“That’s not cop stuff. You could’ve gotten that information from Facebook or any local gossip.”
Floyd took a deep breath. “Your mother trusts me so much she told me something terrible happened to you the night before Ken Solstad died in the car accident. Do you want me to tell you what it was?” It was a big gamble, but it was the only thing he could come up with that might demonstrate Dottie’s trust.
“No,” she said. “What do you want? And make it quick, I’m on duty and we’re busy.”
“Would it be better if I called back when you go on break?”
“No, it’s bad enough to ruin work time with this topic; I would really hate to waste a break, too.”
“Would it be better if I drove there and we spoke?”
There was a pause before she answered. “Redwood Falls is about a four-hour one-way drive. Are your questions that important?”
“My questions aren’t but your answers may be.”
Floyd heard a deep breath. “Give me your number. I’ll call you from home this afternoon.”
“Tell the dispatcher to reach me wherever I am. It’s that important.”
“It must be, otherwise my mother would never have broken her promise not to tell another soul.” She hung up.
“I wonder if it’s that important?” Floyd asked himself. He picked up half of the files from his chair and put them in front of Pam Ryan who had been writing an accident report.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“I’ve got to assume Aaron Roberts is the person sliced up in the photo. He didn’t drop off the face of the earth after he was attacked. I may be reaching for straws, but I think that he may have survived the attack and was stranded in the middle of nowhere. If it were me, I’d try to find a house with someone home, or I’d try to break into a cabin to warm up and then maybe steal a snowmobile or ATV to get to safety.”
“So,” Pam said, looking at the pile, “we’re going through these files to find a reported break-in or stolen snowmobile with the hope it will do what?”
“Maybe we’ll find a trail to follow. We weren’t looking for an injured guy who was trying to get warm and safe when we investigated these cases. If we focus on the ones that weren’t solved, we might be able to find a thread.”
Pam looked at the pile and said, “I think I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee before I start. This could take awhile.”
After lunch, Floyd walked down the courthouse hallway and spent half an hour with the sheriff and Dan Williams, the undersheriff, trying to justify spending time on an old mystery that no one cared about two days ago. Dan agreed that they had to follow up on evidence of an obvious assault and possible kidnapping. The sheriff was less excited and asked them to spend no more than a couple days on it before reviewing the progress with him and reassessing the need for further effort. When he got back to Pam’s desk, she held up three files.
“There was a burglary ring busted the winter that Aaron disappeared,” Pam explained, “and they broke into dozens of seasonal cabins, stealing electronics, snowmobiles, and ATVs. When they were caught in the act, up in Carlton County, one of the guys turned state’s evidence and we cleared almost every burglary from that winter. These three files weren’t attributed to that crime spree.”
Floyd took the file and read as Pam explained, “That first one appears to be a couple kids who broke into a garage and went joy riding on two snowmobiles. The snowmobiles were found less than a quarter-mile from where they were stolen, which tells me that the kids went on a joy ride but had a car they looped back to.”
Pam handed Floyd a second file. “This one looks like someone loaded a couple of ATVs onto a trailer and hauled them away. They’ve never been found and are probably out of state or in Canada.”
“This one is closer to what we hoped to find,” Pam said as she handed the third file to Floyd. “An ATV was found abandoned by Round Lake the day Ken Solstad died. There wasn’t any report of a theft, so we put it in the impound lot. In the spring,” Pam said, pulling out another file and handing it to Floyd, “we got a call from a seasonal cabin owner whose ATV had been stolen from his garage on Passenger Lake. The registration and serial numbers matched, and he claimed it from the impound lot. It hadn’t been damaged and there was still gas in the tank.”
Floyd walked to the county map posted on the wall and put a finger on Passenger Lake in the northern end of Pine County. He put a second finger on Round Lake. “Someone rode about 20 miles, and walked away from the ATV. That’s interesting.”
“What’s interesting?” Sandy Maki asked, walking into the bullpen, ready for his afternoon shift.
“Someone stole an ATV from Passenger Lake the day Aaron Roberts disappeared.” Pam explained. “We were just wondering if he broke into a garage, stole an ATV, and maybe drove it somewhere safe, or maybe to where his car was parked.”
“So,” Sandy said, looking at the map. “That’s a pretty remote location without anything but summer cabins. The high school kids like to have bonfires out there in the winter because it’s so remote and quiet. I suppose it’d be a good place to slice somebody up without worrying about witnesses in the depth of winter. Lots of swamp around there to dump a body, too.”
CHAPTER 14
Barb Dupre was behind the photo counter when Floyd came through the pharmacy door. She gave him a discreet wave and went back to proofing a pile of photos.
“When I got in this morning there was a note asking me to call you,” Floyd said, leaning over the counter.
Barb’s outfit was a little more conservative, a navy T-shirt over tan slacks. Her straight bleached-blonde hair was backlit in the photo booth, giving the illusion she had an aura. By all accounts, Barb’s life had been anything but angelic. Sandy Maki met her when he was questioning her about a patron who’d been murdered after leaving the bar where Barb waited tables. Her boyfriend had been a biker with several outstanding warrants. He’d physically and psychologically abused Barb before Sandy “liberated” her from the relationship. She had a second job at the time as an exotic dancer who showcased her array of tattoos, including one that said, “Property of Butch,” in a very provocative location. Floyd was glad she could use her brains in her new job instead of relying on her physical assets.
“Okay,” she said stripping off the white gloves, “that’s the last data card. I can slip out for a while to show you the tree.”
“The tree?” Floyd asked.
“Sandy told me that you think that maybe the guy in the picture was cut up out by Passenger Lake. So, when I was out taking duck pictures last night I drove all the roads around Passenger Lake and I found the tree in the picture.”
“Do you really think that you found the tree?” Floyd said, straightening up and following Barb to the front door.
Barb took a large manila envelope off the end of the counter and waved it at Floyd. “I made an eight-by-ten reprint so we can compare when we get there.” She waved at the pharmacist. “I’ll be back in an hour or so, Gordy.”
“What happens if someone wants a one-hour photo?” The pharmacist asked with a smile, knowing it was rare that anyone ever wanted one-hour developing service.
“Give them the two-hour price,” Barb replied as she and Floyd walked out the door. She smiled and said, “There is no two-hour price.”
The coolness of the pharmacy was a stark contrast to the muggy heat outside. It quickly dampened their clothing and by the time Floyd’s cruiser pulled away from the curb they were both already sweaty.
“There’s a red cabin on the north shore of Passenger Lake where the road turns to follow the shore,” Barb explained. “The tree is in that yard.”