No one in the first or second rooms, but when I opened the door on the end, I saw the person who made the past minutes from hell worth every second. Mrs. Edberg was lying on a twin-size bed facing the door. Her eyes were wide open, and she smiled when she saw me. I didn’t know if she recognized me, so I identified myself and rushed in to assist her. Her wrists were secured with vinyl-coated clothesline, tied to the headboard’s leg posts.
My disgust for her captors went through the roof. I didn’t have anything to cut the line with, nor did I have time to untie it. Damn. I laid my hand on hers for reassurance. “I’ll keep you safe, Missus Edberg, and our deputies are on the way to rescue you.”
“My son Robert, he’s a deputy.”
“You’ll see him very soon.”
The giant’s slobbering noises got closer. I ran to the door, shut and locked it. Not that it would stop him, but it would slow him down. If he broke in, I’d use deadly force. Justifiable, without argument. I feared for Mrs. Edberg’s life and for my own. Where were the deputies?
The giant didn’t bother to knock on the door or shout out a warning. He pushed through it like it was a piece of cardboard. His eyes were red, watering, and kept squeezing shut. Slobber dripped from his nose and mouth. His vision was impaired so a moving target would pose a challenge. I trained my Smith and Wesson on him.
“Winnebago County Sheriff’s Office. I have a gun aimed at you. Do not take another step forward. Stop or I will shoot!”
He stopped, thank God.
Mrs. Edberg started to cry.
“Get her,” the vile one spit out behind him.
He didn’t move. “Mama, she’s gonna shoot me.”
“You’ll be fine,” she retorted.
“Rufus, you will not be fine. If I shoot you, you will die. I don’t believe you want to die. Do not listen to your mother. She does bad things to people.”
“She sends them to Heaven.”
“Rufus, let the people in our office take care of you so your mother can never make you do what you don’t want to again—”
I heard deputies storming in, probably from both the side and front entrances. The angel of death screeched. Three deputies rushed into the bedroom with their weapons drawn. One ordered Rufus to turn around. He complied, without further struggle. Given Rufus’s size, a deputy interlocked two sets of handcuffs to serve as a single set and locked them on his wrists behind his back. The deputies and I exchanged nods as they escorted Rufus out of the room.
“I’ll be right back, Missus Edberg.” I patted her hand and followed the group through the door. The angel of death had her hands cuffed behind her back. She lifted her shoulder, trying to catch some of the snotty mucus that ran from her nose. A deputy was guiding her out. Seeing her in distress filled me with a large measure of pleasure. But it was nothing compared to the joy and enormous relief I felt knowing Mrs. Edberg was safe, and the killing spree of her captors had come to an abrupt, and final, end. I holstered my Smith and Wesson. The angel of death and her son were in custody, on their way, in separate squad cars, to the Winnebago County Jail.
“Deputy Holman, I need your help,” I said.
He followed me to the bed where Mrs. Edberg was held captive. I snapped a photo of her as evidence then pointed at the clothesline on her wrists. Holman drew the knife from his belt and cut the bindings. The line left some marks but hadn’t cut into her paper-thin skin. We worked together and carefully assisted Mrs. Edberg to an upright position on the edge of the bed.
“Where’s Robert?” she said, like none of the traumatic events had impacted her. A small blessing of the dementia’s effect.
“Robert’s on his way and should be here any minute,” Holman said. He caught my attention, half-smiled, and nodded. “Good work, Sergeant, all the way around.”
“Thanks. Right place, right time.”
“Where’s Robert?” Mrs. Edberg said again.
“He’ll be here any minute,” Holman said.
Thankfully, Bob Edberg ran in seconds later and Chief Deputy Randolph trailed close behind. Edberg squeezed my shoulder then sat down next to his mother and gently wrapped his arms around her. Tears welled in my eyes but didn’t spill out until I saw Smoke in the doorway and went to meet him. He drew me close and held on tightly. Neither of us had words.
“Ambulance is here,” Holman said.
