Ernie drummed his fingers on the desk. “Somebody’s kidnapping kids that look the same? That’s a pattern, all right.”
“A kidnapper wanting a certain type of kid?” Spats asked, then swiveled in his chair. “Obviously Ivan Eklund couldn’t have kidnapped Samuel.”
“A copycat?” I wondered aloud.
“Are there two kidnappers, or is there just one who killed Logan, then tried to make Eklund look guilty? Then he offs Eklund and makes it look like a suicide?” Spats asked. “And now the kidnapper grabs a second kid?”
“I asked Oakley the same thing.” I rubbed my neck. “I hope to God the boy’s found alive.”
Ernie sucked in a breath and swore. “If there’s a serial kidnapper and killer out there, good Lord, how are you ever going to protect every little kid that fits that description?” He swore again.
“We’re running out of time,” I muttered.
“Maybe I have something,” Ernie said. “Take a look at this.” He waved for me to come over to his desk. I looked over his shoulder. “Eklund was searching on militia groups, that kind of thing.” He tapped the monitor, leaving a fingerprint. “He was looking at the Colorado Citizens Militia as well. And,” he drew the word out, “he called Dean Casper, Mr. Handlebar Mustache himself.” He looked at me triumphantly.
I took a deep breath. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. I’ll show you” Ernie grabbed a notebook sitting on the corner of his desk. “Check this out.” He opened the notebook to a marked page of phone numbers. Then he ran his finger down the page. “See this number? It’s Casper’s home phone.”
I glanced over at Spats. “What have you found out about Casper?” I leaned on the edge of his desk while he talked.
He perused some notes. “Casper works for a trucking company, so he’s on the road quite a bit. He’s worked at the same company for ten years. He’s forty-two, never been to college, and he’s an ex-Marine.”
“Just like Gary Pickett and John Merrick,” I observed.
“Yep. I ran a background check, and he had a little trouble with the law when he was younger, disturbing the peace. Other than that, his record’s clean. No financial trouble that I could find. A little credit card debt, but nothing out of hand. He’s been married for thirteen years, and he’s been living here in Colorado for about that long.”
“What’s the wife’s name?”
“Mallory. Oh, a Ford SUV is registered to him.”
I nodded. “Yeah I saw him in that.”
“He also owns a Hyundai Sonata.”
“Where’s he from?” Ernie asked.
Spats consulted his notes again. “Idaho.”
Ernie glanced at me. “Isn’t that where that FBI agent, Crozier, said the militia group was heading?”
“Yes.”
“What else do you have on Casper?” I asked Spats.
“I’ve got some searches running, and I’ll have the results in a while.”
“Why would Eklund be talking to Casper?” I mused.
“And what are they hiding?” Spats put in.
I narrowed my eyes. “I think it’s time to talk to Dean Casper.”
Ernie sat back and crossed his arm. “And I think I should go with you.”
I knew not to argue with him this time.
I turned to Spats. “See what else you can dig up on Casper, and if it’ll be helpful, give me a call.” Then I tipped my head at Ernie.
He grabbed the cigar and clamped it in the side of his mouth. “Let’s go.”
The Casper residence was a ranch house surrounded by tall trees on Monroe Street, not too far from Roosevelt Elementary School. As Ernie and I walked up the sidewalk, we heard the sounds of kids playing outside. We stood on the porch, and Ernie gave me a “Here goes” look and then rang the bell. We waited a moment, but no one answered.
“No one’s home?” he asked. We both glanced at a red Hyundai Sonata that sat in the driveway.
He rang the bell again, and still no answer. He sighed impatiently, leaned off the porch and tried to look in a front window. “Too much glare,” he muttered.
“Let’s try this.” I opened the screen door and knocked. A couple of times of that, and I concluded, “There’s no one home. Or Casper sees us, and he’s not going to answer.”
“He better be smart enough not to try that.”
“Or what?”
Ernie shrugged. “What do we do now?”
