee
“This is Inspector Hannity speaking.”
I tried not to shout. “Inspector, it’s Jake again. I failed to ask you an important question during our initial conversations. I didn’t see anything in the investigative reports. Was the lake ever dredged when you searched the area for evidence of any crime?”
There was a more than a brief pause before the inspector replied. “No, we had no budget for hiring a diver to search the lake bottom. Remember, we didn’t even know which of the many campsites the kids used…if any. It is two miles long and very deep, and we just decided that it was not a viable option. At that time, we did not even know of this Jerkovick character. I thought that maybe the kids decided to hike to another more isolated camp site. I sent one of my guys to check out a few camp sites further down the trail, but we found nothing. Jake, we’re talking about thousands of acres of nothing but trees and rocky terrain. Remember, at that time our primary guess at a scenario was a run-away.”
I was standing now, and I am sure the veins on my neck were bulging. “How could you not search the lake?” I shouted into the phone. “If Wendy and Roy were victims of foul play and murdered, the logical scenario for the murderer would be to weight the bodies and dump them in the lake—especially since you turned up nothing with the cadaver dogs. I feel stupid for not asking this earlier, and now I wonder why you didn’t volunteer this information.”
“Hold on there, Jake, don’t get your shorts in a twist. You don’t have all the facts. We did talk to the FBI seeking some assistance with our investigation but couldn’t generate any interest, as not enough time had passed for our investigative team to reach a final conclusion about the disappearance of our apparent victims.”
“You’re right, Inspector, I apologize, and I for sure don’t have all the facts. All I have is this report that maybe should’ve been more complete. Hindsight will always alter thinking about an incident.” I told Hannity that Officer Jordan would be calling the FBI to ask about help with a diver at the lake. Hannity also said he would follow up to make the same inquiry. “I think this request coming from two police departments will carry more weight. New evidence about this old case should put more pressure on the Feebs to consider giving us a hand. Our star suspect has moved from California to Colorado.”
I walked to my picture window and took a deep breath. I felt my pulse and noted my heart rate had jumped up by twenty BPM. I went down to my wine bar and poured the rest of the Pinot Noir into a wine glass.
Walking out on the deck, I plopped down in my favorite lounge chair to think about this latest development. Barb joined me on the deck. She was clearly shaken by whoever seemed to be stalking me. She folded her hands in her lap—a sign she had something serious to say. Always the wit, she quoted that old line from the Laurel and Hardy movies: “Well Jake, here’s another fine mess you’ve gotten us into.” It didn’t sound funny under the circumstances.
“Look,” I replied, “Hannity and his officer, Meadows, know all about this guy and are on the lookout. They will be sending a patrol car by the house at random intervals.”
“But if this is the crazy that trashed your jeep, then this whole scenario takes a giant leap up into the ‘we-could-be-in-danger’ category. Are these local police officers qualified to handle this situation? I doubt they have a very large staff. I wonder if I should schedule a visit with my mother in San Francisco.”
“Let’s not get your mother all worked up just yet. It still might be a good idea to give her a call and tell her that I am getting busy with a local case, and you want to drive down for a visit. She loves Murphee, and he would have a ball in her big fenced yard.”
***
I had been taking a break in my sleuth work for five days. Hannity had nothing to report about our mysterious stranger. No one had spotted the old gray truck anywhere. He thought it could be garaged somewhere, and I had no further clues that this crazy guy had been checking up on me in the last few days. I caught up on some e-mails and paid some bills that had been sitting on my desk. Barbara talked me in to joining her for a quiet “catch up” chat. “When do you expect to hear about the inquiry to the FBI?” she asked.
As if on a prearranged cue, my mobile began vibrating in my pocket, followed by the familiar ring. I flipped open the phone. “Hey Jake, this is Hannity. I have some good news. The local Denver FBI office called me to say they had two agents and a diver ready to meet with us tomorrow. Are you available?”
I was now pacing our deck on full alert. “Absolutely,” I replied. “What time?” Maybe the Feebs would decide to take over the entire investigation, and I could get out of the loop. But did I really want out of the loop just yet?
