Mystery at Deadfall Lake

by Terry McGhee

  “And Jake, my boss wants to consider additional agents to help with this apparent murder investigation. You have been a tremendous help. I sense this investigation could get dangerous. At this stage, I don’t think it is wise to expose you as a private citizen to any danger. This will allow me to make use of all of our resources, and you can take a breather. There will still be some non-hazardous grunt work required, and if you’re willing to keep at it, we can use your help. My boss wants the decision to be entirely up to you.”

  “I’m OK with what you’re saying. I’m willing to keep at the ‘grunt’ work as you say. That’s what I originally signed up for anyway. This is not a problem with me. My wife is putting the pressure on me to stay out of the line of fire, so to speak.”

  “Thanks, Jake” and “Good job” were heard around the table. And then there was a prolonged silence in our small meeting room as everyone came to grips with the fact that one of our missing persons was now identified.

  I wrote into my notebook: Wendy deceased—likely murdered. Roy missing. I marked a large question mark next to Roy’s name. I kept marking over it with my pen until I tore through to the next page. If Roy had murdered Wendy, then he did one hell of a job fooling everyone about his feelings for her.

  I was very thankful that police work was not my full-time profession. I was just not cut out to face the victim’s loved ones with bad news. Hannity agreed to speak with Wendy’s mom and spare me the pain. I looked at Hannity. I would let him decide if he would advise Sam of this change to memo bullet number three.

  Agent Simpson gave a slight cough before he advised us about the newspaper’s agreement to print the photos of Wendy, Roy, and Jerkovick. “The brief story in next week’s edition of the Mountain Herald will ask for anyone to come forward if they knew any of the three individuals at the noted time frame of the crime. The paper editor suggested that he be allowed to contact the college administrator to get them to run a notice with the photos in the next issue of the school paper. I gave the editor the names and contact information for myself and Sam. He will call me to advise if the college wants to meet with any of us. Most likely, Sam will need to sit down with the administrator and college president to clarify what we wish the article to say.”

  Everyone leaned back in their chairs, and a few audible sighs could be heard.

  Sam said that he had one last announcement. “I called Roy’s parents and brought them up to speed on our findings. They both said that they had not had any contact with Roy since the report of his and Wendy’s disappearance. They said that Roy had always called to give them a report on how he was doing. Their mood was darkened as they came closer to believing that Roy was also dead. They both are positive Roy could never have hurt Wendy. I gave them our contact information, and they agreed to call if they had any news. Roy’s dad told me that he had talked to a few of Roy’s friends at home, and none had heard anything directly from Roy since he left town to move west and attend the local college.”

  After a pause, Sam gently placed his hands palm down on the table. “Well, that’s all we have for the moment. Jake, there is one thing you can do for us. When you contact the boarding house tomorrow where our suspect was living, ask if anyone ever came to visit him. Oh, one last thing. Simpson will be contacting Wendy’s mother after Hannity and Jake give her the sad news to help her with burial arrangements for the remains of her daughter. Simpson will contact the funeral home and set up an interview. Right now, we just don’t know what Wendy’s mom will want to do.”

  “Inspector Hannity, you may wish to go with our detective when he visits the boarding house.”

  Hannity told everyone that he alone would meet with Wendy’s mom, and that I would be spared this unpleasant task. This is definitely the job of the police. Small favors.

  Sam stood and said, “Ok, until tomorrow then.”

  We all pushed back our chairs and packed up our notes and personal belongings. I gave a smile to Sarah as I left. I unlocked my car and noticed a piece of paper under my driver’s side windshield wiper. “Crap,” I muttered. I had received a parking ticket. I was pretty sure it was one I would not have to pay—maybe. What the heck I thought…The town could use the money.

  My mind was spinning as I drove home. I parked in the garage, grabbed my brief case, and walked around to the deck. I would miss having a personal chat with Barb on the deck, but I would call her—after fixing myself a drink.

  Chapter 10

  I took my libation out to the deck and called my wife. “Hi, sweet cakes, it’s me, Sherlock. Is everything OK at your mom’s?”

