Murder in the Dell

by Bert Entwistle

  “Even the FBI with all their agents and resources haven’t found this guy yet,” said Angie, “don’t be so hard on yourself.”

  “You know me. I just can’t sit around and wait until something breaks or I’ll go nuts. I have to keep moving forward or I have to find another line of work.”

  She kissed him and pulled him even closer.“I’m in. Now tell me what it is that you want me to do.”

  “Okay. I need you to run the office business usual except for the phone and dispatch calls. For now, Vince will be the day to day guy. You two can take care of any business that comes up. Austin and I will be around too, but our hours will be different. We’re going to do some night surveillance at the Crawford place. What I need you to do is keep everything that Austin and I do separate from anything that goes on with regular business. Keep separate files about anything we give you or tell you and keep them locked up.”

  “I can handle that, no problem. Is that all?”

  “A couple more things. One, Felix Barnhart, or any FBI agent for that matter, can know nothing about this. Two, Curt Sorenson may be working with us, so don’t be surprised to see or hear him around the office. Otherwise, business as usual.”

  “Are you going out there tonight?”

  “Tomorrow night at midnight.”

  She stood up and took his hand. “Let’s finish this movie some other time cowboy, I’m ready for bed.”

  “But I’ll miss the Duke takin’ care of the bad guys . . .”

  “That’s okay pilgrim, I’ll make it up to you.”

  Chapter 11

  Austin pulled four new trail cameras from the box and spread them out on Deacon’s work bench. “The latest and greatest, boss. Still photos, video, night vision and motion detection, all the fun spy technology in one little camo colored package.”

  Deacon looked over the hi-tech gadgets. “Tonight we’ll set them out at the Crawford place. One of us can change cards every couple of nights until we find something interesting.”

  Austin pulled the manufacturer information stickers off of the cameras. “Do you know exactly where you want to put them yet?”

  “No, but I know someone that does. Let’s head back to the office.”

  When they got back, Curt Sorenson was already sitting in the war room.

  “You gotta be kidding me,” said Austin, looking at him, “you’re going to trust him with this?”

  “I guess I’m about to find out . . .”

  Walking into the room it was obvious that he had cleaned up, at least a little and he appeared sober. “Deacon, thank you for this, and thank you for not arresting me the other night. I haven’t had a beer since then, I swear I haven’t.”

  “You can stop thanking me now. Did you clean your place up?”

  “Yessir, it ain’t no palace, but it is clean. You said if I was ready you might have something for me to do?”

  “I do, but there is one thing I need first . . .”

  “Yeah sure, just name it.”

  Walking over to the door, he pushed it shut and closed the blinds. “I need absolute secrecy. There are only three people you can talk to about this. Me, Austin and Angie. She is the go-between if you need to get hold of us. You understand?”

  “I got it, nobody but us will know anything.”

  “Curt, we’re putting a lot of trust in you, there’s a whole bunch on the line here.”

  “I’m ready.”

  Unrolling a large aerial photograph of the Crawford property, he pinned down the corners with coffee mugs. “What do you see here, Curt?”

  “It’s the Crawford property, no doubt about that. I never saw a photograph like this before, where do you get them?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Deacon. “I need information on everything that you know about this place. Identify what the buildings are, the fields, the house and the ponds, anything and everything you know about this place could be important. There are pens and highlighters there to mark things with.”

  “I’m on it Deacon. Uh, there is one thing though . . .”

  “What is it?”

  “Well, I haven’t had anything to eat today.”

  “Fine. You get started and I’ll have the diner send something over. I’ll check back in a couple of hours.”

  “Deacon . . .”

  “Now what?”

  “Sorry I’ve been such a jerk to you all these years.”

  “Forget about it, just get to work on the picture.” Before he left, he told Angie that it was time to keep the war room locked and the blinds down. “Let me know if he causes you any problems.”

  When he returned, he asked her if he’d been any trouble. “No, he had breakfast and went to the bathroom, but other than that, he’d been in the room working. I guess he did ask for a note pad, but that was it.”

  Sliding a chair next to him, Deacon looked over the photo. There were different color symbols and printing at different spots. “Damn Curt, that’s some beautiful penmanship you got there, where’d you learn to write like that?”

  “I spent some time as a draftsman in my earlier days. Printing by hand was something they stressed. Now days, it’s kind of a lost art.”

  “Let’s take a look.” The photo was about three foot square and covered the whole section owned by Crawford.

  “I started with orienting north on the map, here’s the arrow,” he said, pointing to the corner. “This fine red line is the fence around the place showing all the openings.”

  “I thought there was just the one?”

  “Three actually. The main one in front with the big black gates, and two old vehicle openings here and here. However, the other two are long unused and badly overgrown.”

  “What about the buildings?”

  “The blue lines are outlines of the existing buildings and several old foundations around the property that I know of. Also, there are a couple of other things I noted that are other types of structures. This one here is some kind of underground bunker. All that shows is a round steel door about three feet across.”

  “An underground bunker? Did you ever ask what it was?”

