by BJ Bourg
I approached the door, which was slightly ajar, and announced my presence.
“Come on in, detective,” called a familiar voice. “It’s all clear.”
I stepped into the dimly lit room and found myself in the kitchen. A uniformed deputy appeared from a dark hallway and smiled. It was Abraham Wilson. I shook his hand and mentioned I’d heard some good things about him.
“I pay people to lie about me,” he said with a grin.
I laughed and then asked what he’d learned so far.
“I did a walkthrough, searching for suspects, but I didn’t find any.” He shook his head. “You know, other than the back door and that mess”—he pointed to the table where several articles of mail were scattered about—“nothing looks bothered. Unless I’m missing something, it doesn’t look like the burglars rummaged through anything.”
I pulled my flashlight from my pocket and examined the door carefully, first checking the outside where it had been kicked, and then the inside. There were no patent fingerprints, but there was a dusty boot pattern on the outside of the door.
While Abraham stood guard by the entry point, I walked back outside and called the victims over. I asked them to open the front door and enter that way, because I didn’t want them to disturb any potential evidence in the kitchen. Once they were inside, I asked them to walk with me throughout the house to see if anything had been disturbed. As we did our walkthrough, they shook their heads upon entering each room.
“It doesn’t look like anything’s missing,” the man said.
I led them to the kitchen and pointed to the mail on the table. “What about that?” I asked.
The woman pointed to a folder pinned to the wall. “Our mail was in that folder when we left.”
“Anything important in it?” I asked.
The woman shook her head. “Bills mostly, but they’ve already been paid. I pay them right when they come in.”
I nodded, scanning the room thoughtfully. Why break in just to rummage through someone’s mail? Shrugging, I asked them to hang out in the living room so I could process the scene. Abraham was eager to learn and asked if he could help work the scene.
“Sure.” I retrieved my crime scene box and we set about dusting for prints, swabbing for DNA, searching for hairs and fibers, and recovering the boot pattern on the door. I explained everything I was doing as I did it, and I let him do a lot of the work so he could get the hang of things. When we were done, we helped the couple secure their door for the night.
“I’ll have my carpenter buddy come fix it in the morning,” the man said as he walked up to the front of the house.
After shaking hands with the owner, Abraham and I walked to the street, where we visited for a few minutes. I had a few questions about his adventure in the Blue Summit Mountains, and he seemed willing to talk about it…until we were interrupted by the dispatcher, who had another complaint for him to handle. “Well, duty calls,” he said and waved as he walked to his squad car.
Once he was gone, I walked to my truck. It was dark now and the front porch lights of every home on the block were on, with the exception of Dawn’s. It was two doors down, so I decided to go check on it while I was in the area.
I backed down the street until I reached Dawn’s driveway and then whipped the back of my truck into it. I shut off the engine and casually walked toward the front door, shuffling through the keys on my ring trying to find the right one. It took a few seconds, but I finally found the key to the front door and unlocked it. After opening it, I flipped the living room light on and walked inside. I was halfway to the kitchen when I saw it and I immediately drew my pistol.
CHAPTER 9
Moving toward my left to get out from the middle of the room, I squatted and listened for the slightest sound of movement. The rooms in Dawn’s house had hardwood floors—well, except for the bathrooms, which were covered in ceramic tile. If an intruder wasn’t careful, he’d definitely make enough noise to give himself away, but I didn’t hear any indication that a person was inside. Other than the busted back door, which had been kicked open the same as her neighbor’s, everything looked normal.
Taking one cautious step at a time and keeping my pistol steady, I searched every room in the house—including closets and cabinets and under beds—but all was clear. Nothing looked disturbed. She had a safe in her bedroom where she kept her guns, jewelry, important papers, and other valuable items, but it was untouched.
Scowling, I holstered my pistol and made my way back to the kitchen. I’d come here with Dawn a week ago and everything looked exactly as it did now. Well, except for the letter on the table. Curious, I walked over and looked down at the pink envelope. It was the size of a greeting card and it was addressed to Dawn. I looked at the top left corner for the sender’s address and information, but that part of the envelope had apparently been ripped off when she opened it. The card was still inside.
I pulled out my phone and called Dawn.
“What—do you miss me already?” she asked.
“I do, but that’s not why I’m calling. Did you leave an envelope on your table?”
“My table? Like, at my house?”
“Yeah.”
“No, I don’t leave anything on my table. Why? What’s going on?”
I told her about the break-in at her neighbor’s house and how I found her door kicked in. I heard her tires screech in the background and I knew she was heading back home.
“I’m turning around.”
“No, I’ve got this,” I said. “Nothing was stolen and the only damage is to the side door by the kitchen. Let me take care of this for you. It’s the least I can do considering all you’ve done for me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yep.”
“Did you check my safe to see if they tried to get inside?” she asked.
“I did and everything’s fine. There’re no scuff marks or any signs of an attempt to get in. Hell, they didn’t even go through your drawers or take your computer or anything. It’s like they kicked the door open—possibly messed with your mail—and then left.”
