by James Hunt
The sergeant took a seat, and Palmer took his place at the head of the room. “Two nights ago an eighteen-year-old girl was found dead in her home. Cause of death was an overdose, and the list of the specific drugs is listed in the packet, but the main point is it was enough drugs to kill her five times over. After the victim’s death, she was put in a flower print summer dress, pictures provided in your packet, and brought to her parents’ house, where she was placed in her bed. A box was found hidden beneath her vanity that contained drug paraphernalia and risqué Polaroid photographs that were taken by another person. There were no signs of forced entry into the house, and there was no physical or sexual abuse by the murderer, leading us to suspect that the victim knew our suspect. The girl was a runaway and hadn’t spoken to her parents in over six weeks. She was an addict and was homeless at the time of her death. Now, last night a young woman, matching the same age and persona of our first victim, was abducted from Box Town, and we believe it was done by the same man who killed our first victim. We have a description of the van the suspect was driving. A Ford panel van, color white, was spotted leaving the scene nearby around the time the girl was abducted. Our potential second victim has red hair, is female, and goes by the first name of Ginny, unsure of spelling. For suspects, I’ll turn it over to Detective Winterguard.”
The old detective grunted when he stood up and took twice as long as Palmer did to reach the same spot. “The suspect list only comprises individuals from the Katy Matthews murder, seeing as how we don’t exactly know what’s going on with this other girl. But Matthews’ boyfriend is at the top of our suspect list, who we are trying to track down along with a group of workers at a shelter called Ancient Oaks that Matthews was associated with.”
A hand shot up near the back by Susan. “Do we know if our second girl visited Ancient Oaks?”
“Unknown at this time,” Winterguard said. “But our money is on the boyfriend. It’s always the boyfriend.”
Susan rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest as she sank lower in her chair. She knew her body language made her look like a kid in detention, but she didn’t like Winterguard. The bloated windbag was wrong, but she kept her thoughts to herself.
Teams were split up to handle tracking down leads, and the room was parted down the middle. Half went with Winterguard to track down friends and boyfriends of Matthews, while the rest handled the list that Susan had procured from Ancient Oaks.
And Susan was instructed to handle looking for the van. Busy work.
The small workspace that they allowed her to use was covered in dust, crumbs, and sticky coffee stains. She wiped it down the best she could, but the coffee stains lingered, gluing her sleeves to the desk.
Searching for the van was like searching for a needle in a haystack. There were thousands of the Ford Panel work vans, most of which were used by businesses for transportation of goods or equipment. There were twelve hundred within Seattle alone.
Susan had narrowed down the number of white Ford work vans to seven-hundred eighty-three, and after staring at the printouts and going through them line by line, she was no closer to finding anyone that stood out.
The APB was still out on the van, but trying to find it now was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Susan had a feeling the only way that the van would pop up on their radar was by pure luck. She leaned back from the paperwork and took a break by working over the case in her head.
The stereotypical murderer for Katy Matthews would be a twenty-five to forty-five Caucasian male with a tendency to be a loner or have a job that allows them to view or be close to their victims. Between the three full-time employees at Ancient Oaks and the seven volunteers, eight of them were men. But one crucial point that Susan didn’t want to forget was how the girl was killed.
The same drugs that the Matthews dabbled in on the streets were the same drugs pumped into her system at a lethal dosage. Susan bet the killer thought it was some kind of poetic justice, killing these addicts with the same drugs they were using to kill themselves.
Susan didn’t want to completely rule out the women who worked there, but she wasn’t going to start with them, because three other people stood out to her at the moment.
The first was Shawn Foster. The man was full of himself, charming, and Susan could see any troubled young teen falling for those doe eyes and a sheepish grin. But she had been around enough sheep in wolves’ clothing to know that’s exactly what he was doing. And while Monica hadn’t actually ‘caught’ him masturbating, Susan was willing to bet that he was looking at a picture of someone underage.
The second was the other full-time male employee. Like Monica, he had a record, but his only had a few minor drug offenses. What he did have were a few abuse allegations that were never followed up in court and instead were dropped, and the woman denied what she had previously stated to the officer. The exact quote on the arrest card was that she ‘misremembered what happened.’
And when Susan pulled up a photo of him, she couldn’t help but think of him as anything else but a scumbag. Susan had seen enough of them stalking the streets in search of girls to recognize the type. But until she was able to speak to him, and she had tried to call him three times, she couldn’t be sure. Still, she remembered something about a picture being worth a certain amount of words.
Growing tired of the stench of the stale coffee beneath her nose, Susan walked over to Palmer, who was following up on the list she received from Ancient Oaks.
“How is it looking?” Susan asked.
Palmer kept his eyes on the screen. “Well, so far none of the volunteers have a record, but two of the full-time employees do.” He turned the screen around. “Monica Willet and Kevin Marsh. Both drug-related, but I suppose that’s not uncommon for their line of work.” He positioned the screen back in front of him and jotted down some notes.
“I saw that,” Susan said. “I spoke with Monica when I was there. She told me that she walked in on Shawn masturbating to one of the girl’s files.”
