Deadly Connections

by Renee Pawlish

  A picture of Logan popped up on my screen. I recognized Latoya Anderson’s house in the background.

  “Did you talk to Latoya Anderson?” I asked.

  “Yeah. I did a background check too. I don’t see any issues there, no reason to be suspicious of her or her husband. I talked to her as well. She said Audra and Gary fought some, about the same information you heard. She’s spent a lot of time at Audra’s house since Logan disappeared. She didn’t know anything about Eklund, either.”

  “Did she see his car around?”

  “I didn’t have that info when I talked to her.”

  “Right.” I rifled through some papers and found Latoya’s number. I called, but she didn’t answer. I left a message for her to call me back, then went back to the photo. Logan wore tan shorts and a T-shirt with Batman on it. There were several photos of him as he walked back from Terrell’s house to his own. In a few of them, there were two women walking down the block nearby. Neighbors, I assumed. Then one of Logan walking up his sidewalk. I went through that series of photos again, looking for anything suspicious. I didn’t find anything.

  “What did you see?” I asked Ernie.

  “I’ve looked through all the photos from around the time Logan was kidnapped. Nothing suspicious. Just a kid walking home. But why would Ivan be taking those photos?”

  “Good question.”

  “There’s more like those, from a few days earlier.”

  I shook my head. “Do we have a pedophile on our hands?”

  I checked farther back in the photos, and sure enough, there was another series of photos of Logan, this time riding his bike with Terrell. They both had on shorts and T-shirts, and bike helmets that seemed too big for them. They were both smiling, with their oversized, adult teeth dominating their little-boy faces.

  “I don’t see anything suspicious here, no car, not that we know of one. But still.” I thought for a moment. “There aren’t any of other kids in the neighborhood, other than some formal studio portraits. Was Bev wrong about that too? Or did she see Eklund watching the kids and assume he was taking pictures of them?”

  “I don’t know.” He took the cigar out of his mouth and dropped it into an ashtray on the corner of his desk. “You mentioned Ivan being a pedophile, but here’s the thing. I talked to Tara about Eklund’s internet searches, and so far, she hasn’t found anything on the computer. Eklund didn’t visit any porn sites, or any online sites that deal in child porn. He didn’t have dirty pics of any kind on his laptop, let alone kids.”

  “Did the laptop show signs of anything being deleted recently?”

  He shrugged. “Tara didn’t think so. They’re running a scan to recover deleted files. It’s possible he got rid of photos like that and cleared his browsing history, but we won’t know the results for a while. I hate to say it, but I kinda doubt they’ll find anything. It looks like, if Ivan is a pedophile, he didn’t dabble in that on his laptop.”

  “Or maybe he was just getting into that kind of behavior?”

  Ernie shrugged.

  I turned back to my monitor and scrolled through the photos of Logan again. “There aren’t pictures of other kids like this, from afar. All the other photos are portraits.”

  “Yep.”

  I stopped at another one of Logan on his bike. “In this one, he looks like he’s looking at a car, or maybe waving at someone?”

  Ernie got up and came over. “Hmm, you’re right. Can you tell who?”

  We both stared at the screen. I zoomed in so we could study the surrounding area, but all we saw was the front grill of a red vehicle.

  “What kind of car has that kind of grill, with the edges kind of flared under the headlights?” I asked. “Can you get on that?”

  “Sure.”

  I went through the other photos of Logan on his bike. In those, he had ridden farther down the street, and there was no sign of the red vehicle.

  “Huh,” Ernie said. He tapped the screen. “I’ve gone through all the photos on this drive. There are a lot of portraits, kids at the school, or family photos, that kind of thing.”

  “That fits. Ivan made a living doing that. The nature photography was something he’d done on the side, and that was only beginning to pay off, according to his girlfriend.”

  “But if Eklund was innocent, why was he taking so many pictures like that of Logan?”

  “Did we have a budding pedophile on our hands? Maybe Logan was his first target, and it went bad.”

