Читать книгу Among the Missing - H. R. Devlon - Страница 4

By 7:30 a.m., Thomas Blake was back in the lagoon area. This time, he had his own forensics kit – from the old days in Chicago – and a thermos of black coffee.

As he got out of his car, Blake could see that the yellow barrier tape was still in place, and that – apparently – no one had violated it. Then, as he walked up to the barrier tape, Blake could also see a single set of footprints, plus several tire tracks in and around the space where the Mercedes had been parked.

He wasn’t surprised or curious about the set of footprints – because the footprints were his own from a few hours earlier. (Blake had cut two notches in the bottom of each of his work shoes, so he could always distinguish his footprints from any others, in the event he ever had to search through an area before forensics was able to check it for evidence. And, of course, that was exactly the situation for this search area.)

But Blake was curious about the tire tracks in the search area. The tracks were apparently made by a single vehicle, created by driving the vehicle back and forth several times on each side of the Mercedes parking spot. Very smart, Blake thought, we’ve got ourselves a very smart customer…

Blake poured himself a cup of coffee from his thermos and set his thermos on the ground. Then, sipping his coffee, Blake slowly walked around the taped-off area, and studied it very carefully.

He immediately noticed two things: there were no prints or tire tracks leaving the area and heading towards the lagoon, but there were two sets of the same tire tracks heading away from the area towards South Lake Shore Drive. O.K….so Barker’s body isn’t likely to be in the lagoon…but somebody did drive an unknown vehicle into the lagoon area, made all those tire tracks to hide whatever was going on, and then drove the same vehicle back out of the lagoon area – most likely with Barker inside.

Blake set his coffee cup down, and pulled out his cell phone. He crouched down near the taped-off area, and took four pictures of the tire tracks. Then he emailed those pictures to one of his old buddies in Chicago – Jerry Duggan, a forensics expert who knew almost everything there was to know about tire tracks.

Next, Blake placed a call to Duggan’s home number, expecting to leave a voice mail asking Duggan to take a look at the pictures, and to get back with an opinion on Monday.

But Duggan himself answered. “Hello?”

“Oh, Jerry…Tom Blake…I was just about to leave you a voice mail.”

“You want me to hang up, Tommy?”

Blake laughed. “No, I guess I can talk to you instead.”

“Oh, how very gracious of you, Your Royal Highness... Watcha got?”

Blake laughed again. Then he said, “I’ve just emailed you four pictures of some tire tracks…I was hoping you’d look at them, and tell me what you think.”

“Hang on, I’ll pull ‘em up…What’s the story, Tommy? I thought you were retired.”

“I am…But I’m now doing a part-time bit with the Lake Geneva police…and these tire tracks are involved in one of their cases.”

“I should have known you couldn’t stay out of trouble, you old war horse.”

Again, Blake laughed. “Takes one to know one, Jerry.”

“True, true…O.K. I’m pulling your pictures up right now, Tommy…Oh, this one’s easy…I’m surprised you didn’t already know the answer to this one, Hot Shot …”

“It’s from a fleet car, right?”

“Exactly…Very common…. Thousands of vehicles would make these kinds of tracks…company cars, government cars, rental cars…”

“But not many privately-owned vehicles.”

“Not likely.”

“Thanks, Jerry…I owe you.”

“Right, right…I’ll put it on your tab. Say hi to Harriett.”

“I will…And give my best to Rita.”

“I’ll do that. Take care, Tommy.”

“You, too, Jerry…and thanks again.”

After Duggan hung up, Blake put his cell phone away, removed the barrier tape from around the four stakes, pulled the stakes up, tamped some dirt into each of the four holes, and put the stakes and barrier tape in the trunk of his car, next to the hammer that he’d used the previous night for the stakes.

Then Blake finished his coffee, put his thermos back together, got into his car, and drove out of the lagoon area. But he did not drive onto South Lake Shore Drive – he stopped short of the intersection, set his hazard light on, and got out of the car.

He pulled his cell phone out again, and took two more pictures: one picture of two tire tracks that suggested the Mercedes probably entered the lagoon area from the south, and one picture of four tire tracks that suggested the fleet car came into and left the lagoon area from the north. O.K…the lagoon area was probably a rendezvous point… Barker, or someone driving Barker’s car, came into the lagoon area from the south, and waited…with the engine running…then somebody else in a fleet car came into the lagoon area from the north, picked up Barker – and maybe an accomplice – and headed north again…leaving the Mercedes engine running – probably hoping somebody would steal the car and take it somewhere else… O.K…it’s time to take another look at that Mercedes…

Blake got back into his car, turned the hazard lights off, shifted into gear, and drove onto South Lake Shore Drive – towards the Police Station.

