by Terry McGhee
“That’s all, but I still want you to stay at your mom’s a while until something definitive develops.”
“OK, thanks, honey. I won’t worry so much now. Promise to call with any news. Take care, Detective. I love you, and Murphee misses his daddy.”
I shut the phone, relieved that Barb was not frantic. She didn’t need to know all the scary details just yet. Now if she would do an ixnay on the San Francisco shopping trips, I just might be spared some financial hits. We catch the crazy guy, solve the mystery, and Barb comes home. Things could turn for the better quickly.
Parking my car in town about two blocks away from the police station, I walked through a couple of shops, exited through rear doors, and made my way to the rear door of Hannity’s office. It was close to 1:00 p.m.
I did the code knock—one, then two rapid, then one again. Hannity opened the door. I felt like a character in an espionage movie. Hannity, trying to lighten up the mood, said, “What’s the password phrase?”
I replied, “I’m rid of the asshole.”
“That’s close enough,” Hannity said as we made our way to the conference room.
I greeted Sam and agents Simpson and Moore. Sam addressed everyone. “Angela has flown back to her regional office. We have her written statement about the body found in the lake. Our diver has put in for vacation time and should about now be wetting a fly in the river someplace. Agent Moore will stick around to assist us with any witness callbacks and will help with any action required if we receive any positive info from DC on Jerkovick’s family.
Sam said, “Right now, any action with Jerkovick and the Boulder, Colorado police is on hold. Our suspect’s attorney and the prison parole board are demanding tangible evidence of why they should delay a hearing. We can only hope that the ACLU doesn’t get wind of this and start to protest. I told them, through Officer Jordan, that we are getting close, and if they wanted to press for parole of a murder suspect, then it would be on their conscience. I don’t forget blatant stupidity when it compromises an FBI investigation. I think they got the message.”
I opened my notebook. “Sarah says she has had some response to the case story. Could we let her give us a rundown of what she has learned so far? I want to hear about the caller that saw Jerkovick in a bar with an older man.”
Sam nodded his head and Hannity went out to the front office to get Sarah. She bounced into the small room with a big smile on her face and a notebook in hand.
“OK, I’ve talked to six callers. Four were students at the college and just remembered seeing the three at school. Other than just saying hi, none really were close to any of our three people. One guy remembers Jerkovick as a quiet classmate. He had him in a class and said he doesn’t recall him ever having much to say. One person, a guy, said he used to frequent a bar near the college and remembers seeing Jerkovick several times. He was always seated at a table talking to an older man. I asked the caller if he could describe the older guy. He said the guy was probably in his forties. He was pretty much of a slob with long hair and dirty clothes. This is the caller’s name, telephone number, and address,” she said, setting a piece of paper on the table. “I told him that someone would be calling him to arrange an interview.”
Sam nodded and indicated that Moore should visit this witness and get him to give a facial description. “Maybe between Mrs. O’Sullivan and this guy, we might get an accurate likeness from the sketch artist. It would be great if the sketches matched.”
“Wait,” I said. “This older man matches Mrs. O’Sullivan’s description of the guy that visited Jerkovick at the boarding house. This could be a relative that lived nearby and possibly the source of the cash our suspect always seemed to have. This might be our nut job attacker. The guy I saw in town and driving the old truck didn’t have long hair, but so what? All it means is that he decided to get a haircut.”
Hannity said, “Good work, Sarah.” A beaming Sarah picked up her notes. “You’re welcome, gentlemen. I’ll start calling back those that left their names with the service.” She exited the room.
Sarah walked right back in with a telephone message note. “Agent Jenkins, you have a call from this FBI HQ person. It’s marked urgent.”
Sam looked at the message. “This is the agent who was doing the database search for the Jerkovick name.” Sam excused himself and went into Hannity’s office to return the call. We all glanced at one another, hoping this would be the big break we needed. Hannity, agent Moore, myself and agent Simpson engaged in some small talk. We tried to set up some action scenarios depending on what news Sam was getting.
