12
I finished my report on the Coyote Bog discovery and recovery and dropped it in the hanging plastic holder next to Chief Deputy Randolph’s office door.
The atmosphere in the administrative clerks’ area was heavy, like a low-hanging cloud hovered over them, ready to spill. Lots of fidgeting and pen tapping among the troops. The son of their beloved boss was in trouble, facing serious charges, and they were duly concerned.
Dina, Sheriff Kenner’s administrative assistant, stood, waved me over to her desk, and quietly uttered, “I can’t get Jaxson off my mind.”
“Me neither. It’s gotta be a nightmare for him and his family.”
“You can feel how we’re all on pins and needles here, wondering what’ll happen at his first court appearance today. Sheriff stopped by a while ago. He wasn’t in uniform and looked rough. Really rough, hadn’t even shaved. I doubt he slept a wink last night. I had trouble sleeping myself. I’ve known Jax since he was born.” Dina wasn’t a gossip; she was anxious.
I’d seen Jaxson at the annual summer employee picnic over the years and had watched him grow up from a little kid to a young adult. “It’s awful, all the way around.”
My eyes moved to others in the administrative pool who watched us. They clearly wanted to be in on the conversation, but the sheriff had a rule about not congregating at others’ desks, and they respected that even in his absence.
I reached over and squeezed Dina’s hand. “I better get a move on. Take good care.”
“You, too.”
I made my way around the desks for a few minutes, giving words of encouragement to the clerks and answering their burning questions about the bog bodies. When I got to the small office the sergeants shared, I phoned Todd Mason.
“What’s up, Sergeant?” he said.
“Todd, wondering if you’ve had a chance to run a check on the cross pendant.”
“Brian was looking earlier but got interrupted. We’ll let you know when we have an answer.”
“Thanks. See you at the debrief?”
“We’ll be there.”
Smoke had pulled together a debriefing session, mainly for the highway department workers. When the men from the water agencies caught wind of the discussion at the scene, they’d asked to be included. Why not? Every one of us needed effective coping skills for good health, and critical incidents pushed us to the edge. Smoke reserved C-118, one of the smaller conference rooms in the courthouse, across the corridor from the sheriff’s department offices.
I popped into the room and saw a larger group assembled than I’d anticipated. Most sat at tables pulled together to form three sides of a square, effective for open discussion and interacting with others. The way some of them squirmed and darted looks at Smoke, it seemed they were eagerly anticipating magic words that would flow from his mouth to their ears and banish all their fears. It was a therapy session and a process to help put the traumatic incident into a new perspective, by working through it and following sage advice.
Randolph and Smoke stood in the front of the room, chatting with Wendell Peltz and Ron Sutton. Smoke had written key points on the whiteboard and held a stack of handouts.
The three road crew men: Bart, Andy, and Nick sat side by side at the table opposite the entrance, not saying much. The water agencies guys, Thomas Bauer and Corey Frank sat together, kitty-corner from the others, their eyes on Smoke and Randolph.
Deputies Vince Weber, Todd Mason, and Brian Carlson walked in behind me. And a surprise, Roy Swanson from the M.E.’s office joined us a minute later. He’d likely grabbed hold of the idea that working through his traumatic first day as a death investigator would be beneficial. I greeted him and the others, adding a welcoming smile. We were an unlikely team, thrown together by one of the most bizarre cases we’d ever had.
Randolph sat next to Thomas Bauer and the rest of us took seats across from the highway guys. Smoke looked around, making eye contact with each person. My heart did a little ping-ping when it was my turn. We strived to be professional at work, leaving our personal relationship at home, but in unguarded moments, my feelings won the battle over reason.
Smoke gave the stack of handouts to Weber who sat closest to him. “Take one and pass ˊem down.” The top sheet highlighted what Smoke would cover and we’d use it as a reference to follow, jot notes on, and refer to later.
“Show of hands: who has been through a critical incident debriefing?” Smoke said.
The six of us from the sheriff’s office, including Smoke, raised our hands. As did Roy Swanson.
Smoke nodded and directed his attention to the ones who hadn’t. “When we experience critical incidents, it impacts us. Naturally. We need to process what we’ve been through, learn to effectively cope so it doesn’t leave us with long-term physical or psychological problems. Make sense to everyone?”
Everyone nodded.
“Cops respond to emergencies on a regular basis, and a lot of those calls are downright distressing. We need to manage that stress, process it. We can’t let it wreak havoc on our well-being, or we’ll end up with post-traumatic stress disorder. I’ve known emergency responders who’ve had to leave jobs they loved because of it.”
He paused, let that sink in, and said, “Many of you guys here aren’t cops, but you got caught up in about the most unlikely deal any of us could’ve imagined. So, take a look at your handouts. We’re going to work our way through the seven steps. Number one is assessing the impact it has on you, given your age and past experiences.
“Number two deals with your feelings of safety. Three is the one we’ll spend the most time on because it’s important that each one of us gets our thoughts and feelings off our chests. Ventilate and defuse. After a critical event, your mind keeps playing it over and over, hoping it will start to make sense so you can quit thinking about it. In number four we’ll go through possible psychological and physical reactions to be on the lookout for.”
