Buried in Wolf Lake Read online

  “I’m talking about all women, not just prostitutes. And check with St. Paul, the metro suburbs. This guy is smart, meticulous. He did not plan for you to find his victim. He couldn’t foresee a dog finding her leg and opening this investigation. And keep in mind, there could be multiple victims,” Erley warned.

  The sheriff leaned in toward the phone. “What drives a man to do something so vile?”

  Erley’s exhale was audible across the phone wires. “The question we ask a hundred times a day around here. A person can grow up in an abusive family and turn out okay. Another can come from a pretty normal family and be Jeffrey Dahmer or Ted Bundy. We just don’t know why. I obviously wish we did.”

  “Is he a sociopath?” Smoke asked.

  “Close. He’s a psychopath. Both sociopaths and psychopaths can be very, to extremely, dangerous. They share a lack of remorse and pervasive disturbance of character traits, so there can seem to be some overlap between the two.

  “A sociopath is usually from a more disadvantaged background, not as well-educated. He’ll probably score lower on intelligence tests than a psychopath. A psychopath will come across as well-spoken, charming, maybe even charismatic. The sociopath will likely appear more unkempt, rough looking. Generally, a psychopath is from an upper middle class background, and he’ll have a more clean-cut appearance.

  “A sociopath is impulsive. He takes what he wants, when he wants it, without remorse. If he wants sex, he’ll rape. If he’s angry, he’ll become violent. He lacks impulse control. On the other hand, the psychopath is secretive, covert. He’s careful, methodical—has an elaborate plan for the prey he’s picked. It’s all about power, control, humiliation.

  “Because of their behavior, sociopaths are on people’s radar. Psychopaths aren’t, for the opposite reason. They are exceptionally careful, and experts at deception.”

  I had arrested several people who fit the description Erley had given of sociopaths.

  “Oh, and I did run the info through our national database to see if there are any similar cases out there, but nothing came back. Any more questions?” Erley concluded.

  The sheriff looked around the room, but no one uttered a word or raised a hand. Special Agent Erley had given us so much information it would be a while before it sank deep enough into our brains to dredge up any intelligent questions.

  Olansky spoke up. “Not a question, but I just got a piece of information. One of our undercover agents just got done talking to a streetwalker named Tasha. She got out of Ramsey County Jail last night and hadn’t heard about Getz.

  “She had talked to her a few times, but didn’t really know her. Anyway, according to Tasha, she saw Getz getting into a tan four-door sedan. No make or model or license number, and she was too far away to see the driver. She said it was about ten o’clock that Thursday night. We’ll check again, go over some car models with her, see if any ring a bell.”

  The clear tenor voice was back. “That indicates brazen behavior. The UNSUB thinks he’s smarter than we are.”

  Our bad guy had turned into a very ominous-sounding UNSUB who thought he was smarter than the Winnebago County Sheriff’s Department, the Minneapolis Police Department, and the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

  21

  After two days off, I had a number of voice messages in my box. A woman wanted to know the status of the investigation on a burglary/theft case I was handling. An insurance company requested copies of a crash report. My third message was a man’s voice that sounded like a computer-generated robot and uttered two words: “Judges Nineteen.” What in the world? Did he mean nineteen district court judges or Judges Chapter 19 from the Bible?

  I pushed my wheeled chair to a nearby computer, logged onto the Internet, and typed in “Judges 19.” I clicked on the first selection. It was a King James Version of the Holy Bible, and the chapter was titled “The Levite’s Concubine.” I began reading.

  1. And it came to pass in those days, when there was no king in Israel, that there was a certain Levite staying in the remote mountains of Ephraim. He took for himself a concubine from Bethlehem in Judah.

  2. But his concubine played the harlot against him, and went away from him to her father’s house at Bethlehem in Judah, and was there four whole months.

