The man’s gaze was growing wary. “Okay if I go?”
“Yeah, of course. You live around here, though, right? If I need to talk to you?”
“Yes sir. I got the place out on 9N by the falls. You know it?”
“I don’t know the area that well yet.”
“It’s, ah, 184. Right across from the road that goes up the mountain. Hurricane Mountain.”
Reed wrote it down – 184 9N, Hurricane. “Thank you, Mr. Cox. I appreciate the help.”
Cox nodded, a smile wiggling at the corners of his mouth, then pushed off on his bike. He coasted a bit and started pedaling; he didn’t look back.
Reed ran his hands through his shaggy hair. He crossed the road again towards Ida and the white truck, sensing tension – Trooper MacKinnon was trying to keep Ida from attempting to leave again.
Ida jerked her arm away from MacKinnon. When Reed arrived, she stuck a finger in his face, spit flying from her lips as she hollered, “I need to go be with my daughter! I never agreed to you cutting her open!”
Reed kept his hands up to ward off any blows. His calm was intact, just rippled by the saliva now speckling his face. “You didn’t need to, Ida. This is a homicide.”
She stepped up into the cab of the truck and slammed the door. Nothing he could do, really; they couldn’t force her to stay.
He stepped back as Ida made her way through the gauntlet and picked up speed, took a curve and was out of sight.
Griff looked through the loose crowd at Reed, who shrugged and tipped his head – Not your fault.
“Where is she even going?” MacKinnon asked. “Does she know where the medical examiner performs autopsies for Stock County? I doubt it.”
A hothead, Reed thought, considering the range of emotions Ida Stevens had exhibited over just forty-five minutes.
But then, homicides did that to people. It was good, in a way – people got loose, showed emotion, revealed secrets. A killing was disruptive. When it happened, a community felt it. It wasn’t like TV. In life, it was like a bullet that tore everything open and ragged.
That was enough hanging around. Reed had a dozen names in his little Moleskine notebook, people to follow up with; it was a start. And the troopers were still taking statements. If anything jumped out, they’d clue him in right away. For now, he checked with Britney Silas’s forensic people, two of them standing behind the orange traffic cones. “We’ll do our casting in there,” the tech said, pointing at the road’s shoulder. “We had to recall someone not working today – Dody is the best one for impression evidence.”
“What do you see so far?”
“Lot of little cars. Think maybe a Subaru, a Honda Fit – that’s if they’re original tires.”
“Okay.”
“Also found some vomit,” the tech said.
“Vomit?”
“Think so. On the edge of the road. We took a sample. Even with a push on it, probably a couple of weeks to process.”
“All right. Keep me posted.”
He got in the van, stuck his earbuds in and listened along to Chris Cornell singing about “sweet euphoria” for a couple of minutes, thinking about vomit on the side of the road, forming a mental list of things to do as he doodled in his notebook.
Number one: learn what Kasey Stevens had been doing in the hours leading up to her death and the last person to see her alive. Too young to drive, Kasey had gotten to the park somehow. So that person might’ve been her driver.
Two: in the meantime, get the fullest possible picture of Kasey’s life, not just in her last hours, but preceding those – the past day, the past week, maybe weeks, months. Maybe the person who’d driven her to the park would emerge as someone who knew about that.
To further think about:
– The boyfriend (or ex-boyfriend), and how he was psychologically wired.
– What Kasey’s injuries would say.
– The symbol, and what it meant.
– The crime scene, and what evidence it might offer.
Beyond that: who else would have opportunity and motive to strangle a teenaged girl? Someone from the nearby truck stop, maybe?
Those were the things that Reed knew that he didn’t know – the known unknowns. But then there were the things he didn’t know he didn’t know he didn’t know: the unknown unknowns.
Plus, if you wanted to get cute about it (and who didn’t?) there were the things he didn’t know he actually already knew.
These were the subsurface things. Subconscious things.
