Fractured Families Read online

  “The victim is inside the mausoleum, John. And this is Keith’s aunt, Dorothy Mercer.”

  He swept off his hat. “I’m a great admirer of yours, Ma’am. I’ve read every single book.” He stuck out his hand tentatively, as though he felt unworthy of initiating contact with this woman.

  “A faithful follower of a series is the greatest compliment any author can receive.” She stepped forward and used a two-handed clasp. “Truly. I’m very grateful.”

  Oh, brother. I loathe phony sincerity.

  “I’m sorry you had to be here for such a grisly event.”

  “Please. You certainly don’t owe me any apologies. This is not under your control.”

  “Of course, we are interested in any comments and observations you might care to make.”

  Unbelievable. Winthrop asked for her observations first. Not mine. But Dorothy had told me once that people expect mystery writers to be experts in every single field of investigation. She certainly knew a great deal more about forensic protocol than the average person. I was still embarrassed by the swiftness of her newspaper observation while I lamented the loss of a 4-H’er.

  “I’ve shared my first observation with Lottie. He was killed yesterday. The Hill City Times is sticking out of his back pocket. Yesterday’s dateline. Plus, there’s a drop or two of blood on the corner of it.”

  I hadn’t noticed that either.

  I cleared my throat to bring the star-struck sheriff’s attention back to the investigation. “When I called this in to Dimon, and told him that this place was on the National Register, he said jurisdiction might get a little funny. We haven’t heard back yet.”

  “We’ll do whatever he says. No egos in the way out here. We pretty well know our limits. I must say I’m looking forward to your setting up the regional center. It’s ridiculous to have to wait for someone to come out from Topeka whenever something comes up. I’ll do everything I can to be included in the regional territory.”

  Oh, boy. This was happening more and more. The territory should be only the nine counties in the three tiers that make up Northwest Kansas. Now sheriffs in counties bordering the nine were lobbying to be included. It would be a larger area. Require a bigger staff. More transportation vehicles. More money.

  My phone rang. Dimon. “A team is en route. You’re in luck. We have permission from the Department of the Interior to conduct this investigation on a state basis, and we’ve all agreed—since you are the new regional director, even though you don’t have a building and office yet—that you are the ideal chief investigator.”

  “Can I put together my own team?”

  He hesitated, knowing who I would pick first,and Dimon didn’t like Sheriff Abbot. “Yes.” His voice was tight.

  “Fine. I assume I’m to keep you posted?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I can do this any way I want to?”

  “Yes.”

  “With adequate special funds to hire any men or women I need?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine. I’ll e-mail a list of personnel as soon as possible.”

  Sure of my place now, I turned to Winthrop. “That was Agent Dimon. They are putting this under regional jurisdiction and I will be in charge of the investigation.”

  “Even though you haven’t put the regional center together yet? That’s strange,” John said.

  “Yes. Well, it’s true we don’t have a building and a formal structure but we’re working on it. Dimon just gave me the authority to put together a team and tap law enforcement personnel from each county.”

  Even as I spoke, I realized that this approach could be dynamite. I had fought the regional concept tooth and toenail in the beginning, but Dimon was right. We would be higher, faster, and stronger.

  “Of course I want you to be involved with this one. After all, this is your county. You’re familiar with every crook and cranny. I can’t think of anyone better qualified to assist.”

  “I hope you are going to include Ms. Mercer, here.”

  Dorothy stood imperiously, and waited quietly. Why not? What could it hurt? She could serve as a consultant. Same as my sister, Josie. “Of course. Would you consider that, Dorothy?”

  “I would be honored.”

  “Thank you. Now, let’s all stand right here where we are. I doubt if anyone has been here since yesterday for any tour, so the ground will be untrammeled. The place doesn’t give tours this time of year except by appointment. There will be a record of the last time anyone was here.”

  “Officially here,” Dorothy said. “Murderers don’t sign registers.”

  “Yes,” I suddenly felt witless. “John, I’ve already called Sam in since the regional center is temporarily at his office. I want him to be here when the forensic team arrives.”

  “Isn’t he a lot closer than the crew in Topeka?”

  “Not by much.”

  “Damn this snow. It’s going to make everything a lot harder.” Winthrop rubbed his gloves together. “We’ll be as stiff as that dead body if we keep standing out here.”

  “Let’s start. Do what we can with what we have on hand here now, before it gets any darker. Dorothy, I didn’t bring crime scene stuff with me. I have a camera in the car, but it’s no real prize. The one I usually use for investigations is back at the office. Would you please start taking pictures and making notes?”

  “Glad to. My own camera is a full sixteen pixels. No need to use yours.”

  “Awesome. And John? What do you have with you?”

  “Quite a lot. A decent basic forensics kit. Crime-scene tape. Plenty of evidence-collection bags.”

  “Good. Let’s get started while there’s still some light. I’ll leave analyzing the body up to the state men. But skip the crime scene tape for now. It will attract attention. We don’t want a bunch of town-people tromping over and destroying evidence.”

  “This will be an absolute bitch,” John said. “The snow will cover up all the good stuff by the time we get our act together.”

