***
“Did you change your mind?” I asked. He sat behind his old desk and I pulled a chair in front of it then headed into the ante room to grab a bottle of orange juice. Sam lit his pipe and gestured for me to sit down.
“I slept on this too.” He shook out his match and laid it in his ashtray. “Goddamn I hate to just give up.”
I marshalled my arguments. “Here’s the thing. What can the KBI do any better? The agency does all our forensic work now. You know they couldn’t round up the group we did to search for Merilee Suter.”
“That’s for damn sure.”
“And they couldn’t have stopped whatever happened from happening.”
He listened to every word I said.
“The only benefit to washing our hands of this operation would be political. We could say we did everything we could from the very beginning and that would just be to make us look good. That’s all.”
“In short, we would be turning this over to the KBI because we have no guts.” He blew a smoke ring into the air, then absently poked it with the stem of his pipe breaking up its perfection.
“Yes,” I said softly. “No guts. Nothing at all to gain by turning this over to the state boys as far as solving these crimes go. We wouldn’t gain expertise because we already have Ferguson, Josie, and Harold, and people with a great deal of common sense.”
“And David,” he added. “Unlikely though he seems.”
“We wouldn’t gain manpower and God knows the KBI would lose the kinds of community connections where people come forward with little tidbits of information. There’s already community pride in this regional center and generally folks out here don’t like state agencies. We hold all the cards. We’ve got the KBI beat.”
“Maybe.”
“Oh, Sam.” I groaned knowing he was still on the fence. I pressed my hands against my head, hoping a little pressure would forestall a headache. “Okay, your turn.” I peered between my fingers. “What are your arguments for doing it?”
“You’ve got me there, Lottie.” He spilled some ashes on the front of his shirt and quickly brushed them off, taking no chances that there was a live ember.
Gloomily, I watched as he fanned the debris onto the floor. The place hadn’t burned down yet.
“After I got a little sleep I realized I would be doing it for all the reasons you mentioned. None of them very honorable. What it amounts to is that I’m so upset that all this happened that I just wish this whole tragedy belonged to someone else.”
“This doesn’t belong to us, Sam. We’ve done nothing to bring any of this on.”
“I know that. But it sure feels like it.
I rose. “Okay. We’ve got everything out of our system now. I’ll call Dimon with the latest case details, but we’ve agreed to keep this under regional jurisdiction. I’m going home and you do the same. That’s an order. Get some sleep. I’ll call Betty Central to come in and take over the dispatching. Turn off your phone. If anything else comes up, she can transfer calls to my house. There’s enough people there to make a small hotel prosperous.”
“David fixed it so Betty couldn’t get into our computer.” He smiled. “My suggestion.”
Betty Central has many good traits, but discretion isn’t one of them. She is heavy-set, with tight blond curls that looked like they belong on a Shirley Temple doll. But for all her incessant chattiness, she treasures her job and comes whenever we call. She can be handled and coaxed into anything, but she is exhausting.
When I got home, I simply waved at Harold and Keith. “Answer the phone, please. I’m going to get some sleep.”
“Okay,” Keith called after me. “Dorothy and Josie went back to bed too. When they wake up and are in shape to answer the phone, I’ll hit the sack.”
By four in the afternoon we were all awake at the same time. I took a ham out of the freezer and began preparing a sweet potato casserole. Dorothy made a slaw and we all looked forward to a decent evening meal. I glanced at Josie who had swiped her hair back into a loose ponytail and hadn’t bothered with any makeup. Clearly she was in no mood for small talk even if I could have thought of anything to say.
Afterwards there seemed to be an unspoken agreement that we all would more or less retire to separate spaces. Dorothy went back to her own place. Keith and Harold found a football game and Josie went upstairs to download old movies on the set in the rec room.
I was worn to a frazzle from having extra people around. I had reached the place where I simply wanted everyone to go home and was becoming a worse hostess with each passing day. But I couldn’t afford to slack off. I had too much to learn. I headed for my stack of books on abnormal psychology and forensics.
Chapter Seventeen
Two days later, on a bright, white winter morning, I called a regional meeting to coordinate any information that had been gathered.
Right before we began searching the Suter homestead, Sam had sent out a request alerting all law officers throughout the state to be on the lookout for Merilee Suter. We could provide a current picture of her but we couldn’t issue an Amber Alert because we weren’t sure Merilee had been abducted. All the counties organized search teams and reported back to the regional organization. The western half of Kansas had been picked to pieces.
Everyone but Ferguson was present. Five officers from Wilson County in addition to Sheriff Winthrop came over too.
Harold Sider went over to the window and stood there jingling the coins in his pocket. “Should we wait?” he asked finally.
“No, I’m sure Ferguson will get in touch with us if he isn’t coming. We have a lot to cover and need to get started. Everyone is especially anxious to hear what you and Josie have to say. Even if you don’t have a complete profile yet.”
“So much is atypical that it’s sort of a quarter profile.”
I made a few introductory remarks. Then Justin Harold reported that everything had been quiet on the nights he stayed at the Suters’. “They are taking it awful hard. But I can’t do nothing about that. They want their daughter back. Can’t do nothing about that either.”
