Silver's Bones (5 page)

“I'm not sure Patrice understands what we went through with the Kohler/Peterson case.”

“Do you think you should call Patrice to tell her about the breach?”

“No, I don't. Dispatch will handle it.”

Shannon shrugged. “Okay.”

I took a pull of my beer.

“I liked seeing you today,” I said. “It was a nice diversion in a long day.”

“For me, too.”

“I didn't ask how your day was, Mrs. Sheehan.”

“Quiet. Two speeders, one stop sign, and one window tint.”

“Warnings, or did you write 'em up?”

“Warned the window tint. The others got citations.”

“You are one tough cookie . . . but a beautiful one.”

When she put her hand on my inner thigh, I whistled “Dixie.” We went to bed.

 

Chapter 5

August 8

T
he next morning at seven thirty, I drove out to Adriana's to apologize for being abrupt (Shannon's idea), and to find out about the intruders. I caught her and Troy drinking coffee at her picnic table. She was wearing the royal blue suit dress I liked.

She held up her mug. “Want one?”

“Sure,” I said.

When she went into the house to get it, Troy said, “She had some kids here last night.”

“Yeah?”

“Then about eleven o'clock, five more people walked in right toward the site. I wrote 'em up.”

“You were here?”

“Yeah. I came out to help guard the site. Spanky was parked out by the road and turned away several people. This morning I caught people in kayaks pulling up along the shore. We don't have enough deputies out here. I told Adriana she should call Patrice and demand a greater security presence. I gave her the number.”

“And what did Patrice say?”

“She apologized and said she'd put a guard at the site. And here I be.”

“People love this shit. Don't they?”

“Yep. Since you showed up, I think I'll go home and catch a few hours. Anything big happens, call me.”

“You got it. Hey, before you go, did you record the intruders' names?”

“What do you think?” He handed me his small notebook. I read through the two lists of names.

“Phillip Warner's kid?”

“Yeah, Adriana's boss's kid.” He laughed. “Hey, I like the black shorts with your uniform shirt. Good thinking. I'm doing that, too.”

“Did you have dinner here last night?” I asked.

He smirked. “No, why do you ask?”

“No reason.”
Because she said
“
we
.”

He took off for home, and then I saw
who
the other half of the “we” was—Adriana's mother, Magna, also known as Mean Magna or Mugs.

Magna's brows looked an inch higher than when I had seen her last. She must have had yet another lift.

Adriana came out to hand me a mug of coffee.

“Thanks,” I said.

“I'll be right back,” Adriana said.

I said good morning to Magna before I took a sip. Her lips were pinched in self-importance, like always.

“Good morning,” she responded. “How are you, Cal?”

“I'm dandy, and you, Mrs. Valero?”

“My, aren't we formal? When do you think you'll be done with this business?”

“When the forensic team is done.”

“Congratulations on your marriage,” she said, grinning way too widely. I knew she'd be pleased Adriana and I didn't reconcile last spring.

“Thank you.”

“I understand your bride is also a deputy and has two children.”

“Correct.”

“A readymade family. How nice.”

“If you'll excuse me,” I said, as I tried to make my escape.

But she wasn't done with me. “Adriana is beside herself.”

“I can imagine. Maybe you should take her to your place in Minneapolis until this is settled.”

“Well, for once we agree, but she doesn't want to leave for some reason. Talk to her about it.”

“I don't believe I have any influence on her anymore. Besides, what she does is not my business.”

She gave me a
sarcastic look, one I recognized from her large repertoire of nasty facial expressions. “You broke Adriana's heart, you know.” Then she put on her basset hound
face.

What?
“Oh, come on,” I said, then noticed Adriana had returned. Good thing, too. I may have said something
really stupid to her mother. Mugs could push my buttons like no one else . . . except maybe Troy.

“Oh, come on what?” she said.

“Nothing,” I said.

Suddenly Sheriff Clinton was there, saving me. Adriana was not one to let things drop.

The first thing out of my boss's mouth was, “ To make sure the area isn't some sort of burial ground, the BCA hired an independent company to survey three hundred acres surrounding Emmaline Lake with soil-pene­trating radar equipment. They'll walk cadaver dogs through the north and east side of the lake and conduct random digs.”

Adriana winced when she heard “burial ground.” She then introduced her mother to the sheriff.

“Will we have a guard here tonight?” Magna asked Patrice.

“Yes, we'll station a deputy right on the property.”

“Thank you,” Adriana said. “That will make me sleep better.”

“Wasn't Deputy Kern here last night?”

“He was, but he can't pull twenty-four-hour shifts.”

“No,” the sheriff said.

