Remains In Coyote Bog

by Christine Husom

  “We owe that guy dinner at a fine restaurant.”

  “Good idea,” I said.

  “See you soon.”

  I plucked the bottle of water from the cup holder, removed the cap, and poured it down my parched throat. I ate and drank next to nothing on surveillance for two reasons: I couldn’t leave my post and even if I could, there never seemed to be a restroom close by. With twenty minutes until I was home, I’d reached the safe zone.

  38

  The sun rose way too early Sunday morning. Sunday fun day? Not by any stretch of the imagination. I heard noises in the kitchen downstairs. Smoke and the dogs. I rolled on my back and stared at the ceiling for a moment. Unsettling and terrifying things were going on in our world: a serial killer had abducted Mrs. Edberg, and Jaxson Kenner, a fugitive from justice, was hiding from the law. Somewhere out there. Life was off kilter, spinning out of control.

  I gazed out the window and thought, I’m grateful the sun is shining, dragged myself out of bed, and headed downstairs. Queenie’s and Rex’s happy whining sounds brightened my spirits more than the sun. I gave each of their heads a quick rub.

  Smoke held a cup of coffee in one hand, slipped the other one around my waist, and bent over for a welcomed kiss. “Good morning, sunshine.”

  “The best way to start the morning. Why don’t we have our coffee outside on the deck?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Smoke filled a cup for me and topped off his own. We settled in deck chairs and the dogs went on their customary exploratory run.

  “I woke up before first light at five this morning,” Smoke said.

  “It’s hard to rest with all we’ve got going on, that’s for sure.”

  “I don’t know if the victims’ families will be available to meet with me this morning, but I’ll wait until a more respectable hour to call them. Six is too early for most folks on Sunday.”

  “No messages from the overnight deputies, that they found the deadly chameleon?” I said.

  “No. I’m counting on Dina’s research to come up with a new lead, a new address to check.”

  “My heart goes from aching to pounding fast and furiously, scared half to death by what Missus Edberg is dealing with.”

  “Both she and Bob are front and center in my thoughts. Everything else has taken a back seat,” Smoke said.

  “Definitely. Back to the victims’ families. Can I be your off-duty ride along today, Smoke?”

  He reached over and laid his hand on mine. “Corinne, you need the day off. This week’s been brutal. If we get a lead on the offender, I’ll let you know a-sap. Meantime, it’d make your mother and your gramps mighty happy to see you in church.”

  “You’re right. I’ve barely talked to either one this week. Besides, I need spiritual nourishment.”

  He slid his palm into mine and squeezed. “Since you put it that way, I’ll go with you.”

  My church was in the country, not far from my home, with a picturesque steeple visible from miles away. As a child I thought the top reached the clouds. It was old and quaint with a congregation of dedicated volunteers. I was not a regular attendee, mostly due to my work schedule, and partly due to falling out of habit. Sitting close to Smoke, Mother, and Gramps in the pew, singing the hymns and hearing the pastor’s message gave me the reassurance I needed, a reminder that all the bad in this life would not be with us in the next.

  It was difficult for Gramps to stand for long, so he and Mother left right after the service. Smoke and I were the last ones in the church and Pastor Hobart greeted us like we were family he hadn’t seen for a while. After some minutes catching up, the pastor said, “Your sheriff’s office has quite the case after finding those bodies in the Coyote Bog. Trying to figure out who they are.”

  “Yes. Actually, the medical examiner has been able to identify most of them, thanks to the miracle of DNA testing,” I said.

  “I’d say so,” he said.

  Since no one else was around, I told him, “This is something that wasn’t released to the public, or even to the families, but the victims were all branded with the image of an angel on their foreheads and crosses on their wrists.”

  His eyebrows knitted together. “Oh, my.”

  “We’re looking for an angel of death who poses as a caregiver.”

  Pastor Hobart shook his head. “Why did this angel of death go to the dark side? Corinne, when you came to me about that case you were working on a few years ago—the one where a woman was killed and dismembered—we talked about all the times in our vocations when we know there is a battle waging between good and evil.”

