Lasting Doubts (The Red Lake Series Book 2) Read online

  Pat knocked on H with low expectations. A woman shriveled by years answered the door. She leaned on a walker.

  “Yes?”

  Pat flashed his badge. “Do you remember a Hank Stanton? He lived here in 1992 or '93 in unit 'C'?”

  The woman shook her head slowly. “That was a long time ago. I can’t say I recognize the name. But I could look in the files. Come in officer.”

  The woman shuffled over to a roll top desk. Beside it were three low file cabinets, the top covered by photographs in various frames. The air smelled of mothballs and old age. However, the small sitting room was tidy but dated. Antimacassars covered the arms of the living room sofa and chair set. Old black and white photos hung on the wall. One showed the bungalows with cars from the thirties parked where the lawn now was.

  “Used to be a motor court, huh?” he asked.

  The old woman looked up from the file cabinet she was sorting through. “Yes, the Shady Maples. It went belly up in the fifties. Then the bungalows were rented out. Elmer and I bought it in '68. We closed in the old carports to make the places bigger and have owned it ever since. Of course, Elmer passed on in ’98. Since then it’s been just me, but I’m about to give it up.”

  Egan absently nodded his head. She pulled out a manila folder. “These are the rental leases from 1993. Never throw records out Elmer always said.” She ran a gnarled finger down the papers.

  “It might be 1992, we found a car and the registration expired in '93.”

  “Here it is, Unit C, Stanton, Hank and Judy. Oh! My goodness I’d forgotten them.”

  “Did you say Judy?” Egan repeated her words and jotted the name in his notebook.

  “Yes. I remember them now. She was very sweet. They were young. I believe they eloped, she was almost ten years younger than him, at any rate it didn’t work out.”

  The woman fell silent. Pat waited.

  “My, they used to fight. More than once Elmer went over to speak to them. I often chatted with her when her husband was out. Anyway the fights grew worse and Elmer was ready to give them notice when Judy came in and announced they were getting a divorce. He moved out and she was left to clean out the unit.”

  “Did she have family?

  “No. I recall she said she was an orphan. Her dad died in Viet Nam just before the war ended, she said she never met him. I believe her mother was taken by cancer or something.”

  “Do you know where she moved to?”

  “No. A moving van took her furniture and she got in her car, waved good-bye and drove away. I never heard from her again.”

  “No forwarding address?”

  “I don’t recall one way or the other.”

  “What sort of car did she drive off in?”

  The old woman shrugged. “It was small and boxy, like a small station wagon. Other than that I couldn’t say. I just recall her smiling and waving her hand as she went off.”

  At last the woman’s curiosity was piqued, “Why are you looking for her?”

  “We found a car and human remains in the fire area. I don’t think Judy Stanton went very far.”

  The old woman paled. “My, my. I wonder if it was that husband of hers.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, the fights, of course. But I remember one night he threatened to kill her. Elmer and I both heard it!”

  “Well, thank you. If you think of anything else, give me a call. Here is my card.” Egan stepped forward and pressed a business card into her hand. “Again, thank you for your help.”

  It was a relief to step outside again. The aroma of old age followed and clung to his clothes. He rolled his car window down and let the summer air blow through.

  Egan opted to go past Stanton’s house and ask around. But, the station was on the way, so he stopped by his office where he ran Judy Stanton through the computer. There were several in Department of Motor Vehicles database but only one that ever carried a Red Lake address, Judy Turlock Stanton. Her last license was issued in 1992 and expired in 1995. It was never renewed nor surrendered in a neighboring state. Before he left for Stanton’s, Pat made one more call. He ran through the Yellow Pages.

  “Mountain Movers, how may I help you?”

  “This is Detective Egan with the Canaan County Sheriff’s office. I wanted to ask a couple questions.”

  “Perhaps you should speak to the owner. However, he is not in today.”

  “This is a general question. Is it possible for someone to contract to have possessions moved and then never show up to claim them?”

  “Sure. Sometimes stuff is shipped and put in storage. If they never gave us a delivery address it would sit there.”

  “Until when?”

  “After thirty days we send out a notice of default. If payment is not forthcoming the contents are auctioned off ninety days later. Was there any particular shipment you were interested in?”

  “The one I am looking into shipped out nineteen years ago.”

  “I can’t help you there. Nobody would have records that far back and as for us, we have only been in business for twelve years.”

  Egan thanked him and headed for the door.

  “I’ll be back in an hour.”

  Woodland Mobile Home Park was on Red Lake’s south east side. By urban standards it was not a slum, but in Red Lake it was not an esteemed address. Part of it was Section Eight housing, the rest was seniors on fixed incomes that fell short and single mothers who hadn’t seen a child support check in years. Stanton’s place was slovenly even by Woodland standards. The front window was cracked and mended by packing tape. Blinds with broken slats covered the windows. The skirt of the home sagged and hung loose in numerous spots. Out front a tattered sign read, Keep Out! Trespassers will be shot.

  A beat up Volkswagen van blocked the drive, its white top streaked by rust, the lower half’s red paint was fading toward pink. Beyond that a dirty white Ford van was parked. Egan maneuvered past a debris field of car parts and unidentifiable junk. The recycling can beside the side porch overflowed with beer cans commingled with empty vodka bottles.