Monsters, you could say, lurking in the dark depths. Like Stephen King wrote about.
5
It’s the details, stupid
The knock on the window brought him out of it. Rather than roll it down, Reed pulled out the earbuds and opened the door.
Kruse looked worried. “You all right?”
“Victim has an ex-boyfriend.”
“Tyson Wheeler? Yeah.”
“Anything?”
“Good solid kid, far as I know. Good grades, plays sports, acts in drama class, no trouble. He’ll be at the school. We can talk to him.”
“This girl’s mother said she hasn’t seen her for a couple of days. Where does a teenaged daughter stay if not home? I’m thinking the boyfriend’s house. Ex or not.”
Kruse nodded, then looked up the road. Most of the onlookers had moved on, but a TV camera had a bright light on a man wearing flannel. He spoke to a reporter who looked about nineteen and wore a blue suit.
Reed asked, “What do we know about this park? Anything ever happen here? Any other cases ever connect to this place?”
“No other crimes here.”
“I’ll need to see all the usual suspects. Sex offenders, anyone who just got out after an assault charge or anything like it.”
Kruse was quiet, just nodding a little. Then he studied Reed. “I’m glad you’re, um… I saw you sitting here in the van. I wasn’t sure if maybe the scene got to you. Which, you know, I get it. No big deal.”
“It’s just something I do. I like to sit back for a minute.”
Kruse nodded, either deciding it was true or it was best to let it go. “You get too close and can lose the forest for the trees, right?”
Reed asked, “What’s everyone do for work around here? Elliston is the county seat. A lot of government employees, I guess.”
Kruse tipped his head back and forth, indicating somewhat. “Yeah, those are the careers. Social services, the jail, the hospital, the school. And you got a few tradesman, plumbers and carpenters, that do all right. Roofers. And then the people working at the convenience stores, grocery store. People who work a couple of jobs.”
“What about Daryl Snow? His name came up. Might be someone Ida Stevens is shacked up with.”
“Snow? He works over at the truck stop. He co-manages the diner over there, something like that.”
Reed put the van in drive. “I’ll meet you at the school.” He closed the door as he drove away.
He made a left when Redmond Road came up, which wound through the woods northeast of the park. A motorcycle came whining past in the other direction, but that was it for traffic. Eleven thirty in the morning, according to the dashboard clock. He slowed when he came to a gun shop – Denny’s Gun Repair and Sales. A sign said Closed Sunday and Monday.
Betty Beaver’s was the next place, the truck stop with a diner and gas station. A couple of tractor-trailers were parked in a big lot surrounded by white birch and pine trees. Someone in an SUV was gassing up at the non-diesel gas station pump. When Reed saw the exterior camera beneath the eaves of the diner, he stopped and went inside.
An elderly couple were the sole customers. The air was thick with grease, smelling of microwaved sausage. When the waitress came out of the kitchen, Reed flagged her with a big smile and asked her if he could talk to the manager.
“Something the matter?”
When he told her who he was, she blinked at him, then said, “Hang on a second,” and pu
t the coffee decanter she was holding back on the hotplate and wiped her hands on her apron. Her beehive hairdo was impressive. “What can I do for you, Officer?”
“You’re the manager?”
“It’s just me and Chase, in the back. He’s the cook.”
“Daryl Snow working?” Reed asked.
“Oh, no. Not this morning. He usually comes in end of the day.”
“Who owns this place, ma’am?”
“A couple from New Jersey.” She blinked at him again. Her mind was working; you could see her knitting together a big worry of some kind. “Do you need to speak to the owners?”
“What I need is to have a peek at your cameras. There’s been a murder, and you and the gun shop down the road are the nearest places of business.”
She put her hand over her mouth and took a half step back. “A murder?”
“Yes ma’am. Young girl. High school. She was found not far from here this morning.” Sometimes it was best to get the news out bluntly.
