Murder Mountain (20 page)

That’s great,
I thought. I shook my head and turned to walk out of Coop’s office when Kincaid ran in, almost knocking me over. She burbled excitedly, “Andrea Dean’s mother just called. She said Andrea just called her five minutes ago.”

All of us looked at her, stunned. Andrea Dean’s mother had to be losing her mind and probably made a mistake.

“That can’t be,” I reacted. “Are you sure it wasn’t someone that sounded like Andrea?”

“She’s sure all right. She said that the call lasted less than a minute, and that Andrea supposedly said, ‘I’m fine Mom, don’t worry. I’ll be home soon,’ and hung up. She did say, though, that Andrea sounded terrified, that her voice was shaking and distant, like she wasn’t holding the phone. We’re trying to get a trace, but chances are it won’t happen. Her mom doesn’t have caller ID, either.”

It dawned on me what was happening. The suspects wanted Andrea’s mother to hear her voice so her case would close and she would no longer be missing, putting up a roadblock as far as the investigation went. They were probably holding a gun to her head, and, if I were right, they would keep her alive a little longer in case they needed to use her again. The good thing was, though, that she was still alive.

“I have to do something,” I said, running out of Coop’s office, headed to mine. I wanted to get a photo of Andrea, fax it to the gas station in West Virginia where Annie worked, and ask them to post her missing. That would shake things up.

While rummaging through papers on my desk, I realized a package about the size of a shoebox was sitting on it. Michael walked in.

“What’s this?” I asked, holding up the package at him.

“Dunno. It was delivered this morning. Coop put it there.” Changing the subject to what he’d come to say, he told me, “CeeCee, when I heard what happened last night I was worried. I almost drove down here at two o’clock in the morning to see if you were okay.”

I ignored him and began to open the package. The postmark was Mansfield, so it was probably wasn’t anything to be concerned about. When I ripped the brown packaging paper off, I saw a black cardboard box without any markings. As soon as I opened the lid and saw what the contents were, I dropped the entire box and leaned over my chair trying not to gag.

“Oh, Jesus!” I yelled.

Michael ran over to my desk and looked on the floor at what the box contained, mumbled, and turned his head. It was bad enough that someone would send me a mutilated rat in the mail, but one that was rotting and smelled up the room was worse. It had been packed in coffee grounds so we wouldn’t smell it until the lid was off. Coop and Kincaid walked in then and saw the shredded rodent half in the box and half on my floor.

“Oh my God!” cried Kincaid. “What the hell is that?”

I told her and she immediately called the crime lab to my office to take it away and process it. As Coop was opening windows, Michael found something else.

“There’s something else in the box, under the rat,” he said, taking a ruler to pull the rat out farther.

He took a tissue from the box on my desk, and pulled a small, white postcard from under the rat: a postcard with a picture on its front of beautiful, green rolling mountains and the words, “Visit West Virginia.”

A chill ran through my body and flashes of the rats in my driveway went through my mind. These people had been to my home long before last night. They probably had been inside my house, as well. No one inside my office knew about the previous incidents and I didn’t volunteer the information.

“I need to tell the sheriff,” said Kincaid, walking out of my office.

“Michael, I think you might want to get some more agents down here, if you can. We’re starting to get in over our head,” said Coop.

“I’ll call the office now. CeeCee, Kincaid said she’s got a marked cruiser parked in front of your house for protection. I’ll tell her to keep them there for a couple more days,” Michael said.

I wouldn’t need them. After the crime lab took the package away, I typed a brief statement, filled out several required forms for the shooting the night before, and went home.

Eric wasn’t there, which was probably best. I took out several of my suitcases and began to pack. I also called my mother and told her to keep Selina and Isabelle a little while longer. I spoke with both of them and they were having a blast. I made a couple more phone calls, then carried my suitcases downstairs and set them in the kitchen. I wasn’t sure when, or exactly if, I would be leaving, but I wanted to be prepared.

Eric returned home later, having already eaten supper at his parents’ house. I was sitting on the couch having a glass of wine. Eric didn’t have to work that night, so I thought this would be a good time to tell him what I was doing. After grabbing a beer out of the refrigerator, he took a seat next to me.