After a few minutes, Sam returned. “OK, listen up. The database search of arrest records for Jerkovick show that he had no criminal record prior to his B&E and assault arrests in Boulder. It shows that Jerkovick’s mother and father are both dead, and he had no brothers or sisters. His father, however, had a brother, still alive, by the name of Darrel. They sent a booking photo, but its eighteen years old.” He passed the photo around so we all could take a look.
Sam pointed at Simpson. “Get a dozen copies of this photo made. We need to show this photo to Mrs. O’Sullivan and our caller. Put together a photo array of similar age mug shots. Only show the array of suspect photos after getting a verbal description. We need to get the sketch artist to age the image by eighteen years. Darrel would be…let’s see, fifty-nine years old now. This is our suspect’s uncle. It shows past residences in Philadelphia, Cleveland, and Denver. He has arrest records of ‘drunk and disorderly’—three offenses, and ‘physical assault’—twice arrested. His sheet lists burglary, petty theft, and passing bad checks. He served some time in Cleveland for assault. Several years later his name turns up in a small town—are you ready for this?...right here in Northern California. He was cited for speeding and driving without a valid driver’s license. This just might be our big break. It definitely points to the possibility that Darrel might be Jerkovick’s uncle come west to check on his nephew.”
Inspector Hannity was shaking his head. “Look, we checked our county records. No Jerkovick pays any property tax. There is no vehicle license issued to any Jerkovick in our county. He obviously doesn’t have any credit cards. There is no record with the social security administration, so he’s not receiving social security. Where in hell does he get his money?”
Sam held up a finger. “The search says that Jerkovick’s father owned a successful liquor distributorship in Cleveland. He must have had money when he died. I’m willing to bet that his son and brother inherited some money and it was kept hush-hush.”
“So where do we go from here?” I commented. We all looked at each other. We were thinking.
Hannity stood and said, “Moore needs to call back the one caller who saw Jerkovick and the guy in the bar. Maybe we can get a better description of our mystery man, but I’m not holding my breath.”
“Just a minute,” Sam said. “I’m convinced that Jerkovick’s uncle, Darrel, is local. He must live on the outskirts of town, or in a remote part of the mountains. The guy sounds like he might be a real recluse. I’m also thinking this could be near Deadfall Lake. We need to get back over there after I contact the Department of Forestry. They must have a record of the location of any cabins existing back then. The inspector here recalls checking out three cabins back when the case broke.”
Hannity was nodding his head in agreement.
Sam suggested that we adjourn until tomorrow morning at eight o’clock.
I gathered up my stuff and shoved them into my attaché case. “I’ll leave by the back door and head home. Let’s all hope our crazy nutcase has read the paper and will ignore me from now on.”
I said goodbye to everyone in the room, leaned into the front office to say goodbye to Sarah, and then exited through the rear door.
Chapter 15
I casually exited the rear door of the police station and headed back to my car. Looking in all directions, I didn’t see any sign of the psycho. I entered the rear door of
the last shop I had used in my clandestine throw-em-off-the-trail path to the station. I said hi to the older woman clerk who was rearranging the men’s work pants rack. She smiled and looked at me funny. I’m sure she suspected I was evading someone. If you only knew, madam.
Entering one more store and staying for a minute or two, I then went back out the front door onto to Main Street. I walked the two blocks to the alley behind the hardware store where I had left my jeep. I gave an audible sigh of relief when I saw the car was parked where I had left it. No smashed windshield
Opening the driver’s door, I gasped. My attacker, it seemed, could also pick car door locks. There was a plain white business envelope on the seat. I slid behind the wheel and started the engine. I thought it smart that I drive somewhere else before opening the envelope. This was definitely not a parking ticket.
Pulling into the post office parking lot, I shut off the engine, took one more look outside, and then pulled out the envelope from under my rump. I opened it and this time, let out an audible “Oh no.” Could this jerk actually be the uncle Jerkovick? How in the hell did this slovenly old man track me down today? Maybe we were dealing with a crazy genius.