  “Once, when I was a kid. He said it was a remnant of the cold war, but when I was young, I didn’t understand what he meant.”

  Deacon stared at the picture. “It was probably an old bomb shelter from the fifties or sixties. Did you ever get in it?

  “No, it was always locked.”

  He had marked everything on the photo that he could see or remember. Numbering every feature on the print, he had transferred the data to a pad and noted everything he could remember about all the features on the farm.

  “Tell me about the ponds.”

  “Well, the two small ones are natural, originally built by beavers, I think. They’re fed by a little branch of the creek that’s on the north end of the place. The bigger one is manmade, about three feet or so deep. I was told it was some kind of cranberry operation in the old days. It’s set up so it can easily be filled or drained like most of the berry operations I’ve seen.”

  “Curt, we’re going to set up four trail cameras to see what goes on there. One will be across the road looking at the entrance gate from the state land. What I want to know is, where would be the best place for the other three to get the maximum coverage of everything on the property. I know I want one looking at the large pond for sure, what do you think?”

  He pointed to a clump of pines on the west side of the pond. “I’d say come over the fence here and then hang one right where you can see the road turning out of the trees and most of the pond. There’s a lot of brush around here, so you might need to put it up high.”

  For the next hour they worked on the plan and went over what he had written in the notes. “You might spook a couple of deer out of the trees, but that’s about the only thing that will disturb you,” said Sorenson. “You could see Sinclair out getting firewood down by the barn, but usually it’s pretty quiet around there.”

  “Curt, you did a goo
d job here, and I appreciate it. Go on over to the diner and get some lunch and tell them to charge it to me.”

  “You need me to help set the cameras?”

  “No, we’ll do it, that’s all for now.” Deacon pressed a hundred dollar-bill into his hand. “Go home and get some sleep, and no beer — got it?”

  “Yeah, sure Deacon, and thanks again. Will you have anything else for me to do?”

  “You stay straight and I will find something.”

  “I’ll be ready, just call when you need me.”

  Just after midnight, the two men climbed over the fence and cautiously dropped down into the brush on the other side. Dressed in dark camo clothes and hoods, they picked their way through an overgrown stand of large pines. Generations of brush and ancient deadfall made moving silently slow and difficult. When they reached the corner of the trees, Deacon pulled the first camera out of the backpack. Austin climbed the outside tree and strapped the camera to the trunk about ten feet off the ground. Turning it on, he climbed down, picked up the pack and they headed for the next spot. In less than an hour they had completed their task and were back in the car.

  “Let’s give it two days or so before we change the cards,” said Deacon. “Things have been pretty quiet lately, no need to fight all that brush every night.”

  Austin nodded, “I hear that boss. I’m going to get something to eat then crash, see you in the a.m.”

  The cell phone went off just before the sun came up. Deacon reached for it and knocked it on the floor. “Shit, goddamnit, I just got to bed.” He reached for the phone grabbing it on the fourth ring. “Who the hell is it?”

  “It’s me, Vince — we got another one.”

  “Aw Jesus Christ, where’s this one at?”

  “Up behind the Oakton Dairy plant, in the trees behind the main building.”

  “Secure the scene, I’m on my way.”

  Angie rolled over and sat up, putting her hand on his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

  “Another body, I gotta go.”

  “You want me to call Felix?”

  He shook his head, “No, I want a chance to look at things before he gets there and tells us to go away.”

  “What about Doc Baker?”

  “I’ll do it.”

  The scene was only twenty minutes from his cabin, but the drive hardly gave him a chance to wake up. When he got there, Vince had the perimeter closed off and the woman who found it was sitting in his car, along with her dog. The body was the same as the others, wrapped tightly in black plastic and discarded at the edge of a small creek. Animals had been chewing on the end of the package, exposing the feet. The smell of death permeated the area, the warmer weather was already doing its damage to the body.

  “Vince, did you contact Doc Baker already?”

  “No way, I know that you want to see everything first.”

  He nodded. “Good call.”

  When Baker answered the phone, he was his normal friendly self, just saying he was on his way and hanging up abruptly. Pulling out his camera, he told Vince to shoot the whole scene. Then he called Felix. “Yeah, it’s just like the others, black plastic and all. I’ll see you in a little while.”

  Sliding in next to the woman in the car, her little dog shook her tail wildly and climbed up on his lap. “I’m sorry, he’s just overly friendly sometimes.”

  “No problem, I love dogs. Can I get your name please?”

  “Becky Riggs. I live on a farm about a mile north of here. I walk Little Bit in the area every day. We follow the path along the edge of the trees, she likes to chase the birds."

  “Little Bit?”

  “That’s her name, Little Bit.”

  “Got it. Did you touch the plastic?”

  “No sir, I didn’t even get close, it kind of spooked me. I knew what it was right away, because everyone around here has heard about the Black Plastic Killer, at least that’s what the papers called him.”

  “Yeah, I heard that name too. Thanks, that’s all I need right now. The FBI will want to talk to you some more. Are you feeling all right? We can give you a ride home if you’d like.”