“Hmm, that’s strange. Look, I can come back and help you out. I can go to my mom’s next weekend.”
“Nonsense. I’ll take care of everything here.”
“Are you sure?” I could hear the guilt in her voice. “I don’t want you having to deal with my mess.”
“It’s what we do for each other now. You nursed me back to health and now I get to fix your broken door—I mean, if you’ll let me help you. I know how self-reliant and stubborn you can be.”
“Oh, and you’re not?” I could almost feel her smiling. “Okay. I know it was hard for you to give in and let me do those things for you, but you finally did. I’ll do the same, but I won’t put up as much of a fight as you did.”
We both laughed and I walked to the door and eased it open. There was a dusty boot pattern on the outside of the door. It was similar to the one from the other burglary scene. I told her I thought the burglar had hit more than one house and that I would have to check with her neighbors to see if anyone else had been victimized.
“What was stolen from the other house?” she asked.
“Nothing. It seems they just rummaged through the mail.”
Dawn was quiet for a few seconds and I knew she was thinking. “What’s the envelope on my table look like?” she finally asked.
“It’s pink and there’s some kind of a greeting card inside.”
“That’s from my mom. It would’ve been on my refrigerator door—look for a ladybug magnet.”
I glanced at the refrigerator and saw a red and black ladybug magnet stuck to the door. “It’s there.”
“That’s where I put the envelope.”
CHAPTER 10
After speaking briefly with Dawn, I hung up and called dispatch to pull an item number. When I was done with that, I began processing the scene, starting with the refrigerator and then moving to the door. I conducted a thorough searc
h of the house, but found no other damage or missing items.
I grabbed some tools from my truck and searched through the shed in the back of Dawn’s house, where I found enough wood to secure the door shut. When I was finished, I began knocking on doors in the neighborhood to see if anyone else had been the victims of a break-in. I couldn’t call it a burglary because nothing was stolen from either house, so I was really only investigating two cases of unauthorized entry of an inhabited dwelling.
Going door to door up one side of the street and down the other, I was able to make contact with everyone who lived in the neighborhood, except for the people who lived in the house between Dawn’s house and the other one that had been broken into. I must’ve knocked a dozen times, but, although there was a car in the driveway, no one came to the door. I started to walk away, but stopped. What if the criminals were going from house to house looking for a human target and found one here? What if they were inside right now, torturing these people?
Keeping my hand close to my pistol, I walked the perimeter of the house and checked every window and door I found. Everything was secure. I pressed my ear to each window I encountered and listened for the slightest sound of movement from inside. There was nothing to indicate someone was inside. I made a mental note to return tomorrow to try again and then drove away.
As I headed for the detective bureau in Payneville, I mulled over the reasons someone might have to break down a door only to dig through mail. Could they be looking for checks to forge and cash? I quickly dismissed the thought. No one mails those anymore, I thought. Could they be searching for debit cards or credit cards? Or what about credit card offers that were constantly coming in the mail? A gift card or cash could’ve been in the greeting card on Dawn’s refrigerator, so that was a possibility. But why not steal other valuables in the house? I shook my head. None of it made sense.
I was still trying to figure it out when I arrived at the bureau. I took the evidence to my desk and dug some transparencies from my bottom drawer. Taking the footprint lifters that contained the boot patterns I’d recovered from the doors of both houses, I went to the copy machine and made a copy of each of them on transparent sheets. I then took the sheets to the processing room and turned on the white light x-ray film viewer that was mounted to the wall. I clipped the transparent sheet with the boot pattern from Dawn’s house to the viewer first, and then laid the one from her neighbor’s house over it. They were a perfect match—even down to the chunk of rubber that was missing from the sole.
I snatched a measuring tape from one of the drawers in the corner and measured the pattern. Size ten. I rubbed my face. I was looking for someone wearing a size ten boot with the heel of the right sole missing a chunk of rubber. That should be easy to find, I thought.
Shoving the transparencies in a large envelope, I placed the swabs, partial prints, and boot patterns I’d recovered from the scenes into an evidence locker and then headed home.
I continued to try and figure out a motive for the break-ins. If I could figure that out, it might help me narrow down a suspect. I called Headquarters as I drove and asked the dispatcher who answered to search our database and look for similar break-ins.
“Anything where someone kicked a door down only to rummage through the mail,” I said.
The dispatcher, a girl named Julie, grunted. “That sounds like my ex-boyfriend. He’d sneak into my house and go through my mail, trying to figure out what I’d been up to based on the letters I’d receive. Once, he even tracked me down—”
“No way!” I abruptly hung up the phone and scrolled through my contacts until I reached Dawn’s number, hitting the call button as fast as I could. “Come on, answer the phone,” I said, glancing at the clock on the dash. It was almost midnight and Dawn would’ve probably stopped at a hotel by now. Knowing my history of losing loved ones to a traffic crash, she usually called me when she stopped for gas or for food on long trips just to let me know she was okay, but I hadn’t heard from her in hours.