“Did you get your statement all typed out?” he asked.

“Yeah. The lab said they didn’t find much, not that I expected them to. Changing the subject, I need to tell you something.”

I told him about the package I’d received with the rat and the postcard. I also told him about Andrea Dean calling her mother, and that I was confident the suspects had been at our house before. And before I said my last sentence, I took a deep breath, not knowing the reaction I would get, and calmly stated, “I think I’m going to West Virginia in the morning.”

Eric stared at me, hard. He stood up and walked into the kitchen, grabbed another beer, and sat back down.

“You will go to West Virginia over my dead body.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I started getting angry.

“It means that this case has been one close call after the other, as far as your safety goes, and you continue to push the envelope. You have not considered your children, or me, but you don’t seem to give a shit. After everything that has happened, for you to look me in the eye and tell me you’re going to West Virginia is nothing but outrageous and selfish.”

“Again, this is my job! Let me ask you this. What is the difference between what I am doing and you stopping a car at night that has a known homicide suspect in it who’s said he would shoot a cop if confronted? If you did stop the car, would you be thinking about your children or your wife then?” I was extremely angry at his attitude and let it show.

“It’s not the same thing.”

“Oh, it’s not? I think it is. I think what you are telling me, right now, is if the tables were turned, there wouldn’t be a problem with you working this case, because you are a better cop than I am. I think what you are telling me is, I’m not capable of handling myself, like you are, so I should just throw the towel in and say hell with it!” I was yelling by this point, “The goddamn newspaper says I’m not worth a shit, and, apparently, so do you!”

I stood up.
How dare he insinuate that I purposely put my children’s safety at risk.
I was so angry at that moment that I thought I would scream.

“What the hell do you expect? And get that crap about you being a lesser cop out of your head; it’s ridiculous! That has nothing to do with what I am saying. I know you can handle yourself; that’s not the point. The point is, whether it’s you or I, these people are dangerous and are seeking you out! This isn’t about not wanting to get caught. Their mentality is to kill witnesses and be done with it!”

“I’m going, whether you like it or not,” I laid it down as a challenge.

Eric sat quietly while I stood there glaring at him. He took a deep breath, set his beer down, stood up, and faced me. “If you leave this house and go to West Virginia, you are not welcome back here. I am going to get Salina and Isabelle from your mother’s and have them stay at my parents’ for a while until you can make some arrangements. Don’t even think about getting custody of the girls. I will fight you tooth and nail on it. This is your decision, not mine. But the bottom line is, I’m done, and I’ve had enough.” He walked into the kitchen, grabbed his car keys, and left.

I stared at the door for what seemed like hours, hoping Eric would come back, but he didn’t. The gauntlet had been thrown down, and two stubborn cops just locked their horns. It took a while for everything to sink in. I had just lost my husband and my children. I couldn’t believe this was possible, or that it was really happening. All the events of the last several months started rising up in me: the case, Michael, Kincaid, Eric, and the girls. I felt such a strong sense of rage, all I could do was throw my wine glass across the room. The glass hit our stereo, turning it on. Music blared. For some odd reason, this made me laugh.

What started out as laughter, turned into the mother of all emotional break downs. In the middle of laughing, I grabbed my head and started screaming, falling to my knees. A wave of sobs and screams flooded out of me. I felt like I was dying. Now on all fours, I continued screaming and sobbing until I had to literally crawl to the bathroom and vomit. I could still hear the music playing as I lay on the bathroom floor. My screams lessened to a whimper. I fell asleep within minutes.

Waking up, I didn’t know where I was or what time it was because it was so dark. Finally getting my bearings, I reached on the bathroom wall and turned the light on. Seeing myself in the mirror, I looked a hundred years old. My eyes were puffy and had black circles around them. I splashed some cold water on my face and went to the living room, where I turned off the stereo. It was very late, but I made my decision. I dialed Michael’s cell phone number. It took a while for him to answer. I knew he was probably asleep.

It clicked on and he mumbled, “Yeah, what is it?” in a grumpy voice.

“Michael, its CeeCee.”

“CeeCee,” he grumbled. “What’s going on?”

