“Yep. Well, the search for Jaxson officially started late this afternoon. The Attempt to Locate went out. Mike called the county attorney, gave him the scoop. And sent an email to everyone in the sheriff’s office.”
“I haven’t checked mine since I got home,” I said.
“He also sent a message marked ‘important’ to the other eighty-six sheriffs in the state.”
“With your help, huh?”
“Yeah, he’s really struggling. We brainstormed about where Jaxson might go. Since he likes hiking in the woods and camping out, that was in the message to the other sheriffs—a request to check the county and state parks in their counties. And we’ve got deputies looking in all our parks,” Smoke said.
“It’s warm enough, so he doesn’t have to worry about freezing if he plans on camping. He’s got plenty of money to last a while.”
“I spoke with Greyhound Bus Company in Minneapolis, sent them Jaxson’s photo via email and asked them to be on the lookout for him. They agreed to pass on the info to their drivers. And I stressed that if they see him, they are not to confront him. Just give us a call and tell us where he’s headed. We can get an officer to meet him at his stop.”
“You got a lot done in a few short hours. I hope one of those contacts has a lead for the Kenners soon,” I said.
“The air is so thick in the Kenner household you could cut it with a knife. Their daughter is staying with a friend. I think the stress is too much for her. Mike and April finally worked up the courage to phone their parents to tell them the latest downer. I left when they were talking to them.”
I went behind Smoke, laid my head on his shoulder, and slid my hands around to his chest. “Smoke, how are you holding up? I know you always think you should be doing one more thing, or ten more things, during an investigation.”
“I won’t lie. I’m very worried about Jaxson and his family. Especially Mike. Besides the personal trauma, his career is on the line.”
“He’s been popular with the people in the county. You think they’ll blame him for what his son did?” I said.
“I think it’s more that Mike might feel he can’t continue on as sheriff.”
“Wow, not good. He’s young, what forty-five?”
“Forty-six. I hope things will straighten out, but the Kenner family is in a bad place any way you look at it,” Smoke said.
I did some deep tissue massage on the top of Smoke’s shoulders, working my hands down to his shoulder blades. “Smoke, you told me we have to talk about our future. I know we’ve got a lot going on right now, but we always seem to have a lot going on.”
Smoke turned around on the barstool to face me and took my hands in his. “Corinne, I have never lied to you. Although I wasn’t always completely honest for some time about how deeply I love you.”
“Why do I think there’s a ‘but’ in what you’re about to say?”
He kissed one palm and then the other. “There’s not a ‘but’. We’re committed to each other and will officially tie the knot someday. Will you wait for me until I can do that?”
That was the last thing I expected him to say. Wait for him until he can do that? I wanted to cry, to run upstairs, to escape somewhere so I didn’t have to answer such a conflicted-sounding question. What did “someday” mean? I took a step back. “Are you saying you’re not ready to get married?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I wish I knew, but I can’t seem to get past the embedded fear that I’ll somehow ruin your life. That you’d be happier with someone else.”
That unfounded fear had reared its ugly head yet again. “Elton Dawes, my life would be empty without you. I don’t know what more to say to put your heart and mind at ease. Falling in love, getting married, is a leap of faith. No one knows what the future holds, so we need to make the best of what we have today.”
The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. “Are you sure you’re not the wise elder between the two of us here? I know in my heart you’re right. I just need to believe in my mind that you are.”
I willed myself not to be impatient. “Take the time you need.”
He buried his face in my neck. “I love you.”
20
Warren Petty arrived ahead of our scheduled meeting time. He and Smoke were talking when I joined them in a conference room. “Sergeant Corinne Aleckson, Warren Petty.”
Petty was a striking man with a neatly-trimmed white mustache and a full head of snow-white hair. He had a dark tan, maybe from a recent tropical vacation or golfing in Arizona. We shook hands and I took a seat next to Smoke.