  “I remember you telling me that you and I fight the same battles, but we use different weapons.”

  I noticed Smoke’s eyes on the bible Pastor Hobart held. Then he lifted his elbow and subtly rested it on his sidearm. “That’s a good way to put it, Pastor. I like that,” Smoke said.

  Smoke contacted members of the Keats, Petty, and Wright families, and gave them tentative times when he’d stop over with “new” information. He was on his way out the door when Chief Deputy Randolph phoned. “Hey, Chief . . . Aww, wouldn’t you know. New plan of attack? . . . Progress, anyway. Have you checked in with Bob this morning? . . . Okay. I should be wrapped up with the family notifications by noon. If anything comes up on your end, you have me on speed dial.”

  Smoke shook his head and disconnected. “Can we catch a break here?”

  “What?”

  “Dina got the list together of the facilities and agencies. Randolph divided it up for the night deputies. They paid visits to the nursing homes and assisted living places, armed with photos of the deadly chameleon, and met with the RN supervisors. But not a one of them recognized her from the images,” he said.

  “Man.”

  “Randolph told them to leave the photos at the homes so the HR folks can have a look tomorrow, see if she ever applied there and wasn’t hired. Randolph’s also gotten a hold of a few of the home health agencies. Even though it’s Sunday, the managers agreed to meet with deputies. He’ll contact the rest. So that’s in the works. He also has eight deputies posted at the main roads where people exit Winnebago County, keeping an eye out for the Toyota. Of course, all the deputies on duty are on the lookout,” Smoke said.

  “A lot going on. What’d he say about Bob?”

  “Randolph’s keeping Bob with him for the day. It was the best way he could think of to keep Bob safe and involved at the same time.”

  “Smart. We won’t have to worry as much.”

  “Right. So you’re off on a run?” he said.

  “A long one. It’s been a while since I’ve done a ten or twelve-miler and I’ll feel better after my brain releases a healthy dose of endorphins. It’ll help me think more clearly.”

  “That’s what makes you so smart.”

  “Now you know my secret.”

  It was 62˚ with a cloud cover and a gentle cooling breeze from the south. Perfect running weather in my world. I wore a loose-fitting shirt to cover my Smith and Wesson and zipped the freeze plus pepper spray I carried on long runs in the side pocket of my pants, in case a loose dog gave me trouble. I left from my house and turned west at County Road 35, planning to run the first mile in ten minutes, and each subsequent one a minute faster, until I achieved a six-minute mile. Then I’d pull back my speed again.

  The farther I ran the better I felt, emotionally and physically, releasing all the stored glycogen in my muscles. I smiled as I passed Smoke’s driveway and pondered where we’d live together as man and wife. Neither of us wanted to maintain two households, going back and forth between them. As much as I loved my home and its close proximity to my family, I’d be happy to call Smoke’s place mine as well. Home is where the heart is, right?

  Mrs. Edberg was foremost in my mind but other thoughts swirled around, jumping from wondering how Bob Edberg was holding up, to Jaxson Kenner and his well-being, to the bog victims I carried photos of, to hoping Smoke’s visits wit
h their families were going well, to the angel of death and her accomplice. Where were they holed up?

  Praying for Mrs. Edberg’s safe return had me running faster than I’d planned. When I reached County Road 7, the five-and-a-half-mile mark, I debated about going another half mile or turning around. As per usual at that intersection, I glanced up at the house on the hill that overlooked Coyote Bog. The sun reflected off something in the picture window, and the drapes opened slightly from the middle then closed again. I did a double take. Someone was in the house. Finally.

  I pulled out my phone and sent Smoke a text message. Floyd Myren might be home. Running up there to check. Call when you’re clear.

  I jogged through the construction zone, taking care not to step on a rock or into a hole, mindful of a few falls I’d taken over the years. When I reached Myren’s driveway, something made me pause. Would it be better to drive up his road? Out in the middle of the country people rarely walked up to a residence, unless they had some sort of trouble. On second thought, I’d identify myself when I knocked on the door so it should be good.

