Deadly Connections

by Renee Pawlish

  “Yes?” she asked. Her eyes darted to my badge and gun. “Can I help you?”

  I nodded. “I’m sorry to bother you.” I introduced myself. “I’m a homicide detective with the Denver Police Department.”

  “Is there something wrong?”

  I gestured at her car in the driveway. “I was here earlier. I rang the bell and knocked, and you didn’t answer. I could’ve sworn you were here.” I didn’t want to tell her I’d followed her.

  “I’m sorry. I was in the basement for a while, and I must not have heard you. What do you need?”

  “I’m looking into the death of Logan Pickett. Have you heard about that?”

  She glanced past me. “Um, I think so. Was that on the news?”

  “It might have been.” Then I remembered where I’d seen her. “Or you might’ve heard about it from Latoya Anderson.”

  “How do you know that I know her?”

  “I visited Latoya the other day, and you were coming out of her house. I recognize you. You were at a book club?”

  “Oh yes, that’s right.” She looked past me to the street again. “Would you like to come inside?”

  “Thank you.”

  I followed her into a small foyer, then she went into a living room. It was all white walls, a tan couch and chairs, and glass coffee and end tables. Very neutral, very uninviting, especially gloomy with the dark clouds outside obscuring the sun. She sat down on a chair and indicated for me to take the couch. She ran a hand along her jeans, then looked me square in the eyes. “What can I do for you?”

  “Do you know a man named Ivan Eklund?”

  She ran her tongue over her lips and thought about that. “No, why?”

  “He’s a person of interest, and as we were going through his phone records, we noticed that he called your house.”

  Her eyebrows pinched. “That’s strange. Maybe he knows my husband. I can’t keep track of all of his friends,” she said with a small laugh.

  I nodded. “That makes sense. Is your husband around? I’d like to talk to him about Eklund.”

  She shook her head. “He’s out and about. He’s a trucker, and he’s out of town a lot. When he’s home, he has a lot of catching up to do, errands to run.” She glanced out the front window. “I’m not sure when he’ll be home. I don’t know if you’d want to wait. It could be a long time.”

  “Will he be home for dinner?”

  “He might be out with friends tonight.”

  “Was your husband home this previous weekend?”

  “He was out of town.”

  “I thought he was in town, and that he visited the Gold Creek Gun Range Saturday night.”

  “Yes, that’s right. He got into town that afternoon, but he didn’t come to the house. I was in bed when he finally came home late, and he was gone early Sunday, so it felt like he was still out of town.”

  “I’ll definitely want to talk to him.”

  “Of course.”

  “Have you seen anybody strange in the neighborhood in the last week or two?”

  “No. I’m a bit of a homebody, though. I don’t go out much.”

  “Have you ever heard other parents at the school talking about Ivan Eklund?”

  A head shake. Her eyes darted away from me. “Is that all?”

  I leaned forward and put my hands on my knees. “No, there’s one other thing. Eklund was a photographer. He took school pictures at Roosevelt Elementary. We have reason to believe he might have been taking pictures of other children, and that might be where he first took an interest in Logan Pickett. And I have one of Eklund’s pictures of Logan riding his bike near Latoya’s house. I noticed your car in that picture, with the flared grill and scratched bumper.”

  “I don’t know much about Logan.”

  “Yes, but it appears your car was close to Latoya Anderson’s house, parked on Third Avenue, near Cook Street. Were you visiting her, and if so, did you see Ivan Eklund? He was thinner, with short blond hair and blue eyes.”

  She sat back in the chair and crossed one leg over the other. “I don’t think so. I don’t even remember the last time I was at Latoya’s house.”

  “Besides the day before yesterday, for your book club?”

  “Oh yes, that’s right. Before that, I don’t know when it would’ve been.”

  I thought back to Eklund’s photos on his laptop. “I believe the picture was dated about a week ago.”

  She mulled that over as a flash of lightning lit the room. “I must’ve been visiting Latoya.” She let out a nervous laugh. “I’m sorry, I just don’t remember. I’ve been a little stressed lately.”

