by Nina Post
Ashburn put his ankle up on his left knee as he leafed slowly through the book, peering down through his glasses like Owl in Winnie-the-Pooh. Shawn was nervous.
His office phone rang. Someone was calling his extension. The possibilities ran through his mind: Darcy's husband? The lab? The video tech?
No. His sister. Shawn cut her off from threatening grievous bodily harm against him if he didn't make an appearance at her engagement party. "Melly, I can't talk right now. I'll send a gift, okay? Bye." He never should have given any one of them his extension.
Ashburn sighed and took off his glasses, twirling them in his right hand. Shawn's pulse jittered. He'll want to put me on a different case. He'll fire me. He'll demote me to patrol. He only wanted to work murder, that was it. The mere notion of doing anything else would be anathema.
Ashburn rubbed the bridge of his nose. That couldn't be a good sign. "When I took this job, providence help me, I had to bring up the closure rate and get the caseloads down. Not to mention, I'm running on reduced funding even though we're under constant pressure to provide more services, more patrol officers, more detectives, more everything." A bitter shake of the head.
He wants me to wrap this up. But I'm chasing a ghost.
"I hired you because you're a good detective with a very high closure rate."
Shawn nodded, half-expecting the next line to be, But I haven't seen that here. Or something about how there must have been another Shawn Danger whose HR file got switched with his. And Shawn knew he wasn't a good detective, not really, not yet. He had high standards.
Ashburn closed the book and put it back on Shawn's desk with a sigh. "No witnesses?"
"No. Just the security camera." He inferred that Ashburn was telling him to get somewhere on this case or move on. Ashburn sat as though he was going to leave any second. "All video has value. You just may be able to identify the perp by something you see in that video."
Shawn nodded. It was possible, though it didn't seem like he could catch a break.
"Michelson did your initial canvass?"
"Yes. "And we'll do another canvass in twenty-four hours," Shawn added for the hell of it, or because he knew he'd be annoyed if Ashburn asked him that first.
"What's next?"
"My geologist contact pinpointed a specific area at Presque Isle from the microbe in the evidence sample, so now I have some parameters for the kill site. But first I'll stop by my suspect's old house and see if there's anything there."
"Keep me updated."
Once Ashburn was gone, Shawn signed onto RISS -- Regional Information Sharing Systems -- to see if anything had come up on Brower, but didn't find anything. He switched over to HIDTA, the High Intensity Drug Trafficking Area program. Narcotics got the best info, and had proven useful with homicides before. HIDTA could help you find suspects and their associates, then, if you were lucky, connect them to assets. But not today. He checked RISS again, this time focusing on wounds similar to Jasper's. He found an unsolved murder just outside Pittsburgh with the same cause and mechanism of death. The victim was a veteran who had served in Korea, and who was found completely shaved.
Maybe the day wasn't a total wash, after all.
Chapter 9
They stared at Brower's old house. The sandpaper-like siding was the pink of Pepto-Bismol that was left out to dry and what was left of it was curling off. The windows were dirty to the point of being completely opaque, and the roof was readying itself to fall in.
"Well, it sure looks like a killer's festering sore of a house," Sarah said. They were still in the car.
"It doesn't look much different from the last time I saw it," Shawn said. "But, you know, we didn't go inside anyone's house. I only ever saw it from the outside."
"Does anyone live here?"
He opened his laptop. "I'm going to recheck the property records to make sure the address is the same as the one I saw before." He went to the web site for the County Tax Assessor Collector, which maintained a list of all property in the county, and searched by address. The owner's name came up as Dee Albert. "Same owner."
"Who, a family of raccoons?"
"Brower's aunt, a woman named Dee Albert. But…" he checked the Assessor Collector site again, this time searching by owner's name. "She also owns another property across town. A duplex. She must live there. Wait, I can verify that. If her tax bill for this place is sent to her at the duplex, then she probably rents out the house and lives at the duplex."
