Smoke made a “hmm” sound.
We reached County Road 5 and turned north. Smoke had been scouting for Jaxson since we’d left Elk River. So had I. “Let’s take Prairie’s Edge in,” he said.
“You have a feeling we’ll catch Jaxson returning for his car?”
“No, but stranger things have happened.”
A few minutes later, we saw a hiker on the drive, and I held onto the hope the “stranger things” comment had come true. Smoke leaned forward, his body visibly tense. My heart rate sped up. The young man had a large black hiker’s backpack that stretched from shoulder to waist and appeared stuffed full. He wore black athletic pants and a stocking cap, so we couldn’t see his hair. From the back, he looked like Jaxson.
“Pull up closer behind him and stop,” Smoke said.
When I did, he jumped out and called out, “Jaxson.”
The young man looked over his shoulder and turned around. Not Jaxson. “Sorry, I thought you were a friend of ours.” Smoke lifted his hand in a goodbye salute.
The young man half-smiled and nodded. “No problem, man.” The doubtful look on his face as he glanced from Smoke to the unmarked squad said it all. He was relieved he was not the friend we were looking for. The man turned and continued on his way. Smoke climbed back into the car.
“Between the polo shirt with the sheriff’s patch, the gun on your hip, and the badge on the front of your belt, you didn’t fool him for a second.”
“I caught that the same second. Not that I was trying to fool him. If I’d had a chance to think about it, I could’ve said, ‘I thought you were someone else.’”
“No biggie. Until he turned around, I thought he was Jaxson. Doggone wishful thinking,” I said.
“Let’s drive to where Jaxson’s car was found, see if there’s any evidence he was there after the tow truck hauled it away.”
I stopped short of where tire tracks went in and came out again, from where the car had been parked. We got out and visually perused the gravel, looking for footprints near or inside the tracks off the road. Nothing evident. “Let’s drive the rest of the loop, then head back to Oak Lea. Unless something exciting happens along the way,” Smoke said.
Nothing did.
The Meeker County Seat was southwest of Oak Lea, and about twenty miles further from our county seat than Sherburne’s was. After a homecooked meal at a Mom and Pop café in town, we met with Detective Gale at the sheriff’s office. He was tall and lean with slicked-back hair and a pencil mustache. His dapper look reminded me of actors in 1940s movies. Gale escorted us to his office, and we took seats opposite him.
Gale brushed a finger across his eyebrow. “I have to say, everyone in the department from the sheriff on down is grateful to you guys. It feels like two giant gifts were dropped from Heaven. Who’d have possibly guessed that two of our cold cases—ones that we weren’t currently investigating—would be solved by the Winnebago County Sheriff’s Department?”
“Our highway department pulling a body out of a bog during a construction project opened up one of the most bizarre cases we’ve ever had, no question about it. When we broadened the scope of the investigation, we didn’t have a clue where it’d take us,” Smoke said.
“We shake our heads all the time, don’t we?” Gale said.
“That we do. Getting down to why we’re here. You’ve got employee records from the care facilities, photos?” Smoke said.
Gale slid five files our way. “Have a look. Our missing folks were at separate facilities. Like you did, when the second one went missing, we looked at a possible connection between the two, but didn’t find one. The special agent coming up with the idea that one person was posing as multiples was a godsend for our investigation.”
We each picked up a file. After a glance at mine, it was easy to see the woman did not match the physical features of the other three. “No,” I said, and traded files with Smoke. When I saw the next photo, the nerves on the back of my neck tingled. “She fits.” She had worked at the facility Horace Kline had disappeared from.
“Yep,” Smoke said. “And you’re right, this one doesn’t.” He set it aside.
I opened the third file and shook my head. “This woman’s ears are visible in the photo. She has ear lobes, our suspect doesn’t.” I pointed at the second one’s photo. “Nor does she. Some features are easier to alter, but ears are tougher, unless you get prosthetic ones.”
“No need to bother if your hair covers them up,” Smoke said.
