Murder in the Dell

by Bert Entwistle

He ran the video up to just before the three girls entered the bar. The video was in color and surprisingly sharp and clear. They saw the girls sit down at the bar and order a beer. For the next few minutes they talked with the bartender and watched the dancers. Then they moved to a booth in front of the window and took off their jackets. For the next hour they talked, and danced a little and had a second beer.

  After another drink, Carly Russell put on her coat. While her girlfriends were on the dance floor, she zipped it up, picked up her purse and walked to the door. After standing there for a minute she waved the bouncer over. She said something to him and he grabbed his coat and held the door open. Four minutes later he walked back in and hung up his coat.

  “Just exactly like the bouncer told me,” said Deacon. “The girls are still dancing and he walked her out to the car. I’ll run it back to where they got the booth. I want to see that part again.”

  They watched the video several more times before Angie said anything. “Go to the scene where the three girls are sitting down in front of the window and freeze it.”

  “Got it. Shit . . . I see it now, a white four-door sedan driving south. The front window of the bar has a little ice on it and the window on the driver’s side of the car is kind of fogged up, but I’d guess that’s a man driving.”

  “Deacon, that’s the third time it’s gone by. It went south, and then a few minutes later it came by going north, without a passenger, then sixteen minutes later, south again. The window frame cut off anything below the door handles, but it could be something.”

  Running it up to the point just as the bouncer walked back in, they watched as the car drove north again, this time with someone in the passenger seat. “Damn!” said Deacon, slapping the table. “Who said we had no witnesses?”

  “Does Felix have this video?” asked Angie, running it back one more time.

  “Beats me. Maybe, maybe not, he’s the FBI agent, I’m sure he’ll find it eventually. Shoot this off to the State Police lab and ask for an enhancement. Tell them that we really need the make, model and vintage of the car. Maybe we can get a possible description of the people inside. Damn!”

  “It’s on the way. You know you should be taking me to lunch for this?”

  “Love of my life, I will take you anywhere you want to go anytime you want!”

  “What I want,” said Angie, “is to pick up some hot pizza and cold beer then eat it in the hot tub while you rub my feet.”

  “That’s what I love about you the most, you’re a cheap date.”

  “Then, if you’re lucky, you know what might happen?”

  “I think I know what will happen.”

  “You mean you already know that you’re giving me a back rub before I go to sleep?”

  “That’s it?”

  “What were you hoping for?”

  “Well, I guess hot pizza and cold beer will have to be okay.”

  “Maybe if you treat me right, there could be a little something extra.”

  Grabbing his coat, he headed for the door. “You coming? We don’t want to end up with cold pizza and hot beer, now would we?”

  “That was quick,” said Deacon, when she dropped the envelope on his desk. “I never get such fast service from the State Police lab. You know someone there?”

  “Davis, that’s top secret. If I tell you I will have to kill you, then who would I get to rub my feet?”

  “Maybe I don’t want to know.”

  “A wise decision. Open it, I’m dying to see what they say.”

  Tearing open the yellow envelope, he pulled out a DVD and several sheets of paper bound together. He read the report on the car first. “It says there’s a 70% chance of accuracy that it’s a white, 2015, Hyundai, 4-door sedan. I think we may have a lead here.”

  Plugging in the DVD, she clicked play. The video was noticeably improved, but the passengers were still unidentifiable. Deacon leaned in and squinted at the screen. “I would say that the passenger is a female from the longer hair, but that’s about all I can make out.”

  “I think it looks like she could be blonde,” said Angie. “That’s just my opinion though.”

  “Well, at least we have a lead, that’s more than we had before. We start checking on all the 2015 white Hyundai’s we can find.”

  “You know that white vehicles are the largest selling color in the country?”

  Deacon nodded. “I do. I also know that 4-door cars make up about half of the fleet in the country. You got something else to do?”

  “Nope. Just spend a whole lot of time in front of the tube. I’ll get started.”

  Deacon pulled out a fresh stick of spearmint and ran the video again. What kind of killer drives a white four door Hyundai? What kind of killer murders his victims differently each time? wondered Deacon. Pulling his back brace a little tighter he finished a bottle of water, put in a fresh stick of gum and hit replay.

  “Deacon, you’re not going to believe it, but Doc Baker just called for you,” said Angie, handing him a note with Bakers cell phone number.

  “His personal number? Wow, I think I just made the first team here.”

  “He said to come over to the morgue, he has something to show you.”

  “A personal phone number and an invitation? This is quite a development. I guess I better not keep the Doctor waiting.”

  Walking into the morgue, Baker was at his desk in his small back office. “Come in Davis, have a seat.”

  Deacon looked around the room at the old oak desk, sagging wall shelves full of books and his college degrees hanging on the wall behind him. The oversized frames were trimmed in black and highlighted in gold.

  “The inner sanctum of the famous Doctor Baker. I never thought I would be invited in.”

  “Okay, Davis, let’s call a truce. We can try and be civil to one another from now on.”

  “That’s fine by me, but I’m not the one that started all this verbal crap, and you know it,” said Deacon, not quite ready to let it go.