“Well, I'm off to work. Let Mom know if you need anything,” Adriana said.

“We shouldn't,” I said, “but nice of you to let us use your lower level so we don't have to pee in the mosquito-infested woods. Those mosquitoes are quick suckers.”

She gave me one of her silent laughs where she raised her head and closed her eyes. “No problem. See you later.”

When Adriana left, Sheriff Clinton said, “So Troy's in the office today?”

“Not exactly. He was here all night, so he went home to sleep. That leaves me.”

“All right. Hey, I approve of the shorts,” she said.

“I have a suggestion.”

She looked at me like she didn't want to hear it.

“In summer we have the option of wearing white, lighter-weight uniform shirts.”

She raised her brow and gave me a single nod. “I'll think about it.”

After the forensic team arrived, Sheriff Clinton spoke with them briefly, then left. About an hour later, Dr. Kennedy told me the victim was most likely female and had been wrapped in a white sheet.

Mid afternoon, Troy returned,
still looking sleep-deprived. He was sporting new black shorts.

“You sleep?” I asked.

“Grabbed a couple.”

Magna came out with a plate of chocolate-chip cookies and a pitcher of lemonade.

“Thought you all could use some refreshments.”

“That looks so good. Very thoughtful of you, Mrs. Valero,” Troy said.

I smiled and thanked her.

“Shall I bring in the tray when it's empty?” Troy asked.

“That would be nice,” she said.

When she'd gone in I said, “Why don't you ask her to bend over so you can get a better angle for the ass kissing?”

“I'm a very polite person.”

No doubt about it. He was after Adriana.

“We should station Magna out here to scare away intruders,” I said under my breath.

He laughed. “Why didn't you two get along?”

“She doesn't want her daughter married to anyone in law enforcement. Plus, we may have had a personality clash.”

“Last night Adriana came out to talk to me for a while and her mother called her in like she was a fuckin' teenager.”

“Yeah, she's a bit of a control freak.”

“Speaking of control freaks,” Troy said, “Patrice left me a message remind­ing me we have to divide up our time out here. You want tomorrow or should I take it?”

“You seem to enjoy being out here,” I said.

 

Chapter 6

August 13

A
week after the skeletal remains were discovered, Sheriff Clinton held a brief news conference in front of the courthouse. She said the forensic search team concluded that no other bodies had been buried on the property, and the recovery was now complete. Identification could possibly be made within the week. Then after giving vague answers to pointed questions, she retreated into the courthouse to take the tunnel back to the department building.

What she didn't announce was that several items were recovered with the body, including scraps of clothing, sandal soles, fragments of a white sheet, a metal zipper, one earring, an “S” pendant, and a ring. With those things, it was likely we could tentatively ID the victim. But all we had were photos, because everything, including the remains and soil surrounding the victim, was moved to the BRO lab in Bemidji. Dr. Kennedy agreed to stay on the case and help Dr. Edgerton, and we were confident we could have closure for one family very soon.

 

 

August 16

 

Around noon the sheriff
called
me and Troy to the conference room. We found her seated on the window side of the large oak table. We took our places across from her, in quiet anticipation of what she had to say.

The circles under her eyes had grown puffier and bluer. Her hand, holding a pen, was visibly shaking as it hovered over a yellow legal pad of paper scribbled with notes. Ten days ago she appeared eager for a big case, but now it was clear the stress of the job was already taking its toll. Ultimately, it was all on her: she'd take the glory if it was solved and the heat if it wasn't—along with us investigators, of course.

“I signed out Silver Rae Dawson's file a few days ago. There's strong evidence our victim is indeed Ms. Dawson. Now, let's go over what we know.”

I began to take notes as she spoke.

“Silver Rae Dawson, age seventeen, was reported missing in the early hours of July 27, 1997. Jim and Patty Summers had hired her to babysit their three young sons after the wedding of Patty's sister on Saturday, July twenty-sixth. Silver Rae picked up the boys at the reception that evening before nine o'clock and drove them home to their farm, located a half-mile from the Dawson place and two miles west of Lake Emmaline. The Summers stayed until the end of the reception, helped move gifts to the newlyweds' home, and visited for a while. When they returned home at two o'clock in the morning, Silver Rae was nowhere to be found. The Dawsons' van was still in the yard and her purse was on the floor by the couch in the living room. It contained the van keys and her wallet with thirteen dollars in it. Nothing was missing from the home, and there was no evidence of a struggle or forced entry, but the Summers believed Silver hadn't locked up the house because they never did. A search was commenced, even though, technically, Silver hadn't been missing twenty-four hours.