  “When you were there, do you recall seeing a blue Honda Pilot?”

  “I’m sorry, Detective, but I just don’t remember.”

  “Do you recall seeing Logan talking to any strangers?”

  She cracked her knuckles. “I saw Logan playing with Terrell. That’s about the extent of it.”

  Thunder clapped loudly and we both glanced out the window.

  “Could be a big storm,” she observed.

  I nodded and scanned the room, my gaze stopping on glass shelves on one wall. There were several framed photos of a little boy in a baseball uniform. I pointed at them. “It looks like you have a son about Logan’s age.”

  “Yes, that’s true.” She hesitated. “I think he’s a year younger than Logan. They don’t play together.”

  I stood up. “Do you mind?” Before she could answer, I moved to the shelves and studied the photos. Her son had brown hair and eyes. “What’s his name?”

  “Curtis.”

  “He’s a nice looking young man.” I looked over my shoulder at her.

  “Thank you,” she said, something akin to melancholy on her face. Just as quickly, it vanished.

  “Does your son go to Roosevelt Elementary?”

  “Uh, yes.”

  The house was quiet, no TV on, no sounds of children. “Is your son here now? He might know something about Eklund.”

  “He’s playing at a friend’s house, and I’m not sure that I’d want you questioning him.” She balked. “He’s pretty shy, and it might scare him.”

  I glanced at her. “I might need to talk to him.”

  She drew in a breath. “If you feel that’s absolutely necessary, but I’d want my husband to okay it.”

  “Fair enough. Do you have other children?”

  “No, just Curtis.”

  I looked at other pictures of her son. “Did Eklund take pictures of your son at the school?”

  She shrugged. “I have no idea who actually takes the pictures.” She stood up. “I hope I’m not being rude, but I need to take care of some things. Do you have any other questions?”

  “I do have one more thing.”

  “You just said that.” She laughed, but she didn’t mean it to be funny.

  I smiled. “Eklund might’ve been interested or involved in a militia group.”

  “Oh?” She moved over by me.

  “Is your husband a member of a militia group? Might Eklund be contacting your husband because of their mutual connection to this militia group?”

  “No and no.” She was impatient for me to leave now.

  Lightning flashed again. I turned and glanced into a dining room. A partially finished puzzle lay on a table, along with a stack of comic books and a little Batman figurine. Mallory stepped in front of me, blocking my view. She held up a hand, indicating I should go to the door. As I went into the foyer, I studied her face. Her eyes were blank.

  “If you’d like to come back later, maybe my husband will be home,” she said.

  “I appreciate your time.” I stepped out onto the porch.

  “I hope you find what happened to that little boy,” she said. Then the door quickly shut.

  As I walked back to my car I felt Mallory’s eyes on me. I glanced over my shoulder to see her peeking out the front window.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Thunder rumbled, and heavy clo
uds made the day dark and ominous. I got back to my car and just sat there, thinking. Something wasn’t right with my conversation with Mallory Casper. My phone rang, sidetracking my thoughts.

  “Sarah, I’ve got something.” Ernie was talking so fast he was stumbling over his words. “I haven’t have a chance to talk to Dean Casper yet, but get this. They lost a kid about a year ago. His name was Curtis. He died in a boating accident, and according to people that know the family, the wife was especially devastated. Dean has been telling people at work that he’s almost glad to be on the road because she’s so depressed and not herself. He says that she puts on a good front for other people, but behind the scenes, it’s terrible. He even told his friends before this last trip that he was worried about her, that he thought she might do something crazy. They assumed he might’ve meant suicide, but what if it was something else?”

  I gripped the wheel and all the pieces started falling into place. I stared at Mallory’s house. I didn’t see any movement, and it appeared she was no longer at the window.

  “Sarah? Are you there?”

  “I just talked to Mallory,” I said slowly. “She made it sound as if her son was still alive.”