“Is 8:30 a.m. too early? The two agents will be bringing a diver with full gear. They flew into our regional airport last night, and seem anxious to do the dive. I think they want to earn some public brownie points for the agency. The contact with Jerkovick’s attorney and the Boulder prison will be put off pending any developments here.”
“I’ll be there,” I said and hung up the phone, practically jumping up and down with excitement.
Barbara recognized my excited demeanor. “Whoa there, Sherlock, what’s happening?”
“This could be a significant clue in the case,” I said. “If the FBI find no bodies in the lake, then we can move on to interrogating Jerkovick at the Boulder prison. I need to hear from Officer Jordan about the potential interview with our perp. Jerkovick knows his parole hearing is pending, and if we confront him with our suspicions about his involvement in a possible double murder, he has to come clean and prove he could not have murdered Wendy and Roy. If he has no alibi we will gain some time for a more in- depth analysis. I just feel it in my gut that this guy is involved somehow.”
I hugged Barb and said, “Maybe a trip to your mother’s is a good idea. It sounds like things are really heating up. Besides, I will feel better if I know you’re not at any risk here with what has been happening.”
She picked up her phone, hit a button, and said, “Hi, Mom…guess what?”
Chapter 7
I was awake at 5:00 a.m. the next morning. Rotating my head forty-five degrees, I could see my alarm clock. It was set for 6:00 a.m. I pushed the alarm off button and sat on the edge of the bed, fully awake. There was no way I was going to miss this meeting with the FBI.
Barbara nudged me with her foot. “Go back to sleep, it’s way too early to get up.”
“Stay in bed,” I said as I patted the bump under the blankets. “I’ll make the coffee. This could be the big break in the case. I’m going with this lake diving crew to Deadfall Lake. Keep your phone close. I will call you with any big news.”
“Good, now go away.” The bump had spoken.
I quickly dressed into my hiking pants and boots. It would take about fifty five minutes to drive from town to the road turn-around nearest to Deadfall Lake. I went out to the deck while the coffee was brewing. It appeared that my heavy spraying of the new deer repellant had done the job. The new geraniums were untouched by the marauding family of deer. I hoped they could remember the bad taste and wondered if deer had a way to tell their buddies to stay clear of our plants. The new anti-deer spray temporarily stunk. No wonder Murph was staying inside.
The morning was cold, so I went back inside to the kitchen as the coffee machine was making the final gurgling noises that told me it was finished brewing. I poured a thermal mug of my favorite roast, added cream and honey, and sat at our kitchen counter as I checked the clock. “Dang,” I muttered as I realized that I still had two and a half hours until the FBI meeting.
I heard Barb coming down the stairs, trailing her small pull-aboard luggage bag. I’d already fed Murph and made the mistake of asking him if he wanted to go for a “ride in the car.” He was whimpering with tail wagging as he stood by the door, waiting for mommy, who was wearing her coat—a sure sign that a “ride” was imminent.
I grabbed the luggage bag and handed Barb her thermos. We both walked throu
gh the door, trying not to be knocked over by all eighty-five pounds of Murphee. I loaded her travel things into the car and Murph up in the back of the SUV. I gave her a kiss and said not to worry, “I’ll call you tonight with any developments. Murph got his ears scratched, and I got a wet slobbery tongue kiss on my cheek. I waved as they drove away from the house.
I heaved a big sigh and tried to tamp down my excitement about today’s activity. Maybe the FBI guys could inject some enthusiasm into our search for clues.
I walked back into the house, poured a second cup of coffee, and laid my attaché case on the kitchen counter, taking out my folder of notes. I had written out some questions to ask the FBI agent who would be in charge of the dive search. What would be the course of action if no bodies were found? What if we did find the bodies of Wendy and Roy? “Could we pin down the exact day and time that Jerkovick had left town for Boulder, Colorado?” I said aloud. If he had left after the young couple were reported missing, he was a definite suspect. If he left before they went missing…then what? Someone would have to confirm when he actually arrived in Colorado…maybe a rent receipt? I gave a knuckle rap to my head, telling myself to just cool it and wait for more input.