  “I still think if that was true, he would’ve had some pictures on his laptop. At least a few.”

  “Or maybe his phone?”

  Ernie nodded. “Has Oakley gotten those records?”

  “Last I heard, he was working on the warrant.”

  I picked up my soda glass and shook it. Empty. I set it down in frustration. “What else did they find on the laptop?”

  Ernie pulled out his swivel chair, sat down, and the chair groaned. He glanced at a piece of paper. “Besides the photos, he had some good software to manipulate the photos, and editing software. Other than that, not a lot, some tax information, banking stuff, that kind of thing. Also, plenty of invoices for his portrait business, all neatly labeled. I didn’t see one for Audra Pickett. I called her right before you got back and asked if she’d ever hired Eklund to take pictures of Logan, but she said she hadn’t.” He frowned. “The techs will go over the stuff on his laptop more, but at first blush, there’s nothing suspicious.”

  “Except a bunch of pictures of the dead boy.”

  “Yeah, I’ll give you that.”

  I put my elbows on the desk, rested my chin on my hands. “I have a theory, that Gary kidnapped Logan, but used an accomplice, so he’d look innocent. Could Eklund have been that guy?”

  Ernie was staring at his screen. “I guess that’s possible. Or Eklund took the kid, had his fun with him, and then disposed of him.”

  “So he took pictures of Logan Saturday evening, just as Bev said, then he took the boy. But then he realized the pictures would be damning evidence, so he got rid of them. But …” I thought aloud, “why not get rid of all the pictures of Logan, not just the ones from the evening of the kidnapping?”

  Ernie opened his mouth to answer, then shrugged. “Don’t know,” he finally muttered.

  I went through the photos one more time, but I didn’t see anything else of note.

  Ernie picked up his cigar again and resumed chewing on it. “Gary Pickett’s been lying to you as well.”

  “That’s right. Why would he do that, if he’s innocent?”

  “Good question.”

  “Has the CSI team finished? Did you hear from them on what they found where Logan’s body was discovered?”

  “That’s a dead end so far. Nothing of note.”

  I thought for a second. “You keep looking at Eklund. His family, friends. Everything.”

  “I will. And I’ve got more neighbors to talk to. I’ll work on that too.”

  “I still need to follow up on John Merrick, the gun shop owner that Gary’s been in touch with.”

  Before I could say more, Spats waltzed into the room, still looking as fresh as he had this morning, with a smile on his clean-shaven face.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “What’s with you?” Ernie asked Spats.

  Spats looked at us, his eyes full of excitement. “You’re not going to believe this. I’ve got something on Gary Pickett.”

  I looked at him expectantly. “What’s that?”

  Ernie looked expectantly at Spats.

  “We know Gary’s been calling the Gold Creek Gun Range, right?” Spats said.

  “Spill it,” Ernie said, sounding like Spats had earlier.

  Spats gave us a sly smile. “He’s also been calling the owner, John Merrick. Not at the store, but on Merrick’s cell. You want to know the last time?”

  “Saturday night?” Ernie said.

  I leaned my elbows on the desk and looked at him. “And last night?”
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  “Ding, ding.” Spats gave a grim smile, then sat down at his desk. “Gary calls the shop, and Merrick, quite a bit.”

  “Which wouldn’t be any big deal,” I said. “He’s ex-military. I’m sure he still has a penchant for guns, or he likes the gun range. But then why lie to me about calling Merrick those nights?”

  “And why resist giving his laptop to you?” Ernie said.

  “I don’t like the guy.” I sat back in my chair. “He rubs me the wrong way.”

  “You want to be careful, though. You don’t want to assume.” Spats said.

  “I’m not doing that. Eklund is high on my radar as well, and whatever happened with him, I want to know.”

  “Before I forget,” Spats said, “I called Kristi Arnott too.”

  “Gary’s girlfriend?” Ernie asked.

  “Right, but she didn’t answer. I left a message.”