  “Can’t be helped. But thank God that Dorothy has a decent camera. The first thing I’m going to do is a little test. I think the ground is freezing up faster than the snow is falling. That can work in our favor.”

  “Footprints will be perfectly preserved. Lucky break.” Dorothy looked at me with respect. If she had had the same idea ahead of me, she was tactful enough not to mention it.

  “Yes. I want us to all stand here toward the extreme north edge of the yard.” We walked over to stand just short of the ditch. “John, you first. Dorothy, take a full-size picture of John, then I want him to step away and you photograph his footprints.”

  She shot from all angles. My “professional” camera was definitely inferior to her Nikon. Another item we needed to acquire for the regional center.

  When John was done I moved into place and she completed the process again. “Now you, Dorothy. And I’ll take the pictures.”

  When we finished, I walked over and brushed the snow away. Just as I suspected, the sheriff had not left any footprints on bare ground as it was already frozen underneath.

  “Good! Now we’ll create a grid and work it while it’s still daylight. As far as I can tell there’s not a single thing out of place or any trash lying around. If there is—we’ll will find it on top of this white, white snow and bag it for evidence.”

  “Ah. And if there isn’t,” Dorothy said, “after the full forensic team gets here, they can brush away the snow and we will know that what remains was brought in yesterday or earlier.”

  “Exactly. But it won’t be any earlier than yesterday. This isn’t the first time I’ve been here. Part of my historical work is learning some of the standards for preserving sites. The groundskeeper goes over everything every single evening picking up trash and checking for vandalism. The standards for maintaining property listed on the Nat
ional Register are very, very high. No one wants to lose that status. You can be sure the place is gone over daily with a fine-toothed comb.”

  “Not everyone would know that. Good thinking, Lottie. Anything the murderer dropped will likely be frozen into the top of the ground.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Burning daylight, ladies.” John whirled around and went back to his vehicle. He came back with a forensics kit and a number of little plastic flags that could be used with a marker. “Son of a bitch. Doesn’t seem right that that kid has to just lay there without someone trying to do the right thing by him.”

  “We are doing the right thing, John. Trust me. I’ve been involved in enough investigations by now to know the right thing to do is to involve the very best forensics people in the very beginning. This case is going to attract a lot of attention. Because of where it’s happened, if nothing else. Believe me, Frank Dimon would skin us alive if everything isn’t done perfectly.”

  “A freezing cold day is better than hot,” Dorothy said. “No bugs will slow decomposition.”

  Decomposition. I swallowed. The image of the 4-H imprinted cloverleaves flashed across my eyes. We sounded so dispassionate we might as well have been discussing a dead sheep trapped in a bog.

  “I’m glad that Dimon put this under regional responsibility. Joel Comstock, the district coroner, is top notch. We won’t have to worry about some botched autopsy performed by a doctor who hates to do them in the first place.” At least Kansas’ county coroners were real physicians. Not just an elected official.

  Winthrop nodded and looked at the darkening sky. “We’d best get started.”

  “It shouldn’t take long. We’re looking at white snow. But you’re right. We should move quickly before the sleet gets worse.”

  “Goddamn maniac. Crazy son of a bitch.”

  I knew John meant Dinsmoor and not the murderer.

  My dread increased. The times I had been here before were in broad daylight. Shadows deepened. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. There were all sorts of places for a murderer to hide. There was a body in the mausoleum. Why not another one on the grounds?

  We needed to stay together. Especially since there was someone along who wasn’t familiar with police techniques. Even though she seemed to be well versed in forensics, Dorothy wasn’t armed. Or at least I didn’t think so. I am. Always now. With over seventy-five thousand Kansans owning conceal-and-carry permits, I figure I’d better join the crowd. It’s amazing. Young, old, little old ladies, macho types, cowards, fools—hard telling who—are packing. And not all of them are bright. I have learned a lot by now and I didn’t want any of us isolated in this haunted nightmare of a tourist attraction, even though presumably whoever did this was long gone. Presumably.

  “We’re going to go as a group.”

  “Not split up? That would be smarter, as fast as it’s snowing.”

  “No, John it isn’t. There’s just the three of us. We need all our eyes focused on what is right before us and Dorothy needs to photograph every single formation front and back. We’ll compare them to the guidebook later to save daylight. You carry a flashlight and code the grid as we go along.”

  And we need to stay together for safety’s sake.

  I tried to suppress the image of someone jumping out from behind the sculptures of Adam and Eve, who guarded the entrance. It was one of the few formations at ground level. I shuddered at the thought of the concrete snake around Eve’s neck coming alive and handing me the apple.

  We were barely three-fourths of the way around the block, with Dorothy’s camera flashing, recording at manic speed, when Sam’s Suburban pulled up. He turned on his spotlight and aimed it up at the ground where we were searching. Then we turned our attention to the bases of sculptures and around the fence.

  Thank God we didn’t find anything out of place—as far as I could see, that is. I wouldn’t know for sure until the next day when we compared the photos with the guidebook’s pictures and the KBI went around the whole block again.

  Sam didn’t waste time asking for information while we were working. His questions came immediately afterward.