I eased away from Smoke and told them, “Missus Edberg’s in there.” Smoke and I stepped aside to allow the team access.
Randolph joined us in the living room and called Holman over. “I have Detective Harrison writing a warrant to search the property, but I want you to do an initial check of the house, garage, barn, make sure there aren’t any other people—or bodies—in plain sight around here.” I cringed at the thought. “We’ll dig in deeper when the major crimes guys get here, and we have the signed warrant.” Harrison was the backup detective on weekend call.
Edberg followed the paramedics who wheeled his mother out of the bedroom. He stopped and caught me off guard when he threw his arms around me. I was speechless when he said, “I love you. Forever.” I responded with an extra squeeze.
Randolph and Smoke gave him half-hugs and uttered words of reassurance, then Edberg left to accompany his mother on the ride to the hospital.
“The last twenty-plus hours have been hell on earth for Bob. I don’t know what he would’ve done if anything worse had happened to his mother. If you hadn’t found her,” Randolph said.
“All I can say is I believe I was sent here for a reason.”
Smoke sucked air into his nostrils then exhaled. I knew he struggled with what I’d gone through. “When Communications raised me on the radio, I was wrapping up with Claire Bolton, Oscar Wright’s daughter, in Harold Lake. I couldn’t get here fast enough.”
Randolph concentrated his eyes on me. “How are doing, Sergeant? Injured in any way? That brute looked downright intimidating, even to a big guy like me.”
“I’ll be fine. Rufus didn’t hurt me. If it wasn’t for his mother telling him what to do, I don’t think he’d swat a pesky fly. It took about a minute for me to realize that her manipulations controlled him. Ruined his life,” I said.
“Tell us what happened. Communications caught part of it over your phone and relayed it to our mobile data terminals,” Randolph said.
“Everything, from the beginning. I’ll put it in my report,” Smoke added.
I walked them through the ordeal, step by step. I had trouble processing the reality that from the time Rufus grabbed me to the time deputies arrived spanned about twelve minutes. Abject fear and heightened senses made time move at a snail’s pace.
“From what Rufus said about Floyd Myren being in Heaven, we need to find out if he’s the seventh victim. The one who hasn’t been identified,” Randolph said.
“I have a strong feeling it’ll turn out he is. One of the sad parts in all this is that Mister Myren was never reported missing,” I said.
“From what we learned, he survived his wife, daughter, and brother. After his brother died a few years ago, apparently no one kept in touch with him,” Smoke said.
“Except for the one who took over his house and his life. A typical abuser makes that happen. We’ve mostly seen that with couples. They get married and within a year or two one of them has managed to estrange the other from their own family. The abuser keeps the spouse all to himself. Or herself. For complete control,” I said.
“You got that right,” Smoke said.
“The neighbor told me Myren was in Florida, from what she heard. I wonder who put that information out there?” My voice dripped with sarcasm knowing it was his “caretaker.”
“We’ll follow up on that. And how the death angel found him, victimized him, took over his home,” Randolph said.
“It’s possible he needed help so he could stay in his home. And he called the wrong agency,” I said.
“Could be,” Randolph said. “Sergeant, all I can say is thank you for what you d
id here, finding Bob’s mom, holding the offenders at bay till we got here.”
It took me a moment to answer. “I learned an important lesson in all this: I will forever carry my pepper spray when I go running.”
Smoke put his arm on my shoulder. “Added protection and life-saving, as it turned out.” He gave me a firm squeeze.
Deputy Holman returned. “There are two vehicles in the garage. The gray Toyota Camry and an old, navy Dodge Caravan. The Caravan is registered to Floyd Myren, the Toyota to Rufus Wilkins,” Holman said. Wilkins. I looked inside both. There’s a modified, extended-length diving board that folds in half lying in the van that you’ll want to check out. Otherwise nothing else in plain view in either vehicle. Very clean.”
“When Harrison has the signed warrant in hand, you can call for tows and we’ll process them in our evidence garage,” Randolph said.
“Two things to check out on the garage shelves: barbell weights and a roll of clothesline,” Holman said. He’d read the reports.