The single page of white paper contained a message. All the letters had been cut out of magazines and pasted onto the paper. It read: “stop snooping next shot won’t miss keep away final warning.” It was signed, “your nightmare.” I began to think. Didn’t this guy read the paper this morning? Probably not, or if he did, I guessed that he figured that all this effort should not go to waste and deposited the carefully crafted note anyway.
I put the paper back inside the envelope trying not to touch it more than necessary and then only the very edges of the note. I started the car, exited the parking lot, and drove directly to the police station. I stormed into the front office lobby and Sarah could see that I was upset. “I need to see Hannity and Sam—now!” She did a U-turn and motioned for me to follow. Both the FBI agent and Hannity were seated at the small table. I threw the envelope on the table in front of them.
They both looked closely at the letter. Sam spoke up first. “Well, it seems our attacker can read and write, but simply has not read the morning paper. He may have seen the story, and this is his final threat—we hope.”
I leaned on the table with both hands. “This guy has to be found. Where does this bastard live? Let’s get back over to the lake area and search those old cabins.”
“Yeah Jake,” Hannity said, “we will do a search. You’re welcome to come along, but it may be better if you stay in town. At least two of us will leave first thing in the morning.
“Hold on a minute,” Sam interjected. “This trip to the lake is not just a shot in the dark. Simpson met with forestry officials and they identified the area near the lake where there are three old, beat-up cabins. They are no doubt those cabins that Hannity says they knew about when they first did a search of the campsite area when the kids went missing. The ranger responsible for that section of forest reports that one of the cabins is occupied. He said that he never has seen the occupant, but there are signs of comings and goings. I’m betting that our suspect Darrel lives in that shack.”
I turned toward the door and said, “We have maybe three hours of daylight left. I can’t sit around doing nothing. I’m going to check as many of the back fire roads outside of town as I can. This nut has to leave his truck somewhere, and we know he must be in town right now. I’ll call if I find anything.”
I drove my jeep out of town, heading for the closest forestry road I could see on my map. The dirt road served as a fire break as well. I clicked the jeep into four-wheel drive and bounced off the paved road to start my search. It was a bumpy ride, and the dusty road was cut through the dense pine forest. There were a few pull-outs cut into the trees where firefighting crews could park equipment while leaving the road clear to other traffic. I drove for about two miles, parked, and consulted my map. About one half-mile ahead there was another fire road that took off to the right and headed back toward town. A short distance away, the road turned left. After about one mile, I could see that the road just ended. I drove to the end, which offered some turnaround space. I cranked the wheel to begin the U-turn when I saw that there were barely visible tire tracks that continued on into the thick forest. It looked like these tracks were made recently, as the low-growing ferns and shrubs had just been slightly flattened.
I adjusted the four-wheel drive to low range and cautiously proceeded to follow the tracks. The tracks immediately turned right. It was then that I saw it. The old, beat up primer-gray pickup was parked in front of me. “Way to go,” I said to myself. I flipped my mobile open and punched in Hannity’s number.
“Guess what?” I said to Hannity when he answered. “I found the truck.”
“Fantastic,” said Hannity. I could hear Sam in the background, saying, “What?”
“You need to get out here on the double and do a fingerprint check. The truck is locked—don’t fret, I didn’t touch anything.” I gave directions and walked around the truck, peering in the windows. The nut would have to return to the truck sometime. I immediately realized I would be a sitting duck out here in the middle of nowhere. I wasn’t armed. I decided to drive back out to the road where I had turned into the trees following the tracks. Hannity could easily spot my jeep, and I would have a speedier getaway if the asshole came back first. I maneuvered the jeep so it was pointing back the way I came. I opened my rear-door hatch, lifted the spare tire cover, and grabbed the large lug nut wrench. I hefted it in my hand and figured this would make a good weapon, just in case. Of course, the psycho could just shoot me. So much for the lug wrench as a weapon ploy. I walked about twenty yards away from my jeep and waited behind a huge ponderosa pine.