  He knocked on the door.

  A gunshot came from the house. The porch window exploded. A shower of glass shrapnel hit Egan, who dove to the ground and pulled his gun.

  “Get the fuck out!” a drunken voice yelled from the inside. “Can’t you read the god damn sign?”

  “Police!” Egan shouted from the far side of the van where he found cover. “Come out with your hands up!”

  Egan waited. The sound of cursing was followed by a crash inside the house. A minute later the side door opened slowly. A pistol was tossed out on the landing. Then a pair of hands came out, followed by Hank Stanton.

  “Why the hell didn’t you say you were the cops? You could've gotten yourself killed. Damn inconsiderate of you.”

  Stanton obviously was a man who loathed running water. His ill-fitting clothes were stained. His hair bore the yellow gray that hard case alcoholics get.

  “Can I put my hands down?” He squinted in the light of day.

  “Keep them up. Turn and put them against the wall.”

  “Aw hell.” Stanton whined.

  Egan advanced, his gun still ready. Quickly he patted Hank down and then cuffed his wrists.

  “You are under arrest for unlawful discharge of a firearm within the city limits.”

  “Ain’t in the city, the line goes up the middle of the park.”

  “You’re under arrest either way.”

  “Then I want to swear out a citizen’s complaint for trespass against you.”

  Stanton’s words were slurred, but his logic seemed to be functioning. He spit on the ground.

  Egan led him to his sedan. “Have you been drinking?”

  “Drinking what?”

  “Alcohol?”

  “Nah. I’ve been having beer.”

  Egan locked him inside the patrol car and called in. He asked for a search warrant and to be patched through to Gaines.


  “What’s up Pat?”

  “I’m at Hank Stanton’s place. He took a shot at me. I think you should come out here.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s a white van in his drive.”

  “You thinking about Kerri Kershaw?”

  “Yes. I think we should have the lab go over it.”

  “I’ll be out.”

  Soon police cruisers blocked the lane through the park. Neighbors watched from behind the yellow crime scene tape strung by the police. Occasionally, an anonymous voice shouted an insult about cops.

  Egan and two deputies worked their way through Stanton’s house. It was a foul mess. Ashtrays overflowed, the stove was caked in grease and spilled food. Grimy dishes filled the sink. The ones in the cabinet were not much cleaner. Egan’s shoes stuck to the floor adhered by filth. Even grimier clothes littered the floor. A Nazi flag decorated the living room wall. Several cardboard boxes contained crudely printed fliers about the superiority of the white race.

  “If he’s an example of white superiority we’re in serious trouble.” Egan said aloud,

  Behind the bedroom door a dog snarled. The door jumped every time the dog leaped against it.

  “Get animal control up here! And tell them to bring their body pads.”

  Egan left the house glad to be back in the fresh air.

  Gaines walked up the drive.

  “What do you think?” Egan asked nodding at the van.

  “I doubt it is the one. There are weeds coming up through the wheels.”

  “Weeds grow fast.”

  Gaines shrugged. “Have the lab go over it.” He peaked in the side window. “A lot of trash in there. If this was used to snag the Kershaw girl he took some trouble to hide it.”

  Gaines continued to circle the van. It was backed in against the fence.

  “Forget it, Pat. This one has mirrored tint on the rear windows. Paula Lindstrom said she saw a pair of hands. You’d never see them behind this stuff.”

  Egan looked around the other side. The window Mylar was bubbled and peeling at the edges. “Well, it was worth a try.”

  Gonzales and Conners carried out two 12-gauge shotguns, a nine-millimeter pistol, a thirty-eight, and one .223 semi automatic that someone altered to make it fully auto.

  “We haven’t looked in the bedroom. Still waiting on animal control, Sir.”

  “Why don’t you run Stanton in; put him in a cell and let him sweat. Maybe as the booze wears off he'll be willing to talk.”

  *

  Harry awoke feeling worse than when he lay down. His eyes were gritty, his mouth felt foul. His watch read a quarter to three, He splashed cold water on his face and ran a toothbrush across his teeth. The face in the mirror was tired and beat up. He decided he’d best take a quick shower before going to the hospital.

  An hour later, Harry was leaning against the cafeteria's wall looking for Helen Jorgensen. The evening dinner rush had not commenced. Not owning a fedora; he settled for a canvass campaign hat

  “Mr. Grim?” A woman asked who stopped at his elbow.

  She was probably sixty years old. Age had been neither kind nor cruel to her; she was ordinary in every way. Despite being a detective, he would find it tough to describe a distinguishing element about her, other than short dark hair, rounded face, and a pleasant smile.

  “Call me Harry,” he said extending his hand.

  “Helen. What can I do for you?”

  “I am investigating the murder of Alison Albright.”

  “That was so strange, her body being found after all these years.”

  They entered the food service line. Helen filled her tray while Harry got himself a soda. They took a table near the window. Heat radiated from the glass. Helen reached over and closed the blinds.

  “You don’t mind, do you?”

  Harry shook his head no.

