What the hell. Maybe Human Services would listen to reason.
‘‘Sure, Henry. Might as well send in a sample.’’
Kerri was at the hospital, but Human Services was all over her. I decided to talk to her again, later.
By the time I got back to the office, Thursday was about shot. I put off the report until Saturday, and thought about our murders. I mean, here I was getting just a little bit excited over the fact that a child neglecter had been a buddy of Turd’s and his dope dealer had gotten really scarce. A lead? Maybe, but probably not. If it was, we’d have to be careful. If it was, we might have independent information in our pocket. I called Hester, but she was out. I thought about the ‘‘lead,’’ and drank coffee. I should have written the report.
Saturday, I started off with my report for Human Services. Took less than an hour to type it up, even including Henry’s summary. While I was doing it, I figured that I could take a cheap shot at Hank and Kerri with the test on the baby’s hair. The county attorney would, if it was positive, have two abuse charges, and surely would sort of lump them together. The neglect charge was the one with the clout. I felt I could use the hair clippings test for THC to push old Hank into telling me who his dealer was.
It was Saturday, so Hester was off. Unwritten rule; don’t contact on a day off unless you really need help.
I got in the car and told dispatch I was doing a follow-up on the neglect case. I was at the little trailer in about twenty minutes.
I explained to them about the hair test. Turned out that Human Services had told Kerri about it yesterday but she’d been afraid to tell Hank. Hmm. Since she’d been told that marijuana smoking in the presence of the kid was what would show up, and was now afraid to tell her husband…
After Hank whined, ‘‘Jeez, man, this scares the shit out of me to do this,’’ about five times, he told me his dealer was one Howler. Well. Imagine that. He also told me something else.
‘‘You know who killed Turd and the cop, don’t you?’’
‘‘Not yet, but we will.’’
‘‘Hey, I know. I really do, man.’’ He actually looked around, inside the damn trailer, before he hoarsely whispered, ‘‘It was Navy SEALS, man. They got him.’’
There are leads, and then there are leads. We needed to talk in private, so we left the trailer and stood outside in the long grass by a small metal garden shed. I was half afraid he’d ask me to step inside it.
‘‘They been working that area for a while, man.’’ He was very quiet, and hard to understand. ‘‘Howler told me. He said it was Army-Navy SEALS. You know, the ones in the cammo stuff, with their faces painted, they can kill anybody before they know they’re dead?’’
‘‘Howler told you that?’’ I asked.
‘‘Yeah, man, he seen ’em. Twice.’’
‘‘If Howler saw ’em, how could they be so sneaky?’’
‘‘He did, man, he really did. He seen ’em in the woods.’’ He looked around again. He was really nervous. Outrageous as it was, he believed it. ‘‘He knows all about that shit.’’
‘‘Where is Howler these days?’’
‘‘I don’t know, man, but if he’s hidin’, you’ll never find him. They got him scared, man, they really do.’’
Hey. An Army-Navy SEAL would scare just about anybody.
I started looking for Howler. First person I contacted was Beth Harper, Turd’s surviving girlfriend. She told me that Howler had moved in with Nan, the girl Hester and I had seen at Beth’s place. I next called the Freiberg police, and they told me the same thing. Hardly seemed to be hiding. I got to Nan’s place about half an hour later. Howler answered the door. Artfully concealed.
His first question was ‘‘How’d you find me?’’
We talked for almost an hour. It turned out that he actually had seen three men, in cammo clothing, on the road near the area where the marijuana patch had been. Armed with rifles, he said, that appeared to be M-16s. M- 16s used 5.56 mm ammo, one of the types found at the scene. Hats, boots, and web gear. That’s what he said.
‘‘Any idea who they might have been?’’ I didn’t want to hit him with the SEAL stuff, as it might give up my source.
‘‘Navy SEALS. Had to be.’’
‘‘Why’s that?’’
‘‘They were in a blue jeep, man. You know. Blue. Navy.’’
‘‘Navy jeeps,’’ I said, ‘‘are gray.’’
He paused a few seconds. ‘‘You sure about that?’’
‘‘Yep.’’
‘‘You think they were Air Force, then?’’
We concentrated on the date. He wasn’t certain, but he thought it was on the 17th of June. Two days prior to the shootings.
‘‘What were you doing up there anyway?’’ My reserve question.
After a couple of minutes hemming and hawing, it developed that he’d dropped Turd off to tend the patch. Of such stuff are co-conspirators made.
‘‘For Johnny Marks?’’
Well, yes, as a matter of fact, but don’t tell Johnny. And, anyway, he wasn’t sure I’d be able to find Marks as quickly as I’d been able to ‘‘find’’ him.
I asked if he’d told Johnny about the cammo troops. Yes. And Turd? Yes.
‘‘That’s why he had the shotgun,’’ he said. ‘‘But I don’t think he really believed me. Otherwise he wouldn’t have gone up there.’’
Aha.
‘‘Did you ever think they were cops? When you saw them.’’
Actually, no, he hadn’t. Howler apparently was one to go with his first impressions.
‘‘What,’’ I asked, ‘‘did you think a SEAL team was doing in a state park in Iowa?’’
Training. That’s what he said. Along with ‘‘Hey, who knows what the Feds are doin’.’’
We had that in common anyway.
On Sunday, the 7th, with all the state and federal cops off, I had nobody to talk with about the investigation. I wanted to talk to Johnny Marks again, but I wanted to have his probation officer with me when I did. He was off, of course, and wasn’t answering his home phone. I really had nothing else to do, so I went back to the scene of the crime. I told Lamar where I was going to be.
There was a light rain, and everything in the woods was shiny in a gray sort of way. It was very hot, very humid, of course, and I had to wear my infamous rubberized raincoat just to protect my recorder, walkie-talkie, gun, notepad, and to keep my reading glasses dry. Trouble was, I was so hot under that damned thing, it was probably as wet inside as outside the rain gear. I had two cans of bug spray with me and sprayed under the coat frequently. Didn’t help the moisture, but I didn’t get eaten by mosquitoes.
I got to the area where the killings had taken place and hunkered down under a big tree, where I could see most of the area. I just looked around, trying to place myself in the position of both officers, just before they saw Turd. The vegetation was a little different, having grown a bit, and the grass was no longer matted down in places. I could see the problem they would have had in acquiring the little doper in the first place. I looked toward where the shooters had been. They could have come to their positions at any time, and if they had been quiet, they would have remained undetected until they stood up. That made me wonder. I got up, and took a long walk over to where they had been lying in wait. Sure enough. They couldn’t have seen the cops get in position either. The more I looked, the more it struck me that neither group would have been able to see Turd very long before he was nearly on them. That meant either that the shooters were lying in wait for a very long time or that they had been creeping through the woods and gone to ground as soon as they saw Turd coming up the path. I went to where I was pretty sure the first shooter had been, near the path, and squatted down. From that position, he wouldn’t have seen Turd until he was nearly stepped on by him. I stood up. Yep. If I had been the shooter, and I was going to wait for Turd, I would have gone to the point the cops had picked out. Best place there was. The more I thought about it, the more it became apparent to me that the shooters were probably in transit toward where our people were, when they saw Turd. That they probably never knew our two officers were even there. Or-and the thought made my blood run cold-they’d been sneaking up on our men and Turd had blown their trap. Jesus. That was it! By God, I was sure