Sarah greeted me as I walked into the police station at 8:00 a.m. “You’re early, Detective. No one is here yet.”
I chose to wait in the office lobby. Sarah was busy at her computer. I paced around with a few glances at my watch, waiting for Hannity, the FBI agents, and the diver. At 8:25 a.m., I heard a door open in the rear of the station. Sarah jumped up and opened the office gate. She motioned for me to follow her. Hannity and the two FBI guys were just entering the interrogation room. Hannity made a quick introduction, and we all sat in the cramped room. The smell of burned coffee filled the air. I really needed to talk to Sarah about the art of brewing good coffee. Or maybe not…leave it alone Jake.
FBI agent Sam Jenkins introduced himself as the one who would be heading the lake search effort and the person to whom all questions should be directed. “Please call me Sam— Jenkins or Agent is not necessary. I will, of course, share all data we uncover with Inspector Hannity.” He introduced his assistant, but I didn’t catch the name. Maybe the diver didn’t have a name? The FBI could be a mysterious bunch.
I raised my hand slightly to indicate that I had a question. “Sam,” I said, “I know you have been brought up to speed about our suspect now serving time in Boulder, Colorado. There is an important piece of information I, we, should know. It is important that we determine exactly when our only suspect left town. Was it before or after the couple disappeared? I can try to devote some time to interviewing college personnel and maybe find out where Jerkovick lived. A landlord should be able to pinpoint—”
Agent Jenkins held up his hand and was nodding his head. “Yes sir, this is critical information, we realize. Since our regional office’s approval of our involvement, an agent has already been assigned to dig out this information. They will be directly in contact with Inspector Hannity here. We would be grateful if you could supply the names of those friends of Wendy and Roy, with whom you met. In the meantime, the FBI agrees with you and Inspector Hannity that searching the lake is now vital to the investigation. I invite you to accompany us to the suspected crime scene. I see you are dressed for this hike.”
Well, I thought, I guess I’m being put in my place. I was OK with that as long as progress was being made. Maybe it was true what they said about some of the elite FBI agents. Many felt this very elite bunch thought that their you-know-what didn’t stink. I consoled my slight humiliation with the knowledge that the FBI would not even be here if it hadn’t been for my work. OK, it might just take more time to warm up to Agent Jenkins. I’ll bet when he discovers how witty I am, he’ll change his stiff attitude.
Hannity spoke up as the meeting was ending. I filled Sam in on the situations with the mysterious stalker. “Our investigation thus far indicates that our suspect, Al Jerkovick, didn’t seem to have any close friends. Now I am wondering if he had any relatives here in the mountains. This might help us put a finger on our person who trashed Jake’s jeep and who might also be the stalker. Sam supports my thoughts, and he has agreed to get his people in Washington D.C. to do a search in their database.”
Everyone nodded, gulped the remaining coffee in their mugs, and stood up—indication that our meeting was over. I gathered my notes, straightened them into a neat pile, and grabbed my briefcase. Sam said, “OK, the three of us will follow the Inspector in our SUV.”
Hannity nodded to me and said, “We’ll take the police pickup truck.”
We all headed for the rear door of the station, and Sarah followed us. “Good luck gentlemen, I’ll hold down the fort here.”
We all piled into our assigned vehicles. I looked at Hannity. “Well, what do you think of our FBI crew?”
Hannity started the truck, motioned for the FBI SUV to follow, and slowly pulled out on the main street heading for the mountain road that would lead us to the closest parking spot to Deadfall Lake. He lowered his driver’s side window a few inches and lit up a cigarette before responding. “I think that the lake dive will turn up empty, our FBI crew will make a report, and then do what they really came here for. And that is to enjoy their brief “vacation”—maybe do some fishing—and just generally enjoy the beauty and quiet of these mountains. I heard Sam mention our new Thai restaurant in town as a place to eat. I also gather he and the diver are avid fly fisherman.”
