A Death in Lionel's Woods

by Christine Husom

  “I got it!” Smoke called from the other room. I joined him, with my puppy pal close behind me. I put my right hand on the back of his chair, knelt down on one knee beside him, and adjusted my Kevlar vest and duty belt. Smoke turned to look at me. “Sure you don’t want to slip into something more comfortable?”

  “Desperately, but that can wait. What have we got?” The screen was black.

  He slid the cursor to the left and the action began with someone in a gorilla suit climbing the steps to the deck and walking up to the camera. He looked directly into the lens, stuck his thumbs in his gorilla ears, and wiggled his fingers in a mocking gesture. “My visceral reaction to that is to punch his gorilla lights out,” Smoke said. “He must have crept in with his body flush against the house since the first view we have of him is right before he gets to the steps.”

  “And why bother, since he was in disguise? But then again, probably force of habit from the times he snuck around here undetected.”

  “Makes sense.”

  Gorilla man had come prepared. He pulled his hands out of the costume, and withdrew a roll of duct tape from a pocket hidden in the side of the suit. After tearing off a piece, he reached up, and covered the lens with it. “Unbelievable,” I said. “Back up to his hands and freeze it.”

  Smoke did so, and I moved my face closer to the screen. “Here, I’ll zoom in,” he said.

  “Why don’t you print a couple of pictures of his hands?” I stared at the monitor. “So was there anything recorded before he arrived? Or does it start with gorilla man, and end when he tapes the lens?”

  “It picked up some critters back by the woods, deer and a fox, but gorilla man is the closest thing to a human it captured.”

  “I am going to slip into something more comfortable while you print those images and access the other camera’s recordings. If you don’t mind.”

  Smoke raised his eyebrows up and down in a flirting, kidding way. “I don’t mind one bit.” The foot on my kneeling leg had fallen partially asleep, making it tricky to stand. “Need some help?”

  “Maybe a hand.” He turned his left palm up. I placed my left hand in his, and pushed with both hands while he lifted. Our heads were so close together, that if I had turned my face, our lips would have touched. Tempting. I stood, withdrew my hand from his, and shook my leg to return the circulation. “Thanks.”

  Smoke’s face had darkened a tad and when he nodded as an answer, I knew he’d been affected as well. I limped away and up the stairs to my room. I unholstered my Glock, put it in my bed stand then took off the rest of my gear and uniform. I was torn between thinking about my desire and determination to identify gorilla man, and my desire and love for Smoke, the most frustrating man on the planet. He was opposed to marrying, or even dating me, rationalizing there was someone younger and better suited for me, out there somewhere.

  I laid my uniform on a chair, and would transfer my brass and pocket contents to a new uniform later. I put on sweat pants, a tee shirt, a hooded sweatshirt, and wool socks that served as my slippers year round.

  When I returned to the den office, Smoke handed me the first printout. “In full living color.” As I took the sheet, he added. “And you look decidedly more comfortable.”

  “Yes, I am.” I studied the image, an angled overhead view of the back of the hands, not the ideal position. The man’s fingers were slightly bent around the duct tape. “Definitely male. Not all that large, average size. Of course we should be able to measure the guy’s height from the video. Backs of fingers aren’t very hairy, looks fairly young. One knuckle on the right middle finger appears larger than the others, injury or arthritis, maybe. With a thin band on his little finger. But it’s not a perfect shot, either.”

  Smoke handed me the second page and smiled. “Tah dah. Maybe our crime lab or the BCA can do something with this.”

  I held it up. “Nice. Great view of the palm, and fingerprints of his right hand.”

  “Yeah, in that millisecond before he reaches for the other side of the duct tape to stretch it over the camera, it captures a very good image indeed.”

  “We have visuals to go with our reports,” I said.

  “We’ll have our crime lab pull it up on their computers, and print everything from there. They can hone in on more angles. Plus, it’ll give them better, more precise and defined prints. I’ll take care of that in the morning.”