“Pack your bags. We’re going to West Virginia.”

I met Michael early in the department’s parking lot. He looked like he hadn’t slept all night. I knew the feeling.

“What made you decide this at three o’clock in the morning?” he wanted to know.

“It’s time. Actually, it’s past time; we should’ve gone down there weeks ago.”

“Does Kincaid know?”

“Nope, and all I’m going to do is leave her a voicemail telling her. Did you hear from your office? Are they going to get more agents here?”

“They’re trying. Everyone is spread pretty thin right now, but they’ll get back with me as soon as they can.”

As if she were standing beside us, listening to every word, Kincaid came charging into the parking lot, driving her black SUV. It was the weekend, and she was off. All I could deduce was that she had found out we were leaving and had come to stop us. Outside of tweety bird flying to her house and telling her, the only other person who knew was Eric. She pulled up alongside us and jumped out of the car. I prepared myself for a confrontation with her. I was going to West Virginia, whether she liked it or not, and I was very prepared to explain to her which part of my ass she could kiss if she wanted to argue the matter.

“That was quick,” she said, looking at both of us.

Michael and I glanced at each other. She didn’t get out of the car screaming, but she acted as if she expected us to be here.

“We’re not following you, Captain,” I said as smooth as can be. “What was quick?”

“Your response time getting here,” she said, looking puzzled. “I only got the call fifteen minutes ago. I told them to call you two in, but I didn’t anticipate you beating me here—especially you, Michael. That was a quick drive from Cleveland.”

“Captain, we don’t know what you’re talking about. CeeCee and I just got here. We decided to work today, getting an early start. We have a lot of paperwork to catch up on, and thought by working on the weekend we would have fewer interruptions.” I was surprised that Michael lied to her, but not that he did it so well.

“Oh. Well, I guess I’ll give you the news then. Dispatch received an anonymous call on the non-emergency line, twenty minutes ago, from a female. She said the body of Karen Cummings is buried behind the old Distl Meat Packing Plant on South Main Street. We’ve got cadaver dogs on their way, and everyone else is on stand-by. The call came from a payphone on the outside of a McDonald’s on the interstate. Uniforms already checked, and no one saw anybody on the phone.”

“She’s been gone for almost three years,” I noted. “She’ll be nothing but bones.”

“An expert anthropologist from Kent State University is on his way down. Cuyahoga County Coroner’s Office also has a team on stand-by. They have personnel that specialize in these things; bug people, bone people, the works. Not that I anticipate many bugs after this long.”

“This will be the third confirmed death in this case, up to three more suspected; three deaths, one suicide ...” Michael counted.

“... and probably a dog is barking somewhere,” I interrupted. “Numbers don’t matter, as long as they quit climbing.”

I truly hoped this would be the last, but I knew better. We still had three women unaccounted for: Lizzie Johnston, Andrea Dean, and Lisa Grendle. Our trip to West Virginia was clearly being put on hold. We needed to be at the scene if, in fact, Karen Cummings was buried there. There might be something that we needed to see, or evidence that could help us. Our bags were loaded in my car so we could leave afterward.

Kincaid said the cadaver dog would be at least another half an hour. Michael and I went to grab a quick breakfast before heading to the scene. When we arrived, Sheriff Stephens and Chief Raines were already there. Everyone was off to the side of a large, grassy area, watching the cadaver dog’s handler walk around with a large stick, poking holes into the ground. The holes make detecting odors easier for the dog. After a few minutes, the handler walked the dog around the area. In less than a minute, it started digging furiously in one particular zone. I closed my eyes and let out a sigh. There was still a slight chance that a body wasn’t buried there and it was someone’s cat. Doubtful, but possible.

The zone where the dog had hit was marked with an orange flag. A backhoe that had been waiting off to the side drove over and dug in. The first mound of dirt it dumped came with a tennis shoe, complete with a foot and anklebone inserted in it that rolled down the pile of dirt, landing upright, on the ground. Bingo. The head of the crime lab ran to the backhoe, waving his arms to stop digging. They’d located the body, and any further digging would have damaged it and compromised the scene. From my vantage point, I could see a black plastic garbage bag less than three feet below ground level.