Caching Out (5 page)

Tate
leaned against the dock, “I’m not saying that, Danny. I just have a few
questions for him. You have any idea where I might find him?”

“He
lives in the duplexes over on Center Street. He’s in the second unit on the
right, middle door. He travels a lot for work and I don’t know if he’s in town
right now.”

 “Did
you notice Saralyn hanging out with anyone else in particular at the party?”
Tate straightened.

 “Naw,
her and Troy kind of hit it off right away and they pretty much hung out
together the whole night. I didn’t spend the night keeping a close eye on my
little cuz or anything, but I didn’t see her dancing with anyone else or even
talking to anyone else for more than a minute.”

“Fair
enough. I may have some more questions for you later, but I think that about
covers it for now.” 

A
few minutes later, Tate turned on Center Street and pulled in at the driveway
of the second duplex unit, parking behind a blue sedan.     

Tate
knocked on the door and stepped back. A man in his late twenties opened the
door a few seconds later. Looking surprised, the man asked, “Yes, can I help
you?”

“Are
you Troy Donaldson?”

Troy
nodded and stepped out of the house, pulling the door almost closed behind him.
“I’m Troy Donaldson.”

Tate
pulled his jacket back to reveal the badge clipped at the waist, “I’m Police
Chief Tate Echo from Pine Ridge and I have some questions for you regarding the
murder of Saralyn Parker.”

Troy
shot a nervous glance around to see if any neighbors were watching, and then pushed
the door behind him open, “Come on in. I don’t think I want to talk about
Saralyn standing on my front stoop.”

Walking
into the small duplex, Tate was surprised to see that it was well cared for and
clean.
Not what you’d expect from a junkie.

Troy
pointed to the couch, “Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?  I have
bottled water and soft drinks.”

Ignoring
the offer, Tate got to the point. “Can you tell me where you were the night
that Saralyn Parker was murdered?”

Troy
dropped into a chair across from Tate. “I was in Milwaukee on business. I do
sales for Spartan Electronics and I travel a lot.”

Holding
the younger man’s gaze, Tate asked, “You ever do Ketamine?  Or maybe you know
it as Special K?”

Sliding
forward in the chair, Troy stared at Tate. “I know what it is, but I haven’t
ever done it. I thought we were going to talk about Saralyn, what’s Ketamine
got to do with her?”

Tate
cleared his throat. “I know that you and Saralyn smoked pot at a party over at
Danny Parker’s house and I want to know if you and she did any other drugs.”

Jumping
to his feet, Troy paced before turning back to Tate. “I smoke a little weed
every now and then, but I don’t do any other drugs. Saralyn only took a couple
tokes from a joint that I carried to Danny’s party and nothing else. Hell, I’d
be willing to take a drug test if that would help you out.”  Dropping back into
the chair, Troy  spoke softly. “We talked almost the whole night and I thought
we hit it off pretty well. But she never returned my call, so I let it go. You
know, thought she wasn’t interested after all.”

Cocking
his head, Tate thought that either this kid was being totally honest or he was
one hell of a good actor. “You have anyone that can verify you were in
Milwaukee?”

 “Absolutely,”
Troy pulled a business card out of his wallet and handed it to Tate. “That’s my
manager; he was at the same sales event and can confirm that I was there.”

Standing,
Tate extended a hand to Troy. “I appreciate you talking to me and I will be
contacting your manager for confirmation. I could have some additional
questions later, but I think that about covers it for now.”

Backing
out of the driveway, Tate pulled the business card that Troy had given him out
of his shirt pocket and dialed the number. A very brief conversation confirmed
what Tate had already suspected, Troy was telling the truth about being in
Milwaukee. Another dead end.

CHAPTER 6

Hours
later, Tate and Martin sat on the raised wooden deck behind Tate’s house, each
nursing their second beer of the evening.

 “It’s
too bad that your leads with that guy from White River didn’t pan out,” Martin
said. “Any idea where you’re taking the investigation next?”