The call went to her voicemail and I left a message asking her to call me as soon as she received it. When I ended the call, I drummed my phone on the steering wheel, thinking. What if someone was tracking her down? If so, who could it be and why would they be interested in going after her?
My phone rang and I glanced at the screen. It was Dawn. “Hey, it’s me,” I said.
“I know,” she said, laughing. “I called you.”
“Look, did you tear the envelope when you got that card from your mom?”
She was quiet for a second, obviously thinking. “The pink envelope you found on my table?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve got no clue,” she said, laughing. “I mean, I didn’t suspect there was anthrax in it, so I just ripped it open. I guess I could’ve torn it.”
“But did you rip your mom’s address off the corner?”
“I don’t know. I just tear envelopes open when I get them. I don’t look around to see what kind of damage I do to them. Why? What’s going on? You sound worked up about something.”
I drove in silence, gripping the steering wheel with my left hand. Am I wrong about this?
“London, tell me what’s going on.”
“I really don’t know. It might be something or it might be nothing.” I sighed. “Maybe I’m just being paranoid. I’ve gotten so close to you that…”
“What is it?”
“Look, I don’t want to admit it, but I’m scared.”
“You?” I thought she was going to laugh in my ear, as though she thought I was joking. “What in the hell are you scared of?”
“Losing you,” I said softly.
Dawn got real quiet and she didn’t say anything for a while. We both just drove, each lost in our own thoughts. When she finally spoke, her voice cracked. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“Well, I’m not saying it to be sweet and I don’t like admitting it, but it’s true.”
“What is it that has you spooked?” she asked after another long silence.
“Is there any reason someone would want to try and track you down?”
“No. Why?”
“Well, when I started trying to figure out a motive for these break-ins, I considered what was taken.”
“You said nothing was stolen.”
“Right, but I think I was wrong.” I hesitated, saying it in my head before saying it out loud just to make sure it didn’t sound crazy. “There was nothing missing from your neighbor’s house, but I’m starting to think their house was hit by mistake.”
“You think my house was the target?”
“Yeah,” I said quietly, still trying to decide if I was being paranoid or not. “I think someone went into your neighbor’s house looking for you. They dug through their mail and realized they were in the wrong house, then hit your place.”
“But what makes you think that?”
“Because of what was missing and something Julie said.”
“Julie—the dispatcher?”
“That’s the one.”
“What’d she say?” Dawn’s curiosity seemed fully aroused.
“She talked about an ex-boyfriend who would sneak in her house and go through her mail to try and find out what she’d been up to.” I took a breath and slowly said, “You did tell me you had problems with that ex-boyfriend on one of your trips to Arkansas.”
“But I took care of that problem…for once and for all,” she said. “That prick will never come around me again, that I can promise you.”
I was thoughtful and then she asked what was missing from her house.
“The only thing taken—that I could tell—was the corner of that envelope with your mom’s address on it. It wasn’t attached to the envelope like it should’ve been if you would’ve just ripped it open.”
“Maybe it fell on the floor,” Dawn suggested.
“No, I went over every inch of your house.”
“Well, it’s definitely not Abel,
because he knows my mom’s address.” After a bit more silence, Dawn asked, “Why would someone want my mom’s address? Do you think they’re coming after me in Arkansas?”
“I don’t know, but I think you need to be careful.”
Dawn laughed, but I could tell it was a nervous laugh. “Come on, London…I think there’s a perfectly good explanation for the address being ripped from the envelope. Maybe it did fall off and I threw it away.”
“Have you taken out the trash since you received the letter?”
Dawn was thoughtful for a long moment, and then said she hadn’t. “I haven’t been home except when I go check the mail or when we cut the grass, so there was no need to take out the trash.”
“Then someone stole it, because your trash is empty.”
CHAPTER 11
Saturday, May 31
Thirty minutes southeast of Bent Fork, Arkansas
It was ten to two in Charmaine’s Burgers and Beer, and Abel Chism was sitting at a corner table watching the front door. Business had been slow and he was in desperate need of money. He was three months behind on the mortgage and he knew the bank would foreclose on his property in a heartbeat.
When his pop died last year, he had inherited fifty acres of land right in the middle of some of the best climbing country in Arkansas. While it hurt to lose his pop, he thought he would finally be able to realize his boyhood dream of turning the land into a rock climbing school. His dad never allowed him to take strangers onto the property to climb, because he said all it took was for one of them to get hurt and he would lose everything he worked so hard to build. Abel had tried to explain to him that everyone would be required to sign waivers before they stepped foot on their property, but it didn’t convince the old timer.
Abel sighed and took a drink of his orange soda. None of that mattered now. When he had gone to the bank and applied for a loan to purchase climbing equipment and hire two guides, he was flatly denied and it was only then that he learned the truth. As it turned out, his dad had taken out two mortgages against the land and he was in deep. With a combined monthly note just north of twelve hundred dollars, his dad was unable to keep up with the payments and had fallen behind.