In less than ten minutes, I could see the dust trail and hoped it was Hannity. I held my breath. Hannity’s black and white skidded to a stop nose-to-nose with the jeep. Sam and Hannity piled out. I emerged from my hiding place and greeted them. “Get in my jeep and I’ll drive back to the truck,” I told them.
Hannity carried a crowbar, camera, and fingerprint kit. He and Sam began working furiously. Hannity took about a dozen digital photos of the truck. Sam popped the door with the crowbar. More photos were taken of inside the cab. “There are no paper wrappers or any other potential evidence in here. It looks like it was just swept and vacuumed,” Sam said, as he dusted the steering wheel, gear shift handle, hand brake, and a few other places. Fingerprint impressions were transferred.
“That’s about all we can get here,” Hannity commented. “I would guess that the truck is not abandoned. If it were me, I would have set the damned truck on fire to destroy any evidence.”
“We can’t do anything else here. Let’s head back to the station and check with Sarah to see if she had any more call-ins,” Sam said.
I dug out my keys and said, “I’m going home. Let me know what your plan is about checking the old cabins by the lake.”
I drove Sam and Hannity back to the patrol car. I waved at them as the black and white disappeared in a cloud of dust. When they were out of sight, I turned around and headed back to the truck.
I parked my jeep, grabbed the lug wrench, and climbed out and stood in front of the truck. Was I going to love this, or what? I swung the heavy wrench and the truck windshield disappeared. The side door windows were next. I moved on to the headlights, then the tail lights. I smashed them all. Next came the two side view mirrors—gone with two swings. I opened the truck door, inserted the long lug wrench in the steering wheel, and with all the strength I could muster, bent the steering wheel in half. I guess the truck could still be driven but with difficulty. “What the hell,” I muttered. “Why not.”
I pulled the hood latch, lifted open the hood, reached in, and yanked out every single wire I could find and threw them into the forest. I was exhausted and perspiring but felt an immense sense of satisfaction. “Take that asshole.” I leaned against my jeep until my breathing slowed. I h
oped that Sam and Hannity were finished with their checkout of the truck. Oh well, I thought…tough.
I stowed my lug wrench and climbed into the jeep. Back on the fire road, I headed for home. I was thinking about a cold beer and some relaxation. Maybe I should call Hannity and tell him about the truck.
Chapter 16
Hannity answered his phone. “Inspector, it’s Jake, I need to tell you something.”
I relayed my raging episode with the pickup truck. There was a slight pause on the line. “You did what? Jake, I was going to send an off-duty officer to stake out the area. Our suspect undoubtedly will use binoculars to check out his ride from a distance. When he sees it, he could bolt for sure. You’re sure it’s not drivable? If it’s not, I’ll cancel the stake out. Jerkovick will suspect that we will be waiting, and he won’t go near it.”
“Trust me, Inspector, if this is Darrel Jerkovick, he will not be driving his truck anywhere. I guess I lost it. I figured you got all the evidence from the truck you could find. I thought of my attack as payback. Now I just hope the truck’s owner is the whack job that has been threatening me.”
“Well, you’re in luck. Sam got a good print on the metal dash next to the radio. We faxed the prints to FBI headquarters, and they ran them through AFIS—Automated Fingerprint Identification System—and they definitely match those of one Mr. Darrel Jerkovick. It ties Darrel to the truck, but it’s still no direct evidence that he is the one that shot out your office window and dropped the threatening note in your car. By the way, there were no prints on the letter besides yours. This guy had to be super careful when he constructed that letter. This tells me that he might be crazy, but he is shrewd and very cautious.
“One last thing you need to know. I called Officer Jordan in Boulder and told him we had a positive ID on Jerkovick’s uncle, Darrel. This will definitely put a stronger hold on the parole hearing delay.”
