Sam reached for his pipe. “There are empty chairs next to the fire and if you will join me there, I would like to hear more of your thoughts.”
“I’ll make some hot chocolate first.”
“Wonderful. I’m cold to the bone and more than upset.”
“As am I, and I want to hear all about the Slocums.”
We all gathered in front of the fire and Sam and I caught everyone up on our frustrating visit to Franklin’s mother.
“I don’t know if Duck Boy was deeply troubled, or compensating for a terrible life, or was actually a clear-eyed assessor of his environment with superior coping skills.” Harold rose and walked to the fireplace. He picked up the stoker and jabbed at a burned down log. “I can’t come up with a decent profile.”
“Well, let’s ring up Ferguson,” Josie said, not bothering to keep the sarcasm from her voice. “He’ll be happy to provide one in five seconds.”
Harold grinned. “I’m open to any ideas.”
Josie scoffed. Harold edged the log to one side and put on a fresh one. Then he added a few sticks of dried sage and the odor blended with that of popcorn and Sam’s pipe. “And frankly, Dorothy, I think you have a point. We have been assuming that whoever is doing this is an outsider, but let’s go back to square one and take a look at the people on our team.”
We made a quick list and of course quickly eliminated the people in the room, which was the bulk of the team. The Wilson County sheriff, John Winthrop, was well known and a temporary addition to the regional team. Then with the exception of Dr. Ferguson and David Hayes, the rest had lived in Northwest Kansas most of their lives.
Harold walked back to his chair and reclined with his hands clasped behind his head. “Let me be clear. I don’t think for one minute that it’s one of us, but Dorothy is right. We are taking everyone for granted. Let’s give everyone a little thought first.”
“They were all vetted regionally,” Sam’s tone said he didn’t mind this, just that he considered it a waste of time.
“I know that. But by now we are looking for some rather strange things. Unasked questions we didn’t know to consider in the beginning. Lottie? What can you tell us?”
“Okay. Here’s who’s who. Nine counties make up the region known as northwest Kansas: Carlton, Copeland, Ingalls, Bidwell, Rose, Speer, Tecumseh, Ewing, and Roswell. Two counties, Tecumseh and Ewing, don’t want anything to do with a regional crime center.”
“No kidding. I don’t think any of us here are very happy with it either.”
“Go on, Lottie,” Josie said, with a reproachful glance at Harold.
“Roswell really doesn’t count. It’s a tiny little kite quadrilateral that’s better known as the Diaz Compound. There’s still a huge lawsuit going on to settle who exactly owns that land.”
Harold smiled at Josie. “Don’t I know. I’ve heard all about that place and that lawsuit.”
“Nearly everyone has. In fact, all the states in the union are waiting to hear the results because water rights are involved. It’s one of those cases that seems to be local and then turns out to have extraordinary implications. Anyway, Roswell County is still attached to Carlton County for judiciary purposes. They don’t even have anyone to send here.”
“That’s three counties that didn’t have a representative at our meetings. Roswell, Ewing, and Tecumseh. That leaves six,” Sam said.
“Right. Our own Carlton County is just teeming with people on the team. Me, Josie, Keith, Sam, Dorothy, and you, Harold. You are an official consultant for Carlton County. The Copeland County sheriff is Troy Doyle. Troy is the one who gave that terrific profile by just using everyday common sense and logic. He’s the one who replaced Sheriff Deal. Deal is the one who tried to kill me and Josie.”
My sister managed to keep all emotion off her face.
“Bidwell County was represented by Scott Smith and his undersheriff, David Hayes. Justin Harold nearly always has something to say. He’s from Ingalls County. He takes immediate and fierce umbrage when anyone insults Kansas or implies that we aren’t bright because we live out here. And we all know about David by now.”
Harold smiled. I was sure he knew a lot about Hayes that he hadn’t told the rest of us.
“The other two counties at the meeting were Rose and Speer. Mr. Redstone never said a word. He’s the retired sheriff of Rose County and they are supposed to replace him when they find someone new, but it just doesn’t seem to happen. He’s held that position for the last nine years.”
“He’s even older than me.” Sam’s eyes twinkled as he took a strong draw on his pipe.
“Leon Fleming, the Speer County sheriff, was the one who took furious notes. He wore every type of device that could be attached to his uniform and I’m willing to bet all his reports are impeccable.”
“He didn’t ask any questions, did he?”
“No. And it wasn’t just because Ferguson interrupted us. He never does. I’ve been in other meetings with this man. He’s a little unnerving. Just listens and takes notes. So I guess I really don’t know much about him.”
“I’ll have him checked out and David will try to locate Franklin Slocum’s father.”
Josie reached for Tosca who had been very patient during the long stay at the farm. “We’re taking off tomorrow, Lottie. The weather report says it will be clear and I-70 is supposed to be open. And the little doggie is getting a bit broody.” She rubbed Tosca’s ears, who looked up with gratitude. “Yes she is, now. Baby wants her own widdle beddie-bye.”
Astounded, Dorothy looked at my sister like she had lost her mind.