“That fits,” Smoke said.
“No sign that anyone has been in the barn in years. No lock on the door and when I opened the door, it was so cobwebby I had to fight my way in, looked around. The dust was thick, otherwise it was clean. No equipment, machinery, nothing. And there is no basement. It’s slab on grade,” Holman said.
“Cuts down on what to search, places to hide evidence. Chief, we also need warrants to search the two apartments,” Smoke said.
Randolph tapped his forehead. “I can’t believe I forgot to add them. I’ll call Harrison.” He was able to catch him at the office, made the request, and gave him the addresses for the warrants.
“I’d like to find out where the angel of death stores all her costumes,” Smoke said.
“That makes all of us. I asked Harrison to work with our crime scene team to process the property, gather the evidence. Elton, you have any loose ends to tie up with the victims’ families?” Randolph said.
Smoke nodded. “One last family to visit. I let them know something came up and I’d get back to them. They had nothing planned and seemed fine with that,” he said.
“Good. I want you to interview the angel of death and her son later today, after the pepper spray has dissipated. And when we have some evidence to throw in their faces. I’m counting on you to find out her real name so we can quit calling her the angel of death, or deadly chameleon,” Randolph said.
“Will do. I’m thinking her son will be our best bet to give up that information.”
I planned to be on the other side of the interview room glass, watching and taking notes.
The on-call major crimes deputies arrived and as soon as they got the go ahead, would process the property and gather evidence. Randolph brought them up to speed then I led them to the bedroom at the end of the hallway and pointed at the clothesline. “You’ll find clothesline on the bed that the bad guys tied Missus Edberg up with. I think it’ll match the line used on the bodies recovered from Coyote Bog. Holman spotted a roll of it in the garage,” I told them. They didn’t need a warrant to collect it.
Randolph took a phone call. He disconnected and said, “Good news. Harrison got all three warrants written and Judge Adams signed them. He’ll be on his way out here when he finishes something.”
“Adams always comes through for us in a timely manner. So we can peruse the closets?” Smoke said.
Randolph nodded. “Have at it.”
Smoke handed me a pair of protective gloves and the two of us entered the room the death angel likely occupied. The master bedroom. It was ethereally surreal, with creepy overtones. White walls, white furniture, white blinds, white sheer curtains, white bedspread, white satin throw pillows, large white rugs. Even the woodwork had been whitewashed. “Does she pretend she’s in Heaven when she’s in here?” Smoke said.
“If so, she’s grossly understating what Heaven’s like.”
Smoke raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”
I smiled. “From what I hear. Maybe it’s more to assure herself she’s pure, what she’s doing is good.”
“You think?”
“I’m not a psychologist. Whatever the reason, this room gives me major heebie-jeebies. When I was looking for Missus Edberg, I glanced in here and mostly noticed that she wasn’t in the bed and the spread was white,” I said.
“I feel some weird vibes myself.”
“Missus Edberg was in the other room, but I wonder if this is where they bring their victims to end their lives. Eew.”
“I’ll ask her that very question when we have our Come-to-Jesus meeting this afternoon.” Smoke took out his phone, snapped a photo of the room, and opened the bifold doors of the twelve-foot-wide closet.
“Wow,” I said.
Smoke shook his head. “This is too easy.”
40
Randolph joined us in the bedroom. He made a “wheeooow” whistle sound that started at a middle C and dropped an octave, one note at a time, as he visually scanned the room. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“No,” Smoke said.
“What have you got in there?” Randolph said.
Smoke pointed. “See for yourself.”
“I’ll be. Unbelievably incriminating evidence.”
“Yep.”
Smoke and I had discussed how the angel of death might keep her characters straight. She had sections of clothes for each of her personas with hanging cloth organizers for accessories such as wigs, body shapers, purses, glasses. And a name and photo of herself in each section. Melody Reed, Dolly Corbin, Jasmine Wiley. Her current angel of death identities.