  As I neared the edge of Myren’s lawn, prickly sensations danced over the skin of my entire body and my senses heightened. Especially my sixth sense. I stopped to assess why. No vehicle in Myren’s driveway, but he had a double car garage and was likely parked in there. No one was outside and no audible sounds came from the house. Something was off. Hinky. Raised the hairs on the back of my neck.

  I was about to turn tail and run away when someone stepped out from the treed area and grabbed me from behind, above the waist, pinning my arms to my sides. He pulled my body against his, lifting me what felt like two feet off the ground. A giant of a man. I couldn’t see him, but my instincts told me who he was. The man Smoke and I saw leaving the Emerald Lake building. The one who had most likely been in Dolly Corbin’s apartment. I was too stunned to speak. Every ounce of my energy and focus went into plotting how to escape.

  “I watched you.” He spoke slowly, like each word took effort. But the meaning behind them filled me with dread. The sickening truth of why the giant was at Floyd Myren’s house hit me like a rock. How had I let myself walk into a trap without backup? My one crazy thought was, If I go missing, at least Smoke knows where I was when I disappeared.

  He held me tightly around my diaphragm and I had trouble catching a full breath. “I’m here to see Floyd Myren,” finally spilled out when he loosened his grip a bit.

  “Can’t.”

  “Are you his caretaker?” I said.

  “No. Mister Myren is gone.”

  “Still in Florida?”

  “No, in Heaven,” he said.

  Dear Lord, have mercy. It took everything I had to keep my voice level. “Like the others?”

  “Mama told me not to say.”

  Mama. “Is she here?”

  “She’s gone somewhere,” he said.

  “But Emma Edberg is here.”

  “Mama told me not to say.”

  Mrs. Edberg is here! I was being held captive by an intellectually challenged giant of a man, bullied by his petite, abusive killer of a mother. “That’s fine. You don’t want to disobey your mother.”

  “Uh, uh.”

  “I’m Corky, what’s your name?”

  “Mama told me not to say.”

  “Okay. Well, I was just wondering if I could go home now, since I can’t visit Floyd after all,” I said.

  “No. I have to keep anybody who comes here.”

  He has to keep? Anybody? Are there more people here somewhere besides Mrs. Edberg? “Okay. Where are you going to keep me?”

  “In the house.” As he walked with me toward the door, I contemplated survival tactics. My right wrist was a couple of inches from my sidearm and my left hand was a few inches below the zipper of the pocket holding the pepper spray. The giant’s arms held me above the waist, and he hadn’t noticed either the gun or the spray. Or my phone. Thankfully. But if I tried to manipulate either arm to grab one of the weapons, it would alert him, and I’d likely lose all three.

  When we got to the side door of the house, he kept his left arm wrapped around me and used his right hand to turn the doorknob. As he pulled it open wide enough to get us through, his grip eased and allowed me to drop to the floor. I scooted a few feet then jumped up, ran past the kitchen through the living room into a hallway, and entered the first door on the right. It was the bathroom.

  I shut and locked the door behind me and did a quick assessment of the small room. The sink was straight ahead on the south wall. The window above the mirror was five feet up and maybe twelve inches high by three feet wide. Not big enough for me to scoot through. The bathtub was on the west wall and the toilet on the east wall. The door opened from west to east.

  My heart pounded so fiercely against my rib cage it felt like a few ribs would crack. I pulled my phone from its holder and dialed Smoke. It went to voicemail. I whispered I was at Myren’s, in trouble, send help, disconnected, and turned the ringer off so the giant wouldn’t hear it.

  I was dialing 911 when he knocked on the door. “You have to come out,” he said.

  “I’m using the toilet.”

  “Come out in five minutes.” Five minutes?

  “Okay.”

  “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” Communication Officer Robin’s voice.

