“No doubt.”
Smoke pulled into the department parking lot seconds before his phone rang. He looked at the phone’s face and raised his eyebrows. “It’s the sheriff.” He managed to pull off an upbeat voice when he answered. “Hello, Mike. . . . What? . . . Corky and I will be right over.”
My heart picked up its pace before he disconnected. “Tell me.”
“Jaxson ran away and Sheriff wants me to find him.”
“Oh, no.”
The Kenners lived in Oak Lea and Smoke drove the three miles in a flash. Mike Kenner opened the front door of his sixties-vintage rambler and pulled us inside. He looked like he’d run a marathon. Red faced with sweat rolling down his head and neck, damp tee-shirt. His wife, April, was sitting on the living room couch with her head in her hands. She looked up when she heard us come in. Her eyes were nearly swollen shut and her face and neck were flushed.
I went over to her and offered some comfort by giving her a warm hug. She cried even harder.
“We don’t know what to do. I’m going to have to report him as fleeing from justice if we don’t locate him ASAP,” Mike said.
“How do you know he ran away?” Smoke said.
Mike retrieved a piece of paper from a side table and handed it to Smoke. “His note says so.”
I moved within a couple of feet of Smoke and read, I’M SORRY FOR EVERYTHING. TELL SAYWER’S PARENTS THAT. PLEASE. I CAN’T STAND THE THOUGHT OF GOING TO PRISON SO I NEED TO START A NEW LIFE SOMEWHERE. The note wasn’t addressed to anyone and wasn’t signed.
“Did he take one of your vehicles?” Smoke asked.
“No,” Kenner said.
“Where would he go?” Smoke asked.
“We don’t know. Somewhere he can walk to, unless someone picked him up. I don’t want the world to know about this until we can figure something out. If we call his friends, they’ll know something’s up and word will spread faster than a rushing river.”
Smoke laid a hand on his shoulder. “Mike, you need to start there. You don’t have to say much, just that you’re wondering if they’ve seen Jaxson today, if they’ve talked to him, know where he might be.”
“He wouldn’t see any of his friends after he got out of jail. He holed up in his room and refused to face them,” Mike said.
“He may have changed his mind, needed help from one or more of them,” I said.
“Do you know what he took with him?” Smoke said.
“It’s what he didn’t take that has us worried most. He left his phone behind. But he took his iPad, along with a big, black camping backpack, some clothes, his hiking boots, rain gear,” Mike said.
“What about money? Does he have access to any?” Smoke said
Mike rubbed his hands on his cheeks. “I’m not thinking straight. I never thought to call the bank to see if he withdrew money from his savings. I’ll do that now.”
When Kenner left the room, I sat down beside April again and Smoke took a seat in an armchair. I looked up at the photos on the wall, a picture-perfect smiling family of five engaged in a variety of activities: horseback riding in the Rocky Mountains, hiking on a Northern Minnesota trail, canoeing in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area.
April was naturally quiet, a trait that complemented her gregarious spouse’s personality. But she was ready to talk. “People always say, ‘I never imagined this could happen to me,’ when something bad happens. I felt sorry for them when I’d hear their stories. And now, here we are, faced with one of the worst things imaginable. We have a big black cloud over our family and we don’t know how to make it go away.”
Smoke reached over and laid his hand on hers. “It’s about impossible to imagine how that cloud will lift, but it will. Someday. It might take a while. You’re good people and you’ll get through this together. With as much help as you need from your friends.”
Tears rolled down April’s cheeks as she tried to smile.
“Is there anything in particular you need, like driving your daughter where she needs to be, or maybe I can do some grocery shopping for you?” I said. Their oldest son was away at an eastern college.
“Not that I can think of right now, but thanks.”
Mike came back into the living room. New beads of sweat had broken through his pores. “Jaxson withdrew eleven thousand dollars from his account.”
“No,” April said.
“That’s a lot of money for a teen to have,” Smoke said.
“He’s always been a good saver. Plus, he worked the last two summers and liked to watch his account grow.”
April’s voice cracked when she spoke. “And now he’s using it for his getaway.”
“What are the conditions of his release?” Smoke said.
“The usual. That he remain law-abiding, not use drugs or alcohol, and not leave the state,” Mike said.
“Mike, have you looked at his phone, checked it for recent calls?”
“Yes, the ones that he got today, but they all show up as missed calls. So he didn’t take any calls, or phone anyone.”
“May I have a look-see?” Smoke said.
Mike retrieved it from the dining table and handed it to Smoke. “His passcode is J-A-X-1-8-0.”
“Thanks.” Smoke pushed buttons and scrolled through both incoming and outgoing calls and text messages. He pulled the memo pad and pen from his breast pocket, sat down at the table, and started to write things down. Mike, April, and I took seats at the table and watched him work. “You’re right, no outgoing calls or messages from Jaxson today, and several calls and texts he didn’t answer. But a number of exchanges with friends yesterday. I count eight friends. He’s had the most communication with Ava, but they aren’t romantic messages. Does he have a special girlfriend?”