  “He’s not. I even looked up the record. They were at a lake near Estes Park. It’s all there. The kid’s dead. And Dean has been hinting about moving out of state.”

  “We’ve been looking at this the wrong way. What if Eklund called Mallory, not Dean?” Now I was talking fast. “Eklund had been asking the security guard at the school about a woman in the neighborhood, and both the security guard and I assumed he was interested in Audra Pickett because he was asking about Logan. But Mallory fits the description that Susan gave me. Is it possible he was trying to figure out what Mallory was up to? Maybe he had some suspicions? He saw her watching the boys? And Mallory’s car was in that picture.” I then told him what I’d seen in the photo. “I assumed she was at Latoya’s house, and maybe she had spotted Eklund. Could it be the other way around? Could it be that he had seen her, and he wondered what she was doing in his neighborhood, if she was watching Logan? And was he looking at militia groups because he was trying to find out about the Caspers? I’ll bet if we look closer at some of those photos in the neighborhood, we might see Mallory in them.” I hit the wheel. “And she has the Batman figurine.”

  “What?”

  “Audra Pickett said a Batman figurine was missing from Logan’s room. I just saw one at the Casper house.”

  “Where are you?”

  I started the car and drove down the street.

  “Where are you?” he repeated.

  I parked around the corner and got out of the car. “Ernie, there’s something I want to check.”

  “You be careful, Sarah. Spats and I are headed over there right now.”

  “You’re a ways away, right? I want to look around the house.”

  He cursed. “Wait for me before you talk to Mallory again.”

  By now I had trotted down the street. I went up the neighbor’s drive and crossed their front lawn, then went around the corner of their house. “If Mallory kidnapped a child, she could have him right here in the house.”

  “What are you doing?”

  I lowered my voice. “Looking for signs of Samuel Quigley.”

  “You think she kidnapped him too?”

  “It’s a possibility.” I edged along the neighbor’s house, careful not to step onto Mallory’s property. I couldn’t be tampering with a potential crime scene. I passed by the flower bed and the rake and shovel that leaned against the side of the house. I moved toward the back of the house and saw a basement window.

  “A basement window has been broken. I can see cardboard taped on the inside.”

  “Hang up the phone,” came a voice from behind me.

  My back went rigid. I slowly turned around to see Mallory with a small gun in her hand. It was aimed at my chest. She held it well, no trembling. She knew how to use a gun.

  “Sarah?” Ernie yelled. “What’s going on? Sarah?” He sounded frantic now.

  “Show me the phone and hang it up,” Mallory said more forcefully. Lightning lit the sky, giving her a quick ghostly glow.

  I carefully held the phone out away from my ear.

  “Let me see you disconnect it.” I showed her the screen and carefully ended the call as Ernie continued to shout at me. “Throw it over here.”

  I did as instructed, and tossed the phone on the lawn. I held my hands away from my sides, away from my Glock. I was hoping she wouldn’t notice the gun, but I wasn’t that lucky.

  “Take the gun out, carefully, and toss it over here. Don’t try anything stupid. I know how to use this gun.” She gave her gun a little wiggle. “No tricks.”

  I slowly unholstered my gun, bent slightly, and tossed the gun near my phone. “When I talked to you, you acted as if your son was alive, but he’s dead.”

  “That’s true.” Her lip trembled. “Curtis was such a good boy.” She stared at me. “Do you have children?”

  I shook my head. “No, I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through, losing your son.” Keep her talking, I thought. My gaze darted behind her. Where were the neighbors?

  “You’re right. You have no idea what it’s like. It ripped my heart out. I wasn’t sure how I could go on. Days and days of crying, not being able to get out of bed.” She let out a burdened sigh. “Dean worried about me at first, thought I should see a therapist and get on medication. I tried that, and it didn’t really help. Eventually he stayed on the road more, far away from me. I know he thinks our problems are just about me, but I know he misses our son as much as I do. I know he’s suffering too. Then I realized something.” She got a faraway look in her eyes. I glanced behind her again, wishing a car would come by, wishing a neighbor would see us. “If we could get another little boy, someone just like our Curtis, it would be just like before.”