  “Thanks. And what about the front yard camera? Anything?”

  “There was one vehicle that turned around in your driveway. That’s the only instance of someone entering your property. A number of cars driving by. There seems to be more traffic on your road than I would have thought.”

  “Really? I suppose given a twenty-four hour period.”

  “But no humans on foot, in costume or not. It wouldn’t hurt to capture the plate of that car that turned around, in case by some miracle it turns out to be gorilla man,” he said.

  “I agree.”

  Smoke found the frame he had referred to, and paused to zero in on the license plate. It had come from the north, pulled into my driveway, sat for a minute, then backed out and headed back north. “Gray Pontiac, a lot newer than your old classic GTO. Be nice if we could see inside. They sat for a minute, maybe took a phone call from someone, or maybe it was gorilla man scoping out the place to see if you were home. Does it look like one of your neighbor’s cars?”

  I studied the frame a moment. “I have seen that Grand Prix on Brandt before. Could be someone who lives down the road.”

  “Whoever it is, they turned around, and returned from whence they came.” Smoke hit the print button and we had another possible piece of evidence. Not likely, but possible.

  I took one last look at the three printouts then set them on the computer cabinet shelf, and clapped my hands together. “Well, this has been a successful day of information-gathering, all the way around. Especially if it turns out Maisa was connected to Champ’s operation, after all.

  “Speaking of which, remember how Gene over at Gene’s Groceries told me he thought Maisa was deaf because she never spoke except to mouth the words ‘thank you’ a few times?” I said.

  “You mentioned that.”

  “He also thought she was illiterate, and to top things off, wasn’t familiar with American currency. What red flag does that raise for you?”

  “A foreign one that says she was new to our country,” he said.

  “Agreed. I think once Gene got it in his mind that she was deaf, he didn’t stop to consider why she didn’t read or was confused by money.”

  “A lot of us are confused by money.”

  “True. But, getting back to your earlier comment about cardboard pizza made me think you must be pretty hungry. And don’t be too disappointed if your heart was set on pizza, but I have spaghetti with meat sauce for you instead.”

  “Canned, or the stuff in a jar?” He raised his hands. “Not that I’m complaining, or looking a gift horse in the mouth.”

  “Actually, it’s some of Mother’s leftovers I found in the freezer.” We walked to the kitchen. “I don’t have noodles, but I do have rice, and my mother gave me a microwave rice maker for Christmas last year. She even showed me how to make perfect rice in minutes. Or you can use it as dipping sauce with bread.”

  Smoke put a hand on my shoulder. “So you do have some cooking tips up your sleeve, after all. And I was not hinting about being included in your dinner plans. You don’t have to feed me.”

  “It’s the least I can do with you running over here on a regular basis, checking on trespassing activities, and installing cameras.”

  “Okay, you talked me into it.”

  “Plus, we should celebrate the day.”

  “We’ve made some good progress, all right.”

  “Rice or bread?” I opened the freezer to be sure there was still part of a loaf in there.

  “What the heck, I’ve never had sauce on rice before, and I’m ready to try it.”

  “
Okay.” I got the rice and cooker out, measured rice and water, sealed the cover, and let the microwave do its work. The sauce had thawed slightly around the edges of the bag. I ran hot water on it so the sauce would release more easily when I poured it in the bowl to cook. I found my favorite ceramic bowl, another gift from Mother, and added the sauce. When the rice was done, I put the sauce in the microwave.

  “What can I do?” Smoke said.

  “Grab yourself a beer. Oh, and there should be some Parmesan cheese on the freezer door shelf.”

  “You keep it in the freezer?” He grabbed a Corona and set it on the counter.

  “I don’t use it often enough to keep it in the fridge. It always gets moldy on me.”

  Smoke found the cheese, lifted it closer to his face, and glanced at the label. “You need to get the kind with lots of preservatives. Keeps forever.” He set the cheese down, picked up the beer, and dug in the drawer for the opener.