“Since it was Ralph Martinson's case, I called and spoke to him this morning at length. He personally supervised the search team who went through the entire Lake Emmaline property. He can't believe her grave was missed, because cadaver dogs had been used in the search areas. Ralph says they employed a couple light planes and a helicopter, and at one point, had hundreds of people walking fields and areas surrounding all four county lakes, which, by the way, were all dragged. So my question is, why didn't they find that grave? If the soil had been disturbed, it would have been visible.”

“They simply missed it,” I said. “Maybe the searchers were talking and got distracted for the half-minute it took to walk by.”

Sheriff Clinton continued, “Ralph said any tire tracks on the gravel driveway had been driven over a few times, and the lab couldn't get a good set to cast. Plus, most farms have gravel yards, which might leave shoe prints, but Jim Summers had paved the yard close to the house to keep the dust down. Anyway, Dr. Kennedy asked for the Dawson girl's medical and dental records. I secured a warrant for those, as well as one for the Dawson residence, for any of her remaining personal property. I made arrangements to pick up the records today, and I'll hand-deliver them to Bemidji.”

By Bemidji, she was referring to the Bemidji Regional Office of the BCA, the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension.

“You spoke of strong evidence earlier. Do you mean the jewelry and clothing fragments?” I asked.

“Yes. The Dawson girl was wearing jean shorts, a pink T-shirt, sandals—all of which match what was recovered.”

She opened the file folder and spread out five eight-by-ten colored photos encased in plastic protectors. They were close-ups of an earring, a ring, a necklace pendant, a scrap of dirty pink cloth, and a section of a jeans pocket.

“I think everyone in Minnesota remembers this high profile case,” she said. “Her identity has to be officially confirmed, of course, but there's no doubt in my mind that it's Silver Rae. Now comes the hard part: finding out who murdered and buried her after fifteen years.”

Troy asked, “Why bury her in that location?”

I said, “It was an undeveloped area. The only residence on the north side of Lake Emmaline at that time was the Mitchell lodge, which was seldom used. I'll talk to Del to see if he noticed anything when he did the remodel.”

“Cal, did you get the Mitchells's current contact information from the daughter? We should talk to them,” the sheriff asked.

“I did.”

Troy interjected, “Maddie said her parents were friends of Silver Rae's boyfriend's parents. Dr. and Mrs. Bentley Gage.”

“When did you find that out?” I asked.

“Just last night. I also found out that Silver's boyfriend, Parker, recently joined his dad's medical practice,” Troy said.

“Good. Easy to get him in for an interview,” Patrice said.

The sheriff's phone rang. She listened for a short time then said, “Take them to the blue interview room. We'll be right there.”

She looked at us in turn. “The Dawsons are in the lobby, demanding a meeting. Let's go.” She rose from her chair.

I moved to leave but Troy hesitated.

She noticed and blinked a few times. “What's wrong?”

“You're micromanaging this investigation.”

Patrice didn't respond, and I wasn't going to step into that fire pit.

Troy turned his hand palms up. “I'm just sayin'.”

“And I'm just saying it's
my
ass if you don't solve it, so yeah, I'm involved.”

“Your ass? That's all your worried about?” Troy said.

Oh shit. Troy. What are you doing?

“No, of course not. We need to give this family some justice.”

I pulled my lips in and nodded agreement.

“You got it . . . Sheriff Clinton . . . your
ass
and
justice
,” Troy said.

She huffed and said, “By the way, I think it's about time you both call me Patrice to my face.”

Then she walked out. I raised my brows to Troy and said, “Are you gonna sit there and pout—or are you joining us?”

He gave me the finger, but followed behind. Patrice held the elevator door for us. An uncomfortable silence ensued in the short ride to the first floor. I refused to try to smooth things over for the asshole by making conversation.

 

  

As we approached
the interview
room, I felt nauseated, like I always do when I meet with families of victims. The Dawsons were already seated at the round table when we arrived. They were both short and round, and had brown hair with a sprinkling of gray—an average Midwest couple with a less than average life story.

Mr. Dawson stood as Patrice reached out her hand to say, “Mr. and Mrs. Dawson, I'm Sheriff Clinton. Thank you for coming in. These are my deputy investigators, Cal Sheehan and Troy Kern.”

Saying my name first was a definitive shot to Troy.

“I'm Ray, and this is my wife, Franny.”

We shook hands and took our places at the table.

“Thank you for seeing us without an appointment,” Franny said.

“No problem,” Patrice said.

Ray sat forward, matching Patrice's body position. “We think the person you found at Emmaline is our Silver Rae. It's only a couple miles from where she was last seen.”

