After retreating to my bedroom and realizing I wasn’t tired yet, I clicked on the TV. It was a habit I’d tried to break many times since it was usually during the ten o’clock news that I found myself in bed and watching the most recent bad news the TV stations could muster up. Thinking about those unfortunate situations usually kept me awake much longer than I wanted.
I promised myself I’d watch the first segment then turn it off and try to sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day of retracing our steps in the Valerie Dawson and LeAnn Morrison cases. Hopefully, somebody would come forward and tell us something that they hadn’t disclosed earlier. I wondered if we should air their murders on the news. We would omit the gruesome details, yet everyone who knew the women already knew they had died.
I groaned and returned my focus to the TV. The commercial break had just ended, and the news was beginning with an update about that missing state trooper. They showed a picture of him and stated his name. That told me the family had already been interviewed and knew he was missing. The broadcast also mentioned that the radio and every camera the car was equipped with had been torn out.
Hmm, maybe he didn’t disappear on his own accord or, like I thought before, stage his own disappearance. Yet to tear out all of the cruiser cameras and the radio seems pretty extreme. Either he was up to no good and bailed, or somebody else was and made him disappear.
“Damn it. Why did I turn on the TV at all? Now I’m going to play out different scenarios about the missing trooper. His car was found near Statesboro, though. Not our county, not our problem.”
I knew I was kidding myself since law enforcement was a brother- and sisterhood of officers who always helped each other when called on. I also knew that trouble usually seemed to head our way.
I closed my eyes and, after a half hour, drifted off. The next time I opened them, it was morning. I was thankful that I had slept through the night—something that didn’t often happen.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the hallway outside my bedroom door. I would grab a cup, take it upstairs, and listen to the news as I showered and dressed for work. I met up with Marie in the kitchen. She was cracking eggs into a bowl, which made the breakfast menu obvious—scrambled eggs and some form of meat, I assumed. My choice, if given one, was always bacon.
“Morning, sis.”
Marie glanced my way and tipped her head toward the pantry. In code, that meant I was supposed to follow her. I noticed Chloe sitting at the dining room table, already busy with some kind of construction-paper-and-marker art project.
“What’s up?” I asked once we were out of earshot of my niece.
“I had the TV on this morning, but when Chloe came down, I shut it off. They found that trooper.”
“Yeah, and?”
“And he’s dead, Mitch.”
I furrowed my brows and whispered, “No shit?”
“No shit.” Marie craned her neck to make sure Chloe was still at the table. “They didn’t go into details on TV, but it had to be bad. There were dozens of news vans out on the main road, and the reporter said the state police feared foul play was involved.”
“Damn. Did anyone say where he was found?”
“I guess right there where his car was located. Something about the darkness last night and the amount of brush made finding him impossible. They went out to search again this morning at first light and found him within thirty minutes.”
“Okay, thanks for the heads-up. Let’s not discuss anything during breakfast. Make sure Mom knows to keep it to herself. After what our family has gone through, news like that only upsets the girls.”
“I know that far too well,” Marie said.
I poured myself a cup of coffee and headed for the stairs. “I’ll be down in twenty.”
In my bedroom and with the door closed, I turned on the TV and immediately saw the broadcast. Statesboro was just over an hour from Savannah, so the news was likely playing on every local channel. Especially in unsolved homicide cases, the manner of death wasn’t disclosed to anyone in the media. Law enforcement and their associates were the only people who knew the truth. Family members often weren’t told either until the perp was in custody and charged with the offense. I wondered if the manner of death had made it to the Savannah PD yet or if the state police and the Statesboro Sheriff’s Office were keeping tight-lipped about it. I would know soon enough because if anyone had been told, it would be Royce.
I didn’t linger long after breakfast. With food and two cups of coffee under my belt, and one cup to go, I said goodbye and headed out the door. If the precinct was abuzz with gossip when I got there, that would tell me the station had heard about the trooper, and Royce would share what he knew at our morning update.