He typed, waited, typed some more. "Yep. The tax bill goes to the other address."
Sarah raised a brow. "And keeps this trash heap for, what, out-of-town guests? It doesn't look like it's being rented. Unless raccoons are renting it."
He shrugged. "I'll have to talk to Ms. Albert."
He called the number but it went to voice mail. He left a message for her to return his call.
"I'm driving over to your mom's house after this," Sarah said.
"Like I said, it was wonderful while it lasted."
***
Shawn tried Dee Albert again on the phone as he drove to the other residence, a duplex. After a few rounds of knocking, the woman in the other unit came out in her robe, despite the fact that it was late afternoon.
"She works afternoons most of the time." The voice was scratchy and thick with sleep. She was probably a shift worker.
"Where?"
"Out by the lake somewhere, I think. We're not exactly besties."
"Right. Know anything else about her?"
The woman shrugged. "She spends every Saturday night at the Sandra Bell Worker's Bar."
"Thought you weren't besties."
She coughed. "Used to be." With a final jutting of her chin, she wrapped her robe tighter and went back inside.
***
Back in the office, he grabbed small container of milk from the fridge from his labeled bag in the fridge, then took it back to his desk. First, he made a call to his state's representative in Congress for a thing he was trying to do for his beast of a father. Then, he checked where Dee Albert was employed. Her former friend probably knew, but withheld that morsel for the hell of it. Dee worked at the Park Dinor and at a vet's office, but he had called both and she wasn't scheduled to work at either one that afternoon. He noted that, then asked around to see if the officers had heard or found anything about Darcy. There hadn't been any activity on her credit cards, cell phone, or on her car or plates. Terrific.
They still had a few hours of daylight, so Shawn invited Sarah to go with him to the Isle.
"Oh good, I need to get some footage there," Sarah said, gathering her gear. "Maybe I can get magic hour."
"Magic hour, as in dusk?"
"No, magic hour as in free doughnuts the rangers set out for visitors who come just before sunset."
"Oh, I didn't know they did that."
"You should get on their newsletter. As a subscriber, I've gotten the opportunity to do some amazing things."
Shawn drove north from the station out toward the Isle. "Like what kinds of things?"
"Use a restored pirate ship to pillage Ohio and claim it for Pennsylvania. Sing backup for Michael McDonald at a rowboat concert. Get certified as an ornithological shaman."
"Really. Wow. I'd better sign up for that newsletter."
"You're missing out."
"Clearly," he said. "And I'd like to point out that I'm giving you access to this investigation for your documentary, but you haven't mentioned this newsletter until today. I'm not sure I can trust you anymore."
She kissed his cheek as he drove onto the peninsula. "It's obviously a very one-sided relationship."
***
Shawn parked at Presque Isle and walked out to the area between the lighthouse and Sunset Point, the home of the short-lived microbe that Ethan Trainor found in the soil particle from Jasper's house. Sarah walked next to him, carrying her equipment, despite a heated a tug-of-war battle wherein Shawn attempted to carry everything for her. He wondered idly on
his walk if the microbe had a summer house on the lake, something you could see only with a microscope. It must be a timeshare, because the microbe would only be alive for one season, which in the world of microbes, was approximately three days.
Shawn reached the pond and spotted what looked like a DCNR Ranger talking to someone who might be park management. As Shawn got closer, he overheard, "…pretty sure someone's been accessing the geraniums… no idea how they… "
"Can I talk to you for a minute?" Shawn called out, meeting eyes with both when he turned. The other guy clapped the Ranger on the arm as he walked away. Shawn figured he didn't want anything to do with it.
The Ranger approached Shawn. "We don't get too many people wearing a suit and tie out here." Shawn showed his badge. "Detective Shawn Danger with the Erie PD."
"Well, I guess that explains the suit. Ed Carson, Ranger. Park, not Army. What can I do for you, Detective?" Carson gave them a friendly grin and Shawn handed him the still capture from the security camera and the artists's drawing. "Have you seen anyone that could be this man?"