Melody, age 61, was a size 16, thanks to a buxom, padded body form. She wore frumpy-looking knit pants, blouses, and cardigan sweaters, and a short, curly gray-haired wig.
Dolly, 58, wore size 12 and dressed in coordinating scrubs, like a light blue top with navy blue bottoms. She had a long-haired gray wig pulled into a bun.
Jasmine, 43, size 8, wore new-looking scrubs in a variety of colors. As Bob had described her, she was attractive and slender with green eyes and a blonde-haired wig worn in a high ponytail.
A fourth section of clothes was unmarked. That’s what the real angel of death presumably wore. Jeans, tee-shirts, sweatshirts, a few pairs of dress pants and blouses. No picture of her, of course. But we didn’t need one. We’d seen her in the flesh. She looked most like Jasmine Wiley, but with shoulder-length medium brown hair and blue eyes.
“She poses with innocent, pleasant looks in her pictures. But I can tell you, when she stared me in the face those few seconds, she was hateful, showed her wicked side,” I said.
“Her true identity,” Smoke said.
We were silent for a bit then Smoke removed a file box from the top section of a hanging organizer.
“More treasures?” I said.
He opened it and flipped through the cards. “Rhoda Barnes, Jasmine Kerry, Krystal Wiley, and another one we haven’t run across yet. There’s a description for each.”
“Rhoda no longer worked at either of the two care facilities. I guess the death angel retired her for now,” I said.
“Geez. Had she used others in the past? Planned to use them in the future?” Randolph said.
Smoke stepped back and shot a photo of the inside of the closet. “Major Crimes will be doing a lot of tagging and bagging.”
“I’ll recruit more troops to help,” Randolph said.
“There aren’t that many outfits here. Might be more in her apartments,” I said.
“Could be. Chief, after I make that notification, how about I report back here?” Smoke said.
Randolph nodded. “An hour or two would be a big help.”
I went over to a nine-drawer dresser and pulled open the top left one. It was filled with a variety of jewelry pieces laying in dividers. “Missus Edberg told Bob she was missing jewelry. The death angel could’ve stolen from her and others she worked for, too.”
“To sell, or keep as trophies?” Randolph sai
d.
Smoke and Randolph moved in beside me. When I opened the middle drawer, it was like unwrapping a long-awaited Christmas present. Boxes of cross pendants, identical to those found at the scene—one recovered in the spoils of the bog and another wrapped around a victim’s hand—were lined up in rows on the bottom.
“This just keeps getting better,” Smoke said and snapped photos of the contents in both open drawers.
As he replaced his phone in its holder, an unexpected chill ran through me and sent my body into shivers.
“Detective, the Sergeant here should get home, into some dry clothes. Harrison will be here shortly to take over,” Randolph said.
It was my first awareness that my clothes were wet with sweat. From the run and following trauma. “Oh. I guess. I thought it was the frigid atmosphere in this place that brought on my chills.” I rubbed my arms to warm up.
“Time to take off, Sergeant. All the evidence will be photographed and well-documented for our viewing displeasure,” Smoke said.
“Okay.”
Smoke put his hand on my elbow and guided me out the door to his vehicle. When I climbed in, I started to shake enough to make my teeth chatter. “I didn’t see this coming,” I managed, despite my jaw bouncing up and down.
He laid his hand on my arm. “I guess I should have. A delayed response after your adrenaline dump. Sorry. We got too caught up in what we’d uncovered in there.”
He started the engine and turned the heat on full blast to warm me up. I would have protested, but it felt good. Poor Smoke had broken out in a sweat himself by the time we pulled into my driveway. “I’ll attend to the dogs and you hop in the shower,” he said.
The shakes had eased. I soaped up, warm water washing over me. It cleansed my body and helped lighten my spirits.
I found Smoke with the dogs in the backyard. “It’s close to lunchtime, you want me to pick something up for you?” he asked.
“No. Thanks. If I get hungry later, there’s peanut butter in the cupboard. Smoke, I need to be there when you interview mother and son. From the viewing room.”
Remains In Coyote Bog Page 23