  3. Then her husband arose and went after her, to speak kindly to her and bring her back, having his servant and a couple of donkeys with him. So she brought him into her father’s house; and when the father of the young woman saw him, he was glad to meet him.

  4. Now his father-in-law, the young woman’s father, detained him; and he stayed with him three days. So they ate and drank and lodged there.

  5. Then it came to pass on the fourth day that they arose early in the morning, and he stood to depart; but the young woman’s father said to his son-in-law, “Refresh your heart with a morsel of bread, and afterward go your way.”

  6. So they sat down, and the two of them ate and drank together. Then the young woman’s father said to the man, “Please be content to stay all night, and let your heart be merry.”

  7. And when the man stood to depart, his father-in-law urged him; so he lodged there again.

  8. Then he arose early in the morning on the fifth day to depart, but the young woman’s father said, “Please refresh your heart.” So they delayed until afternoon; and both of them ate.

  9. And when the man stood to depart—he and his concubine and his servant—his father-in-law, the young woman’s father, said to him, “Look, the day is now drawing toward evening; please spend the night. See, the day is coming to an end; lodge here, that your heart may be merry. Tomorrow go your way early, so that you may get home.”

  10. However, the man was not willing to spend that night; so he rose and departed, and came opposite Jebus (that is, Jerusalem). With him were the two saddled donkeys; his concubine was also with him.

  11. They were near Jebus, and the day was far spent; and the servant said to his master, “Come, please, and let us turn aside into this city of the Jebusites and lodge in it.”

  12. But his master said to him, “We will not turn aside here into a city of foreigners, who are not of the children of Israel; we will go on to Gibeah.”

  13. So he said to his servant, “Come, let us draw near to one of these places, and spend the night in Gibeah or in Ramah.”

  14. And they passed by and went their way; and the sun went down on them near Gibeah, which belongs to Benjamin.

  15. They turned aside there to go in to lodge in Gibeah. And when he went in, he sat down in the open square of the city, for no one would take them into his house to spend the night.

  16. Just then an old man came in from his work in the field at evening, who also was from the mountains of Ephraim; he was staying in Gibeah, whereas the men of the place were Benjamites.

  17. And when he raised his eyes, he saw the traveler in the open square of the city; and the old man said, “Where are you going, and where do you come from?”

  18. So he said to him, “We are passing from Bethlehem in Judah toward the remote mountains of Ephraim; I am from there. I went to Bethlehem in Judah; now I am going to the house of the Lord. But there is no one who will take me into his house,

  19. although we have both straw and fodder for our donkeys, and bread and wine for myself, for your female servant, and for the young man who is with your servant; there is no lack of anything.”

  20. And the old man said, “Peace be with you. However, let all your needs be my responsibility; only do not spend the night in the open square.”

  21. So he brought him into his house, and gave fodder to the donkeys. And they washed their feet, and ate and drank.

  Gibeah’s Crime

  22. As they were enjoying themselves, suddenly certain men of the city, perverted men, surrounded the house and beat on the door. They spoke to the master of the house, the old man, saying, “Bring out the man who came to your house, that we may know him carnally!”

  23. But the man, the mas
ter of the house, went out to them and said to them, “No, my brethren! I beg you, do not act so wickedly! Seeing this man has come into my house, do not commit this outrage.

  24. Look, here is my virgin daughter and the man’s concubine; let me bring them out now. Humble them, and do with them as you please; but to this man do not do such a vile thing!”

  25. But the men would not heed him. So the man took his concubine and brought her out to them. And they knew her and abused her all night until morning; and when the day began to break, they let her go.

  26. Then the woman came as the day was dawning, and fell down at the door of the man’s house where her master was, till it was light.

  27. When her master arose in the morning, and opened the doors of the house and went out to go his way, there was his concubine, fallen at the door of the house with her hands on the threshold.

  28. And he said to her, “Get up and let us be going.” But there was no answer. So the man lifted her onto the donkey; and the man got up and went to his place.