  “I’ll have you know this is an all-natural meal. Mother gets her beef from the organic farm off County Road Eight. She grows and cans her own tomatoes. And I buy brown rice because she tells me it’s healthier than white.”

  “I’m impressed. Turning thirty seems to be having a positive effect on your dietary choices.”

  “Whatever. I’m afraid I’m still pathetic in that area, but I am more aware. Maybe that’s the first step.” The microwave beeped. “Dinner’s served.”

  Smoke got the plates and silverware and set them on the counter in front of the stools. “We’ll need napkins for this meal.”

  “How about paper towels? That’s what I use.” I pointed at the roll in its holder on the counter.

  “They’ll work.” He grabbed the whole roll and slid it in front of the plates. I set the rice and sauce next to it. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “I’ll get a water.” I pulled a glass from the cupboard and filled it with tap water. We sat down, and I bowed my head, closed my eyes, and folded my hands.

  “You can say your prayers out loud, you know.” So I did. Smoke surprised me by saying it with me. We dished up and dug in.

  “Very tasty. I may switch from pasta to rice,” Smoke said around chews.

  “That would make Mother happy. She’s concerned about you and your life, too, you know.”

  “I’d feel bad if she wasn’t, since she worries about everyone else in the world.”

  I chuckled. “It’s a big job all right, but she believes it’s her calling to do so.”

  “This is a little off the subject, but it goes back to you, and your concerns that you might be doing these pranks to yourself. Gorilla man proved that theory wrong.”

  “Thank God. I haven’t had a chance to talk to Doctor Kearns yet.”

  “Yet. You’re thinking you still need to?”

  “Oh, yeah, that’ll be ongoing for a while. I’m a long way from healing over what happened to Eric. Plus, you know, Langley Parker—”

  “Who killed and dismembered three women that we know of, was a fugitive from justice, and by all accounts was planning to leave the country, and would never stop killing and dismembering. You did the world an immeasurable favor when you shot him.”

  “I agree, logically.” I touched my head. “But it’s something I’m still dealing with psychologically, and emotionally.”

  “Sure.”

  “And then when that message came about killing that person’s friend, on the one hand, in my vulnerable state I felt guilty and sad. Mostly because Eric would still be alive if I had made him stay in the car. But also a teeny, tiny bit was about Parker, too, because he had a family, and must have had at least one friend. Not sad for the fact that he was dead, but because he was an evil man, and beyond help.”

  “When it comes to ending Parker’s life, I’d have traded places with you in a heartbeat. Most of the guys in the department would’ve, too.”

  “I know that. It’s still one day at a time. I have the best support system in the world here. And Grandma Aleckson calls often from Arizona to offer her love and support. She understands me.”

  “You’re cut from the same cloth.”

  “We are. Now it’s my turn to change the subject. I’m glad you brought Bob Edberg into the Lionel, and now the Champion, investigations.”

  “Yeah. Maybe he’d be the guy to pay another visit to Kevin Lionel. He could stop back when he knows Lionel’s not home to see if a woman answers the door.”

  “I like the way you think.”

  14

  I woke up Thursday morning wondering if it was safe to leave Queenie in her kennel, and decided it wasn’t. After we’d gotten the new camera hidden in the tree, would be the time to test the waters. Unless we’d caught gorilla man before then. We’d ask the Communications officers to watch for the camera’s recording device to activate, and hopefully catch the guy when he was on my property. I was growing very weary of being taunted.

  I thought of the Hueber girl, and felt I needed a closer look at her. I put on running clothes then carried my uniform out to the squad car so I could change after the little scouting exercise. I phoned Communications to tell them I would be on an assignment, and not available to take a call until 7:45 a.m. Then I called Sara and told her the plan. “I’ll be over about seven twenty.”