“There’s absolutely nothing more we can do here.” Tosca jumped off Josie’s lap and left the room.
Unspoken was that none of us could make a move until more information came in. We were blocked as far as locating Franklin Slocum, needed to find out more about Leon Fleming, and although we would follow up on every call and tip that came in about the Baby Ghost Murders not all the lab work had been completed.
***
The next morning Harold and Josie said their goodbyes and left for Manhattan. Normally I was sad to see my sister leave but today I couldn’t wait for a chance to be by myself. I was exhausted both from the strain of trying to keep up a good front for sake of our budding regional center and sheer inexplicable horror of the crimes. I was on sensory overload and felt like I was going to crash.
Dorothy had gone to her own house too and after I saw Josie’s car turn the corner, I grabbed a blanket and a pillow and snuggled down in the bay window chair. I grabbed Donis Casey’s latest mystery, although I suspected that my ability to concentrate was nonexistent.
I dozed off, lulled by the familiarity of my little nest. And then the phone rang.
It was Josie, who didn’t bother to say hello. “You’ll never guess who I just heard from.”
I waited.
“Dr. Ferguson.”
I was fully awake now.
“He wants to talk and offered to meet me in Manhattan. He suggested a spare room at the university so it would be convenient for me.”
“Why?”
“He says he has some different ideas that he wants me to consider regarding the Baby Ghost Killer and he wanted me to listen away from you because he knew you would reject them out of hand. He says he has some valuable information and as a psychologist I would be in the best position to understand it.”
“So, what did you tell him?”
“I told him I would be glad to listen.”
“And are you?”
“Hell no. You’re the regional director. This is your case. I want you there too. I was honest when I said I would be glad to listen. I just didn’t mention that I wouldn’t be there by myself.”
“And when will this meeting take place?”
“Day after tomorrow. Can you come? His so-called ‘valua
ble information’ might not amount to a damn, but it won’t hurt to listen.”
“That’s true. And of course I’ll be there. It’s my job. At any rate I can’t wait to see his face when we both show up.”
***
When we walked into the room together I wished I had a camera. A good one like Dorothy’s to catch his exact expression. I expected visible shock or at least resentment. There was a flicker of something. Anger, I think. Quickly suppressed.
He gestured toward chairs then sat down himself and leaned toward us with his hands clasped and his elbows resting on the table. A perfectly earnest pose.
“I’m sure you are wondering,” he said with a wry smile.
“Yes.” Josie sat absolutely straight and the look on her face was not encouraging. “You said you have some special information.”
“Yes. I do. And believe me I would give anything not to be the bearer of bad news. There are some things I think you should know about three of the members of your team: David Hayes, Justin Harold, and Troy Doyle. I’m coming up with some serious psychological history.”
I sucked in my breath. I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach. I recalled Dorothy’s scathing disapproval over letting the whole team know that Sam and I had accessed the evidence room.
At least we hadn’t told everyone that what we had deposited was the commonplace book. And even if we had said we had deposited an old three-ring binder, it would not have been of any interest to any of them since it didn’t pertain to the Baby Ghost Murders.
Only our family knew about this book. Plus Sam. And he might as well be family.
And as Josie had pointed out, everything in the book might have been the outpouring of the mind of a troubled little boy. Or a little boy who wanted to be the hero in his own story. He was reading paperbacks. He wanted to be moral and upstanding. He surely would have heard of missing boys. Were there subsequent missing pages that might contain a happy ending? Had he led the police to a burial site? We needed to locate Franklin Slocum and verify the information.
Before yesterday, all we had put in the room was the goofy little play-back device that had been placed under Merilee Suter’s pillow.
Ferguson directed his remarks to Josie, as though I was of no importance at all.
“Let’s begin with Troy Doyle. I understand that he was responsible for the profile you had posted on the board when I arrived the other day.”
Josie said nothing.
“It’s quite obvious to me that he fancies himself an amateur psychologist and they are always dangerous in a police investigation. Especially when they’ve developed a theory they feel they have to defend. I couldn’t find too much on Doyle in any of the databases at my disposal. No military history. No police records. Nothing in any juvenile records either. So my first question would be where did this man come from? And what are his qualifications?”
Astounded, I could only stare. That was all? Just another of his half-baked theories?
“Moving along to Justin Harold. The class clown. The cut-up. Always out to get a laugh.” Ferguson’s mouth pulled down even farther in disdain. “I mean who does he think he is?” he scoffed. Then seeing that we didn’t join in, he frowned and looked down before he continued.
“The first clue I had that something was amiss with Hayes was the way he ducked his head and basically stared at his shoes when he was talking to you and your sister. In fact, Ms. Mercer got the same treatment.”
I had planned to let Josie do all the talking but couldn’t restrain myself. “Dr. Ferguson! You had just finished putting David down. Calling everyone’s attention to his every flaw. Of course he looked at his shoes.”
“Maybe he’s just shy,” Josie offered.
“Beyond shy.” He looked at me triumphantly. Wicked pleased that he had drawn me in. “He’s deeply uncomfortable around women. And at his age that isn’t normal.”
