Maniacal: A Detective Jade Monroe Crime Thriller Book 1 (17 page)

I placed the large box of doughnuts on the table at the back of the bull pen. Hopefully they’d last longer if they weren’t on Jack’s desk. I chuckled at the thought. I’d never known anyone who was as unhealthy an eater as Jack, yet he was muscular and never got sick. He was strong, had endurance, and could outrun most eighteen-year-olds.

I looked at the clock above the door. Todd and Billy should be downstairs by now. It was after eight. I’d invite them upstairs for doughnuts since they were so helpful yesterday. My heart told me to invite everyone. We were all involved in this case, like it or not. I stopped by Doug’s office. He wasn’t there but Jason was. Kyle and Dan were just getting in. I told all of them that plenty of doughnuts were upstairs, and if they wanted any, they’d better go now. Jack, Clayton, and Billings should be arriving any minute, and Lieutenant Clark had already grabbed his pick of the bunch.

Back upstairs, the guys were gathered in the bull pen around the table. Somebody had brought napkins in from the lunchroom, a great idea since some of these were sticky, filled doughnuts. By the time Kyle, Dan, and Jason made it upstairs, the first dozen were gone.

“Okay, guys, as soon as we finish our breakfast treat and wash our grubby little fingers”—I grinned—“we can get back to where we left off on the phones yesterday. After that, we’ll hit Settler’s Square and a few of the parks.”

“Sounds good,” Clayton said. “Billings and I will walk through Regency and Riverside Parks.”

“Yep, those are the parks I would have suggested anyway. Jack and I will take Settler’s Square and all of downtown. Let’s make calls until eleven, then hit the streets.”

We picked up where we’d left off yesterday. Talking to parole officers seemed to be the most logical and reliable way to get information. They would have an extensive file on each person we asked about, plus they could tell us anything that seemed off about them. They’d have had face time, one-on-one experience with each person they were assigned to. That in itself would be valuable information for us.

I checked the notes I had left on my desk. One was to follow up on two guys with the Washburn County parole officer I spoke to yesterday. Both could be persons of interest. I also had written myself a note to call Perry. We would release Elise’s body today to any funeral home he chose. I’d contact him first before I got too involved with the other calls. My mind drifted back to last Thursday night and how I’d enjoyed the yoga class with Elise. That was the last time I saw her alive. I remembered her larger-than-life personality and the happy smile she wore when she conducted those classes. I shook my head.

“Jade, is everything okay?”

I hadn’t noticed Jack staring at me.

“We’ll get this sicko. I promise you and the residents of North Bend. They need to feel safe in their own community,” Jack said.

“Sorry, I was just thinking back to last Thursday. I teased you about joining me at my yoga class. That was the last night I saw Elise alive.”

“Do you need a minute? We can get started on our own. I know you need to call Perry.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll be right back.”

I found a quiet interrogation room and closed the door behind me. I sat down, took a deep breath, and dialed Perry’s number.

“Hello, Perry Adams, CPA.”

“Perry, it’s Jade Monroe.”

“Hello, Sergeant. I just got the kids off to school.”

“How are you holding up?” I regretted asking the question once the words left my mouth. I knew he wasn’t doing well, but I didn’t know what else to say.

“Well, you know. The kids are having a tough time.” He began to cry.

I rubbed my forehead and dug my fingertips into my temples. “Perry, have you decided on a funeral home yet? Elise’s body can be released today if you’ve picked one.”

I heard Perry clear his throat.

“I’ve already talked to the funeral director at Myram & Frank Funeral Home on Forest Street. They just need you to contact them. They said anytime is fine, then I’ll go in after that and make arrangements with them.”

“Okay, not a problem. I’ll call them as soon as we hang up.”

“Have you made any progress, Sergeant Monroe?”

“Not yet, but we’re working hard on it. We’ll catch him, I just can’t say when.”

He paused, and silence filled the phone line. “Okay, Sergeant. I guess that’s it, then. I’ll call the funeral home in about an hour and set up a time to go in.”

“Thanks, Perry. I’m going to call them right now. Goodbye.”

I headed back to the bull pen with even more determination, sat down at my desk, and called the funeral home. After that, I called Barry Nicolaus, the parole officer I spoke with yesterday, to make an appointment to see him. He told me I could come in immediately if I had time.