  Sara talked through her yawn. “Corky, are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “It’s not a bad idea.”

  “See you then.”

  After we’d hung up, I told Queenie, “Sara has not had her coffee yet. And if she doesn’t cheer up after she does, I would not want to be one of her probationers.” Queenie tipped her head slightly and whined. “And another day at Gramps’ for you, you lucky dog.” I added water and enough grounds for two cups of coffee to the maker then ate a granola bar and yogurt while it brewed. “I’ve been getting home too late to take you for a run, but we’ll get back on schedule one of these days.” Queenie whined again when I said the word run.

  Sara opened her front door. “Corky, Corky, Corky.” She took the hanger holding my uniform from my right hand. I held onto the bag that contained my boots, vest, and things I kept in my pants pocket, such as my jackknife and wallet. My service weapon was secured in the squad car trunk. I followed Sara up the seven steps in her split-level home, and into the spare bedroom where we put my things then headed to the kitchen.

  “What’s the temp like outside? I haven’t looked my thermometer.” Sara yawned.

  “A brisk forty-two this morning.”

  Sara picked up her coffee cup, leaned against the counter, and took a sip. “Your hands will get cold.” I pulled a pair of gloves out of one of the back pockets of my running pants, a stocking cap out of the other, and set them on the table. Sara nodded. “Coffee?”

  “Thanks, I had my quota already.” I glanced up at the clock hanging on the wall above the sink. I had ten minutes to get the bus stop, so there was time for a short story. “Sara, you will not believe who showed up on the surveillance camera yesterday, before he stole the camera from my back deck.”

  Sara’s eyebrows shot up and stayed raised through the whole gorilla-man story. “I can’t believe it! A guy dressed up in a gorilla suit. You should get the deputies and probation officers to watch the tape. Maybe the county attorneys, public defenders, too. At least show them the printouts. It’s possible someone might recognize him. When you spend time with these guys in interviews you watch their hands for signs, like if they are getting worked up and need to be calmed down. ”

  “So true. Sara, you’re brilliant. I was planning to post the images in the squad room, but the other departments would be even better. You guys have more tabletop time with them than we do, overall.” I took another look at the clock. “I’m off.”

  Sara shook her head. “Corky, Corky, Corky.”

  I gave her a half-hug, careful not to spill her coffee, and set off on my journey. I headed south for two blocks, turned left for a block then north on the bus stop street. Not all the kids were at the
stop yet, including the one I was looking for: Emma Hueber. Either I could jog in place for a minute, which might catch someone’s attention, or take one pass by them on the opposite side of the street, go for a couple of blocks, cross, and pass directly by them at the bus stop. That’s what I did. And as I approached the Hueber’s house, the front door opened and out walked Anita and Emma. I nodded at them and took a quick glance into the house through the open door. No detectable movement inside. I continued jogging for several more blocks to give Emma time to join the others at the stop then crossed the street, and headed back.

  As I neared the children, a boy about Emma’s age pointed at me. “I know you, you’re Sara’s friend. The cop.” Busted, out of uniform, stocking cap and all. He started jumping up and down, and other kids joined him, all talking at the same time, asking me questions, or making general comments about cops. All except Emma. She stared at me with an expressionless face.

  The children’s reception gave me a reason to stop for a minute, but I hung back so as not to alarm all the parents watching the exchange, and jogged in place. “Yeah, Sara’s my best friend, and I’m over there quite a bit.”

  “Can we see the inside of your police car sometime, can we?” one boy asked.

  “Sure, I’d love to show it to you. You can sit in the driver’s seat, with your parents’ permission of course.”

  “Cool,” another boy said.

  I studied Emma’s face and the photo of Maisa, Sese, and Lela came to mind. Was it possible Emma had started life as a baby in Georgia by the name of Lela? I shook the thought loose. According to her birth certificate, she had been born in Minnesota. She caught me staring and said, “You seem nice, not like a cop.”