I considered defusing the most valuable component of debriefing for me, personally. Verbalizing the thoughts and emotions I had when dealing with the crisis helped take the sting away. Talking about it was half the battle, because it wasn’t always an easy thing for me to do. I internalized way too much.
Smoke continued, “In number five we’ll conduct a review of the incident, evaluate where we’re at in the healing process, and what we can do to manage any problems. Number six deals with closure. Moving on. There is a list of support services, if any of you feel the need to talk to a counselor. And working through number seven, thoroughly reviewing the incident, will assist in both the short term and the long haul, so you’re comfortable getting back to work, and on with your lives. Sound like a plan?”
Yes. I thought about my last debriefing session after two critical incidents Vince Weber and I experienced on the same day. First, we’d physically prevented a woman from taking her own life. Later, someone deliberately tried to run us down with her vehicle. It wasn’t my worst day as a cop, but it was close. Besides a debriefing, I’d had many sessions with a psychologist, one who’d helped me through other traumas. She facilitated my recovery, as did love and support from Smoke, my family, and friends.
As we worked through the steps of our session, it was clear the people most impacted by the recovery of the bodies were the three highway crew members who were at the initial discovery. The rest of us came in after the fact. For me, the discovery of the bodies wasn’t as traumatic as wondering what the victims had endured in the events that led up to their deaths. And how we’d uncover who had committed the heinous acts against them.
I was grateful that everyone participated and shared the worst of their thoughts and fears. There’d been times I’d wake in the middle of the night in terror from unresolved issues following a critical incident. When I thought I was fine, that I was over it, that my coping skills were intact.
The session was intense, so Smoke gave us a ten-minute break every hour, allowing us to walk around, get a beverage or s
nack, make phone calls, check messages. On our third break, Smoke and I happened to be in the squad room sorting through our mailboxes when Deputy Bob Edberg came in. He threw his memo book on the desk next to a computer.
“Hey, Bob,” Smoke said.
“Hey. Finished with the debrief?” His mouth was turned downward.
“We’re on break for ten,” Smoke said.
I touched Bob’s arm. “What’s up?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Ah, it’s not a work thing, it’s my mom. Either she’s hiding money and valuables, or we got a problem with one of her caregivers.” Bob’s mother had lived with him forever. Her physical health had been poor for years, and she’d recently received a diagnosis of dementia. I admired Bob for his continued, devoted faithfulness, ensuring his mother was well cared for.
“I know I don’t have to ask you, but I have to ask you: did all the home health aides check out a-okay?” Smoke said.
Edberg’s shoulders lifted. “They’re all contracted through a licensed agency, so the answer should be yes, but I have not personally run checks on any of them, no.”
“You shouldn’t have to. How many do you have coming to your home?” I said.
“Four, no, five. Because I work so many weekends and I’m off a lot of weekdays, not like most folks out there, so they have to rotate the aides to make it work. It’s a screwy schedule, as you know. Two of them trade off on the weekends.”
“You’re a good judge of character, and none of them were on the questionable side?” I asked.
“No, and my mother hasn’t had any complaints, said they’ve all been good to her. She even has a favorite. One of the weekend aides.”
“One way to find out what’s going on is to install a motion-detection camera. We’ve done that a time or two before,” Smoke said.
Bob grinned a little. “We have, at that.”
“Check the equipment room. A couple weeks ago we purchased some that are alarm clocks, dubbed nanny cameras. About as low profile as they get,” Smoke said.
“Want me to start a complaint so you have the number when you check out the cameras?” I said.
“I guess so. Sure,” Edberg said.
“Give me a list of the items you know are missing and I’ll include that in the report. We’ll be wrapping up the debriefing in about an hour, right, Detective?” I said.
“Should be, yep.”
“How is it going?” Edberg said.
“Pretty darn good. Bringing the bog bodies out of their graves was a shock to everyone, of course. But not like some of the criticals we’ve had, like when kids are involved. Those tear me up,” Smoke said.
“I’m with you on that,” Edberg said then turned to me. “I’ll put together the list of the jewelry and money I know is missing.”
“Good. It won’t take five minutes to write up what you know so far. You don’t have an identified suspect you’re trying to catch in the act so the report will be short. The supplemental might get more involved, based on what you find out. I’ll text you the complaint number.” I paused for a minute and studied the defeated look that’d returned. “Sorry you’re going through this, Bob. We’ve been fortunate none of my living grandparents have dementia. Not yet, anyway.”
“Thanks. I know how hard it was on you and your family when your gram had it.”
“Yeah, very tough. But she didn’t suffer long, at least.”
Edberg nodded and sat down in front of the computer. Smoke laid a hand on his shoulder for a moment, then we headed back to the conference room. By the time Smoke had tied everything together, even the youngest highway worker was more relaxed, said he wasn’t overly worried about encountering anything close to that on the job again. What were the chances?
“A few reminders: eat good food, don’t drink too much alcohol. That only seems to help for a little while and then it’s hell to pay. And don’t be afraid or embarrassed to ask for professional help if you need it. We’re here for each other, right?