  “Fair enough. I can be an asshole, I know that. When I’m working on an autopsy, particularly an obvious murder, it’s all I can think of until it’s done, anything else is a distraction for me.”

  “Okay, I’m good with that. So why did you call me?”

  “A couple of things. One, that FBI guy is driving me crazy. He questions everything I do. I have forgotten more about forensic pathology than his so-called team will ever know. Can you talk to him and get him to back off a little?”

  “I’ll talk to him, but I honestly don’t know how much good it would do, but I will talk to him. What else?”

  “This last body. It’s a very unique case. I’m sure it is death by a drug called curare, but there really is no definitive test once decomposition gets this far.”

  “Curare? Like the Indians put on their arrows?”

  “The same, just refined and bottled. There are other drugs that could have this effect, but I think that the killer would use the best known one as a challenge to the pathologist and to law enforcement.”

  “How would he administer it?”

  “Injection into a muscle.”

  “Did you find an injection site on her?”

  Baker nodded. “There is a site on the arm that looks like it could be, but the decomposition is to far along to say for sure.

  “Is that a painful way to die?”

  “Very painful and very drawn out.”

  “Anything else you want me to know?”

  “Here’s a copy of the autopsy paperwork, I won’t mention giving you a copy to our favorite FBI agent. I’ll cooperate with them, but I’ll keep you in the loop. What have you heard from the little prick lately? Has he turned up anything new about the killer?”

  “If he has, he didn’t tell me about it.”

  Baker walked him to the door. “Thanks for coming down.”

  “Sure, no problem. I heard that you’re writing a book about this case, that right?”

  Baker looked surprised to hea
r him say that. “Where did you hear that from?”

  “I just overheard one of the FBI techs say it, is it true?”

  “No, no, no. What I said was, someday I should write a book about this case, that’s all.”

  “It would make an interesting book,” said Deacon, “if you’re into that sort of thing.”

  “Angie, call Curt and have him come down after lunch, and have Austin meet us here too,” said Deacon.

  “Will do. You buying lunch?”

  “Sure. Call the diner and get us something and charge it to me.”

  “You’re pretty easy today, what’s going on?”

  “Just mulling a few things over, trying to fit them in the right place.”

  “Something Doc Baker found?”

  “Yeah, I’m just trying to get inside the killer’s head. He said she was murdered with a drug called curare. Another completely different method of operation.”

  “Isn’t that the stuff the Indians of South America used on their arrows?”

  Deacon nodded his head while looking at the autopsy report. “It’s a legitimate drug, but still not common around here. The killer had to get it somewhere, so let’s see what we can find out about it.”

  Curt Sorenson walked in just as they finished their lunch. “Angie called, she said you had something for me,” he said, walking into the war room. Austin was already there, going through the newest autopsy report.

  “Curt, are you sober?” asked Deacon.

  “I haven’t had a drink since you brought me in Deacon, I swear I haven’t.”

  Bending down and looking into his eyes, Deacon nodded. “Okay Curt. I trust you, but don’t bullshit me or it’s back in the can — you got it?”

  “I got it, honest — I’m good.”

  “Austin, I want you and Curt to go back to the Crawford place tonight and change the cards in the trail cams. It’s time to see what the mystery writer is up to when nobody is watching.”

  “Meet me here at midnight, Curt,” said Austin.

  When Curt left the office Austin looked at Deacon and shook his head. “Boss, you absolutely sure about this guy? I still don’t trust him.”

  “I think he’ll be okay for this deal. You show him where we put the cameras and maybe he can do it alone the next time.”

  “Will do, I just hope he doesn’t blow this for us.”

  “Vince how’s the day to day police work coming, anything interesting going on?” asked Deacon.

  “Well, let’s see, four Holsteins escaped from Brenner’s dairy operation on Monday. So naturally they called us for help. Three hours later we got them back in the shed. Mary King tried to shoot her brother, but couldn’t find any shells for her ancient double barrel. Just the usual suspects.”

  “Well, Mary is ninety-four and Sam is ninety-two,” said Deacon, “they argue over what to watch on the TV. After the third or fourth time she pointed the gun at him, I took away her shells and removed the firing pins from the shotgun. Just life in fast-paced, crime-ridden Bayfield County.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that.”

  He figured that Vince would have come to him by now looking for something more interesting to do. “I think I know where you’re going here, you want a little more challenging work?”

  “I would like to do something else boss. I’m fine with the day-to-day stuff, no problem there, but I was really hoping for a little more when I joined the department.”

  “You’re right,” said Deacon, “you should be more involved in this other mess. We still have the issue of the severed arm. You probably know that the FBI doesn’t want us involved in the serial killer case. I can justify keeping my nose in it if the severed arm is still unsolved.”

  “So where do you think the arm came from?”

  “I’ve put a lot of time on this since we found it, and I still don’t have a clue,” said Vince. “I have a thought or two, but nothing that leads me to anything solid. Where can I go from here?”

  “Start searching the records of every cemetery in Bayfield County. We need to know all the recent burials starting last September. We’re looking for youngish females, cause of death, autopsies if there were any and whatever details that you might find interesting. Think outside of the box. In fact, look for anything that has to do with the handling of bodies.”