Tate
took a pull from his bottle. “I not sure where I’ll go from here,” he admitted.
“but wherever it is, I’d better do it soon. I did some follow up at Parker’s
house and didn’t find anything that would indicate heavy drug use and the story
that I got from Troy Donaldson checks out. His employer verified that he was in
Milwaukee the night Saralyn was murdered and he basically told me the same
thing that Reva did.”

Raising
his own bottle to his lips Martin stopped and asked, “You ask him about Ketamine?”

“Absolutely.
He swears he’s never done Ketamine and even offered to do a drug test for me. That
really doesn’t mean much since K only stays in the system a couple days and
he’d probably test clean, but my gut tells me that he’s being honest.”  Settling
his bottle back on the table, Tate continued, “Troy readily admitted that he’s
a casual smoker and while he thought that he and Saralyn hit it off pretty well,
she never returned his call after the party. He has a squeaky clean record and
holds down a full time job. When I got back from White River I did go ahead and
check Saralyn’s phone records from the night of the party forward and that part
of his story is solid too. On the day she was killed there were only a couple
of calls on record. She got an early morning call from Reva and nothing else in
or out until the 911 call was made that night. I should get the hair follicle
results from Royce or Daniel tomorrow and that will confirm if this really was
a one-time thing or if there’s a history of marijuana use.” 

Martin
leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, “Well, Marshall sure has a solid
alibi. Four days in the Rushville lock up pretty much clears him on this one. Maybe
someone who saw Saralyn and Reva out at the lake that day followed her into
town.”

“I’ve
thought of that too and I did question Reva about it but she says that she
doesn’t recall seeing anyone who seemed out of place. Says they didn’t talk to
anyone other than the clerk at the sign in desk. When I checked the records for
that day there were twelve people, including Parker and Reva, who registered on
the west side of the lake. I was able to interview them all in person with the
exception of one couple who had driven over from Nebraska for the weekend and I
talked to them on the phone. I got pretty much the same story from them all,
quiet day at the lake, good day for fishing and so on.”

Martin
tossed his empty bottle in a trash basket near the door where it clinked
against the other bottles already deposited there. “Of course we both know that
not everyone who visits the lake takes the time to sign in or even comes into
the park from the posted entrances.” He stood, “I’ve got to be going Tate, I’m
pretty sure Barb has my supper waiting and as good as that woman is to me I try
not to make her wait.”

“I
hear you, Martin,” Tate said. “If I had a woman like Barb waiting for me, I’d
be rushing to get home every day. I’ll see you at the courthouse tomorrow.”

CHAPTER 7

Ten
miles away at the White Clay Lodge and Lake Resort, Gavin Wheeler stood before
a full length mirror hanging on the bathroom door of the small cabin he had
rented earlier in the week. Critically looking at his image, he reached up and smoothed
his thin mustache down against his upper lip. Satisfied that he looked like the
average tourist out for a hike around the lake, he pushed his sunglasses down
and winked.

“Gavin,
you are one good looking SOB. Johnny Depp doesn’t have a thing on you.”
Grabbing his Steelers cap from the bed and settling it over his dark brown hair
he reached back to finger comb the short hair at the back of his neck. He snatched
his backpack from the sofa and pulled out a small hand-held GPS. Once out the
door, Gavin took the nearest hiking trail circling White Clay Lake.

The
well-marked trails running through the park were covered with a thick layer of
pine needles that both cushioned and muted his steps. Gavin followed the GPS
directions using the coordinates that he had entered before leaving the cabin. The
mid-day sun peaked through the trees shading the trail and tossing shadows as a
breeze rocked the limbs overhead. The sweet, piney smell of the trees reminded
Gavin of home and his mother. He stopped and pulled a water bottle from his
backpack and looked out over the glass-like surface of the lake. Even though
the summer season was still a couple weeks away, its surface was dotted with
small boats of fisherman and families out for some fun.

