“Either one is a logical conclusion. Kent, you’ve referred to the offender as ‘she’ a couple of times. Should we be looking for a female?” Smoke said.
“When I started working on the investigative criminal analysis, I knew it could be either or both based on the statistics. Possible victim Oscar Wright was last seen leaving the facility with a petite woman. Had she been responsible for his death and the deaths of the others, she would not have been able to dispose of the bodies by herself. She had to have help. The question in my mind was, was she the assistant that lured the victims, or the boss that called the shots?
“As I worked through the analysis, I concluded the offender is a woman who took on the role of controller after her psychotic break, most likely caused by a violent act, one she was forced to take part in by the parent—the father—who dominated her. Her father may have been her first victim after that break.”
Smoke and I exchanged a look. Was his body the seventh one?
Erley continued, “Her assistant is closely tied to her, closely related. Either a much younger brother, or a son. The woman with Mister Wright was described as older, so what is her actual age? I’d say fifty at the outside. Maybe forty-five. Not what I would describe as older, but she disguises herself to go unrecognized. She comes across as trustworthy and caring, and in fact does enjoy caring for people. All her victims had dementia and that’s why she chose them. She’s been operating in the healthcare field and collecting victims without being caught for at least seven years. Likely changes her appearance with each new job, uses a variety of identities, has figured out ways to pass background and job history checks. Likely lives near the Coyote Bog so she can keep an eye on it.”
“And knows by now we’ve uncovered her secret offerings. How will she handle that?” Smoke said.
“She’ll be distressed the bodies have been removed and will either ramp up her efforts in Winnebago County by adding more bodies to the bog or relocate to another area and start over.”
“You think she’d keep burying people in the bog with the increased risk of being caught?” I said.
“She doesn’t believe she’ll get caught. She’s under the delusion she has a divine calling. She’s been flying under the radar unnoticed for years, doesn’t expect that to change. One last thing to consider: your people have all gone missing in May. One may have been buried this month already, or she has yet to bury another.”
“Maybe that’s the seventh body. Someone who hasn’t been reported missing yet.” Smoke looked at his watch. “It’s the seventeenth today.”
“Or she is still narrowing in on her next victim,” Erley said.
Every muscle in my body tightened. Smoke and I had discussed the same possibility. Randolph, Smoke, and I exchanged grimaced looks.
Randolph leaned forward. “Special Agent Erley, I’m impressed how detailed you are, how you figure it all out. The female you describe is downright scary.”
“Scary and dangerous. As far as creating a profile, some say it’s as much an art as it is a science. Much of it is based on what we’ve learned from interviews with serial killers and other violent offenders. Patterns emerge. Some people raised in dysfunctional and abusive households are less impacted by the adverse experiences than others are. Some break, some don’t. Much of that rests on their personalities and the level of the abuse,” Erley said.
“Understood. We’ve seen that in both offenders and victims through the years. Back to the offender. We’re looking for a petite woman in her mid-forties and a younger man who works with her. She has a variety of looks and identities,” I said.
“Yes.”
“We appreciate all your help, Kent. And if you have a little more time, I’d like to run something else by you,” Smoke said.
“What is it?”
Smoke told him about Jaxson and the details about his crime and escape.
Special Agent Erley asked questions about his family members, friends, and activities.
Randolph, Smoke, and I filled in as many of the blanks as we could.
“Tell me what the note said again, I’ll write it down.”
Smoke pulled out his notebook and read, “I’m sorry for everything. Tell Sawyer’s parents that. Please. I can’t stand the thought of going to prison so I need to start a new life somewhere.”
Erley was silent a moment then said, “He’s remorseful. That’s a good thing, if it guides him to make the right decision. If he isn’t found first, it will be one of the things that brings him back. That, and his love for his parents. Even if he doesn’t always act like it. You described their family camping trips and other activities. He has a large number of friends. He’s not a loner, so being on his own will get old after a while.
“He hadn’t left the state after many hours, and that tells me two things. Deep down, he knows he’s going to turn himself in at some point, or he’ll get caught before he can. And he’ll be in less trouble if he stays in Minnesota. That may or may not be true. But that’s what he thinks based on the conditions of his release.
“The more important aspect is that he’s comfortable in the great outdoors and knows remote areas in your state, such as the Boundary Waters. He could lose himself up there for a long time, provided he has shelter and provisions. He’s got a pistol to help keep him safe from wild animals. It wouldn’t take down a bear, but it might scare one. That’s about all I got.”
“What you’ve given us actually makes me feel better, more encouraged about Jaxson,” I said.
Smoke and Randolph agreed they felt better, too.
“We appreciate your insights, Kent,” Smoke said.
“You’re welcome, and feel free to contact me again, if you need to.” After our goodbyes, Smoke hung up the phone.
“If Jaxson hides in the Boundary Waters, or one of the other state parks in Northern Minnesota, we may have to wait for him to resurface. There isn’t good cell phone coverage in a lot of that area so the chance of getting pings would be hit and miss,” I said.