“It’s hardly abnormal. And I would like to point out that he ducks his head and stares at his shoes when he is around men too. I’ll bet he’s introverted to begin with and then became hooked on computers sometime around junior high when young boys are awkward socially anyway. But that’s speculation,” Josie said pointedly. “I don’t actually know that. And as I’m sure you know—it’s very presumptuous to speculate about people. Psychologists are too often wrong.”
Ferguson did a slow-burn and the scar at the corner of his mouth made it look like he was gearing for battle.
He went right on expounding on his theory. “Hayes obviously was short-changed when it came to nurturing relationships in his childhood.” A vein throbbed in his temple as he picked up heat. “He has very low self-esteem and I suspect he’s not nearly as intelligent as your friend Harold Sider gives him credit for. In fact, I would like to know more about Sider’s involvement in this whole investigation because Hayes is totally fixated on winning affection from his mother.”
“Dr. Ferguson, that’s enough. You’re maligning fine men. Without a shred of proof.” Furious, I rose to leave. Maybe Dimon was afraid that if we removed him from the team he would go to the press, but I wasn’t. I didn’t give a damn what he told the press. “And furthermore…” But before I could officially fire the bastard, Josie stopped me with a warning shake of her head.
She held up a hand, pulled her cell phone out of her purse and glanced at it.
“So sorry to interrupt. I just had an important message and have to leave immediately.”
Ferguson gave her a black look. “I have a lot more to tell you and would like to have your support for some of the ideas I’m presenting. Lottie, you’d better listen, whether you want to hear it or not.”
“Sorry. Can’t stay.” Josie race-walked to the door.
I glanced back at Ferguson who was obviously furious.
***
“What in the hell came up that’s so important?” I asked as we hurried to her car. “I was getting ready to lower the boom.”
“What’s important was me getting the hell out of that room before I flew across it and strangled Ferguson. Everything he was saying was a crock of shit. Not supported by anyone who actually knows anything. Plus, by the look on your face I knew all hell would break loose. You were about to make an enemy. And I want Dimon to be the one who gets kicked in the balls. Not you. He’s the one who got you into this mess.”
She was right, of course. “But the things he said! Ferguson doesn’t even know David. He was attacking like a kid would in junior high. Using a kid’s taunts. Fat. Sloppy clothes. Bad skin. Definitely not cool.”
“Exactly.”
“So why would he come up with these ideas about these three men like he’s trying to discredit them?”
“Or more to the point, it’s like he’s trying to establish his own credibility and that’s what I need to figure out. According to Dimon, Ferguson’s got credentials out the whazoo so why would he be (a) trying to indict David? And (b) offer such half-baked ideas to begin with?”
“He obviously wants to be the big cheese. The main man who gets all the credit for solving the Baby Ghost Murders. He wants to be in charge of the investigation.”
Josie frowned. “Duh. I’d have to be an idiot not to notice.”
“I assume you noticed that all the three men he named were the ones who gave him the hardest time during the last meeting.”
“You bet I did. I’m going to straight to Sider’s office and ask him to pull a few strings to access Ferguson’s military records. Especially anything that has to do with medical history.”
“Medical?”
“Yes, I think he’s nuts.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Sider laughed at Josie. “Did he get the best of you? You hardly ever let that happen. I think you need to stand back and apply a little of your analytical skills to what that man was saying. As for checking him out. I’ve done that, believe
me. There are some areas of his military records that are virtually inaccessible but I’ve been assured it’s not because there is something sinister there. It’s because of the classification level of some of his work in intelligence.”
“I can’t stand the man.” Josie fished around in her purse for her cigarettes.
“That’s very obvious, but what I want you to think about is his Madonna theory and why someone is killing these babies.”
“I don’t need to think about it. I’m not buying it.”
“That’s obvious too. But you know criminologists and profilers look at the human mind differently than psychologists who treat patients. I’m looking at this from a forensic standpoint and we need your ideas as a clinical practitioner.”
“I’m forensic too,” she countered.
“Just starting. So, what’s up with this savage?”
“Savage?” She raised an eyebrow.
He grinned. “The killer, not Ferguson. Why don’t you buy the good doctor’s theory and look for someone who lacked a nurturing experience with his mother?”
“Because the idea is crap, Harold. Pure crap. Everyone’s mother lacks something.”
Then they launched into a heated discussion that was far over my head. I tried to follow the implications of quotes from the Crime Classification Manual and then the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual but got lost somewhere along the way. What did register was Harold’s insistence that Josie’s dislike of Ferguson caused her to ignore all of his input.
“I’m not buying Ferguson’s Madonna theory either,” Harold conceded. He rose and adjusted the light coming through the blinds. This morning he wore a beautifully tailored pin-striped suit. It was in striking contrast to the khakis he usually wore at the farm. “That sounds like the kind of psycho-babble I hear on TV talk shows. He glanced at his watch. “I have to leave for Kansas University in an hour. I’m lecturing at a conference.”
“Don’t let us hold you up if you need to be somewhere else,” Josie said. “I came by to see what you could find out about Ferguson’s vetting process.”
Fractured Families Page 21