  I shifted on my feet, edging closer to her house. She didn’t notice. I glanced toward the basement window, wondering if Samuel Quigley was down there.

  “So you kidnapped Logan Pickett,” I said. “He looks a lot like Curtis, and like Samuel Quigley, another boy who was kidnapped last night.”

  “If I was going to replace Curtis, I needed a boy that looked like him.” Her eyes seemed lost, disconnected. Blank. Whatever temporary grip she’d had on reality had vanished. “It would’ve been just fine. Logan was well fed here, and I would’ve taken good care of him.”

  “In Idaho?”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “Yes. It wouldn’t matter where we go. I’d have loved him. How do you know about Idaho?”

  I nodded. “I know a lot.” I sidled a little closer to her house. Closer to the rake leaning against the wall. “You were watching Logan when you were hanging around over near Latoya’s house, right? You weren’t at Latoya’s those times. How long had you been watching him before you took him?” She didn’t answer. “And Ivan Eklund saw you, didn’t he?” I shook my head. “All along I’ve assumed Eklund had some connection to your husband. You’re the one that Eklund was asking about at the school.”

  Rage leaped into her eyes. “If he had only left things alone. He’d seen me watching Logan, and then he started asking around about me.”

  “How do you know that?”

  She shook her head in disgust. Lightning flashed. “I talked to him about it.”

  I remembered Ernie’s report from Eklund’s neighbor. “People also saw you arguing at his house.” She didn’t reply. “You didn’t have to kill him.”

  “He would be alive today if he had left things alone,” she snarled. “He messed everything up.”

  “Why did Eklund even suspect you? He didn’t know you, did he?”

  “No, but he said he saw me talking to another boy in the neighborhood and trying to get him into my car.”

  “You mean, another boy before Logan?”

  “Yeah. That one wouldn’t come with me.” She paused, then continued. “Then Ivan started aski
ng questions, poking around my business. He found out Dean is in a militia.” Another pause. “He shouldn’t have confronted me. It was none of his business. I had to do something.” Another clap of thunder punctuated her words. “He made choices, and he had to pay.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “It was easy. I went over to Ivan’s house, and I came through the back. It was late, but he let me inside.” She held up her gun. “He didn’t want to argue with a gun pointed at him.”

  I glanced at the gun she was holding. “What about the gun left at Eklund’s house?”

  “I had two guns. The one that killed Eklund is one of Dean’s. It’s unregistered, part of his militia stuff.”

  “Slick. How’d you get him into the bedroom?”

  She laughed at that. “People will do a lot of things when a loaded gun is pointed at them.” She cocked an eyebrow at me. “He was pathetic, begging me to let him live. But I knew that he would tell people about Logan. He’d figured it all out. He knew when he heard that Logan was missing that I’d kidnapped the boy.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Ivan had to go. He would’ve told. So I ordered him to go back to the bedroom and sit on the bed.” She seemed to be picturing it.

  Something occurred to me. “Did you have Ivan delete photos he’d taken Saturday afternoon?” She nodded. “You didn’t realize he had photos of Logan from another day that had your car in them.”

  “It doesn’t matter now. I took care of Ivan.”

  “You tried to make it look like a suicide.”

  “I made him take the Sig Sauer while I kept my gun on him. He was scared, so I had to help him pull the trigger.”

  My stomach roiled. She’d been cold and cruel beyond measure, and my heart broke for Eklund, for his last moments. Mallory seemed oblivious to that.

  “Where are you parked?” she asked.

  “I parked around the corner. No one saw me.”

  “Good.”

  I gestured toward the broken basement window. “Was Logan down there?”

  Her eyes didn’t leave me. “I kept him down there. He was learning to obey.”

  “Why’d you kill him?” I knew that wasn’t likely true, but I wanted to keep her talking.