“No. Ava is one of his best friends, but they haven’t dated. As far as his phone is concerned, our rule is his mother and I can look at his messages if we feel it’s warranted. And as rebellious as he’s been at times, he watches what he posts. I know he Snapchats, and those images disappear after you send them, and messages are gone in twenty-four hours.”
“Actually, the messages don’t completely disappear. They’re hidden deep in the devices. A digital forensics examiner could find them,” I said.
“I guess I should have known that,” Mike said.
“The school resource officers talked about it. That’s how I first found out,” I said.
“If we need to dig deeper into his snaps, we can. Back to his friends. I don’t see a single message that mentions Jaxson running away. Maybe he had a phone conversation with someone yesterday. I want you to call all the contacts in his phone, see if they know where he is.”
Mike grimaced. “I don’t know—"
“I respect that you want to keep this quiet, but if we can locate Jaxson before he leaves the state—if that’s what he planned to do—he’ll be in far less trouble. If it turns out none of his friends know where he is, I’d put out a statewide Attempt to Locate,” Smoke said.
“How can this be happening?” April said.
“Where does Joseph go to college, again?” Smoke said. Joseph was their older son, a straight A student majoring in engineering.
“Brown University in Rhode Island.” Ivy League.
“That’s right. Does he know Jaxson left? Would Jaxson go to his brother?” Smoke said.
Mike shook his head. “No, to both questions. You know they’ve had their struggles. And Joseph wouldn’t harbor a fugitive, not even his brother. It would go against his straight-as-an-arrow grain.”
“How about other relatives, friends he’s met at camp?”
Mike shrugged. “We’ll make those phone calls. April, will you be able to help me?”
She wiped her nose and nodded.
“Smoke and Corky, this will take a while, so go take care of what you need to on the bog case. I’ll let you know what we find out and we’ll take it from there.”
18
Mama and Rufus
“Mama, on the
news they’re still talking about the people we buried,” Rufus said.
“I think it’s best not to watch the news, Son.”
His eyebrows squeezed together. “But what if someone saw us?”
“No one did because we were very careful. I kept my eyes on you every minute, from a safe distance. You always took care of the burials nice and fast. That’s my boy. If someone had seen you they would have told the sheriff.”
“Okay.”
“I’m not worried about this and you shouldn’t, either. But there is something important I need to remind you about. If anyone talks to you, you must remember not to use your given name. Do you remember that, Rufus?”
“I ˊmember.”
“That’s good. You’re a faithful son and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Mama.”
Mama put her arms around her son and laid her head on his chest. That always calmed his fears.
19
On the way back to the office, I said, “As awful as all this is for them, it seems like Mike and April felt a tad better after you gave them that assignment. Something concrete to do. Plus, one of the phone calls might help find their son.”
Smoke tapped the steering wheel a few times with the heel of his hand. “Jaxson needs a Come-to-Jesus meeting for all the hell he’s putting his parents through.”
“I think he’s had a few of those meetings over the years. The extra sting is, he was in serious-enough trouble and now he’s just dug himself a deeper hole.”
“Mike said he wasn’t thinking straight, and I have to agree. When he asked me to search for Jaxson, it was like a friend who was asking for a simple favor. And it’s not simple by any stretch of the imagination. I’m happy to do what I can within the parameters of the law. But with the charges Jaxson faces, I’m doing nothing on the QT.”
“You’re right. If Jaxson isn’t reported missing, using department resources for a private search is unethical and likely illegal,” I said.
“Yep, as much as I’d like to help my friend and his family, that’s not the way to do it.”
It was closing in on 4:30, quitting time for office personnel in the sheriff’s and other county departments. Smoke and I carried in the weight and cord recovered from the first autopsied female victim. We filled out the information on the evidence tags and put them in a locker. Then I followed Smoke to his cubicle and sat down.
He glanced at his watch. “A little too late to check in with Mister Wright’s and Missus Keats’s medical doctors. Remind me when we meet with Warren Petty tomorrow, to find out who Silas went to.”
“Sure. What time was he coming in?”
“Nine.”
“I feel like I should be doing more work on the investigation while we wait to hear back from Kenner,” I said.
“Sergeant Aleckson, your shift officially ended almost two hours ago so why don’t you take off. Remember what you said about resources and our limited supply. I’ll call as soon as I hear from the sheriff,” Smoke said.
“Okay.” I wanted to ask Smoke if I’d see him later, if he’d come to my house, if he’d invite me to his, but it wasn’t the right time or place to discuss our personal life. I stood, gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile, and lifted my hand in a wave as I left.
Queenie was more than ready to get out of her kennel, and after she lavished me with kisses, took off after a squirrel. As fast as Queenie was, squirrels were great escape artists and it was high up the tree before Queenie reached the base. I watched her run then called her in.
When she had fresh food and water, I ran upstairs, shed my uniform, and changed into jeans and a tee-shirt. “Well, girl, how about we take a ride? It’s been a few days since we visited Gramps and I know he misses you.”
Queenie followed me into the garage, and I opened the door of my classic red 1967 Pontiac GTO. She jumped in the backseat and we headed to Gramps’ house. He sat in his favorite chair watching the early news. His face brightened when Queenie ran over to greet him. I was close behind with a kiss.