At seven forty-five, I walked into the building. Diane greeted me with a somber nod. It was obvious that she had heard the news but not yet obvious whether anyone knew the details. I nodded back then continued to the stairs and up to our floor.
The buzz was definitely loud and sounded like a tree of cicadas. As I passed the lunchroom, I saw Royce and Rue leaning against the back counter, each with a coffee in hand. I backed up three paces and walked in.
“What’s the latest?” I asked. Nobody needed to wonder what I was talking about—the news was etched on every face.
Royce groaned. “It isn’t good, Cannon. We have bits and pieces of sketchy information. Not sure if the state police are ready to share details yet or not.”
“Well, apparently they’re not. Otherwise, we’d know.”
“I believe they’re waiting for the manner of death from the county coroner before making it official, and even then, the public isn’t going to be told, at least not for a while.”
“Standard practice. Do we know anything?”
“Only that the trooper was killed last night in a violent manner and that every bit of potential evidence was removed from the scene.”
“How about Forensics?”
Royce glanced at the wall clock. “The meeting is in five minutes, and I don’t want to repeat everything twice. We’ll have questions at the end of the briefing, and I’ll answer everything to the best of my knowledge then.”
I grabbed a coffee and walked downstairs with Royce and Rue. It looked like everyone was already in attendance from our night shift crew to the daytime personnel, including our beat cops. Royce wasted no time in stepping up to the podium. The morning briefing was usually a joint effort between Royce and Bleu, but because the news had just come in over the wire, Royce did all the talking. What he said was new information for everyone.
“Okay, okay, let’s quiet down and get rolling so I can answer a few questions at the end.”
A hush came over the room, and all eyes were on him. He clenched his hand into a fist and cleared his throat before beginning.
“The news last night spoke of an unaccounted-for state trooper who wasn’t responding to his radio calls. His car was tracked to an overgrown road just outside Statesboro, where deputies were tasked to go search for him. When they arrived, they didn’t find the trooper, only his abandoned car minus the radio and every camera. They said there wasn’t any blood on or in the vehicle, and although they called out and searched with flashlights, they couldn’t locate him.” Royce paused for a drink of water then continued. “The state police were informed, and this morning, a joint search at the scene between them and the sheriff’s office took place. The trooper’s body was recovered from within the deep, tangled brush. The manner of death hasn’t been officially released, so I don’t want to hear watercooler speculation. All we know is that it was deemed a homicide, but there’s no camera footage to show what happened. The state police retrieved the radio recording of the last known traffic stop and are processing that information. As of right now, that’s all we have. I imagine the state police are taking charge, and everyone else is on a need-to-know basis. From what’s been passed on, the coroner will give his official report to the state police this afternoon. Either we’ll find out more through the grapevine, or we won’t be privy to that information. It isn’t our county, and Statesboro has their own police force and sheriff’s office.”
Royce opened up the room for questions. I wondered how many he would get thrown at him since he had already explained that he didn’t know anything more than what he’d just told us.
Bentley spoke up first. “Are the state police trying to keep the results from Forensics and the coroner hush-hush? Meaning it’s their case and they don’t want anyone else in on it?”
Royce held up his hands. “I don’t know, Curt. I haven’t worked a case with the state police in a decade. I’m sure many of them are different people than the ones I knew back then, and besides that, we aren’t first in line to be told anything.”
I took a shot at Royce and asked the question I was going to ask him earlier. “What about Forensics? Did they find anything at the scene? Maybe even a second set of tire tracks?”
“Not to my knowledge, or at least nothing I’ve heard. The patrol car is being processed at the Bulloch County evidence garage.”
“And what about the audio recording of the last traffic stop?” Rue asked.
“I did hear that there were sound issues. Garbled communications that the sheriff’s office tech department is working on.” Royce looked around. “If that’s it, then let’s get rolling. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us, but if anything else comes to light, it’ll be announced later at shift change.”
Rue and I hung back until the room cleared. Royce and Bleu were discussing the trooper’s death when we approached them.
“Excuse us,” I said, “but do you want us to start on Valerie’s case and retrace everything that’s already been done?”