The waitress took a moment to recover. “I just… that’s awful. How awful.” Then she turned her head toward the couple, who had paused in their eating, listening in. “You two hear about this? A murdered girl?”
They shook their heads. The waitress’s gaze slid back to Reed.
“Ma’am, about your surveillance footage…”
“There’s one camera. That’s looking over to the parking lot. I don’t know anything about it.” She called in to the back, “Chase? Can you come out here?”
Reed waited and caught the gazes of the diners, a retired couple in their seventies. The man wiped his mouth with a napkin and fixed Reed with a look. “What happened, Officer?”
“I don’t know yet, folks. And I have to be careful in a situation like this, because of the victim’s next of kin.”
The man nodded understanding.
“The victim’s mother knows,” Reed said, “but I’m not sure who she’s told, and there’s a good way and a bad way to make a death announcement to family members.”
The cook emerged from the back, wiping his hands on a rag. He was twenty, maybe twenty-one, wearing a battered baseball cap and glasses, a thin mustache. Tattooed forearms. “Can I help you?”
“You know about the camera that watches the parking lot, Chase?”
Chase looked out the window, scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, that’s for the trucks. We let some… we have some overnighters, and there was vandalism a couple of years ago, and the owners installed a camera.”
Reed eyed the tattoos. No gang affiliations. Tribal stuff, thorns, a Celtic knot at one elbow. “Do you know where it feeds? Who watches it?”
“Uh, I think it’s like a remote-type deal? Like, the owners look at it on their phone or computer or whatever.”
The waitress, standing to the side and a little behind Chase, nodded. “That’s right. That’s what it is. A remote thing.”
“Can I get their information? Names and phone numbers?”
She started rummaging through the drawers and cabinets. “They’re the Varmas. Nice people. Let me see…”
As she hunted, the man from the table came over, introduced himself, and sat down on one of the stools at the breakfast counter. “I understand that,” he said to Reed. “That need for discretion. That’s good to do that.”
Reed gave him a nod, said to the waitress, “Ma’am? And Mr. Snow – know where I might reach him?”
“Daryl?” Chase said. “Well, he’d be up to the sawmill today, I imagine. That’s where he is most every day before he comes down here for closing.”
“He works at a sawmill, too?”
“He’s got property up in Keeseville. A hundred and eighty acres. He runs his own mill and sells to a few of the lumber stores. Like, wholesale.”
“A busy man.”
Her back to Reed as she pawed through a drawer, the waitress said, “Well, the owners like that he can repair things if they go wrong. The Varmas aren’t here much. Ah, okay, here it is.” She came closer with a business card. Reed took it: Sanjay Varma was a doctor living in Greenwood, New Jersey.
“Thanks for this,” Reed said, sliding the card into his pocket. “I’ll get in touch with them. And, ma’am? Can I get your name?”
“Eileen Smith.”
“Eileen, I see from your hours of operation by the front door that you weren’t open last night, but was anyone here? Was Daryl here then?”
“I was here around five in the evening,” Chase said. “I had to replace the propane.”
“You? Not Daryl?”
“I usually do it.”
“He come in after you?”
“No, he’d already been and gone,” Chase explained. “So I locked up; that was it.”
Eileen nodded. “We’re open seven days, longer on the weekends. We get our big push in the morning. If there’s anyone overnighting, they come in, might be when we first open at five, and then we get the deputies and the rest of the people who work at the jail before eight. Some of the troopers.”
Reed understood – further up the road from the diner was the Public Safety Building with the County Jail attached, the Carmen trooper barracks in the complex – where Kruse worked, and from which Reed would operate for the duration.
Both Eileen and Chase had Snow’s number. Reed took it, thanked everybody and left. He headed straight for the school.
Pyle called on the way. He and Kruse had been working their way through the student interviews. “We got one who says she was with the victim last night. Name is Aimee Hetfield.”