Palmer arched his eyebrows and looked up to Susan from his notes. “She said that?”
“Well, she thought that’s what he was doing,” Susan answered. “She never reported him.”
“We can’t bring in a guy for allegedly masturbating.” Palmer returned to his notes. “Not until we can’t confirm his alibi.”
Susan walked around Palmer and picked up the list of names from Ancient Oaks. “Who’s checking their alibis?”
“I’ve got two guys making calls,” Palmer answered.
Susan scanned the list, but then stopped on a name she didn’t recognize. “Who’s this guy? Says he only comes in once a month?”
Palmer snatched the list from Susan and then set it down. “Haven’t checked him out yet.” He typed in the name ‘Jerry Winger’ in the DMV database to see what came up. “Jerry Winger, aged sixty-two, lives over in Denny-Blaine, so he does very well.” He struck a few more keys and then grunted.
“What?” Susan stepped behind Palmer and looked over his shoulder.
“He’s a pharmacist,” Palmer said. “Owns a general store in Miller Park.”
Susan slapped the back of Palmer’s chair. “We have to go talk to this guy.”
Palmer was quiet for a moment and then checked Winger’s store hours on Google. “He closes in an hour.”
“Then we better hurry.”
Palmer cracked a grin and then glanced up at her. “Don’t you have vans to look up?”
Susan clicked on the DMV tab for Winger and saw that he had a registered white panel Ford work van linked to his general store. “Ask, and you shall receive.”
“All right.” Palmer stood, locking his computer. “Let’s go.”
17
Glad to be back on the streets, Susan was even more pleased that Winterguard chose to hang back and continue his boyfriend lead. She thought it said something about the old detective. He was too far down the rabbit hole of his own pride to try and dig himself out now. Bu
t Susan knew the type. She’d been around enough of the old instructors at the academy to know that it wasn’t that old dogs didn’t know how to do a new trick, they just didn’t want to learn them.
Susan researched Winger a little more on the ride to the pharmacy and discovered that the pharmacist also owned a brown Mercedes E-class, which they saw parked near the front of the store.
“Looks like someone has done well for himself,” Susan said.
“If he lives in Denny-Blaine, he’s got more money than our entire precinct.” Palmer parked and shut off the engine. “I’ll take the lead on this.” He raised his hand before she could protest. “It’s not a macho thing or anything like that. You’ve got a better eye than I do. I want you to watch him while I come up with the questions.” He looked at her and held up his fist for her to bump it. “Cool?”
Susan bumped her fist with his. “Cool.”
“I’ll start with his involvement at the shelter,” Palmer said, glancing toward the storefront. “See what kind of access he has to the building. I don’t think we should bring up the girl yet. I just want to see if he squirms.”
Susan nodded. “Sounds good.”
Palmer headed into the store first, the door chiming a pleasant three-note tune upon their entrance. Jerry Winger was listed as the sole owner and proprietor of the store, which he had inherited from his father. It was one of the few non-chain pharmacies left in the city, and because there was no big corporate office to report to, Susan was working under the suspicion that Mr. Winger could easily keep a few drug orders off the books if he desired.
The store was a modest size, the aisles stocked with what most chain convenience stores carried, and Susan saw the pharmacy counter in the back. There was a line at the cash register. A young woman with an apron that said Winger’s Pharmacy over the front of it was scanning and bagging items, her pace leisurely.
The girl glared at Susan for a few moments before she disappeared from view behind an aisle of cereal boxes, and Susan suddenly realized how hungry she was. It had been hours since she’d eaten, and her metabolism had already burned through her breakfast burrito. She made a mental note to grab something before they left, so long as things didn’t get too crazy before she walked out of the store.
Three people were waiting in line at the pharmacy counter, and Susan spotted two men behind it. The first one worked the cash register and was young, probably a college student. Susan made a mental note that Old Mr. Winger liked to keep a young employee base.
In the back behind the small aisles of drugs packaged together was a man with a thick head of greying hair. Jerry Winger was pencil thin, his narrow shoulders stooped forward, his head hung low between them.
Palmer bypassed the line and flashed the badge to the young man at the register. “I need to speak to Jerry Winger.”
The old man in the back turned at the sound of his name, and Susan was surprised to find a more youthful face. He squinted at Palmer, and then at the badge, and then to the line of customers that were beginning to whisper amongst themselves.
Jerry Winger finished up his work and then moved quickly toward the counter, placing a large hand on the cashier’s shoulder. “I have Mr. Delaton’s medication ready, just remind him that he’ll need to get his doctor to refill his prescription order.”
The young man nodded, and then Jerry pointed toward a small door off to the side of the pharmacy, moving quickly in hopes of getting the police inside and quieting the whispers.
Winger held the door for both Palmer and Susan, and then shut it and walked to his desk. He didn’t sit down. “What is this about?”
“Mr. Winger, I’m Detective Palmer, and this is Officer Quinton who is assisting me on the case. We wanted to ask you a few questions about your work over at the Ancient Oaks shelter.” Palmer removed a notepad and then clicked the topper, putting pen to paper.