  Barb gave me the rundown of everything, including the shopping trip to San Francisco. I expected I was light at least a couple hundred bucks from their excursion to the big city. All was quiet on the home front. She put the phone next to Murphee’s ear and I said a few “good boy” endearments to my loyal friend. “He’s wagging his tail—he recognizes your voice.”

  “I miss you, and there have been some developments. Some good and bad news. The FBI diver discovered some skeletal remains at the bottom of the lake. An FBI forensics officer met with Wendy’s dentist and identified the body as our missing girl.” There was an audible gasp as Barb absorbed this sad news.

  “She was apparently murdered and dumped in the lake. There was no sign of Roy’s remains—if he was also killed. It doesn’t mean he wasn’t killed away from their lake campsite. Of course, he is still a suspect. I have been demoted to minor participant in the case. I will now only take orders from the FBI. The head agent is taking over the entire investigation. Sam has told me his boss absolutely does not want me exposed to any danger. I think Sam’s marching orders now are to catch the nut job that is hounding me.”

  “I’m sorry, Jake. Are you OK with this development?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t want to continue as the lead investigator. It really isn’t my job anyway. Hannity says that technically I report directly to him and not the FBI. Sort of like a pro-bono contract investigator…less the formal contract. The case now really is headed by the FBI, and Hannity needs to go along with this plan. He told me he is indebted to me for really getting this cold case investigation into high gear, but that I can walk away anytime with no questions asked.

  “Sam Jenkins said he would keep me in the loop and up to speed on any developments. I won’t be going to Boulder, which is just as well.”

  There was a pause in our conversation as we both thought about what was developing. “Right now I’m sitting in your deck chair and holding Murph’s rope chew toy. I should have thrown it in the back of the SUV before you left. You have my permission to buy him the fanciest toy he craves. Take him into the pet supply store and let him poke around.

  “OK enough with the maudlin dialogue; I’m depressing myself. I think it’s best for you to stay with your mom until we turn up something on the crazy that is stalking me. The police are still patrolling our house, and this nut job has not shown his face lately. A story will be run in next week’s paper along with photos of Roy, Wendy, Jerkovick, and asking for input from anyone who might know something.” I said goodbye to Barb and promised to report any developments.

  I folded up the phone and sat back with my drink, doing a quick review of all the players in this mystery.

  Our prime mover now was Sam Jenkins, the organized, by-the-book, fastidious attention-to-detail, team leader. Agent Simpson was Sam’s assistant and ‘gofer’ extraordinaire. The forensics professional, Agent Angela Dickson and her straight-faced monotone announcement that we had found the murdered Wendy’s remains. Agent Moore, who recently arrived on the scene with his immaculate three-piece suit. Moore was ready to fly to Boulder, Colorado, to interview our suspected murderer. Our FBI scuba diver, who was all business and was given some time off, was now done—his job complete. Sam thinks it unlikely that Roy would have been dumped in the lake, but more likely buried where he was killed if he was also a victim. Right now he is still a suspect. Of major concern to me, as well as Hann
ity, was the guy who had trashed my jeep and was spying on me. We needed to bring Jenkins up to speed about that. Maybe they could somehow get a fix on him.

  I poured myself another drink. The sun was setting behind the mountains, and the pond frogs and crickets had started their loud cacophony of singing as they greeted the evening. Our forest birds had taken a last run through the feeders before they found their nests or night perches—or wherever birds spend the night. The Mountain Chickadees were the most fun to watch. They would zoom onto an open seed feeder perch, snag a sunflower seed, and then fly to the nearest branch to snack. One single Stellar Jay was giving me a final goodnight screech to tell me that the peanuts were gone from his favorite food platform. I had mounted it on a vertical pole with a squirrel baffle guard. These noisy birds would grab the peanuts, shift them in their beaks with end pointing forward for improved flight aerodynamics, and fly off into the forest to bury the treats. I had seen the squirrels digging up the hidden peanuts. I suppose the Jays knew this but figured the furry gray thieves would never find them all.

