by Terry McGhee
I pulled in front of the old two-story wooden house and saw that Mrs. O’Sullivan was waiting for me on her porch. I loved these old houses. They all had covered porches. Many wrapped completely around the entire house. This house feature seemed to be the norm here in these old towns that sprung up during the heyday of the timber industry. Lots of wood—why not. What great places for the kids to play during bad weather, and for the family to sit in wooden rocking chairs, or porch swings chatting with one another. I thought about how sad it was that families today seemed so busy that they seldom even ate dinner together, let alone sit around talking to each other.
Mrs. O’Sullivan walked down her cement walkway. “Hello, Detective, you’re right on time. I have some fresh coffee and cookies if you can stay for a bit.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Sounds inviting. I don’t want to take much of your time today.” She looked disappointed, and I thought I just might have some difficulty in getting away from this hospitable, friendly woman.
I handed her one of my business cards as we walked into the kitchen. Mrs. O’Sullivan motioned for me to sit at a small round dining table with a bright yellow vinyl cover. I bet all meals were eaten right here. A tiny vase with blue flowers sat to one side. Obviously picked from her garden. A coffee pot, plate of cookies, and a small notepad with a pencil on top were on the table. Looks like some preparations were made for our meeting.
“As I mentioned on the telephone, I am assisting the police, and now the FBI, with a cold case where this Mr. Jerkovick may be a suspect in the case of the missing college couple. You said he rented a room here at your boarding house. I’ve written down some questions I’d like to ask you.”
She began pouring me a cup of coffee and put the sugar and cream in front of me. “I’m happy to cooperate. Jerkovick was an odd duck.”
“How do you mean?” I said.
“Well, he always kept to himself. He paid his rent in cash, and as far as I know, he never received any mail here. My husband didn’t like him. He always said ‘sneaky people shouldn’t be trusted.’ But Jerkovick was a good tenant. He didn’t party and never had any college friends visit him here.”
“Did he have other visitors that you believed were not college friends?”
“No, never. Wait, on two occasions he had a visitor that was an older man. Maybe in his forties or thereabouts. Both times, he came at night after dark and seemed sneaky—just like Jerkovick. He wore old dirty overalls and had long hair. He never actually came to our front door but went up the outside stairs to a side door to Jerkovick’s room. Neither I nor my husband ever heard him speak. He usually stayed about an hour and then left. If he had a car, we never saw it. Both times, he arrived on foot and left the same way. This is a small town and we didn’t recognize him as someone we had seen before. Bill—that’s my husband—said he must have a car parked on another street and lived a ways away from town. It was strange.”
I had made a few notes and then asked, “Did you or your husband ever have a conversation with Jerkovick? You know, more than just a hello?”
“Not really. This kid totally kept to himself. We never heard any loud music or TV sounds coming from the room. I guess you could say, while he wasn’t the friendly sort, he was one of our best renters ever.”
I finished my coffee, and the cup had barely touched the table when Mrs. O’Sullivan was pouring me another. She definitely was enjoying the company and wanted to talk more. I asked, “Can we talk about the time he moved out?”
Mrs. O’Sullivan got up and walked to a small roll-top desk that sat in the hallway. I heard her rummage in a drawer, and she pulled out what looked like a typical ledger with rows and columns of figures. She set the ledger on the table so I could view the page that had the record of rent payments made by Jerkovick. They all were marked as received on the first of every month, and the word cash was written next to each entry. I noticed that the last month was the same month Wendy and Roy were reported as missing.
“Did Jerkovick stay the entire month on this last noted rental payment information?”
She turned the ledger around so she could review her entries. “No—he left about two-thirds of the way through the month. He never said goodbye or anything. One day I just noticed that he was gone. His old car was also gone. I waited a couple of days and then just assumed he had left. His room was empty, and he had thoroughly cleaned the small kitchen and bathroom. That’s always a big relief to any landlord. He didn’t even leave instructions about returning his security deposit.” Lucky you, I thought.
I made some more notes and saw that Jerkovick had actually been there for several days after Wendy’s mom and dad had reported her missing to the local police. This meant he did have opportunity to harm the kids if that was his intention.
I stood and folded the cover over my notes. “Thank you very much, ma’am. You were very helpful.” She looked a little disappointed that I was getting ready to leave.
“If you think of anything else, please give me a call. I will present my report to the police about your helpful input to their missing person’s case. I myself will be mostly bowing out of the investigation. You could be contacted by Inspector Hannity or an FBI person that now has offered assistance to the police.”
The mention of the Federal Bureau of Investigation seemed to excite her. “Would you like a warm-up on your coffee? You’re welcome to look at the room Jerkovick rented, although it was left spic and span. I did a check, and he did not leave a single thing behind. Usually, I find old dirty socks, wadded up paper, pens and pencils, and the like.”
“No thank you, Mrs. O’Sullivan. You’ve been quite helpful. I have to return to the police station to put in my report.”
I began walking toward the front door. She held open the door and then vigorously shook my hand. “You call me now Detective, if you think you might have forgotten to ask me anything. I’m glad to cooperate with the police.”