“That’s an issue, to be sure. Our chief here has asked dispatchers in the state to check Jaxson’s cell number daily. Maybe one will get a hit,” Smoke said.
“Our next course of action, Elton?” Randolph said.
“You’ll want to fill in the other detectives and command staff about what Erley told us. About the angel of death killer, likely a healthcare worker, and what he said about Jaxson.”
“Yes. I meant after that.”
“Like I suggested earlier, have a mental health team pay the Kenners a visit. It’ll help April as much as it will Mike. Maybe more so. She knows better than any of us how out of character Mike has been,” Smoke said.
“Agreed,” Randolph said.
“Corky and I will get a list of employees who worked at the facilities and agencies used by our three missing folks. We’ll go back seven years, for now. Hopefully, they’ll have employee photos of any that might’ve left. Chief, if you can get a judge to sign court orders today requesting the employers provide us with the basic information, we’ll get on it. I’ll give Sherburne and Meeker a report on what Erley said so they can check out who provided health care for their missing,” Smoke said.
“If we’re looking at the same offenders, they must have gotten started in the other counties then moved over to ours, given when their people disappeared,” Randolph said.
“But when did they dispose of the bodies? They could have kept them for some time until they died. Who knows?” Smoke said.
Randolph shook his head. “‘Who knows is an understatement about now.”
Smoke sat down at his desk to contact Meeker and Sherburne Counties and I went to the sergeants’ office to phone the assisted living facilities where Agneta Keats and Oscar Wright lived, and the home healthcare agency Silas Wright used. I spoke to the human resources staff at each, explained that we were working on a sensitive case, and requested limited employee records over the past seven years: names, birth dates, addresses, dates of employm
ent, photos, and any notable performance issues. And that we’d have a court order to present to them. All agreed to provide the information and assured me they’d be ready in two to three hours.
I’d barely finished the last call when Smoke popped his head around the corner of the open door. “The lab has two DNA matches.”
“What?”
“The first two victims we recovered. Turns out they’ve been identified as Mildred Dryer from Sherburne and Horace Kline from Meeker. I haven’t told the chief or the other counties yet.”
The news brought me to my feet. “Seriously? I know it doesn’t take long to get the results when they run a known person’s sample. I’m trying to process that missing persons from Sherburne and Meeker—ones we only learned about yesterday—are not only two of the victims, but they’re the first ones identified.”
“That struck me, too. Ironic. The lab is notifying the other counties, and I’ll give them a call myself shortly.”
“I actually hoped one would be Mildred Dryer, after we found out she’d had her gallbladder removed.” I shook my hands to relieve some of the emotional tension that was building inside of me. I felt a sense of joy for the families that would get closure and disappointment for the Winnebago County families who would not.
“You okay?” Smoke said.
“Yeah.” I pulled the six photos of the missing from my shirt pocket and studied them for the hundredth time, it seemed. “I’ve carried our missing people with me for days, added the others yesterday.” I handed one to Smoke. “Mildred. She was what my mother would call a ‘handsome woman’. Stately.” The image of her lying in the bucket of the excavator, dressed in a gown, branded with symbols would be with me forever. “She’d lost weight since this picture was taken, but I can see how she could be the first recovered victim.”
“I agree. Not that the M.E. needs to since they have a DNA match, but I’m convinced the facial image in this photo would match the facial image of the first body,” he said.
I pulled Horace Kline’s photo from the stack and had another good look. He held a beer and wore a big grin on his ruddy face. “And Mister Kline. He looked skinnier coming out of the bog, too. Compared to how he looks in this photo.” I held it up.
“Drinking a brewsky. Must’ve also imbibed a lot of hard stuff along the way that contributed to his cirrhosis.”
Smoke’s phone buzzed. “The M.E.’s office.” He pushed the talk button. “Detective Dawes. . . . Good, very good. . . . We’ll wait to hear from the lab, see if we get more matches. Did you pin down a manner of death on either one? . . . Well, we’ll go with that, for now.” He disconnected.
“They completed two more of the autopsies?”
He nodded. “When the bodies of the four kids who overdosed on fentanyl-laced heroin at that party came in—horrible deal—their cases took priority. Of course. Now they’re back to examining our victims,” Smoke said.
“The M.E.s deal with a lot of the same tragedies we do, but in a different way.”
“No doubt. Doc Patrick said if nothing pressing comes in over the weekend, they’re geared to finish up with the last three Coyote Bog bodies.”
I crossed my fingers. “The families of our missing folks are waiting. It’ll be good to have answers, one way or the other.”
“Yep.”
“To let you know, human resources from all three places will have the employee records and photos ready in a couple of hours, or so. It helps that none of them have large numbers of staff, and many of the employees have been around forever,” I said.
“That will help narrow down our list of suspects. If someone has been at the same facility for twenty years, that means she isn’t changing jobs every year. On the other hand, our offender likely is.”
“Or is working part time at a couple of places,” I said.
“We’ll see what we got when we get there. Meantime, I’ll update the chief and make those follow up calls to Sherburne and Meeker. They’ll want to make notification before word gets out to the world, so we’ll keep it private until they give the nod. I’ll circle back later.”