We had kept a member of the team at the Suters’ for comfort. For kindness. But beyond a certain point there really wasn’t any point to keeping up a pretense that they needed guarding because they had not received any threats or ransom requests. Nothing that required an active police presence.
“Harold, Josie, as psychologists, do either of you have any special insights? Or at least some ideas on who we should not be looking for?”
Harold rose and walked to the front of the table. “Josie and I have been taking our time in developing a profile.” He looked around the table. “As you might have noticed.” He smiled. “I’ve hesitated because some of my ideas are in direct conflict with those offered by Dr. Ferguson. For one thing the unsub is not a disorganized killer. He has high intelligence and is capable of thinking through complications.”
Troy Doyle, the new sheriff of Copeland County elbowed Scott Smith, the Bidwell County sheriff, in the ribs. “See, I told you this son of a bitch ain’t no dummy. And another thing, he ain’t no ordinary crazy. He’s got everyone fooled.” He spoke loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Go on,” Harold coaxed.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to butt in.”
“No, really. I want to hear what you have to say.”
“Well, he’s rich. Or at least rich by Western Kansas standards.”
“And you know that how?”
“Sam talked about all that rappel equipment. They don’t just give that stuff away. And he’s a smooth talker because he managed to get Brent Suter to leave his house and drive to the Garden of Eden at night without telling his folks where he was going. The kid took off. Just like that.”
“No evidence that Merilee put up any kind of a struggle either,” Scott added.
“Right,
” Troy sat straighter in his chair. “And smooth talkers usually aren’t laboring men. They can do better. And so they do. Doctors and lawyers and teachers and such. But he’s not from around here because people capable of killing babies don’t just drop down from the clouds. Folks out here pretty well know their neighbors.”
“Not necessarily,” Justin Harold said. “Remember Dennis Rader. Folks didn’t have a clue.”
“That’s different. That was in Wichita, where no one knows anybody else. Out here we most generally know if someone is crazy.”
Smith hooted. “You have to be sane yourself to know.”
There was a brief spirited discussion about Troy’s ideas and the nature of Rader’s savagery. Rader, the BTK killer who had tortured and murdered ten persons, had eventually provided the clues that led to his capture.
“But I don’t think he was a doctor or lawyer or teacher less he’s from Colorado. Most of those folks go soft out here and he would have to be pretty athletic to climb up to where Reaching Woman is.” Troy furiously chomped his gum. “He’s from out of state too. Hard to become a top-notch mountain climber out here.”
“’Less he sought out Mount Sunflower.” Justin said with a straight face. There were snickers all round.
Gently sloping Mount Sunflower, the highest point in Kansas, was on privately owned land, and used to sport a sign “On this site in 1897 nothing happened.” It was just fifty miles from the lowest point in Colorado.
I splayed my fingers across my face and shook my head, unable to keep a straight face. I might as well have been a substitute teacher dealing with naughty school boys.
Josie stood and walked to the head of the table to join Harold. “I don’t have anything to add to that,” she announced, grinning broadly. “Do you Harold?”
He shook his head. “Amazing. You’ve nailed the major points of the profile Josie and I came with up by simply using common sense.” He turned toward the board and quickly made a list. “This is incomplete, but it will keep you from wearing yourself out looking in the wrong direction. This isn’t much.”
1. Intelligent
2. Articulate
3. Probably in a profession
4. Athletic
5. Possibly from out of state
6. Prosperous
Harold stepped back and looked at the list. “That’s it. That’s all we can say for sure. And you’ll notice we haven’t added one thing that you haven’t figured out yourselves. One correction. He doesn’t have to be rich to have the rappelling equipment. He’s not poor, but stuff for mountain climbing costs far less than some of you spend for guns.”
“So what’s our next step? Time’s a-wasting.”
“The bad news is that there is no apparent new step. You’ve proved today that your ideas are as good as us so-called experts. I want you to follow up on any ideas you might have. Let David know what they are and if it involves active investigation, he will alert all of us. As you well know this is not like living in a city where there is always backup. And we can’t go racing to someone’s side every time they step out of a house.”
We all sat there studying the board. I glanced out the window as a Dodge pickup sailed past our line of vehicles and parked at the end. It was a 2500 and well-equipped to pull the attached U-Haul trailer.
The door flew open and Dr. Ferguson walked in. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I’m not used to the vehicle I’m driving. Or the trailer I’m dragging, for that matter.”
He nodded at Harold and Josie then removed his newsboy cap and thoughtfully studied the board. “Sorry you’ve already wasted so much work. Especially since so much of it is off the mark.”
Harold’s eyes narrowed.
Ferguson turned to me. “Sorry, Lottie. I’m taking over this investigation. Or perhaps I should say that the KBI is taking over this investigation and I’m in charge. I’m going to pick up all the equipment and take it back to Topeka. Can’t do anything about the money you’ve spent remodeling this fancy room because it’s attached to the sheriff’s office. You and the state will have to work that out.”
The only sound was that of the wind whistling down the street and the thump of a tumbleweed whacking against the building.
I rose and stood by Harold. Stunned, I folded my arms across my chest. “No,” I said flatly. “No. You’re not.”