“Two of my favorite girls,” he said.
“How’s it going, Gramps?”
“Good, good. Your mother is bringing dinner over when she gets done with work. She sure spoils me.”
“She loves cooking, especially for you.”
We talked for a bit. Then a chill ran through me when thoughts of the bodies recovered from Coyote Bog filled my mind. Victims at the M.E.’s Office, a number who still awaited autopsy. It struck me that someone had victimized vulnerable elderly men and women, in varying stages of Alzheimer’s, the same disease that took my gram. What kind of a person did that, and why?
Smoke phoned as we left Gramps’ house. “Kenner just called, said they talked to each contact in Jaxson’s phone, but no one had seen him or talked to him today.”
“That supports what you found in his phone. So now what?”
“After some persuasion, I convinced the sheriff to get an Attempt to Locate out. He agreed to contact Communications, so they’ll have Jaxson’s height, weight, other details to put in it. I didn’t get into it with Mike, but we don’t know the boy’s state of mind. I’m concerned that if he feels trapped, he might do something foolish.”
“That crossed my mind,” I said.
“I’m on my way back to their place to see if we can come up with some possible destinations, start checking them. It’ll be dark in a couple of hours and that’ll make it more of a challenge.”
“Anything I can do?”
“Check on Rex?” he said.
“How about I bring him to my house?”
“That works. Catch you later.” If he meant that literally, it sounded like a fun promise to look forward to.
I wasn’t sure if Rex was happier to see Queenie or get freed from his kennel, but the two of them ran around until I called out, “Car.” I barely had the seat pushed forward in my two-door before they hopped in. “We’re taking a little detour before we head home.”
I turned west on County Road 35 and followed it to County Road 7. The road construction equipment was at rest on the side of the road, ready to be fired up again in the morning. I turned south on 7, did a U-turn, and pulled onto the shoulder. The dogs whined. “Hey guys, I just need to sit here for a bit.”
I had driven by Coyote Bog nearly every day in my years on the job and tried to grasp the fact that bodies had been laid to rest there, not far off a well-traveled county road. For how many years? Again, what would possess someone to bury his victims at that site?
My eyes swept over the area. How had a person deposited the bodies into the bog? Perhaps he floated each one out on an inflatable raft, deflated it, and as the body sank, pulled the raft back to shore. One possibility. Whatever the method, it’d have to be done in the middle of the night when the people on the road were few and far between. But it was still a risk. Deputies were on patrol twenty-four hours a day.
My eyes traveled to the house on the hill, up from the bog. Anyone from that vantage point would have a bird’s eye view of the area. But they’d have to be looking out at the right time. And if they’d seen anything suspicious, they should have reported it. Right? Rex whimpered and Queenie joined in. “Okie doke, we’ll get you home.”
As I shifted into gear, a silver four-door car rolled to a stop at the end of Floyd Myren’s driveway. I hadn’t seen it parked near the house. And since most of the drive was lined with trees, I didn’t spot it until it was almost at County Road 35. Was it the person who kept an eye on the house?
“Hang on, my furry friends.” I whipped the car around to face south and drove a half mile to County Road 107, the appointed detour road. I turned west and speeded up, hoping I’d meet the house checker and get her license plate number. When I reached County Road 6, it was obvious I’d lost her. “Well, I had to try.”
The dogs barked, alerting me Smoke was home. I was in the kitchen, and they beat me to the door. After they got a moment
of his attention, I stretched my arms around him and felt the tension locked in his tight muscles. I rubbed his shoulder areas to loosen them a bit. “You had another long day. It’s after eight.”
“No doubt. We got things rolling on the search for Jaxson so that’s good. Speaking of good, can you keep that up for about an hour?” He dipped his head and found my lips for an inviting kiss.
“Have you eaten yet?”
“I must have had lunch, but what it was escapes me at the moment,” he said.
“There’s leftover meatloaf and pasta salad.”
“That will hit the spot just fine.”
“You relax and I’ll have it ready in a minute.” As I pulled the dishes out of the refrigerator, Smoke reached around me and grabbed a beer. He sat at the breakfast bar counter sipping on it while the meatloaf warmed in the microwave. Then I set the warmed plate and cold pasta salad in front of him.
I wanted all the details on the search for Jaxson, but he needed to eat first. Instead I told him, “I was on Country Road Seven earlier and saw a silver car leave Floyd Myren’s driveway. It looked like it could be a Chevy Cruze or a Ford Focus, but I couldn’t tell from that distance. I figured it was the person who checks on his house. I hoped she’d come my direction so I could get an ID from her plate. But she took another route.”
“You’re awfully curious about her.”
“She’s the one who must have Floyd Myren’s contact info. Myren’s lived out there for years and he may have seen something happen at Coyote Bog late at night that struck him as odd. Maybe thought he should report it but didn’t. Like a lot of other people.”
Smoke pushed his empty plate away and leaned forward with his arms crossed on the counter. “Since Mister Myren comes home for the summer, he should be back any time now.”
“He should. Most of the snowbirds I know are home by the end of April, but some wait till June when they’re more assured of warm weather.”
Remains In Coyote Bog Page 11
