Murder in the Dell

by Bert Entwistle

  “Thank you ma’am,” said Anders, setting down his briefcase. “I’ll let you know if I need anything else.”

  Without saying a word, she walked out of the room, closing the door slightly harder than normal. Deacon watched as the new agent pulled a recorder and a cell phone out of his case and set it neatly on his side. He laid a fresh legal pad and two pens in front of him. He pushed the record button. “Okay, tell me about the severed arm, from the first moment it was found.”

  For the next two hours they told the new agent everything they knew about the arm, mixing in photos, diagrams and the FBI and coroner reports. They explained about Rusty and his dog’s work, the string and the tag, and threw in their suspicions about illegal cadaver sales. Blending in the history of the Crawford family, from the prohibition days to everything about Crawford’s writing the murder mysteries, made them sound like a mysterious crime family operation. The last thing they did was give him the location of the camera across from the gate and a DVD of the pictures that they had recovered from it.

  Anders put everything in his brief case and stood up. “I will be working out of my hotel room. Here’s my card, let me know if you have anything else for me.”

  “Yessir, I will,” said Deacon, closing the office door behind him. Everyone burst out laughing. “Jesus, is that guy an asshole or what?”

  “He’s a typical arrogant male pig,” said Angie, hardly able to control herself. “I can’t believe that America’s top law enforcement agency still has those kinds of people in their ranks.”

  “What about the rest of the videos from the farm?” asked Vince.

  “What videos would those be?” asked Deacon.

  Vince nodded. “Gotcha. Same with the video from Zeke’s bar I assume?”

  “Now you’re catching on.”

  “Well, we gave him more than enough information to keep him chasing his tail for a while,” said Austin, still smiling. “What’s next boss?”

  “Lunch is what’s next — blowing smoke up the FBI’s ass always makes me hungry.”

  “It’s gonna rain on us, you know that right?” said Deacon.

  “You worried about melting or something?” asked Angie.

  “The only thing I ever worry about is you.”

  “You worry about me? Why’s that?”

  “Because everyone needs to have someone to worry about, you’re my someone.”

  “You know all that worrying will give you ulcers.”

  “I don’t get ulcers — I give ulcers . . .”

  “Well all right Davis, you seem to be a little perkier today, glad to see it.”

  “Perky? I never really associated myself with that word before. But I am glad to see the FBI take over all that other crap.”

  Deacon’s weather prediction came true, and a sudden downpour soaked them before they could get out of the chairs. Inside the cabin, they stripped off their wet clothes and grabbed towels. Deacon stood staring at the beautiful woman beside him. “Are you cold?”

  “Maybe just a little. You got something in mind to remedy that?”

  He shrugged. “I suppose we could climb under the covers for a while. You know, just long enough to get warmed up.”

  “That’s okay with me, but no messing around, I’m not in the mood.”

  “It’s a deal, we’ll just share a little body heat until we are both sufficiently warm, nothing else.”

  “Davis . . .”

  “What?”

  “It’s been fifteen minutes, I think we’re warm enough now.”

  “I need more time.”

  “Davis . . .”

  “What?”

  “Why is your hand on my breast?”

  “It just fell there by accident.”

  “No Davis, it didn’t.”

  “I was just checking to see if it was warm enough?”

  “People go to hell for lying Davis — same as stealing.”

  “So you want me to remove my hand from your breast?”

  “I didn’t say that . . .”

  “I love you, you know that, right?”

  “Yes, Davis, I do know that. And I love being your someone, you know that, right?”

  “Yes, I do . . .”

  “Vince, what’s up this morning?” asked Deacon. “Did you solve this one yet?”

  “No, but I’m gettin’ close.”

  “Well then, don’t let me bother you, just keep up the good work. Angie, any donuts this morning?”

  “No, there’s nothing.”

  After five minutes of rummaging through the lunchroom and finding no sweets, he took his coffee and sat down at his desk. “Davis, you look like someone whose puppy was just run over.” said Angie.

  “I’m fine, thank you, just a little hungry is all.”

  Reaching under her desk she pulled out a bakery box, walked over and dropped it on his desk. “Here, you big wuss. I wouldn’t want you to go without your morning sugar fix. There’s a couple packs of spearmint in there too, I’m sure you’ll be needing them before long.”

  “Thank you my love, I didn’t really think you would let me down.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Do you know where my back brace is?”

  “For Christ sakes Davis, it’s hanging on the coat rack, five feet away from you.”

  “Oh yeah, I see it now.”

  “Are we through here?”

  “Thank you ma’am, I’ll let you know if I need anything else.”

  “Be very careful old man, you’re on very thin ice here,” she said, slamming the door loudly.

  Deacon walked up to the morgue door and knocked. “Davis, what’s going on, you got a body for me?”

  “No bodies today, I’d just like to talk to you for a while, if that’s okay with you.”

  Motioning for Deacon to come in, he unlocked his office and turned on the light. “So what is on your mind today?”

  “Is that longhair music all you listen to?”

  “There is no other music. Again, why are you here?”