  I eased out of my chair, grabbed my drink, and went inside. With all of the lights turned off downstairs, I slowly climbed the stairs to my office. I snapped on the desk lamp and decided to review all my notes before hitting the sack.

  Tomorrow, I would visit the boarding house where Jerkovick was said to have rented a room.

  Chapter 11

  I sat at my desk, in my swiveling leather desk chair, looking out the picture window to my right. All was quiet and total darkness was about to swallow the fading light. Our house was situated in the middle of five acres of thick forest. There was zero light intrusion from anywhere at night. No street lights, car headlights, or lights from other homes could spoil the peaceful and dark stillness. This and the complete silence were two of the attractions that caused us to snatch up the property as an ideal site for our retirement home. The only sounds right now were from the night critters.

  I closed my eyes and started to put the day’s events into perspective.

  All of a sudden, I heard a loud bang! The picture window shattered with sharp shards of glass showering me and my desk. “Holy shit!” I yelled as I swiveled my chair and hit the floor next to the desk. Wham! My forehead banged against the edge of the desk and I saw stars for a split second. I reached up and felt blood. I crawled around the side of the desk for cover. A nasty bump was growing on my throbbing forehead. I looked up at the shattered window and then the opposite wall. High up near the ceiling I saw what my brain was telling me. There was a neat bullet hole in the wall about six inches from the ceiling of my office.

  I froze for a full minute. I felt blood trickling down my cheek from cuts caused by the flying glass. My hands and arms were also bleeding. The handkerchief I held to the cuts was soaked with blood. Hearing nothing more, I reached up to my desk and felt for my phone. I punched the speed dial number to Hannity’s phone.

  There was an answer after the first ring. “Jake, what’s up? I was just about to leave for home.”

  “Someone just shot out my window!” I shouted. “I don’t think they were shooting at me, as the shot was high and wide. It came from the forest where that asshole was watching me the other day when you sent Meadows to investigate. Its pitch black, and I can’t see anything. I don’t know if this crazy is still out there or not—”

  “Jake, shut up and stay put. Are you hurt? What about Barbara?”

  “I’m not hit…maybe a few cuts from flying glass and a bang on the forehead from hitting my desk. Nothing serious. Barb is in San Francisco at her mother’s place. We’ve got to catch this nut job before something really serious happens.”

  “I’ll be right over—five minutes tops. Keep all the lights off, and keep your head down.”

  Hannity’s black and white came barreling down our long, S shaped driveway. He had been running the siren as it now only emitted a low growl. I went out the front door and flagged him over. He had his gun drawn and pushed me back in the house in front of him. “You say the shot came from the forest on the other side of the house?”

  “Yeah, yeah, same place the jerk was spying on me with his binoculars. I hit the exterior floodlights but nothing showed up. The asshole has to be long gone by now.”

  So much for the FBI’s plan to keep me away from danger. The best laid plans of mice and men often go astray, I thought, remembering the line by Scot Robert Burns.

  Hannity was on his phone talking to the station dispatch desk. “Send Meadows and Dillan to the house. They need to check the back road behind Jake’s property. He knows where it is. Call me after you have done a search. Have both officers come to the house afterwards.”

  Hannity and I sat at the kitchen counter after we were finally convinced our crazy sniper wasn’t still hiding in the forest. The inspector had cleaned my facial cuts and put band aids on some. “Your cuts aren’t too serious, but you may have a small scar or two. One will need a stitch.”

  The inspector walked out to the rear deck. We both knew the shooter had split…probably the second he heard the wailing siren.

  He came back inside holstering his gun. Pointing to my drink and said, “What are you drinking? Pour me one will you?”

  I filled two glasses with ice and poured the Irish Malt Whiskey over the top of the cubes. We both took big swigs. Hannity scrunched up his face. “What the hell is this stuff? Geez! Whatever it is could peel the chrome off a trailer hitch. I think I’ll stick to beer.”

