“No. He knew.”
“I see,” said Hal. “And you believed him?”
She nodded.
“Is that a ‘yes’?” asked Hal, for the record.
“Yes.”
“Did John Travis know any of Rachel’s group?”
“No.”
“None of them?” asked Hal.
“Just Rachel.” She looked up. “That’s what he said.”
Betty went on to explain that, once John Travis had “known,” she had “known,” too. The ring of truth. She had been horrified, and kept trying to contact Rachel, to see if the baby was still alive. She was frantic.
“I didn’t know what to do,” she said, her voice pleading, trying to make us understand.
“Did you discuss this with Travis again?” asked Hal.
“Yes, many times.”
“Where?”
“His place, in Dubuque.”
“Did he have any suggestions?” asked Hester.
“He had a solution.”
“What was that, Betty?” asked Hal.
“He said that he could take care of the group. Stop them before they did it.” She looked at Hester. “We weren’t certain, you see. Certain that little Cynthia was dead. But we knew it had happened. We just knew that. John knew that. He really knew …”
“Sure,” said Hester.
“Did you know what he meant by ‘take care’ of them?” asked Hal.
“I assumed he meant kill them.”
“You did?”
“Yes.”
“And did you ask him to do that?”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“It wouldn’t be right.” Simple, matter-of-fact.
“Because you weren’t sure that Cynthia was dead?” asked Hester.
“Well, yes, that’s part of it.” She looked at Hester for a moment. “I wasn’t certain that John was right.”
“And when were you certain?” asked Hal.
“When Mark said something about it. In February.” Dead voice now.
“What happened when he told you?”
“I don’t know.” Betty looked around the room. “I mean, I don’t know what happened. I’ve been told. But I don’t know.”
“What were you told?” asked Hester.
“That I was hysterical.” She looked at the floor. “I don’t believe that, you know.”
“Could you speak toward the tape recorder?”
“I said,” she said forcefully, “I don’t believe that I was hysterical.”
“Who told you that you were?” asked Hal.
“Dr. Klieneman. My psychiatrist. In Dubuque.”
“And you don’t believe him?”
“I don’t know what to believe. I don’t remember being hysterical … I don’t remember anything at all.”
“But you did spend time at a psychiatric clinic in Dubuque?”
“Yes, of course. I was an outpatient, though. I wasn’t restrained or anything.”
It turned out that, as an outpatient, Betty had been with John Travis a lot. At his apartment and in parks and Kennedy Mall. And, with the confirmed death of the baby, she had agreed with Travis that revenge was the option to pursue. She didn’t put it quite that way, of course.
“I told John that he was going to be an instrument of the Lord. We had to eradicate this menace, before something even worse happened.”
“What would have been worse, Betty?” asked Hal.
“I don’t know.”
“Just something worse?” asked Hester. “Nothing specific?”
“Yes.”
It turned out that she and Travis had decided that Rachel was a dupe and that she shouldn’t be harmed. But Betty was certain that God wanted the rest of them killed, to avenge the death of the baby and to remove an abomination from the earth.
“Did you discuss this with Mark?” asked Hal.
“No, of course not. He didn’t know I was involved with John. How could I explain that to him? He’s never even met him.”
“But he knew what John was capable of doing, didn’t he?”
“He knew what Phil had said about John.” She sighed. “But I think he’s afraid of him.”
Hal looked her straight in the eye. “When did you become sexually involved with John Travis?”
“In Dubuque, in February.”
“For the express purpose of wiping out the cult Rachel was involved with?”
“Of course. I was an instrument, too.” She gave a small smile to Hal. “You probably don’t understand, do you?”
“I’m not sure that I do,” he answered.
“These people are evil,” she said. “They have to be prevented from transmitting their evil to innocent victims like Rachel. I know this through God, and he was acting through me.”
Hal was right. Betty was not “sound of mind.” Not at all. It was pathetic, somehow.
The interview wound down from there. She’d used Travis, but Travis wanted to be used. And Mark had a feeling about it all along. Had she set Travis up, or had he set her? One interesting note:
“Betty, did you ever meet with John Travis here?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Do you know who he associated with here?” pressed Hal.
“No one.” Simple as that.
It turned out that she had never seen Travis anywhere but Dubuque, and he had no friends there, either. As far as she knew.
I left the interview room and bumped into Saperstein in the outer office.
“Interesting, isn’t it?” he asked me.
“Yeah.” I started to go to dispatch and changed my mind. “Bill,” I asked him, “do you think she used Travis, or that he used her?”
“They used each other. He needed a source of information. She needed a tool to do what she couldn’t.”
“So which came first, the chicken or the egg?” I had to ask. Everybody lies to us, even when they seem to be getting something off their chest. Well, I’ll be charitable. Sometimes they lie to themselves. We get it secondhand.
“He wasn’t sure because she hadn’t told him yet. She wasn’t sure because she didn’t know if she believed it or not. But she convinced him, and he convinced her, and that’s what counts.”
Damn.