A mocking smile spread across his fact, but I didn’t give him a chance to speak. “Papers. You would need papers to do this. All kinds of orders signed. Do you think I’m just going to let you ruin everything we’ve done so far? In a few minutes’ time?”
Josie casually readjusted a hairpin anchoring her chignon to the base of her skull and stepped forward to line up with me and Harold. “By whose authority are you doing this?” There was a softly mocking tone to her voice as though she were dealing with a preschooler who wanted to swipe another kid’s blocks.
“Trying to do this.” Harold corrected her with a knowing smile. “Trying to take the equipment. He hasn’t gotten it done yet.” His tone was casual and detached. Conversational, even. He caught my eye urging me to go along.
I took my cue from the two psychologists. “Ah, shucks. He’s misplaced his papers. So sorry, Doctor. You’ll have to come back another day. Tomorrow, maybe?”
Ferguson’s face flooded with fury. Harold had sized him up correctly. The man could not tolerate any kind of mockery.
He struggled to gain control over his physical reactions. “Authority? I’m here at the behest of Frank Dimon, of course. I told him about all the colossal blunders made by this Mickey Mouse task force, the problems out here, and we agreed that the regional center isn’t working out. It’s time to shut this place down and turn this nightmare of an investigation over to the big boys.”
“Ah, Dimon. I might have known.” Josie’s voice was slow and perfectly reasonable. “However, you can’t take this equipment. It’s mine. I own it. I have receipts for every bit of it.”
Ferguson drew a slow deep breath. “What do you mean it’s yours?”
“Just what I said. I own every piece.”
“That doesn’t even make sense. The regional center was voted in by the state legislature. There’s no reason for you to spend that kind of money on a state-of-the-art facility in this flea trap of a town.”
“What the state legislature votes for, and what it actually provides funding for, are two different things,” said Josie. “We would have to wait until the next grasshopper plague before they would throw some money out to Western Kansas.”
Harold placed a hand on Josie’s shoulder to show his solidarity. “And furthermore, even if you could claim this equipment, you wouldn’t know how to run it. David set everything up. The main server is programmed to wipe the entire hard drive clean if anyone but him tries to use it.”
“Oh, I hardly think that Mr. Hayes can beat the best minds of the FBI.” Ferguson’s mouth curled in a disdainful smile. “Although I’m sure he is quite good.” His condescension could not have been more obvious.
“This ain’t no flea trap either,” Troy Doyle asserted tardily, as though he had needed time to process the insult. “No need to call us names.”
Other men recovered from their shock. Scott Smith rose from his chair. “It’s time for you to leave. Go on back to Topeka before there’s trouble.”
“And don’t let the door hit you on the ass on your way out,” piped up Justin Harold.
“And the horse you rode in on,” piped up one of Winthrop’s deputies.
“And good riddance to bad rubbish.”
They vied with one another to hurl more clichéd taunts. The room filled with jeering laughter. I shivered at the degree of hostility. Just a few weeks ago they had admired Ferguson’s credentials as a decorated soldier. But he had insulted them and implied that rural people simply weren’t as smart as their city cousins. That there was s
omething crazy wrong with all of us or we wouldn’t be living here in the first place.
And underneath it all was raw grief over crimes so hideous the whole region was paralyzed and living in a frustrated purgatory. Their normal civility had given way to gallows humor, sick and filled with self-loathing over their inability to help their neighbor.
Ferguson’s face flamed. He whirled around and left.
My ears rang when the door slammed. Not bothering to disguise my anger, I whacked the whiteboard with the back of my hand and addressed the men. “Look. I don’t have a clue as to why we were subjected to this outrage. But we have to keep our heads. Before we dismiss, I want to call your attention back to the points Harold listed and that you figured out yourselves. Don’t lose sight of the fact that we are looking for someone who is a professional man, a good talker, athletic, and probably from out of state.”
Troy and Scott began to list the points.
“In the meantime, I’m going to find out what’s going on. I’ll head to Topeka the minute we leave this building. Frank Dimon has got a lot of explaining to do.”
“I’m going with you.” Keith rose to his feet. A muscle leaped at the base of his jaw.
“Okay. Meeting adjourned.”
We headed for Keith’s Suburban. I was glad he was along. Dimon respects both of us but he doesn’t hesitate to hold back some of details from me, and he knows Keith is capable of beating the truth out of him if he has to.
***
Five hours later Keith and I were facing the man who was a dead ringer for Aaron Hotchner on Criminal Minds. He has the same dark coloring, and low heavy dark brows accenting his penetrating brown eyes. His perpetual five o’clock shadow was at odds with his pointed elf-like ears which hinted that there might be a sense of humor buried very deep.
Only Frank Dimon was no actor. I suspected he was simply born this severe. I thought he never would loosen up enough to call me “Lottie” instead of “Ms. Albright.” Last summer when he had apologized for a fatal error regarding the rights of an old Spanish lady, he sounded like he was squeezing the words out of a throat so constricted he was in danger of choking. “I’m sorry. It was all my fault,” were words he had never said before.
Fractured Families Page 17