“For those of you who don’t have my cell phone number, it’s listed on the bottom of the last page of the handout. Do not hesitate to call me if you have a question or want to run something by me, whatever. Day or night. Sometimes we need a middle-of-the-night-go-to-guy. Thank you, each one of you, for your active participation,” Smoke said in closing.
We all stood and picked up the notes and list of resources for reference. A warm feeling of pride flooded through me as I watched others shake Smoke’s hand and thank him for the session. Smoke wasn’t perfect, but he was close to it. In my book, anyway. The room gradually cleared then I helped Smoke gather up the extra papers, erase the whiteboard, and shut off the lights.
We talked as we walked back to the sheriff’s department offices. “I didn’t tell you earlier, but I spent my first hour this morning running checks on missing people in the county, starting with the current year. Remember the one from last year, the gentleman who walked away from his care facility?” he said.
“Sure. We used dogs, drones, and an army of people, but it seemed like he had vanished into thin air. What was his name again, Wright?”
“Oscar Wright.”
“Oh, yeah. Man, it’d be both good and bad if it turns out he’s one of the recovered victims.”
“No doubt.”
“You’ll keep searching the files?” I said.
“Yeah. I hope the M.E. will have something for us in the next day or two, but we need to start somewhere. I’ll pay a visit to the neighbors by Coyote, the ones who weren’t home yesterday. Probably means it’ll go into the evening.”
“Let me know when you’re heading out there and I’ll try to meet you. For now, I need to get a complaint number for Bob’s deal. It sounds like calls have been pretty steady for the deputies today, so I’ll grab something from the vending machine, go over reports, and get out on the road to assist. Want me to get you a sandwich, something else?”
“Nah, but thanks. I’ll catch up with you later.”
“Oh, and Detective Dawes?”
“Yes, Sergeant Aleckson?”
“You did a fine job with the debrief today. I have to say I was very impressed.”
His cheeks colored, surprising me. “I’m not Sheriff Kenner, but I guess I held my own.”
“You did. Speaking of the sheriff, his son should make his first appearance today.”
“I heard that but didn’t check the time on the court calendar. He maybe went already,” Smoke said.
“I’ll swing by Dina’s desk to check.”
“I’ll go with you.”
Dina hovered by her desk and her blotchy, tear-streaked face alerted us she had bad news. But it wasn’t just bad—it was the worst. “The boy Jaxson hit died a while ago from his head injury. They’re changing the charges from first degree assault to homicide,” she managed between sobs.
Smoke put an arm around her shoulders. “Dear God.”
The air rushed out of my lungs and I couldn’t respond. A young man’s life had ended senselessly in a fight, and Jaxson Kenner’s life would never be the same. Nor would a long list of other people’s whose worlds had changed forever.
13
Mama and Rufus
“Rufus, now remember, you’re not to talk to anyone. If someone asks you a question, pretend like you don’t understand or that you can’t talk”
“Yes, Mama.”
She was dressed in her uniform. “It’s time for me to go to work. If you stay home, you need to keep the doors locked. Don’t answer if anyone knocks and keep very quiet, like you aren’t here. If you go out to check on things, like we talked about, then make sure you lock the door behind you.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“I don’t know where they took our patients and I have to tell you that it makes me very nervous and upset. I thought their bodies would be in the sacred ground forever, long after their spirits went to Heaven. It causes me great sorrow.”
“I’m sorry, Mama.”
“I know you
are, Rufus. You’re a good boy who made a bad mistake. I’ve been thinking about it and maybe we need to bring more than one patient home in the next week. I have my eyes on three, trying to decide which of them should be the chosen one. Maybe it should be all three.”
Rufus didn’t know what to say. One was bad enough. Three would be really, really bad.
14
I was reading the incident report on the Jaxson Kenner/Sawyer Harris fight when Brian Carlson phoned me.
“Corky, I tracked down the manufacturer of that cross pendant. A company called Christian Jewelry Designs, right here in Minneapolis, believe it or not. They’ve been in business fifty-six years and have made that particular design the last twelve. They sell to big box stores, including Kohl’s and Target. We don’t have a Kohl’s in Winnebago County, but we have the two Targets.”
“So they aren’t rare, there could be a lot of them out there?”
“I asked them to check the records of sales to the Target stores here in the last twelve years. They agreed, but it will take them some time to go through the invoices,” Carlson said.
“I guess that’ll tell us how popular they are.”
“I’m also going to see if the stores here can pull up their records, see if a number of them were purchased at the same time.”
“Good idea, Brian. I’ll tell Smoke what you’ve got so far.”
“See ya.”
I went back to the report. Witnesses said Sawyer had been “goofing around” with his car in the school parking lot, teasing other kids by pretending he was going to run into them. He’d taunted Jaxson and it angered Jax. When Sawyer parked and got out of his car, Jaxson yelled at him. Sawyer yelled back, acted like he was going to grab Jaxson’s shirt, and then Jaxson punched him hard. Sawyer fell backward on the pavement, a fall that turned fatal.
Remains In Coyote Bog Page 7