I checked with dispatch, to find Lamar. He was on a minor accident about nine miles south of us. Told Jane to have him come back in as soon as he was done. Just as I turned to leave, she said, “Oh, did you see the teletype from Linn County?”
“What teletype?”
“Here,” she said, handing me a small slip of paper. “Looks like Traer’s house burned down a few hours ago.”
“What?!” Well, that made the rounds in a hurry. To everybody but Traer. We really didn’t know just what to make of it, except that we were going to have to get an exact time when they thought it started—just to see if Rachel had set it when she left. Would be nice, but I didn’t think she had.
Then Fueller and I sat down and did the arrest warrant information. He started on the search warrant applications while I ran the information to the local magistrate, to have the warrant issued.
Magistrate Halloran lived in Maitland. He was a pretty good attorney in his own right. He really wanted to press for details, but didn’t. I appreciated that. But I think he could tell from my attitude that we were wrapping it up.
“I’m glad you’ve got this one.”
“So are we,” I said.
“Do you want me to stick around today, for an arraignment?”
“Yeah, I think so. Also, we’ll be coming down with a couple of search warrant applications in a little while.”
“Fine.”
“Hate to ruin your Monday.”
“Not ruined at all, Carl.”
I hustled the warrant back to the office. He’d set bond at $500,000, cash. Ought to do it. I went directly to dispatch and had her teletype the information to Dubuque PD.
“Better have ’em call us before they go on
the warrant. He’s extremely dangerous.”
“Okay,” said Jane.
I went back to the main office and found Betty being booked into jail. One count of conspiracy to commit murder. I showed the new arrest warrant to Fueller and Hal.
“Good,” said Hal.
“I told ’em to call us here before they go.”
“Good idea.”
I glanced at Betty. She appeared very calm and self-possessed. Not bothered at all.
I finished the booking forms—they had to be signed by a deputy from our county. Took Betty back and put her in the cell with Elizabeth Mills. It was either that or put her in the juvenile cell with Rachel, and I didn’t think that would be such a good idea.
Went back out and was told that Hal and Hester would be going to Dubuque as soon as the search warrants were issued. Saperstein as well.
“You want to come along?”
“No thanks,” I said. Two reasons. I was getting really tired and had to go to work in about eight or nine hours. And I know “courtesy” when I hear it. Five is a crowd.
Saperstein seemed a little disappointed. “I wanted to tell you what we’ve found out about John Travis.”
I sat down. “We’ve got a few minutes. I’m all ears.”
“Let’s go in the back room,” he said. “I don’t want to bother them.”
Good point. Fueller was furiously typing the search warrant application while Hester and Hal were feeding him data.
We sat in the rear office, and Saperstein told me about Travis.
“He’s a self-contained cult,” he said, “and an ascetic as well. Satanic ascetic. Doesn’t believe in most of the ceremonies, the trappings, the regalia. He has a tattoo of a pentagram in his right armpit. That’s all. He doesn’t have any symbols in his room, nothing like that.”
“Hmmm.” For want of anything else to say.
“He’s the most dangerous kind of Satanic follower. Looks down on people like Traer and company … told Betty that they were ‘Barnum and Bailey’ Satanists. He considers himself the ‘sword of Satan.’ His words.”
Saperstein shook his head.
“From what she said,” he went on, “this man is a force unto himself. His only weakness is that he wants occasional rewards from Satan—like her, for instance. Appreciation. Not often, but he does need that sometimes. His only weakness, and she figured it out.”
“Pretty smart.”
“I don’t know about that, Carl. If he ever thinks that he’s been used, he’ll kill her.”
“You think so?”
“Yes. I really think that he shouldn’t come to this jail, after we get him.”
“That bad?”
“You don’t know what you’re dealing with here. This man is evil. No other word for it. And active, as well.”
“I’ll tell Lamar, but maybe you should talk to him, too.”
“I will, if he gets back before we leave. If I don’t get the chance, you tell him.”
“I will.”
“Carl,” he said, “words fail me regarding this man. They really do. He kills without remorse. With a purpose. Efficiently, but with a message. I know him, I think. Like the Satanic symbols at Herkaman’s place. Those were his way of mocking them. Using their little symbols … And he could have killed Rachel easily, I’m sure of it. He let her get away, maybe because she was Betty’s sister, and he was supposed to let her go.” Ah …
“And that’s why he took McGuire back to his own house, where the ‘sacrifice’ of Cynthia had been made. He has great disdain for killing a child, I’m sure. His idea of a ‘sacrifice’ is to take on somebody who is a little bit more of a challenge than an infant. Somebody who gives meaning to his efforts. I don’t know, of course, but that’s why, I think, McGuire had the feces in his mouth. He must have said something to Travis before he died, something about the child, or about being a Satanist, too. That would be Travis’s style of symbol—direct and to the point.”
“I’ll bet,” I nodded, “you’re right. I’ll bet you are …”
“I don’t know if he’ll resist the Dubuque cops or not—it should depend on circumstance—but they shouldn’t take any chances.”
“We’ll tell ’em.”