Hannity had his own expectations, and he clearly felt this entire lake dredging scenario was a waste of time. I suspected he might be feeling a little guilt at not pressing for help with a lake search early on. He obviously didn’t want to talk about what he viewed as a misadventure. We turned away from civilization onto the single forest road that would take us up and over the mountain range leading to Deadfall Lake. Before we got out of cell phone coverage, I called Barbara to let her know we were headed for the lake. “Sounds like fun, try not to fall in, Sherlock. Murph and I are about two hours away from Mom’s house.”
At the peak of this range of the Eddys, we crossed over the Pacific Crest trail and the signage pointing to Deadfall Lake. There were two cars parked in the pullout. The hikers probably hiking the four fairly level trail miles to the lake. I rolled down my window to breathe in the fresh, mountain air.
We arrived at the dead end road where the west side trail access to Deadfall Lake was clearly marked. Everyone got out of their vehicles, stretched, and gathered for a briefing about the logistics of our hike to the lake. The diver was busy sorting through his scuba gear, and Sam’s assistant was shoving various items in his own pack. I wondered why the FBI did not arrange for a helicopter to just fly in from town and drop down to the beach on the east side of the lake. I suspected that keeping a low profile was to be the MO. I was finally getting into the swing of this police jargon.
The diver neatly packed his gear into a large backpack and said, “OK, let’s do it.”
Inspector Hannity dug out hiking staffs from the back of the pickup. He handed one to each of us saying, “The trail is short, but steep. These will help keep your balance and make the climb easier.” My mind conjured up a modification of that famous line from the movie Blazing Saddles: “We don’t need no stinking hiking staffs.” If the task at hand was not so serious, I would have tried my hand at levity. I thought I might have been married too long to my wise-cracking mate. It had rubbed off. The stern look from Hannity forced me to keep my mouth shut.
We arrived at the side of the lake, and the backpacks were quickly unloaded onto the beach. The diver wasted no time and was quickly into his wet suit and scuba gear. He held his swim fins in his hand as he stepped into the cold water. Sam motioned for us to have a seat on a large, fallen dead Ponderosa pine tree, while he and the diver looked over some drawings that showed the three major campsites all relatively close to each other.
The diver pointed out to the middle of the lake and indicated several spots he
would check out. He checked his weight belt, slipped on the fins, and backed slowly out into the icy water until he was chest deep. We watched him disappear, and we all headed back to our seats on the dead tree.
I could see a few scuba bubbles hit the calm lake surface as the diver moved around on the bottom. Sam seemed more relaxed now and said, “You know, I could live up here. I love the smell of the pines and the earth. Maybe someday.” I filled in some chitchat about the pros and cons of living in a very small town in the mountains. We all watched the lake surface for several more minutes.
The diver’s head popped up about one hundred feet away. He gave us the thumbs up sign and pointed down, directly below where he had surfaced. He pulled off his mask and shouted, “We’ve got something here.”
Chapter 8
Sam’s assistant had finally introduced himself. “Just call me Agent Simpson,” he said, clearly indicating that unlike Sam Jenkins, Simpson wanted to be addressed more formally. I thought this might be some partial compensation to his official role as “gofer.” He had just concluded giving me a way too detailed description of his job duties when the diver popped to the surface and announced his find.
The three of us rushed to the water’s edge as the diver turned and backed toward the shore. He reached down and took off his cumbersome swim fins. He seemed to be carrying something in a net bag that was attached to his dive belt. The diver turned back toward us and held up the bag. “I found a skull along with other skeletal remains wrapped in what once was, I think, a nylon ground tarp. The tarp has deteriorated almost beyond recognition, but I picked up a small piece. It should be easy to identify. The cold water at the thirty-foot level helped preserve some of it. The body had been weighted to stay on the bottom.”
My heart gave a little jump as I thought of Mrs. Johnson and Roy’s parents if this turned out to be remains of Wendy or Roy.