  “Hey,” I said. “That’s five-star Irish Whiskey from my last trip to Dublin. You can’t find any better.” He poured what was left of his drink into my glass.

  Hannity set his glass down on the counter and held up both hands as if to say halt. “Let’s talk a little about our elusive nutcase. I’ve been thinking about something we haven’t even considered. We have learned that Jerkovick did not have any close friends here in town. Could this shooter be a relative of Jerkovick? A blood is thicker than water situation? We’ve got to sit down with Sam and concentrate on this part of the puzzle. The FBI has access to huge databases. We need to locate all of Jerkovick’s living family. We might uncover some information about the character and movements of our suspect. He’s got to live somewhere close.”

  I sat quietly listening to Hannity and nodded my head in agreement. “Good idea,” I replied. “But right now I’m thinking about my and Barb’s safety. Somehow, this idiot has spied on me, trashed my car, and now shot out my window. He must think I am more important in this investigation than I really am. I want that damn newspaper story to clearly state that yours truly is no longer actively assisting the police with this missing person’s case. I want our nutcase—if he can read—to realize that he is after the wrong guy.” This is where I should’ve said, “I quit.” But I wasn’t ready to throw in the towel and wimp out just yet.

  Hannity pointed to a kitchen step stool. “Grab that stool and follow me upstairs. I want to dig out that bullet from your office wall.” Once upstairs, he opened the stool, reached up with his pocketknife, and probed into the drywall. A bullet popped out and landed on the carpet. I picked it up and we both studied the small piece of lead.

  Hannity held it under my desk lamp. “I think this came from a Glock pistol. Well we know our suspect is definitely armed. But I’m pretty sure he wasn’t shooting at you. At that distance, the odds were slim of him hitting you. This is a warning.”

  Hannity thought for a minute and then said, “What time are you going to talk to the landlord of the boarding house where we think Jerkovick rented a room?”

  “I told the landlord—a Mrs. O’Sullivan—that I would be there at 9:00 a.m. I don’t think it will take more than about a half hour.”

  “OK, I’ll fill Sam in and have him get someone to start a name search for Jerkovick’s possible family and their whereabouts. We need to know if he is close to any relatives that might be trying to intimidate you. My hunch tells me that one of these family members is living here and thinks you are
close to uncovering some information that could implicate Jerkovick in the murder. This nut could even be the murderer. He definitely has an agenda and is very dangerous.

  “Come straight to the police station after your meeting. I’ll have officer Meadows double up his surveillance of your house. You did the right thing Jake in sending your wife away until we sort out this mystery.”

  Chapter 12

  Officers Meadows and Dillan walked through my front door at 8:00 a.m. the next morning. They had found no obvious evidence last night left by the shooter. It was just too dark for a serious search, and very cold. I was holding my second cup of strong coffee and offered both a fresh cup. They gladly accepted as they rubbed their palms together quickly to warm up.

  I had iced the bump on my head last night, but this morning it still looked like someone had sewn a golf ball under the skin and then painted it black and blue. The glass cuts had been cleaned out and a few still needed bandages. Hannity made me promise to go see the police department doc in town and get a stitch on the worst cut.

  “Hi, Jake.” Meadows, holding a fancy flash camera and what appeared to be evidence bags, shook my hand. “Hannity wants us to thoroughly check the location where the shot came from. Dillan and I will be prowling around in the forest looking for any possible clues on your attacker. We’ll stay outside as I understand you are going to visit the house where Jerkovick may have rented a room.”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “After that I will stop at the station to report my findings and meet with Hannity and Sam Jenkins. I guess I’ll see you there.”

  I let the officers out our rear deck door and said, “Good luck guys…see you later.”

  I got into the jeep and started it up to get the heater going. I opened the local map to check how to get to Mrs. O’Sullivan’s boarding house. She lived about two miles from the college and about eight miles from our house. I called and left a message with Hannity. “Hey big guy I’m just now leaving to meet with the landlord. Meadows and Dillan are poking around in the forest for clues. Over and out.”