104: “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your call earlier, but I did, so I gotta ask, who is Sam?”
Sheriff Hana Banister sat on a stool across the table from Poole, files and boxes laid out between them. She had apologized repeatedly about the lack of computerized records. The county was small, their budget was smaller, and every time the matter came up, a more urgent need for the funds vetoed any plan to enter legacy data into the current system, which only went back a handful of years.
Poole had the property deeds in a neat stack at his side, Porter’s name glaring at him. “Detective Sam Porter with Chicago Metro. Until recently, he was the lead investigator on the 4MK task force.”
“What happened, recently?”
Poole couldn’t tell her, not yet. He wasn’t sure what he was dealing with yet. “He let the case get to him, he let it go personal.” Poole finished with the current box and slid it aside. “I don’t see his name anywhere else, only that particular piece of property.”
Banister sat back on her stool, stifling a yawn. “The name Porter doesn’t ring any bells, and I grew up around here. I was born in the clinic four doors down from this very building, actually. This is a fairly close-knit community, farmers mostly. A few of the families have sold off over the years to developers, but I like to think I’ve got a good handle on the people. We get our share of rowdy teenagers and such, but that’s mainly because there isn’t much else to do. Until this morning, the last murder we had was nearly six years ago, when Edison Lindley’s wife took it upon herself to end his cheating ways with the help of a heaping spoonful of arsenic in his soup. She called it in too and was waiting on her porch when I got there, glass of lemonade in her hand. Not exactly the crime of the century.”
Pool said. “You mentioned developers. Do you know the name Arthur Talbot or Talbot Enterprises?”
“I do know the name, but only from the news—crazy what happened to him. If he set his eye on property out here, I would have heard about it at town hall. Property sales are usually talked about before I give the crime report.” Banister raised a legal-size folder above her head. “Got it.”
“Got what?”
“The report on the fire out there that destroyed the main house.”
She opened the folder on the table and began flipping through the contents. “August, 1995. Way before my time. Ruled arson on the spot. Tom Langlin wrote it up. He’s retired now but still lives in the area. I can drive you out to his place if you think it would be helpful. According to this, the entire area reeked of gasoline. By the time the trucks arrived, the house was a total loss. They found three bodies inside, all male. Cause of death says undetermined due to condition on account of the fire. One survivor, an Anson Bishop, twelve years old. He had been fishing out at the lake and came back when he saw the smoke. They believe his father was one of the men found inside. His mother was suspected of starting the fire—looks like she disappeared. Her information went out on the wire, but she was never located. The trailer behind the house had been rented to a Simon and Lisa Carter. They also went missing after the fire. No hits on their wire report either. The boy went to the Camden Treatment Center not too far from here.”
“May I see that?”
She passed him the file.
Poole’s phone rang. He answered the call on speaker.
“Frank? This is Granger. I just hung up with Hurless, filled him in on everything. They’re still searching the water, but I think we’ve found them all. Five complete bodies and at least one more in bags. We don’t have enough bags for more than one body, but I suppose it’s possible the remains came from multiple sources. We won’t know for sure until the medical examiner has a look. I’m having everything transported back to Charlotte, our closest lab.”
“Thanks. Keep me posted on what you find. If you can’t reach me, go to Hurless.”
“I’m back at what’s left of that house right now. Obvious fire. My office tried to pull records, but they’re coming up blank.”
“I’ve got the file in my hand. I’ll have Sheriff Banister scan and e-mail it to you.”
“What does it say?”
Poole repeated what Banister told him.
“The trailer survived the fire, and it looks like someone has been in there recently. The back bedroom has been ransacked—somebody moved the bed, tore up the floor. We got a backpack full of clothes. Some camping gear. It’s strewn all over the room. Somebody was looking for something.”
Poole glanced at the diary sitting on the edge of the table. “I think that was Detective Porter.”
“Can’t tell if he found whatever he wanted. We’re shipping all this back to Charlotte too. We’ll photograph everything. I’m gonna try and get some heavy equipment out here to go through the remains of that house. It’s been a while, but we may find something that ties back to the bodies at the lake.”
Poole’s phone vibrated on the table. The caller ID popped up. “That’s SAIC Hurless on my other line. I’ve got to go. Keep me posted.”
“You got it.”
Poole thumbed the display and answered the other call. “Agent Poole.”
“Frank. I think we got something. You’re gonna need to get back on the plane.”
“What is it?”
“You were right about the prison guards at Stateville. I spoke to the warden. We’ve got a guard who was suspected of passing information for Libby McInley, but nothing was actually proven, so he wasn’t charged. He transferred shortly after all of this played out. Guess where he went?”
“Where?”
“New Orleans.”
Porter’s disposable phone.
“That’s our connection to Porter. Any record of the two of them knowing each other or working together?”
“Nothing yet, but I just got this. I’ll put people on it right away,” Hurless told him. “His name is Vincent Weidner. He’s working now, on the clock until four this afternoon. You need to get out there. The Orleans warden said he’d try and stall him, keep him on site after his shift if he has to. They’re not going to say anything to him until you arrive—we don’t want to tip him off. Granger told me what turned up at the lake. We need to find out what this guard knows and get on Porter’s heels. He’s deep in this.”
Poole told him about the property records.
“Get on him. None of this slips out. I don’t want the media running some half-baked story.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I spoke to Detective Norton too. I’ve got four teams on their way to help with the house-to-house. I’ll put in a call to Porter’s captain too. He needs to know what’s going on. We’re close, Frank.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hurless disconnected.
Poole looked up at Sheriff Banister. “Can you drive me to the airport in Greenville?”
She nodded.
Poole handed her one of his cards. “You find anything else, call me or SAIC Hurless. His number’s on the back. Send that file over to Granger too, as soon as you can.”
Scooping up the diary, he started for the door. He’d read it on the plane.