“Guys, I’ll be back in a bit. I’m going over to the courthouse to follow up with Barry about these guys I flagged yesterday.” I grabbed the sheets on the two guys and left.

With the courthouse right next to the sheriff’s department, I took the sidewalk and entered through the east corridor hallway. The parole officer’s office was on the second floor. I entered and told the receptionist, Nancy, I had an appointment with Barry.

“Sure, Jade, give me a second. Barry, Jade is here.”

Barry came out of his office and greeted me. He reached out and shook my hand. “Good to see you again. Come on in.”

Barry Nicolaus had been a parole officer in Washburn County for the past fourteen years. He and his wife, Lorraine, were casual friends of mine. A few years back, she and I were in the same bowling league.

I always teased Barry about his tie selection. I stared at his tie with box turtles on it and grinned.

“What?”

I laughed. “You never fail to surprise me. That tie is uglier than the one you wore last month when I was here.”

“I forgot which one that was,” he said, chuckling.

“I didn’t. It had motocross bikes on it.” I sat down and opened the two folders I’d brought with me. “I need to know more about these guys. You’re aware of the murders we’ve been dealing with, right?”

“Who wouldn’t be? The news isn’t spreading the best light on the sheriff’s department. They’re making it sound like you guys are incompetent.”

“Yeah, I really appreciate all their praise—jerks. This guy leaves no evidence, Barry. He’s like a ghost.” I pushed the folders toward him. “Look at these pictures. I’m thinking these photos are pretty old. I need to know what these two are like now. Our profile is leading us to believe the perp is pretty strong and over six feet tall. We can’t pinpoint an age range, but do your two guys still look like these photos?”

He studied the pictures. “Yeah, I see what you mean. These photos are likely from when they were put in the system. Let’s see, Adam Ross was released in 2013 after ten years in Waupun. So, that makes him thirty-seven right now. He looked a lot tougher then. Prison can age a guy quickly unless they’re always working out and watching their back. Adam has asthma pretty bad, smokes a lot, and probably goes a buck fifty now.”

“That doesn’t sound like our guy. How about Chuck Banta?”

Barry studied Chuck’s picture. “Yeah, he looks about the same. He’s a tough one and not to be trusted. He lives at the halfway house on Cedar Street. He does hold down a full-time job at Millsteel, though. The halfway house has a pretty strict curfew. Everyone has to be inside and accounted for by ten p.m. The first killing happened in the middle of the night, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, and in Milwaukee. Does Chuck have a vehicle?”

“Nope. The guys that live at the halfway house and have jobs take the shuttle to work every day. They get picked up after work too.”

“Crap. It sounds like both of them are dead ends. Can you print out their most current information for me?”

“Sure can, Jade.” He called Nancy into his office. “Nancy, pull Chuck Banta and Adam Ross’s files and print out everything for Jade, please.”

“Sure thing. It will take about ten minutes. Would you like some coffee, Jade?”

“That would be awesome, thanks.”

“So no leads yet?”

“Unfortunately not. We’re following up with anyone released in the last few years that served ten. Never heard of anyone nicknamed Dime?”

“Sorry, but no. That’s what this guy is going by?”

“Just a hunch that doesn’t seem to be panning out so far.” I thanked Nancy for the coffee and continued to wait for the files.

“I’ll ask around. I see quite a few guys every month. I could tell the other parole officers to ask if anyone knows somebody by that nickname. I have no idea if anyone will talk or not, but it doesn’t hurt to ask.”

Nancy brought in the files and handed them to me.

“Thanks, Nancy, appreciate it. I guess I better go and start hitting the streets. So far we haven’t had any luck on the phones. Thanks, Barry.”

Jack and I started at the far south end of Main Street. We knew every little nook and cranny where the loners hung out, some unemployed, some a little sketchy. We planned to talk to everyone that would give us the time of day along the route and end at Settler’s Square at the north end of Main Street. On Saturdays during the summer, a large farmers' market was held downtown. Main Street was blocked off to vehicles between seven a.m. and one p.m., and only foot traffic was allowed. Bands usually played at Settler’s Square, and it was a fun, family-oriented environment. During the week, Settler’s Square was usually inhabited by truant teenagers, people that milled around waiting to meet up with someone, or old people who were just lonely. Usually the city police tried to keep anyone that looked up to no good moving along, but today, we needed to speak to as many of them as possible.