  “You worked for Dr. Oliver back then.”

  Helen nodded.

  “Alison Albright got a birth control prescription from him. Do you remember her as a patient?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Harry’s eyebrow’s arched. “Why do you remember her so clearly? Most people would be more hesitant after twenty years.”

  “She was the reason I quit!”

  “How so?”

  “I stopped trusting Otis.”

  Harry glanced up, “You were on a first name basis? Doctors are usually testy about titles?”

  “I worked for Otis a long time. In front of the patients it was always Doctor, but when we were alone we talked on a first name basis. It was one of the qualities I liked about him.”

  “So, why did you stop liking him?”

  “Alison Albright was a new patient. She came in for birth control. Why she didn’t see a gynecologist I don’t know. Nor did I understand why she didn’t have a family physician already, but perhaps she did and was avoiding him. Sometimes doctors talk to a minor’s parents and it leads to embarrassing altercations.”

  Helen worked her way through a salad, taking pauses for another bite before she continued.

  “Alison came in to see the doctor at least once a week for two months. Otis’s temperament went down with each visit.”

  “How so?”

  “He became edgy and grumpy. I asked if I should refer Alison elsewhere and he bit my head off. Said I should mind my own business and not try to run his practice, which was strange because that essentially was my job.”

  Above them the intercom paged a doctor. Somebody in crises, hanging on the edge of the big sleep, no doubt, Harry thought.

  Helen fell silent and forked her way through her Caesar salad and nibbled her French roll. “What was strange was that I never saw a bill for Alison. We were small and I did the filing even though we had a bookkeeper who did the paperwork, but I never put a bill in her file.”

  “Did you ask Oliver about it?”

  “Yes, and he almost exploded. He said I should mind my blankety, blank, business, again. I let it drop, but I gave notice.”

  “That was it?”

  “We had a testy two weeks until he found a replacement. I spent a couple days going over things with her. I don’t recall her name. And that was it.”

  “What about when Alison disappeared?”

  “People thought she ran away. I suppose I did too.”

  “What did you think was going on between Alison and Dr. Oliver?”

  “I wondered if it had to do with drugs, but she was the only patient that gave me those thoughts.”

  “Is Dr. Oliver married?”

  “He was back then. I suppose he still is. I haven’t heard anything different.”

  “Did he like young girls?”

  A brief flicker of dismay passed across Helen’s face. “What makes you ask that?” she asked cautiously.

  “Alison was young. Oliver was acting strange. It was just a thought.”

  “Speculation like that’s not healthy. He still has patients at this hospital. I wouldn’t want to even give an opinion. It’s a bit too much like asking, do you still beat your wife? Anyway, whatever their relationship was, I would classify it as hostile not amorous. His mood seemed to worsen after her visits.”

  Harry let his eyes wander around the cafeteria, waiting to see if she had anything to add. She said nothing.

  “So you quit because he snipped at you?” Harry asked, looking to provoke a deeper answer than she might otherwise give.

  “Whatever was going on, Dr. Oliver did not trust me with it. And if it was illegal, such as drugs, I did not want to be caught up in it. An inquiry like that might cause me to lose my nursing license.”

  “That seems reasonable.”

  “Why so many questions about Dr. Oliver? Surely you don’t suspect him?”

  Harry shrugged and spread his hands. “I ask questions and see where it leads. Oliver seemed especially hostile on the subject of Albright. He was very concerned about her medical privacy, which is odd in that the girl has been dead for twenty years
. So, I ask my questions. It may be a dead end or it may lead somewhere. It may only give me an insight into who Alison was. Once I understand the victim, I will have a better idea as to who killed her.”

  “For what it’s worth, I don’t think Otis is a killer. There is too much trepidation in his character. He lacks the god-complex most MD’s project.”

  “Would he still have records from twenty years ago?”

  “Probably down in the basement. But you’ll never see those without a warrant.”

  “Not even then,” Harry said, “The police get warrants and they don’t share.”He stood up. “Thanks for your time.”

  “Are you still interested in Otis?” The question carried an air of indifference.

  Harry nodded. “Yes, I’ve got some unanswered questions there.”

  *

  Pat Egan reported to Sheriff Gaines.

  “Stanton’s in a holding cell, but need to hold off on interviewing him. He’s drunk. A first year law student could get a dismissal if we question him now.”

  Gaines nodded his approval. He rolled his head around to loosen the tension in his neck.

  “What did you find on him?”

  “He’s done time in county jail. Assault, drunk and disorderly, a couple DUI’s over the last twenty years and interestingly he did six months for smacking around his girl friend. She refused to testify or he could have ended up in the big pen at Harmon. The DA bargained it down to get the conviction.”

  “What does he do for work?”

  “Used to work for Corbett Mills. He ran a lathe. They let him go six months ago after he showed up drunk one too many times.”

  “What about the neo-Nazi stuff?”

  “Looks like he belongs to a local group, the Bavarian Defense Patrol.”

  “You mean those guys along twelve?”

  “Yeah. They have that barn with the mural of an eagle clutching two A-K 47’s. The place is surrounded by an eight foot tall deer fence.”