Susan hung back, taking a look around the office. It had two windows, one that provided a view behind the pharmacy counter and another that overlooked the rest of the store. They were one-way-mirrored glass, so it allowed whoever was inside the office to see what was happening without anyone on the other side knowing that they were being watched. It was similar to the viewing rooms for interrogations back at the precinct.
Susan also noted a small cluster of monitors and recording equipment. She counted three cameras when she entered, and she was looking at the three screens they were hooked up to. One watched the counter, the second watched the store aisles, of which there were only five, and the third watched the pharmacy. It was a simple setup, but it provided complete surveillance coverage of the store.
“I dispose of the pills that are brought in by junkies,” Winger said. “Anything else?”
Winger planted both hands over his desk, and while he wasn’t as old as his greying hair suggested, his face was pallid, his cheeks sagging and soft. The man looked like he had spent his entire life under the glow of fluorescent lights.
“How often do you come and pick up the drugs?” Palmer asked.
“The first Tuesday of every month at four o’clock.”
“And do you have a key to the building?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any interactions with the patients?”
“No.”
Palmer tapped his pen against the notepad, annoyed that Winger was playing the short answer game. It was something she heard a lot on the street, especially from people who were hiding something. This guy wasn’t going to give up anything more than what he was asked, and it was always going to be the most straightforward answer to the question.
“What do you do with the medications you collect from the shelter?” Palmer asked.
“I organize them, and then incinerate them.”
“Where does that happen?”
“Here.”
“Both the organizing and the incineration?”
“Yes.”
“Can we take a look at the room where this happens?”
“Do you have a warrant?”
Palmer finished scribbling his notes and then returned both the pen and paper inside his jacket pocket. “Mr. Winger, we can come back with a warrant, but it’s always better to cooperate with the police than to involve the courts.”
“And I think that it’s better for cops to follow the rules of the law instead of trying to manipulate decent folks into exposing their lives so they can smear anyone’s good name.” Winger gave a firm nod at the end of the statement and then glowered at both Palmer and Susan.
“Can you tell us where you were on the night of January seventh?” Susan asked.
“Since I don’t see any charges of arrest or any paperwork saying that I am being detained, I’ll say that it’s none of your damn business.” Winger pushed himself off the desk. “If you don’t have anything substantial, I’ll ask you to leave now. I have work to do.”
Susan knew as well as Palmer did that without any probable cause, all they could do was fish. While most folks didn’t mind talking to police, that didn’t mean they could force those that didn’t want to speak into confessing their crimes.
“We’ll be in touch, Mr. Winger.” Palmer turned around, shoving open the door and moving briskly toward the front exit.
Susan had to jog to keep up, and Palmer didn’t stop or turn around until he was at the car.
“Arrogant prick,” Palmer said, his nostrils flaring in anger as he took a moment to catch his bearings.
“Do you know a judge that will give us a search warrant based off of what we have?” Susan asked.
Palmer tilted his head from side to side. “Maybe, but we’ll need to see if his van matches the same one in the ATM video. He finally turned his fiery gaze away from the store and looked at Susan. “Thanks for sticking to the plan.”
Susan played it cool. “Hey, I’m just assisting.”
Palmer smiled. “You’ve got the mind for this kind of thing.” He glanced back to the pharmacy, and the smile vanished. “I don’t kno
w what he’s hiding, but it’s something.”
Susan glanced back to the building, her cop senses tingling with the same suspicion. “I don’t know if he’d keep anything incriminating at the store. He seems too smart for that. Did you see the way his surveillance was set up? He’s careful.”
“You’re probably right,” Palmer said. “But I’ll request the warrant anyway, see what we can get.”
Susan's stomach grumbled, and she realized that she forgot to grab a snack before she left the store. The shakes weren’t as bad as they had been the night before, but she knew that they’d get worse unless she got something in her system, and quickly. “What’s our next play?”
“We still need to process everyone else on the list, make sure that we either have an alibi for them or put them on the suspect list,” Palmer said. “Do you think that’s something you could handle for me while I follow up on this guy?”
Susan was surprised at the request, but then quickly realized that it was just grunt work. “Sure. I can handle that.”
“You want a ride back?” Palmer asked.
“No, I’ll find my own way. Need to head back to my precinct and check in with my lieutenant anyway. You don’t mind if I work from there?”
“All good with me.” Palmer returned to his car and then flashed a thumbs up. “Good work, Susie Q.”
Susan tilted her head to the side, narrowing his eyes. “Who told you about that?”
Palmer laughed and then shut his door. Once Palmer was gone, Susan walked back into the store. She headed down the cereal aisle, looking for anything that she could eat on the go. From her peripheral, she saw Winger staring her down, but so long as she was a paying customer, she knew that he wouldn’t do anything.
“Ah, that’ll work.” Susan picked the box off the shelf and walked toward the cashier. She handed the box over to the cashier, and the girl looked it over as she scanned the barcode.
“I eat these all the time,” she said. “My boyfriend says they’re going to make me get fat.” She giggled as if it were funny, but Susan didn’t smile as she paid.