“My goal between now and then is to finish the job evaluations for the deputies I supervise.”
Smoke cracked a grin. “You still working on those? It’s not like you’ve been busy or anything.”
I raised my eyebrows and lifted my hand. “Bye.”
26
Meadowbrook Assisted Living in Harold Lake and the Home Health Comfort Care Agency in Oak Lea both had the documents ready when we arrived. Smoke presented each with a court order to keep on file for their legal protection. They provided copies of employee records going back seven years, that included names, birth dates, addresses, dates of employment, photos, and any notable performance issues, as I’d requested.
Ridgewood Care Center in Oak Lea was our last stop. The human resources director had questions but respected the position of the sheriff’s office.
“What I can tell you is, we’re conducting an investigation based on information we’ve received, and we’ll see where it leads. Meantime, we ask that you keep this confidential,” Smoke said.
“I will. Of course. But I have to confess that it gives me the chills to think someone who worked here could have been involved in such a horrible crime.” She had no doubt figured out the reason we were there. “I mean, we do a good job checking backgrounds, school records, and get letters of recommendation from past employers, as well as personal references. A thorough job,” she said.
“I’m sure you do,” Smoke said.
“Thanks for your help,” I said.
On the drive back to the office, I said, “I’ve been wondering about Mae Borgen, the woman who was so skittish when we paid her a visit. When she talked about going to work early in the morning, I should have asked her where she worked.”
“She came out free of holds or wants when you ran a check on her.”
“I know, but she lives near Coyote and can keep an eye on things, like Special Agent Erley said. She has a son, a possible accomplice. And she’s around the age Erley mentioned as likely. When we get back, let’s compare her driver’s license photo with the employee photos we got,” I said.
“Sounds like a plan.”
Smoke and I settled in at the large table in the squad room with the printouts, notepads, highlighters, and pens with black, blue, and red ink. “We got our work cut out for us,” I said.
“Yep.”
Deputies Todd Mason and Brian Carlson came in. They both looked worn out and it hit me that I was too. “Detective, Sergeant, with those stacks of paper and writing supplies, I’d say you’re about to have more fun than you deserve,” Mason said.
Smoke’s eyebrows lifted. “You got that right.”
“Has this seemed like the longest week in all of our years working together?” Carlson said.
Some weeks seemed like a month long. At least. “Now that you mention it,” I said.
“About sums it up,” Smoke said.
“We started out Monday morning with that awful deal at the bog, and then the sheriff with Jaxson and all. Sad. Monday feels like it was two weeks ago,” Carlson said.
“I hear you, man. But with Jaxson taking off, it’d be fine with me if time stood still until they found him,” Mason said.
We were silent for a time then Carlson said, “We were in the crime lab going over things with Doug Matsen when we heard you were back at the office. Doug’ll be here any minute to report on the weight and cord found on the first Coyote victim.”
“Good deal,” Smoke said.
“I have an update on the cross pendant. Christian Jewelry Designs, the manufacturer, got back to me this afternoon,” Carlson said.
“And?” Smoke said.
“They finished checking their invoices and have the number of pendants they sold to the Target stores in our county.” Carlson pulled out his notepad and flipped it open. “They read the numbers to me over the phone and will mail the copies.”
&n
bsp; “The old-fashioned way,” Smoke said.
Carlson smiled. “Yeah, the man I’m working with sounds like he’s about ninety-five. Sharp as a tack, just takes him a while to finish a project like this.” He read from his notes, “It’s not a big-ticket item, but sales are decent. Their biggest shipments have been at Christmas, Easter, and around confirmation and graduation time. But what struck me, what didn’t fit with the general trends, happened seven years ago. Easter was April eighth that year. Anyway, after the Easter sales depleted the supplies at the Oak Lea store, they shipped twenty pendants there. And the next week they shipped twenty more. That’s the anomaly. Never happened before or since.”
“Either twenty people each bought a pendant, or ten bought two, or did one buy twenty?” Mason interjected.
“And the answer is, drumroll . . .” Carlson paused to tap out a staccato beat on the table with his hands. “One person bought twenty.”
“We just came from that Target store. It was pretty easy for them to track down the sale,” Mason said.
“And the purchaser?” Smoke said.
“Ah, no. That was missing from the equation. It was a cash sale,” Carlson said.
“We wouldn’t want it to be too easy for us, now would we?” Smoke said.
If he’d been closer, I would have elbowed him. “If our offender is the one who bought them, that’s one explanation why none of the missing persons’ family members recognized the pendant as belonging to their loved ones,” I said.
Sergeant Doug Matsen walked in with his reports. “This must be the place.”
“For blood, sweat, and tears,” Carlson quipped.
“We hear you’ve made some progress,” Smoke said.
Matsen nodded. “Some.” He handed the reports to Smoke. “The twenty-pound weight tied around the first female victim is older, manufactured thirty-seven years ago by Murphy Iron, a company in New York. It was widely distributed and available at both large and smaller sports shops, so tracking down its sale at this point is not feasible.”
Remains In Coyote Bog Page 15