  29. When he entered his house he took a knife, laid hold of his concubine, and divided her into twelve pieces, limb by limb, and sent her throughout all the territory of Israel.

  30. And so it was that all who saw it said, “No such deed has been done or seen from the day that the children of Israel came up from the land of Egypt until this day. Consider it, confer, and speak up.

  “Dear God,” I said out loud. I printed the chapter and headed to Smoke’s cubicle. He was bent over a stack of reports.

  “What’s up?”

  I tapped his shoulder. “There is something I want you and the sheriff to hear and see.”

  Smoke pulled off his readers as he pushed back his chair to stand. “Whadaya got?”

  “I’m not exactly sure, but it’s not good.” Smoke was at my heels when I knocked on the sheriff’s door frame. He was writing in a file and closed the folder when he waved us in.

  “Sergeant, Detective?” The sheriff looked from me to Smoke.

  Smoke shrugged. “I’m just here for the ride.”

  I stepped forward. “I got a voicemail I want you to hear. May I?” I asked, reaching for the sheriff’s phone. He nodded as I dialed. I hit the speaker feature and the two words interrupted the silence.

  The sheriff frowned.

  Smoke nudged me. “Did you leave someone a message saying ‘where I can I find a good story,’ and you got that message back?”

  “I wish.” I waved the printed chapter back and forth. “How well do you two know the Bible?”

  “Truth be told, the New Testament better than the Old,” Smoke answered, and the sheriff shook his head.

  “Dawes, read it out loud to save some time,” the sheriff instructed.

  Smoke slid his glasses from his pocket to his nose. He read the first line and commented, “Off to a good start. No king, in other words, no law in the land.” When he reached the section on Gibeah’s crime and how the Levite had dismembered his concubine and sent her pieces throughout Israel, I looked from Smoke’s grimace to the sheriff’s.

  “For godsakes, that story is from the Bible?” the sheriff asked, the familiar reddish tint creeping over his face. He reached over and took the pages from Smoke.

  “It appears so. Not all Bible stories are sweetness and light. There’s always that battle waging between good and evil,” Smoke answered.

  “Hasn’t changed much over the centuries, has it?” The sheriff drummed his fingers on his desk as he scanned the words of the chapter.

  Smoke shook his head. “It seems there was no one in that story to bring the bad guys to justice. On the other hand, when we find our madman, we’ll make sure he’s brought to justice. Life with no possibility of parole.”

  I put my hands on the back of my hips and stretched. “Who is our madman, according to this story? Is he the Levite, the one with the concubine, or the men of Gibeah who abused her?”

  “Maybe both,” Smoke said.

  “That’s what it seems like to me,” the sheriff said.

  “Is a concubine like a prostitute?” I asked.

  “More like a common law wife,” Smoke explained.

  The sheriff leaned back in his chair.

  I reached for the paper and scanned it, looking for the facts. “Okay, so his common law wife plays the harlot, the prostitute, against him. She leaves him, and he eventually gets her back. Then, to save himself from being violated, he lets a bunch of perverted men abuse her, which leads to her death. Then he takes her body home, cuts her up, and sends her parts throughout Israel. Everyone is shocked because nobody had ever done anything like that before. ‘Consider it, confer, and speak up.’” I looked up from the paper. “Is he the one who killed Molly and this is his explanation why?” I asked.

  The sheriff leaned forward and Smoke asked, “Whadaya mean?”

  I lifted my left hand. “Just thinking out loud here. We know Molly was a prostitute. We know she suffered torture and abuse before she died. We know she was last seen on the night of August twenty-first, and her body—in part—was found on the afternoon of the twenty-fifth. The M.E. said she had been in the water less than twenty-four hours. So, you think electronic-voice-man is both the Levite and the men of Gibeah?”

  “I think that’s a question for the FBI, the profiler, Erley.” The sheriff continued to drum his fingers.