“Warren and I had just started going over his brother’s case,” Smoke said.
“It’s been a long three years. In fact, Monday, the day you got the bodies out of the bog, was the anniversary of the day he disappeared. Something like this can tear a family apart,” Petty said.
“A sad fact,” Smoke said.
Petty shared some memories of his brother then shook his head and sniffed a few times in quick succession. “Well, I guess I came here to give you a DNA sample.”
Smoke withdrew the kit from his pocket and pulled out the buccal swab. He held it up. “Open your mouth and I’ll collect it with this.” A five-second task.
“I don’t know how they can run those tests from just a little spit,” Petty said.
“Science has come a long way during my career and every year they find better ways to do things with better results,” Smoke said.
“Mister Petty, I want you to take a look at this, see if you recognize it.” I found the cross pendant photo in my phone and handed it over.
Petty studied it and shrugged. “No, I don’t recall ever seeing it before.”
“It wasn’t something your brother owned?”
“No, he wasn’t a guy that wore jewelry. If he did, it wouldn’t be a crucifix. We’re Presbyterian and it’s mostly Catholics that wear them, if I’m not mistaken.”
I nodded then put my phone back in its holder. “Another question. We met with the medical examiner yesterday. They’ve completed autopsies on two of the male victims. One had cirrhosis of the liver and the other had calcified plaque on his heart. Do you know if your brother had either one of those conditions?”
It took a minute for him to answer. “No, I sure don’t. I don’t think so, not that he ever said.”
“Okay, we’ll check with his doctor. Do you have the name of his medical provider?” I said.
“Doctor Miller. Right here in Oak Lea, at the clinic.”
“And his dentist?”
“Doctor Crown—and I’m not kidding—at the Oak Lea Dental Group.”
His side comment made me smile. “Thanks. Dental records are often used in identifications, but medical conditions are another identifier. When we get the DNA results back for comparison, that will give us conclusive answers. We’ll find out if you’re a match to one of the victims,” I said.
“I’m hoping I am. Not that we want Silas to be one of the victims. But we want the conclusive answers you just talked about, Sergeant,” Petty said.
Smoke leaned in closer to Petty. “I’ll give your nephews a call, let them know about the bodies recovered from the bog, that we’ve reopened missing persons’ cases from the past decade. I’ll tell them I contacted you and requested that you provide a DNA sample.”
“Appreciate that. When my brother disappeared, we had a lot of mudslinging. Haven’t been able to mend the fences yet.”
“That’s not uncommon when tragedy strikes. Thanks for coming in, Warren. I hope we can get the answers your family needs to mend those fences,” Smoke said.
“Me, too,” Petty said.
Smoke escorted him out and I waited in the corridor until he returned.
“I want to get this sample to the crime lab, a-sap. These families have been in limbo far too long,” he said.
“As much as we’re counting on three of the bog bodies being our missing persons, and giving the families some closure, we have to
be careful not to get overly hopeful, so it doesn’t cloud our judgment.”
“We always need to be on the lookout for that.”
“And why we rely on science for answers,” I said.
“Yep. Game plan strategy: I’ll see who’s available to run this sample to the lab. Will you check with the doctors, ask about the medical conditions? It shouldn’t be an issue, given you’re requesting it for missing persons’ cases. And they’ll know their patients went missing.”
“Sure thing.”
“I’ll check with other counties starting with our neighbors, see if they’ve had elderly folks go missing in the last twenty years.”
“After I make the calls and finish some paperwork, I’ll join you.”
“Copy that, Sergeant.”
I spoke with administrators from the three medical facilities. One hesitated giving the information until I convinced her I wasn’t asking for complete medical records. My request was to determine whether their patient had a condition Dr. Patrick found at autopsy.
While I waited for answers about the medical conditions, I worked on overdue performance reviews for the deputies I supervised.