  “Do you have any of that strong coffee of yours cooking?”

  “If you are trying to piss me off, it’s working, but I’ll get us a cup. Now get to the point. You seem to be hedging a little bit, I doubt that you came to the morgue just because you like the coffee so much.”

  “Well, I was hoping you might help me a little, it’s about the severed arm.”

  “I have a lot of work to do, keep it short.”

  Deacon nodded. “You know I have been working on both the serial killer case and the severed arm over the past few months, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “You also know that the FBI told me to stay out of the serial case.”

  “Keep talking, I haven’t got all day.”

  “Now, they took the severed arm away from me too.”

  “Okay, get to the point Davis. We know the FBI guys are a bunch of pricks, we have that in common. What specifically do you want from me?”

  “Doctor, I know I’m just a small time sheriff, but I want to show them up for what they are — arrogant, incompetent assholes. I’m going to continue to investigate these things, but on the QT. I’d really appreciate it if you would help me.”

  “Again, to the point please.”

  “I would like to work with you on developing our own profile of this serial killer. I think they’re ignoring you the same as they are me and I don’t trust their work. You’re the expert, you probably have a few theories that I could pursue. I believe we could come up with a few things that they would never find on their own.”

  Baker sat quietly for a few minutes digesting what he just heard. “I admit, I have no use for those FBI assholes, their arrogance and incompetence is amazing. Okay, Davis. I will help you with this, but I need a little time to go back over my notes. Meanwhile, tell me again about the severed arm case, start to finish.”

  Over an hour of talk and several cups of coffee, Deacon explained everything about the case, leaning the story tow
ard the possible guilt of the Crawford’s in both cases.

  Baker refilled their cups. “You really think there is a chance that the Crawford’s have something to do with these murders and the arm?”

  “I believe there’s enough circumstantial evidence to connect them. I think we can link them to the arm. But there’s not nearly enough to get any kind of a warrant to check out them or the farm.”

  “Well Davis, I have to say that you have intrigued me with all of this. Let me finish the work in front of me, and I will call you when I’m ready. Probably the day after tomorrow.”

  “Thanks Doctor. One more thing, you and I are the only people to know anything about this. You can imagine how bad the shit will hit the fan if Felix finds out we’re doing this.”

  “He won’t find out from me. The sooner he’s out of my life the better.”

  Deacon stuck out his hand and Baker accepted it. “Thanks Doctor, I appreciate you taking time to talk with me.”

  “Sure, now go away and let me finish my work.”

  “Angie, if Doctor Baker calls for me, let me know right away please.”

  “You and the good Doc are sure getting chummy, anything you want to share here?”

  “Nothing to share here, not yet anyway. I just asked him if he would be willing to help me out with a few questions. He actually agreed to do it. We both decided this will be solved without the FBI involved. He’ll go over the cases tomorrow, and then call me.”

  “So I have to be nice to him now?”

  “Yeah, give it a shot, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure.” She was interrupted by the phone before she could finish talking. “Deacon, it’s Garrett Stephens, he says he needs to talk to you.”

  “Garrett, what’s going on?”

  “Supervisor Thomas is what’s going on, and on, and on, and on . . . I gave in to her and agreed to do an inspection of the Iron Town Bar. I’m calling you for an officer to go with me.”

  “Well shit, I thought she’d go away for a while. Okay, when do you want to do it?”

  “I’m ready any time, the sooner the better.”

  “Okay, I’ll meet you there at two.”

  “Looking forward to it, I’m sure.”

  Deacon and Austin met him outside the bar. “You ready for this Garrett?”

  “Ready as I can be, but I can’t say I’m happy about it.”

  Walking into the bar the smoke was the first thing to hit them, just like the first time they were there. “There’s your first violation,” said Austin. The bar was the same hazy, dirty room as it was before. Dim lights flickered and a dozen or more customers stared at them as they walked to the bar.

  “We are looking for Elmore Towers, the owner of this bar. I’m Garrett Stephens, from the Bayfield County Health Department. I am here to do a full code inspection of the premises. Can anyone tell me where Elmore Towers is?”

  The room was still silent, and all eyes were on Garrett.

  Deacon stepped up to the bar and looked over the crowed of bikers and other rough looking men. “I am Sheriff Deacon Davis and this is my deputy, Austin Stone. We want to know where Elmore Towers is and we want to know now. If I have to start arresting you one at a time, until I get it out of you, I will.”

  “You ain’t got no grounds to arrest any of us and you know it,” came a voice from the back of the room.

  Deacon pulled out his cuffs and held them up. “I will personally guarantee you that I will find something on every one of you by the time we get to the station. So who’s going to be first?”

  “Screw you sheriff,” said the same voice.

  Austin had his hand on his gun as he watched the scene play out. “Is that you Elmore?” said Deacon, staring into the darkened room. “It would be best if you came up here now, rather than make us come back there and get you,” said Deacon, his hand now on his own gun.

  Towers walked up to the bar and sat on a stool. “Hello Elmore, good to see you again. This is the health inspector. He’s going to do a very thorough inspection of the place. If he finds any violations, he will give you a citation and you will have thirty days to make the corrections, or you will be shut down. Any questions?”