“How about trying Casper’s work? Spats has the info,” I said. “And I want to talk to Latoya Anderson again. She never called me back. I want to know whether she or Terrell saw Eklund’s car.”
“Yeah, okay. This guy Casper can’t dodge us forever. I’ve got a lot of questions for him, and he better have some good answers.”
“Let me drop you back at the office,” I said as I started down the sidewalk.
Ernie followed, his quick movements showing his agitation. He got in. “Do me a favor.”
“What?”
He pointed at the house. “The garage is detached.”
He was correct. A single-car garage with a short driveway faced the street. “So?”
“Drive around to the alley so I can approach from the back of the house. I want to see if a car’s in their garage.”
I looked at him askance. “I don’t know.”
“What, it’s no big deal.”
“Uh-huh.”
I started the car and drove around to the alley. As I neared the back of the Casper garage, Ernie held up a hand for me to stop.
“Wait here.”
He got out, and he was surprisingly stealthy as he moved up to the detached garage behind the Casper house. He glanced into the backyard, then slipped around the side of the garage. He reappeared moments later and hurried back to my car.
“I looked in a side window, and the garage is empty,” he said.
“So they’re gone.”
With that pronouncement, I drove out of the alley, drove to the station, and dropped him off. Then I drove to Latoya Anderson’s house. I didn’t have a chance to knock before the door opened.
“Detective Spillman,” Latoya said. “I happened to look out and saw you. I’m so sorry for not calling you back.”
I held my irritation in check. “That’s all right. Another question came up.”
She stepped onto the porch and pulled the door shut. “I don’t want Terrell to hear,” she said in a low voice. “He’s having a hard time with Logan’s death.”
“That’s understandable,” I said. “My partner, Ernie Moore, talked to you about Ivan Eklund’s death.”
She looked puzzled. “Ivan? Oh, the photographer who died. Yes, I remember now.”
“Eklund drove a light blue Honda Pilot SUV, and he took some pictures of Logan and Terrell riding their bikes.”
“Oh?” Concern in her voice.
“Do you recall seeing that car in the neighborhood recently?”
“It doesn’t sound familiar.”
“What about a white SUV or a red Hyundai?”
She shook her head. “I don’t pay that much attention to the cars around here. Neither sound familiar to me. Let me check with Terrell. He stayed home from school today.” She hesitated. “Would you mind staying out here?”
I would’ve preferred to talk to Terrell myself, but she disappeared inside before I could ask. It was quiet as I waited, no one outside. Latoya returned a few minutes later.
“I asked him if he saw any of those cars recently, and he doesn’t remember seeing any of them around.”
“That’s okay.”
“I heard another boy is missing.”
I frowned. “That’s right.”
She looked past me and shuddered. “It’s scary.”
“It is.” What else could I say?
I thanked her for her time and walked back to my car. I drove away and initially was going to head back to the office, but I couldn’t resist driving back by the Casper house. I parked, walked up the porch, ra
ng and knocked again. Still no answer. I went back to my car, drove down the block and studied the house. The lawn was not nearly as manicured as some of the others in the neighborhood. It needed mowing, but it also had dry spots. Some of the bushes were dying as well. A rake and shovel leaned against the side of the house near a flower bed with dead plants in it, and it appeared someone was trying to clean things up. The Caspers didn’t seem to care about their yard nearly as much as others in the neighborhood. Was that because they were leaving the state soon? The Hyundai Sonata was still in the driveway. I looked at the sky to the west. Dark clouds were creeping eastward. A good rain would help the Caspers’ lawn. The time ticked by.
I was about to leave when a tall woman with dark hair walked out the front door and got into the Hyundai. Casper’s wife? I felt like I’d seen her somewhere, but couldn’t place her at the moment. She glanced around, and I ducked down, then peeked over the dash. She backed the Hyundai out of the driveway and went in the opposite direction. I waited until she’d turned the corner, then started my car and followed.
