Murder! Too Close To Home (22 page)

As we sat drinking coffee after devouring the huge pile of food, I let Frank in on my latest dream, and how it had confirmed to me anyway that the house was newly painted.

He asked a few pertinent questions, which I answered to the best of my knowledge. I also told him of hearing the ring of the phone while I was in my dream. Although the phone in my house had actually been ringing, it got me to thinking that Wesley probably had a cellular phone with him, and maybe we would be able to track cell phone usage in some way.

Frank gave that some thought while he drank his coffee.

“Since we assume he doesn’t have any electric, he more than likely doesn’t leave it on much. That may be tough to track if he is indeed only using it as few minutes a day, or maybe even less.”

His logic made sense to me immediately and I told him as much. We decided to keep the notion on the list to explore at a later date.

Paying our bill and leaving a generous tip for Ann, we then headed to the office to fill out some reports and other paperwork needed on the case. Frank’s theory that our serial killer was also involved in this case was born out when the taskforce finished with the crime scene and started trickling into the office later that morning.

We all assembled in the conference room to go over the facts of both facets of the investigation. Allen stormed in like a whirlwind.

“Ok people, whatawegot?”

Frank and I went over our interview with Larry in the hospital, and the subsequent determination that he has indeed been drugged. We had of course then theorized that there was another person in the area, and that after drugging the deputy, had then taken Larry’s weapon and shot the injured man where he lay. Finally, we again made the assumption that the deed was most likely done by Jacob John Wesley, the ‘Ghost’.

“We have proof of that,” Tucker Vance added excitedly. “He made a little memento for us and left it in the weeds about thirty feet from the scene of the shooting. It was a makeshift grave marker made out of one of his cards and stuck in the dirt. Under the name
‘GHOST’
was written
‘RIP OLD MAN’
. He also made a little doll out of the dead stalks of the weeds in the area. The doll was in the shape of a man, and was lying next to the grave marker.”

“Sounds like his level of taunting us has been ratcheted up a notch,” Allen said as he looked over to the others in the group. “What else did you guys find at the scene?”

Harry Clausing volunteered next. “The victim was one Jefferson Moore, went by the nickname
‘Gimme’
. He was killed only a mile from his house in old Bonnell Town. Heavy drinker, lost his license years ago, if he had just stayed home…”

Harry went silent for a few moments before continuing. “The weeds were bent from the perp’s traveling back and forth between the railroad tracks and the road, the little gravestone we found in an approximately six by three foot area of matted down grass where it looks like he had lain for quite awhile.”

“We found one good footprint,” Tucker Vance added now, “size and depth are consistent with what we know of the build of Jacob Wesley. The crime scene guys are making a cast and we will try to match the shoes with a style and manufacturer.”

“OK,” Allen started again, “we now know something else about our perp. Anyone know how he got there and how he got away?”

It was Betty’s turn now, and she stood and went over to a chalk board on the side wall of the room. First making a few lines on the board, she filled in the scene as she described the theory.

“We are pretty sure that he hid his car up here on the tracks. They removed a second track a few years ago, which left an empty roadway that one can easily drive on.”

“Our best guess at this moment is that he probably again used the ploy of having a disabled car on Bonnell road. Once someone came by, the perp more than likely disabled this driver by knocking him out with a blow from something heavy; a baseball bat or tire iron maybe. Doc Elliot will be able to tell us more once he examines the body.”

“After disabling the driver that stopped to help him, we think the perp drove up to the nearest railroad crossing, about a mile away; and then worked his way back down the abandoned roadbed. A car parked in that area would have been unseen from the county road; a perfect position for an ambush. After the murder, Wesley or whoever would only need to continue on the railroad right of way. He could go for miles and exit off of it at any railroad crossing.”

She set the chalk on the tray under the board and sat down. The room was quiet as we sat there digesting the information we had gleaned from all of the sources.

“We have a good bit of information, and we seem to have a viable theory of the events as they happened. Any chance anyone saw the car? I would assume he wouldn’t use his own for this.”

Silence followed again, as we all tried to come up with a way of identifying the car.

“We could check with the railroad company,” I offered, “see if any trains ran through there last night and if the engineer noticed anything”

“Good, you and Frank stay on that, anybody else?” No one else could come up with anything right then.

I had little hope that the quest we were on with the railroad would pan out, but at least we had something to do.

***

We headed across town to the rail switchyard. Hopefully they would be able to tell us something.

The switch office was at the top of a tower-like building that reminded me of a control tower at the airport. The only way up was a series of metal stairs that zigzagged back and forth on the way up.

Huffing a little by the time I got to the top, I stopped for a few seconds to catch my breath. Frank seemed a little better off than I, but he didn’t complain about the short break either.

Entering the too-hot room, I was met by a sight that probably hadn’t changed since the 1940’s. The twenty by twenty room had windows on all four walls, allowing one to see 360 degrees around the whole of the yard. On one wall there was what I would describe as a control panel, handles or levers were everywhere. Two rows of handles, top and bottom, and no more than six inches between any of them.

A man dressed in stripped overalls was pulling down a lever on the far left, then slid quickly to the far right and moved another lever up. Watching out the window for several seconds to make sure everything was moving where it was supposed to go, he then looked over his shoulder with a questioning look before spitting a brown stream into a spittoon.