  “Go to hell.”

  “I think I might be standing in the middle of it right now,” said Deacon. “Garrett, have at it. Austin and I will keep the animals at bay until you’re done.”

  Forty-five minutes later Stephens signed a form on his clipboard and handed a copy to Towers. “Eleven violations Mister Towers. The temperature of the food cooler and smoking inside the business are the worse, not to mention the dirt, sign right here. I will be back in thirty days for the follow-up inspection. If all the issues are not corrected, I will be forced to shut you down on the spot, here’s your copy.”

  The room was still quiet as they walked out the door. Thanks, Deacon, Austin, much appreciated. Can I get the same escort when I go back?”

  “Sure, but you don’t get any more tickets for that.”

  “That’s fine, all I want is to get out of there in one piece, and then I can get Supervisor Thomas off of my case for a while.”

  “The old battle ax,” said Deacon.

  “The what?”

  “The old battle ax, that’s what we’ve decided to call her.”

  “Perfect name,” said Stephens.

  Chapter 16

  Deacon sat across the desk from Doctor Baker. Although it was very clean and well organized, the office looked like it hadn’t been remodeled since the day he’d moved in. The faded walls had been painted a dull, industrial green on the bottom half, white on the top and were mostly covered with overflowing bookshelves. His Medical degree was on the wall behind his desk and pair of file cabinets were under it. His huge, industrial-sized oak desk was neat and clean, with several file folders setting squarely in the middle. A silver mini-recorder and a glass mug full of pens sat next to a pair of old-fashioned in-and-out baskets. Baker had been cleaning the handset on his desk phone when Deacon walked in.

  “Okay Davis, I went through all the cases for what everyone is calling the Black Plastic Killer — not a very creative name if you ask me. However, it is what it is. I started with the similarities. Obviously the plastic is what caught everyone’s attention, but I think that is just a tool, or an item that was handy when he did it the first time. It served its purpose so he stayed with it.”

  “So you think it has no real significance to the motive here?”

  Baker shook his head. “The plastic and the rope were handy and worked fine, so he just stayed with them.”

  “Okay, let’s talk about the clean clothes. What is going on with him cleaning the bodies and redressing them?”

  “A couple of things. One, the better he cleans them, the less chance of any evidence remaining on the body. Two, the killer is just a clean freak. Did you know that each girl also had freshly washed hair?”

  “No, I never heard that before.”

  “Her body had been cleaned and so were her clothes.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “Davis, 45-years in this business says I’m sure of it, understand?”

  “Sorry. I didn’t remember that on the report.”

  “It’s not on the report. My job is to find the cause of death, nothing more. The FBI never asked me about anything but the cause of death and when would they get the printed report.”

  “They don’t know about this? I guess I’m surprised that they don’t drive you crazy with too many questions.”

  “I don’t like that FBI guy, you know that, but I will honestly answer any questions that he has. All he has to do is ask.”

  Deacon thought about this revelation for a while, wondering how much other information he might have held back. “So we know for sure that this killer is what? Maybe someone with some kind of an OCD problem?”

  “No. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder or OCD is more about repetitive tasks like brushing your teeth two or three times, or checking a door many times because
you can’t be sure you got it right the first time. It’s actually closer to obsessive compulsive personality disorder, or OCPD. It’s more about order, and perfectionism in everything you do.

  Deacon made several notes in his book. “Okay, what other interesting things do you have for our profile?”

  “Even with all the different manors of death, there were absolutely no signs of any sexual activity on any of them. There was not a single sample of foreign DNA anywhere on the body or the plastic. Two of them were still virgins.”

  “Okay. So we know that our guy is not a sexual predator. Maybe he’s impotent and this is as close as he can get to reaching satisfaction? Or maybe, an old man past the age of sex?”

  “It’s possible it could be someone that was a failed medical student, or even a woman,” said Baker.

  “Good point,” said Deacon, making another note in his book. “However, that would fly in the face of the last FBI profiler’s report. Maybe they’re just working on younger suspects?”

  “Possibly. Like we talked about before, there has never been a crime scene to investigate. There have never been any witnesses to the abductions or the disposal of these women, so they’re just giving it their best guess.”

  Deacon nodded. “That’s the one thing that the FBI is good at, is finding and talking to every person that ever knew our victims,” said Deacon. “If they had any leads or any witnesses, I think we would have heard about it by now.”

  “If this killer is going to be caught, it will most likely be from a forensic connection to these bodies,” said Baker.

  Deacon closed his book. “I don’t think anyone’s perfect, including this guy. Everyone screws up some time and we’ll be there to catch him when he does.”

  “I don’t see that happening Davis, this guy may never get caught. He may be too smart for the F.B.I. and all their technology.”

  “Nobody’s that smart Doctor — nobody. You got time to talk for another hour or so on Thursday?”

  “Two o’clock would be fine.” Snapping off his desk lamp, he walked him to the door. “Goodbye Davis.”