Dakota (Ch 9)

I couldn't sleep. I wanted to, but I couldn't. I stumbled down the stairs, crawled into my haven beneath them and reached for my pen. I lacked coherence. But I wrote anyway. It wasn't important. It was just for me. I was onto my fourth or fifth page when I heard clatterings and rattlings coming from the kitchen. Janie. I found her, naked, on a step stool searching in a cupboard. She hadn't told me the full extent of her story yet, but I didn't really need the details after this encounter. Her body was covered in bruises, many old and still some fresh. I turned my head and called to her.

"Janie. What are you looking for?"

"Oh God, Jake. I'm sorry. I uh--"

"Janie its fine."

I reached around the corner and grabbed a blanket from the back of the chair. I tossed it to her.

"Here."

"Thanks."

"Now what are you doing?"

"I need caffeine. Something."

"Coffee?"

"It'll do."

"Are you alright? I mean, is everything okay."

"I'm fine. Just thirsty--and, bad dreams. They'll follow you anywhere. I can outrun the men but not the memories, I guess."

"I'm sorry Janie. I didn't realize how bad it was. Not til I saw--"

"Yeah well, I created it, enabled it, allowed it, endured it. I could've run a long time ago. I could've home a long time ago. I should've come home a long time ago. Maybe things would be different then."

"Don't tell yourself that. It'll just tear you apart, you can't."

"I know. But you can't help but wonder."

"Yeah, I know. Ten minutes might've made the difference for Jason. If that trooper hadn't stopped me about my tail light--"

"No, you're right. Don't. Don't do it to yourself. You can't. I can't. I have to accept that my circumstance is the result of my own action. I have to start taking responsibility. I need to grow up, change. This is my chance, right here, with you, to start over, to begin anew, fresh. Dakota might be my saving grace, Jake. This might be what saves my life."

"It looks like you've been close to the edge before. I'm not going to pretend to understand. I'm not going to ask why. I don't need to know. You don't need to feel obligated to share anything. You're the only family I have left. You're all I've got."

She looked down at the floor and curled her toes. She bit her bottom lip. Should she tell him? Could she trust him? Was this the right time? Would there ever be a right time? She raised her head.

"So, how 'bout that coffee."

/ / /

A week had passed and Lyle Holt was getting restless. He picked up the phone and called his investigator. He hoped there were answers.

"Donny Kahle, please."

The photos taunted him from his desk.

"Kahle. Please tell me you can tell me something. Anything."

"What I've got right now is promising. I was about to call you."

"Let's hear it."

"Brace yourself Sheriff. You're about to have media frenzy on your hands."

"What are you talking about?"

"Your John Doe is Robert Murphy IV. Robert Murphy, Bobby, owns Murphy's General."

"Dammit Kahle. I know who he is. He dated my baby sister through high school. I haven't seen him in years, never recognized him. If he's been dead over a week, why no missing persons report?"

"Apparently his wife and kids went to Boise to visit her family for the holidays. He had to say behind 'cause of the store. I haven't notified them yet."

"Good. I'll make the call. You got more for me than an ID I hope."

Holt shifted in his seat. He wrote the name Robert Murphy on his pad next to Jason Samuels. He drew a line between them with a question mark. He knew they were around the same age. He spun his chair around and grabbed an old newspaper off the top of the filing cabinet. He remembered. Samuels had written some pieces for the paper. They were about Murphy's. That's one connection. But that didn't really make sense. There had to be more.

"Kahle. C'mon. Wow me."

"Well there were no shells found at either scene. I can't match a specific weapon. To me, they were done by the same gun, but I can't make that stick. Not with what I've got."

"So?"

"So, I looked at some other things about the cases. The knives, for instance. Manufactured in China. They are only sold at large chain retailers. In Wessington, Walmart's the only place to find them."

"Huh."

"What?"

"Nothing. Just coincidence probably. I mean how many people shop there?"

"Still, what's your thought?"

"Well, Murphy's was struggling. Samuels spawned a grassroots effort to save the store by writing op-ed pieces in The Telegraph. Just interesting that the knives should come from the store that was driving him under."

"Huh. Yeah. Might be something. Might be nothing. I'd keep it in the back of your mind. But I've got more."

"Good. That's why we pay ya."

"Well I deliver Holt, you know that."

"Alright smartass."

"Anyway, I went back out and looked at how our guy could have accessed the drop site at the dam. I mean he, or more likely they, couldn't have lugged that body far through the woods without leaving some sort of a trail. Murphy wasn't huge but he wasn't exactly a lightweight. I found some unusual fibers in his hair and on his clothes, double-checked myself and found the same ones on Samuels. Looks like they were most likely wrapped up in some sort of rug to transport."

"But Samuels' brother found his brother. He was still breathing."

"Maybe he showed up during the drop. Spooked 'em."

"Why would they drop him before he was dead.?"

"Don't know. All I know is there is a piece of rug out there that has blood on it. Murphy's blood and Samuels' blood. Find that rug and you find your killer. And I can match the fibers, even if they cleaned it, not that it's likely they could get all that blood out anyway."

"Well it's something to run with. I mean I get how they could have run. But how did they get him Samuels there? They had to have a vehicle, a van, a truck."

"Yeah, Lyle, I almost forgot. I said I went back out to the dam--"

"What'd you turn up?"

"Well there's an access road for maintenance purposes, runs right up to the dam, its dirt, but its there. Anyway, I called to find out when was the last time someone was out there for an inspection, maintenance, anything."

"And?"

"Dakota Hydro said not since early in the fall, September maybe, at the latest. The gate to the road had been bumped open, well gently rammed. I was able to pull a small sample of paint off it. Black. I might be able to match it for a trial. But if nothing else, you've got a color to go with your phantom machine."

"Yeah. Thanks Kahle. You're right. You do always bring the goods."

"Ha, yeah Lyle. I know what I'm doing. Only been doing it for twenty-three years. I've learned a thing or two along the way."

"Well, 'n case I didn't say it recently, I appreciate it Donny."

"I know you do Lyle. And hey, don't worry. You'll get this guy."

"I hope. People are looking for answers. Alright I gotta go. I gotta notify Murphy's family. Oh, Kahle--"

"Yeah Lyle?"

"I'm trusting none of this is gonna show up in morning paper."

"Of course not. We all make mistakes Lyle Holt, even you Sheriff. I learned my lesson."

"Good to hear."

"I'll keep you posted should anything else come up."

"Thanks Kahle."

"Glad to help. Just get the guy."

"That's my aim."

He returned the receiver to its cradle. It was more than he expected. He needed to the number for Murphy's wife in Boise. What would he say?

'Merry Christmas Mrs. Murphy. Your husband has been murdered. And a Happy New Year to you as well.'