Carson took a close look. "The trite answer would be to tell you I see a lot of people during any given day. Families, fishermen, tourists. But that would be condescending. Of course you know I see a lot of people here. I'm a Park Ranger. You're a detective." Shawn could tell that Carson was being genuine, though it was a strange way of approaching it.
"The best way to help you would be to take a minute and really search the old coconut," Carson rapped his knuckles on his head, "to find out if I have the information you need. Would this person you're looking for have been around Graveyard Pond?"
"Yes, actually," Shawn said, checking his buzzing phone. He let it go to voice mail. "A geologist at Mercyhurst examined a soil particle for me, and said that the encased microbe could be sourced to this area approximately one week ago."
Carson's eyes widened. "Incredible!"
Shawn smiled. "I thought so, too."
"Well, no incident or conversation involving someone who could be this person," Carson tapped a finger on the papers, "stands out. Now, that aside, I've seen a number of fellows in the past week or two who could be this man. Yeah, fellows with that kind of build come around here -- to the Isle, I mean. Anglers, mostly. But we have quite a few birdwatchers. Presque Isle is Pennsylvania Important Bird Area #1," Carson held up his finger and Shawn pictured a giant foam hand with Bird Area #1! on it. "And Birder's World magazine rated it as one the best places in the whole United States for bird watching," he said proudly.
"Do you happen to know if a lot of veterans, especially older ones, come out here?" Shawn asked.
"Oh, sure. I can usually just tell by their posture, their bearing, you know? They've got a certain way about them. I'm sure I'm not telling you anything you don't know. And sometimes they wear the caps," Carson adjusted the brim of an imaginary cap. "Especially the WWII fellows. They love their hats. Did you have something particular in mind?"
Shawn deliberated on whether he should divulge that information, which was still a hypothesis on his part, and if so, how much. "Oh, I understand," Carson said, holding his hand out in a 'No, no' gesture. "There's only so much you can tell me. But you know how just a tiny piece of information can unlock all kinds of other things? How that one tiny thing, like your microbe, can lead to a connection you wouldn't have made otherwise?"
Shawn nodded. He wanted to invite Carson over to his house for a weekly tabletop gaming night. Not that he had a gaming night, but he was thinking of starting one just to invite this guy. He wasn't what you would call social, but he was old enough to know that people like Ed Carson -- someone he could even consider being friends with -- were rare. His schedule was unpredictable, and he thought of his house as a sanctuary, which was why he didn't do things like a weekly tabletop gaming night.
Shawn held up the map of the lake that Trainor had given him and put his finger to one of Trainor's markings. "Do you know what this is right here?"
"Oh, sure. That's a path the staff uses."
"Just the Presque Isle staff?"
"It's not used much, even by us," Carson told them. "It's a short inland path just before Sunset Point."
Shawn pulled out his wallet and took out one of his cards. "Please give me a call, anytime, if you see someone who could be the man I showed you. He may be driving an older model white van."
"You bet."
Shawn shook his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Carson. Good to talk to you."
"Oh, to you, too, Detective. And it's just Ed."
"Can you direct us to that path?" Shawn asked.
Carson pointed. "Start there and follow it along the Lake Erie shoreline to the right."
Shawn thanked him and they got on a path of sand and rough grass. "So what happened to that sound guy?" he asked Sarah.
"He had a rap sheet."
Shawn stopped and put a hand on Sarah's arm. "He had a -- were you using department resources?"
"You weren't there!"
He tossed up his hands and kept walking. She had to jog to catch up with him. "I could get in trouble for that!"
She waved this off. "You'd rather I didn't know?"
"I'd rather you wait to ask me. Just because you're at my desk more than I am doesn't mean you have my job. How did you even know how to do that?"
She rolled her eyes. "Please, those people think I work there. And I watch."