  “Got it — anywhere in the county that might have a reason to handle body parts or bodies. I can make up a computer chart that shows everything.”

  “Sounds good. If you need to go somewhere to investigate, that’s fine. Just keep Angie posted and keep things low key. Take plenty of pictures, they may come in handy. You’ll have to keep up with the day to day stuff too. If you need help, Angie will get one of us on the phone.”

  The door banged open and Margaret Thomas came charging into the office. Bypassing Angie, she saw Deacon and Vince in the war room and headed straight for him. Deacon intercepted her at the doorway and closed the door. “Supervisor, what can I do for you today?”

  “Davis, you told me about the problems at the Iron Town Bar. I went there and didn’t like that filthy old bar or their bad attitudes. I want them shut down!”

  “For what reason? Did you see something illegal going on?”

  “Well, no, that’s your job.”

  “I can’t do anything without a court ordered warrant, you know that.”

  “Davis, the place is a pigsty, and they shouldn’t be smoking in there.”

  “Okay Margaret, I will see what I can do. Now if you don’t mind, we’re in a meeting here . . .”

  “Fine, but I want that place shut down, you understand?”

  “Have a nice day, Supervisor Thomas,” Angie chimed in, as the door slammed behind her.

  Chapter 13

  Laying the memory cards on the desk, Austin sat down across from Deacon. Here’s from last night boss, three days of shots from all four cameras.”

  “How’d Curt do? He sober?”

  “Looks like I may be wrong about him — he did okay. He pointed things out to me that I didn’t see, like the entrance to the bomb shelter and the pump for the cranberry pond. He even climbed the trees and changed the cards.”

  “Yeah, he’s fine if he stays away from the beer. He was a good officer when he worked here, but he just got caught up in something beyond his control and it cost him his job.” Shoving a disk into the computer, he clicked on the first picture. “Angie, come in here and look at these with us.”

  The first photo showed nothing but a blurred shot of a bird flying by the camera. So did the next three. Then one showed a lone doe walk by. For the next half-hour a variety of deer, two foxes, too many squirrels to count and one lone badger wandered by the lens.

  “We might get a low budget wildlife calendar out of this one, boss,” said Austin.

  Plugging in the next card, he brought up the view of the back of the farm buildings. More than thirty shots showed a few animals along the edges of the trees and the old potato field. Sarah was shown driving away and then returning, and Sinclair was seen making a trip to the barn for firewood.

  The third disk covered the pond, now mostly thawed with a few ducks and water birds on it. “Boring,” said Angie, “very boring.”

  “Maybe the next ones will show something,” said Deacon. “You and Curt go back in three days and change them again.”

  The county business offices were all in the same building. Walking into the office of Garrett Stevens, the head of the health department, he stood back while the manager finished his call. “Hello Deacon, come on in. What brings you here today?”

  “Hi Garrett, how’s your day so far?”

  “Been good until now, but I got a feeling you might be about to ruin it.”

  “You may be right,” said Deacon. “You heard that Supervisor Thomas is on the warpath about the Iron Town Bar?”

  “I hadn’t heard about that one, I’ll put it on my list though. What’s going on down there?”

  “She
says that she went in and found it to be a terrible place and wants it shut down.”

  “Just like that, huh? The Bayfield County Health Department should just go and slap up a closure notice because she thinks it’s a terrible place?”

  “That’s what she said . . .”

  “Well she can just kiss my ass. I’m a one man band here, and I don’t really care what she has to say about anything.”

  “Garrett, this serial killer case is taking all my time. I really need her out of my hair for a while. Do you think you could call her and visit with her a minute? Just tell her how busy you are and that you will need some time to look into it — I’d really appreciate it.”

  He leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. “Okay Deacon, I’ll help you out, but you will owe me big time.”

  “How big?”

  “You know how big — hockey tickets — a home series of the Minnesota Wild for two.”

  “Well, shit Garrett, every time I need something from you it costs me some of my tickets. I should never have told anyone I had them.”

  “Too late now.”

  “Okay, you keep the old bat away from me and you get the tickets.”

  “I thought you were the one who told the supervisor about the Iron Town Bar,” said Angie. “Now you farmed her off to Garrett? Why?”

  “I told her about the bar to try and get her off the Russell murder. I couldn’t deal with her constant calls anymore.”

  “So now she bugs you about the Russell girl and the Iron Town Bar?”

  “It looks that way. I thought it might hold her attention for a while, but I guess not. Garrett will run interference on her for a while, maybe I can get a little more work done here.”

  “I’m sure the supervisor has plenty of other issues to deal with too. You should be good for a while.”

  “I hope so, if not, maybe she’ll turn up missing one of these days . . .”

  “Vince how’s the search for someone missing an arm coming along?” asked Deacon.

  “Well, I am learning a lot about funerals, bodies and anatomy, way more than I ever learned in school, that’s for sure. I haven’t turned up much as far as the burials of young women go. You know that there are people that provide human cadavers, and parts of cadavers, to medical schools, hospitals and research companies?”