“Forensic experts will have to formally identify the body, but you may be right,” Patrice said. “Why don't you take a look at the jewelry found with the victim?”

She laid out the photos of the items on the table.

Franny Dawson gasped, then put her hand up to her mouth and let out a low moan. Tears began to roll down her cheeks. Ray Dawson put his arm around his wife. She pointed to the photo of “S” pendant.

“I gave her this for Christmas.”

Ray took his wife's hand in his and they began to weep. The rest of us remained silent. I took a couple deep breaths. Seeing people openly grieve is the worst part of this job. I plucked tissues from the box in the center of the table and handed them over.

When the couple regained composure, Patrice pointed to the earring and ring. “Can you identify these pieces as well?”

“Those were the earrings I gave her for her sixteenth birthday,” Mrs. Dawson said. She dabbed at the tears continuing to roll down her cheeks.

“The single earring was found in what was left of a jeans pocket,” Patrice said. “That may indicate she lost one and took the remaining one out and put it in her pocket. I've done that.”

It was a gold hoop with a small heart attached.

“And the ring?” I asked.

“Parker Gage gave it to her.”

The ring was in the shape of an oblong heart, the center open.

Troy said, “Although you have identified these items as your daughter's, we still need the forensic identification.”

“Who's doing that?” Ray asked.

“A forensic odontologist will use dental records and x-rays,” I said.

“And we have a forensic anthropologist on the case whose specialty is iden­tifying bodies in the condition of this one,” Patrice said.

“How much of her was left?” Franny asked.

“Just skeletal remains.”

Franny uttered a single sob.
Jesus. Poor woman.

“We'll back everything up with DNA testing. Cal and Troy would like to look at what you may still have of Silver's things, and also some folks from the BCA may contact you,” Patrice said.

“Anything to help find the
monster
who killed my girl,” Mr. Dawson said.

“What was your daughter like?” I asked.

Franny smiled faintly. “She was the sweetest child, always the first to help me. Never complained about work, like her sister.”

“Her sister's name?” I asked.

“Ellie,” Mrs. Dawson said.

“Is she single or married?”

“Married. Her husband's name is Kevin Connor.”

“Where do they live?” Troy asked.

“Maple Grove,” she said. “They own a beauty salon there.”

“Never figured she'd meet her husband in
beauty
school,” Mr. Dawson said, raising one eyebrow.

“What's the age difference between the girls?” I asked.

“Eighteen months. Ellie's my oldest. She and Silver were very close. She's coming home this morning,” Mrs. Dawson said.

“Where were the members of your family on the night Silver disap­peared?”

“Ray and I were at home. Ellie was staying at a friend's house,” Mrs. Dawson said.

“Did Silver babysit for this family often?” I asked.

“She did when she was younger, but not since she started high school. She only agreed because Patty begged her. She wanted someone who could come and get the boys from her sister's wedding reception because it would be too late for them. I shouldn't have encouraged her,” Mrs. Dawson said.

“Someone could have followed her from that reception,” Mr. Dawson said.

“Well, I doubt it, because Parker had been with her when she picked up the boys and then stayed with her until about eleven o'clock,” Mrs. Dawson said. “We found that out later.”

“What time did you expect her home?”

“Patty told her no later than two in the morning. I lay awake watching the clock, thinking she'd be walking in any minute. When the phone rang at two thirty, I was expecting it to be Silver complaining they weren't home yet. But it was Jim, asking if we had heard from Silver. They couldn't find her anywhere. We drove right over and scoured the whole place. Even the bride and groom came to help. An hour later, Ray called 911.”

“Who were her friends at the time?” I asked.

“Aubrey Gage and Jenny Olson,” Mrs. Dawson said.

“Is Aubrey a sister to Parker?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“What were your impressions of Parker?” Troy asked.

“He was a nice boy to have around—very polite. He's a doctor at the clinic in town now.”

Patrice said, “Well, until it's official, I recommend we keep this quiet or you'll have the press hounding you.”

“They already are,” Mr. Dawson said. “They're sitting at the edge of our driveway.”

“If they get intrusive, let me know,” Patrice said.

“I have a shotgun,” Mr. Dawson said.

Oh, boy.
I sat forward and said, “Although at times we may share your opinion about the media's practices, it's not a good idea to shoot them, Mr. Dawson.”

“Yes, we don't want
you
to end up in prison,” Patrice chimed in. “With our two new investigators taking a fresh look at this investigation, we hope to close the case soon. Now, unless there's something else you wanted to discuss, I need to be on my way.”

“How long will the identification process take?” Ray said.

“I'm not exactly sure. We're assured by the BCA this case is a priority, so that's in our favor,” she said.