“But I think if he thinks that he is going to be brought back here, he might just go along with it. He isn’t done yet, you know. He wants the whole group, with the exception of Rachel. When we were pressuring Traer, I wasn’t sure. I am now.”
“Another reason not to bring him back here.”
“That’s right.”
“Lamar’s gonna hate that—he thinks Dubuque County charges quite a lot to store prisoners.”
Saperstein smiled. “Tell him it’s going to be worth the investment.”
“I will.”
“I doubt that he’ll talk to us down there, but if he does, I’ll be very interested in talking to him. I think he’s likely to be what they call a paranoid schizophrenic, and you don’t get a real chance to talk with them very often. I’ve always wanted to do an interview if they were hearing a voice at the same time. Competing for their attention, as it were.” He smiled a little bit, to himself. “What time do you go to work tonight?”
“20:00.”
“Look, I’ll find you when we get back and tell you what we’ve found.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
We went back out to the main office and discovered that Hal had gone to the magistrate. Lamar was back and Saperstein took him aside and told him about what he’d told me. I said my farewells and went home. Looked at the clock, but couldn’t make out the numbers.
Last thing I remember, until I woke up about 18:00. Sue had covered me up.
34
Monday, April 29
18:16 hours
I came stumbling down the stairs and found Sue in the kitchen. I could smell lasagna.
“Welcome back,” she said.
“Thank you … Look, I’m sorry about this morning …”
“Don’t be.”
“Sure smells good in here,” I said as I loaded the coffeepot.
“Lasagna.”
“I could tell.” I gave her a hug. “You’re pretty good to me.”
“Too good, actually.”
“Well, that’s true.”
“But what the hell, you’re all I’ve got handy.” She smiled.
I chuckled. “Thanks a lot.”
I picked up the phone and called the office. Checking to see if they had got Travis.
“Hi, Hazel. They get that guy in Dubuque for us today?”
“Oh, hello. No, I don’t think so. They haven’t said they have him, anyway.”
Shit.
“Anybody else there?”
“Mike, he’s in back.”
“Let me talk to him.
“We get that Travis dude yet?”
“Nope.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Hal called about half an hour ago. They haven’t been able to find him. They don’t think he’s been tipped off or anything, just not there. Landlady says that he usually comes home about two or three days out of ten. They’re waiting.”
“They do the search of his place yet?”
“Didn’t say.”
“Anything else going?”
“Not much … I had to put Betty in the juvenile cell, and transferred Rachel into the cell with Elizabeth Mills.”
“Why?”
“Old Liz kept screaming at Betty. Apparently knows her. And Betty just happened to tell Liz about what happened, and how she was involved. I was really afraid that Liz would try to harm her.”
“Shit, I didn’t think she’d tell.”
“Well, she did.”
“Wonderful.”
“Yeah. Oh well, there’s nothing else going on. At least, as far as I know.”
“Okay,” I said, “tell Jane I’ll be out at 20:00.”
I hung up the phone. “Damn.”
“What?” asked Sue.
&nb
sp; “They haven’t got him yet.”
“Who?”
Of course, I hadn’t managed to tell her about the events of the morning. It’s easy to miss connections on a weird schedule.
Now, just how much do I say …
“We have a suspect we’re trying to find. Should have him later tonight.”
“Will you have to get him?”
“No, not me. He’s a little out of my jurisdiction.”
“Well, that’s good. Here, give me a hand with these, will you?”
I set the table while she finished the salad. That’s always been about the extent of my kitchen expertise—setting the table.
I ate, relaxed with a cup of coffee for a few minutes, showered, shaved, and put all that clumsy gear back on. I fell into my patrol car at about five to eight.
I started the engine, tested the top lights, the spotlight, the outside speaker, made sure the little red light on the rechargeable flashlight came on, indicating it was charging, turned on the police radio and checked it by hitting the transmit button on my portable. All set. I recorded my start mileage, the weather, time, and car number on my daily log. Put on my seat belt, cinching it down. Checked the fuel level—about half a tank—made a mental note to get gas before I left Maitland.
“Comm, three.”
“Three, go.”
“10–41, mileage …”
Another enchanting evening in northeast Iowa was about to begin.
I made a quick stop at the hospital, to see Mom, who was getting better and about to be released in the next day or so, and then went to the office.
I met Mike, who was about to leave for a theft call. Two hydraulic cylinders from a farm, farmer last saw them about two months ago, not pressing. He and I went back into the office.
I told him I wanted to call Helen in and tear off her fingernails for lying to me. And brain her husband. He agreed, but thought I should clear it with DCI first. I agreed, but reluctantly. Then we talked about my getting thumped by a pastor—he thought it was really funny.
I had noticed a couple of extra cars in the lot and asked him about them. It turned out that we still had two reserve officers at the jail, all night, and that they’d be there until we had Travis in custody.
Mike left to check the hot leads on the missing cylinders, and I stopped at dispatch to talk to Jane for a second and let her know approximately where I intended to go.
Eleven Days Page 26