When I got to the corner, the Hyundai was a few blocks ahead. She got onto East First Avenue and went east. There was enough traffic near the Cherry Creek Mall that I could keep a good distance between her and me. She drove to Colorado Boulevard and stopped at a Target. I quickly pulled into a space down the next aisle and followed her into the store. She picked up bread and milk, then went to the checkout. I watched her pay, then was back in my car by the time she reached hers. She drove west, stopped at a gas station. I watched her pump gas, then she drove through the car wash. The car was already clean as far as I could tell, but it had been in an accident, the front bumper slightly scratched. After she pulled away from the station, I was disappointed when she went directly home from there.
I watched her get out of the car and stroll into the house. I waited a while, but she didn’t come back out, and I never saw Dean’s SUV. I got out and went up the walk again, rang the bell and waited.
No answer.
I knocked hard, but the woman didn’t come to the door. Was she in the basement, or was music playing that drowned out the bell and my knocking? I put my ear close to the door, heard nothing. I hurried back to my car and stared at the house and the woman’s car. Where was she? Finally, frustrated, I started the car, flipped a U-turn, and drove away.
Chapter Thirty-Five
When I got back to the office, Spats and Ernie weren’t there. Someone was talking in another room, but I tuned it out as I sat down at my desk and logged onto my computer, then reached in the drawer for some Tylenol. The headache had returned, a pounding at the back of my eyes.
I began a more in-depth search on Dean Casper, trying to find anything that we might have missed, when my phone rang.
“It’s Spats,” he said. “I’m with Ernie at Dean Casper’s work. Ernie’s speaking to some of the people Casper works with. I had a chat with his boss. Turns out the truckers are on the road a couple of weeks at a time, then they have several days off.”
“Since I just saw him yesterday, I’ll bet he’s still in town.”
“That’d be my guess, but he hasn’t been seen by anybody from work.”
“He hasn’t been home, either.” I told him about going back to the Casper house.
“Who was the woman?”
“Probably his wife. I’m going to see if I can find a picture of her. If we don’t find Casper soon, I may stake out his house until he comes home.”
He laughed. “Be careful, huh? My gut says Casper is dangerous.”
“Don’t worry.”
“I’ll call you if I get any more information.”
“Thanks.”
I went back to work. Tara had sent me all her research on Ivan Eklund’s laptop, and I tackled all that as well. Did Ernie miss anything? He had a sharp eye, but there was so much information, it was possible. I swore under my breath. I knew I was missing something. That piece, that something, was there, at the base of my mind, just out of reach. I poured over all the research and notes I had, but didn’t see anything new, and I couldn’t see anything differently.
I got up and stretched, then sat back down and got on the internet. I looked up Dean’s wife, Mallory. I found a Facebook page for her. It was the woman I’d seen at the Casper house, and I felt as if I’d seen her somewhere else. As I looked at her page, I noticed she hadn’t posted anything recently, but starting about a year before, she’d shared a lot of pictures of her and a little boy with dark eyes and brown hair. She was a proud mother, and she commented frequently on her son, how he was doing in school and sports.
My cell phone rang and I hoped it was Ernie or Spats with a report on Dean Casper. Instead, it was my sister. I let out a breath that carried with it all the frustration and irritation that was so much a part of our relationship. I was tempted not to answer. But, no point in putting it off. I knew her. She would keep bugging me until I answered. I swiped at the screen.
“Hey, Diane,” I said. “I’m kind of busy right now.”
“You’re always busy.”
What is it about her tone that always gets under my skin? She, in fact, has a pleasant voice, or so others tell me. But it grates on me, a screeching bird.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“We’re getting together at Mom and Dad’s on Sunday. You haven’t forgotten, have you?”
“No.”
Even though Harry had mentioned the party last night, I had forgotten again. Just like I do with Harry, I tend to forget family things. And I’d often had to miss get-togethers, canceling at the last moment because I was in the middle of an investigation. My parents begrudgingly understood because they knew the work I was doing was important. Even so, they weren’t thrilled that I’d become a homicide detective rather than some more noble profession. However, Diane never let me forget that my job seemed to take priority over family.