  “I’m fine thank you. We’ll just walk back.”

  As they climbed out of the car, the white Bayfield County van pulled in. Doctor Baker stepped out and pulled on his gloves.

  “Nobody touched anything, Doc . . .” Baker walked past him without speaking. A few minutes later, Felix Barnhart pulled up with the FBI crime scene truck right behind him.

  “Felix, heck of a thing to have to wake up to.”

  “Deacon, when was she found?”

  “Right about sun-up, a woman was walking her dog and spotted the plastic.”

  “Is she still here?”

  “She was a little upset. I told her to go on home, it’s just a mile from here.”

  “Goddamnit, you should have held her here. This is the FBIs case — I told you before, your only job is to preserve the crime scene until we get here.”

  “Well, here’s all of her contact information,” said Deacon, handing him a sheet of notebook paper. “She knows you want to talk with her.”

  “Davis,” said Baker, hollering up from the body, “give me a hand with this.”

  “Sorry Doc, no can do, we’ve been ordered off the scene,” said Deacon, walking back to the car. “Come on Vince, let’s get out of here. Felix, I think the good Doctor is calling you.”

  Barnhart, now red in the face, turned and walked toward the body. Looking back he yelled at him “Get the hell off this crime scene Davis — now!”

  “Davis, I thought you were off this case? That FBI agent didn’t appear to want you around the scene yesterday,” said Baker.

  Deacon shrugged. “I just think he doesn’t handle pressure well. I know the office is on his case pretty hard. There have been a lot of victims and he’s no closer than ever to catching the killer.”

  “Do you think he can catch this killer? Or will they need to bring in someone new?”

  “Good question. I think he’s too much in his head and not enough in the field. He lets his emotions run the investigation instead of his brain. So, yeah, I think before long the agency will bring in someone new. They don’t have much to lose by doing it.”

  “I don’t think they have a chance in hell of finding this guy,” said Baker, not looking up. “I think he may be the smartest serial killer they’ve ever crossed paths with.”

  “Really? They’ve caught a lot of bad ones before. Bundy, Berkowitz, the Hillside Strangler and Jeffery Dahmer, they were all pretty bad men.”

  “The difference is, there were witnesses and crime scenes in those cases. You don’t have any of that here.”

  “You’re right about that, it does make it more difficult. But I have confidence he’ll make a mistake, he’ll be caught eventually.”

  “Davis, why are you here today?”

  “I just want to compare a couple of these pictures of missing women to this victim.”

  “Go ahead, just don’t touch anything. Are you doing this just to piss off the FBI?”

  “In part, but I do want to find out who she is for the family.”

  “Go ahead, I can’t stand that FBI prick, anything you can do to aggravate him is okay with me.”

  “Seriously? Is my favorite doctor starting to show a side I’ve never seen before?”

  “Just do what you came for Davis, and then get the hell out of my morgue.”

  “There’s the guy we all know and love.”

  The third photograph he looked at was clearly the dead women. The information said she was: Jessica Leanne Roth, age 21, from Green Bay on an athletic scholarship to Superior.

  “Are you going to show this to the prick?” asked Baker.

  “Yes. It’s the right thing to do for the family, even if I have to put up with a little crap from him. Listen, I know that we will likely never be great friends, but could I get you to send me a copy of your final report, to complete my records?”

&nbs
p; “Sure. If it will piss him off and get you out of here faster I’ll send you one.”

  “Thanks, Doc, much appreciated.”

  Deacon made the salad while they talked. “I know that we don’t like to talk about work at home,” said Angie, setting the plates on the table. “But you’re obviously so involved with this thing that it’s starting to make you crazy. You need to let some of this go and let the FBI take the load. They want you off the case anyway.”

  “Don’t you think if I could let it go I would have done it already? It’s just not that easy. We’re the ones that find these girls, not him.”

  Placing the dishes in the sink, they both grabbed a beer and walked out to the deck, shedding their clothes, they stepped into the hot tub. The swirling hot water felt good and helped to relax his back. A cool evening breeze blew off the lake and he closed his eyes.

  “Deacon, you’re just pissed because Felix told you to leave the case alone, and you’re pissed because Doc Baker is being a dick,” said Angie.

  “You’re right about Felix, but me and Doc Baker actually had a moment today.”

  “You’re always having moments with him and he’s always an asshole, what makes this one any different?”

  “It turns out that the enemy of my enemy might just be my friend.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “He can’t stand Felix, he told me so in no uncertain terms. We actually bonded a little bit over it, he seems to have softened a little.”

  “So you and him are buddies now? That’s funny, you two going fishing together or something?”

  “Let’s not go that far, we won’t be fishing or drinking together any time soon. He was a little out of character though, still arrogant as hell, but different.”

  Chapter 12

  Deacon plugged the DVD into the computer and the video from inside Zeke’s Bar came up. “Angie, I want you to look at this with me. I’ve seen it three times already and I haven’t noticed anything of importance. Fresh eyes could help.”

  “Sure, let’s see what we got.”