  I turned on the water to cover the sound of my voice and spoke quietly. “Corky Aleckson. I’m being held by someone I believe is involved with Missus Edberg’s abduction at the Floyd Myren home near the intersection of County Thirty-five and Seven. I suspect Missus Edberg is here. I locked myself in the bathroom. Tell deputies to come in quiet. I don’t want anything to happen to Missus Edberg if my captor hears them and panics. He’s big, close to seven feet, over three hundred pounds. No idea about firearms in the house. I’ve got my Smith and Wesson and pepper spray.”

  Robin’s voice quivered when she said, “We have the address and my partner is dispatching all available. Closest is six to eight minutes out. Glad you’re armed.”

  Damn. Six to eight minutes? “Tell them to hurry.”

  “Stay on the line.”

  “I will but my phone will be in its holder on my hip.” I replaced the phone then reached up and opened the window so the breeze would help carry the freeze pepper spray away from me if I used it. In case the giant broke through the door, I stepped onto the side of the bathtub, near the door, pulled the pepper spray from my pocket with my finger on the trigger.

  He banged on the door again. It hadn’t been five minutes. “I heard talking.”

  I was inspired to say, “I’m praying.”

  “To God?”

  “Yes, to God.”

  “Oh. Come out, okay?” he said.

  “I will when I finish praying.”

  “Okay. Five more minutes. I have to check something.”

  Was he actually watching a clock, or was the five-minute warning something his “Mama” had used on him over the years? Deputies were still minutes away and I hoped whatever the giant was checking on took at least that long. I leaned over, my ear to the door. I heard the giant talking and whimpering sounds from a woman. Mrs. Edberg? Was he hurting her? The hands on my watch weren’t moving, it seemed. How could a minute take so long to pass?

  39

  Heavy footsteps came my way again and I drew the Smith and Wesson from its holster. Thank God he’d left the suffering woman. A muffled voice spoke from my phone, but I didn’t dare put down either weapon. I prayed it was Robin telling me deputies were arriving.

  “You have to come out now,” the giant said.

  “Rufus, who are you talking to? Do you have our patient in there?” Rufus. A woman’s angry voice. Was that his mother? Dear Lord, the angel of death was here? Who was she pretending to be today?

  “No, Mama. I think it’s a cop. I seen her before.” He remembered me from the apartment. Had he also seen me at the Coyote Bog crime scene? Probably.

  “What? Get her
out of there this instant.” Her growling voice matched her demented personality. The one she’d hidden from the world. But her reign was about to end.

  Where is my backup? My options were diminishing. Unless the death angel had a weapon and refused to drop it, I couldn’t shoot her. The giant on the other hand was a different story. His whole body was a weapon. If I blasted them both with pepper spray, I’d get a measure of it myself. More importantly, if the whimpering woman I believed was Mrs. Edberg was close enough to catch a dose of the debilitating spray, it could prove dangerous. She already suffered from compromised health.

  Rufus the giant pounded on the door. “Mama says to come out.”

  Me opening the door would not happen. I heard movement on the other side and was both prepared and unprepared for what might transpire. I counted on fast thinking and training scenarios to carry me through. A loud, blunt force cracking sounded, and the door burst open. The giant stumbled in, unbalanced, as the door hit the east wall. I aimed the spray bottle at his face, released the trigger, then jumped past him through the doorway.

  I heard him cry out in pain as I peered into the stunned face of the angel of death herself. My split-second impression was she looked like all her personas rolled into one. I didn’t know where her “patient” was but no longer worried about taking any back spray myself. I shot her with a dose of pepper and backed away as she gasped and coughed and cried. Water ran in the bathroom and I declined advising Rufus that washing his face would only intensify the effects of the spray.

  Mother and son howled and cursed with defensible reason. I’d taken a half dose of it in training. My eyes and nose had been on painful fire and didn’t stop dripping for hours. I slipped the spray in my pocket and kept my gun in a low-ready position as I searched for Mrs. Edberg. I couldn’t hear any sounds from her over the two of them wailing. There were three other doors in the hallway. Two on the opposite side from the bathroom and one on the end.