“Help you fellers?” he said slowly as he looked up again, keeping one eye on us and the other on the yard.

We flashed our badges and I said that we had a couple of questions if he could spare a minute.

“I had you guys pegged as lawmen,” he said before sending another brown stream of liquid to the brass colored urn. “Names Cleat, what can I do you for?”

“We were wondering if you had any trains running last night, specifically along Bonnell Road, we’re looking at the time period around 3:00 AM?”

Cleat took a quick look at the yard before crossing the room and pulling an old clipboard off the wall. “Just checking to make sure we ran last night, but we have one coming back to town from the Honda plant most every night about that time, goes right through there, between 3:00 and 4:00 every morning.”

“Any chance we could talk to the engineer on that run?” I asked while trying to hold back my excitement. “We want to question him on something he might have been witness to in that area last night.”

Cleat nodded and went to the control panel, picking up the mike on an ancient two-way radio and playing with the knobs for a second before yelling into it.

“Tower to Little John, comeback?”

Several seconds passed with no response. Cleat was getting ready to yell again when a tired sounding “yeah?” came over the speaker.

“Got some police fellers here to see ya, make your way over here, will ya?”

Another ten seconds passed before we again heard ”yeah” coming across the speaker as Cleat hung up the mike.

“Might take him a bit to get here,” Cleat said before sending another liquid missile cleanly into the target. “Little John’s been here since 9:00 last night. They work twelve hour shifts, but he had to take an extra run this morning when someone didn’t show up.”

“He’d probably like it if you fellers could meet him at the bottom of the steps, he don’t like cumin’ up here too much.”

We agreed to meet him at the bottom, both of us offering our hands to Cleat for helping us.

“No problem fellers, come back anytime. Maybe next time I’ll let cha play with the handles.”

He let out a laugh that reminded me of a mule, and then happily went back to his work as we turned to go.

We retraced our steps back down the outside of the building, but our progress was blocked at the bottom by a mountain…A mountain by the name of “Little” John.

The man before me could easily be a professional wrestler, being at least six foot five and three hundred fifty pounds of mostly muscle. He was someone you definitely wouldn’t want mad at you.

“John, I’m Gabriel and this is Frank, we work for the prosecutor and have a couple of questions if you don’t mind.”

You could tell he was confused, but nodded his consent.

“We were told you had a run through Bonnell early this morning, around 3:00 am? Do you remember seeing any vehicles on the empty roadbed along through there this morning?”

Reaching into the top pocket on his bib overalls, he slowly dug out a dog-eared notebook, his sausage like fingers fumbling with the tiny pages as he opened it to the last page with writing.

“Boss said to keep track of anyone trespassing on the right-of-way. I usually give him my list once a week. There was only the one last night, right there where you were talking about.”

Ripping the page out of the book, he handed me the paper.

“That all you need?”

I assured him it was for now, but we might need to touch base later if we needed more information.

“Ok, but don’t call me today, I’m tired.”

With that he turned and lumbered off toward the exit gate of the yard without another word.

“Friendly sort” Frank uttered dryly, “wouldn’t want to get between him and his bed though.”

Frank’s graphic image stuck in my head for some reason, and I sputtered out a short laugh at the thought. Frank looked at me like I was some kind of crazy until the image apparently played out in his head too, when he also let out a laugh at the thought.

We walked to the exit and our car with our new evidence in hand, both of us watching for approaching train cars as they whizzed passed on their way to make up a train to who knows where.

It kind of reminded me of this case, bits and pieces of information, forming up in a row, but no one knew the final destination of our case, and no one knew who was forming up the train.

Who the hell was
our
Cleat?

Chapter 59

March 22, 1997

The piece of paper given to us by “Little” John had quite a bit of detail listed on it, with an estimated year (1994), Brand and model (Honda Accord) color and license number listed. I asked Harry to trace the license number when we got back to the office, then Frank and I headed into the conference room.

We assumed the car was stolen, but maybe the time and place of the theft would give us a new angle to explore.

One inescapable fact confirmed this morning with certainty was that the sheriff’s department was definitely being targeted. The feeling was there before, but this more or less capped it for us.

The gun in the first murder, the deputy’s uniform in the second and the attempted frame of Larry this time, all seeming to point to Wesley trying to involve the sheriff’s office in some perverted game. 

“The public’s going to be all over this when it gets out. They are going to be pointing fingers, mostly at Lean McHenry,” Frank pointed out, shaking his head in frustration.

“What do you suppose his or her game plan in all of this is?” he asked me, mystified.

“Not a clue,” I said truthfully, “not a clue.”

“Ok,” I started, surprising Frank as a new idea just hit me. “We know that Jacob Wesley has no previous record, but maybe this woman does. We could look at all of the women arrested in the last…say two years. Go through them, look for anyone that may have a beef with the sheriff, see if anyone fits the profile that we have of the woman. Maybe bring some in for interviews, let you do your thing, see what develops.”

“Best plan I’ve heard all day,” Frank injected with some excitement, “
only
plan I’ve heard all day really.”

“Let’s call the others in, get some help on this,” I offered.

Nodding his head, Frank got up to go get the rest of the crew.

“I’ll grab some coffee,” I said to the back of my friend as he exited the doorway.

“Thank God for coffee,” I uttered to myself as I grabbed the cups and started out the door for a refill.