When Reed came in, Aimee was sitting at the back of the art room, surrounded by concerned adults, her face puffy and eyes pink.
Pyle intercepted Reed and made introductions. “This is Julia Hetfield, Aimee’s mother…”
Julia Hetfield looked professional in a skirt, blouse and blazer. She shook Reed’s hand with a firm grip. “My daughter texted me. She’s very upset.”
“I understand. That’s fine.” Reed looked at the other faces as Pyle introduced the principal, the school counselor, the nurse. The nurse, having assessed things, quietly excused herself.
Aimee stared at the desk. There was a box of facial tissue beside her, a trail of used tissues leading to the trash can against the wall, but she looked like she was starting to get things under control. Then she said, “I’m… so… sorreeeeee…” and sobbed, hiding her face in her hands.
Reed sat down opposite her and gave it a moment.
“Aimee? I’m an investigator with the state police. Are you okay to talk to me? You can go home if you need to. Go with your mom and we can talk later. But if there’s anything you can tell me right now… what are you sorry about?”
The girl’s mother hovered nearby, standing just behind Reed. “She’s sorry that she lied to me.”
Reed kept his focus on Aimee. “Is that right, Aimee? Did you lie about something? Something to do with Kasey?”
“Kasey was at our house last night,” Julia said. “Supposedly to study. But then she left.”
To Aimee: “She left? Where did she go?”
“We did study!” Aimee yelled, remorse quickly switching to anger as she glared up at her mother.
“All right. If I could just hear from Aimee now,” Reed said as politely as he could.
Julia sighed and moved a little further away.
“Aimee?” Reed asked, “Where did she go?”
Aimee dragged her eyes away from her mother. Her face crumpled, and she nodded. “I don’t know. She called someone.”
“Do you know who?”
“I thought it was her mom. But I heard this morning that her mom didn’t know where she was…” Aimee broke down crying again.
“It’s okay,” Reed said.
Gradually, Aimee regained her composure. She wiped her nose with a tissue. “We finished studying, and we were just hanging out. You know. And then Kasey said, ‘I’m going to tell my mom I’m staying over.’ And I was like, ‘What? Why?’ And she was
like, she wouldn’t say. But I knew.”
“You knew?”
“I knew she wanted to see Tyson. So I was like, ‘Okay… I guess.’”
“So,” Reed said, his ears ringing with the name Tyson, “he came and got her?”
Now Aimee met his gaze. “I don’t know for sure. But I think so.”
Reed glanced at Pyle, saw his thoughts reflected – we need to find Tyson Wheeler, now.
Pyle gave a slight nod and slipped out the door quietly.
Reed asked Aimee, “When did all this happen? When did Kasey talk to her mother? Or whoever she called?”
“Um, I’m not sure. It was a little after seven, maybe? Like, 7:15? I never should have…” Fresh tears filled in the edges of her eyes.
“All right,” Julia said.
Reed didn’t know what Julia meant, but her tone suggested she was uncomfortable with the emotion her daughter displayed, what Aimee was saying, the whole thing.
Reed reached across and took Aimee’s hand. “It’s okay. Thank you for talking to me. And listen. Okay? Don’t blame yourself for this. Not one little bit.”
She lifted her bloodshot eyes to him. Maybe a glimmer of hope in all that pink squishiness.
He asked, “So you’re sure you didn’t see who she left your house with?”
Aimee slowly shook her head – no.
“You didn’t look outside?”
“No. All I know is that Kasey called someone about staying over. Then, while we were studying, she’d be checking her phone. And then she said, ‘I gotta go.’”
“That’s it? Just ‘I gotta go’?”
“Yeah. And she got up; she took her things–”
“What things?”
“Her backpack. Her phone. And she left.”
“Just went outside, and that was it. Did you hear a vehicle?”
Aimee nodded. Looked embarrassed. “I did. I heard a car.”
Rough Country: A gripping crime thriller Page 4