The fourth file wasn’t a good match, but we hit pay dirt with the fifth. “I don’t believe it. Smoke, look at this.”
“Damn.”
“She used the same identity she did in Winnebago County, when she worked for the two different facilities. Rhoda Barnes. Geez.”
I handed Gale the file with our suspect’s photos. He laid the pages on his desk and I pointed at Rhoda’s. “Same info, except the address. She lived in Dassel back then.”
“A few miles from the Winnebago County border,” Smoke said.
“Right.” Gale spent some time reading through them and looking at the photos. “So, Rhoda Barnes is listed as forty-six. The file you have on Dolly Corbin says she’s fifty-eight. And the first one you think is a match, the female we have an employee record for as Krystal Wiley, is listed as forty-one years old. When I look at them side-by-side, they could be the same person.”
“Wonder where she came up with the name Wiley. Probably how she thinks of herself. Wily, scheming,” Smoke said.
“Seems to be that, all right. According to her DL, Rhoda Barnes lives right there in your county seat. Oak Lea. Krystal listed her address in Dassel. Wow, the same address as Rhoda had,” Gale said.
“One less address to check out,” I said.
“Right. But Krystal is currently nowhere to be found. At least not in Minnesota,” Gale said.
“No surprises there. We got the address for Barnes in Oak Lea, and a different one for Corbin in Emerald Lake. Both apartments have been under surveillance since yesterday. She hasn’t been to either place, so I’m thinking she’s either staying with someone, like her accomplice, or she’s got another place somewhere else,” Smoke said.
“What a cluster,” Gale said.
I pointed at Kerry’s file. “Another one to add to the mix, Detective. From Sherburne. Jasmine Kerry, age thirty-nine, advancing her age to what she’d be now. Not that any of the ages she used are likely true,” I said.
He studied the record a minute and shook his head. “However you look at it, it’s nothing short of amazing she can span her age twenty years. And people believe her,” Gale said.
“Smoke referred to her as a ‘deadly chameleon’ earlier.”
Detective Gale sucked in air through his nostrils. “Deadly. Chameleon. Yes.”
32
Mama and Rufus
Rufus had been trying to think of anything besides what his mother had planned for the day. He did not want another patient to take care of.
It was scary enough to think of one. But the thought of more than one made him break out in a sweat. If he knew how to escape, he would. But Mama was smart and would find him wherever he went. And might send him on his heavenly journey for disobeying.
He was tired of keeping up with the apartments and homes they had, and all the different ways Mama looked and dressed. He wanted her to be herself, the way she used to be before his grandfather made her do something terrible. It changed her in a bad way.
The phone Mama had given him rang and he was afraid to answer it. She told him he was only to talk to her. When he saw it was her number on the phone, he pushed the talk button. “Mama?”
“Son, I’m checking to see if everything is ready there. Does the room look nice and is the bed clean?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Have you seen any highway workers on the road today?”
“No, Mama. You told me they don’t work on Saturday.”
“Yes, just wanted to be sure. See
you later, Son.”
“Okay, Mama.”
The patient coming home with Mama would start the ball rolling on something he hated more than anything in the world.
33
“We’ve got all these different identities the offender has been employed under. We need to contact all the elder care facilities and agencies in the county, show them her photos, see if she’s got a job at one of them,” Smoke said.
“Yes. Let’s check with Randolph, see if his office staff will assemble the list so we can contact them. I’ll be off the next three days, back on Wednesday, but we can’t wait that long. We need to find her before she nabs her next victim,” I said.
We were on the way back from Meeker, a few miles outside of Oak Lea, when my phone rang. Bob Edberg. “Hey, Bob—”
“My mother’s gone.” His voice cracked.
“What?”
“I got home . . . nobody here.”
“I’m with Dawes, not far out. Stay put till we get there,” I said.
He disconnected without a response.
“Edberg needs us. At his house. His mother’s not there and he’s in panic mode.”