“It’s Mom’s birthday. She’s going to be sixty.”
“I know how old she is,” I muttered.
“We’ve been planning this party for months, and you said that no matter what, you’d be there.”
I stared at the mountain of papers before me, wondering if I’d still be looking for Logan Pickett’s killer on Sunday. I loved my mom, though, and I wouldn’t miss her party. Besides, I’d get to see my little brother, Hunter. He’s three years younger than me, and he’s sweet and kind. A lot like Harry. And Hunter thinks Diane is a pain too. “I’ll make sure I’m there.”
“You and Harry are bringing the salad.”
“Yes, we’ll bring the salad.”
She made an exasperated sound at me. “Why is it that every time I talk to you it seems like you’re frustrated with me?”
My blood boiled. I stared at my monitor, thinking, “Because I always am.” I stayed silent.
“You always blame me for everything,” she went on. “I swear, even starting way back there when you blamed me for Uncle Brad’s death.”
“That’s not true.” Why was she bringing this up now? I didn’t need it. “Diane, I really need to go.”
“Yeah, you always do.” She let out a heavy sigh, similar to mine. She was as annoyed with me as I was with her. We were equally talented at goading each other. “I guess we’ll see you on Sunday. I hope you’re in a better mood.”
With as much politeness as I could muster, I told her goodbye and ended the call. I turned back to the computer and continued going through all the information I had. But I couldn’t focus. My mind was on the conversation with Diane. There was so much there, so much that she didn’t acknowledge. Old memories boiled to the surface, ones of her in college, of her getting into a bad situation and me helping her. At a cost to me. But did she remember that I’d come to her rescue? No, I thought. All she remembered was that ultimately I’d taken the blame for her mistake. That seemed to be the way it always was. Even Uncle Brad knew that, knew that she would often get in trouble and manage to make it look like my fault. My parents never seem
ed to see that, and in their eyes, I was the troublemaker. But Uncle Brad knew. He saw what went on.
I pulled opened a desk drawer and pulled out a framed photo of me with Brad. I didn’t keep it on my desk, I didn’t want anyone to ask questions about Brad and me. But I often pulled out the photo because it gave me a sense of peace in times of chaos.
I stared at the photo. Uncle Brad had wavy brown hair, broad shoulders, and muscular arms. When he sensed I wasn’t okay, he would wrap me in a huge comforting hug. In the photo, he was leaning against the front of a black Dodge Charger, me beside him. We both had big smiles on our faces. That had been a good day, in part because Diane had been at summer camp. Those times when she was gone were always easier for me.
I smiled, remembering Brad and the Charger. He loved that car, the sleek lines, the front grill, the shiny bumper. Then something occurred to me. I stared at the photo and the front of the car, then set the photo aside. I got on the computer and went to the pictures that Ivan Eklund had taken of Logan Pickett. I scrolled through them until I found the ones of Logan that Eklund had taken from afar. I quickly clicked through them until I found the one where Logan was on his bike, looking off into the distance. In that photo was the partial view of a car that Ernie and I had noticed the other day. The front end of the car had a unique grill and the bumper was slightly scraped. The damage looked similar to the Hyundai that I’d seen Mallory Casper driving.
She’d been around Logan at the same time that Ivan Eklund had been taking pictures of the boy. She must’ve been visiting Latoya Anderson. Had she seen Eklund around? I needed to talk to her, now. I logged off my computer and hurried out of the room.
Chapter Thirty-Six
No one answered when I rang the bell at the Casper house, but I wasn’t easily giving up. I opened the screen door and knocked hard on the wood door. The sunlight dimmed, and I glanced up. Dark clouds obscured the sun. I rapped a third time, and Mallory Casper finally answered.
Deadly Connections Page 21