North Bend was a decent town for the most part, and not one that saw many serious crimes. Even the petty criminals had seemed to look over their shoulders lately. Our town was growing, though, and more people were moving in from larger cities. Many of those people we hadn’t met yet, had no idea where they came from, or what they were capable of.

The folks that hung out downtown knew Jack and me. Some of them had had an encounter or two with us in the past and scattered when we approached, while others waved hello.

Johnny Davis was a regular that hung out at the triangle, a small parklike greenspace in front of Cheryl’s Bar and Grill. We sat next to him on the bench. Jack always kept two packs of cigarettes with him, menthol and non-menthol. They came in handy when we needed to talk to someone, especially a homeless person. They would sit tight and talk, hoping for more cigarettes as we asked our questions.

“Hey, Johnny, what’s new?” Jack asked.

Johnny scooted to the side when we sat and tried to hide the brown paper bag that likely contained a pint of cheap whiskey. Jack offered him a smoke. He happily chose a menthol cigarette.

Jack lit it for him. “So, nothing interesting, huh?”

“No, nope, not a thing.” He pinched the cigarette between his lips and inhaled deeply.

“Where are you sleeping these days?” I asked.

He pointed. “Over there, under the bridge. Got myself a nice little camp set up.”

“No fires, though, right?” Jack asked.

“Nope, no fires, no sir.”

“So, Johnny, have you ever heard of somebody that goes by the name of Dime? I want you to think hard before you answer.” I stared at him and waited.

“Yep, sure have. Uh-huh.”

I looked at Jack. Doubt was written across his face, and I felt the same way.

“Can I have another cigarette? I want one for later.”

“Sure, but first we have to know who Dime is,” Jack said.

Johnny pointed at the barbershop in a run-down building on the corner. The small storefront had been a barbershop for as long as I could remember, but these days, I thought it sat vacant. An alley was to the left of it, and the right side was attached to a nearly defunct plumbing store. In all the years I’d lived in North Bend, I’d never seen anyone walk in or out of the place. That entire block of buildings needed updating and new facades. I’d heard the city council’s planning committee had that area earmarked for rejuvenation later in the year.

“The barber that runs the place, his name is Dime.”

“I thought that place was empty. When was the last time you were in there, Johnny?” Jack asked.

One look at the homeless man told us he hadn’t had his hair washed or cut in ages.

“I can’t remember. I just know that’s his name. Frankie said so.”

“Your brother told you that?” I frowned in disbelief.

“Uh-huh. He takes out the trash for him and gets a pack of smokes every week for doing it. Can I have another?” He stuck out his thin, bony fingers and waited for Jack to hand him a second cigarette.

“Okay, thanks, Johnny. We’ll go check it out. You aren’t lying to us, are you? We know where you live.” I gave him a smile.

“Nope, not lying.”

“I thought that building was vacant,” I said to Jack as we crossed the street.

“So did I.” Jack pulled the squeaky screen door open and turned the knob on the wooden interior door.

We entered the old, tired-looking barbershop and saw a middle-aged man trimming another man’s hair.

“Hello, folks, be with you in a bit. Just finishing up.”

We sat and waited. Jack grabbed a fishing magazine. The cover showed people ice fishing. He frowned and looked at the date. The magazine was from January.

“Help yourself to some coffee if you like,” the barber said.

We smiled and declined.

He brushed off the customer’s neck and unfastened the cape. The man paid and walked out.

“How can I help you folks? Need a trim, sir?”

We stood and showed him our badges. I asked him to flip the open sign to closed for now. He complied.

“What’s this about? I have all my licenses.”

“May we see them?” I asked.

“Sure thing.” He opened the top drawer in the desk at the back of the shop and pulled out his paperwork. He handed the documents to me.

“Your last name is Sentz?”

“Yep, Joseph Sentz, but everyone calls me Dime.”

“Why’s that?” Jack asked.

The man laughed. “My old man’s kind of humor, I guess. I’m Dime, and my kid brother, Jimmy, is Nickel. I’m the older of the two, and we’re five years apart in age. Get it? Our last name is Sentz, like cents. Funny, right? My pop started calling me Dime when I turned ten. He said I was worth ten cents now, a dime. He started calling my brother Nickel then too. I guess the nicknames just stuck.”