Cole had barely hit the “end” button on the Baton Rouge call when his phone’s ringtone came on again. He saw that it was “Milwaukee FBI” and he took it. “Cole, here,” he said
“Cole, it’s Li. I’ve got you on a speakerphone and Lane and Ty are with me. So don’t blurt out something stupid like ‘Ty walks like he’s got a corncob up his…”’
“STOP right there, Li,” Cole interrupted. “I think you know I’d never say anything like that about young Ty. And I think it’s his business where he keeps his corncobs.”
“Words of wisdom, boss,” Lane chimed in.
“Anything new from the home front?” Cole asked.
“J. Edgar and Company found a connection between SW and Agnes Jones,” Li said.
“Who?” Cole asked, rubbing his temples. The long day was catching up with him. He leaned back in the chair and put his feet up on the desk.
“The budding star of the Raging Disciples and the elderly drunk lady from Nekoosa. The two people we matched to the cigarette butts found at the scene of the Martin murder,” Li said. “We knew that Smith’s older brother was being held at the Boscobel Supermax, and we learned today that Agnes’ son is there, too. Quite a coincidence.”
“What’s her boy locked up for?”
“He’s serving four consecutive life sentences for four counts of murder one. He was a pretty big dealer in central and northern Wisconsin. Turns out if he didn’t like a customer he would mix a little rat poison in with their coke order,” Lane answered.
“Seems like a nice enough guy,” Cole deadpanned. “Momma must be mighty proud. I wonder if the kid drove the old lady to drink or dear old mom drove the kid to deal and murder. Lovely family portrait to be sure.”
“That’s a chicken or the egg question,” Lane said.
“Nice analysis, Laney,” Cole said.
“Jeffers has some of his agents and other law enforcement conscripts looking at every Supermax employee and every visitor who’s been to the Boscobel prison in the last two months,” Ty said.
“How about deliveries, or law enforcement dropping off or picking up prisoners?” Cole asked.
He could hear the rustle of notes in the background before Ty answered, “I don’t see that Jeffers has spread the net that wide yet.”
“Every prison in the state is smoke-free now,” Cole said, “but I’d bet the majority of visitors to the Supermax smoke. I can picture them walking up from the parking lot to the main doors, puffing on cigarettes, and then when they get to the doors they flick them into the, ah…the cigarette receptacles.”
“Cigarette receptacles? Maybe outdoor ashtrays,” Li offered.
“Ash urns is the term I think you’re both searching for,” Lane said.
“Whatever,” Cole continued. “They flick their butts by the door into the thing with sand in it. Or hell, they throw the butts on the ground and proceed on their merry way into the building. I doubt that crowd frets too much over littering. Maybe our killer discreetly grabbed a few stray butts as he was walking into or out of the building. Who would notice or watch for something like that? Maybe they think it’s nice the guy’s picking up litter.”
That thought hung in the air while the Milwaukee contingent waited to see where Cole was headed. “It doesn’t make sense that a guard or another Supermax employee took those butts to plant at the murder scene. Because finding the butts and tying them back to the prison doesn’t throw us off their scent…it would lead us to them. Every step of the way the killer has tried, with great success by the way, to confuse us. Would he set out the crumbs that lead right to his front door? No. Our focus here should be on visitors and law enforcement from other areas who are transporting prisoners to or from the Supermax. Even though the Supermax holds over five hundred inmates, there’s not a lot of coming and going there. You get sent to Boscobel and you’re typically there a long time. No short stays in the Supermax.
“We should see if they have cameras on the main visitor entrance,” Cole continued. “I’m sure everyone has to sign in and out, too. See if you can run the list of visitors, both public and officers of the law, from December twenty-fifth until the night of the Martin murder.”
“Will do, boss,” Li said. “Why Christmas Day, though? You on to something ?”
“I think so. The Catholic priest here gave a sermon on Christmas morning that called for his parishioners to do what they can to stop abortion. In a town with less than six thousand people, we’ve now got a former mayor who’s staging a hunger strike, and a newspaper editor who’s running an updated count estimating the number of abortions since Roe v. Wade in every edition of his newspaper. Both told me they were inspired by their priest’s Christmas homily. If I’m right, then someone else in church that morning got similarly inspired, but he picked up a 30/30 rifle instead.”
“Really?” Ty asked. “No offense, but is that plausible? I mean, I can see someone skipping a few meals or writing something in a newspaper after hearing a good sermon or speech, but going from law-abiding citizen to physician killer because of one sermon? I don’t care how compelling the sermon, that seems kind of far-fetched. Again, Cole, no offense.”
“None taken. But how is it any different from someone in Iraq or Afghanistan strapping on a bomb and detonating it in a crowd after a few choice words from their Imam or Mullah? Our guy doesn’t even have to sacrifice his own life.”
“True, but the jihadists are taught that the West is evil from the time they’re born. They aren’t radicalized after one stirring speech,” Ty countered.
“Fair enough. But we’ve had instances of Americans becoming radicalized jihadists in a matter of weeks over the Internet…without ever having face-to-face contact. And remember, I was born a Catholic and raised in Prairie du Chien. We’re taught from the time we’re little that abortion is murder. No gray areas. If you believe that in your heart and at your core, then the reproductive rights physicians are taking innocent lives, and lots of them, every day.”
“It sounds like the most promising lead we have,” Li said.
“I agree,” Lane added. “Want us to saddle up and ride out there?”
“Saddle up? No,” Cole said. “Keep your posse right there. I’ve got local and state law enforcement helping me, so I don’t have to go to Jeffers. We’re identifying everyone who attended that Christmas Mass so we can see who matches what little of a description we have of the killer. It should be a, shall we say, ‘short’ list…pun intended.”
Cole heard the groans from the others. “I’ll take those as groans of admiration,” he said. “I’ll actually take whatever I can get at this point. Anything else on your end?”
“We’re wondering if you think there’s a possible connection between Baton Rouge and our guy,” Ty asked.
“No. Our guy’s exploits might’ ve triggered the rampage down south, but I don’t think they’re related in any other way. When you called I was wrapping up a conversation with the parish sheriff down there.”
“You called Baton Rouge?” Ty asked.
“Yeah. I did. I wanted to check in with them.”
“Jeffers thought there was enough in Baton Rouge to warrant taking a crew down there on a Lear jet,” Li said.
“And to each his own.”
“Wanna hear something sweet about Jeffers?” Li asked. “You won’t find it in any of the official reports.”
“Are you going to make me beg?”
“No. That would be unbecoming of you. Jeffers directed law enforcement in Wisconsin, Iowa, Minnesota, Illinois, and Michigan to roust every gun show in their states…”
“Wait a minute. That’s a lot of resources he’s tying up.”
“Yup. There can be upwards of ten to fifteen gun shows any given week in those states, and that doesn’t include one-off sales like the one our killer took part in at the La Crosse VFW,” Li said. “Anyway, Jeffers had them on the lookout for a guy wearing a big green army coat, in a wheelchair or with a walker, who has a beard and big glasses. An Iowa State Trooper found a guy that fit that description to a T in Des Moines and Jeffers flew directly there. Apparently, he sweated the guy for two hours trying to get him to confess to the murders. Turns out the guy really did lose the use of his legs in the service of his country. A Purple Heart recipient. So Jeffers basically abused a decorated military veteran. His legend grows.”
“Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy. Anything else?”
A chorus of “No’s” was the Milwaukee answer.
“All right. Let me know if something else comes up on your end. I’ll do the same with you if anything more turns up here. I feel like we’re about to catch a break.”