  “What the hell is going on here?”

  “Murder. In the mausoleum. Before you make a single move, Dorothy has to take a picture of your footprints. Then you can go look.”

  “Good thinking, Lottie.”

  When he was done, he walked to the mausoleum, flashlight in hand.

  “They don’t allow outside light in there. It accelerates the deterioration of artifacts.”

  “They do now,” Sam grunted. “Murder always trumps historical preservation.”

  He walked to the doorway and peered inside at the young body propped against the wall. Abruptly, Sam came back out. His lips were pressed tightly together. His cheeks sagged. He pulled out a red bandana handkerchief from his back pocket and gave his nose a mighty honk.

  “Do you know him?”

  “Hell, yes. Everyone does. Brent Suter. He was captain of the football team three years ago at Carlton County High. An honor student. Just missed being salutatorian. He’s set to graduate from the community college at Beloit. It’s taken him longer than most because he’s been driving back and forth helping his parents on the farm. He had to take a light schedule. Last I heard he was going to K-State this fall.”

  “Do you know his parents?”

  “God, yes. Salt of the earth. Help their neighbors when they can. Never cause any trouble. Ernie is an elder in the Presbyterian Church and his mom works at the Extension office, part-time. I’m surprised you haven’t met her. Patricia Suter?”

  “Suter. Patricia Suter. Oh, sure. I know who she is. She fills in for Priscilla Ramsey when Priscilla has to go to seminars. Sure. Brown hair, dark brown eyes? Medium height? Neat? Looks like she could be a model for an LL Bean catalog?”

  “That’s her.”

  “She’s been at the Extension office several times when I picked up bulletins for Keith. Very friendly. Very efficient.”

  “The Suters are pretty good-sized farmers. A family corporation with a few scattered relations living in other states. The family was selected as the Farm Bureau Family of the Year in 2008? 2009? Something like that. Model citizens. I think they were community leaders for their 4-H club.

  “Why on Earth would their son be here? In this godforsaken place?”

  “No idea. And you’d better not let the people around here hear you refer to the Garden of Eden as godforsaken.”

  “Oh, you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, but they won’t. The population of this town is barely two hundred, and they won’t take kindly to anything that might discourage tourists from coming to The Garden of Eden. In fact attracting tourists is why old man Dinsmoor built it in the first place. He deliberately made it as eccentric as he could to make him some money after the Civil War. Not that his religious and political ideas weren’t for real. They were. But he was one hell of a showman.”

  Two more cars approached, escorting an ambulance. A very special ambulance.

  “Will you inform the family, Sam? Since you know them?”

  “I’d rather you did it.”

  “Since they live in Carlton County, I think they would like the high sheriff to do it.”

  He flushed. “You’re right. But God I hate to.”

  I hated it too. My dread of telling families increased with every death. I risked a glance at Dorothy standing there impassively. If she asked to be included in the death visit I would be beside myself. But she didn’t.

  The district coroner rode in the ambulance. He would direct the removal of Suter’s body after he completed his preliminary examination. As Sam predicted, the forensics team ignored the NO CAMERAS sign inside the mausoleum and began clicking away. I told the agent in charge about our pictures and the grid photographs. He seemed impressed. />
  “You’ve done a lot of our work for us, looks like.”

  “As much as we could before dark.”

  “All you needed to. We’ll hole up at a motel in Hays and be out here again at daybreak. Unless you want to be included, you can go on home and we’ll let you know at once what we find.”

  “Someone from the regional team needs to be here tomorrow morning. I think that should be Sheriff Winthrop. He knows this area better than anyone.” Regional team. The phrase had a nice sound to it.

  “Right.”

  “But I won’t be back until I hear from you. I’m going to poke around in Carlton County. Brent Suter’s from there. And Sam Abbott can’t think of any reason why that kid would be here.”

  “Exactly.”

  Then we hushed as Dr. Comstock came out of the mausoleum. He beckoned to the ambulance driver who started to back up to the building. I stopped him immediately and rushed over to the vehicle. “Don’t even think about it. Stop right there. We’re going to go over every square inch of this land again after the team brushes away the snow.”

  “Sorry, Lottie. Wasn’t thinking.”

  Sorry wasn’t the half of it. It would be disastrous to leave ruts on these grounds. Heads would roll. Frozen or not, the ground wouldn’t withstand the weight of an ambulance.

  The men went over to the mausoleum carrying a body bag and a stretcher. In a short time we watched the ambulance pull away.

  “Nothing more to do here. John, I want you out here the first thing in the morning when the team from Topeka shows up to see if they can find any more forensics. Then call me after they leave and tell me what happened. Sam and I and Dorothy,” I said with a quick glance at Keith’s aunt, “the Carlton County crew, or our crew so far at least, will start working the case from our end. Right now, I’m going to concentrate on getting leads about who would want to kill this fine young man and why.”

  Winthrop shook hands with Sam before he walked to his car. Both men were too dejected to speak.

  “Guess we’re done here.” Sam said. “I’ll go on. It’s a long trip back. The roads are shit. You two be extra careful driving.”