All three clinics got back to me with answers in less than an hour. Agneta Keats still had her gallbladder. And neither Oscar Wright nor Silas Petty had cirrhosis of the liver or calcified plaque on the heart.
The letdown I felt forced me to eat the words I’d given Smoke a short time before. We needed to be careful not to get overly hopeful.
I found Smoke in his cubicle bent over dozens of papers strewn across his desk. He finished a phone call, pulled the readers from his nose, and vigorously rubbed his face with both hands.
“What?” I said.
“Have a look.” He handed me a sheet of paper with all the county sheriffs’ departments in the state listed. About a fourth of them were marked.
“You got a hold of all these already?”
“Yep. The checks are by the ones I’ve talked to. After our neighboring counties, I moved to the next tier. ‘No’ means there are no still-missing elderly persons in the last twenty years. Some were two-minute conversations because they didn’t have any. And ‘Yes’ is obvious. I have those detailed on this sheet.” He handed it over.
I sat down to read. “Hmm. One from Sherburne. Female, Mildred Dryer, age seventy-seven disappeared May fifteenth, five years ago. Another one in May?”
“You got it. Keep reading.”
“Two from Meeker. A male and a female. Horace Kline, age eighty-one, disappeared May thirteenth, seven years ago. And Gloria Freiburg, age seventy-five, disappeared May eleventh, six years ago. Dang.”
“Both counties are scanning the files and will email them over.”
“If—and it’s a wishful if—these folks are three of the bog bodies, and it turns out those missing from our county are another three, that would account for six of the seven bodies,” I said.
“Since we share borders with Sherburne and Meeker, it makes sense the bad guy would use the same burial ground. They’ll review the files, locate next of kin and get the doctors’ and dentists’ names for their records,” Smoke said.
“Six disappearances in May over the course of seven years is not a coincidence.”
“You got that right.” Smoke glanced at his watch. “It might take a while before we get those scanned files. Meantime, you want to work on the southern counties, starting with Watonwan?”
“Sure.” I picked up the list. “I’ll be in the sergeants’ office.”
“Thanks.”
I contacted the thirty counties on my list by phone in little more than two hours. Some of the smaller, more rural, counties had older computer systems and a search was more cumbersome than for those with newer systems. Verifying the records was a formality in most cases because each county had staff who knew if they had a missing person that disappeared under questionable circumstances and was never found. From time to time, sheriffs reopened cold cases with the hope someone would come forward, or new evidence would be uncovered that cracked the cases.
“We had an elderly couple who seemed to vanish eight or so years ago, but they turned up a week later in Florida,” one chief deputy told me.
The Blue Earth County Sheriff reported, “Yes, a man by the name of Hiram Scranton disappeared right around six years ago. Let me search the records, get the details for you.” It took him a minute. “Here it is. Went missing on April fifth. Family said he was home one evening and gone the next morning when they went to check on him.”
He cleared his throat and continued, “No sign of foul play. All of his family members and close friends checked out fine and were eliminated as suspects of any wrongdoing. Mister Scranton lived about a quarter mile from the Minnesota River and it was feared he made his way down there and drowned. We combed the river, sent in divers, but never found his body.”
“That’s sad. Would you mind sending us the case file? Like I explained, we have seven bodies to identify and it’s possible he’s one of the victims.”
“I can do that, no problem. It’d be a real help to us if it turns out one is Hiram. After all this time, the family has lost all hope he’s alive.”
I gave him my email address and we disconnected. The difference between Hiram Scranton and the other suspected victims was he had disappeared in April, not in May. But that didn’t automatically eliminate him from the list.
I found Smoke in the break room getting a cup of coffee from a vending machine. “Any luck so far?” he said.
“Maybe. A man from Blue Earth County disappeared in April, six years ago. They’re sending me his file.”
“April, huh? Could be. How far away is that, about sixty miles?”
“About that,” I said.
“How many counties left on your list?”
“All done.”