  “Too bad,” I said. “I’d like to know what she thinks of Gary, and if she can corroborate his whereabouts Saturday night.” I looked at Spats. “Has Verizon gotten the phone locations for Audra and Gary?”

  “Not yet. I’ll bug them again. And I followed up on the call Audra received at the time Logan went missing. It’s legit. She was talking to a man about a real estate transaction.” Spats glanced at Ernie. “When is Tara going to be done with Eklund’s laptop?”

  “Hopefully soon.” Ernie grunted. “I want to know if he scrubbed his computer, took off dirty pics.”

  “He feels guilty about taking Logan’s picture, but he doesn’t want people to think he’s a pedophile, so he gets rid of the pics before he offs himself?” Spats asked.

  Ernie pursed his lips. “It could happen.”

  “While you’re looking at him, I’m going to pay a visit to this gun shop,” I announced. I turned to Spats. “What can you tell me about the shop?”

  “It’s been open for several years, and it’s successful. The owner, John Merrick, makes a lot of calls to Gary Pickett.”

  “Business transactions?” Ernie asked.

  “Would you conduct business late at night, or early in the morning?” Spats replied.

  “Just friends?” I mused.

  “It’s worth looking into.” Spats consulted some notes. “Here’s what I have on Merrick. He’s fifty-two, and he’s owned Gold Creek Gun Range for twenty years. Before that he was an electrician. He’s a former Marine, like Gary, and he had an undistinguished military career.”

  “Just like Gary,” I murmured.

  “Right. He owns a house in Golden, pretty nice place from the pictures I saw. He was arrested for drunk-and-disorderly right after he got out of the Marines; other than that, his record is clean, except for a speeding ticket five years ago. He pays his taxes, he’s a member of the NRA. And,” he drew the word out. “I think he’s a member of Colorado Citizens Militia.”

  I nodded. “Tara mentioned he might be a member.”

  “Uh huh.” He flipped pages. “It took a little poking to find that. He’s not shouting it publicly. I can’t say for certain, but he’s on some documentation I found for the group.”

  “I’ve never heard of them,” Ernie said.

  “They’ve got a Facebook page. The About section says,” Spats glanced at his notes, “ ‘We promote patriotism and maintain the strength of the United States Constitution.’ The posts are mostly pro-gun stuff, and some things that border on racist.”

  “Tara gave me the name of a professor at DU.” I rooted around in my desk and found my note. “Wilder. I need to call him, see if he can tell me more about this group.”

  “You need to be careful with this guy,” Spats said.

  I shrugged that off as I dialed Wilder’s number. “He’s not doing anything that’ll get his gun license revoked. Where is this gun shop?” Then I held up a finger. “Wilder’s voicemail.” I left a message, asking him to call me as soon as he could, then cradled the phone.

  Spats held up a piece of paper. “It’s way the hell out west, near the foothills.” He tossed the paper across the desk to me.

  I thought about that. “That’s a ways for Gary to go. Isn’t there a closer gun range to his house?”

  “I looked at that too. There’s a gun shop in Wheat Ridge, a couple in Aurora, and if he was looking to buy a newer gun, or ammo, he could go to a sporting goods store. Could be he likes the gun range at Gold Creek. And if he’s friends with Merrick, that’s another reason to go there.”

  “That’s one thing I’ll try to find out.” I grabbed the notebooks with the research on Audra and Gary Pickett, and stood up. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

  Spats turned to his computer. “I’ll keep digging for more information on Merrick, see if he has a bigger connection with Gary than we know.”

  Ernie stared at me. “Be careful,” he echoed Spats’ warning.

  “I will,” I called over my shoulder as I headed for the door.

  As Spats had said, Gold Creek Gun Range was way the hell out west, nestled in the foothills near the suburb of Golden. Pine and aspen trees surrounded a long building that had a view of Interstate C470, where rush-hour traffic was growing.