Glancing
back at the GPS, Gavin saw that he was almost at the cache site. Picking up his
pace he continued to follow the trail around the lake. A steady beeping signaled
that he had reached the cache and prompted him to step off the trail. Pushing
through a thick copse of undergrowth and vines, he followed the on screen
directions until the machine spoke.

“You
have reached your destination,” an automated voice said.

He
turned the device off and slid it into his backpack. Gavin knew that he was as
close to the geocache as the GPS could get him. Now he would have to search for
the cache using the clues that were given as a hint on the geocaching website. Standing
in a small clearing surrounded by pine and cedar trees, Gavin stopped to scan
the area looking for a good place to hide something small. Pulling a pair of
thin cotton gloves from his jacket pocket, he slipped them on and stepped around
a clump of brushy growth. Gavin bent to check under the ledge of a rock shelf
near the edge of the clearing.

“Elementary,
my dear Watson. Amateurs always hide it under the rocks.” 

Opening
the small square plastic container wrapped in brown and green camouflage tape,
Gavin wasn’t surprised to see that it held several small trinkets. “The usual
stuff,” he muttered as he looked through the items in the cache.

Pushing
aside a mini deck of playing cards, a small wooden cross that looked like it
belonged on a keychain and a toy car whose red paint had faded and chipped with
wear, he saw that folded at the bottom of the container was a log book. “Not
happening, fellow cachers.”  He didn’t sign log books and didn’t take trinkets,
but he would be leaving something of great personal value for the next cacher
to find.

Gavin
reached into his pocket and pulled out the coin. He took a minute to gently rub
his finger along the etched design on the coin’s surface. Three interlocking
rings rose slightly from the otherwise smooth surface of the coin. Flipping the
token in his palm he did the same with the custom design on the other side. Block
lettering proclaimed, ‘Let the Chase Begin.’ He smiled, “You’re
not
just
unusual, you
are
extraordinary.” 

Not
much bigger than a fifty cent piece, the token was an eye catcher. Cachers
couldn’t resist taking the token and Gavin couldn’t resist killing them when
they did. Rubbing the coin with the tips of his fingers had become a ritual
that the coin required and Gavin never disappointed the coin. Closing his eyes
and breathing deeply Gavin could almost smell the dime store gardenia perfume
that his mother had always worn. He could see her smiling face as she pushed
his unruly hair from his forehead and bent to kiss his brow.  The coin would
give him the strength to do what had to be done, it always had.

“Don’t
worry Mama, it won’t take long,” he whispered. Gavin gently placed the token
inside the plastic container and returned the cache to its hiding place, making
sure to push the leaves around the rocks so that the site appeared undisturbed.
“Don’t want any ‘muggles’ finding this one do we Mama?  Funny word ‘muggles,’
huh, Mama?  I think the cachers stole it from a Harry Potter book or movie. Anyway
we don’t want any ‘muggles’ jacking this site. If they do, then I sincerely
hope they can’t resist taking our coin.”

He
stepped back to look at the site and once satisfied that the cache was well
hidden, Gavin made his way over to a tall pine tree some fifteen feet away. Nimbly
grabbing onto a lower limb and pulling up, he hoisted his body up into the tree.
Sitting with his legs wrapped around the tree limb Gavin pulled open his
backpack and removed a small motion activated camera, securing it near the end
of the tree limb. “I didn’t get to record that bitch Saralyn but I’m not going
to miss another one,” he grunted.

Gavin
wrapped the camera tightly to the limb with brown duct tape and pushed a small
battery pack into the waiting slot. He bent down to look over the unit making sure
that his view to the cache site was clear. “Perfect, Gav. Won’t be long and
you’ll have another video to add to your collection.”  He shimmied down the
tree and pushed his backpack into place, then he walked over to the rocks that
hid the cache and looked up, smiled at the camera, and waved. He sat on the
rocks and pulled his water bottle free taking a long draw of tepid water and a
deep breath. Pushing his sunglasses up, Gavin looked around the site noting
that the trailhead was a good forty feet from the cache site.