Shawn thought of Jasper and his running route. Did he take this path to or from Sunset Point? He couldn't know until he found something, so he walked very slowly, watchful.
"Whoa, slow down," Sarah said.
"I don't want to miss something."
They walked just alongside the path.
"Was Brower's father like yours?" Sarah asked.
"Kind of."
"I'm taking your dad to the clinic Tuesday morning," she said with a half-smile. Then she asked, "What was he like when you were growing up?"
Shawn didn't answer right away. To maybe anyone else, he would blow it off with a glib comment. But this was Sarah. Carefully, he said, "He was like a string of dynamite that detonated continuously for years." He paused. "He didn't tolerate 99% of things. Anything you said or the way you said it or the way you did something could light that fuse. It helped a lot when he stopped drinking. He was still an asshole, but I think he finally realized how he was affecting us, maybe by how we started to respond to him -- who knows, but he made an effort. I didn't feel as much like I was in the knife-throwing circle after that. Just very close to it."
"The knife-throwing circle?"
"You know, the girl against the wall who gets knives thrown around her body."
"So you're saying you're like a girl?" Sarah smirked.
"Why, is that a bad thing?" He pushed her over to her side with his shoulder. "Okay, I was like the boy in the circle. But I don't think they used boys."
"Right, it was always a girl in the box that split in two."
Something pricked at his attention, but he didn't know what it was.
"What is it?" Sarah asked.
"I don't know yet, but don't move." He crouched down.
Sarah stepped off into a grassy area and set up her camera on her tripod. Aside from the sound of expanding the tripod, attaching the base to the camera, then the camera to the tripod, she was silent.
He saw it in his mind. Jasper was running -- he could only picture him without hair, so he was bald -- breathing hard, going, say, east on the path. How does Brower bring him down? Just tackle him? That wasn't what he saw. He didn't know what it was yet, but he did know what it wasn't. He crouched down all the way, like a baseball catcher, and then he noticed it -- a thin worn line of abraded bark near the bottom of two trees, one on each side of the path. A tripwire.
His phone buzzed and he checked his messages. It was Natasha, giving him her flight information. He felt better knowing Jasper wouldn't be alone.
The dirt was disturbed just past the trees. At the edge of the path, patches
of grass were ripped out. Based on the shoe prints, Jasper must have skidded headfirst.
Shawn took his compact camera from his jacket pocket and photographed the scene until he had more than enough coverage. Jasper would have held out his hands when he fell. Then when he was lying face-down, Brower seized the moment. Shawn pulled on gloves then scooped some sand into an evidence bag with his gloved hand.
Brower's muscles, his control, would be supple, not tight, so he could move at the exact right moment. He had scared Paul half to death many times by sneaking up on him. Brower thought it was hilarious, and Shawn had laughed, too.
On a tree next to where Jasper face-planted, Shawn found a long scrape. Jasper probably grabbed at that tree before Brower pulled him back. Brower must have left distinct prints while he stood, waiting, but then smoothed them out, maybe with a branch. If Brower shaved Jasper here, he probably used a separate tarp to wrap Jasper in.
Shawn crouched again, knees cracking. It would be easier for him if the evidence were higher, not near the ground. He doubted he would find any hair, but focused on flat leaves and smooth pieces of bark.
"Hello…" Shawn murmured, readying a pair of tweezers and a bag. One hair, on that piece of bark. If he were lottery-lucky, it would be Brower's, not Jasper's.
He kept looking for any sign of DNA, especially blood. Maybe he would get in some trouble for not having a tech come check the scene first, but he didn't trust anyone as much as he did himself. They could check it after him, use the Luminol. Shawn doubted Brower would have cleaned up any spatter -- if he noticed it -- with chlorine bleach. Not out here. Maybe he had jerry-rigged a tent, to keep the blood inside. A tent that Brower bought metal stakes for, and then repurposed one as the murder weapon?