When Blake got to the Police Station, he parked and went inside to pick up two sets of keys: the keys to the cruiser that he and Turner had used the night before, and the keys to the Mercedes. Using the cruiser’s keys, Blake opened its trunk and returned the barrier tape, the four stakes, and the hammer that he’d removed the previous night. Then he went back to his car, grabbed his forensics kit, and walked over to the Mercedes, where he spent the next several minutes dusting for fingerprints and checking for fibers and other possible evidence.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much evidence to find – only one significant set of prints, and very little else…Hmmm…except for what might be in that briefcase in the Mercedes trunk, Blake thought.

Blake opened the Mercedes trunk again, and studied the briefcase for a moment or two. Then nodding to himself, he took the briefcase, shut the Mercedes trunk, and walked back inside the Police Station.

After he returned both the cruiser’s keys and the Mercedes keys, Blake found an unoccupied desk with a computer work station, and sat down. Then he turned the computer on, and connected to AFIS – The Automated Fingerprint Identification System – where he checked the set of prints he’d collected from the Mercedes.

As Blake suspected, the prints belonged to the Mercedes owner – Adam Barker. No news there…if anybody else was driving that car, they were wearing gloves…

Blake leaned back in his chair. What’s next? I’ve checked the search area, I’ve checked the car… The briefcase. That’s what’s next.

Blake set the briefcase on the desk, and confirming that he was not being watched by anyone, he picked the briefcase lock.

Inside, there were the usual mundane items such as pens and paper, but there were also other items such as an address book with Barker’s wife’s name in it, an Argonne Laboratories personnel roster – and a Morgan Silver Dollar in a plastic holder, accompanied by a receipt from Harlan Berk in Chicago. O.K…Let’s see… “In case of emergency, contact Michelle Barker, 847-555-2888”…O.K., Michelle…we’ll be talking with you soon… Now let’s check the Argonne personnel list…O.K., Barker must work at Argonne Labs…ah…there he is… under “Optoelectronics”, whatever that is… O.K….now what’s the story with this Morgan Silver Dollar?

Blake looks at the coin more carefully. Then he looked at the receipt from Harlan Berk, where the coin was described as “Morgan Dollar, 1879-O, $1, MS65, PCGS”, and the price was…Damn! Forty-two hundred bucks! No way would I pay that much for a coin!

As Blake turned the coin over and over in his hand, he had an idea about how he could use it to his advantage.

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket again – being thankful he still had a cell phone with a Chicago number – and dialed 1-847-555-2888.

After a few rings, a woman answered. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Barker? My name is Peter Trumball. I’m calling on behalf of Harlan Berk, here in Chicago. Your husband bought an MS65 Morgan Silver Dollar from us…(Blake looked quickly at the date on the receipt)…last Thursday, and I’m just making a follow-up call to be sure Mr. Barker is satisfied with his purchase. Could I speak with Mr. Barker, please?”

“I’m…I’m not sure he’s here…please wait while I check.”

Five minutes later, the woman returned to the phone. “I don’t see him, and the Mercedes he drove to work yesterday morning isn’t in the garage… He must have been up and gone again before I woke this morning. He might have returned to work… He sometimes goes in on Saturday mornings for an hour or two. Do you know his number there?”

Blake looked at Barker’s telephone number on the Argonne Labs personnel roster. “Why yes, thank you, Mrs. Barker. But just in case I can’t reach him there, could I please ask you to have him call me at his convenience? He can reach me on my cell, 312-555-4646, anytime night or day.”

“I’ll give him your message.”

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Barker. You have a good day now.”

“Yes, thank you…you, too.”

After Michelle Barker hung up, Blake thought about what the call implied. So…Michelle Barker is apparently not aware her husband is missing…either that, or she’s a damned good actress… And the Barkers probably sleep in separate bedrooms… otherwise, she would have known he didn’t return home last night nor leave this morning in his Mercedes, since we kept the car here at the Station last night…And it also seems the Barkers don’t worry too much about communicating with one another…She hadn’t heard from him at all for at least twenty-four hours… Interesting… Certainly not your ideal marriage…

Blake put everything back in the briefcase, and closed it. Then he thought again about what else he could do. …Not much left to do until they check the lagoon for a body, or until a ransom call comes in, or, or, or…O.K…I probably should check the local hospitals and clinics…

Blake got the telephone numbers of the nearby hospitals and clinics from the Police Dispatch Desk, made the necessary phone calls, and came up with…nothing. No admission in the previous twenty-four hours of an Adam Barker, or of anyone who might have been the missing man.

That’s it…the only thing to do now is to wait … Think I’ll go home and grab some shut-eye before my shift with Turner this evening…

Blake made a few entries in his notebook about what he’d learned that morning, and then he left the Police Station for home – still carrying the briefcase that had been in Barker’s Mercedes.

*******