“One last thing,” I said. Do you recall ever seeing an old pickup truck painted a dull gray color?” She said no. I thought about a Sci-fi movie I had seen long ago where the bad guys could cloak themselves and their cars in invisibility. Whoever this stranger was, he was a shrewd bastard.
“Goodbye, ma’am,” I said as I walked through the gate and climbed into my car. I started the jeep and slowly drove away, somewhat afraid that Mrs. O’Sullivan might come running out to the car wanting to give me more information.
I headed toward town and the police station.
Chapter 13
Sarah’s smiling face greeted me as I walked through the police station door. She’d toned down her spiky hair. Probably due to comments by Inspector Hannity, and maybe my own reaction previously.
“Good morning, Jake. The inspector shared with me a little about the shooting at your place. It looks like there’s a nutcase that’s making you a target. I’m glad you weren’t hurt.” Two bandages on my face and the now a Ping-Pong-ball sized bump on my forehead—which was turning a sickly yellow—confirmed, at least to me, that I was injured. I was pretty sure Sarah meant that I had not taken a bullet. How could I be so lucky? I guess I would be categorized as an entry-level shooting victim.
Sarah did a quick thumb point over her shoulder. “Hannity, Simpson, and Mr. FBI are in the conference room. I’d say this investigation needs to get more serious and kicked up a notch or two. And maybe some butts need kicking.” Maybe we should put Sarah in charge.
I opened the door to the “gulag,” smelled the coffee, and greeted all. “Jake,” Hannity said, “we were waiting until you showed before we got into some of these pressing issues. First, we want to hear what you learned, if anything, talking to Jerkovick’s landlord. Also, Officer Meadows will be in later, and he has turned up interesting clues from the forest behind your house. I also understand that we need to amend out story coming out in the paper next week. Lastly, Sam has ordered a name search on Jerkovick. We should have something within the hour.”
“Good,” I sai
d, louder than necessary. I stood with my hands on the table and leaned forward. “I’m damn tired of this crazy making me a target. Look, I’m willing to continue helping with any task that will aid in this investigation, but I want you to catch this nutcase before any harm comes to me or my wife.”
“I fully understand your position, and you never should have been put into this situation. Hannity and I are the ones being paid to take any kick back our investigation may turn up. I can assure you, Jake, that when this case is resolved, your efforts will be recognized. I appreciate your work. OK, now what news do you have?”
I pulled out my notebook from my case and turned to my notes taken at Mrs. O’Sullivan’s boarding house. “Jerkovick always paid his rent in cash, was a quiet renter, and never had visitors except for one person. He never received any mail at the house.”
I had circled the description of the older guy that had visited Jerkovick on two occasions. “The visitor was estimated to be in his early to mid-forties, average height, with long hair, and slovenly dressed in dirty overalls. He never arrived in a vehicle and apparently walked to the house. Mrs. O’Sullivan kept careful watch over such goings on. She did not recognize this guy and never really spoke to him. He used the outside stairs that led to a side door to the apartment Jerkovick rented. He stayed about an hour each visit.”
Sam held up his hand. “Hold on. Simpson, get this contact info from Jake. Hannity says they have access to a police sketch artist. Set it up with Mrs. O’Sullivan.”
I continued with my report. “Mrs. O’Sullivan said Al Jerkovick always seemed to have plenty of cash. We can check the banks in town, but I’m betting no record of an account will be found. I wonder if this older visitor might be bringing him money. If this is the case, then who the hell is he? I think it could be a relative. I hope the FBI search turns up something. I also think this might be the crazy that’s trying to intimidate me. If a thorough search for any Jerkovick relative doesn’t turn up anything from the records, then someone needs to fly to Boulder, grab Jerkoff by the neck, and water board the asshole until he gives up what he knows.” The small room was deathly still. Everyone was staring at me. “Sorry,” I said. “I’m really pissed off about being on the business end of a gun.”
Sam and Hannity gave a chuckle. “Good job, Jake,” Sam said. “Something really fishy is going on. Simpson has prepared an amended statement that I am sure, if our suspect can read, will assure him that you are no longer part of this investigation. I am puzzled as to why this nut would continue to threaten you. He must know by now that the FBI is involved. If it were me, I would duck my head and get out of Dodge. We need to find this guy, as he could be very unstable mentally. I hope, Jake, that this will take the heat off if we don’t catch him sooner rather than later.” Right. This psycho is anything but stable…get a clue.
I read the revised newspaper article while Hannity went out to get Meadows. The amended article included photos of the three kids. It summarized the fine cooperation the police were receiving from the FBI. Hannity and Sam were quoted as being grateful for my early assistance, but that I was now turning over all my findings to the police for handling. It clearly said I would no longer be involved. Three cheers for the local resident detective, but goodbye.
Whew, finally, I thought to myself. But what if this nut had nothing to do with the missing person’s case? He could be pissed at me for cutting him off in my car, or taking a parking place he had staked out. Nah…not possible, unless this guy was in fact mentally unbalanced as I thought. If this were the case then he might not leave me alone. Terrific.
Officer Meadows came in and sat down, followed by Hannity. He was carrying a clear plastic bag containing several 8x10 photographs and other items.