Smoke pressed down on the accelerator, and instead of continuing straight on County Road 12 into town, he turned off on a township road. Bob had built his home on a five-acre lot in a development with four other homes on a small lake, more the size of a pond. It was two miles from city limits, but the wooded area was isolated, quiet, and seemed like it was deep in the country.
As we pulled into Edberg’s driveway, I phoned Communications with our location. We found him inside, pacing and pounding a fist into his other hand, over and over. “They stole the nanny cameras,” he said.
“Bob . . .” After uttering his name, I didn’t know what else to say.
“First question. Any sign of a struggle, anything out of place?” Smoke said.
“No. I looked around inside then went outside to see if she was there for some reason, called for her, but got no answer. I came back in to do a better search and that’s when I spotted the cameras were gone.”
“Notice anything else missing?” I said.
“Like money, jewelry? Haven’t checked.”
“You had a care attendant here when you left this morning, right?” Smoke said.
“Yes, one of the weekend workers.”
“Have you talked to her, or the agency since you got home?” I said.
Edberg shook his head. “I called you first.”
“The name of the agency and the attendant?” Smoke said,
“Senior Home Care. Jasmine Wiley.”
Jasmine Wiley. The first name from Jasmine Kerry and the last name from Krystal Wiley. It felt like all the air got sucked out of the room. Neither Smoke nor I responded for what seemed like an hour. Finally Smoke, in remarkably calm voice said, “Can you describe her?”
“Attractive, early forties, dark brown hair, green eyes, five three, five four, slender, maybe weighs one twenty.”
“Corky, will you grab the files?” Smoke said.
My mind raced and my stomach churned on the way to the car and back again. We were about to drop the worst of the worst news on Bob Edberg. How many times had we done that in our careers to others? But with one of our own, our friend, it was especially difficult. Nearly impossible. Edberg was astute and likely saw the writing on the wall as soon as he’d discovered his mother was missing, before he’d called us.
Smoke and Bob were locked in a hug that put a lump in my throat. I quietly spread the files on the kitchen table and waited for Bob to gain enough composure to take a look. His hands shook as he pulled a pair of readers from his breast pocket and slid them on. He placed both hands on the table, arms extended, and leaned forward. I sensed he needed to keep distance between himself and the images.
“Does Jasmine resemble anyone in these photos?” I said.
His voice quivered. “All of them, to a certain extent. She looks most like Krystal, but a little older than her. Wait a minute, my mother’s favorite caregiver, Melody Reed, is almost a dead ringer for this Dolly Corbin. But heavier, with blue eyes, not brown. Shorter hair.” Edberg bounced his pointer finger up and down at the photo.
“Melody, the one you saw going through your mother’s dresser drawers?” I said. The angel of death posed as two separate caregivers for Edberg’s mother?
“Are you sure?” Smoke said.
“I can’t swear to it, but I’d say so.”
“This just got a whole lot more complicated. And we need to take it one step at a time. What we got here looks downright incriminating, but the first thing is to check with the agency, see if they’ve had contact with Jasmine Wiley, if they have an explanation. Do you want me to handle that?” Smoke said.
It took Bob a few seconds to decide. “No, I will.” He pulled the phone from his belt, found the contact he needed, and hit the talk button. “This is Bob Edberg, Emma’s son. I got home from work and my mother isn’t here. If Jasmine Wiley took her somewhere, I need to know why. And if Wiley left before her shift ended, left my mother here alone, I need to know why. She didn’t leave a note. I need to call her, if you’ll give me her number. . . . Then have her call me. Pronto.” He disconnected. “It’s their damn weekend answering service. She said it’s against company policy to give out their employees’ private numbers.”
“If we don’t hear from her in five minutes, I’ll call back, as a Winnebago County detective,” Smoke said. “What does Wiley drive?”
“Toyota Camry, four-door, gray, about three years old, I’d say.”
Smoke phoned Communications and requested they check on a vehicle registered to Jasmine Wiley. He held on while they searched, then shook his head. “How about Melody Reed, again no known middle name.” After a minute, he said, “Thanks,” and disconnected. “No registered vehicles come back to either one.”