“Good deal. Same here. I got one more to add to the list of potentials, too. In Mille Lacs County, a woman disappeared in March, eleven years ago. I’ll get that file, too.”
“If one of the missing women from our county is not one of the three found in the bog, then I guess it’s a possibility.”
“I talked to Special Agent Kent Erley earlier about our case, asked his opinion of who we need to look for. Where to start looking for our bad guy.” Erley was an FBI criminal profiler we’d consulted on a previous serial killer case.
“Cool, what’d he say?”
“He’d work up a criminal investigative analysis, a profile, and get back to me,” Smoke said.
“We know it’s someone with a very sick mind, so it’ll be good to get his expert opinion.”
“Yep.” Smoke shook his head. “We got this big case going, trying to ID seven bodies and figure out who put them in Coyote, and I’m torn about where to focus my efforts.”
“What do you mean?”
“I feel like I should be searching for Jaxson.”
“Smoke, every sheriff’s office and police department in the state is looking for him.”
“I know, I know. And our deputies are combing every inch of the county. But for all we know he could be in Ohio or Oregon by now,” he said.
“How about Oklahoma? With no cell phone number to trace, no credit card transactions to track down, it’s tough.”
Smoke’s cell phone buzzed. “Dawes. . . . What’s the name again?” He handed me his cup of coffee and pulled out a pad and pen. “Address and phone number? And description of the vehicle.” He jotted down notes. “Can you send that out statewide, and to our deputies? . . . Thanks.”
“Speaking of Jaxson?”
Smoke’s grin brightened his face. “That was Communications. Jaxson bought a 2000 Ford Escort from a private party in Dellwood this morning. Paid cash, of course.”
“He hadn’t left Winnebago County as of this morning?”
“Guess not. But I’d say the chances that he’s still here are slim to none. The person reporting caught the news a little while ago and when he saw Jaxson’s face, he recogniz
ed him as his car buyer. At least now we know how he’s traveling, what he’s driving.”
“Did Communications notify the sheriff yet?” I said.
“No. I’ll give him a ring after I talk to the PR. Let’s head to my desk.” I held onto Smoke’s coffee and passed it over after he’d sat down. “I think I’m gonna need this.” He took a few sips, set it on the only cleared spot on his desk, and dialed the number he’d written on his notepad.
“Dan Greeley? . . . Detective Elton Dawes, Winnebago County Sheriff’s Office. Thanks for calling in the tip on Jaxson Kenner. . . . How did he happen to buy your vehicle? . . . Do you have the number he called you from? Good.” Smoke wrote it down. “What time did he leave your house? . . . Did you notice which way he headed, east, west? . . . Good deal. I appreciate your help, Dan.” Smoke gave Greeley his phone number in case he thought of anything else and hung up.
“Seems like a fine young man,” he said. “Greeley said Jaxson headed east on State Highway Twelve. Whether he plans to hide in the Twin Cities or keep right on going is the question. In any case, he’s had a five-hour head start. I’ll let Communications know his direction of travel before I call Mike.”
Smoke put the call on speaker phone. My heart picked up its beat when the sheriff was on the line. Smoke relayed the latest information then Kenner dropped a bombshell, his voice quiet and shaky. “Jaxson must have taken the Smith and Wesson M and P pistol I keep in a locked dresser drawer for April, in case she ever needs it. Never told the kids it was there, didn’t even cross my mind to check on it. Then it was like someone whispered in my ear. I looked and it was gone. I don’t know how he found the key.”
Smoke silently mouthed, “Damn.”
“We’re beside ourselves, sick with worry over what might happen next.”
Smoke pinched the area between his eyebrows. “Jaxson’s been through gun safety training, hasn’t he?” Smoke said.
“Sure, when he was twelve.”
“Good to know.” He paused then added, “We need to tell the agencies looking for him about the gun and alert the FBI, in case he’s crossed state lines. I’ll handle that.”
Remains In Coyote Bog Page 12