“OK, here’s what we turned up in the forest behind Jake’s place.” He extracted some lined paper from the bag and began his report.
“Officer Dillan and I made a thorough search of the area where Jake said the shot came from. There were footprints at the base of the pine tree clump. They appear all to be made by the same person, or at least the same shoe or boot. We took several pictures. I even followed a logical path someone might take when entering and leaving Jake’s property from the public dirt road to the rear. The prints appear to be identical to those made at the trees. Obviously these prints are of no value unless we can identify our attacker. We hope he’s not smart enough to ditch the shoes. Of more interest,” Meadows reached into the bag and withdrew what looked like a small piece of cloth, “Is this torn piece of fabric. It’s wool, and as you see, black and red in color. It definitely was just recently torn from a coat or heavy shirt. If we catch this guy, and he hasn’t noticed the tear in his jacket, we have a positive ident, which should be a lock for an easy conviction if the patch fits. That’s it. We were at the scene for forty-three minutes.”
I sat up in my chair. “A guy in an old pickup truck was giving me a hard look on Mrs. Johnson’s street. As he drove by, I noticed he was wearing one of those jackets.”
“Great,” said Sam, “We’re making progress. When Simpson gets the sketch of our suspect’s mug, I want them distributed around town. The sketch will just say that this is a person of interest in an on-going case. So far we can’t state that we suspect him of any wrongdoing.”
“I’m still waiting to hear from DC on results of the name search. Tomorrow the Herald will print the story and photos about our efforts on this investigation. Calls should start coming in first thing in the morning. Sarah has been alerted, and we have set up a message answering center to allow callers to leave a name and number if the line is busy. Let’s talk in the morning.”
Everyone gathered up their stuff and headed for the door. I would be giving a lot of glances in my rear view mirror on the way home.
Chapter 14
I opened my eyes. Birds were singing. The clock next to the bed said 8:52 a.m. I had actually slept in. My body needed some rest and recuperation. The events of the last week had been fast and furious, to say nothing of the beat down I received when my head slammed into my desk diving for cover from a bullet. The pain meds I was taking made me a little goofy. I decided to switch to aspirin.
I threw on my robe and walked into my office. It was dark, and I remembered that the large picture window had been covered with a piece of plywood. The guys at the glass shop said they would be getting the dual thermal pane installed this week. I should have my forest view back by the weekend. If I ever found this psycho’s house, I would break out his windows just for the fun of it.
Grabbing the binoculars off my desk, I walked back into the bedroom. A slow sweep of the forest assured me that it was only the forest critters and me that were up and about this morning.
Clumping down the stairs to the kitchen, my mood picked up when I remembered that we should start hearing from some newspaper readers before noon. The Mountain Herald was delivered before sunup, so right then our story should be on quite a few kitchen tables. I retrieved the newspaper from the front porch.
I opened my phone, hit a button, and Sarah answered on the first ring. She told me several calls had already been received responding to our story. “One guy said he remembered seeing Jerkovick in a bar near the college. He was with an older man.” I wrote down the description Sarah gave me, but it seemed pretty generic. It would have been helpful if the guy had three eyes, extra-large ears, or even a prominent scar.
“I am preparing a report of the callers, and we could review it at about three o’clock.”
I told Sarah that I would be there but to call me if anything changed. “Will do, Detective. By the way, how are your cuts and head bump this morning?”
“I’m punchy from the pain meds but taking off the bandages as we speak. My face should be back to near normal within a few days…handsome to look at.” I heard a slight giggle from Sarah. “Do you know if Sam has heard back from DC on the Jerkovick name search?” I asked.
“He hasn’t said anything this morning, but he will be here
all day waiting. He also wants the info from our callers. Do you want to talk to him?”
“Nah…I’ll see him in a couple of hours. I need to call my wife, and I’m going to fix myself a decent breakfast and then shower and shave. See ya later.”
I punched in Barbara’s number. She picked up and said, “Hey, Sherlock, I was a little worried and was just about to call you. What’s shakin’ in paradise?”
Well let’s see,” I said, opening the newspaper. “I’m reading our story that should get the crazy stalker off my back. Here it is complete with the photos. Your detective’s face is there in the raw. The photo where you said I looked ‘dorky.’ Hold on, I’m reading. Simpson did a good job. If the nutcase can read, he will clearly see that I am off the case and that the FBI is the primary investigative lead. This should convince him to leave me alone as I am no threat to him.” Try shooting at the FBI, asshole.
“Agent Jenkins is having a background check done on the Jerkovick family and should have some feedback today. We want to determine if it is possible he has a relative living nearby. Sarah is getting calls, and so far, six calls are stacked up waiting with the answering service. I’ll go in this morning to review what we have. My original plan was to do the follow up callbacks, but now Hannity will do them. One of the callers might even be our stalker. It wouldn’t be cool if I was to follow up in person.”
I looked out the window to the deck. I had paid a neighborhood kid to plant the new spring flowers in the pots. He worked weekends at our nursery so he knew what he was doing. They all seemed to still be in the pots and dang if they weren’t blooming. The kid gave them all a dose of the new deer repellant spray.