“Damn, why didn’t I ever catch the plate?” Bob said.
“You had no idea you’d need it, Bob. We’ll get her number and address,” I said.
The service called back a few minutes later. Bob put his hand over the phone. “Wiley hasn’t picked up and there’s no voicemail.”
Smoke reached for his phone. “This is Detective Elton Dawes, Winnebago County Sheriff’s Office. I’m here with Deputy Robert Edberg. It’s critical we get Jasmine Wiley’s phone number, a-sap. I also need her address. And another one of your attendants—Melody Reed’s—address and phone number. I’ll speak to your boss, cover for you. . . .” He made a writing gesture and I pulled out my pen and pad. I recorded the numbers for the two women as he recited them. “Thanks,” he said and hung up.
“The answering service lady said she doesn’t have Wiley’s or Reed’s addresses but will get a hold of the administrator and get back to us as soon as possible. Sergeant, will you get the numbers to Communications, see if they can pinpoint the locations of the phones? And have them send a message to our deputies, tell them to be on the lookout for a gray Camry.”
I passed the requests on to Communications while Smoke phoned Chief Deputy Randolph. “Chief will be on his way here as soon as he gets a deputy to help interview your neighbors, Bob. Should be here shortly.”
Edberg took another look at the photos on the table, shook his head, took off his glasses, and brushed away sprouting tears. “This monster who hides behind all these disguises has got my mother.”
I laid my hand on his shoulder. “We don’t know that for sure. But if she does, we’ll find her. That monster and your mother.”
“You know it’ll be all hands on deck until we get your mother safely home,” Smoke said.
“Should we dust for fingerprints, look for touch DNA here?” I said.
Edberg shrugged. “With the number of attendants that take care of my mother, I’m sure their fingerprints and DNA are comingled all over the house.”
“In this case, we know who the suspect is. At least we know her by the different names she goes by. You raise a good point abo
ut fingerprints, Sergeant, and most facilities require them with the background checks, nowadays. The problem is, I don’t believe the BCA retains those cards after they’ve been checked. If she was in the criminal justice system, she would have been flagged before now,” Smoke said.
“I think you’re right. She’d have to sign a consent form for fingerprints to be taken in the first place. And she wouldn’t do that if she had a criminal record,” I said.
Chief Deputy Randolph knocked on Bob’s door and identified himself as he entered. Deputy Vince Weber arrived a minute later. “Geez, Bob, really sorry here. We’ll find your mother,” Weber said.
Edberg nodded. “Thanks.”
Smoke gave Randolph and Weber the lowdown, including the possibility Wiley had posed as a second caregiver for his mother. They checked out the additional photos we’d gotten from Sherburne and Meeker Counties.
“Yeah well, she fits right in with the ones we figured were the most likely suspects,” Weber said.
“She’s been clever enough to evade interrogations up till now, but that’s about to change. We’re surveilling the two apartments twenty-four seven. She’s bound to show up before long,” Randolph said.
“Vince, check the four neighbors’ places here, find out if any of them noticed a gray car in Edberg’s yard, or if they saw his mother outside with anyone, particularly getting into a car. If they saw the car leave, what time that would’ve been,” Smoke said.
“My one neighbor’s retired, and he’s out puttering in his yard a lot. I’m counting on him,” Edberg said.
“On my way,” Weber pulled out his notepad and left.
“I’m gonna try Wiley’s number,” Edberg said. He hung up after a minute. “Maybe Reed will answer.” No luck there, either. “Where the hell is she? Where did she take my mother? Mom can’t handle a lot of stress. Things upset her for no good reason. It’s gotten worse with the dementia. Much worse. The trauma she must be going through . . .”
Edberg sniffled and grabbed a few tissues from a box on the end table. He dabbed his eyes then pulled out his phone. “I’ll try the numbers one more time.”
Remains In Coyote Bog Page 19