  “There is something else I’d like to know,” I said.

  Smoke frowned in thought. “What’s that?”

  “I’m not the lead investigator on this case. You are, Smoke. My name hasn’t been in any of the news reports. Yours has. Why would he leave a voicemail for me?”

  The sheriff raised his eyebrows. “That is a good question.”

  “Could be because you’re the first name in the list of selections in the sheriff’s deputies’ voicemail box.”

  “Probably right,” I said. But a sense of dread settled over me like a heavy blanket.

  Smoke crossed his arms on his chest. “I’ll talk to Sergeant Olansky in Minneapolis; either get Erley’s number or relay the message and have Erley get back to us.”

  The sheriff nodded through Smoke’s whole sentence. “He’ll need to know—maybe give us some insight as to what in the hell that message is supposed to mean.”

  “And, the BCA should do an analysis. It sounds like it’s computer-generated. I’ll have Darin pull it off your voicemail, Corky.” Smoke sucked in a long breath.

  22

  “Are we all set for Friday night?” Nick sounded both expectant and cautious. I understood why. Things had interfered with our plans several times in the past weeks, disappointing both of us.

  “Yes we are, and I can’t tell you how excited I am. I am almost desperate to get out of Oak Lea and Winnebago County for a whole evening.” The crash report I was working on was sprawled across the table. Nick’s chuckle brought a smile to my face.

  “Maybe I should have sprung for a weekend getaway to somewhere more exotic,” he said.

  “Minneapolis is just fine. I need to adjust to having fun a little at a time.” I couldn’t suppress my teasing laugh.

  “Well then, we better make it a night to remember.”

  “I have no doubt.”

  “I’ll pick you up at five and we’ll get a bite to eat before the show.”

  Nick had been hinting he wanted to drive my classic, red 1967 Pontiac GTO. It had been my father’s before his death, and when my mother gave it to me a few years before, I had it restored to mint condition.

  “Actually, I thought you could drive my car. If you want to, I’ll pick you up.”

  He let out a “ha1”

  “It will be a night to remember.”

  Between the Molly case—which loomed, ever-present, tugging at my mind and heartstrings—and Alvie Eisner’s upcoming trial the following week, I longed for an evening of fun and distraction.

  When I steered into his driveway, Nick was leaning against his garage. His tall, fit body, adorned with a black
suit, white shirt, and multi-colored tie, nearly took my breath away. And I was his date. It was almost too good to be true.

  Nick waved. His grin was exaggerated, bordering on silly, and I giggled. I was barely out of the driver’s seat before he swooped in and kissed me.

  “She’s all yours.” I skipped around to the passenger side as Nick slid behind the wheel.

  His knees assumed a frog-like angle. “Whoa. I guess I need to move the seat back.”

  I laughed at his comical position. “I’m only like seven inches shorter than you.”

  His face beamed as he explored the front panel and carefully touched the buttons.

  “You can drive a manual transmission, right?” I teased.

  “I should have it down by the time we reach Minneapolis,” he shot back. “By the way, you look particularly lovely this evening. I don’t want you to think you take a back seat to your car.” His grin spread to his ears, and he reached over and patted my thigh.

  I groaned. “Now that is a really bad pun. But thank you. My mother tells me a black dress is appropriate for just about any evening out.”

  “Your mother is right again.”

  “I’ll tell her you said that.”

  “Good. I’m trying to win brownie points.”

  I squeezed his hand. “Like you need ’em with her.”

  After dinner at a trendy café in a brick, converted warehouse building, we stood in line outside the Orpheum Theater on Hennepin Avenue reading the Fiddler on the Roof posters, waiting for the house to open.

  “I was in Fiddler on the Roof in high school,” I said.

  “You’re kidding. So was I. Who’d you play?”

  “I was in the chorus. How about you?”

  “Tevya.”

  A tall, dark, very handsome Tevya. “So, you had your baritone voice as young as high school?”