  I parked next to a blue Mercedes, and as I got out, I heard the popping of guns going off somewhere behind the building. I glanced toward a wood fence with a gate at one end of the lot. I couldn’t see behind it. The sun was lower in the sky, and it was still warm, but I donned a light jacket to hide the gun on my hip. Less threatening that way. I walked into the building and looked around. The interior was cool, with a long room with rifles hanging from two walls, and third and fourth walls full of accessories. A long counter was at the back, and a bearded man with a John Deere baseball cap gazed at me with alert eyes. Nearby was another man who was helping a customer. A Ted Nugent song played from a stereo behind the counter. The bearded man put his hands on the glass countertop and stared at me as I approached.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Are you John Merrick?” I asked.

  “That’s me. Who wants to know?”

  I walked over and flashed him my badge “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  I usually got cooperation when I’ve gone to gun shops because the owners didn’t want any trouble with law enforcement or they’d lose their gun dealer’s license. And cops buy guns, so gun shop owners don’t tend to want to alienate good customers. In this case, Merrick’s eyes were cool.

  “What’s this about?” he asked. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “I didn’t say you did.”

  “You interested in a gun?” His voice was low and curt.

  “Not at the moment, thank you. I have an investigation going right now, and I thought you might be able to help me.”

  He glanced at the other worker and his customer. Both were listening. Merrick slowly responded. “How’s that?”

  “I don’t know if you heard, a little boy named Logan Pickett went missing the other day.”

  “I saw that on the news.”

  “I need some help, if you don’t mind. I understand you know Gary Pickett, Logan’s father.”

  His eyes didn’t waver. “What’s that to you?”

  “You’re friends with him, right? No crime in that.”

  “Yeah, I’ve known Gary for a while now.” It was obvious he was choosing his words carefully. “He’s a good guy. We were both Marines.”

  I scanned the store. “It’s a nice place. Mind if I see your target practice area?” If I kept things casual, he might talk more. And I needed to get us away from prying ears.

  He didn’t move, seeming to resist the idea, then thought better of it. “Sure, right this way.”

  Merrick came around the counter, and I followed him down to one end of the store where he went through a door and down a long hallway. I heard gunshots more clearly.

  We stepped through a doorway and into an indoor gun range with several lanes, each with electronically controlled rail-based target retrieval systems for target practice. A big man
was standing in the first lane, firing at a target about twenty yards away. He finished, gave us a nod, and went back into the main building. Merrick gestured for me to follow him, and we went to a lane at the far end.

  “Gary liked to be here, on the end. There’s not much to see.”

  “How good a shot is Gary?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.

  “He was an expert marksman in the Marines, and he hasn’t lost his touch.” The last sentence held a veiled threat, as if I should be careful of Gary.

  “I heard that.” I surveyed the lane. “It’s a nice set-up.” Then I said, “Did you hear his son was murdered? I’m looking into that.”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “I didn’t say you did,” I said. “I thought you might be able to help me.” Nothing from him. If he wanted me not to be suspicious, he was going about it the wrong way. “How often does Gary come in here?”

  He pulled at his beard. “I don’t know, sometimes. I’m not always here, so I can’t tell you that. And I don’t keep a log of everyone who comes and goes.”

  “Has Gary purchased guns here?”

  “He likes to use the range,” he dodged the question.

  “If customers have to pay to use the range, you would have records of those charges.”

  “Yeah?”

  It was a challenge. If I wanted those records, I was going to have to get a warrant. And right now I knew I didn’t have enough to do that.

  I wasn’t getting much from him, so I addressed the main reason I was there. “Gary’s called your cell phone too. Do all your customers have your cell phone number?”

  He stared at me. “Maybe.”

  “Gary called you Saturday night?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  “Huh,” I said thoughtfully. “I have the phone records. He called you Saturday, and again last night.”

  “He may have called, but I didn’t talk to him. I thought that’s what you meant.”

  “When was the last time you did talk to Gary?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “You call each other a lot.”