“Yep, that’s the plan.”
I looked at Sergeant Bleu. “Did the night shift guys talk to the bar employees last night?”
“They did. Sounds like the statements were the same as before, and nobody had anything new to offer.”
I tipped my head. “Okay, thanks. We’ll talk to Valerie’s friends and family again while Bentley and Lawrence review all of the footage that was collected.”
Rue and I headed to our office to gather the transcripts of police interviews we’d had with everyone Valerie knew or was related to. We would try again and hope for a name we hadn’t gotten before.
Devon dropped into his chair then spoke up. “So what do we do about Jacob, Dylan, and all those cult nutjobs who spent time in jail for animal abuse? Are we to assume they aren’t involved, or do we interview them again too?”
I shrugged. “Let’s talk to the normal people first and see if we make any headway before we decide.”
“Works for me. Let’s pay Valerie’s family a visit first.”
Rue and I drove to the home where Valerie had lived with her parents. This would be our first face-to-face with Mr. and Mrs. Dawson. When it was confirmed that the woman found in the marsh was indeed Valerie, Morrow and Mason had paid her parents the unfortunate initial visit. Maybe our questions and their answers would be somewhat different than what our weekend detectives had discussed with them. We would also talk to some of the dayshift employees at the bars Valerie and her friends had frequented that fateful Friday night. Daytime employees could also know sketchy characters who stopped in often. Any one of those people could have returned during the late-night hours and chosen Valerie as the person to follow to her car.
“I was just thinking about the similarities in Valerie and the trooper’s cases.”
I glanced at Rue as I waited for the green light. “In what way?”
“Well, it was mentioned that the last traffic stop the trooper conducted was the one that mattered. Same goes for Valerie. It’s only the last bar and what happened when it closed that matters. She was never seen alive again after leaving Sparky’s.”
“True enough. Then Delilah’s and The Grinch don’t hold much relevance. After we talk to Valerie’s folks and her friends, we’ll interview the afternoon crew at Sparky’s to see if they can shed more light.”
Fifteen minutes later, we stood on the porch and knocked on the door of the Dawson home. After Nancy, the wife, answered, we explained who we were and why we were there. It was true that we didn’t have anyone in custody, and the family knew it. We didn’t have a suspect either, yet we needed their help. It was time to dig deep, even if that meant taking Valerie’s room apart and looking for clues. Maybe we would find the names of people who had never come up before.
Mr. and Mrs. Dawson listed every person they could think of, good or bad, who had crossed paths with Valerie over the last year or two. While they worked on that, they allowed Rue and me to look through Valerie’s bedroom. Her murder was so recent that they didn’t want anything in the room to change or be mishandled since the bedroom was a place she’d always considered her sanctuary.
Rue and I searched drawers, boxes, Valerie’s closet, and under the bed. We didn’t find so much as a journal, a letter, pictures with unknowns in them, or a single scrap of paper with a name that hadn’t been brought up before.
We sat with her parents and asked more questions. How often did she go out with her friends? Was it always to the same places, in the same order, at the same time of night? Those could be clues that would help us. Somebody, unbeknownst to her, might have been stalking her for days, weeks, or even months. That person could be someone who was infatuated with her and she’d never realized it.
“Several years ago, there was a bartender at Delilah’s who was interested in her. They had a three-week fling, but when she found out he was engaged to a young lady who lived in Port Wentworth, she dumped him. He wasn’t too happy about it, made idle threats for a while, then finally moved on. We’d heard that the girlfriend ended the engagement and the guy moved to Oregon.”
“And his name?”
Mr. Dawson scrunched his face. “His name started with an M.” He looked at his wife. “Do you remember, honey?”
“Um, it was something different. Marlon, maybe.”
“Would Sherry Lyman remember him?”
“Probably.”
“Okay, thank you, and we’ll be in touch. Have you planned Valerie’s funeral service yet?”
Mrs. Dawson’s eyes welled up. “Yes, it’ll be on her birthday, next Wednesday.”